Here is Chapter 2 of “Wired Love”.<\/p>\n
\nChapter 2: \u201cAt the Hotel Norman\u201d<\/p>\n
Miss NATTIE ROGERS, telegraph operator, lived, as it were, in two worlds. The one her office, dingy and curtailed as to proportions, but from whence she could wander away through the medium of that slender telegraph wire, on a sort of electric wings, to distant cities and towns; where, although alone all day, she did not lack social intercourse, and where she could amuse herself if she chose, by listening to and speculating upon the many messages of joy or of sorrow, of business and of pleasure, constantly going over the wire. But the other world in which Miss Rogers lived was very different; the world bounded by the four walls of a back room at Miss Betsey Kling\u2019s. It must be confessed that there are more pleasing views than sheds in greater or less degrees of dilapidation, a sickly grape-vine, a line of flapping sheets, an overflowing ash barrel; sweeter sounds than the dulcet notes of old rag-men, the serenades of musical cats, or the strains of a cornet played upon at intervals from nine P. M. to twelve, with the evident purpose of exhausting superfluous air in the performer\u2019s lungs. Perhaps, too, there was more agreeable company possible than Miss Betsey Kling.<\/p>\n
Therefore, in the evening, Sunday and holiday, if not in the telegraphic world of Miss Rogers, loneliness, and the unpleasant sensation known as \u201cblues\u201d were not uncommon.<\/p>\n
Miss Betsey Kling, who, although in reduced circumstances, boasted of certain \u201cblue blood,\u201d inherited from dead and gone ancestors \u2014 who perhaps would have been surprised could they have known at this late day how very genteel they were in life, \u2014rented a flat in Hotel Norman, on the second floor, of which she let one room; not on account of the weekly emolument received therefrom, ah, no! but \u201cfor the sake of having some one for company.\u201d In this respect she was truly a contrast to Mrs. Simonson, a hundred and seventy-five pound widow, who lived in the remaining suite of that floor, and who let every room she possibly could, in order, as she frankly confessed, to \u201cmake both ends meet.\u201d For a constant struggle with the \u201cways and means\u201d whereby to live had quite annihilated any superfluous gentility Mrs. Simonson might have had, excepting only one lingering remnant, that would never allow her to hang in the window one of those cheaply conspicuous placards, announcing:<\/p>\n
\u201cRooms to Let.\u201d<\/p>\n
Miss Betsey Kling was a spinster\u2014not because she liked it, but on account of circumstances over which she had no control,\u2014and her principal object in life, outside of the never-expressed, but much thought-of one of finding her other self, like her, astray, was to keep watch and ward over the affairs of the occupants of neighboring flats, and see that they conducted themselves with the propriety becoming the neighbors of so very genteel and unexceptionable a person as Miss Betsey Kling. In pursuit of this occupation she was addicted to sudden and silent appearances, much after the manner of materialized spirits, at windows opening into the hail, and doors carelessly left ajar. She was, however, afflicted with a chronic cold, that somewhat interfered with her ability to become a first-class listener, on account of its producing an incessant sniffle and spasms of violent sneezing.<\/p>\n
Miss Rogers going home to that back room of hers, found herself still pondering upon the probable sex of \u201cC.\u201d Rather to her own chagrin, when she caught her thoughts thus straying, too; for she had a certain scorn of anything pertaining to trivial sentiment. A little scorn of herself she also had sometimes. In fact, her desires reached beyond the obtaining of the every-day commonplaces with which so many are content to fill their lives, and she possessed an ambition too dominant to allow her to be content with the dead level of life. Therefore it was that any happy hours of forgetfulness of all but the present, that sometimes came in her way, were often followed by others of unrest and dissatisfaction. There were certain dreams she indulged in of the future, now hopefully, now utterly disheartened, that she was so far away from their realization. These dreams were of fame, of fame as an authoress. Whether it was the true genius stirring within her, or that most unfortunate of all things, an unconquerable desire without the talent to rise above mediocrity, time alone could tell.<\/p>\n
Compelled by the failure and subsequent death of her father to support herself, or become a burden upon her mother, whose now scanty means barely sufficed for herself and two younger children, Nattie chose the more independent, but harder course. For she was not the kind of girl to sit down and wait for some one to come along and marry her, and relieve her of the burden of self-support. So, from a telegraph office in the country, where she learned the profession, she drifted to her present one in the city.<\/p>\n
To her, as yet, there was a certain fascination about telegraphy. But she had a presentiment that in time the charm would give place to monotony, more especially as, beyond a certain point, there was positively, no advancement in the profession. Although knowing she could not be content to always be merely a telegraph operator, she resolved to like it as well and as long as she could, since it was the best for the present.<\/p>\n
As she lighted the gas in her room, she thought not of these things that were so often in her mind, but of \u201cC,\u201d and then scolded herself for caring whether that distant individual was man or woman. What mattered it to a young lady who felt herself above flirtations?<\/p>\n
So there was a little scowl on her face as she turned around, that did not lessen when she beheld Miss Kling standing in her door-way. For Miss Rogers did not, to speak candidly, find her landlady a congenial spirit, and only remained upon her premises because being there was a lesser evil than living in that most unhomelike of all places, a boarding-house.<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought I would make you a call,\u201d the unwelcome visitor remarked:, rubbing her nose, that from constant friction had become red and shining; \u201cI have been lonesome to-day. I usually run into Mrs. Simonson\u2019s in the afternoon, but she has been out since twelve o\u2019clock. I can\u2019t make out\u2014\u201d musingly, \u201cwhere she can have gone! not that she is just the company I desire. She has never been used to anything above the common, poor soul, and will say \u2018them rooms,\u2019 but she is better than no one, and at least can appreciate in others the culture and standing she has never attained,\u201d and Miss Kling sneezed, and glanced at Nattie with an expression that plainly said her lodger would do well to imitate, in this last respect, the lady in question.<\/p>\n
\u201cI am very little acquainted with Mrs. Simon son,\u201d Nattie replied, with a tinge of scorn curling her lip, for, in truth, she had little reverence for Miss Kling\u2019s blue blood. \u201cHer lodgers like her very much, I believe ; at least, Quimby speaks of her in the highest terms.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cQuimby !\u201c repeated Miss Kling, with a sniffle of contempt. \u201cA blundering, awkward creature, who is always doing or saying some shocking thing !\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know that he is neither elegant nor talented, and is often very awkward, but he is honest and kind-hearted, and one is willing to overlook other deficiencies for such rare qualities,\u201d Nattie replied a little warmly, \u201cand so Mrs. Simonson feels, I am confident.\u201d<\/p>\n
Miss Kling eyed her sharply.<\/p>\n
\u201cNot at all! Allow me, Miss Rogers, to know! Mrs. Simonson endures his blunders, because, as she says, he can live on the interest of his money, \u2018on a pinch,\u2019 and she thinks such a lodger something of which to boast. On a pinch, indeed !\u201d added Miss Kling, with a sneeze, and giving the principal feature in her face something very like the exclamation, \u201ca very tight pinch it would be, I am thinking !\u201d Then somewhat spitefully she continued, \u201cBut I was not aware, Miss Rogers, that you and this Quimby were so intimate! The admiration is mutual, I suppose ?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThere is no admiration,\u201d replied Nattie, with a flash of her gray eyes, inwardly indignant that any one should insinuate she admired Quimby\u2014 honest, blundering Quimby, whom no one ever allowed a handle to his name, and who was so clever, but like all clever people, such a dreadful bore. \u201cI have only met him two or three times since that evening you introduced us in the hall, so there has hardly been an opportunity for anything of that kind.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou spoke so warmly !\u201d Miss Kling remarked.<\/p>\n
\u2018However,\u201d conciliatingly, \u201cI don\u2019t suppose by any means that you are in love with Quimby !You are much too sensible a young lady for such folly !\u201d<\/p>\n
Nattie shrugged her shoulders, as if tired of the subject, and after a spasm of sneezing, Miss Kling continued:<\/p>\n
\u201cAs you intimate, he means all right, poor fellow! and that is more than I should be willing to acknowledge regarding Mrs. Simonson\u2019s other lodger, that Mr. Norton, who calls himself an artist. I am sure I never saw any one except a convict wear such short hair !\u201d and Miss Kling shook her head insinuatingly.<\/p>\n
From this beginning, to Nattie\u2019s dismay, Miss Kling proceeded to the dissection of their neighbors who lived in the suite above, Celeste Fishblate and her father. The former, Miss Kling declared, was setting her cap for Quimby. Mr. Fishblate being an unquestionably disagreeable specimen of the genus homo, with a somewhat startling habit of exploding in short, but expressive sentences\u2014never using more than three consecutive words\u2014Nattie naturally expected to hear him even more severely anathematized than any one else. But to her surprise, the lady conducting the conversation declared him a \u201cfine sensible man !\u201c At which Nattie first stared, and then smiled, as it occurred to her that Mr. Fishblate was a widower, and might it not be that Miss Kling contemplated the possibility of his becoming that other self not yet attained?<\/p>\n
Fortunately, Miss Kling did not observe her lodger\u2019s looks, so intent was she in admiration of Mr. Fishblate\u2019s fine points, and soon took her leave.<\/p>\n
After her departure, Nattie changed her inky dress, and put on her hat to go out for something forgotten until now. As she stepped into the hall, a tall young man, with extremely long arms and legs, and mouth, that, although shaded by a faint outline of a mustache, invariably suggested an alligator, opened the door of Mrs. Simonson\u2019s rooms, opposite, and seeing Nattie, started back in a sort of nervous bashfulness. Recovering himself, he then darted out with such impetuosity that his foot caught in a rug, he fell, and went headlong down stairs, dragging with him a fire-bucket, at which he clutched in a vain effort to save himself, the two jointly making a noise that echoed through the silent halls, and brought out the inhabitants of the rooms in alarm.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is it? Is any one killed ?\u201d shrieked from above, a voice, recognizable as that of Celeste Fishblate \u2014 two names that could never by any possibility sound harmonious.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is the matter now ?\u201d screamed Miss Kling, appearing at her door with the query.<\/p>\n
\u201c Have you hurt yourself ?\u201d Nattie asked, as she went down to where the hero of the catastrophe sat on the bottom stair, ruefully rubbing his elbow, but who now picked up his hat and the fire-bucket, and rose to explain.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s nothing\u2014nothing at all, you know !\u201d he said, looking upward, and bowing to the voices; \u201cI caught my foot in the rug, and \u2014 \u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you tear the rug?\u201d here anxiously interrupted the listening Mrs. Simonson, suddenly appearing at the banisters; not that she felt for her lodger less, but for the rug more, a distinction arising from that constant struggle with the \u201cways and means.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, no! I assure you, there was no damage done to the rug\u2014or fire-bucket,\u201d the victim responded, reassuringly, and in perfect good faith. \u201cOr myself,\u201d he added modestly, as if the latter was scarce worth speaking of. \u201c I\u2014I am used to it, you know,\u201d reverting to his usual expression in accidents of all descriptions.<\/p>\n
\u201cI declare I don\u2019t know what you will do next !\u201d muttered Mrs. Simonson, retreating to examine the rug.<\/p>\n
\u201cI think you must be in love, Quimby !\u201d giggled Celeste ; an assertion that caused Miss Kling to give vent to a contemptuous \u201cHumph;\u201d and awakened in its subject the most excruciating embarrassment. The poor fellow glanced at Nattie, blushed, perspired, and frantically clutching at the fire-bucket, stammered a protest,\u2014<\/p>\n
\u201cNow really\u2014I\u2014now !–you are mistaken, you know !\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cBut people who are in love are always absentminded,\u201d persisted Celeste, with another giggle. \u201c So it is useless to \u2014 \u201d<\/p>\n
But exactly what was useless did not appear, as at this point a stentorian voice, the voice of Miss Kling\u2019s \u201cfine, sensible man,\u201d roared,<\/p>\n
\u201cEnough !\u201c<\/p>\n
At which, to Quimby\u2019s relief, Celeste, always in mortal fear of her father, hastily withdrew. Not so Miss Kling. She silently waited to see if Nattie and Quimby would go out together, and was rewarded by hearing the latter ask, as Nattie made a movement towards the door,\u2014 \u201cMay I\u2014might I be so bold as to\u2014as to ask to be your escort ?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI should be pleased,\u201d Nattie answered, adding with a mischievous glance, but in a low tone, aware of the listening ears above,\u2014<\/p>\n
\u201cThat is, if you will consent to dispense with the fire-bucket !\u201d<\/p>\n
Quimby started, and dropping the article in question, as if it had suddenly turned red-hot, ejaculated,\u2014<\/p>\n
\u201cBless my soul! really I\u2014I beg pardon, I am sure !\u201d then bashfully offering his arm, they went out, while Miss Kling balefully shook her head.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo, Celeste will insist upon it that you are in love, because you tripped and fell down stairs !\u201d Nattie said, by way of opening a conversation as they walked along\u2014a remark that did not tend to lessen his evident disquietude. And having now no fire-bucket, he clutched at his necktie, twirling it all awry, not at all to the improvement of his personal appearance, as he replied,\u2014<\/p>\n
\u201cOh! really, you know! its no matter! I\u2014I am used to it, you know !\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cUsed to falling in love ?\u201c queried Nattie, with raised eyebrows.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo\u2014no\u2014the other, you know, that is\u2014\u201d gasped Quimby, hopelessly lost for a substantive. \u201cI mean, it\u2019s a mistake, you know,\u201d then with a desperate rush away from the embarrassing subject, \u201cDid you know we\u2014that is, Mrs. Simonson, was going to have a new lodger ?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, is she ?\u201d asked Nattie.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, a young lady coming to-morrow, a\u2014a sort of an actress\u2014no, a prima donna, you know. A Miss Archer. If you and she should happen to like each other, it would be pleasant for you, now wouldn\u2019t it?\u201d asked Quimby eagerly, with a devout hope that such might be, for then should he not be a gainer by seeing more often the young lady by his side, whose gray eyes had already made havoc in his honest and susceptible heart.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt would be pleasant,\u201d acquiesced Nattie, in utter unconsciousness of Quimby\u2019s selfish hidden thought; \u201cfor I am lonely sometimes. Miss Kling is not\u2014not \u2014 \u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, certainly! of course not !\u201c Quimby responded sympathetically and understandingly, as Nattie hesitated for a word that would express her meaning. \u201cThey never are very adaptable\u2014old maids, you know !<\/p>\n
\u201cBut it isn\u2019t because they are unmarried,\u201d said Nattie, perhaps feeling called upon to defend her future self, \u201cbut because they were born so !\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cExactly, you know, that\u2019s why no fellow ever marries them !\u201c said Quimby, with a glance of bashful admiration at his companion.<\/p>\n
Nattie laughed.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd this Miss Archer. Did you say she was a prima donna ?\u201c she questioned.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes — That is, a sort of a kind of a one, or going to be, or some way musical or theatrical, you know,\u201d was Quimby\u2019s lucid reply. \u201cI\u2019ll make it a point to \u2014 to introduce you if you will allow me that pleasure ?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cCertainly,\u201d responded Nattie, and added, \u201cI shall be quite rich, for me, in acquaintances soon, if I continue as I have begun. I made a new one on the wire to-day.<\/p>\n
\u201cOn the\u2014I beg pardon\u2014on the what ?\u201c asked Quimby, with visions of tight-ropes flashing through his mind.<\/p>\n
\u201cOn the wire,\u201d repeated Nattie, to whom the phrase was so common, that it never occurred to her as needing any explanation.<\/p>\n
\u201cOh !\u201c said the puzzled Quimby, not at all comprehending, but unwilling to confess his ignorance.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe worst of it is, I don\u2019t know the sex of my new friend, which makes it a little awkward,\u201d continued Nattie.<\/p>\n
Quimby stared.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t\u2014I beg pardon\u2014don\u2019t know her\u2014his\u2014 sex ?\u201d he repeated, with wide-open eyes.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, it was on the wire, you know !\u201d again explained Nattie, privately thinking him unusually stupid; \u201cabout seventy miles away. We first quarreled and then had a pleasant talk.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cTalk\u2014seventy miles\u2014\u201d faltered the perplexed Quimby; then brightening, \u201cOh ! I see! a telephone, you know !\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo indeed !\u201c replied Nattie, laughing at his incomprehensibility. \u201cWe don\u2019t need telephones. We can talk without\u2014did you not know that? And what is better, no one but those who understand our language can know what we say !\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cExactly !\u201d answered Quimby, relapsing again into wonder. \u201cExactly\u2014on the wire !\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes, we talk in a language of dots and dashes, that even Miss Kling might listen to in vain. And do you know,\u201d she went on confidentially, \u201csomehow, I am very much interested in my new friend. I wish I knew\u2014its so awkward, as I said\u2014but I really think it\u2019s a gentleman !\u201c<\/p>\n
\u201cExactly\u2014exactly so !\u201c responded Quimby, somewhat dejectedly. And during the remainder of their walk he was very much harassed in his mind over this interest Nattie confessed in her new friend\u2014 \u201con the wire,\u201d\u2014who would appear as a tight-rope performer to his perturbed imagination. And he felt in his inmost heart that it would be a great relief to his mind if this mysterious person should prove a lady, even though, if a gentleman, he was many miles away. For Quimby, with all his obtusity, had an inkling of the power of mystery, and was already far enough on the road to love to be jealous.<\/p>\n
Of these thoughts Nattie was of course wholly unaware, and chatted gayly, now of the distant \u201cC\u201d and now of the coming Miss Archer, to her somewhat abstracted, but always devoted companion.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Here is Chapter 2 of “Wired Love”.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[25],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3710","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-wired-love"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/spynotebook.org\/chip\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3710","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/spynotebook.org\/chip\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/spynotebook.org\/chip\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/spynotebook.org\/chip\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/spynotebook.org\/chip\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3710"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/spynotebook.org\/chip\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3710\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/spynotebook.org\/chip\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3710"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/spynotebook.org\/chip\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3710"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/spynotebook.org\/chip\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3710"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}