When Wyckoff mentioned marriage, the reason David blushed was because, although no one in the office suspected it, he wished to marry the person in whom the office took the greatest pride.This was Miss Emily Anthony, one of Burdett and Sons' youngest, most efficient, and prettiest stenographers, and although David did not cut as dashing a figure as did some of the firm's travelling men, Miss Anthony had found something in him so greatly to admire that she had, out of office hours, accepted his devotion, his theatre tickets, and an engagement ring.Indeed, so far had matters progressed, that it had been almost decided when in a few months they would go upon their vacations they also would go upon their honeymoon.And then a cloud had come between them, and from a quarter from which David had expected only sunshine.
The trouble befell when David discovered he had a great-great-grandfather.With that fact itself Miss Anthony was almost as pleased as was David himself, but while he was content to bask in another's glory, Miss Anthony saw in his inheritance only an incentive to achieve glory for himself.
From a hard-working salesman she had asked but little, but from a descendant of a national hero she expected other things.She was a determined young person, and for David she was an ambitious young person.She found she was dissatisfied.She found she was disappointed.The great-great-grandfather had opened up a new horizon--had, in a way, raised the standard.She was as fond of David as always, but his tales of past wars and battles, his accounts of present banquets at which he sat shoulder to shoulder with men of whom even Burdett and Sons spoke with awe, touched her imagination.
"You shouldn't be content to just wear a button," she urged."If you're a Son of Washington, you ought to act like one.""I know I'm not worthy of you," David sighed.
"I don't mean that, and you know I don't," Emily replied indignantly."It has nothing to do with me! I want you to be worthy of yourself, of your grandpa Hiram!""But HOW?" complained David."What chance has a twenty-five dollar a week clerk--"It was a year before the Spanish-American War, while the patriots of Cuba were fighting the mother country for their independence.
"If I were a Son of the Revolution," said Emily, "I'd go to Cuba and help free it.""Don't talk nonsense," cried David."If I did that I'd lose my job, and we'd never be able to marry.Besides, what's Cuba done for me? All I know about Cuba is, I once smoked a Cuban cigar and it made me ill.""Did Lafayette talk like that?" demanded Emily."Did he ask what have the American rebels ever done for me?""If I were in Lafayette's class," sighed David, "I wouldn't be selling automatic punches.""There's your trouble," declared Emily "You lack self-confidence.You're too humble, you've got fighting blood and you ought to keep saying to yourself, 'Blood will tell,' and the first thing you know, it WILL tell! You might begin by going into politics in your ward.Or, you could join the militia.That takes only one night a week, and then, if we DID go to war with Spain, you'd get a commission, and come back a captain!"Emily's eyes were beautiful with delight.But the sight gave David no pleasure.In genuine distress, he shook his head.
"Emily," he said, "you're going to be awfully disappointed in me."Emily's eyes closed as though they shied at some mental picture.
But when she opened them they were bright, and her smile was kind and eager.
"No, I'm not," she protested; "only I want a husband with a career, and one who'll tell me to keep quiet when I try to run it for him.""I've often wished you would," said David.
"Would what? Run your career for you?"
"No, keep quiet.Only it didn't seem polite to tell you so.""Maybe I'd like you better," said Emily, "if you weren't so darned polite."A week later, early in the spring of 1897, the unexpected happened, and David was promoted into the flying squadron.He now was a travelling salesman, with a rise in salary and a commission on orders.It was a step forward, but as going on the road meant absence from Emily, David was not elated.Nor did it satisfy Emily.It was not money she wanted.Her ambition for David could not be silenced with a raise in wages.She did not say this, but David knew that in him she still found something lacking, and when they said good-by they both were ill at ease and completely unhappy.Formerly, each day when Emily in passing David in the office said good-morning, she used to add the number of the days that still separated them from the vacation which also was to be their honeymoon.But, for the last month she had stopped counting the days--at least she did not count them aloud.
David did not ask her why this was so.He did not dare.And, sooner than learn the truth that she had decided not to marry him, or that she was even considering not marrying him, he asked no questions, but in ignorance of her present feelings set forth on his travels.Absence from Emily hurt just as much as he had feared it would.He missed her, needed her, longed for her.In numerous letters he told her so.But, owing to the frequency with which he moved, her letters never caught up with him.It was almost a relief.He did not care to think of what they might tell him.
The route assigned David took him through the South and kept him close to the Atlantic seaboard.In obtaining orders he was not unsuccessful, and at the end of the first month received from the firm a telegram of congratulation.This was of importance chiefly because it might please Emily.But he knew that in her eyes the great-great-grandson of Hiram Greene could not rest content with a telegram from Burdett and Sons.A year before she would have considered it a high honor, a cause for celebration.Now, he could see her press her pretty lips together and shake her pretty head.It was not enough.But how could he accomplish more.He began to hate his great-great-grandfather.He began to wish Hiram Greene had lived and died a bachelor.
