Cupid's Exile Number Two

by O. Henry

　　

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The United States of America, after looking over its stock ofconsular timber, selected Mr. John De Graffenreid Atwood, ofDalesburg, Alabama, for a successor to Willard Geddie, resigned.Without prejudice to Mr. Atwood, it will have to be acknowledgedthat, in this instance, it was the man who sought the office. Aswith the self-banished Geddie, it was nothing less than the artfulsmiles of lovely woman that had driven Johnny Atwood to the desperateexpedient of accepting office under a despised Federal Governmentso that he might go far, far away and never see again the false, fairface that had wrecked his young life. The consulship at Coralioseemed to offer a retreat sufficiently removed and romantic enoughto inject the necessary drama into the pastoral scenes of Dalesburglife.It was while playing the part of Cupid's exile that Johnny added hishandiwork to the long list of casualties along the Spanish Main byhis famous manipulation of the shoe market, and his unparalleled featof elevating the most despised and useless weed in his own countryfrom obscurity to be a valuable product in international commerce.The trouble began, as trouble often begins instead of ending, witha romance. In Dalesburg there was a man named Elijah Hemstetter, whokept a general store. His family consisted of one daughter calledRosine, a name that atoned much for "Hemstetter." This young womanwas possessed of plentiful attractions, so that the young men ofthe community were agitated in their bosoms. Among the more agitatedwas Johnny, the son of Judge Atwood, who lived in the big colonialmansion on the edge of Dalesburg.It would seem that the desirable Rosine should have been pleased toreturn the affection of an Atwood, a name honored all over the statelong before and since the war. It does seem that she should havegladly consented to have been led into that stately but rather emptycolonial mansion. But not so. There was a cloud on the horizon, athreatening, cumulus cloud, in the shape of a lively and shrewd youngfarmer in the neighborhood who dared to enter the lists as a rival tothe high-born Atwood.One night Johnny propounded to Rosine a question that is consideredof much importance by the young of the human species. The accessorieswere all there--moonlight, oleanders, magnolias, the mockingbird'ssong. Whether or no the shadow of Pinkney Dawson, that prosperousyoung farmer came between them on that occasion is not known; butRosine's answer was unfavorable. Mr. John De Graffenreid Atwood bowedtill his hat touched the lawn grass, and went away with his head high,but with a sore wound in his pedigree and heart. A Hemstetter refusean Atwood! Zounds!Among other accidents of that year was a Democratic president. JudgeAtwood was a warhorse of Democracy. Johnny persuaded him to set thewheels moving for some foreign appointment. He would go away--away.Perhaps in years to come Rosine would think how true, how faithfulhis love had been, and would drop a tear--maybe in the cream shewould be skimming for Pink Dawson's breakfast.The wheels of politics revolved; and Johnny was appointed consul toCoralio. Just before leaving he dropped in at Hemstetter's to saygood-bye. There was a queer, pinkish look about Rosine's eyes; andhad the two been alone, the United States might have had to castabout for another consul. But Pink Dawson was there, of course,talking about his 400-acre orchard, and the three-mile alfalfa tract,and the 200-acre pasture. So Johnny shook hands with Rosine ascoolly as if he were only going to run up to Montgomery for a coupleof days. They had the royal manner when they chose, those Atwoods."If you happen to strike anything in the way of a good investmentdown there, Johnny," said Pink Dawson, "just let me know, will you?I reckon I could lay my hands on a few extra thousands 'most any timefor a profitable deal.""Certainly, Pink," said Johnny, pleasantly. "If I strike anything ofthat sort I'll let you in with pleasure."So Johnny went down to Mobile and took a fruit steamer for the coastof Anchuria.When the new consul arrived in Coralio the strangeness of the scenesdiverted him much. He was only twenty-two; and the grief of youthwas not worn like a garment as it is by older men. It has itsseasons when it reigns; and then it is unseated for time by theassertion of the keen senses.Billy Keogh and Johnny seemed to conceive a mutual friendship atonce. Keogh took the new consul about town and presented him to thehandful of Americans and the smaller number of French and Germans whomade up the "foreign" contingent. And then, of course, he had to bemore formally introduced to the native officials, and have hiscredentials transmitted through an interpreter.There was something about the young Southerner that the sophisticatedKeogh liked. His manner was simple almost to boyishness; but hepossessed the cool carelessness of a man of far greater age andexperience. Neither uniforms nor titles, red tape nor foreignlanguages, mountains nor sea weighed upon his spirits. He was heirto all ages, an Atwood, of Dalesburg; and you might know everythought conceived to his bosom.Geddie came down to the consulate to explain the duties and workingsof the office. He and Keogh tried to interest the new consul intheir description of the work that his government expected him toperform."It's all right," said Johnnie from the hammock that he had set up asthe official reclining place. "If anything turns up that has to bedone I'll let you fellows do it. You can't expect a Democrat to workduring his first term of holding office.""You might look over these headings," suggested Geddie, "of thedifferent lines of exports you will have to keep account of. Thefruit is classified; and there are the valuable woods, coffee,rubber--""That last account sounds all right," interrupted Mr. Atwood. "Soundsas if it could be stretched. I want to buy a new flag, a monkey, aguitar and a barrel of pineapples. Will the rubber account stretchover 'em?""That's merely statistics," said Geddie, smiling. "The expenseaccount is what you want. It is supposed to have a slight elasticity.The 'stationery' items are sometimes carelessly audited by the StateDepartment.""We're wasting our time," said Keogh. "This man was born to holdoffice. He penetrates to the root of the art at one step of hiseagle eye. The true genius of government shows its hand in everyword of his speech.""I didn't take this job with any intention of working," explainedJohnny, lazily. "I wanted to go somewhere in the world where theydidn't talk about farms. There are none here, are there?""Not the kind you are acquainted with," answered the ex-consul."There is no such art here as agriculture. There never was a plowor a reaper within the boundaries of Anchuria.""This is the country for me," murmured the consul, and immediatelyhe fell asleep.The cheerful tintypist pursued his intimacy with Johnny in spiteof open charges that he did so to obtain a preemption on a seat inthat coveted spot, the rear gallery of the consulate. But whetherhis designs were selfish or purely friendly, Keogh achieved thatdesirable privilege. Few were the nights on which the two couldnot be found reposing there in the sea breeze, with their heels onthe railing, and the cigars and brandy conveniently near.One evening they sat thus, mainly silent, for their talk had dwindledbefore the stilling influence of an unusual night.There was a great, full moon; and the sea mother-of-pearl. Almostevery sound was hushed, for the air was but faintly stirring; andthe town lay panting, waiting for the night to cool. Offshore laythe fruit steamer ~Andador~, of the Vesuvius line, full-laden andscheduled to sail at six in the morning. There were no loiterers onthe beach. So bright was the moonlight that the two men could seethe small pebbles shining on the beach where the gentle surf wettedthem.Then down the coast, tacking close to shore, slowly swam a littlesloop, white-winged like some snowy sea fowl. Its course lay withintwenty points of the wind's eye; so it veered in and out again inlong, slow strokes like the movements of a graceful skater.Again the tactics of its crew brought it close in shore, this timenearly opposite the consulate; and then there blew from the sloopclear and surprising notes as if from a horn of elfland. A fairybugle it might have been, sweet and silvery and unexpected, playingwith spirit the familiar air of "Home, Sweet Home."It was a scene set for the land of the lotus. The authority of thesea and the tropics, the mystery that attends unknown sails, and theprestige of drifting music on moonlit waters gave it an anodynouscharm. Johnny Atwood felt it, and thought of Dalesburg; but as soonas Keogh's mind had arrived at a theory concerning the peripateticsolo he sprang to the railing, and his ear-rending yawp fracturedthe silence of Coralio like a cannon shot."Mel-lin-ger a-hoy!"The sloop was now on its outward tack; but from it came a clear,answering hail:"Good-bye, Billy... go-ing home--bye!"The ~Andador~ was the sloop's destination. No doubt some passengerwith a sailing permit from some up-the-coast point had come downin this sloop to catch the regular fruit steamer on its return trip.Like a coquettish pigeon the little boat tacked on its eccentric wayuntil at last its white sail was lost to sight against the largerbulk of the fruiter's side."That's old H. P. Mellinger," explained Keogh, dropping back into hischair. "He's going back to New York. He was a private secretary ofthe late hot-foot president of this grocery and fruit stand that theycall a country. His job's over now; and I guess old Mellinger isglad.""Why does he disappear to music, like Zo-zo, the magic queen?" askedJohnny. "Just to show 'em that he doesn't care?""That noise you heard is a phonograph," said Keogh. "I sold himthat. Mellinger had a graft in this country that was the only thingof its kind in the world. The tooting machine saved it for him once,and he always carried it around with him afterward.""Tell me about it," demanded Johnny, betraying interest."I'm no disseminator of narratives," said Keogh. "I can use languagefor purposes of speech; but when I attempt a discourse the words comeout as they will, and they may make sense when they strike theatmosphere, or they may not.""I want to hear about the graft," persisted Johnny, "You've got noright to refuse. I've told you all about every man, woman andhitching post in Dalesburg.""You shall hear it," said Keogh. "I said my instincts of narrativewere perplexed. Don't you believe it. It's an art I've acquiredalong with many other of the graces and sciences."

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