“Clem!” cried Cyn and Nattie, in the same breath.
“Do you begin to believe me?” said the gentleman who had caused all this disturbance, and looking at Nattie, who now, becoming conscious that her hand was yet in his, withdrew it hastily, with a deep blush.
“I don’t know what to think!” cried Cyn.
“Do explain something, quick, or I shall burst a blood-vessel with impatience; I know I shall!” exclaimed Jo.
Mr. Stanwood complied, by saying,
“The fact of the case is simply this. That red-haired young man, so graphically described by you girls, that ‘odious creature,’ was the operator I went to substitute for that day!”
“Oh!” said Nattie, a light beginning to break upon her.
“But how—” commenced Cyn.
“I will tell you how, if you will be patient,” Mr. Stanwood interrupted, smiling. “His office, as you,” looking at Nattie, “remember, had once been on our wire. He had heard N and I talking, and in fact had often annoyed us by breaking. So, as he was at the city, he took the opportunity to pass himself off for me; perhaps for the sake of a joke, perhaps from more malicious motives. I recognized his description at once, from your story today, and I remember, too, his telling me on his return, that he knew the best joke of the season; a remark I did not notice, never supposing it concerned me.”
“Yes!” said Nattie, eagerly, “and he was very particular to ask me not to mention his call, on the wire.”
“I do not suppose he imagined but we would eventually discover the fraud, however; and so we should, had not you,” looking rather reproachfully at Nattie, “in your haste to drop so undesirable an acquaintance, avoided the least hint of the true cause. How the dickens was I to know what was the matter? I puzzled my brains enough over it, I assure you.”
“And that redheaded impostor has been chuckling in his sleeve ever since, I suppose,” said Cyn, indignantly; then seizing. Mr. Stanwood by the arms, she cried, in a transport of delight, “and it really is true? you are our C?”
“What! am I not yet believed?” he questioned, laughing; “what more shall I do to convince you of my identity? you accepted our redheaded friend readily enough!”
“Oh! I believe you!” cried Nattie, eagerly; then stopped, and colored, abashed at her own so plainly shown delight.
But Mr. Stanwood looked at her with a gratified expression in his brown eyes.
“And you will not snub me any more, will you?” he said, pleadingly; “because I never use bear’s grease or musk, and my hair isn’t red a bit!”
“I will try and make amends,” Nattie answered, shyly; adding, “I ought to have known there was some mistake. I never could reconcile that creature and—and C!”
“Then I may flatter myself that I am an improvement?” asked Mr. Stanwood, merrily; at which Nattie murmured something about fishing for compliments, and Cyn replied gayly,
“Yes; because you have curly hair! You remember what I said on the wire, via Nat?”
“Could I forget?” he replied, gallantly.
“And it isn’t a dream! You are C, the real C,” replied Cyn, pinching herself, and then seizing Nattie, who, from the suddenness of it all was yet in a semi-bewildered state—there was not a bit of unhappiness in it, though—waltzed ecstatically around the room, crying, “Oh! I am so glad! I am so glad!”
At this point Quimby, who, during the preceding explanation had listened with a face illustrating every variety of consternation and dismay, attracted attention to himself by an audible groan, observing which, he muttered something about his “wound”—the word had a double meaning for him then, poor fellow!—and rising, came forward, took his friend by the shoulder, and asked, solemnly,
“Now, Clem—I—I beg pardon—but is it—is this all true, and—and not one of your jokes, you know? Honestly, are you that—that C?”
“Here is a doubting Thomas for you!” cried Clem, gayly. “But, upon my word of honor, old boy, I truly and honestly am ‘that C,’ and I suppose you were the ‘other visitor of no consequence,’ who called with Miss Archer that day I was favored by an introduction to her. How little I thought it then!”
“How little I thought it!” groaned Quimby, as his hand fell dejectedly from Clem’s shoulder. “But I—I am used to it, you know!” So saying he sank into a chair. That he had brought about such a result as this—that he had resurrected the dreaded C from the grave of musk and bear’s grease was too much.
“But now that all is explained, I am really not sorry for the mistake,” Clem said, utterly unconscious of his friend’s state of mind. “For, had it not been for that I should never have learned, as I have today, from you two ladies, what a very interesting and agreeable fellow I am!” and he bowed profoundly, with a twinkle of merriment in his eyes.
“Over the wire,” Nattie added, pointedly.
“Of course, over the wire!” he said, with another bow. “But it shall be my endeavor to make good my reputation, minus the wire!”
“You will have to work very hard to place Mr. Stanwood where C was in our good graces!” said Cyn, archly.
“Then suppose we drop the Mr. Stanwood, and take up Clem, who already was somewhat advanced!” he said, adroitly.
“Ah! Clem sounds more natural, doesn’t it, Nat?” questioned Cyn laughing; “we knew Clem and C, but Mr. Stanwood is a stranger!”
“Then let us drop him by all means! and now say you are glad to see your old friend!” said Clem, gayly.
“We are transported with delight at beholding our Clem, so lately given up as lost forever!” Cyn replied with equal gayety; and Clem, then looking at Nattie, as if he expected her to say something also, she murmured,
“I am very glad to meet C,” a remark that sounded cold beside that of enthusiastic Cyn. But in fact Nattie was so confused, so happy, and so strangely timid, that she longed to get away by herself and think it
