Checkers: A Hard-luck Story

"Tickled to death," said Checkers.

"Sadie will probably stay with Pert a while, as her father, Judge Martin, has gone to Texas, and won't be back for a couple of weeks. Sadie's mother is dead, you know, and she and the old man are all alone. By the way, the Judge is rich, and Sadie is rich in her own right, too."

"That settles it, Sadie dear; you 're mine. A fortune-teller told me I 'd marry a rich girl."

"Better see her before you marry her, had n't you?" suggested Arthur.

"Why? She has n't got pen-paralysis, has she?"

"Pen-paralysis! No; what on earth is that?"

"Well, as long as she can sign a check, I guess we can manage to worry along. She may have faults; she probably has; but any girl who marries me won't be getting any the best of it. There' s a heap of consolation in that idea to a man about to commit matrimony."

"There are very few men I know of," said Arthur, "but what could 'lay to their soul that flattering unction.'"

"When you 're swapping 'sights unseen,'" said Checkers, "you do n't want too good a knife, or a horse yourself, or you 'll get the hooks on the trade."

"With all respect to you, my boy, you'd be far from 'getting the hooks,' as you call it, with Sadie Martin for a wife."

"Or you with Miss Barlow, I suppose."

Arthur's only response was a long drawn sigh, and he gazed into distance vacantly.

"Where did they get the name of 'Pert' for Miss Barlow, Arthur?" asked Checkers, suddenly.

"It's an abbreviation of a biblical name," said Arthur. "In a verse of one of Paul's Epistles to the Romans, he says, 'Salute also the beloved Persis.' When Pert was a child they gave her the nick-name, and it's stuck to her ever since."

Friday evening came at last, and Arthur and Checkers at an early hour drove down the mountain to call upon the young ladies.

The Barlows lived much nearer Clarksville than did the Kendalls, though upon a different road, and the young men had a long and round-about drive ere they reached their destination. As they entered the driveway two large dogs came bounding toward them, growling fiercely.

"Look out thar, boys, ye do n't git dog-bit!" shouted a voice. "Here Lion, here Tige; commir, ye varmints! What d 'ye mean? All right now; I 've got a-hold of 'em. That you, Arthur; how de do?"

"How do you do, Mr. Barlow?" responded Arthur.

"Hitch yer hosses ter that tree thar. I 'll send Joe out ter tend to 'em. Ye 'll find the girls round the side in a hammock. Here 's Pert a-comin' now."

"Good evening, Arthur, I 'm glad to see you," said a pleasant voice, and out of the shadow into the light of the yellow moon, which was just showing over the tops of the trees, the figure of a girl in white appeared, moving quickly and gracefully toward them.

Arthur stepped forward, and taking both of her hands in his, pressed them silently for a moment. "Pert," he said, "I want you to meet my friend, Mr. Campbell. Come here, old man. Miss Barlow, Mr. Campbell."

"I am very glad to meet you, Miss Barlow," said Checkers, with a graceful inclination.

"Where's Sadie, Pert? Oh, here she comes," said Arthur. "That you, Sadie? How are you?"

"Pretty well, thank you. How's yourself?"

"Sadie, let me introduce you to a friend of mine. Miss Martin, Mr. Campbell."

Miss Martin straightway offered her hand, and Checkers shook it cordially.

"Let's go and sit where we can see the moon – it's perfectly beautiful to-night," said Pert. "Arthur, get two chairs from the porch, and bring them over by the hammock."

Arthur went to fulfill his mission while Checkers walked between the young ladies.

Suddenly he skipped nimbly forward. "Excuse me while I climb a tree," he exclaimed, with a comical intonation. "There comes Lion and Tige, and I 'm afraid it's another horrible case of 'They're After Me.'"

"Oh, they won't touch you while you 're with us," laughed Sadie. "Here Lion, here Tige, good dogs."

"Well then, I think I 'd better establish my popularity with them both right now," said Checkers; and with an air of confidence he kindly patted and rubbed their heads in a way that dogs love, and made them his friends.

Meanwhile Arthur arrived with the chairs. Sadie seated herself in one of them, and motioning Checkers to place the other beside her, left the hammock to Pert and Arthur.

"Did you have a good time in St. Louis, girls?" asked Arthur.

"Oh lovely!" they both exclaimed.

"We hated dreadfully to come home," continued Sadie, "but we simply had to. Our clothes were in tatters. All the men were so sweet to us. They kept something going on every minute."

Then followed an enthusiastic account of their good time, which was tiresome to Checkers, and torture to Kendall.

"Pert, get your banjo," said Arthur, suddenly. "It seems like years since I 've heard you play."

"It has n't but one string on it, Arthur," laughed Pert, "but I 'll fix it up to-morrow, sure."

"I think it would sound very smooth out here in the moonlight, Miss Barlow," suggested Checkers. "If you have some new strings I 'd be glad to fix it up for you. I used to play a bit myself."

Sadie jumped up. "Come, let's go and get it," she said; and she and Checkers went into the house.

She ushered Checkers into a room where Mr. Barlow, in shirt sleeves and stocking feet, sat dozing in a rocking chair, while his wife, a sweet-faced, grey-haired woman, worked button-holes in his new gingham shirts.

Checkers felt drawn towards Mrs. Barlow. She reminded him strangely of his mother. She had a smile like a benediction; but in her weary eyes he could read a tragedy.

The banjo was one of Arthur's many gifts to Pert in days gone by, and Checkers to his great relief found it a very excellent instrument.

Checkers was not a conversationalist, where conversation had to be made; but he was a very good amateur banjoist, and he sang an excellent comic song; and he was glad of the opportunity offered to show himself in perhaps his best rôle.

While, with the banjo on his knee, he deftly adjusted the strings, Miss Martin sat beside him, an interested spectator, and talked to him in an undertone.

"I thought we had better come in here and give Arthur a little chance," she said – "poor fellow." This with a long drawn sigh, which seemed to demand an explanation.

Checkers looked up, inquiringly. This was his first legitimate opportunity of taking a comprehensive look at her. The casual glance had proclaimed her plain, but now in the bright light of a hanging-lamp she seemed to him hopelessly unattractive. He felt chagrined and disappointed. He was angry with Arthur for not having prepared him for such a cruel disillusion. For somehow since his jesting words of the previous Sabbath morning, he had allowed his fancy to run the gamut of many glittering possibilities.

He had started forth that evening, feeling a pleasurable excitement in the vague presentiment that he was going to meet his destiny. But now it simply "would n't do." He decided quickly and became resigned.

"It was n't that she was really so ugly," he afterwards explained to me, "but there was n't anything about her that you could tie to, and sort of forget the rest" – except her "stuff," and he wasn't sure but that was one of Arthur's "pipe-dreams." She had no style, no face, no figure. Nothing at all for a little starter. She was just a girl, that was all – just a girl. A fact which put her beyond the pale.

"Why do you say 'poor fellow?'" said Checkers, after several moments silence. "It seems to me he's mighty lucky to have such a tidy little friend."