At about this time, Sinclair made his
arrangements to go to New York, with the pleasant prospect of marrying
the young lady in Fifth Avenue. In due time he arrived at Barker's with
his young and charming wife and remained for some days. The changes were
astounding. Common-place respectability had replaced abnormal
lawlessness. A neat station stood where had been the rough contractor's
buildings. At a new "Windsor" (or was it "Brunswick"?) the performance
of the kitchen contrasted sadly (alas! how common is such contrast in
these regions) with the promise of the _menu_. There was a tawdry
theatre yclept "Academy of Music," and there was not much to choose in
the way of ugliness between two "meeting-houses."
"Upon my word, my dear," said Sinclair to his wife, "I ought to be
ashamed to say it, but I prefer Barker's _au naturel_."
One evening, just before the young people left the town, and as Mrs.
Sinclair sat alone in her room, the frowsy waitress announced "a lady,"
and was requested to bid her enter. A woman came with timid mien into
the room, sat down, as invited, and removed her veil. Of course the
young bride had never known Sally Johnson, the whilom belle of Barker's,
but her husband would have noticed at a glance how greatly she was
changed from the girl who walked with Foster past the engineers'
quarters.
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