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The Rube’s Waterloo
by
I left Milly, as always, once more able to make light of discouragements and difficulties.
Monday I gave Henderson his unconditional release. He celebrated the occasion by verifying certain rumors I had heard from other managers. He got drunk. But he did not leave town, and I heard that he was negotiating with Providence for a place on that team.
Radbourne pitched one of his gilt-edged games that afternoon against Hartford and we won. And Milly sat in the grand stand, having contrived by cleverness to get a seat next to Nan Brown. Milly and I were playing a vastly deeper game than baseball–a game with hearts. But we were playing it with honest motive, for the good of all concerned, we believed, and on the square. I sneaked a look now and then up into the grand stand. Milly and Nan appeared to be getting on famously. It was certain that Nan was flushed and excited, no doubt consciously proud of being seen with my affianced. After the game I chanced to meet them on their way out. Milly winked at me, which was her sign that all was working beautifully.
I hunted up the Rube and bundled him off to the hotel to take dinner with me. At first he was glum, but after a while he brightened up somewhat to my persistent cheer and friendliness. Then we went out on the hotel balcony to smoke, and there I made my play.
”Whit, I’m pulling a stroke for you. Now listen and don’t be offended. I know what’s put you off your feed, because I was the same way when Milly had me guessing. You’ve lost your head over Nan Brown. That’s not so terrible, though I daresay you think it’s a catastrophe. Because you’ve quit. You’ve shown a yellow streak. You’ve lain down.
”My boy, that isn’t the way to win a girl. You’ve got to scrap. Milly told me yesterday how she had watched your love affairs with Nan, and how she thought you had given up just when things might have come your way. Nan is a little flirt, but she’s all right. What’s more, she was getting fond of you. Nan is meanest to the man she likes best. The way to handle her, Whit, is to master her. Play high and mighty. Get tragical. Then grab her up in your arms. I tell you, Whit, it’ll all come your way if you only keep your nerve. I’m your friend and so is Milly. We’re going out to her house presently–and Nan will be there.”
The Rube drew a long, deep breath and held out his hand. I sensed another stage in the evolution of Whit Hurtle.
”I reckon I’ve taken baseball coachin’,” he said presently, ”an’ I don’t see why I can’t take some other kind. I’m only a rube, an’ things come hard for me, but I’m a-learnin’.”
It was about dark when we arrived at the house.
”Hello, Connie. You’re late. Good evening, Mr. Hurtle. Come right in. You’ve met Miss Nan Brown? Oh, of course; how stupid of me!”
It was a trying moment for Milly and me. A little pallor showed under the Rube’s tan, but he was more composed than I had expected. Nan got up from the piano. She was all in white and deliciously pretty. She gave a quick, glad start of surprise. What a relief that was to my troubled mind! Everything had depended upon a real honest liking for Whit, and she had it.
More than once I had been proud of Milly’s cleverness, but this night as hostess and an accomplice she won my everlasting admiration. She contrived to give the impression that Whit was a frequent visitor at her home and very welcome. She brought out his best points, and in her skillful hands he lost embarrassment and awkwardness. Before the evening was over Nan regarded Whit with different eyes, and she never dreamed that everything had not come about naturally. Then Milly somehow got me out on the porch, leaving Nan and Whit together.