The Quicksands of Pactolus, Book II, Part X-XI [pp. 411-418]

THE QUICKSANDS OF PACTOLUS.
women, she reflected, would have acted
differently, presuming upon the ties of
kindred and affection. Her aunt, assur edly, was a true gentlewoman.
Chetwynd marked the progress of this
singular courtship with cynical but not
unkindly eyes.
"I'm taking my time," said Fred com placently, "and going slow."
"In this country," replied Chetwynd,
"the tortoise does not always win the
race. "
"Do I understand from that," returned
Langham, in his heaviest manner, "that
you would advise a man in my position to
risk the horrors of a refusal."
"No. Only fools get refused. But
you might take certain initiatory steps,
- bearings, so to speak."
"My dear John, I tell you frankly that
in these matters I don't know how to box
the compass."
Chetwynd laughed. The situation had
a very comic side to it, and he remem bered the advice of Mr. Pickwick to a
friend in similar circumstances.
There are tests, Fred. The A. B. C.
of courtship."
"But what are they -these tests?
I'd sooner face a tiger on foot than make
an ass of myself with a girl hardly out of
her teens. 1 think, John, considering our
old friendship, and the way I used to fag
for you at Eton, that you might give me
the points of the game, the elementary
principles of the art,- eh? The point is
this, how the deuce am I to find out the
facts?
"Your matrimonial hook is well baited.
Drop it into the water. The fish, I'il
wager, will take it."
"Phyllis Murray will never marry a
man for his money. But these tests,
Fred, what are they?"
"Read your Ovid. You will find hints
in the Ars Amatoria."
"I could n't construe a line of it,- nor
could you, you old humbug."
"True. But, Fred, seriously, you have
beaten aboutthe bush long enough. Come
to the point. Any girl will respect a man
who says what he wants simply and unaffectedly."
But Fred, obstinate as Balaam's mule,
deferred the irrevocable question. He
liked, as he said, to "go slow."
The days passed, bringing to San Francisco bitter winds and blinding dust. The
four hundred began to talk seriously of
bathing suits, tennis flannels, blazers, and
summer hats. Mr. Barrington and his
wife went East on their private car
"Menominee," and Del Monte, Castle
Crags, and the other caravansaries between Shasta and San Diego, were plethoric with boarders. Desmond displayed
the symmetry of his limbs in the surf at
Santa Monica, but Helen remained in
town. Her husband's absence proved a
specific against even sand storms and
trade winds. Not willing to accompany
him, she deemed it prudent, bearing in
mind the paragraph in the Hornet, to stay
at home. Chetwynd, cancelling his Eastern engagements, lingered on the Pacific
Slope, spending most of his time in his
rooms at the Palace Hotel. He was writing his book on Siberia, and his publishers at this season wrote him several letters asking for more speed with his copy,
in his own interest and theirs. These
peremptory epistles he ignored. His passion for Helen had him by the throat.
Horace Annesley Vclchell.
[CONTINUED IN NEXT NUMBER.]
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