The Honorable Peter Stirling and What People Thought of Him by Paul Leicester Ford

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As a matter of course Watts was grateful for the timely assistance, and
was not slow either to say or show it. He told his own set of fellows
that he was "going to take that Stirling up and make him one of us," and
Watts had a remarkable way of doing what he chose. At first Peter did
not respond to the overtures and insistance of the handsome,
well-dressed, free-spending, New York swell. He was too conscious of the
difference between himself and Watts's set, to wish or seek
identification with them. But no one who ever came under Watts's
influence could long stand out against his sunny face and frank manner,
and so Peter eventually allowed himself to be "taken up." Perhaps the
resistance encountered only whetted Watts's intention. He was certainly
aided by Peter's isolation. Whether the cause was single or multiple,
Peter was soon in a set from which many a seemingly far more eligible
fellow was debarred.

Strangely enough, it did not change him perceptibly. He still plodded on
conscientiously at his studies, despite laughter and attempts to drag
him away from them. He still lived absolutely within the comfortable
allowance that his mother gave him. He still remained the quiet, serious
looking fellow of yore. The "gang," as they styled themselves, called
him "kill-joy," "graveyard," or "death's head," in their evening
festivities, but Peter only puffed at his pipe good-naturedly, making no
retort, and if the truth had really been spoken, not a man would have
changed him a particle. His silence and seriousness added the dash of
contrast needed to make the evening perfect. All joked him. The most
popular verse in a class-song Watts wrote, was devoted to burlesquing
his soberness, the gang never tiring of singing at all hours and places:

"Goodness gracious! Who's that in the 'yard' a yelling in the rain?
That's the boy who never gave his mother any pain,
But now his moral character is sadly on the wane,
'Tis little Peter Stirling, bilin' drunk again.
Oh, the Sunday-school boy,
His mamma's only joy,
Is shouting drunk as usual, and raising Cain!"

Yet joke Peter as they would, in every lark, be it drive, sail, feed,
drink, or smoke, whoever's else absence was commented upon, his never
passed unnoticed.

In Sophomore year, Watts, without quite knowing why, proposed that they
should share rooms. Nor would he take Peter's refusal, and eventually
succeeded in reversing it.

"I can't afford your style of living," Peter had said quietly, as his
principal objection.

"Oh, I'll foot the bills for the fixings, so it shan't cost you a cent
more," said Watts, and when Peter had finally been won over to give his
assent, Watts had supposed it was on this uneven basis. But in the end,
the joint chambers were more simply furnished than those of the rest of
the gang, who promptly christened them "the hermitage," and Peter had
paid his half of the expense. And though he rarely had visitors of his
own asking at the chambers, all cost of wine and tobacco was equally
borne by him.

The three succeeding years welded very strong bands round these two. It
was natural that they should modify each other strongly, but in truth,
as in most cases, when markedly different characteristics are brought in
contact, the only effect was to accentuate each in his peculiarities.
Peter dug at his books all the harder, by reason of Watts's neglect of
them. Watts became the more free-handed with his money because of
Peter's prudence. Watts talked more because of Peter's silence, and
Peter listened more because of Watts's talk. Watts, it is true, tried to
drag Peter into society, yet in truth, Peter was really left more alone
than if he had been rooming with a less social fellow. Each had in truth
become the complement of the other, and seemed as mutually necessary as
the positive and negative wires in electricity. Peter, who had been
taking the law lectures in addition to the regular academic course, and
had spent his last two summers reading law in an attorney's office, in
his native town, taking the New York examination in the previous
January, had striven to get Watts to do the same, with the ultimate
intention of their hanging out a joint legal shingle in New York.

"I'll see the clients, and work up the cases, Watts, and you'll make the
speeches and do the social end," said Peter, making a rather long speech
in the ardor of his wishes.

Watts laughed. "I don't know, old man. I rather fancy I shan't do
anything. To do something requires that one shall make up one's mind
what to do, and that's such devilish hard work. I'll wait till I've
graduated, and had a chin with my governor about it Perhaps he'll make
up my mind for me, and so save my brain tissue. But anyway, you'll come
to New York, and start in, for you must be within reach of me. Besides,
New York's the only place in this country worth living in."

Such were the relations between the two at graduation time. Watts, who
had always prepared his lessons in a tenth part of the time it had taken
Peter, buckled down in the last few weeks, and easily won an honorable
mention. Peter had tried hard to win honors, but failed.

"You did too much outside work, old man," said Watts, who would
cheerfully have given his own triumph to his friend. "If you want
success in anything, you've got to sacrifice other things and
concentrate on the object. The Mention's really not worth the ink it's
written with, in my case, but I knew it would please mammy and pappy, so
I put on steam, and got it. If I'd hitched on a lot of freight cars
loaded with stuff that wouldn't have told in Exams, I never could have
been in on time."

Peter shook his head rather sadly. "You outclass me in brains, Watts, as
much as you do in other things"

"Nonsense," said Watts. "I haven't one quarter of your head. But my
ancestors--here's to the old coves--have been brain-culturing for three
hundred years, while yours have been land-culturing; and of course my
brain moves quicker and easier than yours. I take to a book, by
hereditary instinct, as a duck to water, while you are like a yacht,
which needs a heap of building and fitting before she can do the same.
But you'll beat me in the long run, as easily as the boat does the duck.
And the Honor's nothing."

"Except, as you said, to one's"--Peter hesitated for a moment, divided
in mind by his wish to quote accurately, and his dislike of anything
disrespectful, and then finished "to one's mother."

"That's the last person it's needed for, chum," replied Watts. "If
there's one person that doesn't need the world's or faculty's opinion to
prove one's merit, it's one's dear, darling, doating, self-deluded and
undisillusioned mamma. Heigh-ho. I'll be with mine two weeks from now,
after we've had our visit at the Pierces'. I'm jolly glad you are going,
old man. It will be a sort of tapering-off time for the summer's
separation. I don't see why you insist on starting in at once in New
York? No one does any law business in the summertime. Why, I even think
the courts are closed. Come, you'd better go on to Grey-Court with me,
and try it, at least. My mammy will kill the fatted calf for you in
great style."

"We've settled that once," said Peter, who was evidently speaking
journalistically, for he had done the settling.

Watts said something in a half-articulate way, which certainly would
have fired the blood of every dime museum-keeper in the country, had
they been there to hear the conversation, for, as well as could be
gathered from the mumbling, it related to a "pig-headed donkey" known of
to the speaker. "I suppose you'll be backing out of the Pierce affair
yet," he added, discontentedly.

"No," said Peter.

"An invitation to Grey-Court is worth two of the Shrubberies. My mother
knows only the right kind of people, while Mr. Pierce--"

"Is to be our host," interrupted Peter, but with no shade of correction
in his voice.

"Yes," laughed Watts, "and he is a host. He'll not let any one else get
a word in edgewise. You are just the kind of talker he'll like. Mark my
word, he'll be telling every one, before you've been two hours in the
house, that you are a remarkably brilliant conversationalist."

"What will he say of you?" said Peter, in a sentence which he broke up
into reasonable lengths by a couple of pulls at his pipe in the middle
of it.

"Mr. Pierce, chum," replied Watts, with a look in his eyes which Peter
had learned to associate with mischief on Watts's part, "has too great
an affection for yours truly to object to anything I do. Do you suppose,
if I hadn't been sure of my footing at the Shrubberies, that I should
have dared to ask an invitation for"--then Watts hesitated for a moment,
seeing a half-surprised, half-anxious look come into Peter's face, "for
myself?" he continued.

"Tell truth and shame the devil," said Peter.

Watts laughed. "Confound you! That's what comes of letting even such a
stupid old beggar as you learn to read one's thoughts. It's mighty
ungrateful of you to use them against me. Yes. I did ask to have you
included in the party. But you needn't put your back up, Mr. Unbendable,
and think you were forced on them. Mr. Pierce gave me _carte blanche_,
and if it hadn't been you, it would have been some other donkey."

"But Mrs. Pierce?" queried Peter.

"Oh," explained Watts, "of course Mrs. Pierce wrote the letter. I
couldn't do it in my name, and so Mr. Pierce told her to do it. They're
very land of me, old man, because my governor is the largest
stockholder, and a director in Mr. P.'s bank, and I was told I could
bring down some fellows next week for a few days' jollity. I didn't care
to do that, but of course I wouldn't have omitted you for any amount of
ducats."

Which explanation solves the mystery of Peter's presence at the
Shrubberies. To understand his face we must trace the period between his
arrival and the moment this story begins.

CHAPTER IV.

BEGINNINGS.

How far Watts was confining himself to facts in the foregoing dialogue
is of no concern, for the only point of value was that Peter was
invited, without regard to whether Watts first asked Mr. Pierce, or Mr.
Pierce first asked Watts. A letter which the latter wrote to Miss
Pierce, as soon as it was settled that Peter should go, is of more
importance, and deserves quotation in full:

JUNE 7TH.

MY DEAR HELEN--

Between your Pater and my Peter, it has taken an amount of
diplomacy to achieve the scheme we planned last summer, which
would be creditable to Palmerston at his palmiest and have made
Bismarck even more marked than he is. But the deed, the mighty
deed is done, and June twenty-ninth will see chum and me at the
Shrubberies "if it kills every cow in the barn," which is merely
another way of saying that in the bright lexicon of youth, there's
no such word as fail.

Now a word as to the fellow you are so anxious to meet. I have
talked to you so much about him, that you will probably laugh at
my attempting to tell you anything new. I'm not going to try, and
you are to consider all I say as merely a sort of underlining to
what you already know. Please remember that he will never take a
prize for his beauty--nor even for his grace. He has a pleasing
way with girls, not only of not talking himself, but of making it
nearly impossible for them to talk. For instance, if a girl asks
me if I play croquet, which by the way, is becoming very _passe_
(three last lines verge on poetry) being replaced by a new game
called tennis, I probably say, "No. Do you?" In this way I make
croquet good for a ten minutes' chat, which in the end leads up to
some other subject. Peter, however, doesn't. He says "No," and so
the girl can't go on with croquet, but must begin a new subject.
It is safest to take the subject-headings from an encyclopaedia,
and introduce them in alphabetical order. Allow about ninety to
the hour, unless you are brave enough to bear an occasional
silence. If you are, you can reduce this number considerably, and
chum doesn't mind a pause in the least, if the girl will only look
contented. If she looks worried, however, Peter gets worried, too.
Just put the old chap between you and your mamma at meals, and
pull him over any rough spots that come along. You, I know, will
be able to make it easy for him. Neglect me to any extent. I
shan't be jealous, and shall use that apparent neglect as an
excuse for staying on for a week after he goes, so as to have my
innings. I want the dear old blunderbuss to see how nice a really
nice girl can be, so do your prettiest to him, for the sake of

WATTS CLARKSON D'ALLOI.

When Watts and Peter saved the "cows in the barn" by stepping off the
train on June 29th, the effect of this letter was manifest. Watts was
promptly bestowed on the front seat of the trap with Mr. Pierce, while
Peter was quickly sitting beside a girl on the back seat. Of course an
introduction had been made, but Peter had acquired a habit of not
looking at girls, and as a consequence had yet to discover how far Miss
Pierce came up to the pleasant word-sketch Watts had drawn of her.
Indeed, Peter had looked longingly at the seat beside Mr. Pierce, and
had attempted, in a very obvious manner, though one which seemed to him
the essence of tact and most un-apparent, to have it assigned to him.
But two people, far his superior in natural finesse and experience, had
decided beforehand that he was to sit with Helen, and he could not
resist their skilful manoeuvres. So he climbed into place, hoping that
she wouldn't talk, or if that was too much to expect, that at least
Watts would half turn and help him through.

Neither of these fitted, however, with Miss Pierce's plans. She gave
Peter a moment to fit comfortably into his seat, knowing that if she
forced the running before he had done that, he would probably sit awry
for the whole drive. Then: "I can't tell you how pleased we all are over
Watts's success. We knew, of course, he could do it if he cared to, but
he seemed to think the attempt hardly worth the making, and so we did
not know if he would try."

Peter breathed more easily. She had not asked a question, and the
intonation of the last sentence was such as left him to infer that it
was not his turn to say something; which, Peter had noticed, was the way
in which girls generally ended their remarks.

"Oh, look at that absurd looking cow," was her next remark, made before
Peter had begun to worry over the pause.

Peter looked at the cow and laughed. He would like to have laughed
longer, for that would have used up time, but the moment he thought the
laugh could be employed in place of conversation, the laugh failed.
However, to be told to look at a cow required no rejoinder, so there was
as yet no cause for anxiety.

"We are very proud of our roads about here," said Miss Pierce. "When we
first bought they were very bad, but papa took the matter in hand and
got them to build with a rock foundation, as they do in Europe."

Three subjects had been touched upon, and no answer or remark yet forced
upon him. Peter thought of _rouge et noir_, and wondered what the odds
were that he would be forced to say something by Miss Pierce's next
speech.

"I like the New England roadside," continued Miss Pierce, with an
apparent relativeness to the last subject that delighted Peter, who was
used by this time to much disconnection of conversation, and found not a
little difficulty in shifting quickly from one topic to another. "There
is a tangled finish about it that is very pleasant. And in August, when
the golden-rod comes, I think it is glorious. It seems to me as if all
the hot sunbeams of the summer had been gathered up in--excuse the
expression--it's a word of Watts's--into 'gobs' of sunshine, and
scattered along the roads and fields."

Peter wondered if the request to be excused called for a response, but
concluded that it didn't.

"Papa told me the other day," continued Miss Pierce, "that there were
nineteen distinct varieties of golden-rod. I had never noticed that
there were any differences."

Peter began to feel easy and comfortable. He made a mental note that
Miss Pierce had a very sweet voice. It had never occurred to Peter
before to notice if a girl had a pleasant voice. Now he distinctly
remembered that several to whom he had talked--or rather who had talked
to him--had not possessed that attraction.

"Last year," said Miss Pierce, "when Watts was here, we had a golden-rod
party. We had the whole house decked with it, and yellow lamps on the
lawn."

"He told me about it," said Peter.

"He really was the soul of it," said Miss Pierce, "He wove himself a
belt and chaplet of it and wore it all through the evening. He was so
good-looking!"

Peter, quite unconscious that he had said anything, actually continued:
"He was voted the handsomest man of the class."

"Was he really? How nice!" said Miss Pierce.

"Yes," said Peter. "And it was true." Peter failed to notice that a
question had been asked, or that he had answered it. He began to think
that he would like to look at Miss Pierce for a moment. Miss Pierce,
during this interval, remarked to herself: "Yes. That was the right way,
Helen, my dear."

"We had quite a houseful for our party," Miss Pierce remarked, after
this self-approval. "And that reminds me that I must tell you about whom
you meet to-day." Then the next ten minutes were consumed in naming and
describing the two fashionable New York girls and their brother, who
made the party then assembled.

During this time Peter's eyes strayed from Watts's shapely back, and
took a furtive glance at Miss Pierce. He found that she was looking at
him as she talked, but for some reason it did not alarm him, as such
observation usually did. Before the guests were properly catalogued,
Peter was looking into her eyes as she rambled on, and forgot that he
was doing so.

The face that he saw was not one of any great beauty, but it was sweet,
and had a most attractive way of showing every change of mood or
thought. It responded quickly too, to outside influence. Many a girl of
more real beauty was less popular. People liked to talk to Miss Pierce,
and many could not escape from saying more than they wished, impelled
thereto by her ready sympathy. Then her eyes were really beautiful, and
she had the trimmest, dearest little figure in the world; "squeezable"
was the word Watts used to describe it, and most men thought the same.
Finally, she had a pleasant way of looking into people's eyes as she
talked to them, and for some reason people felt very well satisfied when
she did.

It had this effect upon Peter. As he looked down into the large gray
eyes, really slate-color in their natural darkness, made the darker by
the shadows of the long lashes, he entirely forgot place and
circumstances; ceased to think whose turn it was to speak; even forgot
to think whether he was enjoying the moment. In short he forgot himself
and, what was equally important, forgot that he was talking to a girl.
He felt and behaved as he did with men. "Moly hoses!" said Watts to
himself on the front seat, "the old fellow's getting loquacious.
Garrulity must be contagious, and he's caught it from Mr. Pierce."
Which, being reduced to actual facts, means that Peter had spoken eight
times, and laughed twice, in the half hour that was passed between the
station and the Shrubberies' gate.

CHAPTER V.

MINES AND COUNTER-MINES.

The sight of the party on the veranda of the Shrubberies brought a
return of self-consciousness to Peter, and he braced himself, as the
trap slowed up, for the agony of formal greetings. If Miss Pierce had
been a less sweet, sympathetic girl, she could hardly have kept from
smiling at the way Peter's face and figure stiffened, as the group came
in sight. But Miss Pierce had decided, before she met Peter, that she
should like him, and, moreover, that he was a man who needed help. Let
any woman reach these conclusions about a man, and for some reason quite
beyond logic or philosophy, he ceases to be ridiculous. So instead of
smiling, she bridged over the awful greetings with feminine engineering
skill quite equal to some great strategic movement in war. Peter was
made to shake hands with Mrs. Pierce, but was called off to help Miss
Pierce out of the carriage, before speech was necessary. Then a bundle
was missing in the bottom of the carriage, and Mr. Pawling, the New York
swell, was summoned to help Peter find it, the incident being seized
upon to name the two to each other. Finally, he was introduced to the
two girls, but, almost instantly, Watts and Peter were sent to their
rooms; and Miss Pierce, nodding her head in a way which denoted
satisfaction, remarked as she went to her own room, "Really, Helen, I
don't think it will be so very hard, after all. He's very tractable."

As Peter came downstairs, before dinner, he speculated on whether he
should be able to talk to Miss Pierce. He rather doubted from past
experience, if such a result was attainable, seeing that there were two
other men, who would of course endeavor to do the same. But strangely
enough the two men were already seated by the New York girls, and a
vacant chair was next that holding Miss Pierce. What was more, he was at
once summoned to fill it, and in five minutes was again entirely
unconscious of everything but the slate-colored eyes, looking so
pleasantly into his. Then he took Miss Pierce in to dinner, and sat
between her and her mother again becoming absorbed in the slate-colored
eyes, which seemed quite willing to be absorbed. After dinner, too, when
the women had succeeded the weed, Peter in someway found it very easy to
settle himself near Miss Pierce. Later that night Peter sat in his room,
or rather, with half his body out of the window, puffing his pipe, and
thinking how well he had gone through the day. He had not made a single
slip. Nothing to groan over. "I'm getting more experienced," he thought,
with the vanity noticeable in even the most diffident of collegians,
never dreaming that everything that he had said or done in the last few
hours, had been made easy for him by a woman's tact.

The following week was practically a continuation of this first day. In
truth Peter was out of his element with the fashionables; Mr. Pierce did
not choose to waste his power on him; and Mrs. Pierce, like the
yielding, devoted wife she was, took her coloring from her husband.
Watts had intended to look after him, but Watts played well on the
piano, and on the billiard table; he rowed well and rode well; he sang,
he danced, he swam, he talked, he played all games, he read aloud
capitally, and, what was more, was ready at any or all times for any or
all things. No man who can do half these had better intend seriously to
do some duty in a house-party in July. For, however good his intentions,
he will merely add to the pavement of a warmer place than even a July
temperature makes Long Island Sound. Instinctively, Peter turned to Miss
Pierce at every opportunity. He should have asked himself if the girl
was really enjoying his company more than she did that of the other
young people. Had he been to the manner born he would have known better
than to force himself on a hostess, or to make his monopoly of a young
girl so marked. But he was entirely oblivious of whether he was doing as
he ought, conscious only that, for causes which he made no attempt to
analyze, he was very happy when with her. For reasons best known to Miss
Pierce, she allowed herself to be monopolized. She was even almost as
devoted to Peter as he was to her, and no comparison could be stronger.
It is to be questioned if she enjoyed it very much, for Peter was not
talkative, and the little he did say was neither brilliant nor witty.
With the jollity and "high jinks" (to use a word of Watts's) going on
about her, it is hardly possible that Peter's society shone by contrast.
Yet in drawing-room or carriage, on the veranda, lawn, or yacht's deck,
she was ever ready to give him as much of her attention and help as he
seemed to need, and he needed a good deal. Watts jokingly said that "the
moment Peter comes in sight, Helen puts out a sign 'vacant, to let,'"
and this was only one of many jokes the house-party made over the dual
devotion.

It was an experience full of danger to Peter. For the first time in his
life he was seeing the really charming phases which a girl has at
command. Attractive as these are to all men, they were trebly so to
Peter, who had nothing to compare with them but the indifferent
attitudes hitherto shown him by the maidens of his native town, and by
the few Boston women who had been compelled to "endure" his society. If
he had had more experience he would have merely thought Miss Pierce a
girl with nice eyes, figure and manner. But as a single glass of wine is
dangerous to the teetotaller, so this episode had an over-balancing
influence on Peter, entirely out of proportion to its true value. Before
the week was over he was seriously in love, and though his natural
impassiveness and his entire lack of knowledge how to convey his
feelings to Miss Pierce, prevented her from a suspicion of the fact, the
more experienced father and mother were not so blind.

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