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Carolyn Wells' The Gordon Elopement is a captivating tale of love and sacrifice set in the early 20th century. Written in Wells' signature style of witty dialogue and clever plot twists, this novel explores themes of class struggle and societal expectations. The Gordon Elopement stands out in its genre for its engaging storytelling and well-developed characters. Wells' attention to detail and intricate narrative make this book a classic example of American literature from the era. Readers will be drawn into the romantic escapades and moral dilemmas faced by the protagonists, making it a compelling read for fans of historical fiction. Carolyn Wells, known for her prolific writing career, brings her keen observation of human nature to The Gordon Elopement. Wells' own experiences and understanding of social dynamics likely influenced the depth of characterization and thematic exploration found in the novel. Her ability to blend romance with social commentary showcases her talent as a versatile author with a unique perspective on the dilemmas of her time. I highly recommend The Gordon Elopement to readers looking for a well-crafted historical novel that delves into the complexities of love and societal norms. Carolyn Wells' masterful storytelling and insightful portrayal of the human experience make this book a must-read for those interested in early 20th-century literature.
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The Gordon Elopement
Table of Contents
Chapter I
“Bob,” said Grace Gordon, as she read the telegram, “I’m going to elope.”
“All right, go ahead,” said her husband, as he unfolded his evening paper.
Mrs. Gordon read the telegram again and then talked at, if not to, Robert, who stolidly considered the latest market reports.
“I’ve had company and had company and had company, till I feel as if another scrap of it would drive me crazy; and it’s no use talking, I’m going to elope.”
The methodical Robert turned to the editorial page of the Post, folded the paper accurately up the centre, and carefully creased the sheet with his thumb.
“With whom?” he inquired.
“With you, goose, of course. Who did you suppose?”
“Oh!”
As no further response was forthcoming, there certainly was very little use, if any, in talking just then, but still Grace kept on.
“I suppose the palms will all die and the moths will eat up everything else, but I can’t help it; human nature can’t stand everything, and this is too much. There is a tide in the affairs of men when you get to the end of your rope—and I’m there!”
With a look of utter exasperation Mrs. Gordon read aloud the ten words on the yellow paper she held in her hand:
“Self and bride will arrive Thursday evening. Stay a fortnight.
“JACK CARPENTER.”
“It does seem,” she went on, “as if Jack Carpenter ought to have better sense. I think if I’d married a wife I’d look after her during my honeymoon, and not inflict myself on a third cousin—and Emily and her boys only just fairly out of the house—and Aunt Maria was here nearly all winter, down with nervous prostration, and a trained nurse. There’s no company in the world so bad as a trained nurse, except brides and grooms. Oh, I think it’s mean, the way people pile into this house! I haven’t had a meal alone with you for more than six months, and there are lots and lots of people I ought to ask to visit me, but I don’t get time because of my uninvited guests. I don’t see why people want to visit so much unless it’s because they know they’ll have company if they stay at home. There’s only one thing to do, and I’m going to do it! Robert! Will you listen?”
“Yes, yes, my dear; what is it?”
“Read that!” she cried dramatically, as she thrust the telegram into his hand. “More company is coming.”
“There’s no occasion to read it, my dear; if it’s a telegram and says that, it probably says very little more.”
“It doesn’t say anything more, but that’s enough. Robert, we can’t stand more company. I’m exasperated beyond endurance, and I’m going to run away.”
“Indeed! And when do we start?”
“Why, we start now!”
“How absurd! What do you mean?”
“Why, I mean just what I say. We’re going to elope, and we start right now.”
“All right. I haven’t eloped often, but I’m willing to do the best I can. Where would you like to go first? Is the rope ladder ready? Is the palfrey prepared? And where’s the irate parent coming in? I thought we saw him off on the Deutschland last week.”
“No, really, Bobby, I’m serious. I’ve got to get away. I really can’t stand Jack Carpenter and his wife, and I won’t!”
“Oh, well,” said Robert, laying down his paper, “if you’re really serious, we’ll elope, and we’ll go now. I’ve left things at the office so that Russell can look after them, and I can write him from—but where are we going?”
“I don’t care where we go so long as we take the first train to it.”
“Then that’s settled. Now let’s pack—I suppose you’re going to pack?”
“Why, yes, I suppose so; I hadn’t thought of that.”
“There’s very little time,” said Robert, taking a local time-table from his pocket. “Do you suppose you could get ready in time to catch the 11:02?”
“Yes; or I could get the 10:58.”
“But that goes north.”
“Oh, I don’t care which way it goes. I want the one that goes first.”
“In that case hurry up!”
“Bob! Do you really mean it?”
“Yes, of course, bless your heart; if you want to go, we’ll go.”
“Anywhere, Bob?”
“Anywhere!”
“Any time?”
“Now!”
“Bob, you’re a dear!”
Then Mrs. Gordon ran away. Robert, left to himself, began to think things over. What had he done? What had he promised to do? What was the outcome to be?
But all that didn’t make any difference. Grace wanted to do things and he was ready to do them. He went upstairs with the air of a joyful Galahad, but it was with the spirit of Bob Acres that he began uncertainly to pack the few things he thought he might need.
Meanwhile, Grace went about the packing of white petticoats, shirtwaists, slippers, hats, and finally two tack hammers.
“Because,” as she called out to Robert, “you never can find a tack hammer when you want it.”
“Of course,” he called back; “we may have to tack down some parlour carpets or something.”
“Yes, of course, we may—goodness! It’s a quarter of eleven now. ‘Most ready, Bob?”
“All ready, Grace!”
“Come on, then!”
Like two culprits they groped together down the dark front stairs, and pausing in the hall Grace whispered excitedly: “What about the trunk?”
“Bless my soul, Grace; have you got a trunk?”
“Of course! What did you think my things were in?”
“Well, that means a hackman, that’s all, and we must telephone for one.”
“Oh, Bob, we can’t! Nora will hear us.”
“Nonsense; she’s asleep long ago.”
“Oh, of course she is. Well, go ahead.” Robert went to the telephone and, for safety’s sake, holding his hand over the bell, called a cab.
“Robert,” said Grace, clutching him in the dark, “isn’t it fun!”
Then the cabman came and Robert softly opened the front door.
“Be quiet,” he said cautiously; “there’s a sick lady in the room above. Just bring that trunk down as carefully as you can and get it over to the station, quick.”
“Do you want it checked, sir?”
“Never mind that. Get it over there and we’ll be there.”
“Yes, sir.”
Robert Gordon locked his own street door feeling that he had burned his bridges behind him and that he neither knew nor cared what was to happen next.
As they turned toward the station Grace said, “But, Robert, where are we going?”
“To the first train.”
“The 10:58?”
“That’s the first, isn’t it?”
They reached the station just in time to get comfortably aboard the train, which rolled northward through the night. The Gordon elopement had begun.
Chapter II
As they passed the lights of Panwood Robert said: “I hope Nichols isn’t on this train to-night.”
“Who’s Nichols?” asked Grace.
“The conductor. Don’t you know Nichols? Why, he knows every commuter on this road. He knows what their business is and what time they are due at the office, and if he sees me on this train he’ll ask me why.”
On hearing this the man two seats back concluded that his first impression had been correct, and that this was an eloping couple. At first he had thought that there was something mysterious about them from the furtive manner in which they entered the car. But when he observed the careless way in which the young lady’s jacket was tossed up into the rack he felt sure that the man who did it was no eloping lover. The overheard bit of conversation, however, revived his first impression, and he awaited with some interest the arrival of the conductor. He was conscious of a distinct feeling of annoyance when the blue-coated official appeared and it was not Nichols.
But the man behind was destined never to know the truth of his impressions, for he left the train at Elizabeth with the mystery still unsolved, but with a good story to take home to his wife concerning a runaway couple.
It was one o’clock when the Gordons reached the New York side. The solitary cabman seemed to have been waiting for them all through the evening, and Robert felt that a kind fate was watching over them. All through the journey on the train he had wondered what was to be done next, and when the cabman cried, “Hotel, sir!” he came to a realising sense of his absolute inability to decide what was to be done next.
“Certainly,” he said. “Certainly we must have a hotel.”
“Step right in,” said the cabman.
Their bags were placed on top alongside the driver and they rattled off over the cobble-stone pavement which is the glory of New York’s water-front.
Up through West Street, through Bleecker, across Washington Square they drove, and up Fifth Avenue.
In the White Light District the lights were for the most part extinguished, for it was late—even for New York. On through Union and Madison Squares the cab rolled—on up the avenue. Here and there belated travellers glanced at the woman in the cab. Grace shrank back in the corner. “Bobby,” she said, “where are we going?”
“I don’t know,” said Robert.
“Why, we’re away up past Ninetieth Street.”
Robert called to the cabman.
“Where are you taking us?” he asked.
“To Westchester,” replied the cabman.
“I think we’ve gone about far enough in this direction. Please turn back and drive us to the Holland House.”
“Yes, sir!”
* * * * * *
At breakfast next morning Grace asked: “What time does the train start, Robert?”
“Which train?”
“Why, the train we’re going on, of course.”
“Do you know where we’re going?”
“Why, certainly I do.”
“Where?”
“Well, we must go up to the station, and you must buy tickets for the place where the last man ahead of you bought them for.”
“Your method of procedure is as involved as your grammar, but if that’s what we’re to do, come on. Let’s do it.”
The line of ticket-buyers was not very long, but as Robert attempted to take his place at the end of it Grace dragged at his coat sleeve, whispering: “Not there! Wait a minute!”
“But you told me to get at the end of the line,” said Robert.
“Yes, but not there. Wait until that big man with the pearl gloves takes his place, and then get behind him. I like him.”
“You do? I’ll get him for you.”
“No, you needn’t; but get the same kind of ticket that he does.”
“All right.”
Following the big man, Robert heard him say: “Rumford Falls.”
“Two for Rumford Falls,” said Robert a moment later.
“Did you get them?” asked Grace, as Robert came toward her.
Robert handed her the tickets. “Rumford Falls!” she exclaimed. “Where’s Rumford Falls?”
“How do I know? Ask your big man with the pearl gloves. He’s responsible for Rumford Falls.”
“Well, that’s where we’re going, anyway.”
“Yes, that’s where we’re going. We’ll be in Boston this afternoon and we won’t reach the Maine woods till to-morrow—late.”
“What’s Rumford Falls like? Have you ever been there?”
“Yes, I’ve been there. It’s no sort of a place. Just paper mills and spruce trees.”
“What made you get tickets for a place like that?”
“Queen’s orders, my lady. Here we are—that’s our train.”
In Boston that evening at their hotel they met Tom Armstrong, a neighbour of theirs at home. “What are you doing here in Boston?” he asked.
“Oh, I just ran over on business for the day. We are on our way to—”
“Montreal,” said Grace.
“Good,” said Armstrong. “I have just come down from there and I will give you a note to a chap who will put you up at his club and give you no end of good fun.”
“What about me? Is there a woman’s club?” asked Grace.
“Yes, of course there is. When are you going up?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Grace airily. “We may be here two or three days.”
“I wish I could stay over, but I’ve got to go back to New York to-night. Any message to send home?”
“No; nothing special. We’ll be back in a few days.” And much to Robert’s relief Armstrong left them.
“Why did you say we were going to Montreal?” asked Robert.
“Why not?” said Grace.
