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Drawn by Charles E. Chambers. " What do you mean ? " she demanded as she looked closely at him.—Page 181. 176
ARTHUR ORTON'S CAREER By George Hibbard ILLUSTRATION BY CHARLES E. CHAMBERS Stanwood lowered the newspaper with a whimsical bending of his sensitive, shaven lip. "He's coming here!" The thoughts in his mind were so forceful that for an instant he feared he had muttered the words aloud, and he glanced rapidly about. Across the large club-room, with its luxury of furnishing, two members, deep in cavernous leather chairs, were reading sedately and undisturbedly. Therefore he had not attracted attention, and he turned back ,to the page of the old, conservative local evening paper. What he had read was merely an announcement, with a heading of moderately large type, that the Honorable Arthur Orton was to "address" the political mass-meeting to be held that evening at the West Street Convention Hall. Though the fact was such a simple one, it aroused within him a feeling of unavoidable protest. Stanwood's memory bore him back many years, as happened always with each recurrence of Arthur Orton as a fact and factor. He saw the drearily gaudy "parlor" of the small hotel of the obscure seaside place. There, after a more expensive month at Mount Barren, Mrs. Christopher Wynne had retreated with her daughter, and thither, as soon as he was able, he had hurried. With all the entrancement of Marian's witchery upon him, Stanwood, young as he was and in love as he was, felt himself forced to admit that Mrs. Wynne was indubitably a trying circumstance of a thoroughly regrettable nature. Invariably, when meeting Marian, pale and silent beside her florid and voluble parent, the world was in the habit of ascribing many merits to the late Christopher Wynne, assistant professor of archaeology for many years at Harvale. Of distinguished Revolutionary ancestry—for General Roger Wynne was his great-greatgrandfather, in praise of whose bravery Washington had sworn one of his historic oaths—Wynne had passed through life in a scholarly obscurity from which his pretty gift of after-dinner speaking alone had drawn him. That Mrs. Christopher Wynne undoubtedly possessed a rudimentary prettiness in her girlhood was always accepted as an explanation of such an incongruous alliance, though little credit was accorded her for any inheritance of beauty in the lily loveliness of her daughter. " I call it a case of the maternal instinct rampant," said Mrs. Thurlow on the occasion often recalled by Stanwood, "and I suppose a great deal should be forgiven to that admirable but in this case exaggerated trait. The girl must be like her father." This was the statement always made in any discussion of Marian Wynne, however short. "Therefore," Mrs. Thurlow continued, with the brusqueness which her unassailable position and natural disposition led her to employ, "you won't be making much of a mistake in marrying her. You know, James, I was your mother's bridesmaid, so I naturally take an interest in you. Go ahead, I say, and bless you, my children. Marian is a dear, and with her really ideal beauty she will be snapped up before you know it. Indeed, her mother made no bones about the many chances she's had already. She gesticulated and positively wept, until I couldn't tell which were tears and which were beads on her bodice, at 'the child's' — as she called her — ridiculous indifference and criticalness. Why, she told me that at Mount Barren the most eligible men were positively running after her. Arthur Orton, for example, was perfectly mad about her." "Arthur Orton?" "Don't you know? He is that young man every one says has a career before him, is bound to be somebody great. He's VOL. LVII—18. 177
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Drawn by Charles E. Chambers.<br />
" What do you mean ? " she demanded as she looked closely at him.—Page 181.<br />
176
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