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Updated: June 13, 2025
Arkwright stirred restlessly as he spoke up in quick defense: "Oh, but he is, I assure you. I I've seen them in their home together many times. I think they are very happy." Arkwright spoke with decision, though still a little diffidently. Calderwell was silent. He had picked up the little gilt band he had torn from his cigar and was fingering it musingly.
Calderwell was thinking of that letter now, as he sat at a small table in a Paris café. Opposite him was the six feet of muscular manhood, broad shoulders, pointed brown beard, and all and he had just addressed it, inadvertently, as "Mary Jane."
Calderwell had met Mr. M. J. Arkwright in London through a common friend; since then they had tramped half over Europe together in a comradeship that was as delightful as it was unusual. Farther along in this same letter Calderwell touched upon his new friend again. "I admit, however, I would like to know his name.
Billy blushed the more deeply, but she gave a light laugh. "Nothing, only something Hugh Calderwell said to me once. You see, Bertram, I don't think Hugh ever thought you would marry." "Oh, didn't he?" bridled Bertram. "Well, that only goes to show how much he knows about it. Er did you announce it to him?" Bertram's voice was almost savage now. Billy smiled.
From the telephone Billy turned away with a troubled face. "Pete is ill," she was saying to herself. "I don't like the looks of it; and he's so faithful he'd come if " With a little cry Billy stopped short. Then, tremblingly, she sank into the nearest chair. "Calderwell and he's coming to dinner!" she moaned. For two benumbed minutes Billy sat staring at nothing.
"'O wert thou in the cauld blast," sang Arkwright's lips a few moments later. "I can't tell her now when I know she cares for Calderwell," gloomily ran his thoughts, the while. "It would do no possible good, and would only make her unhappy to grieve me." "'O wert thou in the cauld blast," chimed in Alice's alto, low and sweet.
"As for the 'Mary Jane' that was another foolishness, of course. My small brothers and sisters originated it; others followed, on occasion, even Calderwell. Perhaps you did not know, but he was the friend who, by his laughing question, 'Why don't you, Mary Jane? put into my head the crazy scheme of writing to Aunt Hannah and letting her think I was a real Mary Jane.
'Twas improperly set in the first place, and it's not doing well now. In fact, I'm told on pretty good authority that the doctor says he probably will never use it again." "Oh, by George! Calderwell!" "Yes. Tough, isn't it? 'Specially when you think of his work, and know as I happen to that he's particularly dependent on his right hand for everything.
A week ago he would have tossed back a laughingly aggrieved remark as to her unflattering indifference to his presence. Now he was in no mood for such joking. It was too serious a matter with him. "You've been busy, no doubt, with other matters," he presumed forlornly, thinking of Calderwell. "Yes, I have been busy," assented the girl. "One is always happier, I think, to be busy.
Calderwell laughed, but he frowned, too; and again he threw into Billy's face that keenly questioning glance. He said something a light something that brought the laugh to Billy's lips in spite of herself; but he was still frowning when he left the house some minutes later, and the shadow was not gone from his eyes. Billy's time was well occupied.
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