Page:Weird Tales Volume 4 Number 2 (1924-05-07).djvu/118

THE Spanish War had not yet broken in upon the late nineties when the great day came for Miss Abby Tucker—the day on which she deposited the last fifteen dollars which completed her Europe Fund. Five hundred dollars. At last the end of that desperate scrimping! Here was the price completed of a Cook's Tour, and an extra hundred for presents, every expenditure planned and polished to a hard brilliancy in the imagination-mill of a frugal little New England schoolteacher.

Few people had heard of "nervous reactions" in 1897, but Miss Abby had one as she stepped out of the bank. Perhaps a too-steady diet of bread and tea had something to do with it. But for all her meager little body, Miss Abby possessed a soul above nervous reactions. She stopped, and drew several deep breaths when her heart began to flutter and race, but she soon dispelled the effects of her "turn" by the recollection that it was now only the beginning of the Easter Vacation. She had three whole months left in which to arrange the last, fascinating detail of her tour!

There was, for example, the Tower of London. There was also Stratford-on-Avon. There was Vesuvius, and the Temples at Paestum. Miss Abby did hope they might go to Paestum. That was culture! She had steeped her soul in culture, at second-hand, chiefly through the works of Miss Constance Fenimore Woolson, of which Sophia Granniss approved strongly. Miss Granniss, who taught English Literature at the High School, insisted, too, on the necessity of a sojuni on or near the Grand Canal, the study of the Doge's Palace, and at least slight cultural familiarity—as she called it—with the great Church of Santa Maria della Salute. There were, too, the pigeons on the Piazza. That Piazza! Miss Abby's thoughts carried her happily to all these, and to other, anticipated delights. There was the Campanile, and the Four Bronze Horses of San Marco. Napoleon, she knew, had either brought them there or carried them away! She never could remember which. She must look that up. Anyhow, they were there now to be gazed at. Sophia Granniss said that the glimpse one had of Monte Rosa over in Italy, as one traversed the Gemmi Pass from Spiess to Kandersteg, was "sublime," and urged Miss Abby not to miss that whatever else she might do. "You simply must take that walk, Miss Tucker," she had remarked. "If you don't, you'll live to regret it. Now mark my words!"

The nervous reaction had gone about its business. Miss Abby picked her careful way along the muddy street to her boarding-house. It would not be necessary to crimp quite so closely during the last school term before vacation in June. Miss Abby gained a pound and a quarter during that term.

It was a happy period for her, what with its constant references to the guidebooks she got in turn from the public library of the little Vermont town, the minute arrangements for her departure, and especially, the high lights of certain necessary purchases. These included a steamer-rug, a shawl-strap with a leather handle, which Sophia Grannis had insisted upon, and a new valise. Then there was finally the almost suffocating experience of drawing the four hundred dollars for Thomas Cook and Sons and sending it off in four postal money orders at one fell swoop.

The next day after the closing of school she went to Boston to interview the agent of the steamship line about her accommodations. Sophia Granniss had insisted that "the personal touch" in all such matters was absolutely necessary,and Miss Abby, feeling—a little goaded,went. She did not succeed in interviewing the steamship agent himself, although she inquired for him. She did see a very polite young English clerk, however. He was very polite indeed.

"I've come to see about my accommodations on board the Ruritania sailing the twenty-third, from Hoboken, New Jersey," began Miss Abby. The clerk smiled delightfully, Miss Abby thought.

"I'm sorry. There are no accommodations on board the Ruritania. That is a'one-class' ship, you know, and Cook andSons have booked her all up."

"Yes, thank you, I know that. You see, I'm going with that—ah—group. I only wish to make the arrangements about my, cabin."

The clerk disclaimed responsibility.

"That, you see, is all arranged between the agency and the—that, ah—tou—their clients, you know. I mean to say we only make over the entire ship to them and they make the individual arrangements."

Miss Abby was distinctly disappointed. The "personal touch" then, would involve going on to New York and interviewing Messrs. Cook and Sons. That was out of the question, impossible—financially impossible. She ruminated, a gloved finger against her lips.

"But I'm quite certain to have a cabin to myself, am I not?" she asked anxiously.

"Well, you see—I mean to say—that—ah—depends! Might I venture to inquire—ah—how much—hm! I—ah—mean to say—"

Miss Abby relieved the embarrassment of the young Englishman.

"I am paying four hundred dollars," she informed him.

"I fear—I really am afraid—that you wouldn't have the sole use of a cabin. These tours are very popular, you know, and there will be a good many people going. Probably they will pack you in, rather."

Miss Abby thanked him, and took advantage of being in Boston to visit her married sister in Medford. She returned two days later, regretting the certainty that at the price she had paid she could not have the privacy of even the tiniest cabin, but resolved that, come what might, the strong-minded Miss Granniss should keep her finger out of the pie from then on! It was to be her tour; not Sophia Granniss' Sophia Granniss had had hers!

At last the day of departure dawned. Several friends came to the station to see her off, proffering advice to the very last. The traveler for foreign parts sighed with relief as the train chug-chugged its deliberate way out of the railroad station with stentorian whoopings from the engine-whistle. She settled herself luxuriously to the perusal of a newly-bought magazine, but the perusal was sketchy for her heart was singing within her exultantly.