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diff --git a/2514-0.txt b/2514-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f08ebeb --- /dev/null +++ b/2514-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,20783 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of T. Tembarom, by Frances Hodgson Burnett + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: T. Tembarom + +Author: Frances Hodgson Burnett + + +Release Date: February, 2001 [Etext #2514] +The actual date this file first posted: 03/10/01 +Last Updated: March 2, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK T. TEMBAROM *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + +T. TEMBAROM + +By Frances Hodgson Burnett + + + + +CHAPTER I: + + +The boys at the Brooklyn public school which he attended did not know +what the “T.” stood for. He would never tell them. All he said in reply +to questions was: “It don't stand for nothin'. You've gotter have +a' 'nitial, ain't you?” His name was, in fact, an almost inevitable +school-boy modification of one felt to be absurd and pretentious. His +Christian name was Temple, which became “Temp.” His surname was Barom, +so he was at once “Temp Barom.” In the natural tendency to avoid +waste of time it was pronounced as one word, and the letter p being +superfluous and cumbersome, it easily settled itself into “Tembarom,” + and there remained. By much less inevitable processes have surnames +evolved themselves as centuries rolled by. Tembarom liked it, and soon +almost forgot he had ever been called anything else. + +His education really began when he was ten years old. At that time +his mother died of pneumonia, contracted by going out to sew, at +seventy-five cents a day, in shoes almost entirely without soles, when +the remains of a blizzard were melting in the streets. As, after her +funeral, there remained only twenty-five cents in the shabby bureau +which was one of the few articles furnishing the room in the tenement in +which they lived together, Tembarom sleeping on a cot, the world spread +itself before him as a place to explore in search of at least one meal +a day. There was nothing to do but to explore it to the best of his +ten-year-old ability. + +His father had died two years before his mother, and Tembarom had +vaguely felt it a relief. He had been a resentful, domestically +tyrannical immigrant Englishman, who held in contempt every American +trait and institution. He had come over to better himself, detesting +England and the English because there was “no chance for a man there,” + and, transferring his dislikes and resentments from one country to +another, had met with no better luck than he had left behind him. +This he felt to be the fault of America, and his family, which was +represented solely by Tembarom and his mother, heard a good deal about +it, and also, rather contradictorily, a good deal about the advantages +and superiority of England, to which in the course of six months he +became gloomily loyal. It was necessary, in fact, for him to have +something with which to compare the United States unfavorably. The +effect he produced on Tembarom was that of causing him, when he entered +the public school round the corner, to conceal with determination +verging on duplicity the humiliating fact that if he had not been born +in Brooklyn he might have been born in England. England was not popular +among the boys in the school. History had represented the country to +them in all its tyrannical rapacity and bloodthirsty oppression of the +humble free-born. The manly and admirable attitude was to say, “Give me +liberty or give me death”--and there was the Fourth of July. + +Though Tembarom and his mother had been poor enough while his father +lived, when he died the returns from his irregular odd jobs no longer +came in to supplement his wife's sewing, and add an occasional day or +two of fuller meals, in consequence of which they were oftener than ever +hungry and cold, and in desperate trouble about the rent of their room. +Tembarom, who was a wiry, enterprising little fellow, sometimes found an +odd job himself. He carried notes and parcels when any one would trust +him with them, he split old boxes into kindling-wood, more than once he +“minded” a baby when its mother left its perambulator outside a store. +But at eight or nine years of age one's pay is in proportion to one's +size. Tembarom, however, had neither his father's bitter eye nor his +mother's discouraged one. Something different from either had been +reincarnated in him from some more cheerful past. He had an alluring +grin instead--a grin which curled up his mouth and showed his sound, +healthy, young teeth,--a lot of them,--and people liked to see them. + +At the beginning of the world it is only recently reasonable to suppose +human beings were made with healthy bodies and healthy minds. That of +course was the original scheme of the race. It would not have been +worth while to create a lot of things aimlessly ill made. A journeyman +carpenter would not waste his time in doing it, if he knew any better. +Given the power to make a man, even an amateur would make him as +straight as he could, inside and out. Decent vanity would compel him to +do it. He would be ashamed to show the thing and admit he had done it, +much less people a world with millions of like proofs of incompetence. +Logically considered, the race was built straight and clean and healthy +and happy. How, since then, it has developed in multitudinous less sane +directions, and lost its normal straightness and proportions, I am, +singularly enough, not entirely competent to explain with any degree of +satisfactory detail. But it cannot be truthfully denied that this has +rather generally happened. There are human beings who are not beautiful, +there are those who are not healthy, there are those who hate people and +things with much waste of physical and mental energy, there are people +who are not unwilling to do others an ill turn by word or deed, and +there are those who do not believe that the original scheme of the race +was ever a decent one. + +This is all abnormal and unintelligent, even the not being beautiful, +and sometimes one finds oneself called upon passionately to resist +a temptation to listen to an internal hint that the whole thing is +aimless. Upon this tendency one may as well put one's foot firmly, as it +leads nowhere. At such times it is supporting to call to mind a certain +undeniable fact which ought to loom up much larger in our philosophical +calculations. No one has ever made a collection of statistics regarding +the enormous number of perfectly sane, kind, friendly, decent creatures +who form a large proportion of any mass of human beings anywhere and +everywhere--people who are not vicious or cruel or depraved, not as a +result of continual self-control, but simply because they do not want to +be, because it is more natural and agreeable to be exactly the opposite +things; people who do not tell lies because they could not do it with +any pleasure, and would, on the contrary, find the exertion an annoyance +and a bore; people whose manners and morals are good because their +natural preference lies in that direction. There are millions of them +who in most essays on life and living are virtually ignored because +they do none of the things which call forth eloquent condemnation or +brilliant cynicism. It has not yet become the fashion to record them. +When one reads a daily newspaper filled with dramatic elaborations +of crimes and unpleasantness, one sometimes wishes attention might be +called to them--to their numbers, to their decencies, to their normal +lack of any desire to do violence and their equally normal disposition +to lend a hand. One is inclined to feel that the majority of persons do +not believe in their existence. But if an accident occurs in the street, +there are always several of them who appear to spring out of the earth +to give human sympathy and assistance; if a national calamity, physical +or social, takes place, the world suddenly seems full of them. They are +the thousands of Browns, Joneses, and Robinsons who, massed +together, send food to famine-stricken countries, sustenance to +earthquake-devastated regions, aid to wounded soldiers or miners or +flood-swept homelessness. They are the ones who have happened naturally +to continue to grow straight and carry out the First Intention. They +really form the majority; if they did not, the people of the earth would +have eaten one another alive centuries ago. But though this is surely +true, a happy cynicism totally disbelieves in their existence. When a +combination of circumstances sufficiently dramatic brings one of them +into prominence, he is either called an angel or a fool. He is neither. +He is only a human creature who is normal. + +After this manner Tembarom was wholly normal. He liked work and rejoiced +in good cheer, when he found it, however attenuated its form. He was a +good companion, and even at ten years old a practical person. He took +his loose coppers from the old bureau drawer, and remembering that he +had several times helped Jake Hutchins to sell his newspapers, he went +forth into the world to find and consult him as to the investment of his +capital. + +“Where are you goin', Tem?” a woman who lived in the next room said when +she met him on the stairs. “What you goin' to do?” + +“I'm goin' to sell newspapers if I can get some with this,” he replied, +opening his hand to show her the extent of his resources. + +She was almost as poor as he was, but not quite. She looked him over +curiously for a moment, and then fumbled in her pocket. She drew out two +ten-cent pieces and considered them, hesitating. Then she looked again +at him. That normal expression in his nice ten-year-old eyes had its +suggestive effect. + +“You take this,” she said, handing him the two pieces. “It'll help you +to start.” + +“I'll bring it back, ma'am,” said Tem. “Thank you, Mis' Hullingworth.” + +In about two weeks' time he did bring it back. That was the beginning. +He lived through all the experiences a small boy waif and stray would be +likely to come in contact with. The abnormal class treated him ill, and +the normal class treated him well. He managed to get enough food to eat +to keep him from starvation. Sometimes he slept under a roof and much +oftener out-of-doors. He preferred to sleep out-of-doors more than half +of the year, and the rest of the time he did what he could. He saw and +learned many strange things, but was not undermined by vice because he +unconsciously preferred decency. He sold newspapers and annexed any old +job which appeared on the horizon. The education the New York streets +gave him was a liberal one. He became accustomed to heat and cold and +wet weather, but having sound lungs and a tough little body combined +with the normal tendencies already mentioned, he suffered no more +physical deterioration than a young Indian would suffer. After selling +newspapers for two years he got a place as “boy” in a small store. The +advance signified by steady employment was inspiring to his energies. He +forged ahead, and got a better job and better pay as he grew older. By +the time he was fifteen he shared a small bedroom with another boy. +In whatsoever quarter he lived, friends seemed sporadic. Other boy's +congregated about him. He did not know he had any effect at all, but +his effect, in fact, was rather like that of a fire in winter or a cool +breeze in summer. It was natural to gather where it prevailed. + +There came a time when he went to a night class to learn stenography. +Great excitement had been aroused among the boys he knew best by a +rumor that there were “fellows” who could earn a hundred dollars a week +“writing short.” Boyhood could not resist the florid splendor of the +idea. Four of them entered the class confidently looking forward to +becoming the recipients of four hundred a month in the course of six +weeks. One by one they dropped off, until only Tembarom remained, slowly +forging ahead. He had never meant anything else but to get on in the +world--to get as far as he could. He kept at his “short,” and by the +time he was nineteen it helped him to a place in a newspaper office. +He took dictation from a nervous and harried editor, who, when he +was driven to frenzy by overwork and incompetencies, found that the +long-legged, clean youth with the grin never added fuel to the flame +of his wrath. He was a common young man, who was not marked by special +brilliancy of intelligence, but he had a clear head and a good temper, +and a queer aptitude for being able to see himself in the other man's +shoes--his difficulties and moods. This ended in his being tried with +bits of new work now and then. In an emergency he was once sent out to +report the details of a fire. What he brought back was usable, and his +elation when he found he had actually “made good” was ingenuous enough +to spur Galton, the editor, into trying him again. + +To Tembarom this was a magnificent experience. The literary suggestion +implied by being “on a newspaper” was more than he had hoped for. If you +have sold newspapers, and slept in a barrel or behind a pile of lumber +in a wood-yard, to report a fire in a street-car shed seems a flight of +literature. He applied himself to the careful study of newspapers--their +points of view, their style of phrasing. He believed them to be perfect. +To attain ease in expressing himself in their elevated language he felt +to be the summit of lofty ambition. He had no doubts of the exaltation +of his ideal. His respect and confidence almost made Galton cry at +times, because they recalled to him days when he had been nineteen and +had regarded New York journalists with reverence. He liked Tembarom more +and more. It actually soothed him to have him about, and he fell into +giving him one absurd little chance after another. When he brought in +“stuff” which bore too evident marks of utter ignorance, he actually +touched it up and used it, giving him an enlightening, ironical hint or +so. Tembarom always took the hints with gratitude. He had no mistaken +ideas of his own powers. Galton loomed up before him a sort of god, and +though the editor was a man with a keen, though wearied, brain and a +sense of humor, the situation was one naturally productive of harmonious +relations. He was of the many who unknowingly came in out of the cold +and stood in the glow of Tembarom's warm fire, or took refuge from the +heat in his cool breeze. He did not know of the private, arduous study +of journalistic style, and it was not unpleasing to see that the nice +young cub was gradually improving. Through pure modest fear or ridicule, +Tembarom kept to himself his vaulting ambition. He practised reports of +fires, weddings, and accidents in his hall bedroom. + +A hall bedroom in a third-rate boarding-house is not a cheerful place, +but when Tembarom vaguely felt this, he recalled the nights spent in +empty trucks and behind lumber-piles, and thought he was getting spoiled +by luxury. He told himself that he was a fellow who always had luck. +He did not know, neither did any one else, that his luck would have +followed him if he had lived in a coal-hole. It was the concomitant +of his normal build and outlook on life. Mrs. Bowse, his hard-worked +landlady, began by being calmed down by his mere bearing when he came +to apply for his room and board. She had a touch of grippe, and had +just emerged from a heated affray with a dirty cook, and was inclined to +battle when he presented himself. In a few minutes she was inclined to +battle no longer. She let him have the room. Cantankerous restrictions +did not ruffle him. + +“Of course what you say GOES,” he said, giving her his friendly grin. +“Any one that takes boarders has GOT to be careful. You're in for a bad +cold, ain't you?” + +“I've got grippe again, that's what I've got,” she almost snapped. + +“Did you ever try Payson's 'G. Destroyer'? G stands for grippe, you +know. Catchy name, ain't it? They say the man that invented it got ten +thousand dollars for it. 'G. Destroyer.' You feel like you have to find +out what it means when you see it up on a boarding. I'm just over grippe +myself, and I've got half a bottle in my pocket. You carry it about with +you, and swallow one every half-hour. You just try it. It set me right +in no time.” + +He took the bottle out of his waistcoat pocket and handed it to her. She +took it and turned it over. + +“You're awful good-natured,”--She hesitated,--“but I ain't going to take +your medicine. I ought to go and get some for myself. How much does it +cost?” + +“It's on the bottle; but it's having to get it for yourself that's the +matter. You won't have time, and you'll forget it.” + +“That's true enough,” said Mrs. Bowse, looking at him sharply. “I guess +you know something about boarding-houses.” + +“I guess I know something about trying to earn three meals a day--or two +of them. It's no merry jest, whichever way you do it.” + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +When he took possession of his hall bedroom the next day and came down +to his first meal, all the boarders looked at him interestedly. They had +heard of the G. Destroyer from Mrs. Bowse, whose grippe had disappeared. +Jim Bowles and Julius Steinberger looked at him because they were about +his own age, and shared a hall bedroom on his floor; the young woman +from the notion counter in a down-town department store looked at him +because she was a young woman; the rest of the company looked at him +because a young man in a hall bedroom might or might not be noisy +or objectionable, and the incident of the G. Destroyer sounded +good-natured. Mr. Joseph Hutchinson, the stout and discontented +Englishman from Manchester, looked him over because the mere fact that +he was a new-comer had placed him by his own rash act in the position of +a target for criticism. Mr. Hutchinson had come to New York because he +had been told that he could find backers among profuse and innumerable +multi-millionaires for the invention which had been the haunting vision +of his uninspiring life. He had not been met with the careless +rapture which had been described to him, and he was becoming violently +antagonistic to American capital and pessimistic in his views of +American institutions. Like Tembarom's father, he was the resentful +Englishman. + +“I don't think much o' that chap,” he said in what he considered an +undertone to his daughter, who sat beside him and tried to manage that +he should not be infuriated by waiting for butter and bread and second +helpings. A fine, healthy old feudal feeling that servants should be +roared at if they did not “look sharp” when he wanted anything was one +of his salient characteristics. + +“Wait a bit, Father; we don't know anything about him yet,” Ann +Hutchinson murmured quietly, hoping that his words had been lost in the +clatter of knives and forks and dishes. + +As Tembarom had taken his seat, he had found that, when he looked across +the table, he looked directly at Miss Hutchinson; and before the meal +ended he felt that he was in great good luck to be placed opposite an +object of such singular interest. He knew nothing about “types,” but if +he had been of those who do, he would probably have said to himself that +she was of a type apart. As it was, he merely felt that she was of a +kind one kept looking at whether one ought to or not. She was a little +thing of that exceedingly light slimness of build which makes a girl a +childish feather-weight. Few girls retain it after fourteen or fifteen. +A wind might supposably have blown her away, but one knew it would not, +because she was firm and steady on her small feet. Ordinary strength +could have lifted her with one hand, and would have been tempted to do +it. She had a slim, round throat, and the English daisy face it upheld +caused it to suggest to the mind the stem of a flower. The roundness of +her cheek, in and out of which totally unexpected dimples flickered, +and the forget-me-not blueness of her eyes, which were large and rather +round also, made her look like a nice baby of singularly serious and +observing mind. She looked at one as certain awe-inspiring things in +perambulators look at one--with a far and clear silence of gaze which +passes beyond earthly obstacles and reserves a benign patience with +follies. Tembarom felt interestedly that one really might quail before +it, if one had anything of an inferior quality to hide. And yet it was +not a critical gaze at all. She wore a black dress with a bit of white +collar, and she had so much soft, red hair that he could not help +recalling one or two women who owned the same quantity and seemed able +to carry it only as a sort of untidy bundle. Hers looked entirely under +control, and yet was such a wonder of burnished fullness that it tempted +the hand to reach out and touch it. It became Tembarom's task during the +meal to keep his eyes from turning too often toward it and its owner. + +If she had been a girl who took things hard, she might have taken her +father very hard indeed. But opinions and feelings being solely a matter +of points of view, she was very fond of him, and, regarding him as +a sacred charge and duty, took care of him as though she had been a +reverentially inclined mother taking care of a boisterous son. When his +roar was heard, her calm little voice always fell quietly on indignant +ears the moment it ceased. It was her part in life to act as a +palliative: her mother, whose well-trained attitude toward the ruling +domestic male was of the early Victorian order, had lived and died one. +A nicer, warmer little woman had never existed. Joseph Hutchinson had +adored and depended on her as much as he had harried her. When he had +charged about like a mad bull because he could not button his collar, or +find the pipe he had mislaid in his own pocket, she had never said more +than “Now, Mr. Hutchinson,” or done more than leave her sewing to button +the collar with soothing fingers, and suggest quietly that sometimes he +DID chance to carry his pipe about with him. She was of the class which +used to call its husband by a respectful surname. When she died she left +him as a sort of legacy to her daughter, spending the last weeks of her +life in explaining affectionately all that “Father” needed to keep him +quiet and make him comfortable. + +Little Ann had never forgotten a detail, and had even improved upon +some of them, as she happened to be cleverer than her mother, and had, +indeed, a far-seeing and clear young mind of her own. She had been +called “Little Ann” all her life. This had held in the first place +because her mother's name had been Ann also, and after her mother's +death the diminutive had not fallen away from her. People felt it +belonged to her not because she was especially little, though she was a +small, light person, but because there was an affectionate humor in the +sound of it. + +Despite her hard needs, Mrs. Bowse would have faced the chance of losing +two boarders rather than have kept Mr. Joseph Hutchinson but for Little +Ann. As it was, she kept them both, and in the course of three months +the girl was Little Ann to almost every one in the house. Her normalness +took the form of an instinct which amounted to genius for seeing what +people ought to have, and in some occult way filling in bare or trying +places. + +“She's just a wonder, that girl,” Mrs. Bowse said to one boarder after +another. + +“She's just a wonder,” Jim Bowles and Julius Steinberger murmured to +each other in rueful confidence, as they tilted their chairs against +the wall of their hall bedroom and smoked. Each of the shabby and +poverty-stricken young men had of course fallen hopelessly in love with +her at once. This was merely human and inevitable, but realizing in +the course of a few weeks that she was too busy taking care of her +irritable, boisterous old Manchester father, and everybody else, to have +time to be made love to even by young men who could buy new boots when +the old ones had ceased to be water-tight, they were obliged to resign +themselves to the, after all, comforting fact that she became a mother +to them, not a sister. She mended their socks and sewed buttons on for +them with a firm frankness which could not be persuaded into meaning +anything more sentimental than a fixed habit of repairing anything which +needed it, and which, while at first bewildering in its serenity, ended +by reducing the two youths to a dust of devotion. + +“She's a wonder, she is,” they sighed when at every weekend they found +their forlorn and scanty washing resting tidily on their bed. + +In the course of a week, more or less, Tembarom's feeling for her would +have been exactly that of his two hall-bedroom neighbors, but that his +nature, though a practical one, was not inclined to any supine degree of +resignation. He was a sensible youth, however, and gave no trouble. Even +Joseph Hutchinson, who of course resented furiously any “nonsense” of +which his daughter and possession was the object, became sufficiently +mollified by his good spirits and ready good nature to refrain from open +conversational assault. + +“I don't mind that chap as much as I did at first,” he admitted +reluctantly to Little Ann one evening after a good dinner and a +comfortable pipe. “He's not such a fool as he looks.” + +Tembarom was given, as Little Ann was, to seeing what people wanted. He +knew when to pass the mustard and other straying condiments. He picked +up things which dropped inconveniently, he did not interrupt the remarks +of his elders and betters, and several times when he chanced to be +in the hall, and saw Mr. Hutchinson, in irritable, stout Englishman +fashion, struggling into his overcoat, he sprang forward with a light, +friendly air and helped him. 'He did not do it with ostentatious +politeness or with the manner of active youth giving generous aid to +elderly avoirdupois. He did it as though it occurred to him as a natural +result of being on the spot. + +It took Mrs. Bowse and her boarding-house less than a week definitely +to like him. Every night when he sat down to dinner he brought news with +him-news and jokes and new slang. Newspaper-office anecdote and talk +gave a journalistic air to the gathering when he was present, and there +was novelty in it. Soon every one was intimate with him, and interested +in what he was doing. Galton's good-natured patronage of him was a thing +to which no one was indifferent. It was felt to be the right thing in +the right place. When he came home at night it became the custom to ask +him questions as to the bits of luck which befell him. He became +“T. T.” instead of Mr. Tembarom, except to Joseph Hutchinson and his +'daughter. Hutchinson called him Tembarom, but Little Ann said “Mr. +Tembarom” with quaint frequency when she spoke to him. + +“Landed anything to-day, T. T.?” some one would ask almost every +evening, and the interest in his relation of the day's adventures +increased from week to week. Little Ann never asked questions and seldom +made comments, but she always listened attentively. She had gathered, +and guessed from what she had gathered, a rather definite idea of what +his hard young life had been. He did not tell pathetic stories about +himself, but he and Jim Bowles and Julius Steinberger had become fast +friends, and the genial smoking of cheap tobacco in hall bedrooms tends +to frankness of relation, and the various ways in which each had found +himself “up against it” in the course of their brief years supplied +material for anecdotal talk. + +“But it's bound to be easier from now on,” he would say. “I've got the +'short' down pretty fine--not fine enough to make big money, but enough +to hold down a job with Galton. He's mighty good to me. If I knew more, +I believe he'd give me a column to take care of--Up-town Society column +perhaps. A fellow named Biker's got it. Twenty per. Goes on a bust twice +a month, the fool. Gee! I wish I had his job!” + +Mrs. Bowse's house was provided with a parlor in which her boarders +could sit in the evening when so inclined. It was a fearsome room, +which, when the dark, high-ceilinged hall was entered, revealed depths +of dingy gloom which appeared splashed in spots with incongruous +brilliancy of color. This effect was produced by richly framed +department-store chromo lithographs on the walls, aided by lurid +cushion-covers, or “tidies” representing Indian maidens or chieftains +in full war paint, or clusters of poppies of great boldness of hue. +They had either been Christmas gifts bestowed upon Mrs. Bowse or +department-store bargains of her own selection, purchased with thrifty +intent. The red-and-green plush upholstered walnut chairs arid sofa had +been acquired by her when the bankruptcy of a neighboring boarding-house +brought them within her means. They were no longer very red or very +green, and the cheerfully hopeful design of the tidies and cushions had +been to conceal worn places and stains. The mantelpiece was adorned by a +black-walnut-and-gold-framed mirror, and innumerable vases of the ornate +ninety-eight-cents order. The centerpiece held a large and extremely +soiled spray of artificial wistaria. The end of the room was rendered +attractive by a tent-like cozy-corner built of savage weapons and +Oriental cotton stuffs long ago become stringy and almost leprous in +hue. The proprietor of the bankrupt boarding-house had been “artistic.” + But Mrs. Bowse was a good-enough soul whose boarders liked her and her +house, and when the gas was lighted and some one played “rag-time” on +the second-hand pianola, they liked the parlor. + +Little Ann did not often appear in it, but now and then she came down +with her bit of sewing,--she always had a “bit of sewing,”--and she sat +in the cozy-corner listening to the talk or letting some one confide +troubles to her. Sometimes it was the New England widow, Mrs. Peck, who +looked like a spinster school-ma'am, but who had a married son with a +nice wife who lived in Harlem and drank heavily. She used to consult +with Little Ann as to the possible wisdom of putting a drink deterrent +privately in his tea. Sometimes it was Mr. Jakes, a depressed little +man whose wife had left him, for no special reason he could discover. +Oftenest perhaps it was Julius Steinberger or Jim Bowles who did +their ingenuous best to present themselves to her as energetic, if not +successful, young business men, not wholly unworthy of attention and +always breathing daily increasing devotion. Sometimes it was Tembarom, +of whom her opinion had never been expressed, but who seemed to have +made friends with her. She liked to hear about the newspaper office and +Mr. Galton, and never was uninterested in his hopes of “making good.” + She seemed to him the wisest and most direct and composed person he had +ever known. She spoke with the broad, flat, friendly Manchester accent, +and when she let drop a suggestion, it carried a delightfully sober +conviction with it, because what she said was generally a revelation of +logical mental argument concerning details she had gathered through her +little way of listening and saying nothing whatever. + +“If Mr. Biker drinks, he won't keep his place,” she said to Tembarom one +night. “Perhaps you might get it yourself, if you persevere.” + +Tembarom reddened a little. He really reddened through joyous +excitement. + +“Say, I didn't know you knew a thing about that,” he answered. “You're +a regular wonder. You scarcely ever say anything, but the way you get on +to things gets me.” + +“Perhaps if I talked more I shouldn't notice as much,” she said, turning +her bit of sewing round and examining it. “I never was much of a talker. +Father's a good talker, and Mother and me got into the way of listening. +You do if you live with a good talker.” + +Tembarom looked at the girl with a male gentleness, endeavoring to +subdue open expression of the fact that he was convinced that she was as +thoroughly aware of her father's salient characteristics as she was of +other things. + +“You do,” said Tembarom. Then picking up her scissors, which had dropped +from her lap, and politely returning them, he added anxiously: “To think +of you remembering Biker! I wonder, if I ever did get his job, if I +could hold it down?” + +“Yes,” decided Little Ann; “you could. I've noticed you're that kind of +person, Mr. Tembarom.” + +“Have you?” he said elatedly. “Say, honest Injun?” + +“Yes.” + +“I shall be getting stuck on myself if you encourage me like that,” + he said, and then, his face falling, he added, “Biker graduated at +Princeton.” + +“I don't know much about society,” Little Ann remarked,--“I never saw +any either up-town or down-town or in the country,--but I shouldn't +think you'd have to have a college education to write the things you see +about it in the newspaper paragraphs.” + +Tembarom grinned. + +“They're not real high-brow stuff, are they,” he said. “'There was +a brilliant gathering on Tuesday evening at the house of Mr. Jacob +Sturtburger at 79 Two Hundredth Street on the occasion of the marriage +of his daughter Miss Rachel Sturtburger to Mr. Eichenstein. The bride +was attired in white peau de cygne trimmed with duchess lace.'” + +Little Ann took him up. “I don't know what peau de cygne is, and I +daresay the bride doesn't. I've never been to anything but a village +school, but I could make up paragraphs like that myself.” + +“That's the up-town kind,” said Tembarom. “The down-town ones wear +their mothers' point-lace wedding-veils some-times, but they're not much +different. Say, I believe I could do it if I had luck.” + +“So do I,” returned Little Ann. + +Tembarom looked down at the carpet, thinking the thing over. Ann went on +sewing. + +“That's the way with you,” he said presently: “you put things into a +fellow's head. You've given me a regular boost, Little Ann.” + +It is not unlikely that but for the sensible conviction in her voice he +would have felt less bold when, two weeks later, Biker, having gone upon +a “bust” too prolonged, was dismissed with-out benefit of clergy, and +Galton desperately turned to Tembarom with anxious question in his eye. + +“Do you think you could take this job?” he said. + +Tembarom's heart, as he believed at the time, jumped into his throat. + +“What do you think, Mr. Galton?” he asked. + +“It isn't a thing to think about,” was Galton's answer. “It's a thing I +must be sure of.” + +“Well,” said Tembarom, “if you give it to me, I'll put up a mighty hard +fight before I fall down.” + +Galton considered him, scrutinizing keenly his tough, long-built body, +his sharp, eager, boyish face, and especially his companionable grin. + +“We'll let it go at that,” he decided. “You'll make friends up in +Harlem, and you won't find it hard to pick up news. We can at least try +it.” + +Tembarom's heart jumped into his throat again, and he swallowed it once +more. He was glad he was not holding his hat in his hand because he knew +he would have forgotten himself and thrown it up into the air. + +“Thank you, Mr. Galton,” he said, flushing tremendously. “I'd like to +tell you how I appreciate your trusting me, but I don't know how. Thank +you, sir.” + +When he appeared in Mrs. Bowse's dining-room that evening there was a +glow of elation about him and a swing in his entry which attracted all +eyes at once. For some unknown reason everybody looked at him, and, +meeting his eyes, detected the presence of some new exultation. + +“Landed anything, T. T.?” Jim Bowles cried out. “You look it.” + +“Sure I look it,” Tembarom answered, taking his napkin out of its +ring with an unconscious flourish. “I've landed the up-town society +page--landed it, by gee!” + +A good-humored chorus of ejaculatory congratulation broke forth all +round the table. + +“Good business!” “Three cheers for T. T.!” “Glad of it!” “Here's luck!” + said one after another. + +They were all pleased, and it was generally felt that Galton had shown +sense and done the right thing again. Even Mr. Hutchinson rolled about +in his chair and grunted his approval. + +After dinner Tembarom, Jim Bowles, and Julius Steinberger went +upstairs stairs together and filled the hall bedroom with clouds of +tobacco-smoke, tilting their chairs against the wall, smoking their +pipes furiously, flushed and talkative, working themselves up with the +exhilarated plannings of youth. Jim Bowles and Julius had been down on +their luck for several weeks, and that “good old T. T.” should come in +with this fairy-story was an actual stimulus. If you have never in your +life been able to earn more than will pay for your food and lodging, +twenty dollars looms up large. It might be the beginning of anything. + +“First thing is to get on to the way to do it,” argued Tembarom. “I +don't know the first thing. I've got to think it out. I couldn't ask +Biker. He wouldn't tell me, anyhow.” + +“He's pretty mad, I guess,” said Steinberger. + +“Mad as hops,” Tembarom answered. “As I was coming down-stairs from +Galton's room he was standing in the hall talking to Miss Dooley, and +he said: `That Tembarom fellow's going to do it! He doesn't know how to +spell. I should like to see his stuff come in.' He said it loud, because +he wanted me to hear it, and he sort of laughed through his nose.” + +“Say, T. T., can you spell?” Jim inquired thoughtfully. + +“Spell? Me? No,” Tembarom owned with unshaken good cheer. “What I've got +to do is to get a tame dictionary and keep it chained to the leg of my +table. Those words with two m's or two l's in them get me right down on +the mat. But the thing that looks biggest to me is how to find out where +the news is, and the name of the fellow that'll put me on to it. You +can't go up a man's front steps and ring the bell and ask him if he's +going to be married or buried or have a pink tea.” + +“Wasn't that a knock at the door?” said Steinberger. + +It was a knock, and Tembarom jumped up and threw the door open, thinking +Mrs. Bowse might have come on some household errand. But it was Little +Ann Hutchinson instead of Mrs. Bowse, and there was a threaded needle +stuck into the front of her dress, and she had on a thimble. + +“I want Mr. Bowles's new socks,” she said maternally. “I promised I'd +mark them for him.” + +Bowles and Steinberger sprang from their chairs, and came forward in the +usual comfortable glow of pleasure at sight of her. + +“What do you think of that for all the comforts of a home?” said +Tembarom. “As if it wasn't enough for a man to have new socks without +having marks put on them! What are your old socks made of anyhow--solid +gold? Burglars ain't going to break in and steal them.” + +“They won't when I've marked them, Mr. Tembarom,” answered Little Ann, +looking up at him with sober, round, for-get-me-not blue eyes, but with +a deep dimple breaking out near her lip; “but all three pairs would not +come home from the wash if I didn't.” + +“Three pairs!” ejaculated Tembarom. “He's got three pairs of socks! New? +That's what's been the matter with him for the last week. Don't you mark +them for him, Little Ann. 'Tain't good for a man to have everything.” + +“Here they are,” said Jim, bringing them forward. “Twenty-five marked +down to ten at Tracy's. Are they pretty good?” + +Little Ann looked them over with the practised eye of a connoisseur of +bargains. + +“They'd be about a shilling in Manchester shops,” she decided, “and they +might be put down to sixpence. They're good enough to take care of.” + +She was not the young woman who is ready for prolonged lively +conversation in halls and at bedroom doors, and she had turned away with +the new socks in her hand when Tembarom, suddenly inspired, darted after +her. + +“Say, I've just thought of something,” he exclaimed eagerly. “It's +something I want to ask you.” + +“What is it?” + +“It's about the society-page lay-out.” He hesitated. “I wonder if it'd +be rushing you too much if--say,” he suddenly broke off, and standing +with his hands in his pockets, looked down at her with anxious +admiration, “I believe you just know about everything.” + +“No, I don't, Mr. Tembarom; but I'm very glad about the page. +Everybody's glad.” + +One of the chief difficulties Tembarom found facing him when he talked +to Little Ann was the difficulty of resisting an awful temptation to +take hold of her--to clutch her to his healthy, tumultuous young breast +and hold her there firmly. He was half ashamed of himself when he +realized it, but he knew that his venial weakness was shared by Jim +Bowles and Steinberger and probably others. She was so slim and light +and soft, and the serious frankness of her eyes and the quaint air of +being a sort of grown-up child of astonishing intelligence produced an +effect it was necessary to combat with. + +“What I wanted to say,” he put it to her, “was that I believe if you'd +just let me talk this thing out to you it'd do me good. I believe you'd +help me to get somewhere. I've got to fix up a scheme for getting next +the people who have things happening to them that I can make society +stuff out of, you know. Biker didn't make a hit of it, but, gee! I've +just got to. I've got to.” + +“Yes,” answered Little Ann, her eyes fixed on him thoughtfully; “you've +got to, Mr. Tembarom.” + +“There's not a soul in the parlor. Would you mind coming down and +sitting there while I talk at you and try to work things out? You could +go on with your marking.” + +She thought it over a minute. + +“I'll do it if Father can spare me,” she made up her mind. “I'll go and +ask him.” + +She went to ask him, and returned in two or three minutes with her small +sewing-basket in her hand. + +“He can spare me,” she said. “He's reading his paper, and doesn't want +to talk.” + +They went down-stairs together and found the room empty. Tembarom turned +up the lowered gas, and Little Ann sat down in the cozy-corner with her +work-basket on her knee. Tembarom drew up a chair and sat down opposite +to her. She threaded a needle and took up one of Jim's new socks. + +“Now,” she said. + +“It's like this,” he explained. “The page is a new deal, anyhow. There +didn't used to be an up-town society column at all. It was all Fifth +Avenue and the four hundred; but ours isn't a fashionable paper, and +their four hundred ain't going to buy it to read their names in it. +They'd rather pay to keep out of it. Uptown's growing like smoke, and +there's lots of people up that way that'd like their friends to read +about their weddings and receptions, and would buy a dozen copies to +send away when their names were in. There's no end of women and girls +that'd like to see their clothes described and let their friends read +the descriptions. They'd buy the paper, too, you bet. It'll be a big +circulation-increaser. It's Galton's idea, and he gave the job to Biker +because he thought an educated fellow could get hold of people. But +somehow he couldn't. Seems as if they didn't like him. He kept getting +turned down. The page has been mighty poor--no pictures of brides or +anything. Galton's been sick over it. He'd been sure it'd make a hit. +Then Biker's always drinking more or less, and he's got the swell head, +anyhow. I believe that's the reason he couldn't make good with the +up-towners.” + +“Perhaps he was too well educated, Mr. Tembarom,” said Little Ann. She +was marking a letter J in red cotton, and her outward attention was +apparently wholly fixed on her work. + +“Say, now,” Tembarom broke out, “there's where you come in. You go on +working as if there was nothing but that sock in New York, but I guess +you've just hit the dot. Perhaps that was it. He wanted to do Fifth +Avenue work anyway, and he didn't go at Harlem right. He put on +Princeton airs when he asked questions. Gee! a fellow can't put on any +kind of airs when he's the one that's got to ask.” + +“You'll get on better,” remarked Little Ann. “You've got a friendly way +and you've a lot of sense. I've noticed it.” + +Her head was bent over the red J and she still looked at it and not at +Tembarom. This was not coyness, but simple, calm absorption. If she had +not been making the J, she would have sat with her hands folded in her +lap, and gazed at the young man with undisturbed attention. + +“Have you?” said Tembarom, gratefully. “That gives me another +boost, Little Ann. What a man seems to need most is just plain +twenty-cents-a-yard sense. Not that I ever thought I had the dollar +kind. I'm not putting on airs.” + +“Mr. Galton knows the kind you have. I suppose that's why he gave you +the page.” The words, spoken in the shrewd-sounding Manchester accent, +were neither flattering nor unflattering; they were merely impartial. + +“Well, now I've got it, I can't fall down,” said Tembarom. “I've got +to find out for myself how to get next to the people I want to talk to. +I've got to find out who to get next to.” + +Little Ann put in the final red stitch of the letter J and laid the sock +neatly folded on the basket. + +“I've just been thinking something, Mr. Tembarom,” she said. “Who makes +the wedding-cakes?” + +He gave a delighted start. + +“Gee!” he broke out, “the wedding-cakes!” + +“Yes,” Little Ann proceeded, “they'd have to have wedding-cakes, and +perhaps if you went to the shops where they're sold and could make +friends with the people, they'd tell you whom they were selling them to, +and you could get the addresses and go and find out things.” + +Tembarom, glowing with admiring enthusiasm, thrust out his hand. + +“Little Ann, shake!” he said. “You've given me the whole show, just +like I thought you would. You're just the limit.” + +“Well, a wedding-cake's the next thing after the bride,” she answered. + +Her practical little head had given him the practical lead. The mere +wedding-cake opened up vistas. Confectioners supplied not only weddings, +but refreshments for receptions and dances. Dances suggested the “halls” + in which they were held. You could get information at such places. Then +there were the churches, and the florists who decorated festal scenes. +Tembarom's excitement grew as he talked. One plan led to another; vistas +opened on all sides. It all began to look so easy that he could not +understand how Biker could possibly have gone into such a land of +promise, and returned embittered and empty-handed. + +“He thought too much of himself and too little of other people,” Little +Ann summed him up in her unsevere, reasonable voice. “That's so silly.” + +Tembarom tried not to look at her affectionately, but his voice was +affectionate as well as admiring, despite him. + +“The way you get on to a thing just in three words!” he said. “Daniel +Webster ain't in it.” + +“I dare say if you let the people in the shops know that you come from a +newspaper, it'll be a help,” she went on with ingenuous worldly wisdom. +“They'll think it'll be a kind of advertisement. And so it will. You get +some neat cards printed with your name and Sunday Earth on them.” + +“Gee!” Tembarom ejaculated, slapping his knee, “there's another! You +think of every darned thing, don't you?” + +She stopped a moment to look at him. + +“You'd have thought of it all yourself after a bit,” she said. She was +not of those unseemly women whose intention it is manifestly to instruct +the superior man. She had been born in a small Manchester street +and trained by her mother, whose own training had evolved through +affectionately discreet conjugal management of Mr. Hutchinson. + +“Never you let a man feel set down when you want him to see a thing +reasonable, Ann,” she had said. “You never get on with them if you do. +They can't stand it. The Almighty seemed to make 'em that way. They've +always been masters, and it don't hurt any woman to let 'em be, if she +can help 'em to think reasonable. Just you make a man feel comfortable +in his mind and push him the reasonable way. But never you shove him, +Ann. If you do, he'll just get all upset-like. Me and your father have +been right-down happy together, but we never should have been if I +hadn't thought that out before we was married two weeks. Perhaps it's +the Almighty's will, though I never was as sure of the Almighty's way of +thinking as some are.” + +Of course Tembarom felt soothed and encouraged, though he belonged +to the male development which is not automatically infuriated at a +suspicion of female readiness of logic. + +“Well, I might have got on to it in time,” he answered, still trying +not to look affectionate, “but I've no time to spare. Gee! but I'm glad +you're here!” + +“I sha'n't be here very long.” There was a shade of patient regret in +her voice. “Father's got tired of trying America. He's been disappointed +too often. He's going back to England.” + +“Back to England!” Tembarom cried out forlornly, “Oh Lord! What shall we +all do without you, Ann?” + +“You'll do as you did before we came,” said Little Ann. + +“No, we sha'n't. We can't. I can't anyhow.” He actually got up from +his chair and began to walk about, with his hands thrust deep in his +pockets. + +Little Ann began to put her first stitches into a red B. No human being +could have told what she thought. + +“We mustn't waste time talking about that,” she said. “Let us talk about +the page. There are dressmakers, you know. If you could make friends +with a dressmaker or two they'd tell you what the wedding things were +really made of. Women do like their clothes to be described right.” + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +His work upon the page began the following week. When the first morning +of his campaign opened with a tumultuous blizzard, Jim Bowles and Julius +Steinberger privately sympathized with him as they dressed in company, +but they heard him whistling in his own hall bedroom as he put on his +clothes, and to none of the three did it occur that time could be lost +because the weather was inhuman. Blinding snow was being whirled through +the air by a wind which had bellowed across the bay, and torn its way +howling through the streets, maltreating people as it went, snatching +their breath out of them, and leaving them gaspingly clutching at hats +and bending their bodies before it. Street-cars went by loaded from +front to back platform, and were forced from want of room to whizz +heartlessly by groups waiting anxiously at street corners. + +Tembarom saw two or three of them pass in this way, leaving the waiting +ones desperately huddled together behind them. He braced himself and +whistled louder as he buttoned his celluloid collar. + +“I'm going to get up to Harlem all the same,” he said. “The 'L' will be +just as jammed, but there'll be a place somewhere, and I'll get it.” + +His clothes were the outwardly decent ones of a young man who +must perforce seek cheap clothing-stores, and to whom a ten-dollar +“hand-me-down” is a source of exultant rejoicing. With the aid of great +care and a straight, well-formed young body, he managed to make the +best of them; but they were not to be counted upon for warmth even in +ordinarily cold weather. His overcoat was a specious covering, and was +not infrequently odorous of naphtha. + +“You've got to know something about first aid to the wounded if you live +on ten per,” he had said once to Little Ann. “A suit of clothes gets to +be an emergency-case mighty often if it lasts three years.” + +“Going up to Harlem to-day, T. T.?” his neighbor at table asked him as +he sat down to breakfast. + +“Right there,” he answered. “I've ordered the limousine round, with the +foot-warmer and fur rugs.” + +“I guess a day wouldn't really matter much,” said Mrs. Bowse, +good-naturedly. “Perhaps it might be better to-morrow.” + +“And perhaps it mightn't,” said Tembarom, eating “break-fast-food” with +a cheerful appetite. “What you can't be stone-cold sure of to-morrow you +drive a nail in to-day.” + +He ate a tremendous breakfast as a discreet precautionary measure. +The dark dining-room was warm, and the food was substantial. It was +comfortable in its way. + +“You'd better hold the hall door pretty tight when you go out, and don't +open it far,” said Mrs. Bowse as he got up to go. “There's wind enough +to upset things.” + +Tembarom went out in the hall, and put on his insufficient overcoat. He +buttoned it across his chest, and turned its collar up to his ears. Then +he bent down to turn up the bottoms of his trousers. + +“A pair of arctics would be all to the merry right here,” he said, +and then he stood upright and saw Little Ann coming down the staircase +holding in her hand a particularly ugly tar-tan-plaid woolen neck-scarf +of the kind known in England as a “comforter.” + +“If you are going out in this kind of weather,” she said in her serene, +decided little voice, “you'd better wrap this comforter right round your +neck, Mr. Tembarom. It's one of Father's, and he can spare it because +he's got another, and, besides, he's not going out.” + +Tembarom took it with a sudden emotional perception of the fact that he +was being taken care of in an abnormally luxurious manner. + +“Now, I appreciate that,” he said. “The thing about you. Little Ann, is +that you never make a wrong guess about what a fellow needs, do you?” + +“I'm too used to taking care of Father not to see things,” she answered. + +“What you get on to is how to take care of the whole world--initials +on a fellow's socks and mufflers round his neck.” His eyes looked +remarkably bright. + +“If a person were taking care of the whole world, he'd have a lot to +do,” was her sedate reception of the remark. “You'd better put that +twice round your neck, Mr. Tembarom.” + +She put up her hand to draw the end of the scarf over his shoulder, +and Tembarom stood still at once, as though he were a little boy being +dressed for school. He looked down at her round cheek, and watched one +of the unexpected dimples reveal itself in a place where dimples are not +usually anticipated. It was coming out because she was smiling a small, +observing smile. It was an almost exciting thing to look at, and he +stood very still indeed. A fellow who did not own two pairs of boots +would be a fool not to keep quiet. + +“You haven't told me I oughtn't to go out till the blizzard lets up,” he +said presently. + +“No, I haven't, Mr. Tembarom,” she answered. “You're one of the kind +that mean to do a thing when they've made up their minds. It'll be a +nice bit of money if you can keep the page.” + +“Galton said he'd give me a chance to try to make good,” said Tembarom. +“And if it's the hit he thinks it ought to be, he'll raise me ten. +Thirty per. Vanastorbilts won't be in it. I think I'll get married,” he +added, showing all his attractive teeth at once. + +“I wouldn't do that,” she said. “It wouldn't be enough to depend on. New +York's an expensive place.” + +She drew back and looked him over. “That'll keep you much warmer,” she +decided. “Now you can go. I've been looking in the telephone-book for +confectioners, and I've written down these addresses.” She handed him a +slip of paper. + +Tembarom caught his breath. + +“Hully gee!” he exclaimed, “there never were TWO of you made! One used +up all there was of it. How am I going to thank you, anyhow!” + +“I do hope you'll be able to keep the page,” she said. “I do that, Mr. +Tembarom.” + +If there had been a touch of coquetry in her earnest, sober, round, +little face she would have been less distractingly alluring, but there +was no shade of anything but a sort of softly motherly anxiety in the +dropped note of her voice, and it was almost more than flesh and blood +at twenty-five could stand. Tembarom made a hasty, involuntary +move toward her, but it was only a slight one, and it was scarcely +perceptible before he had himself in hand and hurriedly twisted his +muffler tighter, showing his teeth again cheerily. + +“You keep on hoping it all day without a let-up,” he said. “And tell Mr. +Hutchinson I'm obliged to him, please. Get out of the way, Little Ann, +while I go out. The wind might blow you and the hat-stand upstairs.” + +He opened the door and dashed down the high steps into the full blast +of the blizzard. He waited at the street corner while three overcrowded +cars whizzed past him, ignoring his signals because there was not an +inch of space left in them for another passenger. Then he fought his +way across two or three blocks to the nearest “L” station. He managed to +wedge himself into a train there, and then at least he was on his way. +He was thinking hard and fast, but through all his planning the warm hug +of the tartan comforter round his neck kept Little Ann near him. He had +been very thankful for the additional warmth as the whirling snow and +wind had wrought their will with him while he waited for the cars at the +street corner. On the “L” train he saw her serious eyes and heard the +motherly drop in her voice as she said, “I do hope you'll be able to +keep the page. I do that, Mr. Tembarom.” It made him shut his hands hard +as they hung in his overcoat pockets for warmth, and it made him shut +his sound teeth strongly. + +“Gee! I've got to!” his thoughts said for him. “If I make it, perhaps +my luck will have started. When a man's luck gets started, every darned +thing's to the good.” + +The “L” had dropped most of its crowd when it reached the up-town +station among the hundredth streets which was his destination. He +tightened his comforter, tucked the ends firmly into the front of his +overcoat, and started out along the platform past the office, and down +the steep, iron steps, already perilous with freezing snow. He had to +stop to get his breath when he reached the street, but he did not stop +long. He charged forth again along the pavement, looking closely at the +shop-windows. There were naturally but few passers-by, and the shops +were not important-looking; but they were open, and he could see +that the insides of them looked comfortable in contrast with the +blizzard-ruled street. He could not see both sides of the street as he +walked up one side of the block without coming upon a confectioner's. +He crossed at the corner and turned back on the other side. Presently +he saw that a light van was standing before one place, backed up against +the sidewalk to receive parcels, its shuddering horse holding its head +down and bracing itself with its forelegs against the wind. At any rate, +something was going on there, and he hurried forward to find out what +it was. The air was so thick with myriads of madly flying bits of snow, +which seemed whirled in all directions in the air, that he could not +see anything definite even a few yards away. When he reached the van +he found that he had also reached his confectioner. The sign over the +window read “M. Munsberg, Confectionery. Cakes. Ice-Cream. Weddings, +Balls and Receptions.” + +“Made a start, anyhow,” said Tembarom. + +He turned into the store, opening the door carefully, and thereby barely +escaping being blown violently against a stout, excited, middle-aged +little Jew who was bending over a box he was packing. This was evidently +Mr. Munsberg, who was extremely busy, and even the modified shock upset +his temper. + +“Vhere you goin'?” he cried out. “Can't you look vhere you're goin'?” + +Tembarom knew this was not a good beginning, but his natural mental +habit of vividly seeing the other man's point of view helped him after +its usual custom. His nice grin showed itself. + +“I wasn't going; I was coming,” he said. “Beg pardon. The wind's blowing +a hundred miles an hour.” + +A good-looking young woman, who was probably Mrs. Munsberg, was packing +a smaller box behind the counter. Tembarom lifted his hat, and she liked +it. + +“He didn't do it a bit fresh,” she said later. “Kind o' nice.” She spoke +to him with professional politeness. + +“Is there anything you want?” she asked. + +Tembarom glanced at the boxes and packages standing about and at +Munsberg, who had bent over his packing again. Here was an occasion for +practical tact. + +“I've blown in at the wrong time,” he said. “You're busy getting things +out on time. I'll just wait.. Gee! I'm glad to be inside. I want to +speak to Mr. Munsberg.” + +Mr. Munsberg jerked himself upright irascibly, and broke forth in the +accent of the New York German Jew. + +“If you comin' in here to try to sell somedings, young man, joost you +let that same vind vat blew you in blow you right out pretty quick. I'm +not buyin' nodings. I'm busy.” + +“I'm not selling a darned thing,” answered Tembarom, with undismayed +cheer. + +“You vant someding?” jerked out Munsberg. + +“Yes, I want something,” Tembarom answered, “but it's nothing any one +has to pay for. I'm only a newspaper man.” He felt a glow of pride as he +said the words. He was a newspaper man even now. “Don't let me stop you +a minute. I'm in luck to get inside anywhere and sit down. Let me wait.” + +Mrs. Munsberg read the Sunday papers and revered them. She also knew +the value of advertisement. She caught her husband's eye and hurriedly +winked at him. + +“It's awful outside. 'T won't do harm if he waits--if he ain't no +agent,” she put in. + +“See,” said Tembarom, handing over one of the cards which had been +Little Ann's businesslike inspiration. + +“T. Tembarom. New York Sunday Earth,” read Munsberg, rather grudgingly. +He looked at T. Tembarom, and T. Tembarom looked back at him. The normal +human friendliness in the sharp boyish face did it. + +“Vell,” he said, making another jerk toward a chair, “if you ain't no +agent, you can vait.” + +“Thank you,” said Tembarom, and sat down. He had made another start, +anyhow. + +After this the packing went on fast and furious. A youth appeared +from the back of the store, and ran here and there as he was ordered. +Munsberg and his wife filled wooden and cardboard boxes with small cakes +and larger ones, with sandwiches and salads, candies and crystallized +fruits. Into the larger box was placed a huge cake with an icing temple +on the top of it, with silver doves adorning it outside and in. There +was no mistaking the poetic significance of that cake. Outside the +blizzard whirled clouds of snow-particles through the air, and the van +horse kept his head down and his forelegs braced. His driver had long +since tried to cover him with a blanket which the wind continually +tore loose from its fastenings, and flapped about the creature's sides. +Inside the store grew hot. There was hurried moving about, banging +of doors, excited voices, irascible orders given and countermanded. +Tembarom found out in five minutes that the refreshments were for a +wedding reception to be held at a place known as “The Hall,” and the +goods must be sent out in time to be ready for the preparations for the +wedding supper that night. + +“If I knew how to handle it, I could get stuff for a column just sitting +here,” he thought. He kept both eyes and ears open. He was sharp enough +to realize that the mere sense of familiarity with detail which he was +gaining was material in itself. Once or twice he got up and lent a hand +with a box in his casual way, and once or twice he saw that he could +lift some-thing down or up for Mrs. Munsberg, who was a little woman. +The natural casualness of his way of jumping up to do the things +prevented any suspicion of officiousness, and also prevented his waiting +figure from beginning to wear the air of a superfluous object in the +way. He waited a long time, and circumstances so favored him as to give +him a chance or so. More than once exactly the right moment presented +itself when he could interject an apposite remark. Twice he made +Munsberg laugh, and twice Mrs. Munsberg voluntarily addressed him. + +At last the boxes and parcels ware all carried out and stored in the +van, after strugglings with the opening and shutting of doors, and +battlings with outside weather. + +When this was all over, Munsberg came back into the store, knocking his +hands together and out of breath. + +“Dot's all right,” he said. “It'll all be there plenty time. Vouldn't +have fell down on that order for tventy-vive dollars. Dot temple on the +cake was splendid. Joseph he done it fine.” + +“He never done nothin' no finer,” Mrs. Munsberg said. “It looked as good +as anything on Fift' Avenoo.” + +Both were relieved and pleased with themselves, their store, and their +cake-decorator. Munsberg spoke to Tembarom in the manner of a man who, +having done a good thing, does not mind talking about it. + +“Dot was a big order,” he remarked. + +“I should smile,” answered Tembarom. “I'd like to know whose going to +get outside all that good stuff. That wedding-cake took the tart away +from anything I've ever seen. Which of the four hundred's going to eat +it?” + +“De man vot ordered dot cake,” Munsberg swaggered, “he's not got to +vorry along on vun million nor two. He owns de biggest brewery in New +York, I guess in America. He's Schwartz of Schwartz & Kapfer.” + +“Well, he 's got it to burn!” said Tembarom. + +“He's a mighty good man,” went on Munsberg. “He's mighty fond of his +own people. He made his first money in Harlem, and he had a big fight +to get it; but his own people vas good to him, an' he's never forgot +it. He's built a fine house here, an' his girls is fine girls. De vun's +goin' to be married to-night her name's Rachel, an' she's goin' to marry +a nice feller, Louis Levy. Levy built the big entertainment-hall vhere +the reception's goin' to be. It's decorated vith two thousand dollars' +worth of bride roses an' lilies of de valley an' smilax. All de up-town +places vas bought out, an' den Schwartz vent down Fift' Avenoo.” + +The right moment had plainly arrived. + +“Say, Mr. Munsberg,” Tembarom broke forth, “you're giving me just what +I wanted to ask you for. I'm the new up-town society reporter for the +Sunday Earth, and I came in here to see if you wouldn't help me to get a +show at finding out who was going to have weddings and society doings. I +didn't know just how to start.” + +Munsberg gave a sort of grunt. He looked less amiable. + +“I s'pose you're used to nothin' but Fift' Avenoo,” he said. + +Tembarom grinned exactly at the right time again. Not only his good +teeth grinned, but his eyes grinned also, if the figure may be used. + +“Fifth Avenue!” he laughed. “There's been no Fifth Avenue in mine. I'm +not used to anything, but you may bet your life I'm going to get used +to Harlem, if you people'll let me. I've just got this job, and I'm dead +stuck on it. I want to make it go.” + +“He's mighty different from Biker,” said Mrs. Munsberg in an undertone. + +“Vhere's dod oder feller?” inquired Munsberg. “He vas a dam fool, dot +oder feller, half corned most de time, an' puttin' on Clarence airs. No +one was goin' to give him nothin'. He made folks mad at de start.” + +“I've got his job,” said Tembarom, “and if I can't make it go, the +page will be given up. It'll be my fault if that happens, not Harlem's. +There's society enough up-town to make a first-class page, and I shall +be sick if I can't get on to it.” + +He had begun to know his people. Munsberg was a good-natured, swaggering +little Hebrew. + +That the young fellow should make a clean breast of it and claim no +down-town superiority, and that he should also have the business insight +to realize that he might obtain valuable society items from such a +representative confectioner as M. Munsberg, was a situation to incite +amiable sentiments. + +“Vell, you didn't come to de wrong place,” he said. “All de biggest +things comes to me, an' I don't mind tellin' you about 'em. 'T ain't +goin' to do no harm. Weddings an' things dey ought to be wrote up, +anyhow, if dey're done right. It's good for business. Vy don't dey have +no pictures of de supper-tables? Dot'd be good.” + +“There's lots of receptions and weddings this month,” said Mrs. +Munsberg, becoming agreeably excited. “And there's plenty handsome young +girls that'd like their pictures published. + +“None of them have been in Sunday papers before, and they'd like it. The +four Schwartz girls would make grand pictures. They dress splendid, and +their bridesmaids dresses came from the biggest place in Fift' Avenoo.” + +“Say,” exclaimed Tembarom, rising from his chair, “I'm in luck. Luck +struck me the minute I turned in here. If you'll tell me where Schwartz +lives, and where the hall is, and the church, and just anything else +I can use, I'll go out and whoop up a page to beat the band.” He was +glowing with exultation. “I know I can do it. You've started me off.” + +Munsberg and his wife began to warm. It was almost as though they had +charge of the society page themselves. There was something stimulating +in the idea. There was a suggestion of social importance in it. They +knew a number of people who would be pleased with the prospect of being +in the Sunday Earth. They were of a race which holds together, and they +gave not only the names and addresses of prospective entertainers, but +those of florists and owners of halls where parties were given. + +Mrs. Munsberg gave the name of a dressmaker of whom she shrewdly guessed +that she would be amiably ready to talk to a society-page reporter. + +“That Biker feller,” she said, “got things down all wrong. He called +fine white satin 'white nun's-veiling,' and he left out things. Never +said nothing about Miss Lewishon's diamond ring what her grandpa gave +her for a wedding-present. An' it cost two hundred and fifty.” + +“Well, I'm a pretty big fool myself,” said Tembarom, “but I should have +known better than that.” + +When he opened the door to go, Mrs. Munsberg called after him: + +“When you get through, you come back here and tell us what you done. +I'll give you a cup of hot coffee.” + +He returned to Mrs. Bowse's boarding-house so late that night that even +Steinberger and Bowles had ended their day. The gas in the hall was +turned down to a glimmering point, and the house was silent for the +night. Even a cat who stole to him and rubbed herself against his leg +miauwed in a sort of abortive whisper, opening her mouth wide, but +emitting no sound. When he went cautiously up the staircase he carried +his damp overcoat with him, and hung it in company with the tartan +muffler close to the heater in the upper hall. Then he laid on his +bedside table a package of papers and photographs. + +After he had undressed, he dropped heavily into bed, exhausted, but +elate. + +“I'm dog-tired,” he said, “but I guess I've got it going.” And almost +before the last word had uttered itself he fell into the deep sleep of +worn-out youth. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +Mrs. Bowse's boarding-house began to be even better pleased with him +than before. He had stories to tell, festivities to describe, and +cheerful incidents to recount. The boarders assisted vicariously at +weddings and wedding receptions, afternoon teas and dances, given in +halls. “Up-town” seemed to them largely given to entertainment and +hilarity of an enviably prodigal sort. Mrs. Bowse's guests were not +of the class which entertains or is entertained, and the details +of banquets and ball-dresses and money-spending were not uncheering +material for conversation. Such topics suggested the presence and +dispensing of a good deal of desirable specie, which in floating about +might somehow reach those who needed it most. The impression was that +T. Tembarom was having “a good time.” It was not his way to relate any +incidents which were not of a cheering or laughter-inspiring nature. He +said nothing of the times when his luck was bad, when he made blunders, +and, approaching the wrong people, was met roughly or grudgingly, and +found no resource left but to beat a retreat. He made no mention of his +experiences in the blizzard, which continued, and at times nearly beat +breath and life out of him as he fought his way through it. Especially +he told no story of the morning when, after having labored furiously +over the writing of his “stuff” until long after midnight, he had taken +it to Galton, and seen his face fall as he looked over it. To battle all +day with a blizzard and occasional brutal discouragements, and to sit +up half the night tensely absorbed in concentrating one's whole mental +equipment upon the doing of unaccustomed work has its effect. As he +waited, Tembarom unconsciously shifted from one foot to another, and had +actually to swallow a sort of lump in his throat. + +“I guess it won't do,” he said rather uncertainly as Galton laid a sheet +down. + +Galton was worn out himself and harried by his nerves. + +“No, it won't,” he said; and then as he saw Tembarom move to the other +foot he added, “Not as it is.” + +Tembarom braced himself and cleared his throat. + +“If,” he ventured--“well, you've been mighty easy on me, Mr +Galton--and this is a big chance for a fellow like me. If it's too big +a chance--why--that's all. But if it's anything I could change and it +wouldn't be too much trouble to tell me--” + +“There's no time to rewrite it,” answered Galton. “It must be handed in +to-morrow. It's too flowery. Too many adjectives. I've no time to give +you--” He snatched up a blue pencil and began to slash at the paper +with it. “Look here--and here--cut out that balderdash--cut this--and +this--oh,--” throwing the pencil down,--“you'd have to cut it all out. +There's no time.” He fell back in his chair with a hopeless movement, +and rubbed his forehead nervously with the back of his hand. Ten people +more or less were waiting to speak to him; he was worn out with the rush +of work. He believed in the page, and did not want to give up his idea; +but he didn't know a man to hand it to other than this untrained, eager +ignoramus whom he had a queer personal liking for. He was no business of +his, a mere stenographer in his office with whom he could be expected +to have no relations, and yet a curious sort of friendliness verging on +intimacy had developed between them. + +“There'd be time if you thought it wouldn't do any harm to give me +another chance,” said Tembarom. “I can sit up all night. I guess I've +caught on to what you DON'T want. I've put in too many fool words. I got +them out of other papers, but I don't know how to use them. I guess I've +caught on. Would it do any harm if you gave me till to-morrow?” + +“No, it wouldn't,” said Galton, desperately. “If you can't do it, +there's no time to find another man, and the page must be cut out. It's +been no good so far. It won't be missed. Take it along.” + +As he pushed back the papers, he saw the photographs, and picked one up. + +“That bride's a good-looking girl. Who are these others? Bridesmaids? +You've got a lot of stuff here. Biker couldn't get anything.” He +glanced up at the young fellow's rather pale face. “I thought you'd make +friends. How did you get all this?” + +“I beat the streets till I found it,” said Tembarom. “I had luck right +away. I went into a confectionery store where they make wedding-cakes. +A good-natured little Dutchman and his wife kept it, and I talked to +them--” + +“Got next?” said Galton, grinning a little. + +“They gave me addresses, and told me a whole lot of things. I got into +the Schwartz wedding reception, and they treated me mighty well. A good +many of them were willing to talk. I told them what a big thing the page +was going to be, and I--well, I said the more they helped me the finer +it would turn out. I said it seemed a shame there shouldn't be an +up-town page when such swell entertainments were given. I've got a lot +of stuff there.” + +Galton laughed. + +“You'd get it,” he said. “If you knew how to handle it, you'd make it a +hit. Well, take it along. If it isn't right tomorrow, it's done for.” + +Tembarom didn't tell stories or laugh at dinner that evening. He said +he had a headache. After dinner he bolted upstairs after Little Ann, and +caught her before she mounted to her upper floor. + +“Will you come and save my life again?” he said. “I'm in the tightest +place I ever was in in my life.” + +“I'll do anything I can, Mr. Tembarom,” she answered, and as his face +had grown flushed by this time she looked anxious. “You look downright +feverish.” + +“I've got chills as well as fever,” he said. “It's the page. It seems +like I was going to fall down on it.” + +She turned back at once. + +“No you won't, Mr. Tembarom,” she said “I'm just right-down sure you +won't.” + +They went down to the parlor again, and though there were people in it, +they found a corner apart, and in less than ten minutes he had told her +what had happened. + +She took the manuscript he handed to her. + +“If I was well educated, I should know how to help you,” she said, “but +I've only been to a common Manchester school. I don't know anything +about elegant language. What are these?” pointing to the blue-pencil +marks. + +Tembarom explained, and she studied the blue slashes with serious +attention. + +“Well,” she said in a few minutes, laying the manuscript down, “I should +have cut those words out myself if--if you'd asked me which to take +away. They're too showy, Mr. Tembarom.” + +Tembarom whipped a pencil out of his pocket and held it out. + +“Say,” he put it to her, “would you take this and draw it through a few +of the other showy ones?” + +“I should feel as if I was taking too much upon myself,” she said. “I +don't know anything about it.” + +“You know a darned sight more than I do,” Tembarom argued. “I didn't +know they were showy. I thought they were the kind you had to put in +newspaper stuff.” + +She held the sheets of paper on her knee, and bent her head over them. +Tembarom watched her dimples flash in and out as she worked away like a +child correcting an exercise. Presently he saw she was quite absorbed. +Sometimes she stopped and thought, pressing her lips together; sometimes +she changed a letter. There was no lightness in her manner. A badly +mutilated stocking would have claimed her attention in the same way. + +“I think I'd put 'house' there instead of 'mansion' if I were you,” she +suggested once. + +“Put in a whole block of houses if you like,” he answered gratefully. +“Whatever you say goes. I believe Galton would say the same thing.” + +She went over sheet after sheet, and though she knew nothing about it, +she cut out just what Galton would have cut out. She put the papers +together at last and gave them back to Tembarom, getting up from her +seat. + +“I must go back to father now,” she said. “I promised to make him a good +cup of coffee over the little oil-stove. If you'll come and knock at the +door I'll give you one. It will help you to keep fresh while you work.” + +Tembarom did not go to bed at all that night, and he looked rather +fagged the next morning when he handed back the “stuff” entirely +rewritten. He swallowed several times quite hard as he waited for the +final verdict. + +“You did catch on to what I didn't want,” Galton said at last. “You will +catch on still more as you get used to the work. And you did get the +'stuff'.” + +“That--you mean--that goes?” Tembarom stammered. + +“Yes, it goes,” answered Galton. “You can turn it in. We'll try the page +for a month.” + +“Gee! Thank the Lord!” said Tembarom, and then he laughed an excited +boyish laugh, and the blood came back to his face. He had a whole month +before him, and if he had caught on as soon as this, a month would teach +him a lot. + +He'd work like a dog. + +He worked like a healthy young man impelled by a huge enthusiasm, +and seeing ahead of him something he had had no practical reason for +aspiring to. He went out in all weathers and stayed out to all hours. +Whatsoever rebuffs or difficulties he met with he never was even on the +verge of losing his nerve. He actually enjoyed himself tremendously at +times. He made friends; people began to like to see him. The Munsbergs +regarded him as an inspiration of their own. + +“He seen my name over de store and come in here first time he vas sent +up dis vay to look for t'ings to write,” Mr. Munsberg always explained. +“Ve vas awful busy--time of the Schwartz vedding, an' dere vas dat +blizzard. He owned up he vas new, an' vanted some vun vhat knew to tell +him vhat vas goin' on. 'Course I could do it. Me an' my vife give him +addresses an' a lot of items. He vorked 'em up good. Dot up-town page +is gettin' first-rate. He says he don' know vhat he'd have done if he +hadn't turned up here dot day.” + +Tembarom, having “caught on” to his fault of style, applied himself with +vigor to elimination. He kept his tame dictionary chained to the leg of +his table--an old kitchen table which Mrs. Bowse scrubbed and put into +his hall bedroom, overcrowding it greatly. He turned to Little Ann at +moments of desperate uncertainty, but he was man enough to do his work +himself. In glorious moments when he was rather sure that Galton was far +from unsatisfied with his progress, and Ann had looked more than usually +distracting in her aloof and sober alluringness,--it was her entire +aloofness which so stirred his blood,--he sometimes stopped scribbling +and lost his head for a minute or so, wondering if a fellow ever COULD +“get away with it” to the extent of making enough to--but he always +pulled himself up in time. + +“Nice fool I look, thinking that way!” he would say to himself. “She'd +throw me down hard if she knew. But, my Lord! ain't she just a peach!” + +It was in the last week of the month of trial which was to decide the +permanency of the page that he came upon the man Mrs. Bowse's boarders +called his “Freak.” He never called him a “freak” himself even at the +first. Even his somewhat undeveloped mind felt itself confronted at +the outset with something too abnormal and serious, something with a +suggestion of the weird and tragic in it. + +In this wise it came about: + +The week had begun with another blizzard, which after the second day had +suddenly changed its mind, and turned into sleet and rain which filled +the streets with melted snow, and made walking a fearsome thing. +Tembarom had plenty of walking to do. This week's page was his great +effort, and was to be a “dandy.” Galton must be shown what pertinacity +could do. + +“I'm going to get into it up to my neck, and then strike out,” he said +at breakfast on Monday morning. + +Thursday was his most strenuous day. The weather had decided to change +again, and gusts of sleet were being driven about, which added cold to +sloppiness. He had found it difficult to get hold of some details he +specially wanted. Two important and extremely good-looking brides had +refused to see him because Biker had enraged them in his day. He had +slighted the description of their dresses at a dance where they had been +the observed of all observers, and had worn things brought from Paris. +Tembarom had gone from house to house. He had even searched out +aunts whose favor he had won professionally. He had appealed to his +dressmaker, whose affection he had by that time fully gained. She was +doing work in the brides' houses, and could make it clear that he would +not call peau de cygne “Surah silk,” nor duchess lace “Baby Irish.” + But the young ladies enjoyed being besought by a society page. It was +something to discuss with one's bridesmaids and friends, to protest that +“those interviewers” give a person no peace. “If you don't want to be in +the papers, they'll put you in whether you like it or not, however often +you refuse them.” They kept Tembarom running about, they raised faint +hopes, and then went out when he called, leaving no messages, but +allowing the servant to hint that if he went up to Two Hundred and +Seventy-fifth Street he might chance to find them. + +“All right,” said Tembarom to the girl, delighting her by lifting his +hat genially as he turned to go down the steps. “I'll just keep going. +The Sunday Earth can't come out without those photographs in it. I +should lose my job.” + +When at last he ran the brides to cover it was not at Two Hundred and +Seventy-fifth Street, but in their own home, to which they had finally +returned. They had heard from the servant-girl about what the young +gentleman from the Sunday Earth had said, and they were mollified by +his proper appreciation of values. Tembarom's dressmaker friend also +proffered information. + +“I know him myself,” she said, “and he's a real nice gentle-manlike +young man. He's not a bit like Biker. He doesn't think he knows +everything. He came to me from Mrs. Munsberg, just to ask me the names +of fashionable materials. He said it was more important than a man knew +till he found out” Miss Stuntz chuckled. + +“He asked me to lend him some bits of samples so he could learn them +off by heart, and know them when he saw them. He's got a pleasant laugh; +shows his teeth, and they're real pretty and white; and he just laughed +like a boy and said: 'These samples are my alphabet, Miss Stuntz. I'm +going to learn to read words of three syllables in them.'” + +When late in the evening Tembarom, being let out of the house after his +interview, turned down the steps again, he carried with him all he had +wanted--information and photographs, even added picturesque details. He +was prepared to hand in a fuller and better page than he had ever handed +in before. He was in as elated a frame of mind as a young man can +be when he is used up with tramping the streets, and running after +street-cars, to stand up in them and hang by a strap. He had been +wearing a new pair of boots, one of which rubbed his heel and had ended +by raising a blister worthy of attention. To reach the nearest “L” + station he must walk across town, through several deserted streets in +the first stages of being built up, their vacant lots surrounded by high +board fencing covered with huge advertising posters. The hall bedroom, +with the gas turned up and the cheap, red-cotton comfort on the bed, +made an alluring picture as he faced the sleety wind. + +“If I cut across to the avenue and catch the 'L,' I'm bound to get there +sometime, anyhow,” he said as he braced himself and set out on his way. + +The blister on his heel had given him a good deal of trouble, and he was +obliged to stop a moment to ease it, and he limped when he began to walk +again. But he limped as fast as he could, while the sleety rain beat +in his face, across one street, down another for a block or so, across +another, the melting snow soaking even the new boots as he splashed +through it. He bent his head, however, and limped steadily. At this end +of the city many of the streets were only scantily built up, and he was +passing through one at the corner of which was a big vacant lot. At the +other corner a row of cheap houses which had only reached their second +story waited among piles of bricks and frozen mortar for the return +of the workmen the blizzard had dispersed. It was a desolate-enough +thoroughfare, and not a soul was in sight. The vacant lot was fenced +in with high boarding plastered over with flaring sheets advertising +whiskies, sauces, and theatrical ventures. A huge picture of a +dramatically interrupted wedding ceremony done in reds and yellows, +and announcing in large letters that Mr. Isaac Simonson presented Miss +Evangeline St. Clair in “Rent Asunder,” occupied several yards of the +boarding. As he reached it, the heel of Tembarom's boot pressed, as +it seemed to him, a red-hot coal on the flesh. He had rubbed off the +blister. He was obliged to stop a moment again. + +“Gee whizz!” he exclaimed through his teeth, “I shall have to take my +boot off and try to fix it.” + +To accomplish this he leaned against the boarding and Miss Evangeline +St. Clair being “Rent Asunder” in the midst of the wedding service. He +cautiously removed his boot, and finding a hole in his sock in the place +where the blister had rubbed off, he managed to protect the raw spot by +pulling the sock over it. Then he drew on his boot again. + +“That'll be better,” he said, with a long breath. + +As he stood on his feet again he started involuntarily. This was not +because the blister had hurt him, but because he had heard behind him a +startling sound. + +“What's that?” broke from him. “What's that?” + +He turned and listened, feeling his heart give a quick thump. In the +darkness of the utterly empty street the thing was unnatural enough +to make any man jump. He had heard it between two gusts of wind, and +through another he heard it again--an uncanny, awful sobbing, broken by +a hopeless wail of words. + +“I can't remember! I can't--remember! O my God!” + +And it was not a woman's voice or a child's; it was a man's, and there +was an eerie sort of misery in it which made Tembarom feel rather sick. +He had never heard a man sobbing before. He belonged to a class which +had no time for sobs. This sounded ghastly. + +“Good Lord!” he said, “the fellow's crying! A man!” + +The sound came directly behind him. There was not a human being in +sight. Even policemen do not loiter in empty streets. + +“Hello!” he cried. “Where are you?” + +But the low, horrible sound went on, and no answer came. His physical +sense of the presence of the blister was blotted out by the abnormal +thrill of the moment. One had to find out about a thing like that one +just had to. One could not go on and leave it behind uninvestigated in +the dark and emptiness of a street no one was likely to pass through. He +listened more intently. Yes, it was just behind him. + +“He's in the lot behind the fence,” he said. “How did he get there?” + +He began to walk along the boarding to find a gap. A few yards farther +on he came upon a broken place in the inclosure--a place where boards +had sagged until they fell down, or had perhaps been pulled down by boys +who wanted to get inside. He went through it, and found lie was in the +usual vacant lot long given up to rubbish. When he stood still a moment +he heard the sobbing again, and followed the sound to the place behind +the boarding against which he had supported himself when he took off his +boot. + +A man was lying on the ground with his arms flung out. The street lamp +outside the boarding cast light enough to reveal him. Tembarom felt as +though he had suddenly found himself taking part in a melodrama,--“The +Streets of New York,” for choice,--though no melodrama had ever given him +this slightly shaky feeling. But when a fellow looked up against it as +hard as this, what you had to do was to hold your nerve and make him +feel he was going to be helped. The normal human thing spoke loud in +him. + +“Hello, old man!” he said with cheerful awkwardness. “What's hit you?” + +The man started and scrambled to his feet as though he were frightened. +He was wet, unshaven, white and shuddering, piteous to look at. He +stared with wild eyes, his chest heaving. + +“What's up?” said Tembarom. + +The man's breath caught itself. + +“I don't remember.” There was a touch of horror in his voice, though he +was evidently making an effort to control him-self. “I can't--I can't +remember.” “What's your name? You remember that?” Tembarom put it to +him. + +“N-n-no!” agonizingly. “If I could! If I could!” + +“How did you get in here?” + +“I came in because I saw a policeman. He wouldn't understand. He would +have stopped me. I must not be stopped. I MUST not.” + +“Where were you going?” asked Tembarom, not knowing what else to say. + +“Home! My God! man, home!” and he fell to shuddering again. He put +his arm against the boarding and dropped his head against it. The low, +hideous sobbing tore him again. + +T. Tembarom could not stand it. In his newsboy days he had never been +able to stand starved dogs and homeless cats. Mrs. Bowse was taking care +of a wretched dog for him at the present moment. He had not wanted the +poor brute,--he was not particularly fond of dogs,--but it had followed +him home, and after he had given it a bone or so, it had licked its +chops and turned up its eyes at him with such abject appeal that he had +not been able to turn it into the streets again. He was unsentimental, +but ruled by primitive emotions. Also he had a sudden recollection of a +night when as a little fellow he had gone into a vacant lot and cried +as like this as a child could. It was a bad night when some “tough” + big boys had turned him out of a warm corner in a shed, and he had had +nowhere to go, and being a friendly little fellow, the unfriendliness +had hit him hard. The boys had not seen him crying, but he remembered +it. He drew near, and put his hand on the shaking shoulder. + +“Say, don't do that,” he said. “I'll help you to remember.” + +He scarcely knew why he said it. There was something in the situation +and in the man himself which was compelling. He was not of the tramp +order. His wet clothes had been decent, and his broken, terrified voice +was neither coarse nor nasal. He lifted his head and caught Tembarom's +arm, clutching it with desperate fingers. + +“Could you?” he poured forth the words. “Could you? I'm not quite mad. +Something happened. If I could be quiet! Don't let them stop me! My God! +my God! my God! I can't say it. It's not far away, but it won't come +back. You're a good fellow; if you're human, help me! help me! help me!” + He clung to Tembarom with hands which shook; his eyes were more abject +than the starved dog's; he choked, and awful tears rolled down his +cheeks. “Only help me,” he cried--“just help, help, help--for a while. +Perhaps not long. It would come back.” He made a horrible effort. +“Listen! My name--I am--I am--it's--” + +He was down on the ground again, groveling. His efforts had failed. +Tembarom, overwrought himself, caught at him and dragged him up. + +“Make a fight,” he said. “You can't lie down like that. You've got to +put up a fight. It'll come back. I tell you it will. You've had a clip +on the head or something. Let me call an ambulance and take you to the +hospital.” + +The next moment he was sorry he had said the words, the man's terror was +so ill to behold. He grew livid with it, and uttered a low animal cry. + +“Don't drop dead over it,” said Tembarom, rather losing his head. “I +won't do it, though what in thunder I'm going to do with you I don't +know. You can't stay here.” + +“For God's sake!” said the man. “For God's sake!” He put his shaking +hand on Tembarom again, and looked at him with a bewildered scrutiny. +“I'm not afraid of you,” he said; “I don't know why. There's something +all right about you. If you'll stand by me--you'd stand by a man, I'd +swear. Take me somewhere quiet. Let me get warm and think.” + +“The less you think now the better,” answered Tembarom. “You want a bed +and a bath and a night's rest. I guess I've let myself in for it. You +brush off and brace yourself and come with me.” + +There was the hall bedroom and the red-cotton comfort for one night +at least, and Mrs. Bowse was a soft-hearted woman. If she'd heard the +fellow sobbing behind the fence, she'd have been in a worse fix than he +was. Women were kinder-hearted than men, anyhow. The way the fellow's +voice sounded when he said, “Help me, help me, help me!” sounded as +though he was in hell. “Made me feel as if I was bracing up a chap that +was going to be electrocuted,” he thought, feeling sickish again. “I've +not got backbone enough to face that sort of thing. Got to take him +somewhere.” + +They were walking toward the “L” together, and he was wondering what he +should say to Mrs. Bowse when he saw his companion fumbling under his +coat at the back as though he was in search of something. His hands +being unsteady, it took him some moments to get at what he wanted. +He evidently had a belt or a hidden pocket. He got something out and +stopped under a street light to show it to Tembarom. His hands still +shook when he held them out, and his look was a curious, puzzled, +questioning one. What he passed over to Tembarom was a roll of +money. Tembarom rather lost his breath as he saw the number on two +five-hundred-dollar bills, and of several hundreds, besides twenties, +tens, and fives. + +“Take it--keep it,” he said. “It will pay.” + +“Hully gee!” cried Tembarom, aghast. “Don't go giving away your whole +pile to the first fellow you meet. I don't want it.” + +“Take it.” The stranger put his hand on his shoulder, the abject look in +his eyes harrowingly like the starved dog's again. + +“There's something all right about you. You'll help me.” + +“If I don't take it for you, some one will knock you upon the head for +it.” Tembarom hesitated, but the next instant he stuffed it all in his +pocket, incited thereto by the sound of a whizzing roar. + +“There's the 'L' coming,” he cried; “run for all you're worth.” And they +fled up the street and up the steps, and caught it without a second to +spare. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +At about the time Tembarom made his rush to catch the “L” Joseph +Hutchinson was passing through one of his periodical fits of infuriated +discouragement. Little Ann knew they would occur every two or three +days, and she did not wonder at them. Also she knew that if she merely +sat still and listened as she sewed, she would be doing exactly what +her mother would have done and what her father would find a sort of +irritated comfort in. There was no use in citing people's villainies and +calling them names unless you had an audience who would seem to agree to +the justice of your accusations. + +So Mr. Hutchinson charged up and down the room, his face red, and his +hands thrust in his coat pockets. He was giving his opinions of America +and Americans, and he spoke with his broadest Manchester accent, +and threw in now and then a word or so of Lancashire dialect to add +roughness and strength, the angrier a Manchester man being, the broader +and therefore the more forcible his accent. “Tha” is somehow a great +deal more bitter or humorous or affectionate than the mere ordinary +“You” or “Yours.” + +“'Merica,” he bellowed--“dang 'Merica! I says--an' dang 'Mericans. Goin' +about th' world braggin' an' boastin' about their sharpness an' their +open-'andedness. 'Go to 'Merica,' folks'll tell you, 'with an invention, +and there's dozens of millionaires ready to put money in it.' Fools!” + +“Now, Father,”--Little Ann's voice was as maternal as her mother's had +been,--“now, Father, love, don't work yourself up into a passion. You +know it's not good for you.” + +“I don't need to work myself up into one. I'm in one. A man sells +everything he owns to get to 'Merica, an' when he gets there what does +he find? He canna' get near a millionaire. He's pushed here an scuffled +there, an' told this chap can't see him, an' that chap isn't interested, +an' he must wait his chance to catch this one. An' he waits an' waits, +an' goes up in elevators an' stands on one leg in lobbies, till he's +broke' down an' sick of it, an' has to go home to England steerage.” + +Little Ann looked up from her sewing. He had been walking furiously for +half an hour, and had been tired to begin with. She had heard his voice +break roughly as he said the last words. He threw himself astride a +chair and, crossing his arms on the back of it, dropped his head on +them. Her mother never allowed this. Her idea was that women were made +to tide over such moments for the weaker sex. Far had it been from the +mind of Mrs. Hutchinson to call it weaker. “But there's times, Ann, when +just for a bit they're just like children. They need comforting without +being let to know they are being comforted. You know how it is when your +back aches, and some one just slips a pillow under it in the right place +without saying anything. That's what women can do if they've got heads. +It needs a head.” + +Little Ann got up and went to the chair. She began to run her fingers +caressingly through the thick, grizzled hair. + +“There, Father, love, there!” she said. “We are going back to England, +at any rate, aren't we? And grandmother will be so glad to have us with +her in her cottage. And America's only one place.” + +“I tried it first, dang it!” jerked out Hutchinson. “Every one told me +to do it.” He quoted again with derisive scorn: “'You go to 'Merica. +'Merica's the place for a chap like you. 'Merica's the place for +inventions.' Liars!” + +Little Ann went on rubbing the grizzled head lovingly. + +“Well, now we're going back to try England. You never did really try +England. And you know how beautiful it'll be in the country, with the +primroses in bloom and the young lambs in the fields.” The caressing +hand grew even softer. “And you're not going to forget how mother +believed in the invention; you can't do that.” + +Hutchinson lifted his head and looked at her. + +“Eh, Ann,” he said, “you are a comfortable little body. You've got a way +with you just like your poor mother had. You always say the right thing +to help a chap pull himself together. Your mother did believe in it, +didn't she?” + +She had, indeed, believed in it, though her faith was founded more upon +confidence in “Mr. Hutchinson” than in any profound knowledge of the +mechanical appliance his inspiration would supply. She knew it had +something important to do with locomotive engines, and she knew that if +railroad magnates would condescend to consider it, her husband was sure +that fortune would flow in. She had lived with the “invention,” as it +was respectfully called, for years. + +“That she did,” answered Little Ann. “And before she died she said to +me: 'Little Ann,' she said, 'there's one thing you must never let your +father do. You must never let him begin not to believe in his invention. +Your father's a clever man, and it's a clever invention, and it'll make +his fortune yet. You must remind him how I believed in it and how sure I +was.'” + +Hutchinson rubbed his hands thoughtfully. He had heard this before, but +it did him good to hear it again. + +“She said that, did she?” he found vague comfort in saying. “She said +that?” + +“Yes, she did, Father. It was the very day before she died.” + +“Well, she never said anything she hadn't thought out,” he said in +slow retrospection. “And she had a good head of her own. Eh, she was +a wonderful woman, she was, for sticking to things. That was th' +Lancashire in her. Lancashire folks knows their own minds.” + +“Mother knew hers,” said Ann. “And she always said you knew yours. Come +and sit in your own chair, Father, and have your paper.” + +She had tided him past the worst currents without letting him slip into +them. + +“I like folks that knows their own minds,” he said as he sat down and +took his paper from her. “You know yours, Ann; and there's that Tembarom +chap. He knows his. I've been noticing that chap.” There was a certain +pleasure in using a tone of amiable patronage. “He's got a way with him +that's worth money to him in business, if he only knew it.” + +“I don't think he knows he's got a way,” Little Ann said. “His way is +just him.” + +“He just gets over people with it, like he got over me. I was ready +to knock his head off first time he spoke to me. I was ready to knock +anybody's head off that day. I'd just had that letter from Hadman. +He made me sick wi' the way he pottered an' played the fool about the +invention. He believed in it right enough, but he hadn't the courage +of a mouse. He wasn't goin' to be the first one to risk his money. Him, +with all he has! He's the very chap to be able to set it goin'. If I +could have got some one else to put up brass, it'd have started him. +It's want o' backbone, that's the matter wi' Hadman an' his lot.” + +“Some of these days some of them 're going to get their eyes open,” + said Little Ann, “and then the others will be sorry. Mr. Tembarom says +they'll fall over themselves to get in on the ground floor.” + +Hutchinson chuckled. + +“That's New York,” he said. “He's a rum chap. But he thinks a good bit +of the invention. I've talked it over with him, because I've wanted to +talk, and the one thing I've noticed about Tembarom is that he can keep +his mouth shut.” + +“But he talks a good deal,” said Ann. + +“That's the best of it. You'd think he was telling all he knows, and +he's not by a fat lot. He tells you what you'll like to hear, and he's +not sly; but he can keep a shut mouth. That's Lancashire. Some folks +can't do it even when they want to.” + +“His father came from England.” + +“That's where the lad's sense comes from. Perhaps he's Lancashire. He +had a lot of good ideas about the way to get at Hadman.” + +A knock at the door broke in upon them. Mrs. Bowse presented herself, +wearing a novel expression on her face. It was at once puzzled and not +altogether disagreeably excited. + +“I wish you would come down into the dining-room, Little Ann.” She +hesitated. “Mr. Tembaron's brought home such a queer man. He picked +him up ill in the street. He wants me to let him stay with him for +the night, anyhow. I don't think he's crazy, but I guess he's lost +his memory. Queerest thing I ever saw. He doesn't know his name or +anything.” + +“See here,” broke out Hutchinson, dropping his hands and his paper +on his knee, “I'm not going to have Ann goin' down stairs to quiet +lunatics.” + +“He's as quiet as a child,” Mrs. Bowse protested. “There's something +pitiful about him, he seems so frightened. He's drenched to the skin.” + +“Call an ambulance and send him to the hospital,” advised Hutchinson. + +“That's what Mr. Tembarom says he can't do. It frightens him to death +to speak of it. He just clings to Mr. Tembarom sort of awful, as if he +thinks he'll save his life. But that isn't all,” she added in an amazed +tone; “he's given Mr. Tembarom more than two thousand dollars.” + +“What!” shouted Hutchinson, bounding to his feet quite unconsciously. + +“What!” exclaimed Little Ann. + +“Just you come and look at it,” answered Mrs. Bowse, nodding her head. +“There's over two thousand dollars in bills spread out on the table in +the dining-room this minute. He had it in a belt pocket, and he dragged +it out in the street and would make Mr. Tembarom take it. Do come and +tell us what to do.” + +“I'd get him to take off his wet clothes and get into bed, and drink +some hot spirits and water first,” said Little Ann. “Wouldn't you, Mrs. +Bowse?” + +Hutchinson got up, newspaper in hand. + +“I say, I'd like to go down and have a look at that chap myself,” he +announced. + +“If he's so frightened, perhaps--” Little Ann hesitated. + +“That's it,” put in Mrs. Bowse. “He's so nervous it'd make him worse to +see another man. You'd better wait, Mr. Hutchinson.” + +Hutchinson sat down rather grumpily, and Mrs. Bowse and Little Ann went +down the stairs together. + +“I feel real nervous myself,” said Mrs. Bowse, “it's so queer. But he's +not crazy. He's quiet enough.” + +As they neared the bottom of the staircase Little Ann could see over +the balustrade into the dining-room. The strange man was sitting by the +table, his disordered, black-haired head on his arm. He looked like +an exhausted thing. Tembarom was sitting by him, and was talking in an +encouraging voice. He had laid a hand on one of the stranger's. On the +table beside them was spread a number of bills which had evidently just +been counted. + +“Here's the ladies,” said Tembarom. + +The stranger lifted his head and, having looked, rose and stood upright, +waiting. It was the involuntary, mechanical action of a man who had been +trained among gentlemen. + +“It's Mrs. Bowse again, and she's brought Miss Hutchinson down with +her. Miss Hutchinson always knows what to do,” explained Tembarom in his +friendly voice. + +The man bowed, and his bewildered eyes fixed themselves on Little Ann. + +“Thank you,” he said. “It's very kind of you. I--I am--in great +trouble.” + +Little Ann went to him and smiled her motherly smile at him. + +“You're very wet,” she said. “You'll take a bad cold if you're not +careful. Mrs. Bowse thinks you ought to go right to bed and have +something hot to drink.” + +“It seems a long time since I was in bed,” he answered her. + +“I'm very tired. Thank you.” He drew a weary, sighing breath, but he +didn't move his eyes from the girl's face. Perhaps the cessation of +action in certain cells of his brain had increased action in others. +He looked as though he were seeing something in Little Ann's face which +might not have revealed itself so clearly to the more normal gaze. + +He moved slightly nearer to her. He was a tall man, and had to look down +at her. + +“What is your name?” he asked anxiously. “Names trouble me.” + +It was Ann who drew a little nearer to him now. She had to look up, and +the soft, absorbed kindness in her eyes might, Tembarom thought, have +soothed a raging lion, it was so intent on its purpose. + +“My name is Ann Hutchinson; but never you mind about it now,” she said. +“I'll tell it to you again. Let Mr. Tembarom take you up-stairs to bed. +You'll be better in the morning.” And because his hollow eyes rested on +her so fixedly she put her hand on his wet sleeve. + +“You're wet through,” she said. “That won't do.” + +He looked down at her hand and then at her face again. + +“Help me,” he pleaded, “just help me. I don't know what's happened. Have +I gone mad?” + +“No,” she answered; “not a bit. It'll all come right after a while; +you'll see.” + +“Will it, will it?” he begged, and then suddenly his eyes were full of +tears. It was a strange thing to see him in his bewildered misery try +to pull himself together, and bite his shaking lips as though he vaguely +remembered that he was a man. “I beg pardon,” he faltered: “I suppose +I'm ill.” + +“I don't know where to put him,” Mrs. Bowse was saying half aside; “I've +not got a room empty.” + +“Put him in my bed and give me a shake-down on the floor,” said +Tembarom. “That'll be all right. He doesn't want me to leave him, +anyhow.” + +He turned to the money on the table. + +“Say,” he said to his guest, “there's two thousand five hundred dollars +here. We've counted it to make sure. That's quite some money. And it's +yours--” + +The stranger looked disturbed and made a nervous gesture. + +“Don't, don't!” he broke in. “Keep it. Some one took the rest. This was +hidden. It will pay.” + +“You see he isn't real' out of his mind,” Mrs. Bowse murmured feelingly. + +“No, not real' out of it,” said Tembarom. “Say,”--as an inspiration +occurred to him,--“I guess maybe Miss Hutchinson will keep it. Will you, +Little Ann? You can give it to him when he wants it.” + +“It's a good bit of money,” said Little Ann, soberly; “but I can put it +in a bank and pay Mrs. Bowse his board every week. Yes, I'll take it. +Now he must go to bed. It's a comfortable little room,” she said to the +stranger, “and Mrs. Bowse will make you a hot milk-punch. That'll be +nourishing.” + +“Thank you,” murmured the man, still keeping his yearning eyes on her. +“Thank you.” + +So he was taken up to the fourth floor and put into Tembarom's bed. The +hot milk-punch seemed to take the chill out of him, and when, by lying +on his pillow and gazing at the shakedown on the floor as long as he +could keep his eyes open, he had convinced himself that Tembarom was +going to stay with him, he fell asleep. + +Little Ann went back to her father carrying a roll of bills in her +hands. It was a roll of such size that Hutchinson started up in his +chair and stared at the sight of it. + +“Is that the money?” he exclaimed. “What are you going to do with it? +What have you found out, lass?” + +“Yes, this is it,” she answered. “Mr. Tembarom asked me to take care of +it. I'm going to put it in the bank. But we haven't found out anything.” + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +His was the opening incident of the series of extraordinary and +altogether incongruous events which took place afterwards, as it +appeared to T. Tembarom, like scenes in a play in which he had become +involved in a manner which one might be inclined to regard humorously +and make jokes about, because it was a thousand miles away from anything +like real life. That was the way it struck him. The events referred to, +it was true, were things one now and then read about in newspapers, but +while the world realized that they were actual occurrences, one rather +regarded them, when their parallels were reproduced in books and plays, +as belonging alone to the world of pure and highly romantic fiction. + +“I guess the reason why it seems that way,” he summed it up to +Hutchinson and Little Ann, after the worst had come to the worst, “is +because we've not only never known any one it's happened to, but we've +never known any one that's known any one it's happened to. I've got to +own up that it makes me feel as if the fellows'd just yell right out +laughing when they heard it.” + +The stranger's money had been safely deposited in a bank, and the +stranger himself still occupied Tembarom's bedroom. He slept a great +deal and was very quiet. With great difficulty Little Ann had persuaded +him to let a doctor see him, and the doctor had been much interested +in his case. He had expected to find some signs of his having received +accidentally or otherwise a blow upon the head, but on examination +he found no scar or wound. The condition he was in was frequently the +result of concussion of the brain, sometimes of prolonged nervous strain +or harrowing mental shock. Such cases occurred not infrequently. Quiet +and entire freedom from excitement would do more for such a condition +than anything else. If he was afraid of strangers, by all means keep +them from him. Tembarom had been quite right in letting him think he +would help him to remember, and that somehow he would in the end reach +the place he had evidently set out to go to. Nothing must be allowed to +excite him. It was well he had had money on his person and that he had +fallen into friendly hands. A city hospital would not have been likely +to help him greatly. The restraint of its necessary discipline might +have alarmed him. + +So long as he was persuaded that Tembarom was not going to desert +him, he was comparatively calm, though sunk in a piteous and tormented +melancholy. His worst hours were when he sat alone in the hall bedroom, +with his face buried in his hands. He would so sit without moving or +speaking, and Little Ann discovered that at these times he was trying +to remember. Sometimes he would suddenly rise and walk about the little +room, muttering, with woe in his eyes. Ann, who saw how hard this was +for him, found also that to attempt to check or distract him was even +worse. When, sitting in her father's room, which was on the other side +of the wall, she heard his fretted, hurried pacing feet, her face lost +its dimpled cheerfulness. She wondered if her mother would not have +discovered some way of clearing the black cloud distracting his brain. +Nothing would induce him to go down to the boarders' dining-room for +his meals, and the sight of a servant alarmed him so that it was Ann +who took him the scant food he would eat. As the time of her return to +England with her father drew near, she wondered what Mr. Tembarom would +do without her services. It was she who suggested that they must have +a name for him, and the name of a part of Manchester had provided one. +There was a place called Strangeways, and one night when, in talking +to her father, she referred to it in Tembarom's presence, he suddenly +seized upon it. + +“Strangeways,” he said. “That'd make a good-enough name for him. Let's +call him Mr. Strangeways. I don't like the way the fellows have of +calling him 'the Freak.'” + +So the name had been adopted, and soon became an established fact. + +“The way I feel about him,” Tembarom said, “is that the fellow's not +a bit of a joke. What I see is that he's up against about the toughest +proposition I've ever known. Gee! that fellow's not crazy. He's worse. +If he was out-and-out dippy and didn't know it, he'd be all right. +Likely as not he'd be thinking he was the Pope of Rome or Anna Held. +What knocks him out is that he's just right enough to know he's wrong, +and to be trying to get back. He reminds me of one of those chaps the +papers tell about sometimes--fellows that go to work in livery-stables +for ten years and call themselves Bill Jones, and then wake up some +morning and remember they're some high-browed minister of the gospel +named the Rev. James Cadwallader.” + +When the curtain drew up on Tembarom's amazing drama, Strangeways had +been occupying his bed nearly three weeks, and he himself had been +sleeping on a cot Mrs. Bowse had put up for him in his room. The +Hutchinsons were on the point of sailing for England--steerage--on the +steamship Transatlantic, and Tembarom was secretly torn into fragments, +though he had done well with the page and he was daring to believe that +at the end of the month Galton would tell him he had “made good” and the +work would continue indefinitely. + +If that happened, he would be raised to “twenty-five per” and would be a +man of means. If the Hutchinsons had not been going away, he would have +been floating in clouds of rose color. If he could persuade Little +Ann to take him in hand when she'd had time to “try him out,” even +Hutchinson could not utterly flout a fellow who was making his steady +twenty-five per on a big paper, and was on such terms with his boss +that he might get other chances. Gee! but he was a fellow that luck just +seemed to chase, anyhow! Look at the other chaps, lots of 'em, who +knew twice as much as he did, and had lived in decent homes and gone to +school and done their darned best, too, and then hadn't been able to +get there! It didn't seem fair somehow that he should run into such pure +luck. + +The day arrived when Galton was to give his decision. Tembarom was going +to hand in his page, and while he was naturally a trifle nervous, his +nervousness would have been a hopeful and not unpleasant thing but that +the Transatlantic sailed in two days, and in the Hutchinson's rooms +Little Ann was packing her small trunk and her father's bigger one, +which held more models and drawings than clothing. Hutchinson was +redder in the face than usual, and indignant condemnation of America +and American millionaires possessed his soul. Everybody was rather +depressed. One boarder after another had wakened to a realization that, +with the passing of Little Ann, Mrs. Bowse's establishment, even with +the parlor, the cozy-corner, and the second-hand pianola to support +it, would be a deserted-seeming thing. Mrs. Bowse felt the tone of +low spirits about the table, and even had a horrible secret fear that +certain of her best boarders might decide to go elsewhere, merely to +change surroundings from which they missed something. Her eyes were a +little red, and she made great efforts to keep things going. + +“I can only keep the place up when I've no empty rooms,” she had said to +Mrs. Peck, “but I'd have boarded her free if her father would have let +her stay. But he wouldn't, and, anyway, she'd no more let him go off +alone than she'd jump off Brooklyn Bridge.” + +It had been arranged that partly as a farewell banquet and partly to +celebrate Galton's decision about the page, there was to be an oyster +stew that night in Mr. Hutchinson's room, which was distinguished as +a bed-sitting-room. Tembarom had diplomatically suggested it to Mr. +Hutchinson. It was to be Tembarom's oyster supper, and somehow he +managed to convey that it was only a proper and modest tribute to Mr. +Hutchinson himself. First-class oyster stew and pale ale were not so bad +when properly suggested, therefore Mr. Hutchinson consented. Jim Bowles +and Julius Steinberger were to come in to share the feast, and Mrs. +Bowse had promised to prepare. + +It was not an inspiring day for Little Ann. New York had seemed a +bewildering and far too noisy place for her when she had come to it +directly from her grandmother's cottage in the English village, where +she had spent her last three months before leaving England. The dark +rooms of the five-storied boarding-house had seemed gloomy enough to +her, and she had found it much more difficult to adjust herself to her +surroundings than she could have been induced to admit to her father. +At first his temper and the open contempt for American habits and +institutions which he called “speaking his mind” had given her a +great deal of careful steering through shoals to do. At the outset the +boarders had resented him, and sometimes had snapped back their own +views of England and courts. Violent and disparaging argument had +occasionally been imminent, and Mrs. Bowse had worn an ominous look. +Their rooms had in fact been “wanted” before their first week had come +to an end, and Little Ann herself scarcely knew how she had tided over +that situation. But tide it over she did, and by supernatural effort and +watchfulness she contrived to soothe Mrs. Bowse until she had been in +the house long enough to make friends with people and aid her father +to realize that, if they went elsewhere, they might find only the same +class of boarders, and there would be the cost of moving to consider. +She had beguiled an armchair from Mrs. Bowse, and had recovered it +herself with a remnant of crimson stuff secured from a miscellaneous +heap at a marked-down sale at a department store. She had arranged his +books and papers adroitly and had kept them in their places so that +he never felt himself obliged to search for any one of them. With many +little contrivances she had given his bed-sitting-room a look of comfort +and established homeliness, and he had even begun to like it. + +“Tha't just like tha mother, Ann,” he had said. “She'd make a railway +station look as if it had been lived in.” + +Then Tembarom had appeared, heralded by Mrs. Bowse and the G. Destroyer, +and the first time their eyes had met across the table she had liked +him. The liking had increased. There was that in his boyish cheer and +his not-too-well-fed-looking face which called forth maternal interest. +As she gradually learned what his life had been, she felt a thrilled +anxiety to hear day by day how he was getting on. She listened for +details, and felt it necessary to gather herself together in the face of +a slight depression when hopes of Galton were less high than usual. His +mending was mysteriously done, and in time he knew with amazed gratitude +that he was being “looked after.” His first thanks were so awkward, but +so full of appreciation of unaccustomed luxury, that they almost brought +tears to her eyes, since they so clearly illuminated the entire novelty +of any attention whatever. + +“I just don't know what to say,” he said, shuffling from one foot to +another, though his nice grin was at its best. “I've never had a woman +do anything for me since I was ten. I guess women do lots of things +for most fellows; but, then, they're mothers and sisters and aunts. I +appreciate it like--like thunder. I feel as if I was Rockefeller, Miss +Ann.” + +In a short time she had become “Little Ann” to him, as to the rest, +and they began to know each other very well. Jim Bowles and Julius +Steinberger had not been able to restrain themselves at first from +making slangy, yearning love to her, but Tembarom had been different. +He had kept himself well in hand. Yes, she had liked T. Tembarom, and +as she packed the trunks she realized that the Atlantic Ocean was +three thousand miles across, and when two people who had no money +were separated by it, they were likely to remain so. Rich people could +travel, poor people couldn't. You just stayed where things took you, and +you mustn't be silly enough to expect things to happen in your class of +life--things like seeing people again. Your life just went on. She kept +herself very busy, and did not allow her thoughts any latitude. It would +vex her father very much if he thought she had really grown fond of +America and was rather sorry to go away. She had finished her packing +before evening, and the trunks were labeled and set aside, some in the +outside hall and some in the corner of the room. She had sat down with +some mending on her lap, and Hutchinson was walking about the room with +the restlessness of the traveler whose approaching journey will not let +him settle himself anywhere. + +“I'll lay a shilling you've got everything packed and ready, and put +just where a chap can lay his hands on it,” he said. + +“Yes, Father. Your tweed cap's in the big pocket of your thick topcoat, +and there's an extra pair of spectacles and your pipe and tobacco in the +small one.” + +“And off we go back to England same as we came!” He rubbed his head, and +drew a big, worried sigh. “Where's them going?” he asked, pointing to +some newly laundered clothing on a side table. “You haven't forgotten +'em, have you?” + +“No, Father. It's just some of the young men's washing. I thought I'd +take time to mend them up a bit before I went to bed.” + +“That's like tha mother, too--taking care of everybody. What did these +chaps do before you came?” + +“Sometimes they tried to sew on a button or so themselves, but oftener +they went without. Men make poor work of sewing. It oughtn't to be +expected of them.” + +Hutchinson stopped and looked her and her mending over with a touch of +curiosity. + +“Some of them's Tembarom's?” he asked. + +Little Ann held up a pair of socks. + +“These are. He does wear them out, poor fellow. It's tramping up and +down the streets to save car-fare does it. He's never got a heel to his +name. But he's going to be able to buy some new ones next week.” + +Hutchinson began his tramp again. + +“He'll miss thee, Little Ann; but so'll the other lads, for that +matter.” + +“He'll know to-night whether Mr. Galton's going to let him keep his +work. I do hope he will. I believe he'd begin to get on.” + +“Well,”--Hutchinson was just a little grudging even at this +comparatively lenient moment,--“I believe the chap'll get on myself. +He's got pluck and he's sharp. I never saw him make a poor mouth yet.” + +“Neither did I,” answered Ann. + +A door leading into Tembarom's hall bedroom opened on to Hutchinson's. +They both heard some one inside the room knock at it. Hutchinson turned +and listened, jerking his head toward the sound. + +“There's that poor chap again,” he said. “He's wakened and got restless. +What's Tembarom going to do with him, I'd like to know? The money won't +last forever.” + +“Shall I let him in, Father? I dare say he's got restless because Mr. +Tembarom's not come in.” + +“Aye, we'll let him in. He won't have thee long. He can't do no harm so +long as I'm here.” + +Little Ann went to the door and opened it. She spoke quietly. + +“Do you want to come in here, Mr. Strangeways?” + +The man came in. He was clean, but still unshaven, and his clothes +looked as though he had been lying down. He looked round the room +anxiously. + +“Where has he gone?” he demanded in an overstrung voice. “Where is he?” + He caught at Ann's sleeve in a sudden access of nervous fear. “What +shall I do if he's gone?” + +Hutchinson moved toward him. + +“'Ere, 'ere,” he said, “don't you go catchin' hold of ladies. What do +you want?” + +“I've forgotten his name now. What shall I do if I can't remember?” + faltered Strangeways. + +Little Ann patted his arm comfortingly. + +“There, there, now! You've not really forgotten it. It's just slipped +your memory. You want Mr. Tembarom--Mr. T. Tembarom.” + +“Oh, thank you, thank you. That's it. Yes, Tembarom. He said T. +Tembarom. He said he wouldn't throw me over.” + +Little Ann led him to a seat and made him sit down. She answered him +with quiet decision. + +“Well, if he said he wouldn't, he won't. Will he, Father?” + +“No, he won't.” There was rough good nature in Hutchinson's admission. +He paused after it to glance at Ann. “You think a lot of that lad, don't +you, Ann?” + +“Yes, I do, Father,” she replied undisturbedly. “He's one you can trust, +too. He's up-town at his work,” she explained to Strangeways. “He'll be +back before long. He's giving us a bit of a supper in here because we're +going away.” + +Strangeways grew nervous again. + +“But he won't go with you? T. Tembarom won't go?” + +“No, no; he's not going. He'll stay here,” she said soothingly. He had +evidently not observed the packed and labeled trunks when he came in. He +seemed suddenly to see them now, and rose in distress. + +“Whose are these? You said he wasn't going?” + +Ann took hold of his arm and led him to the corner. + +“They are not Mr. Tembarom's trunks,” she explained. “They are father's +and mine. Look on the labels. Joseph Hutchinson, Liverpool. Ann +Hutchinson, Liverpool.” + +He looked at them closely in a puzzled way. He read a label aloud in a +dragging voice. + +“Ann Hutchinson, Liverpool. What's--what's Liverpool? + +“Oh, come,” encouraged Little Ann, “you know that. It's a place in +England. We're going back to England.” + +He stood and gazed fixedly before him. Then he began to rub his fingers +across his forehead. Ann knew the straining look in his eyes. He was +making that horrible struggle to get back somewhere through the darkness +which shut him in. It was so painful a thing to see that even Hutchinson +turned slightly away. + +“Don't!” said Little Ann, softly, and tried to draw him away. + +He caught his breath convulsively once or twice, and his voice dragged +out words again, as though he were dragging them from bottomless depths. + +“Going--back--to--England--back to England--to England.” + +He dropped into a chair near by, his arms thrown over its back, and +broke, as his face fell upon them, into heavy, deadly sobbing--the +kind of sobbing Tembarom had found it impossible to stand up against. +Hutchinson whirled about testily. + +“Dang it!” he broke out, “I wish Tembarom'd turn up. What are we to do?” + He didn't like it himself. It struck him as unseemly. + +But Ann went to the chair, and put her hands on the shuddering shoulder, +bending over the soul-wrung creature, the wisdom of centuries in the +soft, expostulatory voice which seemed to reach the very darkness he +was lost in. It was a wisdom of which she was wholly unaware, but it had +been born with her, and was the building of her being. + +“'Sh! 'S-h-h!” she said. “You mustn't do that. Mr. Tembarom wouldn't +like you to do it. He'll be in directly. 'Sh! 'Sh, now!” And simple as +the words were, their soothing reached him. The wildness of his sobs +grew less. + +“See here,” Hutchinson protested, “this won't do, my man. I won't have +it, Ann. I'm upset myself, what with this going back and everything. I +can't have a chap coming and crying like that there. It upsets me worse +than ever. And you hangin' over him! It won't do.” + +Strangeways lifted his head from his arms and looked at him. + +“Aye, I mean what I say,” Hutchinson added fretfully. + +Strangeways got up from the chair. When he was not bowed or slouching it +was to be seen that he was a tall man with square shoulders. Despite his +unshaven, haggard face, he had a sort of presence. + +“I'll go back to my room,” he said. “I forgot. I ought not to be here.” + +Neither Hutchinson nor Little Ann had ever seen any one do the thing +he did next. When Ann went with him to the door of the hall bedroom, he +took her hand, and bowing low before her, lifted it gently to his lips. + +Hutchinson stared at him as he turned into the room and closed the door +behind him. + +“Well, I've read of lords and ladies doin' that in books,” he said, “but +I never thought I should see a chap do it myself.” + +Little Ann went back to her mending, looking very thoughtful. + +“Father,” she said, after a few moments, “England made him come near to +remembering something.” + +“New York'll come near making me remember a lot of things when I'm +out of it,” said Mr. Hutchinson, sitting down heavily in his chair and +rubbing his head. “Eh, dang it! dang it!” + +“Don't you let it, Father,” advised Little Ann. “There's never any good +in thinking things over.” + +“You're not as cheerful yourself as you let on,” he said. “You've not +got much color to-day, my lass.” + +She rubbed one cheek a little, trying to laugh. + +“I shall get it back when we go and stay with grandmother. It's just +staying indoors so much. Mr. Tembarom won't be long now; I'll get up and +set the table. The things are on a tray outside.” + +As she was going out of the room, Jim Bowles and Julius Steinberger +appeared at the door. + +“May we come in?” Jim asked eagerly. “We're invited to the oyster stew, +and it's time old T. T. was here. Julius and me are just getting dippy +waiting up-stairs to hear if he's made good with Galton.” + +“Well, now, you sit down and be quiet a bit, or you'll be losing your +appetites,” advised Ann. + +“You can't lose a thing the size of mine,” answered Jim, “any more than +you could lose the Metropolitan Opera-house.” + +Ann turned her head and paused as though she were listening. She heard +footsteps in the lower hall. + +“He's coming now,” she announced. “I know his step. He's tired. Don't go +yet, you two,” she added as the pair prepared to rush to meet him. +“When any one's that tired he wants to wash his face, and talk when he's +ready. If you'll just go back to your room I'll call you when I've set +the table.” + +She felt that she wanted a little more quiet during the next few minutes +than she could have if they remained and talked at the top of elated +voices. She had not quite realized how anxiously she had been waiting +all day for the hour when she would hear exactly what had happened. If +he was all right, it would be a nice thing to remember when she was in +England. In this moderate form she expressed herself mentally. “It would +be a nice thing to remember.” She spread the cloth on the table and +began to lay out the plates. Involuntarily she found herself stopping to +glance at the hall bedroom door and listen rather intently. + +“I hope he's got it. I do that. I'm sure he has. He ought to.” + +Hutchinson looked over at her. She was that like her mother, that lass! + +“You're excited, Ann,” he said. + +“Yes, Father, I am--a bit. He's--he's washing his face now.” Sounds of +splashing water could be heard through the intervening door. + +Hutchinson watched her with some uneasiness. + +“You care a lot for that lad,” he said. + +She did not look fluttered. Her answer was quite candid. + +“I said I did, Father. He's taking off his boots.” + +“You know every sound he makes, and you're going away Saturday, and +you'll never see him again.” + +“That needn't stop me caring. It never did any one any harm to care for +one of his sort.” + +“But it can't come to anything,” Hutchinson began to bluster. “It won't +do--” + +“He's coming to the door, he's turning the handle,” said Little Ann. + +Tembarom came in. He was fresh with recent face-washing, and his hair +was damp, so that a short lock curled and stood up. He had been uptown +making frantic efforts for hours, but he had been making them in a +spirit of victorious relief, and he did not look tired at all. + +“I've got it!” he cried out the moment he entered. “I've got it, by +jingo! The job's mine for keeps.” + +“Galton's give it to you out and out?” Hutchinson was slightly excited +himself. + +“He's in the bulliest humor you ever saw. He says I've done first-rate, +and if I go on, he'll run me up to thirty.” + +“Well, I'm danged glad of it, lad, that I am!” Hutchinson gave in +handsomely. “You put backbone into it.” + +Little Ann stood near, smiling. Her smile met Tembarom's. + +“I know you're glad, Little Ann,” he said. “I'd never have got there but +for you. It was up to me, after the way you started me.” + +“You know I'm glad without me telling you,” she answered. “I'm RIGHTDOWN +glad.” + +And it was at this moment that Mrs. Bowse came into the room. + +“It's too bad it's happened just now,” she said, much flustered. +“That's the way with things. The stew'll spoil, but he says it's real +important.” + +Tembarom caught at both her hands and shook them. + +“I've got it, Mrs. Bowse. Here's your society reporter! The best-looking +boarder you've got is going to be able to pay his board steady.” + +“I'm as glad as can be, and so will everybody be. I knew you'd get it. +But this gentleman's been here twice to-day. He says he really must see +you.” + +“Let him wait,” Hutchinson ordered. “What's the chap want? The stew +won't be fit to eat.” + +“No, it won't,” answered Mrs. Bowse; “but he seems to think he's not the +kind to be put off. He says it's more Mr. Tembarom's business than his. +He looked real mad when I showed him into the parlor, where they were +playing the pianola. He asked wasn't there a private room where you +could talk.” + +A certain flurried interest in the manner of Mrs. Bowse, a something +not usually awakened by inopportune callers, an actual suggestion of +the possible fact that she was not as indifferent as she was nervous, +somewhat awakened Mr. Hutchinson's curiosity. + +“Look here,” he volunteered, “if he's got any real business, he +can't talk over to the tune of the pianola you can bring him up here, +Tembarom. I'll see he don't stay long if his business isn't worth +talkin' about. He'll see the table set for supper, and that'll hurry +him.” + +“Oh, gee I wish he hadn't come!” said Tembarom. “I'll just go down and +see what he wants. No one's got any swell private business with me.” + +“You bring him up if he has,” said Hutchinson. “We'd like to hear about +it.” + +Tembarom ran down the stairs quickly. + +No one had ever wanted to see him on business before. There was +something important-sounding about it; perhaps things were starting up +for him in real earnest. It might be a message from Galton, though +he could not believe that he had at this early stage reached such a +distinction. A ghastly thought shot a bolt at him, but he shook himself +free of it. + +“He's not a fellow to go back on his word, anyhow,” he insisted. + +There were more boarders than usual in the parlor. The young woman from +the notion counter had company; and one of her guests was playing “He +sut'nly was Good to Me” on the pianola with loud and steady tread of +pedal. + +The new arrival had evidently not thought it worth his while to commit +himself to permanency by taking a seat. He was standing not far from the +door with a businesslike-looking envelop in one hand and a pince-nez in +the other, with which Tembarom saw he was rather fretfully tapping +the envelop as he looked about him. He was plainly taking in the +characteristics of the room, and was not leniently disposed toward them. +His tailor was clearly an excellent one, with entirely correct ideas as +to the cut and material which exactly befitted an elderly gentleman of +some impressiveness in the position, whatsoever it happened to be, which +he held. His face was not of a friendly type, and his eyes held cold +irritation discreetly restrained by businesslike civility. Tembarom +vaguely felt the genialities of the oyster supper assume a rather +fourth-rate air. + +The caller advanced and spoke first. + +“Mr. Tembarom?” he inquired. + +“Yes,” Tembarom answered, “I'm T. Tembarom.” + +“T.,” repeated the stranger, with a slightly puzzled expression. “Ah, +yes; I see. I beg pardon.” + +In that moment Tembarom felt that he was looked over, taken in, summed +up, and without favor. The sharp, steady eye, however, did not seem to +have moved from his face. At the same time it had aided him to realize +that he was, to this well-dressed person at least, a too exhilarated +young man wearing a ten-dollar “hand-me-down.” + +“My name is Palford,” he said concisely. “That will convey nothing to +you. I am of the firm of Palford & Grimby of Lincoln's Inn. This is my +card.” + +Tembarom took the card and read that Palford & Grimby were “solicitors,” + and he was not sure that he knew exactly what “solicitors” were. + +“Lincoln's Inn?” he hesitated. “That's not in New York, is it?” + +“No, Mr. Tembarom; in London. I come from England.” + +“You must have had bad weather crossing,” said Tembarom, with amiable +intent. Somehow Mr. Palford presented a more unyielding surface than he +was accustomed to. And yet his hard courtesy was quite perfect. + +“I have been here some weeks.” + +“I hope you like New York. Won't you have a seat?” + +The young lady from the notion counter and her friends began to sing +the chorus of “He sut'nly was Good to Me” with quite professional negro +accent. + +“That's just the way May Irwin done it,” one of them laughed. + +Mr. Palford glanced at the performers. He did not say whether he liked +New York or not. + +“I asked your landlady if we could not see each other in a private +room,” he said. “It would not be possible to talk quietly here.” + +“We shouldn't have much of a show,” answered Tembarom, inwardly wishing +he knew what was going to happen. “But there are no private rooms in the +house. We can be quieter than this, though, if we go up stairs to Mr. +Hutchinson's room. He said I could bring you.” + +“That would be much better,” replied Mr. Palford. + +Tembarom led him out of the room, up the first steep and narrow flight +of stairs, along the narrow hall to the second, up that, down another +hall to the third, up the third, and on to the fourth. As he led the way +he realized again that the worn carpets, the steep narrowness, and the +pieces of paper unfortunately stripped off the wall at intervals, were +being rather counted against him. This man had probably never been in a +place like this before in his life, and he didn't take to it. + +At the Hutchinsons' door he stopped and explained: + +“We were going to have an oyster stew here because the Hutchinsons are +going away; but Mr. Hutchinson said we could come up.” + +“Very kind of Mr. Hutchinson, I'm sure.” + +Despite his stiffly collected bearing, Mr. Palford looked perhaps +slightly nervous when he was handed into the bed-sitting-room, and found +himself confronting Hutchinson and Little Ann and the table set for the +oyster stew. It is true that he had never been in such a place in his +life, that for many reasons he was appalled, and that he was beset by a +fear that he might be grotesquely compelled by existing circumstances to +accept these people's invitation, if they insisted upon his sitting down +with them and sharing their oyster stew. One could not calculate on what +would happen among these unknown quantities. It might be their idea of +boarding-house politeness. And how could one offend them? God forbid +that the situation should intensify itself in such an absurdly trying +manner! What a bounder the unfortunate young man was! His own experience +had not been such as to assist him to any realistic enlightenment +regarding him, even when he had seen the society page and had learned +that he had charge of it. + +“Let me make you acquainted with Mr. and Miss Hutchinson,” Tembarom +introduced. “This is Mr. Palford, Mr. Hutchinson.” + +Hutchinson, half hidden behind his newspaper, jerked his head and +grunted: + +“Glad to see you, sir.” + +Mr. Palford bowed, and took the chair Tembarom presented. + +“I am much obliged to you, Mr. Hutchinson, for allowing me to come to +your room. I have business to discuss with Mr. Tembarom, and the pianola +was being played down-stairs--rather loudly.” + +“They do it every night, dang 'em! Right under my bed,” growled +Hutchinson. “You're an Englishman, aren't you?” + +“Yes.” + +“So am I, thank God!” Hutchinson devoutly gave forth. + +Little Ann rose from her chair, sewing in hand. + +“Father'll come and sit with me in my room,” she said. + +Hutchinson looked grumpy. He did not intend to leave the field clear +and the stew to its fate if he could help it. He gave Ann a protesting +frown. + +“I dare say Mr. Palford doesn't mind us,” he said. “We're not +strangers.” + +“Not in the least,” Palford protested. “Certainly not. If you are old +friends, you may be able to assist us.” + +“Well, I don't know about that,” Hutchinson answered, “We've not known +him long, but we know him pretty well. You come from London, don't you?” + +“Yes. From Lincoln's Inn Fields.” + +“Law?” grunted Hutchinson. + +“Yes. Of the firm of Palford & Grimby.” + +Hutchinson moved in his chair involuntarily. There was stimulation to +curiosity in this. This chap was a regular top sawyer--clothes, way of +pronouncing his words, manners, everything. No mistaking him--old family +solicitor sort of chap. What on earth could he have to say to Tembarom? +Tembarom himself had sat down and could not be said to look at his ease. + +“I do not intrude without the excuse of serious business,” Palford +explained to him. “A great deal of careful research and inquiry has +finally led me here. I am compelled to believe I have followed the +right clue, but I must ask you a few questions. Your name is not really +Tembarom, is it?” + +Hutchinson looked at Tembarom sharply. + +“Not Tembarom? What does he mean, lad?” + +Tembarom's grin was at once boyish and ashamed. + +“Well, it is in one way,” he answered, “and it isn't in another. The +fellows at school got into the way of calling me that way,--to save +time, I guess,--and I got to like it. They'd have guyed my real name. +Most of them never knew it. I can't see why any one ever called a child +by such a fool name, anyhow.” + +“What was it exactly?” + +Tembarom looked almost sheepish. + +“It sounds like a thing in a novel. It was Temple Temple Barholm. Two +Temples, by gee! As if one wasn't enough!” + +Joseph Hutchinson dropped his paper and almost started from his chair. +His red face suddenly became so much redder that he looked a trifle +apoplectic. + +“Temple Barholm does tha say?” he cried out. + +Mr. Palford raised his hand and checked him, but with a suggestion of +stiff apology. + +“If you will kindly allow me. Did you ever hear your father refer to a +place called Temple Barholm?” he inquired. + +Tembarom reflected as though sending his thoughts backward into a +pretty thoroughly forgotten and ignored past. There had been no reason +connected with filial affection which should have caused him to recall +memories of his father. They had not liked each other. He had known +that he had been resented and looked down upon as a characteristically +American product. His father had more than once said he was a “common +American lad,” and he had known he was. + +“Seems to me,” he said at last, “that once when he was pretty mad at his +luck I heard him grumbling about English laws, and he said some of his +distant relations were swell people who would never think of speaking to +him,--perhaps didn't know he was alive,--and they lived in a big way in +a place that was named after the family. He never saw it or them, and he +said that was the way in England--one fellow got everything and the rest +were paupers like himself. He'd always been poor.” + +“Yes, the relation was a distant one. Until this investigation began the +family knew nothing of him. The inquiry has been a tiresome one. I trust +I am reaching the end of it. We have given nearly two years to following +this clue.” + +“What for?” burst forth Tembarom, sitting upright. + +“Because it was necessary to find either George Temple Barholm or his +son, if he had one.” + +“I'm his son, all right, but he died when I was eight years old,” + Tembarom volunteered. “I don't remember much about him.” + +“You remember that he was not an American?” + +“He was English. Hated it; but he wasn't fond of America.” + +“Have you any papers belonging to him?” + +Tembarom hesitated again. + +“There's a few old letters--oh, and one of those glass photographs in +a case. I believe it's my grandfather and grandmother, taken when they +were married. Him on a chair, you know, and her standing with her hand +on his shoulder.” + +“Can you show them to me?” Palford suggested. + +“Sure,” Tembarom answered, getting up from his seat “They're in my room. +I turned them up yesterday among some other things.” + +When he left them, Mr. Palford sat gently rubbing his chin. Hutchinson +wanted to burst forth with questions, but he looked so remote and +acidly dignified that there was a suggestion of boldness in the idea of +intruding on his reflections. Hutchinson stared at him and breathed hard +and short in his suspense. The stiff old chap was thinking things +over and putting things together in his lawyer's way. He was entirely +oblivious to his surroundings. Little Ann went on with her mending, but +she wore her absorbed look, and it was not a result of her work. + +Tembarom came back with some papers in his hand. They were yellowed +old letters, and on the top of the package there was a worn +daguerreotype-case with broken clasp. + +“Here they are,” he said, giving them to Palford. “I guess they'd just +been married,” opening the case. “Get on to her embroidered collar and +big breast-pin with his picture in it. That's English enough, isn't it? +He'd given it to her for a wedding-present. There's something in one of +the letters about it.” + +It was the letters to which Mr. Palford gave the most attention. He read +them and examined post-marks and dates. When he had finished, he +rose from his chair with a slightly portentous touch of professional +ceremony. + +“Yes, those are sufficiently convincing. You are a very fortunate young +man. Allow me to congratulate you.” + +He did not look particularly pleased, though he extended his hand and +shook Tembarom's politely. He was rigorously endeavoring to conceal that +he found himself called upon to make the best of an extremely bad job. +Hutchinson started forward, resting his hands on his knees and glaring +with ill-suppressed excitement. + +“What's that for?” Tembarom said. He felt rather like a fool. He laughed +half nervously. It seemed to be up to him to understand, and he didn't +understand in the least. + +“You have, through your father's distant relationship, inherited a +very magnificent property--the estate of Temple Barholm in Lancashire,” + Palford began to explain, but Mr. Hutchinson sprang from his chair +outright, crushing his paper in his hand. + +“Temple Barholm!” he almost shouted, “I dunnot believe thee! Why, it's +one of th' oldest places in England and one of th' biggest. Th' Temple +Barholms as didn't come over with th' Conqueror was there before him. +Some of them was Saxon kings! And him--” pointing a stumpy, red finger +disparagingly at Tembarom, aghast and incredulous--“that New York lad +that's sold newspapers in the streets--you say he's come into it?” + +“Precisely.” Mr. Palford spoke with some crispness of diction. Noise +and bluster annoyed him. “That is my business here. Mr. Tembarom is, +in fact, Mr. Temple Temple Barholm of Temple Barholm, which you seem to +have heard of.” + +“Heard of it! My mother was born in the village an' lives there yet. Art +tha struck dumb, lad!” he said almost fiercely to Tembarom. “By Judd! +Tha well may be!” + +Tembarom was standing holding the back of a chair. He was pale, and +had once opened his mouth, and then gulped and shut it. Little Ann had +dropped her sewing. His first look had leaped to her, and she had looked +back straight into his eyes. + +“I'm struck something,” he said, his half-laugh slightly unsteady. +“Who'd blame me?” + +“You'd better sit down,” said Little Ann. “Sudden things are upsetting.” + +He did sit down. He felt rather shaky. He touched himself on his chest +and laughed again. + +“Me!” he said. “T. T.! Hully gee! It's like a turn at a vaudeville.” + +The sentiment prevailing in Hutchinson's mind seemed to verge on +indignation. + +“Thee th' master of Temple Barholm!” he ejaculated. “Why, it stood for +seventy thousand pound' a year!” + +“It did and it does,” said Mr. Palford, curtly. He had less and less +taste for the situation. There was neither dignity nor proper sentiment +in it. The young man was utterly incapable of comprehending the meaning +and proportions of the extraordinary event which had befallen him. It +appeared to present to him the aspect of a somewhat slangy New York +joke. + +“You do not seem much impressed, Mr. Temple Barholm,” he said. + +“Oh, I'm impressed, all right,” answered Tembarom, “but, say, this thing +can't be true! You couldn't make it true if you sat up all night to do +it.” + +“When I go into the business details of the matter tomorrow morning +you will realize the truth of it,” said Mr. Palford. “Seventy thousand +pounds a year--and Temple Barholm--are not unsubstantial facts.” + +“Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars, my lad--that's what it stands +for!” put in Mr. Hutchinson. + +“Well,” said Tembarom, “I guess I can worry along on that if I try hard +enough. I mayn't be able to keep myself in the way I've been used to, +but I've got to make it do.” + +Mr. Palford stiffened. He did not know that the garish, +flippant-sounding joking was the kind of defense the streets of New York +had provided Mr. Temple Barholm with in many an hour when he had been +a half-clad newsboy with an empty stomach, and a bundle of unsold +newspapers under his arm. + +“You are jocular,” he said. “I find the New Yorkers are given to being +jocular--continuously.” + +Tembarom looked at him rather searchingly. Palford wouldn't have found +it possible to believe that the young man knew all about his distaste +and its near approach to disgust, that he knew quite well what he +thought of his ten-dollar suit, his ex-newsboy's diction, and his entire +incongruousness as a factor in any circumstances connected with dignity +and splendor. He would certainly not have credited the fact that though +he had not the remotest idea what sort of a place Temple Barholm was, +and what sort of men its long line of possessors had been, he had gained +a curious knowledge of their significance through the mental attitude +of their legal representative when he for a moment failed to conceal his +sense of actual revolt. + +“It seems sort of like a joke till you get on to it,” he said. “But I +guess it ain't such a merry jest as it seems.” + +And then Mr. Palford did begin to observe that he had lost his color +entirely; also that he had a rather decent, sharp-cut face, and +extremely white and good young teeth, which he showed not unattractively +when he smiled. And he smiled frequently, but he was not smiling now. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +In the course of the interview given to the explaining of business and +legal detail which took place between Mr. Palford and his client the +following morning, Tembarom's knowledge of his situation extended itself +largely, and at the same time added in a proportionate degree to his +sense of his own incongruity as connected with it. He sat at a table in +Palford's private sitting-room at the respectable, old-fashioned hotel +the solicitor had chosen--sat and listened, and answered questions and +asked them, until his head began to feel as though it were crammed to +bursting with extraordinary detail. + +It was all extraordinary to him. He had had no time for reading and no +books to read, and therefore knew little of fiction. He was entirely +ignorant of all romance but such as the New York papers provided. This +was highly colored, but it did not deal with events connected with the +possessors of vast English estates and the details of their habits and +customs. His geographical knowledge of Great Britain was simple and +largely incorrect. Information concerning its usual conditions and +aspects had come to him through talk of international marriages and +cup races, and had made but little impression upon him. He liked New +York--its noise, its streets, its glare, its Sunday newspapers, with +their ever-increasing number of sheets, and pictures of everything +on earth which could be photographed. His choice, when he could allow +himself a fifty-cent seat at the theater, naturally ran to productions +which were farcical or cheerfully musical. He had never reached serious +drama, perhaps because he had never had money enough to pay for entrance +to anything like half of the “shows” the other fellows recommended. He +was totally unprepared for the facing of any kind of drama as connected +with himself. The worst of it was that it struck him as being of the +nature of farce when regarded from the normal New York point of view. If +he had somehow had the luck to come into the possession of money in ways +which were familiar to him,--to “strike it rich” in the way of a “big +job” or “deal,”--he would have been better able to adjust himself to +circumstances. He might not have known how to spend his money, but he +would have spent it in New York on New York joys. There would have +been no foreign remoteness about the thing, howsoever fantastically +unexpected such fortune might have been. At any rate, in New York he +would have known the names of places and things. + +Through a large part of his interview with Palford his elbow rested +on the table, and he held his chin with his hand and rubbed it +thoughtfully. The last Temple Temple Barholm had been an eccentric and +uncompanionable person. He had lived alone and had not married. He had +cherished a prejudice against the man who would have succeeded him as +next of kin if he had not died young. People had been of the opinion +that he had disliked him merely because he did not wish to be reminded +that some one else must some day inevitably stand in his shoes, and +own the possessions of which he himself was arrogantly fond. There were +always more female Temple Barholms than male ones, and the families +were small. The relative who had emigrated to Brooklyn had been a +comparatively unknown person. His only intercourse with the head of the +house had been confined to a begging letter, written from America +when his circumstances were at their worst. It was an ill-mannered and +ill-expressed letter, which had been considered presuming, and had been +answered chillingly with a mere five-pound note, clearly explained as +a final charity. This begging letter, which bitterly contrasted the +writer's poverty with his indifferent relative's luxuries, had, by a +curious trick of chance which preserved it, quite extraordinarily turned +up during an examination of apparently unimportant, forgotten papers, +and had furnished a clue in the search for next of kin. The writer had +greatly annoyed old Mr. Temple Barholm by telling him that he had called +his son by his name--“not that there was ever likely to be anything in +it for him.” But a waif of the New York streets who was known as “Tem” + or “Tembarom” was not a link easily attached to any chain, and the +search had been long and rather hopeless. It had, however, at last +reached Mrs. Bowse's boarding-house and before Mr. Palford sat Mr. +Temple Temple Barholm, a cheap young man in cheap clothes, and speaking +New York slang with a nasal accent. Mr. Palford, feeling him appalling +and absolutely without the pale, was still aware that he stood in the +position of an important client of the firm of Palford & Grimby. There +was a section of the offices at Lincoln's Inn devoted to documents +representing a lifetime of attention to the affairs of the Temple +Barholm estates. It was greatly to be hoped that the crass ignorance +and commonness of this young outsider would not cause impossible +complications. + +“He knows nothing! He knows nothing!” Palford found himself forced to +exclaim mentally not once, but a hundred times, in the course of their +talk. + +There was--this revealed itself as the interview proceeded--just one +slight palliation of his impossible benightedness: he was not the +kind of young man who, knowing nothing, huffily protects himself by +pretending to know everything. He was of an unreserve concerning his +ignorance which his solicitor felt sometimes almost struck one in the +face. Now and then it quite made one jump. He was singularly free from +any vestige of personal vanity. He was also singularly unready to +take offense. To the head of the firm of Palford & Grimby, who was +not accustomed to lightness of manner, and inclined to the view that a +person who made a joke took rather a liberty with him, his tendency to +be jocular, even about himself and the estate of Temple Barholm, was +irritating and somewhat disrespectful. Mr. Palford did not easily +comprehend jokes of any sort; especially was he annoyed by cryptic +phraseology and mammoth exaggeration. For instance, he could not in the +least compass Mr. Temple Barholm's meaning when he casually remarked +that something or other was “all to the merry”; or again, quite as +though he believed that he was using reasonable English figures of +speech, “The old fellow thought he was the only pebble on the beach.” In +using the latter expression he had been referring to the late Mr. Temple +Barholm; but what on earth was his connection with the sea-shore and +pebbles? When confronted with these baffling absurdities, Mr. Palford +either said, “I beg pardon,” or stiffened and remained silent. + +When Tembarom learned that he was the head of one of the oldest families +in England, no aspect of the desirable dignity of his position reached +him in the least. + +“Well,” he remarked, “there's quite a lot of us can go back to Adam and +Eve.” + +When he was told that he was lord of the manor of Temple Barholm, he did +not know what a manor was. + +“What's a manor, and what happens if you're lord of it?” he asked. + +He had not heard of William the Conqueror, and did not appear moved to +admiration of him, though he owned that he seemed to have “put it over.” + +“Why didn't he make a republic of it while he was about it?” he said. +“But I guess that wasn't his kind. He didn't do all that fighting for +his health.” + +His interest was not alone totally dissevered from the events of past +centuries; it was as dissevered from those of mere past years. The +habits, customs, and points of view of five years before seemed to +have been cast into a vast waste-paper basket as wholly unpractical in +connection with present experiences. + +“A man that's going to keep up with the procession can't waste time +thinking about yesterday. What he's got to do is to keep his eye on +what's going to happen the week after next,” he summed it up. + +Rather to Mr. Palford's surprise, he did not speak lightly, but with a +sort of inner seriousness. It suggested that he had not arrived at this +conclusion without the aid of sharp experience. Now and then one saw a +touch of this profound practical perception in him. + +It was not to be denied that he was clear-headed enough where purely +practical business detail was concerned. He was at first plainly rather +stunned by the proportions presented to him, but his questions were +direct and of a common-sense order not to be despised. + +“I don't know anything about it yet,” he said once. “It's all Dutch to +me. I can't calculate in half-crowns and pounds and half pounds, but I'm +going to find out. I've got to.” + +It was extraordinary and annoying to feel that one must explain +everything; but this impossible fellow was not an actual fool on all +points, and he did not seem to be a weakling. He might learn certain +things in time, and at all events one was no further personally +responsible for him and his impossibilities than the business concerns +of his estate would oblige any legal firm to be. Clients, whether +highly desirable or otherwise, were no more than clients. They were not +relatives whom one must introduce to one's friends. Thus Mr. Palford, +who was not a specially humane or sympathetic person, mentally decided. +He saw no pathos in this raw young man, who would presently find himself +floundering unaided in waters utterly unknown to him. There was even a +touch of bitter amusement in the solicitor's mind as he glanced toward +the future. + +He explained with detail the necessity for their immediate departure for +the other side of the Atlantic. Certain legal formalities which must at +once be attended to demanded their presence in England. Foreseeing this, +on the day when he had finally felt himself secure as to the identity +of his client he had taken the liberty of engaging optionally certain +state-rooms on the Adriana, sailing the following Wednesday. + +“Subject of course to your approval,” he added politely. “But it is +imperative that we should be on the spot as early as possible.” He did +not mention that he himself was abominably tired of his sojourn on alien +shores, and wanted to be back in London in his own chambers, with his +own club within easy reach. + +Tembarom's face changed its expression. He had been looking rather +weighted down and fatigued, and he lighted up to eagerness. + +“Say,” he exclaimed, “why couldn't we go on the Transatlantic on +Saturday?” + +“It is one of the small, cheap boats,” objected Palford. + +“The accommodation would be most inferior.” + +Tembarom leaned forward and touched his sleeve in hasty, boyish appeal. + +“I want to go on it,” he said; “I want to go steerage.” + +Palford stared at him. + +“You want to go on the Transatlantic! Steerage!” he ejaculated, quite +aghast. This was a novel order of madness to reveal itself in the recent +inheritor of a great fortune. + +Tembarom's appeal grew franker; it took on the note of a too crude young +fellow's misplaced confidence. + +“You do this for me,” he said. “I'd give a farm to go on that boat. The +Hutchinsons are sailing on it--Mr. and Miss Hutchinson, the ones you saw +at the house last night.” + +“I--it is really impossible.” Mr. Palford hesitated. “As to steerage, my +dear Mr. Temple Barholm, you--you can't.” + +Tembarom got up and stood with his hands thrust deep in his pockets. It +seemed to be a sort of expression of his sudden hopeful excitement. + +“Why not” he said. “If I own about half of England and have money to +burn, I guess I can buy a steerage passage on a nine-day steamer.” + +“You can buy anything you like,” Palford answered stiffly. “It is not a +matter of buying. But I should not be conducting myself properly toward +you if I allowed it. It would not be--becoming.” + +“Becoming!” cried Tembarom, “Thunder! It's not a spring bat. I tell you +I want to go just that way.” + +Palford saw abnormal breakers ahead. He felt that he would be glad +when he had landed his charge safely at Temple Barholm. Once there, his +family solicitor was not called upon to live with him and hobnob with +his extraordinary intimates. + +“As to buying,” he said, still with marked lack of enthusiasm, “instead +of taking a steerage passage on the Transatlantic yourself, you might no +doubt secure first-class state-rooms for Mr. and Miss Hutchinson on the +Adriana, though I seriously advise against it.” + +Tembarom shook his head. + +“You don't know them,” he said. “They wouldn't let me. Hutchinson's +a queer old fellow and he's had the hardest kind of luck, but he's as +proud as they make 'em. Me butt in and offer to pay their passage back, +as if they were paupers, just because I've suddenly struck it rich! +Hully gee! I guess not. A fellow that's been boosted up in the air all +in a minute, as I have, has got to lie pretty low to keep folks from +wanting to kick him, anyhow. Hutchinson's a darned sight smarter fellow +than I am, and he knows it--and he's Lancashire, you bet.” He stopped a +minute and flushed. “As to Little Ann,” he said--“me make that sort of a +break with HER! Well, I should be a fool.” + +Palford was a cold-blooded and unimaginative person, but a long legal +experience had built up within him a certain shrewdness of perception. +He had naturally glanced once or twice at the girl sitting still at +her mending, and he had observed that she said very little and had a +singularly quiet, firm little voice. + +“I beg pardon. You are probably right. I had very little conversation +with either of them. Miss Hutchinson struck me as having an intelligent +face.” + +“She's a wonder,” said Tembarom, devoutly. “She's just a wonder.” + +“Under the circumstances,” suggested Mr. Palford, “it might not be a bad +idea to explain to her your idea of the steerage passage. An intelligent +girl can often give excellent advice. You will probably have an +opportunity of speaking to her tonight. Did you say they were sailing +to-morrow?” + +To-morrow! That brought it so near that it gave Tembarom a shock. He +had known that they sailed on Saturday, and now Saturday had become +to-morrow. Things began to surge through his mind--all sorts of things +he had no time to think of clearly, though it was true they had darted +vaguely about in the delirious excitement of the night, during which he +had scarcely slept at all. His face changed again, and the appeal died +out of it. He began to look anxious and restless. + +“Yes, they're going to-morrow,” he answered. + +“You see,” argued Mr. Palford, with conviction, “how impossible it would +be for us to make any arrangements in so few hours. You will excuse my +saying,” he added punctiliously, “that I could not make the voyage in +the steerage.” + +Tembarom laughed. He thought he saw him doing it. + +“That's so,” he said. Then, with renewed hope, he added, “Say, I 'm +going to try and get them to wait till Wednesday.” + +“I do not think--” Mr. Palford began, and then felt it wiser to leave +things as they were. “But I'm not qualified to give an opinion. I do not +know Miss Hutchinson at all.” + +But the statement was by no means frank. He had a private conviction +that he did know her to a certain degree. And he did. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +There was a slight awkwardness even to Tembarom in entering the +dining-room that evening. He had not seen his fellow boarders, as his +restless night had made him sleep later than usual. But Mrs. Bowse had +told him of the excitement he had caused. + +“They just couldn't eat,” she said. “They could do nothing but talk +and talk and ask questions; and I had waffles, too, and they got +stone-cold.” + +The babel of friendly outcry which broke out on his entry was made up +of jokes, ejaculations, questions, and congratulatory outbursts from all +sides. + +“Good old T. T.!” “Give him a Harvard yell! Rah! Rah! Rah!” “Lend me +fifty-five cents?” “Where's your tiara?” “Darned glad of it!” “Make us a +speech!” + +“Say, people,” said Tembarom, “don't you get me rattled or I can't tell +you anything. I'm rattled enough already.” + +“Well, is it true?” called out Mr. Striper. + +“No,” Tembarom answered back, sitting down. “It couldn't be; that's what +I told Palford. I shall wake up in a minute or two and find myself in a +hospital with a peacherino of a trained nurse smoothing 'me piller.' You +can't fool ME with a pipe-dream like this. Palford's easier; he's not a +New Yorker. He says it IS true, and I can't get out of it.” + +“Whew! Great Jakes!” A long breath was exhaled all round the table. + +“What are you, anyhow?” cried Jim Bowles across the dishes. + +Tembarom rested his elbow on the edge of the table and began to check +off his points on his fingers. + +“I'm this,” he said: “I'm Temple Temple Barholm, Esquire, of Temple +Barholm, Lancashire, England. At the time of the flood my folks knocked +up a house just about where the ark landed, and I guess they've held on +to it ever since. I don't know what business they went into, but they +made money. Palford swears I've got three hundred and fifty thousand +dollars a year. I wasn't going to call the man a liar; but I just missed +it, by jings!” + +He was trying to “bluff it out.” Somehow he felt he had to. He felt it +more than ever when a momentary silence fell upon those who sat about +the table. It fell when he said “three hundred and fifty thousand +dollars a year.” No one could find voice to make any remark for a few +seconds after that. + +“Are you a lord--or a duke?” some one asked after breath had recovered +itself. + +“No, I'm not,” he replied with relief. “I just got out from under that; +but the Lord knows how I did it.” + +“What are you going to do first?” said Jim Bowles. + +“I've got to go and 'take possession.' That's what Palford calls +it. I've been a lost heir for nearly two years, and I've got to show +myself.” + +Hutchinson had not joined the clamor of greeting, but had grunted +disapproval more than once. He felt that, as an Englishman, he had a +certain dignity to maintain. He knew something about big estates and +their owners. He was not like these common New York chaps, who regarded +them as Arabian Nights tales to make jokes about. He had grown up as a +village boy in proper awe of Temple Barholm. They were ignorant fools, +this lot. He had no patience with them. He had left the village and gone +to work in Manchester when he was a boy of twelve, but as long as he had +remained in his mother's cottage it had been only decent good manners +for him to touch his forehead respectfully when a Temple Barholm, or +a Temple Barholm guest or carriage or pony phaeton, passed him by. And +this chap was Mr. Temple Temple Barholm himself! Lord save us! + +Little Ann said nothing at all; but, then, she seldom said anything +during meal-times. When the rest of the boarders laughed, she ate her +dinner and smiled. Several times, despite her caution, Tembarom caught +her eye, and somehow held it a second with his. She smiled at him when +this happened; but there was something restless and eager in his look +which made her wish to evade it. She knew what he felt, and she knew why +he kept up his jokes and never once spoke seriously. She knew he was +not comfortable, and did not enjoy talking about hundreds of thousands +a year to people who worked hard for ten or twenty “per.” To-morrow +morning was very near, she kept thinking. To-morrow night she would be +lying in her berth in the steerage, or more probably taking care of her +father, who would be very uncomfortable. + +“What will Galton do?” Mr. Striper asked. + +“I don't know,” Tembarom answered, and he looked troubled. Three hundred +and fifty thousand dollars a year might not be able to give aid to a +wounded society page. + +“What are you going to do with your Freak?” called out Julius +Steinberger. + +Tembarom actually started. As things had surged over him, he had had +too much to think over. He had not had time to give to his strange +responsibility; it had become one nevertheless. + +“Are you going to leave him behind when you go to England?” + +He leaned forward and put his chin on his hand. + +“Why, say,” he said, as though he were thinking it out, “he's spoken +about England two or three times. He's said he must go there. By jings! +I'll take him with me, and see what'll happen.” + +When Little Ann got up to leave the room he followed her and her father +into the hall. + +“May I come up and talk it over with you?” he appealed. “I've got to +talk to some one who knows something about it. I shall go dotty if I +don't. It's too much like a dream.” + +“Come on up when you're ready,” answered Hutchinson. “Ann and me can +give you a tip or two.” + +“I'm going to be putting the last things in the trunks,” said Ann, “but +I dare say you won't mind that. The express'll be here by eight in the +morning.” + +“O Lord!” groaned Tembarom. + +When he went up to the fourth floor a little later, Hutchinson had +fallen into a doze in his chair over his newspaper, and Ann was kneeling +by a trunk in the hall, folding small articles tightly, and fitting them +into corners. To Tembarom she looked even more than usual like a slight +child thing one could snatch up in one's arms and carry about or set on +one's knee without feeling her weight at all. An inferior gas-jet on the +wall just above her was doing its best with the lot of soft, red hair, +which would have been an untidy bundle if it had not been hers. + +Tembarom sat down on the trunk next to her. + +“O Little Ann!” he broke out under his breath, lest the sound of his +voice might check Hutchinson's steady snoring. “O Little Ann!” + +Ann leaned back, sitting upon her small heels, and looked up at him. + +“You're all upset, and it's not to be wondered at, Mr. Temple Barholm,” + she said. + +“Upset! You're going away to-morrow morning! And, for the Lord's sake, +don't call me that!” he protested. + +“You're going away yourself next Wednesday. And you ARE Mr. Temple +Barholm. You'll never be called anything else in England. + +“How am I going to stand it?” he protested again. “How could a fellow +like me stand it! To be yanked out of good old New York, and set down in +a place like a museum, with Central Park round it, and called Mr. Temple +Temple Barholm instead of just 'Tem' or 'T. T.'! It's not natural.” + +“What you must do, Mr. Temple Barholm, is to keep your head clear, +that's all,” she replied maturely. + +“Lord! if I'd got a head like yours!” + +She seemed to take him in, with a benign appreciativeness, in his +entirety. + +“Well, you haven't,” she admitted, though quite without disparagement, +merely with slight reservation. “But you've got one like your own. And +it's a good head--when you try to think steady. Yours is a man's head, +and mine's only a woman's.” + +“It's Little Ann Hutchinson's, by gee!” said Tembarom, with feeling. + +“Listen here, Mr. Tem--Temple Barholm,” she went on, as nearly disturbed +as he had ever seen her outwardly. “It's a wonderful thing that's +happened to you. It's like a novel. That splendid place, that splendid +name! It seems so queer to think I should ever have talked to a Mr. +Temple Barholm as I've talked to you.” + +He leaned forward a little as though something drew him. + +“But”--there was unsteady appeal in his voice--“you have liked me, +haven't you, Little Ann?” + +Her own voice seemed to drop into an extra quietness that made it +remote. She looked down at her hands on her lap. + +“Yes, I have liked you. I have told Father I liked you,” she answered. + +He got up, and made an impetuous rush at his goal. + +“Then--say, I'm going in there to wake up Mr. Hutchinson and ask him not +to sail to-morrow morning.” + +“You'd better not wake him up,” she answered, smiling; but he saw +that her face changed and flushed. “It's not a good time to ask Father +anything when he's just been waked up. And we HAVE to go. The express is +coming at eight.” + +“Send it away again; tell 'em you're not going. Tell 'em any old thing. +Little Ann, what's the matter with you? Something's the matter. Have I +made a break?” + +He had felt the remoteness in her even before he had heard it in her +dropped voice. It had been vaguely there even when he sat down on the +trunk. Actually there was a touch of reserve about her, as though she +was keeping her little place with the self-respecting propriety of a +girl speaking to a man not of her own world. + +“I dare say I've done some fool thing without knowing it. I don't know +where I'm at, anyhow,” he said woefully. + +“Don't look at me like that, Mr. Temple Barholm,” she said--“as if I was +unkind. I--I'm NOT.” + +“But you're different,” he implored. “I saw it the minute I came up. I +ran up-stairs just crazy to talk to you,--yes, crazy to talk to you--and +you--well, you were different. Why are you, if you're not mad?” + +Then she rose and stood holding one of her neatly rolled packages in +her hand. Her eyes were soft and clear, and appealed maternally to his +reason. + +“Because everything's different. You just think a bit,” she answered. + +He stared at her a few seconds, and then understanding of her dawned +upon him. He made a human young dash at her, and caught her arm. + +“What!” he cried out. “You mean this Temple Barholm song and dance makes +things different? Not on your life! You're not the girl to work that +on me, as if it was my fault. You've got to hear me speak my piece. +Ann--you've just got to!” + +He had begun to tremble a little, and she herself was not steady; but +she put a hand on his arm. + +“Don't say anything you've not had time to think about,” she said. + +“I've been thinking of pretty near nothing else ever since I came here. +Just as soon as I looked at you across the table that first day I saw my +finish, and every day made me surer. I'd never had any comfort or taking +care of,--I didn't know the first thing about it,--and it seemed as if +all there was of it in the world was just in YOU.” + +“Did you think that?” she asked falteringly. + +“Did I? That's how you looked to me, and it's how you look now. The way +you go about taking care of everybody and just handing out solid little +chunks of good sense to every darned fool that needs them, why--” There +was a break in his voice--“why, it just knocked me out the first round.” + He held her a little away from him, so that he could yearn over her, +though he did not know he was yearning. “See, I'd sworn I'd never ask a +girl to marry me until I could keep her. Well, you know how it was, Ann. +I couldn't have kept a goat, and I wasn't such a fool that I didn't know +it. I've been pretty sick when I thought how it was; but I never worried +you, did I?” + +“No, you didn't.” + +“I just got busy. I worked like--well, I got busier than I ever was +in my life. When I got the page SURE, I let myself go a bit, sort of +hoping. And then this Temple Barholm thing hits me.” + +“That's the thing you've got to think of now,” said Little Ann. “I'm +going to talk sensible to you.” + +“Don't, Ann! Good Lord! DON'T!” + +“I MUST.” She put her last tight roll into the trunk and tried to shut +the lid. “Please lock this for me.” + +He locked it, and then she seated herself on the top of it, though it +was rather high for her, and her small feet dangled. Her eyes looked +large and moist like a baby's, and she took out a handkerchief and +lightly touched them. + +“You've made me want to cry a bit,” she said, “but I'm not going to.” + +“Are you going to tell me you don't want me?” he asked, with anxious +eyes. + +“No, I'm not.” + +“God bless you!” He was going to make a dash at her again, but pulled +himself up because he must. “No, by jings!” he said. “I'm not going to +till you let me.” + +“You see, it's true your head's not like mine,” she said reasonably. +“Men's heads are mostly not like women's. They're men, of course, and +they're superior to women, but they're what I'd call more fluttery-like. +Women must remind them of things.” + +“What--what kind of things?” + +“This kind. You see, Grandmother lives near Temple Barholm, and I know +what it's like, and you don't. And I've seen what seventy thousand +pounds a year means, and you haven't. And you've got to go and find out +for yourself.” + +“What's the matter with you coming along to help me?” + +“I shouldn't help you; that's it. I should hold you back. I'm nothing +but Ann Hutchinson, and I talk Manchester--and I drop my h's.” + +“I love to hear you drop your little h's all over the place,” he burst +forth impetuously. “I love it.” + +She shook her head. + +“The girls that go to garden-parties at Temple Barholm look like those +in the `Ladies' Pictorial', and they've got names and titles same as +those in novels.” + +He answered her in genuine anguish. He had never made any mistake about +her character, and she was beginning to make him feel afraid of her in +the midst of his adoration. + +“What do I want with a girl out of a magazine?” he cried. “Where should +I hang her up?” + +She was not unfeeling, but unshaken and she went on: + +“I should look like a housemaid among them. How would you feel with a +wife of that sort, when the other sort was about?” + +“I should feel like a king, that's what I should feel like,” he replied +indignantly. + +“I shouldn't feel like a queen. I should feel MISERABLE.” + +She sat with her little feet dangling, and her hands folded in her lap. +Her infantile blue eyes held him as the Ancient Mariner had been held. +He could not get away from the clear directness of them. He did not want +to exactly, but she frightened him more and more. + +“I should be ashamed,” she proceeded. “I should feel as if I had taken +an advantage. What you've got to do is to find out something no one else +can find out for you, Mr. Temple Barholm.” + +“How can I find it out without you? It was you who put me on to the +wedding-cake; you can put me on to other things.” + +“Because I've lived in the place,” she answered unswervingly. “I know +how funny it is for any one to think of me being Mrs. Temple Barholm. +You don't.” + +“You bet I don't,” he answered; “but I'll tell you what I do know, and +that's how funny it is that I should be Mr. Temple Barholm. I've got on +to that all right, all right. Have you?” + +She looked at him with a reflection that said much. She took him in with +a judicial summing up of which it must be owned an added respect was +part. She had always believed he had more sense than most young men, and +now she knew it. + +“When a person's clever enough to see things for himself, he's generally +clever enough to manage them,” she replied. + +He knelt down beside the trunk and took both her hands in his. He held +them fast and rather hard. + +“Are you throwing me down for good, Little Ann?” he said. “If you are, I +can't stand it, I won't stand it.” + +“If you care about me like that, you'll do what I tell you,” she +interrupted, and she slipped down from the top of her trunk. “I know +what Mother would say. She'd say, 'Ann, you give that young man a +chance.' And I'm going to give you one. I've said all I'm going to, Mr. +Temple Barholm.” + +He took both her elbows and looked at her closely, feeling a somewhat +awed conviction. + +“I--believe--you have,” he said. + +And here the sound of Mr. Hutchinson's loud and stertorous breathing +ceased, and he waked up, and came to the door to find out what Ann was +doing. + +“What are you two talking about?” he asked. “People think when they +whisper it's not going to disturb anybody, but it's worse than shouting +in a man's ear.” + +Tembarom walked into the room. + +“I've been asking Little Ann to marry me,” he announced, “and she +won't.” + +He sat down in a chair helplessly, and let his head fall into his hands. + +“Eh!” exclaimed Hutchinson. He turned and looked at Ann disturbedly. “I +thought a bit ago tha didn't deny but what tha'd took to him?” + +“I didn't, Father,” she answered. “I don't change my mind that quick. +I--would have been willing to say 'Yes' when you wouldn't have been +willing to let me. I didn't know he was Mr. Temple Barholm then.” + +Hutchinson rubbed the back of his head, reddening and rather bristling. + +“Dost tha think th' Temple Barholms would look down on thee?” + +“I should look down on myself if I took him up at his first words, when +he's all upset with excitement, and hasn't had time to find out what +things mean. I'm--well, I 'm too fond of him, Father.” + +Hutchinson gave her a long, steady look. + +“You are?” he said. + +“Yes, I am.” + +Tembarom lifted his head, and looked at her, too. + +“Are you?” he asked. + +She put her hands behind her back, and returned his look with the calm +of ages. + +“I'm not going to argue about it,” she answered. “Arguing's silly.” + +His involuntary rising and standing before her was a sort of unconscious +tribute of respect. + +“I know that,” he owned. “I know you. That's why I take it like this. +But I want you to tell me one thing. If this hadn't happened, if I'd +only had twenty dollars a week, would you have taken me?” + +“If you'd had fifteen, and Father could have spared me, I'd have taken +you. Fifteen dollars a week is three pounds two and sixpence, and I've +known curates' wives that had to bring up families on less. It wouldn't +go as far in New York as it would in the country in England, but we +could have made it do--until you got more. I know you, too, Mr. Temple +Barholm.” + +He turned to her father, and saw in his florid countenance that which +spurred him to bold disclosure. + +“Say,” he put it to him, as man to man, “she stands there and says a +thing like that, and she expects a fellow not to jerk her into his arms +and squeeze the life out of her! I daren't do it, and I'm not going to +try; but--well, you said her mother was like her, and I guess you know +what I'm up against.” + +Hutchinson's grunting chuckle contained implications of exultant +tenderness and gratified paternal pride. + +“She's th' very spit and image of her mother,” he said, “and she had th' +sense of ten women rolled into one, and th' love of twenty. You let her +be, and you're as safe as th' Rock of Ages.” + +“Do you think I don't know that?” answered Tembarom, his eyes shining +almost to moisture. “But what hits me, by thunder! is that I've lost the +chance of seeing her work out that fifteen-dollar-a-week proposition, +and it drives me crazy.” + +“I should have downright liked to try it,” said Little Ann, with +speculative reflection, and while she knitted her brows in lovely +consideration of the attractive problem, several previously unknown +dimples declared themselves about her mouth. + +“Ann,” Tembarom ventured, “if I go to Temple Barholm and try it a year +and learn all about it---” + +“It would take more than a year,” said Ann. + +“Don't make it two,” Tembarom pleaded. “I'll sit up at night with wet +towels round my head to learn; I'll spend fourteen hours a day with +girls that look like the pictures in the `Ladies' Pictorial', or +whatever it is in England; I'll give them every chance in life, if +you'll let me off afterward. There must be another lost heir somewhere; +let's dig him up and then come back to little old New York and be happy. +Gee! Ann,”--letting himself go and drawing nearer to her,--“how happy we +could be in one of those little flats in Harlem!” + +She was a warm little human thing, and a tender one, and when he came +close to her, glowing with tempestuous boyish eagerness, her eyes grew +bluer because they were suddenly wet, and she was obliged to move softly +back. + +“Yes,” she said; “I know those little flats. Any one could---” She +stopped herself, because she had been going to reveal what a home a +woman could make in rooms like the compartments in a workbox. She knew +and saw it all. She drew back a little again, but she put out a hand and +laid it on his sleeve. + +“When you've had quite time enough to find out, and know what the other +thing means, I'll do whatever you want me to do,” she said. “It won't +matter what it is. I'll do it.” + +“She means that,” Hutchinson mumbled unsteadily, turning aside. “Same as +her mother would have meant it. And she means it in more ways than one.” + +And so she did. The promise included quite firmly the possibility of not +unnatural changes in himself such as young ardor could not foresee, even +the possibility of his new life withdrawing him entirely from the plane +on which rapture could materialize on twenty dollars a week in a flat in +Harlem. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +Type as exotic as Tembarom's was to his solicitor naturally suggested +problems. Mr. Palford found his charge baffling because, according to +ordinary rules, a young man so rudimentary should have presented no +problems not perfectly easy to explain. It was herein that he was +exotic. Mr. Palford, who was not given to subtle analysis of differences +in character and temperament, argued privately that an English youth who +had been brought up in the streets would have been one of two or three +things. He would have been secretly terrified and resentful, roughly +awkward and resentful, or boastfully delighted and given to a common +youth's excitedly common swagger at finding himself suddenly a “swell.” + +This special kind of youth would most assuredly have constantly thought +of himself as a “swell” and would have lost his head altogether, +possibly with results in the matter of conduct in public which would +have been either maddening or crushing to the spirit of a well-bred, +mature-minded legal gentleman temporarily thrust into the position of +bear-leader. + +But Tembarom was none of these things. If he was terrified, he did +not reveal his anguish. He was without doubt not resentful, but on the +contrary interested and curious, though he could not be said to bear +himself as one elated. He indulged in no frolics or extravagances. He +saw the Hutchinsons off on their steamer, and supplied them with fruit +and flowers and books with respectful moderation. He did not conduct +himself as a benefactor bestowing unknown luxuries, but as a young man +on whom unexpected luck had bestowed decent opportunities to express his +friendship. In fact, Palford's taste approved of his attitude. He was +evidently much under the spell of the slight girl with the Manchester +accent and sober blue eyes, but she was neither flighty nor +meretricious, and would have sense enough to give no trouble even when +he naturally forgot her in the revelations of his new life. Her father +also was plainly a respectable working-man, with a blunt Lancashire +pride which would keep him from intruding. + +“You can't butt in and get fresh with a man like that,” Tembarom said. +“Money wouldn't help you. He's too independent.” + +After the steamer had sailed away it was observable to his solicitor +that Mr. Temple Barholm was apparently occupied every hour. He did not +explain why he seemed to rush from one part of New York to another +and why he seemed to be seeking interviews with persons it was plainly +difficult to get at. He was evidently working hard to accomplish +something or other before he left the United States, perhaps. He asked +some astutely practical business questions; his intention seeming to be +to gain a definite knowledge of what his future resources would be and +of his freedom to use them as he chose. + +Once or twice Mr. Palford was rather alarmed by the tendency of his +questions. Had he actually some prodigious American scheme in view? He +seemed too young and inexperienced in the handling of large sums for +such a possibility. But youth and inexperience and suddenly inherited +wealth not infrequently led to rash adventures. Something which Palford +called “very handsome” was done for Mrs. Bowse and the boarding-house. +Mrs. Bowse was evidently not proud enough to resent being made secure +for a few years' rent. The extraordinary page was provided for after a +large amount of effort and expenditure of energy. + +“I couldn't leave Galton high and dry,” Tembarom explained when he came +in after rushing about. “I think I know a man he might try, but I've got +to find him and put him on to things. Good Lord! nobody rushed about to +find me and offer me the job. I hope this fellow wants it as bad as I +did. He'll be up in the air.” He discovered the whereabouts of the young +man in question, and finding him, as the youngster almost tearfully +declared, “about down and out,” his proposition was met with the +gratitude the relief from a prospect of something extremely like +starvation would mentally produce. Tembarom took him to Galton after +having talked him over in detail. + +“He's had an education, and you know how much I'd had when I butted into +the page,” he said. “No one but you would have let me try it. You did it +only because you saw--you saw--” + +“Yes, I saw,” answered Galton, who knew exactly what he had seen and +who found his up-town social representative and his new situation as +interesting as amusing and just touched with the pathetic element. +Galton was a traveled man and knew England and several other countries +well. + +“You saw that a fellow wanted the job as much as I did would be likely +to put up a good fight to hold it down. I was scared out of my life when +I started out that morning of the blizzard, but I couldn't afford to be +scared. I guess soldiers who are scared fight like that when they see +bayonets coming at them. You have to.” + +“I wonder how often a man finds out that he does pretty big things +when bayonets are coming at him,” answered Galton, who was actually +neglecting his work for a few minutes so that he might look at and talk +to him, this New York descendant of Norman lords and Saxon kings. + +“Joe Bennett had been trying to live off free-lunch counters for a week +when I found him,” Tembarom explained. “You don't know what that is. +He'll go at the page all right. I'm going to take him up-town and +introduce him to my friends there and get them to boost him along.” + +“You made friends,” said Galton. “I knew you would.” + +“Some of the best ever. Good-natured and open-handed. Well, you bet! +Only trouble was they wanted you to eat and drink everything in sight, +and they didn't quite like it when you couldn't get outside all the +champagne they'd offer you.” + +He broke into a big, pleased laugh. + +“When I went in and told Munsberg he pretty near threw a fit. Of course +he thought I was kidding. But when I made him believe it, he was as glad +as if he'd had luck himself. It was just fine the way people took +it. Tell you what, it takes good luck, or bad luck, to show you how +good-natured a lot of folks are. They'll treat Bennett and the page all +right; you'll see.” + +“They'll miss you,” said Galton. + +“I shall miss them,” Tembarom answered in a voice with a rather +depressed drop in it. + +“I shall miss you,” said Galton. + +Tembarom's face reddened a little. + +“I guess it'd seem rather fresh for me to tell you how I shall miss +you,” he said. “I said that first day that I didn't know how to tell you +how I--well, how I felt about you giving a mutt like me that big chance. +You never thought I didn't know how little I did know, did you?” he +inquired almost anxiously. + +“That was it--that you did know and that you had the backbone and the +good spirits to go in and win,” Galton replied. “I'm a tired man, and +good spirits and good temper seem to me about the biggest assets a man +can bring into a thing. I shouldn't have dared do it when I was your +age. You deserved the Victoria Cross,” he added, chuckling. + +“What's the Victoria Cross?” asked Tembarom. + +“You'll find out when you go to England.” + +“Well, I'm not supposing that you don't know about how many billion +things I'll have to find out when I go to England.” + +“There will be several thousand,” replied Galton moderately; “but you'll +learn about them as you go on.” + +“Say,” said Tembarom, reflectively, “doesn't it seem queer to think of +a fellow having to keep up his spirits because he's fallen into three +hundred and fifty thousand a year? You wouldn't think he'd have to, +would you?” + +“But you find he has?” queried Galton, interestedly. + +Tembarom's lifted eyes were so honest that they were touching. + +“I don't know where I'm at,” he said. “I'm going to wake up in a new +place--like people that die. If you knew what it was like, you wouldn't +mind it so much; but you don't know a blamed thing. It's not having seen +a sample that rattles you.” + +“You're fond of New York?” + +“Good Lord! it's all the place I know on earth, and it's just about good +enough for me, by gee! It's kept me alive when it might have starved +me to death. My! I've had good times here,” he added, flushing with +emotion. “Good times--when I hadn't a whole meal a day!” + +“You'd have good times anywhere,” commented Galton, also with feeling. +“You carry them over your shoulder, and you share them with a lot of +other people.” + +He certainly shared some with Joe Bennett, whom he took up-town and +introduced right and left to his friendly patrons, who, excited by the +atmosphere of adventure and prosperity, received him with open arms. +To have been the choice of T. Tembarom as a mere representative of the +EARTH would have been a great thing for Bennett, but to be the choice of +the hero of a romance of wildest opulence was a tremendous send-off. +He was accepted at once, and when Tembarom actually “stood for” a big +farewell supper of his own in “The Hall,” and nearly had his hand shaken +off by congratulating acquaintances, the fact that he kept the new +aspirant by his side, so that the waves of high popularity flowed over +him until he sometimes lost his joyful breath, established him as a sort +of hero himself. + +Mr. Palford did not know of this festivity, as he also found he was +not told of several other things. This he counted as a feature of his +client's exoticism. His extraordinary lack of concealment of things +vanity forbids many from confessing combined itself with a quite +cheerful power to keep his own counsel when he was, for reasons of his +own, so inclined. + +“He can keep his mouth shut, that chap,” Hutchinson had said once, and +Mr. Palford remembered it. “Most of us can't. I've got a notion I can; +but I don't many's the time when I should. There's a lot more in him +than you'd think for. He's naught but a lad, but he is na half such a +fool as he looks.” + +He was neither hesitant nor timid, Mr. Palford observed. In an entirely +unostentatious way he soon realized that his money gave things into +his hands. He knew he could do most things he chose to do, and that the +power to do them rested in these days with himself without the necessity +of detailed explanation or appeal to others, as in the case, for +instance, of this mysterious friend or protege whose name was +Strangeways. Of the history of his acquaintance with him Palford knew +nothing, and that he should choose to burden himself with a half-witted +invalid--in these terms the solicitor described him--was simply +in-explainable. If he had asked for advice or by his manner left +an opening for the offering of it, he would have been most strongly +counseled to take him to a public asylum and leave him there; but advice +on the subject seemed the last thing he desired or anticipated, and talk +about his friend was what he seemed least likely to indulge in. He made +no secret of his intentions, but he frankly took charge of them as his +own special business, and left the rest alone. + +“Say nothing and saw wood,” Palford had once been a trifle puzzled +by hearing him remark casually, and he remembered it later, as he +remembered the comments of Joseph Hutchinson. Tembarom had explained +himself to Little Ann. + +“You'll understand,” he said. “It is like this. I guess I feel like you +do when a dog or a cat in big trouble just looks at you as if you +were all they had, and they know if you don't stick by them they'll be +killed, and it just drives them crazy. It's the way they look at you +that you can't stand. I believe something would burst in that fellow's +brain if I left him. When he found out I was going to do it he'd just +let out some awful kind of a yell I'd remember till I died. I dried +right up almost as soon as I spoke of him to Palford. He couldn't see +anything but that he was crazy and ought to be put in an asylum. Well, +he's not. There're times when he talks to me almost sensible; only he's +always so awful low down in his mind you're afraid to let him go on. And +he's a little bit better than he was. It seems queer to get to like +a man that's sort of dotty, but I tell you, Ann, because you'll +understand--I've got to sort of like him, and want to see if I can work +it out for him somehow. England seems to sort of stick in his mind. If +I can't spend my money in living the way I want to live,--buying jewelry +and clothes for the girl I'd like to see dressed like a queen--I'm going +to do this just to please myself. I'm going to take him to England and +keep him quiet and see what'll happen. Those big doctors ought to know +about all there is to know, and I can pay them any old thing they want. +By jings! isn't it the limit--to sit here and say that and know it's +true!” + +Beyond the explaining of necessary detail to him and piloting him to +England, Mr. Palford did not hold himself many degrees responsible. His +theory of correct conduct assumed no form of altruism. He had formulated +it even before he reached middle age. One of his fixed rules was to +avoid the error of allowing sympathy or sentiment to hamper him with +any unnecessary burden. Natural tendency of temperament had placed no +obstacles in the way of his keeping this rule. To burden himself with +the instruction or modification of this unfortunately hopeless young New +Yorker would be unnecessary. Palford's summing up of him was that he was +of a type with which nothing palliative could be done. There he was. +As unavoidable circumstances forced one to take him,--commonness, +slanginess, appalling ignorance, and all,--one could not leave him. +Fortunately, no respectable legal firm need hold itself sponsor for a +“next of kin” provided by fate and the wilds of America. + +The Temple Barholm estate had never, in Mr. Palford's generation, been +specially agreeable to deal with. The late Mr. Temple Temple Barholm had +been a client of eccentric and abominable temper. Interviews with him +had been avoided as much as possible. His domineering insolence of +bearing had at times been on the verge of precipitating unheard-of +actions, because it was almost more than gentlemanly legal flesh and +blood could bear. And now appeared this young man. + +He rushed about New York strenuously attending to business concerning +himself and his extraordinary acquaintances, and on the day of the +steamer's sailing he presented himself at the last moment in an +obviously just purchased suit of horribly cut clothes. At all events, +their cut was horrible in the eyes of Mr. Palford, who accepted no +cut but that of a West End tailor. They were badly made things enough, +because they were unconsidered garments that Tembarom had barely found +time to snatch from a “ready-made” counter at the last moment. He had +been too much “rushed” by other things to remember that he must have +them until almost too late to get them at all. He bought them merely +because they were clothes, and warm enough to make a voyage in. He +possessed a monster ulster, in which, to Mr. Palford's mind, he +looked like a flashy black-leg. He did not know it was flashy. His +opportunities for cultivating a refined taste in the matter of wardrobe +had been limited, and he had wasted no time in fastidious consideration +or regrets. Palford did him some injustice in taking it for granted that +his choice of costume was the result of deliberate bad taste. It was +really not choice at all. He neither liked his clothes nor disliked +them. He had been told he needed warm garments, and he had accepted the +advice of the first salesman who took charge of him when he dropped into +the big department store he was most familiar with because it was the +cheapest in town. Even when it was no longer necessary to be cheap, it +was time-saving and easy to go into a place one knew. + +The fact that he was as he was, and that they were the subjects of +comment and objects of unabated interest through-out the voyage, that it +was proper that they should be companions at table and on deck, filled +Mr. Palford with annoyed unease. + +Of course every one on board was familiar with the story of the +discovery of the lost heir. The newspapers had reveled in it, and had +woven romances about it which might well have caused the deceased Mr. +Temple Barholm to turn in his grave. After the first day Tembarom had +been picked out from among the less-exciting passengers, and when he +walked the deck, books were lowered into laps or eyes followed him over +their edges. His steamer-chair being placed in a prominent position +next to that of a pretty, effusive Southern woman, the mother of three +daughters whose eyes and eyelashes attracted attention at the +distance of a deck's length, he was without undue delay provided +with acquaintances who were prepared to fill his every moment with +entertainment. + +“The three Gazelles,” as their mother playfully confided to Tembarom +her daughters were called in Charleston, were destructively lovely. +They were swaying reeds of grace, and being in radiant spirits at the +prospect of “going to Europe,” were companions to lure a man to any +desperate lengths. They laughed incessantly, as though they were chimes +of silver bells; they had magnolia-petal skins which neither wind nor +sun blemished; they had nice young manners, and soft moods in which +their gazelle eyes melted and glowed and their long lashes drooped. +They could dance, they played on guitars, and they sang. They were as +adorable as they were lovely and gay. + +“If a fellow was going to fall in love,” Tembarom said to Palford, +“there'd be no way out of this for him unless he climbed the rigging and +dragged his food up in a basket till he got to Liverpool. If he didn't +go crazy about Irene, he'd wake up raving about Honora; and if he got +away from Honora, Adelia Louise would have him `down on the mat.'” From +which Mr. Palford argued that the impression made by the little Miss +Hutchinson with the Manchester accent had not yet had time to obliterate +itself. + +The Gazelles were of generous Southern spirit, and did not surround +their prize with any barrier of precautions against other young persons +of charm. They introduced him to one girl after another, and in a day +or two he was the center of animated circles whenever he appeard. The +singular thing, however, was that he did not appear as often as the +other men who were on board. He seemed to stay a great deal with +Strangeways, who shared his suite of rooms and never came on deck. +Sometimes the Gazelles prettily reproached him. Adelia Louise suggested +to the others that his lack of advantages in the past had made him feel +rather awkward and embarrassed; but Palford knew he was not embarrassed. +He accepted his own limitations too simply to be disturbed by them. +Palford would have been extremely bored by him if he had been of the +type of young outsider who is anxiouus about himself and expansive in +self-revelation and appeals for advice; but sometimes Tembarom's air of +frankness, which was really the least expansive thing in the world and +revealed nothing whatever, besides concealing everything it chose, made +him feel himself almost irritatingly baffled. It would have been more +natural if he had not been able to keep anything to himself and had +really talked too much. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +The necessary business in London having been transacted, Tembarom went +north to take possession of the home of his forefathers. It had rained +for two days before he left London, and it rained steadily all the way +to Lancashire, and was raining steadily when he reached Temple +Barholm. He had never seen such rain before. It was the quiet, unmoved +persistence of it which amazed him. As he sat in the railroad carriage +and watched the slanting lines of its unabating downpour, he felt that +Mr. Palford must inevitably make some remark upon it. But Mr. Palford +continued to read his newspapers undisturbedly, as though the condition +of atmosphere surrounding him were entirely accustomed and natural. It +was of course necessary and proper that he should accompany his client +to his destination, but the circumstances of the case made the whole +situation quite abnormal. Throughout the centuries each Temple Barholm +had succeeded to his estate in a natural and conventional manner. He had +either been welcomed or resented by his neighbors, his tenants, and his +family, and proper and fitting ceremonies had been observed. But here +was an heir whom nobody knew, whose very existence nobody had even +suspected, a young man who had been an outcast in the streets of the +huge American city of which lurid descriptions are given. Even in +New York he could have produced no circle other than Mrs. Bowse's +boarding-house and the objects of interest to the up-town page, so +he brought no one with him; for Strangeways seemed to have been +mysteriously disposed of after their arrival in London. + +Never had Palford & Grimby on their hands a client who seemed so +entirely alone. What, Mr. Palford asked himself, would he do in the +enormity of Temple Barholm, which always struck one as being a place +almost without limit. But that, after all, was neither here nor there. +There he was. You cannot undertake to provide a man with relatives if he +has none, or with acquaintances if people do not want to know him. His +past having been so extraordinary, the neighborhood would naturally be +rather shy of him. At first, through mere force of custom and respect +for an old name, punctilious, if somewhat alarmed, politeness would be +shown by most people; but after the first calls all would depend upon +how much people could stand of the man himself. + +The aspect of the country on a wet winter's day was not enlivening. The +leafless and dripping hedges looked like bundles of sticks; the huge +trees, which in June would be majestic bowers of greenery, now held +out great skeleton arms, which seemed to menace both earth and sky. +Heavy-faced laborers tramped along muddy lanes; cottages with soaked +bits of dead gardens looked like hovels; big, melancholy cart-horses, +dragging jolting carts along the country roads, hung their heads as they +splashed through the mire. + +As Tembarom had known few persons who had ever been out of America, he +had not heard that England was beautiful, and he saw nothing which led +him to suspect its charms. London had impressed him as gloomy, dirty, +and behind the times despite its pretensions; the country struck him as +“the limit.” Hully gee! was he going to be expected to spend his life in +this! Should he be obliged to spend his life in it. He'd find that out +pretty quick, and then, if there was no hard-and-fast law against it, +him for little old New York again, if he had to give up the whole +thing and live on ten per. If he had been a certain kind of youth, his +discontent would have got the better of him, and he might have talked a +good deal to Mr. Palford and said many disparaging things. + +“But the man was born here,” he reflected. “I guess he doesn't know +anything else, and thinks it's all right. I've heard of English fellows +who didn't like New York. He looks like that kind.” + +He had supplied himself with newspapers and tried to read them. Their +contents were as unexciting as the rain-sodden landscape. There were no +head-lines likely to arrest any man's attention. There was a lot about +Parliament and the Court, and one of them had a column or two about +what lords and ladies were doing, a sort of English up-town or down-town +page. + +He knew the stuff, but there was no snap in it, and there were no +photographs or descriptions of dresses. Galton would have turned it +down. He could never have made good if he had done no better than that. +He grinned to himself when he read that the king had taken a drive and +that a baby prince had the measles. + +“I wonder what they'd think of the Sunday Earth,” he mentally inquired. + +He would have been much at sea if he had discovered what they +really would have thought of it. They passed through smoke-vomiting +manufacturing towns, where he saw many legs seemingly bearing about +umbrellas, but few entire people; they whizzed smoothly past drenched +suburbs, wet woodlands, and endless-looking brown moors, covered with +dead bracken and bare and prickly gorse. He thought these last great +desolate stretches worse than all the rest. + +But the railroad carriage was luxuriously upholstered and comfortable, +though one could not walk about and stretch his legs. In the afternoon, +Mr. Palford ordered in tea, and plainly expected him to drink two cups +and eat thin bread and butter. He felt inclined to laugh, though the tea +was all right, and so was the bread and butter, and he did not fail his +companion in any respect. The inclination to laugh was aroused by the +thought of what Jim Bowles and Julius would say if they could see old T. +T. with nothing to do at 4:30 but put in cream and sugar, as though he +were at a tea-party on Fifth Avenue. + +But, gee! this rain did give him the Willies. If he was going to be +sorry for himself, he might begin right now. But he wasn't. He was going +to see this thing through. + +The train had been continuing its smooth whir through fields, wooded +lands, and queer, dead-and-alive little villages for some time before it +drew up at last at a small station. Bereft by the season of its garden +bloom and green creepers, it looked a bare and uninviting little place. +On the two benches against the wall of the platform a number of women +sat huddled together in the dampness. Several of them held children in +their laps and all stared very hard, nudging one another as he descended +from the train. A number of rustics stood about the platform, giving it +a somewhat crowded air. It struck Tembarom that, for an out-of-the-way +place, there seemed to be a good many travelers, and he wondered if +they could all be going away. He did not know that they were the curious +element among such as lived in the immediate neighborhood of the station +and had come out merely to see him on his first appearance. Several of +them touched their hats as he went by, and he supposed they knew Palford +and were saluting him. Each of them was curious, but no one was in +a particularly welcoming mood. There was, indeed, no reason for +anticipating enthusiasm. It was, however, but human nature that the +bucolic mind should bestir itself a little in the desire to obtain a +view of a Temple Barholm who had earned his living by blacking boots and +selling newspapers, unknowing that he was “one o' th' gentry.” + +When he stepped from his first-class carriage, Tembarom found himself +confronted by a very straight, clean-faced, and well-built young man, +who wore a long, fawn-colored livery coat with claret facings and silver +buttons. He touched his cockaded hat, and at once took up the Gladstone +bags. Tembarom knew that he was a footman because he had seen something +like him outside restaurants, theaters, and shops in New York, but he +was not sure whether he ought to touch his own hat or not. He slightly +lifted it from his head to show there was no ill feeling, and then +followed him and Mr. Palford to the carriage waiting for them. It was a +severe but sumptuous equipage, and the coachman was as well dressed +and well built as the footman. Tembarom took his place in it with many +mental reservations. + +“What are the illustrations on the doors?” he inquired. + +“The Temple Barholm coat of arms,” Mr. Palford answered. “The people +at the station are your tenants. Members of the family of the stout man +with the broad hat have lived as yeoman farmers on your land for three +hundred years.” + +They went on their way, with more rain, more rain, more dripping hedges, +more soaked fields, and more bare, huge-armed trees. CLOP, CLOP, CLOP, +sounded the horses' hoofs along the road, and from his corner of the +carriage Mr. Palford tried to make polite conversation. Faces peered out +of the windows of the cottages, sometimes a whole family group of faces, +all crowded together, eager to look, from the mother with a baby in her +arms to the old man or woman, plainly grandfather or grandmother--sharp, +childishly round, or bleared old eyes, all excited and anxious to catch +glimpses. + +“They are very curious to see you,” said Mr. Palford. “Those two +laborers are touching their hats to you. It will be as well to recognize +their salute.” + +At a number of the cottage doors the group stood upon the threshold and +touched foreheads or curtsied. Tembarom saluted again and again, and +more than once his friendly grin showed itself. It made him feel queer +to drive along, turning from side to side to acknowledge obeisances, as +he had seen a well-known military hero acknowledge them as he drove down +Broadway. + +The chief street of the village of Temple Barholm wandered almost within +hailing distance of the great entrance to the park. The gates were +supported by massive pillars, on which crouched huge stone griffins. +Tembarom felt that they stared savagely over his head as he was driven +toward them as for inspection, and in disdainful silence allowed to +pass between them as they stood on guard, apparently with the haughtiest +mental reservations. + +The park through which the long avenue rolled concealed its beauty to +the unaccustomed eye, showing only more bare trees and sodden stretches +of brown grass. The house itself, as it loomed up out of the thickening +rain-mist, appalled Tembarom by its size and gloomily gray massiveness. +Before it was spread a broad terrace of stone, guarded by more griffins +of even more disdainful aspect than those watching over the gates. The +stone noses held themselves rigidly in the air as the reporter of the +up-town society page passed with Mr. Palford up a flight of steps broad +enough to make him feel as though he were going to church. Footmen with +powdered heads received him at the carriage door, seemed to assist him +to move, to put one foot before the other for him, to stand in rows as +though they were a military guard ready to take him into custody. + +Then he was inside, standing in an enormous hall filled with furnishings +such as he had never seen or heard of before. Carved oak, suits of +armor, stone urns, portraits, another flight of church steps mounting +upward to surrounding galleries, stained-glass windows, tigers' and +lions' heads, horns of tremendous size, strange and beautiful weapons, +suggested to him that the dream he had been living in for weeks had +never before been so much a dream. He had walked about as in a vision, +but among familiar surroundings. Mrs. Bowse's boarders and his hall +bedroom had helped him to retain some hold over actual existence. But +here the reverently saluting villagers staring at him through windows +as though he were General Grant, the huge, stone entrance, the drive +of what seemed to be ten miles through the park, the gloomy mass of +architecture looming up, the regiment of liveried men-servants, with +respectfully lowered but excitedly curious eyes, the dark and solemn +richness inclosing and claiming him--all this created an atmosphere +wholly unreal. As he had not known books, its parallel had not been +suggested to him by literature. He had literally not heard that such +things existed. Selling newspapers and giving every moment to the +struggle for life or living, one did not come within the range of +splendors. He had indeed awakened in that other world of which he had +spoken. And though he had heard that there was another world, he had had +neither time nor opportunity to make mental pictures of it. His life so +far had expressed itself in another language of figures. The fact that +he had in his veins the blood of the Norman lords and Saxon kings may or +may not have had something to do with the fact that he was not abashed, +but bewildered. The same factor may or may not have aided him to +preserve a certain stoic, outward composure. Who knows what remote +influences express themselves in common acts of modern common life? +As Cassivellaunus observed his surroundings as he followed in captive +chains his conqueror's triumphal car through the streets of Rome, so +the keen-eyed product of New York pavement life “took in” all about +him. Existence had forced upon him the habit of sharp observance. The +fundamental working law of things had expressed itself in the simple +colloquialism, “Keep your eye skinned, and don't give yourself away.” In +what phrases the parallel of this concise advice formulated itself in +55 B.C. no classic has yet exactly informed us, but doubtless something +like it was said in ancient Rome. Tembarom did not give himself away, +and he took rapid, if uncertain, inventory of people and things. He +remarked, for instance, that Palford's manner of speaking to a servant +was totally different from the manner he used in addressing himself. It +was courteous, but remote, as though he spoke across an accepted chasm +to beings of another race. There was no hint of incivility in it, +but also no hint of any possibility that it could occur to the person +addressed to hesitate or resent. It was a subtle thing, and Tembarom +wondered how he did it. + +They were shown into a room the walls of which seemed built of books; +the furniture was rich and grave and luxuriously comfortable. A fire +blazed as well as glowed in a fine chimney, and a table near it was set +with a glitter of splendid silver urn and equipage for tea. + +“Mrs. Butterworth was afraid you might not have been able to get tea, +sir,” said the man-servant, who did not wear livery, but whose butler's +air of established authority was more impressive than any fawn color and +claret enriched with silver could have encompassed. + +Tea again? Perhaps one was obliged to drink it at regular intervals. +Tembarom for a moment did not awaken to the fact that the man was +speaking to him, as the master from whom orders came. He glanced at Mr. +Palford. + +“Mr. Temple Barholm had tea after we left Crowly,” Mr. Palford said. “He +will no doubt wish to go to his room at once, Burrill.” + +“Yes, sir,” said Burrill, with that note of entire absence of comment +with which Tembarom later became familiar. “Pearson is waiting.” + +It was not unnatural to wonder who Pearson was and why he was waiting, +but Tembarom knew he would find out. There was a slight relief on +realizing that tea was not imperative. He and Mr. Palford were led +through the hall again. The carriage had rolled away, and two footmen, +who were talking confidentially together, at once stood at attention. +The staircase was more imposing as one mounted it than it appeared as +one looked at it from below. Its breadth made Tembarom wish to lay +a hand on a balustrade, which seemed a mile away. He had never +particularly wished to touch balustrades before. At the head of the +first flight hung an enormous piece of tapestry, its forest and hunters +and falconers awakening Tembarom's curiosity, as it looked wholly unlike +any picture he had ever seen in a shop-window. There were pictures +everywhere, and none of them looked like chromos. Most of the people in +the portraits were in fancy dress. Rumors of a New York millionaire ball +had given him some vague idea of fancy dress. A lot of them looked like +freaks. He caught glimpses of corridors lighted by curious, high, deep +windows with leaded panes. It struck him that there was no end to the +place, and that there must be rooms enough in it for a hotel. + +“The tapestry chamber, of course, Burrill,” he heard Mr. Palford say in +a low tone. + +“Yes, sir. Mr. Temple Barholm always used it.” + +A few yards farther on a door stood open, revealing an immense room, +rich and gloomy with tapestry-covered walls and dark oak furniture. A +bed which looked to Tembarom incredibly big, with its carved oak canopy +and massive posts, had a presiding personality of its own. It was +mounted by steps, and its hangings and coverlid were of embossed velvet, +time-softened to the perfection of purples and blues. A fire enriched +the color of everything, and did its best to drive the shadows away. +Deep windows opened either into the leafless boughs of close-growing +trees or upon outspread spaces of heavily timbered park, where gaunt, +though magnificent, bare branches menaced and defied. A slim, neat young +man, with a rather pale face and a touch of anxiety in his expression, +came forward at once. + +“This is Pearson, who will valet you,” exclaimed Mr. Palford. + +“Thank you, sir,” said Pearson in a low, respectful voice. His manner +was correctness itself. + +There seemed to Mr. Palford to be really nothing else to say. He wanted, +in fact, to get to his own apartment and have a hot bath and a rest +before dinner. + +“Where am I, Burrill?” he inquired as he turned to go down the corridor. + +“The crimson room, sir,” answered Burrill, and he closed the door of the +tapestry chamber and shut Tembarom in alone with Pearson. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +For a few moments the two young men looked at each other, Pearson's gaze +being one of respectfulness which hoped to propitiate, if propitiation +was necessary, though Pearson greatly trusted it was not. Tembarom's was +the gaze of hasty investigation and inquiry. He suddenly thought that +it would have been “all to the merry” if somebody had “put him on to” + a sort of idea of what was done to a fellow when he was “valeted.” A +valet, he had of course gathered, waited on one somehow and looked after +one's clothes. But were there by chance other things he expected to +do,--manicure one's nails or cut one's hair,--and how often did he do +it, and was this the day? He was evidently there to do something, or he +wouldn't have been waiting behind the door to pounce out the minute he +appeared, and when the other two went away, Burrill wouldn't have closed +the door as solemnly as though he shut the pair of them in together to +get through some sort of performance. + +“Here's where T. T. begins to feel like a fool,” he thought. “And here's +where there's no way out of looking like one. I don't know a thing.” + +But personal vanity was not so strong in him as healthy and normal good +temper. Despite the fact that the neat correctness of Pearson's style +and the finished expression of his neat face suggested that he was of +a class which knew with the most finished exactness all that custom +and propriety demanded on any occasion on which “valeting” in its most +occult branches might be done, he was only “another fellow,” after all, +and must be human. So Tembarom smiled at him. + +“Hello, Pearson,” he said. “How are you?” + +Pearson slightly started. It was the tiniest possible start, quite +involuntary, from which he recovered instantly, to reply in a tone of +respectful gratefulness: + +“Thank you, sir, very well; thank you, sir.” + +“That's all right,” answered Tembarom, a sense of relief because he'd +“got started” increasing the friendliness of his smile. “I see you got +my trunk open,” he said, glancing at some articles of clothing neatly +arranged upon the bed. + +Pearson was slightly alarmed. It occurred to him suddenly that perhaps +it was not the custom in America to open a gentleman's box and lay out +his clothes for him. For special reasons he was desperately anxious +to keep his place, and above all things he felt he must avoid giving +offense by doing things which, by being too English, might seem to cast +shades of doubt on the entire correctness of the customs of America. He +had known ill feeling to arise between “gentlemen's gentlemen” in the +servants' hall in the case of slight differences in customs, contested +with a bitterness of feeling which had made them almost an international +question. There had naturally been a great deal of talk about the new +Mr. Temple Barholm and what might be expected of him. When a gentleman +was not a gentleman,--this was the form of expression in “the +hall,”--the Lord only knew what would happen. And this one, who had, for +all one knew, been born in a workhouse, and had been a boot-black kicked +about in American streets,--they did not know Tembarom,--and nearly +starved to death, and found at last in a low lodging-house, what could +he know about decent living? And ten to one he'd be American enough to +swagger and bluster and pretend he knew everything better than any one +else, and lose his temper frightfully when he made mistakes, and try +to make other people seem to blame. Set a beggar on horseback, and who +didn't know what he was? There were chances enough and to spare that not +one of them would be able to stand it, and that in a month's time they +would all be looking for new places. + +So while Tembarom was rather afraid of Pearson and moved about in an +awful state of uncertainty, Pearson was horribly afraid of Tembarom, and +was, in fact, in such a condition of nervous anxiety that he was obliged +more than once furtively to apply to his damp, pale young forehead his +exceedingly fresh and spotless pocket-handkerchief. + +In the first place, there was the wardrobe. What COULD he do? How could +he approach the subject with sufficient delicacy? Mr. Temple Barholm had +brought with him only a steamer trunk and a Gladstone bag, the latter +evidently bought in London, to be stuffed with hastily purchased +handkerchiefs and shirts, worn as they came out of the shop, and as +evidently bought without the slightest idea of the kind of linen a +gentleman should own. What most terrified Pearson, who was of a timid +and most delicate-minded nature, was that having the workhouse and the +boot-blacking as a background, the new Mr. Temple Barholm COULDN'T know, +as all this had come upon him so suddenly. And was it to be Pearson's +calamitous duty to explain to him that he had NOTHING, that he +apparently KNEW nothing, and that as he had no friends who knew, a mere +common servant must educate him, if he did not wish to see him +derided and looked down upon and actually “cut” by gentlemen that +WERE gentlemen? All this to say nothing of Pearson's own well-earned +reputation for knowledge of custom, intelligence, and deftness in +turning out the objects of his care in such form as to be a reference in +themselves when a new place was wanted. Of course sometimes there +were even real gentlemen who were most careless and indifferent to +appearance, and who, if left to themselves, would buy garments which +made the blood run cold when one realized that his own character and +hopes for the future often depended upon his latest employer's outward +aspect. But the ulster in which Mr. Temple Barholm had presented himself +was of a cut and material such as Pearson's most discouraged moments +had never forced him to contemplate. The limited wardrobe in the steamer +trunk was all new and all equally bad. There was no evening dress, +no proper linen,--not what Pearson called “proper,”--no proper toilet +appurtenances. What was Pearson called upon by duty to do? If he +had only had the initiative to anticipate this, he might have asked +permission to consult in darkest secrecy with Mr. Palford. But he had +never dreamed of such a situation, and apparently he would be obliged +to send his new charge down to his first dinner in the majestically +decorous dining-room, “before all the servants,” in a sort of speckled +tweed cutaway, with a brown necktie. + +Tembarom, realizing without delay that Pearson did not expect to be +talked to and being cheered by the sight of the fire, sat down before +it in an easy-chair the like of which for luxurious comfort he had never +known. He was, in fact, waiting for developments. Pearson would say or +do something shortly which would give him a chance to “catch on,” or +perhaps he'd go out of the room and leave him to himself, which would be +a thing to thank God for. Then he could wash his face and hands, brush +his hair, and wait till the dinner-bell rang. They'd be likely to have +one. They'd have to in a place like this. + +But Pearson did not go out of the room. He moved about behind him for +a short time with footfall so almost entirely soundless that Tembarom +became aware that, if it went on long, he should be nervous; in fact, +he was nervous already. He wanted to know what he was doing. He could +scarcely resist the temptation to turn his head and look; but he did +not want to give himself away more entirely than was unavoidable, and, +besides, instinct told him that he might frighten Pearson, who looked +frightened enough, in a neat and well-mannered way, already. Hully gee! +how he wished he would go out of the room! + +But he did not. There were gently gliding footsteps of Pearson behind +him, quiet movements which would have seemed stealthy if they had been +a burglar's, soft removals of articles from one part of the room to +another, delicate brushings, and almost noiseless foldings. Now Pearson +was near the bed, now he had opened a wardrobe, now he was looking into +the steamer trunk, now he had stopped somewhere behind him, within a few +yards of his chair. Why had he ceased moving? What was he looking at? +What kept him quiet? + +Tembarom expected him to begin stirring mysteriously again; but he did +not. Why did he not? There reigned in the room entire silence; no soft +footfalls, no brushing, no folding. Was he doing nothing? Had he got +hold of something which had given him a fit? There had been no sound of +a fall; but perhaps even if an English valet had a fit, he'd have it so +quietly and respectfully that one wouldn't hear it. Tembarom felt that +he must be looking at the back of his head, and he wondered what was +the matter with it. Was his hair cut in a way so un-English that it +had paralyzed him? The back of his head began to creep under an +investigation so prolonged. No sound at all, no movement. Tembarom +stealthily took out his watch--good old Waterbury he wasn't going to +part with--and began to watch the minute-hand. If nothing happened +in three minutes he was going to turn round. One--two--three--and the +silence made it seem fifteen. He returned his Waterbury to his pocket +and turned round. + +Pearson was not dead. He was standing quite still and resigned, waiting. +It was his business to wait, not to intrude or disturb, and having put +everything in order and done all he could do, he was waiting for further +commands--in some suspense, it must be admitted. + +“Hello!” exclaimed Tembarom, involuntarily. + +“Shall I get your bath ready, sir?” inquired Pearson. “Do you like it +hot or cold, sir?” + +Tembarom drew a relieved breath. He hadn't dropped dead and he hadn't +had a fit, and here was one of the things a man did when he valeted +you--he got your bath ready. A hasty recollection of the much-used, +paint-smeared tin bath on the fourth floor of Mrs. Bowse's +boarding-house sprang up before him. Everybody had to use it in turn, +and you waited hours for the chance to make a dash into it. No one stood +still and waited fifteen minutes until you got good and ready to tell +him he could go and turn on the water. Gee whizz! + +Being relieved himself, he relieved Pearson by telling him he might “fix +it” for him, and that he would have hot water. + +“Very good, sir. Thank you, sir,” said Pearson, and silently left the +room. + +Then Tembarom got up from his chair and began to walk about rather +restlessly. A new alarm seized him. Did Pearson expect to WASH him or +to stand round and hand him soap and towels and things while he washed +himself? + +If it was supposed that you hadn't the strength to turn the faucets +yourself, it might be supposed you didn't have the energy to use a +flesh-brush and towels. Did valeting include a kind of shampoo all over? + +“I couldn't stand for that,” he said. “I'd have to tell him there'd been +no Turkish baths in mine, and I'm not trained up to them. When I've got +on to this kind of thing a bit more, I'll make him understand what I'm +NOT in for; but I don't want to scare the life out of him right off. He +looks like a good little fellow.” + +But Pearson's duties as valet did not apparently include giving him +his bath by sheer physical force. He was deft, calm, amenable. He led +Tembarom down the corridor to the bath-room, revealed to him stores of +sumptuous bath-robes and towels, hot-and cold-water faucets, sprays, +and tonic essences. He forgot nothing and, having prepared all, mutely +vanished, and returned to the bedroom to wait--and gaze in troubled +wonder at the speckled tweed cutaway. There was an appalling +possibility--he was aware that he was entirely ignorant of American +customs--that tweed was the fashionable home evening wear in the States. +Tembarom, returning from his bath much refreshed after a warm plunge and +a cold shower, evidently felt that as a costume it was all that could be +desired. + +“Will you wear--these, sir,--this evening?” Pearson suggested. + +It was suggestive of more than actual inquiry. If he had dared to hope +that his manner might suggest a number of things! For instance, that +in England gentlemen really didn't wear tweed in the evening even in +private. That through some unforeseen circumstances his employer's +evening-dress suit had been delayed, but would of course arrive +to-morrow! + +But Tembarom, physically stimulated by hot and cold water, and relief at +being left alone, was beginning to recover his natural buoyancy. + +“Yes, I'll wear 'em,” he answered, snatching at his hairbrush and +beginning to brush his damp hair. It was a wooden-backed brush that +Pearson had found in his Gladstone bag and shudderingly laid in +readiness on the dressing-table. “I guess they're all right, ain't +they?” + +“Oh, quite right, sir, quite,” Pearson ventured--“for morning wear.” + +“Morning?” said Tembarom, brushing vigorously. “Not night?” + +“Black, sir,” most delicately hinted Pearson, “is--more usual--in the +evening--in England.” After which he added, “So to speak,” with a vague +hope that the mollifying phrase might counteract the effect of any +apparently implied aspersion on colors preferred in America. + +Tembarom ceased brushing his hair, and looked at him in good-natured +desire for information. + +“Frock-coats or claw-hammer?” he asked. Despite his natural anxiety, +and in the midst of it, Pearson could not but admit that he had an +uncondemnatory voice and a sort of young way with him which gave one +courage. But he was not quite sure of “claw-hammer.” + +“Frock-coats for morning dress and afternoon wear, sir,” he ventured. +“The evening cut, as you know, is--” + +“Claw-hammer. Swallow-tail, I guess you say here,” Tembarom ended for +him, quite without hint of rancor, he was rejoiced to see. + +“Yes, sir,” said Pearson. + +The ceremony of dressing proved a fearsome thing as it went on. Pearson +moved about deftly and essayed to do things for the new Mr. Temple +Barholm which the new Mr. Temple Barholm had never heard of a man not +doing for himself. He reached for things Pearson was about to hand to +him or hold for him. He unceremoniously achieved services for himself +which it was part of Pearson's manifest duty to perform. They got into +each other's way; there was even danger sometimes of their seeming to +snatch things from each other, to Pearson's unbounded horror. Mr. Temple +Barholm did not express any irritation whatsoever misunderstandings took +place, but he held his mouth rather close-shut, and Pearson, not aware +that he did this as a precaution against open grinning or shouts of +laughter as he found himself unable to adjust himself to his attendant's +movements, thought it possible that he was secretly annoyed and regarded +the whole matter with disfavor. But when the dressing was at an end and +he stood ready to go down in all his innocent ignoring of speckled tweed +and brown necktie, he looked neither flurried nor out of humor, and +he asked a question in a voice which was actually friendly. It was a +question dealing with an incident which had aroused much interest in the +servants' hall as suggesting a touch of mystery. + +“Mr. Strangeways came yesterday all right, didn't he?” he inquired. + +“Yes, sir,” Pearson answered. “Mr. Hutchinson and his daughter came +with him. They call her `Little Ann Hutchinson.' She's a sensible little +thing, sir, and she seemed to know exactly what you'd want done to make +him comfortable. Mrs. Butterworth put him in the west room, sir, and +I valeted him. He was not very well when he came, but he seems better +to-day, sir, only he's very anxious to see you.” + +“That's all right,” said Tembarom. “You show me his room. I'll go and +see him now.” + +And being led by Pearson, he went without delay. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +The chief objection to Temple Barholm in Tembarom's mind was that it +was too big for any human use. That at least was how it struck him. The +entrance was too big, the stairs were too wide, the rooms too broad +and too long and too high to allow of eyes accustomed to hall bedrooms +adjusting their vision without discomfort. The dining-room in which the +new owner took his first meal in company with Mr. Palford, and attended +by the large, serious man who wore no livery and three tall footmen who +did, was of a size and stateliness which made him feel homesick for +Mrs. Bowse's dining-room, with its two hurried, incompetent, and +often-changed waitresses and its prevailing friendly custom of pushing +things across the table to save time. Meals were quickly disposed of at +Mrs. Bowse's. Everybody was due up-town or down-town, and regarded food +as an unavoidable, because necessary, interference with more urgent +business. At Temple Barholm one sat half the night--this was the +impression made upon Tembarom--watching things being brought in and +taken out of the room, carved on a huge buffet, and passed from one man +to another; and when they were brought solemnly to you, if you turned +them down, it seemed that the whole ceremony had to be gone through with +again. All sorts of silver knives, forks, and spoons were given to one +and taken away, and half a dozen sorts of glasses stood by your plate; +and if you made a move to do anything for yourself, the man out of +livery stopped you as though you were too big a fool to be trusted. +The food was all right, but when you knew what anything was, and were +inclined to welcome it as an old friend, it was given to you in some +way that made you get rattled. With all the swell dishes, you had +no butter-plate, and ice seemed scarce, and the dead, still way the +servants moved about gave you a sort of feeling that you were at a +funeral and that it wasn't decent to talk so long as the remains were +in the room. The head-man and the foot-men seemed to get on by signs, +though Tembarom never saw them making any; and their faces never changed +for a moment. Once or twice he tried a joke, addressing it to Mr. +Palford, to see what would happen. But as Mr. Palford did not seem to +see the humor of it, and gave him the “glassy eye,” and neither the +head-man nor the footmen seemed to hear it, he thought that perhaps they +didn't know it was a joke; and if they didn't, and they thought anything +at all, they must think he was dippy. The dinner was a deadly, though +sumptuous, meal, and long drawn out, when measured by meals at Mrs. +Bowse's. He did not know, as Mr. Palford did, that it was perfect, and +served with a finished dexterity that was also perfection. + +Mr. Palford, however, was himself relieved when it was at an end. He had +sat at dinner with the late Mr. Temple Barholm in his day, and had seen +him also served by the owners of impassive countenances; but he had been +aware that whatsoever of secret dislike and resentment was concealed by +them, there lay behind their immovability an acceptance of the fact +that he represented, even in his most objectionable humors, centuries of +accustomedness to respectful service and of knowledge of his right and +power to claim it. The solicitor was keenly aware of the silent comments +being made upon the tweed suit and brown necktie and on the manner in +which their wearer boldly chose the wrong fork or erroneously made use +of a knife or spoon. Later in the evening, in the servants' hall, the +comment would not be silent, and there could be no doubt of what +its character would be. There would be laughter and the relating +of incidents. Housemaids and still-room maids would giggle, and +kitchen-maids and boot-boys would grin and whisper in servile tribute to +the witticisms of the superior servants. + +After dinner the rest of the evening could at least be spent in talk +about business matters. There still remained details to be enlarged upon +before Palford himself returned to Lincoln's Inn and left Mr. Temple +Barholm to the care of the steward of his estate. It was not difficult +to talk to him when the sole subject of conversation was of a business +nature. + +Before they parted for the night the mystery of the arrangements made +for Strangeways had been cleared. In fact, Mr. Temple Barholm made no +mystery of them. He did not seem ignorant of the fact that what he had +chosen to do was unusual, but he did not appear hampered or embarrassed +by the knowledge. His remarks on the subject were entirely civil and +were far from actually suggesting that his singular conduct was purely +his own business and none of his solicitor's; but for a moment or so +Mr. Palford was privately just a trifle annoyed. The Hutchinsons had +traveled from London with Strangeways in their care the day before. He +would have been unhappy and disturbed if he had been obliged to travel +with Mr. Palford, who was a stranger to him, and Miss Hutchinson had +a soothing effect on him. Strangeways was for the present comfortably +installed as a guest of the house, Miss Hutchinson having talked to the +housekeeper, Mrs. Butterworth, and to Pearson. What the future held for +him Mr. Temple Barholm did not seem to feel the necessity of going into. +He left him behind as a subject, and went on talking cheerfully of other +things almost as if he had forgotten him. + +They had their coffee in the library, and afterward sat at the +writing-table and looked over documents and talked until Mr. Palford +felt that he could quite decorously retire to his bedroom. He was glad +to be relieved of his duties, and Tembarom was amiably resigned to +parting with him. + +Tembarom did not go up-stairs at once himself. He sat by the fire and +smoked several pipes of tobacco and thought things over. There were +a lot of things to think over, and several decisions to make, and he +thought it would be a good idea to pass them in review. The quiet of +the dead surrounded him. In a house the size of this the servants +were probably half a mile away. They'd need trolleys to get to one, he +thought, if you rang for them in a hurry. If an armed burglar made a +quiet entry without your knowing it, he could get in some pretty rough +work before any of the seventy-five footmen could come to lend a hand. +He was not aware that there were two of them standing in waiting in the +hall, their powdered heads close together, so that their whispers and +chuckles could be heard. A sound of movement in the library would have +brought them up standing to a decorous attitude of attention conveying +to the uninitiated the impression that they had not moved for hours. + +Sometimes as he sat in the big morocco chair, T. Tembarom looked grave +enough; sometimes he looked as though he was confronting problems which +needed puzzling out and with which he was not making much headway; +sometimes he looked as though he was thinking of little Ann Hutchinson, +and not infrequently he grinned. Here he was up to the neck in it, and +he was darned if he knew what he was going to do. He didn't know a soul, +and nobody knew him. He didn't know a thing he ought to know, and he +didn't know any one who could tell him. Even the Hutchinsons had never +been inside a place like Temple Barholm, and they were going back to +Manchester after a few weeks' stay at the grandmother's cottage. + +Before he had left New York he had seen Hadman and some other fellows +and got things started, so that there was an even chance that the +invention would be put on its feet. He had worked hard and used his own +power to control money in the future as a lever which had proved to be +exactly what was needed. + +Hadman had been spurred and a little startled when he realized the +magnitude of what really could be done, and saw also that this slangy, +moneyed youth was not merely an enthusiastic fool, but saw into business +schemes pretty sharply and was of a most determined readiness. With this +power ranging itself on the side of Hutchinson and his invention, it was +good business to begin to move, if one did not want to run a chance of +being left out in the cold. + +Hutchinson had gone to Manchester, and there had been barely time for +a brief but characteristic interview between him and Tembarom, when he +rushed back to London. Tembarom felt rather excited when he remembered +it, recalling what he had felt in confronting the struggles against +emotion in the blunt-featured, red face, the breaks in the rough voice, +the charging up and down the room like a curiously elated bull in a +china shop, and the big effort to restrain relief and gratitude the +degree of which might seem to under-value the merits of the invention +itself. + +Once or twice when he looked serious, Tembarom was thinking this +over, and also once or twice when he grinned. Relief and gratitude +notwithstanding, Hutchinson had kept him in his place, and had not +made unbounded efforts to conceal his sense of the incongruity of his +position as the controller of fortunes and the lord of Temple Barholm, +which was still vaguely flavored with indignation. + +When he had finished his last pipe, Tembarom rose and knocked the ashes +out of it. + +“Now for Pearson,” he said. + +He had made up his mind to have a talk with Pearson, and there was no +use wasting time. If things didn't suit you, the best thing was to see +what you could do to fix them right away--if it wasn't against the law. +He went out into the hall, and seeing the two footmen standing waiting, +he spoke to them. + +“Say, I didn't know you fellows were there,” he said. “Are you waiting +up for me? Well, you can go to bed, the sooner the quicker. Good night.” + And he went up-stairs whistling. + +The glow and richness and ceremonial order of preparation in his +bedroom struck him as soon as he opened the door. Everything which could +possibly have been made ready for his most luxurious comfort had been +made ready. He did not, it is true, care much for the huge bed with its +carved oak canopy and massive pillars. + +“But the lying-down part looks about all right,” he said to himself. + +The fine linen, the soft pillows, the downy blankets, would have allured +even a man who was not tired. The covering had been neatly turned back +and the snowy whiteness opened. That was English, he supposed. They +hadn't got on to that at Mrs. Bowse's. + +“But I guess a plain little old New York sleep will do,” he said. +“Temple Barholm or no Temple Barholm, I guess they can't change that.” + +Then there sounded a quiet knock at the door. He knew who it would +turn out to be, and he was not mistaken. Pearson stood in the corridor, +wearing his slightly anxious expression, but ready for orders. + +Mr. Temple Barholm looked down at him with a friendly, if unusual, air. + +“Say, Pearson,” he announced, “if you've come to wash my face and put my +hair up in crimping-pins, you needn't do it, because I'm not used to it. +But come on in.” + +If he had told Pearson to enter and climb the chimney, it cannot be said +that the order would have been obeyed upon the spot, but Pearson would +certainly have hesitated and explained with respectful delicacy the fact +that the task was not “his place.” He came into the room. + +“I came to see, if I could do anything further and--” making a +courageous onslaught upon the situation for which he had been preparing +himself for hours--“and also--if it is not too late--to venture to +trouble you with regard to your wardrobe.” He coughed a low, embarrassed +cough. “In unpacking, sir, I found--I did not find--” + +“You didn't find much, did you?” Tembarom assisted him. + +“Of course, sir,” Pearson apologized, “leaving New York so hurriedly, +your--your man evidently had not time to--er--” + +Tembarom looked at him a few seconds longer, as if making up his mind to +something. Then he threw himself easily into the big chair by the fire, +and leaned back in it with the frankest and best-natured smile possible. + +“I hadn't any man,” he said. “Say, Pearson,” waving his hand to another +chair near by, “suppose you take a seat.” + +Long and careful training came to Pearson's aid and supported him, but +he was afraid that he looked nervous, and certainly there was a lack of +entire calm in his voice. + +“I--thank you, sir,--I think I'd better stand, sir.” + +“Why?” inquired Tembarom, taking his tobacco-pouch out of his pocket and +preparing to fill another pipe. + +“You're most kind, sir, but--but--” in impassioned embarrassment--“I +should really PREFER to stand, sir, if you don't mind. I should feel +more--more at 'ome, sir,” he added, dropping an h in his agitation. + +“Well, if you'd like it better, that's all right,” yielded Mr. Temple +Barholm, stuffing tobacco into the pipe. Pearson darted to a table, +produced a match, struck it, and gave it to him. + +“Thank you,” said Tembarom, still good-naturedly. “But there are a few +things I've GOT to say to you RIGHT now.” + +Pearson had really done his best, his very best, but he was terrified +because of the certain circumstances once before referred to. + +“I beg pardon, sir,” he appealed, “but I am most anxious to give +satisfaction in every respect.” He WAS, poor young man, horribly +anxious. “To-day being only the first day, I dare say I have not been +all I should have been. I have never valeted an American gentleman +before, but I'm sure I shall become accustomed to everything QUITE +soon--almost immediately.” + +“Say,” broke in Tembarom, “you're 'way off. I'm not complaining. You're +all right.” + +The easy good temper of his manner was so singularly assuring that +Pearson, unexplainable as he found him in every other respect, knew that +this at least was to be depended upon, and he drew an almost palpable +breath of relief. Something actually allured him into approaching what +he had never felt it safe to approach before under like circumstances--a +confidential disclosure. + +“Thank you, sir: I am most grateful. The--fact is, I hoped especially to +be able to settle in place just now. I--I'm hoping to save up enough to +get married, sir.” + +“You are?” Tembarom exclaimed. “Good business! So was I before all +this”--he glanced about him--“fell on top of me.” + +“I've been saving for three years, sir, and if I can know I'm a +permanency--if I can keep this place--” + +“You're going to keep it all right,” Tembarom cheered him up with. “If +you've got an idea you're going to be fired, just you forget it. Cut it +right out.” + +“Is--I beg your pardon, sir,” Pearson asked with timorous joy, “but is +that the American for saying you'll be good enough to keep me on?” + +Mr. Temple Barholm thought a second. + +“Is 'keep me on' the English for 'let me stay'?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Then we're all right. Let's start from there. I'm going to have a +heart-to-heart talk with you, Pearson.” + +“Thank you, sir,” said Pearson in a deferential murmur. But if he was +not dissatisfied, what was going to happen? + +“It'll save us both trouble, and me most. I'm not one of those clever +Clarences that can keep up a bluff, making out I know things I don't +know. I couldn't deceive a setting hen or a Berlin wool antimacassar.” + +Pearson swallowed something with effort. + +“You see, I fell into this thing KERCHUNK, and I'm just RATTLED--I'm +rattled.” As Pearson slightly coughed again, he translated for him, +“That's American for 'I don't know where I'm at'.” + +“Those American jokes, sir, are very funny indeed,” answered Pearson, +appreciatively. + +“Funny!” the new Mr. Temple Barholm exclaimed even aggrievedly. “If you +think this lay-out is an American joke to me, Pearson, there's where +you're 'way off. Do you think it a merry jest for a fellow like me to +sit up in a high chair in a dining-room like a cathedral and not know +whether he ought to bite his own bread or not? And not dare to stir +till things are handed to him by five husky footmen? I thought that +plain-clothes man was going to cut up my meat, and slap me on the back +if I choked.” + +Pearson's sense of humor was perhaps not inordinate, but unseemly mirth, +which he had swallowed at the reference to the setting hen and the +Berlin wool antimacassar, momentarily got the better of him, despite +his efforts to cough it down, and broke forth in a hoarse, ill-repressed +sound. + +“I beg pardon, sir,” he said with a laudable endeavor to recover his +professional bearing. “It's your--American way of expressing it which +makes me forget myself. I beg pardon.” + +Tembarom laughed outright boyishly. + +“Oh, cut that out,” he said. “Say, how old are you?” + +“Twenty-five, sir.” + +“So am I. If you'd met me three months ago, beating the streets of New +York for a living, with holes in my shoes and a celluloid collar on, +you'd have looked down on me. I know you would.” + +“Oh, no, sir,” most falsely insisted Pearson. + +“Oh, yes, you would,” protested Tembarom, cheerfully. “You'd have said +I talked through my nose, and I should have laughed at you for dropping +your h's. Now you're rattled because I'm Mr. Temple Temple Barholm; but +you're not half as rattled as I am.” + +“You'll get over it, sir, almost immediately,” Pearson assured him, +hopefully. + +“Of course I shall,” said Tembarom, with much courage. “But to start +right I've got to get over YOU.” + +“Me, sir?” Pearson breathed anxiously. + +“Yes. That's what I want to get off my chest. Now, first off, you came +in here to try to explain to me that, owing to my New York valet having +left my New York wardrobe behind, I've not got anything to wear, and so +I shall have to buy some clothes.” + +“I failed to find any dress-shirts, sir,” began Pearson, hesitatingly. + +Mr. Temple Barholm grinned. + +“I always failed to find them myself. I never had a dress-shirt. I never +owned a suit of glad rags in my life.” + +“Gl--glad rags, sir?” stammered Pearson, uncertainly. + +“I knew you didn't catch on when I said that to you before dinner. +I mean claw-hammer and dress-suit things. Don't you be frightened, +Pearson. I never had six good shirts at once, or two pair of shoes, or +more than four ten-cent handkerchiefs at a time since I was born. And +when Mr. Palford yanked me away from New York, he didn't suspect a +fellow could be in such a state. And I didn't know I was in a state, +anyhow. I was too busy to hunt up people to tell me, because I was +rushing something important right through, and I couldn't stop. I just +bought the first things I set eyes on and crammed them into my trunk. +There, I guess you know the most of this, but you didn't know I knew you +knew it. Now you do, and you needn't be afraid to hurt my feelings by +telling me I haven't a darned thing I ought to have. You can go straight +ahead.” + +As he leaned back, puffing away at his pipe, he had thrown a leg over +the arm of his chair for greater comfort, and it really struck his valet +that he had never seen a gentleman more at his ease, even one who WAS +one. His casual candidness produced such a relief from the sense of +strain and uncertainty that Pearson felt the color returning to his +face. An opening had been given him, and it was possible for him to do +his duty. + +“If you wish, sir, I will make a list,” he ventured further, “and the +proper firms will send persons to bring things down from London on +appro.” + +“What's 'appro' the English for?” + +“Approval, sir.” + +“Good business! Good old Pearson!” + +“Thank you, sir. Shall I attend to it to-night, to be ready for the +morning post?” + +“In five minutes you shall. But you threw me off the track a bit. The +thing I was really going to say was more important than the clothes +business.” + +There was something else, then, thought Pearson, some other unexpected +point of view. + +“What have you to do for me, anyhow?” + +“Valet you, sir.” + +“That's English for washing my face and combing my hair and putting my +socks on, ain't it?” + +“Well, sir, it means doing all you require, and being always in +attendance when you change.” + +“How much do you get for it?” + +“Thirty shillings a week, sir.” + +“Say, Pearson,” said Tembarom, with honest feeling, “I'll give you sixty +shillings a week NOT to do it.” + +Calmed though he had felt a few moments ago, it cannot be denied that +Pearson was aghast. How could one be prepared for developments of such +an order? + +“Not to do it, sir!” he faltered. “But what would the servants think if +you had no one to valet you?” + +“That's so. What would they think?” But he evidently was not dismayed, +for he smiled widely. “I guess the plainclothes man would throw a fit.” + +But Pearson's view was more serious and involved a knowledge of not +improbable complications. He knew “the hall” and its points of view. + +“I couldn't draw my wages, sir,” he protested. “There'd be the greatest +dissatisfaction among the other servants, sir, if I didn't do my duties. +There's always a--a slight jealousy of valets and ladies'-maids. The +general idea is that they do very little to earn their salaries. I've +seen them fairly hated.” + +“Is that so? Well, I'll be darned!” remarked Mr. Temple Barholm. He +gave a moment to reflection, and then cheered up immensely. + +“I'll tell you how we'll fix it. You come up into my room and bring your +tatting or read a newspaper while I dress.” He openly chuckled. “Holy +smoke! I've GOT to put on my shirt and swear at my collar-buttons +myself. If I'm in for having a trained nurse do it for me, it'll give me +the Willies. When you danced around me before dinner--” + +Pearson's horror forced him to commit the indiscretion of interrupting. + +“I hope I didn't DANCE, sir,” he implored. “I tried to be extremely +quiet.” + +“That was it,” said Tembarom. “I shouldn't have said danced; I meant +crept. I kept thinking I should tread on you, and I got so nervous +toward the end I thought I should just break down and sob on your bosom +and beg to be taken back to home and mother.” + +“I'm extremely sorry, sir, I am, indeed,” apologized Pearson, doing his +best not to give way to hysterical giggling. How was a man to keep a +decently straight face, and if one didn't, where would it end? One thing +after another. + +“It was not your fault. It was mine. I haven't a thing against you. +You're a first-rate little chap.” + +“I will try to be more satisfactory to-morrow.” + +There must be no laughing aloud, even if one burst a blood-vessel. It +would not do. Pearson hastily confronted a vision of a young footman +or Mr. Burrill himself passing through the corridors on some errand +and hearing master and valet shouting together in unseemly and wholly +incomprehensible mirth. And the next remark was worse than ever. + +“No, you won't, Pearson,” Mr. Temple Barholm asserted. “There's where +you're wrong. I've got no more use for a valet than I have for a pair of +straight-front corsets.” + +This contained a sobering suggestion. + +“But you said, sir, that--” + +“Oh, I'm not going to fire you,” said Tembarom, genially. “I'll 'keep +you on', but little Willie is going to put on his own socks. If the +servants have to be pacified, you come up to my room and do anything +you like. Lie on the bed if you want to; get a jew's-harp and play on +it--any old thing to pass the time. And I'll raise your wages. What do +you say? Is it fixed?” + +“I'm here, sir, to do anything you require,” Pearson answered +distressedly; “but I'm afraid--” + +Tembarom's face changed. A sudden thought had struck him. + +“I'll tell you one thing you can do,” he said; “you can valet that +friend of mine.” + +“Mr. Strangeways, sir?” + +“Yes. I've got a notion he wouldn't mind it.” He was not joking now. He +was in fact rather suddenly thoughtful. + +“Say, Pearson, what do you think of him?” + +“Well, sir, I've not seen much of him, and he says very little, but I +should think he was a GENTLEMAN, sir.” + +Mr. Temple Barholm seemed to think it over. + +“That's queer,” he said as though to himself. “That's what Ann said.” + Then aloud, “Would you say he was an American?” + +In his unavoidable interest in a matter much talked over below stairs +and productive of great curiosity Pearson was betrayed. He could not +explain to himself, after he had spoken, how he could have been such a +fool as to forget; but forget himself and the birthplace of the new Mr. +Temple Barholm he did. + +“Oh, no, sir,” he exclaimed hastily; “he's QUITE the gentleman, sir, +even though he is queer in his mind.” The next instant he caught himself +and turned cold. An American or a Frenchman or an Italian, in fact, a +native of any country on earth so slighted with an unconsciousness so +natural, if he had been a man of hot temper, might have thrown something +at him or kicked him out of the room; but Mr. Temple Barholm took his +pipe out of his mouth and looked at him with a slow, broadening smile. + +“Would you call me a gentleman, Pearson?” he asked. + +Of course there was no retrieving such a blunder, Pearson felt, but-- + +“Certainly, sir,” he stammered. “Most--most CERTAINLY, sir.” + +“Pearson,” said Tembarom, shaking his head slowly, with a grin so +good-natured that even the frankness of his words was friendly humor +itself--“Pearson, you're a liar. But that doesn't jolt me a bit. I dare +say I'm not one, anyhow. We might put an 'ad' in one of your papers and +find out.” + +“I--I beg your pardon, sir,” murmured Pearson in actual anguish of mind. + +Mr. Temple Barholm laughed outright. + +“Oh, I've not got it in for you. How could you help it?” he said. Then +he stopped joking again. “If you want to please ME,” he added with +deliberation, “you look after Mr. Strangeways, and don't let anything +disturb him. Don't bother him, but just find out what he wants. When he +gets restless, come and tell me. If I'm out, tell him I'm coming back. +Don't let him worry. You understand--don't let him worry.” + +“I'll do my best--my very best, sir,” Pearson answered devoutly. “I've +been nervous and excited this first day because I am so anxious to +please--everything seems to depend on it just now,” he added, daring +another confidential outburst. “But you'll see I do know how to keep my +wits about me in general, and I've got a good memory, and I have learned +my duties, sir. I'll attend to Mr. Strangeways most particular.” + +As Tembarom listened, and watched his neat, blond countenance, and +noted the undertone of quite desperate appeal in his low voice, he was +thinking of a number of things. Chiefly he was thinking of little Ann +Hutchinson and the Harlem flat which might have been “run” on fifteen +dollars a week. + +“I want to know I have some one in this museum of a place who'll +UNDERSTAND,” he said--“some one who'll do just exactly what I say and +ask no fool questions and keep his mouth shut. I believe you could do +it.” + +“I'll swear I could, sir. Trust me,” was Pearson's astonishingly +emotional and hasty answer. + +“I'm going to,” returned Mr. Temple Barholm. “I've set my mind on +putting something through in my own way. It's a queer thing, and most +people would say I was a fool for trying it. Mr. Hutchinson does, but +Miss Hutchinson doesn't.” + +There was a note in his tone of saying “Miss Hutchinson doesn't” which +opened up vistas to Pearson--strange vistas when one thought of old Mrs. +Hutchinson's cottage and the estate of Temple Barholm. + +“We're just about the same age,” his employer continued, “and in a sort +of way we're in just about the same fix.” + +Their eyes looked into each other's a second; but it was not for Pearson +to presume to make any comment whatsoever upon the possible nature of +“the fix.” Two or three more puffs, and Mr. Temple Barholm spoke again. + +“Say, Pearson, I don't want to butt in, but what about that little bunch +of calico of yours--the one you're saving up for?” + +“Calico, sir?” said Pearson, at sea, but hopeful. Whatsoever the new Mr. +Temple Barholm meant, one began to realize that it was not likely to be +unfriendly. + +“That's American for HER, Pearson. 'Her' stands for the same thing both +in English and American, I guess. What's her name and where is she? +Don't you say a word if you don't want to.” + +Pearson drew a step nearer. There was an extraordinary human atmosphere +in the room which caused things to begin to go on in his breast. He had +had a harder life than Tembarom because he had been more timid and less +buoyant and less unselfconscious. He had been beaten by a drunken mother +and kicked by a drunken father. He had gone hungry and faint to the +board school and had been punished as a dull boy. After he had struggled +into a place as page, he had been bullied by footmen and had had his +ears boxed by cooks and butlers. Ladies'-maids and smart housemaids had +sneered at him, and made him feel himself a hopeless, vulgar little worm +who never would “get on.” But he had got on, in a measure, because he +had worked like a slave and openly resented nothing. A place like this +had been his fevered hope and dream from his page days, though of course +his imagination had not encompassed attendance on a gentleman who had +never owned a dress-shirt in his life. Yet gentleman or no gentleman, he +was a Temple Barholm, and there was something about him, something human +in his young voice and grin and queer, unheard-of New York jokes, which +Pearson had never encountered, and which had the effect of making him +feel somehow more of a man than his timorous nature had ever allowed of +his feeling before. It suggested that they were both, valet and master, +merely masculine human creatures of like kind. The way he had said “Miss +Hutchinson” and the twinkle in his eye when he'd made that American +joke about the “little bunch of calico”! The curious fact was that thin, +neat, white-blooded-looking Pearson was passionately in love. So he took +the step nearer and grew hot and spoke low. + +“Her name is Rose Merrick, sir, and she's in place in London. She's +lady's-maid to a lady of title, and it isn't an easy place. Her lady has +a high temper, and she's economical with her servants. Her maid has +to sew early and late, and turn out as much as if she was a whole +dressmaking establishment. She's clever with her needle, and it would +be easier if she felt it was appreciated. But she's treated haughty +and severe, though she tries her very best. She has to wait up half +the night after balls, and I'm afraid it's breaking her spirit and +her health. That's why,--I beg your pardon, sir,” he added, his voice +shaking--“that's why I'd bear anything on earth if I could give her a +little home of her own.” + +“Gee whizz!” ejaculated Mr. Temple Barholm, with feeling. “I guess you +would!” + +“And that's not all, sir,” said Pearson. “She's a beautiful girl, sir, +with a figure, and service is sometimes not easy for a young woman +like that. His lordship--the master of the house, sir,--is much too +attentive. He's a man with bad habits; the last lady's-maid was sent +away in disgrace. Her ladyship wouldn't believe she hadn't been forward +when she saw things she didn't like, though every one in the hall knew +the girl hated his bold ways with her, and her mother nearly broke her +heart. He's begun with Rose, and it just drives me mad, sir, it does!” + +He choked, and wiped his forehead with his clean handkerchief. It was +damp, and his young eyes had fire in them, as Mr. Temple Barholm did not +fail to observe. + +“I'm taking a liberty talking to you like this, sir,” he said. “I'm +behaving as if I didn't know my place, sir.” + +“Your place is behind that fellow, kicking him till he'll never sit down +again except on eider-down cushions three deep,” remarked Mr. Temple +Barholm, with fire in his eyes also. “That's where your place is. It's +where mine would be if I was in the same house with him and caught him +making a goat of himself. I bet nine Englishmen out of ten would break +his darned neck for him if they got on to his little ways, even if they +were lordships themselves.” + +“The decent ones won't know,” Pearson said. “That's not what happens, +sir. He can laugh and chaff it off with her ladyship and coax her round. +But a girl that's discharged like that, Rose says, that's the worst of +it: she says she's got a character fastened on to her for life that no +respectable man ought to marry her with.” + +Mr. Temple Barholm removed his leg from the arm of his chair and got up. +Long-legged, sinewy, but somewhat slouchy in his badly made tweed suit, +sharp New York face and awful American style notwithstanding, he still +looked rather nice as he laid his hand on his valet's shoulder and gave +him a friendly push. + +“See here,” he said. “What you've got to say to Rose is that she's just +got to cut that sort of thing out--cut it right out. Talking to a man +that's in love with her as if he was likely to throw her down because +lies were told. Tell her to forget it--forget it quick. Why, what does +she suppose a man's FOR, by jinks? What's he FOR?” + +“I've told her that, sir, though of course not in American. I just swore +it on my knees in Hyde Park one night when she got out for an hour. But +she laid her poor head on the back of the bench and cried and wouldn't +listen. She says she cares for me too much to--” + +Tembarom's hand clutched his shoulder. His face lighted and glowed +suddenly. + +“Care for you too much,” he asked. “Did she say that? God bless her!” + +“That's what I said,” broke in Pearson. + +“I heard another girl say that--just before I left New York--a girl +that's just a wonder,” said his master. “A girl can be a wonder, can't +she?” + +“Rose is, sir,” protested Pearson. “She is, indeed, sir. And her eyes +are that blue--” + +“Blue, are they?” interrupted Tembarom. “I know the kind. I'm on to the +whole thing. And what's more, I'm going to fix it. You tell Rose--and +tell her from me--that she's going to leave that place, and you're going +to stay in this one, and--well, presently things'll begin to happen. +They're going to be all right--ALL RIGHT,” he went on, with immensely +convincing emphasis. “She's going to have that little home of her own.” + He paused a moment for reflection, and then a sudden thought presented +itself to him. “Why, darn it!” he exclaimed, “there must be a whole raft +of little homes that belong to me in one place or another. Why couldn't +I fix you both up in one of them?” + +“Oh, sir!” Pearson broke forth in some slight alarm. He went so fast +and so far all in a moment. And Pearson really possessed a neat, +well-ordered conscience, and, moreover, “knew his place.” “I hope I +didn't seem to be expecting you to trouble yourself about me, sir. I +mustn't presume on your kindness.” + +“It's not kindness; it's--well, it's just human. I'm going to think this +thing over. You just keep your hair on, and let me do my own valeting, +and you'll see I'll fix it for you somehow.” + +What he thought of doing, how he thought of doing it, and what Pearson +was to expect, the agitated young man did not know. The situation was of +course abnormal, judged by all respectable, long-established custom. A +man's valet and his valet's “young woman” were not usually of intimate +interest. Gentlemen were sometimes “kind” to you--gave you half a +sovereign or even a sovereign, and perhaps asked after your mother if +you were supporting one; but-- + +“I never dreamed of going so far, sir,” he said. “I forgot myself, I'm +afraid.” + +“Good thing you did. It's made me feel as if we were brothers.” He +laughed again, enjoying the thought of the little thing who cared for +Pearson “too much” and had eyes that were “that blue.” “Say, I've just +thought of something else. Have you bought her an engagement-ring yet?” + +“No, sir. In our class of life jewelry is beyond the means.” + +“I just wondered,” Mr. Temple Barholm said. He seemed to be thinking of +something that pleased him as he fumbled for his pocket-book and took a +clean banknote out of it. “I'm not on to what the value of this thing is +in real money, but you go and buy her a ring with it, and I bet she'll +be so pleased you'll have the time of your life.” + +Pearson taking it; and recognizing its value in UNreal money, was +embarrassed by feeling the necessity of explanation. + +“This is a five-pound note, sir. It's too much, sir, it is indeed. This +would FURNISH THE FRONT PARLOR.” He said it almost solemnly. + +Mr. Temple Barholm looked at the note interestedly. + +“Would it? By jinks!” and his laugh had a certain softness of +recollection. “I guess that's just what Ann would say. She'd know what +it would furnish, you bet your life!” + +“I'm most grateful, sir,” protested Pearson, “but I oughtn't to take +it. Being an American gentleman and not accustomed to English money, you +don't realize that--” + +“I'm not accustomed to any kind of money,” said his master. “I'm scared +to be left alone in the room with it. That's what's the matter. If I +don't give some away, I shall never know I've got it. Cheer up, Pearson. +You take that and buy the ring, and when you start furnishing, I'll see +you don't get left.” + +“I don't know what to say, sir,” Pearson faltered emotionally. “I don't, +indeed.” + +“Don't say a darned thing,” replied Mr. Temple Barholm. And just here +his face changed as Mr. Palford had seen it change before, and as +Pearson often saw it change later. His New York jocular irreverence +dropped from him, and he looked mature and oddly serious. + +“I've tried to sort of put you wise to the way I've lived and the things +I HAVEN'T had ever since I was born,” he said, “but I guess you don't +really know a thing about it. I've got more money coming in every year +than a thousand of me would ever expect to see in their lives, according +to my calculation. And I don't know how to do any of the things a fellow +who is what you call `a gentleman' would know how to do. I mean in the +way of spending it. Now, I've got to get some fun out of it. I should +be a mutt if I didn't, so I'm going to spend it my own way. I may make +about seventy-five different kinds of a fool of myself, but I guess I +sha'n't do any particular harm.” + +“You'll do good, sir,--to every one.” + +“Shall I?”--said Tembarom, speculatively. “Well, I'm not exactly setting +out with that in my mind. I'm no Young Men's Christian Association, but +I'm not in for doing harm, anyway. You take your five-pound note--come +to think of it, Palford said it came to about twenty-five dollars, real +money. Hully gee! I never thought I'd have twenty-five dollars to GIVE +AWAY! It makes me feel like I was Morgan.” + +“Thank you, sir; thank you,” said Pearson, putting the note into his +pocket with rapt gratitude in his neat face. “You--you do not wish me to +remain--to do anything for you?” + +“Not a thing. But just go and find out if Mr. Strangeways is asleep. If +he isn't and seems restless, I'll come and have a talk with him.” + +“Yes, sir,” said Pearson, and went at once. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +In the course of two days Mr. Palford, having given his client the +benefit of his own exact professional knowledge of the estate of +Temple Barholm and its workings and privileges as far as he found them +transferable and likely to be understood, returned to London, breathing +perhaps something like a sigh of relief when the train steamed out +of the little station. Whatsoever happened in days to come, Palford & +Grimby had done their most trying and awkward duty by the latest Temple +Barholm. Bradford, who was the steward of the estate, would now take +him over, and could be trusted to furnish practical information of any +ordinary order. + +It did not appear to Mr. Palford that the new inheritor was particularly +interested in his possessions or exhilarated by the extraordinary turn +in his fortunes. The enormity of Temple Barholm itself, regarded as a +house to live in in an everyday manner, seemed somewhat to depress him. +When he was taken over its hundred and fifty rooms, he wore a detached +air as he looked about him, and such remarks as he made were of an +extraordinary nature and expressed in terms peculiar to America. Neither +Mr. Palford nor Burrill understood them, but a young footman who was +said to have once paid a visit to New York, and who chanced to be in the +picture-gallery when his new master was looking at the portraits of +his ancestors, over-hearing one observation, was guilty of a convulsive +snort, and immediately made his way into the corridor, coughing +violently. From this Mr. Palford gathered that one of the transatlantic +jokes had been made. That was the New York idea--to be jocular. Yet he +had not looked jocular when he had made the remark which had upset the +equilibrium of the young footman. He had, in fact, looked reflective +before speaking as he stood and studied a portrait of one of his +ancestors. But, then, he had a trick of saying things incomprehensibly +ridiculous with an unmoved expression of gravity, which led Palford to +feel that he was ridiculous through utter ignorance and was not aware +that he was exposing the fact. Persons who thought that an air of +seriousness added to a humorous remark were especially annoying to the +solicitor, because they frequently betrayed one into the position +of seeming to be dull in the matter of seeing a point. That, he had +observed, was often part of the New York manner--to make a totally +absurdly exaggerated or seemingly ignorance-revealing observation, and +then leave one's hearer to decide for himself whether the speaker was an +absolute ignoramus and fool or a humorist. + +More than once he had somewhat suspected his client of meaning to “get +a rise out of him,” after the odious manner of the tourists described +in “The Innocents Abroad,” though at the same time he felt rather +supportingly sure of the fact that generally, when he displayed +ignorance, he displayed it because he was a positive encyclopedia of +lack of knowledge. + +He knew no more of social customs, literature, and art than any other +street lad. He had not belonged to the aspiring self-taught, who +meritoriously haunt the night schools and free libraries with a view +to improving their minds. If this had been his method, he might in one +sense have been more difficult to handle, as Palford had seen the +thing result in a bumptiousness most objectionable. He was markedly not +bumptious, at all events. + +A certain degree of interest in or curiosity concerning his ancestors +as represented in the picture-gallery Mr. Palford had observed. He had +stared at them and had said queer things--sometimes things which perhaps +indicated a kind of uneducated thought. The fact that some of them +looked so thoroughly alive, and yet had lived centuries ago, seemed +to set him reflecting oddly. His curiosity, however, seemed to connect +itself with them more as human creatures than as historical figures. + +“What did that one do?” he inquired more than once. “What did he start, +or didn't he start anything?” + +When he disturbed the young footman he had stopped before a dark man in +armor. + +“Who's this fellow in the tin overcoat?” he asked seriously, and +Palford felt it was quite possible that he had no actual intent of being +humorous. + +“That is Miles Gaspard Nevil John, who fought in the Crusades with +Richard Coeur de Lion,” he explained. “He is wearing a suit of armor.” + By this time the footman was coughing in the corridor. + +“That's English history, I guess,” Tembarom replied. “I'll have to get a +history-book and read up about the Crusades.” + +He went on farther, and paused with a slightly puzzled expression before +a boy in a costume of the period of Charles II. + +“Who's this Fauntleroy in the lace collar?” he inquired. “Queer!” he +added, as though to himself. “I can't ever have seen him in New York.” + And he took a step backward to look again. + +“That is Miles Hugo Charles James, who was a page at the court of +Charles II. He died at nineteen, and was succeeded by his brother Denzel +Maurice John.” + +“I feel as if I'd had a dream about him sometime or other,” said +Tembarom, and he stood still a few seconds before he passed on. “Perhaps +I saw something like him getting out of a carriage to go into the Van +Twillers' fancy-dress ball. Seems as if I'd got the whole show shut up +in here. And you say they're all my own relations?” Then he laughed. “If +they were alive now!” he said. “By jinks!” + +His laughter suggested that he was entertained by mental visions. But he +did not explain to his companion. His legal adviser was not in the least +able to form any opinion of what he would do, how he would be likely to +comport himself, when he was left entirely to his own devices. He +would not know also, one might be sure, that the county would wait with +repressed anxiety to find out. If he had been a minor, he might have +been taken in hand, and trained and educated to some extent. But he was +not a minor. + +On the day of Mr. Palford's departure a thick fog had descended and +seemed to enwrap the world in the white wool. Tembarom found it close to +his windows when he got up, and he had dressed by the light of tall wax +candles, the previous Mr. Temple Barholm having objected to more modern +and vulgar methods of illumination. + +“I guess this is what you call a London fog,” he said to Pearson. + +“No, not exactly the London sort, sir,” Pearson answered. “A London fog +is yellow--when it isn't brown or black. It settles on the hands and +face. A fog in the country isn't dirty with smoke. It's much less +trying, sir.” + +When Palford had departed and he was entirely alone, Tembarom found a +country fog trying enough for a man without a companion. A degree of +relief permeated his being with the knowledge that he need no +longer endeavor to make suitable reply to his solicitor's efforts at +conversation. He had made conversational efforts himself. You couldn't +let a man feel that you wouldn't talk to him if you could when he was +doing business for you, but what in thunder did you have to talk about +that a man like that wouldn't be bored stiff by? He didn't like New +York, he didn't know anything about it, and he didn't want to know, and +Tembarom knew nothing about anything else, and was homesick for the very +stones of the roaring city's streets. When he said anything, Palford +either didn't understand what he was getting at or he didn't like it. +And he always looked as if he was watching to see if you were trying to +get a joke on him. Tembarom was frequently not nearly so much inclined +to be humorous as Mr. Palford had irritably suspected him of being. His +modes of expression might on numerous occasions have roused to mirth +when his underlying idea was almost entirely serious. The mode of +expression was merely a result of habit. + +Mr. Palford left by an extremely early train, and after he was gone, +Tembarom sat over his breakfast as long as possible, and then, going to +the library, smoked long. The library was certainly comfortable, though +the fire and the big wax candles were called upon to do their best to +defy the chill, mysterious dimness produced by the heavy, white wool +curtain folding itself more and more thickly outside the windows. + +But one cannot smoke in solitary idleness for much more than an hour, +and when he stood up and knocked the ashes out of his last pipe, +Tembarom drew a long breath. + +“There's a hundred and thirty-six hours in each of these days,” he said. +“That's nine hundred and fifty-two in a week, and four thousand and +eighty in a month--when it's got only thirty days in it. I'm not going +to calculate how many there'd be in a year. I'll have a look at the +papers. There's Punch. That's their comic one.” + +He looked out the American news in the London papers, and sighed hugely. +He took up Punch and read every joke two or three times over. He did not +know that the number was a specially good one and that there were some +extremely witty things in it. The jokes were about bishops in gaiters, +about garden-parties, about curates or lovely young ladies or rectors' +wives and rustics, about Royal Academicians or esthetic poets. Their +humor appealed to him as little and seemed as obscure as his had seemed +to Mr. Palford. + +“I'm not laughing my head off much over these,” he said. “I guess I'm +not on to the point.” + +He got up and walked about. The “L” in New York was roaring to and fro +loaded with men and women going to work or to do shopping. Some of them +were devouring morning papers bearing no resemblance to those of London, +some of them carried parcels, and all of them looked as though they were +intent on something or other and hadn't a moment to waste. They were all +going somewhere in a hurry and had to get back in time for something. +When the train whizzed and slackened at a station, some started up, +hastily caught their papers or bundles closer, and pushed or were pushed +out on the platform, which was crowded with other people who rushed to +get in, and if they found seats, dropped into them hastily with an air +of relief. The street-cars were loaded and rang their bells loudly, +trucks and carriages and motors filled the middle of the thoroughfares, +and people crowded the pavements. The store windows were dressed up for +Christmas, and most of the people crowded before them were calculating +as to what they could get for the inadequate sums they had on hand. + +The breakfast at Mrs. Bowse's boarding-house was over, and the boarders +had gone on cars or elevated trains to their day's work. Mrs. Bowse +was getting ready to go out and do some marketing. Julius and Jim were +down-town deep in the work pertaining to their separate “jobs.” They'd +go home at night, and perhaps, if they were in luck, would go to a +“show” somewhere, and afterward come and sit in their tilted chairs in +the hall bedroom and smoke and talk it over. And he wouldn't be there, +and the Hutchinsons' rooms would be empty, unless some new people were +in them. Galton would be sitting among his papers, working like mad. And +Bennett--well, Bennett would be either “getting out his page,” or would +be rushing about in the hundredth streets to find items and follow up +weddings or receptions. + +“Gee!” he said, “every one of them trying their best to put something +over, and with so much to think of they've not got time to breathe! It'd +be no trouble for THEM to put in a hundred and thirty-six hours. They'd +be darned glad of them. And, believe me, they'd put something over, +too, before they got through. And I'm here, with three hundred and fifty +thousand dollars a year round my neck and not a thing to spend it on, +unless I pay some one part of it to give me lessons in tatting. What is +tatting, anyhow?” + +He didn't really know. It was vaguely supposed to imply some intensely +feminine fancy-work done by old ladies, and used as a figure of speech +in jokes. + +“If you could ride or shoot, you could amuse yourself in the country,” + Palford had said. + +“I can ride in a street-car when I've got five cents,” Tembarom had +answered. “That's as far as I've gone in riding--and what in thunder +should I shoot?” + +“Game,” replied Mr. Palford, with chill inward disgust. “Pheasants, +partridges, woodcock, grouse--” + +“I shouldn't shoot anything like that if I went at it,” he responded +shamelessly. “I should shoot my own head off, or the fellow's that stood +next to me, unless he got the drop on me first.” + +He did not know that he was ignominious. Nobody could have made it clear +to him. He did not know that there were men who had gained distinction, +popularity, and fame by doing nothing in particular but hitting things +animate and inanimate with magnificent precision of aim. + +He stood still now and listened to the silence. + +“There's not a sound within a thousand miles of the place. What do +fellows with money DO to keep themselves alive?” he said piteously. +“They've got to do SOMETHING. Shall I have to go out and take a walk, as +Palford called it? Take a walk, by gee!” + +He couldn't conceive it, a man “taking a walk” as though it were +medicine--a walk nowhere, to reach nothing, just to go and turn back +again. + +“I'll begin and take in sewing,” he said, “or I'll open a store in the +village--a department store. I could spend something on that. I'll ask +Pearson what he thinks of it--or Burrill. I'd like to see Burrill if I +said that to him.” + +He decided at last that he would practise his “short” awhile; that would +be doing something, at any rate. He sat down at the big writing-table +and began to dash off mystic signs at furious speed. But the speed did +not keep up. The silence of the great room, of the immense house, of all +the scores of rooms and galleries and corridors, closed in about him. He +had practised his “short” in the night school, with the “L” thundering +past at intervals of five minutes; in the newspaper office, with all the +babel of New York about him and the bang of steam-drills going on +below in the next lot, where the foundation of a new building was being +excavated; he had practised it in his hall bedroom at Mrs. Bowse's, +to the tumultuous accompaniment of street sounds and the whizz and +TING-A-LING of street-cars dashing past, and he had not been disturbed. +He had never practised it in any place which was silent, and it was the +silence which became more than he could stand. He actually jumped out +of his chair when he heard mysterious footsteps outside the door, and a +footman appeared and spoke in a low voice which startled him as though +it had been a thunderclap. + +“A young person with her father wants to see you, sir,” he announced. “I +don't think they are villagers, but of the working-class, I should say.” + +“Where are they?” + +“I didn't know exactly what to do, sir, so I left them in the hall. The +young person has a sort of quiet, determined way--” + +“Little Ann, by gee!” exclaimed Tembarom with mad joy, and shot out of +the room. + +The footman--he had not seen Little Ann when she had brought +Strangeways--looked after him and rubbed his chin. + +“Wouldn't you call that a rummy sort for Temple Barholm?” he said to one +of his fellows who had appeared in the hall near him. + +“It's not my sort,” was the answer. “I'm going to give notice to old +Butterworth.” + +Hutchinson and Little Ann were waiting in the hall. Hutchinson was +looking at the rich, shadowy spaces about him with a sort of proud +satisfaction. Fine, dark corners with armored figures lurking in +them, ancient portraits, carved oak settles, and massive chairs and +cabinets--these were English, and he was an Englishman, and somehow felt +them the outcome of certain sterling qualities of his own. He looked +robustly well, and wore a new rough tweed suit such as one of the gentry +might tramp about muddy roads and fields in. Little Ann was dressed +in something warm and rough also, a brown thing, with a little close, +cap-like, brown hat, from under which her red hair glowed. The walk in +the cold, white fog had made her bloom fresh, soft-red and white-daisy +color. She was smiling, and showing three distinct dimples, which +deepened when Tembarom dashed out of the library. + +“Hully gee!” he cried out, “but I'm glad to see you!” + +He shook hands with both of them furiously, and two footmen stood and +looked at the group with image-like calm of feature, but with curiously +interested eyes. Hutchinson was aware of them, and endeavored to present +to them a back which by its stolid composure should reveal that he knew +more about such things than this chap did and wasn't a bit upset by +grandeur. + +“Hully gee!” cried Tembarom again, “how glad I am! Come on in and sit +down and let's talk it over.” + +Burrill made a stately step forward, properly intent on his duty, and +his master waved him back. + +“Say,” he said hastily, “don't bring in any tea. They don't want it. +They're Americans.” + +Hutchinson snorted. He could not stand being consigned to ignominy +before the footmen. + +“Nowt o' th' sort,” he broke forth. “We're noan American. Tha'rt losing +tha head, lad.” + +“He's forgetting because he met us first in New York,” said Little Ann, +smiling still more. + +“Shall I take your hat and cane, sir?” inquired Burrill, unmovedly, at +Hutchinson's side. + +“He wasn't going to say anything about tea,” explained Little Ann as +they went into the library. “They don't expect to serve tea in the +middle of the morning, Mr. Temple Barholm.” + +“Don't they?” said Tembarom, reckless with relieved delight. “I thought +they served it every time the clock struck. When we were in London it +seemed like Palford had it when he was hot and when he was cold and when +he was glad and when he was sorry and when he was going out and when he +was coming in. It's brought up to me, by jinks! as soon as I wake, to +brace me up to put on my clothes--and Pearson wants to put those on.” + +He stopped short when they reached the middle of the room and looked her +over. + +“O Little Ann!” he breathed tumultuously. “O Little Ann!” + +Mr. Hutchinson was looking about the library as he had looked about the +hall. + +“Well, I never thought I'd get inside Temple Barlholm in my day,” he +exclaimed. “Eh, lad, tha must feel like bull in a china shop.” + +“I feel like a whole herd of 'em,” answered Tembarom. Hutchinson nodded. +He understood. + +“Well, perhaps tha'll get over it in time,” he conceded, “but it'll take +thee a good bit.” Then he gave him a warmly friendly look. “I'll lay +you know what Ann came with me for to-day.” The way Little Ann looked at +him--the way she looked at him! + +“I came to thank you, Mr. Temple Barholm,” she said--“to thank you.” And +there was an odd, tender sound in her voice. + +“Don't you do it, Ann,” Tembarom answered. “Don't you do it.” + +“I don't know much about business, but the way you must have worked, the +way you must have had to run after people, and find them, and make then +listen, and use all your New York cleverness--because you ARE clever. +The way you've forgotten all about yourself and thought of nothing but +father and the invention! I do know enough to understand that, and it +seems as if I can't think of enough to say. I just wish I could tell you +what it means to me.” Two round pearls of tears brimmed over and fell +down her cheeks. “I promised mother FAITHFUL I'd take care of him and +see he never lost hope about it,” she added, “and sometimes I didn't +know whatever I was going to do.” + +It was perilous when she looked at one like that, and she was so little +and light that one could have snatched her up in his arms and carried +her to the big arm-chair and sat down with her and rocked her backward +and forward and poured forth the whole thing that was making him feel as +though he might explode. + +Hutchinson provided salvation. + +“Tha pulled me out o' the water just when I was going under, lad. God +bless thee!” he broke out, and shook his hand with rough vigor. “I +signed with the North Electric yesterday.” + +“Good business!” said Tembarom. “Now I'm in on the ground floor with +what's going to be the biggest money-maker in sight.” + +“The way tha talked New York to them chaps took my fancy,” chuckled +Hutchinson. “None o' them chaps wants to be the first to jump over the +hedge.” + +“We've got 'em started now,” exulted Tembarom. + +“Tha started 'em,” said Hutchinson, “and it's thee I've got to thank.” + +“Say, Little Ann,” said Tembarom, with sudden thought, “who's come into +money now? You'll have it to burn.” + +“We've not got it yet, Mr. Temple Barholm,” she replied, shaking +her head. “Even when inventions get started, they don't go off like +sky-rockets.” + +“She knows everything, doesn't she?” Tembarom said to Hutchinson. “Here, +come and sit down. I've not seen you for 'steen years.” + +She took her seat in the big arm-chair and looked at him with softly +examining eyes, as though she wanted to understand him sufficiently to +be able to find out something she ought to do if he needed help. + +He saw it and half laughed, not quite unwaveringly. + +“You'll make me cry in a minute,” he said. “You don't know what it's +like to have some one from home and mother come and be kind to you.” + +“How is Mr. Strangeways?” she inquired. + +“He's well taken care of, at any rate. That's where he's got to thank +you. Those rooms you and the housekeeper chose were the very things for +him. They're big and comfortable, and 'way off in a place where no one's +likely to come near. The fellow that's been hired to valet me valets him +instead, and I believe he likes it. It seems to come quite natural to +him, any how. I go in and see him every now and then and try to get +him to talk. I sort of invent things to see if I can start him thinking +straight. He's quieted down some and he looks better. After a while I'm +going to look up some big doctors in London and find out which of +'em's got the most plain horse sense. If a real big one would just get +interested and come and see him on the quiet and not get him excited, he +might do him good. I'm dead stuck on this stunt I've set myself--getting +him right. It's something to work on.” + +“You'll have plenty to work on soon,” said Little Ann. “There's a lot +of everyday things you've got to think about. They may seem of no +consequence to you, but they ARE, Mr. Temple Barholm.” + +“If you say they are, I guess they are,” he answered. “I'll do anything +you say, Ann.” + +“I came partly to tell you about some of them to-day,” she went on, +keeping the yearningly thoughtful eyes on him. It was rather hard for +her, too, to be firm enough when there was so much she wanted to say and +do. And he did not look half as twinkling and light-heartedly grinning +as he had looked in New York. + +He couldn't help dropping his voice a little coaxingly, though Mr. +Hutchinson was quite sufficiently absorbed in examination of his +surroundings. + +“Didn't you come to save my life by letting me have a look at you, +Little Ann--didn't you?” he pleaded. + +She shook her wonderful, red head. + +“No, I didn't, Mr. Temple Barholm,” she answered with Manchester +downrightness. “When I said what I did in New York, I meant it. I +didn't intend to hang about here and let you--say things to me. You +mustn't say them. Father and me are going back to Manchester in a +few days, and very soon we have to go to America again because of the +business.” + +“America!” he said. “Oh, Lord!” he groaned. “Do you want me to drop down +dead here with a dull, sickening thud, Ann?” + +“You're not going to drop down dead,” she replied convincedly. “You're +going to stay here and do whatever it's your duty to do, now you've come +into Temple Barholm.” + +“Am I?” he answered. “Well, we'll see what I'm going to do when I've had +time to make up my mind. It may be something different from what you'd +think, and it mayn't. Just now I'm going to do what you tell me. Go +ahead, Little Ann.” + +She thought the matter over with her most destructive little air of +sensible intentness. + +“Well, it may seem like meddling, but it isn't,” she began rather +concernedly. “It's just that I'm used to looking after people. I wanted +to talk to you about your clothes.” + +“My clothes?” he replied, bewildered a moment; but the next he +understood and grinned. “I haven't got any. My valet--think of T. T. +with a valet!--told me so last night.” + +“That's what I thought,” she said maternally. “I got Mrs. Bowse to write +to me, and she told me you were so hurried and excited you hadn't time +for anything.” + +“I just rushed into Cohen's the last day and yanked a few things off the +ready-made counter.” + +She looked him over with impersonal criticism. + +“I thought so. Those you've got on won't do at all.” + +Tembarom glanced at them. + +“That's what Pearson says.” + +“They're not the right shape,” she explained. “I know what a gentleman's +clothes mean in England, and--” her face flushed, and sudden, warm +spirit made her speak rather fast--“I couldn't ABIDE to think of you +coming here and--being made fun of--just because you hadn't the right +clothes.” + +She said it, the little thing, as though he were hers--her very own, and +defend him against disrespect she WOULD. Tembarom, being but young +flesh and blood, made an impetuous dart toward her, and checked himself, +catching his breath. + +“Ann,” he said, “has your grandmother got a dog?” + +“Y-e-s,” she said, faltering because she was puzzled. + +“How big is he?” + +“He's a big one. He's a brindled bulldog. Why?” + +“Well,” he said, half pathetic, half defiant, “if you're going to come +and talk to me like that, and look like that, you've got to bring that +bull along and set him on me when I make a break; for there's nothing +but a dog can keep me where you want me to stay--and a big one at that.” + +He sat down on an ottoman near her and dropped his head on his hands. It +was not half such a joke as it sounded. + +Little Ann saw it wasn't and she watched him tenderly, catching her +breath once quickly. Men had ways of taking some things hard and feeling +them a good bit more than one would think. It made trouble many a time +if one couldn't help them to think reasonable. + +“Father,” she said to Hutchinson. + +“Aye,” he answered, turning round. + +“Will you tell Mr. Temple Barholm that you think I'm right about giving +him his chance?” + +“Of course I think she's right,” Hutchinson blustered, “and it isn't the +first time either. I'm not going to have my lass married into any family +where she'd be looked down upon.” + +But that was not what Little Ann wanted; it was not, in fact, her +argument. She was not thinking of that side of the situation. + +“It's not me that matters so much, Father,” she said; “it's him.” + +“Oh, is it?” disagreed Hutchinson, dictatorially. “That's not th' road +I look at it. I'm looking after you, not him. Let him take care of +himself. No chap shall put you where you won't be looked up to, even if +I AM grateful to him. So there you have it.” + +“He can't take care of himself when he feels like this,” she answered. +“That's WHY I'm taking care of him. He'll think steadier when he's +himself again.” She put out her hand and softly touched his shoulder. + +“Don't do that,” she said. “You make me want to be silly.” There was a +quiver in her voice, but she tried to change it. “If you don't lift +your head,” she added with a great effort at disciplinarian firmness, “I +shall have to go away without telling you the other things.” + +He lifted his head, but his attempt at a smile was not hilarious. + +“Well, Ann,” he submitted, “I've warned you. Bring along your dog.” + +She took a sheet of paper out of one of the neat pockets in her rough, +brown coat. + +“I just wrote down some of the very best tailors' addresses--the very +best,” she explained. “Don't you go to any but the very best, and be +a bit sharp with them if they're not attentive. They'll think all the +better of you. If your valet's a smart one, take him with you.” + +“Yes, Ann,” he said rather weakly. “He's going to make a list of things +himself, anyhow.” + +“That sounds as if he'd got some sense.” She handed him the list of +addresses. “You give him this, and tell him he must go to the very best +ones.” + +“What do I want to put on style for?” he asked desperately. “I don't +know a soul on this side of the Atlantic Ocean.” + +“You soon will,” she replied, with calm perspicacity. “You've got too +much money not to.” + +A gruff chuckle made itself heard from Hutchinson's side of the room. + +“Aye, seventy thousand a year'll bring th' vultures about thee, lad.” + +“We needn't call them vultures exactly,” was Little Ann's tolerant +comment; “but a lot of people will come here to see you. That was one of +the things I thought I might tell you about.” + +“Say, you're a wonder!” + +“I'm nothing of the sort. I'm just a girl with a bit of common +sense--and grandmother's one that's looked on a long time, and she sees +things. The country gentlemen will begin to call on you soon, and then +you'll be invited to their houses to meet their wives and daughters, and +then you'll be kept pretty busy.” + +Hutchinson's bluff chuckle broke out again. + +“You will that, my lad, when th' match-making mothers get after you. +There's plenty on 'em.” + +“Father's joking,” she said. Her tone was judicially unprejudiced. +“There are young ladies that--that'd be very suitable. Pretty ones and +clever ones. You'll see them all.” + +“I don't want to see them.” + +“You can't help it,” she said, with mild decision. “When there +are daughters and a new gentleman comes into a big property in the +neighborhood, it's nothing but natural that the mothers should be a bit +anxious.” + +“Aye, they'll be anxious enough. Mak' sure o' that,” laughed Hutchinson. + +“Is that what you want me to put on style for, Little Ann?” Tembarom +asked reproachfully. + +“I want you to put it on for yourself. I don't want you to look +different from other men. Everybody's curious about you. They're ready +to LAUGH because you came from America and once sold newspapers.” + +“It's the men he'll have to look out for,” Hutchinson put in, with an +experienced air. “There's them that'll want to borrow money, and them +that'll want to drink and play cards and bet high. A green American +lad'll be a fine pigeon for them to pluck. You may as well tell him, +Ann; you know you came here to do it.” + +“Yes, I did,” she admitted. “I don't want you to seem not to know what +people are up to and what they expect.” + +That little note of involuntary defense was a dangerous thing for +Tembarom. He drew nearer. + +“You don't want them to take me for a fool, Little Ann. You're standing +up for me; that's it.” + +“You can stand up for yourself, Mr. Temple Barholm, if you're not taken +by surprise,” she said confidently. “If you understand things a bit, you +won't be.” + +His feelings almost overpowered him. + +“God bless your dear little soul!” he broke out. “Say, if this goes on, +that dog of your grandmother's wouldn't have a show, Ann. I should bite +him before he could bite me.” + +“I won't go on if you can't be sensible, Mr. Temple Barholm. I shall +just go away and not come back again. That's what I shall do.” Her tone +was that of a young mother. + +He gave in incontinently. + +“Good Lord! no!” he exclaimed. “I'll do anything if you'll stay. I'll +lie down on the mat and not open my mouth. Just sit here and tell me +things. I know you won't let me hold your hand, but just let me hold a +bit of your dress and look at you while you talk.” He took a bit of her +brown frock between his fingers and held it, gazing at her with all his +crude young soul in his eyes. “Now tell me,” he added. + +“There's only one or two things about the people who'll come to Temple +Barholm. Grandmother's talked it over with me. She knew all about those +that came in the late Mr. Temple Barholm's time. He used to hate most of +them.” + +“Then why in thunder did he ask them to come?” + +“He didn't. They've got clever, polite ways of asking themselves +sometimes. He couldn't bear the Countess of Mallowe. She'll come. +Grandmother says you may be sure of that.” + +“What'll she come for?” + +Little Ann's pause and contemplation of him were fraught with +thoughtfulness. + +“She'll come for you,” at last she said. + +“She's got a daughter she thinks ought to have been married eight years +ago,” announced Hutchinson. + +Tembarom pulled at the bit of brown tweed he held as though it were a +drowning man's straw. + +“Don't you drive me to drink, Ann,” he said. “I'm frightened. Your +grandmother will have to lend ME the dog.” + +This was a flightiness which Little Ann did not encourage. + +“Lady Joan--that's her daughter--is very grand and haughty. She's a +great beauty. You'll look at her, but perhaps she won't look at you. But +it's not her I'm troubled about. I'm thinking of Captain Palliser and +men like him.” + +“Who's he?” + +“He's one of those smooth, clever ones that's always getting up some +company or other and selling the stock. He'll want you to know his +friends and he'll try to lead you his way.” + +As Tembarom held to his bit of her dress, his eyes were adoring ones, +which was really not to be wondered at. She WAS adorable as her soft, +kind, wonderfully maternal girl face tried to control itself so that it +should express only just enough to help and nothing to disturb. + +“I don't want him to spoil you. I don't want anything to make +you--different. I couldn't bear it.” + +He pulled the bit of dress pleadingly. + +“Why, Little Ann?” he implored quite low. + +“Because,” she said, feeling that perhaps she was rash--“because if +you were different, you wouldn't be T. Tembarom; and it was T. Tembarom +that--that was T. Tembarom,” she finished hastily. + +He bent his head down to the bit of tweed and kissed it. + +“You just keep looking after me like that,” he said, “and there's not +one of them can get away with me.” + +She got up, and he rose with her. There was a touch of fire in the +forget-me-not blue of her eyes. + +“Just you let them see--just you let them see that you're not one they +can hold light and make use of.” But there she stopped short, looking +up at him. He was looking down at her with a kind of matureness in +his expression. “I needn't be afraid,” she said. “You can take care of +yourself; I ought to have known that.” + +“You did,” he said, smiling; “but you wanted to sort of help me. And +you've done it, by gee! just by saying that thing about T. Tembarom. You +set me right on my feet. That's YOU.” + +Before they went away they paid a visit to Strangeways in his remote, +undisturbed, and beautiful rooms. They were in a wing of the house +untouched by any ordinary passing to and fro, and the deep windows +looked out upon gardens which spring and summer would crowd with +loveliness from which clouds of perfume would float up to him on days +when the sun warmed and the soft airs stirred the flowers, shaking +the fragrance from their full incense-cups. But the white fog shut out +to-day even their winter bareness. There were light and warmth inside, +and every added charm of rich harmony of deep color and comfort made +beautiful. There were books and papers waiting to be looked over, but +they lay untouched on the writing-table, and Strangeways was sitting +close to the biggest window, staring into the fog. His eyes looked +hungry and hollow and dark. Ann knew he was “trying to remember” + something. + +When the sound of footsteps reached his ear, he turned to look at them, +and rose mechanically at sight of Ann. But his expression was that of a +man aroused from a dream of far-off places. + +“I remember you,” he said, but hesitated as though making an effort to +recall something. + +“Of course you do,” said Little Ann. “You know me quite well. I brought +you here. Think a bit. Little--Little--” + +“Yes,” he broke forth. “Of course, Little Ann! Thank God I've not +forgotten.” He took her hand in both his and held it tenderly. “You have +a sweet little face. It's such a wise little face!” His voice sounded +dreamy. + +Ann drew him to his chair with a coaxing laugh and sat down by him. + +“You're flattering me. You make me feel quite shy,” she said. “You know +HIM, too,” nodding toward Tembarom. + +“Oh, yes,” he replied, and he looked up with a smile. “He is the one who +remembers. You said you did.” He had turned to Tembarom. + +“You bet your life I do,” Tembarom answered. “And you will, too, before +long.” + +“If I did not try so hard,” said Strangeways, thoughtfully. “It seems +as if I were shut up in a room, and so many things were knocking at the +doors--hundreds of them--knocking because they want to be let in. I am +damnably unhappy--damnably.” He hung his head and stared at the floor. +Tembarom put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a friendly shake. + +“Don't you worry a bit,” he said. “You take my word for it. It'll all +come back. I'm working at it myself.” Strangeways lifted his head. + +“You are the one I know best. I trust you.” But there was the beginning +of a slight drag in his voice. “I don't always--quite recollect--your +name. Not quite. Good heavens! I mustn't forget that.” + +Little Ann was quite ready. + +“You won't,” she said, “because it's different from other names. It +begins with a letter--just a letter, and then there is the name. Think.” + +“Yes, yes,” he said anxiously. + +Little Ann bent forward and fixed her eyes on his with concentrated +suggestion. They had never risked confusing him by any mention of +the new name. She began to repeat letters of the alphabet slowly and +distinctly until she reached the letter T. + +“T,” she ended with much emphasis--“R. S. _T_.” + +His expression cleared itself. + +“T,” he repeated. “T--Tembarom. R, S, T. How clever you are!” + +Little Ann's gaze concentrated itself still more intently. + +“Now you'll never forget it again,” she said, “because of the T. You'll +say the other letters until you come to it. R, S, T.” + +“T. Tembarom,” he ended relievedly. “How you help me!” He took her hand +and kissed it very gently. + +“We are all going to help you,” Ann soothed him, “T. Tembarom most of +all.” + +“Say,” Tembarom broke out in an aside to her, “I'm going to come here +and try things on him every day. When it seems like he gets on to +something, however little a thing it is, I'm going to follow it up and +see if it won't get somewhere.” + +Ann nodded. + +“There'll be something some day,” she said. “Are you quite comfortable +here?” she asked aloud to Strangeways. + +“Very comfortable, thank you,” he answered courteously. “They are +beautiful rooms. They are furnished with such fine old things. This is +entirely Jacobean. It's quite perfect.” He glanced about him. “And so +quiet. No one comes in here but my man, and he is a very nice chap. I +never had a man who knew his duties better.” + +Little Ann and Tembarom looked at each other. + +“I shouldn't be a bit surprised,” she said after they had left the room, +“if it wouldn't be a good thing to get Pearson to try to talk to him now +and then. He's been used to a man-servant.” + +“Yes,” answered Tembarom. “Pearson didn't rattle HIM, you bet your +life.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +He could not persuade them to remain to take lunch with him. The +firmness of Hutchinson's declination was not unconnected with a private +feeling that “them footmen chaps 'u'd be on the lookout to see the way +you handled every bite you put in your mouth.” He couldn't have stood +it, dang their impudence! Little Ann, on her part, frankly and calmly +said, “It wouldn't DO.” That was all, and evidently covered everything. + +After they had gone, the fog lifted somewhat, but though it withdrew +from the windows, it remained floating about in masses, like huge +ghosts, among the trees of the park. When Tembarom sat down alone +to prolong his lunch with the aid of Burrill and the footmen, he was +confronted by these unearthly shapes every time he lifted his eyes to +the window he faced from his place at the table. It was an outlook which +did not inspire to cheerfulness, and the fact that Ann and her father +were going back to Manchester and later to America left him without even +the simple consolation of a healthy appetite. Things were bound to get +better after a while; they were BOUND to. A fellow would be a fool if +he couldn't fix it somehow so that he could enjoy himself, with money to +burn. If you made up your mind you couldn't stand the way things were, +you didn't have to lie down under them, with a thousand or so “per” + coming in. You could fix it so that it would be different. By jinks! +there wasn't any law against your giving it all to the church but just +enough to buy a flat in Harlem out-right, if you wanted to. But you +weren't going to run crazy and do a lot of fool things in a minute, and +be sorry the rest of your life. Money was money. And first and foremost +there was Ann, with her round cheeks flushed and her voice all sweet +and queer, saying, “You wouldn't be T. Tembarom; and it was T. Tembarom +that--that was T. Tembarom.” + +He couldn't help knowing what she had begun to say, and his own face +flushed as he thought of it. He was at that time of life when there +generally happens to be one center about which the world revolves. The +creature who passes through this period of existence without watching it +revolve about such a center has missed an extraordinary and singularly +developing experience. It is sometimes happy, often disastrous, but +always more or less developing. Speaking calmly, detachedly, but not +cynically, it is a phase. During its existence it is the blood in the +veins, the sight of the eyes, the beat of the pulse, the throb of the +heart. It is also the day and the night, the sun, the moon, and the +stars, heaven and hell, the entire universe. And it doesn't matter in +the least to any one but the creatures living through it. T. Tembarom +was in the midst of it. There was Ann. There was this new crazy thing +which had happened to him--“this fool thing,” as he called it. There was +this monstrous, magnificent house,--he knew it was magnificent, though +it wasn't his kind,--there was old Palford and his solemn talk about +ancestors and the name of Temple Barholm. It always reminded him of how +ashamed he had been in Brooklyn of the “Temple Temple” and how he had +told lies to prevent the fellows finding out about it. And there was +seventy thousand pounds a year, and there was Ann, who looked as soft as +a baby,--Good Lord! how soft she'd feel if you got her in your arms and +squeezed her!--and yet was somehow strong enough to keep him just where +she wanted him to stay and believed he ought to stay until “he had +found out.” That was it. She wasn't doing it for any fool little idea of +making herself seem more important: she just believed it. She was doing +it because she wanted to let him “have his chance,” just as if she were +his mother instead of the girl he was clean crazy about. His chance! +He laughed outright--a short, confident laugh which startled Burrill +exceedingly. + +When he went back to the library and lighted his pipe he began to stride +up and down as he continued to think it over. + +“I wish she was as sure as I am,” he said. “I wish she was as sure of me +as I am of myself--and as I am of her.” He laughed the short, confident +laugh again. “I wish she was as sure as I am of us both. We're all +right. I've got to get through this, and find out what it's best to do, +and I've got to show her. When I've had my chance good and plenty, +us two for little old New York! Gee! won't it be fine!” he exclaimed +imaginatively. “Her going over her bills, looking like a peach of a baby +that's trying to knit its brows, and adding up, and thinking she ought +to economize. She'd do it if we had ten million.” He laughed outright +joyfully. “Good Lord! I should kiss her to death!” + +The simplest process of ratiocination would lead to a realization of +the fact that though he was lonely and uncomfortable, he was not in +the least pathetic or sorry for himself. His normal mental and +physical structure kept him steady on his feet, and his practical and +unsentimental training, combining itself with a touch of iron which +centuries ago had expressed itself through some fighting Temple Barholm +and a medium of battle-axes, crossbows, and spears, did the rest. + +“It'd take more than this to get me where I'd be down and out. I'm +feeling fine,” he said. “I believe I'll go and 'take a walk,' as Palford +says.” + +The fog-wreaths in the park were floating away, and he went out grinning +and whistling, giving Burrill and the footman a nod as he passed them +with a springing young stride. He got the door open so quickly that he +left them behind him frustrated and staring at each other. + +“It wasn't our fault,” said Burrill, gloomily. “He's never had a door +opened for him in his life. This won't do for me.” + +He was away for about an hour, and came back in the best of spirits. He +had found out that there was something in “taking a walk” if a fellow +had nothing else to do. The park was “fine,” and he had never seen +anything like it. When there were leaves on the trees and the grass +and things were green, it would be better than Central Park itself. +You could have base-ball matches in it. What a cinch it would be if you +charged gate-money! But he supposed you couldn't if it belonged to you +and you had three hundred and fifty thousand a year. You had to get used +to that. But it did seem a fool business to have all that land and not +make a cent out of it. If it was just outside New York and you cut it +up into lots, you'd just pile it up. He was quite innocent--calamitously +innocent and commercial and awful in his views. Thoughts such as these +had been crammed into his brain by life ever since he had gone down the +staircase of the Brooklyn tenement with his twenty-five cents in his +ten-year-old hand. + +The stillness of the house seemed to have accentuated itself when he +returned to it. His sense of it let him down a little as he entered. The +library was like a tomb--a comfortable luxurious tomb with a bright fire +in it. A new Punch and the morning papers had been laid upon a table +earlier in the day, and he sat down to look at them. + +“I guess about fifty-seven or eight of the hundred and thirty-six hours +have gone by,” he said. “But, gee! ain't it lonesome!” + +He sat so still trying to interest himself in “London Day by Day” in the +morning paper that the combination of his exercise in the fresh air and +the warmth of the fire made him drowsy. He leaned back in his chair and +closed his eyes without being aware that he did so. He was on the verge +of a doze. + +He remained upon the verge for a few minutes, and then a soft, rustling +sound made him open his eyes. + +An elderly little lady had timidly entered the room. She was neatly +dressed in an old-fashioned and far-from-new black silk dress, with a +darned lace collar and miniature brooch at her neck. She had also thin, +gray side-ringlets dangling against her cheeks from beneath a small, +black lace cap with pale-purple ribbons on it. She had most evidently +not expected to find any one in the room, and, having seen Tembarom, +gave a half-frightened cough. + +“I--I beg your pardon,” she faltered. “I really did not mean to +intrude--really.” + +Tembarom jumped up, awkward, but good-natured. Was she a kind of servant +who was a lady? + +“Oh, that's all right,” he said. + +But she evidently did not feel that it was all right. She looked as +though she felt that she had been caught doing something wrong, and must +properly propitiate by apology. + +“I'm so sorry. I thought you had gone out--Mr. Temple Barholm.” + +“I did go out--to take a walk; but I came in.” + +Having been discovered in her overt act, she evidently felt that +duty demanded some further ceremony from her. She approached him very +timidly, but with an exquisite, little elderly early-Victorian manner. +She was of the most astonishingly perfect type, though Tembarom was not +aware of the fact. The manner, a century earlier, would have expressed +itself in a curtsy. + +“It is Mr. Temple Barholm, isn't it?” she inquired. + +“Yes; it has been for the last few weeks,” he answered, wondering why +she seemed so in awe of him and wishing she didn't. + +“I ought to apologize for being here,” she began. + +“Say, don't, please!” he interrupted. “What I feel is, that it ought to +be up to me to apologize for being here.” + +She was really quite flurried and distressed. + +“Oh, please, Mr. Temple Barholm!” she fluttered, proceeding to explain +hurriedly, as though he without doubt understood the situation. “I +should of course have gone away at once after the late Mr. Temple +Barholm died, but--but I really had nowhere to go--and was kindly +allowed to remain until about two months ago, when I went to make +a visit. I fully intended to remove my little belongings before you +arrived, but I was detained by illness and could not return until this +morning to pack up. I understood you were in the park, and I remembered +I had left my knitting-bag here.” She glanced nervously about the room, +and seemed to catch sight of something on a remote corner table. “Oh, +there it is. May I take it?” she said, looking at him appealingly. “It +was a kind present from a dear lost friend, and--and--” She paused, +seeing his puzzled and totally non-comprehending air. It was plainly the +first moment it had dawned upon her that he did not know what she was +talking about. She took a small, alarmed step toward him. + +“Oh, I BEG your pardon,” she exclaimed in delicate anguish. “I'm afraid +you don't know who I am. Perhaps Mr. Palford forgot to mention me. +Indeed, why should he mention me? There were so many more important +things. I am a sort of distant--VERY distant relation of yours. My name +is Alicia Temple Barholm.” + +Tembarom was relieved. But she actually hadn't made a move toward the +knitting-bag. She seemed afraid to do it until he gave her permission. +He walked over to the corner table and brought it to her, smiling +broadly. + +“Here it is,” he said. “I'm glad you left it. I'm very happy to be +acquainted with you, Miss Alicia.” + +He was glad just to see her looking up at him with her timid, refined, +intensely feminine appeal. Why she vaguely brought back something that +reminded him of Ann he could not have told. He knew nothing whatever of +types early-Victorian or late. + +He took her hand, evidently to her greatest possible amazement, and +shook it heartily. She knew nothing whatever of the New York street +type, and it made her gasp for breath, but naturally with an allayed +terror. + +“Gee!” he exclaimed whole-heartedly, “I'm glad to find out I've got a +relation. I thought I hadn't one in the world. Won't you sit down?” He +was drawing her toward his own easy-chair. But he really didn't know, +she was agitatedly thinking. She really must tell him. He seemed so good +tempered and--and DIFFERENT. She herself was not aware of the enormous +significance which lay in that word “different.” There must be no risk +of her seeming to presume upon his lack of knowledge. + +“It is MOST kind of you,” she said with grateful emphasis, “but I +mustn't sit down and detain you. I can explain in a few words--if I +may.” + +He positively still held her hand in the oddest, natural, boyish +way, and before she knew what she was doing he had made her take the +chair--quite MADE her. + +“Well, just sit down and explain,” he said. “I wish to thunder you +would detain me. Take all the time you like. I want to hear all about +it--honest Injun.” + +There was a cushion in the chair, and as he talked, he pulled it out +and began to arrange it behind her, still in the most natural and +matter-of-fact way--so natural and matter-of-fact, indeed, that its very +natural matter-of-factedness took her breath away. + +“Is that fixed all right?” he asked. + +Being a little lady, she could only accept his extraordinary +friendliness with grateful appreciation, though she could not help +fluttering a little in her bewilderment. + +“Oh, thank you, thank you, Mr. Temple Barholm,” she said. + +He sat down on the square ottoman facing her, and leaned forward with an +air of making a frank confession. + +“Guess what I was thinking to myself two minutes before you came in? +I was thinking, `Lord, I'm lonesome--just sick lonesome!' And then I +opened my eyes and looked--and there was a relation! Hully gee! I call +that luck!” + +“Dear me!” she said, shyly delighted. “DO you, Mr. Temple +Barholm--REALLY?” + +Her formal little way of saying his name was like Ann's. + +“Do I? I'm tickled to death. My mother died when I was ten, and I've +never had any women kin-folks.” + +“Poor bo--” She had nearly said “Poor boy!” and only checked the +familiarity just in time--“Poor Mr. Temple Barholm!” + +“Say, what are we two to each other, anyhow?” He put it to her with +great interest. + +“It is a very distant relationship, if it is one at all,” she answered. +“You see, I was only a second cousin to the late Mr. Temple Barholm, +and I had not really the SLIGHTEST claim upon him.” She placed pathetic +emphasis on the fact. “It was most generous of him to be so kind to me. +When my poor father died and I was left quite penniless, he gave me a--a +sort of home here.” + +“A sort of home?” Tembarom repeated. + +“My father was a clergyman in VERY straitened circumstances. We had +barely enough to live upon--barely. He could leave me nothing. It +actually seemed as if I should have to starve--it did, indeed.” There +was a delicate quiver in her voice. “And though the late Mr. Temple +Barholm had a great antipathy to ladies, he was so--so noble as to send +word to me that there were a hundred and fifty rooms in his house, and +that if I would keep out of his way I might live in one of them.” + +“That was noble,” commented her distant relative. + +“Oh, yes, indeed, especially when one considers how he disliked the +opposite sex and what a recluse he was. He could not endure ladies. I +scarcely ever saw him. My room was in quite a remote wing of the house, +and I never went out if I knew he was in the park. I was most careful. +And when he died of course I knew I must go away.” + +Tembarom was watching her almost tenderly. + +“Where did you go?” + +“To a kind clergyman in Shropshire who thought he might help me.” + +“How was he going to do it?” + +She answered with an effort to steady a somewhat lowered and hesitating +voice. + +“There was near his parish a very nice--charity,”--her breath caught +itself pathetically,--“some most comfortable almshouses for decayed +gentlewomen. He thought he might be able to use his influence to get +me into one.” She paused and smiled, but her small, wrinkled hands held +each other closely. + +Tembarom looked away. He spoke as though to himself, and without knowing +that he was thinking aloud. + +“Almshouses!” he said. “Wouldn't that jolt you!” He turned on her again +with a change to cheerful concern. “Say, that cushion of yours ain't +comfortable. I 'm going to get you another one.” He jumped up and, +taking one from a sofa, began to arrange it behind her dexterously. + +“But I mustn't trouble you any longer. I must go, really,” she said, +half rising nervously. He put a hand on her shoulder and made her sit +again. + +“Go where?” he said. “Just lean back on that cushion, Miss Alicia. For +the next few minutes this is going to be MY funeral.” + +She was at once startled and uncomprehending. What an extraordinary +expression! What COULD it mean? + +“F--funeral?” she stammered. + +Suddenly he seemed somehow to have changed. He looked as serious as +though he was beginning to think out something all at once. What was he +going to say? + +“That's New York slang,” he answered. “It means that I want to explain +myself to you and ask a few questions.” + +“Certainly, certainly, Mr. Temple Barholm.” + +He leaned his back against the mantel, and went into the matter +practically. + +“First off, haven't you ANY folks?” Then, answering her puzzled look, +added, “I mean relations.” + +Miss Alicia gently shook her head. + +“No sisters or brothers or uncles or aunts or cousins?” + +She shook her head again. + +He hesitated a moment, putting his hands in his pockets and taking them +out again awkwardly as he looked down at her. + +“Now here's where I'm up against it,” he went on. “I don't want to be +too fresh or to butt in, but--didn't old Temple Barholm leave you ANY +money?” + +“Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “Dear me! no! I couldn't possibly EXPECT such a +thing.” + +He gazed at her as though considering the situation. “Couldn't you?” he +said. + +There was an odd reflection in his eyes, and he seemed to consider her +and the situation again. + +“Well,” he began after his pause, “what I want to know is what you +expect ME to do.” + +There was no unkindness in his manner, in fact, quite the contrary, +even when he uttered what seemed to Miss Alicia these awful, unwarranted +words. As though she had forced herself into his presence to make +demands upon his charity! They made her tremble and turn pale as she got +up quickly, shocked and alarmed. + +“Oh, nothing! nothing! nothing WHATEVER, Mr. Temple Barholm!” she +exclaimed, her agitation doing its best to hide itself behind a fine +little dignity. He saw in an instant that his style of putting it had +been “'way off,” that his ignorance had betrayed him, that she had +misunderstood him altogether. He almost jumped at her. + +“Oh, say, I didn't mean THAT!” he cried out. “For the Lord's sake! don't +think I'm such a Tenderloin tough as to make a break like that! Not on +your life!” + +Never since her birth had a male creature looked at Miss Alicia with the +appeal which showed itself in his eyes as he actually put his arm half +around her shoulders, like a boy begging a favor from his mother or his +aunt. + +“What I meant was--” He broke off and began again quite anxiously, “say, +just as a favor, will you sit down again and let me tell you what I did +mean?” + +It was that natural, warm, boyish way which overcame her utterly. It +reminded her of the only boy she had ever really known, the one male +creature who had allowed her to be fond of him. There was moisture in +her eyes as she let him put her back into her chair. When he had done +it, he sat down on the ottoman again and poured himself forth. + +“You know what kind of a chap I am. No, you don't, either. You mayn't +know a thing about me; and I want to tell you. I'm so different from +everything you've ever known that I scare you. And no wonder. It's the +way I've lived. If you knew, you'd understand what I was thinking of +when I spoke just now. I've been cold, I've been hungry, I've walked +the wet streets on my uppers. I know all about GOING WITHOUT. And do you +expect that I am going to let a--a little thing like you--go away from +here without friends and without money on the chance of getting into an +almshouse that isn't vacant? Do you expect that of me? Not on your life! +That was what I meant.” + +Miss Alicia quivered; the pale-purple ribbons on her little lace cap +quivered. + +“I haven't,” she said, and the fine little dignity was piteous, “a +SHADOW of a claim upon you.” It was necessary for her to produce a +pocket-handkerchief. He took it from her, and touched her eyes as softly +as though she were a baby. + +“Claim nothing!” he said. “I've got a claim on YOU. I'm going to stake +one out right now.” He got up and gesticulated, taking in the big +room and its big furniture. “Look at all this! It fell on me like a +thunderbolt. It's nearly knocked the life out of me. I'm like a lost cat +on Broadway. You can't go away and leave me, Miss Alicia; it's your duty +to stay. You've just GOT to stay to take care of me.” He came over to +her with a wheedling smile. “I never was taken care of in my life. Just +be as noble to me as old Temple Barholm was to you: give me a sort of +home.” + +If a little gentlewoman could stare, it might be said that Miss Alicia +stared at him. She trembled with amazed emotion. + +“Do you mean--” Despite all he had said, she scarcely dared to utter the +words lest, after all, she might be taking for granted more than it was +credible could be true. “Can you mean that if I stayed here with you it +would make Temple Barholm seem more like HOME? Is it possible you--you +mean THAT?” + +“I mean just that very thing.” + +It was too much for her. Finely restrained little elderly gentlewoman as +she was, she openly broke down under it. + +“It can't be true!” she ejaculated shakily. “It isn't possible. It is +too--too beautiful and kind. Do forgive me! I c-a-n't help it.” She +burst into tears. + +She knew it was most stupidly wrong. She knew gentlemen did not like +tears. Her father had told her that men never really forgave women who +cried at them. And here, when her fate hung in the balance, she was not +able to behave herself with feminine decorum. + +Yet the new Mr. Temple Barholm took it in as matter-of-fact a manner as +he seemed to take everything. He stood by her chair and soothed her in +his dear New York voice. + +“That's all right, Miss Alicia,” he commented. “You cry as much as you +want to, just so that you don't say no. You've been worried and you're +tired. I'll tell you there's been two or three times lately when I +should like to have cried myself if I'd known how. Say,” he added with a +sudden outburst of imagination, “I bet anything it's about time you had +tea.” + +The suggestion was so entirely within the normal order of things that it +made her feel steadier, and she was able to glance at the clock. + +“A cup of tea would be refreshing,” she said. “They will bring it in +very soon, but before the servants come I must try to express--” + +But before she could express anything further the tea appeared. Burrill +and a footman brought it on splendid salvers, in massive urn and +tea-pot, with chaste, sacrificial flame flickering, and wonderful, hot +buttered and toasted things and wafers of bread and butter attendant. +As they crossed the threshold, the sight of Miss Alicia's small form +enthroned in their employer's chair was one so obviously unanticipated +that Burrill made a step backward and the footman almost lost the +firmness of his hold on the smaller tray. Each recovered himself in +time, however, and not until the tea was arranged upon the table near +the fire was any outward recognition of Miss Alicia's presence made. +Then Burrill, pausing, made an announcement entirely without prejudice: + +“I beg pardon, sir, but Higgins's cart has come for Miss Temple +Barholm's box; he is asking when she wants the trap.” + +“She doesn't want it at all,” answered Tembarom. “Carry her trunk +up-stairs again. She's not going away.” + +The lack of proper knowledge contained in the suggestion that Burrill +should carry trunks upstairs caused Miss Alicia to quail in secret, but +she spoke with outward calm. + +“No, Burrill,” she said. “I am not going away.” + +“Very good, Miss,” Burrill replied, and with impressive civility he +prepared to leave the room. Tembarom glanced at the tea-things. + +“There's only one cup here,” he said. “Bring one for me.” + +Burrill's expression might perhaps have been said to start slightly. + +“Very good, sir,” he said, and made his exit. Miss Alicia was fluttering +again. + +“That cup was really for you, Mr. Temple Barholm,” she ventured. + +“Well, now it's for you, and I've let him know it,” replied Tembarom. + +“Oh, PLEASE,” she said in an outburst of feeling--“PLEASE let me tell +you how GRATEFUL--how grateful I am!” + +But he would not let her. + +“If you do,” he said, “I'll tell you how grateful _I_ am, and that'll +be worse. No, that's all fixed up between us. It goes. We won't say any +more about it.” + +He took the whole situation in that way, as though he was assuming no +responsibility which was not the simple, inevitable result of their +drifting across each other--as though it was only what any man would +have done, even as though she was a sort of delightful, unexpected +happening. He turned to the tray. + +“Say, that looks all right, doesn't it?” he said. “Now you are here, I +like the way it looks. I didn't yesterday.” + +Burrill himself brought the extra cup and saucer and plate. He wished +to make sure that his senses had not deceived him. But there she sat who +through years had existed discreetly in the most unconsidered rooms +in an uninhabited wing, knowing better than to presume upon her +privileges--there she sat with an awed and rapt face gazing up at this +new outbreak into Temple Barholm's and “him joking and grinning as +though he was as pleased as Punch.” + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +To employ the figure of Burrill, Tembarom was indeed “as pleased as +Punch.” He was one of the large number of men who, apart from all +sentimental relations, are made particularly happy by the kindly society +of women; who expand with quite unconscious rejoicing when a woman +begins to take care of them in one way or another. The unconsciousness +is a touching part of the condition. The feminine nearness supplies a +primeval human need. The most complete of men, as well as the weaklings, +feel it. It is a survival of days when warm arms held and protected, +warm hands served, and affectionate voices soothed. An accomplished male +servant may perform every domestic service perfectly, but the fact that +he cannot be a woman leaves a sense of lack. An accustomed feminine +warmth in the surrounding daily atmosphere has caused many a man to +marry his housekeeper or even his cook, as circumstances prompted. + +Tembarom had known no woman well until he had met Little Ann. His +feeling for Mrs. Bowse herself had verged on affection, because he would +have been fond of any woman of decent temper and kindliness, especially +if she gave him opportunities to do friendly service. Little Ann had +seemed the apotheosis of the feminine, the warmly helpful, the subtly +supporting, the kind. She had been to him an amazement and a revelation. +She had continually surprised him by revealing new characteristics which +seemed to him nicer things than he had ever known before, but which, if +he had been aware of it, were not really surprising at all. They were +only the characteristics of a very nice young feminine creature. + +The presence of Miss Alicia, with the long-belated fashion of her +ringlets and her little cap, was delightful to him. He felt as though +he would like to take her in his arms and hug her. He thought perhaps +it was partly because she was a little like Ann, and kept repeating his +name in Ann's formal little way. Her delicate terror of presuming +or intruding he felt in its every shade. Mentally she touched him +enormously. He wanted to make her feel that she need not be afraid of +him in the least, that he liked her, that in his opinion she had more +right in the house than he had. He was a little frightened lest through +ignorance he should say things the wrong way, as he had said that thing +about wanting to know what she expected him to do. What he ought to have +said was, “You're not expecting me to let that sort of thing go on.” + It had made him sick when he saw what a break he'd made and that she +thought he was sort of insulting her. The room seemed all right now that +she was in it. Small and unassuming as she was, she seemed to make it +less over-sized. He didn't so much mind the loftiness of the ceiling, +the depth and size of the windows, and the walls covered with thousands +of books he knew nothing whatever about. The innumerable books had been +an oppressing feature. If he had been one of those “college guys” who +never could get enough of books, what a “cinch” the place would have +been for him--good as the Astor Library! He hadn't a word to say against +books,--good Lord! no;--but even if he'd had the education and the time +to read, he didn't believe he was naturally that kind, anyhow. You had +to be “that kind” to know about books. He didn't suppose she--meaning +Miss Alicia--was learned enough to make you throw a fit. She didn't look +that way, and he was mighty glad of it, because perhaps she wouldn't +like him much if she was. It would worry her when she tried to talk to +him and found out he didn't know a darned thing he ought to. + +They'd get on together easier if they could just chin about common sort +of every-day things. But though she didn't look like the Vassar sort, +he guessed that she was not like himself: she had lived in libraries +before, and books didn't frighten her. She'd been born among people +who read lots of them and maybe could talk about them. That was why she +somehow seemed to fit into the room. He was aware that, timid as she was +and shabby as her neat dress looked, she fitted into the whole place, as +he did not. She'd been a poor relative and had been afraid to death of +old Temple Barholm, but she'd not been afraid of him because she wasn't +his sort. She was a lady; that was what was the matter with her. It was +what made things harder for her, too. It was what made her voice tremble +when she'd tried to seem so contented and polite when she'd talked about +going into one of those “decayed alms-houses.” As if the old ladies were +vegetables that had gone wrong, by gee! he thought. + +He liked her little, modest, delicate old face and her curls and her +little cap with the ribbons so much that he smiled with a twinkling eye +every time he looked at her. He wanted to suggest something he thought +would be mighty comfortable, but he was half afraid he might be asking +her to do something which wasn't “her job,” and it might hurt her +feelings. But he ventured to hint at it. + +“Has Burrill got to come back and pour that out?” he asked, with an +awkward gesture toward the tea-tray. “Has he just GOT to?” + +“Oh, no, unless you wish it,” she answered. “Shall--may I give it to +you?” + +“Will you?” he exclaimed delightedly. “That would be fine. I shall feel +like a regular Clarence.” + +She was going to sit at the table in a straight-backed chair, but he +sprang at her. + +“This big one is more comfortable,” he said, and he dragged it forward +and made her sit in it. “You ought to have a footstool,” he added, and +he got one and put it under her feet. “There, that's all right.” + +A footstool, as though she were a royal personage and he were a +gentleman in waiting, only probably gentlemen in waiting did not jump +about and look so pleased. The cheerful content of his boyish face when +he himself sat down near the table was delightful. + +“Now,” he said, “we can ring up for the first act.” + +She filled the tea-pot and held it for a moment, and then set it down as +though her feelings were too much for her. + +“I feel as if I were in a dream,” she quavered happily. “I do indeed.” + +“But it's a nice one, ain't it?” he answered. “I feel as if I was in +two. Sitting here in this big room with all these fine things about me, +and having afternoon tea with a relation! It just about suits me. It +didn't feel like this yesterday, you bet your life!” + +“Does it seem--nicer than yesterday?” she ventured. “Really, Mr. Temple +Barholm?” + +“Nicer!” he ejaculated. “It's got yesterday beaten to a frazzle.” + +It was beyond all belief. He was speaking as though the advantage, the +relief, the happiness, were all on his side. She longed to enlighten +him. + +“But you can't realize what it is to me,” she said gratefully, “to sit +here, not terrified and homeless and--a beggar any more, with your kind +face before me. Do forgive me for saying it. You have such a kind young +face, Mr. Temple Barholm. And to have an easy-chair and cushions, +and actually a buffet brought for my feet!” She suddenly recollected +herself. “Oh, I mustn't let your tea get cold,” she added, taking up the +tea-pot apologetically. “Do you take cream and sugar, and is it to be +one lump or two?” + +“I take everything in sight,” he replied joyously, “and two lumps, +please.” + +She prepared the cup of tea with as delicate a care as though it had +been a sacramental chalice, and when she handed it to him she smiled +wistfully. + +“No one but you ever thought of such a thing as bringing a buffet for +my feet--no one except poor little Jem,” she said, and her voice was +wistful as well as her smile. + +She was obviously unaware that she was introducing an entirely new +acquaintance to him. Poor little Jem was supposed to be some one whose +whole history he knew. + +“Jem?” he repeated, carefully transferring a piece of hot buttered +crumpet to his plate. + +“Jem Temple Barholm,” she answered. “I say little Jem because I remember +him only as a child. I never saw him after he was eleven years old.” + +“Who was he?” he asked. The tone of her voice, and her manner of +speaking made him feel that he wanted to hear something more. + +She looked rather startled by his ignorance. “Have you--have you never +heard of him?” she inquired. + +“No. Is he another distant relation?” + +Her hesitation caused him to neglect his crumpet, to look up at her. +He saw at once that she wore the air of a sensitive and beautifully +mannered elderly lady who was afraid she had made a mistake and said +something awkward. + +“I am so sorry,” she apologized. “Perhaps I ought not to have mentioned +him.” + +“Why shouldn't he be mentioned?” + +She was embarrassed. She evidently wished she had not spoken, but +breeding demanded that she should ignore the awkwardness of the +situation, if awkwardness existed. + +“Of course--I hope your tea is quite as you like it--of course there is +no real reason. But--shall I give you some more cream? No? You see, if +he hadn't died, he--he would have inherited Temple Barholm.” + +Now he was interested. This was the other chap. + +“Instead of me?” he asked, to make sure. She endeavored not to show +embarrassment and told herself it didn't really matter--to a thoroughly +nice person. But-- + +“He was the next of kin--before you. I'm so sorry I didn't know you +hadn't heard of him. It seemed natural that Mr. Palford should have +mentioned him.” + +“He did say that there was a young fellow who had died, but he didn't +tell me about him. I guess I didn't ask. There were such a lot of other +things. I'd like to hear about him. You say you knew him?” + +“Only when he was a little fellow. Never after he grew up. Something +happened which displeased my father. I'm afraid papa was very easily +displeased. Mr. Temple Barholm disliked him, too. He would not have him +at Temple Barholm.” + +“He hadn't much luck with his folks, had he?” remarked Tembarom. + +“He had no luck with any one. I seemed to be the only person who was +fond of him, and of course I didn't count.” + +“I bet you counted with him,” said Tembarom. + +“I do think I did. Both his parents died quite soon after he was born, +and people who ought to have cared for him were rather jealous because +he stood so near to Temple Barholm. If Mr. Temple Barholm had not been +so eccentric and bitter, everything would have been done for him; but as +it was, he seemed to belong to no one. When he came to the vicarage it +used to make me so happy. He used to call me Aunt Alicia, and he had +such pretty ways.” She hesitated and looked quite tenderly at the +tea-pot, a sort of shyness in her face. “I am sure,” she burst forth, “I +feel quite sure that you will understand and won't think it indelicate; +but I had thought so often that I should like to have a little boy--if I +had married,” she added in hasty tribute to propriety. + +Tembarom's eyes rested on her in a thoughtfulness openly touched with +affection. He put out his hand and patted hers two or three times in +encouraging sympathy. + +“Say,” he said frankly, “I just believe every woman that's the real +thing'd like to have a little boy--or a little girl--or a little +something or other. That's why pet cats and dogs have such a cinch of +it. And there's men that's the same way. It's sort of nature.” + +“He had such a high spirit and such pretty ways,” she said again. “One +of his pretty ways was remembering to do little things to make one +comfortable, like thinking of giving one a cushion or a buffet for one's +feet. I noticed it so much because I had never seen boys or men +wait upon women. My own dear papa was used to having women wait upon +him--bring his slippers, you know, and give him the best chair. He +didn't like Jem's ways. He said he liked a boy who was a boy and not +an affected nincompoop. He wasn't really quite just.” She paused +regretfully and sighed as she looked back into a past doubtlessly +enriched with many similar memories of “dear papa.” “Poor Jem! Poor +Jem!” she breathed softly. + +Tembarom thought that she must have felt the boy's loss very much, +almost as much as though she had really been his mother; perhaps more +pathetically because she had not been his mother or anybody's mother. He +could see what a good little mother she would have made, looking after +her children and doing everything on earth to make them happy and +comfortable, just the kind of mother Ann would make, though she had not +Ann's steady wonder of a little head or her shrewd farsightedness. Jem +would have been in luck if he had been her son. It was a darned pity he +hadn't been. If he had, perhaps he would not have died young. + +“Yes,” he answered sympathetically, “it's hard for a young fellow to +die. How old was he, anyhow? I don't know.” + +“Not much older than you are now. It was seven years ago. And if he had +only died, poor dear! There are things so much worse than death.” + +“Worse!” + +“Awful disgrace is worse,” she faltered. She was plainly trying to keep +moisture out of her eyes. + +“Did he get into some bad mix-up, poor fellow?” If there had been +anything like that, no wonder it broke her up to think of him. + +It surely did break her up. She flushed emotionally. + +“The cruel thing was that he didn't really do what he was accused of,” + she said. + +“He didn't?” + +“No; but he was a ruined man, and he went away to the Klondike because +he could not stay in England. And he was killed--killed, poor boy! And +afterward it was found out that he was innocent--too late.” + +“Gee!” Tembarom gasped, feeling hot and cold. “Could you beat that for +rotten luck! What was he accused of?” + +Miss Alicia leaned forward and spoke in a whisper. It was too dreadful +to speak of aloud. + +“Cheating at cards--a gentleman playing with gentlemen. You know what +that means.” + +Tembarom grew hotter and colder. No wonder she looked that way, poor +little thing! + +“But,”--he hesitated before he spoke,--“but he wasn't that kind, was he? +Of course he wasn't.” + +“No, no. But, you see,”--she hesitated herself here,--“everything looked +so much against him. He had been rather wild.” She dropped her voice +even lower in making the admission. + +Tembarom wondered how much she meant by that. + +“He was so much in debt. He knew he was to be rich in the future, and he +was poor just in those reckless young days when it seemed unfair. And +he had played a great deal and had been very lucky. He was so lucky +that sometimes his luck seemed uncanny. Men who had played with him were +horrible about it afterward.” + +“They would be,” put in Tembarom. “They'd be sore about it, and bring +it up.” + +They both forgot their tea. Miss Alicia forgot everything as she poured +forth her story in the manner of a woman who had been forced to keep +silent and was glad to put her case into words. It was her case. To tell +the truth of this forgotten wrong was again to offer justification of +poor handsome Jem whom everybody seemed to have dropped talk of, and +even preferred not to hear mentioned. + +“There were such piteously cruel things about it,” she went on. “He had +fallen very much in love, and he meant to marry and settle down. Though +we had not seen each other for years, he actually wrote to me and told +me about it. His letter made me cry. He said I would understand and care +about the thing which seemed to have changed everything and made him a +new man. He was so sorry that he had not been better and more careful. +He was going to try all over again. He was not going to play at all +after this one evening when he was obliged to keep an engagement he had +made months before to give his revenge to a man he had won a great deal +of money from. The very night the awful thing happened he had told Lady +Joan, before he went into the card-room, that this was to be his last +game.” + +Tembarom had looked deeply interested from the first, but at her last +words a new alertness added itself. + +“Did you say Lady Joan?” he asked. “Who was Lady Joan?” + +“She was the girl he was so much in love with. Her name was Lady Joan +Fayre.” + +“Was she the daughter of the Countess of Mallowe?” + +“Yes. Have you heard of her?” + +He recalled Ann's reflective consideration of him before she had said, +“She'll come after you.” He replied now: “Some one spoke of her to me +this morning. They say she's a beauty and as proud as Lucifer.” + +“She was, and she is yet, I believe. Poor Lady Joan--as well as poor +Jem!” + +“She didn't believe it, did she?” he put in hastily. “She didn't throw +him down?” + +“No one knew what happened between them afterward. She was in the +card-room, looking on, when the awful thing took place.” + +She stopped, as though to go on was almost unbearable. She had been so +overwhelmed by the past shame of it that even after the passing of years +the anguish was a living thing. Her small hands clung hard together +as they rested on the edge of the table. Tembarom waited in thrilled +suspense. She spoke in a whisper again: + +“He won a great deal of money--a great deal. He had that uncanny luck +again, and of course people in the other rooms heard what was going on, +and a number drifted in to look on. The man he had promised to give his +revenge to almost showed signs of having to make an effort to conceal +his irritation and disappointment. Of course, as he was a gentleman, +he was as cool as possible; but just at the most exciting moment, the +height of the game, Jem made a quick movement, and--and something fell +out of his sleeve.” + +“Something,” gasped Tembarom, “fell out of his sleeve!” + +Miss Alicia's eyes overflowed as she nodded her beribboned little cap. + +“It”--her voice was a sob of woe--“it was a marked card. The man he was +playing against snatched it and held it up. And he laughed out loud.” + +“Holy cats!” burst from Tembarom; but the remarkable exclamation was +one of genuine horror, and he turned pale, got up from his seat, and +took two or three strides across the room, as though he could not sit +still. + +“Yes, he laughed--quite loudly,” repeated Miss Alicia, “as if he had +guessed it all the time. Papa heard the whole story from some one who +was present.” + +Tembarom came back to her rather breathless. + +“What in thunder did he do--Jem?” he asked. + +She actually wrung her poor little hands. + +“What could he do? There was a dead silence. People moved just a little +nearer to the table and stood and stared, merely waiting. They say it +was awful to see his face--awful. He sprang up and stood still, and +slowly became as white as if he were dying before their eyes. Some one +thought Lady Joan Fayre took a step toward him, but no one was quite +sure. He never uttered one word, but walked out of the room and down the +stairs and out of the house.” + +“But didn't he speak to the girl?” + +“He didn't even look at her. He passed her by as if she were stone.” + +“What happened next?” + +“He disappeared. No one knew where at first, and then there was a rumor +that he had gone to the Klondike and had been killed there. And a year +later--only a year! Oh, if he had only waited in England!--a worthless +villain of a valet he had discharged for stealing met with an accident, +and because he thought he was going to die, got horribly frightened, +and confessed to the clergyman that he had tucked the card in poor Jem's +sleeve himself just to pay him off. He said he did it on the chance +that it would drop out where some one would see it, and a marked card +dropping out of a man's sleeve anywhere would look black enough, whether +he was playing or not. But poor Jem was in his grave, and no one seemed +to care, though every one had been interested enough in the scandal. +People talked about that for weeks.” + +Tembarom pulled at his collar excitedly. + +“It makes me sort of strangle,” he said. “You've got to stand your own +bad luck, but to hear of a chap that's had to lie down and take the +worst that could come to him and know it wasn't his--just KNOW it! And +die before he's cleared! That knocks me out.” + +Almost every sentence he uttered had a mystical sound to Miss Alicia, +but she knew how he was taking it, with what hot, young human sympathy +and indignation. She loved the way he took it, and she loved the feeling +in his next words, + +“And the girl--good Lord!--the girl?” + +“I never met her, and I know very little of her; but she has never +married.” + +“I'm glad of that,” he said. “I'm darned glad of it. How could she?” Ann +wouldn't, he knew. Ann would have gone to her grave unmarried. But she +would have done things first to clear her man's name. Somehow she would +have cleared him, if she'd had to fight tooth and nail till she was +eighty. + +“They say she has grown very bitter and haughty in her manner. I'm +afraid Lady Mallowe is a very worldly woman. One hears they don't get on +together, and that she is bitterly disappointed because her daughter has +not made a good match. It appears that she might have made several, +but she is so hard and cynical that men are afraid of her. I wish I had +known her a little--if she really loved Jem.” + +Tembarom had thrust his hands into his pockets, and was standing deep in +thought, looking at the huge bank of red coals in the fire-grate. Miss +Alicia hastily wiped her eyes. + +“Do excuse me,” she said. + +“I'll excuse you all right,” he replied, still looking into the coals. +“I guess I shouldn't excuse you as much if you didn't” He let her cry in +her gentle way while he stared, lost in reflection. + +“And if he hadn't fired that valet chap, he would be here with you +now--instead of me. Instead of me,” he repeated. + +And Miss Alicia did not know what to say in reply. There seemed to be +nothing which, with propriety and natural feeling, one could say. + +“It makes me feel just fine to know I'm not going to have my dinner all +by myself,” he said to her before she left the library. + +She had a way of blushing about things he noticed, when she was shy +or moved or didn't know exactly what to say. Though she must have been +sixty, she did it as though she were sixteen. And she did it when +he said this, and looked as though suddenly she was in some sort of +trouble. + +“You are going to have dinner with me,” he said, seeing that she +hesitated--“dinner and breakfast and lunch and tea and supper and every +old thing that goes. You can't turn me down after me staking out that +claim.” + +“I'm afraid--” she said. “You see, I have lived such a secluded life. +I scarcely ever left my rooms except to take a walk. I'm sure you +understand. It would not have been necessary even if I could have +afforded it, which I really couldn't--I'm afraid I have nothing--quite +suitable--for evening wear.” + +“You haven't!” he exclaimed gleefully. “I don't know what is suitable +for evening wear, but I haven't got it either. Pearson told me so with +tears in his eyes. It never was necessary for me either. I've got to +get some things to quiet Pearson down, but until I do I've got to eat +my dinner in a tweed cutaway; and what I've caught on to is that it's +unsuitable enough to throw a man into jail. That little black dress +you've got on and that little cap are just 'way out of sight, they're so +becoming. Come down just like you are.” + +She felt a little as Pearson had felt when confronting his new +employer's entire cheerfulness in face of a situation as exotically +hopeless as the tweed cutaway, and nothing else by way of resource. But +there was something so nice about him, something which was almost as +though he was actually a gentleman, something which absolutely, if one +could go so far, stood in the place of his being a gentleman. It was +impossible to help liking him more and more at every queer speech he +made. Still, there were of course things he did not realize, and perhaps +one ought in kindness to give him a delicate hint. + +“I'm afraid,” she began quite apologetically. “I'm afraid that the +servants, Burrill and the footmen, you know, will be--will think--” + +“Say,” he took her up, “let's give Burrill and the footmen the Willies +out and out. If they can't stand it, they can write home to their +mothers and tell 'em they've got to take 'em away. Burrill and the +footmen needn't worry. They're suitable enough, and it's none of their +funeral, anyhow.” + +He wasn't upset in the least. Miss Alicia, who, as a timid dependent +either upon “poor dear papa” or Mr. Temple Barholm, had been secretly, +in her sensitive, ladylike little way, afraid of superior servants +all her life, knowing that they realized her utterly insignificant +helplessness, and resented giving her attention because she was not able +to show her appreciation of their services in the proper manner--Miss +Alicia saw that it had not occurred to him to endeavor to propitiate +them in the least, because somehow it all seemed a joke to him, and he +didn't care. After the first moment of being startled, she regarded him +with a novel feeling, almost a kind of admiration. Tentatively she dared +to wonder if there was not something even rather--rather ARISTOCRATIC in +his utter indifference. + +If he had been a duke, he would not have regarded the servants' point of +view; it wouldn't have mattered what they thought. Perhaps, she +hastily decided, he was like this because, though he was not a duke, +boot-blacking in New York notwithstanding he was a Temple Barholm. There +were few dukes as old of blood as a Temple Barholm. That must be it. She +was relieved. + +Whatsoever lay at the root of his being what he was and as he was, he +somehow changed the aspect of things for her, and without doing anything +but be himself, cleared the atmosphere of her dread of the surprise and +mental reservations of the footmen and Burrill when she came down to +dinner in her high-necked, much-cleaned, and much-repaired black silk, +and with no more distinguishing change in her toilet than a white lace +cap instead of a black one, and with “poor dear mamma's” hair bracelet +with the gold clasp on her wrist, and a weeping-willow made of “poor +dear papa's” hair in a brooch at her collar. + +It was so curious, though still “nice,” but he did not offer her his arm +when they were going into the dining-room, and he took hold of hers with +his hand and affectionately half led, half pushed, her along with him as +they went. And he himself drew back her chair for her at the end of the +table opposite his own. He did not let a footman do it, and he stood +behind it, talking in his cheerful way all the time, and he moved it to +exactly the right place, and then actually bent down and looked under +the table. + +“Here,” he said to the nearest man-servant, “where's there a footstool? +Get one, please,” in that odd, simple, almost aristocratic way. It was +not a rude dictatorial way, but a casual way, as though he knew the man +was there to do things, and he didn't expect any time to be wasted. + +And it was he himself who arranged the footstool, making it comfortable +for her, and then he went to his own chair at the head of the table +and sat down, smiling at her joyfully across the glass and silver and +flowers. + +“Push that thing in the middle on one side, Burrill,” he said. “It's too +high. I can't see Miss Alicia.” + +Burrill found it difficult to believe the evidence of his hearing. + +“The epergne, sir?” he inquired. + +“Is that what it's called, an apern? That's a new one on me. Yes, that's +what I mean. Push the apern over.” + +“Shall I remove it from the table, sir?” Burrill steeled himself to +exact civility. Of what use to behave otherwise? There always remained +the liberty to give notice if the worst came to the worst, though what +the worst might eventually prove to be it required a lurid imagination +to depict. The epergne was a beautiful thing of crystal and gold, a +celebrated work of art, regarded as an exquisite possession. It was +almost remarkable that Mr. Temple Barholm had not said, “Shove it on +one side,” but Burrill had been spared the poignant indignity of being +required to “shove.” + +“Yes, suppose you do. It's a fine enough thing when it isn't in the +way, but I've got to see you while I talk, Miss Alicia,” said Mr. Temple +Barholm. The episode of the epergne--Burrill's expression, and the +rigidly restrained mouths of Henry and James as the decoration was +removed, leaving a painfully blank space of table-cloth until Burrill +silently filled it with flowers in a low bowl--these things temporarily +flurried Miss Alicia somewhat, but the pleased smile at the head of the +table calmed even that trying moment. + +Then what a delightful meal it was, to be sure! How entertaining and +cheerful and full of interesting conversation! Miss Alicia had always +admired what she reverently termed “conversation.” She had read of the +houses of brilliant people where they had it at table, at dinner and +supper parties, and in drawing-rooms. The French, especially the French +ladies, were brilliant conversationalists. They held “salons” in which +the conversation was wonderful--Mme. de Stael and Mme. Roland, for +instance; and in England, Lady Mary Wortley Montague, Sydney Smith, and +Horace Walpole, and surely Miss Fanny Burney, and no doubt L. E. L., +whose real name was Miss Letitia Elizabeth Landon--what conversation +they must have delighted their friends with and how instructive it must +have been even to sit in the most obscure corner and listen! + +Such gifted persons seemed to have been chosen by Providence to delight +and inspire every one privileged to hear them. Such privileges had been +omitted from the scheme of Miss Alicia's existence. She did not know, +she would have felt it sacrilegious to admit it even if the fact had +dawned upon her, that “dear papa” had been a heartlessly arrogant, +utterly selfish, and tyrannical old blackguard of the most pronounced +type. He had been of an absolute morality as far as social laws were +concerned. He had written and delivered a denunciatory sermon a week, +and had made unbearable by his ministrations the suffering hours and the +last moments of his parishioners during the long years of his pastorate. +When Miss Alicia, in reading records of the helpful relationship of the +male progenitors of the Brontes, Jane Austen, Fanny Burney, and Mrs. +Browning, was frequently reminded of him, she revealed a perception of +which she was not aware. He had combined the virile qualities of all of +them. Consequently, brilliancy of conversation at table had not been the +attractive habit of the household; “poor dear papa” had confined himself +to scathing criticism of the incompetence of females who could not teach +their menials to “cook a dinner which was not a disgrace to any decent +household.” When not virulently aspersing the mutton, he was expressing +his opinion of muddle-headed weakness which would permit household bills +to mount in a manner which could only bring ruin and disaster upon a +minister of the gospel who throughout a protracted career of usefulness +had sapped his intellectual manhood in the useless effort to support in +silly idleness a family of brainless and maddening fools. Miss Alicia +had heard her character, her unsuccessful physical appearance, her mind, +and her pitiful efforts at table-talk, described in detail with a choice +of adjective and adverb which had broken into terrified fragments every +atom of courage and will with which she had been sparsely dowered. + +So, not having herself been gifted with conversational powers to begin +with, and never having enjoyed the exhibition of such powers in others, +her ideals had been high. She was not sure that Mr. Temple Barholm's +fluent and cheerful talk could be with exactness termed “conversation.” + It was perhaps not sufficiently lofty and intellectual, and did not +confine itself rigorously to one exalted subject. But how it did raise +one's spirits and open up curious vistas! And how good tempered +and humorous it was, even though sometimes the humor was a little +bewildering! During the whole dinner there never occurred even one of +those dreadful pauses in which dead silence fell, and one tried, like a +frightened hen flying from side to side of a coop, to think of something +to say which would not sound silly, but perhaps might divert attention +from dangerous topics. She had often thought it would be so interesting +to hear a Spaniard or a native Hindu talk about himself and his own +country in English. Tembarom talked about New York and its people and +atmosphere, and he did not know how foreign it all was. He described the +streets--Fifth Avenue and Broadway and Sixth Avenue--and the street-cars +and the elevated railroad, and the way “fellows” had to “hustle” “to put +it over.” He spoke of a boarding-house kept by a certain Mrs. Bowse, and +a presidential campaign, and the election of a mayor, and a quick-lunch +counter, and when President Garfield had been assassinated, and a +department store; and the electric lights, and the way he had of making +a sort of picture of everything was really instructive and, well, +fascinating. She felt as though she had been taken about the city in +one of the vehicles the conductor of which described things through a +megaphone. + +Not that Mr. Temple Barholm suggested a megaphone, whatsoever that might +be, but he merely made you feel as if you had seen things. Never had she +been so entertained and enlightened. If she had been a beautiful girl, +he could not have seemed more as though in amusing her he was also +really pleasing himself. He was so very funny sometimes that she could +not help laughing in a way which was almost unladylike, because she +could not stop, and was obliged to put her handkerchief up to her face +and wipe away actual tears of mirth. + +Fancy laughing until you cried, and the servants looking on! + +Once Burrill himself was obliged to turn hastily away, and twice she +heard him severely reprove an overpowered young footman in a rapid +undertone. + +Tembarom at least felt that the unlifting heaviness of atmosphere which +had surrounded him while enjoying the companionship of Mr. Palford was a +thing of the past. + +The thrilled interest, the surprise and delight of Miss Alicia would +have stimulated a man in a comatose condition, it seemed to him. The +little thing just loved every bit of it--she just “eat it up.” She asked +question after question, sometimes questions which would have made him +shout with laughter if he had not been afraid of hurting her feelings. +She knew as little of New York as he knew of Temple Barholm, and was, it +made him grin to see, allured by it as by some illicit fascination. She +did not know what to make of it, and sometimes she was obliged hastily +to conceal a fear that it was a sort of Sodom and Gomorrah; but she +wanted to hear more about it, and still more. + +And she brightened up until she actually did not look frightened, and +ate her dinner with an excellent appetite. + +“I really never enjoyed a dinner so much in my life,” she said when +they went into the drawing-room to have their coffee. “It was the +conversation which made it so delightful. Conversation is such a +stimulating thing!” + +She had almost decided that it was “conversation,” or at least a +wonderful substitute. + +When she said good night to him and went beaming to bed, looking forward +immensely to breakfast next morning, he watched her go up the staircase, +feeling wonderfully normal and happy. + +“Some of these nights, when she's used to me,” he said as he stuffed +tobacco into his last pipe in the library--“some of these nights I'm +darned if I sha'n't catch hold of the sweet, little old thing and hug +her in spite of myself. I sha'n't be able to help it.” He lit his pipe, +and puffed it even excitedly. “Lord!” he said, “there's some blame' fool +going about the world right now that might have married her. And he'll +never know what a break he made when he didn't.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +A fugitive fine day which had strayed into the month from the +approaching spring appeared the next morning, and Miss Alicia was +uplifted by the enrapturing suggestion that she should join her new +relative in taking a walk, in fact that it should be she who took him +to walk and showed him some of his possessions. This, it had revealed +itself to him, she could do in a special way of her own, because during +her life at Temple Barholm she had felt it her duty to “try to do a +little good” among the villagers. She and her long-dead mother and +sister had of course been working adjuncts of the vicarage, and had +numerous somewhat trying tasks to perform in the way of improving upon +“dear papa's” harrying them into attending church, chivying the mothers +into sending their children to Sunday-school, and being unsparing in +severity of any conduct which might be construed into implying lack of +appreciation of the vicar or respect for his eloquence. + +It had been necessary for them as members of the vicar's family--always, +of course, without adding a sixpence to the household bills--to supply +bowls of nourishing broth and arrowroot to invalids and to bestow the +aid and encouragement which result in a man of God's being regarded with +affection and gratitude by his parishioners. Many a man's career in the +church, “dear papa” had frequently observed, had been ruined by lack of +intelligence and effort on the part of the female members of his family. + +“No man could achieve proper results,” he had said, “if he was hampered +by the selfish influence and foolishness of his womenkind. Success in +the church depends in one sense very much upon the conduct of a man's +female relatives.” + +After the deaths of her mother and sister, Miss Alicia had toiled on +patiently, fading day by day from a slim, plain, sweet-faced girl to +a slim, even plainer and sweeter-faced middle-aged and at last elderly +woman. She had by that time read aloud by bedsides a great many chapters +in the Bible, had given a good many tracts, and bestowed as much +arrowroot, barley-water, and beef-tea as she could possibly +encompass without domestic disaster. She had given a large amount of +conscientious, if not too intelligent, advice, and had never failed to +preside over her Sunday-school class or at mothers' meetings. But +her timid unimpressiveness had not aroused enthusiasm or awakened +comprehension. “Miss Alicia,” the cottage women said, “she's well +meanin', but she's not one with a head.” “She reminds me,” one of them +had summed her up, “of a hen that lays a' egg every day, but it's too +small for a meal, and 'u'd never hatch into anythin'.” + +During her stay at Temple Barholm she had tentatively tried to do a +little “parish work,” but she had had nothing to give, and she was +always afraid that if Mr. Temple Barholm found her out, he would be +angry, because he would think she was presuming. She was aware that the +villagers knew that she was an object of charity herself, and a person +who was “a lady” and yet an object of charity was, so to speak, poaching +upon their own legitimate preserves. The rector and his wife were rather +grand people, and condescended to her greatly on the few occasions of +their accidental meetings. She was neither smart nor influential enough +to be considered as an asset. + +It was she who “conversed” during their walk, and while she trotted +by Tembarom's side looking more early-Victorian than ever in a neat, +fringed mantle and a small black bonnet of a fashion long decently +interred by a changing world, Tembarom had never seen anything +resembling it in New York; but he liked it and her increasingly at every +moment. + +It was he who made her converse. He led her on by asking her questions +and being greatly interested in every response she made. In fact, though +he was quite unaware of the situation, she was creating for him such an +atmosphere as he might have found in a book, if he had had the habit of +books. Everything she told him was new and quaint and very often rather +touching. She related anecdotes about herself and her poor little past +without knowing she was doing it. Before they had talked an hour he had +an astonishing clear idea of “poor dear papa” and “dearest Emily” and +“poor darling mama” and existence at Rowcroft Vicarage. He “caught +on to” the fact that though she was very much given to the word +“dear,”--people were “dear,” and so were things and places,--she never +even by chance slipped into saying “dear Rowcroft,” which she would +certainly have done if she had ever spent a happy moment in it. + +As she talked to him he realized that her simple accustomedness to +English village life and all its accompaniments of county surroundings +would teach him anything and everything he might want to know. Her +obscurity had been surrounded by stately magnificence, with which +she had become familiar without touching the merest outskirts of its +privileges. She knew names and customs and families and things to be +cultivated or avoided, and though she would be a little startled and +much mystified by his total ignorance of all she had breathed in since +her birth, he felt sure that she would not regard him either with +private contempt or with a lessened liking because he was a vandal pure +and simple. + +And she had such a nice, little, old polite way of saying things. When, +in passing a group of children, he failed to understand that their hasty +bobbing up and down meant that they were doing obeisance to him as lord +of the manor, she spoke with the prettiest apologetic courtesy. + +“I'm sure you won't mind touching your hat when they make their little +curtsies, or when a villager touches his forehead,” she said. + +“Good Lord! no,” he said, starting. “Ought I? I didn't know they were +doing it at me.” And he turned round and made a handsome bow and grinned +almost affectionately at the small, amazed party, first puzzling, and +then delighting, them, because he looked so extraordinarily friendly. +A gentleman who laughed at you like that ought to be equal to a +miscellaneous distribution of pennies in the future, if not on the spot. +They themselves grinned and chuckled and nudged one another, with stares +and giggles. + +“I am sorry to say that in a great many places the villagers are not +nearly so respectful as they used to be,” Miss Alicia explained. “In +Rowcroft the children were very remiss about curtseying. It's quite sad. +But Mr. Temple Barholm was very strict indeed in the matter of demanding +proper respectfulness. He has turned men off their farms for incivility. +The villagers of Temple Barholm have much better manners than some even +a few miles away.” + +“Must I tip my hat to all of them?” he asked. + +“If you please. It really seems kinder. You--you needn't quite lift it, +as you did to the children just now. If you just touch the brim lightly +with your hand in a sort of military salute--that is what they are +accustomed to.” + +After they had passed through the village street she paused at the end +of a short lane and looked up at him doubtfully. + +“Would you--I wonder if you would like to go into a cottage,” she said. + +“Go into a cottage?” he asked. “What cottage? What for?” + +He had not the remotest idea of any reason why he should go into a +cottage inhabited by people who were entire strangers to him, and Miss +Alicia felt a trifle awkward at having to explain anything so wholly +natural. + +“You see, they are your cottages, and the people are your tenants, +and--” + +“But perhaps they mightn't like it. It might make 'em mad,” he argued. +“If their water-pipes had busted, and they'd asked me to come and look +at them or anything; but they don't know me yet. They might think I was +Mr. Buttinski.” + +“I don't quite--” she began. “Buttinski is a foreign name; it sounds +Russian or Polish. I'm afraid I don't quite understand why they should +mistake you for him.” + +Then he laughed--a boyish shout of laughter which brought a cottager +to the nearest window to peep over the pots of fuchsias and geraniums +blooming profusely against the diamond panes. + +“Say,” he apologized, “don't be mad because I laughed. I'm laughing +at myself as much as at anything. It's a way of saying that they might +think I was 'butting in' too much--pushing in where I wasn't asked. See? +I said they might think I was Mr. Butt-in-ski! It's just a bit of fool +slang. You're not mad, are you?” + +“Oh, no!” she said. “Dear me! no. It is very funny, of course. I'm +afraid I'm extremely ignorant about--about foreign humor” It seemed more +delicate to say “foreign” than merely “American.” But her gentle little +countenance for a few seconds wore a baffled expression, and she said +softly to herself, “Mr. Buttinski, Butt-in--to intrude. It sounds quite +Polish; I think even more Polish than Russian.” + +He was afraid he would yell with glee, but he did not. Herculean +effort enabled him to restrain his feelings, and present to her only an +ordinary-sized smile. + +“I shouldn't know one from the other,” he said; “but if you say it +sounds more Polish, I bet it does.” + +“Would you like to go into a cottage?” she inquired. “I think it might +be as well. They will like the attention.” + +“Will they? Of course I'll go if you think that. What shall I say?” he +asked somewhat anxiously. + +“If you think the cottage looks clean, you might tell them so, and ask a +few questions about things. And you must be sure to inquire about Susan +Hibblethwaite's legs.” + +“What?” ejaculated Tembarom. + +“Susan Hibblethwaite's legs,” she replied in mild explanation. “Susan is +Mr. Hibblethwaite's unmarried sister, and she has very bad legs. It is a +thing one notices continually among village people, more especially the +women, that they complain of what they call `bad legs.' I never quite +know what they mean, whether it is rheumatism or something different, +but the trouble is always spoken of as `bad legs' And they like you to +inquire about them, so that they can tell you their symptoms.” + +“Why don't they get them cured?” + +“I don't know, I'm sure. They take a good deal of medicine when they can +afford it. I think they like to take it. They're very pleased when the +doctor gives them `a bottle o' summat,' as they call it. Oh, I mustn't +forget to tell you that most of them speak rather broad Lancashire.” + +“Shall I understand them?” Tembarom asked, anxious again. “Is it a sort +of Dago talk?” + +“It is the English the working-classes speak in Lancashire. 'Summat' +means 'something.' 'Whoam' means 'home.' But I should think you would be +very clever at understanding things.” + +“I'm scared stiff,” said Tembarom, not in the least uncourageously; “but +I want to go into a cottage and hear some of it. Which one shall we go +into?” + +There were several whitewashed cottages in the lane, each in its own +bit of garden and behind its own hawthorn hedge, now bare and wholly +unsuggestive of white blossoms and almond scent to the uninitiated. Miss +Alicia hesitated a moment. + +“We will go into this one, where the Hibblethwaites live,” she decided. +“They are quite clean, civil people. They have a naughty, queer, little +crippled boy, but I suppose they can't keep him in order because he is +an invalid. He's rather rude, I'm sorry to say, but he's rather sharp +and clever, too. He seems to lie on his sofa and collect all the gossip +of the village.” + +They went together up the bricked path, and Miss Alicia knocked at +the low door with her knuckles. A stout, apple-faced woman opened it, +looking a shade nervous. + +“Good morning, Mrs. Hibblethwaite,” said Miss Alicia in a kind but +remote manner. “The new Mr. Temple Barholm has been kind enough to come +to see you. It's very good of him to come so soon, isn't it?” + +“It is that,” Mrs. Hibblethwaite answered respectfully, looking him +over. “Wilt tha coom in, sir?” + +Tembarom accepted the invitation, feeling extremely awkward because Miss +Alicia's initiatory comment upon his goodness in showing himself had +“rattled” him. It had made him feel that he must appear condescending, +and he had never condescended to any one in the whole course of his +existence. He had, indeed, not even been condescended to. He had met +with slanging and bullying, indifference and brutality of manner, but he +had not met with condescension. + +“I hope you're well, Mrs. Hibblethwaite,” he answered. “You look it.” + +“I deceive ma looks a good bit, sir,” she answered. “Mony a day ma legs +is nigh as bad as Susan's.” + +“Tha 'rt jealous o' Susan's legs,” barked out a sharp voice from a +corner by the fire. + +The room had a flagged floor, clean with recent scrubbing with +sandstone; the whitewashed walls were decorated with pictures cut +from illustrated papers; there was a big fireplace, and by it was a +hard-looking sofa covered with blue-and-white checked cotton stuff. A +boy of about ten was lying on it, propped up with a pillow. He had a big +head and a keen, ferret-eyed face, and just now was looking round the +end of his sofa at the visitors. “Howd tha tongue, Tummas!” said his +mother. “I wunnot howd it,” Tummas answered. “Ma tongue's th' on'y thing +about me as works right, an' I'm noan goin' to stop it.” + +“He's a young nowt,” his mother explained; “but, he's a cripple, an' we +conna do owt wi' him.” + +“Do not be rude, Thomas,” said Miss Alicia, with dignity. + +“Dunnot be rude thysen,” replied Tummas. “I'm noan o' thy lad.” + +Tembarom walked over to the sofa. + +“Say,” he began with jocular intent, “you've got a grouch on, ain't +you?” + +Tummas turned on him eyes which bored. An analytical observer or a +painter might have seen that he had a burning curiousness of look, a +sort of investigatory fever of expression. + +“I dunnot know what tha means,” he said. “Happen tha'rt talkin' +'Merican?” + +“That's just what it is,” admitted Tembarom. “What are you talking?” + +“Lancashire,” said Tummas. “Theer's some sense i' that.” + +Tembarom sat down near him. The boy turned over against his pillow and +put his chin in the hollow of his palm and stared. + +“I've wanted to see thee,” he remarked. “I've made mother an' Aunt Susan +an' feyther tell me every bit they've heared about thee in the village. +Theer was a lot of it. Tha coom fro' 'Meriker?” + +“Yes.” Tembarom began vaguely to feel the demand in the burning +curiosity. + +“Gi' me that theer book,” the boy said, pointing to a small table heaped +with a miscellaneous jumble of things and standing not far from him. +“It's a' atlas,” he added as Tembarom gave it to him. “Yo' con find +places in it.” He turned the leaves until he found a map of the world. +“Theer's 'Meriker,” he said, pointing to the United States. “That +theer's north and that theer's south. All th' real 'Merikens comes from +the North, wheer New York is.” + +“I come from New York,” said Tembarom. + +“Tha wert born i' th' workhouse, tha run about th' streets i' rags, tha +pretty nigh clemmed to death, tha blacked boots, tha sold newspapers, +tha feyther was a common workin'-mon--and now tha's coom into Temple +Barholm an' sixty thousand a year.” + +“The last part's true all right,” Tembarom owned, “but there's some +mistakes in the first part. I wasn't born in the workhouse, and though +I've been hungry enough, I never starved to death--if that's what +`clemmed' means.” + +Tummas looked at once disappointed and somewhat incredulous. + +“That's th' road they tell it i' th' village,” he argued. + +“Well, let them tell it that way if they like it best. That's not going +to worry me,” Tembarom replied uncombatively. + +Tummas's eyes bored deeper into him. + +“Does na tha care?” he demanded. + +“What should I care for? Let every fellow enjoy himself his own way.” + +“Tha'rt not a bit like one o' th' gentry,” said Tummas. “Tha'rt quite a +common chap. Tha'rt as common as me, for aw tha foine clothes.” + +“People are common enough, anyhow,” said Tembarom. “There's nothing much +commoner, is there? There's millions of 'em everywhere--billions of 'em. +None of us need put on airs.” + +“Tha'rt as common as me,” said Tummas, reflectively. “An' yet tha +owns Temple Barholm an' aw that brass. I conna mak' out how th' loike +happens.” + +“Neither can I; but it does all samee.” + +“It does na happen i' 'Meriker,” exulted Tummas. “Everybody's equal +theer.” + +“Rats!” ejaculated Tembarom. “What about multimillionaires?” + +He forgot that the age of Tummas was ten. It was impossible not to +forget it. He was, in fact, ten hundred, if those of his generation had +been aware of the truth. But there he sat, having spent only a decade +of his most recent incarnation in a whitewashed cottage, deprived of the +use of his legs. + +Miss Alicia, seeing that Tembarom was interested in the boy, entered +into domestic conversation with Mrs. Hibblethwaite at the other side +of the room. Mrs. Hibblethwaite was soon explaining the uncertainty +of Susan's temper on wash-days, when it was necessary to depend on her +legs. + +“Can't you walk at all?” Tembarom asked. Tummas shook his head. “How +long have you been lame?” + +“Ever since I wur born. It's summat like rickets. I've been lyin' here +aw my days. I look on at foak an' think 'em over. I've got to do summat. +That's why I loike th' atlas. Little Ann Hutchinson gave it to me onct +when she come to see her grandmother.” + +Tembarom sat upright. + +“Do you know her?” he exclaimed. + +“I know her best o' onybody in th' world. An' I loike her best.” + +“So do I,” rashly admitted Tembarom. + +“Tha does?” Tummas asked suspiciously. “Does she loike thee?” + +“She says she does.” He tried to say it with proper modesty. + +“Well, if she says she does, she does. An' if she does, then yo an' +me'll be friends.” He stopped a moment, and seemed to be taking Tembarom +in with thoroughness. “I could get a lot out o' thee,” he said after the +inspection. + +“A lot of what?” Tembarom felt as though he would really like to hear. + +“A lot o' things I want to know about. I wish I'd lived th' life tha's +lived, clemmin' or no clemmin'. Tha's seen things goin' on every day o' +thy loife.” + +“Well, yes, there's been plenty going on, plenty,” Tembarom admitted. + +“I've been lying here for ten year',” said Tummas, savagely. “An' I've +had nowt i' th' world to do an' nowt to think on but what I could mak' +foak tell me about th' village. But nowt happens but this chap gettin' +drunk an' that chap deein' or losin' his place, or wenches gettin' +married or havin' childer. I know everything that happens, but it's nowt +but a lot o' women clackin'. If I'd not been a cripple, I'd ha' been +at work for mony a year by now, 'arnin' money to save by an' go to +'Meriker.” + +“You seem to be sort of stuck on America. How's that?” + +“What dost mean?” + +“I mean you seem to like it.” + +“I dunnot loike it nor yet not loike it, but I've heard a bit more about +it than I have about th' other places on th' map. Foak goes there to +seek their fortune, an' it seems loike there's a good bit doin'.” + +“Do you like to read newspapers?” said Tembarom, inspired to his query +by a recollection of the vision of things “doin'” in the Sunday Earth. + +“Wheer'd I get papers from?” the boy asked testily. “Foak like us hasn't +got th' brass for 'em.” + +“I'll bring you some New York papers,” promised Tembarom, grinning a +little in anticipation. “And we'll talk about the news that's in them. +The Sunday Earth is full of pictures. I used to work on that paper +myself.” + +“Tha did?” Tummas cried excitedly. “Did tha help to print it, or was it +th' one tha sold i' th' streets?” + +“I wrote some of the stuff in it.” + +“Wrote some of th' stuff in it? Wrote it thaself? How could tha, a +common chap like thee?” he asked, more excited still, his ferret eyes +snapping. + +“I don't know how I did it,” Tembarom answered, with increased cheer and +interest in the situation. “It wasn't high-brow sort of work.” + +Tummas leaned forward in his incredulous eagerness. + +“Does tha mean that they paid thee for writin' it--paid thee?” + +“I guess they wouldn't have done it if they'd been Lancashire,” Tembarom +answered. “But they hadn't much more sense than I had. They paid me +twenty-five dollars a week--that's five pounds.” + +“I dunnot believe thee,” said Tummas, and leaned back on his pillow +short of breath. + +“I didn't believe it myself till I'd paid my board two weeks and bought +a suit of clothes with it,” was Tembarom's answer, and he chuckled as he +made it. + +But Tummas did believe it. This, after he had recovered from the shock, +became evident. The curiosity in his face intensified itself; his +eagerness was even vaguely tinged with something remotely resembling +respect. It was not, however, respect for the money which had been +earned, but for the store of things “doin'” which must have been +required. It was impossible that this chap knew things undreamed of. + +“Has tha ever been to th' Klondike?” he asked after a long pause. + +“No. I've never been out of New York.” + +Tummas seemed fretted and depressed. + +“Eh, I'm sorry for that. I wished tha'd been to th' Klondike. I want to +be towd about it,” he sighed. He pulled the atlas toward him and found a +place in it. + +“That theer's Dawson,” he announced. Tembarom saw that the region of +the Klondike had been much studied. It was even rather faded with the +frequent passage of searching fingers, as though it had been pored over +with special curiosity. + +“There's gowd-moines theer,” revealed Tummas. “An' theer's welly newt +else but snow an' ice. A young chap as set out fro' here to get theer +froze to death on th' way.” + +“How did you get to hear about it?” + +“Ann she browt me a paper onet.” He dug under his pillow, and brought +out a piece of newspaper, worn and frayed and cut with age and usage. +“This heer's what's left of it.” Tembarom saw that it was a fragment +from an old American sheet and that a column was headed “The Rush for +the Klondike.” + +“Why didna tha go theer?” demanded Tummas. He looked up from his +fragment and asked his question with a sudden reflectiveness, as though +a new and interesting aspect of things had presented itself to him. + +“I had too much to do in New York,” said Tembarom. “There's always +something doing in New York, you know.” + +Tummas silently regarded him a moment or so. + +“It's a pity tha didn't go,” he said. “Happen tha'd never ha' coom +back.” + +Tembarom laughed the outright laugh. + +“Thank you,” he answered. + +Tummas was still thinking the matter over and was not disturbed. + +“I was na thinkin' o' thee,” he said in an impersonal tone. “I was +thinkin' o' t' other chap. If tha'd gon i'stead o' him, he'd ha' been +here i'stead o' thee. Eh, but it's funny.” And he drew a deep breath +like a sigh having its birth in profundity of baffled thought. + +Both he and his evident point of view were “funny” in the Lancashire +sense, which does not imply humor, but strangeness and the +unexplainable. Singular as the phrasing was, Tembarom knew what he +meant, and that he was thinking of the oddity of chance. Tummas had +obviously heard of “poor Jem” and had felt an interest in him. + +“You're talking about Jem Temple Barholm I guess,” he said. Perhaps the +interest he himself had felt in the tragic story gave his voice a tone +somewhat responsive to Tummas's own mood, for Tummas, after one more +boring glance, let himself go. His interest in this special subject +was, it revealed itself, a sort of obsession. The history of Jem Temple +Barholm had been the one drama of his short life. + +“Aye, I was thinkin' o' him,” he said. “I should na ha' cared for th' +Klondike so much but for him.” + +“But he went away from England when you were a baby.” + +“Th' last toime he coom to Temple Barholm wur when I wur just born. Foak +said he coom to ax owd Temple Barholm if he'd help him to pay his debts, +an' th' owd chap awmost kicked him out o' doors. Mother had just had me, +an' she was weak an' poorly an' sittin' at th' door wi' me in her arms, +an' he passed by an' saw her. He stopped an' axed her how she was doin'. +An' when he was goin' away, he gave her a gold sovereign, an' he says, +`Put it in th' savin's-bank for him, an' keep it theer till he's a big +lad an' wants it.' It's been in th' savin's-bank ever sin'. I've got +a whole pound o' ma own out at interest. There's not many lads ha' got +that.” + +“He must have been a good-natured fellow,” commented Tembarom. “It was +darned bad luck him going to the Klondike.” + +“It was good luck for thee,” said Tummas, with resentment. + +“Was it?” was Tembarom's unbiased reply. “Well, I guess it was, one way +or the other. I'm not kicking, anyhow.” + +Tummas naturally did not know half he meant. He went on talking about +Jem Temple Barholm, and as he talked his cheeks flushed and his eyes +lighted. + +“I would na spend that sovereign if I was starvin'. I'm going to leave +it to Ann Hutchinson in ma will when I dee. I've axed questions about +him reet and left ever sin' I can remember, but theer's nobody knows +much. Mother says he was fine an' handsome, an' gentry through an' +through. If he'd coom into th' property, he'd ha' coom to see me +again I'll lay a shillin', because I'm a cripple an' I canna spend his +sovereign. If he'd coom back from th' Klondike, happen he'd ha' towd me +about it.” He pulled the atlas toward him, and laid his thin finger +on the rubbed spot. “He mun ha' been killed somewheer about here,” he +sighed. “Somewheer here. Eh, it's funny.” + +Tembarom watched him. There was something that rather gave you the +“Willies” in the way this little cripple seemed to have taken to the +dead man and worried along all these years thinking him over and asking +questions and studying up the Klondike because he was killed there. It +was because he'd made a kind of story of it. He'd enjoyed it in the way +people enjoy stories in a newspaper. You always had to give 'em a kind +of story; you had to make a story even if you were telling about a +milk-wagon running away. In newspaper offices you heard that was the +secret of making good with what you wrote. Dish it up as if it was a +sort of story. + +He not infrequently arrived at astute enough conclusions concerning +things. He had arrived at one now. Shut out even from the tame drama +of village life, Tummas, born with an abnormal desire for action and a +feverish curiosity, had hungered and thirsted for the story in any +form whatsoever. He caught at fragments of happenings, and colored and +dissected them for the satisfying of unfed cravings. The vanished man +had been the one touch of pictorial form and color in his ten years of +existence. Young and handsome and of the gentry, unfavored by the owner +of the wealth which some day would be his own possession, stopping +“gentry-way” at a cottage door to speak good-naturedly to a pale young +mother, handing over the magnificence of a whole sovereign to be saved +for a new-born child, going away to vaguely understood disgrace, leaving +his own country to hide himself in distant lands, meeting death amid +snow and ice and surrounded by gold-mines, leaving his empty place to be +filled by a boot-black newsboy--true there was enough to lie and think +over and to try to follow with the help of maps and excited questions. + +“I wish I could ha' seen him,” said Tummas. “I'd awmost gi' my sovereign +to get a look at that picture in th' gallery at Temple Barholm.” + +“What picture?” Tembarom asked. “Is there a picture of him there?” + +“There is na one o' him, but there's one o' a lad as deed two hundred +year' ago as they say wur th' spit an' image on him when he wur a lad +hissen. One o' th' owd servants towd mother it wur theer.” + +This was a natural stimulus to interest and curiosity. + +“Which one is it? Jinks! I'd like to see it myself. Do you know which +one it is? There's hundreds of them.” + +“No, I dunnot know,” was Tummas's dispirited answer, “an' neither does +mother. Th' woman as knew left when owd Temple Barholm deed.” + +“Tummas,” broke in Mrs. Hibblethwaite from the other end of the room, +to which she had returned after taking Miss Alicia out to complain about +the copper in the “wash-'us'--” “Tummas, tha'st been talkin' like a +magpie. Tha'rt a lot too bold an' ready wi' tha tongue. Th' gentry's +noan comin' to see thee if tha clacks th' heads off theer showthers.” + +“I'm afraid he always does talk more than is good for him,” said Miss +Alicia. “He looks quite feverish.” + +“He has been talking to me about Jem Temple Barholm,” explained +Tembarom. “We've had a regular chin together. He thinks a heap of poor +Jem.” + +Miss Alicia looked startled, and Mrs. Hibblethwaite was plainly +flustered tremendously. She quite lost her temper. + +“Eh,” she exclaimed, “tha wants tha young yed knocked off, Tummas +Hibblethwaite. He's fair daft about th' young gentleman as--as was +killed. He axes questions mony a day till I'd give him th' stick if he +wasna a cripple. He moithers me to death.” + +“I'll bring you some of those New York papers to look at,” Tembarom said +to the boy as he went away. + +He walked back through the village to Temple Barholm, holding Miss +Alicia's elbow in light, affectionate guidance and support, a little to +her embarrassment and also a little to her delight. Until he had taken +her into the dining-room the night before she had never seen such a +thing done. There was no over-familiarity in the action. It merely +seemed somehow to suggest liking and a wish to take care of her. + +“That little fellow in the village,” he said after a silence in which it +occurred to her that he seemed thoughtful, “what a little freak he is! +He's got an idea that there's a picture in the gallery that's said to +look like Jem Temple Barholm when he was a boy. Have you ever heard +anything about it? He says a servant told his mother it was there.” + +“Yes, there is one,” Miss Alicia answered. “I sometimes go and look at +it. But it makes me feel very sad. It is the handsome boy who was a page +in the court of Charles II. He died in his teens. His name was Miles +Hugo Charles James. Jem could see the likeness himself. Sometimes for a +little joke I used to call him Miles Hugo.” + +“I believe I remember him,” said Tembarom. “I believe I asked Palford +his name. I must go and have a look at him again. He hadn't much better +luck than the fellow that looked like him, dying as young as that.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +Form, color, drama, and divers other advantages are necessary to the +creation of an object of interest. Presenting to the world none of these +assets, Miss Alicia had slipped through life a scarcely remarked unit. +No little ghost of prettiness had attracted the wandering eye, no +suggestion of agreeable or disagreeable power of self-assertion had +arrested attention. There had been no hour in her life when she had +expected to count as being of the slightest consequence. When she had +knocked at the door of the study at Rowcroft Vicarage, and “dear papa” + had exclaimed irritably: “Who is that? Who is that?” she had always +replied, “It is only Alicia.” + +This being the case, her gradual awakening to the singularity of her new +situation was mentally a process full of doubts and sometimes of alarmed +bewilderments. If in her girlhood a curate, even a curate with prominent +eyes and a receding chin, had proposed to her that she should face with +him a future enriched by the prospect of being called upon to bring up +a probable family of twelve on one hundred and fifty pounds a year, with +both parish and rectory barking and snapping at her worn-down heels, she +would have been sure to assert tenderly that she was afraid she was “not +worthy.” This was the natural habit of her mind, and in the weeks which +followed the foggy afternoon when Tembarom “staked out his claim” she +dwelt often upon her unworthiness of the benefits bestowed upon her. + +First the world below-stairs, then the village, and then the county +itself awoke to the fact that the new Temple Temple Barholm had “taken +her up.” The first tendency of the world below-stairs was to resent the +unwarranted uplifting of a person whom there had been a certain luxury +in regarding with disdain and treating with scarcely veiled lack of +consideration. To be able to do this with a person who, after all was +said and done, was not one of the servant class, but a sort of lady of +birth, was not unstimulating. And below-stairs the sense of personal +rancor against “a 'anger-on” is strong. The meals served in Miss +Alicia's remote sitting-room had been served at leisure, her tea had +rarely been hot, and her modestly tinkled bell irregularly answered. +Often her far from liberally supplied fire had gone out on chilly days, +and she had been afraid to insist on its being relighted. Her sole +defense against inattention would have been to complain to Mr. Temple +Barholm, and when on one occasion a too obvious neglect had obliged her +to gather her quaking being together in mere self-respect and say, “If +this continues to occur, William, I shall be obliged to speak to Mr. +Temple Barholm,” William had so looked at her and so ill hid a secret +smile that it had been almost tantamount to his saying, “I'd jolly well +like to see you.” + +And now! Sitting at the end of the table opposite him, if you please! +Walking here and walking there with him! Sitting in the library or +wherever he was, with him talking and laughing and making as much of her +as though she were an aunt with a fortune to leave, and with her making +as free in talk as though at liberty to say anything that came into her +head! Well, the beggar that had found himself on horseback was setting +another one galloping alongside of him. In the midst of this natural +resentment it was “a bit upsetting,” as Burrill said, to find it dawning +upon one that absolute exactness of ceremony was as much to be required +for “her” as for “him.” Miss Alicia had long felt secretly sure that +she was spoken of as “her” in the servants' hall. That businesslike +sharpness which Palford had observed in his client aided Tembarom always +to see things without illusions. He knew that There was no particular +reason why his army of servants should regard him for the present as +much more than an intruder; but he also knew that if men and women had +employment which was not made hard for them, and were well paid for +doing, they were not anxious to lose it, and the man who paid their +wages might give orders with some certainty of finding them obeyed. He +was “sharp” in more ways than one. He observed shades he might have been +expected to overlook. He observed a certain shade in the demeanor of the +domestics when attending Miss Alicia, and it was a shade which marked +a difference between service done for her and service done for himself. +This was only at the outset, of course, when the secret resentment was +felt; but he observed it, mere shade though it was. + +He walked out into the hall after Burrill one morning. Not having yet +adjusted himself to the rule that when one wished to speak to a man one +rang a bell and called him back, fifty times if necessary, he walked +after Burrill and stopped him. + +“This is a pretty good place for servants, ain't it?” he said. + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Good pay, good food, not too much to do?” + +“Certainly, sir,” Burrill replied, somewhat disturbed by a casualness +which yet suggested a method of getting at something or other. + +“You and the rest of them don't want to change, do you?” + +“No, sir. There is no complaint whatever as far as I have heard.” + +“That's all right.” Mr. Temple Barholm had put his hands into his +pockets, and stood looking non-committal in a steady sort of way. +“There's something I want the lot of you to get on to--right away. Miss +Temple Barholm is going to stay here. She's got to have everything just +as she wants it. She's got to be pleased. She's the lady of the house. +See?” + +“I hope, sir,” Burrill said with professional dignity, “that Miss Temple +Barholm has not had reason to express any dissatisfaction.” + +“I'm the one that would express it--quick,” said Tembarom. “She wouldn't +have time to get in first. I just wanted to make sure I shouldn't have +to do it. The other fellows are under you. You've got a head on your +shoulders, I guess. It's up to you to put 'em on to it. That's all.” + +“Thank you, sir,” said Burrill. + +His master went back into the library smiling genially, and Burrill +stood still a moment or so gazing at the door he closed behind him. + +Be sure the village, and finally circles not made up of cottagers, heard +of this, howsoever mysteriously. Miss Alicia was not aware that the +incident had occurred. She could not help observing, however, that the +manners of the servants of the household curiously improved; also, when +she passed through the village, that foreheads were touched without +omission and the curtseys of playing children were prompt. When she +dropped into a cottage, housewives polished off the seats of chairs +vigorously before offering them, and symptoms and needs were explained +with a respectful fluency which at times almost suggested that she might +be relied on to use influence. + +“I'm afraid I have done the village people injustice,” she said +leniently to Tembarom. “I used to think them so disrespectful and +unappreciative. I dare say it was because I was so troubled myself. I'm +afraid one's own troubles do sometimes make one unfair.” + +“Well, yours are over,” said Tembarom. “And so are mine as long as you +stay by me.” + +Never had Miss Alicia been to London. She had remained, as was +demanded of her by her duty to dear papa, at Rowcroft, which was in +Somersetshire. She had only dreamed of London, and had had fifty-five +years of dreaming. She had read of great functions, and seen pictures +of some of them in the illustrated papers. She had loyally endeavored +to follow at a distance the doings of her Majesty,--she always spoke +of Queen Victoria reverentially as “her Majesty,”--she rejoiced when +a prince or a princess was born or christened or married, and believed +that a “drawing-room” was the most awe-inspiring, brilliant, and +important function in the civilized world, scarcely second to +Parliament. London--no one but herself or an elderly gentlewoman of her +type could have told any one the nature of her thoughts of London. + +Let, therefore, those of vivid imagination make an effort to depict +to themselves the effect produced upon her mind by Tembarom's casually +suggesting at breakfast one morning that he thought it might be rather +a good “stunt” for them to run up to London. By mere good fortune she +escaped dropping the egg she had just taken from the egg-stand. + +“London!” she said. “Oh!” + +“Pearson thinks it would be a first-rate idea,” he explained. “I guess +he thinks that if he can get me into the swell clothing stores he can +fix me up as I ought to be fixed, if I'm not going to disgrace him. I +should hate to disgrace Pearson. Then he can see his girl, too, and I +want him to see his girl.” + +“Is--Pearson--engaged?” she asked; but the thought which was repeating +itself aloud to her was “London! London!” + +“He calls it 'keeping company,' or 'walking out,'” Tembarom answered. +“She's a nice girl, and he's dead stuck on her. Will you go with me, +Miss Alicia?” + +“Dear Mr. Temple Barholm,” she fluttered, “to visit London would be a +privilege I never dreamed it would be my great fortune to enjoy--never.” + +“Good business!” he ejaculated delightedly. “That's luck for me. It gave +me the blues--what I saw of it. But if you are with me, I'll bet it'll +be as different as afternoon tea was after I got hold of you. When shall +we start? To-morrow?” + +Her sixteen-year-old blush repeated itself. + +“I feel so sorry. It seems almost undignified to mention it, but--I +fear I should not look smart enough for London. My wardrobe is so very +limited. I mustn't,” she added with a sweet effort at humor, “do the new +Mr. Temple Barholm discredit by looking unfashionable.” + +He was more delighted than before. + +“Say,” he broke out, “I'll tell you what we'll do: we'll go together and +buy everything 'suitable' in sight. The pair of us'll come back here as +suitable as Burrill and Pearson. We'll paint the town red.” + +He actually meant it. He was like a boy with a new game. His sense of +the dreariness of London had disappeared. He knew what it would be like +with Miss Alicia as a companion. He had really seen nothing of the place +himself, and he would find out every darned thing worth looking at, and +take her to see it--theaters, shops, every show in town. When they left +the breakfast-table it was agreed upon that they would make the journey +the following day. + +He did not openly refer to the fact that among the plans for their round +of festivities he had laid out for himself the attending to one or +two practical points. He was going to see Palford, and he had made an +appointment with a celebrated nerve specialist. He did not discuss this +for several reasons. One of them was that his summing up of Miss Alicia +was that she had had trouble enough to think over all her little life, +and the thing for a fellow to do for her, if he liked her, was to +give her a good time and make her feel as if she was at a picnic right +straight along--not let her even hear of a darned thing that might worry +her. He had said comparatively little to her about Strangeways. His +first mention of his condition had obviously made her somewhat nervous, +though she had been full of kindly interest. She was in private not +sorry that it was felt better that she should not disturb the patient +by a visit to his room. The abnormality of his condition seemed just +slightly alarming to her. + +“But, oh, how good, how charitable, you are!” she had murmured. + +“Good,” he answered, the devout admiration of her tone rather puzzling +him. “It ain't that. I just want to see the thing through. I dropped +into it by accident, and then I dropped into this by accident, and that +made it as easy as falling off a log. I believe he's going to get well +sometime. I guess I kind of like him because he holds on to me so and +believes I'm just It. Maybe it's because I'm stuck on myself.” + +His visit to Strangeways was longer than usual that afternoon. He +explained the situation to him so that he understood it sufficiently not +to seem alarmed by it. This was one of the advances Tembarom had noticed +recently, that he was less easily terrified, and seemed occasionally +to see facts in their proper relation to one another. Sometimes the +experiments tried on him were successful, sometimes they were not, but +he never resented them. + +“You are trying to help me to remember,” he said once. “I think you will +sometime.” + +“Sure I will,” said Tembarom. “You're better every day.” + +Pearson was to remain in charge of him until toward the end of the +London visit. Then he was to run up for a couple of days, leaving in his +place a young footman to whom the invalid had become accustomed. + +The visit to London was to Miss Alicia a period of enraptured delirium. +The beautiful hotel in which she was established, the afternoons at the +Tower, the National Gallery, the British Museum, the evenings at the +play, during which one saw the most brilliant and distinguished actors, +the mornings in the shops, attended as though one were a person of +fortune, what could be said of them? And the sacred day on which she +saw her Majesty drive slowly by, glittering helmets, splendid uniforms, +waving plumes, and clanking swords accompanying and guarding her, and +gentlemen standing still with their hats off, and everybody looking +after her with that natural touch of awe which royalty properly +inspires! Miss Alicia's heart beat rapidly in her breast, and she +involuntarily made a curtsey as the great lady in mourning drove by. She +lost no shade of any flavor of ecstatic pleasure in anything, and was to +Tembarom, who knew nothing about shades and flavors, indeed a touching +and endearing thing. + +He had never got so much out of anything. If Ann had just been there, +well, that would have been the limit. Ann was on her way to America now, +and she wouldn't write to him or let him write to her. He had to make a +fair trial of it. He could find out only in that way, she said. It +was not to be denied that the youth and longing in him gave him some +half-hours to face which made him shut himself up in his room and stare +hard at the wall, folding his arms tightly as he tilted his chair. + +There arrived a day when one of the most exalted shops in Bond Street +was invaded by an American young man of a bearing the peculiarities of +which were subtly combined with a remotely suggested air of knowing that +if he could find what he wanted, there was no doubt as to his power to +get it. What he wanted was not usual, and was explained with a frankness +which might have seemed unsophisticated, but, singularly, did not. He +wanted to have a private talk with some feminine power in charge, and +she must be some one who knew exactly what ladies ought to have. + +Being shown into a room, such a feminine power was brought to him and +placed at his service. She was a middle-aged person, wearing beautifully +fitted garments and having an observant eye and a dignified suavity of +manner. She looked the young American over with a swift inclusion of +all possibilities. He was by this time wearing extremely well-fitting +garments himself, but she was at once aware that his tailored perfection +was a new thing to him. + +He went to his point without apologetic explanation. + +“You know all the things any kind of a lady ought to have,” he +said--“all the things that would make any one feel comfortable and as if +they'd got plenty? Useful things as well as ornamental ones?” + +“Yes, sir,” she replied, with rising interest. “I have been in the +establishment thirty years.” + +“Good business,” Tembarom replied. Already he felt relieved. “I've got +a relation, a little old lady, and I want her to fix herself out just +as she ought to be fixed. Now, what I'm afraid of is that she won't get +everything she ought to unless I manage it for her somehow beforehand. +She's got into a habit of--well, economizing. Now the time's past for +that, and I want her to get everything a woman like you would know she +really wants, so that she could look her best, living in a big country +house, with a relation that thinks a lot of her.” + +He paused a second or so, and then went further, fixing a clear and +astonishingly shrewd eye upon the head of the department listening to +him. + +“I found out this was a high-class place,” he explained. “I made sure of +that before I came in. In a place that was second or third class there +might be people who'd think they'd caught a 'sucker' that would take +anything that was unloaded on to him, because he didn't know. The things +are for Miss Temple Barholm, and she DOES know. I shall ask her to come +here herself to-morrow morning, and I want you to take care of her, and +show her the best you've got that's suitable.” He seemed to like the +word; he repeated it--“Suitable,” and quickly restrained a sudden, +unexplainable, wide smile. + +The attending lady's name was Mrs. Mellish. Thirty years' experience +had taught her many lessons. She was a hard woman and a sharp one, but +beneath her sharp hardness lay a suppressed sense of the perfect in +taste. To have a customer with unchecked resources put into her hands to +do her best by was an inspiring incident. A quiver of enlightenment had +crossed her countenance when she had heard the name of Temple Barholm. +She had a newspaper knowledge of the odd Temple Barholm story. This +was the next of kin who had blacked boots in New York, and the obvious +probability that he was a fool, if it had taken the form of a hope, had +been promptly nipped in the bud. The type from which he was furthest +removed was that of the fortune-intoxicated young man who could be +obsequiously flattered into buying anything which cost money enough. + +“Not a thing's to be unloaded on her that she doesn't like,” he added, +“and she's not a girl that goes to pink teas. She's a--a--lady--and not +young--and used to quiet ways.” + +The evidently New York word “unload” revealed him to his hearer as by a +flash, though she had never heard it before. + +“We have exactly the things which will be suitable, sir,” she said. “I +think I quite understand.” Tembarom smiled again, and, thanking her, +went away still smiling, because he knew Miss Alicia was safe. + +There were of course difficulties in the way of persuading Miss Alicia +that her duty lay in the direction of spending mornings in the most +sumptuous of Bond Street shops, ordering for herself an entire wardrobe +on a basis of unlimited resources. Tembarom was called upon to employ +the most adroitly subtle reasoning, entirely founded on his “claim” and +her affectionate willingness to give him pleasure. + +He really made love to her in the way a joyful young fellow can make +love to his mother or his nicest aunt. He made her feel that she counted +for so much in his scheme of enjoyment that to do as he asked would be +to add a glow to it. + +“And they won't spoil you,” he said. “The Mellish woman that's the boss +has promised that. I wouldn't have you spoiled for a farm,” he added +heartily. + +And he spoke the truth. If he had been told that he was cherishing her +type as though it were a priceless bit of old Saxe, he would have stared +blankly and made a jocular remark. But it was exactly this which he +actually clung to and adored. He even had a second private interview +with Mrs. Mellish, and asked her to “keep her as much like she was” as +was possible. + +Stimulated by the suppressed touch of artistic fervor, Mrs. Mellish +guessed at something even before her client arrived; but the moment she +entered the showroom all was revealed to her at once. The very hint of +flush and tremor in Miss Alicia's manner was an assistance. Surrounded +by a small and extremely select court composed of Mrs. Mellish and two +low-voiced, deft-handed assistants, it was with a fine little effort +that Miss Alicia restrained herself from exterior suggestion of +her feeling that there was something almost impious in thinking of +possessing the exquisite stuffs and shades displayed to her in flowing +beauty on every side. Such linens and batistes and laces, such delicate, +faint grays and lavenders and soft-falling blacks! If she had been +capable of approaching the thought, such luxury might even have hinted +at guilty splendor. + +Mrs. Mellish became possessed of an “idea” To create the costume of +an exquisite, early-Victorian old lady in a play done for the most +fashionable and popular actor manager of the most “drawing-room” of West +End theaters, where one saw royalty in the royal box, with bouquets on +every side, the orchestra breaking off in the middle of a strain to play +“God Save the Queen,” and the audience standing up as the royal party +came in--that was her idea. She carried it out, steering Miss Alicia +with finished tact through the shoals and rapids of her timidities. And +the result was wonderful; color,--or, rather, shades,--textures, and +forms were made subservient by real genius. Miss Alicia--as she was +turned out when the wardrobe was complete--might have been an elderly +little duchess of sweet and modest good taste in the dress of forty +years earlier. It took time, but some of the things were prepared as +though by magic, and the night the first boxes were delivered at the +hotel Miss Alicia, on going to bed, in kneeling down to her devotions +prayed fervently that she might not be “led astray by fleshly desires,” + and that her gratitude might be acceptable, and not stained by a too +great joy “in the things which corrupt.” + +The very next day occurred Rose. She was the young person to whom +Pearson was engaged, and it appeared that if Miss Alicia would make up +her mind to oblige Mr. Temple Barholm by allowing the girl to come to +her as lady's-maid, even if only temporarily, she would be doing a most +kind and charitable thing. She was a very nice, well-behaved girl, and +unfortunately she had felt herself forced to leave her place because her +mistress's husband was not at all a nice man. He had shown himself so +far from nice that Pearson had been most unhappy, and Rose had been +compelled to give notice, though she had no other situation in prospect +and her mother was dependent on her. This was without doubt not Mr. +Temple Barholm's exact phrasing of the story, but it was what Miss +Alicia gathered, and what moved her deeply. It was so cruel and so sad! +That wicked man! That poor girl! She had never had a lady's-maid, and +might be rather at a loss at first, but it was only like Mr. Temple +Barholm's kind heart to suggest such a way of helping the girl and poor +Pearson. + +So occurred Rose, a pretty creature whose blue eyes suppressed grateful +tears as she took Miss Alicia's instructions during their first +interview. And Pearson arrived the same night, and, waiting upon +Tembarom, stood before him, and with perfect respect, choked. + +“Might I thank you, if you please, sir,” he began, recovering +himself--“might I thank you and say how grateful--Rose and me, sir--” + and choked again. + +“I told you it would be all right,” answered Tembarom. “It is all right. +I wish I was fixed like you are, Pearson.” + +When the Countess of Mallowe called, Rose had just dressed Miss Alicia +for the afternoon in one of the most perfect of the evolutions of +Mrs. Mellish's idea. It was a definite creation, as even Lady Mallowe +detected the moment her eyes fell upon it. Its hue was dull, soft gray, +and how it managed to concede points and elude suggestions of modes +interred, and yet remain what it did remain, and accord perfectly with +the side ringlets and the lace cap of Mechlin, only dressmaking genius +could have explained. The mere wearing of it gave Miss Alicia a support +and courage which she could scarcely believe to be her own. When the +cards of Lady Mallowe and Lady Joan Fayre were brought up to her, she +was absolutely not really frightened; a little nervous for a moment, +perhaps, but frightened, no. A few weeks of relief and ease, of cheery +consideration, of perfectly good treatment and good food and good +clothes, had begun a rebuilding of the actual cells of her. + +Lady Mallowe entered alone. She was a handsome person, and astonishingly +young when considered as the mother of a daughter of twenty-seven. She +wore a white veil, and looked pink through it. She swept into the room, +and shook hands with Miss Alicia with delicate warmth. + +“We do not really know each other at all,” she said. “It is disgraceful +how little relatives see of one another.” + +The disgrace, if measured by the extent of the relationship, was not +immense. Perhaps this thought flickered across Miss Alicia's mind among +a number of other things. She had heard “dear papa” on Lady Mallowe, +and, howsoever lacking in graces, the vicar of Rowcroft had not lacked +an acrid shrewdness. Miss Alicia's sensitively self-accusing soul shrank +before a hasty realization of the fact that if he had been present when +the cards were brought up, he would, on glancing over them through his +spectacles, have jerked out immediately: “What does the woman want? +She's come to get something.” Miss Alicia wished she had not been so +immediately beset by this mental vision. + +Lady Mallowe had come for something. She had come to be amiable to Miss +Temple Barholm and to establish relations with her. + +“Joan should have been here to meet me,” she explained. “Her dressmaker +is keeping her, of course. She will be so annoyed. She wanted very much +to come with me.” + +It was further revealed that she might arrive at any moment, which gave +Miss Alicia an opportunity to express, with pretty grace, the hope that +she would, and her trust that she was quite well. + +“She is always well,” Lady Mallowe returned. “And she is of course +as interested as we all are in this romantic thing. It is perfectly +delicious, like a three-volumed novel.” + +“It is romantic,” said Miss Alicia, wondering how much her visitor knew +or thought she knew, and what circumstances would present themselves to +her as delicious. + +“Of course one has heard only the usual talk one always hears when +everybody is chattering about a thing,” Lady Mallowe replied, with a +propitiating smile. “No one really knows what is true and what isn't. +But it is nice to notice that all the gossip speaks so well of him. No +one seems to pretend that he is anything but extremely nice himself, +notwithstanding his disadvantages.” + +She kept a fine hazel eye, surrounded by a line which artistically +represented itself as black lashes, steadily resting on Miss Alicia as +she said the last words. + +“He is,” said Miss Alicia, with gentle firmness, “nicer than I had ever +imagined any young man could be--far nicer.” + +Lady Mallowe's glance round the luxurious private sitting-room and +over the perfect “idea” of Mrs. Mellish was so swift as to be almost +imperceptible. + +“How delightful!” she said. “He must be unusually agreeable, or you +would not have consented to stay and take care of him.” + +“I cannot tell you how HAPPY I am to have been asked to stay with him, +Lady Mallowe,” Miss Alicia replied, the gentle firmness becoming a soft +dignity. + +“Which of course shows all the more how attractive he must be. And in +view of the past lack of advantages, what a help you can be to him! +It is quite wonderful for him to have a relative at hand who is an +Englishwoman and familiar with things he will feel he must learn.” + +A perhaps singular truth is that but for the unmistakable nature of the +surroundings she quickly took in the significance of, and but for the +perfection of the carrying out of Mrs. Mellish's delightful idea, it +is more than probable that her lady-ship's manner of approaching Miss +Alicia and certain subjects on which she desired enlightenment would +have been much more direct and much less propitiatory. Extraordinary as +it was, “the creature”--she thought of Tembarom as “the creature”--had +plainly been so pleased with the chance of being properly coached that +he had put everything, so to speak, in the little old woman's hands. +She had got a hold upon him. It was quite likely that to regard her as a +definite factor would only be the part of the merest discretion. She was +evidently quite in love with him in her early-Victorian, spinster way. +One had to be prudent with women like that who had got hold of a male +creature for the first time in their lives, and were almost unaware +of their own power. Their very unconsciousness made them a dangerous +influence. + +With a masterly review of these facts in her mind Lady Mallowe went on +with a fluent and pleasant talk, through the medium of which she managed +to convey a large number of things Miss Alicia was far from being clever +enough to realize she was talking about. She lightly waved wings of +suggestion across the scene, she dropped infinitesimal seeds in passing, +she left faint echoes behind her--the kind of echoes one would find +oneself listening to and trying to hear as definitely formed sounds. She +had been balancing herself on a precarious platform of rank and title, +unsupported by any sordid foundation of a solid nature, through a +lifetime spent in London. She had learned to catch fiercely at straws of +chance, and bitterly to regret the floating past of the slightest, which +had made of her a finished product of her kind. She talked lightly, +and was sometimes almost witty. To her hearer she seemed to know every +brilliant personage and to be familiar with every dazzling thing. She +knew well what social habits and customs meant, what their value, +or lack of value, was. There were customs, she implied skilfully, +so established by time that it was impossible to ignore them. +Relationships, for instance, stood for so much that was fine in England +that one was sometimes quite touched by the far-reachingness of family +loyalty. The head of the house of a great estate represented a certain +power in the matter of upholding the dignity of his possessions, of +caring for his tenantry, of standing for proper hospitality and friendly +family feeling. It was quite beautiful as one often saw it. Throughout +the talk there were several references to Joan, who really must come +in shortly, which were very interesting to Miss Alicia. Lady Joan, +Miss Alicia heard casually, was a great beauty. Her perfection and her +extreme cleverness had made her perhaps a trifle difficile. She had +not done--Lady Mallowe put it with a lightness of phrasing which was +delicacy itself--what she might have done, with every exalted advantage, +so many times. She had a profound nature. Here Lady Mallowe waved away, +as it were, a ghost of a sigh. Since Miss Temple Barholm was a relative, +she had no doubt heard of the unfortunate, the very sad incident which +her mother sometimes feared prejudiced the girl even yet. + +“You mean--poor Jem!” broke forth involuntarily from Miss Alicia's lips. +Lady Mallowe stared a little. + +“Do you call him that?” she asked. “Did you know him, then?” + +“I loved him,” answered Miss Alicia, winking her eyes to keep back the +moisture in them, “though it was only when he was a little boy.” + +“Oh,” said Lady Mallowe, with a sudden, singular softness, “I must tell +Joan that.” + +Lady Joan had not appeared even after they had had tea and her mother +went away, but somehow Miss Alicia had reached a vaguely yearning +feeling for her and wished very much the dressmaker had released her. +She was quite stirred when it revealed itself almost at the last moment +that in a few weeks both she and Lady Mallowe were to pay a visit at no +great distance from Temple Barholm itself, and that her ladyship would +certainly arrange to drive over to continue her delightful acquaintance +and to see the beautiful old place again. + +“In any case one must, even if he lived in lonely state, pay one's +respects to the head of the house. The truth is, of course, one is +extremely anxious to meet him, and it is charming to know that one is +not merely invading the privacy of a bachelor,” Lady Mallowe put it. + +“She'll come for YOU,” Little Ann had soberly remarked. + +Tembarom remembered the look in her quiet, unresentful blue eyes when +he came in to dinner and Miss Alicia related to him the events of the +afternoon. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +The spring, when they traveled back to the north, was so perceptibly +nearer that the fugitive soft days strayed in advance at intervals that +were briefer. They chose one for their journey, and its clear sunshine +and hints at faint greenness were so exhilarating to Miss Alicia that +she was a companion to make any journey an affair to rank with +holidays and adventures. The strange luxury of traveling in a reserved +first-class carriage, of being made timid by no sense of unfitness of +dress or luggage, would have filled her with grateful rapture; but Rose, +journeying with Pearson a few coaches behind, appeared at the carriage +window at every important station to say, “Is there anything I may +do for you, ma'am?” And there really never was anything she could do, +because Mr. Temple Barholm remembered everything which could make her +comfort perfect. In the moods of one who searches the prospect for +suggestions as to pleasure he can give to himself by delighting a +dear child, he had found and bought for her a most elegant little +dressing-bag, with the neatest of plain-gold fittings beautifully +initialed. It reposed upon the cushioned seat near her, and made her +heart beat every time she caught sight of it anew. How wonderful it +would be if poor dear, darling mama could look down and see everything +and really know what happiness had been vouchsafed to her unworthy +child! + +Having a vivid recollection of the journey made with Mr. Palford, +Tembarom felt that his whole world had changed for him. The landscape +had altered its aspect. Miss Alicia pointed out bits of freshening +grass, was sure of the breaking of brown leaf-buds, and more than +once breathlessly suspected a primrose in a sheltered hedge corner. A +country-bred woman, with country-bred keenness of eye and a country-bred +sense of the seasons' change, she saw so much that he had never known +that she began to make him see also. Bare trees would be thick-leaved +nesting-places, hedges would be white with hawthorn, and hold blue eggs +and chirps and songs. Skylarks would spring out of the fields and soar +into the sky, dropping crystal chains of joyous trills. The cottage +gardens would be full of flowers, there would be poppies gleaming +scarlet in the corn, and in buttercup-time all the green grass would be +a sheet of shining gold. + +“When it all happens I shall be like a little East-Sider taken for a +day in the country. I shall be asking questions at every step,” Tembarom +said. “Temple Barholm must be pretty fine then.” + +“It is so lovely,” said Miss Alicia, turning to him almost solemnly, +“that sometimes it makes one really lose one's breath.” + +He looked out of the window with sudden wistfulness. + +“I wish Ann--” he began and then, seeing the repressed question in her +eyes, made up his mind. + +He told her about Little Ann. He did not use very many words, but +she knew a great deal when he had finished. And her spinster soul was +thrilled. Neither she nor poor Emily had ever had an admirer, and it was +not considered refined for unsought females to discuss “such subjects.” + Domestic delirium over the joy of an engagement in families in which +daughters were a drug she had seen. It was indeed inevitable that there +should be more rejoicing over one Miss Timson who had strayed from the +fold into the haven of marriage than over the ninety-nine Misses Timson +who remained behind. But she had never known intimately any one who was +in love--really in love. Mr. Temple Barholm must be. When he spoke of +Little Ann he flushed shyly and his eyes looked so touching and nice. +His voice sounded different, and though of course his odd New York +expressions were always rather puzzling, she felt as though she saw +things she had had no previous knowledge of--things which thrilled her. + +“She must be a very--very nice girl,” she ventured at length. “I am +afraid I have never been into old Mrs. Hutchinson's cottage. She is +quite comfortably off in her way, and does not need parish care. I wish +I had seen Miss Hutchinson.” + +“I wish she had seen you,” was Tembarom's answer. + +Miss Alicia reflected. + +“She must be very clever to have such--sensible views,” she remarked. + +If he had remained in New York, and there had been no question of his +inheriting Temple Barholm, the marriage would have been most suitable. +But however “superior” she might be, a vision of old Mrs. Hutchinson's +granddaughter as the wife of Mr. Temple Barholm, and of noisy old Mr. +Hutchinson as his father-in-law was a staggering thing. + +“You think they were sensible?” asked Tembarom. “Well, she never did +anything that wasn't. So I guess they were. And what she says GOES. I +wanted you to know, anyhow. I wouldn't like you not to know. I'm too +fond of you, Miss Alicia.” And he put his hand round her neat glove and +squeezed it. The tears of course came into her tender eyes. Emotion of +any sort always expressed itself in her in this early-Victorian manner. + +“This Lady Joan girl,” he said suddenly not long afterward, “isn't she +the kind that I'm to get used to--the kind in the pictorial magazine +Ann talked about? I bought one at the news-stand at the depot before +we started. I wanted to get on to the pictures and see what they did to +me.” + +He found the paper among his belongings and regarded it with the +expression of a serious explorer. It opened at a page of illustrations +of slim goddesses in court dresses. By actual measurement, if regarded +according to scale, each was about ten feet high; but their long lines, +combining themselves with court trains, waving plumes, and falling +veils, produced an awe-inspiring effect. Tembarom gazed at them in +absorbed silence. + +“Is she something like any of these?” he inquired finally. + +Miss Alicia looked through her glasses. + +“Far more beautiful, I believe,” she answered. “These are only +fashion-plates, and I have heard that she is a most striking girl.” + +“A beaut' from Beautsville!” he said. “So that's what I'm up against! I +wonder how much use that kind of a girl would have for me.” + +He gave a good deal of attention to the paper before he laid it aside. +As she watched him, Miss Alicia became gradually aware of the existence +of a certain hint of determined squareness in his boyish jaw. It was +perhaps not much more than a hint, but it really was there, though she +had not noticed it before. In fact, it usually hid itself behind his +slangy youthfulness and his readiness for any good cheer. + +One may as well admit that it sustained him during his novitiate and +aided him to pass through it without ignominy or disaster. He was +strengthened also by a private resolve to bear himself in such a manner +as would at least do decent credit to Little Ann and her superior +knowledge. With the curious eyes of servants, villagers, and secretly +outraged neighborhood upon him, he was shrewd enough to know that he +might easily become a perennial fount of grotesque anecdote, to be used +as a legitimate source of entertainment in cottages over the consumption +of beans and bacon, as well as at great houses when dinner-table talk +threatened to become dull if not enlivened by some spice. He would not +have thought of this or been disturbed by it but for Ann. She knew, and +he was not going to let her be met on her return from America with what +he called “a lot of funny dope” about him. + +“No girl would like it,” he said to himself. “And the way she said she +'cared too much' just put it up to me to see that the fellow she cares +for doesn't let himself get laughed at.” + +Though he still continued to be jocular on subjects which to his valet +seemed almost sacred, Pearson was relieved to find that his employer +gradually gave himself into his hands in a manner quite amenable. In the +touching way in which nine out of ten nice, domesticated American males +obey the behests of the women they are fond of, he had followed Ann's +directions to the letter. Guided by the adept Pearson, he had gone to +the best places in London and purchased the correct things, returning to +Temple Barholm with a wardrobe to which any gentleman might turn at any +moment without a question. + +“He's got good shoulders, though he does slouch a bit,” Pearson said to +Rose. “And a gentleman's shoulders are more than half the battle.” + +What Tembarom himself felt cheered by was the certainty that if Ann +saw him walking about the park or the village, or driving out with Miss +Alicia in the big landau, or taking her in to dinner every evening, or +even going to church with her, she would not have occasion to flush at +sight of him. + +The going to church was one of the duties of his position he found +out. Miss Alicia “put him on” to that. It seemed that he had to present +himself to the villagers “as an example.” If the Temple Barholm pews +were empty, the villagers, not being incited to devotional exercise by +his exalted presence, would feel at liberty to remain at home, and in +the irreligious undress of shirt-sleeves sit and smoke their pipes, or, +worse still, gather at “the Hare and Hounds” and drink beer. Also, it +would not be “at all proper” not to go to church. + +Pearson produced a special cut of costume for this ceremony, and +Tembarom walked with Miss Alicia across the park to the square-towered +Norman church. + +In a position of dignity the Temple Barholm pews over-looked the +congregation. There was the great square pew for the family, with two +others for servants. Footmen and house-maids gazed reverentially at +prayer-books. Pearson, making every preparation respectfully to declare +himself a “miserable sinner” when the proper moment arrived, could +scarcely re-strain a rapid side glance as the correctly cut and fitted +and entirely “suitable” work of his hands opened the pew-door for Miss +Alicia, followed her in, and took his place. + +Let not the fact that he had never been to church before be counted +against him. There was nothing very extraordinary in the fact. He had +felt no antipathy to church-going, but he had not by chance fallen under +proselyting influence, and it had certainly never occurred to him that +he had any place among the well-dressed, comfortable-looking people +he had seen flocking into places of worship in New York. As far as +religious observances were concerned, he was an unadulterated heathen, +and was all the more to be congratulated on being a heathen of genial +tendencies. + +The very large pew, under the stone floor of which his ancestors had +slept undisturbedly for centuries, interested him greatly. A recumbent +marble crusader in armor, with feet crossed in the customary manner, +fitted into a sort of niche in one side of the wall. There were carved +tablets and many inscriptions in Latin wheresoever one glanced. The +place was like a room. A heavy, round table, on which lay prayer-books, +Bibles, and hymn-books, occupied the middle. About it were arranged +beautiful old chairs, with hassocks to kneel on. Toward a specially +imposing chair with arms Miss Alicia directed, him with a glance. It was +apparently his place. He was going to sit down when he saw Miss Alicia +gently push forward a hassock with her foot, and kneel on it, covering +her face with her hands as she bent her head. He hastily drew forth his +hassock and followed her example. + +That was it, was it? It wasn't only a matter of listening to a sermon; +you had to do things. He had better watch out and see that he didn't +miss anything. She didn't know it was his first time, and it might worry +her to the limit if he didn't put it over all right. One of the things +he had noticed in her was her fear of attracting attention by failing to +do exactly the “proper thing.” If he made a fool of himself by kneeling +down when he ought to stand up, or lying down when he ought to sit, +she'd get hot all over, thinking what the villagers or the other people +would say. Well, Ann hadn't wanted him to look different from other +fellows or to make breaks. He'd look out from start to finish. He +directed a watchful eye at Miss Alicia through his fingers. She remained +kneeling a few moments, and then very quietly got up. He rose with her, +and took his big chair when she sat down. He breathed more freely when +they had got that far. That was the first round. + +It was not a large church, but a gray and solemn impression of dignity +brooded over it. It was dim with light, which fell through stained-glass +memorial windows set deep in the thick stone walls. The silence +which reigned throughout its spaces seemed to Tembarom of a new kind, +different from the silence of the big house. The occasional subdued +rustle of turned prayer-book leaves seemed to accentuate it; the +most careful movement could not conceal itself; a slight cough was +a startling thing. The way, Tembarom thought, they could get things +dead-still in English places! + +The chimes, which had been ringing their last summons to the tardy, +slackened their final warning notes, became still slower, stopped. +There was a slight stir in the benches occupied by the infant school. It +suggested that something new was going to happen. From some unseen place +came the sound of singing voices--boyish voices and the voices of men. +Tembarom involuntarily turned his head. Out of the unseen place came a +procession in white robes. Great Scott! every one was standing up! He +must stand up, too. The boys and men in white garments filed into their +seats. An elderly man, also in white robes, separated himself from them, +and, going into his special place, kneeled down. Then he rose and began +to read: + +“When the wicked man turneth away from his wickedness--” + +Tembarom took the open book which Miss Alicia had very delicately pushed +toward him. He read the first words,--that was plain sailing,--then he +seemed to lose his place. Miss Alicia turned a leaf. He turned one also. + +“Dearly beloved brethren--” + +There you were. This was once more plain sailing. He could follow it. +What was the matter with Miss Alicia? She was kneeling again, everybody +was kneeling. Where was the hassock? He went down upon his knees, hoping +Miss Alicia had not seen that he wasn't going to kneel at all. Then when +the minister said “Amen,” the congregation said it, too, and he came in +too late, so that his voice sounded out alone. He must watch that. Then +the minister knelt, and all the people prayed aloud with him. With the +book before him he managed to get in after the first few words; but he +was not ready with the responses, and in the middle of them everybody +stood up again. And then the organ played, and every one sang. He +couldn't sing, anyhow, and he knew he couldn't catch on to the kind of +thing they were doing. He hoped Miss Alicia wouldn't mind his standing +up and holding his book and doing nothing. He could not help seeing that +eyes continually turned toward him. They'd notice every darned break he +made, and Miss Alicia would know they did. He felt quite hot more than +once. He watched Miss Alicia like a hawk; he sat down and listened to +reading, he stood up and listened to singing; he kneeled, he tried to +chime in with “Amens” and to keep up with Miss Alicia's bending of head +and knee. But the creed, with its sudden turn toward the altar, caught +him unawares, he lost himself wholly in the psalms, the collects left +him in deep water, hopeless of ever finding his place again, and the +litany baffled him, when he was beginning to feel safe, by changing from +“miserable sinners” to “Spare us Good Lord” and “We beseech thee to hear +us.” If he could just have found the place he would have been all +right, but an honest anxiety to be right excited him, and the fear of +embarrassing Miss Alicia by going wrong made the morning a strenuous +thing. He was so relieved to find he might sit still when the sermon +began that he gave the minister an attention which might have marked +him, to the chance beholder, as a religious enthusiast. + +By the time the service had come to an end the stately peace of the +place had seemed to sink into his being and become part of himself. +The voice of the minister bestowing his blessing, the voices of the +white-clothed choir floating up into the vaulted roof, stirred him to a +remote pleasure. He liked it, or he knew he would like it when he knew +what to do. The filing out of the choristers, the silent final prayer, +the soft rustle of people rising gently from their knees, somehow +actually moved him by its suggestion of something before unknown. He was +a heathen still, but a heathen vaguely stirred. + +He was very quiet as he walked home across the park with Miss Alicia. + +“How did you enjoy the sermon?” she asked with much sweetness. + +“I 'm not used to sermons, but it seemed all right to me,” he answered. +“What I've got to get on to is knowing when to stand up and when to sit +down. I wasn't much of a winner at it this morning. I guess you noticed +that.” + +But his outward bearing had been much more composed than his inward +anxiety had allowed him to believe. His hesitations had not produced the +noticeable effect he had feared. + +“Do you mean you are not quite familiar with the service?” she said. +Poor dear boy! he had perhaps not been able to go to church regularly at +all. + +“I'm not familiar with any service,” he answered without prejudice. “I +never went to church before.” + +She slightly started and then smiled. + +“Oh, you mean you have never been to the Church of England,” she said. + +Then he saw that, if he told her the exact truth, she would be +frightened and shocked. She would not know what to say or what to think. +To her unsophisticated mind only murderers and thieves and criminals +NEVER went to church. She just didn't know. Why should she? So he smiled +also. + +“No, I've never been to the Church of England,” he said. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +The country was discreetly conservative in its social attitude. The gulf +between it and the new owner of Temple Barholm was too wide and deep to +be crossed without effort combined with immense mental agility. It was +on the whole, much easier not to begin a thing at all than to begin it +and find one must hastily search about for not too noticeable methods +of ending it. A few unimportant, tentative calls were made, and +several ladies who had remained unaware of Miss Alicia during her first +benefactor's time drove over to see what she was like and perhaps by +chance hear something of interest. One or two of them who saw Tembarom +went away puzzled and amazed. He did not drop his h's, which they had +of course expected, and he was well dressed, and not bad-looking; but +it was frequently impossible to understand what he was talking about, he +used such odd phrases. He seemed good natured enough, and his way with +little old Miss Temple Barholm was really quite nice, queer as it was. +It was queer because he was attentive to her in a manner in which +young men were not usually attentive to totally insignificant, elderly +dependents. + +Tembarom derived an extremely diluted pleasure from the visits. The few +persons he saw reminded him in varying degrees of Mr. Palford. They had +not before seen anything like his species, and they did not know what +to do with him. He also did not know what to do with them. A certain +inelasticity frustrated him at the outset. When, in obedience to Miss +Alicia's instructions, he had returned the visits, he felt he had not +gone far. + +Serious application enabled him to find his way through the church +service, and he accompanied Miss Alicia to church with great regularity. +He began to take down the books from the library shelves and look them +over gravely. The days gradually ceased to appear so long, but he had +a great deal of time on his hands, and he tried to find ways of filling +it. He wondered if Ann would be pleased if he learned things out of +books. + +When he tentatively approached the subject of literature with Miss +Alicia, she glowed at the delightful prospect of his reading aloud to +her in the evenings--“reading improving things like history and the +poets.” + +“Let's take a hack at it some night,” he said pleasantly. + +The more a fellow knew, the better it was for him, he supposed; but he +wondered, if anything happened and he went back to New York, how much +“improving things” and poetry would help a man in doing business. + +The first evening they began with Gray's “Elegy,” and Miss Alicia felt +that it did not exhilarate him; she was also obliged to admit that +he did not read it very well. But she felt sure he would improve. +Personally she was touchingly happy. The sweetly domestic picture of +the situation, she sitting by the fire with her knitting and he +reading aloud, moved and delighted her. The next evening she suggested +Tennyson's “Maud.” He was not as much stirred by it as she had hoped. He +took a somewhat humorous view of it. + +“He had it pretty bad, hadn't he?”' he said of the desperate lover. + +“Oh, if only you could once have heard Sims Reeves sing 'Come into the +Garden, Maud'!” she sighed. “A kind friend once took me to hear him, and +I have never, never forgotten it.” + +But Mr. Temple Barholm notably did not belong to the atmosphere of +impassioned tenors. + +On still another evening they tried Shakspere. Miss Alicia felt that +a foundation of Shakspere would be “improving” indeed. They began with +“Hamlet.” + +He found play-reading difficult and Shaksperian language baffling, but +he made his way with determination until he reached a point where he +suddenly grew quite red and stopped. + +“Say, have you read this?” he inquired after his hesitation. + +“The plays of Shakspere are a part of every young lady's education,” she +answered; “but I am afraid I am not at all a Shaksperian scholar.” + +“A young lady's education?” he repeated. “Gee whizz!” he added softly +after a pause. + +He glanced over a page or so hastily, and then laid the book down. + +“Say,” he suggested, with an evasive air, “let's go over that 'Maud' one +again. It's--well, it's easier to read aloud.” + +The crude awkwardness of his manner suddenly made Miss Alicia herself +flush and drop a stitch in her knitting. How dreadful of her not to have +thought of that! + +“The Elizabethan age was, I fear, a rather coarse one in some respects. +Even history acknowledges that Queen Elizabeth herself used profane +language.” She faltered and coughed a little apologetic cough as she +picked up her stitch again. + +“I bet Ann's never seen inside Shakspere,” said Tembarom. Before reading +aloud in the future he gave some previous personal attention to the poem +or subject decided upon. It may be at once frankly admitted that when he +read aloud it was more for Miss Alicia's delectation than for his own. +He saw how much she enjoyed the situation. + +His effect of frankness and constant boyish talk was so inseparable from +her idea of him that she found it a puzzling thing to realize that she +gradually began to feel aware of a certain remote reserve in him, +or what might perhaps be better described as a habit of silence upon +certain subjects. She felt it marked in the case of Strangeways. She +surmised that he saw Strangeways often and spent a good deal of time +with him, but he spoke of him rarely, and she never knew exactly what +hours were given to him. Sometimes she imagined he found him a greater +responsibility than he had expected. Several times when she believed +that he had spent part of a morning or afternoon in his room, he was +more silent than usual and looked puzzled and thoughtful. She observed, +as Mr. Palford had, that the picture-gallery, with its portraits of his +ancestors, had an attraction. A certain rainy day he asked her to go +with him and look them over. It was inevitable that she should soon +wander to the portrait of Miles Hugo and remain standing before it. +Tembarom followed, and stood by her side in silence until her sadness +broke its bounds with a pathetic sigh. + +“Was he very like him?” he asked. + +She made an unconscious, startled movement. For the moment she had +forgotten his presence, and she had not really expected him to remember. + +“I mean Jem,” he answered her surprised look. “How was he like him? Was +there--” he hesitated and looked really interested--“was he like him in +any particular thing?” + +“Yes,” she said, turning to the portrait of Miles Hugo again. “They both +had those handsome, drooping eyes, with the lashes coming together +at the corners. There is something very fascinating about them, isn't +there? I used to notice it so much in dear little Jem. You see how +marked they are in Miles Hugo.” + +“Yes,” Tembarom answered. “A fellow who looked that way at a girl when +he made love to her would get a strangle-holt. She wouldn't forget him +soon.” + +“It strikes you in that way, too?” said Miss Alicia, shyly. “I used to +wonder if it was--not quite nice of me to think of it. But it did seem +that if any one did look at one like that--” Maidenly shyness overcame +her. “Poor Lady Joan!” she sighed. + +“There's a sort of cleft in his chin, though it's a good, square chin,” + he suggested. “And that smile of his--Were Jem's--?” + +“Yes, they were. The likeness was quite odd sometimes--quite.” + +“Those are things that wouldn't be likely to change much when he grew +up,” Tembarom said, drawing a little closer to the picture. “Poor Jem! +He was up against it hard and plenty. He had it hardest. This chap only +died.” + +There was no mistaking his sympathy. He asked so many questions that +they sat down and talked instead of going through the gallery. He was +interested in the detail of all that had occurred after the ghastly +moment when Jem had risen from the card-table and stood looking around, +like some baited dying animal, at the circle of cruel faces drawing in +about him. How soon had he left London? Where had he gone first? How had +he been killed? He had been buried with others beneath a fall of earth +and stones. Having heard this much, Tembarom saw he could not ask more +questions. Miss Alicia became pale, and her hands trembled. She could +not bear to discuss details so harrowing. + +“Say, I oughtn't to let you talk about that,” he broke out, and he +patted her hand and made her get up and finish their walk about the +gallery. He held her elbow in his own odd, nice way as he guided her, +and the things he said, and the things he pretended to think or not to +understand, were so amusing that in a short time he had made her +laugh. She knew him well enough by this time to be aware that he was +intentionally obliging her to forget what it only did her harm to +remember. That was his practical way of looking at it. + +“Getting a grouch on or being sorry for what you can't help cuts no +ice,” he sometimes said. “When it does, me for getting up at daybreak +and keeping at it! But it doesn't, you bet your life on that.” + +She could see that he had really wanted to hear about Jem, but he knew +it was bad for her to recall things, and he would not allow her to dwell +on them, just as she knew he would not allow himself to dwell on little +Miss Hutchinson, remotely placed among the joys of his beloved New York. + +Two other incidents besides the visit to Miles Hugo afterward marked +that day when Miss Alicia looked back on it. The first was his unfolding +to her his plans for the house-party, which was characteristic of his +habit of thinking things over and deciding them before he talked about +them. + +“If I'm going to try the thing out, as Ann says I must,” he began when +they had gone back to the library after lunch, “I've got to get going. +I'm not seeing any of those Pictorial girls, and I guess I've got to see +some.” + +“You will be invited to dine at places,” said Miss Alicia,--“presently,” + she added bravely, in fact, with an air of greater conviction than she +felt. + +“If it's not the law that they've got to invite me or go to jail,” said +Tembarom, “I don't blame 'em for not doing it if they're not stuck on +me. And they're not; and it's natural. But I've got to get in my fine +work, or my year'll be over before I've 'found out for myself,' as Ann +called it. There's where I'm at, Miss Alicia--and I've been thinking of +Lady Joan and her mother. You said you thought they'd come and stay here +if they were properly asked.” + +“I think they would,” answered Miss Alicia with her usual delicacy. +“I thought I gathered from Lady Mallowe that, as she was to be in the +neighborhood, she would like to see you and Temple Barholm, which she +greatly admires.” + +“If you'll tell me what to do, I'll get her here to stay awhile,” he +said, “and Lady Joan with her. You'd have to show me how to write to ask +them; but perhaps you'd write yourself.” + +“They will be at Asshawe Holt next week,” said Miss Alicia, “and we +could go and call on them together. We might write to them in London +before they leave.” + +“We'll do it,” answered Tembarom. His manner was that of a practical +young man attacking matter-of-fact detail. “From what I hear, Lady Joan +would satisfy even Ann. They say she's the best-looker on the slate. If +I see her every day I shall have seen the blue-ribbon winner. Then if +she's here, perhaps others of her sort'll come, too; and they'll have to +see me whether they like it or not--and I shall see them. Good Lord!” he +added seriously, “I'd let 'em swarm all over me and bite me all summer +if it would fix Ann.” + +He stood up, with his hands thrust deep in his pockets, and looked down +at the floor. + +“I wish she knew T. T. like T. T. knows himself,” he said. It was quite +wistful. + +It was so wistful and so boyish that Miss Alicia was thrilled as he +often thrilled her. + +“She ought to be a very happy girl,” she exclaimed. + +“She's going to be,” he answered, “sure as you're alive. But whatever +she does, is right, and this is as right as everything else. So it just +goes.” + +They wrote their letters at once, and sent them off by the afternoon +post. The letter Miss Alicia composed, and which Tembarom copied, he +read and reread, with visions of Jim Bowles and Julius looking over his +shoulder. If they picked it up on Broadway, with his name signed to it, +and read it, they'd throw a fit over it, laughing. But he supposed she +knew what you ought to write. + +It had not, indeed, the masculine touch. When Lady Mallowe read it, she +laughed several times. She knew quite well that he had not known what +to say, and, allowing Miss Alicia to instruct him, had followed her +instructions to the letter. But she did not show the letter to Joan, +who was difficult enough to manage without being given such material to +comment upon. + +The letters had just been sent to the post when a visitor was +announced--Captain Palliser. Tembarom remembered the name, and recalled +also certain points connected with him. He was the one who was a +promoter of schemes--“One of the smooth, clever ones that get up +companies,” Little Ann had said. + +That in a well-bred and not too pronounced way he looked smooth and +clever might be admitted. His effect was that of height, finished +slenderness of build, and extremely well-cut garments. He was no longer +young, and he had smooth, thin hair and a languidly observant gray eye. + +“I have been staying at Detchworth Grange,” he explained when he had +shaken hands with the new Temple Barholm and Miss Alicia. “It gave me an +excellent opportunity to come and pay my respects.” + +There was a hint of uncertainty in the observant gray eye. The fact was +that he realized in the space of five minutes that he knew his ground +even less than he had supposed he did. He had not spent his week at +Detchworth Grange without making many quiet investigations, but he had +found out nothing whatever. The new man was an ignoramus, but no one had +yet seemed to think him exactly a fool. He was not excited by the new +grandeurs of his position and he was not ashamed of himself. Captain +Palliser wondered if he was perhaps sharp--one of those New Yorkers +shrewd even to light-fingeredness in clever scheming. Stories of a newly +created method of business dealing involving an air of candor and +almost primitive good nature--an American method--had attracted Captain +Palliser's attention for some time. A certain Yankee rawness of manner +played a part as a factor, a crudity which would throw a man off guard +if he did not recognize it. The person who employed the method was +of philosophical non-combativeness. The New York phrase was that “He +jollied a man along.” Immense schemes had been carried through in that +way. Men in London, in England, were not sufficiently light of touch +in their jocularity. He wondered if perhaps this young fellow, with his +ready laugh and rather loose-jointed, casual way of carrying himself, +was of this dangerous new school. + +What, however, could he scheme for, being the owner of Temple Barholm's +money? It may be mentioned at once that Captain Palliser's past had +been such as had fixed him in the belief that every one was scheming +for something. People with money wanted more or were privately arranging +schemes to prevent other schemers from getting any shade the better of +them. Debutantes with shy eyes and slim figures had their little plans +to engineer delicately. Sometimes they were larger plans than the +uninitiated would have suspected as existing in the brains of creatures +in their 'teens, sometimes they were mere fantastic little ideas +connected with dashing young men or innocent dances which must be +secured or lovely young rivals who must be evaded. Young men had also +deft things to do--people to see or not to see, reasons for themselves +being seen or avoiding observation. As years increased, reasons for +schemes became more numerous and amazingly more varied. Women with +daughters, with sons, with husbands, found in each relationship +a necessity for active, if quiet, manoeuvering. Women like Lady +Mallowe--good heaven! by what schemes did not that woman live and have +her being--and her daughter's--from day to day! Without money, without +a friend who was an atom more to be relied on than she would have been +herself if an acquaintance had needed her aid, her outwardly well-to-do +and fashionable existence was a hand-to-hand fight. No wonder she had +turned a still rather brilliant eye upon Sir Moses Monaldini, the great +Israelite financier. All of these types passed rapidly before his mental +vision as he talked to the American Temple Barholm. What could he want, +by chance? He must want something, and it would be discreet to find out +what it chanced to be. + +If it was social success, he would be better off in London, where in +these days you could get a good run for your money and could swing +yourself up from one rung of the ladder to another if you paid some +one to show you how. He himself could show him how. A youngster who +had lived the beastly hard life he had lived would be likely to find +exhilaration in many things not difficult to purchase. It was an odd +thing, by the way, the fancy he had taken to the little early-Victorian +spinster. It was not quite natural. It perhaps denoted tendencies--or +lack of tendencies--it would also be well to consider. Palliser was +a sufficiently finished product himself to be struck greatly by the +artistic perfection of Miss Alicia, and to wonder how much the new man +understood it. + +He did not talk to him about schemes. He talked to him of New York, +which he had never seen and hoped sometime shortly to visit. The +information he gained was not of the kind he most desired, but it +edified him. Tembarom's knowledge of high finance was a street lad's +knowledge of it, and he himself knew its limitations and probable +unreliability. Such of his facts as rested upon the foundation of +experience did not include multimillionaires and their resources. + +Captain Palliser passed lightly to Temple Barholm and its neighborhood. +He knew places and names, and had been to Detchworth more than once. +He had never visited Temple Barholm, and his interest suggested that he +would like to walk through the gardens. Tembarom took him out, and they +strolled about for some time. Even an alert observer would not have +suspected the fact that as they strolled, Tembarom slouching a trifle +and with his hands in his pockets, Captain Palliser bearing himself with +languid distinction, each man was summing up the other and considering +seriously how far and in what manner he could be counted as an asset. + +“You haven't been to Detchworth yet?” Palliser inquired. + +“No, not yet,” answered Tembarom. The Granthams were of those who had +not yet called. + +“It's an agreeable house. The Granthams are agreeable people.” + +“Are there any young people in the family?” Tembarom asked. + +“Young people? Male or female?” Palliser smilingly put it. Suddenly it +occurred to him that this might give him a sort of lead. + +“Girls,” said Tembarom, crudely--“just plain girls.” + +Palliser laughed. Here it was, perhaps. + +“They are not exactly 'plain' girls, though they are not beauties. +There are four Misses Grantham. Lucy is the prettiest. Amabel is quite +tremendous at tennis.” + +“Are they ladies?” inquired Tembarom. + +Captain Palliser turned and involuntarily stared at him. What was the +fellow getting at? + +“I'm afraid I don't quite understand,” he said. + +The new Temple Barholm looked quite serious. He did not, amazing to +relate, look like a fool even when he gave forth his extraordinary +question. It was his almost business-like seriousness which saved him. + +“I mean, do you call them Lady Lucy and Lady Amabel?” he answered. + +If he had been younger, less hardened, or less finished, Captain +Palliser would have laughed outright. But he answered without +self-revelation. + +“Oh, I see. You were asking whether the family is a titled one. No; +it is a good old name, quite old, in fact, but no title goes with the +estate.” + +“Who are the titled people about here?” Tembarom asked, quite unabashed. + +“The Earl of Pevensy at Pevensy Park, the Duke of Stone at Stone Hover, +Lord Hambrough at Doone. Doone is in the next county, just over the +border.” + +“Have they all got daughters?” + +Captain Palliser found it expedient to clear his throat before speaking. + +“Lord Pevensy has daughters, so has the duke. Lord Hambrough has three +sons.” + +“How many daughters are there--in a bunch?” Mr. Temple Barholm suggested +liberally. + +There Captain Palliser felt it safe to allow himself to smile, as though +taking it with a sense of humor. + +“'In a bunch' is an awfully good way of putting it,” he said. “It +happens to apply perhaps rather unfortunately well; both families are +much poorer than they should be, and daughters must be provided for. +Each has four. 'In a bunch' there are eight: Lady Alice, Lady Edith, +Lady Ethel, and Lady Celia at Stone Hover; Lady Beatrice, Lady Gwynedd, +Lady Honora, and Lady Gwendolen at Pevensy Park. And not a fortune among +them, poor girls!” + +“It's not the money that matters so much,” said the astounding +foreigner, “it's the titles.” + +Captain Palliser stopped short in the garden path for a moment. He could +scarcely believe his ears. The crude grotesqueness of it so far got the +better of him that if he had not coughed he would have betrayed himself. + +“I've had a confounded cold lately,” he said. “Excuse me; I must get it +over.” + +He turned a little aside and coughed energetically. + +After watching him a few seconds Tembarom slipped two fingers into his +waistcoat pocket and produced a small tube of tablets. + +“Take two of these,” he said as soon as the cough stopped. “I always +carry it about with me. It's a New York thing called 'G. Destroyer.' G +stands for grippe.” + +Palliser took it. + +“Thanks. With water? No? Just dissolve in the mouth. Thanks awfully.” + And he took two, with tears still standing in his eyes. + +“Don't taste bad, do they?” Mr. Temple Barholm remarked encouragingly. + +“Not at all. I think I shall be all right now. I just needed the relief. +I have been trying to restrain it.” + +“That's a mistake,” said Tembarom. They strolled on a pace or so, and +he began again, as though he did not mean to let the subject drop. “It's +the titles,” he said, “and the kind. How many of them are good-lookers?” + +Palliser reflected a moment, as though making mental choice. + +“Lady Alice and Lady Celia are rather plain,” he said, “and both of them +are invalidish. Lady Ethel is tall and has handsome eyes, but Lady Edith +is really the beauty of the family. She rides and dances well and has a +charming color.” + +“And the other ones,” Tembaron suggested as he paused--“Lady Beatrice +and Lady Gwynedd and Lady Honora and Lady Gwendolen.” + +“You remember their names well,” Palliser remarked with a half-laugh. + +“Oh, I shall remember them all right,” Tembarom answered. “I earned +twenty-five per in New York by getting names down fine.” + +“The Talchesters are really all rather taking. Talchester is Lord +Pevensy's family name,” Palliser explained. “They are girls who have +pretty little noses and bright complexions and eyes. Lady Gwynedd and +Lady Honora both have quite fascinating dimples.” + +“Dimples!” exclaimed his companion. “Good business.” + +“Do you like dimples particularly?” Palliser inquired with an impartial +air. + +“I'd always make a bee-line for a dimple,” replied Mr. Temple Barholm. +“Clear the way when I start.” + +This was New York phrasing, and was plainly humorous; but there was +something more than humor in his eye and smile--something hinting +distantly at recollection. + +“You'll find them at Pevensy Park,” said Palliser. + +“What about Lady Joan Fayre?” was the next inquiry. + +Palliser's side glance at him was observant indeed. He asked himself how +much the man could know. Taking the past into consideration, Lady Joan +might turn out to be a subject requiring delicate handling. It was not +the easiest thing in the world to talk at all freely to a person with +whom one desired to keep on good terms, about a young woman supposed +still to cherish a tragic passion for the dead man who ought to stand +at the present moment in the person's, figuratively speaking, extremely +ill-fitting shoes. + +“Lady Joan has been from her first season an undeniable beauty,” he +replied. + +“She and the old lady are going to stay at a place called Asshawe Holt. +I think they're going next week,” Tembarom said. + +“The old lady?” repeated Captain Palliser. + +“I mean her mother. The one that's the Countess of Mallowe.” + +“Have you met Lady Mallowe?” Palliser inquired with a not wholly +repressed smile. A vision of Lady Mallowe over-hearing their +conversation arose before him. + +“No, I haven't. What's she like?” + +“She is not the early-or mid-Victorian old lady,” was Palliser's reply. +“She wears Gainsborough hats, and looks a quite possible eight and +thirty. She is a handsome person herself.” + +He was not aware that the term “old lady” was, among Americans of the +class of Mrs. Bowse's boarders, a sort of generic term signifying almost +anything maternal which had passed thirty. + +Tembarom proceeded. + +“After they get through at the Asshawe Holt place, I've asked them to +come here.” + +“Indeed,” said Palliser, with an inward start. The man evidently did +not know what other people did. After all, why should he? He had been +selling something or other in the streets of New York when the thing +happened, and he knew nothing of London. + +“The countess called on Miss Alicia when we were in London,” he heard +next. “She said we were relations.” + +“You are--as we are. The connection is rather distant, but it is near +enough to form a sort of link.” + +“I've wanted to see Lady Joan,” explained Tembarom. “From what I've +heard, I should say she was one of the 'Lady's Pictorial' kind.” + +“I am afraid--” Palliser's voice was slightly unsteady for the +moment--“I have not studied the type sufficiently to know. The +'Pictorial' is so exclusively a women's periodical.” + +His companion laughed. + +“Well, I've only looked through it once myself just to find out. Some +way I always think of Lady Joan as if she was like one of those Beaut's +from Beautsville, with trains as long as parlor-cars and feathers +in their heads--dressed to go to see the queen. I guess she's been +presented at court,” he added. + +“Yes, she has been presented.” + +“Do they let 'em go more than once?” he asked with casual curiosity. + +“Confound this cough!” exclaimed Captain Palliser, and he broke forth +again. + +“Take another G,” said Tembarom, producing his tube. “Say, just take the +bottle and keep it in your pocket.” + +When the brief paroxysm was over and they moved on again, Palliser was +looking an odd thing or so in the face. “I always think of Lady Joan” + was one of them. “Always” seemed to go rather far. How often and why had +he “always thought”? The fellow was incredible. Did his sharp, boyish +face and his slouch conceal a colossal, vulgar, young ambition? There +was not much concealment about it, Heaven knew. And as he so evidently +was not aware of the facts, how would they affect him when he discovered +them? And though Lady Mallowe was a woman not in the least distressed or +hampered by shades of delicacy and scruple, she surely was astute +enough to realize that even this bounder's dullness might be awakened +to realize that there was more than a touch of obvious indecency in +bringing the girl to the house of the man she had tragically loved, and +manoeuvering to work her into it as the wife of the man who, monstrously +unfit as he was, had taken his place. Captain Palliser knew well that +the pressing of the relationship had meant only one thing. And how, in +the name of the Furies! had she dragged Lady Joan into the scheme with +her? + +It was as unbelievable as was the new Temple Barholm himself. And how +unconcerned the fellow looked! Perhaps the man he had supplanted was no +more to him than a scarcely remembered name, if he was as much as that. +Then Tembarom, pacing slowly by his side, hands in pockets, eyes on the +walk, spoke: + +“Did you ever see Jem Temple Barholm?” he asked. + +It was like a thunderbolt. He said it as though he were merely carrying +his previous remarks on to their natural conclusion; but Palliser felt +himself so suddenly unadjusted, so to speak, that he palpably hesitated. + +“Did you?” his companion repeated. + +“I knew him well,” was the answer made as soon as readjustment was +possible. + +“Remember just how he looked?” + +“Perfectly. He was a striking fellow. Women always said he had +fascinating eyes.” + +“Sort of slant downward on the outside corners--and black eyelashes +sorter sweeping together?” + +Palliser turned with a movement of surprise. + +“How did you know? It was just that odd sort of thing.” + +“Miss Alicia told me. And there's a picture in the gallery that's like +him.” + +Captain Palliser felt as embarrassed as Miss Alicia had felt, but it was +for a different reason. She had felt awkward because she had feared she +had touched on a delicate subject. Palliser was embarrassed because he +was entirely thrown out of all his calculations. He felt for the moment +that there was no calculating at all, no security in preparing paths. +You never know where they would lead. Here had he been actually alarmed +in secret! And the oaf stood before him undisturbedly opening up the +subject himself. + +“For a fellow like that to lose a girl as he lost Lady Joan was pretty +tough,” the oaf said. “By gee! it was tough!” + +He knew it all--the whole thing, scandal, tragically broken marriage, +everything. And knowing it, he was laying his Yankee plans for getting +the girl to Temple Barholm to look her over. It was of a grossness +one sometimes heard of in men of his kind, and yet it seemed in its +casualness to out-leap any little scheme of the sort he had so far +looked on at. + +“Lady Joan felt it immensely,” he said. + +A footman was to be seen moving toward them, evidently bearing a +message. Tea was served in the drawing-room, and he had come to announce +the fact. + +They went back to the house, and Miss Alicia filled cups for them and +presided over the splendid tray with a persuasive suggestion in the +matter of hot or cold things which made it easy to lead up to any +subject. She was the best of unobtrusive hostesses. + + +Palliser talked of his visit at Detchworth, which had been shortened +because he had gone to “fit in” and remain until a large but uncertain +party turned up. It had turned up earlier than had been anticipated, and +of course he could only delicately slip away. + +“I am sorry it has happened, however,” he said, “not only because one +does not wish to leave Detchworth, but because I shall miss Lady Mallowe +and Lady Joan, who are to be at Asshawe Holt next week. I particularly +wanted to see them.” + +Miss Alicia glanced at Tembarom to see what he would do. He spoke before +he could catch her glance. + +“Say,” he suggested, “why don't you bring your grip over here and stay? +I wish you would.” + +“A grip means a Gladstone bag,” Miss Alicia murmured in a rapid +undertone. + +Palliser replied with appreciative courtesy. Things were going extremely +well. + +“That's awfully kind of you,” he answered. “I should like it +tremendously. Nothing better. You are giving me a delightful +opportunity. Thank you, thank you. If I may turn up on Thursday I shall +be delighted.” + +There was satisfaction in this at least in the observant gray eye when +he went away. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +Dinner at Detchworth Grange was most amusing that evening. One of the +chief reasons--in fact, it would not be too venturesome to say THE chief +reason--for Captain Palliser's frequent presence in very good country +houses was that he had a way of making things amusing. His relation of +anecdotes, of people and things, was distinguished by a manner which +subtly declined to range itself on the side of vulgar gossip. Quietly +and with a fine casualness he conveyed the whole picture of the new +order at Temple Barholm. He did it with wonderfully light touches, and +yet the whole thing was to be seen--the little old maid in her exquisite +clothes, her unmistakable stamp of timid good breeding, her protecting +adoration combined with bewilderment; the long, lean, not altogether +ill-looking New York bounder, with his slight slouch, his dangerously +unsophisticated-looking face, and his American jocularity of slang +phrase. + +“He's of a class I know nothing about. I own he puzzled me a trifle at +first,” Palliser said with his cool smile. “I'm not sure that I've 'got +on to him' altogether yet. That's an expressive New York phrase of his +own. But when we were strolling about together, he made revelations +apparently without being in the least aware that they were revelations. +He was unbelievable. My fear was that he would not go on.” + +“But he did go on?” asked Amabel. “One must hear something of the +revelations.” + +Then was given in the best possible form the little drama of the talk in +the garden. No shade of Mr. Temple Barholm's characteristics was lost. +Palliser gave occasionally an English attempt at the reproduction of his +nasal twang, but it was only a touch and not sufficiently persisted in +to become undignified. + +“I can't do it,” he said. “None of us can really do it. When English +actors try it on the stage, it is not in the least the real thing. They +only drawl through their noses, and it is more than that.” + +The people of Detchworth Grange were not noisy people, but their +laughter was unrestrained before the recital was finished. Nobody had +gone so far as either to fear or to hope for anything as undiluted in +its nature as this was. + +“Then he won't give us a chance, the least chance,” cried Lucy and +Amabel almost in unison. “We are out of the running.” + +“You won't get even a look in--because you are not 'ladies,'” said their +brother. + +“Poor Jem Temple Barholm! What a different thing it would have been if +we had had him for a neighbor!” Mr. Grantham fretted. + +“We should have had Lady Joan Fayre as well,” said his wife. + +“At least she's a gentlewoman as well as a 'lady,'” Mr. Grantham said. +“She would not have become so bitter if that hideous thing had not +occurred.” + +They wondered if the new man knew anything about Jem. Palliser had not +reached that part of his revelation when the laughter had broken into +it. He told it forthwith, and the laughter was overcome by a sort of +dismayed disgust. This did not accord with the rumors of an almost +“nice” good nature. + +“There's a vulgar horridness about it,” said Lucy. + +“What price Lady Mallowe!” said the son. “I'll bet a sovereign she began +it.” + +“She did,” remarked Palliser; “but I think one may leave Mr. Temple +Barholm safely to Lady Joan.” Mr. Grantham laughed as one who knew +something of Lady Joan. + +“There's an Americanism which I didn't learn from him,” Palliser added, +“and I remembered it when he was talking her over. It's this: when you +dispose of a person finally and forever, you 'wipe up the earth with +him.' Lady Joan will 'wipe up the earth' with your new neighbor.” + +There was a little shout of laughter. “Wipe up the earth” was entirely +new to everybody, though even the country in England was at this time by +no means wholly ignorant of American slang. + +This led to so many other things both mirth-provoking and serious, even +sometimes very serious indeed, that the entire evening at Detchworth was +filled with talk of Temple Barholm. Very naturally the talk did not end +by confining itself to one household. In due time Captain Palliser's +little sketches were known in divers places, and it became a habit to +discuss what had happened, and what might possibly happen in the future. +There were those who went to the length of calling on the new man +because they wanted to see him face to face. People heard new things +every few days, but no one realized that it was vaguely through Palliser +that there developed a general idea that, crude and self-revealing as +he was, there lurked behind the outward candor of the intruder a hint of +over-sharpness of the American kind. There seemed no necessity for +him to lay schemes beyond those he had betrayed in his inquiries about +“ladies,” but somehow it became a fixed idea that he was capable of +doing shady things if at any time the temptation arose. That was really +what his boyish casualness meant. That in truth was Palliser's final +secret conclusion. And he wanted very much to find out why exactly +little old Miss Temple Barholm had been taken up. If the man wanted +introductions, he could have contrived to pick up a smart and +enterprising unprofessional chaperon in London who would have done for +him what Miss Temple Barholm would never presume to attempt. And yet he +seemed to have chosen her deliberately. He had set her literally at the +head of his house. And Palliser, having heard a vague rumor that he had +actually settled a decent income upon her, had made adroit inquiries and +found it was true. + +It was. To arrange the matter had been one of his reasons for going to +see Mr. Palford during their stay in London. + +“I wanted to fix you--fix you safe,” he said when he told Miss Alicia +about it. “I guess no one can take it away from you, whatever old thing +happens.” + +“What could happen, dear Mr. Temple Barholm?” said Miss Alicia in the +midst of tears of gratitude and tremulous joy. “You are so young and +strong and--everything! Don't even speak of such a thing in jest. What +could happen?” + +“Anything can happen,” he answered, “just anything. Happening's the one +thing you can't bet on. If I was betting, I'd put my money on the thing +I was sure couldn't happen. Look at this Temple Barholm song and dance! +Look at T. T. as he was half strangling in the blizzard up at Harlem +and thanking his stars little Munsberg didn't kick him out of his +confectionery store less than a year ago! So long as I'm all right, +you're all right. But I wanted you fixed, anyhow.” + +He paused and looked at her questioningly for a moment. He wanted to +say something and he was not sure he ought. His reverence for her little +finenesses and reserves increased instead of wearing away. He was always +finding out new things about her. + +“Say,” he broke forth almost impetuously after his hesitation, “I wish +you wouldn't call me Mr. Temple Barholm.” + +“D-do you?” she fluttered. “But what could I call you?” + +“Well,” he answered, reddening a shade or so, “I'd give a house and lot +if you could just call me Tem.” + +“But it would sound so unbecoming, so familiar,” she protested. + +“That's just what I'm asking for,” he said--“some one to be familiar +with. I'm the familiar kind. That's what's the matter with me. I'd be +familiar with Pearson, but he wouldn't let me. I'd frighten him half to +death. He'd think that he wasn't doing his duty and earning his wages, +and that somehow he'd get fired some day without a character.” + +He drew nearer to her and coaxed. + +“Couldn't you do it?” he asked almost as though he were asking a favor +of a girl. “Just Tem? I believe that would come easier to you than T. T. +I get fonder and fonder of you every day, Miss Alicia, honest Injun. And +I'd be so grateful to you if you'd just be that unbecomingly familiar.” + +He looked honestly in earnest; and if he grew fonder and fonder of her, +she without doubt had, in the face of everything, given her whole heart +to him. + +“Might I call you Temple--to begin with?” she asked. “It touches me so +to think of your asking me. I will begin at once. Thank you--Temple,” + with a faint gasp. “I might try the other a little later.” + +It was only a few evenings later that he told her about the flats in +Harlem. He had sent to New York for a large bundle of newspapers, and +when he opened them he read aloud an advertisement, and showed her a +picture of a large building given up entirely to “flats.” + +He had realized from the first that New York life had a singular +attraction for her. The unrelieved dullness of her life--those few +years of youth in which she had stifled vague longings for the joys +experienced by other girls; the years of middle age spent in the +dreary effort to be “submissive to the will of God,” which, honestly +translated, signified submission to the exactions and domestic tyrannies +of “dear papa” and others like him--had left her with her capacities for +pleasure as freshly sensitive as a child's. The smallest change in the +routine of existence thrilled her with excitement. Tembarom's casual +references to his strenuous boyhood caused her eyes to widen with +eagerness to hear more. Having seen this, he found keen delight in +telling her stories of New York life--stories of himself or of other +lads who had been his companions. She would drop her work and gaze at +him almost with bated breath. He was an excellent raconteur when he +talked of the things he knew well. He had an unconscious habit of +springing from his seat and acting his scenes as he depicted them, +laughing and using street-boy phrasing: + +“It's just like a tale,” Miss Alicia would breathe, enraptured as he +jumped from one story to another. “It's exactly like a wonderful tale.” + +She learned to know the New York streets when they blazed with heat, +when they were hard with frozen snow, when they were sloppy with melting +slush or bright with springtime sunshine and spring winds blowing, with +pretty women hurrying about in beflowered spring hats and dresses and +the exhilaration of the world-old springtime joy. She found herself +hurrying with them. She sometimes hung with him and his companions on +the railing outside dazzling restaurants where scores of gay people ate +rich food in the sight of their boyish ravenousness. She darted in and +out among horses and vehicles to find carriages after the theater or +opera, where everybody was dressed dazzlingly and diamonds glittered. + +“Oh, how rich everybody must have seemed to you--how cruelly rich, poor +little boy!” + +“They looked rich, right enough,” he answered when she said it. “And +there seemed a lot of good things to eat all corralled in a few places. +And you wished you could be let loose inside. But I don't know as it +seemed cruel. That was the way it was, you know, and you couldn't help +it. And there were places where they'd give away some of what was left. +I tell you, we were in luck then.” + +There was some spirit in his telling it all--a spirit which had surely +been with him through his hardest days, a spirit of young mirth in +rags--which made her feel subconsciously that the whole experience had, +after all, been somehow of the nature of life's high adventure. He had +never been ill or heart-sick, and he laughed when he talked of it, as +though the remembrance was not a recalling of disaster. + +“Clemmin' or no clemmin'. I wish I'd lived the loife tha's lived,” + Tummas Hibblethwaite had said. + +Her amazement would indeed have been great if she had been told that she +secretly shared his feeling. + +“It seems as if somehow you had never been dull,” was her method of +expressing it. + +“Dull! Holy cats! no,” he grinned. “There wasn't any time for being +anything. You just had to keep going.” + +She became in time familiar with Mrs. Bowse's boarding-house and +boarders. She knew Mrs. Peck and Mr. Jakes and the young lady from the +notion counter (those wonderful shops!). Julius and Jem and the hall +bedroom and the tilted chairs and cloud of smoke she saw so often that +she felt at home with them. + +“Poor Mrs. Bowse,” she said, “must have been a most respectable, +motherly, hard-working creature. Really a nice person of her class.” She +could not quite visualize the “parlor,” but it must have been warm and +comfortable. And the pianola--a piano which you could play without even +knowing your notes--What a clever invention! America seemed full of the +most wonderfully clever things. + +Tembarom was actually uplifted in soul when he discovered that she laid +transparent little plans for leading him into talk about New York. She +wanted him to talk about it, and the Lord knows he wanted to talk +about himself. He had been afraid at first. She might have hated it, +as Palford did, and it would have hurt him somehow if she hadn't +understood. But she did. Without quite realizing the fact, she was +beginning to love it, to wish she had seen it. Her Somerset vicarage +imagination did not allow of such leaps as would be implied by the +daring wish that sometime she might see it. + +But Tembarom's imagination was more athletic. + +“Jinks! wouldn't it be fine to take her there! The lark in London +wouldn't be ace high to it.” + +The Hutchinsons were not New Yorkers, but they had been part of the +atmosphere of Mrs. Bowse's. Mr. Hutchinson would of course be rather a +forward and pushing man to be obliged to meet, but Little Ann! She +did so like Little Ann! And the dear boy did so want, in his heart of +hearts, to talk about her at times. She did not know whether, in the +circumstances, she ought to encourage him; but he was so dear, and +looked so much dearer when he even said “Little Ann,” that she could not +help occasionally leading him gently toward the subject. + +When he opened the newspapers and found the advertisements of the flats, +she saw the engaging, half-awkward humorousness come into his eyes. + +“Here's one that would do all right,” he said--“four rooms and a bath, +eleventh floor, thirty-five dollars a month.” + +He spread the newspaper on the table and rested on his elbow, gazing +at it for a few minutes wholly absorbed. Then he looked up at her and +smiled. + +“There's a plan of the rooms,” he said. “Would you like to look at it? +Shall I bring your chair up to the table while we go over it together?” + +He brought the chair, and side by side they went over it thoroughly. +To Miss Alicia it had all the interest of a new kind of puzzle. He +explained it in every detail. One of his secrets had been that on +several days when Galton's manner had made him hopeful he had visited +certain flat buildings and gone into their intricacies. He could +therefore describe with color their resources--the janitor; the +elevator; the dumb-waiters to carry up domestic supplies and carry down +ashes and refuse; the refrigerator; the unlimited supply of hot and cold +water, the heating plan; the astonishing little kitchen, with stationary +wash-tubs; the telephone, if you could afford it,--all the conveniences +which to Miss Alicia, accustomed to the habits of Rowcroft Vicarage, +where you lugged cans of water up-stairs and down if you took a bath or +even washed your face; seemed luxuries appertaining only to the rich and +great. + +“How convenient! How wonderful! Dear me! Dear me!” she said again and +again, quite flushed with excitement. “It is like a fairy-story. And +it's not big at all, is it?” + +“You could get most of it into this,” he answered, exulting. “You could +get all of it into that big white-and gold parlor.” + +“The white saloon?” + +He showed his teeth. + +“I guess I ought to remember to call it that,” he said, “but it always +makes me think of Kid MacMurphy's on Fourth Avenue. He kept what was +called a saloon, and he'd had it painted white.” + +“Did you know him?” Miss Alicia asked. + +“Know him! Gee! no! I didn't fly as high as that. He'd have thought me +pretty fresh if I'd acted like I knew him. He thought he was one of the +Four Hundred. He'd been a prize-fighter. He was the fellow that knocked +out Kid Wilkens in four rounds.” He broke off and laughed at himself. +“Hear me talk to you about a tough like that!” he ended, and he gave her +hand the little apologetic, protective pat which always made her heart +beat because it was so “nice.” + +He drew her back to the advertisements, and drew such interesting +pictures of what the lives of two people--mother and son or father +and daughter or a young married couple who didn't want to put on +style--might be in the tiny compartments, that their excitement mounted +again. + +This could be a bedroom, that could be a bedroom, that could be the +living-room, and if you put a bit of bright carpet on the hallway and +hung up a picture or so, it would look first-rate. He even went into +the matter of measurements, which made it more like putting a puzzle +together than ever, and their relief when they found they could fit +a piece of furniture he called “a lounge” into a certain corner was a +thing of flushing delight. The “lounge,” she found, was a sort of cot +with springs. You could buy them for three dollars, and when you put on +a mattress and covered it with a “spread,” you could sit on it in the +daytime and sleep on it at night, if you had to. + +From measurements he went into calculations about the cost of things. +He had seen unpainted wooden tables you could put mahogany stain on, and +they'd look all you'd want. He'd seen a splendid little rocking-chair in +Second Avenue for five dollars, one of the padded kind that ladies +like. He had seen an arm-chair for a man that was only seven; but there +mightn't be room for both, and you'd have to have the rocking-chair. He +had once asked the price of a lot of plates and cups and saucers with +roses on them, and you could get them for six; and you didn't need a +stove because there was the range. + +He had once heard Little Ann talking to Mrs. Bowse about the price of +frying-pans and kettles, and they seemed to cost next to nothing. +He'd looked into store windows and noticed the prices of groceries +and vegetables and things like that--sugar, for instance; two people +wouldn't use much sugar in a week--and they wouldn't need a ton of tea +or flour or coffee. If a fellow had a mother or sister or wife who had +a head and knew about things, you could “put it over” on mighty little, +and have a splendid time together, too. You'd even be able to work in a +cheap seat in a theater every now and then. He laughed and flushed as he +thought of it. + +Miss Alicia had never had a doll's house. Rowcroft Vicarage did not run +to dolls and their belongings. Her thwarted longing for a doll's house +had a sort of parallel in her similarly thwarted longing for “a little +boy.” + +And here was her doll's house so long, so long unpossessed! It was like +that, this absorbed contriving and fitting of furniture into corners. +She also flushed and laughed. Her eyes were so brightly eager and her +cheeks so pink that she looked quite girlish under her lace cap. + +“How pretty and cozy it might be made, how dear!” she exclaimed. “And +one would be so high up on the eleventh floor, that one would feel like +a bird in a nest.” + +His face lighted. He seemed to like the idea tremendously. + +“Why, that's so,” he laughed. “That idea suits me down to the ground. +A bird in a nest. But there'd have to be two. One would be lonely. Say, +Miss Alicia, how would you like to live in a place like that?” + +“I am sure any one would like it--if they had some dear relative with +them.” + +He loved her “dear relative,” loved it. He knew how much it meant of +what had lain hidden unacknowledged, even unknown to her, through a +lifetime in her early-Victorian spinster breast. + +“Let's go to New York and rent one and live in it together. Would you +come?” he said, and though he laughed, he was not jocular in the usual +way. “Would you, if we waked up and found this Temple Barholm thing was +a dream?” + +Something in his manner, she did not know what, puzzled her a little. + +“But if it were a dream, you would be quite poor again,” she said, +smiling. + +“No, I wouldn't. I'd get Galton to give me back the page. He'd do it +quick--quick,” he said, still with a laugh. “Being poor's nothing, +anyhow. We'd have the time of our lives. We'd be two birds in a nest. +You can look out those eleventh-story windows 'way over to the Bronx, +and get bits of the river. And perhaps after a while Ann would do like +she said, and we'd be three birds.” + +“Oh!” she sighed ecstatically. “How beautiful it would be! We should be +a little family!” + +“So we should,” he exulted. “Think of T. T. with a family!” He drew his +paper of calculations toward him again. “Let's make believe we're going +to do it, and work out what it would cost--for three. You know about +housekeeping, don't you? Let's write down a list.” + +If he had warmed to his work before, he warmed still more after this. +Miss Alicia was drawn into it again, and followed his fanciful plans +with a new fervor. They were like two children who had played at +make-believe until they had lost sight of commonplace realities. + +Miss Alicia had lived among small economies and could be of great +assistance to him. They made lists and added up lines of figures until +the fine, huge room and its thousands of volumes melted away. In the +great hall, guarded by warriors in armor, the powdered heads of the +waiting footmen drooped and nodded while the prices of pounds of butter +and sugar and the value of potatoes and flour and nutmegs were balanced +with a hectic joy, and the relative significance of dollars and cents +and shillings and half-crowns and five-cent pieces caused Miss Alicia a +mild delirium. + +By the time that she had established the facts that a shilling was +something like twenty-five cents, a dollar was four and twopence, +and twenty-five dollars was something over five pounds, it was past +midnight. + +They heard the clock strike the half-hour, and stopped to stare at each +other. + +Tembarom got up with yet another laugh. + +“Say, I mustn't keep you up all night,” he said. “But haven't we had a +fine time--haven't we? I feel as if I'd been there.” + +They had been there so entirely that Miss Alicia brought herself back +with difficulty. + +“I can scarcely believe that we have not,” she said. “I feel as if I +didn't like to leave it. It was so delightful.” She glanced about her. +“The room looks huge,” she said--“almost too huge to live in.” + +“Doesn't it?” he answered. “Now you know how I feel.” He gathered his +scraps of paper together with a feeling touch. “I didn't want to come +back myself. When I get a bit of a grouch I shall jerk these out and go +back there again.” + +“Oh, do let me go with you!” she said. “I have so enjoyed it.” + +“You shall go whenever you like,” he said. “We'll keep it up for a sort +of game on rainy days. How much is a dollar, Miss Alicia?” + +“Four and twopence. And sugar is six cents a pound.” + +“Go to the head,” he answered. “Right again.” + +The opened roll of newspapers was lying on the table near her. They were +copies of The Earth, and the date of one of them by merest chance caught +her eye. + +“How odd!” she said. “Those are old papers. Did you notice? Is it a +mistake? This one is dated” She leaned forward, and her eye caught a +word in a head-line. + +“The Klondike,” she read. “There's something in it about the Klondike.” + He put his hand out and drew the papers away. + +“Don't you read that,” he said. “I don't want you to go to bed and dream +about the Klondike. You've got to dream about the flat in Harlem.” + +“Yes,” she answered. “I mustn't think about sad things. The flat in +Harlem is quite happy. But it startled me to see that word.” + +“I only sent for them--because I happened to want to look something up,” + he explained. “How much is a pound, Miss Alicia?” + +“Four dollars and eighty-six cents,” she replied, recovering herself. + +“Go up head again. You're going to stay there.” + +When she gave him her hand on their parting for the night he held it a +moment. A subtle combination of things made him do it. The calculations, +the measurements, the nest from which one could look out over the Bronx, +were prevailing elements in its make-up. Ann had been in each room of +the Harlem flat, and she always vaguely reminded him of Ann. + +“We are relations, ain't we?” he asked. + +“I am sure we often seem quite near relations--Temple.” She added the +name with very pretty kindness. + +“We're not distant ones any more, anyhow,” he said. “Are we near +enough--would you let me kiss you good night, Miss Alicia?” + +An emotional flush ran up to her cap ribbons. + +“Indeed, my dear boy--indeed, yes.” + +Holding her hand with a chivalric, if slightly awkward, courtesy, he +bent, and kissed her cheek. It was a hearty, affectionately grateful +young kiss, which, while it was for herself, remotely included Ann. + +“It's the first time I've ever said good night to any one like that,” he +said. “Thank you for letting me.” + +He patted her hand again before releasing it. She went up-stairs +blushing and feeling rather as though she had been proposed to, and yet, +spinster though she was, somehow quite understanding about the nest and +Ann. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +Lady Mallowe and her daughter did not pay their visit to Asshawe Holt, +the absolute, though not openly referred to, fact being that they had +not been invited. The visit in question had merely floated in the air as +a delicate suggestion made by her ladyship in her letter to Mrs. Asshe +Shaw, to the effect that she and Joan were going to stay at Temple +Barholm, the visit to Asshawe they had partly arranged some time ago +might now be fitted in. + +The partial arrangement itself, Mrs. Asshe Shaw remarked to her eldest +daughter when she received the suggesting note, was so partial as to +require slight consideration, since it had been made “by the woman +herself, who would push herself and her daughter into any house in +England if a back door were left open.” In the civilly phrased letter +she received in answer to her own, Lady Mallowe read between the lines +the point of view taken, and writhed secretly, as she had been made to +writhe scores of times in the course of her career. It had happened so +often, indeed, that it might have been imagined that she had become used +to it; but the woman who acted as maid to herself and Joan always knew +when “she had tried to get in somewhere” and failed. + +The note of explanation sent immediately to Miss Alicia was at once +adroit and amiable. They had unfortunately been detained in London a day +or two past the date fixed for their visit to Asshawe, and Lady +Mallowe would not allow Mrs. Asshe Shawe, who had so many guests, to +be inconvenienced by their arriving late and perhaps disarranging her +plans. So if it was quite convenient, they would come to Temple +Barholm a week earlier; but not, of course, if that would be the least +upsetting. + +When they arrived, Tembarom himself was in London. He had suddenly found +he was obliged to go. The business which called him was something which +could not be put off. He expected to return at once. It was made very +easy for him when he made his excuses to Palliser, who suggested that +he might even find himself returning by the same train with his guests, +which would give him opportunities. If he was detained, Miss Alicia +could take charge of the situation. They would quite understand when she +explained. Captain Palliser foresaw for himself some quiet entertainment +in his own meeting with the visitors. Lady Mallowe always provided a +certain order of amusement for him, and no man alive objected to finding +interest and even a certain excitement in the society of Lady Joan. It +was her chief characteristic that she inspired in a man a vague, even if +slightly irritated, desire to please her in some degree. To lead her +on to talk in her sometimes brilliant, always heartlessly unsparing, +fashion, perhaps to smile her shade of a bitter smile, gave a man +something to do, especially if he was bored. Palliser anticipated a +possible chance of repeating the dialogue of “the ladies,” not, however, +going into the Jem Temple Barholm part of it. When one finds a man whose +idle life has generated in him the curiosity which is usually called +feminine, it frequently occupies him more actively than he is aware or +will admit. + +A fashionable male gossip is a curious development. Palliser was, upon +the whole, not aware that he had an intense interest in finding out the +exact reason why Lady Mallowe had not failed utterly in any attempt to +drag her daughter to this particular place, to be flung headlong, so +to speak, at this special man. Lady Mallowe one could run and read, but +Lady Joan was in this instance unexplainable. And as she never deigned +the slightest concealment, the story of the dialogue would no doubt +cause her to show her hand. She must have a hand, and it must be one +worth seeing. + +It was not he, however, who could either guess or understand. The +following would have been his summing up of her: “Flaringly handsome +girl, brought up by her mother to one end. Bad temper to begin with. +Girl who might, if she lost her head, get into some frightful mess. +Meets a fascinating devil in the first season. A regular Romeo and +Juliet passion blazes up--all for love and the world well lost. All +London looking on. Lady Mallowe frantic and furious. Suddenly the +fascinating devil ruined for life, done for. Bolts, gets killed. Lady +Mallowe triumphant. Girl dragged about afterward like a beautiful young +demon in chains. Refuses all sorts of things. Behaves infernally. Nobody +knows anything else.” + +Nobody did know; Lady Mallowe herself did not. From the first year in +which Joan had looked at her with child consciousness she had felt +that there was antagonism in the deeps of her eyes. No mother likes to +recognize such a thing, and Lady Mallowe was a particularly vain woman. +The child was going to be an undeniable beauty, and she ought to adore +the mother who was to arrange her future. Instead of which, she plainly +disliked her. By the time she was three years old, the antagonism had +become defiance and rebellion. Lady Mallowe could not even indulge +herself in the satisfaction of showing her embryo beauty off, and thus +preparing a reputation for her. She was not cross or tearful, but she +had the temper of a little devil. She would not be shown off. She hated +it, and her bearing dangerously suggested that she hated her handsome +young mother. No effects could be produced with her. + +Before she was four the antagonism was mutual, and it increased with +years. The child was of a passionate nature, and had been born intensely +all her mother was not, and intensely not all her mother was. A +throw-back to some high-spirited and fiercely honest ancestor created in +her a fury at the sight of mean falsities and dishonors. Before she was +old enough to know the exact cause of her rage she was shaken by it. She +thought she had a bad temper, and was bad enough to hate her own mother +without being able to help it. As she grew older she found out that +she was not really so bad as she had thought, though she was obliged to +concede that nothing palliative could be said about the temper. It had +been violent from the first, and she had lived in an atmosphere which +infuriated it. She did not suppose such a thing could be controlled. +It sometimes frightened her. Had not the old Marquis of Norborough +been celebrated through his entire life for his furies? Was there not a +hushed-up rumor that he had once thrown a decanter at his wife, and so +nearly killed her that people had been asking one another in whispers if +a peer of the realm could be hanged. He had been born that way, so had +she. Her school-room days had been a horror to her, and also a terror, +because she had often almost flung ink-bottles and heavy rulers at her +silly, lying governesses, and once had dug a pair of scissors into one +sneaking old maid fool's arm when she had made her “see red” by her +ignoble trickeries. Perhaps she would be hanged some day herself. She +once prayed for a week that she might be made better tempered,--not that +she believed in prayer,--and of course nothing came of it. + +Every year she lived she raged more furiously at the tricks she saw +played by her mother and every one who surrounded her; the very servants +were greater liars and pilferers than any other servants. Her mother was +always trying to get things from people which they did not want to give +her. She would carry off slights and snubs as though they were actual +tributes, if she could gain her end. The girl knew what the meaning of +her own future would be. Since she definitely disliked her daughter, +Lady Mallowe did not mince matters when they were alone. She had no +money, she was extremely good looking, she had a certain number of years +in which to fight for her own hand among the new debutantes who were +presented every season. Her first season over, the next season other +girls would be fresher than she was, and newer to the men who were worth +marrying. Men like novelty. After her second season the debutantes would +seem fresher still by contrast. Then people would begin to say, “She +was presented four or five years ago.” After that it would be all +struggle,--every season it would be worse. It would become awful. +Unmarried women over thirty-five would speak of her as though they had +been in the nursery together. Married girls with a child or so would +treat her as though she were a maiden aunt. She knew what was before +her. Beggary stared them both in the face if she did not make the most +of her looks and waste no time. And Joan knew it was all true, and that +worse, far worse things were true also. She would be obliged to spend +a long life with her mother in cheap lodgings, a faded, penniless, +unmarried woman, railed at, taunted, sneered at, forced to be part of +humiliating tricks played to enable them to get into debt and then to +avoid paying what they owed. Had she not seen one horrible old woman of +their own rank who was an example of what poverty might bring one to, +an old harpy who tried to queen it over her landlady in an actual back +street, and was by turns fawned upon and disgustingly “your ladyshiped” + or outrageously insulted by her landlady? + +Then that first season! Dear, dear God! that first season when she met +Jem! She was not nineteen, and the facile world pretended to be at her +feet, and the sun shone as though London were in Italy, and the park was +marvelous with flowers, and there were such dances and such laughter! + +And it was all so young--and she met Jem! It was at a garden-party at +a lovely old house on the river, a place with celebrated gardens which +would always come back to her memory as a riot of roses. The frocks of +the people on the lawn looked as though they were made of the petals of +flowers, and a mad little haunting waltz was being played by the band, +and there under a great copper birch on the green velvet turf near her +stood Jem, looking at her with dark, liquid, slanting eyes! They were +only a few feet from each other,--and he looked, and she looked, and the +haunting, mad little waltz played on, and it was as though they had been +standing there since the world began, and nothing else was true. + +Afterward nothing mattered to either of them. Lady Mallowe herself +ceased to count. Now and then the world stops for two people in this +unearthly fashion. At such times, as far as such a pair are concerned, +causes and effects cease. Her bad temper fled, and she knew she would +never feel its furious lash again. + +With Jem looking at her with his glowing, drooping eyes, there would be +no reason for rage and shame. She confessed the temper to him and told +of her terror of it; he confessed to her his fondness for high play, and +they held each other's hands, not with sentimental youthful lightness, +but with the strong clasp of sworn comrades, and promised on honor that +they would stand by each other every hour of their lives against their +worst selves. + +They would have kept the pact. Neither was a slight or dishonest +creature. The phase of life through which they passed is not a new +one, but it is not often so nearly an omnipotent power as was their +three-months' dream. + +It lasted only that length of time. Then came the end of the world. Joan +did not look fresh in her second season, and before it was over men were +rather afraid of her. Because she was so young the freshness returned to +her cheek, but it never came back to her eyes. + +What exactly had happened, or what she thought, it was impossible to +know. She had delicate, black brows, and between them appeared two +delicate, fierce lines. Her eyes were of a purplish-gray, “the color of +thunder,” a snubbed admirer had once said. Between their black lashes +they were more deeply thunder-colored. Her life with her mother was a +thing not to be spoken of. To the desperate girl's agony of rebellion +against the horror of fate Lady Mallowe's taunts and beratings were +devilish. There was a certain boudoir in the house in Hill Street which +was to Joan like the question chamber of the Inquisition. Shut up in it +together, the two went through scenes which in their cruelty would have +done credit to the Middle Ages. Lady Mallowe always locked the door to +prevent the unexpected entrance of a servant, but servants managed to +hover about it, because her ladyship frequently forgot caution so far as +to raise her voice at times, as ladies are not supposed to do. + +“We fight,” Joan said with a short, horrible laugh one morning--“we +fight like cats and dogs. No, like two cats. A cat-and-dog fight is more +quickly over. Some day we shall scratch each other's eyes out.” + +“Have you no shame?” her mother cried. + +“I am burning with it. I am like St. Lawrence on his gridiron. 'Turn me +over on the other side,'” she quoted. + +This was when she had behaved so abominably to the Duke of Merthshire +that he had actually withdrawn his more than half-finished proposal. +That which she hated more than all else was the God she had prayed to +when she asked she might be helped to control her temper. + +She had not believed in Him at the time, but because she was frightened +after she had stuck the scissors into Fraulein she had tried the appeal +as an experiment. The night after she met Jem, when she went to her +room in Hill Street for the night, she knelt down and prayed because she +suddenly did believe. Since there was Jem in the world, there must be +the other somewhere. + +As day followed day, her faith grew with her love. She told Jem about +it, and they agreed to say a prayer together at the same hour every +night. The big young man thought her piety beautiful, and, his voice was +unsteady as they talked. But she told him that she was not pious, but +impious. + +“I want to be made good,” she said. “I have been bad all my life. I was +a bad child, I have been a bad girl; but now I must be good.” + +On the night after the tragic card-party she went to her room and +kneeled down in a new spirit. She knelt, but not to cover her face, she +knelt with throat strained and her fierce young face thrown back and +upward. + +Her hands were clenched to fists and flung out and shaken at the +ceiling. She said things so awful that her own blood shuddered as she +uttered them. But she could not--in her mad helplessness--make them +awful enough. She flung herself on the carpet at last, her arms +outstretched like a creature crucified face downward on the cross. + +“I believed in You!” she gasped. “The first moment you gave me a reason +I believed. I did! I did! We both said our prayer to You every night, +like children. And you've done this--this--this!” And she beat with her +fists upon the floor. + +Several years had passed since that night, and no living being knew what +she carried in her soul. If she had a soul, she said to herself, it was +black--black. But she had none. Neither had Jem had one; when the earth +and stones had fallen upon him it had been the end, as it would have +been if he had been a beetle. + +This was the guest who was coming to the house where Miles Hugo smiled +from his frame in the picture-gallery--the house which would to-day have +been Jem's if T. Tembarom had not inherited it. + +Tembarom returned some twenty-four hours after Miss Alicia had received +his visitors for him. He had been “going into” absorbing things in +London. His thoughts during his northward journey were puzzled and +discouraged ones. He sat in the corner of the railway carriage and +stared out of the window without seeing the springtime changes in the +flying landscape. + +The price he would have given for a talk with Ann would not have been +easy to compute. Her head, her level little head, and her way of seeing +into things and picking out facts without being rattled by what didn't +really count, would have been worth anything. The day itself was a +discouraging one, with heavy threatenings of rain which did not fall. + +The low clouds were piles of dark-purple gray, and when the sun tried +to send lances of ominous yellow light through them, strange and lurid +effects were produced, and the heavy purple-gray masses rolled together +again. He wondered why he did not hear low rumblings of thunder. + +He went to his room at once when he reached home. He was late, and +Pearson told him that the ladies were dressing for dinner. Pearson was +in waiting with everything in readiness for the rapid performance of his +duties. Tembarom had learned to allow himself to be waited upon. He +had, in fact, done this for the satisfying of Pearson, whose respectful +unhappiness would otherwise have been manifest despite his efforts +to conceal it. He dressed quickly and asked some questions about +Strangeways. Otherwise Pearson thought he seemed preoccupied. He only +made one slight joke. + +“You'd be a first-rate dresser for a quick-change artist, Pearson,” he +remarked. + +On his way to the drawing-room he deflected from the direct path, +turning aside for a moment to the picture-gallery because for a reason +of his own he wanted to take a look at Miles Hugo. He took a look at +Miles Hugo oftener than Miss Alicia knew. + +The gallery was dim and gloomy enough, now closing in in the purple-gray +twilight. He walked through it without glancing at the pictures until +he came to the tall boy in the satin and lace of Charles II period. +He paused there only for a short time, but he stood quite near the +portrait, and looked hard at the handsome face. + +“Gee!” he exclaimed under his breath, “it's queer, gee!” + +Then he turned suddenly round toward one of the big windows. He turned +because he had been startled by a sound, a movement. Some one was +standing before the window. For a second's space the figure seemed +as though it was almost one with the purple-gray clouds that were its +background. It was a tall young woman, and her dress was of a thin +material of exactly their color--dark-gray and purple at once. The +wearer held her head high and haughtily. She had a beautiful, stormy +face, and the slender, black brows were drawn together by a frown. +Tembarom had never seen a girl as handsome and disdainful. He had, +indeed, never been looked at as she looked at him when she moved +slightly forward. + +He knew who it was. It was the Lady Joan girl, and the sudden sight of +her momentarily “rattled” him. + +“You quite gave me a jolt,” he said awkwardly, and knowing that he said +it like a “mutt.” “I didn't know any one was in the gallery.” + +“What are you doing here?” she asked. She spoke to him as though she +were addressing an intruding servant. There was emphasis on the word +“you.” + +Her intention was so evident that it increased his feeling of being +“rattled.” To find himself confronting deliberate ill nature of a +superior and finished kind was like being spoken to in a foreign +language. + +“I--I'm T. Tembarom.” he answered, not able to keep himself from staring +because she was such a “winner” as to looks. + +“T. Tembarom?” she repeated slowly, and her tone made him at once see +what a fool he had been to say it. + +“I forgot,” he half laughed. “I ought to have said I'm Temple Barholm.” + +“Oh!” was her sole comment. She actually stood still and looked him up +and down. + +She knew perfectly well who he was, and she knew perfectly well that no +palliative view could possibly be taken by any well-bred person of her +bearing toward him. He was her host. She had come, a guest, to his house +to eat his bread and salt, and the commonest decency demanded that she +should conduct herself with civility. But she cared nothing for the +commonest, or the most uncommon, decency. She was thinking of other +things. As she had stood before the window she had felt that her soul +had never been so black as it was when she turned away from Miles Hugo's +portrait--never, never. She wanted to hurt people. Perhaps Nero had felt +as she did and was not so hideous as he seemed. + +The man's tailor had put him into proper clothes, and his features were +respectable enough, but nothing on earth could make him anything but +what he so palpably was. She had seen that much across the gallery as +she had watched him staring at Miles Hugo. + +“I should think,” she said, dropping the words slowly again, “that you +would often forget that you are Temple Barholm.” + +“You're right there,” he answered. “I can't nail myself down to it. It +seems like a sort of joke.” + +She looked him over again. + +“It is a joke,” she said. + +It was as though she had slapped him in the face, though she said it so +quietly. He knew he had received the slap, and that, as it was a woman, +he could not slap back. It was a sort of surprise to her that he did not +giggle nervously and turn red and shuffle his feet in impotent misery. +He kept quite still a moment or so and looked at her, though not as she +had looked at him. She wondered if he was so thick-skinned that he did +not feel anything at all. + +“That's so,” he admitted. “That's so.” Then he actually smiled at her. +“I don't know how to behave myself, you see,” he said. “You're Lady +Joan Fayre, ain't you? I'm mighty glad to see you. Happy to make your +acquaintance, Lady Joan.” + +He took her hand and shook it with friendly vigor before she knew what +he was going to do. + +“I'll bet a dollar dinner's ready,” he added, “and Burrill's waiting. +It scares me to death to keep Burrill waiting. He's got no use for me, +anyhow. Let's go and pacify him.” + +He did not lead the way or drag her by the arm, as it seemed to her +quite probable that he might, as costermongers do on Hampstead Heath. +He knew enough to let her pass first through the door; and when Lady +Mallowe looked up to see her enter the drawing-room, he was behind +her. To her ladyship's amazement and relief, they came in, so to speak, +together. She had been spared the trying moment of assisting at the +ceremony of their presentation to each other. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +In a certain sense she had been dragged to the place by her mother. Lady +Mallowe had many resources, and above all she knew how to weary her into +resistlessness which was almost indifference. There had been several +shameless little scenes in the locked boudoir. But though she had been +dragged, she had come with an intention. She knew what she would find +herself being forced to submit to if the intruder were not disposed of +at the outset, and if the manoeuvering began which would bring him to +London. He would appear at her elbow here and there and at every corner, +probably unaware that he was being made an offensive puppet by the +astute cleverness against which she could not defend herself, unless +she made actual scenes in drawing-rooms, at dinner-tables, in the very +streets themselves. Gifted as Lady Mallowe was in fine and light-handed +dealing of her cards in any game, her stakes at this special juncture +were seriously high. Joan knew what they were, and that she was in a +mood touched with desperation. The defenselessly new and ignorant Temple +Barholm was to her mind a direct intervention of Providence, and it was +only Joan herself who could rob her of the benefits and reliefs he could +provide. With regard to Lady Joan, though Palliser's quoted New Yorkism, +“wipe up the earth,” was unknown to her, the process she had in mind +when she left London for Lancashire would have been well covered by it. +As in feudal days she might have ordered the right hand of a creature +such as this to be struck off, forgetting that he was a man, so was she +capable to-day of inflicting upon him any hurt which might sweep him out +of her way. She had not been a tender-hearted girl, and in these years +she was absolutely callous. The fellow being what he was, she had not +the resources she might have called upon if he had been a gentleman. +He would not understand the chills and slights of good manners. In +the country he would be easier to manage than in town, especially if +attacked in his first timidity before his new grandeurs. His big house +no doubt frightened him, his servants, the people who were of a class +of which he knew nothing. When Palliser told his story she saw new +openings. He would stand in servile awe of her and of others like her. +He would be afraid of her, to begin with, and she could make him more +so. + +But though she had come to alarm him so that he would be put to absolute +flight, she had also come for another reason. She had never seen Temple +Barholm, and she had discovered before they had known each other a week +that it was Jem's secret passion. He had loved it with a slighted and +lonely child's romantic longing; he had dreamed of it as boy and man, +knowing that it must some time be his own, his home, and yet prevented +by his uncle's attitude toward him from daring to act as though he +remembered the fact. Old Mr. Temple Barholm's special humor had been +that of a man guarding against presumption. + +Jem had not intended to presume, but he had been snubbed with relentless +cruelty even for boyish expressions of admiration. And he had hid his +feeling in his heart until he poured it out to Joan. To-day it would +have been his. Together, together, they would have lived in it and loved +every stone of it, every leaf on every great tree, every wild daffodil +nodding in the green grass. Most people, God be thanked! can forget. The +wise ones train themselves beyond all else to forgetting. + +Joan had been a luckless, ill-brought-up, passionate child and girl. In +her Mayfair nursery she had been as little trained as a young savage. +Since her black hour she had forgotten nothing, allowed herself no +palliating moments. Her brief dream of young joy had been the one +real thing in her life. She absolutely had lain awake at night and +reconstructed the horror of Jem's death, had lived it over again, +writhing in agony on her bed, and madly feeling that by so doing she was +holding her love close to her life. + +And the man who stood in the place Jem had longed for, the man who sat +at the head of his table, was this “thing!” That was what she felt him +to be, and every hurt she could do him, every humiliation which should +write large before him his presumption and grotesque unfitness, would be +a blow struck for Jem, who could never strike a blow for himself again. +It was all senseless, but she had not want to reason. Fate had not +reasoned in her behalf. She watched Tembarom under her lids at the +dinner-table. + +He had not wriggled or shuffled when she spoke to him in the gallery; he +did neither now, and made no obvious efforts to seem unembarrassed. +He used his knife and fork in odd ways, and he was plainly not used to +being waited upon. More than once she saw the servants restrain smiles. +She addressed no remarks to him herself, and answered with chill +indifference such things as he said to her. If conversation had flagged +between him and Mr. Palford because the solicitor did not know how +to talk to him, it did not even reach the point of flagging with her, +because she would not talk and did not allow it to begin. Lady Mallowe, +sick with annoyance, was quite brilliant. She drew out Miss Alicia by +detailed reminiscences of a visit paid to Rowlton Hall years before. +The vicar had dined at the hall while she had been there. She remembered +perfectly his charm of manner and powerful originality of mind, she said +sweetly. He had spoken with such affection of his “little Alicia,” who +was such a help to him in his parish work. + +“I thought he was speaking of a little girl at first,” she said +smilingly, “but it soon revealed itself that 'little Alicia' was only +his caressing diminutive.” + +A certain widening of Miss Alicia's fascinated eye, which could not +remove itself from her face, caused her to quail slightly. + +“He was of course a man of great force of character and--and +expression,” she added. “I remember thinking at the time that his +eloquent frankness of phrase might perhaps seem even severe to frivolous +creatures like myself. A really remarkable personality.” + +“His sermons,” faltered Miss Alicia, as a refuge, “were indeed +remarkable. I am sure he must greatly have enjoyed his conversations +with you. I am afraid there were very few clever women in the +neighborhood of Rowlton.” + +Casting a bitter side glance on her silent daughter, Lady Mallowe +lightly seized upon New York as a subject. She knew so much of it from +delightful New Yorkers. London was full of delightful New Yorkers. +She would like beyond everything to spend a winter in New York. She +understood that the season there was in the winter and that it was most +brilliant. Mr. Temple Barholm must tell them about it. + +“Yes,” said Lady Joan, looking at him through narrowed lids, “Mr. Temple +Barholm ought to tell us about it.” + +She wanted to hear what he would say, to see how he would try to get out +of the difficulty or flounder staggeringly through it. Her mother knew +in an instant that her own speech had been a stupid blunder. She had put +the man into exactly the position Joan would enjoy seeing him in. But he +wasn't in a position, it appeared. + +“What is the season, anyhow?” he said. “You've got one on me when you +talk about seasons.” + +“In London,” Miss Alicia explained courageously, “it is the time when +her Majesty is at Buckingham Palace, and when the drawing-rooms are +held, and Parliament sits, and people come up to town and give balls.” + +She wished that Lady Mallowe had not made her remark just at this time. +She knew that the quietly moving servants were listening, and that their +civilly averted eyes had seen Captain Palliser smile and Lady Joan's +curious look, and that the whole incident would form entertainment for +their supper-table. + +“I guess they have it in the winter in New York, then, if that's it,” + he said. “There's no Buckingham Palace there, and no drawing-rooms, and +Congress sits in Washington. But New York takes it out in suppers at +Sherry's and Delmonico's and theaters and receptions. Miss Alicia knows +how I used to go to them when I was a little fellow, don't you, Miss +Alicia?” he added, smiling at her across the table. + +“You have told me,” she answered. She noticed that Burrill and the +footmen stood at attention in their places. + +“I used to stand outside in the snow and look in through the windows +at the people having a good time,” he said. “Us kids that were selling +newspapers used to try to fill ourselves up with choosing whose plate +we'd take if we could get at it. Beefsteak and French fried potatoes +were the favorites, and hot oyster stews. We were so all-fired hungry!” + +“How pathetic!” exclaimed Lady Mallowe. “And how interesting, now that +it is all over!” + +She knew that her manner was gushing, and Joan's slight side glance of +subtle appreciation of the fact exasperated her almost beyond endurance. +What could one do, what could one talk about, without involving oneself +in difficulties out of which one's hasty retreat could be effected +only by gushing? Taking into consideration the awkwardness of the whole +situation and seeing Joan's temper and attitude, if there had not been +so much at stake she would have received a summoning telegram from +London the next day and taken flight. But she had been forced to hold +her ground before in places she detested or where she was not wanted, +and she must hold it again until she had found out the worst or the +best. And, great heaven! how Joan was conducting herself, with that +slow, quiet insultingness of tone and look, the wicked, silent insolence +of bearing which no man was able to stand, however admiringly he began! +The Duke of Merthshire had turned his back upon it even after all +the world had known his intentions, even after the newspapers had +prematurely announced the engagement and she herself had been convinced +that he could not possibly retreat. She had worked desperately that +season, she had fawned on and petted newspaper people, and stooped to +little things no one but herself could have invented and which no one +but herself knew of. And never had Joan been so superb; her beauty +had seemed at its most brilliant height. The match would have been +magnificent; but he could not stand her, and would not. Why, indeed, +should any man? She glanced at her across the table. A beauty, of +course; but she was thinner, and her eyes had a hungry fierceness in +them, and the two delicate, straight lines between her black brows were +deepening. + +And there were no dukes on the horizon. Merthshire had married almost +at once, and all the others were too young or had wives already. If this +man would take her, she might feel herself lucky. Temple Barholm and +seventy thousand a year were not to be trifled with by a girl who had +made herself unpopular and who was twenty-six. And for her own luck the +moment had come just before it was too late--a second marriage, wealth, +the end of the hideous struggle. Joan was the obstacle in her path, and +she must be forced out of it. She glanced quickly at Tembarom. He was +trying to talk to Joan now. He was trying to please her. She evidently +had a fascination for him. He looked at her in a curious way when she +was not looking at him. It was a way different from that of other men +whom she had watched as they furtively stared. It had struck her that he +could not take his eyes away. That was because he had never before been +on speaking terms with a woman of beauty and rank. + +Joan herself knew that he was trying to please her, and she was asking +herself how long he would have the courage and presumption to keep it +up. He could scarcely be enjoying it. + +He was not enjoying it, but he kept it up. He wanted to be friends with +her for more reasons than one. No one had ever remained long at enmity +with him. He had “got over” a good many people in the course of his +career, as he had “got over” Joseph Hutchinson. This had always been +accomplished because he presented no surface at which arrows could be +thrown. She was the hardest proposition he had ever come up against, he +was thinking; but if he didn't let himself be fool enough to break loose +and get mad, she'd not hate him so much after a while. She would begin +to understand that it wasn't his fault; then perhaps he could get her to +make friends. In fact, if she had been able to read his thoughts, there +is no certainty as to how far her temper might have carried her. But +she could see him only as a sharp-faced, common American of the shop-boy +class, sitting at the head of Jem Temple Barholm's table, in his chair. + +As they passed through the hall to go to the drawing-room after the meal +was over, she saw a neat, pale young man speaking to Burrill and heard a +few of his rather anxiously uttered words. + +“The orders were that he was always to be told when Mr. Strangeways was +like this, under all circumstances. I can't quiet him, Mr. Burrill. He +says he must see him at once.” + +Burrill walked back stiffly to the dining-room. + +“It won't trouble HIM much to be disturbed at his wine,” he muttered +before going. “He doesn't know hock from port.” + +When the message was delivered to him, Tembarom excused himself with +simple lack of ceremony. + +“I 'll be back directly,” he said to Palliser. “Those are good cigars.” + And he left the room without going into the matter further. + +Palliser took one of the good cigars, and in taking it exchanged a +glance with Burrill which distantly conveyed the suggestion that perhaps +he had better remain for a moment or so. Captain Palliser's knowledge of +interesting detail was obtained “by chance here and there,” he sometimes +explained, but it was always obtained with a light and casual air. + +“I am not sure,” he remarked as he took the light Burrill held for +him and touched the end of his cigar--“I am not quite sure that I know +exactly who Mr. Strangeways is.” + +“He's the gentleman, sir, that Mr. Temple Barholm brought over from New +York,” replied Burrill with a stolidity clearly expressive of distaste. + +“Indeed, from New York! Why doesn't one see him?” + +“He's not in a condition to see people, sir,” said Burrill, and +Palliser's slightly lifted eyebrow seeming to express a good deal, he +added a sentence, “He's not all there, sir.” + +“From New York, and not all there. What seems to be the matter?” + Palliser asked quietly. “Odd idea to bring a lunatic all the way from +America. There must be asylums there.” + +“Us servants have orders to keep out of the way,” Burrill said with +sterner stolidity. “He's so nervous that the sight of strangers does him +harm. I may say that questions are not encouraged.” + +“Then I must not ask any more,” said Captain Palliser. “I did not know I +was edging on to a mystery.” + +“I wasn't aware that I was myself, sir,” Burrill remarked, “until I +asked something quite ordinary of Pearson, who is Mr. Temple Barholm's +valet, and it was not what he said, but what he didn't, that showed me +where I stood.” + +“A mystery is an interesting thing to have in a house,” said Captain +Palliser without enthusiasm. He smoked his cigar as though he was +enjoying its aroma, and even from his first remark he had managed not to +seem to be really quite addressing himself to Burrill. He was certainly +not talking to him in the ordinary way; his air was rather that of +a gentleman overhearing casual remarks in which he was only vaguely +interested. Before Burrill left the room, however, and he left it under +the impression that he had said no more than civility demanded, Captain +Palliser had reached the point of being able to deduce a number of +things from what he, like Pearson, had not said. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +The man who in all England was most deeply submerged in deadly boredom +was, the old Duke of Stone said with wearied finality, himself. He had +been a sinful young man of finished taste in 1820; he had cultivated +these tastes, which were for literature and art and divers other things, +in the most richly alluring foreign capitals until finding himself +becoming an equally sinful and finished elderly man, he had decided to +marry. After the birth of her four daughters, his wife had died and left +them on his hands. Developing at that time a tendency to rheumatic gout +and a daily increasing realization of the fact that the resources of +a poor dukedom may be hopelessly depleted by an expensive youth passed +brilliantly in Vienna, Paris, Berlin, and London, when it was endurable, +he found it expedient to give up what he considered the necessities +of life and to face existence in the country in England. It is not +imperative that one should enter into detail. There was much, and it +covered years during which his four daughters grew up and he “grew +down,” as he called it. If his temper had originally been a bad one, it +would doubtless have become unbearable; as he had been born an amiable +person, he merely sank into the boredom which threatens extinction. +His girls bored him, his neighbors bored him, Stone Hover bored him, +Lancashire bored him, England had always bored him except at abnormal +moments. + +“I read a great deal, I walk when I can,” this he wrote once to a friend +in Rome. “When I am too stiff with rheumatic gout, I drive myself about +in a pony chaise and feel like an aunt in a Bath chair. I have so +far escaped the actual chair itself. It perpetually rains here, I may +mention, so I don't get out often. You who gallop on white roads in the +sunshine and hear Italian voices and vowels, figure to yourself your +friend trundling through damp, lead-colored Lancashire lanes and being +addressed in the Lancashire dialect. But so am I driven by necessity +that I listen to it gratefully. I want to hear village news from +villagers. I have become a gossip. It is a wonderful thing to be a +gossip. It assists one to get through one's declining years. Do not wait +so long as I did before becoming one. Begin in your roseate middle age.” + +An attack of gout more severe than usual had confined him to his room +for some time after the arrival of the new owner of Temple Barholm. +He had, in fact, been so far indisposed that a week or two had passed +before he had heard of him. His favorite nurse had been chosen by him, +because she was a comfortable village woman whom he had taught to lay +aside her proper awe and talk to him about her own affairs and her +neighbors when he was in the mood to listen. She spoke the broadest +possible dialect,--he liked dialect, having learned much in his youth +from mellow-eyed Neapolitan and Tuscan girls,--and she had never been +near a hospital, but had been trained by the bedsides of her children +and neighbors. + +“If I were a writing person, she would become literature, impinging upon +Miss Mitford's tales of 'Our Village,' Miss Austen's varieties, and the +young Bronte woman's 'Wuthering Heights.' Mon Dieu! what a resource it +would be to be a writing person!” he wrote to the Roman friend. + +To his daughters he said: + +“She brings back my tenderest youth. When she pokes the fire in the +twilight and lumbers about the room, making me comfortable, I lie in my +bed and watch the flames dancing on the ceiling and feel as if I were +six and had the measles. She tucks me in, my dears--she tucks me in, I +assure you. Sometimes I feel it quite possible that she will bend over +and kiss me.” + +She had tucked him in luxuriously in his arm-chair by the fire on the +first day of his convalescence, and as she gave him his tray, with his +beef tea and toast, he saw that she contained anecdotal information of +interest which tactful encouragement would cause to flow. + +“Now that I am well enough to be entertained, Braddle,” he said, “tell +me what has been happening.” + +“A graidely lot, yore Grace,” she answered; “but not so much i' Stone +Hover as i' Temple Barholm. He's coom!” + +Then the duke vaguely recalled rumors he had heard sometime before his +indisposition. + +“The new Mr. Temple Barholm? He's an American, isn't he? The lost heir +who had to be sought for high and low--principally low, I understand.” + +The beef tea was excellently savory, the fire was warm, and relief from +two weeks of pain left a sort of Nirvana of peace. Rarely had the duke +passed a more delightfully entertaining morning. There was a richness +in the Temple Barholm situation, as described in detail by Mrs. Braddle, +which filled him with delight. His regret that he was not a writing +person intensified itself. Americans had not appeared upon the horizon +in Miss Mitford's time, or in Miss Austen's, or in the Brontes' the +type not having entirely detached itself from that of the red Indian. It +struck him, however, that Miss Austen might have done the best work with +this affair if she had survived beyond her period. Her finely demure and +sly sense of humor would have seen and seized upon its opportunities. +Stark moorland life had not encouraged humor in the Brontes, and village +patronage had not roused in Miss Mitford a sense of ironic contrasts. +Yes, Jane Austen would have done it best. + +That the story should be related by Mrs. Braddle gave it extraordinary +flavor. No man or woman of his own class could have given such a +recounting, or revealed so many facets of this jewel of entertainment. +He and those like him could have seen the thing only from their own +amused, outraged, bewildered, or cynically disgusted point of view. +Mrs. Braddle saw it as the villagers saw it--excited, curious, secretly +hopeful of undue lavishness from “a chap as had nivver had brass before +an' wants to chuck it away for brag's sake,” or somewhat alarmed at the +possible neglecting of customs and privileges by a person ignorant +of memorial benefactions. She saw it as the servants saw it--secretly +disdainful, outwardly respectful, waiting to discover whether the +sacrifice of professional distinction would be balanced by liberties +permitted and lavishness of remuneration and largess. She saw it also +from her own point of view--that of a respectable cottage dweller whose +great-great-grandfather had been born in a black-and-white timbered +house in a green lane, and who knew what were “gentry ways” and what +nature of being could never even remotely approach the assumption of +them. She had seen Tembarom more than once, and summed him up by no +means ill-naturedly. + +“He's not such a bad-lookin' chap. He is na short-legged or +turn-up-nosed, an' that's summat. He con stride along, an' he looks +healthy enow for aw he's thin. A thin chap nivver looks as common as a +fat un. If he wur pudgy, it ud be a lot more agen him.” + +“I think, perhaps,” amiably remarked the duke, sipping his beef tea, +“that you had better not call him a `chap,' Braddle. The late Mr. Temple +Barholm was never referred to as a `chap' exactly, was he?” + +Mrs. Braddle gave vent to a sort of internal-sounding chuckle. She had +not meant to be impertinent, and she knew her charge was aware that she +had not, and that he was neither being lofty or severe with her. + +“Eh, I'd 'a'loiked to ha' heard somebody do it when he was nigh,” she +said. “Happen I'd better be moindin' ma P's an' Q's a bit more. But +that's what this un is, yore Grace. He's a `chap' out an' out. An' +theer's some as is sayin' he's not a bad sort of a chap either. There's +lots o' funny stories about him i' Temple Barholm village. He goes in to +th' cottages now an' then, an' though a fool could see he does na know +his place, nor other people's, he's downreet open-handed. An' he maks +foak laugh. He took a lot o' New York papers wi' big pictures in 'em +to little Tummas Hibblethwaite. An' wot does tha think he did one rainy +day? He walks in to the owd Dibdens' cottage, an' sits down betwixt 'em +as they sit one each side o' th' f're, an' he tells 'em they've got to +cheer him up a bit becos he's got nought to do. An' he shows 'em th' +picter-papers, too, an' tells 'em about New York, an' he ends up wi' +singin' 'em a comic song. They was frightened out o' their wits at +first, but somehow he got over 'em, an' made 'em laugh their owd heads +nigh off.” + +Her charge laid his spoon down, and his shrewd, lined face assumed a new +expression of interest. + +“Did he! Did he, indeed!” he exclaimed. “Good Lord! what an exhilarating +person! I must go and see him. Perhaps he'd make me laugh my `owd head +nigh off.' What a sensation!” + +There was really immense color in the anecdotes and in the side views +accompanying them; the routing out of her obscurity of the isolated, +dependent spinster relative, for instance. Delicious! The man was either +desperate with loneliness or he was one of the rough-diamond benefactors +favored by novelists, in which latter case he would not be so +entertaining. Pure self-interest caused the Duke of Stone quite +unreservedly to hope that he was anguished by the unaccustomedness of +his surroundings, and was ready to pour himself forth to any one who +would listen. There would be originality in such a situation, and one +could draw forth revelations worth forming an audience to. He himself +had thought that the volte-face such circumstances demanded would surely +leave a man staring at things foreign enough to bore him. This, indeed, +had been one of his cherished theories; but the only man he had ever +encountered who had become a sort of millionaire between one day +and another had been an appalling Yorkshire man, who had had some +extraordinary luck with diamond-mines in South Africa, and he had been +simply drunk with exhilaration and the delight of spending money with +both hands, while he figuratively slapped on the back persons who six +weeks before would have kicked him for doing it. + +This man did not appear to be excited. The duke mentally rocked with +gleeful appreciation of certain things Mrs. Braddle detailed. She +gave, of course, Burrill's version of the brief interview outside the +dining-room door when Miss Alicia's status in the household bad been +made clear to him. But the duke, being a man endowed with a subtle sense +of shades, was wholly enlightened as to the inner meaning of Burrill's +master. + +“Now, that was good,” he said to himself, almost chuckling. “By the +Lord! the man might have been a gentleman.” + +When to all this was added the story of the friend or poor relative, or +what not, who was supposed to be “not quoite reet i' th' yed,” and was +taken care of like a prince, in complete isolation, attended by a valet, +visited and cheered up by his benefactor, he felt that a boon had +indeed been bestowed upon him. It was a nineteenth century “Mysteries of +Udolpho” in embryo, though too greatly diluted by the fact that though +the stranger was seen by no one, the new Temple Barholm made no secret +of him. + +If he had only made a secret of him, the whole thing would have been +complete. There was of course in the situation a discouraging suggestion +that Temple Barholm MIGHT turn out to be merely the ordinary noble +character bestowing boons. + +“I will burn a little candle to the Virgin and offer up prayers that +he may NOT. That sort of thing would have no cachet whatever, and would +only depress me,” thought his still sufficiently sinful Grace. + +“When, Braddle, do you think I shall be able to take a drive again?” he +asked his nurse. + +Braddle was not prepared to say upon her own responsibility, but the +doctor would tell him when he came in that afternoon. + +“I feel astonishingly well, considering the sharpness of the attack,” + her patient said. “Our little talk has quite stimulated me. When I go +out,”--there was a gleam in the eye he raised to hers,--“I am going to +call at Temple Barholm.” + +“I knowed tha would,” she commented with maternal familiarity. “I dunnot +believe tha could keep away.” + +And through the rest of the morning, as he sat and gazed into the +fire, she observed that he several times chuckled gently and rubbed his +delicate, chill, swollen knuckled hands together. + +A few weeks later there were some warm days, and his Grace chose to go +out in his pony carriage. Much as he detested the suggestion of “the +aunt in the Bath chair,” he had decided that he found the low, informal +vehicle more entertaining than a more imposing one, and the desperation +of his desire to be entertained can be comprehended only by those who +have known its parallel. If he was not in some way amused, he found +himself whirling, with rheumatic gout and seventy years, among +recollections of vivid pictures better hung in galleries with closed +doors. It was always possible to stop the pony carriage to look at +views--bits of landscape caught at by vision through trees or under +their spreading branches, or at the end of little green-hedged lanes +apparently adorned with cottages, or farm-houses with ricks and +barn-yards and pig-pens designed for the benefit of Morland and other +painters of rusticity. He could also slacken the pony's pace and draw up +by roadsides where solitary men sat by piles of stone, which they broke +at leisure with hammers as though they were cracking nuts. He had spent +many an agreeable half-hour in talk with a road-mender who could be led +into conversation and was left elated by an extra shilling. As in years +long past he had sat under chestnut-trees in the Apennines and shared +the black bread and sour wine of a peasant, so in these days he +frequently would have been glad to sit under a hedge and eat bread and +cheese with a good fellow who did not know him and whose summing up of +the domestic habits and needs of “th' workin' mon” or the amiabilities +or degeneracies of the gentry would be expressed, figuratively speaking, +in thoughts and words of one syllable. The pony, however, could not +take him very far afield, and one could not lunch on the grass with a +stone-breaker well within reach of one's own castle without an air of +eccentricity which he no more chose to assume than he would have chosen +to wear long hair and a flowing necktie. Also, rheumatic gout had +not hovered about the days in the Apennines. He did not, it might be +remarked, desire to enter into conversation with his humble fellow-man +from altruistic motives. He did it because there was always a chance +more or less that he would be amused. He might hear of little tragedies +or comedies,--he much preferred the comedies,--and he often learned new +words or phrases of dialect interestingly allied to pure Anglo-Saxon. +When this last occurred, he entered them in a notebook he kept in his +library. He sometimes pretended to himself that he was going to write a +book on dialects; but he knew that he was a dilettante sort of creature +and would really never do it. The pretense, however, was a sort of +asset. In dire moments during rains or foggy weather when he felt +twinges and had read till his head ached, he had wished that he had +not eaten all his cake at the first course of life's feast, that he had +formed a habit or so which might have survived and helped him to eke out +even an easy-chair existence through the last courses. He did not +find consolation in the use of the palliative adjective as applied to +himself. A neatly cynical sense of humor prevented it. He knew he had +always been an entirely selfish man and that he was entirely selfish +still, and was not revoltingly fretful and domineering only because he +was constitutionally unirritable. + +He was, however, amiably obstinate, and was accustomed to getting his +own way in most things. On this day of his outing he insisted on driving +himself in the face of arguments to the contrary. He was so fixed in +his intention that his daughters and Mrs. Braddle were obliged to admit +themselves overpowered. + +“Nonsense! Nonsense!” he protested when they besought him to allow +himself to be driven by a groom. “The pony is a fat thing only suited to +a Bath chair. He does not need driving. He doesn't go when he is driven. +He frequently lies down and puts his cheek on his hand and goes to +sleep, and I am obliged to wait until he wakes up.” + +“But, papa, dear,” Lady Edith said, “your poor hands are not very +strong. And he might run away and kill you. Please do be reasonable!” + +“My dear girl,” he answered, “if he runs, I shall run after him and kill +him when I catch him. George,” he called to the groom holding the plump +pony's head, “tell her ladyship what this little beast's name is.” + +“The Indolent Apprentice, your Grace,” the groom answered, touching his +hat and suppressing a grin. + +“I called him that a month ago,” said the duke. “Hogarth would have +depicted all sorts of evil ends for him. Three weeks since, when I +was in bed being fed by Braddle with a spoon, I could have outrun him +myself. Let George follow me on a horse if you like, but he must keep +out of my sight. Half a mile behind will do.” + +He got into the phaeton, concealing his twinges with determination, and +drove down the avenue with a fine air, sitting erect and smiling. Indoor +existence had become unendurable, and the spring was filling the woods. + +“I love the spring,” he murmured to himself. “I am sentimental about it. +I love sentimentality, in myself, when I am quite alone. If I had been +a writing person, I should have made verses every year in April and sent +them to magazines--and they would have been returned to me.” + +The Indolent Apprentice was, it is true, fat, though comely, and he was +also entirely deserving of his name. Like his Grace of Stone, however, +he had seen other and livelier days, and now and then he was beset by +recollections. He was still a rather high, though slow, stepper--the +latter from fixed preference. He had once stepped fast, as well as with +a spirited gait. During his master's indisposition he had stood in his +loose box and professed such harmlessness that he had not been annoyed +by being taken out for exercise as regularly as he might have been. He +had champed his oats and listened to the repartee of the stable-boys, +and he had, perhaps, felt the coming of the spring when the cuckoo +insisted upon it with thrilling mellowness across the green sweeps of +the park land. Sometimes it made him sentimental, as it made his master, +sometimes it made him stamp his small hoofs restlessly in his straw and +want to go out. He did not intend, when he was taken out, to emulate the +Industrious Apprentice by hastening his pace unduly and raising false +hopes for the future, but he sniffed in the air the moist green of +leafage and damp moss, massed with yellow primroses cuddling in it as +though for warmth, and he thought of other fresh scents and the feel of +the road under a pony's feet. + +Therefore, when he found himself out in the world again, he shook his +head now and then and even tossed it with the recurring sensations of a +pony who was a mere boy and still slight in the waist. + +“You feel it too, do you?” said the duke. “I won't remind you of your +years.” + +The drive from Stone Hover to the village of Temple Barholm was an easy +one, of many charms of leaf-arched lanes and green-edged road. The duke +had always had a partiality for it, and he took it this morning. He +would probably have taken it in any case, but Mrs. Braddle's anecdotes +had been floating through his mind when he set forth and perhaps +inclined him in its direction. + +The groom was a young man of three and twenty, and he felt the spring +also. The horse he rode was a handsome animal, and he himself was not +devoid of a healthy young man's good looks. He knew his belted livery +was becoming to him, and when on horseback he prided himself on what +he considered an almost military bearing. Sarah Hibson, farmer Hibson's +dimple-chinned and saucy-eyed daughter, had been “carryin' on a good +bit” with a soldier who was a smart, well-set-up, impudent fellow, and +it was the manifest duty of any other young fellow who had considered +himself to be “walking out with her” to look after his charges. His +Grace had been most particular about George's keeping far enough behind +him; and as half a mile had been mentioned as near enough, certainly one +was absolved from the necessity of keeping in sight. Why should not one +turn into the lane which ended at Hibson's farm-yard, and drop into the +dairy, and “have it out wi' Sarah?” + +Dimpled chins and saucy eyes, and bare, dimpled arms and hands patting +butter while heads are tossed in coquettishly alluring defiance, made +even “having it out” an attractive and memory-obscuring process. Sarah +was a plump and sparkling imp of prettiness, and knew the power of every +sly glance and every dimple and every golden freckle she possessed. +George did not know it so well, and in ten minutes had lost his head and +entirely forgotten even the half-mile behind. + +He was lover-like, he was masterful, he brought the spring with him; he +“carried on,” as Sarah put it, until he had actually out-distanced +the soldier, and had her in his arms, kissing her as she laughed and +prettily struggled. + +“Shame o' tha face! Shame o' tha face, George!” she scolded and dimpled +and blushed. “Wilt tha be done now? Wilt tha be done? I'll call mother.” + +And at that very moment mother came without being called, running, red +of face, heavy-footed, and panting, with her cap all on one side. + +“Th' duke's run away! Th' duke's run away!” she shouted. “Jo seed him. +Pony got freetened at summat--an' what art doin' here, George Bind? Get +o' thy horse an' gallop. If he's killed, tha 'rt a ruined man.” + +There was an odd turn of chance in it, the duke thought afterward. +Though friskier than usual, the Indolent Apprentice had behaved +perfectly well until they neared the gates of Temple Barholm, which +chanced to be open because a cart had just passed through. And it was +not the cart's fault, for the Indolent Apprentice regarded it with +friendly interest. It happened, however, that perhaps being absorbed +in the cart, which might have been drawn by a friend or even a distant +relative, the Indolent Apprentice was horribly startled by a large +rabbit which leaped out of the hedge almost under his nose, and, worse +still, was followed the next instant by another rabbit even larger and +more sudden and unexpected in its movements. The Indolent Apprentice +snorted, pawed, whirled, dashed through the open gateway,--the duke's +hands were even less strong than his daughter had thought,--and +galloped, head in air and bit between teeth, up the avenue, the low +carriage rocking from side to side. + +“Damn! Damn!” cried the duke, rocking also. “Oh, damn! I shall be killed +in a runaway perambulator!” + +And ridiculous as it was, things surged through his brain, and once, +though he laughed at himself bitterly afterward, he gasped “Ah, +Heloise;” as he almost whirled over a jagged tree-stump; gallop and +gallop and gallop, off the road and through trees, and back again on to +the sward, and gallop and gallop and jerk and jolt and jerk, and he +was nearing the house, and a long-legged young man ran down the steps, +pushing aside footmen, and was ahead of the drunken little beast of a +pony, and caught him just as the phaeton overturned and shot his grace +safely though not comfortably in a heap upon the grass. + +It was of course no trifle of a shock, but its victim's sensations gave +him strong reason to hope, as he rolled over, that no bones were broken. +The following servants were on the spot almost at once, and took the +pony's head. + +The young man helped the duke to his feet and dusted him with masterly +dexterity. He did not know he was dusting a duke, and he would not have +cared if he had. + +“Hello,” he said, “you're not hurt. I can see that. Thank the Lord! I +don't believe you've got a scratch.” + +His grace felt a shade shaky, and he was slightly pale, but he smiled +in a way which had been celebrated forty years earlier, and the charm of +which had survived even rheumatic gout. + +“Thank you. I'm not hurt in the least. I am the Duke of Stone. This +isn't really a call. It isn't my custom to arrive in this way. May I +address you as my preserver, Mr. Temple Barholm?” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +Upon the terrace, when he was led up the steps, stood a most perfect +little elderly lady in a state of agitation much greater than his own or +his rescuer's. It was an agitation as perfect in its femininity as she +herself was. It expressed its kind tremors in the fashion which belonged +to the puce silk dress and fine bits of collar and undersleeve the +belated gracefulness of which caused her to present herself to him +rather as a figure cut neatly from a book of the styles he had admired +in his young manhood. It was of course Miss Alicia, who having, with +Tembarom, seen the galloping pony from a window, had followed him when +he darted from the room. She came forward, looking pale with charming +solicitude. + +“I do so hope you are not hurt,” she exclaimed. “It really seemed that +only divine Providence could prevent a terrible accident.” + +“I am afraid that it was more grotesque than terrible,” he answered a +shade breathlessly. + +“Let me make you acquainted with the Duke of Stone, Miss Alicia,” + Tembarom said in the formula of Mrs. Bowse's boarders on state +occasions of introduction. “Duke, let me make you acquainted, sir, with +my--relation--Miss Alicia Temple Barholm.” + +The duke's bow had a remote suggestion of almost including a kissed hand +in its gallant courtesy. Not, however, that Early Victorian ladies had +been accustomed to the kissing of hands; but at the period when he had +best known the type he had daily bent over white fingers in Continental +capitals. + +“A glass of wine,” Miss Alicia implored. “Pray let me give you a glass +of wine. I am sure you need it very much.” + +He was taken into the library and made to sit in a most comfortable +easy-chair. Miss Alicia fluttered about him with sympathy still +delicately tinged with alarm. How long, how long, it had been since he +had been fluttered over! Nearly forty years. Ladies did not flutter +now, and he remembered that it was no longer the fashion to call them +“ladies.” Only the lower-middle classes spoke of “ladies.” But he found +himself mentally using the word again as he watched Miss Alicia. + +It had been “ladies” who had fluttered and been anxious about a man in +this quite pretty way. + +He could scarcely remove his eyes from her as he sipped his wine. She +felt his escape “providential,” and murmured such devout little phrases +concerning it that he was almost consoled for the grotesque inward +vision of himself as an aged peer of the realm tumbling out of a +baby-carriage and rolled over on the grass at the feet of a man on whom +later he had meant to make, in proper state, a formal call. She put her +hand to her side, smiling half apologetically. + +“My heart beats quite fast yet,” she said. Whereupon a quaintly novel +thing took place, at the sight of which the duke barely escaped opening +his eyes very wide indeed. The American Temple Barholm put his arm about +her in the most casual and informally accustomed way, and led her to a +chair, and put her in it, so to speak. + +“Say,” he announced with affectionate authority, “you sit down right +away. It's you that needs a glass of wine, and I'm going to give it to +you.” + +The relations between the two were evidently on a basis not common in +England even among people who were attached to one another. There was a +spontaneous, every-day air of natural, protective petting about it, as +though the fellow was fond of her in his crude fashion, and meant to +take care of her. He was fond of her, and the duke perceived it with +elation, and also understood. He might be the ordinary bestower of +boons, but the protective curve of his arm included other things. In the +blank dullness of his unaccustomed splendors he had somehow encountered +this fine, delicately preserved little relic of other days, and had +seized on her and made her his own. + +“I have not seen anything as delightful as Miss Temple Barholm for many +a year,” the duke said when Miss Alicia was called from the room and +left them together. + +“Ain't she great?” was Tembarom's reply. “She's just great.” + +“It's an exquisite survival of type,” said the duke. “She belongs to my +time, not yours,” he added, realizing that “survival of type” might not +clearly convey itself. + +“Well, she belongs to mine now,” answered Tembarom. “I wouldn't lose her +for a farm.” + +“The voice, the phrases, the carriage might survive,-they do in +remote neighborhoods, I suppose--but the dress is quite delightfully +incredible. It is a work of art,” the duke went on. She had seemed too +good to be true. Her clothes, however, had certainly not been dug out of +a wardrobe of forty years ago. + +“When I went to talk to the head woman in the shop in Bond Street I +fixed it with 'em hard and fast that she was not to spoil her. They were +to keep her like she was. She's like her little cap, you know, and her +little mantles and tippets. She's like them,” exclaimed Tembarom. + +Did he see that? What an odd feature in a man of his sort! And how +thoroughly New Yorkish it was that he should march into a fashionable +shop and see that he got what he wanted and the worth of his money! +There had been no rashness in the hope that the unexplored treasure +might be a rich one. The man's simplicity was an actual complexity. He +had a boyish eye and a grin, but there was a business-like line about +his mouth which was strong enough to have been hard if it had not been +good-natured. + +“That was confoundedly clever of you,” his grace commented +heartily--“confoundedly. I should never have had the wit to think of it +myself, or the courage to do it if I had. Shop-women make me shy.” + +“Oh, well, I just put it up to them,” Tembarom answered easily. + +“I believe,” cautiously translated the duke, “that you mean that you +made them feel that they alone were responsible.” + +“Yes, I do,” assented Tembarom, the grin slightly in evidence. “Put it +up to them's the short way of saying it.” + +“Would you mind my writing that down?” said the duke. “I have a fad for +dialects and new phrases.” He hastily scribbled the words in a tablet +that he took from his pocket. “Do you like living in England?” he asked +in course of time. + +“I should like it if I'd been born here,” was the answer. + +“I see, I see.” + +“If it had not been for finding Miss Alicia, and that I made a promise +I'd stay for a year, anyhow, I'd have broken loose at the end of the +first week and worked my passage back if I hadn't had enough in my +clothes to pay for it.” He laughed, but it was not real laughter. There +was a thing behind it. The situation was more edifying than one could +have hoped. “I made a promise, and I'm going to stick it out,” he said. + +He was going to stick it out because he had promised to endure for a +year Temple Barholm and an income of seventy thousand pounds! The duke +gazed at him as at a fond dream realized. + +“I've nothing to do,” Tembarom added. + +“Neither have I,” replied the Duke of Stone. + +“But you're used to it, and I'm not. I'm used to working 'steen hours +a day, and dropping into bed as tired as a dog, but ready to sleep like +one and get up rested.” + +“I used to play twenty hours a day once,” answered the duke, “but I +didn't get up rested. That's probably why I have gout and rheumatism +combined. Tell me how you worked, and I will tell you how I played.” + +It was worth while taking this tone with him. It had been worth while +taking it with the chestnut-gathering peasants in the Apennines, +sometimes even with a stone-breaker by an English roadside. And this one +was of a type more unique and distinctive than any other--a fellow who, +with the blood of Saxon kings and Norman nobles in his veins, had known +nothing but the street life of the crudest city in the world, who spoke +a sort of argot, who knew no parallels of the things which surrounded +him in the ancient home he had inherited and in which he stood apart, a +sort of semi-sophisticated savage. The duke applied himself with grace +and finished ability to drawing him out. The questions he asked were +all seemingly those of a man of the world charmingly interested in the +superior knowledge of a foreigner of varied experience. His method was +one which engaged the interest of Tembarom himself. He did not know that +he was not only questioned, but, so to speak, delicately cross-examined +and that before the end of the interview the Duke of Stone knew more of +him, his past existence and present sentiments, than even Miss Alicia +knew after their long and intimate evening talks. The duke, however, had +the advantage of being a man and of cherishing vivid recollections of +the days of his youth, which, unlike as it had been to that of +Tembarom, furnished a degree of solid foundation upon which go to build +conjecture. + +“A young man of his age,” his grace reflected astutely, “has always just +fallen out of love, is falling into it, or desires vaguely to do so. Ten +years later there would perhaps be blank spaces, lean years during which +he was not in love at all; but at his particular period there must be +a young woman somewhere. I wonder if she is employed in one of the +department stores he spoke of, and how soon he hopes to present her to +us. His conversation has revealed so far, to use his own rich simile, +'neither hide nor hair' of her.” + +On his own part, he was as ready to answer questions as to ask them. In +fact, he led Tembarom on to asking. + +“I will tell you how I played” had been meant. He made a human document +of the history he enlarged, he brilliantly diverged, he included, he +made pictures, and found Tembarom's point of view or lack of it gave +spice and humor to relations he had thought himself tired of. To tell +familiar anecdotes of courts and kings to a man who had never quite +believed that such things were realities, who almost found them humorous +when they were casually spoken of, was edification indeed. The novel +charm lay in the fact that his class in his country did not include them +as possibilities. Peasants in other countries, plowmen, shopkeepers, +laborers in England--all these at least they knew of, and counted them +in as factors in the lives of the rich and great; but this dear young +man--! + +“What's a crown like? I'd like to see one. How much do you guess such a +thing would cost--in dollars?” + +“Did not Miss Temple Barholm take you to see the regalia in the Tower +of London? I am quite shocked,” said the duke. He was, in fact, a trifle +disappointed. With the puce dress and undersleeves and little fringes +she ought certainly to have rushed with her pupil to that seat of +historical instruction on their first morning in London, immediately +after breakfasting on toast and bacon and marmalade and eggs. + +“She meant me to go, but somehow it was put off. She almost cried on our +journey home when she suddenly remembered that we'd forgotten it, after +all.” + +“I am sure she said it was a wasted opportunity,” suggested his grace. + +“Yes, that was what hit her so hard. She'd never been to London before, +and you couldn't make her believe she could ever get there again, and +she said it was ungrateful to Providence to waste an opportunity. She's +always mighty anxious to be grateful to Providence, bless her!” + +“She regards you as Providence,” remarked the duke, enraptured. With a +touch here and there, the touch of a master, he had gathered the +whole little story of Miss Alicia, and had found it of a whimsical +exquisiteness and humor. + +“She's a lot too good to me,” answered Tembarom. “I guess women as nice +as her are always a lot too good to men. She's a kind of little old +angel. What makes me mad is to think of the fellows that didn't get busy +and marry her thirty-five years ago.” + +“Were there--er--many of 'em?” the duke inquired. + +“Thousands of 'em, though most of 'em never saw her. I suppose you never +saw her then. If you had, you might have done it.” + +The duke, sitting with an elbow on each arm of his chair, put the tips +of his fine, gouty fingers together and smiled with a far-reaching +inclusion of possibilities. + +“So I might,” he said; “so I might. My loss entirely--my abominable +loss.” + +They had reached this point of the argument when the carriage from Stone +Hover arrived. It was a stately barouche the coachman and footman of +which equally with its big horses seemed to have hastened to an extent +which suggested almost panting breathlessness. It contained Lady Edith +and Lady Celia, both pale, and greatly agitated by the news which had +brought them horrified from Stone Hover without a moment's delay. + +They both ascended in haste and swept in such alarmed anxiety up the +terrace steps and through the hall to their father's side that they had +barely a polite gasp for Miss Alicia and scarcely saw Tembarom at all. + +“Dear Papa!” they cried when he revealed himself in his chair in the +library intact and smiling. “How wicked of you, dear! How you have +frightened us!” + +“I begged you to be good, dearest,” said Lady Edith, almost in tears. +“Where was George? You must dismiss him at once. Really--really--” + +“He was half a mile away, obeying my orders,” said the duke. “A groom +cannot be dismissed for obeying orders. It is the pony who must be +dismissed, to my great regret; or else we must overfeed him until he is +even fatter than he is and cannot run away.” + +Were his arms and legs and his ribs and collar-bones and head quite +right? Was he sure that he had not received any internal injury when he +fell out of the pony-carriage? They could scarcely be convinced, and +as they hung over and stroked and patted him, Tembarom stood aside and +watched them with interest. They were the girls he had to please Ann by +“getting next to,” giving himself a chance to fall in love with them, +so that she'd know whether they were his kind or not. They were +nice-looking, and had a way of speaking that sounded rather swell, but +they weren't ace high to a little slim, redheaded thing that looked at +you like a baby and pulled your heart up into your throat. + +“Don't poke me any more, dear children. I am quite, quite sound,” he +heard the duke say. “In Mr. Temple Barholm you behold the preserver +of your parent. Filial piety is making you behave with shocking +ingratitude.” + +They turned to Tembarom at once with a pretty outburst of apologies +and thanks. Lady Celia wasn't, it is true, “a looker,” with her narrow +shoulders and rather long nose, but she had an air of breeding, and the +charming color of which Palliser had spoken, returning to Lady Edith's +cheeks, illuminated her greatly. + +They both were very polite and made many agreeably grateful speeches, +but in the eyes of both there lurked a shade of anxiety which they hoped +to be able to conceal. Their father watched them with a wicked pleasure. +He realized clearly their well-behaved desire to do and say exactly the +right thing and bear themselves in exactly the right manner, and also +their awful uncertainty before an entirely unknown quantity. Almost any +other kind of young man suddenly uplifted by strange fortune they might +have known some parallel for, but a newsboy of New York! All the New +Yorkers they had met or heard of had been so rich and grand as to make +them feel themselves, by contrast, mere country paupers, quite shivering +with poverty and huddling for protection in their barely clean rags, +so what was there to go on? But how dreadful not to be quite right, +precisely right, in one's approach--quite familiar enough, and yet not +a shade too familiar, which of course would appear condescending! And be +it said the delicacy of the situation was added to by the fact that they +had heard something of Captain Palliser's extraordinary little story +about his determination to know “ladies.” Really, if Willocks the +butcher's boy had inherited Temple Barholm, it would have been easier to +know where one stood in the matter of being civil and agreeable to +him. First Lady Edith, made perhaps bold by the suggestion of physical +advantage bestowed by the color, talked to him to the very best of her +ability; and when she felt herself fearfully flagging, Lady Celia took +him up and did her very well-conducted best. Neither she nor her sister +were brilliant talkers at any time, and limited by the absence of any +common familiar topic, effort was necessary. The neighborhood he did +not know; London he was barely aware of; social functions it would be an +impertinence to bring in; games he did not play; sport he had scarcely +heard of. You were confined to America, and if you knew next to nothing +of American life, there you were. + +Tembarom saw it all,--he was sharp enough for that,--and his habit +of being jocular and wholly unashamed saved him from the misery of +awkwardness that Willocks would have been sure to have writhed under. +His casual frankness, however, for a moment embarrassed Lady Edith to +the bitterest extremity. When you are trying your utmost to make a queer +person oblivious to the fact that his world is one unknown to you, it is +difficult to know where do you stand when he says. + +“It's mighty hard to talk to a man who doesn't know a thing that belongs +to the kind of world you've spent your life in, ain't it? But don't you +mind me a minute. I'm glad to be talked to anyhow by people like you. +When I don't catch on, I'll just ask. No man was ever electrocuted for +not knowing, and that's just where I am. I don't know, and I'm glad to +be told. Now, there's one thing. Burrill said 'Your Ladyship' to you, I +heard him. Ought I to say it, er oughtn't I?” + +“Oh, no,” she answered, but somehow without distaste in the momentary +stare he had startled her into; “Burrill is--” + +“He's a servant,” he aided encouragingly. “Well, I've never been a +butler, but I've been somebody's servant all my life, and mighty glad of +the chance. This is the first time I've been out of a job.” + +What nice teeth he had! What a queer, candid, unresentful creature! What +a good sort of smile! And how odd that it was he who was putting her +more at her ease by the mere way in which he was saying this almost +alarming thing! By the time he had ended, it was not alarming at all, +and she had caught her breath again. + +She was actually sorry when the door opened and Lady Joan Fayre came in, +followed almost immediately by Lady Mallowe and Captain Palliser, who +appeared to have just returned from a walk and heard the news. + +Lady Mallowe was most sympathetic. Why not, indeed? The Duke of Stone +was a delightful, cynical creature, and Stone Hover was, despite its +ducal poverty, a desirable place to be invited to, if you could manage +it. Her ladyship's method of fluttering was not like Miss Alicia's, +its character being wholly modern; but she fluttered, nevertheless. +The duke, who knew all about her, received her amiabilities with +appreciative smiles, but it was the splendidly handsome, hungry-eyed +young woman with the line between her black brows who engaged his +attention. On the alert, as he always was, for a situation, he detected +one at once when he saw his American address her. She did not address +him, and scarcely deigned a reply when he spoke to her. When he spoke +to others, she conducted herself as though he were not in the room, so +obviously did she choose to ignore his existence. Such a bearing toward +one's host had indeed the charm of being an interesting novelty. And +what a beauty she was, with her lovely, ferocious eyes and the small, +black head poised on the exquisite long throat, which was on the verge +of becoming a trifle too thin! Then as in a flash he recalled between +one breath and another the quite fiendish episode of poor Jem Temple +Barholm--and she was the girl! + +Then he became almost excited in his interest. He saw it all. As he had +himself argued must be the case, this poor fellow was in love. But it +was not with a lady in the New York department stores; it was with a +young woman who would evidently disdain to wipe her feet upon him. How +thrilling! As Lady Mallowe and Palliser and the others chattered, he +watched him, observing his manner. He stood the handsome creature's +steadily persistent rudeness very well; he made no effort to push into +the talk when she coolly held him out of it. He waited without external +uneasiness or spasmodic smiles. If he could do that despite the +inevitable fact that he must feel his position uncomfortable, he was +possessed of fiber. That alone would make him worth cultivating. And if +there were persons who were to be made uncomfortable, why not cut in and +circumvent the beauty somewhat and give her a trifle of unease? It +was with the light and adroit touch of accustomedness to all orders of +little situations that his grace took the matter in hand, with a shade, +also, of amiable malice. He drew Tembarom adroitly into the center of +things; he knew how to lead him to make easily the odd, frank +remarks which were sufficiently novel to suggest that he was actually +entertaining. He beautifully edged Lady Joan out of her position. She +could not behave ill to him, he was far too old, he said to himself, +leaving out the fact that a Duke of Stone is a too respectable personage +to be quite waved aside. + +Tembarom began to enjoy himself a little more. Lady Celia and Lady Edith +began to enjoy themselves a little more also. Lady Mallowe was filled +with admiring delight. Captain Palliser took in the situation, and asked +himself questions about it. On her part, Miss Alicia was restored to +the happiness any lack of appreciation of her “dear boy” touchingly +disturbed. In circumstances such as these he appeared to the advantage +which in a brief period would surely reveal his wonderful qualities. She +clung so to his “wonderful qualities” because in all the three-volumed +novels of her youth the hero, debarred from early advantages and raised +by the turn of fortune's wheel to splendor, was transformed at once into +a being of the highest accomplishments and the most polished breeding, +and ended in the third volume a creature before whom emperors paled. +And how more than charmingly cordial his grace's manner was when he left +them! + +“To-morrow,” he said, “if my daughters do not discover that I have +injured some more than vital organ, I shall call to proffer my thanks +with the most immense formality. I shall get out of the carriage in +the manner customary in respectable neighborhoods, not roll out at your +feet. Afterward you will, I hope, come and dine with us. I am devoured +by a desire to become more familiar with The Earth.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +It was Lady Mallowe who perceived the moment when he became the fashion. +The Duke of Stone called with the immense formality he had described, +and his visit was neither brief nor dull. A little later Tembarom with +his guests dined at Stone Hover, and the dinner was further removed from +dullness than any one of numerous past dinners always noted for being +the most agreeable the neighborhood afforded. The duke managed his guest +as an impresario might have managed his tenor, though this was done with +subtly concealed methods. He had indeed a novelty to offer which had +been discussed with much uncertainty of point of view. He presented it +to an only languidly entertained neighborhood as a trouvaille of his own +choice. Here was drama, here was atmosphere, here was charm verging in +its character upon the occult. You would not see it if you were not a +collector of such values. + +“Nobody will be likely to see him as he is unless he is pointed out to +them,” was what he said to his daughters. “But being bored to death,--we +are all bored,--once adroitly assisted to suspect him of being alluring, +most of them will spring upon him and clasp him to their wearied +breasts. I haven't the least idea what will happen afterward. I shall in +fact await the result with interest.” + +Being told Palliser's story of the “Ladies,” he listened, holding the +tips of his fingers together, and wearing an expression of deep interest +slightly baffled in its nature. It was Lady Edith who related the +anecdote to him. + +“Now,” he said, “it would be very curious and complicating if that were +true; but I don't believe it is. Palliser, of course, likes to tell a +good story. I shall be able to discover in time whether it is true or +not; but at present I don't believe it.” + +Following the dinner party at Stone Hover came many others. All the +well-known carriages began to roll up the avenue to Temple Barholm. The +Temple Barholm carriages also began to roll down the avenue and between +the stone griffins on their way to festive gatherings of varied order. +Burrill and the footmen ventured to reconsider their early plans for +giving warning. It wasn't so bad if the country was going to take him +up. + +“Do you see what is happening?” Lady Mallowe said to Joan. “The man is +becoming actually popular.” + +“He is popular as a turn at a music hall is,” answered Joan. “He will be +dropped as he was taken up.” + +“There's something about him they like, and he represents what everybody +most wants. For God's sake! Joan, don't behave like a fool this time. +The case is more desperate. There is nothing else--nothing.” + +“There never was,” said Joan, “and I know the desperateness of the +case. How long are you going to stay here?” + +“I am going to stay for some time. They are not conventional people. It +can be managed very well. We are relatives.” + +“Will you stay,” inquired Joan in a low voice, “until they ask you to +remove yourself?” + +Lady Mallowe smiled an agreeably subtle smile. + +“Not quite that,” she answered. “Miss Alicia would never have the +courage to suggest it. It takes courage and sophistication to do that +sort of thing. Mr. Temple Barholm evidently wants us to remain. He will +be willing to make as much of the relationship as we choose to let him.” + +“Do you choose to let him make as much of it as will establish us here +for weeks--or months?” Joan asked, her low voice shaking a little. + +“That will depend entirely upon circumstances. It will, in fact, depend +entirely upon you,” said Lady Mallowe, her lips setting themselves into +a straight, thin line. + +For an appreciable moment Joan was silent; but after it she lost her +head and whirled about. + +“I shall go away,” she cried. + +“Where?” asked Lady Mallowe. + +“Back to London.” + +“How much money have you?” asked her mother. She knew she had none. She +was always sufficiently shrewd to see that she had none. If the girl had +had a pound a week of her own, her mother had always realized that she +would have been unmanageable. After the Jem Temple Barholm affair she +would have been capable of going to live alone in slums. As it was, +she knew enough to be aware that she was too handsome to walk out into +Piccadilly without a penny in her pocket; so it had been just possible +to keep her indoors. + +“How much money have you?” she repeated quietly. This was the way in +which their unbearable scenes began--the scenes which the servants +passing the doors paused to listen to in the hope that her ladyship +would forget that raised voices may be heard by the discreet outsider. + +“How much money have you?” she said again. + +Joan looked at her; this time it was for about five seconds. She turned +her back on her and walked out of the room. Shortly afterward Lady +Mallowe saw her walking down the avenue in the rain, which was beginning +to fall. + +She had left the house because she dared not stay in it. Once out in +the park, she folded her long purple cloak about her and pulled her soft +purple felt hat down over her brows, walking swiftly under the big trees +without knowing where she intended to go before she returned. She liked +the rain, she liked the heavy clouds; she wore her dark purples because +she felt a fantastic, secret comfort in calling them her mourning--her +mourning which she would wear forevermore. + +No one could know so well as herself how desperate from her own point of +view the case was. She had long known that her mother would not hesitate +for a moment before any chance of a second marriage which would totally +exclude her daughter from her existence. Why should she, after all, Joan +thought? They had always been antagonists. The moment of chance had been +looming on the horizon for months. Sir Moses Monaldini had hovered +about fitfully and evidently doubtfully at first, more certainly and +frequently of late, but always with a clearly objecting eye cast askance +upon herself. With determination and desire to establish a social +certainty, astute enough not to care specially for young beauty and +exactions he did not purpose to submit to, and keen enough to see the +advantage of a handsome woman with bitter reason to value what was +offered to her in the form of a luxurious future, Sir Moses was moving +toward action, though with proper caution. He would have no penniless +daughters hanging about scowling and sneering. None of that for him. And +the ripest apple upon the topmost bow in the highest wind would not drop +more readily to his feet than her mother would, Joan knew with sharp and +shamed burnings. + +As the rain fell, she walked in her purple cloak, unpaid for, and her +purple hat, for which they had been dunned with threatening insults, and +knew that she did not own and could not earn a penny. She could not dig, +and to beg she was ashamed, and all the more horribly because she had +been a beggar of the meaner order all her life. It made her sick to +think of the perpetual visits they had made where they were not wanted, +of the times when they had been politely bundled out of places, of the +methods which had been used to induce shop-keepers to let them run up +bills. For years her mother and she had been walking advertisements of +smart shops because both were handsome, wore clothes well, and carried +them where they would be seen and talked about. Now this would be all +over, since it had been Lady Mallowe who had managed all details. Thrown +upon her own resources, Joan would have none of them, even though she +must walk in rags. Her education had prepared her for only one thing--to +marry well, if luck were on her side. It had never been on her side. If +she had never met Jem, she would have married somebody, since that would +have been better than the inevitable last slide into an aging life spent +in cheap lodgings with her mother. But Jem had been the beginning and +the end. + +She bit her lips as she walked, and suddenly tears swept down her cheeks +and dripped on to the purple cloth folded over her breast. + +“And he sits in Jem's place! And every day that common, foolish stare +will follow me!” she said. + +He sat, it was true, in the place Jem Temple Barholm would have occupied +if he had been a living man, and he looked at her a good deal. Perhaps +he sometimes unconsciously stared because she made him think of many +things. But if she had been in a state of mind admitting of judicial +fairness, she would have been obliged to own that it was not quite a +foolish stare. Absorbed, abstracted, perhaps, but it was not foolish. +Sometimes, on the contrary, it was searching and keen. + +Of course he was doing his best to please her. Of all the “Ladies,” it +seemed evident that he was most attracted by her. He tried to talk to +her despite her unending rebuffs, he followed her about and endeavored +to interest her, he presented a hide-bound unsensitiveness when she did +her worst. Perhaps he did not even know that she was being icily rude. +He was plainly “making up to her” after the manner of his class. He +was perhaps playing the part of the patient adorer who melted by noble +long-suffering in novels distinguished by heroes of humble origin. + +She had reached the village when the rain changed its mind, and without +warning began to pour down as if the black cloud passing overhead had +suddenly opened. She was wondering if she would not turn in somewhere +for shelter until the worst was over when a door opened and Tembarom ran +out with an umbrella. + +“Come in to the Hibblethwaites cottage, Lady Joan,” he said. “This will +be over directly.” + +He did not affectionately hustle her in by the arm as he would have +hustled in Miss Alicia, but he closely guarded her with the umbrella +until he guided her inside. + +“Thank you,” she said. + +The first object she became aware of was a thin face with pointed chin +and ferret eyes peering at her round the end of a sofa, then a sharp +voice. + +“Tak' off her cloak an' shake th' rain off it in th' wash 'us',” it +said. “Mother an' Aunt Susan's out. Let him unbutton it fer thee.” + +“I can unbutton it myself, thank you,” said Lady Joan. Tembarom took it +when she had unbuttoned it. He took it from her shoulders before she had +time to stop him. Then he walked into the tiny “wash 'us” and shook it +thoroughly. He came back and hung it on a chair before the fire. + +Tummas was leaning back in his pillows and gazing at her. + +“I know tha name,” he said. “He towd me,” with a jerk of the head toward +Tembarom. + +“Did he?” replied Lady Joan without interest. + +A flaringly illustrated New York paper was spread out upon his sofa. He +pushed it aside and pulled the shabby atlas toward him. It fell open at +a map of North America as if through long habit. + +“Sit thee down,” he ordered. + +Tembarom had stood watching them both. + +“I guess you'd better not do that,” he suggested to Tummas. + +“Why not?” said the boy, sharply. “She's th' wench he was goin' to +marry. It's th' same as if he'd married her. If she wur his widder, +she'd want to talk about him. Widders allus wants to talk. Why shouldn't +she? Women's women. He'd ha' wanted to talk about her.” + +“Who is `he'?” asked Joan with stiff lips. + +“The Temple Barholm as' 'd be here if he was na.” + +Joan turned to Tembarom. + +“Do you come here to talk to this boy about HIM?” she said. “How dare +you!” + +Tummas's eyes snapped; his voice snapped also. + +“He knew next to nowt about him till I towd him,” he said. “Then he came +to ax me things an' foind out more. He knows as much as I do now. Us +sits here an' talks him over.” + +Lady Joan still addressed Tembarom. + +“What interest can you have in the man who ought to be in your place?” + she asked. “What possible interest?” + +“Well,” he answered awkwardly, “because he ought to be, I suppose. Ain't +that reason enough?” + +He had never had to deal with women who hated him and who were angry and +he did not know exactly what to say. He had known very few women, and +he had always been good-natured with them and won their liking in some +measure. Also, there was in his attitude toward this particular woman +a baffled feeling that he could not make her understand him. She would +always think of him as an enemy and believe he meant things he did not +mean. If he had been born and educated in her world, he could have used +her own language; but he could use only his own, and there were so many +things he must not say for a time at least. + +“Do you not realize,” she said, “that you are presuming upon your +position--that you and this boy are taking liberties?” + +Tummas broke in wholly without compunction. + +“I've taken liberties aw my loife,” he stated, “an' I'm goin' to tak' +'em till I dee. They're th' on'y things I can tak', lyin' here crippled, +an' I'm goin' to tak' 'em.” + +“Stop that, Tummas!” said Tembarom with friendly authority. “She +doesn't catch on, and you don't catch on, either. You're both of you +'way off. Stop it!” + +“I thought happen she could tell me things I didn't know,” protested +Tummas, throwing himself back on his pillows. “If she conna, she conna, +an' if she wunnot, she wunnot. Get out wi' thee!” he said to Joan. “I +dunnot want thee about th' place.” + +“Say,” said Tembarom, “shut up!” + +“I am going,” said Lady Joan and turned to open the door. + +The rain was descending in torrents, but she passed swiftly out into its +deluge walking as rapidly as she could. She thought she cared nothing +about the rain, but it dashed in her face and eyes, taking her breath +away, and she had need of breath when her heart was beating with such +fierceness. + +“If she wur his widder,” the boy had said. + +Even chance could not let her alone at one of her worst moments. She +walked faster and faster because she was afraid Tembarom would follow +her, and in a few minutes she heard him splashing behind her, and then +he was at her side, holding the umbrella over her head. + +“You're a good walker,” he said, “but I'm a sprinter. I trained running +after street cars and catching the 'L' in New York.” + +She had so restrained her miserable hysteric impulse to break down and +utterly humiliate herself under the unexpected blow of the episode in +the cottage that she had had no breath to spare when she left the room, +and her hurried effort to escape had left her so much less that she did +not speak. + +“I'll tell you something,” he went on. “He's a little freak, but you +can't blame him much. Don't be mad at him. He's never moved from that +corner since he was born, I guess, and he's got nothing to do or to +think of but just hearing what's happening outside. He's sort of crazy +curious, and when he gets hold of a thing that suits him he just holds +on to it till the last bell rings.” + +She said nothing whatever, and he paused a moment because he wanted to +think over the best way to say the next thing. + +“Mr. James Temple Barholm “--he ventured it with more delicacy of +desire not to seem to “take liberties” than she would have credited him +with--“saw his mother sitting with him in her arms at the cottage door +a week or so after he was born. He stopped at the gate and talked to +her about him, and he left him a sovereign. He's got it now. It seems +a fortune to him. He's made a sort of idol of him. That's why he talks +like he does. I wouldn't let it make me mad if I were you.” + +He did not know that she could not have answered him if she would, that +she felt that if he did not stop she might fling herself down upon the +wet heather and wail aloud. + +“You don't like me,” he began after they had walked a few steps farther. +“You don't like me.” + +This was actually better. It choked back the sobs rising in her throat. +The stupid shock of it, his tasteless foolishness, helped her by its +very folly to a sort of defense against the disastrous wave of emotion +she might not have been able to control. She gathered herself together. + +“It must be an unusual experience,” she answered. + +“Well, it is--sort of,” he said, but in a manner curiously free from +fatuous swagger. “I've had luck that way. I guess it's been because I'd +GOT to make friends so as I could earn a living. It seems sort of queer +to know that some one's got a grouch against me that--that I can't get +away with.” + +She looked up the avenue to see how much farther they must walk +together, since she was not “a sprinter” and could not get away from +him. She thought she caught a glimpse through the trees of a dog-cart +driven by a groom, and hoped she had not mistaken and that it was +driving in their direction. + +“It must, indeed,” she said, “though I am not sure I quite understand +what a grouch is.” + +“When you've got a grouch against a fellow,” he explained impersonally, +“you want to get at him. You want to make him feel like a mutt; and a +mutt's the worst kind of a fool. You've got one against me.” + +She looked before her between narrowed lids and faintly smiled--the +most disagreeable smile she was capable of. And yet for some too +extraordinary reason he went on. But she had seen men go on before this +when all the odds were against them. Sometimes their madness took them +this way. + +“I knew there was a lot against me when I came here,” he persisted. “I +should have been a fool if I hadn't. I knew when you came that I was up +against a pretty hard proposition; but I thought perhaps if I got busy +and SHOWED you--you've got to SHOW a person--” + +“Showed me what?” she asked contemptuously. + +“Showed you--well--me,” he tried to explain. + +“You!” + +“And that I wanted to be friends,” he added candidly. + +Was the man mad? Did he realize nothing? Was he too thick of skin even +to see? + +“Friends! You and I?” The words ought to have scorched him, pachyderm +though he was. + +“I thought you'd give me a chance--a sort of chance--” + +She stopped short on the avenue. + +“You did?” + +She had not been mistaken. The dog-cart had rounded the far-off curve +and was coming toward them. And the man went on talking. + +“You've felt every minute that I was in a place that didn't belong to +me. You know that if the man that it did belong to was here, you'd be +here with him. You felt as if I'd robbed him of it--and I'd robbed you. +It was your home--yours. You hated me too much to think of anything +else. Suppose--suppose there was a way I could give it back to you--make +it your home again.” + +His voice dropped and was rather unsteady. The fool, the gross, brutal, +vulgar, hopeless fool! He thought this was the way to approach her, to +lead her to listen to his proposal of marriage! Not for a second did she +guess that they were talking at cross purposes. She did not know that as +he kept himself steady under her contemptuousness he was thinking that +Ann would have to own that he had been up against it hard and plenty +while the thing was going on. + +“I'm always up against it when I'm talking to you,” he said. “You get +me rattled. There's things I want to talk about and ask you. Suppose you +give me a chance, and let us start out by being sort of friends.” + +“I am staying in your house,” she answered in a deadly voice, “and I +cannot go away because my mother will not let me. You can force yourself +upon me, if you choose, because I cannot help it; but understand once +for all that I will not give you your ridiculous chance. And I will not +utter one word to you when I can avoid it.” + +He was silent for a moment and seemed to be thinking rather deeply. She +realized now that he saw the nearing dog-cart. + +“You won't. Then it's up to me,” he said. Then with a change of tone, he +added, “I'll stop the cart and tell the man to drive you to the house. +I'm not going to force myself on you, as you call it. It'd be no use. +Perhaps it'll come all right in the end.” + + +He made a sign to the groom, who hastened his horse's pace and drew up +when he reached them. + +“Take this lady back to the house,” he said. + +The groom, who was a new arrival, began to prepare to get down and give +up his place. + +“You needn't do that,” said Tembarom. + +“Won't you get up and take the reins, sir?” the man asked uncertainly. + +“No. I can't drive. You'll have to do it. I'll walk.” + +And to the groom's amazement, they left him standing under the trees +looking after them. + +“It's up to me,” he was saying. “The whole durned thing's up to me.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +The neighborhood of Temple Barholm was not, upon the whole, a brilliant +one. Indeed, it had been frankly designated by the casual guest as dull. +The country was beautiful enough, and several rather large estates lay +within reach of one another, but their owners were neither very rich nor +especially notable personages. They were of extremely good old blood, +and were of established respectability. None of them, however, was given +to entertaining house parties made up of the smart and dazzlingly sinful +world of fashion said by moralists to be composed entirely of young and +mature beauties, male and female, capable of supplying at any moment +enlivening detail for the divorce court--glittering beings whose +wardrobes were astonishing and whose conversations were composed wholly +of brilliant paradox and sparkling repartee. + +Most of the residents took their sober season in London, the men of the +family returning gladly to their pheasants, the women not regretfully to +their gardens and tennis, because their successes in town had not been +particularly delirious. The guests who came to them were generally +as respectable and law-abiding as themselves, and introduced no +iconoclastic diversions. For the greater portion of the year, in fact, +diners out were of the neighborhood and met the neighborhood, and were +reduced to discussing neighborhood topics, which was not, on the whole, +a fevered joy. The Duke of Stone was, perhaps, the one man who might +have furnished topics. Privately it was believed, and in part known, +that he at least had had a brilliant, if not wholly unreprehensible, +past. He might have introduced enlivening elements from London, even +from Paris, Vienna, Berlin, and Rome; but the sobering influence of +years of rheumatic gout and a not entirely sufficing income prevented +activities, and his opinions of his social surroundings were vaguely +guessed to be those of a not too lenient critic. + +“I do not know anything technical or scientific about ditch-water,” he +had expressed himself in the bosom of his family. “I never analyzed it, +but analyzers, I gather, consider it dull. If anything could be duller +than ditch-water, I should say it was Stone Hover and its surrounding +neighborhood.” He had also remarked at another time: “If our society +could be enriched by some of the characters who form the house parties +and seem, in fact, integral parts of all country society in modern +problem or even unproblem novels, how happy one might be, how edified +and amused! A wicked lady or so of high, or extremely low, rank, of +immense beauty and corruscating brilliancy; a lovely creature, male or +female, whom she is bent upon undoing--” + +“Dear papa!” protested Lady Celia. + +“Reproach me, dearest. Reproach me as severely as you please. It +inspires me. It makes me feel like a wicked, dangerous man, and I have +not felt like one for many years. Such persons as I describe form the +charm of existence, I assure you. A ruthless adventuress with any kind +of good looks would be the making of us. Several of them, of different +types, a handsome villain, and a few victims unknowing of their fate, +would cause life to flow by like a peaceful stream.” + +Lady Edith laughed an unseemly little laugh--unseemly, since filial +regret at paternal obliquity should have restrained it. + +“Papa, you are quite horrible,” she said. “You ought not to make your +few daughters laugh at improper things.” + +“I would make my daughters laugh at anything so long as I must doom them +to Stone Hover--and Lady Pevensy and Mrs. Stoughton and the rector, if +one may mention names,” he answered. “To see you laugh revives me by +reminding me that once I was considered a witty person--quite so. Some +centuries ago, however; about the time when things were being rebuilt +after the flood.” + +In such circumstances it cannot be found amazing that a situation such +as Temple Barholm presented should provide rich food for conversation, +supposition, argument, and humorous comment. + +T. Tembarom himself, after the duke had established him, furnished an +unlimited source of interest. His household became a perennial fount of +quiet discussion. Lady Mallowe and her daughter were the members of it +who met with the most attention. They appeared to have become members of +it rather than visitors. Her ladyship had plainly elected to extend her +stay even beyond the period to which a fond relative might feel entitled +to hospitality. She had been known to extend visits before with great +cleverness, but this one assumed an established aspect. She was not +going away, the neighborhood decided, until she had achieved that which +she had come to accomplish. The present unconventional atmosphere of the +place naturally supported her. And how probable it seemed, taking into +consideration Captain Palliser's story, that Mr. Temple Barholm wished +her to stay. Lady Joan would be obliged to stay also, if her mother +intended that she should. But the poor American--there were some +expressions of sympathy, though the situation was greatly added to by +the feature--the poor American was being treated by Lady Joan as only +she could treat a man. It was worth inviting the whole party to dinner +or tea or lunch merely to see the two together. The manner in which +she managed to ignore him and be scathing to him without apparently +infringing a law of civility, and the number of laws she sometimes chose +to sweep aside when it was her mood to do so, were extraordinary. If +she had not been a beauty, with a sort of mystic charm for the male +creature, surely he would have broken his chains. But he did not. What +was he going to do in the end? What was she going to do? What was +Lady Mallowe going to do if there was no end at all? He was not as +unhappy-looking a lover as one might have expected, they said. He +kept up his spirits wonderfully. Perhaps she was not always as icily +indifferent to him as she chose to appear in public. Temple Barholm was +a great estate, and Sir Moses Monaldini had been mentioned by rumor. Of +course there would be something rather strange and tragic in it if she +came to Temple Barholm as its mistress in such singular circumstances. +But he certainly did not look depressed or discouraged. So they talked +it over as they looked on. + +“How they gossip! How delightfully they gossip!” said the duke. “But it +is such a perfect subject. They have never been so enthralled before. +Dear young man! how grateful we ought to be for him!” + +One of the most discussed features of the case was the duke's own +cultivation of the central figure. There was an actual oddity about +it. He drove from Stone Hover to Temple Barholm repeatedly. He invited +Tembarom to the castle and had long talks with him--long, comfortable +talks in secluded, delightful rooms or under great trees on a lawn. +He wanted to hear anecdotes of his past, to draw him on to giving his +points of view. When he spoke of him to his daughters, he called him “T. +Tembarom,” but the slight derision of his earlier tone modified itself. + +“That delightful young man will shortly become my closest intimate,” he +said. “He not only keeps up my spirits, but he opens up vistas. Vistas +after a man's seventy-second birthday! At times I could clasp him to my +breast.” + +“I like him first rate,” Tembarom said to Miss Alicia. “I liked him the +minute he got up laughing like an old sport when he fell out of the pony +carriage.” + +As he became more intimate with him, he liked him still better. Obscured +though it was by airy, elderly persiflage, he began to come upon a +background of stability and points of view wholly to be relied on in +his new acquaintance. It had evolved itself out of long and varied +experience, with the aid of brilliant mentality. The old peer's reasons +were always logical. He laughed at most things, but at a few he did not +laugh at all. After several of the long conversations Tembarom began +to say to himself that this seemed like a man you need not be afraid to +talk things over with--things you didn't want to speak of to everybody. + +“Seems to me,” he said thoughtfully to Miss Alicia, “he's an old fellow +you could tie to. I've got on to one thing when I've listened to him: he +talks all he wants to and laughs a lot, but he never gives himself away. +He wouldn't give another fellow away either if he said he wouldn't. He +knows how not to.” + +There was an afternoon on which during a drive they took together the +duke was enlightened as to several points which had given him cause for +reflection, among others the story beloved of Captain Palliser and his +audiences. + +“I guess you've known a good many women,” T. Tembarom remarked on this +occasion after a few minutes of thought. “Living all over the world as +you've done, you'd be likely to come across a whole raft of them one +time and another.” + +“A whole raft of them, one time and another,” agreed the duke. “Yes.” + +“You've liked them, haven't you?” + +“Immensely. Sometimes a trifle disastrously. Find me a more absolutely +interesting object in the universe than a woman--any woman--and I will +devote the remainder of my declining years to the study of it,” answered +his grace. + +He said it with a decision which made T. Tembarom turn to look at him, +and after his look decide to proceed. + +“Have you ever known a bit of a slim thing”--he made an odd embracing +gesture with his arm--“the size that you could pick up with one hand +and set on your knee as if she was a child”--the duke remained still, +knowing this was only the beginning and pricking up his ears as he took +a rapid kaleidoscopic view of all the “Ladies” in the neighborhood, and +as hastily waved them aside--“a bit of a thing that some way seems to +mean it all to you--and moves the world?” The conclusion was one which +brought the incongruous touch of maturity into his face. + +“Not one of the `Ladies,”' the duke was mentally summing the matter up. +“Certainly not Lady Joan, after all. Not, I think, even the young person +in the department store.” + +He leaned back in his corner the better to inspect his companion +directly. + +“You have, I see,” he replied quietly. “Once I myself did.” (He had +cried out, “Ah! Heloise!” though he had laughed at himself when he +seemed facing his ridiculous tragedy.) + +“Yes,” confessed T. Tembarom. “I met her at the boarding-house where I +lived. Her father was a Lancashire man and an inventor. I guess you've +heard of him; his name is Joseph Hutchinson.” + +The whole country had heard of him; more countries, indeed, than one +had heard. He was the man who was going to make his fortune in America +because T. Tembarom had stood by him in his extremity. He would make a +fortune in America and another in England and possibly several others +on the Continent. He had learned to read in the village school, and the +girl was his daughter. + +“Yes,” replied the duke. + +“I don't know whether the one you knew had that quiet little way of +seeing right straight into a thing, and making you see it, too,” said +Tembarom. + +“She had,” answered the duke, and an odd expression wavered in his +eyes because he was looking backward across forty years which seemed a +hundred. + +“That's what I meant by moving the world,” T. Tembarom went on. “You +know she's RIGHT, and you've got to do what she says, if you love her.” + +“And you always do,” said the duke--“always and forever. There are very +few. They are the elect.” + +T. Tembarom took it gravely. + +“I said to her once that there wasn't more than one of her in the world +because there couldn't be enough to make two of that kind. I wasn't +joshing either; I meant it. It's her quiet little voice and her quiet, +babyfied eyes that get you where you can't move. And it's something +else you don't know anything about. It's her never doing anything for +herself, but just doing it because it's the right thing for you.” + +The duke's chin had sunk a little on his breast, and looking back across +the hundred years, he forgot for a moment where he was. The one he +remembered had been another man's wife, a little angel brought up in a +convent by white-souled nuns, passed over by her people to an elderly +vaurien of great magnificence, and she had sent the strong, laughing, +impassioned young English peer away before it was too late, and with +the young, young eyes of her looking upward at him in that way which saw +“straight into a thing” and with that quiet little voice. So long ago! +So long ago! + +“Ah! Heloise!” he sighed unconsciously. + +“What did you say?” asked T. Tembarom. The duke came back. + +“I was thinking of the time when I was nine and twenty,” he answered. +“It was not yesterday nor even the day before. The one I knew died when +she was twenty-four.” + +“Died!” said Tembarom. “Good Lord!” He dropped his head and even changed +color. “A fellow can't get on to a thing like that. It seems as if it +couldn't happen. Suppose--” he caught his breath hard and then pulled +himself up--“Nothing could happen to her before she knew that I've +proved what I said--just proved it, and done every single thing she told +me to do.” + +“I am sure you have,” the duke said. + +“It's because of that I began to say this.” Tembarom spoke hurriedly +that he might thrust away the sudden dark thought. “You're a man, and +I'm a man; far away ahead of me as you are, you're a man, too. I was +crazy to get her to marry me and come here with me, and she wouldn't.” + +The duke's eyes lighted anew. + +“She had her reasons,” he said. + +“She laid 'em out as if she'd been my mother instead of a little +red-headed angel that you wanted to snatch up and crush up to you so she +couldn't breathe. She didn't waste a word. She just told me what I was +up against. She'd lived in the village with her grandmother, and she +knew. She said I'd got to come and find out for myself what no one else +could teach me. She told me about the kind of girls I'd see--beauties +that were different from anything I'd ever seen before. And it was up to +me to see all of them--the best of them.” + +“Ladies?” interjected the duke gently. + +“Yes. With titles like those in novels, she said, and clothes like those +in the Ladies' Pictorial. The kind of girls, she said, that would make +her look like a housemaid. Housemaid be darned!” he exclaimed, suddenly +growing hot. “I've seen the whole lot of them; I've done my darndest to +get next, and there's not one--” he stopped short. “Why should any of +them look at me, anyhow?” he added suddenly. + +“That was not her point,” remarked the duke. “She wanted you to look +at them, and you have looked.” T. Tembarom's eagerness was inspiring to +behold. + +“I have, haven't I?” he cried. “That was what I wanted to ask you. I've +done as she said. I haven't shirked a thing. I've followed them around +when I knew they hadn't any use on earth for me. Some of them have +handed me the lemon pretty straight. Why shouldn't they? But I don't +believe she knew how tough it might be for a fellow sometimes.” + +“No, she did not,” the duke said. “Also she probably did not know that +in ancient days of chivalry ladies sent forth their knights to bear +buffeting for their sakes in proof of fealty. Rise up, Sir Knight!” This +last phrase of course T. Tembarom did not know the poetic significance +of. + +To his hearer Palliser's story became an amusing thing, read in the +light of this most delicious frankness. It was Palliser himself who +played the fool, and not T. Tembarom, who had simply known what he +wanted, and had, with businesslike directness, applied himself to +finding a method of obtaining it. The young women he gave his time to +must be “Ladies” because Miss Hutchinson had required it from him. The +female flower of the noble houses had been passed in review before +him to practise upon, so to speak. The handsomer they were, the more +dangerously charming, the better Miss Hutchinson would be pleased. And +he had been regarded as a presumptuous aspirant. It was a situation for +a comedy. But the “Ladies” would not enjoy it if they were told. It was +also not the Duke of Stone who would tell them. They could not in +the least understand the subtlety of the comedy in which they had +unconsciously taken part. Ann Hutchinson's grandmother curtsied to them +in her stiff old way when they passed. Ann Hutchinson had gone to the +village school and been presented with prizes for needlework and good +behavior. But what a girl she must be, the slim bit of a thing with a +red head! What a clear-headed and firm little person! + +In courts he had learned to wear a composed countenance when he was +prompted to smile, and he wore one now. He enjoyed the society of T. +Tembarom increasingly every hour. He provided him with every joy. + +Their drive was a long one, and they talked a good deal. They talked of +the Hutchinsons, of the invention, of the business “deals” Tembarom +had entered into at the outset, and of their tremendously encouraging +result. It was not mere rumor that Hutchinson would end by being a rich +man. The girl would be an heiress. How complex her position would be! +And being of the elect who unknowingly bear with them the power +that “moves the world,” how would she affect Temple Barholm and its +surrounding neighborhood? + +“I wish to God she was here now!” exclaimed Tembarom, suddenly. + +It had been an interesting talk, but now and then the duke had wondered +if, as it went on, his companion was as wholly at his ease as was usual +with him. An occasional shade of absorption in his expression, as if +he were thinking of two things at once despite himself, a hint of +restlessness, revealed themselves occasionally. Was there something more +he was speculating on the possibility of saying, something more to tell +or explain? If there was, let him take his time. His audience, at all +events, was possessed of perceptions. This somewhat abrupt exclamation +might open the way. + +“That is easily understood, my dear fellow,” replied the duke. + +“There's times when you want a little thing like that just to talk +things over with, just to ask, because you--you're dead sure she'd never +lose her head and give herself away without knowing she was doing +it. She could just keep still and let the waves roll over her and +be standing there ready and quiet when the tide had passed. It's the +keeping your mouth shut that's so hard for most people, the not saying a +darned thing, whatever happens, till just the right time.” + +“Women cannot often do it,” said the duke. “Very few men can.” + +“You're right,” Tembarom answered, and there was a trifle of anxiety in +his tone. + +“There's women, just the best kind, that you daren't tell a big thing +to. Not that they'd mean to give it away--perhaps they wouldn't know +when they did it--but they'd feel so anxious they'd get--they'd get--” + +“Rattled,” put in the duke, and knew who he was thinking of. He saw Miss +Alicia's delicate, timid face as he spoke. + +T. Tembarom laughed. + +“That's just it,” he answered. “They wouldn't go back on you for worlds, +but--well, you have to be careful with them.” + +“He's got something on his mind,” mentally commented the duke. “He +wonders if he will tell it to me.” + +“And there's times when you'd give half you've got to be able to talk a +thing out and put it up to some one else for a while. I could do it with +her. That's why I said I wish to God that she was here.” + +“You have learned to know how to keep still,” the duke said. “So have I. +We learned it in different schools, but we have both learned.” + +As he was saying the words, he thought he was going to hear something; +when he had finished saying them he knew that he would without a doubt. +T. Tembarom made a quick move in his seat; he lost a shade of color and +cleared his throat as he bent forward, casting a glance at the backs of +the coachman and footman on the high seat above them. + +“Can those fellows hear me?” he asked. + +“No,” the duke answered; “if you speak as you are speaking now.” + +“You are the biggest man about here,” the young man went on. “You stand +for everything that English people care for, and you were born knowing +all the things I don't. I've been carrying a big load for quite a while, +and I guess I'm not big enough to handle it alone, perhaps. Anyhow, I +want to be sure I'm not making fool mistakes. The worst of it is that +I've got to keep still if I'm right, and I've got to keep still if I'm +wrong. I've got to keep still, anyhow.” + +“I learned to hold my tongue in places where, if I had not held it, I +might have plunged nations into bloodshed,” the duke said. “Tell me all +you choose.” + +As a result of which, by the time their drive had ended and they +returned to Stone Hover, he had told him, and, the duke sat in his +corner of the carriage with an unusual light in his eyes and a flush of +somewhat excited color on his cheek. + +“You're a queer fellow, T. Tembarom,” he said when they parted in the +drawing-room after taking tea. “You exhilarate me. You make me laugh. If +I were an emotional person, you would at moments make me cry. There's an +affecting uprightness about you. You're rather a fine fellow too, 'pon +my life.” Putting a waxen, gout-knuckled old hand on his shoulder, and +giving him a friendly push which was half a pat, he added, “You are, by +God!” + + + +And after his guest had left him, the duke stood for some minutes gazing +into the fire with a complicated smile and the air of a man who finds +himself quaintly enriched. + +“I have had ambitions in the course of my existence--several of them,” + he said, “but even in over-vaulting moments never have I aspired to such +an altitude as this--to be, as it were, part of a melodrama. One feels +that one scarcely deserves it.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +“Mr. Temple Barholm seems in better spirits,” Lady Mallowe said to +Captain Palliser as they walked on the terrace in the starlight dusk +after dinner. + +Captain Palliser took his cigar from his mouth and looked at the glowing +end of it. + +“Has it struck you that he has been in low spirits?” he inquired +speculatively. “One does not usually connect him with depression.” + +“Certainly not with depression. He's an extraordinary creature. +One would think he would perish from lack of the air he is used to +breathing--New York air.” + +“He is not perishing. He's too shrewd,” returned Palliser. “He mayn't +exactly like all this, but he's getting something out of it.” + +“He is not getting much of what he evidently wants most. I am out of all +patience,” said Lady Mallowe. + +Her acquaintance with Palliser had lasted through a number of years. +They argued most matters from the same basis of reasoning. They were at +times almost candid with each other. It may be acknowledged, however, +that of the two Lady Mallowe was the more inclined to verge on +self-revelation. This was of course because she was the less clever and +had more temper. Her temper, she had, now and then, owned bitterly to +herself, had played her tricks. Captain Palliser's temper never did +this. It was Lady Mallowe's temper which spoke now, but she did not +in the least mind his knowing that Joan was exasperating her beyond +endurance. He knew the whole situation well enough to be aware of it +without speech on her part. He had watched similar situations several +times before. + +“Her manner toward him is, to resort to New York colloquialisms, `the +limit,'” Palliser said quietly. “Is it your idea that his less good +spirits have been due to Lady Joan's ingenuities? They are ingenious, +you know.” + +“They are devilish,” exclaimed her mother. “She treads him in the mire +and sails about professing to be conducting herself flawlessly. She is +too clever for me,” she added with bitterness. + +Palliser laughed softly. + +“But very often you have been too clever for her,” he suggested. “For my +part, I don't quite see how you got her here.” + +Lady Mallowe became not almost, but entirely, candid. + +“Upon the whole, I don't quite know myself. I believe she really came +for some mysterious reason of her own.” + +“That is rather my impression,” said Palliser. “She has got something up +her sleeve, and so has he.” + +“He!” Lady Mallowe quite ejaculated the word. “She always has. That's +her abominable secretive way. But he! T. Tembarom with something up his +sleeve! One can't imagine it.” + +“Almost everybody has. I found that out long years ago,” said Palliser, +looking at his cigar end again as if consulting it. “Since I arrived at +the conclusion, I always take it for granted, and look out for it. I've +become rather clever in following such things up, and I have taken an +unusual interest in T. Tembarom from the first.” + +Lady Mallowe turned her handsome face, much softened by an enwreathing +gauze scarf, toward him anxiously. + +“Do you think his depression, or whatever it is, means Joan?” she asked. + +“If he is depressed by her, you need not be discouraged,” smiled +Palliser. “The time to lose hope would be when, despite her ingenuities, +he became entirely cheerful. But,” he added after a moment of pause, “I +have an idea there is some other little thing.” + +“Do you suppose that some young woman he has left behind in New York +is demanding her rights?” said Lady Mallowe, with annoyance. “That +is exactly the kind of thing Joan would like to hear, and so entirely +natural. Some shop-girl or other.” + +“Quite natural, as you say; but he would scarcely be running up to +London and consulting Scotland Yard about her,” Palliser answered. + +“Scotland Yard!” ejaculated his companion. “How in the world did you +find that out?” + +Captain Palliser did not explain how he had done it. Presumably his +knowledge was due to the adroitness of the system of “following such +things up.” + +“Scotland Yard has also come to him,” he went on. “Did you chance to see +a red-faced person who spent a morning with him last week?” + +“He looked like a butcher, and I thought he might be one of his +friends,” Lady Mallowe said. + +“I recognized the man. He is an extremely clever detective, much +respected for his resources in the matter of following clues which are +so attenuated as to be scarcely clues at all.” + +“Clues have no connection with Joan,” said Lady Mallowe, still more +annoyed. “All London knows her miserable story.” + +“Have you--” Captain Palliser's tone was thoughtful, “--has any one ever +seen Mr. Strangeways?” + +“No. Can you imagine anything more absurdly romantic? A creature without +a memory, shut up in a remote wing of a palace like this, as if he were +the Man with the Iron Mask. Romance is not quite compatible with T. +Tembarom.” + +“It is so incongruous that it has entertained me to think it over a good +deal,” remarked Palliser. “He leaves everything to one's imagination. +All one knows is that he isn't a relative; that he isn't mad, but only +too nervous to see or be seen. Queer situation. I've found there is +always a reason for things; the queerer they are, the more sure it is +that there's a reason. What is the reason Strangeways is kept here, and +where would a detective come in? Just on general principles I'm rather +going into the situation. There's a reason, and it would be amusing to +find it out. Don't you think so?” + +He spoke casually, and Lady Mallowe's answer was casual, though she knew +from experience that he was not as casual as he chose to seem. He was +clever enough always to have certain reasons of his own which formulated +themselves into interests large and small. He knew things about people +which were useful. Sometimes quite small things were useful. He was +always well behaved, and no one had ever accused him of bringing +pressure to bear; but it was often possible for him to sell things +or buy things or bring about things in circumstances which would have +presented difficulties to other people. Lady Mallowe knew from long +experience all about the exigencies of cases when “needs must,” and she +was not critical. Temple Barholm as the estate of a distant relative +and T. Tembarom as its owner were not assets to deal with indifferently. +When a man made a respectable living out of people who could be +persuaded to let you make investments for them, it was not an +unbusinesslike idea to be in the position to advise an individual +strongly. + +“It's quite natural that you should feel an interest,” she answered. +“But the romantic stranger is too romantic, though I will own Scotland +Yard is a little odd.” + +“Yes, that is exactly what I thought,” said Palliser. + +He had in fact thought a good deal and followed the thing up in a quiet, +amateur way, though with annoyingly little result. Occasionally he had +felt rather a fool for his pains, because he had been led to so few +facts of importance and had found himself so often confronted by T. +Tembarom's entirely frank grin. His own mental attitude was not a +complex one. Lady Mallowe's summing up had been correct enough on the +whole. Temple Barholm ought to be a substantial asset, regarded in its +connection with its present owner. Little dealings in stocks--sometimes +rather large ones when luck was with him--had brought desirable returns +to Captain Palliser throughout a number of years. Just now he was +taking an interest in a somewhat imposing scheme, or what might prove +an imposing one if it were managed properly and presented to the right +persons. If T. Tembarom had been sufficiently lured by the spirit of +speculation to plunge into old Hutchinson's affair, as he evidently had +done, he was plainly of the temperament attracted by the game of chance. +There had been no reason but that of temperament which could have led +him to invest. He had found himself suddenly a moneyed man and had +liked the game. Never having so much as heard of Little Ann Hutchinson, +Captain Palliser not unnaturally argued after this wise. There seemed no +valid reason why, if a vague invention had allured, a less vague scheme, +managed in a more businesslike manner, should not. This Mexican silver +and copper mine was a dazzling thing to talk about. He could go into +details. He had, in fact, allowed a good deal of detail to trail through +his conversation at times. It had not been difficult to accomplish this +in his talks with Lady Mallowe in his host's presence. Lady Mallowe was +always ready to talk of mines, gold, silver, or copper. It happened at +times that one could manage to secure a few shares without the actual +payment of money. There were little hospitalities or social amiabilities +now and then which might be regarded as value received. So she had made +it easy for Captain Palliser to talk, and T. Tembarom had heard much +which would have been of interest to the kind of young man he appeared +to be. Sometimes he had listened absorbedly, and on a few occasions he +had asked a few questions which laid him curiously bare in his role of +speculator. If he had no practical knowledge of the ways and means of +great mining companies, he at least professed none. At all events, if +there was any little matter he preferred to keep to himself, there was +no harm in making oneself familiar with its aspect and significance. A +man's arguments, so far as he himself is concerned, assume the character +with which his own choice of adjectives and adverbs labels them. That +is, if he labels them. The most astute do not. Captain Palliser did not. +He dealt merely with reasoning processes which were applicable to the +subject in hand, whatsoever its nature. He was a practical man of +the world--a gentleman, of course. It was necessary to adjust matters +without romantic hair-splitting. It was all by the way. + +T. Tembarom had at the outset seemed to present, so to speak, no +surface. Palliser had soon ceased to be at all sure that his social +ambitions were to be relied on as a lever. Besides which, when the old +Duke of Stone took delighted possession of him, dined with him, drove +with him, sat and gossiped with him by the hour, there was not much one +could offer him. Strangeways had at first meant only eccentricity. A +little later he had occasionally faintly stirred curiosity, and perhaps +the fact that Burrill enjoyed him as a grievance and a mystery had +stimulated the stirring. The veriest chance had led him to find himself +regarding the opening up of possible vistas. + +From a certain window in a certain wing of the house a much-praised view +was to be seen. Nothing was more natural than that on the occasion of a +curious sunset Palliser should, in coming from his room, decide to take +a look at it. As he passed through a corridor Pearson came out of a room +near him. + +“How is Mr. Strangeways to-day?” Palliser asked. + +“Not quite so well, I am afraid, sir,” was the answer. + +“Sorry to hear it,” replied Palliser, and passed on. + +On his return he walked somewhat slowly down the corridor. As he turned +into it he thought he heard the murmur of voices. One was that of T. +Tembarom, and he was evidently using argument. It sounded as if he were +persuading some one to agree with him, and the persuasion was earnest. +He was not arguing with Pearson or a housemaid. Why was he arguing with +his pensioner? His voice was as low as it was eager, and the other man's +replies were not to be heard. Only just after Palliser had passed the +door there broke out an appeal which was a sort of cry. + +“No! My God, no! Don't send me away? Don't send me away!” + +One could not, even if so inclined, stand and listen near a door while +servants might chance to be wandering about. Palliser went on his way +with a sense of having been slightly startled. + +“He wants to get rid of him, and the fellow is giving him trouble,” he +said to himself. “That voice is not American. Not in the least.” It set +him thinking and observing. When Tembarom wore the look which was not a +look of depression, but of something more puzzling, he thought that he +could guess at its reason. By the time he talked with Lady Mallowe he +had gone much further than he chose to let her know. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +The popularity of Captain Palliser's story of the “Ladies” had been +great at the outset, but with the passage of time it had oddly waned. +This had resulted from the story's ceasing to develop itself, as the +simplest intelligence might have anticipated, by means of the only +person capable of its proper development. The person in question was of +course T. Tembarom. Expectations, amusing expectations, of him had been +raised, and he had singularly failed in the fulfilling of them. The +neighborhood had, so to speak, stood upon tiptoe,--the feminine portion +of it, at least,--looking over shoulders to get the first glimpses of +what would inevitably take place. + +As weeks flew by, the standing on tiptoe became a thing of the past. The +whole thing flattened out most disappointingly. No attack whatever was +made upon the “Ladies.” That the Duke of Stone had immensely taken up +Mr. Temple Barholm had of course resulted in his being accepted in such +a manner as gave him many opportunities to encounter one and all. He +appeared at dinners, teas, and garden parties. Miss Alicia, whom he had +in some occult manner impressed upon people until they found themselves +actually paying a sort of court to her, was always his companion. + +“One realizes one cannot possibly leave her out of anything,” had been +said. “He has somehow established her as if she were his mother or his +aunt--or his interpreter. And such clothes, my dear, one doesn't behold. +Worth and Paquin and Doucet must go sleepless for weeks to invent them. +They are without a flaw in shade or line or texture.” Which was true, +because Mrs. Mellish of the Bond Street shop had become quite obsessed +by her idea and committed extravagances Miss Alicia offered up contrite +prayer to atone for, while Tembarom, simply chortling in his glee, +signed checks to pay for their exquisite embodiment. That he was not +reluctant to avail himself of social opportunities was made manifest by +the fact that he never refused an invitation. He appeared upon any spot +to which hospitality bade him, and unashamedly placed himself on record +as a neophyte upon almost all occasions. His well-cut clothes began in +time to wear more the air of garments belonging to him, but his hat +made itself remarked by its trick of getting pushed back on his head +or tilted on side, and his New York voice and accent rang out sharp and +finely nasal in the midst of low-pitched, throaty, or mellow English +enunciations. He talked a good deal at times because he found himself +talked to by people who either wanted to draw him out or genuinely +wished to hear the things he would be likely to say. + +That the hero of Palliser's story should so comport himself as to +provide either diversion or cause for haughty displeasure would have +been only a natural outcome of his ambitions. In a brief period of time, +however, every young woman who might have expected to find herself +an object of such ambitions realized that his methods of approach and +attack were not marked by the usual characteristics of aspirants of his +class. He evidently desired to see and be seen. He presented himself, as +it were, for inspection and consideration, but while he was attentive, +he did not press attentions upon any one. He did not make advances in +the ordinary sense of the word. He never essayed flattering or even +admiring remarks. He said queer things at which one often could not help +but laugh, but he somehow wore no air of saying them with the intention +of offering them as witticisms which might be regarded as allurements. +He did not ogle, he did not simper or shuffle about nervously and turn +red or pale, as eager and awkward youths have a habit of doing under +the stress of unrequited admiration. In the presence of a certain +slightingness of treatment, which he at the outset met with not +infrequently, he conducted himself with a detached good nature which +seemed to take but small account of attitudes less unoffending than his +own. When the slightingness disappeared from sheer lack of anything to +slight, he did not change his manner in any degree. + +“He is not in the least forward,” Beatrice Talchester said, the time +arriving when she and her sisters occasionally talked him over with +their special friends, the Granthams, “and he is not forever under one's +feet, as the pushing sort usually is. Do you remember those rich +people from the place they called Troy--the ones who took Burnaby for +a year--and the awful eldest son who perpetually invented excuses for +calling, bringing books and ridiculous things?” + +“This one never makes an excuse,” Amabel Grantham put in. + +“But he never declines an invitation. There is no doubt that he wants +to see people,” said Lady Honora, with the pretty little nose and the +dimples. She had ceased to turn up the pretty little nose, and she +showed a dimple as she added: “Gwynedd is tremendously taken with him. +She is teaching him to play croquet. They spend hours together.” + +“He's beginning to play a pretty good game,” said Gwynedd. “He's not +stupid, at all events.” + +“I believe you are the first choice, if he is really choosing,” Amabel +Grantham decided. “I should like to ask you a question.” + +“Ask it, by all means,” said Gwynedd. + +“Does he ever ask you to show him how to hold his mallet, and then do +idiotic things, such as managing to touch your hand?” + +“Never,” was Gwynedd's answer. “The young man from Troy used to do it, +and then beg pardon and turn red.” + +“I don't understand him, or I don't understand Captain Palliser's +story,” Amabel Grantham argued. “Lucy and I are quite out of the +running, but I honestly believe that he takes as much notice of us as +he does of any of you. If he has intentions, he 'doesn't act the part,' +which is pure New York of the first water.” + +“He said, however, that the things that mattered were not only titles, +but looks. He asked how many of us were 'lookers.' Don't be modest, +Amabel. Neither you nor Lucy are out of the running,” Beatrice amiably +suggested. + +“Ladies first,” commented Amabel, pertly. There was no objection to +being supported in one's suspicion that, after all, one was a “looker.” + +“There may be a sort of explanation,” Honora put the idea forward +somewhat thoughtfully. “Captain Palliser insists that he is much +shrewder than he seems. Perhaps he is cautious, and is looking us all +over before he commits himself.” + +“He is a Temple Barholm, after all,” said Gwynedd, with boldness. “He's +rather good looking. He has the nicest white teeth and the most cheering +grin I ever saw, and he's as 'rich as grease is,' as I heard a +housemaid say one day. I'm getting quite resigned to his voice, or it +is improving, I don't know which. If he only knew the mere A B C of +ordinary people like ourselves, and he committed himself to me, I +wouldn't lay my hand on my heart and say that one might not think him +over.” + +“I told you she was tremendously taken with him,” said her sister. “It's +come to this.” + +“But,” said Lady Gwynedd, “he is not going to commit himself to any of +us, incredible as it may seem. The one person he stares at sometimes is +Joan Fayre, and he only looks at her as if he were curious and wouldn't +object to finding out why she treats him so outrageously. He isn't +annoyed; he's only curious.” + +“He's been adored by salesladies in New York,” said Honora, “and he +can't understand it.” + +“He's been liked,” Amabel Grantham summed him up. “He's a likable thing. +He's even rather a dear. I've begun to like him myself.” + +“I hear you are learning to play croquet,” the Duke of Stone remarked to +him a day or so later. “How do you like it?” + +“Lady Gwynedd Talchester is teaching me,” Tembarom answered. “I'd learn +to iron shirt-waists if she would give me lessons. She's one of the two +that have dimples,” he added, reflection in his tone. “I guess that'll +count. Shouldn't you think it would?” + +“Miss Hutchinson?” queried the duke. + +Tembarom nodded. + +“Yes, it's always her,” he answered without a ray of humor. “I just want +to stack 'em up.” + +“You are doing it,” the duke replied with a slightly twisted mouth. +There were, in fact, moments when he might have fallen into fits of +laughter while Tembarom was seriousness itself. “I must, however, call +your attention to the fact that there is sometimes in your manner a hint +of a businesslike pursuit of a fixed object which you must beware +of. The Lady Gwynedds might not enjoy the situation if they began to +suspect. If they decided to flout you,--'to throw you down,' I ought to +say--where would little Miss Hutchinson be?” + +Tembarom looked startled and disturbed. + +“Say,” he exclaimed, “do I ever look that way? I must do better than +that. Anyhow, it ain't all put on. I'm doing my stunt, of course, but I +like them. They're mighty nice to me when you consider what they're up +against. And those two with the dimples,--Lady Gwynned and Lady Honora, +are just peaches. Any fellow might”--he stopped and looked serious +again--“That's why they'd count,” he added. + +They were having one of their odd long talks under a particularly +splendid copper beech which provided the sheltered out-of-door corner +his grace liked best. When they took their seats together in this +retreat, it was mysteriously understood that they were settling +themselves down to enjoyment of their own, and must not be disturbed. + +“When I am comfortable and entertained,” Moffat, the house steward, had +quoted his master as saying, “you may mention it if the castle is in +flames; but do not annoy me with excitement and flurry. Ring the bell in +the courtyard, and call up the servants to pass buckets; but until the +lawn catches fire, I must insist on being left alone.” + +“What dear papa talks to him about, and what he talks about to dear +papa,” Lady Celia had more than once murmured in her gently remote, +high-nosed way, “I cannot possibly imagine. Sometimes when I have passed +them on my way to the croquet lawn I have really seen them both look as +absorbed as people in a play. Of course it is very good for papa. It has +had quite a marked effect on his digestion. But isn't it odd!” + +“I wish,” Lady Edith remarked almost wistfully, “that I could get on +better with him myself conversationally. But I don't know what to talk +about, and it makes me nervous.” + +Their father, on the contrary, found in him unique resources, and this +afternoon it occurred to him that he had never so far heard him express +himself freely on the subject of Palliser. If led to do so, he would +probably reveal that he had views of Captain Palliser of which he might +not have been suspected, and the manner in which they would unfold +themselves would more than probably be illuminating. The duke was, in +fact, serenely sure that he required neither warning nor advice, and he +had no intention of offering either. He wanted to hear the views. + +“Do you know,” he said as he stirred his tea, “I've been thinking about +Palliser, and it has occurred to me more than once that I should like to +hear just how he strikes you?” + +“What I got on to first was how I struck him,” answered Tembarom, with a +reasonable air. “That was dead easy.” + +There was no hint of any vaunt of superior shrewdness. His was merely +the level-toned manner of an observer of facts in detail. + +“He has given you an opportunity of seeing a good deal of him,” the duke +added. “What do you gather from him--unless he has made up his mind that +you shall not gather anything at all?” + +“A fellow like that couldn't fix it that way, however much he wanted +to,” Tembarom answered again reasonably. “Just his trying to do it would +give him away.” + +“You mean you have gathered things?” + +“Oh, I've gathered enough, though I didn't go after it. It hung on the +bushes. Anyhow, it seemed to me that way. I guess you run up against +that kind everywhere. There's stacks of them in New York--different +shapes and sizes.” + +“If you met a man of his particular shape and size in New York, how +would you describe him?” the duke asked. + +“I should never have met him when I was there. He wouldn't have come +my way. He'd have been on Wall Street, doing high-class bucket-shop +business, or he'd have had a swell office selling copper-mines--any old +kind of mine that's going to make ten million a minute, the sort of +deal he's in now. If he'd been the kind I might have run up against,” + he added with deliberation, “he wouldn't have been as well dressed or +as well spoken. He'd have been either flashy or down at heel. You'd have +called him a crook.” + +The duke seemed pleased with his tea as, after having sipped it, he put +it down on the table at his side. + +“A crook?” he repeated. “I wonder if that word is altogether American?” + +“It's not complimentary, but you asked me,” said Tembarom. “But I don't +believe you asked me because you thought I wasn't on to him.” + +“Frankly speaking, no,” answered the duke. “Does he talk to you about +the mammoth mines and the rubber forests?” + +“Say, that's where he wins out with me,” Tembarom replied admiringly. +“He gets in such fine work that I switch him on to it whenever I want +cheering up. It makes me sorter forget things that worry me just to see +a man act the part right up to the top notch the way he does it. The +very way his clothes fit, the style he's got his hair brushed, and that +swell, careless lounge of his, are half of the make-up. You see, most of +us couldn't mistake him for anything else but just what he looks like--a +gentleman visiting round among his friends and a million miles from +wanting to butt in with business. The thing that first got me interested +was watching how he slid in the sort of guff he wanted you to get worked +up about and think over. Why, if I'd been what I look like to him, he'd +have had my pile long ago, and he wouldn't be loafing round here any +more.” + +“What do you think you look like to him?” his host inquired. + +“I look as if I'd eat out of his hand,” Tembarom answered, quite +unbiased by any touch of wounded vanity. “Why shouldn't I? And I'm not +trying to wake him up, either. I like to look that way to him and to +his sort. It gives me a chance to watch and get wise to things. He's a +high-school education in himself. I like to hear him talk. I asked him +to come and stay at the house so that I could hear him talk.” + +“Did he introduce the mammoth mines in his first call?” the duke +inquired. + +“Oh, I don't mean that kind of talk. I didn't know how much good I was +going to get out of him at first. But he was the kind I hadn't known, +and it seemed like he was part of the whole thing--like the girls with +title that Ann said I must get next to. And an easy way of getting next +to the man kind was to let him come and stay. He wanted to, all right. +I guess that's the way he lives when he's down on his luck, getting +invited to stay at places. Like Lady Mallowe,” he added, quite without +prejudice. + +“You do sum them up, don't you?” smiled the duke. + +“Well, I don't see how I could help it,” he said impartially. “They're +printed in sixty-four point black-face, seems to me.” + +“What is that?” the duke inquired with interest. He thought it might be +a new and desirable bit of slang. “I don't know that one.” + +“Biggest type there is,” grinned Tembarom. “It's the kind that's used +for head-lines. That's newspaper-office talk.” + +“Ah, technical, I see. What, by the way, is the smallest lettering +called?” his grace followed up. + +“Brilliant,” answered Tembarom. + +“You,” remarked the duke, “are not printed in sixty-four-point +black-face so far as they are concerned. You are not even brilliant. +They don't find themselves able to sum you up. That fact is one of my +recreations.” + +“I'll tell you why,” Tembarom explained with his clearly unprejudiced +air. “There's nothing much about me to sum up, anyhow. I'm too sort of +plain sailing and ordinary. I'm not making for anywhere they'd think I'd +want to go. I'm not hiding anything they'd be sure I'd want to hide.” + +“By the Lord! you're not!” exclaimed the duke. + +“When I first came here, every one of them had a fool idea I'd want +to pretend I'd never set eyes on a newsboy or a boot-black, and that I +couldn't find my way in New York when I got off Fifth Avenue. I used +to see them thinking they'd got to look as if they believed it, if they +wanted to keep next. When I just let out and showed I didn't care a darn +and hadn't sense enough to know that it mattered, it nearly made them +throw a fit. They had to turn round and fix their faces all over again +and act like it was 'interesting.' That's what Lady Mallowe calls it. +She says it's so 'interesting!'” + +“It is,” commented the duke. + +“Well, you know that, but she doesn't. Not on your life! I guess it +makes her about sick to think of it and have to play that it's just what +you'd want all your men friends to have done. Now, Palliser--” he paused +and grinned again. He was sitting in a most casual attitude, his hands +clasped round one up-raised knee, which he nursed, balancing himself. It +was a position of informal ease which had an air of assisting enjoyable +reflection. + +“Yes, Palliser? Don't let us neglect Palliser,” his host encouraged him. + +“He's in a worse mix-up than the rest because he's got more to lose. If +he could work this mammoth-mine song and dance with the right people, +there'd be money enough in it to put him on Easy Street. That's where +he's aiming for. The company's just where it has to have a boost. +It's just GOT to. If it doesn't, there'll be a bust up that may end in +fitting out a high-toned promoter or so in a striped yellow-and-black +Jersey suit and set him to breaking rocks or playing with oakum. I'll +tell you, poor old Palliser gets the Willies sometimes after he's read +his mail. He turns the color of ecru baby Irish. That's a kind of lace I +got a dressmaker to tell me about when I wrote up receptions and dances +for the Sunday Earth. Ecru baby Irish--that's Palliser's color after +he's read his letters.” + +“I dare say the fellow's in a devil of a mess, if the truth were known,” + the duke said. + +“And here's 'T. T.,' hand-made and hand-painted for the part of the kind +of sucker he wants.” T. Tembarom's manner was almost sympathetic in its +appreciation. “I can tell you I'm having a real good time with Palliser. +It looked like I'd just dropped from heaven when he first saw me. If +he'd been the praying kind, I'd have been just the sort he'd have prayed +for when he said his `Now-I-lay-me's' before he went to bed. There +wasn't a chance in a hundred that I wasn't a fool that had his head +swelled so that he'd swallow any darned thing if you handed it to him +smooth enough. First time he called he asked me a lot of questions about +New York business. That was pretty smart of him. He wanted to find out, +sort of careless, how much I knew--or how little.” + +The duke was leaning back luxuriously in his chair and gazing at him as +he might have gazed at the work of an old master of which each line and +shade was of absorbing interest. + +“I can see him,” he said. “I can see him.” + +“He found out I knew nothing,” Tembarom continued. “And what was to +hinder him trying to teach me something, by gee! Nothing on top of the +green earth. I was there, waiting with my mouth open, it seemed like.” + +“And he has tried--in his best manner?” said his grace. + +“What he hasn't tried wouldn't be worthy trying,” Tembarom answered +cheerfully. “Sometimes it seems like a shame to waste it. I've got so +I know how to start him when he doesn't know I'm doing it. I tell you, +he's fine. Gentlemanly--that's his way, you know. High-toned friend that +just happens to know of a good thing and thinks enough of you in a sort +of reserved way to feel like it's a pity not to give you a chance to +come in on the ground floor, if you've got the sense to see the favor +he's friendly enough to do you. It's such a favor that it'd just disgust +a man if you could possibly turn it down. But of course you're to take +it or leave it. It's not to his interest to push it. Lord, no! Whatever +you did his way is that he'd not condescend to say a darned word. +High-toned silence, that's all.” + +The Duke of Stone was chuckling very softly. His chuckles rather broke +his words when he spoke. + +“By--by--Jove!” he said. “You--you do see it, don't you? You do see it.” + +Tembarom nursed his knee comfortably. + +“Why,” he said, “it's what keeps me up. You know a lot more about me +than any one else does, but there's a whole raft of things I think about +that I couldn't hang round any man's neck. If I tried to hang them round +yours, you'd know that I would be having a hell of a time here, if I'd +let myself think too much. If I didn't see it, as you call it, if I +didn't see so many things, I might begin to get sorry for myself.” There +was a pause of a second. “Gee!” he said, “Gee! this not hearing a thing +about Ann!--” + + +“Good Lord! my dear fellow,” the duke said hastily, “I know. I know.” + +Tembarom turned and looked at him. + +“You've been there,” he remarked. “You've been there, I bet.” + +“Yes, I've been there,” answered the duke. “I've been there--and come +back. But while it's going on--you have just described it. A man can +have a hell of a time.” + +“He can,” Tembarom admitted unreservedly. “He's got to keep going to +stand it. Well, Strangeways gives me some work to do. And I've got +Palliser. He's a little sunbeam.” + +A man-servant approaching to suggest a possible need of hot tea started +at hearing his grace break into a sudden and plainly involuntary crow +of glee. He had not heard that one before either. Palliser as a little +sunbeam brightening the pathway of T. Tembarom, was, in the particular +existing circumstances, all that could be desired of fine humor. It +somewhat recalled the situation of the “Ladies” of the noble houses of +Pevensy, Talchester, and Stone unconsciously passing in review for +the satisfaction of little Miss Hutchinson. Tembarom laughed a little +himself, but he went on with a sort of seriousness, + +“There's one thing sure enough. I've got on to it by listening and +working out what he would do by what he doesn't know he says. If he +could put the screws on me in any way, he wouldn't hold back. It'd be +all quite polite and gentlemanly, but he'd do it all the same. And he's +dead-sure that everybody's got something they'd like to hide--or get. +That's what he works things out from.” + +“Does he think you have something to hide--or get?” the duke inquired +rather quickly. + +“He's sure of it. But he doesn't know yet whether it's get or hide. He +noses about. Pearson's seen him. He asks questions and plays he ain't +doing it and ain't interested, anyhow.” + +“He doesn't like you, he doesn't like you,” the duke said rather +thoughtfully. “He has a way of conveying that you are far more subtle +than you choose to look. He is given to enlarging on the fact that an +air of entire frankness is one of the chief assets of certain promoters +of huge American schemes.” + +Tembarom smiled the smile of recognition. + +“Yes,” he said, “it looks like that's a long way round, doesn't it? But +it's not far to T. T. when you want to hitch on the connection. Anyhow, +that's the way he means it to look. If ever I was suspected of being in +any mix-up, everybody would remember he'd said that.” + +“It's very amusin',” said the duke. “It's very amusin'.” + +They had become even greater friends and intimates by this time than the +already astonished neighborhood suspected them of being. That they spent +much time together in an amazing degree of familiarity was the talk +of the country, in fact, one of the most frequent resources of +conversation. Everybody endeavored to find reason for the situation, +but none had been presented which seemed of sufficiently logical +convincingness. The duke was eccentric, of course. That was easy to +hit upon. He was amiably perverse and good-humoredly cynical. He was +of course immensely amused by the incongruity of the acquaintance. This +being the case, why exactly he had never before chosen for himself a +companion equally out of the picture it was not easy to explain. There +were plow-boys or clerks out of provincial shops who would surely have +been quite as incongruous when surrounded by ducal splendors. He might +have got a young man from Liverpool or Blackburn who would have known +as little of polite society as Mr. Temple Barholm; there were few, of +course, who could know less. But he had never shown the faintest desire +to seek one out. Palliser, it is true, suggested it was Tembarom's +“cheek” which stood him in good stead. The young man from behind the +counter in a Liverpool or Blackburn shop would probably have been +frightened to death and afraid to open his mouth in self-revelation, +whereas Temple Barholm was so entirely a bounder that he did not know +he was one, and was ready to make an ass of himself to any extent. The +frankest statement of the situation, if any one had so chosen to put it, +would have been that he was regarded as a sort of court fool without cap +or bells. + +No one was aware of the odd confidences which passed between the weirdly +dissimilar pair. No one guessed that the old peer sat and listened +to stories of a red-headed, slim-bodied girl in a dingy New York +boarding-house, that he liked them sufficiently to encourage their +telling, that he had made a mental picture of a certain look in a pair +of maternally yearning and fearfully convincing round young eyes, that +he knew the burnished fullness and glow of the red hair until he could +imagine the feeling of its texture and abundant warmth in the hand. +And this subject was only one of many. And of others they talked with +interest, doubt, argument, speculation, holding a living thrill. + +The tap of croquet mallets sounded hollow and clear from the sunken +lawn below the mass of shrubs between them and the players as the duke +repeated. + +“It's hugely amusin',” dropping his “g,” which was not one of his usual +affectations. + +“Confound it!” he said next, wrinkling the thin, fine skin round his +eyes in a speculative smile, “I wish I had had a son of my own just like +you.” + +All of Tembarom's white teeth revealed themselves. + +“I'd have liked to have been in it,” he replied, “but I shouldn't have +been like me.” + +“Yes, you would.” The duke put the tips of his fingers delicately +together. “You are of the kind which in all circumstances is like +itself.” He looked about him, taking in the turreted, majestic age +and mass of the castle. “You would have been born here. You would have +learned to ride your pony down the avenue. You would have gone to Eton +and to Oxford. I don't think you would have learned much, but you would +have been decidedly edifying and companionable. You would have had +a sense of humor which would have made you popular in society and at +court. A young fellow who makes those people laugh holds success in his +hand. They want to be made to laugh as much as I do. Good God! how they +are obliged to be bored and behave decently under it! You would have +seen and known more things to be humorous about than you know now. I +don't think you would have been a fool about women, but some of them +would have been fools about you, because you've got a way. I had one +myself. It's all the more dangerous because it's possibility suggesting +without being sentimental. A friendly young fellow always suggests +possibilities without being aware of it. + +“Would I have been Lord Temple Temple Barholm or something of that +sort?” Tembarom asked. + +“You would have been the Marquis of Belcarey,” the duke replied, looking +him over thoughtfully, “and your name would probably have been Hugh +Lawrence Gilbert Henry Charles Adelbert, or words to that effect.” + +“A regular six-shooter,” said Tembarom. + +The duke was following it up with absorption in his eyes. + +“You'd have gone into the Guards, perhaps,” he said, “and drill would +have made you carry yourself better. You're a good height. You'd have +been a well-set-up fellow. I should have been rather proud of you. I can +see you riding to the palace with the rest of them, sabres and chains +clanking and glittering and helmet with plumes streaming. By Jove! +I don't wonder at the effect they have on nursery-maids. On a sunny +morning in spring they suggest knights in a fairytale.” + +“I should have liked it all right if I hadn't been born in Brooklyn,” + grinned Tembarom. “But that starts you out in a different way. Do you +think, if I'd been born the Marquis of Bel--what's his name--I should +have been on to Palliser's little song and dance, and had as much fun +out of it?” + +“On my soul, I believe you would,” the duke answered. “Brooklyn or +Stone Hover Castle, I'm hanged if you wouldn't have been YOU.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +After this came a pause. Each man sat thinking his own thoughts, which, +while marked with difference in form, were doubtless subtly alike in +the line they followed. During the silence T. Tembarom looked out at the +late afternoon shadows lengthening themselves in darkening velvet across +the lawns. + +At last he said: + +“I never told you that I've been reading some of the 'steen thousand +books in the library. I started it about a month ago. And somehow +they've got me going.” + +The slightly lifted eyebrows of his host did not express surprise so +much as questioning interest. This man, at least, had discovered that +one need find no cause for astonishment in any discovery that he +had been doing a thing for some time for some reason or through some +prompting of his own, and had said nothing whatever about it until he +was what he called “good and ready.” When he was “good and ready” he +usually revealed himself to the duke, but he was not equally expansive +with others. + +“No, you have not mentioned it,” his grace answered, and laughed a +little. “You frequently fail to mention things. When first we knew each +other I used to wonder if you were naturally a secretive fellow; but you +are not. You always have a reason for your silences.” + +“It took about ten years to kick that into me--ten good years, I should +say.” T. Tembarom looked as if he were looking backward at many episodes +as he said it. “Naturally, I guess, I must have been an innocent, +blab-mouthed kid. I meant no harm, but I just didn't know. Sometimes +it looks as if just not knowing is about the worst disease you can be +troubled with. But if you don't get killed first, you find out in time +that what you've got to hold on to hard and fast is the trick of 'saying +nothing and sawing wood.'” + +The duke took out his memorandum-book and began to write hastily. T. +Tembarom was quite accustomed to this. He even repeated his axiom for +him. + +“Say nothing and saw wood,” he said. “It's worth writing down. It means +'shut your mouth and keep on working.'” + +“Thank you,” said the duke. “It is worth writing down. Thank you.” + +“I did not talk about the books because I wanted to get used to them +before I began to talk,” Tembarom explained. “I wanted to get somewhere. +I'd never read a book through in my life before. Never wanted to. +Never had one and never had time. When night came, I was dog-tired and +dog-ready to drop down and sleep.” + +Here was a situation of interest. A young man of odd, direct shrewdness, +who had never read a book through in his existence, had plunged suddenly +into the extraordinarily varied literary resources of the Temple Barholm +library. If he had been a fool or a genius one might have guessed at the +impression made on him; being T. Tembarom, one speculated with secret +elation. The primitiveness he might reveal, the profundities he might +touch the surface of, the unexpected ends he might reach, suggested the +opening of vistas. + +“I have often thought that if books attracted you the library would help +you to get through a good many of the hundred and thirty-six hours a day +you've spoken of, and get through them pretty decently,” commented the +duke. + +“That's what's happened,” Tembarom answered. “There's not so many now. I +can cut 'em off in chunks.” + +“How did it begin?” + +He listened with much pleasure while Tembarom told him how it had begun +and how it had gone on. + +“I'd been having a pretty bad time one day. Strangeways had been +worse--a darned sight worse--just when I thought he was better. I'd +been trying to help him to think straight; and suddenly I made a break, +somehow, and must have touched exactly the wrong spring. It seemed as if +I set him nearly crazy. I had to leave him to Pearson right away. Then +it poured rain steady for about eight hours, and I couldn't get out and +`take a walk.' Then I went wandering into the picture-gallery and found +Lady Joan there, looking at Miles Hugo. And she ordered me out, or +blamed near it.” + +“You are standing a good deal,” said the duke. + +“Yes, I am--but so is she.” He set his hard young jaw and nursed his +knee, staring once more at the velvet shadows. “The girl in the book I +picked up--” he began. + +“The first book?” his host inquired. + +Tembarom nodded. + +“The very first. I was smoking my pipe at night, after every one else +had gone to bed, and I got up and began to wander about and stare at the +names of the things on the shelves. I was thinking over a whole raft of +things--a whole raft of them--and I didn't know I was doing it, until +something made me stop and read a name again. It was a book called +`Good-by, Sweetheart, Good-by,' and it hit me straight. I wondered what +it was about, and I wondered where old Temple Barholm had fished up a +thing like that. I never heard he was that kind.” + +“He was a cantankerous old brute,” said the Duke of Stone with candor, +“but he chanced to be an omnivorous novel-reader. Nothing was too +sentimental for him in his later years.” + +“I took the thing out and read it,” Tembarom went on, uneasily, the +emotion of his first novel-reading stirring him as he talked. “It kept +me up half the night, and I hadn't finished it then. I wanted to know +the end.” + +“Benisons upon the books of which one wants to know the end!” the duke +murmured. + +Tembarom's interest had plainly not terminated with “the end.” Its +freshness made it easily revived. There was a hint of emotional +indignation in his relation of the plot. + +“It was about a couple of fools who were dead stuck on each other--dead. +There was no mistake about that. It was all real. But what do they +do but work up a fool quarrel about nothing, and break away from each +other. There was a lot of stuff about pride. Pride be damned! How's a +man going to be proud and put on airs when he loves a woman? How's a +woman going to be proud and stick out about things when she loves a man? +At least, that's the way it hit me.” + +“That's the way it hit me--once,” remarked his grace. + +“There is only once,” said Tembarom, doggedly. + +“Occasionally,” said his host. “Occasionally.” + +Tembarom knew what he meant. + +“The fellow went away, and neither of them would give in. It's queer +how real it was when you read it. You were right there looking on, and +swallowing hard every few minutes--though you were as mad as hops. The +girl began to die--slow--and lay there day after day, longing for him +to come back, and knowing he wouldn't. At the very end, when there was +scarcely a breath left in her, a young fellow who was crazy about her +himself, and always had been, put out after the hard-headed fool to +bring him to her anyhow. The girl had about given in then. And she lay +and waited hour after hour, and the youngster came back by himself. He +couldn't bring the man he'd gone after. He found him getting married to +a nice girl he didn't really care a darn for. He'd sort of set his teeth +and done it--just because he was all in and down and out, and a fool. +The girl just dropped her head back on the pillow and lay there, dead! +What do you think of that?” quite fiercely. “I guess it was sentimental +all right, but it got you by the throat.” + +“'Good-bye, Sweetheart, Good-bye,”' his grace quoted. “First-class +title. We are all sentimental. And that was the first, was it?” + +“Yes, but it wasn't the last. I began to read the others. I've been +reading them ever since. I tell you, for a fellow that knows nothing +it's an easy way of finding out a lot of things. You find out what +different kinds of people there are, and what different kinds of ways. +If you've lived in one place, and been up against nothing but earning +your living, you think that's all there is of it--that it's the whole +thing. But it isn't, by gee!” His air became thoughtful. “I've begun +to kind of get on to what all this means”--glancing about him--“to you +people; and how a fellow like T. T. must look to you. I've always sort +of guessed, but reading a few dozen novels has helped me to see WHY +it's that way. I've yelled right out laughing over it many a time. +That fellow called Thackeray--I can't read his things right straight +through--but he 's an eye-opener.” + +“You have tried nothing BUT novels?” his enthralled hearer inquired. + +“Not yet. I shall come to the others in time. I'm sort of hungry for +these things about PEOPLE. It's the ways they're different that gets +me going. There was one that stirred me all up--but it wasn't like that +first one. It was about a man “--he spoke slowly, as if searching for +words and parallels--“well, I guess he was one of the early savages +here. It read as if they were like the first Indians in America, only +stronger and fiercer. When Palford was explaining things to me he'd jerk +in every now and then something about 'coming over with the Conqueror' +or being here 'before the Conqueror.' I didn't know what it meant. I +found out in this book I'm telling about. It gave me the whole thing +so that you SAW it. Here was this little country, with no one in it but +these first savage fellows it'd always belonged to. They thought it +was the world.” There was a humorous sense of illumination in his +half-laugh. “It was their New York, by jings,” he put in. “Their little +old New York that they'd never been outside of! And then first one lot +slams in, and then another, and another, and tries to take it from them. +Julius Caesar was the first Mr. Buttinski; and they fought like hell. +They were fighters from Fightersville, anyhow. They fought each other, +took each other's castles and lands and wives and jewelry--just any +old thing they wanted. The only jails were private ones meant for their +particular friends. And a man was hung only when one of his neighbors +got mad enough at him, and then he had to catch him first and run the +risk of being strung up himself, or have his head chopped off and stuck +up on a spike somewhere for ornament. But fight! Good Lord! They were at +it day and night. Did it for fun, just like folks go to the show. They +didn't know what fear was. Never heard of it. They'd go about shouting +and bragging and swaggering, with their heads hanging half off. And the +one in this book was the bulliest fighter of the lot. I guess I don't +know how to pronounce his name. It began with H.” + +“Was it Hereward the Wake, by chance?” exclaimed his auditor. “Hereward +the Last of the English?” + +“That's the man,” cried Tembarom. + +“An engaging ruffian and thief and murderer, and a touching one also,” + commented the duke. “You liked him?” He really wanted to know. + +“I like the way he went after what he wanted to get, and the way he +fought for his bit of England. By gee! When he went rushing into a +fight, shouting and boasting and swinging his sword, I got hot in the +collar. It was his England. What was old Bill doing there anyhow, darn +him! Those chaps made him swim in their blood before they let him put +the thing over. Good business! I'm glad they gave him all that was +coming to him--hot and strong.” + +His sharp face had reddened and his voice rose high and nasal. There was +a look of roused blood in him. + +“Are you a fighter from Fightersville?” the duke asked, far from +unstirred himself. These things had become myths to most people, but +here was Broadway in the midst of them unconsciously suggesting that it +might not have done ill in the matter of swinging “Brain-Biter” itself. +The modern entity slipped back again through the lengthened links of +bygone centuries--back until it became T. Tembarom once more--casual +though shrewd; ready and jocular. His eyes resumed their dry New York +humor of expression as they fixed themselves on his wholly modern +questioner. + +“I'll fight,” he said, “for what I've got to fight for, but not for a +darned thing else. Not a darned thing.” + +“But you would fight,” smiled the duke, grimly. “Did you happen to +remember that blood like that has come down to you? It was some drop of +it which made you `hot in the collar' over that engaging savage roaring +and slashing about him for his `bit of England.”' + +Tembarom seemed to think it out interestedly. + +“No, I did not,” he answered. “But I guess that's so. I guess it's so. +Great Jakes! Think of me perhaps being sort of kin to fellows just like +that. Some way, you couldn't help liking him. He was always making big +breaks and bellowing out `The Wake! The Wake!' in season and out of +season; but the way he got there--just got there!” + +He was oddly in sympathy with “the early savages here,” and as +understandingly put himself into their places as he had put himself +into Galton's. His New York comprehension of their berserker furies was +apparently without limit. Strong partizan as he was of the last of the +English, however, he admitted that William of Normandy had “got in some +good work, though it wasn't square.” + +“He was a big man,” he ended. “If he hadn't been the kind he was I don't +know how I should have stood it when the Hereward fellow knelt down +before him, and put his hands between his and swore to be his man. +That's the way the book said it. I tell you that must have been +tough--tough as hell!” + +From “Good-bye, Sweetheart” to “Hereward the Last of the English” was a +far cry, but he had gathered a curious collection of ideas by the way, +and with characteristic everyday reasoning had linked them to his own +experiences. + +“The women in the Hereward book made me think of Lady Joan,” he +remarked, suddenly. + +“Torfreda?” the duke asked. + +He nodded quite seriously. + +“She had ways that reminded me of her, and I kept thinking they must +both have had the same look in their eyes--sort of fierce and hungry. +Torfreda had black hair and was a winner as to looks; but people were +afraid of her and called her a witch. Hereward went mad over her and +she went mad over him. That part of it was 'way out of sight, it was so +fine. She helped him with his fights and told him what to do, and tried +to keep him from drinking and bragging. Whatever he did, she never +stopped being crazy about him. She mended his men's clothes, and took +care of their wounds, and lived in the forest with him when he was +driven out.” + +“That sounds rather like Miss Hutchinson,” his host suggested, “though +the parallel between a Harlem flat and an English forest in the eleventh +century is not exact.” + +“I thought that, too,” Tembarom admitted. “Ann would have done the same +things, but she'd have done them in her way. If that fellow had taken +his wife's advice, he wouldn't have ended with his head sticking on a +spear.” + +“Another lady, if I remember rightly,” said the duke. + +“He left her, the fool!” Tembarom answered. “And there's where I +couldn't get away from seeing Lady Joan; Jem Temple Barholm didn't go +off with another woman, but what Torfreda went through, this one has +gone through, and she's going through it yet. She can't dress herself in +sackcloth, and cut off her hair, and hide herself away with a bunch of +nuns, as the other one did. She has to stay and stick it out, however +bad it is. That's a darned sight worse. The day after I'd finished the +book, I couldn't keep my eyes off her. I tried to stop it, but it was no +use. I kept hearing that Torfreda one screaming out, `Lost! Lost! Lost!' +It was all in her face.” + +“But, my good fellow,” protested the duke, despite feeling a touch of +the thrill again, “unfortunately, she would not suspect you of looking +at her because you were recalling Torfreda and Hereward the Wake. Men +stare at her for another reason.” + +“That's what I know about half as well again as I know anything else,” + answered Tembarom. He added, with a deliberation holding its own +meaning, “That's what I'm coming to.” + +The duke waited. What was it he was coming to? + +“Reading that novel put me wise to things in a new way. She's been +wiping her feet on me hard for a good while, and I sort of made up my +mind I'd got to let her until I was sure where I was. I won't say I +didn't mind it, but I could stand it. But that night she caught me +looking at her, the way she looked back at me made me see all of a +sudden that it would be easier for her if I told her straight that she +was mistaken.” + +“That she is mistaken in thinking--?” + +“What she does think. She wouldn't have thought it if the old lady +hadn't been driving her mad by hammering it in. She'd have hated me all +right, and I don't blame her when I think of how poor Jem was treated; +but she wouldn't have thought that every time I tried to be decent and +friendly to her I was butting in and making a sick fool of myself. She's +got to stay where her mother keeps her, and she's got to listen to her. +Oh, hell! She's got to be told!” + +The duke set the tips of his fingers together. + +“How would you do it?” he inquired. + +“Just straight,” replied T. Tembarom. “There's no other way.” + +From the old worldling broke forth an involuntary low laugh, which was a +sort of cackle. So this was what he was coming to. + +“I cannot think of any devious method,” he said, “which would make it +less than a delicate thing to do. A beautiful young woman, whose host +you are, has flouted you furiously for weeks, under the impression that +you are offensively in love with her. You propose to tell her that +her judgment has betrayed her, and that, as you say, `There's nothing +doing.'” + +“Not a darned thing, and never has been,” said T. Tembarom. He looked +quite grave and not at all embarrassed. He plainly did not see it as a +situation to be regarded with humor. + +“If she will listen--” the duke began. + +“Oh, she'll listen,” put in Tembarom. “I'll make her.” + +His was a self-contradicting countenance, the duke reflected, as he took +him in with a somewhat long look. One did not usually see a face built +up of boyishness and maturity, simpleness which was baffling, and a good +nature which could be hard. At the moment, it was both of these last at +one and the same time. + +“I know something of Lady Joan and I know something of you,” he said, +“but I don't exactly foresee what will happen. I will not say that I +should not like to be present.” + +“There'll be nobody present but just me and her,” Tembarom answered. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +The visits of Lady Mallowe and Captain Palliser had had their features. +Neither of the pair had come to one of the most imposing “places” in +Lancashire to live a life of hermit-like seclusion and dullness. They +had arrived with the intention of availing themselves of all such +opportunities for entertainment as could be guided in their direction by +the deftness of experience. As a result, there had been hospitalities at +Temple Barholm such as it had not beheld during the last generation +at least. T. Tembarom had looked on, an interested spectator, as these +festivities had been adroitly arranged and managed for him. He had not, +however, in the least resented acting as a sort of figurehead in the +position of sponsor and host. + +“They think I don't know I'm not doing it all myself,” was his easy +mental summing-up. “They've got the idea that I'm pleased because I +believe I'm It. But that's all to the merry. It's what I've set my mind +on having going on here, and I couldn't have started it as well myself. +I shouldn't have known how. They're teaching me. All I hope is that +Ann's grandmother is keeping tab.” + +“Do you and Rose know old Mrs. Hutchinson?” he had inquired of Pearson +the night before the talk with the duke. + +“Well, not to say exactly know her, sir, but everybody knows of her. She +is a most remarkable old person, sir.” Then, after watching his face for +a moment or so, he added tentatively, “Would you perhaps wish us to make +her acquaintance for--for any reason?” + +Tembarom thought the matter over speculatively. He had learned that his +first liking for Pearson had been founded upon a rock. He was always to +be trusted to understand, and also to apply a quite unusual intelligence +to such matters as he became aware of without having been told about +them. + +“What I'd like would be for her to hear that there's plenty doing at +Temple Barholm; that people are coming and going all the time; and that +there's ladies to burn--and most of them lookers, at that,” was his +answer. + +How Pearson had discovered the exotic subtleties of his master's +situation and mental attitude toward it, only those of his class and +gifted with his occult powers could explain in detail. The fact exists +that Pearson did know an immense number of things his employer had not +mentioned to him, and held them locked in his bosom in honored security, +like a little gentleman. He made his reply with a polite conviction +which carried weight. + +“It would not be necessary for either Rose or me to make old Mrs. +Hutchinson's acquaintance with a view to informing her of anything +which occurs on the estate or in the village, sir,” he remarked. “Mrs. +Hutchinson knows more of things than any one ever tells her. She sits in +her cottage there, and she just knows things and sees through people in +a way that'd be almost unearthly, if she wasn't a good old person, and +so respectable that there's those that touches their hats to her as if +she belonged to the gentry. She's got a blue eye, sir--” + +“Has she?” exclaimed Tembarom. + +“Yes, sir. As blue as a baby's, sir, and as clear, though she's past +eighty. And they tell me there's a quiet, steady look in it that +ill-doers downright quail before. It's as if she was a kind of judge +that sentenced them without speaking. They can't stand it. Oh, sir! you +can depend upon old Mrs. Hutchinson as to who's been here, and even what +they've thought about it. The village just flocks to her to tell her the +news and get advice about things. She'd know.” + +It was as a result of this that on his return from Stone Hover he +dismissed the carriage at the gates and walked through them to make a +visit in the village. Old Mrs. Hutchinson, sitting knitting in her chair +behind the abnormally flourishing fuchsias, geraniums, and campanula +carpaticas in her cottage-window, looked between the banked-up +flower-pots to see that Mr. Temple Barholm had opened her wicket-gate +and was walking up the clean bricked path to her front door. When he +knocked she called out in the broad Lancashire she had always spoken, +“Coom in!” When he entered he took off his hat and looked at her, +friendly but hesitant, and with the expression of a young man who has +not quite made up his mind as to what he is about to encounter. + +“I'm Temple Temple Barholm, Mrs. Hutchinson,” he announced. + +“I know that,” she answered. “Not that tha looks loike th' Temple +Barholms, but I've been watchin' thee walk an' drive past here ever +since tha coom to th' place.” + +She watched him steadily with an astonishingly limpid pair of old eyes. +They were old and young at the same time; old because they held deeps of +wisdom, young because they were so alive and full of question. + +“I don't know whether I ought to have come to see you or not,” he said. + +“Well, tha'st coom,” she replied, going on with her knitting. “Sit thee +doun and have a bit of a chat.” + +“Say!” he broke out. “Ain't you going to shake hands with me?” He held +his hand out impetuously. He knew he was all right if she'd shake hands. + +“Theer's nowt agen that surely,” she answered, with a shrewd bit of a +smile. She gave him her hand. “If I was na stiff in my legs, it's my +place to get up an' mak' thee a curtsey, but th' rheumatics has no +respect even for th' lord o' th' manor.” + +“If you got up and made me a curtsey,” Tembarom said, “I should throw a +fit. Say, Mrs. Hutchinson, I bet you know that as well as I do.” + +The shrewd bit of a smile lighted her eyes as well as twinkled about her +mouth. + +“Sit thee doun,” she said again. + +So he sat down and looked at her as straight as she looked at him. + +“Tha 'd give a good bit,” she said presently, over her flashing needles, +“to know how much Little Ann's tow'd me about thee.” + +“I'd give a lot to know how much it'd be square to ask you to tell me +about her,” he gave back to her, hesitating yet eager. + +“What does tha mean by square?” she demanded. + +“I mean `fair.' Can I talk to you about her at all? I promised I'd stick +it out here and do as she said. She told me she wasn't going to write +to me or let her father write. I've promised, and I'm not going to fall +down when I've said a thing.” + +“So tha coom to see her grandmother?” + +He reddened, but held his head up. + +“I'm not going to ask her grandmother a thing she doesn't want me to be +told. But I've been up against it pretty hard lately. I read some things +in the New York papers about her father and his invention, and about her +traveling round with him and helping him with his business.” + +“In Germany they wur,” she put in, forgetting herself. “They're havin' +big doin's over th' invention. What Joe 'u'd do wi'out th' lass I canna +tell. She's doin' every bit o' th' managin' an' contrivin' wi' them +furriners--but he'll never know it. She's got a chap to travel wi' him +as can talk aw th' languages under th' sun.” + +Her face flushed and she stopped herself sharply. + +“I'm talkin' about her to thee!” she said. “I would na ha' believed o' +mysen'.” + +He got up from his chair. + +“I guess I oughtn't to have come,” he said, restlessly. “But you haven't +told me more than I got here and there in the papers. That was what +started me. It was like watching her. I could hear her talking and +see the way she was doing things till it drove me half crazy. All of a +sudden, I just got wild and made up my mind I'd come here. I've wanted +to do it many a time, but I've kept away.” + +“Tha showed sense i' doin' that,” remarked Mrs. Hutchinson. “She'd not +ha' thowt well o' thee if tha'd coom runnin' to her grandmother every +day or so. What she likes about thee is as she thinks tha's got a strong +backbone o' thy own.” + +She looked up at him over her knitting, looked straight into his eyes, +and there was that in her own which made him redden and feel his pulse +quicken. It was actually something which even remotely suggested that +she was not--in the deeps of her strong old mind--as wholly unswerving +as her words might imply. It was something more subtle than words. She +was not keeping him wholly in the dark when she said “What she likes +about thee.” If Ann said things like that to her, he was pretty well +off. + +“Happen a look at a lass's grandmother--when tha conna get at th' lass +hersen--is a bit o' comfort,” she added. “But don't tha go walkin' by +here to look in at th' window too often. She would na think well o' that +either.” + +“Say! There's one thing I'm going to get off my chest before I go,” he +announced, “just one thing. She can go where she likes and do what she +likes, but I'm going to marry her when she's done it--unless something +knocks me on the head and finishes me. I'm going to marry her.” + +“Tha art, art tha?” laconically; but her eyes were still on his, and the +something in their depths by no means diminished. + +“I'm keeping up my end here, and it's no slouch of a job, but I'm not +forgetting what she promised for one minute! And I'm not forgetting what +her promise means,” he said obstinately. + +“Tha'd like me to tell her that?” she said. + +“If she doesn't know it, you telling her wouldn't cut any ice,” was his +reply. “I'm saying it because I want you to know it, and because it does +me good to say it out loud. I'm going to marry her.” + +“That's for her and thee to settle,” she commented, impersonally. + +“It is settled,” he answered. “There 's no way out of it. Will you shake +hands with me again before I go?” + +“Aye,” she consented, “I will.” + +When she took his hand she held it a minute. Her own was warm, and there +was no limpness about it. The secret which had seemed to conceal itself +behind her eyes had some difficulty in keeping itself wholly in the +background. + +“She knows aw tha' does,” she said coolly, as if she were not suddenly +revealing immensities. “She knows who cooms an' who goes, an' what they +think o' thee, an' how tha gets on wi' 'em. Now get thee gone, lad, an' +dunnot tha coom back till her or me sends for thee.” + + + +Within an hour of this time the afternoon post brought to Lady Mallowe +a letter which she read with an expression in which her daughter +recognized relief. It was in fact a letter for which she had waited with +anxiety, and the invitation it contained was a tribute to her social +skill at its highest watermark. In her less heroic moments, she had +felt doubts of receiving it, which had caused shudders to run the entire +length of her spine. + +“I'm going to Broome Haughton,” she announced to Joan. + +“When?” Joan inquired. + +“At the end of the week. I am invited for a fortnight.” + +“Am I going?” Joan asked. + +“No. You will go to London to meet some friends who are coming over from +Paris.” + +Joan knew that comment was unnecessary. Both she and her mother were on +intimate terms with these hypothetical friends who so frequently +turned up from Paris or elsewhere when it was necessary that she should +suddenly go back to London and live in squalid seclusion in the unopened +house, with a charwoman to provide her with underdone or burnt chops, +and eggs at eighteen a shilling, while the shutters of the front rooms +were closed, and dusty desolation reigned. She knew every detail of the +melancholy squalor of it, the dragging hours, the nights of lying awake +listening to the occasional passing of belated cabs, or the squeaks and +nibbling of mice in the old walls. + +“If you had conducted yourself sensibly you need not have gone,” + continued her mother. “I could have made an excuse and left you here. +You would at least have been sure of good food and decent comforts.” + +“After your visit, are we to return here?” was Lady Joan's sole reply. + +“Don't look at me like that,” said Lady Mallowe. “I thought the country +would freshen your color at least; but you are going off more every day. +You look like the Witch of Endor sometimes.” + +Joan smiled faintly. This was the brandishing of an old weapon, and +she understood all its significance. It meant that the time for +opportunities was slipping past her like the waters of a rapid river. + +“I do not know what will happen when I leave Broome Haughton,” her +mother added, a note of rasped uncertainty in her voice. “We may be +obliged to come here for a short time, or we may go abroad.” + +“If I refuse to come, would you let me starve to death in Piers Street?” + Joan inquired. + +Lady Mallowe looked her over, feeling a sort of frenzy at the sight +of her. In truth, the future was a hideous thing to contemplate if no +rescue at all was in sight. It would be worse for her than for Joan, +because Joan did not care what happened or did not happen, and she cared +desperately. She had indeed arrived at a maddening moment. + +“Yes,” she snapped, fiercely. + +And when Joan faintly smiled again she understood why women of the lower +orders beat one another until policemen interfere. She knew perfectly +well that the girl had somehow found out that Sir Moses Monaldini was to +be at Broome Haughton, and that when he left there he was going +abroad. She knew also that she had not been able to conceal that his +indifference had of late given her some ghastly hours, and that her play +for this lagging invitation had been a frantically bold one. That the +most ingenious efforts and devices had ended in success only after such +delay made it all the more necessary that no straw must remain unseized +on. + +“I can wear some of your things, with a little alteration,” she said. +“Rose will do it for me. Hats and gloves and ornaments do not require +altering. I shall need things you will not need in London. Where are +your keys?” + +Lady Joan rose and got them for her. She even flushed slightly. They +were often obliged to borrow each other's possessions, but for a moment +she felt herself moved by a sort of hard pity. + +“We are like rats in a trap,” she remarked. “I hope you will get out.” + +“If I do, you will be left inside. Get out yourself! Get out yourself!” + said Lady Mallowe in a fierce whisper. + +Her regrets at the necessity of their leaving Temple Barholm were +expressed with fluent touchingness at the dinner-table. The visit had +been so delightful. Mr. Temple Barholm and Miss Alicia had been so kind. +The loveliness of the whole dear place had so embraced them that they +felt as if they were leaving a home instead of ending a delightful +visit. It was extraordinary what an effect the house had on one. It was +as if one had lived in it always--and always would. So few places +gave one the same feeling. They should both look forward--greedy as it +seemed--to being allowed some time to come again. She had decided from +the first that it was not necessary to go to any extreme of caution or +subtlety with her host and Miss Alicia. Her method of paving the way +for future visits was perhaps more than a shade too elaborate. She felt, +however, that it sufficed. For the most part, Lady Joan sat with lids +dropped over her burning eyes. She tried to force herself not to +listen. This was the kind of thing which made her sick with humiliation. +Howsoever rudimentary these people were, they could not fail to +comprehend that a foothold in the house was being bid for. They should +at least see that she did not join in the bidding. Her own visit had +been filled with feelings at war with one another. There had been hours +too many in which she would have been glad--even with the dingy horrors +of the closed town house before her--to have flown from the hundred +things which called out to her on every side. In the long-past three +months of happiness, Jem had described them all to her--the rooms, +gardens, pleached walks, pictures, the very furniture itself. She +could enter no room, walk in no spot she did not seem to know, and +passionately love in spite of herself. She loved them so much that there +were times when she yearned to stay in the place at any cost, and others +when she could not endure the misery it woke in her--the pure misery. +Now it was over for the time being, and she was facing something new. +There were endless varieties of wretchedness. She had been watching +her mother for some months, and had understood her varying moods of +temporary elation or prolonged anxiety. Each one had meant some phase +of the episode of Sir Moses Monaldini. The people who lived at Broome +Haughton were enormously rich Hebrews, who were related to him. They +had taken the beautiful old country-seat and were filling it with huge +parties of their friends. The party which Lady Mallowe was to join would +no doubt offer opportunities of the most desirable kind. Among this +special class of people she was a great success. Her amazingly achieved +toilettes, her ripe good looks, her air of belonging to the great world, +impressed themselves immensely. + +T. Tembarom thought he never had seen Lady Joan look as handsome as she +looked to-night. The color on her cheek burned, her eyes had a driven +loneliness in them. She had a wonderfully beautiful mouth, and its curve +drooped in a new way. He wished Ann could get her in a corner and sit +down and talk sense to her. He remembered what he had said to the duke. +Perhaps this was the time. If she was going away, and her mother meant +to drag her back again when she was ready, it would make it easier for +her to leave the place knowing she need not hate to come back. But the +duke wasn't making any miss hit when he said it wouldn't be easy. She +was not like Ann, who would feel some pity for the biggest fool on +earth if she had to throw him down hard. Lady Joan would feel neither +compunctions nor relentings. He knew the way she could look at a fellow. +If he couldn't make her understand what he was aiming at, they would +both be worse off than they would be if he left things as they were. +But--the hard line showed itself about his mouth--he wasn't going to +leave things as they were. + +As they passed through the hall after dinner, Lady Mallowe glanced at +a side-table on which lay some letters arrived by the late post. An +imposing envelope was on the top of the rest. Joan saw her face light as +she took it up. + +“I think this is from Broome Haughton,” she said. “If you will excuse +me, I will go into the library and read it. It may require answering at +once.” + +She turned hot and cold, poor woman, and went away, so that she might +be free from the disaster of an audience if anything had gone wrong. It +would be better to be alone even if things had gone right. The letter +was from Sir Moses Monaldini. Grotesque and ignoble as it naturally +strikes the uninitiated as seeming, the situation had its touch of +hideous pathos. She had fought for her own hand for years; she could not +dig, and to beg she was not ashamed; but a time had come when even the +most adroit begging began to bore people. They saw through it, and then +there resulted strained relations, slight stiffness of manner, even in +the most useful and amiable persons, lack of desire to be hospitable, +or even condescendingly generous. Cold shoulders were turned, there +were ominous threatenings of icy backs presenting themselves. The +very tradesmen had found this out, and could not be persuaded that the +advertisement furnished by the fact that two beautiful women of fashion +ate, drank, and wore the articles which formed the items in their unpaid +bills, was sufficient return for the outlay of capital required. Even +Mrs. Mellish, when graciously approached by the “relative of Miss Temple +Barholm, whose perfect wardrobe you supplied,” had listened to all +seductions with a civil eye fixed unmovedly and had referred to the +“rules of the establishment.” Nearer and nearer the edge of the +abyss the years had pushed them, and now if something did not +happen--something--something--even the increasingly shabby small house +in town would become a thing of the past. And what then? Could any one +wonder she said to herself that she could have beaten Joan furiously. It +would not matter to any one else if they dropped out of the world +into squalid oblivion--oh, she knew that--she knew that with bitter +certainty!--but oh, how it would matter to them!--at least to herself. +It was all very well for Mudie's to pour forth streams of sentimental +novels preaching the horrors of girls marrying for money, but what were +you to do--what in heaven's name were you to do? So, feeling terrified +enough actually to offer up a prayer, she took the imposingly addressed +letter into the library. + +The men had come into the drawing-room when she returned. As she +entered, Joan did not glance up from the book she was reading, but at +the first sound of her voice she knew what had occurred. + +“I was obliged to dash off a note to Broome Haughton so that it would +be ready for the early post,” Lady Mallowe said. She was at her best. +Palliser saw that some years had slipped from her shoulders. The moment +which relieves or even promises to relieve fears does astonishing +things. Tembarom wondered whether she had had good news, and Miss Alicia +thought that her evening dress was more becoming than any she had ever +seen her wear before. Her brilliant air of social ease returned to her, +and she began to talk fluently of what was being done in London, and to +touch lightly upon the possibility of taking part in great functions. +For some time she had rather evaded talk of the future. Palliser had +known that the future had seemed to be closing in upon her, and leaving +her staring at a high blank wall. Persons whose fortunate names had +ceased to fall easily from her lips appeared again upon the horizon. +Miss Alicia was impressed anew with the feeling that she had known every +brilliant or important personage in the big world of social London; that +she had taken part in every dazzling event. Tembarom somehow realized +that she had been afraid of something or other, and was for some reason +not afraid any more. Such a change, whatsoever the reason for it, ought +to have had some effect on her daughter. Surely she would share her +luck, if luck had come to her. + +But Lady Joan sat apart and kept her eyes upon her book. This was one +of the things she often chose to do, in spite of her mother's indignant +protest. + +“I came here because you brought me,” she would answer. “I did not come +to be entertaining or polite.” + +She was reading this evening. She heard every word of Lady Mallowe's +agreeable and slightly excited conversation. She did not know exactly +what had happened; but she knew that it was something which had buoyed +her up with a hopefulness which exhilarated her almost too much--as an +extra glass of wine might have done. Once or twice she even lost +her head a little and was a trifle swaggering. T. Tembarom would not +recognize the slip, but Joan saw Palliser's faint smile without looking +up from her book. He observed shades in taste and bearing. Before her +own future Joan saw the blank wall of stone building itself higher and +higher. If Sir Moses had capitulated, she would be counted out. With +what degree of boldness could a mother cast her penniless daughter on +the world? What unendurable provision make for her? Dare they offer a +pound a week and send her to live in the slums until she chose to marry +some Hebrew friend of her step-father's? That she knew would be the +final alternative. A cruel little smile touched her lips, as she +reviewed the number of things she could not do to earn her living. She +could not take in sewing or washing, and there was nothing she could +teach. Starvation or marriage. The wall built itself higher and yet +higher. What a hideous thing it was for a penniless girl to be brought +up merely to be a beauty, and in consequence supposably a great lady. +And yet if she was born to a certain rank and had height and figure, a +lovely mouth, a delicate nose, unusual eyes and lashes, to train her to +be a dressmaker or a housemaid would be a stupid investment of capital. +If nothing tragic interfered and the right man wanted such a girl, she +had been trained to please him. But tragic things had happened, and +before her grew the wall while she pretended to read her book. + +T. Tembarom was coming toward her. She had heard Palliser suggest a game +of billiards. + +“Will you come and play billiards with us?” Tembarom asked. “Palliser +says you play splendidly.” + +“She plays brilliantly,” put in Lady Mallowe. “Come, Joan.” + +“No, thank you,” she answered. “Let me stay here and read.” + +Lady Mallowe protested. She tried an air of playful maternal reproach +because she was in good spirits. Joan saw Palliser smiling quietly, and +there was that in his smile which suggested to her that he was thinking +her an obstinate fool. + +“You had better show Temple Barholm what you can do,” he remarked. “This +will be your last chance, as you leave so soon. You ought never let a +last chance slip by. I never do.” + +Tembarom stood still and looked down at her from his good height. He +did not know what Palliser's speech meant, but an instinct made him feel +that it somehow held an ugly, quiet taunt. + +“What I would like to do,” was the unspoken crudity which passed through +his mind, “would be to swat him on the mouth. He's getting at her just +when she ought to be let alone.” + +“Would you like it better to stay here and read?” he inquired. + +“Much better, if you please,” was her reply. + +“Then that goes,” he answered, and left her. + +He swept the others out of the room with a good-natured promptness which +put an end to argument. When he said of anything “Then that goes,” it +usually did so. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +When she was alone Joan sat and gazed not at her wall but at the +pictures that came back to her out of a part of her life which seemed +to have been lived centuries ago. They were the pictures that came back +continually without being called, the clearness of which always startled +her afresh. Sometimes she thought they sprang up to add to her torment, +but sometimes it seemed as if they came to save her from herself--her +mad, wicked self. After all, there were moments when to know that she +had been the girl whose eighteen-year-old heart had leaped so when +she turned and met Jem's eyes, as he stood gazing at her under the +beech-tree, was something to cling to. She had been that girl and Jem +had been--Jem. And she had been the girl who had joined him in that +young, ardent vow that they would say the same prayers at the same hour +each night together. Ah! how young it had been--how YOUNG! Her throat +strained itself because sobs rose in it, and her eyes were hot with the +swell of tears. + +She could hear voices and laughter and the click of balls from the +billiard-room. Her mother and Palliser laughed the most, but she knew +the sound of her mother's voice would cease soon, because she would come +back to her. She knew she would not leave her long, and she knew the +kind of scene they would pass through together when she returned. The +old things would be said, the old arguments used, but a new one would be +added. It was a pleasant thing to wait here, knowing that it was coming, +and that for all her fierce pride and fierce spirit she had no defense. +It was at once horrible and ridiculous that she must sit and listen--and +stare at the growing wall. It was as she caught her breath against the +choking swell of tears that she heard Lady Mallowe returning. She came +in with an actual sweep across the room. Her society air had fled, and +she was unadornedly furious when she stopped before Joan's chair. For +a few seconds she actually glared; then she broke forth in a suppressed +undertone: + +“Come into the billiard-room. I command it!” + +Joan lifted her eyes from her book. Her voice was as low as her +mother's, but steadier. + +“No,” she answered. + +“Is this conduct to continue? Is it?” Lady Mallowe panted. + +“Yes,” said Joan, and laid her book on the table near her. There was +nothing else to say. Words made things worse. + +Lady Mallowe had lost her head, but she still spoke in the suppressed +voice. + +“You SHALL behave yourself!” she cried, under her breath, and actually +made a passionate half-start toward her. “You violent-natured virago! +The very look on your face is enough to drive one mad!” + +“I know I am violent-natured,” said Joan. “But don't you think it wise +to remember that you cannot make the kind of scene here that you can in +your own house? We are a bad-tempered pair, and we behave rather +like fishwives when we are in a rage. But when we are guests in other +people's houses--” + +Lady Mallowe's temper was as elemental as any Billingsgate could +provide. + +“You think you can take advantage of that!” she said. “Don't trust +yourself too far. Do you imagine that just when all might go well for me +I will allow you to spoil everything?” + +“How can I spoil everything?” + +“By behaving as you have been behaving since we came here--refusing +to make a home for yourself; by hanging round my neck so that it will +appear that any one who takes me must take you also.” + +“There are servants outside,” Joan warned her. + +“You shall not stop me!” cried Lady Mallowe. + +“You cannot stop yourself,” said Joan. “That is the worst of it. It is +bad enough when we stand and hiss at each other in a stage whisper; but +when you lose control over yourself and raise your voice--” + +“I came in here to tell you that this is your last chance. I shall never +give you another. Do you know how old you are?” + +“I shall soon be twenty-seven,” Joan answered. “I wish I were a hundred. +Then it would all be over.” + +“But it will not be over for years and years and years,” her mother +flung back at her. “Have you forgotten that the very rags you wear are +not paid for?” + +“No, I have not forgotten.” The scene was working itself up on the old +lines, as Joan had known it would. Her mother never failed to say the +same things, every time such a scene took place. + +“You will get no more such rags--paid or unpaid for. What do you expect +to do? You don't know how to work, and if you did no decent woman would +employ you. You are too good-looking and too bad-tempered.” + +Joan knew she was perfectly right. Knowing it, she remained silent, and +her silence added to her mother's helpless rage. She moved a step nearer +to her and flung the javelin which she always knew would strike deep. + +“You have made yourself a laughing-stock for all London for years. You +are mad about a man who disgraced and ruined himself.” + +She saw the javelin quiver as it struck; but Joan's voice as it answered +her had a quality of low and deadly steadiness. + +“You have said that a thousand times, and you will say it another +thousand--though you know the story was a lie and was proved to be one.” + +Lady Mallowe knew her way thoroughly. + +“Who remembers the denials? What the world remembers is that Jem Temple +Barholm was stamped as a cheat and a trickster. No one has time to +remember the other thing. He is dead--dead! When a man's dead it's too +late.” + +She was desperate enough to drive her javelin home deeper than she had +ever chanced to drive it before. The truth--the awful truth she uttered +shook Joan from head to foot. She sprang up and stood before her in +heart-wrung fury. + +“Oh! You are a hideously cruel woman!” she cried. “They say even tigers +care for their young! But you--you can say that to _me_. 'When a man's +dead, it's too late.'” + +“It _is_ too late--it IS too late!” Lady Mallowe persisted. Why had +not she struck this note before? It was breaking her will: “I would say +anything to bring you to your senses.” + +Joan began to move restlessly to and fro. + +“Oh, what a fool I am!” she exclaimed. “As if you could understand--as +if you could care!” + +Struggle as she might to be defiant, she was breaking, Lady Mallowe +repeated to herself. She followed her as a hunter might have followed a +young leopardess with a wound in its flank. + +“I came here because it _is_ your last chance. Palliser knew what he was +saying when he made a joke of it just now. He knew it wasn't a joke. You +might have been the Duchess of Merthshire; you might have been Lady St. +Maur, with a husband with millions. And here you are. You know what's +before you--when I am out of the trap.” + +Joan laughed. It was a wild little laugh, and she felt there was no +sense in it. + +“I might apply for a place in Miss Alicia's Home for Decayed +Gentlewomen,” she said. + +Lady Mallowe nodded her head fiercely. + +“Apply, then. There will be no place for you in the home I am going to +live in,” she retorted. + +Joan ceased moving about. She was about to hear the one argument that +was new. + +“You may as well tell me,” she said, wearily. + +“I have had a letter from Sir Moses Monaldini. He is to be at Broome +Haughton. He is going there purposely to meet me. What he writes can +mean only one thing. He means to ask me to marry him. I'm your mother, +and I'm nearly twenty years older than you; but you see that I'm out of +the trap first.” + +“I knew you would be,” answered Joan. + +“He detests you,” Lady Mallowe went on. “He will not hear of your living +with us--or even near us. He says you are old enough to take care of +yourself. Take my advice. I am doing you a good turn in giving it. This +New York newsboy is mad over you. If he hadn't been we should have been +bundled out of the house before this. He never has spoken to a lady +before in his life, and he feels as if you were a goddess. Go into +the billiard-room this instant, and do all a woman can. Go!” And she +actually stamped her foot on the carpet. + +Joan's thunder-colored eyes seemed to grow larger as she stared at her. +Her breast lifted itself, and her face slowly turned pale. Perhaps--she +thought it wildly--people sometimes did die of feelings like this. + +“He would crawl at your feet,” her mother went on, pursuing what she +felt sure was her advantage. She was so sure of it that she added words +only a fool or a woman half hysteric with rage would have added. “You +might live in the very house you would have lived in with Jem Temple +Barholm, on the income he could have given you.” + +She saw the crassness of her blunder the next moment. If she had had +an advantage, she had lost it. Wickedly, without a touch of mirth, Joan +laughed in her face. + +“Jem's house and Jem's money--and the New York newsboy in his shoes,” + she flung at her. “T. Tembarom to live with until one lay down on one's +deathbed. T. Tembarom!” + +Suddenly, something was giving way in her, Lady Mallowe thought again. +Joan slipped into a chair and dropped her head and hidden face on the +table. + +“Oh! Mother! Mother!” she ended. “Oh! Jem! Jem!” + +Was she sobbing or trying to choke sobbing back? There was no time to be +lost. Her mother had never known a scene to end in this way before. + +“Crying!” there was absolute spite in her voice. “That shows you know +what you are in for, at all events. But I've said my last word. What +does it matter to me, after all? You're in the trap. I'm not. Get out as +best you can. I've done with you.” + +She turned her back and went out of the room--as she had come into +it--with a sweep Joan would have smiled at as rather vulgar if she had +seen it. As a child in the nursery, she had often seen that her ladyship +was vulgar. + +But she did not see the sweep because her face was hidden. Something in +her had broken this time, as her mother had felt. That bitter, sordid +truth, driven home as it had been, had done it. Who had time to remember +denials, or lies proved to be lies? Nobody in the world. Who had time to +give to the defense of a dead man? There was not time enough to give to +living ones. It was true--true! When a man is dead, it is too late. The +wall had built itself until it reached her sky; but it was not the wall +she bent her head and sobbed over. It was that suddenly she had seen +again Jem's face as he had stood with slow-growing pallor, and looked +round at the ring of eyes which stared at him; Jem's face as he strode +by her without a glance and went out of the room. She forgot everything +else on earth. She forgot where she was. She was eighteen again, and she +sobbed in her arms as eighteen sobs when its heart is torn from it. + +“Oh Jem! Jem!” she cried. “If you were only in the same world with me! +If you were just in the same world!” + +She had forgotten all else, indeed. She forgot too long. She did not +know how long. It seemed that no more than a few minutes had passed +before she was without warning struck with the shock of feeling that +some one was in the room with her, standing near her, looking at her. +She had been mad not to remember that exactly this thing would be sure +to happen, by some abominable chance. Her movement as she rose was +almost violent, she could not hold herself still, and her face was +horribly wet with shameless, unconcealable tears. Shameless she felt +them--indecent--a sort of nudity of the soul. If it had been a servant +who had intruded, or if it had been Palliser it would have been +intolerable enough. But it was T. Tembarom who confronted her with his +common face, moved mysteriously by some feeling she resented even more +than she resented his presence. He was too grossly ignorant to know that +a man of breeding, having entered by chance, would have turned and gone +away, professing not to have seen. He seemed to think--the dolt!--that +he must make some apology. + +“Say! Lady Joan!” he began. “I beg your pardon. I didn't want to butt +in.” + +“Then go away,” she commanded. “Instantly--instantly!” + +She knew he must see that she spoke almost through her teeth in her +effort to control her sobbing breath. But he made no move toward leaving +her. He even drew nearer, looking at her in a sort of meditative, +obstinate way. + +“N-no,” he replied, deliberately. “I guess--I won't.” + +“You won't?” Lady Joan repeated after him. “Then I will.” + +He made a stride forward and laid his hand on her arm. + +“No. Not on your life. You won't, either--if I can help it. And you're +going to LET me help it.” + +Almost any one but herself--any one, at least, who did not resent his +very existence--would have felt the drop in his voice which suddenly +struck the note of boyish, friendly appeal in the last sentence. “You're +going to LET me,” he repeated. + +She stood looking down at the daring, unconscious hand on her arm. + +“I suppose,” she said, with cutting slowness, “that you do not even +_know_ that you are insolent. Take your hand away,” in arrogant command. + +He removed it with an unabashed half-smile. + +“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I didn't even know I'd put it there. It +was a break--but I wanted to keep you.” + +That he not only wanted to keep her, but intended to do so was apparent. +His air was neither rough nor brutal, but he had ingeniously placed +himself in the outlet between the big table and the way to the door. He +put his hands in his pockets in his vulgar, unconscious way, and watched +her. + +“Say, Lady Joan!” he broke forth, in the frank outburst of a man who +wants to get something over. “I should be a fool if I didn't see that +you're up against it--hard! What's the matter?” His voice dropped again. + +There was something in the drop this time which--perhaps because of her +recent emotion--sounded to her almost as if he were asking the question +with the protecting sympathy of the tone one would use in speaking to +a child. How dare he! But it came home to her that Jem had once said +“What's the matter?” to her in the same way. + +“Do you think it likely that I should confide in you?” she said, and +inwardly quaked at the memory as she said it. + +“No,” he answered, considering the matter gravely. “It's not likely--the +way things look to you now. But if you knew me better perhaps it would +be likely.” + +“I once explained to you that I do not intend to know you better,” she +gave answer. + +He nodded acquiescently. + +“Yes. I got on to that. And it's because it's up to me that I came out +here to tell you something I want you to know before you go away. I'm +going to confide in you.” + +“Cannot even you see that I am not in the mood to accept confidences?” + she exclaimed. + +“Yes, I can. But you're going to accept this one,” steadily. “No,” as +she made a swift movement, “I'm not going to clear the way till I've +done.” + +“I insist!” she cried. “If you were--” + +He put out his hand, but not to touch her. + +“I know what you're going to say. If I were a gentleman--Well, I'm not +laying claim to that--but I'm a sort of a man, anyhow, though you mayn't +think it. And you're going to listen.” + +She began to stare at him. It was not the ridiculous boyish drop in his +voice which arrested her attention. It was a fantastic, incongruous, +wholly different thing. He had suddenly dropped his slouch and stood +upright. Did he realize that he had slung his words at her as if they +were an order given with the ring of authority? + +“I've not bucked against anything you've said or done since you've been +here,” he went on, speaking fast and grimly. “I didn't mean to. I had my +reasons. There were things that I'd have given a good deal to say to +you and ask you about, but you wouldn't let me. You wouldn't give me a +chance to square things for you--if they could be squared. You threw me +down every time I tried!” + +He was too wildly incomprehensible with his changes from humanness +to folly. Remembering what he had attempted to say on the day he had +followed her in the avenue, she was inflamed again. + +“What in the name of New York slang does that mean?” she demanded. + +“Never mind New York,” he answered, cool as well as grim. “A fellow +that's learned slang in the streets has learned something else as well. +He's learned to keep his eyes open. He's on to a way of seeing things. +And what I've seen is that you're so doggone miserable that--that you're +almost down and out.” + +This time she spoke to him in the voice with the quality of deadliness +in it which she had used to her mother. + +“Do you think that because you are in your own house you can be as +intrusively insulting as you choose?” she said. + +“No, I don't,” he answered. “What I think is quite different. I think +that if a man has a house of his own, and there's any one in big trouble +under the roof of it--a woman most of all--he's a cheap skate if he +don't get busy and try to help--just plain, straight help.” + +He saw in her eyes all her concentrated disdain of him, but he went on, +still obstinate and cool and grim. + +“I guess 'help' is too big a word just yet. That may come later, and it +mayn't. What I'm going to try at now is making it easier for you--just +easier.” + +Her contemptuous gesture registered no impression on him as he paused a +moment and looked fixedly at her. + +“You just hate me, don't you?” It was a mere statement which couldn't +have been more impersonal to himself if he had been made of wood. +“That's all right. I seem like a low-down intruder to you. Well, that's +all right, too. But what ain't all right is what your mother has set +you on to thinking about me. You'd never have thought it yourself. You'd +have known better.” + +“What,” fiercely, “is that?” + +“That I'm mutt enough to have a mash on you.” + +The common slangy crassness of it was a kind of shock. She caught her +breath and merely stared at him. But he was not staring at her; he was +simply looking straight into her face, and it amazingly flashed upon her +that the extraordinary words were so entirely unembarrassed and direct +that they were actually not offensive. + +He was merely telling her something in his own way, not caring the least +about his own effect, but absolutely determined that she should hear and +understand it. + +Her caught breath ended in something which was like a half-laugh. His +queer, sharp, incomprehensible face, his queer, unmoved voice were too +extraordinarily unlike anything she had ever seen or heard before. + +“I don't want to be brash--and what I want to say may seem kind of that +way to you. But it ain't. Anyhow, I guess it'll relieve your mind. Lady +Joan, you're a looker--you're a beaut from Beautville. If I were your +kind, and things were different, I'd be crazy about you--crazy! But I'm +not your kind--and things are different.” He drew a step nearer still to +her in his intentness. “They're this different. Why, Lady Joan! I'm dead +stuck on another girl!” + +She caught her breath again, leaning forward. + +“Another--!” + +“She says she's not a lady; she threw me down just because all +this darned money came to me,” he hastened on, and suddenly he was +imperturbable no longer, but flushed and boyish, and more of New York +than ever. “She's a little bit of a quiet thing and she drops her h's, +but gee--! You're a looker--you're a queen and she's not. But Little +Ann Hutchinson--Why, Lady Joan, as far as this boy's concerned”--and +he oddly touched himself on the breast--“she makes you look like thirty +cents.” + +Joan quickly sat down on the chair she had just left. She rested an +elbow on the table and shaded her face with her hand. She was not +laughing; she scarcely knew what she was doing or feeling. + +“You are in love with Ann Hutchinson,” she said, in a low voice. + +“Am I?” he answered hotly. “Well, I should smile!” He disdained to say +more. + +Then she began to know what she felt. There came back to her in flashes +scenes from the past weeks in which she had done her worst by him; in +which she had swept him aside, loathed him, set her feet on him, used +the devices of an ingenious demon to discomfit and show him at his +poorest and least ready. And he had not been giving a thought to the +thing for which she had striven to punish him. And he plainly did not +even hate her. His mind was clear, as water is clear. He had come back +to her this evening to do her a good turn--a good turn. Knowing what +she was capable of in the way of arrogance and villainous temper, he had +determined to do her--in spite of herself--a good turn. + +“I don't understand you,” she faltered. + +“I know you don't. But it's only because I'm so dead easy to understand. +There's nothing to find out. I'm just friendly--friendly--that's all.” + +“You would have been friends with me!” she exclaimed. “You would have +told me, and I wouldn't let you! Oh!” with an impulsive flinging out of +her hand to him, “you good--good fellow!” + +“Good be darned!” he answered, taking the hand at once. + +“You are good to tell me! I have behaved like a devil to you. But oh! if +you only knew!” + +His face became mature again; but he took a most informal seat on the +edge of the table near her. + +“I do know--part of it. That's why I've been trying to be friends with +you all the time.” He said his next words deliberately. “If I was the +woman Jem Temple Barholm had loved wouldn't it have driven me mad to +see another man in his place--and remember what was done to him. I never +even saw him, but, good God! “--she saw his hand clench itself--“when +I think of it I want to kill somebody! I want to kill half a dozen. Why +didn't they know it couldn't be true of a fellow like that!” + +She sat up stiffly and watched him. + +“Do--you--feel like that--about him?” + +“Do I!” red-hotly. “There were men there that knew him! There were women +there that knew him! Why wasn't there just one to stand by him? A man +that's been square all his life doesn't turn into a card-sharp in a +night. Damn fools! I beg your pardon,” hastily. And then, as hastily +again: “No, I mean it. Damn fools!” + +“Oh!” she gasped, just once. + +Her passionate eyes were suddenly blinded with tears. She caught at his +clenched hand and dragged it to her, letting her face drop on it and +crying like a child. + +The way he took her utter breaking down was just like him and like no +one else. He put the other hand on her shoulder and spoke to her exactly +as he had spoken to Miss Alicia on that first afternoon. + +“Don't you mind me, Lady Joan,” he said. “Don't you mind me a bit. I'll +turn my back. I'll go into the billiard-room and keep them playing until +you get away up-stairs. Now we understand each other, it'll be better +for both of us.” + +“No, don't go! Don't!” she begged. “It is so wonderful to find some one +who sees the cruelty of it.” She spoke fast and passionately. “No one +would listen to any defense of him. My mother simply raved when I said +what you are saying.” + +“Do you want “--he put it to her with a curious comprehending of her +emotion--“to talk about him? Would it do you good?” + +“Yes! Yes! I have never talked to any one. There has been no one to +listen.” + +“Talk all you want,” he answered, with immense gentleness. “I'm here.” + +“I can't understand it even now, but he would not see me!” she broke +out. “I was half mad. I wrote, and he would not answer. I went to his +chambers when I heard he was going to leave England. I went to beg him +to take me with him, married or unmarried. I would have gone on my knees +to him. He was gone! Oh, why? Why?” + +“You didn't think he'd gone because he didn't love you?” he put it to +her quite literally and unsentimentally. “You knew better than that?” + +“How could I be sure of anything! When he left the room that awful night +he would not look at me! He would not look at me!” + +“Since I've been here I've been reading a lot of novels, and I've found +out a lot of things about fellows that are not the common, practical +kind. Now, he wasn't. He'd lived pretty much like a fellow in a novel, I +guess. What's struck me about that sort is that they think they have to +make noble sacrifices, and they'll just walk all over a woman because +they won't do anything to hurt her. There's not a bit of sense in it, +but that was what he was doing. He believed he was doing the square +thing by you--and you may bet your life it hurt him like hell. I beg +your pardon--but that's the word--just plain hell.” + +“I was only a girl. He was like iron. He went away alone. He was killed, +and when he was dead the truth was told.” + +“That's what I've remembered “--quite slowly--“every time I've looked at +you. By gee! I'd have stood anything from a woman that had suffered as +much as that.” + +It made her cry--his genuineness--and she did not care in the least that +the tears streamed down her cheeks. How he had stood things! How he had +borne, in that odd, unimpressive way, insolence and arrogance for which +she ought to have been beaten and blackballed by decent society! She +could scarcely bear it. + +“Oh! to think it should have been you,” she wept, “just you who +understood!” + +“Well,” he answered speculatively, “I mightn't have understood as +well if it hadn't been for Ann. By jings! I used to lie awake at night +sometimes thinking `supposing it bad been Ann and me!' I'd sort of +work it out as it might have happened in New York--at the office of the +Sunday Earth. Supposing some fellow that'd had a grouch against me had +managed it so that Galton thought I'd been getting away with money that +didn't belong to me--fixing up my expense account, or worse. And Galton +wouldn't listen to what I said, and fired me; and I couldn't get a job +anywhere else because I was down and out for good. And nobody would +listen. And I was killed without clearing myself. And Little Ann was +left to stand it--Little Ann! Old Hutchinson wouldn't listen, I +know that. And it would be all shut up burning in her big little +heart--burning. And T. T. dead, and not a word to say for himself. +Jehoshaphat!”--taking out his handkerchief and touching his +forehead--“it used to make the cold sweat start out on me. It's doing it +now. Ann and me might have been Jem and you. That's why I understood.” + +He put out his hand and caught hers and frankly squeezed it--squeezed it +hard; and the unconventional clutch was a wonderful thing to her. + +“It's all right now, ain't it?” he said. “We've got it straightened out. +You'll not be afraid to come back here if your mother wants you to.” He +stopped for a moment and then went on with something of hesitation: “We +don't want to talk about your mother. We can't. But I understand her, +too. Folks are different from each other in their ways. She's different +from you. I'll--I'll straighten it out with her if you like.” + +“Nothing will need straightening out after I tell her that you are going +to marry Little Ann Hutchinson,” said Joan, with a half-smile. “And that +you were engaged to her before you saw me.” + +“Well, that does sort of finish things up, doesn't it?” said T. +Tembarom. + +He looked at her so speculatively for a moment after this that she +wondered whether he had something more to say. He had. + +“There's something I want to ask you,” he ventured. + +“Ask anything.” + +“Do you know any one--just any one--who has a photo--just any old +photo--of Jem Temple Barholm?” + +She was rather puzzled. + +“Yes. I know a woman who has worn one for nearly eight years. Do you +want to see it?” + +“I'd give a good deal to,” was his answer. + +She took a flat locket from her dress and handed it to him. + +“Women don't wear lockets in these days.” He could barely hear her voice +because it was so low. “But I've never taken it off. I want him near my +heart. It's Jem!” + +He held it on the palm of his hand and stood under the light, studying +it as if he wanted to be sure he wouldn't forget it. + +“It's--sorter like that picture of Miles Hugo, ain't it?” he suggested. + +“Yes. People always said so. That was why you found me in the +picture-gallery the first time we met.” + +“I knew that was the reason--and I knew I'd made a break when I butted +in,” he answered. Then, still looking at the photograph, “You'd know +this face again most anywhere you saw it, I guess.” + +“There are no faces like it anywhere,” said Joan. + +“I guess that's so,” he replied. “And it's one that wouldn't change much +either. Thank you, Lady Joan.” + +He handed back the picture, and she put out her hand again. + +“I think I'll go to my room now,” she said. “You've done a strange +thing to me. You've taken nearly all the hatred and bitterness out of my +heart. I shall want to come back here whether my mother comes or not--I +shall want to.” + +“The sooner the quicker,” he said. “And so long as I'm here I'll be +ready and waiting.” + +“Don't go away,” she said softly. “I shall need you.” + +“Isn't that great?” he cried, flushing delightedly. “Isn't it just great +that we've got things straightened so that you can say that. Gee! This +is a queer old world! There's such a lot to do in it, and so few hours +in the day. Seems like there ain't time to stop long enough to hate +anybody and keep a grouch on. A fellow's got to keep hustling not to +miss the things worth while.” + +The liking in her eyes was actually wistful. + +“That's your way of thinking, isn't it?” she said. “Teach it to me if +you can. I wish you could. Good-night.” She hesitated a second. “God +bless you!” she added, quite suddenly--almost fantastic as the words +sounded to her. That she, Joan Fayre, should be calling down devout +benisons on the head of T. Tembarom--T. Tembarom! + +Her mother was in her room when she reached it. She had come up early to +look over her possessions--and Joan's--before she began her packing. +The bed, the chairs, and tables were spread with evening, morning, +and walking-dresses, and the millinery collected from their combined +wardrobes. She was examining anxiously a lace appliqued and embroidered +white coat, and turned a slightly flushed face toward the opening door. + +“I am going over your things as well as my own,” she said. “I shall take +what I can use. You will require nothing in London. You will require +nothing anywhere in future. What is the matter?” she said sharply, as +she saw her daughter's face. + +Joan came forward feeling it a strange thing that she was not in the +mood to fight--to lash out and be glad to do it. + +“Captain Palliser told me as I came up that Mr. Temple Barholm had been +talking to you,” her mother went on. “He heard you having some sort of +scene as he passed the door. As you have made your decision, of course I +know I needn't hope that anything has happened.” + +“What has happened has nothing to do with my decision. He wasn't waiting +for that,” Joan answered her. “We were both entirely mistaken, Mother.” + +“What are you talking about?” cried Lady Mallowe, but she temporarily +laid the white coat on a chair. “What do you mean by mistaken?” + +“He doesn't want me--he never did,” Joan answered again. A shadow of +a smile hovered over her face, and there was no derision in it, only a +warming recollection of his earnestness when he had said the words she +quoted: “He is what they call in New York `dead stuck on another girl.”' + +Lady Mallowe sat down on the chair that held the white coat, and she did +not push the coat aside. + +“He told you that in his vulgar slang!” she gasped it out. “You--you +ought to have struck him dead with your answer.” + +“Except poor Jem Temple Barholm,” was the amazing reply she received, +“he is the only friend I ever had in my life.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +It was business of serious importance which was to bring Captain +Palliser's visit to a close. He explained it perfectly to Miss Alicia a +day or so after Lady Mallowe and her daughter left them. He had lately +been most amiable in his manner toward Miss Alicia, and had given +her much valuable information about companies and stocks. He rather +unexpectedly found it imperative that he should go to London and Berlin +to “see people”--dealers in great financial schemes who were deeply +interested in solid business speculations, such as his own, which were +fundamentally different from all others in the impeccable firmness of +their foundations. + +“I suppose he will be very rich some day,” Miss Alicia remarked the +first morning she and T. Tembarom took their breakfast alone together +after his departure. “It would frighten me to think of having as much +money as he seems likely to have quite soon.” + +“It would scare me to death,” said Tembarom. She knew he was making +a sort of joke, but she thought the point of it was her tremor at the +thought of great fortune. + +“He seemed to think that it would be an excellent thing for you to +invest in--I'm not sure whether it was the India Rubber Tree Company, +or the mahogany forests or the copper mines that have so much gold and +silver mixed in them that it will pay for the expense of the digging--” + she went on. + +“I guess it was the whole lot,” put in Tembarom. + +“Perhaps it was. They are all going to make everybody so rich that it is +quite bewildering. He is very clever in business matters. And so kind. +He even said that if I really wished it he might be able to invest my +income for me and actually treble it in a year. But of course I told him +that my income was your generous gift to me, and that it was far more +than sufficient for my needs.” + +Tembarom put down his coffee-cup so suddenly to look at her that she +was fearful that she had appeared to do Captain Palliser some vague +injustice. + +“I am sure he meant to be most obliging, dear,” she explained. “I was +really quite touched. He said most sympathetically and delicately that +when women were unmarried, and unaccustomed to investment, sometimes a +business man could be of use to them. He forgot”--affectionately--“that +I had you.” + +Tembarom regarded her with tender curiosity. She often opened up vistas +for him as he himself opened them for the Duke of Stone. + +“If you hadn't had me, would you have let him treble your income in a +year?” he asked. + +Her expression was that of a soft, woodland rabbit or a trusting +spinster dove. + +“Well, of course, if one were quite alone in the world and had only a +small income, it would be nice to have it wonderfully added to in such +a short time,” she answered. “But it was his friendly solicitude which +touched me. I have not been accustomed to such interested delicacy on +the part of--of gentlemen.” Her hesitance before the last word being the +result of training, which had made her feel that it was a little bold +for “ladies” to refer quite openly to “gentlemen.” + +“You sometimes read in the newspapers,” said Tembarom, buttering his +toast, “about ladies who are all alone in the world with a little +income, but they're not often left alone with it long. It's like you +said--you've got me; but if the time ever comes when you haven't got me +just you make a dead-sure thing of it that you don't let any solicitous +business gentleman treble your income in a year. If it's an income that +comes to more than five cents, don't you hand it over to be made into +fifteen. Five cents is a heap better--just plain five.” + +“Temple!” gasped Miss Alicia. “You--you surely cannot mean that you do +not think Captain Palliser is--sincere!” + +Tembarom laughed outright, his most hilarious and comforting laugh. He +had no intention of enlightening her in such a manner as would lead her +at once to behold pictures of him as the possible victim of appalling +catastrophes. He liked her too well as she was. + +“Sincere?” he said. “He's sincere down to the ground--in what he's +reaching after. But he's not going to treble your income, nor mine. If +he ever makes that offer again, you just tell him I'm interested, and +that I'll talk it over with him.” + +“I could not help saying to him that I didn't think you could want any +more money when you had so much,” she added, “but he said one never knew +what might happen. He was greatly interested when I told him you had +once said the very same thing yourself.” + +Their breakfast was at an end, and he got up, laughing again, as he +came to her end of the table and put his arm around her shoulders in the +unconventional young caress she adored him for. + +“It's nice to be by ourselves again for a while,” he said. “Let us go +for a walk together. Put on the little bonnet and dress that are the +color of a mouse. Those little duds just get me. You look so pretty in +them.” + +The sixteen-year-old blush ran up to the roots of her gray +side-ringlets. Just imagine his remembering the color of her dress and +bonnet, and thinking that anything could make her look pretty! She was +overwhelmed with innocent and grateful confusion. There really was no +one else in the least like him. + +“You do look well, ma'am,” Rose said, when she helped her to dress. +“You've got such a nice color, and that tiny bit of old rose Mrs. +Mellish put in the bonnet does bring it out.” + +“I wonder if it is wrong of me to be so pleased,” Miss Alicia thought. +“I must make it a subject of prayer, and ask to be aided to conquer a +haughty and vain-glorious spirit.” + +She was pathetically serious, having been trained to a view of the +Great First Cause as figuratively embodied in the image of a gigantic, +irascible, omnipotent old gentleman, especially wrought to fury by +feminine follies connected with becoming headgear. + +“It has sometimes even seemed to me that our Heavenly Father has a +special objection to ladies,” she had once timorously confessed to +Tembarom. “I suppose it is because we are so much weaker than men, and +so much more given to vanity and petty vices.” + +He had caught her in his arms and actually hugged her that time. Their +intimacy had reached the point where the affectionate outburst did not +alarm her. + +“Say!” he had laughed. “It's not the men who are going to have the +biggest pull with the authorities when folks try to get into the place +where things are evened up. What I'm going to work my passage with is a +list of the few 'ladies' I've known. You and Ann will be at the head +of it. I shall just slide it in at the box-office window and say, 'Just +look over this, will you? These were friends of mine, and they were +mighty good to me. I guess if they didn't turn me down, you needn't. I +know they're in here. Reserved seats. I'm not expecting to be put with +them but if I'm allowed to hang around where they are that'll be heaven +enough for me.'” + +“I know you don't mean to be irreverent, dear Temple,” she gasped. “I am +quite sure you don't! It is--it is only your American way of expressing +your kind thoughts. And of course”--quite hastily--“the Almighty must +understand Americans--as he made so many.” And half frightened though +she was, she patted his arm with the warmth of comfort in her soul and +moisture in her eyes. Somehow or other, he was always so comforting. + +He held her arm as they took their walk. She had become used to that +also, and no longer thought it odd. It was only one of the ways he had +of making her feel that she was being taken care of. They had not been +able to have many walks together since the arrival of the visitors, and +this occasion was at once a cause of relief and inward rejoicing. The +entire truth was that she had not been altogether happy about him of +late. Sometimes, when he was not talking and saying amusing New York +things which made people laugh, he seemed almost to forget where he was +and to be thinking of something which baffled and tried him. The way +in which he pulled himself together when he realized that any one was +looking at him was, to her mind, the most disturbing feature of his fits +of abstraction. It suggested that if he really had a trouble it was a +private one on which he would not like her to intrude. Naturally, her +adoring eyes watched him oftener than he knew, and she tried to find +plausible and not too painful reasons for his mood. He always made light +of his unaccustomedness to his new life; but perhaps it made him feel +more unrestful than he would admit. + +As they walked through the park and the village, her heart was greatly +warmed by the way in which each person they met greeted him. They +greeted no one else in the same way, and yet it was difficult to explain +what the difference was. They liked him--really liked him, though how he +had overcome their natural distrust of his newsboy and bootblack record +no one but himself knew. In fact, she had reason to believe that even he +himself did not know--had indeed never asked himself. They had gradually +begun to like him, though none of them had ever accused him of being +a gentleman according to their own acceptance of the word. Every man +touched his cap or forehead with a friendly grin which spread itself the +instant he caught sight of him. Grin and salute were synchronous. It was +as if there were some extremely human joke between them. Miss Alicia had +delightedly remembered a remark the Duke of Stone had made to her on his +return from one of their long drives. + +“He is the most popular man in the county,” he had chuckled. “If war +broke out and he were in the army, he could raise a regiment at his own +gates which would follow him wheresoever he chose to lead it--if it were +into hottest Hades.” + +Tembarom was rather silent during the first part of their walk, and when +he spoke it was of Captain Palliser. + +“He's a fellow that's got lots of curiosity. I guess he's asked you more +questions than he's asked me,” he began at last, and he looked at her +interestedly, though she was not aware of it. + +“I thought--” she hesitated slightly because she did not wish to be +critical--“I sometimes thought he asked me too many.” + +“What was he trying to get on to mostly?” + +“He asked so many things about you and your life in New York--but more, +I think, about you and Mr. Strangeways. He was really quite persistent +once or twice about poor Mr. Strangeways.” + +“What did he ask?” + +“He asked if I had seen him, and if you had preferred that I should +not. He calls him your Mystery, and thinks your keeping him here is so +extraordinary.” + +“I guess it is--the way he'd look at it,” Tembarom dropped in. + +“He was so anxious to find out what he looked like. He asked how old +he was and how tall, and whether he was quite mad or only a little, +and where you picked him up, and when, and what reason you gave for not +putting him in some respectable asylum. I could only say that I really +knew nothing about him, and that I hadn't seen him because he had a +dread of strangers and I was a little timid.” + +She hesitated again. + +“I wonder,” she said, still hesitating even after her pause, “I wonder +if I ought to mention a rather rude thing I saw him do twice?” + +“Yes, you ought,” Tembarom answered promptly; “I've a reason for wanting +to know.” + +“It was such a singular thing to do--in the circumstances,” she went on +obediently. “He knew, as we all know, that Mr. Strangeways must not +be disturbed. One afternoon I saw him walk slowly backward and forward +before the west room window. He had something in his hand and kept +looking up. That was what first attracted my attention--his queer way of +looking up. Quite suddenly he threw something which rattled on the +panes of glass--it sounded like gravel or small pebbles. I couldn't help +believing he thought Mr. Strangeways would be startled into coming to +the window.” + +Tembarom cleared his throat. + +“He did that twice,” he said. “Pearson caught him at it, though Palliser +didn't know he did. He'd have done it three times, or more than that, +perhaps, but I casually mentioned in the smoking-room one night +that some curious fool of a gardener boy had thrown some stones and +frightened Strangeways, and that Pearson and I were watching for him, +and that if I caught him I was going to knock his block off--bing! He +didn't do it again. Darned fool! What does he think he's after?” + +“I am afraid he is rather--I hope it is not wrong to say so--but he +is rather given to gossip. And I dare say that the temptation to find +something quite new to talk about was a great one. So few new things +happen in the neighborhood, and, as the duke says, people are so +bored--and he is bored himself.” + +“He'll be more bored if he tries it again when he comes back,” remarked +Tembarom. + +Miss Alicia's surprised expression made him laugh. + +“Do you think he will come back?” she exclaimed. “After such a long +visit?” + +“Oh, yes, he'll come back. He'll come back as often as he can until he's +got a chunk of my income to treble--or until I've done with him.” + +“Until you've done with him, dear?” inquiringly. + +“Oh! well,”--casually--“I've a sort of idea that he may tell me +something I'd like to know. I'm not sure; I'm only guessing. But even if +he knows it he won't tell me until he gets good and ready and thinks I +don't want to hear it. What he thinks he's going to get at by prowling +around is something he can get me in the crack of the door with.” + +“Temple”--imploringly--“are you afraid he wishes to do you an injury?” + +“No, I'm not afraid. I'm just waiting to see him take a chance on it,” + and he gave her arm an affectionate squeeze against his side. He was +always immensely moved by her little alarms for him. They reminded +him, in a remote way, of Little Ann coming down Mrs. Bowse's staircase +bearing with her the tartan comforter. + +How could any one--how could any one want to do him an injury? she began +to protest pathetically. But he would not let her go on. He would not +talk any more of Captain Palliser or allow her to talk of him. Indeed, +her secret fear was that he really knew something he did not wish her +to be troubled by, and perhaps thought he had said too much. He began +to make jokes and led her to other subjects. He asked her to go to the +Hibblethwaites' cottage and pay a visit to Tummas. He had learned to +understand his accepted privileges in making of cottage visits by this +time; and when he clicked any wicket-gate the door was open before he +had time to pass up the wicket-path. They called at several cottages, +and he nodded at the windows of others where faces appeared as he passed +by. + +They had a happy morning together, and he took her back to Temple +Barholm beaming, and forgetting Captain Palliser's existence, for the +time, at least. In the afternoon they drove out together, and after +dining they read the last copy of the Sunday Earth, which had arrived +that day. He found quite an interesting paragraph about Mr. Hutchinson +and the invention. Little Miss Hutchinson was referred to most +flatteringly by the writer, who almost inferred that she was responsible +not only for the inventor but for the invention itself. Miss Alicia felt +quite proud of knowing so prominent a character, and wondered what it +could be like to read about oneself in a newspaper. + +About nine o'clock he laid his sheet of the Earth down and spoke to her. + +“I'm going to ask you to do me a favor,” he said. “I couldn't ask it if +we weren't alone like this. I know you won't mind.” + +Of course she wouldn't mind. She was made happier by the mere idea of +doing something for him. + +“I'm going to ask you to go to your room rather early,” he explained. +“I want to try a sort of stunt on Strangeways. I'm going to bring him +downstairs if he'll come. I'm not sure I can get him to do it; but he's +been a heap better lately, and perhaps I can.” + +“Is he so much better as that?” she said. “Will it be safe?” + +He looked as serious as she had ever seen him look--even a trifle more +serious. + +“I don't know how much better he is,” was his answer. “Sometimes you'd +think he was almost all right. And then--! The doctor says that if he +could get over being afraid of leaving his room it would be a big thing +for him. He wants him to go to his place in London so that he can watch +him.” + +“Do you think you could persuade him to go?” + +“I've tried my level best, but so far--nothing doing.” + +He got up and stood before the mantel, his back against it, his hands in +his pockets. + +“I've found out one thing,” he said. “He's used to houses like this. +Every now and again he lets something out quite natural. He knew that +the furniture in his room was Jacobean--that's what he called it--and +he knew it was fine stuff. He wouldn't have known that if he'd been a +piker. I'm going to try if he won't let out something else when he sees +things here--if he'll come.” + +“You have such a wonderfully reasoning mind, dear,” said Miss Alicia, as +she rose. “You would have made a great detective, I'm sure.” + +“If Ann had been with him,” he said, rather gloomily, “she'd have caught +on to a lot more than I have. I don't feel very chesty about the way +I've managed it.” + +Miss Alicia went up-stairs shortly afterward, and half an hour later +Tembarom told the footmen in the hall that they might go to bed. The +experiment he was going to make demanded that the place should be +cleared of any disturbing presence. He had been thinking it over +for sometime past. He had sat in the private room of the great nerve +specialist in London and had talked it over with him. He had talked of +it with the duke on the lawn at Stone Hover. There had been a flush of +color in the older man's cheek-bones, and his eyes had been alight as +he took his part in the discussion. He had added the touch of his own +personality to it, as always happened. + +“We are having some fine moments, my good fellow,” he had said, rubbing +his hands. “This is extremely like the fourth act. I'd like to be sure +what comes next.” + +“I'd like to be sure myself,” Tembarom answered. “It's as if a flash of +lightning came sometimes, and then things clouded up. And sometimes +when I am trying something out he'll get so excited that I daren't go on +until I've talked to the doctor.” + +It was the excitement he was dubious about to-night. It was not possible +to be quite certain as to the entire safety of the plan; but there might +be a chance--even a big chance--of wakening some cell from its deadened +sleep. Sir Ormsby way had talked to him a good deal about brain cells, +and he had listened faithfully and learned more than he could put into +scientific English. Gradually, during the past months, he had been +coming upon strangely exciting hints of curious possibilities. They +had been mere hints at first, and had seemed almost absurd in their +unbelievableness. But each one had linked itself with another, and +led him on to further wondering and exploration. When Miss Alicia and +Palliser had seen that he looked absorbed and baffled, it had been +because he had frequently found himself, to use his own figures of +speech, “mixed up to beat the band.” He had not known which way to turn; +but he had gone on turning because he could not escape from his own +excited interest, and the inevitable emotion roused by being caught in +the whirl of a melodrama. That was what he'd dropped into--a whacking +big play. It had begun for him when Palford butted in that night and +told him he was a lost heir, with a fortune and an estate in England; +and the curtain had been jerking up and down ever since. But there had +been thrills in it, queer as it was. Something doing all the time, by +gee! + +He sat and smoked his pipe and wished Ann were with him because he knew +he was not as cool as he had meant to be. He felt a certain tingling +of excitement in his body; and this was not the time to be excited. +He waited for some minutes before he went up-stairs. It was true that +Strangeways had been much better lately. He had seemed to find it easier +to follow conversation. During the past few days, Tembarom had talked to +him in a matter-of-fact way about the house and its various belongings. +He had at last seemed to waken to an interest in the picture-gallery. +Evidently he knew something of picture-galleries and portraits, and +found himself relieved by his own clearness of thought when he talked of +them. + +“I feel better,” he said, two or three times. “Things seem +clearer--nearer.” + +“Good business!” exclaimed Tembarom. “I told you it'd be that way. Let's +hold on to pictures. It won't be any time before you'll be remembering +where you've seen some.” + +He had been secretly rather strung up; but he had been very gradual in +approaching his final suggestion that some night, when everything was +quiet, they might go and look at the gallery together. + +“What you need is to get out of the way of wanting to stay in one +place,” he argued. “The doctor says you've got to have a change, and +even going from one room to another is a fine thing.” + +Strangeways had looked at him anxiously for a few moments, even +suspiciously, but his face had cleared after the look. He drew himself +up and passed his hand over his forehead. + +“I believe--perhaps he is right,” he murmured. + +“Sure he's right!” said Tembarom. “He's the sort of chap who ought to +know. He's been made into a baronet for knowing. Sir Ormsby Galloway, by +jings! That's no slouch of a name Oh, he knows, you bet your life!” + +This morning when he had seen him he had spoken of the plan again. The +visitors had gone away; the servants could be sent out of sight and +hearing; they could go into the library and smoke and he could look at +the books. And then they could take a look at the picture-gallery if he +wasn't too tired. It would be a change anyhow. + +To-night, as he went up the huge staircase, Tembarom's calmness of being +had not increased. He was aware of a quickened pulse and of a slight +dampness on his forehead. The dead silence of the house added to the +unusualness of things. He could not remember ever having been so anxious +before, except on the occasion when he had taken his first day's “stuff” + to Galton, and had stood watching him as he read it. His forehead had +grown damp then. But he showed no outward signs of excitement when he +entered the room and found Strangeways standing, perfectly attired in +evening dress. + +Pearson, setting things in order at the other side of the room, was +taking note of him furtively over his shoulder. Quite in the casual +manner of the ordinary man, he had expressed his intention of dressing +for the evening, and Pearson had thanked his stars for the fact that the +necessary garments were at hand. From the first, he had not infrequently +asked for articles such as only the resources of a complete masculine +wardrobe could supply; and on one occasion he had suddenly wished to +dress for dinner, and the lame excuses it had been necessary to make +had disturbed him horribly instead of pacifying him. To explain that his +condition precluded the necessity of the usual appurtenances would have +been out of the question. He had been angry. What did Pearson mean? What +was the matter? He had said it over and over again, and then had +sunk into a hopelessly bewildered mood, and had sat huddled in his +dressing-gown staring at the fire. Pearson had been so harrowed by the +situation that it had been his own idea to suggest to his master that +all possible requirements should be provided. There were occasions when +it appeared that the cloud over him lifted for a passing moment, and a +gleam of light recalled to him some familiar usage of his past. When he +had finished dressing, Pearson had been almost startled by the amount of +effect produced by the straight, correctly cut lines of black and white. +The mere change of clothes had suddenly changed the man himself--had +“done something to him,” Pearson put it. After his first glance at the +mirror he had straightened himself, as if recognizing the fault of his +own carriage. When he crossed the room it was with the action of a man +who has been trained to move well. The good looks, which had been +almost hidden behind a veil of uncertainty of expression and strained +fearfulness, became obvious. He was tall, and his lean limbs were +splendidly hung together. His head was perfectly set, and the bearing +of his square shoulders was a soldierly thing. It was an extraordinarily +handsome man Tembarom and Pearson found themselves gazing at. Each +glanced involuntarily at the other. + +“Now that's first-rate! I'm glad you feel like coming,” Tembarom plunged +in. He didn't intend to give him too much time to think. + +“Thank you. It will be a change, as you said,” Strangeways answered. +“One needs change.” + +His deep eyes looked somewhat deeper than usual, but his manner was +that of any well-bred man doing an accustomed thing. If he had been an +ordinary guest in the house, and his host had dropped into his room, he +would have comported himself in exactly the same way. + +They went together down the corridor as if they had passed down it +together a dozen times before. On the stairway Strangeways looked at the +tapestries with the interest of a familiarized intelligence. + +“It is a beautiful old place,” he said, as they crossed the hall. “That +armor was worn by a crusader.” He hesitated a moment when they entered +the library, but it was only for a moment. He went to the hearth and +took the chair his host offered him, and, lighting a cigar, sat +smoking it. If T. Tembarom had chanced to be a man of an analytical or +metaphysical order of intellect he would have found, during the past +month, many things to lead him far in mental argument concerning the +weird wonder of the human mind--of its power where its possessor, the +body, is concerned, its sometime closeness to the surface of sentient +being, its sometime remoteness. He would have known--awed, marveling at +the blackness of the pit into which it can descend--the unknown shades +that may enfold it and imprison its gropings. The old Duke of Stone had +sat and pondered many an hour over stories his favorite companion had +related to him. What curious and subtle processes had the queer fellow +not been watching in the closely guarded quiet of the room where the +stranger had spent his days; the strange thing cowering in its darkness; +the ray of light piercing the cloud one day and seeming lost again the +next; the struggles the imprisoned thing made to come forth--to cry out +that it was but immured, not wholly conquered, and that some hour would +arrive when it would fight its way through at last. Tembarom had not +entered into psychological research. He had been entirely uncomplex in +his attitude, sitting down before his problem as a besieger might have +sat down before a castle. The duke had sometimes wondered whether it +was not a good enough thing that he had been so simple about it, merely +continuing to believe the best with an unswerving obstinacy and lending +a hand when he could. A never flagging sympathy had kept him singularly +alive to every chance, and now and then he had illuminations which would +have done credit to a cleverer man, and which the duke had rubbed his +hands over in half-amused, half-touched elation. How he had kept his +head level and held to his purpose! + +T. Tembarom talked but little as he sat in his big chair and smoked. +Best let him alone and give him time to get used to the newness, he +thought. Nothing must happen that could give him a jolt. Let things sort +of sink into him, and perhaps they'd set him to thinking and lead him +somewhere. Strangeways himself evidently did not want talk. He never +wanted it unless he was excited. He was not excited now, and had +settled down as if he was comfortable. Having finished one cigar he took +another, and began to smoke it much more slowly than he had smoked his +first. The slowness began to arrest Tembarom's attention. This was the +smoking of a man who was either growing sleepy or sinking into deep +thought, becoming oblivious to what he was doing. Sometimes he held the +cigar absently between his strong, fine fingers, seeming to forget it. +Tembarom watched him do this until he saw it go out, and its white +ash drop on the rug at his feet. He did not notice it, but sat sinking +deeper and deeper into his own being, growing more remote. What was +going on under his absorbed stillness? Tembarom would not have moved or +spoken “for a block of Fifth Avenue,” he said internally. The dark eyes +seemed to become darker until there was only a pin's point of light to +be seen in their pupils. It was as if he were looking at something at +a distance--at a strangely long distance. Twice he turned his head +and appeared to look slowly round the room, but not as normal people +look--as if it also was at the strange, long distance from him, and +he were somewhere outside its walls. It was an uncanny thing to be a +spectator to. + +“How dead still the room is!” Tembarom found himself thinking. + +It was “dead still.” And it was a queer deal sitting, not daring to +move--just watching. Something was bound to happen, sure! What was it +going to be? + +Strangeways' cigar dropped from his fingers and appeared to rouse him. +He looked puzzled for a moment, and then stooped quite naturally to pick +it up. + +“I forgot it altogether. It's gone out,” he remarked. + +“Have another,” suggested Tembarom, moving the box nearer to him. + +“No, thank you.” He rose and crossed the room to the wall of +book-shelves. And Tembarom's eye was caught again by the fineness of +movement and line the evening clothes made manifest. “What a swell he +looked when he moved about like that! What a swell, by jings!” + +He looked along the line of shelves and presently took a book down +and opened it. He turned over its leaves until something arrested his +attention, and then he fell to reading. He read several minutes, while +Tembarom watched him. The silence was broken by his laughing a little. + +“Listen to this,” he said, and began to read something in a language +totally unknown to his hearer. “A man who writes that sort of thing +about a woman is an old bounder, whether he's a poet or not. There's a +small, biting spitefulness about it that's cattish.” + +“Who did it?” Tembarom inquired softly. It might be a good idea to lead +him on. + +“Horace. In spite of his genius, he sometimes makes you feel he was +rather a blackguard.” + +“Horace!” For the moment T. Tembarom forgot himself. “I always heard he +was a sort of Y.M.C.A. old guy--old Horace Greeley. The Tribune was no +yellow journal when he had it.” + +He was sorry he had spoken the next moment. Strangeways looked puzzled. + +“The Tribune,” he hesitated. “The Roman Tribune?” + +“No, New York. He started it--old Horace did. But perhaps we're not +talking of the same man.” + +Strangeways hesitated again. + +“No, I think we're not,” he answered politely. + +“I've made a break,” thought Tembarom. “I ought to have kept my mouth +shut. I must try to switch him back.” + +Strangeways was looking down at the back of the book he held in his +hand. + +“This one was the Latin poet, Quintus Horatius Flaccus, 65 B. C. You +know him,” he said. + +“Oh, that one!” exclaimed Tembarom, as if with an air of immense relief. +“What a fool I was to forget! I'm glad it's him. Will you go on reading +and let me hear some more? He's a winner from Winnersville--that Horace +is.” + +Perhaps it was a sort of miracle, accomplished by his great desire to +help the right thing to happen, to stave off any shadow of the wrong +thing. Whatsoever the reason, Strangeways waited only a moment before +turning to his book again. It seemed to be a link in some chain slowly +forming itself to drag him back from his wanderings. And T. Tembarom, +lightly sweating as a frightened horse will, sat smoking another pipe +and listening intently to “Satires” and “Lampoons,” read aloud in the +Latin of 65 B. C. + +“By gee!” he said faithfully, at intervals, when he saw on the reader's +face that the moment was ripe. “He knew it all--old Horace--didn't he?” + +He had steered his charge back. Things were coming along the line to +him. He'd learned Latin at one of these big English schools. Boys always +learned Latin, the duke had told him. They just had to. Most of them +hated it like thunder, and they used to be caned when they didn't recite +it right. Perhaps if he went on he'd begin to remember the school. A +queer part of it was that he did not seem to notice that he was not +reading his own language. + +He did not, in fact, seem to remember anything in particular, but went +on quite naturally for some minutes. He had replaced Horace on the shelf +and was on the point of taking down another volume when he paused, as if +recalling something else. + +“Weren't we going to see the picture-gallery?” he inquired. “Isn't it +getting late? I should like to see the portraits.” + +“No hurry,” answered T. Tembarom. “I was just waiting till you were +ready. But we'll go right away, if you like.” + +They went without further ceremony. As they walked through the hall and +down the corridors side by side, an imaginative person might have felt +that perhaps the eyes of an ancient darkling portrait or so looked +down at the pair curiously: the long, loosely built New Yorker rather +slouching along by the soldierly, almost romantic figure which, in a +measure, suggested that others not unlike it might have trod the same +oaken floor, wearing ruff and doublet, or lace jabot and sword. There +was a far cry between the two, but they walked closely in friendly +union. When they entered the picture-gallery Strangeways paused a moment +again, and stood peering down its length. + +“It is very dimly lighted. How can we see?” he said. + +“I told Pearson to leave it dim,” Tembarom answered. “I wanted it just +that way at first.” + +He tried--and succeeded tolerably well--to say it casually, as he led +the way ahead of them. He and the duke had not talked the scheme over +for nothing. As his grace had said, they had “worked the thing up.” As +they moved down the gallery, the men and women in their frames looked +like ghosts staring out to see what was about to happen. + +“We'll turn up the lights after a while,” T. Tembarom explained, still +casually. “There's a picture here I think a good deal of. I've stood and +looked at it pretty often. It reminded me of some one the first day I +set eyes on it; but it was quite a time before I made up my mind who it +was. It used to drive me half dotty trying to think it out.” + +“Which one was it?” asked Strangeways. + +“We're coming to it. I want to see if it reminds you of any one. And I +want you to see it sudden.” “It's got to be sudden,” he had said to +the duke. “If it's going to pan out, I believe it's got to be sudden.” + “That's why I had the rest of 'em left dim. I told Pearson to leave a +lamp I could turn up quick,” he said to Strangeways. + +The lamp was on a table near by and was shaded by a screen. He took it +from the shadow and lifted it suddenly, so that its full gleam fell upon +the portrait of the handsome youth with the lace collar and the dark, +drooping eyes. It was done in a second, with a dramatically unexpected +swiftness. His heart jumped up and down. + +“Who's that?” he demanded, with abruptness so sharp-pitched that the +gallery echoed with the sound. “Who's that?” + +He heard a hard, quick gasp, a sound which was momentarily a little +horrible, as if the man's soul was being jerked out of his body's +depths. + +“Who is he?” he cried again. “Tell me.” + +After the gasp, Strangeways stood still and stared. His eyes were glued +to the canvas, drops of sweat came out on his forehead, and he was +shuddering. He began to back away with a look of gruesome struggle. He +backed and backed, and stared and stared. The gasp came twice again, +and then his voice seemed to tear itself loose from some power that was +holding it back. + +“Th--at!” he cried. “It is--it--is Miles Hugo!” + +The last words were almost a shout, and he shook as if he would have +fallen. But T. Tembarom put his hand on his shoulder and held him, +breathing fast himself. Gee! if it wasn't like a thing in a play! + +“Page at the court of Charles the Second,” he rattled off. “Died of +smallpox when he was nineteen. Miles Hugo! Miles Hugo! You hold on to +that for all your worth. And hold on to me. I'll keep you steady. Say it +again.” + +“Miles Hugo.” The poor majestic-looking fellow almost sobbed it. “Where +am I? What is the name of this place?” + +“It's Temple Barholm in the county of Lancashire, England. Hold on to +that, too--like thunder!” + +Strangeways held the young man's arm with hands that clutched. He +dragged at him. His nightmare held him yet; Tembarom saw it, but flashes +of light were blinding him. + +“Who”--he pleaded in a shaking and hollow whisper--“are you?” + +Here was a stumper! By jings! By jings! And not a minute to think it +out. But the answer came all right--all right! + +“My name's Tembarom. T. Tembarom.” And he grinned his splendid grin from +sheer sense of relief. “I'm a New Yorker--Brooklyn. I was just forked +in here anyhow. Don't you waste time thinking over me. You sit down here +and do your durndest with Miles Hugo.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +Tembarom did not look as though he had slept particularly well, Miss +Alicia thought, when they met the next morning; but when she asked him +whether he had been disappointed in his last night's experiment, he +answered that he had not. The experiment had come out all right, but +Strangeways had been a good deal worked up, and had not been able +to sleep until daylight. Sir Ormsby Galloway was to arrive in the +afternoon, and he'd probably give him some-thing quieting. Had the +coming downstairs seemed to help him to recall anything? Miss Alicia +naturally inquired. Tembarom thought it had. He drove to Stone Hover and +spent the morning with the duke; he even lunched with him. He returned +in time to receive Sir Ormsby Galloway, however, and until that great +personage left, they were together in Mr. Strangeways' rooms. + +“I guess I shall get him up to London to the place where Sir Ormsby +wants him,” he said rather nervously, after dinner. “I'm not going to +miss any chances. If he'll go, I can get him away quietly some time when +I can fix it so there's no one about to worry him.” + +She felt that he had no inclination to go much into detail. He had never +had the habit of entering into the details connected with his strange +charge. She believed it was because he felt the subject too abnormal not +to seem a little awesome to her sympathetic timidity. She did not ask +questions because she was afraid she could not ask them intelligently. +In fact, the knowledge that this unknown man was living through his +struggle with his lost past in the remote rooms of the west wing, almost +as though he were a secret prisoner, did seem a little awesome when one +awoke in the middle of the dark night and thought of it. + +During the passage of the next few weeks, Tembarom went up to London +several times. Once he seemed called there suddenly, as it was only +during dinner that he told her he was going to take a late train, and +should leave the house after she had gone to bed. She felt as though +something important must have happened, and hoped it was nothing +disturbing. + +When he had said that Captain Palliser would return to visit them, her +private impression, despite his laugh, had been that it must surely be +some time before this would occur. But a little more than three weeks +later he appeared, preceded only half an hour by a telegram asking +whether he might not spend a night with them on his way farther north. +He could not at all understand why the telegram, which he said he had +sent the day before, had been delayed. + +A certain fatigued haggardness in his countenance caused Miss Alicia to +ask whether he had been ill, and he admitted that he had at least +not been well, as a result of long and too hurried journeys, and the +strenuousness of extended and profoundly serious interviews with his +capitalist and magnates. + +“No man can engineer gigantic schemes to success without feeling the +reaction when his load drops from his shoulders,” he remarked. + +“You've carried it quite through?” inquired Tembarom. + +“We have set on foot one of the largest, most substantially capitalized +companies in the European business world,” Palliser replied, with the +composure which is almost indifference. + +“Good!” said Tembarom cheerfully. + +He watched his guest a good deal during the day. He was a bad color for +a man who had just steered clear of all shoals and reached the highest +point of success. He had a haggard eye as well as a haggard face. It +was a terrified eye when its desperate determination to hide its +terrors dropped from it for an instant, as a veil might drop. A certain +restlessness was manifest in him, and he talked more than usual. He +was going to make a visit in Northumberland to an elderly lady of +great possessions. It was to be vaguely gathered that she was somewhat +interested in the great company--the Cedric. She was a remarkable old +person who found a certain agreeable excitement in dabbling in stocks. +She was rich enough to be in a position to regard it as a sort of game, +and he had been able on several occasions to afford her entertainment. +He would remain a few days, and spend his time chiefly in telling her +the details of the great scheme and the manner in which they were to be +developed. + +“If she can play with things that way, she'll be sure to want stock in +it,” Tembarom remarked. + +“If she does, she must make up her mind quickly,” Palliser smiled, “or +she will not be able to get it. It is not easy to lay one's hands on +even now.” + +Tembarom thought of certain speculators of entirely insignificant +standing of whom he had chanced to see and hear anecdotes in New York. +Most of them were youths of obscure origin who sold newspapers or +blacked boots, or “swapped” articles the value of which lay in the +desire they could excite in other persons to possess them. A popular +method known as “bluff” was their most trusted weapon, and even at +twelve and fifteen years of age Tembarom had always regarded it as +singularly obvious. He always detested “bluff,” whatsoever its disguise, +and was rather mystified by its ingenious faith in itself. + +“He's got badly stung,” was his internal comment as he sucked at +his pipe and smiled urbanely at Palliser across the room as they sat +together. “He's come here with some sort of deal on that he knows he +couldn't work with any one but just such a fool as he thinks I am. I +guess,” he added in composed reflectiveness, “I don't really know how +big a fool I do look.” + +Whatsoever the deal was, he would be likely to let it be known in time. + +“He'll get it off his chest if he's going away to-morrow,” decided +Tembarom. “If there's anything he's found out, he'll use it. If it +doesn't pan out as he thinks it will he'll just float away to his old +lady.” + +He gave Palliser every chance, talking to him and encouraging him to +talk, even asking him to let him look over the prospectus of the new +company and explain details to him, as he was going to explain them to +the old lady in Northumberland. He opened up avenues; but for a time +Palliser made no attempt to stroll down them. His walk would be a +stroll, Tembarom knew, being familiar with his methods. His aspect would +be that of a man but little concerned. He would be capable of a slightly +rude coldness if he felt that concern on his part was in any degree +counted as a factor. Tembarom was aware, among other things, that +innocent persons would feel that it was incumbent upon them to be very +careful in their treatment of him. He seemed to be thinking things over +before he decided upon the psychological moment at which he would begin, +if he began. When a man had a good deal to lose or to win, Tembarom +realized that he would be likely to hold back until he felt something +like solid ground under him. + +After Miss Alicia had left them for the night, perhaps he felt, as a +result of thinking the matter over, that he had reached a foothold of a +firmness at least somewhat to be depended upon. + +“What a change you have made in that poor woman's life!” he said, +walking to the side-table and helping himself to a brandy and soda. +“What a change!” + +“It struck me that a change was needed just about the time I dropped +in,” answered his host. + +“All the same,” suggested Palliser, tolerantly, “you were immensely +generous. She wasn't entitled to expect it, you know.” + +“She didn't expect anything, not a darned thing,” said Tembarom. “That +was what hit me.” + +Palliser smiled a cold, amiable smile. His slim, neatly fitted person +looked a little shrunken and less straight than was its habit, and its +slackness suggested itself as being part of the harry and fatigue which +made his face and eyes haggard under his pale, smooth hair. + +“Do you purpose to provide for the future of all your indigent relatives +even to the third and fourth generation, my dear chap?” he inquired. + +“I won't refuse till I'm asked, anyhow,” was the answer. + +“Asked!” Palliser repeated. “I'm one of them, you know, and Lady Mallowe +is another. There are lots of us, when we come out of our holes. If it's +only a matter of asking, we might all descend on you.” + +Tembarom, smiling, wondered whether they hadn't descended already, and +whether the descent had so far been all that they had anticipated. + +Palliser strolled down his opened avenue with an incidental air +which was entirely creditable to his training of himself. T. Tembarom +acknowledged that much. + +“You are too generous,” said Palliser. “You are the sort of fellow +who will always need all he has, and more. The way you go among the +villagers! You think you merely slouch about and keep it quiet, but you +don't. You've set an example no other landowner can expect to live up +to, or intends to. It's too lavish. It's pernicious, dear chap. I have +heard all about the cottage you are doing over for Pearson and his +bride. You had better invest in the Cedric.” + +Tembarom wanted him to go on, if there was anything in it. He made his +face look as he knew Palliser hoped it would look when the psychological +moment came. Its expression was not a deterrent; in fact, it had a +character not unlikely to lead an eager man, or one who was not as +wholly experienced as he believed he was, to rush down a steep hill into +the sea, after the manner of the swine in the parable. + +Heaven knew Palliser did not mean to rush, and was not aware when the +rush began; but he had reason to be so much more eager than he professed +to be that momentarily he swerved, despite himself, and ceased to be +casual. + +“It is an enormous opportunity,” he said--“timber lands in Mexico, you +know. If you had spent your life in England, you would realize that +timber has become a desperate necessity, and that the difficulties which +exist in the way of supplying the demand are almost insuperable. These +forests are virtually boundless, and the company which controls them--” + +“That's a good spiel!” broke in Tembarom. + +It sounded like the crudely artless interruption of a person whose +perceptions left much to be desired. T. Tembarom knew what it sounded +like. If Palliser lost his temper, he would get over the ground faster, +and he wanted him to get over the ground. + +“I'm afraid I don't understand,” he replied rather stiffly. + +“There was a fellow I knew in New York who used to sell type-writers, +and he had a thing to say he used to reel off when any one looked like a +customer. He used to call it his 'spiel.'” + +Palliser's quick glance at him asked questions, and his stiffness did +not relax itself. + +“Is this New York chaff?” he inquired coldly. + +“No,” Tembarom said. “You're not doing it for ten per. He was” + +“No, not exactly,” said Palliser. “Neither would you be doing it for ten +per if you went into it.” His voice changed. He became slightly haughty. +“Perhaps it was a mistake on my part to think you might care to connect +yourself with it. You have not, of course, been in the position to +comprehend such matters.” + +“If I was what I look like, that'd stir me up and make me feel bad,” + thought T. Tembarom, with cheerful comprehension of this, at least. “I'd +have to rush in and try to prove to him that I was as accustomed to big +business as he is, and that it didn't rattle me. The way to do it that +would come most natural would be to show I was ready to buy as big a +block of stock as any other fellow.” + +But the expression of his face did not change. He only gave a +half-awkward sort of laugh. + +“I guess I can learn,” he said. + +Palliser felt the foothold become firmer. The bounder was interested, +but, after a bounder's fashion, was either nervous or imagined that +a show of hesitation looked shrewd. The slight hit made at his +inexperience in investment had irritated him and made him feel less +cock-sure of himself. A slightly offended manner might be the best +weapon to rely upon. + +“I thought you might care to have the thing made clear to you,” he +continued indifferently. “I meant to explain. You may take the chance or +leave it, as you like, of course. That is nothing to me at this stage of +the game. But, after all, we are as I said, relatives of a sort, and it +is a gigantic opportunity. Suppose we change the subject. Is that the +Sunday Earth I see by you on the table?” He leaned forward to take the +paper, as though the subject really were dropped; but, after a seemingly +nervous suck or two at his pipe, Tembarom came to his assistance. It +wouldn't do to let him quiet down too much. + +“I'm no Van Morganbilt,” he said hesitatingly, “but I can see that +it's a big opportunity--for some one else. Let's have a look over the +prospectus again.” + +Palliser paused in his unconcerned opening of the copy of the Sunday +Earth. His manner somewhat disgustedly implied indecision as to whether +it was worth while to allow oneself to be dropped and taken up by turns. + +“Do you really mean that?” he asked with a certain chill of voice. + +“Yes. I don't mind trying to catch on to what's doing in any big +scheme.” + +Palliser did not lay aside his suggestion of cold semi-reluctance more +readily than any man who knew his business would have laid it aside. His +manner at the outset was quite perfect. His sole ineptitude lay in his +feeling a too great confidence in the exact quality of his companion's +type, as he summed it up. He did not calculate on the variations from +all type sometimes provided by circumstances. + +He produced his papers without too obvious eagerness. He spread them +upon the table, and coolly examined them himself before beginning his +explanation. There was more to explain to a foreigner and one unused +to investment than there would be to a man who was an Englishman and +familiar with the methods of large companies, he said. He went into +technicalities, so to speak, and used rapidly and lightly some imposing +words and phrases, to which T. Tembarom listened attentively, but +without any special air of illumination. He dealt with statistics and +the resulting probabilities. He made apparent the existing condition +of England's inability to supply an enormous and unceasing demand for +timber. He had acquired divers excellent methods of stating his case to +the party of the second part. + +“He made me feel as if a fellow had better hold on to a box of matches +like grim death, and that the time wasn't out of sight when you'd +have to give fifty-seven dollars and a half for a toothpick,” Tembarom +afterwards said to the duke. + +What Tembarom was thinking as he listened to him was that he was +not getting over the ground with much rapidity, and that it was time +something was doing. He had not watched him for weeks without learning +divers of his idiosyncrasies. + +“If he thought I wanted to know what he thinks I'd a heap rather NOT +know, he'd never tell me,” he speculated. “If he gets a bit hot in the +collar, he may let it out. Thing is to stir him up. He's lost his nerve +a bit, and he'll get mad pretty easy.” + +He went on smoking and listening, and asking an unenlightened question +now and then, in a manner which was as far from being a deterrent as the +largely unilluminated expression of his face was. + +“Of course money is wanted,” Palliser said at length. “Money is always +wanted, and as much when a scheme is a success as when it isn't. +Good names, with a certain character, are wanted. The fact of your +inheritance is known everywhere; and the fact that you are an American +is a sort of guaranty of shrewdness.” + +“Is it?” said T. Tembarom. “Well,” he added slowly, “I guess Americans +are pretty good business men.” + +Palliser thought that this was evolving upon perfectly natural lines, as +he had anticipated it would. The fellow was flattered and pleased. You +could always reach an American by implying that he was one of those who +specially illustrate enviable national characteristics. + +He went on in smooth, casual laudation: + +“No American takes hold of a scheme of this sort until he knows jolly +well what he's going to get out of it. You were shrewd enough,” he added +significantly, “about Hutchinson's affair. You `got in on the ground +floor' there. That was New York forethought, by Jove!” + +Tembarom shuffled a little in his chair, and grinned a faint, pleased +grin. + +“I'm a man of the world, my boy--the business world,” Palliser +commented, hoping that he concealed his extreme satisfaction. “I know +New York, though I haven't lived there. I'm only hoping to. Your air of +ingenuous ignorance is the cleverest thing about you,” which agreeable +implication of the fact that he had been privately observant and +impressed ought to have fetched the bounder if anything would. + +T. Tembarom's grin was no longer faint, but spread itself. Palliser's +first impression was that he had “fetched” him. But when he answered, +though the very crudeness of his words seemed merely the result of +his betrayal into utter tactlessness by soothed vanity, there was +something--a shade of something--not entirely satisfactory in his face +and nasal twang. + +“Well, I guess,” he said, “New York DID teach a fellow not to buy a gold +brick off every con man that came along.” + +Palliser was guilty of a mere ghost of a start. Was there something +in it, or was he only the gross, blundering fool he had trusted to his +being? He stared at him a moment, and saw that there WAS something under +the words and behind his professedly flattered grin--something which +must be treated with a high hand. + +“What do you mean?” he exclaimed haughtily. “I don't like your tone. Do +you take ME for what you call a `con man'?” + +“Good Lord, no!” answered Tembarom; and he looked straight at Palliser +and spoke slowly. “You're a gentleman, and you're paying me a visit. You +could no more try on a game to do me in my own house than--well, than +I could TELL you if I'd got on to you if I saw you doing it. You're a +gentleman.” + +Palliser glared back into his infuriatingly candid eyes. He was a far +cry from being a dullard himself; he was sharp enough to “catch on” to +the revelation that the situation was not what he had thought it, the +type was more complex than he had dreamed. The chap had been playing a +part; he had absolutely been “jollying him along,” after the New York +fashion. He became pale with humiliated rage, though he knew his only +defense was to control himself and profess not to see through the trick. +Until he could use his big lever, he added to himself. + +“Oh, I see,” he commented acridly. “I suppose you don't realize that +your figures of speech are unfortunate.” + +“That comes of New York streets, too,” Tembarom answered with +deliberation. “But you can't live as I've lived and be dead easy--not +DEAD easy.” + +Palliser had left his chair, and stood in contemptuous silence. + +“You know how a fellow hates to be thought DEAD easy”--Tembarom actually +went to the insolent length of saying the words with a touch of cheerful +confidingness--“when he's NOT. And I'm not. Have another drink.” + +There was a pause. Palliser began to see, or thought he began to see, +where he stood. He had come to Temple Barholm because he had been driven +into a corner and had a dangerous fight before him. In anticipation of +it he had been following a clue for some time, though at the outset it +had been one of incredible slightness. Only his absolute faith in his +theory that every man had something to gain or lose, which he concealed +discreetly, had led him to it. He held a card too valuable to be used +at the beginning of a game. Its power might have lasted a long time, and +proved an influence without limit. He forbore any mental reference to +blackmail; the word was absurd. One used what fell into one's hands. +If Tembarom had followed his lead with any degree of docility, he would +have felt it wiser to save his ammunition until further pressure was +necessary. But behind his ridiculous rawness, his foolish jocularity, +and his professedly candid good humor, had been hidden the Yankee +trickster who was fool enough to think he could play his game through. +Well, he could not. + +During the few moments' pause he saw the situation as by a photographic +flashlight. He leaned over the table and supplied himself with a fresh +brandy and soda from the tray of siphons and decanters. He gave himself +time to take the glass up in his hand. + +“No,” he answered, “you are not `dead easy.' That's why I am going to +broach another subject to you.” + +Tembarom was refilling his pipe. + +“Go ahead,” he said. + +“Who, by the way, is Mr. Strangeways?” + +He was deliberate and entirely unemotional. So was T. Tembarom when, +with match applied to his tobacco, he replied between puffs as he +lighted it: + +“You can search me. You can search him, too, for that matter. He doesn't +know who he is himself.” + +“Bad luck for him!” remarked Palliser, and allowed a slight pause again. +After it he added, “Did it ever strike you it might be good luck for +somebody else?” + +“Somebody else?” Tembarom puffed more slowly, perhaps because his pipe +was lighted. + +Palliser took some brandy in his soda. + +“There are men, you know,” he suggested, “who can be spared by their +relatives. I have some myself, by Jove!” he added with a laugh. “You +keep him rather dark, don't you?” + +“He doesn't like to see people.” + +“Does he object to people seeing him? I saw him once myself.” + +“When you threw the gravel at his window?” + +Palliser stared contemptuously. + +“What are you talking about? I did not throw stones at his window,” he +lied. “I'm not a school-boy.” + +“That's so,” Tembarom admitted. + +“I saw him, nevertheless. And I can tell you he gave me rather a start.” + +“Why?” + +Palliser half laughed again. He did not mean to go too quickly; he would +let the thing get on Tembarom's nerves gradually. + +“Well, I'm hanged if I didn't take him for a man who is dead.” + +“Enough to give any fellow a jolt,” Tembarom admitted again. + +“It gave me a `jolt.' Good word, that. But it would give you a bigger +one, my dear fellow, if he was the man he looked like.” + +“Why?” Tembarom asked laconically. + +“He looked like Jem Temple Barholm.” + +He saw Tembarom start. There could be no denying it. + +“You thought that? Honest?” he said sharply, as if for a moment he had +lost his head. “You thought that?” + +“Don't be nervous. Perhaps I couldn't have sworn to it. I did not see +him very close.” + +T. Tembarom puffed rapidly at his pipe, and only, ejaculated: + +“Oh!” + +“Of course he's dead. If he wasn't,”--with a shrug of his +shoulders,--“Lady Joan Fayre would be Lady Joan Temple Barholm, and the +pair would be bringing up an interesting family here.” He looked about +the room, and then, as if suddenly recalling the fact, added, “By +George! you'd be selling newspapers, or making them--which was it?--in +New York!” + +It was by no means unpleasing to see that he had made his hit there. +T. Tembarom swung about and walked across the room with a suddenly +perturbed expression. + +“Say,” he put it to him, coming back, “are you in earnest, or are you +just saying it to give me a jolt?” + +Palliser studied him. The American sharpness was not always so keen as +it sometimes seemed. His face would have betrayed his uneasiness to the +dullest onlooker. + +“Have you any objection to my seeing him in his own room?” Palliser +inquired. + +“It does him harm to see people,” Tembarom said, with nervous +brusqueness. “It worries him.” + +Palliser smiled a quiet but far from agreeable smile. He enjoyed what he +put into it. + +“Quite so; best to keep him quiet,” he returned. “Do you know what my +advice would be? Put him in a comfortable sanatorium. A lot of stupid +investigations would end in nothing, of course, but they'd be a +frightful bore.” + +He thought it extraordinarily stupid in T. Tembarom to come nearer to +him with an anxious eagerness entirely unconcealed, if he really knew +what he was doing. + +“Are you sure that if you saw him close you'd KNOW, so that you could +swear to him?” he demanded. + +“You're extremely nervous, aren't you?” Palliser watched him with +smiling coolness. “Of course Jem Temple Barholm is dead; but I've no +doubt that if I saw this man of yours, I could swear he had remained +dead--if I were asked.” + +“If you knew him well, you could make me sure. You could swear one way +or another. I want to be SURE,” said Tembarom. + +“So should I in your place; couldn't be too sure. Well, since you +ask me, I COULD swear. I knew him well enough. He was one of my most +intimate enemies. What do you say to letting me see him?” + +“I would if I could,” Tembarom replied, as if thinking it over. “I would +if I could.” + +Palliser treated him to the far from pleasing smile again. + +“But it's quite impossible at present?” he suggested. “Excitement is +not good for him, and all that sort of thing. You want time to think it +over.” + +Tembarom's slowly uttered answer, spoken as if he were still considering +the matter, was far from being the one he had expected. + +“I want time; but that's not the reason you can't see him right now. You +can't see him because he's not here. He's gone.” + +Then it was Palliser who started, taken totally unaware in a manner +which disgusted him altogether. He had to pull himself up. + +“He's gone!” he repeated. “You are quicker than I thought. You've got +him safely away, have you? Well, I told you a comfortable sanatorium +would be a good idea.” + +“Yes, you did.” T. Tembarom hesitated, seeming to be thinking it over +again. “That's so.” He laid his pipe aside because it had gone out. + +He suddenly sat down at the table, putting his elbows on it and his face +in his hands, with a harried effect of wanting to think it over in +a sort of withdrawal from his immediate surroundings. This was as it +should be. His Yankee readiness had deserted him altogether. + +“By Jove! you are nervous!” Palliser commented. “It's not surprising, +though. I can sympathize with you.” With a markedly casual air he +himself sat down and drew his documents toward him. “Let us talk of +something else,” he said. He preferred to be casual and incidental, if +he were allowed. It was always better to suggest things and let them +sink in until people saw the advantage of considering them and you. To +manage a business matter without open argument or too frank a display of +weapons was at once more comfortable and in better taste. + +“You are making a great mistake in not going into this,” he suggested +amiably. “You could go in now as you went into Hutchinson's affair, `on +the ground floor.' That's a good enough phrase, too. Twenty thousand +pounds would make you a million. You Americans understand nothing less +than millions.” + +But T. Tembarom did not take him up. He muttered in a worried way from +behind his shading hands, “We'll talk about that later.” + +“Why not talk about it now, before anything can interfere?” Palliser +persisted politely, almost gently. + +Tembarom sprang up, restless and excited. He had plainly been planning +fast in his temporary seclusion. + +“I'm thinking of what you said about Lady Joan,” he burst forth. “Say, +she's gone through all this Jem Temple Barholm thing once; it about half +killed her. If any one raised false hopes for her, she'd go through it +all again. Once is enough for any woman.” + +His effect at professing heat and strong feeling made a spark of +amusement show itself in Palliser's eye. It struck him as being +peculiarly American in its affectation of sentiment and chivalry. + +“I see,” he said. “It's Lady Joan you're disturbed about. You want to +spare her another shock, I see. You are a considerate fellow, as well as +a man of business.” + +“I don't want her to begin to hope if--” + +“Very good taste on your part.” Palliser's polite approval was +admirable, but he tapped lightly on the paper after expressing it. “I +don't want to seem to press you about this, but don't you feel inclined +to consider it? I can assure you that an investment of this sort would +be a good thing to depend on if the unexpected happened. If you gave +me your check now, it would be Cedric stock to-morrow, and quite safe. +Suppose you--” + +“I--I don't believe you were right--about what you thought.” The +sharp-featured face was changing from pale to red. “You'd have to be +able to swear to it, anyhow, and I don't believe you can.” He looked at +Palliser in eager and anxious uncertainty. “If you could,” he dragged +out, “I shouldn't have a check-book. Where would you be then?” + +“I should be in comfortable circumstances, dear chap, and so would you +if you gave me the money to-night, while you possess a check-book. It +would be only a sort of temporary loan in any case, whatever turned up. +The investment would quadruple itself. But there is no time to be lost. +Understand that.” + +T. Tembarom broke out into a sort of boyish resentment. + +“I don't believe he did look like him, anyhow,” he cried. “I believe +it's all a bluff.” His crude-sounding young swagger had a touch of final +desperation in it as he turned on Palliser. “I'm dead sure it's a bluff. +What a fool I was not to think of that! You want to bluff me into +going into this Cedric thing. You could no more swear he was like him +than--than I could.” + +The outright, presumptuous, bold stripping bare of his phrases +infuriated Palliser too suddenly and too much. He stepped up to him and +looked into his eyes. + +“Bluff you, you young bounder!” he flung out at him. “You're losing +your head. You're not in New York streets here. You are talking to a +gentleman. No,” he said furiously, “I couldn't swear that he was like +him, but what I can swear in any court of justice is that the man I saw +at the window was Jem Temple Barholm, and no other man on earth.” + +When he had said it, he saw the astonishing dolt change his expression +utterly again, as if in a flash. He stood up, putting his hands in his +pockets. His face changed, his voice changed. + +“Fine!” he said. “First-rate! That's what I wanted to get on to.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +After this climax the interview was not so long as it was interesting. +Two men as far apart as the poles, as remote from each other in mind +and body, in training and education or lack of it, in desires and +intentions, in points of view and trend of being, as nature and +circumstances could make them, talked in a language foreign to each +other of a wildly strange thing. Palliser's arguments and points of +aspect were less unknown to T. Tembarom than his own were to Palliser. +He had seen something very like them before, though they had developed +in different surroundings and had been differently expressed. The +colloquialism “You're not doing that for your health” can be made +to cover much ground in the way of the stripping bare of motives for +action. This was what, in excellent and well-chosen English, Captain +Palliser frankly said to his host. Of nothing which T. Tembarom said +to him in his own statement did he believe one word or syllable. The +statement in question was not long or detailed. It was, of course, +Palliser saw, a ridiculously impudent flinging together of a farrago +of nonsense, transparent in its effort beyond belief. Before he had +listened five minutes with the distinctly “nasty” smile, he burst out +laughing. + +“That is a good `spiel,' my dear chap,” he said. “It's as good a `spiel' +as your typewriter friend used to rattle off when he thought he saw a +customer; but I'm not a customer.” + +Tembarom looked at him interestedly for about ten seconds. His hands +were thrust into his trousers pockets, as was his almost invariable +custom. Absorption and speculation, even emotion and excitement, were +usually expressed in this unconventional manner. + + + +“You don't believe a darned word of it,” was his sole observation. + +“Not a darned word,” Palliser smiled. “You are trying a `bluff,' which +doesn't do credit to your usual sharpness. It's a bluff that is actually +silly. It makes you look like an ass.” + +“Well, it's true,” said Tembarom; “it's true.” + +Palliser laughed again. + +“I only said it made you look like an ass,” he remarked. “I don't +profess to understand you altogether, because you are a new species. +Your combination of ignorance and sharpness isn't easy to calculate on. +But there is one thing I have found out, and that is, that when you want +to play a particular sharp trick you are willing to let people take +you for a fool. I'll own you've deceived me once or twice, even when I +suspected you. I've heard that's one of the most successful methods used +in the American business world. That's why I only say you look like an +ass. You are an ass in some respects; but you are letting yourself look +like one now for some shrewd end. You either think you'll slip out of +danger by it when I make this discovery public, or you think you'll +somehow trick me into keeping my mouth shut.” + +“I needn't trick you into keeping your mouth shut,” Tembarom suggested. +“There's a straightway to do that, ain't there?” And he indelicately +waved his hand toward the documents pertaining to the Cedric Company. + +It was stupid as well as gross, in his hearer's opinion. If he had known +what was good for him he would have been clever enough to ignore the +practical presentation of his case made half an hour or so earlier. + +“No, there is not,” Palliser replied, with serene mendacity. “No +suggestion of that sort has been made. My business proposition was given +out on an entirely different basis. You, of course, choose to put your +personal construction upon it.” + +“Gee whiz!” ejaculated T. Tembarom. “I was 'way off, wasn't I?” + +“I told you that professing to be an ass wouldn't be good enough in this +case. Don't go on with it,” said Palliser, sharply. + +“You're throwing bouquets. Let a fellow be natural,” said Tembarom. + +“That is bluff, too,” Palliser replied more sharply still. “I am not +taken in by it, bold as it is. Ever since you came here, you have been +playing this game. It was your fool's grin and guffaw and pretense of +good nature that first made me suspect you of having something up your +sleeve. You were too unembarrassed and candid.” + +“So you began to look out,” Tembarom said, considering him curiously, +“just because of that.” Then suddenly he laughed outright, the fool's +guffaw. + +It somehow gave Palliser a sort of puzzled shock. It was so hearty that +it remotely suggested that he appeared more secure than seemed possible. +He tried to reply to him with a languid contempt of manner. + +“You think you have some tremendously sharp `deal' in your hand,” he +said, “but you had better remember you are in England where facts are +like sledge-hammers. You can't dodge from under them as you can in +America. I dare say you won't answer me, but I should like to ask you +what you propose to do.” + +“I don't know what I'm going to do any more than you do,” was the +unilluminating answer. “I don't mind telling you that.” + +“And what do you think he will do?” + +“I've got to wait till I find out. I'm doing it. That was what I told +you. What are you going to do?” he added casually. + +“I'm going to Lincoln's Inn Fields to have an interview with Palford & +Grimby.” + +“That's a good enough move,” commented Tembarom, “if you think you can +prove what you say. You've got to prove things, you know. I couldn't, so +I lay low and waited, just like I told you.” + +“Of course, of course,” Palliser himself almost grinned in his derision. +“You have only been waiting.” + +“When you've got to prove a thing, and haven't much to go on, you've got +to wait,” said T. Tembarom--“to wait and keep your mouth shut, whatever +happens, and to let yourself be taken for a fool or a horse-thief isn't +as gilt-edged a job as it seems. But proof's what it's best to have +before you ring up the curtain. You'd have to have it yourself. So +would Palford & Grimby before it'd be stone-cold safe to rush things and +accuse a man of a penitentiary offense.” + +He took his unconventional half-seat on the edge of the table, with one +foot on the floor and the other one lightly swinging. + +“Palford & Grimby are clever old ducks, and they know that much. Thing +they'd know best would be that to set a raft of lies going about a +man who's got money enough to defend himself, and to make them pay big +damages for it afterward, would be pretty bum business. I guess they +know all about what proof stands for. They may have to wait; so may you, +same as I have.” + +Palliser realized that he was in the position of a man striking at an +adversary whose construction was of India-rubber. He struck home, but +left no bruise and drew no blood, which was an irritating thing. He lost +his temper. + +“Proof!” he jerked out. “There will be proof enough, and when it is made +public, you will not control the money you threaten to use.” + +“When you get proof, just you let me hear about it,” T. Tembarom said. +“And all the money I'm threatening on shall go where it belongs, and +I'll go back to New York and sell papers if I have to. It won't come as +hard as you think.” + +The flippant insolence with which he brazened out his pretense that he +had not lied, that his ridiculous romance was actual and simple truth, +suggested dangerous readiness of device and secret knowledge of power +which could be adroitly used. + +“You are merely marking time,” said Palliser, rising, with cold +determination to be juggled with no longer. “You have hidden him away +where you think you can do as you please with a man who is an invalid. +That is your dodge. You've got him hidden somewhere, and his friends had +better get at him before it is too late.” + +“I'm not answering questions this evening, and I'm not giving addresses, +though there are no witnesses to take them down. If he's hidden away, +he's where he won't be disturbed,” was T. Tembarom's rejoinder. “You may +lay your bottom dollar on that.” + +Palliser walked toward the door without speaking. He had almost reached +it when he whirled about involuntarily, arrested by a shout of laughter. + +“Say,” announced Tembarom, “you mayn't know it, but this lay-out would +make a first-rate turn in a vaudeville. You think I'm lying, I look like +I'm lying, I guess every word I say sounds like I'm lying. To a fellow +like you, I guess it couldn't help but sound that way. And I'm not +lying. That's where the joke comes in. I'm not lying. I've not told you +all I know because it's none of your business and wouldn't help; but +what I have told you is the stone-cold truth.” + +He was keeping it up to the very end with a desperate determination +not to let go his hold of his pose until he had made his private shrewd +deal, whatsoever it was. At least, so it struck Palliser, who merely +said: + +“I 'm leaving the house by the first train to-morrow morning.” He fixed +a cold gray eye on the fool's grin. + +“Six forty-five,” said T. Tembarom. “I'll order the carriage. I might go +up myself.” + +The door closed. + + +Tembarom was looking cheerful enough when he went into his bedroom. He +had become used to its size and had learned to feel that it was a good +sort of place. It had the hall bedroom at Mrs. Bowse's boarding-house +“beaten to a frazzle.” There was about everything in it that any man +could hatch up an idea he'd like to have. He had slept luxuriously +on the splendid carved bed through long nights, he had lain awake +and thought out things on it, he had lain and watched the fire-light +flickering on the ceiling, as he thought about Ann and made plans, and +“fixed up” the Harlem flat which could be run on fifteen per. He had +picked out the pieces of furniture from the Sunday Earth advertisement +sheet, and had set them in their places. He always saw the six-dollar +mahogany-stained table set for supper, with Ann at one end and himself +at the other. He had grown actually fond of the old room because of the +silence and comfort of it, which tended to give reality to his dreams. +Pearson, who had ceased to look anxious, and who had acquired fresh +accomplishments in the form of an entirely new set of duties, was +waiting, and handed him a telegram. + +“This just arrived, sir,” he explained. “James brought it here because +he thought you had come up, and I didn't send it down because I heard +you on the stairs.” + +“That's right. Thank you, Pearson,” his master said. + +He tore the yellow envelop, and read the message. In a moment Pearson +knew it was not an ordinary message, and therefore remained more than +ordinarily impassive of expression. He did not even ask of himself what +it might convey. + +Mr. Temple Barholm stood still a few seconds, with the look of a man who +must think and think rapidly. + +“What is the next train to London, Pearson?” he asked. + +“There is one at twelve thirty-six, sir,” he answered. “It's the last +till six in the morning. You have to change at Crowley.” + +“You're always ready, Pearson,” returned Mr. Temple Barholm. “I want to +get that train.” + +Pearson was always ready. Before the last word was quite spoken he had +turned and opened the bedroom door. + +“I'll order the dog-cart; that's quickest, sir,” he said. He was out of +the room and in again almost immediately. Then he was at the wardrobe +and taking out what Mr. Temple Barholm called his “grip,” but what +Pearson knew as a Gladstone bag. It was always kept ready packed for +unexpected emergencies of travel. + +Mr. Temple Barholm sat at the table and drew pen and paper toward him. +He looked excited; he looked more troubled than Pearson had seen him +look before. + +“The wire's from Sir Ormsby Galloway, Pearson,” he said. + +“It's about Mr. Strangeways. He's done what I used to be always watching +out against: he's disappeared.” + +“Disappeared, sir!” cried Pearson, and almost dropped the Gladstone bag. +“I beg pardon, sir. I know there's no time to lose.” He steadied the bag +and went on with his task without even turning round. + +His master was in some difficulty. He began to write, and after dashing +off a few words, stopped, and tore them up. + +“No,” he muttered, “that won't do. There's no time to explain.” Then he +began again, but tore up his next lines also. + +“That says too much and not enough. It'd frighten the life out of her.” + +He wrote again, and ended by folding the sheet and putting it into an +envelop. + +“This is a message for Miss Alicia,” he said to Pearson. “Give it to +her in the morning. I don't want her to worry because I had to go in +a hurry. Tell her everything's going to be all right; but you needn't +mention that anything's happened to Mr. Strangeways.” + +“Yes, sir,” answered Pearson. + +Mr. Temple Barholm was already moving about the room, doing odd things +for himself rapidly, and he went on speaking. + +“I want you and Rose to know,” he said, “that whatever happens, you are +both fixed all right--both of you. I've seen to that.” + +“Thank you, sir,” Pearson faltered, made uneasy by something new in his +tone. “You said whatever happened, sir--” + +“Whatever old thing happens,” his master took him up. + +“Not to you, sir. Oh, I hope, sir, that nothing--” + +Mr. Temple Barholm put a cheerful hand on his shoulder. + +“Nothing's going to happen that'll hurt any one. Things may change, +that's all. You and Rose are all right, Miss Alicia's all right, I'm all +right. Come along. Got to catch that train.”' + +In this manner he took his departure. + +Miss Alicia had from necessity acquired the habit of early rising at +Rowcroft vicarage, and as the next morning was bright, she was clipping +roses on a terrace before breakfast when Pearson brought her the note. + +“Mr. Temple Barholm received a telegram from London last night, ma'am,” + he explained, “and he was obliged to take the midnight train. He hadn't +time to do any more than leave a few lines for you, but he asked me to +tell you that nothing disturbing had occurred. He specially mentioned +that everything was all right.” + +“But how very sudden!” exclaimed Miss Alicia, opening her note and +beginning to read it. Plainly it had been written hurriedly indeed. It +read as though he had been in such haste that he hadn't had time to be +clear. + + +Dear little Miss Alicia: + +I've got to light out of here as quick as I can make it. I can't even +stop to tell you why. There's just one thing--don't get rattled, Miss +Alicia. Whatever any one says or does, just don't let yourself get +rattled. + +Yours affectionately, + +T. TEMBAROM. + + +“Pearson,” Miss Alicia exclaimed, again looking up, “are you sure +everything is all right?” + +“That was what he said, ma'am. `All right,' ma'am.” + +“Thank you, Pearson. I am glad to hear it.” + +She walked to and fro in the sunshine, reading the note and rereading +it. + +“Of course if he said it was all right, it was all right,” she murmured. +“It is only the phrasing that makes me slightly nervous. Why should he +ask me not to get rattled?” The term was by this time as familiar to her +as any in Dr. Johnson's dictionary. “Of course he knows I do get rattled +much too easily; but why should I be in danger of getting rattled now +if nothing has happened?” She gave a very small start as she remembered +something. “Could it be that Captain Palliser--But how could he? Though +I do not like Captain Palliser.” + +Captain Palliser, her distaste for whom at the moment quite agitated +her, was this morning an early riser also, and as she turned in her walk +she found him coming toward her. + +“I find I am obliged to take an early train to London this morning,” + he said, after their exchange of greetings. “It is quite unexpected. I +spoke to Mr. Temple Barholm about it last night.” + +Perhaps the unexpectedness, perhaps a certain suggestion of coincidence, +caused Miss Alicia's side ringlets to appear momentarily tremulous. + +“Then perhaps we had better go in to breakfast at once,” she said. + +“Is Mr. Temple Barholm down?” he inquired as they seated themselves at +the breakfast-table. + +“He is not here,” she answered. “He, too, was called away unexpectedly. +He went to London by the midnight train.” + +She had never been so aware of her unchristian lack of liking for +Captain Palliser as she was when he paused a moment before he made any +comment. His pause was as marked as a start, and the smile he indulged +in was, she felt, most singularly disagreeable. It was a smile of the +order which conceals an unpleasant explanation of itself. + +“Oh,” he remarked, “he has gone first, has he?” + +“Yes,” she answered, pouring out his coffee for him. “He evidently had +business of importance.” + +They were quite alone, and she was not one of the women one need disturb +oneself about. She had been browbeaten into hypersensitive timidity +early in life, and did not know how to resent cleverly managed polite +bullying. She would always feel herself at fault if she was tempted to +criticize any one. She was innocent and nervous enough to betray herself +to any extent, because she would feel it rude to refuse to answer +questions, howsoever far they exceeded the limits of polite curiosity. +He had learned a good deal from her in the past. Why not try what could +be startled out of her now? Thus Captain Palliser said: + +“I dare say you feel a little anxious at such an extraordinarily sudden +departure,” he suggested amiably. “Bolting off in the middle of the +night was sudden, if he did not explain himself.” + +“He had no time to explain,” she answered. + +“That makes it appear all the more sudden. But no doubt he left you +a message. I saw you were reading a note when I joined you on the +terrace.” + +Lightly casual as he chose to make the words sound, they were an +audacity he would have known better than to allow himself with any one +but a timid early-Victorian spinster whose politeness was hypersensitive +in its quality. + +“He particularly desired that I should not be anxious,” she said. “He is +always considerate.” + +“He would, of course, have explained everything if he had not been so +hurried?” + +“Of course, if it had been necessary,” answered Miss Alicia, nervously +sipping her tea. + +“Naturally,” said Captain Palliser. “His note no doubt mentioned that he +went away on business connected with his friend Mr. Strangeways?” + +There was no question of the fact that she was startled. + +“He had not time enough,” she said. “He could only write a few lines. +Mr. Strangeways?” + +“We had a long talk about him last night. He told me a remarkable +story,” Captain Palliser went on. “I suppose you are quite familiar with +all the details of it?” + +“I know how he found him in New York, and I know how generous he has +been to him.” + +“Have you been told nothing more?” + +“There was nothing more to tell. If there was anything, I am sure he had +some good reason for not telling me,” said Miss Alicia, loyally. “His +reasons are always good.” + +Palliser's air of losing a shade or so of discretion as a result of +astonishment was really well done. + +“Do you mean to say that he has not even hinted that ever since he +arrived at Temple Barholm he has strongly suspected Strangeways' +identity--that he has even known who he is?” he exclaimed. + +Miss Alicia's small hands clung to the table-cloth. + +“He has not known at all. He has been most anxious to discover. He has +used every endeavor,” she brought out with some difficulty. + +“You say he has been trying to find out?” Palliser interposed. + +“He has been more than anxious,” she protested. “He has been to London +again and again; he has gone to great expense; he has even seen people +from Scotland Yard. I have sometimes almost thought he was assuming more +responsibility than was just to himself. In the case of a relative or an +old friend, but for an entire stranger--Oh, really, I ought not to seem +to criticize. I do not presume to criticize his wonderful generosity and +determination and goodness. No one should presume to question him.” + +“If he knows that you feel like this--” Palliser began. + +“He knows all that I feel,” Miss Alicia took him up with a pretty, +rising spirit. “He knows that I am full of unspeakable gratitude to him +for his beautiful kindness to me; he knows that I admire and respect and +love him in a way I could never express, and that I would do anything in +the world he could wish me to do.” + +“Naturally,” said Captain Palliser. “I was only about to express my +surprise that since he is aware of all this he has not told you who he +has proved Strangeways to be. It is a little odd, you know.” + +“I think “--Miss Alicia was even gently firm in her reply--“that you +are a little mistaken in believing Mr. Temple Barholm has proved Mr. +Strangeways to be anybody. When he has proof, he will no doubt think +proper to tell me about it. Until then I should prefer--” + +Palliser laughed as he finished her sentence. + +“Not to know. I was not going to betray him, Miss Alicia. He evidently +has one of his excellent reasons for keeping things to himself. I may +mention, however, that it is not so much he who has proof as I myself.” + +“You!” How could she help quite starting in her seat when his gray eyes +fixed themselves on her with such a touch of finely amused malice? + +“I offered him the proof last night, and it rather upset him,” he said. +“He thought no one knew but himself, and he was not inclined to tell the +world. He was upset because I said I had seen the man and could swear to +his identity. That was why he went away so hurriedly. He no doubt went +to see Strangeways and talk it over.” + +“See Mr. Strangeways? But Mr. Strangeways--” Miss Alicia rose and rang +the bell. + +“Tell Pearson I wish to see him at once,” she said to the footman. + +Palliser took in her mood without comment. He had no objection to being +present when she made inquiries of Pearson. + +“I hear the wheels of the dog-cart,” he remarked. “You see, I must catch +my train.” + +Pearson stood at the door. + +“Is not Mr. Strangeways in his room, Pearson?” Miss Alicia asked. + +“Mr. Temple Barholm took him to London when he last went, ma'am,” + answered Pearson. “You remember he went at night. The doctor thought it +best.” + +“He did not tell you that, either?” said Palliser, casually. + +“The dog-cart is at the door, sir,” announced Pearson. + +Miss Alicia's hand was unsteady when the departing guest took it. + +“Don't be disturbed,” he said considerately, “but a most singular thing +has happened. When I asked so many questions about Temple Barholm's Man +with the Iron Mask I asked them for curious reasons. That must be my +apology. You will hear all about it later, probably from Palford & +Grimby.” + +When he had left the room Miss Alicia stood upon the hearth-rug as the +dog-cart drove away, and she was pale. Her simple and easily disturbed +brain was in a whirl. She could scarcely remember what she had heard, +and could not in the least comprehend what it had seemed intended to +imply, except that there had been concealed in the suggestions some +disparagement of her best beloved. + +Singular as it was that Pearson should return without being summoned, +when she turned and found that he mysteriously stood inside the +threshold again, as if she had called him, she felt a great sense of +relief. + +“Pearson,” she faltered, “I am rather upset by certain things which +Captain Palliser has said. I am afraid I do not understand.” + +She looked at him helplessly, not knowing what more to say. She wished +extremely that she could think of something definite. + +The masterly finish of Pearson's reply lay in its neatly restrained hint +of unobtrusively perceptive sympathy. + +“Yes, Miss. I was afraid so. Which is why I took the liberty of stepping +into the room again. I myself do not understand, but of course I do not +expect to. If I may be so bold as to say it, Miss, whatever we don't +understand, we both understand Mr. Temple Barholm. My instructions were +to remind you, Miss, that everything would be all right.” + +Miss Alicia took up her letter from the table where she had laid it +down. + +“Thank you, Pearson,” she said, her forehead beginning to clear itself +a little. “Of course, of course. I ought not to--He told me not to--get +rattled,” she added with plaintive ingenuousness, “and I ought not to, +above all things.” + +“Yes, Miss. It is most important that you should not.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + + +The story of the adventures, experiences, and journeyings of Mr. Joseph +Hutchinson, his daughter, and the invention, if related in detail, would +prove reading of interest; but as this is merely a study of the manner +in which the untrained characteristics and varied limitations of one man +adjusted or failed to adjust themselves to incongruous surroundings and +totally unprepared-for circumstances, such details, whatsoever their +potential picturesqueness, can be touched upon but lightly. No new idea +of value to the world of practical requirements is presented to the +public at large without the waking of many sleeping dogs, and the +stirring of many snapping fish, floating with open ears and eyes in +many pools. An uneducated, blustering, obstinate man of one idea, having +resentfully borne discouragement and wounded egotism for years, and +suddenly confronting immense promise of success, is not unlikely to be +prey easily harpooned. Joseph Hutchinson's rebound from despair to high +and well-founded hope made of him exactly what such a man is always +made by such rebound. The testimony to his genius and judgment which +acknowledgment of the value of his work implied was naturally, in his +opinion, only a proper tribute which the public had been a bull-headed +fool not to lay at his feet years before. So much time lost, and so much +money for it, as well as for him, and served 'em all damned well right, +he said. If Temple Barholm hadn't come into his money, and hadn't +had more sense than the rest of them, where would they all have been? +Perhaps they'd never have had the benefit of the thing he'd been telling +them about for years. He prided himself immensely on the possession of a +business shrewdness which was an absolute defense against any desire +on the part of the iniquitous to overreach him. He believed it to be a +peculiarly Lancashire characteristic, and kept it in view constantly. + +“Lancashire's not easy to do,” he would say hilariously, “Them that can +do a Lancashire chap has got to look out that they get up early in the +morning and don't go to bed till late.” + +Smooth-mannered and astute men of business who knew how to make a man +talk were given diffuse and loud-voiced explanations of his methods and +long-acknowledged merits and characteristics. His life, his morals, and +his training, or rather lack of it, were laid before them as examples +of what a man might work himself up to if “he had it in him.” Education +didn't do it. He had never been to naught but a village school, where +he'd picked up precious little but the three R's. It had to be born in a +man. Look at him! His invention promised to bring him in a fortune like +a duke's, if he managed it right and kept his eyes open for sharpers. +This company and that company were after him, but Lancashire didn't snap +up things without going into 'em, and under 'em, and through 'em, for +the matter of that. + +The well-mannered gentlemen of business stimulated him greatly by their +appreciative attention. He sometimes lost his head a trifle and almost +bullied them, but they did not seem to mind it. Their apparently +old-time knowledge of and respect for Lancashire business sagacity +seemed invariably a marked thing. Men of genius and powerful character +combined with practical shrewdness of outlook they intimated, were of +enormous value to the business world. They were to be counted upon as +important factors. They could see and deal with both sides of a proposal +as those of weaker mind could not. + +“That they can,” Hutchinson would admit, rolling about in his chair and +thrusting his hands in his pockets. “They've got some bottom to stand +on.” And he would feel amenable to reason. + +Little Ann found her duties and responsibilities increasing daily. Many +persons seemed to think it necessary to come and talk business, and +father had so much to think of and reason out, so that he could be +sure that he didn't make any mistakes. In a quiet, remote, and darkened +corner of her mind, in which were stored all such things as it was well +to say little or nothing about, there was discreetly kept for reference +the secretly acquired knowledge that father did not know so much about +business ways and business people as he thought he did. Mother had +learned this somewhat important fact, and had secluded it in her own +private mental store-room with much affectionate delicacy. + +“Father's a great man and a good man, Ann love,” she had confided to +her, choosing an occasion when her husband was a hundred miles away, +“and he IS right-down Lancashire in his clever way of seeing through +people that think themselves sharp; but when a man is a genius and +noble-minded he sometimes can't see the right people's faults and +wickedness. He thinks they mean as honest as he does. And there's times +when he may get taken in if some one, perhaps not half as clever as +he is, doesn't look after him. When the invention's taken up, and +everybody's running after him to try to cheat him out of his rights, if +I'm not there, Ann, you must just keep with him and watch every minute. +I've seen these sharp, tricky ones right-down flinch and quail when +there was a nice, quiet-behaved woman in the room, and she just fixed +her eye steady and clear-like on them and showed she'd took in every +word and was like to remember. You know what I mean, Ann; you've got +that look in your own eye.” + +She had. The various persons who interviewed Mr. Hutchinson became +familiar with the fact that he had an unusual intimacy with and +affection for his daughter. She was present on all occasions. If she had +not been such a quiet and entirely unobtrusive little thing, she +might have been an obstacle to freedom of expression. But she seemed a +childish, unsophisticated creature, who always had a book with her when +she waited in an office, and a trifle of sewing to occupy herself with +when she was at home. At first she so obliterated herself that she was +scarcely noticed; but in course of time it became observed by some that +she was curiously pretty. The face usually bent over her book or work +was tinted like a flower, and she had quite magnificent red hair. A +stout old financier first remarked her eyes. He found one day that she +had quietly laid her book on her lap, and that they were resting upon +him like unflinching crystals as he talked to her father. Their serenity +made him feel annoyed and uncomfortable. It was a sort of recording +serenity. He felt as though she would so clearly remember every word he +had said that she would be able to write it down when she went home; and +he did not care to have it written down. So he began to wander somewhat +in his argument, and did not reach his conclusions. + +“I was glad, Father, to see how you managed that gentleman this +afternoon,” Little Ann said that night when Hutchinson had settled +himself with his pipe after an excellent dinner. + +“Eh?” he exclaimed. “Eh?” + +“The one,” she exclaimed, “that thought he was so sure he was going to +persuade you to sign that paper. I do wonder he could think you'd listen +to such a poor offer, and tie up so much. Why, even I could see he +was trying to take advantage, and I know nothing in the world about +business.” + +The financier in question had been a brilliant and laudatory +conversationalist, and had so soothed and exhilarated Mr. Hutchinson +that such perils had beset him as his most lurid imaginings could never +have conceived in his darkest moments of believing that the entire +universe had ceased all other occupation to engage in that of defrauding +him of his rights and dues. He had been so uplifted by the admiration of +his genius so properly exhibited, and the fluency with which his future +fortunes had been described, that he had been huffed when the arguments +seemed to dwindle away. Little Ann startled him, but it was not he +who would show signs of dismay at the totally unexpected expression of +adverse opinion. He had got into the habit of always listening, though +inadvertently, as it were, to Ann as he had inadvertently listened to +her mother. + +“Rosenthal?” he said. “Are you talking about him?” + +“Yes, I am,” Little Ann answeered, smiling approvingly over her bit of +sewing. “Father, I wish you'd try and teach me some of the things you +know about business. I've learned a little by just listening to you +talk; but I should so like to feel as if I could follow you when you +argue. I do so enjoy hearing you argue. It's just an education.” + +“Women are not up to much at business,” reflected Hutchinson. “If you'd +been a boy, I'd have trained you same as I've trained myself. You're a +sharp little thing, Ann, but you're a woman. Not but what a woman's the +best thing on earth,” he added almost severely in his conviction--“the +best thing on earth in her place. I don't know what I'd ever have done +without you, Ann, in the bad times.” + +He loved her, blundering old egotist, just as he had loved her mother. +Ann always knew it, and her own love for him warmed all the world about +them both. She got up and went to him to kiss him, and pat him, and +stuff a cushion behind his stout back. + +“And now the good times have come,” she said, bestowing on him two or +three special little pats which were caresses of her own invention, “and +people see what you are and always have been, as they ought to have seen +long ago, I don't want to feel as if I couldn't keep up with you and +understand your plans. Perhaps I've got a little bit of your cleverness, +and you might teach me to use it in small ways. I've got a good memory +you know, Father love, and I might recollect things people say and make +bits of notes of them to save you trouble. And I can calculate. I once +got a copy of Bunyan's `Pilgrim's Progress' for a prize at the village +school just for sums.” + +The bald but unacknowledged fact that Mr. Hutchinson had never exhibited +gifts likely to entitle him to receive a prize for “sums” caused this +suggestion to be one of some practical value. When business men talked +to him of per cents., and tenth shares or net receipts, and expected him +to comprehend their proportions upon the spot without recourse to +pencil and paper, he felt himself grow hot and nervous and red, and was +secretly terrified lest the party of the second part should detect that +he was tossed upon seas of horrible uncertainty. T. Tembarom in the same +situation would probably have said, “This is the place where T. T. sits +down a while to take breath and count things up on his fingers. I am not +a sharp on arithmetic, and I need time--lots of it.” + +Mr. Hutchinson's way was to bluster irritatedly. + +“Aye, aye, I see that, of course, plain enough. I see that.” And feel +himself breaking into a cold perspiration. “Eh, this English climate +is a damp un,” he would add when it became necessary to mop his red +forehead somewhat with his big clean handkerchief. + +Therefore he found it easy to receive Little Ann's proposition with +favor. + +“There's summat i' that,” he acknowledged graciously, dropping into +Lancashire. “That's one of the little things a woman can do if she's +sharp at figures. Your mother taught me that much. She always said women +ought to look after the bits of things as was too small for a man to +bother with.” + +“Men have the big things to look after. That's enough for anybody,” + said Little Ann. “And they ought to leave something for women to do. +If you'll just let me keep notes for you and remember things and answer +your letters, and just make calculations you're too busy to attend to, I +should feel right-down happy, Father.” + +“Eh!” he said relievedly, “tha art like thy mother.” + +“That would make me happy if there was nothing else to do it,” said Ann, +smoothing his shoulder. + +“You're her girl,” he said, warmed and supported. + +“Yes, I'm her girl, and I'm yours. Now, isn't there some little thing +I could begin with? Would you mind telling me if I was right in what I +thought you thought about Mr. Rosenthal's offer?” + +“What did you think I thought about it?” He was able to put affectionate +condescension into the question. + +She went to her work-basket and took out a sheet of paper. She came back +and sat cozily on the arm of his chair. + +“I had to put it all down when I came home,” she said. “I wanted to make +sure I hadn't forgotten. I do hope I didn't make mistakes.” + +She gave it to him to look at, and as he settled himself down to its +careful examination, she kept her blue eyes upon him. She herself did +not know that it was a wonderful little document in its neatly jotted +down notes of the exact detail most important to his interests. + +There were figures, there were calculations of profits, there were +records of the gist of his replies, there were things Hutchinson +himself could not possibly have fished out of the jumbled rag-bag of his +uncertain recollections. + +“Did I say that?” he exclaimed once. + +“Yes, Father love, and I could see it upset him. I was watching his face +because it wasn't a face I took to.” + +Joseph Hutchinson began to chuckle--the chuckle of a relieved and +gratified stout man. + +“Tha kept thy eyes open, Little Ann,” he said. “And the way tha's put +it down is a credit to thee. And I'll lay a sovereign that tha made no +mistakes in what tha thought I was thinking.” + +He was a little anxious to hear what it had been. The memorandum had +brought him up with a slight shock, because it showed him that he had +not remembered certain points, and had passed over others which were of +dangerous importance. Ann slipped her warm arm about his neck, as she +nearly always did when she sat on the arm of his chair and talked things +over with him. She had never thought, in fact she was not even aware, +that her soft little instincts made her treat him as the big, good, +conceited, blundering child nature had created him. + +“What I was seeing all the time was the way you were taking in his +trick of putting whole lots of things in that didn't really matter, and +leaving out things that did,” she explained. “He kept talking about +what the invention would make in England, and how it would make it, and +adding up figures and per cents. and royalties until my head was buzzing +inside. And when he thought he'd got your mind fixed on England so that +you'd almost forget there was any other country to think of, he read out +the agreement that said `All rights,' and he was silly enough to think +he could get you to sign it without reading it over and over yourself, +and showing it to a clever lawyer that would know that as many tricks +can be played by things being left out of a paper as by things being put +in.” + +Small beads of moisture broke out on the bald part of Joseph +Hutchinson's head. He had been first so flattered and exhilarated by the +quoting of large figures, and then so flustrated and embarrassed by his +inability to calculate and follow argument, and again so soothed and +elated and thrilled by his own importance in the scheme and the honors +which his position in certain companies would heap upon him, that an +abyss had yawned before him of which he had been wholly unaware. He was +not unaware of it now. He was a vainglorious, ignorant man, whose life +had been spent in common work done under the supervision of those who +knew what he did not know. He had fed himself upon the comforting belief +that he had learned all the tricks of any trade. He had been openly +boastful of his astuteness and experience, and yet, as Ann's soft little +voice went on, and she praised his cleverness in seeing one point after +another, he began to quake within himself before the dawning realization +that he had seen none of them, that he had been carried along exactly +as Rosenthal had intended that he should be, and that if luck had not +intervened, he had been on the brink of signing his name to an agreement +that would have implied a score of concessions he would have bellowed +like a bull at the thought of making if he had known what he was doing. + +“Aye, lass,” he gulped out when he could speak--“aye, lass, tha wert +right enow. I'm glad tha wert there and heard it, and saw what I was +thinking. I didn't say much. I let the chap have rope enow to hang +himself with. When he comes back I'll give him a bit o' my mind as'll +startle him. It was right-down clever of thee to see just what I had i' +my head about all that there gab about things as didn't matter, an' the +leavin' out them as did--thinking I wouldn't notice. Many's the time +I've said, `It is na so much what's put into a contract as what's left +out.' I'll warrant tha'st heard me say it thysen.” + +“I dare say I have,” answered Ann, “and I dare say that was why it came +into my mind.” + +“That was it,” he answered. “Thy mother was always tellin' me of things +I'd said that I'd clean forgot myself.” + +He was beginning to recover his balance and self-respect. It would have +been so like a Lancashire chap to have seen and dealt shrewdly with a +business schemer who tried to outwit him that he was gradually convinced +that he had thought all that had been suggested, and had comported +himself with triumphant though silent astuteness. He even began to rub +his hands. + +“I'll show him,” he said, “I'll send him off with a flea in his ear.” + +“If you'll help me, I'll study out the things I've written down on this +paper,” Ann said, “and then I'll write down for you just the things you +make up your mind to say. It will be such a good lesson for me, if you +don't mind, Father. It won't be much to write it out the way you'll say +it. You know how you always feel that in business the fewer words the +better, and that, however much a person deserves it, calling names and +showing you're angry is only wasting time. One of the cleverest things +you ever thought was that a thief doesn't mind being called one if he's +got what he wanted out of you; he'll only laugh to see you in a rage +when you can't help yourself. And if he hasn't got what he wanted, it's +only waste of strength to work yourself up. It's you being what you are +that makes you know that temper isn't business.” + +“Well,” said Hutchinson, drawing a long and deep breath, “I was almost +hot enough to have forgot that, and I'm glad you've reminded me. We'll +go over that paper now, Ann. I'd like to give you your lesson while +we've got a bit o' time to ourselves and what I've said is fresh in your +mind. The trick is always to get at things while they're fresh in your +mind.” + +The little daughter with the red hair was present during Rosenthal's +next interview with the owner of the invention. The fellow, he told +himself, had been thinking matters over, had perhaps consulted a lawyer; +and having had time for reflection, he did not present a mass of mere +inflated and blundering vanity as a target for adroit aim. He seemed a +trifle sulky, but he did not talk about himself diffusely, and lose +his head when he was smoothed the right way. He had a set of curiously +concise notes to which he referred, and he stuck to his points with a +bulldog obstinacy which was not to be shaken. Something had set him on +a new tack. The tricks which could be used only with a totally ignorant +and readily flattered and influenced business amateur were no longer in +order. This was baffling and irritating. + +The worst feature of the situation was that the daughter did not read a +book, as had seemed her habit at other times. She sat with a tablet and +pencil on her knee, and, still as unobtrusively as ever, jotted down +notes. + +“Put that down, Ann,” her father said to her more than once. “There's no +objections to having things written down, I suppose?” he put it bluntly +to Rosenthal. “I've got to have notes made when I'm doing business. +Memory's all well enough, but black and white's better. No one can go +back of black and white. Notes save time.” + +There was but one attitude possible. No man of business could resent +the recording of his considered words, but the tablet and pencil and the +quietly bent red head were extraordinary obstacles to the fluidity of +eloquence. Rosenthal found his arguments less ready and his methods +modifying themselves. The outlook narrowed itself. When he returned to +his office and talked the situation over with his partner, he sat and +bit his nails in restless irritation. + +“Ridiculous as it seems, outrageously ridiculous, I've an idea,” he +said, “I've more than an idea that we have to count with the girl.” + +“Girl? What girl?” + +“Daughter. Well-behaved, quiet bit of a thing, who sits in a corner +and listens while she pretends to sew or read. I'm certain of it. She's +taken to making notes now, and Hutchinson's turned stubborn. You need +not laugh, Lewis. She's in it. We've got to count with that girl, little +female mouse as she looks.” + +This view, which was first taken by Rosenthal and passed on to his +partner, was in course of time passed on to others and gradually +accepted, sometimes reluctantly and with much private protest, +sometimes with amusement. The well-behaved daughter went with +Hutchinson wheresoever his affairs called him. She was changeless in the +unobtrusiveness of her demeanor, which was always that of a dutiful and +obedient young person who attended her parent because he might desire +her humble little assistance in small matters. + +“She's my secretary,” Hutchinson began to explain, with a touch of +swagger. “I've got to have a secretary, and I'd rather trust my private +business to my own daughter than to any one else. It's safe with her.” + +It was so safe with her steady demureness that Hutchinson found himself +becoming steady himself. The “lessons” he gave to Little Ann, and the +notes made as a result, always ostensibly for her own security and +instruction, began to form a singularly firm foundation for statement +and argument. He began to tell himself that his memory was improving. +Facts were no longer jumbled together in his mind. He could better +follow a line of logical reasoning. He less often grew red and hot and +flustered. + +“That's the thing I've said so often--that temper's got naught to do wi' +business, and only upsets a man when he wants all his wits about +him. It's the truest thing I ever worked out,” he not infrequently +congratulated himself. “If a chap can keep his temper, he'll be like to +keep his head and drive his bargain. I see it plainer every day o' my +life.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + + +It was in the course of the “lessons” that he realized that he had +always argued that the best way to do business was to do it face to face +with people. To stay in England, and let another chap make your bargains +for you in France or Germany or some other outlandish place, where +frog-eating foreigners ran loose, was a fool's trick. He'd said it often +enough. “Get your eye on 'em, and let them know you've got it on them, +and they'd soon find out they were dealing with Lancashire, and not with +foreign knaves and nincompoops.” So, when it became necessary to deal +with France, Little Ann packed him up neatly, so to speak, and in the +role of obedient secretarial companion took him to that country, having +for weeks beforehand mentally confronted the endless complications +attending the step. She knew, in the first place, what the effect of the +French language would be upon his temper: that it would present itself +to him as a wall deliberately built by the entire nation as a means of +concealing a deep duplicity the sole object of which was the baffling, +thwarting, and undoing of Englishmen, from whom it wished to wrest their +honest rights. Apoplexy becoming imminent, as a result of his impotent +rage during their first few days in Paris, she paid a private visit to a +traveler's agency, and after careful inquiry discovered that it was not +impossible to secure the attendance and service of a well-mannered young +man who spoke most of the languages employed by most of the inhabitants +of the globe. She even found that she might choose from a number of such +persons, and she therefore selected with great care. + +“One that's got a good temper, and isn't easy irritated,” she said to +herself, in summing up the aspirants, “but not one that's easy-tempered +because he's silly. He must have plenty of common sense as well as be +willing to do what he's told.” + +When her father discovered that he himself had been considering the +desirability of engaging the services of such a person, and had, indeed +already, in a way, expressed his intention of sending her to “the agency +chap” to look him up, she was greatly relieved. + +“I can try to teach him what you've taught me, Father,” she said, “and +of course he'll learn just by being with you.” + +The assistant engaged was a hungry young student who had for weeks, +through ill luck, been endeavoring to return with some courage the gaze +of starvation, which had been staring him in the face. + +His name was Dudevant, and with desperate struggles he had educated +himself highly, having cherished literary ambitions from his infancy. At +this juncture it had become imperative that he should, for a few months +at least, obtain food. Ann had chosen well by instinct. His speech had +told her that he was intelligent, his eyes had told her that he would do +anything on earth to earn his living. + +From the time of his advent, Joseph Hutchinson had become calmer and had +ceased to be in peril of apoplectic seizure. Foreign nations became +less iniquitous and dangerous, foreign languages were less of a barrier, +easier to understand. A pleasing impression that through great facility +he had gained a fair practical knowledge of French, German, and Italian, +supported and exhilarated him immensely. + +“It's right-down wonderful how a chap gets to understand these fellows' +lingo after he's listened to it a bit,” he announced to Ann. “I wouldn't +have believed it of myself that I could see into it as quick as I have. +I couldn't say as I understand everything they say just when they're +saying it; but I understand it right enough when I've had time to +translate like. If foreigners didn't talk so fast and run their words +one into another, and jabber as if their mouths was full of puddin', +it'd be easier for them as is English. Now, there's `wee' and `nong.' I +know 'em whenever I hear 'em, and that's a good bit of help.” + +“Yes,” answered Ann, “of course that's the chief thing you want to know +in business, whether a person is going to say `yes' or `no.'” + +He began to say “wee” and “nong” at meals, and once broke forth “Passy +mor le burr” in a tone so casually Parisian that Ann was frightened, +because she did not understand immediately, and also because she saw +looming up before her a future made perilous by the sudden interjection +of unexpected foreign phrases it would be incumbent upon her and +Dudevant to comprehend instantaneously without invidious hesitation. + +“Don't you understand? Pass the butter. Don't you understand a bit o' +French like that?” he exclaimed irritatedly. “Buy yourself one o' these +books full of easy sentences and learn some of 'em, lass. You oughtn't +to be travelin' about with your father in foreign countries and learnin' +nothin'. It's not every lass that's gettin' your advantages.” + +Ann had not mentioned the fact that she spent most of her rare leisure +moments in profound study of phrase-books and grammars, which she kept +in her trunk and gave her attention to before she got up in the morning, +after she went to her room at night, and usually while she was dressing. +You can keep a book open before you when you are brushing your hair. +Dudevant gave her a lesson or so whenever time allowed. She was as +quick to learn as her father thought he was, and she was desperately +determined. It was really not long before she understood much more than +“wee and nong” when she was present at a business interview. + +“You are a wonderful young lady,” Dudevant said, with that well-known +yearning in his eyes. “You are most wonderful.” + +“She's just a wonder,” Mrs. Bowse and her boarders had said. And the +respectful yearning in the young Frenchman's eyes and voice were well +known to her because she had seen it often before, and remembered it, +in Jem Bowles and Julius Steinberger. That this young man had without an +hour of delay fallen abjectly in love with her was a circumstance with +which she dealt after her own inimitably kind and undeleterious method, +which in itself was an education to any amorous youth. + +“I can understand all you tell me,” she said when he reached the point +of confiding his hard past to her. “I can understand it because I knew +some one who had to fight for himself just that way, only perhaps it was +harder because he wasn't educated as you are.” + +“Did he--confide in you?” Dudevant ventured, with delicate hesitation. +“You are so kind I am sure he did, Mademoiselle.” + +“He told me about it because he knew I wanted to hear,” she answered. +“I was very fond of him,” she added, and her kind gravity was quite +unshaded by any embarrassment. “I was right-down fond of him.” + +His emotion rendered him for a moment indiscreet, to her immediate +realization and regret, as was evident by his breaking off in the midst +of his question. + +“And now--are you?” + +“Yes, I always shall be, Mr. Dudevant.” + +His adoration naturally only deepened itself as all hope at once +receded, as it could not but recede before the absolute pellucid truth +of her. + +“However much he likes me, he will get over it in time. People do, when +they know how things stand,” she was thinking, with maternal sympathy. + +It did him no bitter harm to help her with her efforts at learning +what she most needed, and he found her intelligence and modest power +of concentration remarkable. A singularly clear knowledge of her own +specialized requirements was a practical background to them both. She +had no desire to shine; she was merely steadily bent on acquiring as +immediately as possible a comprehension of nouns, verbs, and phrases +that would be useful to her father. The manner in which she applied +herself, and assimilated what it was her quietly fixed intention to +assimilate, bespoke her possession of a brain the powers of which being +concentrated on large affairs might have accomplished almost startling +results. There was, however, nothing startling in her intentions, and +ambition did not touch her. Yet, as she went with Hutchinson from one +country to another, more than one man of affairs had it borne in upon +him that her young slimness and her silence represented an unanticipated +knowledge of points under discussion which might wisely be considered +as a factor in all decisions for or against. To realize that a +soft-cheeked, child-eyed girl was an element to regard privately in +discussions connected with the sale of, or the royalties paid on, a +valuable patent appeared in some minds to be a situation not without +flavor. She was the kind of little person a man naturally made love to, +and a girl who was made love to in a clever manner frequently became +amenable to reason, and might be persuaded to use her influence in the +direction most desired. But such male financiers as began with this idea +discovered that they had been led into errors of judgment through lack +of familiarity with the variations of type. One personable young man +of title, who had just been disappointed in a desirable marriage with +a fortune, being made aware that the invention was likely to arrive at +amazing results, was sufficiently rash to approach Mr. Hutchinson with +formal proposals. Having a truly British respect for the lofty in +place, and not being sufficiently familiar with titled personages to +discriminate swiftly between the large and the small, Joseph Hutchinson +was somewhat unduly elated. + +“The chap's a count, lass,” he said. “Tha'u'd go back to Manchester a +countess.” + +“I've heard they're nearly all counts in these countries,” commented +Ann. “And there's countesses that have to do their own washing, in a +manner of speaking. You send him to me, Father.” + +When the young man came, and compared the fine little nose of Miss +Hutchinson with the large and bony structure dominating the countenance +of the German heiress he had lost, also when he gazed into the clearness +of the infantile blue eyes, his spirits rose. He felt himself en veine; +he was equal to attacking the situation. He felt that he approached it +with alluring and chivalric delicacy. He almost believed all that he +said. + +But the pellucid blueness of the gaze that met his was confusingly +unstirred by any shade of suitable timidity or emotion. There +was something in the lovely, sedate little creature, something so +undisturbed and matter of fact, that it frightened him, because he +suddenly felt like a fool whose folly had been found out. + +“That's downright silly,” remarked Little Ann, not allowing him to +escape from her glance, which unhesitatingly summed up him and his +situation. “And you know it is. You don't know anything about me, and +you wouldn't like me if you did. And I shouldn't like you. We're too +different. Please go away, and don't say anything more about it. I +shouldn't have patience to talk it over.” + +“Father,” she said that night, “if ever I get married at all, there's +only one person I'm going to marry. You know that.” And she would say no +more. + +By the time they returned to England, the placing of the invention in +divers countries had been arranged in a manner which gave assurance of +a fortune for its owners on a foundation not likely to have established +itself in more adverse circumstances. Mr. Hutchinson had really driven +some admirable bargains, and had secured advantages which to his last +hour he would believe could have been achieved only by Lancashire +shrewdness and Lancashire ability to “see as far through a mile-stone +as most chaps, an' a bit farther.” The way in which he had never allowed +himself to be “done” caused him at times to chuckle himself almost +purple with self-congratulation. + +“They got to know what they was dealing with, them chaps. They was +sharp, but Joe was a bit sharper,” he would say. + +They found letters waiting for them when they reached London. + +“There's one fro' thy grandmother,” Hutchinson said, in dealing out the +package. “She's written to thee pretty steady for an old un.” + +This was true. Letters from her had followed them from one place to +another. This was a thick one in an envelop of good size. + +“Aren't tha going to read it?” he asked. + +“Not till you've had your dinner, Father. You've had a long day of it +with that channel at the end. I want to see you comfortable with your +pipe.” + +The hotel was a good one, and the dinner was good. Joseph Hutchinson +enjoyed it with the appetite of a robust man who has had time to get +over a not too pleasant crossing. When he had settled down into a stout +easy-chair with the pipe, he drew a long and comfortable breath as he +looked about the room. + +“Eh, Ann, lass,” he said, “thy mother 'd be fine an' set up if she could +see aw this. Us having the best that's to be had, an' knowin' we can +have it to the end of our lives, that's what it's come to, tha knows. No +more third-class railway-carriages for you and me. No more `commercial' +an' `temperance' hotels. Th' first cut's what we can have--th' upper +cut. Eh, eh, but it's a good day for a man when he's begun to be +appreciated as he should be.” + +“It's a good day for those that love him,” said Little Ann. “And I dare +say mother knows every bit about it.” + +“I dare say she does,” admitted Hutchinson, with tender lenience. “She +was one o' them as believed that way. And I never knowed her to be wrong +in aught else, so I'm ready to give in as she was reet about that. Good +lass she was, good lass.” + +He had fallen into a contented and utterly comfortable doze in his chair +when Ann sat down to read her grandmother's letter. The old woman always +wrote at length, giving many details and recording village events with +shrewd realistic touches. Throughout their journeyings, Ann had been +followed by a record of the estate and neighborhood of Temple Barholm +which had lacked nothing of atmosphere. She had known what the new lord +of the manor did, what people said, what the attitude of the gentry had +become; that the visit of the Countess of Mallowe and her daughter had +extended itself until curiosity and amusement had ceased to comment, +and passively awaited results. She had heard of Miss Alicia and her +reincarnation, and knew much of the story of the Duke of Stone, whose +reputation as a “dommed clever owd chap” had earned for him a sort of +awed popularity. There had been many “ladies.” The new Temple Barholm +had boldly sought them out and faced them in their strongholds with the +manner of one who would confront the worst and who revealed no tendency +to flinch. The one at Stone Hover with the “pretty color” and the one +with the dimples had appeared frequently upon the scene. Then there had +been Lady Joan Fayre, who had lived at his elbow, sitting at his table, +driving in his carriages with the air of cold aloofness which the +cottagers “could na abide an' had no patience wi'.” She had sometimes +sat and wondered and wondered about things, and sometimes had flushed +daisy-red instead of daisy-pink; and sometimes she had turned rather +pale and closed her soft mouth firmly. But, though she had written twice +a week to her grandmother, she had recorded principally the successes +and complexities of the invention, and had asked very few questions. +Old Mrs. Hutchinson would tell her all she must know, and her choice of +revelation would be made with a far-sightedness which needed no stimulus +of questioning. The letter she had found awaiting her had been long on +its way, having missed her at point after point and followed her at last +to London. It looked and felt thick and solid in its envelop. Little Ann +opened it, stirred by the suggestion of quickened pulse-beats with which +she had become familiar. As she bent over it she looked sweetly flushed +and warmed. + + + +Joseph Hutchinson's doze had almost deepened into sleep when he was +awakened by the touch of her hand on his shoulder. She was standing by +him, holding some sheets of her grandmother's letter, and several other +sheets were lying on the table. Something had occurred which had changed +her quiet look. + +“Has aught happened to your grandmother?” he asked. + +“No, Father, but this letter that's been following me from one place to +another has got some queer news in it.” + +“What's up, lass? Tha looks as if summat was up.” + +“The thing that's happened has given me a great deal to think of,” was +her answer. “It's about Mr. Temple Barholm and Mr. Strangeways.” + +He became wide-awake at once, sitting up and turning in his chair in +testy anxiety. + +“Now, now,” he exclaimed, “I hope that cracked chap's not gone out an' +out mad an' done some mischief. I towd Temple Barholm it was a foolish +thing to do, taking all that trouble about him. Has he set fire to th' +house or has he knocked th' poor lad on th' head?” + +“No, he hasn't, Father. He's disappeared, and Mr. Temple Barholm's +disappeared, too.” + +“Disappeared?” Hutchinson almost shouted. “What for, i' the Lord's +name?” + +“Nobody knows for certain, and people are talking wild. The village is +all upset, and all sorts of silly things are being said.” + +“What sort o' things?” + +“You know what servants at big houses are--how they hear bits of +talk and make much of it,” she explained. “They've been curious and +chattering among themselves about Mr. Strangeways from the first. It was +Burrill that said he believed he was some relation that was being hid +away for some good reason. One night Mr. Temple Barholm and Captain +Palliser were having a long talk together, and Burrill was about--” + +“Aye, he'd be about if he thought there was a chance of him hearing +summat as was none of his business,” jerked out Hutchinson, irately. + +“They were talking about Mr. Strangeways, and Burrill heard Captain +Palliser getting angry; and as he stepped near the door he heard him say +out loud that he could swear in any court of justice that the man he had +seen at the west room window--it's a startling thing, Father--was Mr. +James Temple Barholm.” For the moment her face was pale. + +Hereupon Hutchinson sprang up. + +“What!” His second shout was louder than his first. “Th' liar! Th' +chap's dead, an' he knows it. Th' dommed mischief-makin' liar!” + +Her eyes were clear and speculatively thoughtful, notwithstanding her +lack of color. + +“There have been people that have been thought dead that have come +back to their friends alive. It's happened many a time,” she said. “It +wouldn't be so strange for a man that had no friends to be lost in a +wild, far-off place where there was neither law nor order, and where +every man was fighting for his own life and the gold he was mad after. +Particularly a man that was shamed and desperate and wanted to hide +himself. And, most of all, it would be easy, if he was like Mr. +Strangeways, and couldn't remember, and had lost himself.” + +As her father listened, the angry redness of his countenance moderated +its hue. His eyes gradually began to question and his under jaw fell +slightly. + +“Si' thee, lass,” he broke out huskily, “does that mean to say tha +believes it?” + +“It's not often you can believe what you don't know,” she answered. “I +don't know anything about it. There's just one thing I believe, because +I know it. I believe what grandmother does. Read that.” + +She handed him the final sheet of old Mrs. Hutchinson's letter. It was +written with very black ink and in an astonishingly bold and clear hand. +It was easy to read the sentences with which she ended. + + + +There's a lot said. There's always more saying than doing. But it's +right-down funny to see how the lad has made hard and fast friends just +going about in his queer way, and no one knowing how he did it. I +like him myself. He's one of those you needn't ask questions about. If +there's anything said that isn't to his credit, it's not true. There's +no ifs, buts, or ands about that, Ann. + + + +Little Ann herself read the words as her father read them. + +“That's the thing I believe, because I know it,” was all she said. + +“It's the thing I'd swear to mysel',” her father answered bluffly. “But, +by Judd--” + +She gave him a little push and spoke to him in homely Lancashire +phrasing, and with some soft unsteadiness of voice. + +“Sit thee down, Father love,” she said, “and let me sit on thy knee.” + +He sat down with emotional readiness, and she sat on his stout knee like +a child. It was a thing she did in tender or troubled moments as much +in these days as she had done when she was six or seven. Her little +lightness and soft young ways made it the most natural thing in the +world, as well as the prettiest. She had always sat on his knee in the +hours when he had been most discouraged over the invention. She had +known it made him feel as though he were taking care of her, and as +though she depended utterly on him to steady the foundations of her +world. What could such a little bit of a lass do without “a father”? + +“It's upset thee, lass,” he said. “It's upset thee.” + +He saw her slim hands curl themselves into small, firm fists as they +rested on her lap. + +“I can't bear to think that ill can be said of him, even by a wastrel +like Captain Palliser,” she said. “He's MINE.” + +It made him fumble caressingly at her big knot of soft red hair. + +“Thine, is he?” he said. “Thine! Eh, but tha did say that just like +thy mother would ha' said it; tha brings the heart i' my throat now and +again. That chap's i' luck, I can tell him--same as I was once.” + +“He's mine now, whatever happens,” she went on, with a firmness which +no skeptic would have squandered time in the folly of hoping to shake. +“He's done what I told him to do, and it's ME he wants. He's found out +for himself, and so have I. He can have me the minute he wants me--the +very minute.” + +“He can?” said Hutchinson. “That settles it. I believe tha'd rather take +him when he was i' trouble than when he was out of it. Same as tha'd +rather take him i' a flat in Harlem on fifteen dollar a week than on +fifteen hundred.” + +“Yes, Father, I would. It'd give me more to do for him.” + +“Eh, eh,” he grunted tenderly, “thy mother again. I used to tell her as +the only thing she had agen me was that I never got i' jail so she could +get me out an' stand up for me after it. There's only one thing worrits +me a bit: I wish the lad hadn't gone away.” + +“I've thought that out, though I've not had much time to reason +about things,” said Little Ann. “If he's gone away, he's gone to get +something; and whatever it happens to be, he'll be likely to bring it +back with him, Father.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + + +Old Mrs. Hutchinson's letter had supplied much detail, but when her son +and grand-daughter arrived in the village of Temple Barholm they heard +much more, the greater part of it not in the least to be relied upon. + +“The most of it's lies, as folks enjoys theirsels pretendin' to +believe,” the grand-mother commented. “It's servants'-hall talk and +cottage gossip, and plenty made itself up out o' beer drunk in th' +tap-room at th' Wool Park. In a place where naught much happens, people +get into th' way 'o springin' on a bit o' news, and shakin' and worryin' +it like a terrier does a rat. It's nature. That lad's given 'em lots to +talk about ever since he coom. He's been a blessin' to 'em. If he'd been +gentry, he'd not ha' been nigh as lively. Th' village lads tries to talk +through their noses like him. Little Tummas Hibblethwaite does it i' +broad Lancashire.” + +The only facts fairly authenticated were that the mysterious stranger +had been taken away very late one night, some time before the interview +between Mr. Temple Barholm and Captain Palliser, of which Burrill knew +so much because he had “happened to be about.” When a domestic magnate +of Burrill's type “happens to be about” at a crisis, he is not unlikely +to hear a great deal. Burrill, it was believed, knew much more than +he deigned to make public. The entire truth was that Captain Palliser +himself, in one of his hasty appearances in the neighborhood of Temple +Barholm, had bestowed a few words of cold caution on him. + +“Don't talk too much,” he had said. “Proof is required before talk is +safe. The American was sharp enough to say that to me himself. He was +sharp enough, too, to keep his man hidden. I was the only person that +saw him who could have recognized him, and I saw him by chance. Palford +& Grimby require proof. We are in search of it. Servants will talk; +but if you don't want to run the risk of getting yourself into trouble, +don't make absolute statements.” + +This had been a disappointment to Burrill, who had seen himself +developing in magnitude; but he was a timid man, and therefore felt it +wise to convey his knowledge merely through the conviction carried by +a dignified silence after his first indiscreet revelation of having +“happened to be about” had been made. It would have been some solace +to him to intimate to Miss Alicia by his bearing and the manner of his +services that she had been discovered, so to speak, in the character of +a sort of accomplice; that her position was a perilously uncertain one, +which would probably end in utter downfall, leaving her in her old +and proper place as an elderly, insignificant, and unattractive poor +relation, without a feature to recommend her. But being, as before +remarked, a timid man, and recalling the interview between himself +and his employer held outside the dining-room door, and having also a +disturbing memory of the sharp, cool, boyish eye and the tone of the +casual remark that he had “a head on his shoulders” and that it was “up +to him to make the others understand,” it seemed as well to restrain his +inclinations until the proof Palford & Grimby required was forthcoming. + +It was perhaps the moderate and precautionary attitude of Palford & +Grimby, during their first somewhat startled though reserved interview +with Captain Palliser, which had prevented the vaguely wild rumors +from being regarded as more than villagers' exaggerated talk among +themselves. The “gentry,” indeed, knew much less of the cottagers than +the cottagers knew of the gentry; consequently events furnishing much +excitement among the village people not infrequently remained unheard +of by those in the class above them. A story less incredible might +have been more considered; but the highly colored reasons given for the +absence of the owner of Temple Barholm would, if heard of, have been +more than likely to be received and passed over with a smile. + +The manner of Mr. Palford and also of Mr. Grimby during the deliberately +unmelodramatic and carefully connected relation of Captain Palliser's +singular story, was that of professional gentlemen who for reasons +of good breeding were engaged in restraining outward expression of +conviction that they were listening to utter nonsense. Palliser himself +was aware of this, and upon the whole did not wonder at it in entirely +unimaginative persons of extremely sober lives. In fact, he had begun +by giving them some warning as to what they might expect in the way of +unusualness. + +“You will, no doubt, think what I am about to tell you absurd and +incredible,” he had prefaced his statements. “I thought the same myself +when my first suspicions were aroused. I was, in fact, inclined to laugh +at my own idea until one link connected itself with another.” + +Neither Mr. Grimby nor Mr. Palford was inclined to laugh. On the +contrary, they were extremely grave, and continued to find it necessary +to restrain their united tendency to indicate facially that the thing +must be nonsense. It transcended all bounds, as it were. The delicacy +with which they managed to convey this did them much credit. This +delicacy was equaled by the moderation with which Captain Palliser drew +their attention to the fact that it was not the thing likely-to-happen +on which were founded the celebrated criminal cases of legal history; +it was the incredible and almost impossible events, the ordinarily +unbelievable duplicities, moral obliquities and coincidences, which made +them what they were and attracted the attention of the world. This, Mr. +Palford and his partner were obviously obliged to admit. What they did +not admit was that such things never having occurred in one's own world, +they had been mentally relegated to the world of newspaper and criminal +record as things that could not happen to oneself. Mr. Palford cleared +his throat in a seriously cautionary way. + +“This is, of course, a matter suggesting too serious an accusation not +to be approached in the most conservative manner,” he remarked. + +“Most serious consequences have resulted in cases implying libelous +assertions which have been made rashly,” added Mr. Grimby. “As Mr. +Temple Barholm intimated to you, a man of almost unlimited means has +command of resources which it might not be easy to contend with if he +had reason to feel himself injured.” + +The fact that Captain Palliser had in a bitterly frustrated moment +allowed himself to be goaded into losing his temper, and “giving away” + to Tembarom the discovery on which he had felt that he could rely as +a lever, did not argue that a like weakness would lead him into more +dangerous indiscretion. He had always regarded himself as a careful man +whose defenses were well built about him at such crises in his career +as rendered entrenchment necessary. There would, of course, be some +pleasure in following the matter up and getting more than even with a +man who had been insolent to him; but a more practical feature of the +case was that if, through his alert observation and shrewd aid, Jem +Temple Barholm was restored to his much-to-be-envied place in the +world, a far from unnatural result would be that he might feel suitable +gratitude and indebted-ness to the man who, not from actual personal +liking but from a mere sense of justice, had rescued him. As for the +fears of Messrs. Palford & Grimby, he had put himself on record with +Burrill by commanding him to hold his tongue and stating clearly that +proof was both necessary and lacking. No man could be regarded as +taking risks whose attitude was so wholly conservative and non-accusing. +Servants will gossip. A superior who reproves such gossip holds an +unattackable position. In the private room of Palford & Grimby, however, +he could confidently express his opinions without risk. + +“The recognition of a man lost sight of for years, and seen only for a +moment through a window, is not substantial evidence,” Mr. Grimby had +proceeded. “The incident was startling, but not greatly to be relied +upon.” + +“I knew him.” Palliser was slightly grim in his air of finality. “He was +a man most men either liked or hated. I didn't like him. I detested a +trick he had of staring at you under his drooping lids. By the way, do +you remember the portrait of Miles Hugo which was so like him?” + +Mr. Palford remembered having heard that there was a certain portrait in +the gallery which Mr. James Temple Barholm had been said to resemble. He +had no distinct recollection of the ancestor it represented. + +“It was a certain youngster who was a page in the court of Charles the +Second and who died young. Miles Hugo Charles James was his name. He +is my strongest clue. The American seemed rather keen the first time we +talked together. He was equally keen about Jem Temple Barholm. He wanted +to know what he looked like, and whether it was true that he was like +the portrait.” + +“Indeed!” exclaimed Palford and Grimby, simultaneously. + +“It struck me that there was something more than mere curiosity in his +manner,” Palliser enlarged. “I couldn't make him out then. Later, I +began to see that he was remarkably anxious to keep every one from +Strangeways. It was a sort of Man in the Iron Mask affair. Strangeways +was apparently not only too excitable to be looked at or spoken to, but +too excitable to be spoken of. He wouldn't talk about him.” + +“That is exceedingly curious,” remarked Mr. Palford, but it was not +in response to Palliser. A few moments before he had suddenly looked +thoughtful. He wore now the aspect of a man trying to recall something +as Palliser continued. + +“One day, after I had been to look at a sunset through a particular +window in the wing where Strangeways was kept, I passed the door of his +sitting-room, and heard the American arguing with him. He was evidently +telling him he was to be taken elsewhere, and the poor devil was +terrified. I heard him beg him for God's sake not to send him away. +There was panic in his voice. In connection with the fact that he has +got him away secretly--at midnight-it's an ugly thing to recall.” + +“It would seem to have significance.” Grimby said it uneasily. + +“It set me thinking and looking into things,” Palliser went on. “Pearson +was secretive, but the head man, Burrill, made casual enlightening +remarks. I gathered some curious details, which might or might not have +meant a good deal. When Strangeways suddenly appeared at his window one +evening a number of things fitted themselves together. My theory is that +the American--Tembarom, as he used to call himself--may not have +been certain of the identity at first, but he wouldn't have brought +Strangeways with him if he had not had some reason to suspect who he +was. He daren't lose sight of him, and he wanted time to make sure and +to lay his plans. The portrait of Miles Hugo was a clue which alarmed +him, and no doubt he has been following it. If he found it led to +nothing, he could easily turn Strangeways over to the public charge and +let him be put into a lunatic asylum. If he found it led to a revelation +which would make him a pauper again, it would be easy to dispose of +him.” + +“Come! Come! Captain Palliser! We mustn't go too far!” ejaculated Mr. +Grimby, alarmedly. It shocked him to think of the firm being dragged +into a case dealing with capital crime and possible hangmen! That was +not its line of the profession. + +Captain Palliser's slight laugh contained no hint of being shocked by +any possibilities whatever. + +“There are extremely private asylums and so-called sanatoriums where the +discipline is strict, and no questions are asked. One sometimes reads +in the papers of cases in which mild-mannered keepers in defending +themselves against the attacks of violent patients are obliged to +use force--with disastrous results. It is in such places that our +investigations should begin.” + +“Dear me! Dear me!” Mr. Grimby broke out. “Isn't that going rather far? +You surely don't think--” + +“Mr. Tembarom's chief characteristic was that he was a practical +and direct person. He would do what he had to do in exactly that +businesslike manner. The inquiries I have been making have been as +to the whereabouts of places in which a superfluous relative might be +placed without attracting attention.” + +“That is really astute, but--but--what do you think, Palford?” Mr. +Grimby turned to his partner, still wearing the shocked and disturbed +expression. + +“I have been recalling to mind a circumstance which probably bears upon +the case,” said Mr. Palford. “Captain Palliser's mention of the portrait +reminded me of it. I remember now that on Mr. Temple Barholm's first +visit to the picture-gallery he seemed much attracted by the portrait of +Miles Hugo. He stopped and examined it curiously. He said he felt as +if he had seen it before. He turned to it once or twice; and finally +remarked that he might have seen some one like it at a great fancy-dress +ball which had taken place in New York.” + +“Had he been invited to the ball?” laughed Palliser. + +“I did not gather that,” replied Mr. Palford gravely. “He had apparently +watched the arriving guests from some railings near by--or perhaps it +was a lamp-post--with other news-boys.” + +“He recognized the likeness to Strangeways, no doubt, and it gave +him what he calls a 'jolt,'” said Captain Palliser. “He must have +experienced a number of jolts during the last few months.” + +Palford & Grimby's view of the matter continued to be marked by extreme +distaste for the whole situation and its disturbing and irritating +possibilities. The coming of the American heir to the estate of Temple +Barholm had been trying to the verge of extreme painfulness; but, +sufficient time having lapsed and their client having troubled them but +little, they had outlived the shock of his first appearance and settled +once more into the calm of their accustomed atmosphere and routine. That +he should suddenly reappear upon their dignified horizon as a probable +melodramatic criminal was a fault of taste and a lack of consideration +beyond expression. To be dragged-into vulgar detective work, to be +referred to in news-papers in a connection which would lead to confusing +the firm with the representatives of such branches of the profession as +dealt with persons who had committed acts for which in vulgar parlance +they might possibly “swing,” if their legal defenders did not “get them +off,” to a firm whose sole affairs had been the dealing with noble and +ancient estates, with advising and supporting personages of stately +name, and with private and weighty family confidences. If the worst came +to the worst, the affair would surely end in the most glaring and odious +notoriety: in head-lines and daily reports even in London, in appalling +pictures of every one concerned in every New York newspaper, even in +baffled struggles to keep abominable woodcuts of themselves--Mr. Edward +James Palford and Mr. James Matthew Grimby--from being published in +sensational journalistic sheets! Professional duty demanded that the +situation should be dealt with, that investigation should be entered +into, that the most serious even if conservative steps should be +taken at once. With regard to the accepted report of Mr. James Temple +Barholm's tragic death, it could not be denied that Captain Palliser's +view of the naturalness of the origin of the mistake that had been made +had a logical air. + +“In a region full of rioting derelicts crazed with the lawless +excitement of their dash after gold,” he had said, “identities and +names are easily lost. Temple Barholm himself was a derelict and in a +desperate state. He was in no mood to speak of himself or try to make +friends. He no doubt came and went to such work as he did scarcely +speaking to any one. A mass of earth and debris of all sorts suddenly +gives way, burying half-a-dozen men. Two or three are dug out dead, the +others not reached. There was no time to spare to dig for dead men. Some +one had seen Temple Barholm near the place; he was seen no more. Ergo, +he was buried with the rest. At that time, those who knew him in England +felt it was the best thing that could have happened to him. It would +have been if his valet had not confessed his trick, and old Temple +Barholm had not died. My theory is that he may have left the place days +before the accident without being missed. His mental torment caused some +mental illness, it does not matter what. He lost his memory and wandered +about--the Lord knows how or where he lived; he probably never knew +himself. The American picked him up and found that he had money. For +reasons of his own, he professed to take care of him. He must have come +on some clue just when he heard of his new fortune. He was naturally +panic-stricken; it must have been a big blow at that particular moment. +He was sharp enough to see what it might mean, and held on to the poor +chap like grim death, and has been holding on ever since.” + +“We must begin to take steps,” decided Palford & Grimby. “We must of +course take steps at once, but we must begin with discretion.” + +After grave private discussion, they began to take the steps in question +and with the caution that it seemed necessary to observe until they felt +solid ground under their feet. Captain Palliser was willing to assist +them. He had been going into the matter himself. He went down to the +neighborhood of Temple Barholm and quietly looked up data which might +prove illuminating when regarded from one point or another. It was on +the first of these occasions that he saw and warned Burrill. It was from +Burrill he heard of Tummas Hibblethwaite. + +“There's an impident little vagabond in the village, sir,” he said, +“that Mr. Temple Barholm used to go and see and take New York newspapers +to. A cripple the lad is, and he's got a kind of craze for talking about +Mr. James Temple Barholm. He had a map of the place where he was said +to be killed. If I may presume to mention it, sir,” he added with great +dignity, “it is my opinion that the two had a good deal of talk together +on the subject.” + +“I dare say,” Captain Palliser admitted indifferently, and made no +further inquiry or remark. + +He sauntered into the Hibblethwaite cottage, however, late the next +afternoon. + +Tummas was in a bad temper, for reasons quite sufficient for himself, +and he regarded him sourly. + +“What has tha coom for?” he demanded. “I did na ask thee.” + +“Don't be cheeky!” said Captain Palliser. “I will give you a sovereign +if you'll let me see the map you and Mr. Temple Barholm used to look at +and talk so much about.” + +He laid the sovereign down on the small table by Tummas's sofa, but +Tummas did not pick it up. + +“I know who tha art. Tha'rt Palliser, an' tha wast th' one as said as +him as was killed in th' Klondike had coom back alive.” + +“You've been listening to that servants' story, have you?” remarked +Palliser. “You had better be careful as to what you say. I suppose you +never heard of libel suits. Where would you find yourself if you were +called upon to pay Mr. Temple Barholm ten thousand pounds' damages? +You'd be obliged to sell your atlas.” + +“Burrill towd as he heard thee say tha'd swear in court as it was th' +one as was killed as tha'd seen.” + +“That's Burrill's story, not mine. And Burrill had better keep his mouth +shut,” said Palliser. “If it were true, how would you like it? I've +heard you were interested in 'th' one as was killed.'” + +Tummas's eyes burned troublously. + +“I've got reet down taken wi' th' other un,” he answered. “He's noan +gentry, but he's th' reet mak'. I--I dunnot believe as him as was killed +has coom back.” + +“Neither do I,” Palliser answered, with amiable tolerance. “The American +gentleman had better come back himself and disprove it. When you used to +talk about the Klondike, he never said anything to make you feel as if +he doubted that the other man was dead?” + +“Not him,” answered Tummas. + +“Eh! Tummas, what art tha talkin' about?” exclaimed Mrs. Hibblethwaite, +who was mending at the other end of the room. “I heerd him say mysel, +`Suppose th' story hadn't been true an' he was alive somewhere now, it'd +make a big change, would na' it?' An' he laughed.” + +“I never heerd him,” said Tummas, in stout denial. + +“Tha's losin' tha moind,” commented his mother. “As soon as I heerd +th' talk about him runnin' away an' takin' th' mad gentleman wi' him I +remembered it. An' I remembered as he sat still after it and said nowt +for a minute or so, same as if he was thinkin' things over. Theer was +summat a bit queer about it.” + +“I never heerd him,” Tummas asserted, obstinately, and shut his mouth. + +“He were as ready to talk about th' poor gentleman as met with th' +accident as tha wert thysel', Tummas,” Mrs. Hibblethwaite proceeded, +moved by the opportunity offered for presenting her views on the +exciting topic. “He'd ax thee aw sorts o' questions about what tha'd +found out wi' pumpin' foak. He'd ax me questions now an' agen about +what he was loike to look at, an' how tall he wur. Onct he axed me if I +remembered what soart o' chin he had an' how he spoke.” + +“It wur to set thee goin' an' please me,” volunteered Tummas, +grudgingly. “He did it same as he'd look at th' map to please me an' +tell me tales about th' news-lads i' New York.” + +It had not seemed improbable that a village cripple tied to a sofa would +be ready enough to relate all he knew, and perhaps so much more that it +would be necessary to use discretion in selecting statements of value. +To drop in and give him a sovereign and let him talk had appeared +simple. Lads of his class liked to be listened to, enjoyed enlarging +upon and rendering dramatic such material as had fallen into their +hands. But Tummas was an eccentric, and instinct led him to close like +an oyster before a remote sense of subtly approaching attack. It was +his mother, not he, who had provided information; but it was not +sufficiently specialized to be worth much. + +“What did tha say he'd run away fur?” Tummas said to his parent later. +“He's not one o' th' runnin' away soart.” + +“He has probably been called away by business,” remarked Captain +Palliser, as he rose to go after a few minutes' casual talk with Mrs. +Hibblethwaite. “It was a mistake not to leave an address behind him. +Your mother is mistaken in saying that he took the mad gentleman with +him. He had him removed late at night some time before he went himself.” + +“Tak tha sov'rin',” said Tummas, as Palliser moved away. “I did na show +thee th' atlas. Tha did na want to see it.” + +“I will leave the sovereign for your mother,” said Palliser. “I'm sorry +you are not in a better humor.” + +His interest in the atlas had indeed been limited to his idea that it +would lead to subjects of talk which might cast illuminating side-lights +and possibly open up avenues and vistas. Tummas, however, having +instinctively found him displeasing, he had gained but little. + +Avenues and vistas were necessary--avenues through which the steps of +Palford and Grimby might wander, vistas which they might explore +with hesitating, investigating glances. So far, the scene remained +unpromisingly blank. The American Temple Barholm had simply disappeared, +as had his mysterious charge. Steps likely to lead to definite results +can scarcely be taken hopefully in the case of a person who has seemed +temporarily to cease to exist. You cannot interrogate him, you cannot +demand information, whatsoever the foundations upon which rest your +accusations, if such accusation can be launched only into thin air and +the fact that there is nobody to reply to--to acknowledge or indignantly +refute them--is in itself a serious barrier to accomplishment. It was +also true that only a few weeks had elapsed since the accused had, so to +speak, dematerialized. It was also impossible to calculate upon what +an American of his class and peculiarities would be likely to do in any +circumstances whatever. + +In private conference, Palford and Grimby frankly admitted to each other +that they would almost have preferred that Captain Palliser should have +kept his remarkable suspicions to himself, for the time being at least. +Yet when they had admitted this they were confronted by the disturbing +possibility--suggested by Palliser--that actual crime had been or might +be committed. They had heard unpleasant stories of private lunatic +asylums and their like. Things to shudder at might be going on at +the very moment they spoke to each other. Under this possibility, no +supineness would be excusable. Efforts to trace the missing man must at +least be made. Efforts were made, but with no result. Painful as it was +to reflect on the subject of the asylums, careful private inquiry was +made, information was quietly collected, there were even visits to +gruesomely quiet places on various polite pretexts. + +“If a longer period of time had elapsed,” Mr. Palford remarked several +times, with some stiffness of manner, “we should feel that we had more +solid foundation for our premises.” + +“Perfectly right,” Captain Palliser agreed with him, “but it is lapse of +time which may mean life or death to Jem Temple Barholm; so it's perhaps +as well to be on the safe side and go on quietly following small clues. +I dare say you would feel more comfortable yourselves.” + +Both Mr. Palford and Mr. Grimby, having made an appointment with +Miss Alicia, arrived one afternoon at Temple Barholm to talk to her +privately, thereby casting her into a state of agonized anxiety which +reduced her to pallor. + +“Our visit is merely one of inquiry, Miss Temple Barholm,” Mr. Palford +began. “There is perhaps nothing alarming in our client's absence.” + +“In the note which he left me he asked me to--feel no anxiety,” Miss +Alicia said. + +“He left you a note of explanation? I wish we had known this earlier!” + Mr. Palford's tone had the note of relieved exclamation. Perhaps there +was an entirely simple solution of the painful difficulty. + +But his hope had been too sanguine. + +“It was not a note of explanation, exactly. He went away too suddenly to +have time to explain.” + +The two men looked at each other disturbedly. + +“He had not mentioned to you his intention of going?” asked Mr. Grimby. + +“I feel sure he did not know he was going when he said good-night. He +remained with Captain Palliser talking for some time.” Miss Alicia's +eyes held wavering and anxious question as she looked from one to the +other. She wondered how much more than herself her visitors knew. “He +found a telegram when he went to his room. It contained most disquieting +news about Mr. Strangeways. He--he had got away from the place where--” + +“Got away!” Mr. Palford was again exclamatory. “Was he in some +institution where he was kept under restraint?” + +Miss Alicia was wholly unable to explain to herself why some quality in +his manner filled her with sudden distress. + +“Oh, I think not! Surely not! Surely nothing of that sort was necessary. +He was very quiet always, and he was getting better every day. But it +was important that he should be watched over. He was no doubt under the +care of a physician in some quiet sanatorium.” + +“Some quiet sanatorium!” Mr. Palford's disturbance of mind was manifest. +“But you did not know where?” + +“No. Indeed, Mr. Temple Barholm talked very little of Mr. Strangeways. I +believe he knew that it distressed me to feel that I could be of no real +assistance as--as the case was so peculiar.” + +Each perturbed solicitor looked again with rapid question at the other. +Miss Alicia saw the exchange of glances and, so to speak, broke down +under the pressure of their unconcealed anxiety. The last few weeks with +their suggestion of accusation too vague to be met had been too much for +her. + +“I am afraid--I feel sure you know something I do not,” she began. “I +am most anxious and unhappy. I have not liked to ask questions, because +that would have seemed to imply a doubt of Mr. Temple Barholm. I have +even remained at home because I did not wish to hear things I could not +understand. I do not know what has been said. Pearson, in whom I have +the greatest confidence, felt that Mr. Temple Barholm would prefer that +I should wait until he returned.” + +“Do you think he will return?” said Mr. Grimby, amazedly. + +“Oh!” the gentle creature ejaculated. “Can you possibly think he will +not? Why? Why?” + +Mr. Palford had shared his partner's amazement. It was obvious that she +was as ignorant as a babe of the details of Palliser's extraordinary +story. In her affectionate consideration for Temple Barholm she had +actually shut herself up lest she should hear anything said against him +which she could not refute. She stood innocently obedient to his wishes, +like the boy upon the burning deck, awaiting his return and his version +of whatsoever he had been accused of. There was something delicately +heroic in the little, slender old thing, with her troubled eyes and her +cap and her quivering sideringlets. + +“You,” she appealed, “are his legal advisers, and will be able to tell +me if there is anything he would wish me to know. I could not allow +myself to listen to villagers or servants; but I may ask you.” + +“We are far from knowing as much as we desire to know,” Mr. Palford +replied. + +“We came here, in fact,” added Grimby, “to ask questions of you, Miss +Temple Barholm.” + +“The fact that Miss Temple Barholm has not allowed herself to be +prejudiced by village gossip, which is invariably largely unreliable, +will make her an excellent witness,” Mr. Palford said to his partner, +with a deliberation which held suggestive significance. Each man, +in fact, had suddenly realized that her ignorance would leave her +absolutely unbiased in her answers to any questions they might put, and +that it was much better in cross-examining an emotional elderly lady +that such should be the case. + +“Witness!” Miss Alicia found the word alarming. Mr. Palford's bow was +apologetically palliative. + +“A mere figure of speech, madam,” he said. + +“I really know so little every one else doesn't know.” Miss Alicia's +protest had a touch of bewilderment in it. What could they wish to ask +her? + +“But, as we understand it, your relations with Mr. Temple Barholm were +most affectionate and confidential.” + +“We were very fond of each other,” she answered. + +“For that reason he no doubt talked to you more freely than to other +people,” Mr. Grimby put it. “Perhaps, Palford, it would be as well to +explain to Miss Temple Barholm that a curious feature of this matter +is that it--in a way--involves certain points concerning the late Mr. +Temple Barholm.” + +Miss Alicia uttered a pathetic exclamation. + +“Poor Jem--who died so cruelly!” + +Mr. Palford bent his head in acquiescence. + +“Perhaps you can tell me what the present Mr. Temple Barholm knew of +him--how much he knew?” + +“I told him the whole story the first time we took tea together,” Miss +Alicia replied; and, between her recollection of that strangely happy +afternoon and her wonder at its connection with the present moment, she +began to feel timid and uncertain. + +“How did it seem to impress him?” + +She remembered it all so well--his queer, dear New York way of +expressing his warm-hearted indignation at the cruelty of what had +happened. + +“Oh, he was very much excited. He was so sorry for him. He wanted to +know everything about him. He asked me what he looked like.” + +“Oh!” said Palford. “He wanted to know that?” + +“He was so full of sympathy,” she replied, her explanation gaining +warmth. “When I told him that the picture of Miles Hugo in the gallery +was said to look like Jem as a boy, he wanted very much to see it. +Afterward we went and saw it together. I shall always remember how he +stood and looked at it. Most young men would not have cared. But he +always had such a touching interest in poor Jem.” + +“You mean that he asked questions about him--about his death, and so +forth?” was Mr. Palford's inquiry. + +“About all that concerned him. He was interested especially in his looks +and manner of speaking and personality, so to speak. And in the awful +accident which ended his life, though he would not let me talk about +that after he had asked his first questions.” + +“What kind of questions?” suggested Grimby. + +“Only about what was known of the time and place, and how the sad story +reached England. It used to touch me to think that the only person who +seemed to care was the one who--might have been expected to be almost +glad the tragic thing had happened. But he was not.” + +Mr. Palford watched Mr. Grimby, and Mr. Grimby gave more than one +dubious and distressed glance at Palford. + +“His interest was evident,” remarked Palford, thoughtfully. “And unusual +under the circumstances.” + +For a moment he hesitated, then put another question: “Did he ever +seem--I should say, do you remember any occasion when he appeared to +think that--there might be any reason to doubt that Mr. James Temple +Barholm was one of the men who died in the Klondike?” + +He felt that through this wild questioning they had at least reached a +certain testimony supporting Captain Palliser's views; and his interest +reluctantly increased. It was reluctant because there could be no shadow +of a question that this innocent spinster lady told the absolute truth; +and, this being the case, one seemed to be dragged to the verge of +depths which must inevitably be explored. Miss Alicia's expression was +that of one who conscientiously searched memory. + +“I do not remember that he really expressed doubt,” she answered, +carefully. “Not exactly that, but--” + +“But what?” prompted Palford as she hesitated. “Please try to recall +exactly what he said. It is most important.” + +The fact that his manner was almost eager, and that eagerness was not +his habit, made her catch her breath and look more questioning and +puzzled than before. + +“One day he came to my sitting-room when he seemed rather excited,” she +explained. “He had been with Mr. Strangeways, who had been worse than +usual. Perhaps he wanted to distract himself and forget about it. He +asked me questions and talked about poor Jem for about an hour. And +at last he said, `Do you suppose there's any sort of chance that it +mightn't be true--that story that came from the Klondike?' He said it so +thoughtfully that I was startled and said, `Do you think there could +be such a chance--do you?' And he drew a long breath and answered, `You +want to be sure about things like that; you've got to be sure.' I was +a little excited, so he changed the subject very soon afterward, and I +never felt quite certain of what he was really thinking. You see what he +said was not so much an expression of doubt as a sort of question.” + +A touch of the lofty condemnatory made Mr. Palford impressive. + +“I am compelled to admit that I fear that it was a question of which he +had already guessed the answer,” he said. + +At this point Miss Alicia clasped her hands quite tightly together upon +her knees. + +“If you please,” she exclaimed, “I must ask you to make things a +little clear to me. What dreadful thing has happened? I will regard any +communication as a most sacred confidence.” + +“I think we may as well, Palford?” Mr. Grimby suggested to his partner. + +“Yes,” Palford acquiesced. He felt the difficulty of a blank +explanation. “We are involved in a most trying position,” he said. +“We feel that great discretion must be used until we have reached more +definite certainty. An extraordinary--in fact, a startling thing has +occurred. We are beginning, as a result of cumulative evidence, to +feel that there was reason to believe that the Klondike story was to be +doubted--” + +“That poor Jem--!” cried Miss Alicia. + +“One begins to be gravely uncertain as to whether he has not been +in this house for months, whether he was not the mysterious Mr. +Strangeways!” + +“Jem! Jem!” gasped poor little Miss Temple Barholm, quite white with +shock. + +“And if he was the mysterious Strangeways,” Mr. Grimby assisted to +shorten the matter, “the American Temple Barholm apparently knew the +fact, brought him here for that reason, and for the same reason kept him +secreted and under restraint.” + +“No! No!” cried Miss Alicia. “Never! Never! I beg you not to say such a +thing. Excuse me--I cannot listen! It would be wrong--ungrateful. Excuse +me!” She got up from her seat, trembling with actual anger in her sense +of outrage. It was a remarkable thing to see the small, elderly creature +angry, but this remarkable thing had happened. It was as though she were +a mother defending her young. + +“I loved poor Jem and I love Temple, and, though I am only a woman who +never has been the least clever, I know them both. I know neither of +them could lie or do a wicked, cunning thing. Temple is the soul of +honor.” + +It was quite an inspirational outburst. She had never before in her life +said so much at one time. Of course tears began to stream down her face, +while Mr. Palford and Mr. Grimby gazed at her in great embarrassment. + +“If Mr. Strangeways was poor Jem come back alive, Temple did not +know--he never knew. All he did for him was done for kindness' sake. +I--I--” It was inevitable that she should stammer before going to this +length of violence, and that the words should burst from her: “I would +swear it!” + +It was really a shock to both Palford and Grimby. That a lady of Miss +Temple Barholm's age and training should volunteer to swear to a thing +was almost alarming. It was also in rather unpleasing taste. + +“Captain Palliser obliged Mr. Temple Temple Barholm to confess that he +had known for some time,” Mr. Palford said with cold regret. “He also +informed him that he should communicate with us without delay.” + +“Captain Palliser is a bad man.” Miss Alicia choked back a gasp to make +the protest. + +“It was after their interview that Mr. Temple Barholm almost immediately +left the house.” + +“Without any explanation whatever,” added Grimby. + +“He left a few lines for me,” defended Miss Alicia. + +“We have not seen them.” Mr. Palford was still as well as cold. Poor +little Miss Alicia took them out of her pocket with an unsteady hand. +They were always with her, and she could not on such a challenge seem +afraid to allow them to be read. Mr. Palford took them from her with +a slight bow of thanks. He adjusted his glasses and read aloud, with +pauses between phrases which seemed somewhat to puzzle him. + + + +“Dear little Miss Alicia: + +“I've got to light out of here as quick as I can make it. I can't even +stop to tell you why. There's just one thing--don't get rattled, Miss +Alicia. Whatever any one says or does, don't get rattled. + +“Yours affectionately, + +“T. TEMBAROM.” + + + +There was a silence, Mr. Palford passed the paper to his partner, who +gave it careful study. Afterward he refolded it and handed it back to +Miss Alicia. + +“In a court of law,” was Mr. Palford's sole remark, “it would not be +regarded as evidence for the defendant.” + +Miss Alicia's tears were still streaming, but she held her ringleted +head well up. + +“I cannot stay! I beg your pardon, I do indeed!” she said. “But I must +leave you. You see,” she added, with her fine little touch of dignity, +“as yet this house is still Mr. Temple Barholm's home, and I am the +grateful recipient of his bounty. Burrill will attend you and make you +quite comfortable.” With an obeisance which was like a slight curtsey, +she turned and fled. + +In less than an hour she walked up the neat bricked path, and old Mrs. +Hutchinson, looking out, saw her through the tiers of flower-pots in +the window. Hutchinson himself was in London, but Ann was reading at the +other side of the room. + +“Here's poor little owd Miss Temple Barholm aw in a flutter,” remarked +her grandmother. “Tha's got some work cut out for thee if tha's going to +quiet her. Oppen th' door, lass.” + +Ann opened the door, and stood by it with calm though welcoming dimples. + +“Miss Hutchinson “--Miss Alicia began all at once to realize that they +did not know each other, and that she had flown to the refuge of her +youth without being at all aware of what she was about to say. “Oh! +Little Ann!” she broke down with frank tears. “My poor boy! My poor +boy!” + +Little Ann drew her inside and closed the door. + +“There, Miss Temple Barholm,” she said. “There now Just come in and sit +down. I'll get you a good cup of tea. You need one.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + + +The Duke of Stone had been sufficiently occupied with one of his +slighter attacks of rheumatic gout to have been, so to speak, out of the +running in the past weeks. His indisposition had not condemned him +to the usual dullness, however. He had suffered less pain than was +customary, and Mrs. Braddle had been more than usually interesting in +conversation on those occasions when, in making him very comfortable in +one way or another, she felt that a measure of entertainment would add +to his well-being. His epicurean habit of mind tended toward causing +him to find a subtle pleasure in the hearing of various versions of any +story whatever. His intimacy with T. Tembarom had furnished forth many +an agreeable mental repast for him. He had had T. Tembarom's version of +himself, the version of the county, the version of the uneducated class, +and his own version. All of these had had varying shades of their own. +He had found a cynically fine flavor in Palliser's version, which he had +gathered through talk and processes of exclusion and inclusion. + +“There is a good deal to be said for it,” he summed it up. “It's +plausible on ordinary sophisticated grounds. T. Tembarom would say, `It +looks sort of that way.”' + +As Mrs. Braddle had done what she could in the matter of expounding her +views of the uncertainties of the village attitude, he had listened +with stimulating interest. Mrs. Braddle's version on the passing of T. +Tembarom stood out picturesquely against the background of the version +which was his own--the one founded on the singular facts he had shared +knowledge of with the chief character in the episode. He had not, like +Miss Alicia, received a communication from Tembarom. This seemed to him +one of the attractive features of the incident. It provided opportunity +for speculation. Some wild development had called the youngster away in +a rattling hurry. Of what had happened since his departure he knew no +more than the villagers knew. What had happened for some months before +his going he had watched with the feeling of an intelligently observant +spectator at a play. He had been provided with varied emotions by the +fantastic drama. He had smiled; he had found himself moved once or +twice, and he had felt a good deal of the thrill of curious uncertainty +as to what the curtain would rise and fall on. The situation was such +that it was impossible to guess. Results could seem only to float in the +air. One thing might happen; so might another, so might a dozen more. +What he wished really to attain was some degree of certainty as to what +was likely to occur in any case to the American Temple Barholm. + +He felt, the first time he drove over to call on Miss Alicia, that +his indisposition and confinement to his own house had robbed him of +something. They had deprived him of the opportunity to observe shades of +development and to hear the expressing of views of the situation as it +stood. He drove over with views of his own and with anticipations. He +had reason to know that he would encounter in the dear lady indications +of the feeling that she had reached a crisis. There was a sense of this +crisis impending as one mounted the terrace steps and entered the +hall. The men-servants endeavored to wipe from their countenances any +expression denoting even a vague knowledge of it. He recognized +their laudable determination to do so. Burrill was monumental in the +unconsciousness of his outward bearing. + +Miss Alicia, sitting waiting on Fate in the library, wore precisely the +aspect he had known she would wear. She had been lying awake at night +and she had of course wept at intervals, since she belonged to the +period the popular female view of which had been that only the unfeeling +did not so relieve themselves in crises of the affections. Her eyelids +were rather pink and her nice little face was tired. + +“It is very, very kind of you to come,” she said, when they shook hands. +“I wonder “--her hesitance was touching in its obvious appeal to him +not to take the wrong side,--“I wonder if you know how deeply troubled I +have been?” + +“You see, I have had a touch of my abominable gout, and my treasure of a +Braddle has been nursing me and gossiping,” he answered. “So, of course +I know a great deal. None of it true, I dare say. I felt I must come and +see you, however.” + +He looked so neat and entirely within the boundaries of finished and +well-dressed modernity and every-day occurrence, in his perfectly +fitting clothes, beautifully shining boots, and delicate fawn gaiters, +that she felt a sort of support in his mere aspect. The mind connected +such almost dapper freshness and excellent taste only with unexaggerated +incidents and a behavior which almost placed the stamp of absurdity upon +the improbable in circumstance. The vision of disorderly and illegal +possibilities seemed actually to fade into an unreality. + +“If Mr. Palford and Mr. Grimby knew him as I know him--as--as you know +him--” she added with a faint hopefulness. + +“Yes, if they knew him as we know him that would make a different matter +of it,” admitted the duke, amiably. But, thought Miss Alicia, he might +only have put it that way through consideration for her feelings, and +because he was an extremely polished man who could not easily reveal to +a lady a disagreeable truth. He did not speak with the note of natural +indignation which she thought she must have detected if he had felt as +she felt herself. He was of course a man whose manner had always +the finish of composure. He did not seem disturbed or even very +curious--only kind and most polite. + +“If we only knew where he was!” she began again. “If we only knew where +Mr. Strangeways was!” + +“My impression is that Messrs. Palford & Grimby will probably find +them both before long,” he consoled her. “They are no doubt exciting +themselves unnecessarily.” + +He was not agitated at all; she felt it would have been kinder if he +had been a little agitated. He was really not the kind of person +whose feelings appeared very deep, being given to a light and graceful +cynicism of speech which delighted people; so perhaps it was not natural +that he should express any particular emotion even in a case affecting +a friend--surely he had been Temple's friend. But if he had seemed a +little distressed, or doubtful or annoyed, she would have felt that she +understood better his attitude. As it was, he might almost have been on +the other side--a believer or a disbeliever--or merely a person looking +on to see what would happen. When they sat down, his glance seemed to +include her with an interest which was sympathetic but rather as if she +were a child whom he would like to pacify. This seemed especially so +when she felt she must make clear to him the nature of the crisis which +was pending, as he had felt when he entered the house. + +“You perhaps do not know”--the appeal which had shown itself in her eyes +was in her voice--“that the solicitors have decided, after a great deal +of serious discussion and private inquiry in London, that the time has +come when they must take open steps.” + +“In the matter of investigation?” he inquired. + +“They are coming here this afternoon with Captain Palliser to--to +question the servants, and some of the villagers. They will question +me,” alarmedly. + +“They would be sure to do that,”--he really seemed quite to envelop her +with kindness--“but I beg of you not to be alarmed. Nothing you could +have to say could possibly do harm to Temple Barholm.” He knew it was +her fear of this contingency which terrified her. + +“You do feel sure of that?” she burst forth, relievedly. “You +do--because you know him?” + +“I do. Let us be calm, dear lady. Let us be calm.” + +“I will! I will!” she protested. “But Captain Palliser has arranged that +a lady should come here--a lady who disliked poor Temple very much. She +was most unjust to him.” + +“Lady Joan Fayre?” he suggested, and then paused with a remote smile as +if lending himself for the moment to some humor he alone detected in the +situation. + +“She will not injure his cause, I think I can assure you.” + +“She insisted on misunderstanding him. I am so afraid--” + +The appearance of Pearson at the door interrupted her and caused her to +rise from her seat. The neat young man was pale and spoke in a nervously +lowered voice. + +“I beg pardon, Miss. I beg your Grace's pardon for intruding, but--” + +Miss Alicia moved toward him in such a manner that he himself seemed to +feel that he might advance. + +“What is it, Pearson? Have you anything special to say?” + +“I hope I am not taking too great a liberty, Miss, but I did come in for +a purpose, knowing that his Grace was with you and thinking you might +both kindly advise me. It is about Mr. Temple Barholm, your Grace--” + addressing him as if in involuntary recognition of the fact that he +might possibly prove the greater support. + +“Our Mr. Temple Barholm, Pearson? We are being told there are two +of them.” The duke's delicate emphasis on the possessive pronoun was +delightful, and it so moved and encouraged sensitive little Pearson that +he was emboldened to answer with modest firmness: + +“Yes,--ours. Thank you, your Grace.” + +“You feel him yours too, Pearson?” a shade more delightfully still. + +“I--I take the liberty, your Grace, of being deeply attached to him, and +more than grateful.” + +“What did you want to ask advice about?” + +“The family solicitors. Captain Palliser and Lady Joan Fayre and Mr. and +Miss Hutchinson are to be here shortly, and I have been told I am to be +questioned. What I want to know, your Grace, is--” He paused, and looked +no longer pale but painfully red as he gathered himself together for his +anxious outburst--“Must I speak the truth?” + +Miss Alicia started alarmedly. + +The duke looked down at the delicate fawn gaiters covering his fine +instep. His fleeting smile was not this time an external one. + +“Do you not wish to speak the truth, Pearson?” + +Pearson's manner could have been described only as one of obstinate +frankness. + +“No, your Grace. I do not! Your Grace may misunderstand me--but I do +not!” + +His Grace tapped the gaiters with the slight ebony cane he held in his +hand. + +“Is this “--he put it with impartial curiosity--“because the truth might +be detrimental to our Mr. Temple Barholm?” + +“If you please, your Grace,” Pearson made a firm step forward, “what is +the truth?” + +“That is what Messrs. Palford & Grimby seem determined to find out. +Probably only our Mr. Temple Barholm can tell them.” + +“Your Grace, what I'm thinking of is that if I tell the truth it may +seem to prove something that's not the truth.” + +“What kinds of things, Pearson?” still impartially. + +“I can be plain with your Grace. Things like this: I was with Mr. Temple +Barholm and Mr. Strangeways a great deal. They'll ask me about what I +heard. They'll ask me if Mr. Strangeways was willing to go away to the +doctor; if he had to be persuaded and argued with. Well, he had and he +hadn't, your Grace. At first, just the mention of it would upset him so +that Mr. Temple Barholm would have to stop talking about it and quiet +him down. But when he improved--and he did improve wonderfully, your +Grace--he got into the way of sitting and thinking it over and listening +quite quiet. But if I'm asked suddenly--” + +“What you are afraid of is that you may be asked point-blank questions +without warning?” his Grace put it with the perspicacity of experience. + +“That's why I should be grateful for advice. Must I tell the truth, your +Grace, when it will make them believe things I'd swear are lies--I'd +swear it, your Grace.” + +“So would I, Pearson.” His serene lightness was of the most baffling, +but curiously supporting, order. “This being the case, my advice would +be not to go into detail. Let us tell white lies--all of us--without a +shadow of hesitancy. Miss Temple Barholm, even you must do your best.” + +“I will try--indeed, I will try!” And the Duke felt her tremulously +ardent assent actually delicious. + +“There! we'll consider that settled, Pearson,” he said. + +“Thank you, your Grace. Thank you, Miss,” Pearson's relieved gratitude +verged on the devout. He turned to go, and as he did so his attention +was arrested by an approach he remarked through a window. + +“Mr. and Miss Hutchinson are arriving now, Miss,” he announced, hastily. + +“They are to be brought in here,” said Miss Alicia. + +The duke quietly left his seat and went to look through the window with +frank and unembarrassed interest in the approach. He went, in fact, to +look at Little Ann, and as he watched her walk up the avenue, her +father lumbering beside her, he evidently found her aspect sufficiently +arresting. + +“Ah!” he exclaimed softly, and paused. “What a lot of very nice red +hair,” he said next. And then, “No wonder! No wonder!” + +“That, I should say,” he remarked as Miss Alicia drew near, “is what I +once heard a bad young man call `a deserving case.'” + +He was conscious that she might have been privately a little shocked by +such aged flippancy, but she was at the moment perturbed by something +else. + +“The fact is that I have never spoken to Hutchinson,” she fluttered. +“These changes are very confusing. I suppose I ought to say Mr. +Hutchinson, now that he is such a successful person, and Temple--” + +“Without a shadow of a doubt!” The duke seemed struck by the happiness +of the idea. “They will make him a peer presently. He may address me as +'Stone' at any moment. One must learn to adjust one's self with agility. +`The old order changeth.' Ah! she is smiling at him and I see the +dimples.” + +Miss Alicia made a clean breast of it. + +“I went to her--I could not help it!” she confessed. “I was in such +distress and dare not speak to anybody. Temple had told me that she was +so wonderful. He said she always understood and knew what to do.” + +“Did she in this case?” he asked, smiling. + +Miss Alicia's manner was that of one who could express the extent of her +admiration only in disconnected phrases. + +“She was like a little rock. Such a quiet, firm way! Such calm +certainty! Oh, the comfort she has been to me! I begged her to come here +to-day. I did not know her father had returned.” + +“No doubt he will have testimony to give which will be of the greatest +assistance,” the duke said most encouragingly. “Perhaps he will be a +sort of rock.” + +“I--I don't in the least know what he will be!” sighed Miss Alicia, +evidently uncertain in her views. + +But when the father and daughter were announced she felt that his Grace +was really enchanting in the happy facility of his manner. He at least +adjusted himself with agility. Hutchinson was of course lumbering. +Lacking the support of T. Tembarom's presence and incongruity, he +himself was the incongruous feature. He would have been obliged to +bluster by way of sustaining himself, even if he had only found himself +being presented to Miss Alicia; but when it was revealed to him that he +was also confronted with the greatest personage of the neighborhood, he +became as hot and red as he had become during certain fateful business +interviews. More so, indeed. + +“Th' other chaps hadn't been dukes;” and to Hutchinson the old order had +not yet so changed that a duke was not an awkwardly impressive person to +face unexpectedly. + +The duke's manner of shaking hands with him, however, was even touched +with an amiable suggestion of appreciation of the value of a man of +genius. He had heard of the invention, in fact knew some quite technical +things about it. He realized its importance. He had congratulations for +the inventor and the world of inventions so greatly benefited. + +“Lancashire must be proud of your success, Mr. Hutchinson.” How +agreeably and with what ease he said it! + +“Aye, it's a success now, your Grace,” Hutchinson answered, “but I might +have waited a good bit longer if it hadn't been for that lad an' his +bold backing of me.” + +“Mr. Temple Barholm?” said the duke. + +“Aye. He's got th' way of making folks see things that they can't see +even when they're hitting them in th' eyes. I'd that lost heart I could +never have done it myself.” + +“But now it is done,” smiled his Grace. “Delightful!” + +“I've got there--same as they say in New York--I've got there,” said +Hutchinson. + +He sat down in response to Miss Alicia's invitation. His unease was +wonderfully dispelled. He felt himself a person of sufficient importance +to address even a duke as man to man. + +“What's all this romancin' talk about th' other Temple Barholm comin' +back, an' our lad knowin' an' hidin' him away? An' Palliser an' th' +lawyers an' th' police bein' after 'em both?” + +“You have heard the whole story?” from the duke. + +“I've heard naught else since I come back.” + +“Grandmother knew a great deal before we came home,” said Little Ann. + +The duke turned his attention to her with an engaged smile. His look, +his bow, his bearing, in the moment of their being presented to each +other, had seemed to Miss Alicia the most perfect thing. His fine eye +had not obviously wandered while he talked to her father, but it had +in fact been taking her in with an inclusiveness not likely to miss +agreeable points of detail. + +“What is her opinion, may I ask?” he said. “What does she say?” + +“Grandmother is very set in her ways, your Grace.” The limpidity of +her blue eye and a flickering dimple added much to the quaint +comprehensiveness of her answer. “She says the world's that full of +fools that if they were all killed the Lord would have to begin again +with a new Adam and Eve.” + +“She has entire faith in Mr. Temple Barholm--as you have,” put forward +his Grace. + +“Mine's not faith exactly. I know him,” Little Ann answered, her tone as +limpid as her eyes. + +“There's more than her has faith in him,” broke forth Hutchinson. +“Danged if I don't like th' way them village chaps are taking it. +They're ready to fight over it. Since they've found out what it's come +to, an' about th' lawyers comin' down, they're talkin' about gettin' up +a kind o' demonstration.” + +“Delightful!” ejaculated his Grace again. He leaned forward. “Quite what +I should have expected. There's a good deal of beer drunk, I suppose.” + +“Plenty o' beer, but it'll do no harm.” Hutchinson began to chuckle. +“They're talkin' o' gettin' out th' fife an' drum band an' marchin' +round th' village with a calico banner with `Vote for T. Tembarom' +painted on it, to show what they think of him.” + +The duke chuckled also. + +“I wonder how he's managed it?” he laughed. “They wouldn't do it for +any of the rest of us, you know, though I've no doubt we're quite as +deserving. I am, I know.” + +Hutchinson stopped laughing and turned on Miss Alicia. + +“What's that young woman comin' down here for?” he inquired. + +“Lady Joan was engaged to Mr. James Temple Barholm,” Miss Alicia +answered. + +“Eh! Eh!” Hutchinson jerked out. “That'll turn her into a wildcat, I'll +warrant. She'll do all th' harm she can. I'm much obliged to you for +lettin' us come, ma'am. I want to be where I can stand by him.” + +“Father,” said Little Ann, “what you have got to remember is that you +mustn't fly into a passion. You know you've always said it never did any +good, and it only sends the blood to your head.” + +“You are not nervous, Miss Hutchinson?” the duke suggested. + +“About Mr. Temple Barholm? I couldn't be, your Grace. If I was to see +two policemen bringing him in handcuffed I shouldn't be nervous. I +should know the handcuffs didn't belong to him, and the policemen would +look right-down silly to me.” + +Miss Alicia fluttered over to fold her in her arms. + +“Do let me kiss you,” she said. “Do let me, Little Ann!” + +Little Ann had risen at once to meet her embrace. She put a hand on her +arm. + +“We don't know anything about this really,” she said. “We've only heard +what people say. We haven't heard what he says. I'm going to wait.” They +were all looking at her,--the duke with such marked interest that she +turned toward him as she ended. “And if I had to wait until I was as old +as grandmother I'd wait--and nothing would change my mind.” + +“And I've been lying awake at night!” softly wailed Miss Alicia. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + + +It was Mr. Hutchinson who, having an eye on the window, first announced +an arriving carriage. + +“Some of 'em's comin' from the station,” he remarked. “There's no young +woman with 'em, that I can see from here.” + +“I thought I heard wheels.” Miss Alicia went to look out, agitatedly. +“It is the gentlemen. Perhaps Lady Joan--” she turned desperately to the +duke. “I don't know what to say to Lady Joan. I don't know what she will +say to me. I don't know what she is coming for, Little Ann, do keep near +me!” + +It was a pretty thing to see Little Ann stroke her hand and soothe her. + +“Don't be frightened, Miss Temple Barholm. All you've got to do is to +answer questions,” she said. + +“But I might say things that would be wrong--things that would harm +him.” + +“No, you mightn't, Miss Temple Barholm. He's not done anything that +could bring harm on him.” + +The Duke of Stone, who had seated himself in T. Tembarom's favorite +chair, which occupied a point of vantage, seemed to Mr. Palford and +Mr. Grimby when they entered the room to wear the aspect of a sort +of presidiary audience. The sight of his erect head and clear-cut, +ivory-tinted old face, with its alert, while wholly unbiased, +expression, somewhat startled them both. They had indeed not expected to +see him, and did not know why he had chosen to come. His presence +might mean any one of several things, and the fact that he enjoyed a +reputation for quite alarming astuteness of a brilliant kind presented +elements of probable embarrassment. If he thought that they had allowed +themselves to be led upon a wild-goose chase, he would express his +opinions with trying readiness of phrase. + +His manner of greeting them, however, expressed no more than a lightly +agreeable detachment from any view whatsoever. Captain Palliser felt +this curiously, though he could not have said what he would have +expected from him if he had known it would be his whim to appear. + +“How do you do? How d' you do?” His Grace shook hands with the amiable +ease which scarcely commits a man even to casual interest, after which +he took his seat again. + +“How d' do, Miss Hutchinson?” said Palliser. “How d' do, Mr. Hutchinson? +Mr. Palford will be glad to find you here.” + +Mr. Palford shook hands with correct civility. + +“I am, indeed,” he said. “It was in your room in New York that I first +saw Mr. Temple Temple Barholm.” + +“Aye, it was,” responded Hutchinson, dryly. + +“I thought Lady Joan was coming,” Miss Alicia said to Palliser. + +“She will be here presently. She came down in our train, but not with +us.” + +“What--what is she coming for?” faltered Miss Alicia. + +“Yes,” put in the duke, “what, by the way, is she coming for?” + +“I wrote and asked her to come,” was Palliser's reply. “I have reason +to believe she may be able to recall something of value to the inquiry +which is being made.” + +“That's interesting,” said his Grace, but with no air of participating +particularly. “She doesn't like him, though, does she? Wouldn't do to put +her on the jury.” + +He did not wait for any reply, but turned to Mr. Palford. + +“All this is delightfully portentous. Do you know it reminds me of a +scene in one of those numerous plays where the wrong man has murdered +somebody--or hasn't murdered somebody--and the whole company must be +cross-examined because the curtain cannot be brought down until the +right man is unmasked. Do let us come into this, Mr. Palford; what we +know seems so inadequate.” + +Mr. Palford and Mr. Grimby each felt that there lurked in this manner a +possibility that they were being regarded lightly. All the objections to +their situation loomed annoyingly large. + +“It is, of course, an extraordinary story,” Mr. Palford said, “but if we +are not mistaken in our deductions, we may find ourselves involved in a +cause celebre which will set all England talking.” + +“I am not mistaken,” Palliser presented the comment with a short and dry +laugh. + +“Tha seems pretty cock-sure!” Hutchinson thrust in. + +“I am. No one knew Jem Temple Barbolm better than I did in the past. We +were intimate--enemies.” And he laughed again. + +“Tha says tha'll swear th' chap tha saw through th' window was him?” + said Hutchinson. + +“I'd swear it,” with composure. + +The duke was reflecting. He was again tapping with his cane the gaiter +covering his slender, shining boot. + +“If Mr. Temple Temple Barholm had remained here his actions would have +seemed less suspicious?” he suggested. + +It was Palliser who replied. + +“Or if he hadn't whisked the other man away. He lost his head and played +the fool.” + +“He didn't lose his head, that chap. It's screwed on th' right way--his +head is,” grunted Hutchinson. + +“The curious fellow has a number of friends,” the duke remarked to +Palford and Grimby, in his impartial tone. “I am hoping you are not +thinking of cross-examining me. I have always been convinced that +under cross-examination I could be induced to innocently give evidence +condemnatory to both sides of any case whatever. But would you mind +telling me what the exact evidence is so far?” + +Mr. Palford had been opening a budget of papers. + +“It is evidence which is cumulative, your Grace,” he said. “Mr. Temple +Temple Barholm's position would have been a far less suspicious one--as +you yourself suggested--if he had remained, or if he hadn't secretly +removed Mr.--Mr. Strangeways.” + +“The last was Captain Palliser's suggestion, I believe,” smiled the +duke. “Did he remove him secretly? How secretly, for instance?” + +“At night,” answered Palliser. “Miss Temple Barholm herself did not know +when it happened. Did you?” turning to Miss Alicia, who at once flushed +and paled. + +“He knew that I was rather nervous where Mr. Strangeways was concerned. +I am sorry to say he found that out almost at once. He even told me +several times that I must not think of him--that I need hear nothing +about him.” She turned to the duke, her air of appeal plainly +representing a feeling that he would understand her confession. “I +scarcely like to say it, but wrong as it was I couldn't help feeling +that it was like having a--a lunatic in the house. I was afraid he might +be more--ill--than Temple realized, and that he might some time become +violent. I never admitted so much of course, but I was.” + +“You see, she was not told,” Palliser summed it up succinctly. + +“Evidently,” the duke admitted. “I see your point.” But he seemed to +disengage himself from all sense of admitting implications with entire +calmness, as he turned again to Mr. Palford and his papers. + +“You were saying that the exact evidence was--?” + +Mr. Palford referred to a sheet of notes. + +“That--whether before or shortly after his arrival here is not at +all certain--Mr. Temple Temple Barholm began strongly to suspect the +identity of the person then known as Strangeways--” + +Palliser again emitted the short and dry laugh, and both the duke and +Mr. Palford looked at him inquiringly. + +“He had `got on to' it before he brought him,” he answered their +glances. “Be sure of that.” + +“Then why did he bring him?” the duke suggested lightly. + +“Oh, well,” taking his cue from the duke, and assuming casual lightness +also, “he was obliged to come himself, and was jolly well convinced +that he had better keep his hand on the man, also his eye. It was a +good-enough idea. He couldn't leave a thing like that wandering about +the States. He could play benefactor safely in a house of the size of +this until he was ready for action.” + +The duke gave a moment to considering the matter--still detachedly. + +“It is, on the whole, not unlikely that something of the sort might +suggest itself to the criminal mind,” he said. And his glance at Mr. +Palford intimated that he might resume his statement. + +“We have secured proof that he applied himself to secret investigation. +He is known to have employed Scotland Yard to make certain inquiries +concerning the man said to have been killed in the Klondike. Having +evidently reached more than suspicion he began to endeavor to persuade +Mr. Strangeways to let him take him to London. This apparently took some +time. The mere suggestion of removal threw the invalid into a state of +painful excitement--” + +“Did Pearson tell you that?” the duke inquired. + +“Captain Palliser himself in passing the door of the room one day +heard certain expressions of terrified pleading,” was Mr. Palford's +explanation. + +“I heard enough,” Palliser took it up carelessly, “to make it worth +while to question Pearson--who must have heard a great deal more. +Pearson was ordered to hold his tongue from the first, but he will have +to tell the truth when he is asked.” + +The duke did not appear to resent his view. + +“Pearson would be likely to know what went on,” he remarked. “He's an +intelligent little fellow.” + +“The fact remains that in spite of his distress and reluctance Mr. +Strangeways was removed privately, and there our knowledge ends. He has +not been seen since--and a few hours after, Captain Palliser expressed +his conviction, that the person he had seen through the West Room window +was Mr. James Temple Barholm, Mr. Temple Temple Barholm left the house +taking a midnight train, and leaving no clue as to his where-abouts or +intentions.” + +“Disappeared!” said the duke. “Where has he been looked for?” + +The countenance of both Mr. Palford and his party expressed a certain +degree of hesitance. + +“Principally in asylums and so-called sanatoriums,” Mr. Grimby admitted +with a hint of reluctance. + +“Places where the curiosity of outsiders is not encouraged,” said +Palliser languidly. “And where if a patient dies in a fit of mania there +are always respectable witnesses to explain that his case was hopeless +from the first.” + +Mr. Hutchinson had been breathing hard occasionally as he sat and +listened, and now he sprang up uttering a sound dangerously near a +violent snort. + +“Art tha accusin' that lad o' bein' black villain enough to be ready to +do bloody murder?” he cried out. + +“He was in a very tight place, Hutchinson,” Palliser shrugged his +shoulders as he said it. “But one makes suggestions at this stage--not +accusations.” + +That Hutchinson had lost his head was apparent to his daughter at least. + +“Tha'd be in a tight place, my fine chap, if I had my way,” he flung +forth irately. “I'd like to get thy head under my arm.” + +The roll of approaching wheels reached Miss Alicia. + +“There's another carriage,” was her agitated exclamation. “Oh, dear! It +must be Lady Joan!” + +Little Ann left her seat to make her father return to his. + +“Father, you'd better sit down,” she said, gently pushing him in the +right direction. “When you can't prove a thing's a lie, it's just as +well to keep quiet until you can.” And she kept quiet herself, +though she turned and stood before Palliser and spoke with clear +deliberateness. “What you pretend to believe is not true, Captain +Palliser. It's just not true,” she gave to him. + +They were facing and looking at each other when Burrill announced Lady +Joan Fayre. She entered rather quickly and looked round the room with +a sweeping glance, taking them all in. She went to the duke first, and +they shook hands. + +“I am glad you are here!” she said. + +“I would not have been out of it, my dear young lady,” he answered, +“`for a farm' That's a quotation.” + +“I know,” she replied, giving her hand to Miss Alicia, and taking in +Palliser and the solicitors with a bow which was little more than a nod. +Then she saw Little Ann, and walked over to her to shake hands. + +“I am glad you are here. I rather felt you would be,” was her greeting. +“I am glad to see you.” + +“Whether tha 'rt glad to see me or not I'm glad I'm here,” said +Hutchinson bluntly. “I've just been speaking a bit o' my mind.” + +“Now, Father love!” Little Ann put her hand on his arm. + +Lady Joan looked him over. Her hungry eyes were more hungry than ever. +She looked like a creature in a fever and worn by it. + +“I think I am glad you are here too,” she answered. + +Palliser sauntered over to her. He had approved the duke's air of being +at once detached and inquiring, and he did not intend to wear the +aspect of the personage who plays the unpleasant part of the pursuer and +avenger. What he said was: + +“It was good of you to come, Lady Joan.” + +“Did you think I would stay away?” was her answer. “But I will tell you +that I don't believe it is true.” + +“You think that it is too good to be true?” + +Her hot eyes had records in them it would have been impossible for him +to read or understand. She had been so torn; she had passed through such +hours since she had been told this wild thing. + +“Pardon my not telling you what I think,” she said. “Nothing matters, +after all, if he is alive!” + +“Except that we must find him,” said Palliser. + +“If he is in the same world with me I shall find him,” fiercely. Then +she turned again to Ann. “You are the girl T. Tembarom loves?” she put +it to her. + +“Yes, my lady.” + +“If he was lost, and you knew he was on the earth with you, don't you +know that you would find him?” + +“I should know he'd come back to me,” Little Ann answered her. “That's +what--” her small face looked very fine as in her second of hesitation +a spirited flush ran over it, “that's what your man will do,” quite +firmly. + +It was amazing to see how the bitter face changed, as if one word had +brought back a passionate softening memory. + +“My man!” Her voice mellowed until it was deep and low. “Did you call T. +Tembarom that, too? Oh, I understand you! Keep near me while I talk to +these people.” She made her sit down by her. + +“I know every detail of your letters.” She addressed Palliser as well +as Palford & Grimby, sweeping all details aside. “What is it you want to +ask me?” + +“This is our position, your ladyship,” Mr. Palford fumbled a little with +his papers in speaking. “Mr. Temple Temple Barholm and the person known +as Mr. Strangeways have been searched for so far without result. In the +meantime we realize that the more evidence we obtain that Mr. Temple +Temple Barholm identified Strangeways and acted from motive, the more +solid the foundation upon which Captain Palliser's conviction rests. Up +to this point we have only his statement which he is prepared to make on +oath. Fortunately, however, he on one occasion overheard something said +to you which he believes will be corroborative evidence.” + +“What did you overhear?” she inquired of Palliser. + +Her tone was not pacific considering that, logically, she must be on +the side of the investigators. But it was her habit, as Captain Palliser +remembered, to seem to put most people on the defensive. He meant to +look as uninvolved as the duke, but it was not quite within his power. +His manner was sufficiently deliberate. + +“One evening, before you left for London, I was returning from the +billiard-room, and heard you engaged in animated conversation with--our +host. My attention was arrested, first because--” a sketch of a smile +ill-concealed itself, “you usually scarcely deigned to speak to him, and +secondly because I heard Jem Temple Barholm's name.” + +“And you--?” neither eyes nor manner omitted the word listened. + +But the slight lift of his shoulders was indifferent enough. + +“I listened deliberately. I was convinced that the fellow was a criminal +impostor, and I wanted evidence.” + +“Ah! come now,” remarked the duke amiably. “Now we are getting on. Did +you gain any?” + +“I thought so. Merely of the cumulative order, of course,” Palliser +answered with moderation. “Those were early days. He asked you,” turning +to Lady Joan again, “if you knew any one--any one--who had any sort of a +photograph of Jem. You had one and you showed it to him!” + +She was quite silent for a moment. The hour came back to her--the +extraordinary hour when he had stood in his lounging fashion before her, +and through some odd, uncivilized but absolutely human force of his own +had made her listen to him--and had gone on talking in his nasal voice +until with one common, crude, grotesque phrase he had turned her hideous +world upside down--changed the whole face of it--sent the stone wall +rising before her crumbling into dust, and seemed somehow to set her +free. For the moment he had lifted a load from her the nature of which +she did not think he could understand--a load of hatred and silence. She +had clutched his hand, she had passionately wept on it, she could have +kissed it. He had told her she could come back and not be afraid. As the +strange episode rose before her detail by detail, she literally stared +at Palliser. + +“You did, didn't you?” he inquired. + +“Yes,” she answered. + +Her mind was in a riot, because in the midst of things which must +be true, something was false. But with the memory of a myriad subtle +duplicities in her brain, she had never seen anything which could have +approached a thing like that. He had made her feel more human than any +one in the world had ever made her feel--but Jem. He had been able to do +it because he was human himself--human. “I'm friendly,” he had said with +his boy's laugh--“just friendly.” + +“I saw him start, though you did not,” Palliser continued. “He stood and +studied the locket intently.” + +She remembered perfectly. He had examined it so closely that he had +unconsciously knit his brows. + +“He said something in a rather low voice,” Palliser took it up. “I could +not quite catch it all. It was something about `knowing the face again.' +I can see you remember, Lady Joan. Can you repeat the exact words?” + +He did not understand the struggle he saw in her face. It would have +been impossible for him to understand it. What she felt was that if she +lost hold on her strange belief in the honesty of this one decent +thing she had seen and felt so close to her that it cleared the air +she breathed, it would be as if she had fallen into a bottomless abyss. +Without knowing why she did it, she got up from her chair as if she were +a witness in a court. + +“Yes, I can,” she said. “Yes, I can; but I wish to make a statement for +myself. Whether Jem Temple Barholm is alive or dead, Captain Palliser, +T. Tembarom has done him no harm.” + +The duke sat up delicately alert. He had evidently found her worth +looking at and listening to from the outset. + +“Hear! Hear!” he said pleasantly. + +“What were the exact words?” suggested Palliser. + +Miss Alicia who had been weeping on Little Ann's shoulder--almost on her +lap--lifted her head to listen. Hutchinson set his jaw and grunted, and +Mr. Palford cleared his throat mechanically. + +“He said,” and no one better than herself realized how ominously +“cumulative” the words sounded, “that a man would know a face like that +again--wherever he saw it.” + +“Wherever he saw it!” ejaculated Mr. Grimby. + +There ensued a moment of entire pause. It was inevitable. Having reached +this point a taking of breath was necessary. Even the duke ceased to +appear entirely detached. As Mr. Palford turned to his papers again +there was perhaps a slight feeling of awkwardness in the air. Miss +Alicia had dropped, terror smitten, into new tears. + +The slight awkwardness was, on the whole, rather added to by T. +Tembarom--as if serenely introduced by the hand of drama itself--opening +the door and walking into the room. He came in with a matter-of-fact, +but rather obstinate, air, and stopped in their midst, looking round at +them as if collectedly taking them all in. + +Hutchinson sprang to his feet with a kind of roar, his big hands +plunging deep into his trousers pockets. + +“Here he is! Danged if he isn't!” he bellowed. “Now, lad, tha let 'em +have it!” + +What he was to let them have did not ensue, because his attitude was not +one of assault. + +“Say, you are all here, ain't you!” he remarked obviously. “Good +business!” + +Miss Alicia got up from the sofa and came trembling toward him as one +approaches one risen from the dead, and he made a big stride toward +her and took her in his arms, patting her shoulder in reproachful +consolation. + +“Say, you haven't done what I told you--have you?” he soothed. “You've +let yourself get rattled.” + +“But I knew it wasn't true,” she sobbed. “I knew it wasn't.” + +“Of course you did, but you got rattled all the same.” And he patted her +again. + +The duke came forward with a delightfully easy and--could it be almost +jocose?--air of bearing himself. Palford and Grimby remarked it with +pained dismay. He was so unswerving in his readiness as he shook hands. + +“How well done of you!” he said. “How well arranged! But I'm afraid you +didn't arrange it at all. It has merely happened. Where did you come +from?” + +“From America; got back yesterday.” T. Tembarom's hand-shake was a +robust hearty greeting. “It's all right.” + +“From America!” The united voices of the solicitors exclaimed it. + +Joseph Hutchinson broke into a huge guffaw, and he stamped in +exultation. + +“I'm danged if he has na' been to America!” he cried out. “To America!” + +“Oh!” Miss Alicia gasped hysterically, “they go backward and forward to +America like--like lightning!” + +Little Ann had not risen at his entrance, but sat still with her hands +clasped tightly on her lap. Her face had somehow the effect of a flower +gradually breaking into extraordinary bloom. Their eyes had once met and +then she remained, her soul in hers which were upon him, as she drank in +every word he uttered. Her time had not yet come. + +Lady Joan had remained standing by the chair, which a few moments before +her manner had seemed to transform into something like a witness stand +in a court of justice. Her hungry eyes had grown hungrier each second, +and her breath came and went quickly. The very face she had looked up at +on her last talk with T. Tembarom--the oddly human face--turned on +her as he came to her. It was just as it had been that night--just as +commonly uncommon and believable. + +“Say, Lady Joan! You didn't believe all that guff, did you--You didn't?” + he said. + +“No--no--no! I couldn't!” she cried fiercely. + +He saw she was shaking with suspense, and he pushed her gently into a +chair. + +“You'd better sit down a minute. You're about all in,” he said. + +She might have been a woman with an ague as she caught his arm, shaking +it because her hands themselves so shook. + +“Is it true?” was her low cry. “Is he alive--is he alive?” + +“Yes, he's alive.” And as he answered he drew close and so placed +himself before her that he shielded her from the others in the room. He +seemed to manage to shut them out, so that when she dropped her face +on her arms against the chair-back her shuddering, silent sobbing +was hidden decently. It was not only his body which did it, but some +protecting power which was almost physically visible. She felt it spread +before her. + +“Yes, he's alive,” he said, “and he's all right--though it's been a long +time coming, by gee!” + +“He's alive.” They all heard it. For a man of Palliser's make to stand +silent in the midst of mysterious slowly accumulating convictions that +some one--perilously of his own rarely inept type--was on the verge +of feeling appallingly like a fool--was momentarily unendurable. And +nothing had been explained, after all. + +“Is this what you call `bluff' in New York?” he demanded. “You've got +a lot to explain. You admit that Jem Temple Barholm is alive?” and +realized his asinine error before the words were fully spoken. + +The realization was the result of the square-shouldered swing with which +T. Tembarom turned round, and the expression of his eyes as they ran +over him. + +“Admit!” he said. “Admit hell! He's up-stairs,” with a slight jerk of +his head in the direction of the ceiling. + +The duke alone did not gasp. He laughed slightly. + +“We've just got here. He came down from London with me, and Sir Ormsby +Galloway.” And he said it not to Palliser but to Palford and Grimby. + +“The Sir Ormsby Galloway?” It was an ejaculation from Mr. Palford +himself. + +T. Tembarom stood square and gave his explanation to the lot of them, so +to speak, without distinction. + +“He's the big nerve specialist. I've had him looking after the case from +the first--before I began to suspect anything. I took orders, and orders +were to keep him quiet and not let any fool butt in and excite him. +That's what I've been giving my mind to. The great stunt was to get him +to go and stay at Sir Ormsby's place.” He stopped a moment and suddenly +flared forth as if he had had about enough of it. He almost shouted at +them in exasperation. “All I'm going to tell you is that for about six +months I've been trying to prove that Jem Temple Barholm was Jem Temple +Barholm, and the hardest thing I had to do was to get him so that he +could prove it himself.” He strode over to the hearth and rang a +bell. “It's not my place to give orders here now,” he said, “but Jem +commissioned me to see this thing through. Sir Ormsby'll tell you all +you want to hear.” + +He turned and spoke solely to the duke. + +“This is what happened,” he said. “I dare say you'll laugh when you hear +it. I almost laughed myself. What does Jem do, when he thinks things +over, but get some fool notion in his head about not coming back here +and pushing me out. And he lights out and leaves the country--leaves +it--to get time to think it over some more.” + +The duke did not laugh. He merely smiled--a smile which had a shade of +curious self-questioning in it. + +“Romantic and emotional--and quite ridiculous,” he commented slowly. +“He'd have awakened to that when he had thought it out `some more.' The +thing couldn't be done.” + +Burrill had presented himself in answer to the bell, and awaited orders. +His Grace called Tembarom's attention to him, and Tembarom included +Palliser with Palford and Grimby when he gave his gesture of +instruction. + +“Take these gentlemen to Sir Ormsby Galloway, and then ask Mr. Temple +Barholm if he'll come down-stairs,” he said. + +It is possible that Captain Palliser felt himself more irritatingly +infolded in the swathing realization that some one was in a ridiculous +position, and it is certain that Mr. Palford felt it necessary to +preserve an outwardly flawless dignity as the duke surprisingly left his +chair and joined them. + +“Let me go, too,” he suggested; “I may be able to assist in throwing +light.” His including movement in Miss Alicia's direction was +delightfully gracious and friendly. It was inclusive of Mr. Hutchinson +also. + +“Will you come with us, Miss Temple Barholm?” he said. “And you too, Mr. +Hutchinson. We shall go over it all in its most interesting detail, and +you must be eager about it. I am myself.” + +His happy and entirely correct idea was that the impending entrance +of Mr. James Temple Barholm would “come off” better in the absence of +audience. + +Hutchinson almost bounced from his chair in his readiness. Miss Alicia +looked at Tembarom. + +“Yes, Miss Alicia,” he answered her inquiring glance. “You go, too. +You'll get it all over quicker.” + +Rigid propriety forbade that Mr. Palford should express annoyance, but +the effort to restrain the expression of it was in his countenance. Was +it possible that the American habit of being jocular had actually held +its own in a matter as serious as this? And could even the most cynical +and light-minded of ducal personages have been involved in its unworthy +frivolities? But no one looked jocular--Tembarom's jaw was set in its +hard line, and the duke, taking up the broad ribbon of his rimless +monocle to fix the glass in his eye, wore the expression of a man whose +sense of humor was temporarily in abeyance. + +“Are we to understand that your Grace--?” + +“Yes,” said his Grace a trifle curtly, “I have known about it for some +time.” + +“But why was nobody told?” put in Palliser. + +“Why should people be told? There was nothing sufficiently definite to +tell. It was a waiting game.” His Grace wasted no words. “I was +told. Mr. Temple Barholm did not know England or English methods. His +idea--perhaps a mistaken one--was that an English duke ought to be able +to advise him. He came to me and made a clean breast of it. He goes +straight at things, that young fellow. Makes what he calls a `bee line.' +Oh! I've been in it--I 've been in it, I assure you.” + +It was as they crossed the hall that his Grace slightly laughed. + +“It struck me as a sort of wild-goose chase at first. He had only a +ghost of a clue--a mere resemblance to a portrait. But he believed in +it, and he had an instinct.” He laughed again. “The dullest and most +unmelodramatic neighborhood in England has been taking part in a +melodrama--but there has been no villain in it--only a matter-of-fact +young man, working out a queer thing in his own queer, matter-of-fact +way.” + +When the door closed behind them, Tembarom went to Lady Joan. She had +risen and was standing before the window, her back to the room. She +looked tall and straight and tensely braced when she turned round, but +there was endurance, not fierceness in her eyes. + +“Did he leave the country knowing I was here--waiting?” she asked. Her +voice was low and fatigued. She had remembered that years had passed, +and that it was perhaps after all only human that long anguish should +blot things out, and dull a hopeless man's memory. + +“No,” answered Tembarom sharply. “He didn't. You weren't in it then. He +believed you'd married that Duke of Merthshire fellow. This is the way +it was: Let me tell it to you quick. A letter that had been wandering +round came to him the night before the cave-in, when they thought he was +killed. It told him old Temple Barholm was dead. He started out before +daylight, and you can bet he was strung up till he was near crazy with +excitement. He believed that if he was in England with plenty of money +he could track down that cardsharp lie. He believed you'd help him. +Somewhere, while he was traveling he came across an old paper with a lot +of dope about your being engaged.” + +Joan remembered well how her mother had worked to set the story +afloat--how they had gone through the most awful of their scenes--almost +raving at each other, shut up together in the boudoir in Hill Street. + +“That's all he remembers, except that he thought some one had hit him +a crack on the head. Nothing had hit him. He'd had too much to stand up +under and something gave way in his brain. He doesn't know what happened +after that. He'd wake up sometimes just enough to know he was wandering +about trying to get home. It's been the limit to try to track him. If +he'd not come to himself we could never have been quite sure. That's why +I stuck at it. But he DID come to himself. All of a sudden. Sir Ormsby +will tell you that's what nearly always happens. They wake up all of a +sudden. It's all right; it's all right. I used to promise him it would +be--when I wasn't sure that I wasn't lying.” And for the first time he +broke into the friendly grin--but it was more valiant than spontaneous. +He wanted her to know that it was “all right.” + +“Oh!” she cried, “oh! you--” + +She stopped because the door was opening. + +“It's Jem,” he said sharply. “Ann, let's go.” And that instant Little +Ann was near him. + +“No! no! don't go,” cried Lady Joan. + +Jem Temple Barholm came in through the doorway. Life and sound and +breath stopped for a second, and then the two whirled into each other's +arms as if a storm had swept them there. + +“Jem!” she wailed. “Oh, Jem! My man! Where have you been?” + +“I've been in hell, Joan--in hell!” he answered, choking,--“and this +wonderful fellow has dragged me out of it.” + +But Tembarom would have none of it. He could not stand it. This sort of +thing filled up his throat and put him at an overwhelming disadvantage. +He just laid a hand on Jem Temple Barholm's shoulder and gave him an +awkwardly friendly push. + +“Say, cut me out of it!” he said. “You get busy,” his voice rather +breaking. “You've got a lot to say to her. It was up to me before;--now, +it's up to you.” + +Little Ann went with him into the next room. + + + +The room they went into was a smaller one, quiet, and its oriel windows +much overshadowed by trees. By the time they stood together in the +center of it Tembarom had swallowed something twice or thrice, and had +recovered himself. Even his old smile had come back as he took one of +her hands in each of his, and holding them wide apart stood and looked +down at her. + +“God bless you, Little Ann,” he said. “I just knew I should find you +here. I'd have bet my last dollar on it.” + +The hands he held were trembling just a little, and the dimples quivered +in and out. But her eyes were steady, and a lovely increasing intensity +glowed in them. + +“You went after him and brought him back. He was all wrought up, and he +needed some one with good common sense to stop him in time to make him +think straight before he did anything silly,” she said. + +“I says to him,” T. Tembarom made the matter clear; “`Say, you've left +something behind that belongs to you! Comeback and get it.' I meant +Lady Joan. And I says, `Good Lord, man, you're acting like a fellow in +a play. That place doesn't belong to me. It belongs to you. If it was +mine, fair and square, Little Willie'd hang on to it. There'd be no +noble sacrifice in his. You get a brace on.'” + +“When they were talking in that silly way about you, and saying you'd +run away,” said Little Ann, her face uplifted adoringly as she talked, +“I said to father, `If he's gone, he's gone to get something. And he'll +be likely to bring it back.'” + +He almost dropped her hands and caught her to him then. But he saved +himself in time. + +“Now this great change has come,” he said, “everything will be +different. The men you'll know will look like the pictures in the +advertisements at the backs of magazines--those fellows with chins and +smooth hair. I shall look like a chauffeur among them.” + +But she did not blench in the least, though she remembered whose words +he was quoting. The intense and lovely femininity in her eyes only +increased. She came closer to him, and so because of his height had to +look up more. + +“You will always make jokes--but I don't care. I don't care for anything +but you,” she said. “I love your jokes; I love everything about you: +I love your eyes--and your voice--and your laugh. I love your very +clothes.” Her voice quivered as her dimples did. “These last months I've +sometimes felt as if I should die of loving you.” + +It was a wonderful thing--wonderful. His eyes--his whole young being had +kindled as he looked down drinking in every word. + +“Is that the kind of quiet little thing you are?” he said. + +“Yes, it is,” she answered firmly. + +“And you're satisfied--you know, who it is I want?--You're ready to do +what you said you would that last night at Mrs. Bowse's?” + +“What do you think?” she said in her clear little voice. + +He caught her then in a strong, hearty, young, joyous clutch. + +“You come to me, Little Ann. You come right to me,” he said. + + + + +CHAPTER XL + + +Many an honest penny was turned, with the assistance of the romantic +Temple Barholm case, by writers of paragraphs for newspapers published +in the United States. It was not merely a romance which belonged to +England but was excitingly linked to America by the fact that its +hero regarded himself as an American, and had passed through all the +picturesque episodes of a most desirably struggling youth in the very +streets of New York itself, and had “worked his way up” to the proud +position of society reporter “on” a huge Sunday paper. It was generally +considered to redound largely to his credit that refusing “in spite +of all temptations to belong to other nations,” he had been born in +Brooklyn, that he had worn ragged clothes and shoes with holes in +them, that he had blacked other people's shoes, run errands, and +sold newspapers there. If he had been a mere English young man, one +recounting of his romance would have disposed of him; but as he was +presented to the newspaper public every characteristic lent itself to +elaboration. He was, in fact, flaringly anecdotal. As a newly elected +President who has made boots or driven a canal-boat in his unconsidered +youth endears himself indescribably to both paragraph reader and +paragraph purveyor, so did T. Tembarom endear himself. For weeks, he +was a perennial fount. What quite credible story cannot be related of +a hungry lad who is wildly flung by chance into immense fortune and the +laps of dukes, so to speak? The feeblest imagination must be stirred +by the high color of such an episode, and stimulated to superb effort. +Until the public had become sated with reading anecdotes depicting the +extent of his early privations, and dwelling on illustrations which +presented lumber-yards in which he had slept, and the facades of +tumble-down tenements in which he had first beheld the light of day, +he was a modest source of income. Any lumber-yard or any tenement +sufficiently dilapidated would serve as a model; and the fact that in +the shifting architectural life of New York the actual original +scenes of the incidents had been demolished and built upon by +new apartment-houses, or new railroad stations, or new factories +seventy-five stories high, was an unobstructing triviality. Accounts +of his manner of conducting himself in European courts to which he had +supposedly been bidden, of his immense popularity in glittering circles, +of his finely democratic bearing when confronted by emperors surrounded +by their guilty splendors, were the joy of remote villages and towns. A +thrifty and young minor novelist hastily incorporated him in a serial, +and syndicated it upon the spot under the title of “Living or Dead.” + Among its especial public it was a success of such a nature as betrayed +its author into as hastily writing a second romance, which not being +rendered stimulating by a foundation of fact failed to repeat his +triumph. + +T. Tembarom, reading in the library at Temple Barholm the first +newspapers sent from New York, smiled widely. + +“You see they've got to say something, Jem,” he explained. “It's too big +a scoop to be passed over. Something's got to be turned in. And it means +money to the fellows, too. It's good copy.” + +“Suppose,” suggested Jem, watching him with interest, “you were to write +the facts yourself and pass them on to some decent chap who'd be glad to +get them.” + +“Glad!” Tembarom flushed with delight. “Any chap would be'way up in the +air at the chance. It's the best kind of stuff. Wouldn't you mind? Are +you sure you wouldn't?” He was the warhorse snuffing battle from afar. + +Jem Temple Barholm laughed outright at the gleam in his eyes. + +“No, I shouldn't care a hang, dear fellow. And the fact that I objected +would not stop the story.” + +“No, it wouldn't, by gee! Say, I'll get Ann to help me, and we'll send +it to the man who took my place on the Earth. It'll mean board and boots +to him for a month if he works it right. And it'll be doing a good turn +to Galton, too. I shall be glad to see old Galton when I go back.” + +“You are quite sure you want to go back?” inquired Jem. A certain glow +of feeling was always in his eyes when he turned them on T. Tembarom. + +“Go back! I should smile! Of course I shall go back. I've got to +get busy for Hutchinson and I've got to get busy for myself. I guess +there'll be work to do that'll take me half over the world; but I'm +going back first. Ann's going with me.” + +But there was no reference to a return to New York when the Sunday +Earth and other widely circulated weekly sheets gave prominence to the +marriage of Mr. Temple Temple Barholm and Miss Hutchinson, only child +and heiress of Mr. Joseph Hutchinson, the celebrated inventor. From a +newspaper point of view, the wedding had been rather unfairly quiet, +and it was necessary to fill space with a revival of the renowned story, +with pictures of bride and bridegroom, and of Temple Barholm surrounded +by ancestral oaks. A thriving business would have been done by the +reporters if an ocean greyhound had landed the pair at the dock some +morning, and snap-shots could have been taken as they crossed the +gangway, and wearing apparel described. But hope of such fortune was +swept away by the closing paragraph, which stated that Mr. and Mrs. +Temple Barholm would “spend the next two months in motoring through +Italy and Spain in their 90 h.p. Panhard.” + +It was T. Tembarom who sent this last item privately to Galton. + +“It's not true,” his letter added, “but what I'm going to do is nobody's +business but mine and my wife's, and this will suit people just as +well.” And then he confided to Galton the thing which was the truth. + +The St. Francesca apartment-house was a very new one, situated on a +corner of an as yet sparsely built but rapidly spreading avenue above +the “100th Streets”--many numbers above them. There was a frankly +unfinished air about the neighborhood, but here and there a “store” + had broken forth and valiantly displayed necessities, and even articles +verging upon the economically ornamental. It was plainly imperative +that the idea should be suggested that there were on the spot sources +of supply not requiring the immediate employment of the services of +the elevated railroad in the achievement of purchase, and also that +enterprise rightly encouraged might develop into being equal to all +demands. Here and there an exceedingly fresh and clean “market store,” + brilliant with the highly colored labels adorning tinned soups and meats +and edibles in glass jars, alluringly presented itself to the passer-by. +The elevated railroad perched upon iron supports, and with iron +stairways so tall that they looked almost perilous, was a prominent +feature of the landscape. There were stretches of waste ground, and high +backgrounds of bits of country and woodland to be seen. The rush of New +York traffic had not yet reached the streets, and the avenue was of +an agreeable suburban cleanliness and calm. People who lived in upper +stories could pride themselves on having “views of the river.” These +they laid stress upon when it was hinted that they “lived a long way +uptown.” + +The St. Francesca was built of light-brown stone and decorated with +much ornate molding. It was fourteen stories high, and was supplied with +ornamental fire-escapes. It was “no slouch of a building.” Everything +decorative which could be done for it had been done. The entrance was +almost imposing, and a generous lavishness in the way of cement mosaic +flooring and new and thick red carpet struck the eye at once. The +grill-work of the elevator was of fresh, bright blackness, picked out +with gold, and the colored elevator-boy wore a blue livery with brass +buttons. Persons of limited means who were willing to discard the +excitements of “downtown” got a good deal for their money, and +frequently found themselves secretly surprised and uplifted by the +atmosphere of luxury which greeted them when they entered their +red-carpeted hall. It was wonderful, they said, congratulating one +another privately, how much comfort and style you got in a New York +apartment-house after you passed the “150ths.” + +On a certain afternoon T. Tembarom, with his hat on the back of his head +and his arms full of parcels, having leaped off the “L” when it stopped +at the nearest station, darted up and down the iron stairways until +he reached the ground, and then hurried across the avenue to the St. +Francesca. He made long strides, and two or three times grinned as if +thinking of something highly amusing; and once or twice he began to +whistle and checked himself. He looked approvingly at the tall building +and its solidly balustraded entrance-steps as he approached it, and when +he entered the red-carpeted hall he gave greeting to a small mulatto boy +in livery. + +“Hello, Tom! How's everything?” he inquired, hilariously. “You taking +good care of this building? Let any more eight-room apartments? You've +got to keep right on the job, you know. Can't have you loafing because +you've got those brass buttons.” + +The small page showed his teeth in gleeful appreciation of their +friendly intimacy. + +“Yassir. That's so,” he answered. “Mis' Barom she's waitin' for you. +Them carpets is come, sir. Tracy's wagon brought 'em 'bout an hour ago. +I told her I'd help her lay 'em if she wanted me to, but she said you +was comin' with the hammer an' tacks. 'Twarn't that she thought I was +too little. It was jest that there wasn't no tacks. I tol' her jest call +me in any time to do anythin' she want done, an' she said she would.” + +“She'll do it,” said T. Tembarom. “You just keep on tap. I'm just +counting on you and Light here,” taking in the elevator-boy as he +stepped into the elevator, “to look after her when I'm out.” + +The elevator-boy grinned also, and the elevator shot up the shaft, the +numbers of the floors passing almost too rapidly to be distinguished. +The elevator was new and so was the boy, and it was the pride of his +soul to land each passenger at his own particular floor, as if he had +been propelled upward from a catapult. But he did not go too rapidly for +this passenger, at least, though a paper parcel or so was dropped in the +transit and had to be picked up when he stopped at floor fourteen. + +The red carpets were on the corridor there also, and fresh paint and +paper were on the walls. A few yards from the elevator he stopped at a +door and opened it with a latch-key, beaming with inordinate delight. + +The door opened into a narrow corridor leading into a small apartment, +the furniture of which was not yet set in order. A roll of carpet and +some mats stood in a corner, chairs and tables with burlaps round their +legs waited here and there, a cot with a mattress on it, evidently to be +transformed into a “couch,” held packages of bafflingly irregular shapes +and sizes. In the tiny kitchen new pots and pans and kettles, some still +wrapped in paper, tilted themselves at various angles on the gleaming +new range or on the closed lids of the doll-sized stationary wash-tubs. + +Little Ann had been very busy, and some of the things were unpacked. She +had been sweeping and mopping floors and polishing up remote corners, +and she had on a big white pinafore-apron with long sleeves, which +transformed her into a sort of small female chorister. She came into the +narrow corridor with a broom in her hand, her periwinkle-blue gaze as +thrilled as an excited child's when it attacks the arrangement of its +first doll's house. Her hair was a little ruffled where it showed below +the white kerchief she had tied over her head. The warm, daisy pinkness +of her cheeks was amazing. + +“Hello!” called out Tembarom at sight of her. “Are you there yet? I +don't believe it.” + +“Yes, I'm here,” she answered, dimpling at him. + +“Not you!” he said. “You couldn't be! You've melted away. Let's see.” + And he slid his parcels down on the cot and lifted her up in the air as +if she had been a baby. “How can I tell, anyhow?” he laughed out. “You +don't weigh anything, and when a fellow squeezes you he's got to look +out what he's doing.” + +He did not seem to “look out” particularly when he caught her to him in +a hug into which she appeared charmingly to melt. She made herself part +of it, with soft arms which went at once round his neck and held him. + +“Say!” he broke forth when he set her down. “Do you think I'm not glad +to get back?” + +“No, I don't, Tem,” she answered, “I know how glad you are by the way +I'm glad myself.” + +“You know just everything!” he ejaculated, looking her over, “just every +darned thing--God bless you! But don't you melt away, will you? That's +what I'm afraid of. I'll do any old thing on earth if you'll just stay.” + +That was his great joke,--though she knew it was not so great a joke as +it seemed,--that he would not believe that she was real, and believed +that she might disappear at any moment. They had been married three +weeks, and she still knew when she saw him pause to look at her that he +would suddenly seize and hold her fast, trying to laugh, sometimes not +with entire success. + +“Do you know how long it was? Do you know how far away that big place +was from everything in the world?” he had said once. “And me holding on +and gritting my teeth? And not a soul to open my mouth to! The old duke +was the only one who understood, anyhow. He'd been there.” + +“I'll stay,” she answered now, standing before him as he sat down on the +end of the “couch.” She put a firm, warm-palmed little hand on each side +of his face, and held it between them as she looked deep into his eyes. +“You look at me, Tem--and see.” + +“I believe it now,” he said, “but I shan't in fifteen minutes.” + +“We're both right-down silly,” she said, her soft, cosy laugh breaking +out. “Look round this room and see what we've got to do. Let's begin +this minute. Did you get the groceries?” + +He sprang up and began to go over his packages triumphantly. + +“Tea, coffee, sugar, pepper, salt, beefsteak,” he called out. + +“We can't have beefsteak often,” she said, soberly, “if we're going to +do it on fifteen a week.” + +“Good Lord, no!” he gave back to her, hilariously. “But this is a Fifth +Avenue feed.” + +“Let's take them into the kitchen and put them into the cupboard, +and untie the pots and pans.” She was suddenly quite absorbed and +businesslike. “We must make the room tidy and tack down the carpet, and +then cook the dinner.” + +He followed her and obeyed her like an enraptured boy. The wonder of her +was that, despite its unarranged air, the tiny place was already cleared +and set for action. She had done it all before she had swept out the +undiscovered corners. Everything was near the spot to which it belonged. +There was nothing to move or drag out of the way. + +“I got it all ready to put straight,” she said, “but I wanted you to +finish it with me. It wouldn't have seemed right if I'd done it without +you. It wouldn't have been as much OURS.” + +Then came active service. She was like a small general commanding an +army of one. They put things on shelves; they hung things on hooks; +they found places in which things belonged; they set chairs and tables +straight; and then, after dusting and polishing them, set them at a more +imposing angle; they unrolled the little green carpet and tacked down +its corners; and transformed the cot into a “couch” by covering it +with what Tracy's knew as a “throw” and adorning one end of it with +cotton-stuffed cushions. They hung little photogravures on the walls and +strung up some curtains before the good-sized window, which looked down +from an enormous height at the top of four-storied houses, and took +in beyond them the river and the shore beyond. Because there was no +fireplace Tembarom knocked up a shelf, and, covering it with a scarf +(from Tracy's), set up some inoffensive ornaments on it and flanked them +with photographs of Jem Temple Barholm, Lady Joan in court dress, Miss +Alicia in her prettiest cap, and the great house with its huge terrace +and the griffins. + +“Ain't she a looker?” Tembarom said of Lady Joan. “And ain't Jem a +looker, too? Gee! they're a pair. Jem thinks this honeymoon stunt of +ours is the best thing he ever heard of--us fixing ourselves up here +just like we would have done if nothing had ever happened, and we'd +HAD to do it on fifteen per. Say,” throwing an arm about her, “are you +getting as much fun out of it as if we HAD to, as if I might lose my job +any minute, and we might get fired out of here because we couldn't pay +the rent? I believe you'd rather like to think I might ring you into +some sort of trouble, so that you could help me to get you out of it.” + +“That's nonsense,” she answered, with a sweet, untruthful little face. “I +shouldn't be very sensible if I wasn't glad you COULDN'T lose your job. +Father and I are your job now.” + +He laughed aloud. This was the innocent, fantastic truth of it. They had +chosen to do this thing--to spend their honey-moon in this particular +way, and there was no reason why they should not. The little dream which +had been of such unattainable proportions in the days of Mrs. Bowse's +boarding-house could be realized to its fullest. No one in the +St. Francesca apartments knew that the young honey-mooners in the +five-roomed apartment were other than Mr. and Mrs. T. Barholm, as +recorded on the tablet of names in the entrance. Hutchinson knew, and +Miss Alicia knew, and Jem Temple Barholm, and Lady Joan. The Duke of +Stone knew, and thought the old-fashionedness of the idea quite the last +touch of modernity. + +“Did you see any one who knew you when you were out?” Little Ann asked. + +“No, and if I had they wouldn't have believed they'd seen me, because +the papers told them that Mr. and Mrs. Temple Barholm are spending their +honeymoon motoring through Spain in their ninety-horse-power Panhard.” + +“Let's go and get dinner,” said Little Ann. + +They went into the doll's-house kitchen and cooked the dinner. Little +Ann broiled steak and fried potato chips, and T. Tembarom produced a +wonderful custard pie he had bought at a confectioner's. He set the +table, and put a bunch of yellow daisies in the middle of it. + +“We couldn't do it every day on fifteen per week,” he said. “If we +wanted flowers we should have to grow them in old tomato-cans.” + +Little Ann took off her chorister's-gown apron and her kerchief, and +patted and touched up her hair. She was pink to her ears, and had +several new dimples; and when she sat down opposite him, as she had sat +that first night at Mrs. Bowse's boarding-house supper, Tembarom stared +at her and caught his breath. + +“You ARE there?” he said, “ain't you?” + +“Yes, I am,” she answered. + +When they had cleared the table and washed the dishes, and had left +the toy kitchen spick and span, the ten million lights in New York were +lighted and casting their glow above the city. Tembarom sat down on the +Adams chair before the window and took Little Ann on his knee. She was +of the build which settles comfortably and with ease into soft curves +whose nearness is a caress. Looked down at from the fourteenth story of +the St. Francesca apartments, the lights strung themselves along lines +of streets, crossing and recrossing one another; they glowed and blazed +against masses of buildings, and they hung at enormous heights in +mid-air here and there, apparently without any support. Everywhere was +the glow and dazzle of their brilliancy of light, with the distant bee +hum of a nearing elevated train, at intervals gradually deepening into a +roar. The river looked miles below them, and craft with sparks or blaze +of light went slowly or swiftly to and fro. + +“It's like a dream,” said Little Ann, after a long silence. “And we are +up here like birds in a nest.” + +He gave her a closer grip. + +“Miss Alicia once said that when I was almost down and out,” he said. +“It gave me a jolt. She said a place like this would be like a nest. +Wherever we go,--and we'll have to go to lots of places and live in lots +of different ways,--we'll keep this place, and some time we'll bring her +here and let her try it. I've just got to show her New York.” + +“Yes, let us keep it,” said Little Ann, drowsily, “just for a nest.” + +There was another silence, and the lights on the river far below still +twinkled or blazed as they drifted to and fro. + +“You are there, ain't you?” said Tembarom in a half-whisper. + +“Yes--I am,” murmured Little Ann. + +But she had had a busy day, and when he looked down at her, she hung +softly against his shoulder, fast asleep. + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of T. Tembarom, by Frances Hodgson Burnett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK T. 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