Standing on the street corner in a foreign country, three thousand miles from home, the last thing I expected was to hear a familiar voice call my name. I turned to discover the smiling face of Martha Patterson—or, as she was now known, Mrs. Edward McPhee. I had been told that the world is a small place; now I understood what that expression meant.
“Good heavens, Miss Patterson,” I said, removing my hat. “I mean, Mrs. McPhee . . .” My voice trailed off. It was certainly a shock to find her in London; a shock, and something of an awkward sensation, as well.
I had first met Martha when we were passengers on the Mississippi riverboat Horace Greeley, during the lecture tour for which Mr. Clemens had first engaged me as his secretary. She and I had become friendly—or so I had believed. She had introduced herself to everyone aboard the boat by her maiden name, and I had foolishly believed that she had taken a fancy to me. But at the end, we learned that she was married to Slippery Ed McPhee, a gambler and confidence man whom Mr. Clemens had known during his early days on the river.
But what on Earth was she doing here in England? She politely ignored my sputtered exclamations and merely stepped close to me, smiling, and said, “What are you doing in England, pray tell? Are you still working with Mr. Clemens?”
“Yes, I am,” I said, somewhat regaining my composure. I still found her flashing eyes and bright smile hard to resist. “He’s over here to see his new book through the press, and visiting his wife and daughters. I was just on my way to join them for dinner.”
“Are you staying nearby, or do you need a ride? Edward is bringing a carriage around, and we could take you home.”
“Oh, there’s no need of that,” I said, not certain I wanted to share a cab with Slippery Ed McPhee, despite the presence of his charming wife. (Or was it perhaps because of her presence?) “I was planning to walk up to the railroad station and find a cab there. I’m going all the way out of town, to a place called Chelsea.” Even had I felt comfortable accepting a ride from them, I could hardly impose on them to take me so far out of the way.
“Why, how fortunate that we met,” she cried, clapping her hands. “That’s the very place we’re staying! Now you must ride with us!”
I was at a loss what to say, and at that exact moment a carriage pulled up a short distance away and a curly-haired fellow with a broad hat leaned out and shouted in a broad western accent, “Here we go, Martha!” It was Slippery Ed McPhee, and no other.
“Hello, Edward, look who’s turned up in England,” said Martha, taking my hand and pulling me toward the waiting carriage.
McPhee squinted in my direction for a moment, then his mouth fell open with surprise. “Well, fry me for a catfish! If it ain’t young Mr. Cabot. Is my good old buddy Sam over here, too?”
“Yes, Mr. Clemens is here with his whole family,” I said, deciding that further resistance to Martha’s invitation would be undignified. “Your wife has offered me a ride out to Chelsea—if that’s not inconvenient to you.”
“Why, no, easiest thing in the world,” said McPhee. “Good to run across another fellow that talks regular American. These here limeys swallow half their words.” He gave a loud laugh, ignoring the icy stares of nearby spectators.
“Really, Edward, one shouldn’t make such remarks in public,” said Martha as she accepted my assistance mounting into the carriage. “These people have spoken English far longer than we have.”
“Well, you’d think they’d’ve learnt how to talk it better by now,” said McPhee, chuckling, as his wife settled into the seat beside him. She gave him a fond smile, as if he’d said something quite clever. I clambered up and took a position in the facing seat. The driver snapped his reins, and the horse started off toward the sun, which was already brushing the chimney tops to the west.
After thanking McPhee for the ride home, and exchanging a few more pleasantries, I said, “I must say, I never expected to see the two of you in London. What brings you to this side of the Atlantic?”
McPhee’s expression turned serious. “Well, son, I have to say that when Sam gave me that talking-to back on the river, it got me to thinking. ‘Ed McPhee,’ I says to myself, ‘maybe it’s time for you to get a fresh start in life. Time to walk the straight and narrow, for a change.’ So I made up my mind to do just that. Of course, I couldn’t have done it without this little lady, here.” He patted Martha’s hand. His wife blushed, and waved her hand as if to dismiss his compliment.
“Oh, you give yourself far too little credit, Edward,” she said, smiling again at her husband. She turned to me and continued, “But you must understand, Mr. Cabot, it’s difficult to start with a clean slate in a place where everyone knows you, and where some of them hold your past against you, however much you’ve changed.”
McPhee nodded and gave a snort. “The lady’s got it dead to rights,” he said. “At first, I thought about heading to New York, or maybe even California. But then I thought of all the fellows from my old line of work that had moved to all those places, and I just knew it wouldn’t be long before bad company come looking for me, wanting to go out on the town and raise a little hell. It’s mighty hard for a man to look an old friend in the eye and just turn him down cold, especially if that old friend’s still in the same old business.”
“Edward’s given up cardplaying entirely,” Martha explained, a proud look in her eye. Her husband smiled foolishly,
