<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_266" id="Page_266">266</SPAN></span></p>
<h3 class="p6">CHAPTER XXXV<br/> MR. AND MRS. LITTLE JIMMIE</h3>
<p class="p2">Mrs. Sammy Whitcomb had longed for the sweet
privilege of squaring matters with Mrs. Jimmie Wellington.
Sneers and back-biting, shrugs and shudders
of contempt were poor compensation for the
ever-vivid fact that Mrs. Wellington had proved
attractive to her Sammy while Mrs. Wellington's
Jimmie never looked at Mrs. Whitcomb. Or if he
did, his eyes had been so blurred that he had seen
two of her—and avoided both.</p>
<p>Yesterday she had overheard Jimmie vow sobriety.
To-day his shining morning face showed that
he had kept his word. She could hardly wait to
begin the flirtation which, she trusted, would render
Mrs. Wellington helplessly furious for six long Reno
months.</p>
<p>The Divorce Drummer interposed and held
Jimmie prisoner for a time, but as soon as Mr. Baumann
released him, Mrs. Whitcomb apprehended
him. With a smile that beckoned and with eyes that
went out like far-cast fishhooks, she drew Leviathan
into her net.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_267" id="Page_267">267</SPAN></span></p>
<p>She reeled him in and he plounced in the seat
opposite. What she took for bashfulness was reluctance.
To add the last charm to her success,
Mrs. Wellington arrived to see it. Mrs. Whitcomb
saw the lonely Ashton rise and offer her the seat
facing him. Mrs. Wellington took it and sat down
with the back of her head so close to the back of
Mr. Wellington's head that the feather in her hat
tickled his neck.</p>
<p>Jimmie Wellington had seen his wife pass by. To
his sober eyes she was a fine sight as she moved up
the aisle. In his alcohol-emancipated mind the keen
sense of wrong endured that had driven him forth
to Reno began to lose its edge. His own soul appealed
from Jimmie drunk to Jimmie sober. The
appellate judge began to reverse the lower court's
decision, point by point.</p>
<p>He felt a sudden recrudescence of jealousy as he
heard Ashton's voice unctuously, flirtatiously offering
his wife hospitality. He wanted to trounce Ashton.
But what right had he to defend from gallantry
the woman he was about to forswear before
the world? Jimmie's soul was in turmoil, and Mrs.
Whitcomb's pretty face and alluring smile only annoyed
him.</p>
<p>She had made several gracious speeches before he
quite comprehended any of them. Then he realized
that she was saying: "I'm so glad you're going to
stop at Reno, Mr. Wellington."
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_268" id="Page_268">268</SPAN></span></p>
<p>"Thank you. So am I," he mumbled, trying to
look interested and wishing that his wife's plume
would not tickle his neck.</p>
<p>Mrs. Whitcomb went on, leaning closer: "We
two poor mistreated wretches must try to console
one another, musn't we?"</p>
<p>"Yes,—yes,—we must," Wellington nodded, with
a sickly cheer.</p>
<p>Mrs. Whitcomb leaned a little closer. "Do you
know that I feel almost related to you, Mr. Wellington?"</p>
<p>"Related?" he echoed, "you?—to me? How?"</p>
<p>"My husband knew your wife so well."</p>
<p>Somehow a wave of jealous rage surged over him,
and he growled: "Your husband is a scoundrel."</p>
<p>Mrs. Whitcomb's smile turned to vinegar: "Oh,
I can't permit you to slander the poor boy behind
his back. It was all your wife's fault."</p>
<p>Wellington amazed himself by his own bravery
when he heard himself volleying back: "And I
can't permit you to slander my wife behind her back.
It was all your husband's fault."</p>
<p>Mrs. Jimmie overheard this behind her back, and
it strangely thrilled her. She ignored Ashton's existence
and listened for Mrs. Whitcomb's next retort.
It consisted of a simple, icy drawl: "I think
I'll go to breakfast."</p>
<p>She seemed to pick up Ashton with her eyes as she
glided by, for, finding himself unnoticed, he rose
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_269" id="Page_269">269</SPAN></span>
with a careless: "I think I'll go to breakfast," and
followed Mrs. Whitcomb. The Wellingtons sat
<i>dos-à-dos</i> for some exciting seconds, and then on a
sudden impulse, Mrs. Jimmie rose, knelt in the seat
and spoke across the back of it:</p>
<p>"It was very nice of you to defend me, Jimmie—er—James."</p>
<p>Wellington almost dislocated several joints in
rising quickly and whirling round at the cordiality
of her tone. But his smile vanished at her last word.
He protested, feebly: "James sounds so like a—a
butler. Can't you call me Little Jimmie again?"</p>
<p>Mrs. Wellington smiled indulgently: "Well, since
it's the last time. Good-bye, Little Jimmie." And
she put out her hand. He seized it hungrily and
clung to it: "Good-bye?—aren't you getting off at
Reno?"</p>
<p>"Yes, but——"</p>
<p>"So am I—Lucretia."</p>
<p>"But we can't afford to be seen together."</p>
<p>Still holding her hand, he temporized: "We've
got to stay married for six months at least—while
we establish a residence. Couldn't we—er—couldn't
we establish a residence—er—together?"</p>
<p>Mrs. Wellington's eyes grew a little sad, as she
answered: "It would be too lonesome waiting for
you to roll home."</p>
<p>Jimmie stared at her. He felt the regret in her
voice and took strange courage from it. He hauled
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_270" id="Page_270">270</SPAN></span>
from his pocket his huge flask, and said quickly:
"Well, if you're jealous of this, I'll promise to cork
it up forever."</p>
<p>She shook her head skeptically: "You couldn't."</p>
<p>"Just to prove it," he said, "I'll chuck it out of
the window." He flung up the sash and made ready
to hurl his enemy into the flying landscape.</p>
<p>"Bravo!" cried Mrs. Wellington.</p>
<p>But even as his hand was about to let go, he tightened
his clutch again, and pondered: "It seems a
shame to waste it."</p>
<p>"I thought so," said Mrs. Jimmie, drooping perceptibly.
Her husband began to feel that, after all,
she cared what became of him.</p>
<p>"I'll tell you," he said, "I'll give it to old Doc
Temple. He takes his straight."</p>
<p>"Fine!"</p>
<p>He turned towards the seat where the clergyman
and his wife were sitting, oblivious of the drama of
reconciliation playing so close at hand. Little
Jimmie paused, caressed the flask, and kissed it.
"Good-bye, old playmate!" Then, tossing his head
with bravado, he reached out and touched the clergyman's
shoulder. Dr. Temple turned and rose with
a questioning look. Wellington put the flask in his
hand and chuckled: "Merry Christmas!"</p>
<p>"But, my good man——" the preacher objected,
finding in his hand a donation about as welcome
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_271" id="Page_271">271</SPAN></span>
and as wieldy as a strange baby. Wellington winked:
"It may come in handy for—your patients."</p>
<p>And now, struck with a sudden idea, Mrs. Wellington
spoke: "Oh, Mrs. Temple."</p>
<p>"Yes, my dear," said the little old lady, rising.
Mrs. Wellington placed in her hand a small portfolio
and laughed: "Happy New Year!"</p>
<p>Mrs. Temple stared at her gift and gasped:
"Great heavens! Your cigars!"</p>
<p>"They'll be such a consolation," Mrs. Wellington
explained, "while the Doctor is out with his patients."</p>
<p>Dr. Temple and Mrs. Temple looked at each
other in dismay, then at the flask and the cigars, then
at the Wellingtons, then they stammered: "Thank
you so much," and sank back, stupefied.</p>
<p>Wellington stared at his wife: "Lucretia, are
you sincere?"</p>
<p>"Jimmie, I promise you I'll never smoke another
cigar."</p>
<p>"My love!" he cried, and seized her hand. "You
know I always said you were a queen among women,
Lucretia."</p>
<p>She beamed back at him: "And you always were
the prince of good fellows, Jimmie." Then she
almost blushed as she murmured, almost shyly:
"May I pour your coffee for you again this morning?"</p>
<p>"For life," he whispered, and they moved up the
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_272" id="Page_272">272</SPAN></span>
aisle, arm in arm, bumping from seat to seat and
not knowing it.</p>
<p>When Mrs. Whitcomb, seated in the dining-car,
saw Mrs. Little Jimmie pour Mr. Little Jimmie's
coffee, she choked on hers. She vowed that she
would not permit those odious Wellingtons to make
fools of her and her Sammy. She resolved to telegraph
Sammy that she had changed her mind about
divorcing him, and order him to take the first train
West and meet her half-way on her journey home.
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