1895. 



THE AMERICAN BEE-KEEPER. 



253 



fore daybreaJj. 1 would not be so harfl on 

 them again, I thought. Truly it was a 

 very pretty custom, and I began to sympa- 

 thize with it and to understand it better. 

 If San Guadalupe had not been so long in- 

 terred, in the gladness of my heart I would 

 have sent him a bouquet. All this I tried 

 to confide to Lucia. It touched her; it 

 sounded, she said, like stories she had read 

 in the convent. 



Her name was a poem in itself — Lucia 

 Eulalia-Gracia y Valdez. And mine? After 

 that poem it seemed common to say that I 

 was plain Jack Biggs. But she anticipat- 

 ed me. She ]3ointed to one of my business 

 cards that had escaped my vest pocket 

 when I threw it on the sand. "Meester 

 Beegs, que no?" she lisped, and it did not 

 sound at all badly from her lips. 



It was pleasant to know she did not dis- 

 like my name. Tliis was one way of say- 

 ing, as everybody knows, that its owner 

 was not disagreeable to her. 



As we talked we washed, and long be- 

 fore noon the gentleman's sliirts were all 

 floating in the breeze from the low chapar- 

 ral along the river bank-. 



Lucia Euhilia glanced gratefully and al- 

 ternately at the snowy linen and at me. My 

 natural thoughtfuluess led me to suggest 

 that we might as well do the family wash- 

 ing while we were about it. Her brother 

 Antonio, the sheep herder, whom she had 

 mentioned with sisterly affection — did not 

 his things have need of water? "There 

 is no time like the present," I said; "it 

 may set in tomorrow and rain for months. 

 Who knows?" 



Lucia Eulalia looked at the contradict- 

 ing blue of the skies and laughed at my 

 weather prophesies, but she ran to her 

 adobe dwelling a few rods away and 

 brought from it a bundle of Antonio's 

 "things." Thev had apparently been 

 waiting for me for years. His wardrobe 

 ranged from dingy bandannas to dingier 

 overalls. As I warmed up to the ambi- 

 tious task of cleansing them, under Lucia 

 Eulalia's approving smiles, all nature 

 seemed to smile. The sun shone warm and 

 warmer, the river ran blue and bluer, for 

 Lucia had "blued" it. She had also "al- 

 lowed" the root of a whole soap tree to 

 Antonio's garments. She was right in do- 

 ing this, but somehow in my struggle 

 with the sheep herding stains of six mouths 

 I had distributed a good deal of lather 

 over my person. When this unaccustomed 

 fatigue began to show on me, Lucia Eu- 

 lalia asked softly if I "had tire." 



"Oh, no," I was declaring, "I have no 

 tire," when some approaching American 

 voices were heard. Lucia clapped her 

 hands tragically, and running to the chap- 

 arral began hastily to gather the linen 

 therefrom. I caught from her manner 



that tlie owner ut tne snirts naa tirea or 

 waiting and was coming for them. I had 

 divined aright, but I had not divined far 

 enough. As they emerged from the ala- 

 meda to the west of the river I could see 

 they were a lady and gentleman. I had 

 almost managed a look of industry and in- 

 nocence as they approached us and raised 

 my eyes to impress them with it, when — ■ 

 gracious saints! Guadalupe and great 

 Jehosaphat ! Was tliat Maxwell, the man 

 I had robl)ed of the valedictory in 1S87 at 

 Ann Arbor? True, I had no grudge 

 against him on that account, but my 

 dream of nu'tjting him again and "making 

 it right" luid not been like this! Maxwell 

 it was, witii his stylish bride. Ho threw 

 me a careless glance at first, then I began 

 to dawn on hijii, slowly but surely. He 

 quizzed Lucia in miserable Spanish, in a 

 cowardly \v;iy, I thought. 



"Quien e«?" he said, indicating me. 



Smilingly, as if pleased so to honor me, 

 Lucia preriiuued me to Maxwell and his 

 wife as "Mi amigo, Sen or Beegs. " Icould 

 feel that the bluing and the soap root 

 and the river water were all mingling in 

 one grand river of perspiration toward the 

 collar of my negligee shirt. I could feel 

 that all the constellations in the heavens 

 and all the mundane landscape around me 

 were waltzing giddily together. An in- 

 tense longiiig for home and mother came 

 over me that mere words cannot depict. 

 For one wild moment I thought I would 

 rush into my old chum's arms and tell 

 him "all, " like the wronged hero in the 

 last act. I would say vehemently: "This 

 is not me regular business. I'm a civil en- 

 gineer at two lilty a month. I'm only do- 

 ing this for fun," etc. 



But while I was thinking this — how of- 

 ten are our best intentions thwarted thus 

 — Maxwell coughed. It was not a con- 

 sumptive cough. It was just a little grat- 

 ing sound that contained more painful 

 surprise and pity and regret than a volume 

 of Browning could. That froze me as I 

 stood — or sar. Fixedly I gazed at the 

 Sierra Madres over his head, as if trying to 

 fathom the "lost" mines hidden tliere. 



Maxwell's watch ticked in the painful 

 silence. 



"Alice," he said sternly, "we must not 

 miss that train." 



Out of my life they went, with the 

 clothes I had washed for them, as sudden- 

 ly as they cami^ in. I strained my ears to 

 hear him say "Poor fellow! To come to 

 that — rather bright at college, but this 

 country seems to rob a fellow of ambi- 

 tion" — Maxwell, I knew, was never a se- 

 cretive man; tlioy were going east, and, 

 well — 



Lucia Eulalia gathered up the extra coins 

 he had thrown her for me, and said softly. 



