And my astonishment was profound to find that the Last Chance sign hung
over a very prosperous grocery with boxes and barrels of provender out
on the pavement under an awning and with huge, newly-painted screen
doors guarding the wide entrance, at which I hesitated.
"Come right in, lady, come right in," called a cheerful, booming man's
voice, and the door was swung open by a large man in a white apron, with
blue eyes that crinkled at the corners, a wide smile and white hair.
"What can we do for you to-day? We've a nice lot of late dewberries just
in from over on Paradise Ridge."
"I'm--I'm looking for the--the Last Chance Saloon," I faltered, because
I was too astonished to utter anything but the truth to the delightful
and tenderly solicitous man standing before me in his huge, clean white
apron over his blue shirt that matched his eyes.
"Well, lady," the nice Irish voice faltered a trifle, about as mine had,
though plainly with controlled astonishment tinged with amusement,
"could I get you anything to--to cool you off and bring it out here in
the grocery? It is cooler than it is back at the bar. I said to myself
jest last week, so I did, I said to myself, 'Jacob, you ought to get a
sody-water fountain for the ladies what has the same right to thirst as
a man.' And I will, too, if my bad luck just leaves me. How about a nice
cool bottle of beer sitting comfortable here before the counter?"
"Are you--you--Jacob--I mean--Mr. Jacob Ensley?" I further gasped.
This daylight materialization of the grewsome beast of the night was too
much for me.
"Jacob Ensley at your service, Miss," he answered with easy dignity.
"Now, will it be the bottle of beer I shall bring you? Or there's a new
drink I might mix fer you that a young gentleman friend of mine from
New York has taught me, and with a good Irish name of Thomas
Collins--the drink, not the young gentleman." Nickols had been living on
Tom Collins for the last month and I instantly knew that I recognized
the young friend from New York. Also my wits were at a branching of the
road and I didn't know just what to do or say as Jacob waited with easy
courtesy for my decision. And again I was too much perturbed for
invention and had to speak out the truth.
"I'm Charlotte Powers, Mr. Ensley, and I came down to see your daughter,
Martha," I said, looking directly into his clear friendly eyes which I
saw instantly darken with a storm as the smile left his nice mouth and
it hardened into a straight line.
"I'm sorry, Miss Powers, but my Martha ain't at home right now to you,
and I don't know when she will be. Is that all I can do for you? These
berries now, from over at Paradise Ridge?" And with the ease of a man of
the great upper world Jacob Ensley of the lower walks of life put me out
of the door of his private life into the ranks of the meddler and shut
it in my face. I acknowledged to myself that my rebuff was justifiable
and I was about to make an exit from the scene as gracefully as possible
with a box of the really delicious berries under my arm when a cry of
terror in a child's voice came from somewhere at the back of the grocery
and together the grocer and I ran to see what the matter could be. And
at the heels of the proprietor I then penetrated the blind of the
grocery and entered the Last Chance.