SPEECHES & WRITINGS FILE "His Easter Card" [*Written by Mary Church Terrell. 326 T St. N.W. Washington, DC*] His Easter Card. "I'll get out of this burg before Easter as sure as shooting. I'll be miserable anywhere, I suppose, but it will be unendurable here." Arthur Carson stood beside the mantel in his room, looking like a condemned "crimial ", as his office boy would say. It was the old story- first an engagement and then an estrangement between the two parties to the contract and the man, at least was taking it hard. Alice Collier's friends declared that the breach had not affected that young lady's spirits at all. She carried her head as high as she did before th e engagement was broken they said and she was as serene and placid of countenance as ever, [they said] From this they judged, either that the wound in Miss Collier's affections had not been very deep, or that it had rapidly healed. Nobody knew exactly what the trouble was all about, but everybody knew there had been trouble. The two young people had been engaged several years, according to common report and were always in each other's company. All that was a thing of the past now, and under such circumstances the world invariably knows what conclusion to reach. Arthur Carson was still standing by the mantel, his eyes fastened upon the floor, as though he expected to find some consolation there, when somebody rapped loudly at the door. "You're as deaf as a door nail, Arthur Carson", said the visitor, as he entered. "I've knocked three times at least. I thought you must be out. What's the matter with you anyhow? For Heaven's sake, get out of the dumps and be sunny'. I'll bet money you're grieving over your fuss with Miss Collier." Jack Stowell paused a moment, as though he expected a reply, but none came. "If it was going to affect you that way", he continued, "what on earth did you do it for?" Carson sat silent for a second, his expression a cross between weariness and disgust. "Talk about something you can discuss intelligently, Jack", he said. "Nobody who knows you would ever think of accusing you of deep feeling. If I should try to explain the affair to you, you could not grasp it. You're altogether too dense." "Thanks for the compliment", replied Stowell 2 with a smile, "let's talk about something else then." They had discussed various subjects in which they were both interested and Stowell had his hand on the door knob ready to go, when he turned suddenly as though a new thought had struck him. "Blessed if I wasn't going without telling you the very thing I came here to say. But you were such a picture of distress, when I saw you, your face scared it out of my mind. I got a letter to day from Dick Jerome, who lives in Philadelphia, you know. He says there will be great times in that little village right after Easter and that I must come without fail to join in the sport. He wants you to come too. Now brace up and say yes. You can arrange to take a little vacation, just as well as I can. We'll leave here the day before Easter, Saturday morning. Sur[e] Carson insisted at first that he could not possibly leave his business before or after Easter, but Stowell would not take No for an answer and so the matterwas settled. "My trunk will have to be repaired", said Carson aloud, when his friend had gone, "and I must send it tomorrow to the shop. I guess I am a little cracked in the upper story, just as Jack says, or I would not change my mind so often. I had just decided to take a trip soon to steady my nerves before he proposed going to Philadelphia, and now that I have promised to go away, I am more wretched than I was before. But I'll go just the same, have a gay time and forget that such a queer, unreasonable creature as woman exists." If a very poor student of human nature had looked closely at Carson's face, as he uttered this remark, he would have doubted that young man's power to keep the resolution which he had just made. As times wore on, some of Alice Collier's friends began to suspect that she was more deeply touched by her broken engagement than they had at first supposed. If they could have thrown an X ray upon her heart, they would have been sure that their second conjecture was correct. For a long time she refused to discuss the matter with her most intimate friends, but she finally admitted to her chum that she was anything but happy over the affair 3 affair. She confessed that she herself was really at fault, but declared that she could never take the first step towards reconciliation. Her spirits flagged so perceptibly that her mother became somewhat alarmed and urged her to accept an invitation extended by a friend in New York to spend a week with her at Easter. After the various pros and cons had been presented by Miss Collier and her mother, the question was finally settled in the affirmative. The young lady decided to start the day before Christmas [Easter] and preparations for the visit began at once. The kind of gowns, how many new and how many old was agreed upon, the number of hate determined and then the attention of the two women turned to the question of trunks. "The old one will be all right, if it is repaired," said the daughter, and the telephone was pressed into service without delay. The man who answered the call promised to send for the trunk right away, but he was positive that it could not be finished [until] before Saturday Christmas. Even if it could be repaired so soon as , the day before Easter, on account of the unusual rush. The morning the two young men were to start on their pleasure trip, Stowell rushed into Carson's room in the greatest glee. His mood quickly changed, however, when he saw that his friend had apparently made no preparation for the journey at all. "Here it is", said he, "after nine o'clock, and there is nothing to indicate that you are even thinking about taking a trip. The train leaves at noon, too. What's the matter with you anyhow?" Carson laughed at his friend's impatience and begged him to take a seat. "Dont be in such a rush, Jack," he said pleasantly. "There's a plenty of time I've sent my trunk to be repaired and it has not come back from the shop. I'm expecting it every minute. It will be here soon, I know, and it wont take me a minute to pack. Then we'll call a cab and get to the station in a jiffy. I haven't had my breakfast yet and I must take a bite. Come with me and we'll get off all right." "A trunk, indeed!" exclaimed Stowell in disgust. "What sort of a trousseau are you going to take with you anyhow? What's the matter with a dress suit case? I haven't carried a trunk anywhere 4 for a short trip, since I was a small boy in kilts." The two men had hardly turned the corner, before the much discussed trunk arrived and was safely deposited in Carson's room. "Well, I'm glad this thing has come at last," said Stewell, as his eye fell upon the trunk, when they returned. "But where on earth did it come from", demanded Carson in surprise. "From the shop where you sent it for repairs, of course," replied Stowell. "But it isn't my trunk", insisted Carson. For a minute Stowell's face was a puzzle. It was difficult to decide whether he was angry or amused. "If you go on like this much longer, Arthur, you'll be sitting in some lunatic asylum soon, and no mistake. You're so addled now that you dont know your own goods and chattels, when you meet them face to face. That's your trunk all right. Your initials are on it. You can see A. C. staring at you as plain as the nose on your face." "But it isn't my trunk", protested Carson, "initials or now." He went to the trunk and examined it more closely. He had removed two trays, when his eyes fell upon something in the bottom, which made him stop as though he had been shot. "Do you see snakes, Arthur?" asked his friend. Paying no attention to the remark Carson steeped and picked something up to which his eyes were fairly glued. It was a letter, which he quickly read. Before he had finished it, he dropped into a chair as though he had received an electric shock. "If that is not your trunk, why on earth does that letter interest you so much?" asked Stowell. "Come, hurry up, Arthur, put that letter down and throw your clothes into that trunk." It seemed difficult for Carson to collect himself sufficiently to reply. "You'll have to go to Philadelphia without me today, Jack. Sorry to disappoint you, but it cant be helped. It is impossible for me to go, and that is all there is about it. I'll explain the whole thing to you later, but let me off today. Go to Philadelphia, have the time of your life and leave me here." Stowell was annoyed, but he immediately resigned himself to the inevitable with as good grace as he could command. "You're a hopeless case, old boy", he said. "Good bye", and he was gone. 5 Carson's face was wreathed in smiles. "Talk about luck", he soliloquized, "but here's the real thing sure." He chuckled as he greedily devoured the contents of the letter from the beginning to the end. "But what will she say, I wonder, when she knows this letter has fallen into my hands?" he asked himself. "Perhaps I've made a mistake after all. Maybe I had better left it in the trunk." Before he could speculate further, a loud knock was heard at the door. "Scuse me, sir", said the individual who entered, "but I made a big mistake in them trunks. Yours and a young lady's was both promised for this mornin, and they both had the same letters on em, so I jes naterly mixed em up. Mighty sorry I did, I tell you, for the young lady's mad as a hornet ab out it. She was goin to New York, the girl says, and now she cant catch the train she wanted to take on account of the mixin up of them trunks. They'll bout tar and feather me down at the shop, I reckon." Before Carson could make a statement or ask a question, the man had shouldered the trunk and was gone. "I understand the mistake, thoroughly", said Carson, continuing the conversation with himself. "But what a glorious mistake it is." The letter was then read aloud. Dear Maud: it ran. I am writing to you to day, because I am perfectly miserable, and because you asked me to tell you why Arthur and I broke our engagement. It is easier to explain the affair with the pen than with my lips. Although I am starting this letter, I am not at all sure I shall send it to you, when it is finished. As I think over our misunderstanding, I am sure I was to blame in the beginning. But the thing which made me angry and stubborn was the remark Arthur made, when he left the night we quarreled. "I'll not inflict myself upon you again", said he, as he marched off, "until you send for me." "Then you'll never come again", I replied angrily, "for I shall never send for you, rest assured of that," "I dont blame her for saying what she did" muttered Carson, "What a brute I was anyhow." I am sorry enough I made such Transcribed and reviewed by contributors participating in the By The People project at crowd.loc.gov.