THE GAY DECEIVER
By Howard P. Stephenson, 1916
(From Project Gutenberg)
The only other passenger thumbed his tobacco into a melancholy pipe-bowl.
“What’s your line?” he asked.
“Soap and Christmas candles,” I said, and held out my cigar for his light.
“Married?”
“Yes, you?”
“Um-m-m-m.” And he stretched his legs, drew up his elbows and looked worried.
“When I was making this territory about this time last year,” he began, “I met a pretty, wifely little girl, and we were married before I left town. Tarascon wasn’t on my regular trip then, but now I have to strike home once a month.
“You see, I was raised in a family of sisters—all older than I, all unmarried. I could never bring myself to tell them about Edyth. They don’t know it yet. Live in Cranford, on the Vandalia. My wife thinks I haven’t any folks.”
“Well?”
He blushed. “There—it—we—I’m going to be a father.” Then he did blush.
I laughed, sympathetic. “You can’t bear not to let your sisters know?” I ventured.
He nodded and gulped.
“Tarascon,” called the brakeman. “Tarascon.”
· · · · · · ·
I was on the hot veranda of the Croxton House, at Croxton, some two weeks later, when I felt a modest hand on my shoulder.
“Boy or girl?” were my first words, with a grin.
“Girl,” announced the father with pride. “Sophronia Judith Rose. Named for my sisters.”
He seated himself, fished in his pocket for his pipe, and smiled nervously.
“They knew it when I got home,” he said. “I’d left Edyth’s letter in my room. I believe they had been suspecting all along. Well, they never said a thing at supper, but when I went upstairs I saw a string of baby ribbon sticking out of my sample case. The girls had packed it full of things from their hope boxes. Baby things, they were.
“I tried to bluff it out, but I—I couldn’t do it, and I’d told them all about it five minutes after I came downstairs.
“We all took the train for Tarascon the next day. Edyth was tickled—said she’d suspected I had sisters. She hadn’t, though, of course.
“So I had to name the baby for them. Weighed eleven pounds, too.
“My, I’ve got to catch that 9:32 for Tarascon!”
He pulled out his watch, then turned the dial to me sheepishly. Under the crystal was a tiny slip of narrow ribbon, baby blue.
“So long,” he said. “Mayn’t see you again. This is my last trip. The firm’s giving me a city job, where I can be with the family.”