The Bachelor's Christmas 
 and The Matrimonial 
 Tontine Benefit Associa- 
 tion. By Robert Grant 
 
 Charles Scribner's Sons 
 New York cccccc 1902 
 
Copyright, 1895, 7902, 
 Charles Scribner's Sons 
 
THE BACHELOR'S 
 CHRISTMAS 
 
 76Z 
 B3 
 l<?02 
 
THE BACHELOR'S 
 CHRISTMAS 
 
 THOMAS WIGGIN, or Tom Wiggin, as 
 everyone called him, sat alone in his 
 bachelor quarters on Christmas-eve, waiting 
 for a carriage. The carriage was not late, but 
 Tom, who was a methodical man in everything 
 he did, had finished his preparations a little 
 sooner than need be. His fur coat and hat 
 and gloves lay on a chair beside him, ready 
 to put on the moment Bridget, the maid, 
 should knock at the door and tell him that 
 Perkins, the cabby at the corner, was block- 
 ing the way. Tom had already taken out of 
 his pocket two ten-dollar gold pieces and 
 laid them on the centre-table beside an array 
 of packages done up with marvellous care in 
 the whitest of paper and the reddest of rib- 
 bon. One of the gold pieces was for Bridget 
 and the other for Perkins. Twice the sum 
 
4 THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 would not have replaced the crockery and 
 objects of virtu which the Hibernian hand- 
 maiden, who brought up his breakfast and 
 was supposed to keep his room tidy, had 
 smashed since he had tipped her last ; and 
 Tom had, only two months before, under- 
 gone the melancholy experience of falling 
 through the bottom of Perkins's coupe, be- 
 cause of the pertinacity with which that 
 common carrier of passengers clung to the 
 delusion that no repairs to a vehicle were 
 necessary until it dropped to pieces. But as 
 Tom would have said if interrogated on the 
 subject by a subtler mind, Christmas comes 
 but once a year, and though Bridget's best 
 was her worst, she had tried to do it, and 
 Perkins, shiftless as he was, had driven his 
 poor old nag one day into a pink lather in 
 endeavoring to catch a train for him, which 
 he had just missed after all. 
 
 Besides, Tom had had a remarkably good 
 business year, so that a ten-dollar gold piece 
 did not seem to him the dazzlingly large sum 
 he had regarded it ten years earlier. Efo 
 had lived in these same bachelor lodgings 
 for ten years, and during that time had built 
 up a very neat business by his own unaided 
 
THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 5 
 
 effort, as his contemporaries (and contempo- 
 raries are apt to be stern critics) were ready 
 to admit. He had worked hard and steadily, 
 taking only enough vacation to enable him 
 to keep well, and shunting everything to the 
 background which threatened to interfere 
 with the object he had in view that is, 
 everything but one thing. And this one 
 thing he had made up his mind five years ago 
 was out of the question. Consequently he 
 had shunted it to the background with every- 
 thing else, and devoted himself more unre- 
 servedly than ever to the real estate busi- 
 ness. 
 
 Ten years is quite a piece out of any man's 
 life, and though Tom Wiggin was the picture 
 of health, he was, as we say colloquially, no 
 longer a chicken. He was stouter than he 
 had been and had lost some of his hair, 
 which gave him rather a middle-aged appear- 
 ance, or at least suggested that he never 
 would see thirty-five again. When he had 
 taken his present room he had been a slim 
 and almost delicate-looking stripling without 
 a copper, whom any girl might be likely to 
 fancy. To-day, in his own estimation and in 
 that of his friends and acquaintances, he was 
 
6 THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 a well -seasoned old bachelor who was not 
 likely to ask any one feminine to share his 
 comfortable competency. 
 
 Christmas comes but once a year, and Tom 
 had for several years past been in the habit 
 of recognizing the fact in his special way. He 
 was extensively an uncle. That is to say, he 
 had two married sisters, one with five and the 
 other with three children of tender age, and 
 each of his two married brothers had present- 
 ed him with a nephew and niece of the name 
 of Wiggin. Categorically speaking, he had 
 seven nephews and five nieces to provide 
 with Christmas gifts, not to mention his two 
 sisters and his two sisters-in-law, all of 
 whom had grown accustomed to expect a 
 package in white paper tied with pink rib- 
 bon and marked "with love and a merry 
 Christmas from Tom." Here were sixteen 
 presents to begin with, and there were apt to 
 be almost as many more. On this particular 
 Christmas evening there were thirty-five par- 
 cels in all, each done up with immaculate 
 care, for Tom, like most other bachelors, 
 prided himself on doing everything in a thor- 
 ough, deliberate fashion. He had made his 
 last purchase a fortnight ago, and had spent 
 
THE BACHELORS CHRISTMAS 7 
 
 two entire evenings in putting the array of 
 toys and fancy goods in presentable order. 
 They were of all sorts and sizes, for Tom 
 had paled neither before bulk nor price. 
 There was a safety bicycle for a nephew who 
 had set his heart on one, and the tiniest of 
 gold watches for his eldest niece. There was 
 a warm, fur-lined cloak for his dead mother's 
 oldest friend, a spinster lady who had small 
 means wherewith to keep herself comfortable 
 in a cold world, and a case of marvellous port 
 for his old chum, Belden, who would see 
 that it was not wasted on unappreciative 
 palates. Everything was ready for the sum- 
 mons from Perkins, the cabby, and Tom, 
 bald-headed bachelor that he was, was fum- 
 ing a little in spite of the fact that it still 
 lacked three minutes of the hour appointed 
 for departure. 
 
 The clock in the neighboring church tower, 
 whose tones were plainly audible in the sky 
 parlors which he called his home, had only 
 just struck five when the tramp of feet fol- 
 lowed by a knock announced the joint arrival 
 of Bridget and Perkins, to whom he had in- 
 trusted the duty of helping him to carry his 
 precious parcels down three flights of stairs 
 
8 THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 to the attendant cab. This was the sixth 
 consecutive year Bridget and Perkins had 
 done the same thing, and they thought they 
 knew what to expect. But they had count- 
 ed without their host. A year ago they 
 had chuckled for forty-eight hours over a 
 five-dollar bill apiece. Now, when they 
 opened the door and presented their grin- 
 ning countenances, their benefactor, after 
 shouting at them a merry Christmas, pro- 
 ceeded to daze their intellects, of every par- 
 ticle of which they stood in sore need for the 
 purpose of a safe descent, by tossing to each 
 of them a gold coin of twice the denomina- 
 tion. For some moments they stood in be- 
 wildered, sheepish silence, examining their 
 treasure, as though to make certain it was 
 genuine ; then Bridget, taxing her intelli- 
 gence for a suitable expression for the wealth 
 of feeling at her heart, exclaimed : 
 
 " And sure, Mr. Wiggin, it's Bridget Lan- 
 agan that's hoping that before the good Lord 
 brings anither Christmas-day the proudest 
 lady in the land will be yer wife. It's me 
 and Perkins would be the first to say ' God 
 bless her,' though we lost a good job by it." 
 At this prodigal outburst of expectation Tom 
 
THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 9 
 
 Wiggin's countenance grew rosy -red, notwith- 
 standing the incredulous laugh with which he 
 received the blessing of his warm-hearted 
 handmaiden and the nods of the less nimble- 
 witted cab-man. Then a shadow crossed it 
 as though of unhappy recollection, and there 
 was a tinge of real hopelessness in his half- 
 jocular protestation. 
 
 " Many thanks, Bridget, for your good 
 wishes, but there's no such luck in store for 
 me. I shall live and die an old bachelor 
 such as you see me now, and you and Perkins 
 will be able to count on a ten-dollar gold 
 piece on Christmas-eve for the rest of your 
 lives. That is," Tom added by way of timely 
 warning, " provided you don't smash any of 
 these things of mine in carrying them down- 
 stairs. You remember that the pair of you 
 last year between you broke a teacup worth 
 its weight in gold, and the year before that 
 large vase broke itself. If everything were 
 to go down safely I should almost begin to 
 believe that what Bridget hopes might come 
 true. Careful now, and be sure not to lay 
 that bicycle right on top of the gilt-edged 
 dinner-plates for my sister Mary." 
 
 Whether it was that Tom's strictures in re 
 
10 THE BACHELORS CHRISTMAS 
 
 gard to the clumsiness of his assistants were 
 exaggerated, or they were bent on causing 
 him to repose trust in Bridget's prophecy, the 
 thirty -five packages reached the cab and were 
 stowed within and without, under their owner's 
 supervising eye, without a single casualty. 
 
 " Faith, Mr. Wiggin, they'll be taking yer 
 this time for Santa Claus, sure," said Perkins 
 when the last precious parcel had been de- 
 posited. " Yer'll have to ride outside, sir, as 
 yer did last year." 
 
 Evidently the gaping file of small boys 
 which had formed itself on each side of the 
 doorway was of the opinion that, if the gen- 
 tleman in the fur coat was not Santa Claus, 
 he was one of his blood-relations, for, as Tom 
 climbed carefully to his post beside Perkins 
 BO as not to hazard the safety of the bicycle 
 and the box of port, for which there was no 
 room inside, they broke out into a shrill 
 hurrah. Perhaps they too, or at least some 
 of them, knew what they had to expect, for 
 before Santa Claus seated himself on the 
 box he plunged his hands into the side pock- 
 ets of his fur overcoat, and then reproducing 
 them, seemed to toss them high to the winds, 
 as he cried, with gay good- will : 
 
THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 11 
 
 " Scramble now, you little devils, scramble, 
 and wish you merry Christmas ! " 
 
 What Tom flung to the winds was neither 
 his fingers nor his thumbs, but a plethora of 
 bright nickels which he had drawn from the 
 bank for the express purpose. As the glitter- 
 ing shower of brand-new five-cent pieces fell 
 to the icy sidewalk, the band of urchins 
 threw themselves upon it with a shout of 
 transport which drew tears from the eyes of 
 the tender-hearted Bridget, who had re- 
 mained to witness this established ceremony, 
 and ought to have warmed the cockles of the 
 donor's heart, if indeed they needed warm- 
 ing. Twice again he replunged his hands in- 
 to his pockets and twice again the yell was 
 repeated. Then seating himself beside Per- 
 kins, Tom gave the signal for departure, and 
 as the cab rounded the corner a score of little 
 lungs gavo him back his merry Christmas 
 with all their might. 
 
 It was a genuine Christmas-eve. The 
 ground was covered with snow and the 
 sleigh-bells were jangling merrily. The lamps 
 were already lighted, and many a parlor win- 
 dow gave out the reflection of wreaths of 
 holly, and now and again sparkled with little 
 
12 THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 rows of candles in token of the precious 
 Christmas anniversary. Perkins's coupe was 
 on wheels, and his equine paradox was im- 
 perfectly caulked into the bargain, so that 
 the world seemed to be rushing by them as 
 they jogged along. Tom had a list which he 
 from time to time consulted by the allied 
 light of the moon and the street-lamps, in 
 order to see that his itinerary was accurately 
 followed and no one forgotten. At every 
 house he dismounted in person and handed 
 in his present. When he reached the resi- 
 dence of his sister, Mary Ferris, who was the 
 mother of the five children, he had to make 
 four trips up and down the door-steps. His 
 sister, who was listening, recognized his voice 
 and came into the vestibule to meet him, and 
 her children, bounding in her wake like an 
 elated pack of wolves, shouted with one 
 tongue, 
 
 " Hurrah ! it's Uncle Tom." 
 
 Mrs. Ferris sent them scampering upstairs 
 in double-quick time on pain of dire penal- 
 ties if they peeped or listened, and fondly 
 drew her brother into the small sitting-room 
 which opened out of the hall. 
 
 " I can't stop, Mary," he said ; " I'm on my 
 
THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 13 
 
 annual circuit. Now let's see if I've got 
 everything. Here's the bicycle for Roger, 
 junior. They call it ' a safety,' and I trust it 
 may prove so. And the Noah's ark, the larg- 
 est one made, for Harry ; and a musical box, 
 which plays eight tunes, for Dorothy ; and a 
 doll which sings ' Ta-ra-boom-de-ay ' for lit- 
 tle Mary ; and a woolly lamb for baby Ned. 
 And here's a trifle in the crockery line for 
 you, my dear. If you don't like the pattern 
 you can change them. Now I must be off. 
 How's Eoger, senior? Give him my love 
 and a merry Christmas." 
 
 "He'll be at home very soon, Tom, and 
 dreadfully sorry to have missed you. The 
 children are just crazy about their stockings, 
 and little Roger had given up all hope of a 
 bicycle. You are too generous to them and 
 to all of us. And, oh, Tom," she added, lay- 
 ing her hand upon his arm, " I feel dread- 
 fully that we shan't have you with us at din- 
 ner to-morrow, but old Mr. Ferris depends 
 on Roger and me for Christmas. He says 
 it may be the last time, and that Christ- 
 mas is the Ferris day. Thanksgiving is the 
 Wiggin day, you know, and we did have a 
 jolly time then ; yet I just hate to think of 
 
14 THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 your not dining with one of us on Christmas. 
 How can it be helped, though, if all the 
 things-in-law have family parties ? " 
 
 " Why, that's all right, Mary. As you say, 
 Thanksgiving is the Wiggin day, and things- 
 in-law have rights, as well as those they 
 marry. Merry Christmas, dearest, and let 
 me go, or I shall never get through my list." 
 
 " Ah, but, Tom love, I do wish you were 
 married," she cried, putting her arms around 
 his neck to detain him. She was his favor- 
 ite sister, and free to introduce dangerous 
 topics with due discretion. " You would be 
 so much happier." 
 
 " Do I seem so miserable ? " he inquired, 
 as he looked down at her and stroked her 
 hair. "That's an old story, Mary. I've 
 heard you express the same wish every six 
 months for the last ten years. Every family 
 should have one old bachelor, at least, and I 
 shall be ours." 
 
 She was silent for an instant. " Do you 
 ever see Isabelle Hardy, nowadays ? " she 
 asked, with brave insistence. " I have some- 
 times thought " she stopped, deterred from 
 completing her sentence by the shadow which 
 had come over Tom's face. 
 
THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 15 
 
 He gently, but firmly, removed his sister's 
 arms from his neck, and answered gravely, 
 almost stiffly, " Very rarely indeed." Then, 
 with a fresh access of gayety, as though he 
 were resolved that nothing foreign to the oc- 
 casion should mar its spirit, he cried lustily, 
 " A merry Christmas to you, Mary ! " and de- 
 parted. 
 
 Continuing steadily on his round, Tom de- 
 livered safely the case of port, and the fur- 
 lined cloak, and brought up in the next street, 
 in front of his brother Joe's house. Here 
 he was to leave the gold watch for his eldest 
 niece, a generous box of bonbons for his sis- 
 ter-in-law, a tool-chest for young Joe, and a 
 first edition of " Vanity Fair " for Joe him- 
 self, who, though not particularly well off, 
 was a rabid book collector. Tom had dogged 
 an auctioneer for two days to make sure of 
 obtaining the volume in question, which, so 
 far as he could see, was like as two peas to 
 the subsequent issues of the same book to 
 be bought anywhere for a song. He was 
 convinced of his mistake when he saw his 
 brother's face light up at sight of the treas- 
 ure-trove and heard his delighted inquiry, 
 " Where on earth did you pick this up, Tom? 
 
16 THE BACHELORS CHRISTMAS 
 
 You couldn't have given me anything I'd 
 rather have." 
 
 " Glad you like it, Joe. If it isn't the real 
 thing, I'll have the hide of that fellow, Nev- 
 ins, who sold it to me." 
 
 " The real thing ? It's a genuine first edi- 
 tion and a splendid specimen. It's adorable. 
 I say, old fellow, it's an outrage that we're 
 to dine with Julia's father to-morrow and 
 leave you out in the cold. Another year I 
 mean to strike and have a Wiggin Christmas 
 dinner, Thanksgiving or no Thanksgiving. 
 Mary and I were comparing notes yesterday, 
 and vowing it was an infernal shame." 
 
 " Now, it's all right as it is, Joe. I've just 
 left Mary, and I understand perfectly. You've 
 got enough to do to digest your father-in- 
 law's mince pie and Madeira without having 
 me on your stomach." 
 
 "A regular old-fashioned ten-course feed, 
 where you sit down at seven and get up at 
 half -past ten feeling like lead. Ugh ! Where 
 are you going to dine, Tom ? " 
 
 "No matter. That's my secret. I shall 
 have a good dinner, never you fear. I must 
 be off now and deliver the rest of my goods." 
 
 "It's an outrage an infernal outrage," 
 
THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 17 
 
 growled Joe. " Before you go, old man," he 
 said, hooking his arm into his brother's, and 
 dragging him in the direction of the dining- 
 room, " we'll have a drink. I put a pint of 
 fizz on the ice this morning for your special 
 benefit. It won't take two minutes to mix 
 the cock-tail." Thereupon Joe gave the 
 bell-handle a wrench, and directed that the 
 bottle in the ice-chest should be brought up 
 together with the cracked ice which he had 
 ordered to be in readiness, and in a very 
 short space of time the white-capped maid 
 reappeared with a waiter laden with all the 
 necessary ingredients for the delectable bev- 
 erage in question. Joe carefully measured 
 out some bitters, pop went the cork of the 
 Perrier Jouet, and presently the brothers 
 were looking at each other over two brim- 
 ming glasses. 
 
 " Wish you merry Christmas, Joe." 
 "Wish you merry Christmas, Tom. And 
 here's to her." Joe paused an instant before 
 he drank to add, " It's a big mistake you're 
 not married, Tom. All I can say is some 
 girl is losing a first-class husband. I say 
 here's to her" 
 
 Tom, who had waited at the words, raised 
 2 
 
18 TEE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 his glass solemnly. " There is no her and 
 there never will be," he said, with quiet de- 
 cision. " Still, since you give the toast, Joe, 
 I'll drink it. It's not poisonous," he added, 
 with a wry smile " so here's to her." He 
 drained his glass and set it down on the 
 waiter, then for an instant stood ruminantly 
 with his back to the open fire. " The drink 
 was better than the toast in my case, Joe. 
 My her must have died in infancy." 
 
 " Honest Injun, Tom ? " asked Joe, as he 
 gripped his brother's hand held out for a 
 parting shake and looked into his face. 
 
 Tom's eyes quailed before the honest gaze. 
 His lip quivered. " I'm an infernal liar, Joe, 
 and you know it. But what's the use ? She 
 wouldn't have me, man and there's no one 
 else whom I want to have. So, merry Christ- 
 mas, Joe, and God bless you and yours." 
 
 As he went out into the frosty night the 
 clock in the hall struck half -past six. There 
 were only five parcels left and the coupe was 
 nearly empty. Tom opened the door and 
 stepping inside, lay back wearily. Present- 
 ly he picked up one of the parcels it was a 
 book apparently, from its shape and laid it 
 at his side. When Perkins drew up the next 
 
THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 19 
 
 time, Tom gathered up the remaining four 
 and ran up the steps with them. They were 
 for his sister Kitty and her little company, 
 and he spent a few moments indoors to ex- 
 plain matters. When he reappeared he said 
 to his conductor, "114 Farragut Place, and 
 then to the Club." 
 
 Tom sat inside with the remaining package 
 resting on his lap, nervously watching for the 
 cab to stop. They halted presently before a 
 spacious house, the old-fashioned aspect of 
 which was heightened by the curved iron 
 railing which ran along the flight of steps 
 leading up to it. Just before the cab stopped 
 Tom had taken a note from his breast pocket, 
 and, after looking round him stealthily in the 
 darkness, had kissed the envelope. Now he 
 tucked it under the red ribbon of the remain- 
 ing package, and walking gravely up the 
 steps, rang the bell. There was nothing in 
 the envelope but his visiting card, on which 
 he had written, " with best wishes for a merry 
 Christmas." When the servant came to the 
 door Tom said, " Will you please give this to 
 Miss Isabelle Hardy." Then the door closed 
 in his face and he went solemnly down the 
 steps again. On reaching the now empty 
 
20 THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 cab lie glanced over his shoulder as though 
 in hope of catching a face at the window, but 
 every shade was down, and the wreaths of 
 holly were the nearest semblance to faces, 
 and they seemed almost to grin at him. And 
 well they might. It was the fifth year in 
 succession that he had gone through exactly 
 this same pantomime. Tom heaved one 
 deep sigh ; then he straightened his shoul- 
 ders and passed his hand across his eyes as 
 though he were sweeping away an unprofit- 
 able vision. 
 
 " To the club," he repeated sturdily to 
 Perkins. " And now," he said to himself, as 
 he shrouded himself in his fur coat and put 
 up his feet on the opposite cushion, " the 
 question is how to make the best of a devil- 
 ish poor outlook. I mean to have a merry 
 Christmas somehow." 
 
 n 
 
 THOUGH it was dinner time, there were few 
 men in the club when Tom entered it. Still 
 there was a half-dozen familiar spirits loung- 
 ing in the sitting-room, most melancholy 
 
THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 21 
 
 among whom was Frazer Bell, a bachelor far 
 gone in the forties, an epicure, but poor as a 
 church mouse. 
 
 " Just the man," said Tom to himself, and 
 he drew him aside. 
 
 "Will you dine with me to-night, Frazer?" 
 
 " Er I have just ordered dinner, but " 
 
 "Then I'll countermand it," interposed 
 Tom blithely, by way of relieving his would- 
 be guest from the quandary of accepting the 
 invitation without loss of self-respect. " It's 
 Christmas-eve and this is my outfit ; I'm go- 
 ing in for as good a dinner as they can give 
 us in honor of the occasion. I say, old man, 
 will you do me the favor to order it ? You 
 know fifty times better than I what we ought 
 to have to get the best." 
 
 Frazer Bell grinned melodiously. One 
 could almost see his mouth water. 
 
 " I'll do it if you like," he said. 
 
 " I wish you would. And be sure to put 
 down the finest there is, and to pick out 
 something gilt-edged in the way of wine ; 
 something cobwebby and precious." 
 
 " I'll try," said Frazer, with another grin, 
 and he ambled off in the direction of the of- 
 fice. 
 
22 THE BACHELORS CHRISTMAS 
 
 Tom went into the reading-room and 
 picked up a magazine. Presently he passed 
 his hands across his eyes again, for the 
 wreaths in the windows of the house in Far- 
 ragut Place were grinning at him still. He 
 said to himself that he guessed he needed 
 another drink, and pressed the electric but- 
 ton at his side. 
 
 " Ask Mr. Frazer Bell what he'll have and 
 bring me a Martini cocktail," he said to the 
 servant. Then he shut his eyes and the grin- 
 ning wreaths changed into a girl's face, a face 
 which had haunted him day in and day out 
 for seven years. He knew that he ought to 
 brush that away also, but he could not bring 
 himself to do it on Christmas-eve. He would 
 give himself that little luxury at least, before 
 he tried to obliterate it by talking gastron- 
 omy with Frazer Bell. Nearly seven years, 
 verily, since he had seen her first ! She was 
 then a girl of nineteen, and he at the bottom 
 of the real estate ladder without a dollar to 
 his name, as it were. He had been crazy to 
 marry her, and for two years he had followed 
 her from ball-room to ball-room with a fever- 
 ish assiduity which threatened to revolution* 
 ize his business habits and make light of his 
 
THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 23 
 
 business principles. He was not the only 
 one in love with her ; there were half a dozen ; 
 but the one whose devotion he dreaded most 
 was Charles Leverett Saunders, a handsome 
 dashing beau, a scion of a rich and conspicu- 
 ous house. He had watched her behavior 
 toward his rival with the eye of a lynx, and 
 as he compared the notes of one evening with 
 the notes of the next he had felt that she was 
 more gracious to Saunders than to him. And 
 yet sometimes she was so sweet and kind to 
 him. But then, again she would be cold and 
 distant, almost icy, in short ; on which occa- 
 sions he had felt as though he would like to 
 cut his throat. A half-dozen times he had 
 made up his mind to offer himself to her and 
 know his fate, but somehow his determination, 
 which was so prodigious in other affairs, had 
 failed him. So matters had gone for a year 
 and a half, and he had seemed no nearer and 
 no less near to the goal than ever. He had 
 said to himself severely that this thing must 
 not go on. 
 
 On December 31st, just five years ago, 
 there was to be a famous ball, the crack party 
 of the season. He had resolved that before 
 the old year was out he would know his fate 
 
M THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 once and for all. Ten-dollar gold pieces did 
 not grow for him then on every bush, but he 
 ordered from the florist the handsomest bou- 
 quet of roses and violets which native horti- 
 cultural talent could devise, and sent it to 
 Miss Isabelle Hardy on the eve of the ball. 
 She had promised to dance the German with 
 him, and when he entered the ball-room his 
 eyes saw no one until they rested on her. A 
 frown had creased his brow, for she was on 
 the arm of Charles Leverett Saunders, and 
 was looking up into his face with a smile of 
 happy excitement which had suggested to 
 Tom that he was as far from her thoughts as 
 the Emperor of Japan. What was more and 
 worse, she carried three gorgeous bouquets, 
 but his was not among them. Where was it ? 
 Had it not been sent ? If so, he would ruin 
 that florist's trade for ever and ever. Or had 
 she left it at home on purpose? 
 
 He fought shy of her until the German and 
 there was no longer an excuse for him to 
 keep away. Almost at once she thanked him 
 for his lovely flowers. 
 
 " But you have not brought them." 
 " No," she said, sweetly. "I was unable to 
 I," and she had paused in her embarrassment. 
 
THE BACHELORS CHRISTMAS 25 
 
 " There were so many, of course." 
 " No, it was not that, Mr. Wiggin, I assure 
 you." But she had looked a little hurt at 
 his gruff words. " I had a very good reason 
 for not bringing them." 
 
 There had been a piteous look in the girl's 
 eyes as she spoke, which he had often re- 
 called since ; but then he had thought of 
 nothing but his anger and the slight which 
 had been put upon him. He felt like asking 
 why she had not left Charles Leverett Saun- 
 ders's flowers at home instead of his. It was 
 clear that she did not care for him, and it be- 
 came clearer and clearer in the course of the 
 evening ; for after a while they had sat al- 
 most tongue-tied beside each other. He had 
 tried his best not to be disagreeable, but in 
 spite of himself cynical sentences had slipped 
 from between his teeth in close succeS" 
 sion. He had seen that she was hurt and he 
 had rather gloried in it, and presently an em- 
 barrassed silence had followed, broken by the 
 arrival of his rival with a magnificent favor 
 proffered beamingly to the girl of Tom's 
 heart. She had sailed away, and looking 
 back over her shoulder, given Tom one glance 
 one of those icy glances which made him 
 
26 THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 yearn to cut his throat. That was bad enough, 
 but to crown all, when her turn came to be- 
 stow a boutonniere she made Tom carry her 
 straight up to Leverett Saunders, in the but- 
 ton-hole of whose coat she proceeded to fasten 
 the rosebud for which Tom would have given 
 twelve months of his life. 
 
 Five years ago on the first of January ! 
 He had gone home that night certain that 
 Isabelle Hardy did not love him, and re- 
 solved that she should play fast and loose 
 with him no longer. In the first hours of 
 the new year he vowed that he would forget 
 her, and devote himself to his business heart 
 and soul. Henceforth he would close eye 
 and brain to all distractions. He would 
 cease forever to be a plaything for a woman's 
 caprice. 
 
 He had kept his word. That is to say, his 
 attentions had ended from that hour. The 
 festivities which had known him knew him 
 no more. He went nowhere, and the reason 
 whispered under the rose was that Isabelle 
 Hardy had given him the mitten. The whis- 
 per reached him, but little he cared that ru- 
 mor was not strictly accurate. Was it not 
 practically so ? She had to all intents and 
 
THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 27 
 
 purposes thrown him over, and he had 
 expelled her image from his heart and gone 
 on with his business, looking neither to the 
 right nor to the left. Occasionally he passed 
 her in the street, and on every Christmas-eve 
 since the night of his resolution, he had left 
 a trifling remembrance at the house in Far- 
 ragut Place, just, as it were, to show that 
 there was no ill feeling. Otherwise they 
 never met, and here he was to-day, an old 
 bachelor close on forty, getting bald and 
 set in his ways, with a splendid business 
 and a secret ache at his heart. And she ? 
 Tom had never known why she had not 
 married Charles Leverett Saunders, as every- 
 body expected and said she was going to 
 do. Yet suddenly, without warning, that 
 dashing gallant had gone abroad and had 
 remained there ever since, doing the Nile, 
 and Norway, and hunting tigers in the 
 jungles of India, according as the humor 
 seized him. And she ? She was beginning 
 to show just a little the traces of time, to 
 suggest what she would look like if she never 
 married and remained after all an old maid. 
 He had been struck by it the last time he 
 had passed her in the street. An old maid ! 
 
28 THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 Isabelle Hardy an old maid ! There was bit- 
 ter humor in it for Tom, and he laughed 
 aloud in the reading-room, then, starting at 
 his own performance, looked around him 
 confusedly. He was alone, and his untasted 
 drink stood at his elbow. No one had heard 
 his harsh, strange outburst. He tossed off 
 the cocktail and sank back in his easy chair 
 to confront the vision. An old maid. And 
 he was an old bachelor. And it was Christ- 
 mas-eve. And what a gloomy, diabolical an- 
 niversary it was for old maids and old bach- 
 elors. They had no things-in-law to invite 
 them to dinner. They were out in the cold 
 and their room was better than their com- 
 pany. Jokes? Jollities? They were all 
 matrimonial and centred about baby's teeth 
 or Noah's arks. The only thing for an old 
 bachelor or old maid to do was to ransack 
 toy shops and then stand aside. Merry 
 Christmas? How in the name of Santa 
 Glaus was an old bachelor or an old maid to 
 have a merry Christmas ? And why in time 
 shouldn't they be merry if they could ? 
 
 Five minutes later, the servant had to an- 
 nounce twice that dinner was served before 
 Tom turned his head, which caused that 
 
THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 29 
 
 functionary to reflect that Mr. Wiggin was 
 getting a little deaf. He was looking straight 
 before him into the fire, as though he were 
 interested in the processes of combustion or 
 the price of coal. He turned at the second 
 summons with a start. 
 
 "What's that, Simon? Mr. Bell waiting 
 for me ? Oh, of course ; dinner is ready. 
 Tell him tell him," he added with a fever- 
 ish, excited manner as he sprang to his feet, 
 " that I'll be with him in a moment. I must 
 use the telephone first. I'll put it through," 
 he added to himself as he dashed from the 
 room, " if it takes a leg." 
 
 Whatever Tom was bent on almost cost 
 him a bone of some sort at the start, for just 
 beyond the door of the reading-room he 
 bumped full into George Hapgood, a stout, 
 dignified-looking man of about fifty. When 
 Tom realized who it was his eyes gleamed 
 joyously, and in lieu of an apology he blurted 
 out: 
 
 " You're just the man I'm looking for, Hap- 
 good. Will you do me the favor to dine with 
 me to-morrow ? Now don't say you can't, for 
 you must." 
 
 " To-morrow ? To-morrow's Christmas, 
 
30 THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 isn't it ? " was the inquiry, with just a shade 
 of melancholy in the tone. 
 
 " Yes. And we're out of it two old bach- 
 elors like you and me. I'm going to bring a 
 few choice spirits together to prove that the 
 things-in-law can't have all the fun. Say 
 you'll come. Here, at seven." 
 
 " I I was going to dine with my brother, 
 but I got a telegram from him this afternoon 
 saying that the children had broken out with 
 scarlet fever and 
 
 " I understand, old man. So did mine. I 
 mean we're all in the same boat. Then I 
 shall count on you at seven." 
 
 " Thank you kindly, Wiggin. I'll be glad 
 to come," answered Hapgood, with a grave, 
 courteous bow. Tom remembered having 
 heard it said that Hapgood had never really 
 smiled since his lady-love, Marian Blake, mar- 
 ried Willis Bolles, twenty -five years before. 
 He was a brilliant lawyer and an influential 
 man, but he had never been known to smile, 
 and he habitually fought shy of all entertain- 
 ments where the other sex was to be encoun- 
 tered, as though he feared contagion. 
 
 " I thought I wouldn't tell him that there 
 might be women. It '11 do him good to meet 
 
TEE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 31 
 
 a few," chuckled Tom, as he pursued his way 
 to the telephone box. 
 
 "Is that Albion Hall?" 
 
 "Yes, seh." 
 
 "Is Mr. MaxweU there?" 
 
 " No, seh, Mr. Maxwell has gone home." 
 
 "Who are you?" 
 
 " The janitor, seh." 
 
 "Is the hall engaged for to-morrow 
 night?" 
 
 "Can't say, seh. Haven't any orders. You 
 mean Christmas night, seh ? " 
 
 " Yes, to-morrow, Christmas." 
 
 "Likely not, seh." 
 
 " Where does Mr. Maxwell live ? " 
 
 " Plainville, seh." 
 
 " Humph ! Do you wish to make a ten- 
 dollar bill, janitor ? Yery well. Take a car- 
 riage and drive out to Plainville as tight as 
 you can fetch it, and find out if Mr. Thomas 
 Wiggin he knows me can have the hall to- 
 morrow night. Tell Mr. Maxwell that if he'll 
 meet me at my rooms at eight o'clock to- 
 morrow, Christmas morning, I'll add twenty- 
 five per cent, to the price. Do you under- 
 stand ? Now repeat what I've said to you. 
 That's right. Go along now and report to me 
 
32 THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 at the Blackstone Club as soon as you get 
 back, and for every five minutes which you 
 take from an hour and a half I'll add an extra 
 dollar to the ten." 
 
 Tom looked at his watch reflectively. It 
 was a quarter past seven. He must dine first, 
 if only not to break faith with Frazer Bell, 
 whom he had kept waiting abominably long 
 already. He stopped an instant, however, at 
 the office on his way to join Frazer, so as to 
 make sure that he could have the large green 
 dining-room for the following evening. 
 
 " To-morrow's Christmas, you know, Mr. 
 Wiggin ? " suggested the steward, respect- 
 fully. 
 
 " I know it, Dunklee. Is there any reason 
 why I shouldn't give a dinner party on Christ- 
 mas day ? " 
 
 " No, sir, of course not. I merely thought 
 that perhaps you were going to dine else- 
 where and had forgotten it was Christmas 
 day." 
 
 " I dine here, and I wish a dinner for, say 
 sixteen I can't tell the precise number yet 
 a ladies' dinner. And I wish it to be as hand- 
 some as possible. You mustn't fail me," he 
 added, noticing that the steward looked rathei 
 
THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 33 
 
 dismayed. " Start your messengers at once 
 and spare no expense, if you have to drag the 
 butchers from their beds to get what you 
 need. I'll see to the flowers myself ; I have 
 a greenhouse in my mind's eye which I intend 
 to buy solidly for the occasion." 
 
 "Very well, Mr. Wiggin, I'll do my best, 
 though it's late to begin, sir." 
 
 Frazer Bell was sitting before his raw oys- 
 ters the picture of polite despair, seeing in 
 his mind's eye the delicate dinner which he 
 had ordered being done to death and getting 
 lukewarm. 
 
 " My dear fellow, I owe you a thousand 
 pardons, but I had to telephone. If our din- 
 ner is spoiled, or whether it is or not, I want 
 you to promise to dine with me to-morrow 
 night. I have evolved a scheme while we 
 were waiting, which I will unfold to you pres- 
 ently. Go on with your oysters. I hope you 
 will forgive me." 
 
 " To-morrow, Christmas? " 
 
 " Yes. I propose to give an entertainment 
 to all the old bachelors and maiden ladies of 
 my acquaintance, if they'll come. A dinner 
 here followed by a dance at Albion Hall, and 
 Dunklee is arranging for the dinner. I'm 
 3 
 
34 THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 going to invite all the old timers, and I need 
 your advice as to the list. For a starter 111 
 put down the three Bellknap girls." 
 
 Tom whipped out his pencil and proceeded 
 to utilize the back of the bill of fare which 
 Frazer had had drawn up to gloat over. 
 
 " See first what you're going to eat, old 
 man." 
 
 " It's sure to be admirable if you ordered 
 it. It has always been a matter of wonder to 
 me that neither of those Bellknap girls have 
 married. Then there's Georgiana Dixon, in 
 the same block. Glad I remembered her. 
 Charming girl too. She ought to have been 
 married years ago. Come to think of it, you 
 used to be a friend of hers, Frazer." 
 
 " Yes, I did. What on earth are you up to, 
 Tom ? Are you in earnest ? " 
 
 " Never more so in my life. I tell you 
 there's a tacit conspiracy in this town I dare 
 say it's all over the planet against us poor 
 wretches who are old enough to be married 
 and haven't, and they the married ones I 
 mean like to keep us out in the cold, as a 
 sort of punishment, may be, because we've 
 chosen to remain single. I'm sick of it for 
 one, and I'm going to organize a revolution. 
 
THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 35 
 
 I'm going to have a grand family meeting of 
 all the poor lonely spirits like you and me and 
 the Bellknap girls and Georgiana Dixon and 
 George Hapgood, and and the things- in-law 
 may go to the devil. Now put your wits on 
 this thing, Frazer, while you disintegrate your 
 terrapin. Come, girls first." 
 
 " Do you suppose they'll ever come ? " asked 
 Frazer, with an amazed grin. He was essen- 
 tially a conventional man without a spark of 
 imagination, and he could scarcely believe 
 that Tom was really in earnest. 
 
 "They've got to come. Why shouldn't 
 they come ? " 
 
 "They'll think it queer." 
 
 " It isn't queer. It's righteous." 
 
 " All right. Put down Miss Mamie Scott. 
 She will never see thirty again." 
 
 " Capital. Poor soul ! A girl to make any 
 man happy." 
 
 " There's Susan Davis." 
 
 "To be sure. She isn't pretty, but she's 
 good. Joe Elliott used to be partial to her 
 before he ran a rig with that smug-faced doll 
 who jilted him. What a fool he was ! We'll 
 ask him too." 
 
 To tell the truth, even the gastronomic 
 
36 THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 Frazer Bell, in spite of the fact that the din- 
 ner was very far from spoiled, presently for- 
 got what he was eating and drinking in the 
 absorbing process of selection. By the time 
 the cheese and a rare glass of Burgundy ar- 
 rived the list was finished, and Tom was eager 
 to escape to the reading-room to prepare the 
 notes of invitation, which must be sent at 
 once. There were forty-six in all to be in- 
 vited, out of which he hoped to secure enough 
 for a full-fledged dinner party. Those who 
 could not come to dinner were to be urged to 
 join them at Albion Hall later. 
 
 The matter of wording the invitation was a 
 serious one, and Tom sat feeling of the bald 
 spot on his crown for several minutes. At 
 last, with a desperate air he plunged his pen 
 into the inkstand and wrote as follows to 
 Miss Madeline Bellknap : 
 
 " MY DEAR Miss BELLKNAP : I beg as a favor 
 that you and both your sisters will honor me 
 with your company at dinner to-morrow, De- 
 cember 25th, at the Blackstone Club, at seven 
 o'clock. I am bringing together, in celebra- 
 tion of a bachelor's Christmas, a number of 
 kindred spirits who have no things-in-law to 
 
THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 37 
 
 cater to their sympathetic needs, and yet who 
 have a no less equal right to a merry Christ- 
 mas. After dinner we shall adjourn to Al- 
 bion Hall to dance, to which I trust that you 
 or some of you, if unable to dine with me, 
 will come at ten o'clock. With the compli- 
 ments of the season and the sincere hope that 
 you will oblige me, I am, 
 
 " Very sincerely yours, 
 
 "THOMAS WIGGIN." 
 
 " How is that, Frazer ? " 
 
 " I guess it's all right," said Frazer, in a 
 tone which suggested that he was far from 
 sure whether it was not all wrong. 
 
 " Perfectly respectful and to the point, isn't 
 it?" 
 
 " Yes. Hold on, Tom. How about a chap- 
 eron ? They won't come without a chaperon." 
 
 Tom bit his lip. " I won't have a chaperon. 
 
 I'll be if I will have a chaperon." He 
 
 puckered his brow gloomily; then, with a 
 sudden wave of his hand, he cried, 
 
 " I have it." 
 
 Thereupon he dashed off this postscript : 
 
 " P.S. We are all old enough to take care 
 of ourselves." 
 
38 THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 For the next two hours Tom and Frazer 
 devoted themselves with feverish industry to 
 the task of writing the two-score invitations. 
 In such an emergency forgery seemed allow- 
 able, and, without attempting to imitate the 
 Wiggin chirography, Frazer boldly signed the 
 name of Thomas. As soon as every half- 
 dozen notes were finished they were hurried 
 to their destination by special messengers. 
 The clock struck half-past ten when the last 
 was done. Tom handed over to the boy in 
 attendance the final batch, all save a single 
 one. While he was writing this he could have 
 written half a dozen of the others, and now 
 that it was written and addressed he drew it 
 from the envelope to read once more the words 
 which he had penned so carefully. Their 
 tenor was essentially the same, but he had 
 stricken out a phrase or two here, and added 
 a phrase or two there, to make sure that she 
 would understand the nature of the invitation. 
 Then he arose with it in his hand and said, 
 " Good-night, Frazer. A thousand thanks. 
 I'll leave this one myself. Wish you merry 
 Christmas." 
 
THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 39 
 
 in 
 
 AT half past six on the evening of Christ- 
 mas day Tom Wiggin stood in the large green 
 dining-room of the Blackstone Club, survey- 
 ing a magnificently appointed table. Roses, 
 pansies, and violets from the greenhouse 
 which he had bought out at ten o'clock that 
 morning, lay tastefully banked and scattered 
 upon the cloth, intertwined with masses of 
 evergreen and holly gay with berries. Christ- 
 mas wreaths and festoons were lavishly ar- 
 ranged around the walls. Dunklee had as- 
 sured him that there should be no dearth of 
 palatable viands, and, most important fact of 
 all, there had been twenty acceptances for 
 dinner, happily just ten men and ten women, 
 and nearly a dozen more acceptances for the 
 dance. He had been in a mad whirl since 
 daybreak, but he believed now that he had 
 accomplished everything except to arrange 
 the seats at table, which needed a little quiet 
 reflection. 
 
 The answers had begun to arrive shortly 
 after breakfast. The first had been a refusal, 
 a little curt and stiff in tone, as though the 
 
40 THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 lady in question, notwithstanding the fact that 
 she had promised to dine with one of her 
 family, wished to give him to understand that 
 she took herself too seriously to accept such 
 an invitation under any circumstances. Tom's 
 heart sank within him, and he said to himself 
 that he had made a mess of it. Five minutes 
 later his features were as complacent as those 
 of a Cheshire cat. The Misses Bellknap were 
 coming, all three of them. They had ordered 
 dinner at home, but were coming notwith- 
 standing, to help Mr. Wiggin pass a merry 
 Christmas and confound the things-in-law. 
 
 " They are three noble sports," Tom had 
 said to himself, as he danced around his 
 apartment waving the mildly scented note. 
 
 Other answers came thick and fast. Of 
 course many had engagements, but most of 
 these expressed deep regret at their inability 
 to attend, and several who could not come to 
 dinner promised to put in an appearance at 
 the dance. There were a few other chilling 
 refusals. Miss Susan Davis, whom Tom had 
 characterized as not pretty but good, let him 
 perceive very plainly that she considered the 
 invitation indelicate. On the other hand, Miss 
 Mamie Scott, who would never see thirty 
 
THE BACHELOR' 8 CHRISTMAS 41 
 
 again, had written him spiritedly that it was 
 a comfort to know that she was old enough to 
 take care of herself, and that she was coming 
 without her mother for the first time in her 
 life. 
 
 And she ? Tom had not heard until nearly 
 noon, and he had realized, as he held the little 
 neatly sealed note in his hand, that if she were 
 going to fail him his pleasure in the whole 
 business would be utterly gone. His wrist 
 shook as though he had the palsy, and he 
 hated to look. She was coming ; yes, she 
 was coming. Her father and mother were 
 going to dine with her brother-in-law, and 
 though she had promised to do the same she 
 thought she would enjoy better the very origi- 
 nal dinner to which he had invited her. 
 "And, as you say," she wrote in conclusion, 
 " we are certainly old enough to take care of 
 ourselves." She was coining; yes, she was 
 coming, and whatever happened now, he was 
 going to have a merry Christmas. 
 
 And how was he to seat them? It was 
 rather a nice problem. To begin with, Tom 
 sandwiched in George Hapgood between the 
 eldest Miss Bellknap and Miss Mamie Scott, 
 which was as delightful a situation as any 
 
42 THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 man could wish to have. Frazer Bell must 
 go beside Georgiana Dixon, and Harry Aber- 
 crombie, who had been dangling for years in 
 the train of Angelina Phillips until everybody 
 was tired, should take her in and have the 
 second Miss Bellknap on his other side. Tom 
 was making pretty good progress, but what 
 really troubled him was whether it would do 
 for him to place Isabelle Hardy next to him- 
 self. Would not such a proceeding be quite 
 inconsistent with the vow which he had been 
 living up to for the past five years ? What 
 sense would there be in putting himself in 
 the way of temptation, when he knew per- 
 fectly well that she did not care a button for 
 him ? What use, indeed ? And yet, as he 
 said to himself, Christmas comes but once a 
 year, and this was his party, and and had 
 not she herself stated that they certainly were 
 old enough now to take care of themselves ? 
 Why shouldn't he sit next to her ? He was 
 no longer the sentimental, hot-headed boy of 
 five years ago. They would enjoy themselves 
 like any other sober bachelor and old maid. 
 It would only be for one evening, and begin- 
 ning with to-morrow he would stick to his 
 vow as sturdily as ever. Yes, he would take 
 
THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 43 
 
 in the eldest Miss Bellknap, who would be the 
 oldest woman present, and he would put Isa- 
 belle Hardy on his left. 
 
 When he had made this important decision 
 Tom found the arrangement of his other guests 
 a simple matter, and after one final scrutiniz- 
 ing, but tolerably contented, glance around 
 the table, he walked into the ladies' drawing- 
 room to await the arrival of his company. 
 
 Punctually on the stroke of seven, the three 
 Misses Bellknap swept into the room in a 
 merry flutter. They were tall bean-poles of 
 girls, who had naturally a prancing style, and 
 they were in their very best bib and tucker, 
 which included great puffed sleeves and nod- 
 ding plumes in their hair. In one breath 
 they told Tom that they considered it a grand 
 idea, that they had been practically nowhere 
 for years, and that it was a real pleasure to be 
 thought of and taken down from the shelf, if 
 only for a single evening. It was evident that 
 they had come determined to have at least a 
 good time, if not a riot, for when their eyes 
 rested on George Hapgood standing in the 
 door- way the picture of blank amazement, all 
 three giggled convulsively as though they 
 were eighteen. 
 
44 THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 "Come in, George, don't be afraid," said 
 Tom. " They won't bite." 
 
 " We really won't hurt you, Mr. Hapgood," 
 said Miss Madeline, the eldest ; " do come 
 in." 
 
 It was too late for the woman-hater to 
 draw back now, so, like the man he was, he 
 braced his muscles and faced the music. 
 He bowed with grave courtesy to the young- 
 est Miss Bellknap ; he bowed with a faint 
 smile just a ghostly glimmer, but, neverthe- 
 less, a smile to Miss Arabella, the second 
 Miss Bellknap ; and when he faced the eld- 
 est Miss Bellknap, who happening to be the 
 furthest away from him was the last to be 
 reached, his features broke down completely, 
 and he positively laughed laughed for the 
 first time in twenty years. 
 
 "Do shake hands, Mr. Hapgood," said 
 Miss Madeline ; " this is like old times." 
 
 And now everybody began to arrive in a 
 bunch in the midst of a general handshaking 
 and chorus of merriment. The arrival of 
 each old stager, masculine or feminine, was 
 greeted with fresh exclamations of delight, 
 and a spirit of contagious frivolity was ram- 
 pant from the very start. 
 
THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 45 
 
 Tom was already bubbling over with en- 
 joyment, but his eyes were glued on the 
 doorway. There she was at last, looking 
 yes, looking younger and prettier than he 
 had ever seen her in his life, and dressed be- 
 witchingly. An old maid ! It was impossi- 
 ble. It was monstrous. 
 
 " It was very good of you to come, Miss 
 Hardy." 
 
 " I am very much pleased to be here, Mr. 
 Wiggin." 
 
 Most conventional phraseology, and there 
 was really no reason why Tom should keep 
 repeating the words over to himself in a 
 dazed sort of fashion until he was called to 
 account by the opening of the doors. 
 
 "Dinner is served, sir." 
 
 Then readjusting his faculties, Tom gave 
 his arm to Miss Madeline Bellknap, every 
 Jack did the same to his appointed Jill, and 
 the company filed gayly into the dining- 
 room. 
 
 Beginning with the oysters, there was 
 almost a pandemonium of conversation, and 
 tongues wagged fast and eagerly. There 
 were to be no speeches Tom had deter- 
 mined on that or rather only a single one, 
 
46 THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 and this was an after-thought. When the 
 champagne was passed, and all the glasses 
 were filled, Tom rose in his seat. Everyone 
 stopped talking, and there was an expectant 
 hush. 
 
 " I wish to offer a toast," he said, " a toast 
 for the old bachelors to drink. "Wish you 
 merry Christmas and and here's to her ! " 
 
 There was a brief pause, and then George 
 Hapgood, and in his wake the whole table, 
 rose like one man and emptied their brim- 
 ming glasses. 
 
 " Here's to her ! " 
 
 Tom did not look to right nor to left, not 
 even out of the corner of his eye, as he 
 drained to the last drop the sparkling wine. 
 He would keep to his vow and drink to her 
 in secret. Some of the ladies giggled 
 slightly, and all looked at their plates. It 
 was just a little awkward, even for the most 
 unattached, until Miss Madeline Bellknap 
 rose, glass in hand, and said valiantly, with 
 a wave of her napkin : 
 
 " My dears, I give you a toast for you to 
 drink. Wish you merry Christmas. We are 
 old enough to take care of ourselves ; and 
 and here's to him I " 
 
THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 47 
 
 Then there was babel. The women stood 
 up to a woman, and the toast was consum- 
 mated. 
 
 Miss Hardy laughed gayly with the rest. 
 Presently she turned to Tom and said, as if 
 it had suddenly occurred to her, though they 
 had been sitting side by side talking com- 
 monplaces ever since dinner began : 
 
 " I have not really seen you for years, Mr. 
 "Wiggin." 
 
 " I have been busy very busy," said Tom, 
 in a tone which, though he did not intend it 
 to be so, was almost brusque. 
 
 " So I have heard. I understand you have 
 been very successful in your business." 
 
 "I have stuck to it, that's all." 
 
 " I really don't think we have met so as to 
 talk together since Mrs. Carter's ball, and 
 that was let me see five years ago this 
 coming New Year's eve. I remember we 
 danced the German together, and you sent 
 me some flowers which I didn't carry. Per- 
 haps you have forgotten all about it, for five 
 years is a long time and you have been so 
 busy; but I should like to explain to you 
 about those flowers why I didn't carry them. 
 "We are both old enough now to take care of 
 
48 THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 ourselves, so there can't be any objection to 
 iny telling you, and and you won't be of- 
 fended at this late day, I'm sure. I had sev- 
 eral bouquets that night, and Fannie Perkins, 
 who was staying with me, had none. Fan- 
 nie was shy and sensitive, and it occurred to 
 me to offer one of mine to her. She wouldn't 
 think of it at first, but mother urged her so 
 strongly that she gave in at last. 'Which 
 shall I take, Isabelle ? ' she asked. I thought 
 a moment and then said, ' Take your pick, 
 Fannie.' And she chose yours. And that is 
 why I didn't carry it to the party. But I 
 think you have forgotten all about it, Mr. 
 Wiggin." 
 
 Tom looked as though he had. His chin 
 rested on his collar, and he seemed to be 
 staring at the table-cloth. 
 
 " I remember it as if it were yesterday,** 
 he said, sadly. " I was a fool." 
 
 Miss Hardy colored. " We were both 
 young," she answered, " but now that we are 
 older and wiser, I don't mind admitting on 
 my side that it was stupid of me, to begin 
 with, to give one of my bouquets to any- 
 body, and stupid when I saw that you were 
 put out not to tell you the truth. But wis< 
 
THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 49 
 
 dom is the reward of years, isn't it ? " She 
 talked easily, almost gayly. Tom suddenly 
 realized that he had made a piece of bread 
 which he had been clutching into a sodden 
 ball. 
 
 "I'd like to ask you a single question." 
 He was trying to talk easily too. " Why did 
 you let Miss Perkins have her pick? Did 
 jou value them all equally ? " 
 
 " It was because I did not value them all 
 equally that I told her to choose. I did not 
 wish her to think that I cared for one more 
 than the others." 
 
 " And whose was that ? " 
 
 " Five years is a long time, Mr. Wiggin. 
 You said a single question, and this is two. 
 Alas ! It is the only point in the story which 
 I have quite forgotten." 
 
 " Then why did you tell me ? " 
 
 " Because I hoped that we might be friends 
 again. When people get to be as old as you 
 and I we value our old friends. There are 
 none exactly like them." 
 
 "And that is all?" 
 
 "What more is there, Mr. Wiggin? Ex- 
 cept to thank you for your lovely book, and 
 to wish you a merry Christmas." 
 4 
 
60 THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 11 The carriages are waiting," said a ser* 
 vant in Tom's ear. 
 
 The dinner was over and it was time to 
 set out for Albion Hall. The ladies filed 
 into the drawing-room, in order, as Miss 
 Madeline phrased it, to give the old bache- 
 lors a chance for a short cigar. When that 
 was over Tom bundled his company into 
 carriages, and away they all went in the gay- 
 est of spirits. 
 
 Whatever belonging to the greenhouse had 
 not been spread over the dinner-table adorn- 
 ed the walls of the dancing-room, and pres- 
 ently as joyous and hilarious a company 
 as anyone would wish to see was tripping to 
 the rhythm of the waltz over a perfect floor. 
 There was just the right number for delight- 
 ful dancing, no young inexperienced couples 
 to bump into everybody, no things-in-law to 
 stand in the way and look stupid ; no one but 
 genuine old stagers taken down from the 
 shelf for one last glorious frolic. You should 
 have seen George Hapgood spinning round 
 with Miss Madeline! How Frazer Bell 
 grinned as he whirled Miss Mamie Scott from 
 one comer of the hall to the other ! And 
 Tom ? Where was Tom ? 
 
THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 51 
 
 As some of you who have danced at Albion 
 Hall may remember, there is a very small 
 bower-like ante-room, or off-shoot, or what- 
 ever you choose to call it, a sort of adjunct to 
 the supper-room, fit for just one couple to 
 withdraw to. On this Christmas evening it 
 was a veritable hiding-place, for the entrance 
 to it was screened by two noble evergreens 
 which stood as sentinels to demand a pass- 
 word. If the gay company suspected that 
 Tom Wiggin was there, no one was rash 
 enough to peep within and ascertain. Tom 
 Wiggin ivas there, and quite contrary to the 
 spirit of the occasion, he was down on his 
 knees unbosoming the love which he had 
 been smothering for five years to the girl of 
 his heart. Only think of it ! And he, a 
 bald-headed old bachelor, and she an old 
 maid old enough to take care of herself. 
 There she sat with her hands before her and 
 a smile on her face, letting him go on. And 
 then, strangest part of all, when he had fin- 
 ished and fcold how miserable he had been 
 while he was so very busy and absorbed in 
 his business, she suddenly remembered 
 whose bouquet it was she had valued most 
 five years before, although she had declared 
 
52 THE BACHELOR'S CHRISTMAS 
 
 an hour earlier that she had totally forgotten. 
 And then but the rest is a secret, known 
 only to the sentinel evergreens and them- 
 selves. That is, the rest save one thing. It 
 was after they had agreed to live as bachelor 
 and maid no longer, and Tom was sitting 
 looking at Isabelle as if he had had no din- 
 ner, he remarked, with a sudden outburst, as 
 though he were angry with destiny and a 
 much outraged being : 
 
 "Why on earth did I not find out five 
 years ago that you loved me? " 
 
 " Because," said the pretty spinster in 
 question, " you never asked me, Tom, dear." 
 
 Tom Wiggin looked a trifle sheepish in 
 spite of his joy. "I never thought of that," 
 he said. "I am afraid I never did." 
 
THE MATRIMONIAL TONTINE 
 BENEFIT ASSOCIATION 
 
THE MATRIMONIAL TONTINE 
 BENEFIT ASSOCIATION 
 
 THE Matrimonial Tontine Mutual Bene- 
 fit Association of New York was re- 
 duced to two members. These were Benja- 
 min Davis, note broker, and Horace Wilson, 
 landscape gardener. The rest were married 
 or buried. That is to say, one member, poor 
 Thomas Cook, was under the sod, and the 
 other twelve were Benedicks in good stand- 
 ing. There had not been even a divorce, 
 though divorce was not a contingency pro- 
 vided for in the constitution. 
 
 The Association was twelve years old, and 
 owed its existence to a random remark made 
 by Harry Stephenson at a dinner at the 
 club. 
 
 " I wonder," said he, " which of us fellows 
 will marry first." 
 
 " Or last," said Ben Davis. 
 
 " Or not at all," said Horace Wilson. 
 
56 THE MATRIMONIAL TONTINE 
 
 There was some lively banter on the sub- 
 ject, chiefly to the effect that marriage as an 
 institution was decaying, and that no one but 
 a Crcesus could afford to take a wife, and 
 presently George Edmunds, who had been 
 smoking reflectively, drew general attention 
 to himself by rapping on the table. 
 
 " I have a scheme to propose," he said. 
 
 George Edmunds was known to have a 
 nimble fancy and to be a practical individual 
 into the bargain. He was a writer of fic- 
 tion, but he had invented in his spare 
 moments a patent corkscrew and a patent 
 potato-peeler which brought him in a round 
 sum annually. Consequently any scheme of 
 his suggestion was sure to be listened to re- 
 spectfully. 
 
 " There are fifteen of us here to-night," he 
 continued, " and there can't be a difference of 
 two years between the eldest and the young- 
 est. Why shouldn't we form a Bachelors' 
 Protective Union ? " 
 
 He paused and looked round the room in- 
 quiringly. Several smiled as though the 
 idea pleased them; but evidently no one 
 knew exactly what George meant ; and by 
 way of inviting elucidation, Ben Davis, who 
 
BENEFIT ASSOCIATION 57 
 
 probably had the potato-peeler in mind, 
 asked : 
 
 " Where's the chance for making an honest 
 dollar this time ? " 
 
 " I'll show you," replied George. " Fif- 
 teen members at an annual assessment of 
 twenty-five dollars apiece will insure a din- 
 ner on the first of every January for the 
 party, and leave a neat little annual sum to be 
 invested by the treasurer. The last man who 
 holds out against the enemy takes the pool. 
 If the fund is skilfully handled, and we hold 
 out as rigorously as we talk, he ought to 
 carry off a tidy sum." 
 
 There was a murmur of approval and 
 amusement. 
 
 " It's a pious plan," exclaimed Stephenson. 
 " Let's put it through." 
 
 " We will," said several others. 
 
 " But suppose there never should be a last 
 man? There might be several, you know, 
 who would hold out to the end," said Ben 
 Davis. " There should be a time limit when 
 the survivors divide." 
 
 This seemed sensible, and it was subse- 
 quently agreed that at the end of twenty years 
 the pool should be apportioned in case there 
 
58 THE MATRIMONIAL TONTINE 
 
 should be more than a single bachelor re- 
 maining. 
 
 Before midnight on that very evening the 
 articles of association were drawn up by the 
 flowing pen of George Edmunds, and read to 
 the assembled company. There was a pre- 
 amble with a formidable Whereas. " Where- 
 as we, the undersigned bachelors, have this 
 day entered into a solemn compact for the 
 mutual protection of our liberties against the 
 institution of marriage, etc., etc." Then fol- 
 lowed a solemn bond wherein The Matrimo- 
 nial Tontine Mutual Benefit Association of 
 New York bound itself, in consideration of 
 certain covenants and agreements of each 
 subscriber, to furnish a dinner of reasonable 
 richness as to food, and abundance as to drink, 
 on the first day of each and every year, and 
 to pay over to the individual or individuals 
 who should be most faithful to the purposes 
 of the Association the total net capital ac- 
 cumulated from the time of the first payment 
 down to the date of the final settlement. 
 
 Everybody signed that night, and there 
 was much flamboyant protestation on the sub- 
 ject of matrimony. To judge merely from 
 the expressed views of the subscribers, it 
 
BENEFIT ASSOCIATION 59 
 
 seemed probable that the pool would be di- 
 vided among the fifteen members at the end 
 of the twenty years. The average age of the 
 subscribers was twenty-five. No one was 
 over twenty-six or under twenty-four. Con- 
 sequently the limit of twenty years appeared 
 to be a reasonable one. Surely a bachelor 
 of forty -five ought to be able to take care of 
 himself, and do without the protection of a 
 Bachelors' Union. 
 
 The subscribers, having duly affixed their 
 signatures to the articles of association, 
 elected, as seemed fitting, George Edmunds 
 president, secretary, and treasurer. It would 
 be his duty to call the members together on 
 the occasion of the annual dinner, to note 
 and report failures to pay the annual dues or 
 fallings from grace into matrimony, to exer- 
 cise general supervision over the affairs of 
 the Association, and particular supervision 
 over the net fund. He was given, by the oral 
 instructions of the members, plenary and yet 
 peculiar and sleep-haunting powers as to the 
 management of this fund. No gilt-edged 
 conventional investment returning regular, 
 modest interest would satisfy the winner of 
 the pool. The treasurer would be expected 
 
60 THE MATRIMONIAL TONTINE 
 
 to hit upon something extraordinary in its 
 dividend-yielding character. If not another 
 potato-peeler, something equally bonanza- 
 like and gratifying. And yet no risks must 
 be run which would hazard the integrity of 
 the principal. Something safe yet uncon- 
 ventional, perfectly secure but splendidly 
 lucrative, would be expected from him. 
 George would understand what they meant 
 and act accordingly, and doubtless the event- 
 ual winner of the pool would have every rea- 
 son to approve of their selection of a treasurer. 
 Whether it be that much of the talk this 
 evening was on the surface and merely for 
 effect or bravado, or whether it be that the 
 masculine heart may contain matrimonial 
 germs without being conscious of them, no 
 less than four of the fifteen subscribers ceased 
 to be members of the Association after pay- 
 ing but two annual assessments that is to 
 say, they became engaged in the course of 
 the second year. A summer girl at Narra- 
 gansett Pier caused the first break, which 
 was the occasion of an extra dinner and much 
 oratory as to the necessity of caution and 
 steadfastness. Within the three ensuing 
 months, thereby suggesting that the deserters 
 
BENEFIT ASSOCIATION 61 
 
 probably had matrimony in their minds at 
 the time these speeches of exhortation were 
 being made, a second, third, and fourth fell 
 victims to a widow with two children, a 
 flaxen-haired doll, and a strong-minded bru- 
 nette, respectively. So the women in ques- 
 tion were stigmatized by the remaining mem- 
 bers, who closed up their serried ranks and 
 looked askance at one another. Who would 
 be the next to fall? Who, indeed! But 
 there was always the consolation that the in- 
 dividual chances of the survivors to win the 
 pool had been materially enhanced. As for 
 the pool itself, the treasurer had already 
 doubled it by a happy purchase of some 
 shares in a gold mine. 
 
 During the next two years there was no 
 lapse from grace, and simply the death of 
 Tom Cook to chronicle. Then, without 
 warning, Harry Stephenson came a fearful 
 cropper, as they say in the hunting-field. 
 He fell over head and ears in love with a 
 very plain girl in Harlem, without a penny 
 to her name, and married her. This made a 
 frightful gap, for Harry had been one of the 
 most inspiring and virulent bachelors of the 
 Association. What was more, his defection 
 
62 THE MATRIMONIAL TONTINE 
 
 seemed to knock the moral fortitude out of 
 William Hardy, so that when the fifth annu- 
 al dinner came round, only eight members 
 clinked their glasses and drank a standing 
 toast to the joys and blessings of single life. 
 On the following day, one of the eight an- 
 nounced his engagement to a chit of eigh- 
 teen. This bit of perfidy elicited from the 
 survivors a special vote of censure which 
 accompanied the box of flowers sent by them 
 to the victimizer of their late associate. The 
 only cheering bit of intelligence was, that 
 the treasurer had again done his duty. He 
 had sold the shares of the gold mine at a 
 magnificent figure, and put them into the 
 stock of the Oleo Refrigerator Company, 
 which had immediately declared a cash divi- 
 dend of fifty per cent. 
 
 After this there was another lull of two 
 years and a half. Then, at intervals of about 
 six months apart, three more fell from grace, 
 leaving only George Edmunds, Benjamin 
 Davis, Horace Wilson, and Eoger Partridge 
 to dine together on the occasion of the tenth 
 annual dinner. Partridge, who was bald- 
 headed and looked like a confirmed old bach- 
 elor of the first water, was nevertheless so 
 
BENEFIT ASSOCIATION 63 
 
 melancholy and absent-minded that the 
 president, secretary, and treasurer called him 
 to order and directed the eyes of the Associ- 
 tion upon him so sharply that the poor fel- 
 low blushed to where roots of his hair had 
 been. 
 
 " You had better confess and make a clean 
 breast of it," said Ben Davis. 
 
 " I've nothing to confess," answered Part- 
 ridge, stoutly. But he looked exceedingly 
 doleful, and of a sudden he collapsed and 
 blurted out, " I offered myself to a woman 
 yesterday and she threw me over. If that's 
 a reason for resigning, I'll resign. I wish 
 somebody would blow my brains out." 
 Thereupon he buried his head in his hands. 
 
 There was a short silence, and the other 
 three exchanged sardonic glances. 
 
 "Does the constitution cover the case?" 
 asked Ben Davis. 
 
 " No. The repentant sinner is received 
 back with open arms," said Edmunds. 
 "Cheer up, Koger. You've run a frightful 
 risk, but you still have a grip on the pool, 
 dear boy. Only don't ask her again." 
 
 "She wouldn't have me if I did," groaned 
 the culprit. 
 
64 THE MATRIMONIAL TONTINE 
 
 " Oh, yes, she would." 
 
 " What makes you think so ? " eagerly 
 asked the bald-headed bachelor. 
 
 " Because in nine cases out of ten they 
 do." 
 
 " Then you think I'd have a chance ? " 
 
 " What's her age, old fellow, if she'll ex- 
 cuse the question ? " 
 
 " Twenty-nine next August." 
 
 " It's nearly a dead certainty," exclaimed 
 Edmunds and Davis, in the same breath. 
 
 " My opinion is that if you don't ask her, 
 she'll ask you," said Horace Wilson. 
 
 This was a little brutal. Horace, who 
 really had a tender heart, felt it to be so. 
 He put his hand gently on Roger's shoulder. 
 
 "I say," he exclaimed a moment later, 
 " this thing has gone far enough. Fate is 
 against the Association. I vote that we dis- 
 band." 
 
 " Disband ! " cried Davis. " That is a 
 monstrous idea. What do you mean ? " 
 
 On the other hand, Edmunds made no such 
 demonstration of protest. Indeed, a careful 
 observer would have noticed that a flicker of 
 satisfaction passed across his countenance. 
 But all he said was he said it, though, a 
 
BENEFIT ASSOCIATION 65 
 
 little nervously " "We four should get about 
 fifteen hundred apiece. The fund figures a 
 trifle more than six thousand on my books 
 to-day." 
 
 " Money or no money," said Horace, 
 " we've carried it far enough. We have vin- 
 dicated our principles ; we are each of us 
 thirty-five, and now it seems to me that any- 
 one of us ought to be allowed to marry with- 
 out loss of self-respect." 
 
 " There is certainly something in what you 
 say," said Edmunds, with an appearance of 
 dispassionate candor. 
 
 Davis gazed from one to the other in min- 
 gled astonishment and indignation. " I nev- 
 er heard such a thing," he exclaimed. " Dis- 
 band just when we're reaching the crucial 
 point ! It's the brassiest proposition I ever 
 listened to. Even Roger, here, who would 
 get his fifteen hundred by it, looks as though 
 he thought it the most extraordinary idea 
 that was ever broached. I see through it, 
 though," he continued, defiantly. " It's a 
 conspiracy. You two are either engaged or 
 in love, and have put your heads together to 
 play me for an imbecile. But it won't work, 
 The Association can't disband without a 
 
66 THE MATRIMONIAL TONTINE 
 
 unanimous vote, and mine is not to be had 
 for love or money. Come now, George Ed- 
 munds and Horace Wilson, admit that you're 
 in love and that this is a game. You can't 
 look me straight in the eyes, George. By 
 Jove, you're the most conscious-looking con- 
 spirator who was ever brought to bay." 
 
 Undeniably, Edmunds, from the moment 
 this accusation was uttered, had worn a flur- 
 ried air, and now, when Davis seized him by 
 the arms and tried to look into his eyes, he 
 winced and avoided the searching, scornful 
 scrutiny, and turned pink and white. Even 
 his would-be nonchalant words of protest did 
 not clinch the matter, as his accuser was quick 
 to discover. 
 
 "Engaged? Nonsense. I never asked a 
 woman to marry me in my life." 
 
 " But you're in love. Deny it if you can." 
 
 " I deny your right " began George. " Er 
 besides it's not true." 
 
 " I knew it," cried Ben, triumphantly, and, 
 letting Edmunds loose, he bent his gaze on 
 Horace Wilson. " And here's another in the 
 same fix." 
 
 This time there was no wincing or shrink- 
 ing. The scornful, piercing eyes encountered 
 
BENEFIT ASSOCIATION 67 
 
 a cool, steady return, and there was the res 
 onance of convincing truth in the sturdy re- 
 
 ply: 
 
 "Ben Davis, unless we disband to-night, 
 you, barring my death, will never touch one 
 dollar of that six thousand until the end of 
 the twenty years, and then you will have to 
 divide it with me. Conspiracy ? There isn't 
 a woman in this world whom I would cross 
 the street to speak to a second time. And 
 more's the pity, too. What I said about dis- 
 banding came from my heart. Heaven knows 
 I'd like to fall in love, but I can't. I've tried, 
 but it's no use. If there ever was a firm-set 
 old bachelor, I'm the man ; and since you de- 
 cline to disband, I warn you to look out, for 
 I intend to take the pool." 
 
 Thereupon Horace folded his arms and 
 smiled with the assurance of a man who has 
 been many times under fire and still is heart- 
 whole. 
 
 You will remember that this occurred at 
 the tenth annual dinner. Before the eleventh 
 Roger Partridge offered himself again and 
 was accepted. The remaining three dined 
 together on the first of January, and clinked 
 their glasses once more to perpetual bachelor- 
 15 
 
68 THE MATRIMONIAL TONTINE 
 
 hood. Although George Edmunds made no 
 formal announcement, his undisguised atten- 
 tions to Miss Virginia Tebbetts, and her ap- 
 parent preference for him, left little room to 
 doubt that his membership in the Association 
 hung by the gills, so to speak, and that the 
 contest was to be limited to the other two. 
 Indeed, Ben Davis felt that the president, 
 secretary, and treasurer was so completely 
 out of the race that he saw fit, in the spirit 
 of prudence which was an attribute of his, to 
 throw out a hint or two as to the advisability 
 of conservatism in regard to the investment 
 of the pool. The treasurer had again made 
 a notable financial stroke by selling out the 
 stock of the " Oleo Eefrigerator Company " 
 at the top of the market, and buying the 
 shares of the " Plimsoll Aeronautic Concern " 
 at a bed-rock price. 
 
 " Don't you think it might be well to salt 
 down what we have into a first-rate real-estate 
 mortgage ? " inquired Ben. 
 
 George Edmunds flushed. He was not 
 prone to take offence, but he prided himself 
 on his acumen as an investor, and this remark 
 seemed to him to savor of rank ingratitude 
 and to be entirely uncalled for. 
 
BENEFIT ASSOCIATION 69 
 
 "Haven't I done sufficiently well foi 
 you ? " lie replied. 
 
 "You have done wonders made three 
 ten-strokes ; but but I think you will admit 
 that there was a certain element of risk in 
 each one of the er investments." 
 
 " They succeeded," said George, coldly. 
 
 " Besides, the treasurer was directed to be 
 brilliant," interjected Horace. " There is no 
 scope for brilliancy in a first-rate real-estate 
 mortgage." 
 
 " That was at first, when we had a mere 
 pittance in the treasury. We have ten thou- 
 sand dollars now. Ten thousand dollars 
 does not grow on every bush, but it may be 
 lost in a twinkling. What if the flying-ma- 
 chine does not work? Where will our money 
 be?" 
 
 Undoubtedly George Edmunds laid up this 
 criticism against Ben so far as a kind-hearted 
 and malice-hating fellow could lay up any- 
 thing against anybody. This, too, in spite 
 of the fact that the stock of the "Plimsoll 
 Aeronautic Concern " rose rapidly during the 
 next four months, demonstrating clearly 
 thereby the superior sagacity of the treas- 
 urer of the Matrimonial Tontine Mutual 
 
TO THE MATRIMONIAL TONTINE 
 
 Benefit Association. At a special meeting 
 of the members, held on the first day of May, 
 this self-same treasurer announced, with the 
 apologetic reprehension of self which the fall 
 of the chief and sole official of the Associa- 
 tion seemed to demand, his engagement to 
 Miss Virginia Tebbetts. 
 
 " I have called a special meeting," he con- 
 tinued, " for the reason that, as I have ceased 
 to be a member, a new custodian of the as- 
 sets of the Association should be elected 
 forthwith. The only present asset is this 
 certificate for one thousand shares of the 
 stock of the 'Plimsoll Aeronautic Concern/ 
 which I take pleasure in informing you could 
 be sold to-day for twelve thousand five hun- 
 dred dollars." 
 
 Thereupon, with a glance of legitimate tri- 
 umph at Ben Davis, he laid the valuable 
 piece of parchment on the table, together 
 with the records of the Association, and 
 presently left the two survivors to their own 
 devices. 
 
 On the following morning, before a single 
 quotation was uttered in Wall Street, Ben 
 Davis entered a broker's office with the piece 
 of parchment in question, duly endorsed by 
 
BENEFIT ASSOCIATION 71 
 
 him as president, secretary, and treasurer of 
 the Association. 
 
 " Sell this at the market," he said, care* 
 lessly. But though he looked cool as a cu- 
 cumber, there was fever in his soul, and he 
 hung about the office until the operation was 
 completed. The stock was sold for $12,500, 
 and the following week it fell $5 a share in 
 as many minutes, and within a fortnight the 
 certificates were worth merely what old pa- 
 per is worth. But long before that dismal 
 day the funds of the Matrimonial Tontine 
 Mutual Benefit Association were safely in- 
 vested in a gilt-edged mortgage on improved 
 real estate. 
 
 And so, as was stated in the first place, 
 the Association was reduced to two members, 
 a condition of affairs which had existed now 
 for three calendar years. The fourteenth an- 
 nual dinner had recently been eaten, and Ben 
 Davis and Horace Wilson had clinked glasses 
 to the joys of single life with the same gusto, 
 so far as either could discern by close scru- 
 tiny of the other, displayed by them on the 
 very first occasion. Beyond the fact that 
 George Edmunds had been married and was 
 the father of a boy baby, and the funds of 
 
72 THE MATRIMONIAL TONTINE 
 
 the Association were yielding a safe but 
 modest four and one-half per cent., matters 
 seemed just the same. But they were not. 
 
 One winter's evening, about six weeks sub- 
 sequent to the fourteenth annual dinner, Ben 
 Davis sat before the fire in his comfortable 
 bachelor rooms, with a pensive expression of 
 countenance. Time had dealt kindly with 
 Ben. He had some hair left, a moderately 
 youthful face and figure, and a prosperous 
 business. People and corporations who 
 were pressed for money came to him to re- 
 lieve their necessities, and he was very apt 
 to be able to relieve them. When he did so, 
 he retained a small slice ; such is the way of 
 the world ; and it does not take a very great 
 many slices to make a respectable family 
 loaf. But Ben had no family. He kept a 
 cob, and he went to Europe for six weeks in 
 summer, provided the money market was not 
 too tight. In the event of financial strin- 
 gency he ran down to Bar Harbor for a fort- 
 night or so. Money had been at a premium 
 the previous summer, and he had been able 
 to get away only for ten days, and to get 
 only as far as Narragansett Pier. But those 
 ten days had been detrimental to his peace 
 
BENEFIT ASSOCIATION 73 
 
 of mind ever since. He had seen her in the 
 water the first time, and he could not forget 
 her. 
 
 She did not live in New York ; but such 
 are the opportunities of a note broker that 
 one can run over to Philadelphia on business 
 without seeming to go out of one's way to 
 call on a girl. Ben had made the trip five 
 times since the first of October, and it was 
 not yet March, and he had fairly come to the 
 conclusion that single life was a failure. 
 What he was saying to himself this evening 
 was that on Easter he would send her a lily, 
 and go over the following week and ask her 
 to become his. In the event that she ac- 
 cepted him, Horace Wilson, of course, would 
 get the money. This was not exactly a pleas- 
 ant thought for Ben ; but so far as he could 
 see, there would be no escape from it. Some- 
 how he had come to regard the pool as his, 
 and the idea of losing it entirely was galling. 
 Not that he needed the money ; for he was 
 doing remarkably well. Indeed, the sum 
 would make a much greater difference to 
 Horace Wilson than to him, for Horace, 
 though [described in common parlance as a 
 rising landscape gardener, had only half his 
 
74 THE MATRIMONIAL TONTINE 
 
 income. It would certainly be unpleasant, 
 though, to be obliged to take the little trunk 
 out from the safe and hand it over to Horace. 
 The gilt-edged mortgage on improved real 
 estate seemed to him to belong just where it 
 was, and the prospect of parting with it was 
 very distasteful to him. Was there no means 
 by which he could win her and the pool both ? 
 
 None presented itself that evening, but on 
 the following morning, which was Sunday, he 
 stumbled upon something just a little prom- 
 ising. Up to this time during the last five 
 years he had never seen Horace Wilson in 
 the society of any woman. Though the city 
 was large, to be sure, and they did not meet 
 altogether the same people, Ben flattered 
 himself that he kept a pretty close eye on 
 Horace. And yet the painful consciousness 
 was his that never had he run across his rival 
 in what might be called a compromising situ- 
 ation. Had he detected him even at a thea- 
 tre-party, he would have felt encouraged, but 
 though he had often beheld Horace comforta- 
 bly ensconced in an orchestra stall, there had 
 never been a female companion beside him. 
 
 On this Sunday morning, however, as Ben 
 was taking an airing, chance led him along 
 
BENEFIT ASSOCIATION 75 
 
 the particular cross street in which George 
 Edmunds had established his household 
 gods. The churches were just out, and 
 though it was a cross street, there was a 
 sprinkling of people on either sidewalk. Ben 
 was thinking of her, and consequently did 
 not pay his customary heed to the passers. 
 There was only one woman in the world for 
 him, and as for the men, they interested him 
 not at all, provided the single ones stayed 
 away from Philadelphia. There was just 
 one man he would except from the general 
 scope of his indifference, and he was Horace 
 Wilson. Why the dickens didn't that fellow 
 get married ? It was high time. Happening 
 to look across the street as this thought for- 
 mulated itself in his mind, his heart gave a 
 jump. In the vestibule of George Edmunds's 
 house stood four people, who were on the point 
 of entering. Indeed, before he had fully com- 
 prehended the situation, they had gone in and 
 shut the door. But in three of them Ben had 
 recognized George and his wife and Horace 
 Wilson. As to the fourth, who had been 
 slightly in advance of the others, and conse- 
 quently partially concealed, he had detected 
 by the feathers on her bonnet that she was a 
 
76 THE MATRIMONIAL TONTINE 
 
 woman, and a passably young woman at that. 
 Ben, being a note broker, was quick at com- 
 putation. He instantly put two and two to- 
 gether and said to himself that Horace had 
 been escorting the unknown in question home 
 from church. A ray of hope lit up his late 
 gloomy reflections regarding the gilt-edged 
 mortgage. If Horace were to become en- 
 gaged before he did, the pool would be his. 
 After glancing up at the house opposite in 
 the hope of detecting the mysterious stranger 
 at the window, he went on his way with a 
 more elastic step. If he won the pool, could 
 he not afford to give the one woman in the 
 world the superb diamonds which he had ex- 
 amined at a jeweller's the week before ? He 
 would be cautious and delay a little, and 
 a,wait developments. 
 
 On the very next evening Ben happened to 
 run across George Edmunds at the club, and 
 immediately asked him the question upper- 
 most in his mind : " Who was the lady 
 walking home with you from church yester- 
 day?" 
 
 The inquiry was made in the most inno- 
 cent, off-hand manner, but obviously George 
 was prepared for it. Be it for the reason 
 
BENEFIT ASSOCIATION 77 
 
 that he had never forgiven Ben for charging 
 him with being in love before he knew it 
 himself, or for impugning his financial judg- 
 ment, George had taken sides. He was par- 
 ticularly desirous that Horace Wilson should 
 win the pool, and consequently was on his 
 guard. 
 
 He answered, diplomatically, "My wife's 
 mother is staying with us for a few days." 
 
 "I congratulate you, George. It wasn't 
 your wife's mother with you yesterday, how- 
 ever. The lady Horace Wilson escorted to 
 your house was no one's mother. Is he at- 
 tentive to her ? " 
 
 "Spying, eh?" said George. "No, he 
 isn't." 
 
 " Wliat's her name ? " 
 
 George hesitated. He was on the point of 
 telling and then, for no particular reason, 
 thought better of it. 
 
 " It will never be Wilson," he replied. 
 
 George Edmunds returned to the bosom 
 of his family that night in an anxious frame 
 of mind. He and his wife, the late Virginia 
 Tebbetts, were already at war in regard to 
 the relations between Horace Wilson and 
 their guest, Miss Florence Delaney, and his 
 
78 THE MATRIMONIAL TONTINK 
 
 interview with Ben Davis had made him 
 still more solicitous that his better half 
 should do nothing further to promote the 
 affair. 
 
 " It will be the same as robbing Horace of 
 a good thirteen thousand dollars," said he to 
 his spouse. " You should have seen the tri- 
 umphant, avaricious gleam in Ben's eyes 
 when he told me that he had detected him. 
 Just leave the man alone, Virginia. Pro- 
 vided you let him go his own gait, I feel sure 
 that his natural antipathy to your sex will 
 lead him out of temptation. But if you keep 
 egging him on, the next thing we shall hear 
 is that he is engaged." 
 
 " I devoutly hope so, dear. I have made 
 the discovery that Horace Wilson is one of 
 those men whose matrimonial sweetness has 
 been wasted on the desert air of a club long 
 enough. He is peculiarly adapted to be a 
 husband and father, but the girls in the 
 world who would suit him are abnormally 
 scarce. Dear Florence happens to be one of 
 them. He may never meet another ; and so 
 the sooner they are engaged the better." 
 
 "Then let him find it out for himself 
 Don't prod him into it." 
 
BENEFIT ASSOCIATION 79 
 
 " No, dear ; a bachelor of his age needs to 
 be prodded now and then in order to realize 
 what is best for him. So great is the sexual 
 shyness which a wicked association such as 
 yours engenders, that a woman has to give 
 very clear signs that she is pleased, or the 
 man will run back into his lair again and 
 fancy himself jilted. Don't you remember 
 how I had virtually to offer myself to you 
 before you came to the point ? " 
 
 " But no third person dragged me up to 
 the halter." 
 
 "No; because you see, George, I really 
 liked you almost as much as you did me. 
 But the trouble here is that Florence doesn't 
 know her own mind. It seems there's an- 
 other." 
 
 " Thank goodness." 
 
 " Ah, George, don't talk like that. Poor 
 Horace is just crazy about her. He thinks 
 of nothing else. And he needs encourage- 
 ment so badly. Only this afternoon he said 
 to me, ' I'm afraid it's no use. I'll give it 
 up and go in for the pool. She doesn't care 
 for me more than for the button on one of 
 her boots.' Oh, it was pitiful, George ! " 
 
 "Who is this another? " 
 
80 THE MATRIMONIAL TONTINE 
 
 " That's the difficulty. I don't even know 
 definitely that there is another. But I feel 
 morally sure that there is. Otherwise she 
 would accept Horace. It's harassing, for 
 they are just made for each other. I warn 
 you, George, that I am going to do everything 
 that I can to bring them together. I shall 
 invite her frequently to stay, and I shall go 
 where she goes this summer. It was you who 
 were responsible for this hateful Association, 
 and I feel a moral obligation to save Horace 
 Wilson while there is yet time." 
 
 " The time to save him, as you call it, will 
 be after he has pocketed the thirteen thou- 
 sand dollars," said George. 
 
 Mrs. Edmunds was a determined woman. 
 Her words were no idle sputterings to be for- 
 gotten as soon as spoken. She was resolved 
 to keep the possibility that he might be 
 accepted constantly before the mind of 
 Horace Wilson, and with feminine, feline in- 
 stinct she reached out for Ben Davis as an 
 ally. She happened to meet him at Tiffany's 
 some fortnight later. He had gone in to 
 have another look at the diamonds, and he 
 was reflecting that the pool would enable 
 him to satisfy admirably his impulse to do 
 
BENEFIT ASSOCIATION 81 
 
 the handsome thing by her who was to be 
 his, when he looked up and beheld Mrs. Ed- 
 munds watching him. He bit his tongue in 
 vain to keep from blushing. He realized that 
 he had been caught in a very compromis- 
 ing situation. Yet to his relief his observer 
 did not seem to notice it. On the contrary 
 she said : " If you have a spare moment, 
 Mr. Davis, I wish to have a few words with 
 you in regard to our mutual friend, Mr. 
 Wilson. Perhaps you do not know that he is 
 in. love." 
 
 " I had guessed as much." 
 
 " Then you know her ? " 
 
 " Not well. I have seen her." It would 
 have been more accurate to say that he had 
 seen the tip of her bonnet. But Ben was a 
 diplomat by instinct. 
 
 " She is a charming creature. Just the 
 woman for him. He really ought to be mar- 
 ried. And all he needs is encouragement 
 to be egged on. Can I count on you, Mr. 
 Davis, now and then to do a little egging ? " 
 
 The late Virginia Tebbetts spoke with all 
 the engaging sweetness at her command, and 
 conscious that she had said all that was 
 necessary to enlist him on her side, pro- 
 
82 THE MATRIMONIAL TONTINB 
 
 vided lie were willing to yield to the tempta- 
 tion, she glided away and left Ben to his 
 own cogitations. 
 
 The result of this interview was twofold. 
 It strengthened Ben's resolution to be cau- 
 tious and make haste slowly in the matter of 
 committing himself toward his intended, and 
 it gave him an excuse for opening fire on 
 Horace. As Mrs. Edmunds had said, Horace 
 really ought to be married. A word or two 
 of encouragement from him might cement 
 matters and bring about his friend's everlast- 
 ing happiness. The game was perfectly fair, 
 for Horace knew well enough that the man 
 who was engaged first would lose the pool. 
 
 The opportunity came the following week. 
 Ben was returning from Philadelphia, where 
 he had been to call on his Dulcinea, and he 
 ran across Horace in the train. They had 
 the smoking-compartment all to themselves, 
 so Ben opened fire at once. 
 
 "I've come to the conclusion, old man," 
 he said, " that there's no happiness like mar- 
 ried happiness. I rather expect to be mar- 
 ried myself some day." This admission 
 seemed to Ben to be magnanimous, and he 
 proceeded to add, without a qualm, "A little 
 
BENEFIT ASSOCIATION 83 
 
 bird has told me that you have only to ask in 
 ft certain quarter to be accepted." 
 
 "And leave you to gather in the pool?" 
 replied Horace, promptly. " Springes to 
 catch woodcocks, eh ? " 
 
 " Yes, I should win the pool," said Ben, 
 slowly. " But what is a pool compared 
 with true love ? You may lose her, man, 
 if you let mercenary considerations move 
 you." 
 
 Horace made no verbal response. He 
 merely sighed sighed deeply. Ben, who 
 was a diplomat, respected this display of 
 emotion by silence. He bided his time and 
 said, presently, " I understand that she is 
 very charming." 
 
 "She is an angel," said Horace. "But 
 I'm not worthy of her, in the first place, and 
 in the second, she doesn't care for me." 
 
 "How can you tell until you ask her?" 
 murmured Ben ; though, to do him justice, 
 he reminded himself of the murderer of 
 Gonzago, pouring the poison into his vic- 
 tim's ear in the play of one William Shake- 
 speare. 
 
 Horace sighed again, more pensively and 
 less hopelessly than before. Just then the 
 16 
 
84 THE MATRIMONIAL TONTINE 
 
 train stopped at a way station and Ben took 
 advantage of the five minutes' intermission to 
 telegraph to the florist at Philadelphia : 
 
 " Delay lily." 
 
 He had given orders that morning to have 
 one sent to her on Easter Sunday, which was 
 the day after to-morrow, but it seemed to 
 him, in view of the entire situation, that he 
 had better suspend active operations until 
 he should ascertain whether Horace's cam- 
 paign was likely to be long or short. The 
 girl might be one of the kind who would re- 
 fuse Horace the first time ; in which case 
 there would be a fearful relapse, and months 
 might pass before the sick man could be 
 egged on to a second trial. 
 
 The spring slipped away, and so did the 
 summer and autumn, and presently the 
 ground was covered with snow, and Christ- 
 mas-wreaths were in the windows. On the 
 evening of the twenty-fourth, or Christmas- 
 eve as we call it, the mercury was only five 
 degrees above zero; it was snowing, and 
 those who had put off buying their Christmas 
 presents until the last minute found Jack 
 Frost a too attentive companion. Ben Da- 
 vis was not among them. He was sitting in 
 
BENEFIT ASSOCIATION 85 
 
 his pleasant bachelor's rooms, comfortably 
 established before a glorious fire. He had 
 bought all his Christinas presents, and he 
 had even hung up his own stocking, but he 
 was not thinking of Christmas at the moment. 
 Once or twice he rubbed his hands pleasant- 
 ly together, as though he were gratified at 
 his ovv r n reflections. And indeed they were 
 satisfactory from his point of view. Only 
 the clay before yesterday he had had a most 
 interesting interview with his ally and fellow- 
 conspirator, Mrs. George Edmunds, who had 
 complimented him on his egging capabili- 
 ties, and whose final words had been, " She 
 is coming to stay with us to-morrow, and I 
 shall be egregiously surprised if he doesn't 
 ask her and if she doesn't accept him. It ia 
 practically an accomplished fact." 
 
 An accomplished fact ! With Horace Wil- 
 son engaged and out of the way, the pool 
 would be his and he would be free to be as 
 devoted as he pleased to the charmer in 
 Philadelphia. Another Christmas-eve should 
 not find him a lonely bachelor, but a happy 
 Benedict, with the sweetest wife in the world. 
 He had waited the longest, but he had won 
 both the pool and the most charming of her 
 
86 THE MATRIMONIAL TONTINE 
 
 sex. And after all, was lie not the one en- 
 titled to the pool? But for his prudence 
 and prompt action in the nick of time, there 
 would have been no pool left. It would have 
 gone where the rest of the funds in the 
 "Plimsoll Aeronautic Concern" had gone. 
 Instead, it was invested in a gilt-edged mort- 
 gage on improved real estate. Prudence ! 
 Caution! These had been the watchwords 
 of his career. They had served him well in 
 business, and now they were to serve him 
 well in love. If only Horace Wilson an- 
 nounced his engagement on Christmas-day, 
 he would offer himself on the first of Jan- 
 uary, and she should have the diamonds. 
 He rubbed his hands again at the thought, 
 then started, for someone had knocked. It 
 was ten o'clock. Who could be the caller 
 on so cold and stormy anight? " Come in," 
 he cried, and in walked the gentleman of 
 whom he had been thinking, well done up 
 in a heavy coat which was plentifully be- 
 sprinkled with snow. 
 
 "I wish you merry Christmas, Horace. 
 You look like Santa Claus himself." 
 
 " I am Santa Claus. By your leave, Ben, 
 I've come for a cigar and a nightcap. Ah ! " 
 
BENEFIT ASSOCIATION 87 
 
 he added as he approached the hearth, " I 
 see you have hung your stocking up." 
 
 " Yes. I always do that. Some years I 
 wake up and find it empty. But it reminds 
 me of old times to see it there." 
 
 " Well, you won't find it empty to-morrow 
 morning. I've come to fill it." 
 
 " Brought me a present, eh ? " Ben's pulses 
 bounded joyfully, but his habitual caution 
 bade him speak decorously. 
 
 " A good many men would be very glad to 
 find what you will find in your stocking. 
 But very likely you won't care much. Ben, 
 I'm engaged. I dare say you can afford to 
 congratulate me." 
 
 Congratulate him ? It was a little awk- 
 ward to have to jump up and nearly wring a 
 man's hand off when you had just come into 
 a neat $13,500 as the result of his action. 
 Nevertheless, Ben did it with consummate 
 tact and all the semblance of sincerity. 
 Glad ? Of course he was glad ; simply radi- 
 ant. There was no need to pretend. He 
 shook Horace by the hand again and again, 
 and they both laughed until they nearly 
 cried. 
 
 " You have won the pool, old boy, and I 
 
88 THE MATRIMONIAL TONTINE 
 
 don't care a straw. I'm the luckiest fellow 
 in the world. She's a perfect darling." 
 
 " I'm sure she is. I wish you no end of 
 happiness, Horace." 
 
 " Do you know her, Ben ? " 
 
 " No, I caught just a glimpse of her once 
 on George Edmunds's door-steps. Merely 
 the tip of her bonnet. I suspected you, 
 though, from that minute." 
 
 " Did you, really ? George has been aw- 
 fully kind ; that is, confound him, I mean 
 infernally disagreeable. He did not want 
 me to lose the pool, and so he tried to make 
 out that it would be time enough to think of 
 marrying when the twenty years ran out. 
 But his wife, heaven bless her, and you, Ben, 
 kept my spirits up. If it wasn't one at me 
 it was the other, until finally I took heart 
 and asked her. You were gunning for the 
 pool, of course, Ben. I saw that. But you 
 helped me all the same, and, thanks to you 
 and Virginia Edmunds, I've something to 
 live for now. You don't know, Ben, what an 
 insignificant thing money seems to me to- 
 night. Get married get married, Ben, as 
 soon as you can." 
 
 " Perhaps I may some day," he answered, 
 
BENEFIT ASSOCIATION 89 
 
 significantly, moved by Horace's enthusiasm, 
 for it was no longer necessary to be cautious. 
 " I shall have to drink to bachelorhood alone 
 this year ; but between you and me, Horace, 
 I hope for better things some day." 
 
 " Don't put it off, Ben. If you only knew 
 -but you don't. I won't bore you. George 
 says I'm as obnoxious to the nerves as a 
 Fourth of July celebration." 
 
 " I don't even know her name." 
 
 " Florence. Do you remember the day 
 we met on the train coming from Philadel- 
 phia ? I had just been to see her. Florence 
 Delaney." 
 
 Ben looked at him for a moment in silence. 
 " It is a pretty name," he said, quietly. 
 
 " And she is an adorable woman." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I thought you said you didn't know her." 
 
 " I was mistaken. I find I do. You are 
 indeed the luckiest man in the world." 
 
 Horace glanced at him narrowly, struck by 
 his grave tone and by the quietness of his 
 demeanor. " Poor fellow," he said to him- 
 self. " He must be thinking what an infer- 
 nally dull thing it is to be an old bachelor. 
 I won't remind him of it any longer." 
 
90 THE MATRIMONIAL TONTINE 
 
 Horace remained until he had finished his 
 cigar. After he had gone Ben sat for a long 
 time with his face in his hands and his head 
 on the table. To think that he had never 
 recognized her on George Edmunds's steps 
 that Sunday morning. He called to mind 
 Horace's speech urging him not to put off 
 being married, and he laughed at his own 
 discomfiture, though there were real tears in 
 his eyes. He said to himself that he was 
 doomed to be an old bachelor to the end of 
 his days. Christmas-eve after Christmas- 
 eve would find him just like this. What a 
 fool he had been. Prudence ! Caution ! 
 They had served him well, indeed, in the 
 matter of love. He seemed to see them be- 
 fore his mind's sight in mocking letters of 
 fire. He had won the pool ; but what was 
 the pool now? Poor, pitiful schemer that 
 he had been ; he had thrown away the chance 
 of his life. 
 
 He walked his room long that night, and 
 when he went to bed it was not to sleep. 
 The sun rose on a city mantled in snow. 
 It was Christmas-day, but Ben felt that he 
 belonged nowhere except at his club. He 
 dined there alone, and after dinner he went 
 
BENEFIT ASSOCIATION 91 
 
 into the writing-room and wrote. Merely a 
 few lines ; but when he had finished them he 
 felt better. On the following morning he 
 rose early, for he had a present to buy on 
 his way down town. He was at Tiffany's so 
 promptly that the attendants were still rub- 
 bing the aftermath of Merry Christmas from 
 their eyes when he entered. "Let this be 
 delivered as soon as possible. It is a Christ- 
 mas present I had neglected to buy," he said 
 to the salesman from whom he made his pur- 
 chase. 
 
 An hour and a half later Horace Wilson 
 and his ladylove were sitting on the sofa in 
 Mrs. George Edmunds's drawing-room, when 
 the maid entered with a tolerably large par- 
 cel which she delivered to Miss Delaney. 
 Notwithstanding that Miss Delaney was very 
 comfortable where she was, she forsook the 
 sofa in order to examine her belated Christ- 
 mas present. 
 
 " I wonder whom it can be from, Horace," 
 she murmured, feverishly, as young ladies 
 will under such circumstances. But before 
 she undid the parcel she stopped to read the 
 note which accompanied it. 
 
 " How very kind of him ! " she said, when 
 
92 THE MATRIMONIAL TONTINE 
 
 she had finished. She looked just a little 
 queer, too. " It's from Mr. Benjamin Davis." 
 And she held out the note. 
 
 " Ben Davis ? I didn't know you knew him." 
 
 " Oh, yes, dear, very well indeed. In 
 fact " but here Miss Delaney stopped and 
 gave a little laugh, and began busily to undo 
 the parcel. 
 
 " In fact what ? " asked Horace. 
 
 "Nothing." Then she gave a sudden 
 scream of transport. " Look, Horace, look. 
 "Why, they are diamonds real diamonds. 
 Did you ever see anything so superb ? " 
 
 Horace whistled with astonishment. " Dia- 
 monds ? I should think they were ! " 
 
 But a flush of disquietude presently suc- 
 ceeded the expression of delight on Miss De- 
 laney's face, and she looked up at her lover 
 appealingly. " I really don't see why he 
 sent me such a present. They are lovely, 
 but I don't think I like it." 
 
 "You mustn't feel annoyed, dearest," 
 answered Horace, mysteriously. "Ben has 
 tried to do the handsome thing, and he has 
 done it." 
 
 " May I really keep them, Horace ? " she 
 asked, almost supplicatingly. 
 
BENEFIT ASSOCIATION 93 
 
 " Certainly, dear. Ben has sent them on 
 my account, and he has acted very gener- 
 ously. I have a little confession to make, if 
 you will listen. I ought to have told you 
 before, but I haven't had time since yester- 
 day. Ben and I have been members of a 
 club called the Matrimonial Tontine Mutual 
 Benefit Association." Thereupon Horace 
 told her the whole story at least he thought 
 he had. "So you see," he said in conclu- 
 sion, " Ben, the dear old fellow, has taken it 
 into his head to do the handsome thing. He 
 has practically shared the pool with me." 
 
 " I see," said Florence Delaney, quietly, 
 but she shook her head with a little sigh and 
 looked queerer than before. Horace, how- 
 ever, did not observe these signs of distrust 
 in his deductions, for he was engaged in 
 reading Ben Davis's letter, which, by the 
 way, was the most commonplace of epistles. 
 
 " Dear Miss Delaney," it ran. " Will you 
 do me the favor to accept these jewels with 
 my sincerest wishes for your future happi- 
 ness? Wishing you a merry Christmas, I 
 am yours very sincerely, Benjamin Davis." 
 
 It was natural, in view of his understand- 
 ing of the matter, that the gift of the dia- 
 
94 THE MATRIMONIAL TON TINS 
 
 monds should not be concealed by Horace 
 from George Edmunds and his wife. It 
 happened later in the day, when Horace was 
 showing them to Mrs. George, that she re- 
 marked, casually, " Now that it is all settled, 
 Horace, I don't mind telling you that I was 
 very much concerned at one time lest Flor- 
 ence would accept Ben Davis." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " exclaimed our 
 hero, very nearly letting fall the precious 
 stones in his agitation. 
 
 " Why, he was the ' another ' of whom I 
 was so much afraid, though I didn't let you 
 see I was. I didn't know myself that he 
 was Mr. Davis until a few weeks ago, and 
 when I realized that I had induced him to 
 egg you on to offer yourself to his own sweet- 
 heart, I felt like a guilty wretch. But it was 
 too late to draw back then. Why, Horace, 
 how strange you look ! I took it for granted 
 that Florence had told you all about it." 
 
 " You have merely added just a few paltry 
 details which make me inclined to be sorry 
 that I let Florence keep those diamonds," 
 said Horace, grimly. 
 
 " Ah, you won't be so cruel as to take them 
 away now after telling her she could keep 
 
BENEFIT ASSOCIATION 95 
 
 them ? Besides it would hurt Mr. Davis's 
 feelings. He has really been very gener- 
 ous." 
 
 " Confound him, yes. I suppose you are 
 right, though. Poor fellow, how I pity him ! 
 I can certainly afford to be a little generous 
 too." 
 
THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, SANTA CRUZ 
 
 This book is due on the last DATE stamped below. 
 
PS1762.B3 1902 
 
 2106 00206 9364