away now,” he said finally, clicking his knife-blade half shut and open with his thumb.

“It’s about time for our evergreen trade, and I don’t want the trees to stay a minute in the ground after the middle of the month.”

“Won’t the ladies find it hard to tear themselves away from the gaieties of Saratoga?” I asked with apparent vagueness.

“Well, that’s it,” said Mr. Deering; and he shut his knife and slipped it into his pocket, in order to take his knee between his clasped hands and lift his leg from the ground.  I have noticed that this is a philosophical attitude with some people, and I was prepared by it for some thoughtful generalising from my companion.  “Women would be willing to stay on in a place for a year to see if something wouldn’t happen; and if you take ’em away before anything happens, they’ll always think that if they’d stayed something would have happened the next day, or maybe the day they left.”

He stared upward into the pine boughs, and I said: “Yes, that’s so.  I suppose we should be like them if we had the same conditions.  Their whole life is an expectation of something to happen.  Men have the privilege of making things happen—or trying to.”

“Oh, I don’t know as I want to criticise ’em.  As you say, I guess we should be just so.”  He dropped his leg, and bent over as if to examine the grass; he ended by taking a blade of it between his teeth before he spoke again, with his head still down.  “I don’t want to hurry ’em; I want to give ’em a fair show now we’re here, and I’ll let the stock go as long as I can.  But I don’t see very much gaiety around.”

I laughed.  “Why, it’s all gaiety, in one way.  Saratoga is a perpetual Fourth of July, we think.”

“Oh yes; there’s enough going on, and my wife and me we could enjoy it first rate.”

“If the young lady could?” I ventured, with a smile of sympathetic intelligence.

“Well, yes.  You see, we don’t know anybody, and I suppose we didn’t take that into account.  Well, I suppose it’s like this: they thought it would be easy to get acquainted in the hotel, and commence having a good time right away.  I don’t know; my wife had the idea when they cooked it up amongst ’em that she was to come with us.  But I swear I don’t know how to go about it.  I can’t seem to make up my mouth to speak to folks first; and then you can’t tell whether a man ain’t a gambler, or on for the horse-races anyway.  So we’ve been here a week now, and you’re the first ones we’ve spoken to besides the waiters since we came.”

I couldn’t help laughing, their experience was so exactly as I had imagined it when I first saw this disconsolate party.  In my triumph at my own penetration, I would not have had their suffering in the past one pang the less; but the simple frankness of his confession fixed me in the wish that the future might be brighter for them.  I thought myself warranted by my wife’s imprudence in taking a step toward their further intimacy on my own account, and I said:

“Well, perhaps I ought to tell you that I haven’t been inside the Saratoga Club or bet on the races since I’ve been here.  That’s my name in full,”—and I gave him my card,—“and I’m in the literary line; that is, I’m the editor of a magazine in New York—the Every Other Week.”

“Oh yes; I know who you are,” said my companion, with my card in his hand.  “Fact is, I was round at your place this morning trying to get rooms, and the clerk told me all about you from my description.  I felt as mean as pu’sley goin’; seemed to be takin’ kind of an advantage of you.”

“Not at all; it’s a public house,” I interrupted; but I thought I should be stronger with Mrs. March if I did not give the fact away to her, and I resolved to keep it.

“But they couldn’t rest easy till I tried, and I was more than half glad there wasn’t any rooms.”

“Oh, I’m very sorry,” I said; and I indulged a real regret from the vantage I had.  “It would have been very pleasant to have you there.  Perhaps later—we shall be giving up our rooms at the end of the month.”

“No,” he said, with a long breath.  “If I’ve got to leave ’em, I guess it’ll be just as well to leave ’em where they’re acquainted with the house anyway.”  His remark betrayed a point in his thinking which had not perhaps been reached in his talk with the ladies.  “It’s a quiet place, and they’re used to it; and I guess they wouldn’t want to stay through the rest of the month, quite.  I don’t believe my wife would, anyway.”

He did not say this very confidently, but hopefully rather, and I thought it afforded me an opening to find out something yet more definite about the ladies.

“Miss Gage is remarkably fine-looking,” I began.

“Think so?” he answered.  “Well, so does my wife.  I don’t know as I like her style exactly,” he said, with a kind of latent grudge.

“Her style is magnificent,” I insisted.

“Well, maybe so.  I guess she’s good enough looking, if that’s what you mean.  But I think it’s always a kind of a mistake for three persons to come off together, I don’t care who they are.  Then there’s three opinions.  She’s a nice girl, and a good girl, and she don’t put herself forward.  But when you’ve got a young lady on your hands, you’ve got her, and you feel bound to keep doin’ something for her all the time; and if you don’t know what to do yourself, and your wife can’t tell—”

I added intelligently, “Yes.”

“Well, that’s just where it is.  Sometimes I wish the whole dumb town would burn up.”  I laughed and laughed; and my friend, having begun to unpack his heart, went on to ease it of the rest of its load.  I had not waited for this before making some reflections concerning him, but I now formulated them to myself.  He really had none of that reserve I had attributed to him the night before; it was merely caution and this is the case with most country people.  They are cautious, but not reserved; if they think they can trust you, they keep back none of their affairs; and this is the American character, for we are nearly all country people.  I understood him perfectly when he said, “I ruther break stone than go through what I have been through the last week!  You understand how it is.  ’Tain’t as if she said anything; I wish she would; but you feel all the while that it ain’t what she expected it to be, and you feel as if it was you that was to blame for the failure.  By George! if any man was to come along and make an offer for my contract I would sell out cheap.  It’s worse because my wife asked her to come, and thought she was doin’ her all kinds of a favour to let her.  They’ve always been together, and when we talked of coming to Saratoga this summer, nothing would do my wife but Julia must come with us.  Her and her father usually take a trip off somewhere in the hot weather, but this time he couldn’t leave; president of our National Bank, and president of the village, too.”  He threw in the fact of these dignities explanatorily, but with a willingness, I could see, that it should affect me.  He went on: “They’re kind of connections of my first wife’s.  Well, she’s a nice girl; too nice, I guess, to get along very fast.  I see girls all the way along down gettin’ acquainted on the cars and boats—we come east on the Ogdensburg road to Rouse’s Point, and then took the boat down Lake Champlain and Lake George—but she always seemed to hold back.  I don’t know’s she’s proud either; I can’t make it out.  It balls my wife all up, too.  I tell her she’s fretted off all the good her trip’s goin’ to do her before she got it.”

He laughed ruefully, and just then the band began to play the “Washington Post.”

“What tune’s that?” he demanded.