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diff --git a/3756-h/3756-h.htm b/3756-h/3756-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8cf9ae6 --- /dev/null +++ b/3756-h/3756-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,15734 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Indiscretions of Archie, by P. G. Wodehouse</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Indiscretions of Archie, by P. G. Wodehouse</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Indiscretions of Archie</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: P. G. Wodehouse</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 28, 2001 [eBook #3756]<br /> +[Most recently updated: August 14, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Charles Franks, Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team, and David Widger</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INDISCRETIONS OF ARCHIE ***</div> + +<h1>Indiscretions of Archie</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by P. G. Wodehouse</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I. DISTRESSING SCENE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II. A SHOCK FOR MR BREWSTER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III. MR BREWSTER DELIVERS SENTENCE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV. WORK WANTED</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V. STRANGE EXPERIENCES OF AN ARTIST’S MODEL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI. THE BOMB</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII. MR ROSCOE SHERRIFF HAS AN IDEA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII. A DISTURBED NIGHT FOR DEAR OLD SQUIFFY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX. A LETTER FROM PARKER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X. DOING FATHER A BIT OF GOOD</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI. SALVATORE CHOOSES THE WRONG MOMENT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII. BRIGHT EYES—AND A FLY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII. RALLYING ROUND PERCY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV. THE SAD CASE OF LOONEY BIDDLE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV. SUMMER STORMS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI. ARCHIE ACCEPTS A SITUATION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII. BROTHER BILL’S ROMANCE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII. THE SAUSAGE CHAPPIE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX. REGGIE COMES TO LIFE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX. THE-SAUSAGE-CHAPPIE-CLICKS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI. THE GROWING BOY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII. WASHY STEPS INTO THE HALL OF FAME</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII. MOTHER’S KNEE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV. THE MELTING OF MR CONNOLLY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">CHAPTER XXV. THE WIGMORE VENUS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26">CHAPTER XXVI. A TALE OF A GRANDFATHER</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p> +It wasn’t Archie’s fault really. Its true he went to America and +fell in love with Lucille, the daughter of a millionaire hotel proprietor and +if he did marry her—well, what else was there to do? +</p> + +<p> +From his point of view, the whole thing was a thoroughly good egg; but Mr. +Brewster, his father-in-law, thought differently, Archie had neither money nor +occupation, which was distasteful in the eyes of the industrious Mr. Brewster; +but the real bar was the fact that he had once adversely criticised one of his +hotels. +</p> + +<p> +Archie does his best to heal the breach; but, being something of an ass, genus +priceless, he finds it almost beyond his powers to placate “the +man-eating fish” whom Providence has given him as a father-in-law +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p class="center"> +P. G. Wodehouse +</p> + +<p class="center"> +AUTHOR OF “THE LITTLE WARRIOR,” “A DAMSEL IN DISTRESS,” +“UNEASY MONEY,” ETC. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +NEW YORK GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY COPYRIGHT,1921, BY GEORGE H, DORAN COMPANY +COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE COMPANY<br/> +(COSMOPOLITAN MAGAZINE)<br/> +PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA<br/> +<br/> +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p class="center"> +DEDICATION<br/> +TO<br/> +B. W. KING-HALL +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +My dear Buddy,— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +We have been friends for eighteen years. A considerable proportion of my books +were written under your hospitable roof. And yet I have never dedicated one to +you. What will be the verdict of Posterity on this? The fact is, I have become +rather superstitious about dedications. No sooner do you label a book with the +legend— +</p> + +<p class="center"> +TO MY<br/> +BEST FRIEND<br/> +X +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +than X cuts you in Piccadilly, or you bring a lawsuit against him. There is a +fatality about it. However, I can’t imagine anyone quarrelling with you, +and I am getting more attractive all the time, so let’s take a chance. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +Yours ever,<br/> +P. G. WODEHOUSE. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.<br/> +DISTRESSING SCENE</h2> + +<p> +“I say, laddie!” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” replied the desk-clerk alertly. All the employes of the +Hotel Cosmopolis were alert. It was one of the things on which Mr. Daniel +Brewster, the proprietor, insisted. And as he was always wandering about the +lobby of the hotel keeping a personal eye on affairs, it was never safe to +relax. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to see the manager.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is there anything I could do, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie looked at him doubtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, as a matter of fact, my dear old desk-clerk,” he said, +“I want to kick up a fearful row, and it hardly seems fair to lug you +into it. Why you, I mean to say? The blighter whose head I want on a charger is +the bally manager.” +</p> + +<p> +At this point a massive, grey-haired man, who had been standing close by, +gazing on the lobby with an air of restrained severity, as if daring it to +start anything, joined in the conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“I am the manager,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +His eye was cold and hostile. Others, it seemed to say, might like Archie +Moffam, but not he. Daniel Brewster was bristling for combat. What he had +overheard had shocked him to the core of his being. The Hotel Cosmopolis was +his own private, personal property, and the thing dearest to him in the world, +after his daughter Lucille. He prided himself on the fact that his hotel was +not like other New York hotels, which were run by impersonal companies and +shareholders and boards of directors, and consequently lacked the paternal +touch which made the Cosmopolis what it was. At other hotels things went wrong, +and clients complained. At the Cosmopolis things never went wrong, because he +was on the spot to see that they didn’t, and as a result clients never +complained. Yet here was this long, thin, string-bean of an Englishman actually +registering annoyance and dissatisfaction before his very eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“What is your complaint?” he enquired frigidly. +</p> + +<p> +Archie attached himself to the top button of Mr. Brewster’s coat, and was +immediately dislodged by an irritable jerk of the other’s substantial +body. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen, old thing! I came over to this country to nose about in search +of a job, because there doesn’t seem what you might call a general demand +for my services in England. Directly I was demobbed, the family started talking +about the Land of Opportunity and shot me on to a liner. The idea was that I +might get hold of something in America—” +</p> + +<p> +He got hold of Mr. Brewster’s coat-button, and was again shaken off. +</p> + +<p> +“Between ourselves, I’ve never done anything much in England, and I +fancy the family were getting a bit fed. At any rate, they sent me over +here—” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster disentangled himself for the third time. +</p> + +<p> +“I would prefer to postpone the story of your life,” he said +coldly, “and be informed what is your specific complaint against the +Hotel Cosmopolis.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, yes. The jolly old hotel. I’m coming to that. Well, it +was like this. A chappie on the boat told me that this was the best place to +stop at in New York—” +</p> + +<p> +“He was quite right,” said Mr. Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +“Was he, by Jove! Well, all I can say, then, is that the other New York +hotels must be pretty mouldy, if this is the best of the lot! I took a room +here last night,” said Archie quivering with self-pity, “and there +was a beastly tap outside somewhere which went drip-drip-drip all night and +kept me awake.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster’s annoyance deepened. He felt that a chink had been found in +his armour. Not even the most paternal hotel-proprietor can keep an eye on +every tap in his establishment. +</p> + +<p> +“Drip-drip-drip!” repeated Archie firmly. “And I put my boots +outside the door when I went to bed, and this morning they hadn’t been +touched. I give you my solemn word! Not touched.” +</p> + +<p> +“Naturally,” said Mr. Brewster. “My employés are +honest.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I wanted them cleaned, dash it!” +</p> + +<p> +“There is a shoe-shining parlour in the basement. At the Cosmopolis shoes +left outside bedroom doors are not cleaned.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I think the Cosmopolis is a bally rotten hotel!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster’s compact frame quivered. The unforgivable insult had been +offered. Question the legitimacy of Mr. Brewster’s parentage, knock Mr. +Brewster down and walk on his face with spiked shoes, and you did not +irremediably close all avenues to a peaceful settlement. But make a remark like +that about his hotel, and war was definitely declared. +</p> + +<p> +“In that case,” he said, stiffening, “I must ask you to give +up your room.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going to give it up! I wouldn’t stay in the bally place +another minute.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster walked away, and Archie charged round to the cashier’s desk +to get his bill. It had been his intention in any case, though for dramatic +purposes he concealed it from his adversary, to leave the hotel that morning. +One of the letters of introduction which he had brought over from England had +resulted in an invitation from a Mrs. van Tuyl to her house-party at Miami, and +he had decided to go there at once. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” mused Archie, on his way to the station, “one +thing’s certain. I’ll never set foot in <i>that</i> bally place +again!” +</p> + +<p> +But nothing in this world is certain. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.<br/> +A SHOCK FOR MR. BREWSTER</h2> + +<p> +Mr. Daniel Brewster sat in his luxurious suite at the Cosmopolis, smoking one +of his admirable cigars and chatting with his old friend, Professor Binstead. A +stranger who had only encountered Mr. Brewster in the lobby of the hotel would +have been surprised at the appearance of his sitting-room, for it had none of +the rugged simplicity which was the keynote of its owner’s personal +appearance. Daniel Brewster was a man with a hobby. He was what Parker, his +valet, termed a connoozer. His educated taste in Art was one of the things +which went to make the Cosmopolis different from and superior to other New York +hotels. He had personally selected the tapestries in the dining-room and the +various paintings throughout the building. And in his private capacity he was +an enthusiastic collector of things which Professor Binstead, whose tastes lay +in the same direction, would have stolen without a twinge of conscience if he +could have got the chance. +</p> + +<p> +The professor, a small man of middle age who wore tortoiseshell-rimmed +spectacles, flitted covetously about the room, inspecting its treasures with a +glistening eye. In a corner, Parker, a grave, lean individual, bent over the +chafing-dish, in which he was preparing for his employer and his guest their +simple lunch. +</p> + +<p> +“Brewster,” said Professor Binstead, pausing at the mantelpiece. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster looked up amiably. He was in placid mood to-day. Two weeks and +more had passed since the meeting with Archie recorded in the previous chapter, +and he had been able to dismiss that disturbing affair from his mind. Since +then, everything had gone splendidly with Daniel Brewster, for he had just +accomplished his ambition of the moment by completing the negotiations for the +purchase of a site further down-town, on which he proposed to erect a new +hotel. He liked building hotels. He had the Cosmopolis, his first-born, a +summer hotel in the mountains, purchased in the previous year, and he was +toying with the idea of running over to England and putting up another in +London, That, however, would have to wait. Meanwhile, he would concentrate on +this new one down-town. It had kept him busy and worried, arranging for +securing the site; but his troubles were over now. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Professor Binstead had picked up a small china figure of delicate workmanship. +It represented a warrior of pre-khaki days advancing with a spear upon some +adversary who, judging from the contented expression on the warrior’s +face, was smaller than himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Where did you get this?” +</p> + +<p> +“That? Mawson, my agent, found it in a little shop on the east +side.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s the other? There ought to be another. These things go in +pairs. They’re valueless alone.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster’s brow clouded. +</p> + +<p> +“I know that,” he said shortly. “Mawson’s looking for +the other one everywhere. If you happen across it, I give you <i>carte +blanche</i> to buy it for me.” +</p> + +<p> +“It must be somewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. If you find it, don’t worry about the expense. I’ll +settle up, no matter what it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll bear it in mind,” said Professor Binstead. “It +may cost you a lot of money. I suppose you know that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I told you I don’t care what it costs.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s nice to be a millionaire,” sighed Professor Binstead. +</p> + +<p> +“Luncheon is served, sir,” said Parker. +</p> + +<p> +He had stationed himself in a statutesque pose behind Mr. Brewster’s +chair, when there was a knock at the door. He went to the door, and returned +with a telegram. +</p> + +<p> +“Telegram for you, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster nodded carelessly. The contents of the chafing-dish had justified +the advance advertising of their odour, and he was too busy to be interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +“Put it down. And you needn’t wait, Parker.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +The valet withdrew, and Mr. Brewster resumed his lunch. +</p> + +<p> +“Aren’t you going to open it?” asked Professor Binstead, to +whom a telegram was a telegram. +</p> + +<p> +“It can wait. I get them all day long. I expect it’s from Lucille, +saying what train she’s making.” +</p> + +<p> +“She returns to-day?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Been at Miami.” Mr. Brewster, having dwelt at adequate length +on the contents of the chafing-dish, adjusted his glasses and took up the +envelope. “I shall be glad—Great Godfrey!” +</p> + +<p> +He sat staring at the telegram, his mouth open. His friend eyed him +solicitously. +</p> + +<p> +“No bad news, I hope?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster gurgled in a strangled way. +</p> + +<p> +“Bad news? Bad—? Here, read it for yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +Professor Binstead, one of the three most inquisitive men in New York, took the +slip of paper with gratitude. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Returning New York to-day with darling Archie,’” he +read. “‘Lots of love from us both. Lucille.’” He gaped +at his host. “Who is Archie?” he enquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is Archie?” echoed Mr. Brewster helplessly. “Who +is—? That’s just what I would like to know.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘Darling Archie,’” murmured the professor, musing over +the telegram. “‘Returning to-day with darling Archie.’ +Strange!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster continued to stare before him. When you send your only daughter on +a visit to Miami minus any entanglements and she mentions in a telegram that +she has acquired a darling Archie, you are naturally startled. He rose from the +table with a bound. It had occurred to him that by neglecting a careful study +of his mail during the past week, as was his bad habit when busy, he had lost +an opportunity of keeping abreast with current happenings. He recollected now +that a letter had arrived from Lucille some time ago, and that he had put it +away unopened till he should have leisure to read it. Lucille was a dear girl, +he had felt, but her letters when on a vacation seldom contained anything that +couldn’t wait a few days for a reading. He sprang for his desk, rummaged +among his papers, and found what he was seeking. +</p> + +<p> +It was a long letter, and there was silence in the room for some moments while +he mastered its contents. Then he turned to the professor, breathing heavily. +</p> + +<p> +“Good heavens!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” said Professor Binstead eagerly. “Yes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Good Lord!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Good gracious!” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” demanded the professor in an agony. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster sat down again with a thud. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s married!” +</p> + +<p> +“Married!” +</p> + +<p> +“Married! To an Englishman!” +</p> + +<p> +“Bless my soul!” +</p> + +<p> +“She says,” proceeded Mr. Brewster, referring to the letter again, +“that they were both so much in love that they simply had to slip off and +get married, and she hopes I won’t be cross. Cross!” gasped Mr. +Brewster, gazing wildly at his friend. +</p> + +<p> +“Very disturbing!” +</p> + +<p> +“Disturbing! You bet it’s disturbing! I don’t know anything +about the fellow. Never heard of him in my life. She says he wanted a quiet +wedding because he thought a fellow looked such a chump getting married! And I +must love him, because he’s all set to love me very much!” +</p> + +<p> +“Extraordinary!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster put the letter down. +</p> + +<p> +“An Englishman!” +</p> + +<p> +“I have met some very agreeable Englishmen,” said Professor +Binstead. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like Englishmen,” growled Mr. Brewster. +“Parker’s an Englishman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your valet?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I believe he wears my shirts on the sly,’” said Mr. +Brewster broodingly, “If I catch him—! What would you do about +this, Binstead?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do?” The professor considered the point judicially. “Well, +really, Brewster, I do not see that there is anything you can do. You must +simply wait and meet the man. Perhaps he will turn out an admirable +son-in-law.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m!” Mr. Brewster declined to take an optimistic view. +“But an Englishman, Binstead!” he said with pathos. +“Why,” he went on, memory suddenly stirring, “there was an +Englishman at this hotel only a week or two ago who went about knocking it in a +way that would have amazed you! Said it was a rotten place! <i>My</i> +hotel!” +</p> + +<p> +Professor Binstead clicked his tongue sympathetically. He understood his +friend’s warmth. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III.<br/> +MR. BREWSTER DELIVERS SENTENCE</h2> + +<p> +At about the same moment that Professor Binstead was clicking his tongue in Mr. +Brewster’s sitting-room, Archie Moffam sat contemplating his bride in a +drawing-room on the express from Miami. He was thinking that this was too good +to be true. His brain had been in something of a whirl these last few days, but +this was one thought that never failed to emerge clearly from the welter. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Archie Moffam, nee Lucille Brewster, was small and slender. She had a +little animated face, set in a cloud of dark hair. She was so altogether +perfect that Archie had frequently found himself compelled to take the +marriage-certificate out of his inside pocket and study it furtively, to make +himself realise that this miracle of good fortune had actually happened to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Honestly, old bean—I mean, dear old thing,—I mean, +darling,” said Archie, “I can’t believe it!” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +“What I mean is, I can’t understand why you should have married a +blighter like me.” +</p> + +<p> +Lucille’s eyes opened. She squeezed his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you’re the most wonderful thing in the world, +precious!—Surely you know that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely escaped my notice. Are you sure?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I’m sure! You wonder-child! Nobody could see you without +loving you!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie heaved an ecstatic sigh. Then a thought crossed his mind. It was a +thought which frequently came to mar his bliss. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, I wonder if your father will think that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course he will!” +</p> + +<p> +“We rather sprung this, as it were, on the old lad,” said Archie +dubiously. “What sort of a man <i>is</i> your father?” +</p> + +<p> +“Father’s a darling, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rummy thing he should own that hotel,” said Archie. “I had a +frightful row with a blighter of a manager there just before I left for Miami. +Your father ought to sack that chap. He was a blot on the landscape!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +It had been settled by Lucille during the journey that Archie should be broken +gently to his father-in-law. That is to say, instead of bounding blithely into +Mr. Brewster’s presence hand in hand, the happy pair should separate for +half an hour or so, Archie hanging around in the offing while Lucille saw her +father and told him the whole story, or those chapters of it which she had +omitted from her letter for want of space. Then, having impressed Mr. Brewster +sufficiently with his luck in having acquired Archie for a son-in-law, she +would lead him to where his bit of good fortune awaited him. +</p> + +<p> +The programme worked out admirably in its earlier stages. When the two emerged +from Mr. Brewster’s room to meet Archie, Mr. Brewster’s general +idea was that fortune had smiled upon him in an almost unbelievable fashion and +had presented him with a son-in-law who combined in almost equal parts the more +admirable characteristics of Apollo, Sir Galahad, and Marcus Aurelius. True, he +had gathered in the course of the conversation that dear Archie had no +occupation and no private means; but Mr. Brewster felt that a great-souled man +like Archie didn’t need them. You can’t have everything, and +Archie, according to Lucille’s account, was practically a hundred per +cent man in soul, looks, manners, amiability, and breeding. These are the +things that count. Mr. Brewster proceeded to the lobby in a glow of optimism +and geniality. +</p> + +<p> +Consequently, when he perceived Archie, he got a bit of a shock. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo—ullo—ullo!” said Archie, advancing happily. +</p> + +<p> +“Archie, darling, this is father,” said Lucille. +</p> + +<p> +“Good Lord!” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +There was one of those silences. Mr. Brewster looked at Archie. Archie gazed at +Mr. Brewster. Lucille, perceiving without understanding why that the big +introduction scene had stubbed its toe on some unlooked-for obstacle, waited +anxiously for enlightenment. Meanwhile, Archie continued to inspect Mr. +Brewster, and Mr. Brewster continued to drink in Archie. +</p> + +<p> +After an awkward pause of about three and a quarter minutes, Mr. Brewster +swallowed once or twice, and finally spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Lu!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, father?” +</p> + +<p> +“Is this true?” +</p> + +<p> +Lucille’s grey eyes clouded over with perplexity and apprehension. +</p> + +<p> +“True?” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you really inflicted this—<i>this</i> on me for a +son-in-law?” Mr. Brewster swallowed a few more times, Archie the while +watching with a frozen fascination the rapid shimmying of his new +relative’s Adam’s-apple. “Go away! I want to have a few words +alone with this—This—<i>wassyourdamname?</i>” he demanded, in +an overwrought manner, addressing Archie for the first time. +</p> + +<p> +“I told you, father. It’s Moom.” +</p> + +<p> +“Moom?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s spelt M-o-f-f-a-m, but pronounced Moom.” +</p> + +<p> +“To rhyme,” said Archie, helpfully, “with +Bluffinghame.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lu,” said Mr. Brewster, “run away! I want to speak +to-to-to—” +</p> + +<p> +“You called me <i>this</i> before,” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“You aren’t angry, father, dear?” said Lucilla. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh no! Oh no! I’m tickled to death!” +</p> + +<p> +When his daughter had withdrawn, Mr. Brewster drew a long breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Now then!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Bit embarrassing, all this, what!” said Archie, chattily. “I +mean to say, having met before in less happy circs. and what not. Rum +coincidence and so forth! How would it be to bury the jolly old +hatchet—start a new life—forgive and forget—learn to love +each other—and all that sort of rot? I’m game if you are. How do we +go? Is it a bet?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster remained entirely unsoftened by this manly appeal to his better +feelings. +</p> + +<p> +“What the devil do you mean by marrying my daughter?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie reflected. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it sort of happened, don’t you know! You know how these +things <i>are!</i> Young yourself once, and all that. I was most frightfully in +love, and Lu seemed to think it wouldn’t be a bad scheme, and one thing +led to another, and—well, there you are, don’t you know!” +</p> + +<p> +“And I suppose you think you’ve done pretty well for +yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, absolutely! As far as I’m concerned, everything’s +topping! I’ve never felt so braced in my life!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes!” said Mr. Brewster, with bitterness, “I suppose, from +your view-point, everything <i>is</i> ‘topping.’ You haven’t +a cent to your name, and you’ve managed to fool a rich man’s +daughter into marrying you. I suppose you looked me up in Bradstreet before +committing yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +This aspect of the matter had not struck Archie until this moment. +</p> + +<p> +“I say!” he observed, with dismay. “I never looked at it like +that before! I can see that, from your point of view, this must look like a bit +of a wash-out!” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you propose to support Lucille, anyway?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie ran a finger round the inside of his collar. He felt embarrassed, His +father-in-law was opening up all kinds of new lines of thought. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there, old bean,” he admitted, frankly, “you rather +have me!” He turned the matter over for a moment. “I had a sort of +idea of, as it were, working, if you know what I mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“Working at what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, there again you stump me somewhat! The general scheme was that I +should kind of look round, you know, and nose about and buzz to and fro till +something turned up. That was, broadly speaking, the notion!” +</p> + +<p> +“And how did you suppose my daughter was to live while you were doing all +this?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I think,” said Archie, “I <i>think</i> we rather +expected <i>you</i> to rally round a bit for the nonce!” +</p> + +<p> +“I see! You expected to live on me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you put it a bit crudely, but—as far as I had mapped +anything out—that WAS what you might call the general scheme of +procedure. You don’t think much of it, what? Yes? No?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster exploded. +</p> + +<p> +“No! I do not think much of it! Good God! You go out of my +hotel—<i>my</i> hotel—calling it all the names you could think +of—roasting it to beat the band—” +</p> + +<p> +“Trifle hasty!” murmured Archie, apologetically. “Spoke +without thinking. Dashed tap had gone <i>drip-drip-drip</i> all +night—kept me awake—hadn’t had breakfast—bygones be +bygones—!” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t interrupt! I say, you go out of my hotel, knocking it as no +one has ever knocked it since it was built, and you sneak straight off and +marry my daughter without my knowledge.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did think of wiring for blessing. Slipped the old bean, somehow. You +know how one forgets things!” +</p> + +<p> +“And now you come back and calmly expect me to fling my arms round you +and kiss you, and support you for the rest of your life!” +</p> + +<p> +“Only while I’m nosing about and buzzing to and fro.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I suppose I’ve got to support you. There seems no way out of +it. I’ll tell you exactly what I propose to do. You think my hotel is a +pretty poor hotel, eh? Well, you’ll have plenty of opportunity of +judging, because you’re coming to live here. I’ll let you have a +suite and I’ll let you have your meals, but outside of that—nothing +doing! Nothing doing! Do you understand what I mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely! You mean, ‘Napoo!’” +</p> + +<p> +“You can sign bills for a reasonable amount in my restaurant, and the +hotel will look after your laundry. But not a cent do you get out of me. And, +if you want your shoes shined, you can pay for it yourself in the basement. If +you leave them outside your door, I’ll instruct the floor-waiter to throw +them down the air-shaft. Do you understand? Good! Now, is there anything more +you want to ask?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie smiled a propitiatory smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, as a matter of fact, I was going to ask if you would stagger along +and have a bite with us in the grill-room?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will not!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll sign the bill,” said Archie, ingratiatingly. “You +don’t think much of it? Oh, right-o!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br/> +WORK WANTED</h2> + +<p> +It seemed to Archie, as he surveyed his position at the end of the first month +of his married life, that all was for the best in the best of all possible +worlds. In their attitude towards America, visiting Englishmen almost +invariably incline to extremes, either detesting all that therein is or else +becoming enthusiasts on the subject of the country, its climate, and its +institutions. Archie belonged to the second class. He liked America and got on +splendidly with Americans from the start. He was a friendly soul, a mixer; and +in New York, that city of mixers, he found himself at home. The atmosphere of +good-fellowship and the open-hearted hospitality of everybody he met appealed +to him. There were moments when it seemed to him as though New York had simply +been waiting for him to arrive before giving the word to let the revels +commence. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing, of course, in this world is perfect; and, rosy as were the glasses +through which Archie looked on his new surroundings, he had to admit that there +was one flaw, one fly in the ointment, one individual caterpillar in the salad. +Mr. Daniel Brewster, his father-in-law, remained consistently unfriendly. +Indeed, his manner towards his new relative became daily more and more a manner +which would have caused gossip on the plantation if Simon Legree had exhibited +it in his relations with Uncle Tom. And this in spite of the fact that Archie, +as early as the third morning of his stay, had gone to him and in the most +frank and manly way, had withdrawn his criticism of the Hotel Cosmopolis, +giving it as his considered opinion that the Hotel Cosmopolis on closer +inspection appeared to be a good egg, one of the best and brightest, and a bit +of all right. +</p> + +<p> +“A credit to you, old thing,” said Archie cordially. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t call me old thing!” growled Mr. Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +“Right-o, old companion!” said Archie amiably. +</p> + +<p> +Archie, a true philosopher, bore this hostility with fortitude, but it worried +Lucille. +</p> + +<p> +“I do wish father understood you better,” was her wistful comment +when Archie had related the conversation. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you know,” said Archie, “I’m open for being +understood any time he cares to take a stab at it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must try and make him fond of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how? I smile winsomely at him and what not, but he doesn’t +respond.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we shall have to think of something. I want him to realise what an +angel you are. You <i>are</i> an angel, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, really?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you are.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a rummy thing,” said Archie, pursuing a train of +thought which was constantly with him, “the more I see of you, the more I +wonder how you can have a father like—I mean to say, what I mean to say +is, I wish I had known your mother; she must have been frightfully +attractive.” +</p> + +<p> +“What would really please him, I know,” said Lucille, “would +be if you got some work to do. He loves people who work.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” said Archie doubtfully. “Well, you know, I heard him +interviewing that chappie behind the desk this morning, who works like the +dickens from early morn to dewy eve, on the subject of a mistake in his +figures; and, if he loved him, he dissembled it all right. Of course, I admit +that so far I haven’t been one of the toilers, but the dashed difficult +thing is to know how to start. I’m nosing round, but the openings for a +bright young man seem so scarce.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, keep on trying. I feel sure that, if you could only find something +to do, it doesn’t matter what, father would be quite different.” +</p> + +<p> +It was possibly the dazzling prospect of making Mr. Brewster quite different +that stimulated Archie. He was strongly of the opinion that any change in his +father-in-law must inevitably be for the better. A chance meeting with James B. +Wheeler, the artist, at the Pen-and-Ink Club seemed to open the way. +</p> + +<p> +To a visitor to New York who has the ability to make himself liked it almost +appears as though the leading industry in that city was the issuing of +two-weeks’ invitation-cards to clubs. Archie since his arrival had been +showered with these pleasant evidences of his popularity; and he was now an +honorary member of so many clubs of various kinds that he had not time to go to +them all. There were the fashionable clubs along Fifth Avenue to which his +friend Reggie van Tuyl, son of his Florida hostess, had introduced him. There +were the businessmen’s clubs of which he was made free by more solid +citizens. And, best of all, there were the Lambs’, the Players’, +the Friars’, the Coffee-House, the Pen-and-Ink,—and the other +resorts of the artist, the author, the actor, and the Bohemian. It was in these +that Archie spent most of his time, and it was here that he made the +acquaintance of J. B. Wheeler, the popular illustrator. +</p> + +<p> +To Mr. Wheeler, over a friendly lunch, Archie had been confiding some of his +ambitions to qualify as the hero of one of the +Get-on-or-get-out-young-man-step-lively-books. +</p> + +<p> +“You want a job?” said Mr. Wheeler. +</p> + +<p> +“I want a job,” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wheeler consumed eight fried potatoes in quick succession. He was an able +trencherman. +</p> + +<p> +“I always looked on you as one of our leading lilies of the field,” +he said. “Why this anxiety to toil and spin?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, my wife, you know, seems to think it might put me one-up with the +jolly old dad if I did something.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you’re not particular what you do, so long as it has the outer +aspect of work?” +</p> + +<p> +“Anything in the world, laddie, anything in the world.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then come and pose for a picture I’m doing,” said J. B. +Wheeler. “It’s for a magazine cover. You’re just the model I +want, and I’ll pay you at the usual rates. Is it a go?” +</p> + +<p> +“Pose?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve only got to stand still and look like a chunk of wood. You +can do that, surely?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can do that,” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“Then come along down to my studio to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Right-o!” said Archie. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.<br/> +STRANGE EXPERIENCES OF AN ARTIST’S MODEL</h2> + +<p> +“I say, old thing!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie spoke plaintively. Already he was looking back ruefully to the time when +he had supposed that an artist’s model had a soft job. In the first five +minutes muscles which he had not been aware that he possessed had started to +ache like neglected teeth. His respect for the toughness and durability of +artists’ models was now solid. How they acquired the stamina to go +through this sort of thing all day and then bound off to Bohemian revels at +night was more than he could understand. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t wobble, confound you!” snorted Mr. Wheeler. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but, my dear old artist,” said Archie, “what you +don’t seem to grasp—what you appear not to realise—is that +I’m getting a crick in the back.” +</p> + +<p> +“You weakling! You miserable, invertebrate worm. Move an inch and +I’ll murder you, and come and dance on your grave every Wednesday and +Saturday. I’m just getting it.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s in the spine that it seems to catch me principally.” +</p> + +<p> +“Be a man, you faint-hearted string-bean!” urged J. B. Wheeler. +“You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Why, a girl who was posing for me +last week stood for a solid hour on one leg, holding a tennis racket over her +head and smiling brightly withal.” +</p> + +<p> +“The female of the species is more india-rubbery than the male,” +argued Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll be through in a few minutes. Don’t weaken. Think +how proud you’ll be when you see yourself on all the bookstalls.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie sighed, and braced himself to the task once more. He wished he had never +taken on this binge. In addition to his physical discomfort, he was feeling a +most awful chump. The cover on which Mr. Wheeler was engaged was for the August +number of the magazine, and it had been necessary for Archie to drape his +reluctant form in a two-piece bathing suit of a vivid lemon colour; for he was +supposed to be representing one of those jolly dogs belonging to the best +families who dive off floats at exclusive seashore resorts. J. B. Wheeler, a +stickler for accuracy, had wanted him to remove his socks and shoes; but there +Archie had stood firm. He was willing to make an ass of himself, but not a +silly ass. +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said J. B. Wheeler, laying down his brush. “That +will do for to-day. Though, speaking without prejudice and with no wish to be +offensive, if I had had a model who wasn’t a weak-kneed, jelly-backboned +son of Belial, I could have got the darned thing finished without having to +have another sitting.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder why you chappies call this sort of thing +‘sitting,’” said Archie, pensively, as he conducted tentative +experiments in osteopathy on his aching back. “I say, old thing, I could +do with a restorative, if you have one handy. But, of course, you +haven’t, I suppose,” he added, resignedly. Abstemious as a rule, +there were moments when Archie found the Eighteenth Amendment somewhat trying. +</p> + +<p> +J. B. Wheeler shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a little previous,” he said. “But come round in +another day or so, and I may be able to do something for you.” He moved +with a certain conspirator-like caution to a corner of the room, and, lifting +to one side a pile of canvases, revealed a stout barrel, which he regarded with +a fatherly and benignant eye. “I don’t mind telling you that, in +the fullness of time, I believe this is going to spread a good deal of +sweetness and light.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, ah,” said Archie, interested. “Home-brew, what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Made with these hands. I added a few more raisins yesterday, to speed +things up a bit. There is much virtue in your raisin. And, talking of speeding +things up, for goodness’ sake try to be a bit more punctual to-morrow. We +lost an hour of good daylight to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“I like that! I was here on the absolute minute. I had to hang about on +the landing waiting for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, that doesn’t matter,” said J. B. Wheeler, +impatiently, for the artist soul is always annoyed by petty details. “The +point is that we were an hour late in getting to work. Mind you’re here +to-morrow at eleven sharp.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +It was, therefore, with a feeling of guilt and trepidation that Archie mounted +the stairs on the following morning; for in spite of his good resolutions he +was half an hour behind time. He was relieved to find that his friend had also +lagged by the wayside. The door of the studio was ajar, and he went in, to +discover the place occupied by a lady of mature years, who was scrubbing the +floor with a mop. He went into the bedroom and donned his bathing suit. When he +emerged, ten minutes later, the charwoman had gone, but J. B. Wheeler was still +absent. Rather glad of the respite, he sat down to kill time by reading the +morning paper, whose sporting page alone he had managed to master at the +breakfast table. +</p> + +<p> +There was not a great deal in the paper to interest him. The usual bond-robbery +had taken place on the previous day, and the police were reported hot on the +trail of the Master-Mind who was alleged to be at the back of these financial +operations. A messenger named Henry Babcock had been arrested and was expected +to become confidential. To one who, like Archie, had never owned a bond, the +story made little appeal. He turned with more interest to a cheery half-column +on the activities of a gentleman in Minnesota who, with what seemed to Archie, +as he thought of Mr. Daniel Brewster, a good deal of resource and public +spirit, had recently beaned his father-in-law with the family meat-axe. It was +only after he had read this through twice in a spirit of gentle approval that +it occurred to him that J. B. Wheeler was uncommonly late at the tryst. He +looked at his watch, and found that he had been in the studio three-quarters of +an hour. +</p> + +<p> +Archie became restless. Long-suffering old bean though he was, he considered +this a bit thick. He got up and went out on to the landing, to see if there +were any signs of the blighter. There were none. He began to understand now +what had happened. For some reason or other the bally artist was not coming to +the studio at all that day. Probably he had called up the hotel and left a +message to this effect, and Archie had just missed it. Another man might have +waited to make certain that his message had reached its destination, but not +woollen-headed Wheeler, the most casual individual in New York. +</p> + +<p> +Thoroughly aggrieved, Archie turned back to the studio to dress and go away. +</p> + +<p> +His progress was stayed by a solid, forbidding slab of oak. Somehow or other, +since he had left the room, the door had managed to get itself shut. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dash it!” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +The mildness of the expletive was proof that the full horror of the situation +had not immediately come home to him. His mind in the first few moments was +occupied with the problem of how the door had got that way. He could not +remember shutting it. Probably he had done it unconsciously. As a child, he had +been taught by sedulous elders that the little gentleman always closed doors +behind him, and presumably his subconscious self was still under the influence. +And then, suddenly, he realised that this infernal, officious ass of a +subconscious self had deposited him right in the gumbo. Behind that closed +door, unattainable as youthful ambition, lay his gent’s heather-mixture +with the green twill, and here he was, out in the world, alone, in a +lemon-coloured bathing suit. +</p> + +<p> +In all crises of human affairs there are two broad courses open to a man. He +can stay where he is or he can go elsewhere. Archie, leaning on the banisters, +examined these alternatives narrowly. If he stayed where he was he would have +to spend the night on this dashed landing. If he legged it, in this kit, he +would be gathered up by the constabulary before he had gone a hundred yards. He +was no pessimist, but he was reluctantly forced to the conclusion that he was +up against it. +</p> + +<p> +It was while he was musing with a certain tenseness on these things that the +sound of footsteps came to him from below. But almost in the first instant the +hope that this might be J. B. Wheeler, the curse of the human race, died away. +Whoever was coming up the stairs was running, and J. B. Wheeler never ran +upstairs. He was not one of your lean, haggard, spiritual-looking geniuses. He +made a large income with his brush and pencil, and spent most of it in creature +comforts. This couldn’t be J. B. Wheeler. +</p> + +<p> +It was not. It was a tall, thin man whom he had never seen before. He appeared +to be in a considerable hurry. He let himself into the studio on the floor +below, and vanished without even waiting to shut the door. +</p> + +<p> +He had come and disappeared in almost record time, but, brief though his +passing had been, it had been long enough to bring consolation to Archie. A +sudden bright light had been vouchsafed to Archie, and he now saw an admirably +ripe and fruity scheme for ending his troubles. What could be simpler than to +toddle down one flight of stairs and in an easy and debonair manner ask the +chappie’s permission to use his telephone? And what could be simpler, +once he was at the ’phone, than to get in touch with somebody at the +Cosmopolis who would send down a few trousers and what not in a kit bag. It was +a priceless solution, thought Archie, as he made his way downstairs. Not even +embarrassing, he meant to say. This chappie, living in a place like this, +wouldn’t bat an eyelid at the spectacle of a fellow trickling about the +place in a bathing suit. They would have a good laugh about the whole thing. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, I hate to bother you—dare say you’re busy and all +that sort of thing—but would you mind if I popped in for half a second +and used your ’phone?” +</p> + +<p> +That was the speech, the extremely gentlemanly and well-phrased speech which +Archie had prepared to deliver the moment the man appeared. The reason he did +not deliver it was that the man did not appear. He knocked, but nothing +stirred. +</p> + +<p> +“I say!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie now perceived that the door was ajar, and that on an envelope attached +with a tack to one of the panels was the name “Elmer M. Moon” He +pushed the door a little farther open and tried again. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mr. Moon! Mr. Moon!” He waited a moment. “Oh, Mr. Moon! +Mr. Moon! Are you there, Mr. Moon?” +</p> + +<p> +He blushed hotly. To his sensitive ear the words had sounded exactly like the +opening line of the refrain of a vaudeville song-hit. He decided to waste no +further speech on a man with such an unfortunate surname until he could see him +face to face and get a chance of lowering his voice a bit. Absolutely absurd to +stand outside a chappie’s door singing song-hits in a lemon-coloured +bathing suit. He pushed the door open and walked in; and his subconscious self, +always the gentleman, closed it gently behind him. +</p> + +<p> +“Up!” said a low, sinister, harsh, unfriendly, and unpleasant +voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” said Archie, revolving sharply on his axis. +</p> + +<p> +He found himself confronting the hurried gentleman who had run upstairs. This +sprinter had produced an automatic pistol, and was pointing it in a truculent +manner at his head. Archie stared at his host, and his host stared at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Put your hands up,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, right-o! Absolutely!” said Archie. “But I mean to +say—” +</p> + +<p> +The other was drinking him in with considerable astonishment. Archie’s +costume seemed to have made a powerful impression upon him. +</p> + +<p> +“Who the devil are you?” he enquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Me? Oh, my name’s—” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind your name. What are you doing here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, as a matter of fact, I popped in to ask if I might use your +’phone. You see—” +</p> + +<p> +A certain relief seemed to temper the austerity of the other’s gaze. As a +visitor, Archie, though surprising, seemed to be better than he had expected. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what to do with you,” he said, meditatively. +</p> + +<p> +“If you’d just let me toddle to the ’phone—” +</p> + +<p> +“Likely!” said the man. He appeared to reach a decision. +“Here, go into that room.” +</p> + +<p> +He indicated with a jerk of his head the open door of what was apparently a +bedroom at the farther end of the studio. +</p> + +<p> +“I take it,” said Archie, chattily, “that all this may seem +to you not a little rummy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Get on!” +</p> + +<p> +“I was only saying—” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I haven’t time to listen. Get a move on!” +</p> + +<p> +The bedroom was in a state of untidiness which eclipsed anything which Archie +had ever witnessed. The other appeared to be moving house. Bed, furniture, and +floor were covered with articles of clothing. A silk shirt wreathed itself +about Archie’s ankles as he stood gaping, and, as he moved farther into +the room, his path was paved with ties and collars. +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down!” said Elmer M. Moon, abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +“Right-o! Thanks,” said Archie, “I suppose you wouldn’t +like me to explain, and what not, what?” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” said Mr. Moon. “I haven’t got your spare time. +Put your hands behind that chair.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie did so, and found them immediately secured by what felt like a silk tie. +His assiduous host then proceeded to fasten his ankles in a like manner. This +done, he seemed to feel that he had done all that was required of him, and he +returned to the packing of a large suitcase which stood by the window. +</p> + +<p> +“I say!” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Moon, with the air of a man who has remembered something which he had +overlooked, shoved a sock in his guest’s mouth and resumed his packing. +He was what might be called an impressionist packer. His aim appeared to be +speed rather than neatness. He bundled his belongings in, closed the bag with +some difficulty, and, stepping to the window, opened it. Then he climbed out on +to the fire-escape, dragged the suit-case after him, and was gone. +</p> + +<p> +Archie, left alone, addressed himself to the task of freeing his prisoned +limbs. The job proved much easier than he had expected. Mr. Moon, that hustler, +had wrought for the moment, not for all time. A practical man, he had been +content to keep his visitor shackled merely for such a period as would permit +him to make his escape unhindered. In less than ten minutes Archie, after a +good deal of snake-like writhing, was pleased to discover that the thingummy +attached to his wrists had loosened sufficiently to enable him to use his +hands. He untied himself and got up. +</p> + +<p> +He now began to tell himself that out of evil cometh good. His encounter with +the elusive Mr. Moon had not been an agreeable one, but it had had this solid +advantage, that it had left him right in the middle of a great many clothes. +And Mr. Moon, whatever his moral defects, had the one excellent quality of +taking about the same size as himself. Archie, casting a covetous eye upon a +tweed suit which lay on the bed, was on the point of climbing into the trousers +when on the outer door of the studio there sounded a forceful knocking. +</p> + +<p> +“Open up here!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI.<br/> +THE BOMB</h2> + +<p> +Archie bounded silently out into the other room and stood listening tensely. He +was not a naturally querulous man, but he did feel at this point that Fate was +picking on him with a somewhat undue severity. +</p> + +<p> +“In th’ name av th’ Law!” +</p> + +<p> +There are times when the best of us lose our heads. At this juncture Archie +should undoubtedly have gone to the door, opened it, explained his presence in +a few well-chosen words, and generally have passed the whole thing off with +ready tact. But the thought of confronting a posse of police in his present +costume caused him to look earnestly about him for a hiding-place. +</p> + +<p> +Up against the farther wall was a settee with a high, arching back, which might +have been put there for that special purpose. He inserted himself behind this, +just as a splintering crash announced that the Law, having gone through the +formality of knocking with its knuckles, was now getting busy with an axe. A +moment later the door had given way, and the room was full of trampling feet. +Archie wedged himself against the wall with the quiet concentration of a clam +nestling in its shell, and hoped for the best. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to him that his immediate future depended for better or for worse +entirely on the native intelligence of the Force. If they were the bright, +alert men he hoped they were, they would see all that junk in the bedroom and, +deducing from it that their quarry had stood not upon the order of his going +but had hopped it, would not waste time in searching a presumably empty +apartment. If, on the other hand, they were the obtuse, flat-footed persons who +occasionally find their way into the ranks of even the most enlightened +constabularies, they would undoubtedly shift the settee and drag him into a +publicity from which his modest soul shrank. He was enchanted, therefore, a few +moments later, to hear a gruff voice state that th’ mutt had beaten it +down th’ fire-escape. His opinion of the detective abilities of the New +York police force rose with a bound. +</p> + +<p> +There followed a brief council of war, which, as it took place in the bedroom, +was inaudible to Archie except as a distant growling noise. He could +distinguish no words, but, as it was succeeded by a general trampling of large +boots in the direction of the door and then by silence, he gathered that the +pack, having drawn the studio and found it empty, had decided to return to +other and more profitable duties. He gave them a reasonable interval for +removing themselves, and then poked his head cautiously over the settee. +</p> + +<p> +All was peace. The place was empty. No sound disturbed the stillness. +</p> + +<p> +Archie emerged. For the first time in this morning of disturbing occurrences he +began to feel that God was in his heaven and all right with the world. At last +things were beginning to brighten up a bit, and life might be said to have +taken on some of the aspects of a good egg. He stretched himself, for it is +cramping work lying under settees, and, proceeding to the bedroom, picked up +the tweed trousers again. +</p> + +<p> +Clothes had a fascination for Archie. Another man, in similar circumstances, +might have hurried over his toilet; but Archie, faced by a difficult choice of +ties, rather strung the thing out. He selected a specimen which did great +credit to the taste of Mr. Moon, evidently one of our snappiest dressers, found +that it did not harmonise with the deeper meaning of the tweed suit, removed +it, chose another, and was adjusting the bow and admiring the effect, when his +attention was diverted by a slight sound which was half a cough and half a +sniff; and, turning, found himself gazing into the clear blue eyes of a large +man in uniform, who had stepped into the room from the fire-escape. He was +swinging a substantial club in a negligent sort of way, and he looked at Archie +with a total absence of bonhomie. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” he observed. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, <i>there</i> you are!” said Archie, subsiding weakly against +the chest of drawers. He gulped. “Of course, I can see you’re +thinking all this pretty tolerably weird and all that,” he proceeded, in +a propitiatory voice. +</p> + +<p> +The policeman attempted no analysis of his emotions, He opened a mouth which a +moment before had looked incapable of being opened except with the assistance +of powerful machinery, and shouted a single word. +</p> + +<p> +“Cassidy!” +</p> + +<p> +A distant voice gave tongue in answer. It was like alligators roaring to their +mates across lonely swamps. +</p> + +<p> +There was a rumble of footsteps in the region of the stairs, and presently +there entered an even larger guardian of the Law than the first exhibit. He, +too, swung a massive club, and, like his colleague, he gazed frostily at +Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“God save Ireland!” he remarked. +</p> + +<p> +The words appeared to be more in the nature of an expletive than a practical +comment on the situation. Having uttered them, he draped himself in the doorway +like a colossus, and chewed gum. +</p> + +<p> +“Where ja get him?” he enquired, after a pause. +</p> + +<p> +“Found him in here attimpting to disguise himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I told Cap. he was hiding somewheres, but he would have it that +he’d beat it down th’ escape,” said the gum-chewer, with the +sombre triumph of the underling whose sound advice has been overruled by those +above him. He shifted his wholesome (or, as some say, unwholesome) morsel to +the other side of his mouth, and for the first time addressed Archie directly. +“Ye’re pinched!” he observed. +</p> + +<p> +Archie started violently. The bleak directness of the speech roused him with a +jerk from the dream-like state into which he had fallen. He had not anticipated +this. He had assumed that there would be a period of tedious explanations to be +gone through before he was at liberty to depart to the cosy little lunch for +which his interior had been sighing wistfully this long time past; but that he +should be arrested had been outside his calculations. Of course, he could put +everything right eventually; he could call witnesses to his character and the +purity of his intentions; but in the meantime the whole dashed business would +be in all the papers, embellished with all those unpleasant flippancies to +which your newspaper reporter is so prone to stoop when he sees half a chance. +He would feel a frightful chump. Chappies would rot him about it to the most +fearful extent. Old Brewster’s name would come into it, and he could not +disguise it from himself that his father-in-law, who liked his name in the +papers as little as possible, would be sorer than a sunburned neck. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I say, you know! I mean, I mean to say!” +</p> + +<p> +“Pinched!” repeated the rather larger policeman. +</p> + +<p> +“And annything ye say,” added his slightly smaller colleague, +“will be used agenst ya ’t the trial.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if ya try t’escape,” said the first speaker, twiddling +his club, “ya’ll getja block knocked off.” +</p> + +<p> +And, having sketched out this admirably clear and neatly-constructed scenario, +the two relapsed into silence. Officer Cassidy restored his gum to circulation. +Officer Donahue frowned sternly at his boots. +</p> + +<p> +“But, I say,” said Archie, “it’s all a mistake, you +know. Absolutely a frightful error, my dear old constables. I’m not the +lad you’re after at all. The chappie you want is a different sort of +fellow altogether. Another blighter entirely.” +</p> + +<p> +New York policemen never laugh when on duty. There is probably something in the +regulations against it. But Officer Donahue permitted the left corner of his +mouth to twitch slightly, and a momentary muscular spasm disturbed the calm of +Officer Cassidy’s granite features, as a passing breeze ruffles the +surface of some bottomless lake. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what they all say!” observed Officer Donahue. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s no use tryin’ that line of talk,” said Officer +Cassidy. “Babcock’s squealed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sure. Squealed ’s morning,” said Officer Donahue. +</p> + +<p> +Archie’s memory stirred vaguely. +</p> + +<p> +“Babcock?” he said. “Do you know, that name seems familiar to +me, somehow. I’m almost sure I’ve read it in the paper or +something.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, cut it out!” said Officer Cassidy, disgustedly. The two +constables exchanged a glance of austere disapproval. This hypocrisy pained +them. “Read it in th’ paper or something!” +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove! I remember now. He’s the chappie who was arrested in that +bond business. For goodness’ sake, my dear, merry old constables,” +said Archie, astounded, “you surely aren’t labouring under the +impression that I’m the Master-Mind they were talking about in the paper? +Why, what an absolutely priceless notion! I mean to say, I ask you, what! +Frankly, laddies, do I look like a Master-Mind?” +</p> + +<p> +Officer Cassidy heaved a deep sigh, which rumbled up from his interior like the +first muttering of a cyclone. +</p> + +<p> +“If I’d known,” he said, regretfully, “that this guy +was going to turn out a ruddy Englishman, I’d have taken a slap at him +with m’ stick and chanced it!” +</p> + +<p> +Officer Donahue considered the point well taken. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” he said, understandingly. He regarded Archie with an +unfriendly eye. “I know th’ sort well! Trampling on th’ face +av th’ poor!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ya c’n trample on the poor man’s face,” said Officer +Cassidy, severely; “but don’t be surprised if one day he bites you +in the leg!” +</p> + +<p> +“But, my dear old sir,” protested Archie, “I’ve never +trampled—” +</p> + +<p> +“One of these days,” said Officer Donahue, moodily, “the +Shannon will flow in blood to the sea!” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely! But—” +</p> + +<p> +Officer Cassidy uttered a glad cry. +</p> + +<p> +“Why couldn’t we hit him a lick,” he suggested, brightly, +“an’ tell th’ Cap. he resisted us in th’ exercise of +our jooty?” +</p> + +<p> +An instant gleam of approval and enthusiasm came into Officer Donahue’s +eyes. Officer Donahue was not a man who got these luminous inspirations +himself, but that did not prevent him appreciating them in others and bestowing +commendation in the right quarter. There was nothing petty or grudging about +Officer Donahue. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye’re the lad with the head, Tim!” he exclaimed admiringly. +</p> + +<p> +“It just sorta came to me,” said Mr. Cassidy, modestly. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a great idea, Timmy!” +</p> + +<p> +“Just happened to think of it,” said Mr. Cassidy, with a coy +gesture of self-effacement. +</p> + +<p> +Archie had listened to the dialogue with growing uneasiness. Not for the first +time since he had made their acquaintance, he became vividly aware of the +exceptional physical gifts of these two men. The New York police force demands +from those who would join its ranks an extremely high standard of stature and +sinew, but it was obvious that jolly old Donahue and Cassidy must have passed +in first shot without any difficulty whatever. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, you know,” he observed, apprehensively. +</p> + +<p> +And then a sharp and commanding voice spoke from the outer room. +</p> + +<p> +“Donahue! Cassidy! What the devil does this mean?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie had a momentary impression that an angel had fluttered down to his +rescue. If this was the case, the angel had assumed an effective +disguise—that of a police captain. The new arrival was a far smaller man +than his subordinates—so much smaller that it did Archie good to look at +him. For a long time he had been wishing that it were possible to rest his eyes +with the spectacle of something of a slightly less out-size nature than his two +companions. +</p> + +<p> +“Why have you left your posts?” +</p> + +<p> +The effect of the interruption on the Messrs. Cassidy and Donahue was +pleasingly instantaneous. They seemed to shrink to almost normal proportions, +and their manner took on an attractive deference. +</p> + +<p> +Officer Donahue saluted. +</p> + +<p> +“If ye plaze, sorr—” +</p> + +<p> +Officer Cassidy also saluted, simultaneously. +</p> + +<p> +“’Twas like this, sorr—” +</p> + +<p> +The captain froze Officer Cassidy with a glance and, leaving him congealed, +turned to Officer Donahue. +</p> + +<p> +“Oi wuz standing on th’ fire-escape, sorr,” said Officer +Donahue, in a tone of obsequious respect which not only delighted, but +astounded Archie, who hadn’t known he could talk like that, +“accordin’ to instructions, when I heard a suspicious noise. I +crope in, sorr, and found this duck—found the accused, sorr—in +front of the mirror, examinin’ himself. I then called to Officer Cassidy +for assistance. We pinched—arrested um, sorr.” +</p> + +<p> +The captain looked at Archie. It seemed to Archie that he looked at him coldly +and with contempt. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“The Master-Mind, sorr.” +</p> + +<p> +“The what?” +</p> + +<p> +“The accused, sorr. The man that’s wanted.” +</p> + +<p> +“You may want him. I don’t,” said the captain. Archie, though +relieved, thought he might have put it more nicely. “This isn’t +Moon. It’s not a bit like him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely not!” agreed Archie, cordially. “It’s all a +mistake, old companion, as I was trying to—” +</p> + +<p> +“Cut it out!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, right-o!” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve seen the photographs at the station. Do you mean to tell me +you see any resemblance?” +</p> + +<p> +“If ye plaze, sorr,” said Officer Cassidy, coming to life. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“We thought he’d bin disguising himself, the way he wouldn’t +be recognised.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a fool!” said the captain. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sorr,” said Officer Cassidy, meekly. +</p> + +<p> +“So are you, Donahue.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sorr.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie’s respect for this chappie was going up all the time. He seemed to +be able to take years off the lives of these massive blighters with a word. It +was like the stories you read about lion-tamers. Archie did not despair of +seeing Officer Donahue and his old college chum Cassidy eventually jumping +through hoops. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you?” demanded the captain, turning to Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, my name is—” +</p> + +<p> +“What are you doing here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s rather a longish story, you know. Don’t want to +bore you, and all that.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m here to listen. You can’t bore <i>me</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dashed nice of you to put it like that,” said Archie, gratefully. +“I mean to say, makes it easier and so forth. What I mean is, you know +how rotten you feel telling the deuce of a long yarn and wondering if the party +of the second part is wishing you would turn off the tap and go home. I +mean—” +</p> + +<p> +“If,” said the captain, “you’re reciting something, +stop. If you’re trying to tell me what you’re doing here, make it +shorter and easier.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie saw his point. Of course, time was money—the modern spirit of +hustle—all that sort of thing. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it was this bathing suit, you know,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“What bathing suit?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mine, don’t you know. A lemon-coloured contrivance. Rather bright +and so forth, but in its proper place not altogether a bad egg. Well, the whole +thing started, you know, with my standing on a bally pedestal sort of +arrangement in a diving attitude—for the cover, you know. I don’t +know if you have ever done anything of that kind yourself, but it gives you a +most fearful crick in the spine. However, that’s rather beside the point, +I suppose—don’t know why I mentioned it. Well, this morning he was +dashed late, so I went out—” +</p> + +<p> +“What the devil are you talking about?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie looked at him, surprised. +</p> + +<p> +“Aren’t I making it clear?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you understand about the bathing suit, don’t you? The jolly +old bathing suit, you’ve grasped that, what?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I say,” said Archie. “That’s rather a nuisance. I +mean to say, the bathing suit’s what you might call the good old pivot of +the whole dashed affair, you see. Well, you understand about the cover, what? +You’re pretty clear on the subject of the cover?” +</p> + +<p> +“What cover?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, for the magazine.” +</p> + +<p> +“What magazine?” +</p> + +<p> +“Now there you rather have me. One of these bright little periodicals, +you know, that you see popping to and fro on the bookstalls.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said the +captain. He looked at Archie with an expression of distrust and hostility. +“And I’ll tell you straight out I don’t like the looks of +you. I believe you’re a pal of his.” +</p> + +<p> +“No longer,” said Archie, firmly. “I mean to say, a chappie +who makes you stand on a bally pedestal sort of arrangement and get a crick in +the spine, and then doesn’t turn up and leaves you biffing all over the +countryside in a bathing suit—” +</p> + +<p> +The reintroduction of the bathing suit motive seemed to have the worst effect +on the captain. He flushed darkly. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you trying to josh me? I’ve a mind to soak you!” +</p> + +<p> +“If ye plaze, sorr,” cried Officer Donahue and Officer Cassidy in +chorus. In the course of their professional career they did not often hear +their superior make many suggestions with which they saw eye to eye, but he had +certainly, in their opinion, spoken a mouthful now. +</p> + +<p> +“No, honestly, my dear old thing, nothing was farther from my +thoughts—” +</p> + +<p> +He would have spoken further, but at this moment the world came to an end. At +least, that was how it sounded. Somewhere in the immediate neighbourhood +something went off with a vast explosion, shattering the glass in the window, +peeling the plaster from the ceiling, and sending him staggering into the +inhospitable arms of Officer Donahue. +</p> + +<p> +The three guardians of the Law stared at one another. +</p> + +<p> +“If ye plaze, sorr,” said Officer Cassidy, saluting. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“May I spake, sorr?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Something’s exploded, sorr!” +</p> + +<p> +The information, kindly meant though it was, seemed to annoy the captain. +</p> + +<p> +“What the devil did you think I thought had happened?” he demanded, +with not a little irritation, “It was a bomb!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie could have corrected this diagnosis, for already a faint but appealing +aroma of an alcoholic nature was creeping into the room through a hole in the +ceiling, and there had risen before his eyes the picture of J. B. Wheeler +affectionately regarding that barrel of his on the previous morning in the +studio upstairs. J. B. Wheeler had wanted quick results, and he had got them. +Archie had long since ceased to regard J. B. Wheeler as anything but a tumour +on the social system, but he was bound to admit that he had certainly done him +a good turn now. Already these honest men, diverted by the superior attraction +of this latest happening, appeared to have forgotten his existence. +</p> + +<p> +“Sorr!” said Officer Donahue. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“It came from upstairs, sorr.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course it came from upstairs. Cassidy!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sorr?” +</p> + +<p> +“Get down into the street, call up the reserves, and stand at the front +entrance to keep the crowd back. We’ll have the whole city here in five +minutes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Right, sorr.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t let anyone in.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sorr.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, see that you don’t. Come along, Donahue, now. Look +slippy.” +</p> + +<p> +“On the spot, sorr!” said Officer Donahue. +</p> + +<p> +A moment later Archie had the studio to himself. Two minutes later he was +picking his way cautiously down the fire-escape after the manner of the recent +Mr. Moon. Archie had not seen much of Mr. Moon, but he had seen enough to know +that in certain crises his methods were sound and should be followed. Elmer +Moon was not a good man; his ethics were poor and his moral code shaky; but in +the matter of legging it away from a situation of peril and discomfort he had +no superior. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII.<br/> +MR. ROSCOE SHERRIFF HAS AN IDEA</h2> + +<p> +Archie inserted a fresh cigarette in his long holder and began to smoke a +little moodily. It was about a week after his disturbing adventures in J. B. +Wheeler’s studio, and life had ceased for the moment to be a thing of +careless enjoyment. Mr. Wheeler, mourning over his lost home-brew and refusing, +like Niobe, to be comforted, has suspended the sittings for the magazine cover, +thus robbing Archie of his life-work. Mr. Brewster had not been in genial mood +of late. And, in addition to all this, Lucille was away on a visit to a +school-friend. And when Lucille went away, she took with her the sunshine. +Archie was not surprised at her being popular and in demand among her friends, +but that did not help him to become reconciled to her absence. +</p> + +<p> +He gazed rather wistfully across the table at his friend, Roscoe Sherriff, the +Press-agent, another of his Pen-and-Ink Club acquaintances. They had just +finished lunch, and during the meal Sherriff, who, like most men of action, was +fond of hearing the sound of his own voice and liked exercising it on the +subject of himself, had been telling Archie a few anecdotes about his +professional past. From these the latter had conceived a picture of Roscoe +Sherriff’s life as a prismatic thing of energy and adventure and +well-paid withal—just the sort of life, in fact, which he would have +enjoyed leading himself. He wished that he, too, like the Press-agent, could go +about the place “slipping things over” and “putting things +across.” Daniel Brewster, he felt, would have beamed upon a son-in-law +like Roscoe Sherriff. +</p> + +<p> +“The more I see of America,” sighed Archie, “the more it +amazes me. All you birds seem to have been doing things from the cradle +upwards. I wish I could do things!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, why don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie flicked the ash from his cigarette into the finger-bowl. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know, you know,” he said, “Somehow, none +of our family ever have. I don’t know why it is, but whenever a Moffam +starts out to do things he infallibly makes a bloomer. There was a Moffam in +the Middle Ages who had a sudden spasm of energy and set out to make a +pilgrimage to Jerusalem, dressed as a wandering friar. Rum ideas they had in +those days.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did he get there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely not! Just as he was leaving the front door his favourite +hound mistook him for a tramp—or a varlet, or a scurvy knave, or whatever +they used to call them at that time—and bit him in the fleshy part of the +leg.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, at least he started.” +</p> + +<p> +“Enough to make a chappie start, what?” +</p> + +<p> +Roscoe Sherriff sipped his coffee thoughtfully. He was an apostle of Energy, +and it seemed to him that he could make a convert of Archie and incidentally do +himself a bit of good. For several days he had been, looking for someone like +Archie to help him in a small matter which he had in mind. +</p> + +<p> +“If you’re really keen on doing things,” he said, +“there’s something you can do for me right away.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie beamed. Action was what his soul demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“Anything, dear boy, anything! State your case!” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you have any objection to putting up a snake for me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Putting up a snake?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just for a day or two.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how do you mean, old soul? Put him up where?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wherever you live. Where do you live? The Cosmopolis, isn’t it? Of +course! You married old Brewster’s daughter. I remember reading about +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, I say, laddie, I don’t want to spoil your day and disappoint +you and so forth, but my jolly old father-in-law would never let me keep a +snake. Why, it’s as much as I can do to make him let me stop on in the +place.” +</p> + +<p> +“He wouldn’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s not much that goes on in the hotel that he doesn’t +know,” said Archie, doubtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“He mustn’t know. The whole point of the thing is that it must be a +dead secret.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie flicked some more ash into the finger-bowl. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t seem absolutely to have grasped the affair in all its +aspects, if you know what I mean,” he said. “I mean to say—in +the first place—why would it brighten your young existence if I +entertained this snake of yours?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not mine. It belongs to Mme. Brudowska. You’ve heard of +her, of course?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes. She’s some sort of performing snake female in vaudeville +or something, isn’t she, or something of that species or order?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re near it, but not quite right. She is the leading exponent +of high-brow tragedy on any stage in the civilized world.” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely! I remember now. My wife lugged me to see her perform one +night. It all comes back to me. She had me wedged in an orchestra-stall before +I knew what I was up against, and then it was too late. I remember reading in +some journal or other that she had a pet snake, given her by some Russian +prince or other, what?” +</p> + +<p> +“That,” said Sherriff, “was the impression I intended to +convey when I sent the story to the papers. I’m her Press-agent. As a +matter of fact, I bought Peter-its name’s Peter-myself down on the East +Side. I always believe in animals for Press-agent stunts. I’ve nearly +always had good results. But with Her Nibs I’m handicapped. Shackled, so +to speak. You might almost say my genius is stifled. Or strangled, if you +prefer it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Anything you say,” agreed Archie, courteously, “But how? Why +is your what-d’you-call-it what’s-its-named?” +</p> + +<p> +“She keeps me on a leash. She won’t let me do anything with a kick +in it. If I’ve suggested one rip-snorting stunt, I’ve suggested +twenty, and every time she turns them down on the ground that that sort of +thing is beneath the dignity of an artist in her position. It doesn’t +give a fellow a chance. So now I’ve made up my mind to do her good by +stealth. I’m going to steal her snake.” +</p> + +<p> +“Steal it? Pinch it, as it were?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Big story for the papers, you see. She’s grown very much +attached to Peter. He’s her mascot. I believe she’s practically +kidded herself into believing that Russian prince story. If I can sneak it away +and keep it away for a day or two, she’ll do the rest. She’ll make +such a fuss that the papers will be full of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wow, any ordinary woman would work in with me. But not Her Nibs. She +would call it cheap and degrading and a lot of other things. It’s got to +be a genuine steal, and, if I’m caught at it, I lose my job. So +that’s where you come in.” +</p> + +<p> +“But where am I to keep the jolly old reptile?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, anywhere. Punch a few holes in a hat-box, and make it up a shakedown +inside. It’ll be company for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Something in that. My wife’s away just now and it’s a bit +lonely in the evenings.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll never be lonely with Peter around. He’s a great +scout. Always merry and bright.” +</p> + +<p> +“He doesn’t bite, I suppose, or sting or what-not?” +</p> + +<p> +“He may what-not occasionally. It depends on the weather. But, outside of +that, he’s as harmless as a canary.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dashed dangerous things, canaries,” said Archie, thoughtfully. +“They peck at you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t weaken!” pleaded the Press-agent +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, all right. I’ll take him. By the way, touching the matter of +browsing and sluicing. What do I feed him on?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, anything. Bread-and-milk or fruit or soft-boiled egg or dog-biscuit +or ants’-eggs. You know—anything you have yourself. Well, I’m +much obliged for your hospitality. I’ll do the same for you another time. +Now I must be getting along to see to the practical end of the thing. By the +way, Her Nibs lives at the Cosmopolis, too. Very convenient. Well, so long. See +you later.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie, left alone, began for the first time to have serious doubts. He had +allowed himself to be swayed by Mr. Sherriff’s magnetic personality, but +now that the other had removed himself he began to wonder if he had been +entirely wise to lend his sympathy and co-operation to the scheme. He had never +had intimate dealings with a snake before, but he had kept silkworms as a +child, and there had been the deuce of a lot of fuss and unpleasantness over +them. Getting into the salad and what-not. Something seemed to tell him that he +was asking for trouble with a loud voice, but he had given his word and he +supposed he would have to go through with it. +</p> + +<p> +He lit another cigarette and wandered out into Fifth Avenue. His usually smooth +brow was ruffled with care. Despite the eulogies which Sherriff had uttered +concerning Peter, he found his doubts increasing. Peter might, as the +Press-agent had stated, be a great scout, but was his little Garden of Eden on +the fifth floor of the Cosmopolis Hotel likely to be improved by the advent of +even the most amiable and winsome of serpents? However— +</p> + +<p> +“Moffam! My dear fellow!” +</p> + +<p> +The voice, speaking suddenly in his ear from behind, roused Archie from his +reflections. Indeed, it roused him so effectually that he jumped a clear inch +off the ground and bit his tongue. Revolving on his axis, he found himself +confronting a middle-aged man with a face like a horse. The man was dressed in +something of an old-world style. His clothes had an English cut. He had a +drooping grey moustache. He also wore a grey bowler hat flattened at the +crown—but who are we to judge him? +</p> + +<p> +“Archie Moffam! I have been trying to find you all the morning.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie had placed him now. He had not seen General Mannister for several +years—not, indeed, since the days when he used to meet him at the home of +young Lord Seacliff, his nephew. Archie had been at Eton and Oxford with +Seacliff, and had often visited him in the Long Vacation. +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa, General! What ho, what ho! What on earth are you doing over +here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s get out of this crush, my boy.” General Mannister +steered Archie into a side-street, “That’s better.” He +cleared his throat once or twice, as if embarrassed. “I’ve brought +Seacliff over,” he said, finally. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear old Squiffy here? Oh, I say! Great work!” +</p> + +<p> +General Mannister did not seem to share his enthusiasm. He looked like a horse +with a secret sorrow. He coughed three times, like a horse who, in addition to +a secret sorrow, had contracted asthma. +</p> + +<p> +“You will find Seacliff changed,” he said. “Let me see, how +long is it since you and he met?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie reflected. +</p> + +<p> +“I was demobbed just about a year ago. I saw him in Paris about a year +before that. The old egg got a bit of shrapnel in his foot or something, +didn’t he? Anyhow, I remember he was sent home.” +</p> + +<p> +“His foot is perfectly well again now. But, unfortunately, the enforced +inaction led to disastrous results. You recollect, no doubt, that Seacliff +always had a—a tendency;—a—a weakness—it was a family +failing—” +</p> + +<p> +“Mopping it up, do you mean? Shifting it? Looking on the jolly old stuff +when it was red and what not, what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear old Squiffy was always rather a lad for the wassail-bowl. When I +met him in Paris, I remember, he was quite tolerably blotto.” +</p> + +<p> +“Precisely. And the failing has, I regret to say, grown on him since he +returned from the war. My poor sister was extremely worried. In fact, to cut a +long story short, I induced him to accompany me to America. I am attached to +the British Legation in Washington now, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, really?” +</p> + +<p> +“I wished Seacliff to come with me to Washington, but he insists on +remaining in New York. He stated specifically that the thought of living in +Washington gave him the—what was the expression he used?” +</p> + +<p> +“The pip?” +</p> + +<p> +“The pip. Precisely.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what was the idea of bringing him to America?” +</p> + +<p> +“This admirable Prohibition enactment has rendered America—to my +mind—the ideal place for a young man of his views.” The General +looked at his watch. “It is most fortunate that I happened to run into +you, my dear fellow. My train for Washington leaves in another hour, and I have +packing to do. I want to leave poor Seacliff in your charge while I am +gone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I say! What!” +</p> + +<p> +“You can look after him. I am credibly informed that even now there are +places in New York where a determined young man may obtain +the—er—stuff, and I should be infinitely obliged—and my poor +sister would be infinitely grateful—if you would keep an eye on +him.” He hailed a taxi-cab. “I am sending Seacliff round to the +Cosmopolis to-night. I am sure you will do everything you can. Good-bye, my +boy, good-bye.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie continued his walk. This, he felt, was beginning to be a bit thick. He +smiled a bitter, mirthless smile as he recalled the fact that less than half an +hour had elapsed since he had expressed a regret that he did not belong to the +ranks of those who do things. Fate since then had certainly supplied him with +jobs with a lavish hand. By bed-time he would be an active accomplice to a +theft, valet and companion to a snake he had never met, and—as far as +could gather the scope of his duties—a combination of nursemaid and +private detective to dear old Squiffy. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +It was past four o’clock when he returned to the Cosmopolis. Roscoe +Sherriff was pacing the lobby of the hotel nervously, carrying a small +hand-bag. +</p> + +<p> +“Here you are at last! Good heavens, man, I’ve been waiting two +hours.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry, old bean. I was musing a bit and lost track of the time.” +</p> + +<p> +The Press-agent looked cautiously round. There was nobody within earshot. +</p> + +<p> +“Here he is!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Who?” +</p> + +<p> +“Peter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where?” said Archie, staring blankly. +</p> + +<p> +“In this bag. Did you expect to find him strolling arm-in-arm with me +round the lobby? Here you are! Take him!” +</p> + +<p> +He was gone. And Archie, holding the bag, made his way to the lift. The bag +squirmed gently in his grip. +</p> + +<p> +The only other occupant of the lift was a striking-looking woman of foreign +appearance, dressed in a way that made Archie feel that she must be somebody or +she couldn’t look like that. Her face, too, seemed vaguely familiar. She +entered the lift at the second floor where the tea-room is, and she had the +contented expression of one who had tea’d to her satisfaction. She got +off at the same floor as Archie, and walked swiftly, in a lithe, pantherish +way, round the bend in the corridor. Archie followed more slowly. When he +reached the door of his room, the passage was empty. He inserted the key in his +door, turned it, pushed the door open, and pocketed the key. He was about to +enter when the bag again squirmed gently in his grip. +</p> + +<p> +From the days of Pandora, through the epoch of Bluebeard’s wife, down to +the present time, one of the chief failings of humanity has been the +disposition to open things that were better closed. It would have been simple +for Archie to have taken another step and put a door between himself and the +world, but there came to him the irresistible desire to peep into the bag +now—not three seconds later, but now. All the way up in the lift he had +been battling with the temptation, and now he succumbed. +</p> + +<p> +The bag was one of those simple bags with a thingummy which you press. Archie +pressed it. And, as it opened, out popped the head of Peter. His eyes met +Archie’s. Over his head there seemed to be an invisible mark of +interrogation. His gaze was curious, but kindly. He appeared to be saying to +himself, “Have I found a friend?” +</p> + +<p> +Serpents, or Snakes, says the Encyclopaedia, are reptiles of the saurian class +Ophidia, characterised by an elongated, cylindrical, limbless, scaly form, and +distinguished from lizards by the fact that the halves (<i>rami</i>) of the +lower jaw are not solidly united at the chin, but movably connected by an +elastic ligament. The vertebra are very numerous, gastrocentrous, and +procoelous. And, of course, when they put it like that, you can see at once +that a man might spend hours with combined entertainment and profit just +looking at a snake. +</p> + +<p> +Archie would no doubt have done this; but long before he had time really to +inspect the halves (<i>rami</i>) of his new friend’s lower jaw and to +admire its elastic fittings, and long before the gastrocentrous and procoelous +character of the other’s vertebrae had made any real impression on him, a +piercing scream almost at his elbow—startled him out of his scientific +reverie. A door opposite had opened, and the woman of the elevator was standing +staring at him with an expression of horror and fury that went through, him +like a knife. It was the expression which, more than anything else, had made +Mme. Brudowska what she was professionally. Combined with a deep voice and a +sinuous walk, it enabled her to draw down a matter of a thousand dollars per +week. +</p> + +<p> +Indeed, though the fact gave him little pleasure, Archie, as a matter of fact, +was at this moment getting about—including war-tax—two dollars and +seventy-five cents worth of the great emotional star for nothing. For, having +treated him gratis to the look of horror and fury, she now moved towards him +with the sinuous walk and spoke in the tone which she seldom permitted herself +to use before the curtain of act two, unless there was a whale of a situation +that called for it in act one. +</p> + +<p> +“Thief!” +</p> + +<p> +It was the way she said it. +</p> + +<p> +Archie staggered backwards as though he had been hit between the eyes, fell +through the open door of his room, kicked it to with a flying foot, and +collapsed on the bed. Peter, the snake, who had fallen on the floor with a +squashy sound, looked surprised and pained for a moment; then, being a +philosopher at heart, cheered up and began hunting for flies under the bureau. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<br/> +A DISTURBED NIGHT FOR DEAR OLD SQUIFFY</h2> + +<p> +Peril sharpens the intellect. Archie’s mind as a rule worked in rather a +languid and restful sort of way, but now it got going with a rush and a whir. +He glared round the room. He had never seen a room so devoid of satisfactory +cover. And then there came to him a scheme, a ruse. It offered a chance of +escape. It was, indeed, a bit of all right. +</p> + +<p> +Peter, the snake, loafing contentedly about the carpet, found himself seized by +what the Encyclopaedia calls the “distensible gullet” and looked up +reproachfully. The next moment he was in his bag again; and Archie, bounding +silently into the bathroom, was tearing the cord off his dressing-gown. +</p> + +<p> +There came a banging at the door. A voice spoke sternly. A masculine voice this +time. +</p> + +<p> +“Say! Open this door!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie rapidly attached the dressing-gown cord to the handle of the bag, leaped +to the window, opened it, tied the cord to a projecting piece of iron on the +sill, lowered Peter and the bag into the depths, and closed the window again. +The whole affair took but a few seconds. Generals have received the thanks of +their nations for displaying less resource on the field of battle. +</p> + +<p> +He opened the door. Outside stood the bereaved woman, and beside her a +bullet-headed gentleman with a bowler hat on the back of his head, in whom +Archie recognised the hotel detective. +</p> + +<p> +The hotel detective also recognised Archie, and the stern cast of his features +relaxed. He even smiled a rusty but propitiatory smile. He +imagined—erroneously—that Archie, being the son-in-law of the owner +of the hotel, had a pull with that gentleman; and he resolved to proceed warily +lest he jeopardise his job. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Mr. Moffam!” he said, apologetically. “I didn’t +know it was you I was disturbing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Always glad to have a chat,” said Archie, cordially. “What +seems to be the trouble?” +</p> + +<p> +“My snake!” cried the queen of tragedy. “Where is my +snake?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie, looked at the detective. The detective looked at Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“This lady,” said the detective, with a dry little cough, +“thinks her snake is in your room, Mr. Moffam.” +</p> + +<p> +“Snake?” +</p> + +<p> +“Snake’s what the lady said.” +</p> + +<p> +“My snake! My Peter!” Mme. Brudowska’s voice shook with +emotion. “He is here—here in this room.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“No snakes here! Absolutely not! I remember noticing when I came +in.” +</p> + +<p> +“The snake is here—here in this room. This man had it in a bag! I +saw him! He is a thief!” +</p> + +<p> +“Easy, ma’am!” protested the detective. “Go easy! This +gentleman is the boss’s son-in-law.” +</p> + +<p> +“I care not who he is! He has my snake! Here—here in this +room!” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Moffam wouldn’t go round stealing snakes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather not,” said Archie. “Never stole a snake in my life. +None of the Moffams have ever gone about stealing snakes. Regular family +tradition! Though I once had an uncle who kept gold-fish.” +</p> + +<p> +“Here he is! Here! My Peter!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie looked at the detective. The detective looked at Archie. “We must +humour her!” their glances said. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” said Archie, “if you’d like to search the +room, what? What I mean to say is, this is Liberty Hall. Everybody welcome! +Bring the kiddies!” +</p> + +<p> +“I will search the room!” said Mme. Brudowska. +</p> + +<p> +The detective glanced apologetically at Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t blame me for this, Mr. Moffam,” he urged. +</p> + +<p> +“Rather not! Only too glad you’ve dropped in!” +</p> + +<p> +He took up an easy attitude against the window, and watched the empress of the +emotional drama explore. Presently she desisted, baffled. For an instant she +paused, as though about to speak, then swept from the room. A moment later a +door banged across the passage. +</p> + +<p> +“How do they get that way?” queried the detective, “Well, +g’bye, Mr. Moffam. Sorry to have butted in.” +</p> + +<p> +The door closed. Archie waited a few moments, then went to the window and +hauled in the slack. Presently the bag appeared over the edge of the +window-sill. +</p> + +<p> +“Good God!” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +In the rush and swirl of recent events he must have omitted to see that the +clasp that fastened the bag was properly closed; for the bag, as it jumped on +to the window-sill, gaped at him like a yawning face. And inside it there was +nothing. +</p> + +<p> +Archie leaned as far out of the window as he could manage without committing +suicide. Far below him, the traffic took its usual course and the pedestrians +moved to and fro upon the pavements. There was no crowding, no excitement. Yet +only a few moments before a long green snake with three hundred ribs, a +distensible gullet, and gastrocentrous vertebras must have descended on that +street like the gentle rain from Heaven upon the place beneath. And nobody +seemed even interested. Not for the first time since he had arrived in America, +Archie marvelled at the cynical detachment of the New Yorker, who permits +himself to be surprised at nothing. +</p> + +<p> +He shut the window and moved away with a heavy heart. He had not had the +pleasure of an extended acquaintanceship with Peter, but he had seen enough of +him to realise his sterling qualities. Somewhere beneath Peter’s three +hundred ribs there had lain a heart of gold, and Archie mourned for his loss. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Archie had a dinner and theatre engagement that night, and it was late when he +returned to the hotel. He found his father-in-law prowling restlessly about the +lobby. There seemed to be something on Mr. Brewster’s mind. He came up to +Archie with a brooding frown on his square face. +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s this man Seacliff?” he demanded, without preamble. +“I hear he’s a friend of yours.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you’ve met him, what?” said Archie. “Had a nice +little chat together, yes? Talked of this and that, no!” +</p> + +<p> +“We have not said a word to each other.” +</p> + +<p> +“Really? Oh, well, dear old Squiffy is one of those strong, silent +fellers you know. You mustn’t mind if he’s a bit dumb. He never +says much, but it’s whispered round the clubs that he thinks a lot. It +was rumoured in the spring of nineteen-thirteen that Squiffy was on the point +of making a bright remark, but it never came to anything.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster struggled with his feelings. +</p> + +<p> +“Who <i>is</i> he? You seem to know him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes. Great pal of mine, Squiffy. We went through Eton, Oxford, and +the Bankruptcy Court together. And here’s a rummy coincidence. When they +examined <i>me</i>, I had no assets. And, when they examined Squiffy, <i>he</i> +had no assets! Rather extraordinary, what?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster seemed to be in no mood for discussing coincidences. +</p> + +<p> +“I might have known he was a friend of yours!” he said, bitterly. +“Well, if you want to see him, you’ll have to do it outside my +hotel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, I thought he was stopping here.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is—to-night. To-morrow he can look for some other hotel to +break up.” +</p> + +<p> +“Great Scot! Has dear old Squiffy been breaking the place up?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster snorted. +</p> + +<p> +“I am informed that this precious friend of yours entered my grill-room +at eight o’clock. He must have been completely intoxicated, though the +head waiter tells me he noticed nothing at the time.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie nodded approvingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear old Squiffy was always like that. It’s a gift. However +woozled he might be, it was impossible to detect it with the naked eye. +I’ve seen the dear old chap many a time whiffled to the eyebrows, and +looking as sober as a bishop. Soberer! When did it begin to dawn on the lads in +the grill-room that the old egg had been pushing the boat out?” +</p> + +<p> +“The head waiter,” said Mr. Brewster, with cold fury, “tells +me that he got a hint of the man’s condition when he suddenly got up from +his table and went the round of the room, pulling off all the table-cloths, and +breaking everything that was on them. He then threw a number of rolls at the +diners, and left. He seems to have gone straight to bed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dashed sensible of him, what? Sound, practical chap, Squiffy. But where +on earth did he get the—er—materials?” +</p> + +<p> +“From his room. I made enquiries. He has six large cases in his +room.” +</p> + +<p> +“Squiffy always was a chap of infinite resource! Well, I’m dashed +sorry this should have happened, don’t you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“If it hadn’t been for you, the man would never have come +here.” Mr. Brewster brooded coldly. “I don’t know why it is, +but ever since you came to this hotel I’ve had nothing but +trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dashed sorry!” said Archie, sympathetically. +</p> + +<p> +“Grrh!” said Mr. Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +Archie made his way meditatively to the lift. The injustice of his +father-in-law’s attitude pained him. It was absolutely rotten and all +that to be blamed for everything that went wrong in the Hotel Cosmopolis. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +While this conversation was in progress, Lord Seacliff was enjoying a +refreshing sleep in his room on the fourth floor. Two hours passed. The noise +of the traffic in the street below faded away. Only the rattle of an occasional +belated cab broke the silence. In the hotel all was still. Mr. Brewster had +gone to bed. Archie, in his room, smoked meditatively. Peace may have been said +to reign. +</p> + +<p> +At half-past two Lord Seacliff awoke. His hours of slumber were always +irregular. He sat up in bed and switched the light on. He was a shock-headed +young man with a red face and a hot brown eye. He yawned and stretched himself. +His head was aching a little. The room seemed to him a trifle close. He got out +of bed and threw open the window. Then, returning to bed, he picked up a book +and began to read. He was conscious of feeling a little jumpy, and reading +generally sent him to sleep. +</p> + +<p> +Much has been written on the subject of bed-books. The general consensus of +opinion is that a gentle, slow-moving story makes the best opiate. If this be +so, dear old Squiffy’s choice of literature had been rather injudicious. +His book was <i>The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes</i>, and the particular +story which he selected for perusal was the one entitled, “The Speckled +Band.” He was not a great reader, but, when he read, he liked something +with a bit of zip to it. +</p> + +<p> +Squiffy became absorbed. He had read the story before, but a long time back, +and its complications were fresh to him. The tale, it may be remembered, deals +with the activities of an ingenious gentleman who kept a snake, and used to +loose it into people’s bedrooms as a preliminary to collecting on their +insurance. It gave Squiffy pleasant thrills, for he had always had a particular +horror of snakes. As a child, he had shrunk from visiting the serpent house at +the Zoo; and, later, when he had come to man’s estate and had put off +childish things, and settled down in real earnest to his self-appointed mission +of drinking up all the alcoholic fluid in England, the distaste for Ophidia had +lingered. To a dislike for real snakes had been added a maturer shrinking from +those which existed only in his imagination. He could still recall his emotions +on the occasion, scarcely three months before, when he had seen a long, green +serpent which a majority of his contemporaries had assured him wasn’t +there. +</p> + +<p> +Squiffy read on:— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“Suddenly another sound became audible—a very gentle, soothing +sound, like that of a small jet of steam escaping continuously from a +kettle.” +</p> + +<p> +Lord Seacliff looked up from his book with a start. Imagination was beginning +to play him tricks. He could have sworn that he had actually heard that +identical sound. It had seemed to come from the window. He listened again. No! +All was still. He returned to his book and went on reading. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“It was a singular sight that met our eyes. Beside the table, on a wooden +chair, sat Doctor Grimesby Rylott, clad in a long dressing-gown. His chin was +cocked upward and his eyes were fixed in a dreadful, rigid stare at the corner +of the ceiling. Round his brow he had a peculiar yellow band, with brownish +speckles, which seemed to be bound tightly round his head.”<br/> + “I took a step forward. In an instant his strange head-gear began to +move, and there reared itself from among his hair the squat, diamond-shaped +head and puffed neck of a loathsome serpent...” +</p> + +<p> +“Ugh!” said Squiffy. +</p> + +<p> +He closed the book and put it down. His head was aching worse than ever. He +wished now that he had read something else. No fellow could read himself to +sleep with this sort of thing. People ought not to write this sort of thing. +</p> + +<p> +His heart gave a bound. There it was again, that hissing sound. And this time +he was sure it came from the window. +</p> + +<p> +He looked at the window, and remained staring, frozen. Over the sill, with a +graceful, leisurely movement, a green snake was crawling. As it crawled, it +raised its head and peered from side to side, like a shortsighted man looking +for his spectacles. It hesitated a moment on the edge of the sill, then +wriggled to the floor and began to cross the room. Squiffy stared on. +</p> + +<p> +It would have pained Peter deeply, for he was a snake of great sensibility, if +he had known how much his entrance had disturbed the occupant of the room. He +himself had no feeling but gratitude for the man who had opened the window and +so enabled him to get in out of the rather nippy night air. Ever since the bag +had swung open and shot him out onto the sill of the window below +Archie’s, he had been waiting patiently for something of the kind to +happen. He was a snake who took things as they came, and was prepared to rough +it a bit if necessary; but for the last hour or two he had been hoping that +somebody would do something practical in the way of getting him in out of the +cold. When at home, he had an eiderdown quilt to sleep on, and the stone of the +window-sill was a little trying to a snake of regular habits. He crawled +thankfully across the floor under Squiffy’s bed. There was a pair of +trousers there, for his host had undressed when not in a frame of mind to fold +his clothes neatly and place them upon a chair. Peter looked the trousers over. +They were not an eiderdown quilt, but they would serve. He curled up in them +and went to sleep. He had had an exciting day, and was glad to turn in. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +After about ten minutes, the tension of Squiffy’s attitude relaxed. His +heart, which had seemed to suspend its operations, began beating again. Reason +reasserted itself. He peeped cautiously under the bed. He could see nothing. +</p> + +<p> +Squiffy was convinced. He told himself that he had never really believed in +Peter as a living thing. It stood to reason that there couldn’t really be +a snake in his room. The window looked out on emptiness. His room was several +stories above the ground. There was a stern, set expression on Squiffy’s +face as he climbed out of bed. It was the expression of a man who is turning +over a new leaf, starting a new life. He looked about the room for some +implement which would carry out the deed he had to do, and finally pulled out +one of the curtain-rods. Using this as a lever, he broke open the topmost of +the six cases which stood in the corner. The soft wood cracked and split. +Squiffy drew out a straw-covered bottle. For a moment he stood looking at it, +as a man might gaze at a friend on the point of death. Then, with a sudden +determination, he went into the bathroom. There was a crash of glass and a +gurgling sound. +</p> + +<p> +Half an hour later the telephone in Archie’s room rang. “I say, +Archie, old top,” said the voice of Squiffy. +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa, old bean! Is that you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I say, could you pop down here for a second? I’m rather +upset.” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely! Which room?” +</p> + +<p> +“Four-forty-one.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll be with you eftsoons or right speedily.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks, old man.” +</p> + +<p> +“What appears to be the difficulty?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, as a matter of fact, I thought I saw a snake!” +</p> + +<p> +“A snake!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you all about it when you come down.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie found Lord Seacliff seated on his bed. An arresting aroma of mixed +drinks pervaded the atmosphere. +</p> + +<p> +“I say! What?” said Archie, inhaling. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all right. I’ve been pouring my stock away. Just +finished the last bottle.” +</p> + +<p> +“But why?” +</p> + +<p> +“I told you. I thought I saw a snake!” +</p> + +<p> +“Green?” +</p> + +<p> +Squiffy shivered slightly. +</p> + +<p> +“Frightfully green!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie hesitated. He perceived that there are moments when silence is the best +policy. He had been worrying himself over the unfortunate case of his friend, +and now that Fate seemed to have provided a solution, it would be rash to +interfere merely to ease the old bean’s mind. If Squiffy was going to +reform because he thought he had seen an imaginary snake, better not to let him +know that the snake was a real one. +</p> + +<p> +“Dashed serious!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Bally dashed serious!” agreed Squiffy. “I’m going to +cut it out!” +</p> + +<p> +“Great scheme!” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t think,” asked Squiffy, with a touch of +hopefulness, “that it could have been a real snake?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never heard of the management supplying them.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought it went under the bed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, take a look.” +</p> + +<p> +Squiffy shuddered. +</p> + +<p> +“Not me! I say, old top, you know, I simply can’t sleep in this +room now. I was wondering if you could give me a doss somewhere in +yours.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather! I’m in five-forty-one. Just above. Trot along up. +Here’s the key. I’ll tidy up a bit here, and join you in a +minute.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Squiffy put on a dressing-gown and disappeared. Archie looked under the bed. +From the trousers the head of Peter popped up with its usual expression of +amiable enquiry. Archie nodded pleasantly, and sat down on the bed. The problem +of his little friend’s immediate future wanted thinking over. +</p> + +<p> +He lit a cigarette and remained for a while in thought. Then he rose. An +admirable solution had presented itself. He picked Peter up and placed him in +the pocket of his dressing-gown. Then, leaving the room, he mounted the stairs +till he reached the seventh floor. Outside a room half-way down the corridor he +paused. +</p> + +<p> +From within, through the open transom, came the rhythmical snoring of a good +man taking his rest after the labours of the day. Mr. Brewster was always a +heavy sleeper. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s always a way,” thought Archie, philosophically, +“if a chappie only thinks of it.” +</p> + +<p> +His father-in-law’s snoring took on a deeper note. Archie extracted Peter +from his pocket and dropped him gently through the transom. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX.<br/> +A LETTER FROM PARKER</h2> + +<p> +As the days went by and he settled down at the Hotel Cosmopolis, Archie, +looking about him and revising earlier judgments, was inclined to think that of +all his immediate circle he most admired Parker, the lean, grave valet of Mr. +Daniel Brewster. Here was a man who, living in the closest contact with one of +the most difficult persons in New York, contrived all the while to maintain an +unbowed head, and, as far as one could gather from appearances, a tolerably +cheerful disposition. A great man, judge him by what standard you pleased. +Anxious as he was to earn an honest living, Archie would not have changed +places with Parker for the salary of a movie-star. +</p> + +<p> +It was Parker who first directed Archie’s attention to the hidden merits +of Pongo. Archie had drifted into his father-in-law’s suite one morning, +as he sometimes did in the effort to establish more amicable relations, and had +found it occupied only by the valet, who was dusting the furniture and +bric-a-brac with a feather broom rather in the style of a man-servant at the +rise of the curtain of an old-fashioned farce. After a courteous exchange of +greetings, Archie sat down and lit a cigarette. Parker went on dusting. +</p> + +<p> +“The guv’nor,” said Parker, breaking the silence, “has +some nice little objay dar, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Little what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Objay dar, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Light dawned upon Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, yes. French for junk. I see what you mean now. Dare say +you’re right, old friend. Don’t know much about these things +myself.” +</p> + +<p> +Parker gave an appreciative flick at a vase on the mantelpiece. +</p> + +<p> +“Very valuable, some of the guv’nor’s things.” He had +picked up the small china figure of the warrior with the spear, and was +grooming it with the ostentatious care of one brushing flies off a sleeping +Venus. He regarded this figure with a look of affectionate esteem which seemed +to Archie absolutely uncalled-for. Archie’s taste in Art was not +precious. To his untutored eye the thing was only one degree less foul than his +father-in-law’s Japanese prints, which he had always observed with silent +loathing. “This one, now,” continued Parker. “Worth a lot of +money. Oh, a lot of money.” +</p> + +<p> +“What, Pongo?” said Archie incredulously. +</p> + +<p> +“Sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“I always call that rummy-looking what-not Pongo. Don’t know what +else you could call him, what!” +</p> + +<p> +The valet seemed to disapprove of this levity. He shook his head and replaced +the figure on the mantelpiece. +</p> + +<p> +“Worth a lot of money,” he repeated. “Not by itself, +no.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, not by itself?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir. Things like this come in pairs. Somewhere or other +there’s the companion-piece to this here, and if the guv’nor could +get hold of it, he’d have something worth having. Something that +connoozers would give a lot of money for. But one’s no good without the +other. You have to have both, if you understand my meaning, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see. Like filling a straight flush, what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Precisely, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie gazed at Pongo again, with the dim hope of discovering virtues not +immediately apparent to the casual observer. But without success. Pongo left +him cold—even chilly. He would not have taken Pongo as a gift, to oblige +a dying friend. +</p> + +<p> +“How much would the pair be worth?” he asked. “Ten +dollars?” +</p> + +<p> +Parker smiled a gravely superior smile. “A leetle more than that, sir. +Several thousand dollars, more like it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to say,” said Archie, with honest amazement, +“that there are chumps going about loose—absolutely loose—who +would pay that for a weird little object like Pongo?” +</p> + +<p> +“Undoubtedly, sir. These antique china figures are in great demand among +collectors.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie looked at Pongo once more, and shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, well! It takes all sorts to make a world, what!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +What might be called the revival of Pongo, the restoration of Pongo to the +ranks of the things that matter, took place several weeks later, when Archie +was making holiday at the house which his father-in-law had taken for the +summer at Brookport. The curtain of the second act may be said to rise on +Archie strolling back from the golf-links in the cool of an August evening. +From time to time he sang slightly, and wondered idly if Lucille would put the +finishing touch upon the all-rightness of everything by coming to meet him and +sharing his homeward walk. +</p> + +<p> +She came in view at this moment, a trim little figure in a white skirt and a +pale blue sweater. She waved to Archie; and Archie, as always at the sight of +her, was conscious of that jumpy, fluttering sensation about the heart, which, +translated into words, would have formed the question, “What on earth +could have made a girl like that fall in love with a chump like me?” It +was a question which he was continually asking himself, and one which was +perpetually in the mind also of Mr. Brewster, his father-in-law. The matter of +Archie’s unworthiness to be the husband of Lucille was practically the +only one on which the two men saw eye to eye. +</p> + +<p> +“Hallo—allo—allo!” said Archie. “Here we are, +what! I was just hoping you would drift over the horizon.” +</p> + +<p> +Lucille kissed him. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a darling,” she said. “And you look like a +Greek god in that suit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Glad you like it.” Archie squinted with some complacency down his +chest. “I always say it doesn’t matter what you pay for a suit, so +long as it’s <i>right</i>. I hope your jolly old father will feel that +way when he settles up for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is father? Why didn’t he come back with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, as a matter of fact, he didn’t seem any too keen on my +company. I left him in the locker-room chewing a cigar. Gave me the impression +of having something on his mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Archie! You didn’t beat him <i>again?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Archie looked uncomfortable. He gazed out to sea with something of +embarrassment. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, as a matter of fact, old thing, to be absolutely frank, I, as it +were, did!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not badly?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, yes! I rather fancy I put it across him with some vim and not a +little emphasis. To be perfectly accurate, I licked him by ten and +eight.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you promised me you would let him beat you to-day. You know how +pleased it would have made him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know. But, light of my soul, have you any idea how dashed difficult it +is to get beaten by your festive parent at golf?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well!” Lucille sighed. “It can’t be helped, I +suppose.” She felt in the pocket of her sweater. “Oh, there’s +a letter for you. I’ve just been to fetch the mail. I don’t know +who it can be from. The handwriting looks like a vampire’s. Kind of +scrawly.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie inspected the envelope. It provided no solution. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s rummy! Who could be writing to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Open it and see.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dashed bright scheme! I will, Herbert Parker. Who the deuce is Herbert +Parker?” +</p> + +<p> +“Parker? Father’s valet’s name was Parker. The one he +dismissed when he found he was wearing his shirts.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to say any reasonable chappie would willingly wear the sort +of shirts your father—? I mean to say, there must have been some +mistake.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do read the letter. I expect he wants to use your influence with father +to have him taken back.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>My</i> influence? With your <i>father</i>? Well, I’m dashed. +Sanguine sort of Johnny, if he does. Well, here’s what he says. Of +course, I remember jolly old Parker now—great pal of mine.” +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +Dear Sir,—It is some time since the undersigned had the honour of +conversing with you, but I am respectfully trusting that you may recall me to +mind when I mention that until recently I served Mr. Brewster, your +father-in-law, in the capacity of valet. Owing to an unfortunate +misunderstanding, I was dismissed from that position and am now temporarily out +of a job. “How art thou fallen from Heaven, O Lucifer, son of the +morning!” (Isaiah xiv. 12.) +</p> + +<p> +“You know,” said Archie, admiringly, “this bird is hot stuff! +I mean to say he writes dashed well.” +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +It is not, however, with my own affairs that I desire to trouble you, dear sir. +I have little doubt that all will be well with me and that I shall not fall +like a sparrow to the ground. “I have been young and now am old; yet have +I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread” (Psalms +xxxvii. 25). My object in writing to you is as follows. You may recall that I +had the pleasure of meeting you one morning in Mr. Brewster’s suite, when +we had an interesting talk on the subject of Mr. B.’s <i>objets +d’art</i>. You may recall being particularly interested in a small china +figure. To assist your memory, the figure to which I allude is the one which +you whimsically referred to as Pongo. I informed you, if you remember, that, +could the accompanying figure be secured, the pair would be extremely +valuable.<br/> + I am glad to say, dear sir, that this has now transpired, and is on view at +Beale’s Art Galleries on West Forty-Fifth Street, where it will be sold +to-morrow at auction, the sale commencing at two-thirty sharp. If Mr. Brewster +cares to attend, he will, I fancy, have little trouble in securing it at a +reasonable price. I confess that I had thought of refraining from apprising my +late employer of this matter, but more Christian feelings have prevailed. +“If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink; for in so +doing thou shalt heap coals of fire on his head” (Romans xii. 20). Nor, I +must confess, am I altogether uninfluenced by the thought that my action in +this matter may conceivably lead to Mr. B. consenting to forget the past and to +reinstate me in my former position. However, I am confident that I can leave +this to his good feeling. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +I remain, respectfully yours,<br/> +Herbert Parker. +</p> + +<p> +Lucille clapped her hands. +</p> + +<p> +“How splendid! Father <i>will</i> be pleased!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Friend Parker has certainly found a way to make the old dad fond of +him. Wish <i>I</i> could!” +</p> + +<p> +“But you can, silly! He’ll be delighted when you show him that +letter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, with Parker. Old Herb. Parker’s is the neck he’ll fall +on—not mine.” +</p> + +<p> +Lucille reflected. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish—” she began. She stopped. Her eyes lit up. “Oh, +Archie, darling, I’ve got an idea!” +</p> + +<p> +“Decant it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you slip up to New York to-morrow and buy the thing, and +give it to father as a surprise?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie patted her hand kindly. He hated to spoil her girlish day-dreams. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said. “But reflect, queen of my heart! I have at +the moment of going to press just two dollars fifty in specie, which I took off +your father this after-noon. We were playing twenty-five cents a hole. He +coughed it up without enthusiasm—in fact, with a nasty hacking +sound—but I’ve got it. But that’s all I have got.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all right. You can pawn that ring and that bracelet of +mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I say, what! Pop the family jewels?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only for a day or two. Of course, once you’ve got the thing, +father will pay us back. He would give you all the money we asked him for, if +he knew what it was for. But I want to surprise him. And if you were to go to +him and ask him for a thousand dollars without telling him what it was for, he +might refuse.” +</p> + +<p> +“He might!” said Archie. “He might!” +</p> + +<p> +“It all works out splendidly. To-morrow’s the Invitation Handicap, +and father’s been looking forward to it for weeks. He’d hate to +have to go up to town himself and not play in it. But you can slip up and slip +back without his knowing anything about it.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie pondered. +</p> + +<p> +“It sounds a ripe scheme. Yes, it has all the ear-marks of a somewhat +fruity wheeze! By Jove, it <i>is</i> a fruity wheeze! It’s an egg!” +</p> + +<p> +“An egg?” +</p> + +<p> +“Good egg, you know. Halloa, here’s a postscript. I didn’t +see it.” +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +P.S.—I should be glad if you would convey my most cordial respects to +Mrs. Moffam. Will you also inform her that I chanced to meet Mr. William this +morning on Broadway, just off the boat. He desired me to send his regards and +to say that he would be joining you at Brookport in the course of a day or so. +Mr. B. will be pleased to have him back. “A wise son maketh a glad +father” (Proverbs x. 1). +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s Mr. William?” asked Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“My brother Bill, of course. I’ve told you all about him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes, of course. Your brother Bill. Rummy to think I’ve got a +brother-in-law I’ve never seen.” +</p> + +<p> +“You see, we married so suddenly. When we married, Bill was in +Yale.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good God! What for?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not jail, silly. Yale. The university.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, ah, yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then he went over to Europe for a trip to broaden his mind. You must +look him up to-morrow when you get back to New York. He’s sure to be at +his club.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll make a point of it. Well, vote of thanks to good old Parker! +This really does begin to look like the point in my career where I start to +have your forbidding old parent eating out of my hand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it’s an egg, isn’t it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Queen of my soul,” said Archie enthusiastically, “it’s +an omelette!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +The business negotiations in connection with the bracelet and the ring occupied +Archie on his arrival in New York to an extent which made it impossible for him +to call on Brother Bill before lunch. He decided to postpone the affecting +meeting of brothers-in-law to a more convenient season, and made his way to his +favourite table at the Cosmopolis grill-room for a bite of lunch preliminary to +the fatigues of the sale. He found Salvatore hovering about as usual, and +instructed him to come to the rescue with a minute steak. +</p> + +<p> +Salvatore was the dark, sinister-looking waiter who attended, among other +tables, to the one at the far end of the grill-room at which Archie usually +sat. For several weeks Archie’s conversations with the other had dealt +exclusively with the bill of fare and its contents; but gradually he had found +himself becoming more personal. Even before the war and its democratising +influences, Archie had always lacked that reserve which characterises many +Britons; and since the war he had looked on nearly everyone he met as a +brother. Long since, through the medium of a series of friendly chats, he had +heard all about Salvatore’s home in Italy, the little newspaper and +tobacco shop which his mother owned down on Seventh Avenue, and a hundred other +personal details. Archie had an insatiable curiosity about his fellow-man. +</p> + +<p> +“Well done,” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“Sare?” +</p> + +<p> +“The steak. Not too rare, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sare.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie looked at the waiter closely. His tone had been subdued and sad. Of +course, you don’t expect a waiter to beam all over his face and give +three rousing cheers simply because you have asked him to bring you a minute +steak, but still there was something about Salvatore’s manner that +disturbed Archie. The man appeared to have the pip. Whether he was merely +homesick and brooding on the lost delights of his sunny native land, or whether +his trouble was more definite, could only be ascertained by enquiry. So Archie +enquired. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter, laddie?” he said sympathetically. +“Something on your mind?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sare?” +</p> + +<p> +“I say, there seems to be something on your mind. What’s the +trouble?” +</p> + +<p> +The waiter shrugged his shoulders, as if indicating an unwillingness to inflict +his grievances on one of the tipping classes. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on!” persisted Archie encouragingly. “All pals here. +Barge along, old thing, and let’s have it.” +</p> + +<p> +Salvatore, thus admonished, proceeded in a hurried undertone—with one eye +on the headwaiter—to lay bare his soul. What he said was not very +coherent, but Archie could make out enough of it to gather that it was a sad +story of excessive hours and insufficient pay. He mused awhile. The +waiter’s hard case touched him. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you what,” he said at last. “When jolly old +Brewster comes back to town—he’s away just now—I’ll +take you along to him and we’ll beard the old boy in his den. I’ll +introduce you, and you get that extract from Italian opera off your chest which +you’ve just been singing to me, and you’ll find it’ll be all +right. He isn’t what you might call one of my greatest admirers, but +everybody says he’s a square sort of cove and he’ll see you +aren’t snootered. And now, laddie, touching the matter of that +steak.” +</p> + +<p> +The waiter disappeared, greatly cheered, and Archie, turning, perceived that +his friend Reggie van Tuyl was entering the room. He waved to him to join his +table. He liked Reggie, and it also occurred to him that a man of the world +like the heir of the van Tuyls, who had been popping about New York for years, +might be able to give him some much-needed information on the procedure at an +auction sale, a matter on which he himself was profoundly ignorant. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X.<br/> +DOING FATHER A BIT OF GOOD</h2> + +<p> +Reggie Van Tuyl approached the table languidly, and sank down into a chair. He +was a long youth with a rather subdued and deflated look, as though the burden +of the van Tuyl millions was more than his frail strength could support. Most +things tired him. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, Reggie, old top,” said Archie, “you’re just the +lad I wanted to see. I require the assistance of a blighter of ripe intellect. +Tell me, laddie, do you know anything about sales?” +</p> + +<p> +Reggie eyed him sleepily. +</p> + +<p> +“Sales?” +</p> + +<p> +“Auction sales.” +</p> + +<p> +Reggie considered. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, they’re sales, you know.” He checked a yawn. +“Auction sales, you understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Archie encouragingly. “Something—the name +or something—seemed to tell me that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fellows put things up for sale you know, and other fellows—other +fellows go in and—and buy ’em, if you follow me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but what’s the procedure? I mean, what do I do? That’s +what I’m after. I’ve got to buy something at Beale’s this +afternoon. How do I set about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Reggie, drowsily, “there are several ways of +bidding, you know. You can shout, or you can nod, or you can twiddle your +fingers—” The effort of concentration was too much for him. He +leaned back limply in his chair. “I’ll tell you what. I’ve +nothing to do this afternoon. I’ll come with you and show you.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +When he entered the Art Galleries a few minutes later, Archie was glad of the +moral support of even such a wobbly reed as Reggie van Tuyl. There is something +about an auction room which weighs heavily upon the novice. The hushed interior +was bathed in a dim, religious light; and the congregation, seated on small +wooden chairs, gazed in reverent silence at the pulpit, where a gentleman of +commanding presence and sparkling pince-nez was delivering a species of chant. +Behind a gold curtain at the end of the room mysterious forms flitted to and +fro. Archie, who had been expecting something on the lines of the New York +Stock Exchange, which he had once been privileged to visit when it was in a +more than usually feverish mood, found the atmosphere oppressively +ecclesiastical. He sat down and looked about him. The presiding priest went on +with his chant. +</p> + +<p> +“Sixteen-sixteen-sixteen-sixteen-sixteen—worth three +hundred—sixteen-sixteen-sixteen-sixteen-sixteen—ought to bring five +hundred—sixteen-sixteen-seventeen-seventeen-eighteen-eighteen +nineteen-nineteen-nineteen.” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped and eyed the worshippers with a glittering and reproachful eye. They +had, it seemed, disappointed him. His lips curled, and he waved a hand towards +a grimly uncomfortable-looking chair with insecure legs and a good deal of gold +paint about it. “Gentlemen! Ladies and gentlemen! You are not here to +waste my time; I am not here to waste yours. Am I seriously offered nineteen +dollars for this eighteenth-century chair, acknowledged to be the finest piece +sold in New York for months and months? Am I—twenty? I thank you. +Twenty-twenty-twenty-twenty. <i>Your</i> opportunity! Priceless. Very few +extant. Twenty-five-five-five-five-thirty-thirty. Just what you are looking +for. The only one in the City of New York. Thirty-five-five-five-five. +Forty-forty-forty-forty-forty. Look at those legs! Back it into the light, +Willie. Let the light fall on those legs!” +</p> + +<p> +Willie, a sort of acolyte, manœuvred the chair as directed. Reggie van Tuyl, +who had been yawning in a hopeless sort of way, showed his first flicker of +interest. +</p> + +<p> +“Willie,” he observed, eyeing that youth more with pity than +reproach, “has a face like Jo-Jo the dog-faced boy, don’t you think +so?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie nodded briefly. Precisely the same criticism had occurred to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Forty-five-five-five-five-five,” chanted the high-priest. +“Once forty-five. Twice forty-five. Third and last call, forty-five. Sold +at forty-five. Gentleman in the fifth row.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie looked up and down the row with a keen eye. He was anxious to see who +had been chump enough to give forty-five dollars for such a frightful object. +He became aware of the dog-faced Willie leaning towards him. +</p> + +<p> +“Name, please?” said the canine one. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh, what?” said Archie. “Oh, my name’s Moffam, +don’t you know.” The eyes of the multitude made him feel a little +nervous “Er—glad to meet you and all that sort of rot.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ten dollars deposit, please,” said Willie. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t absolutely follow you, old bean. What is the big thought +at the back of all this?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ten dollars deposit on the chair.” +</p> + +<p> +“What chair?” +</p> + +<p> +“You bid forty-five dollars for the chair.” +</p> + +<p> +“Me?” +</p> + +<p> +“You nodded,” said Willie, accusingly. “If,” he went +on, reasoning closely, “you didn’t want to bid, why did you +nod?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie was embarrassed. He could, of course, have pointed out that he had +merely nodded in adhesion to the statement that the other had a face like Jo-Jo +the dog-faced boy; but something seemed to tell him that a purist might +consider the excuse deficient in tact. He hesitated a moment, then handed over +a ten-dollar bill, the price of Willie’s feelings. Willie withdrew like a +tiger slinking from the body of its victim. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, old thing,” said Archie to Reggie, “this is a bit +thick, you know. No purse will stand this drain.” +</p> + +<p> +Reggie considered the matter. His face seemed drawn under the mental strain. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t nod again,” he advised. “If you aren’t +careful, you get into the habit of it. When you want to bid, just twiddle your +fingers. Yes, that’s the thing. Twiddle!” +</p> + +<p> +He sighed drowsily. The atmosphere of the auction room was close; you +weren’t allowed to smoke; and altogether he was beginning to regret that +he had come. The service continued. Objects of varying unattractiveness came +and went, eulogised by the officiating priest, but coldly received by the +congregation. Relations between the former and the latter were growing more and +more distant. The congregation seemed to suspect the priest of having an +ulterior motive in his eulogies, and the priest seemed to suspect the +congregation of a frivolous desire to waste his time. He had begun to speculate +openly as to why they were there at all. Once, when a particularly repellent +statuette of a nude female with an unwholesome green skin had been offered at +two dollars and had found no bidders—the congregation appearing silently +grateful for his statement that it was the only specimen of its kind on the +continent—he had specifically accused them of having come into the +auction room merely with the purpose of sitting down and taking the weight off +their feet. +</p> + +<p> +“If your thing—your whatever-it-is, doesn’t come up soon, +Archie,” said Reggie, fighting off with an effort the mists of sleep, +“I rather think I shall be toddling along. What was it you came to +get?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s rather difficult to describe. It’s a rummy-looking sort +of what-not, made of china or something. I call it Pongo. At least, this one +isn’t Pongo, don’t you know—it’s his little brother, +but presumably equally foul in every respect. It’s all rather +complicated, I know, but—hallo!” He pointed excitedly. “By +Jove! We’re off! There it is! Look! Willie’s unleashing it +now!” +</p> + +<p> +Willie, who had disappeared through the gold curtain, had now returned, and was +placing on a pedestal a small china figure of delicate workmanship. It was the +figure of a warrior in a suit of armour advancing with raised spear upon an +adversary. A thrill permeated Archie’s frame. Parker had not been +mistaken. This was undoubtedly the companion-figure to the redoubtable Pongo. +The two were identical. Even from where he sat Archie could detect on the +features of the figure on the pedestal the same expression of insufferable +complacency which had alienated his sympathies from the original Pongo. +</p> + +<p> +The high-priest, undaunted by previous rebuffs, regarded the figure with a +gloating enthusiasm wholly unshared by the congregation, who were plainly +looking upon Pongo’s little brother as just another of those things. +</p> + +<p> +“This,” he said, with a shake in his voice, “is something +very special. China figure, said to date back to the Ming Dynasty. Unique. +Nothing like it on either side of the Atlantic. If I were selling this at +Christie’s in London, where people,” he said, nastily, “have +an educated appreciation of the beautiful, the rare, and the exquisite, I +should start the bidding at a thousand dollars. This afternoon’s +experience has taught me that that might possibly be too high.” His +pince-nez sparkled militantly, as he gazed upon the stolid throng. “Will +anyone offer me a dollar for this unique figure?” +</p> + +<p> +“Leap at it, old top,” said Reggie van Tuyl. “Twiddle, dear +boy, twiddle! A dollar’s reasonable.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie twiddled. +</p> + +<p> +“One dollar I am offered,” said the high-priest, bitterly. +“One gentleman here is not afraid to take a chance. One gentleman here +knows a good thing when he sees one.” He abandoned the gently sarcastic +manner for one of crisp and direct reproach. “Come, come, gentlemen, we +are not here to waste time. Will anyone offer me one hundred dollars for this +superb piece of—” He broke off, and seemed for a moment almost +unnerved. He stared at someone in one of the seats in front of Archie. +“Thank you,” he said, with a sort of gulp. “One hundred +dollars I am offered! One hundred—one hundred—one +hundred—” +</p> + +<p> +Archie was startled. This sudden, tremendous jump, this wholly unforeseen boom +in Pongos, if one might so describe it, was more than a little disturbing. He +could not see who his rival was, but it was evident that at least one among +those present did not intend to allow Pongo’s brother to slip by without +a fight. He looked helplessly at Reggie for counsel, but Reggie had now +definitely given up the struggle. Exhausted nature had done its utmost, and now +he was leaning back with closed eyes, breathing softly through his nose. Thrown +on his own resources, Archie could think of no better course than to twiddle +his fingers again. He did so, and the high-priest’s chant took on a note +of positive exuberance. +</p> + +<p> +“Two hundred I am offered. Much better! Turn the pedestal round, Willie, +and let them look at it. Slowly! Slowly! You aren’t spinning a +roulette-wheel. Two hundred. Two-two-two-two-two.” He became suddenly +lyrical. “Two-two-two—There was a young lady named Lou, who was +catching a train at two-two. Said the porter, ‘Don’t worry or hurry +or scurry. It’s a minute or two to two-two!’ +Two-two-two-two-two!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie’s concern increased. He seemed to be twiddling at this voluble man +across seas of misunderstanding. Nothing is harder to interpret to a nicety +than a twiddle, and Archie’s idea of the language of twiddles and the +high-priest’s idea did not coincide by a mile. The high-priest appeared +to consider that, when Archie twiddled, it was his intention to bid in +hundreds, whereas in fact Archie had meant to signify that he raised the +previous bid by just one dollar. Archie felt that, if given time, he could make +this clear to the high-priest, but the latter gave him no time. He had got his +audience, so to speak, on the run, and he proposed to hustle them before they +could rally. +</p> + +<p> +“Two hundred—two hundred—two—three—thank you, +sir—three-three-three-four-four-five-five-six-six-seven-seven-seven—” +</p> + +<p> +Archie sat limply in his wooden chair. He was conscious of a feeling which he +had only experienced twice in his life—once when he had taken his first +lesson in driving a motor and had trodden on the accelerator instead of the +brake; the second time more recently, when he had made his first down-trip on +an express lift. He had now precisely the same sensation of being run away with +by an uncontrollable machine, and of having left most of his internal organs at +some little distance from the rest of his body. Emerging from this welter of +emotion, stood out the one clear fact that, be the opposition bidding what it +might, he must nevertheless secure the prize. Lucille had sent him to New York +expressly to do so. She had sacrificed her jewellery for the cause. She relied +on him. The enterprise had become for Archie something almost sacred. He felt +dimly like a knight of old hot on the track of the Holy Grail. +</p> + +<p> +He twiddled again. The ring and the bracelet had fetched nearly twelve hundred +dollars. Up to that figure his hat was in the ring. +</p> + +<p> +“Eight hundred I am offered. Eight hundred. +Eight-eight-eight-eight—” +</p> + +<p> +A voice spoke from somewhere at the back of the room. A quiet, cold, nasty, +determined voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Nine!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie rose from his seat and spun round. This mean attack from the rear stung +his fighting spirit. As he rose, a young man sitting immediately in front of +him rose too and stared likewise. He was a square-built resolute-looking young +man, who reminded Archie vaguely of somebody he had seen before. But Archie was +too busy trying to locate the man at the back to pay much attention to him. He +detected him at last, owing to the fact that the eyes of everybody in that part +of the room were fixed upon him. He was a small man of middle age, with +tortoise-shell-rimmed spectacles. He might have been a professor or something +of the kind. Whatever he was, he was obviously a man to be reckoned with. He +had a rich sort of look, and his demeanour was the demeanour of a man who is +prepared to fight it out on these lines if it takes all the summer. +</p> + +<p> +“Nine hundred I am offered. Nine-nine-nine-nine—” +</p> + +<p> +Archie glared defiantly at the spectacled man. +</p> + +<p> +“A thousand!” he cried. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +The irruption of high finance into the placid course of the afternoon’s +proceedings had stirred the congregation out of its lethargy. There were +excited murmurs. Necks were craned, feet shuffled. As for the high-priest, his +cheerfulness was now more than restored, and his faith in his fellow-man had +soared from the depths to a very lofty altitude. He beamed with approval. +Despite the warmth of his praise he would have been quite satisfied to see +Pongo’s little brother go at twenty dollars, and the reflection that the +bidding had already reached one thousand and that his commission was twenty per +cent, had engendered a mood of sunny happiness. +</p> + +<p> +“One thousand is bid!” he carolled. “Now, gentlemen, I +don’t want to hurry you over this. You are all connoisseurs here, and you +don’t want to see a priceless china figure of the Ming Dynasty get away +from you at a sacrifice price. Perhaps you can’t all see the figure where +it is. Willie, take it round and show it to ’em. We’ll take a +little intermission while you look carefully at this wonderful figure. Get a +move on, Willie! Pick up your feet!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie, sitting dazedly, was aware that Reggie van Tuyl had finished his beauty +sleep and was addressing the young man in the seat in front. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, hallo,” said Reggie. “I didn’t know you were +back. You remember me, don’t you? Reggie van Tuyl. I know your sister +very well. Archie, old man, I want you to meet my friend, Bill Brewster. Why, +dash it!” He chuckled sleepily. “I was forgetting. Of course! +He’s your—” +</p> + +<p> +“How are you?” said the young man. “Talking of my +sister,” he said to Reggie, “I suppose you haven’t met her +husband by any chance? I suppose you know she married some awful chump?” +</p> + +<p> +“Me,” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“How’s that?” +</p> + +<p> +“I married your sister. My name’s Moffam.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man seemed a trifle taken aback. +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“I was only going by what my father said in his letters,” he +explained, in extenuation. +</p> + +<p> +Archie nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid your jolly old father doesn’t appreciate me. But +I’m hoping for the best. If I can rope in that rummy-looking little china +thing that Jo-Jo the dog-faced boy is showing the customers, he will be all +over me. I mean to say, you know, he’s got another like it, and, if he +can get a full house, as it were, I’m given to understand he’ll be +bucked, cheered, and even braced.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man stared. +</p> + +<p> +“Are <i>you</i> the fellow who’s been bidding against me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh, what? Were you bidding against <i>me?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“I wanted to buy the thing for my father. I’ve a special reason for +wanting to get in right with him just now. Are you buying it for him, +too?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely. As a surprise. It was Lucille’s idea. His valet, a +chappie named Parker, tipped us off that the thing was to be sold.” +</p> + +<p> +“Parker? Great Scot! It was Parker who tipped <i>me</i> off. I met him on +Broadway, and he told me about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rummy he never mentioned it in his letter to me. Why, dash it, we could +have got the thing for about two dollars if we had pooled our bids.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we’d better pool them now, and extinguish that pill at the +back there. I can’t go above eleven hundred. That’s all I’ve +got.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t go above eleven hundred myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s just one thing. I wish you’d let me be the one to +hand the thing over to Father. I’ve a special reason for wanting to make +a hit with him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely!” said Archie, magnanimously. “It’s all the +same to me. I only wanted to get him generally braced, as it were, if you know +what I mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s awfully good of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a bit, laddie, no, no, and far from it. Only too glad.” +</p> + +<p> +Willie had returned from his rambles among the connoisseurs, and Pongo’s +brother was back on his pedestal. The high-priest cleared his throat and +resumed his discourse. +</p> + +<p> +“Now that you have all seen this superb figure we will—I was +offered one thousand—one thousand-one-one-one-one—eleven hundred. +Thank you, sir. Eleven hundred I am offered.” +</p> + +<p> +The high-priest was now exuberant. You could see him doing figures in his head. +</p> + +<p> +“You do the bidding,” said Brother Bill. +</p> + +<p> +“Right-o!” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +He waved a defiant hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Thirteen,” said the man at the back. +</p> + +<p> +“Fourteen, dash it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Fifteen!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sixteen!” +</p> + +<p> +“Seventeen!” +</p> + +<p> +“Eighteen!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nineteen!” +</p> + +<p> +“Two thousand!” +</p> + +<p> +The high-priest did everything but sing. He radiated good will and bonhomie. +</p> + +<p> +“Two thousand I am offered. Is there any advance on two thousand? Come, +gentlemen, I don’t want to give this superb figure away. Twenty-one +hundred. Twenty-one-one-one-one. This is more the sort of thing I have been +accustomed to. When I was at Sotheby’s Rooms in London, this kind of +bidding was a common-place. Twenty-two-two-two-two-two. One hardly noticed it. +Three-three-three. Twenty-three-three-three. Twenty-three hundred dollars I am +offered.” +</p> + +<p> +He gazed expectantly at Archie, as a man gazes at some favourite dog whom he +calls upon to perform a trick. But Archie had reached the end of his tether. +The hand that had twiddled so often and so bravely lay inert beside his +trouser-leg, twitching feebly. Archie was through. +</p> + +<p> +“Twenty-three hundred,” said the high-priest, ingratiatingly. +</p> + +<p> +Archie made no movement. There was a tense pause. The high-priest gave a little +sigh, like one waking from a beautiful dream. +</p> + +<p> +“Twenty-three hundred,” he said. “Once twenty-three. Twice +twenty-three. Third, last, and final call, twenty-three. Sold at twenty-three +hundred. I congratulate you, sir, on a genuine bargain!” +</p> + +<p> +Reggie van Tuyl had dozed off again. Archie tapped his brother-in-law on the +shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“May as well be popping, what?” +</p> + +<p> +They threaded their way sadly together through the crowd, and made for the +street. They passed into Fifth Avenue without breaking the silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Bally nuisance,” said Archie, at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Rotten!” +</p> + +<p> +“Wonder who that chappie was?” +</p> + +<p> +“Some collector, probably.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it can’t be helped,” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +Brother Bill attached himself to Archie’s arm, and became communicative. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t want to mention it in front of van Tuyl,” he said, +“because he’s such a talking-machine, and it would have been all +over New York before dinner-time. But you’re one of the family, and you +can keep a secret.” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely! Silent tomb and what not.” +</p> + +<p> +“The reason I wanted that darned thing was because I’ve just got +engaged to a girl over in England, and I thought that, if I could hand my +father that china figure-thing with one hand and break the news with the other, +it might help a bit. She’s the most wonderful girl!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll bet she is,” said Archie, cordially. +</p> + +<p> +“The trouble is she’s in the chorus of one of the revues over +there, and Father is apt to kick. So I thought—oh, well, it’s no +good worrying now. Come along where it’s quiet, and I’ll tell you +all about her.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll be jolly,” said Archie. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI.<br/> +SALVATORE CHOOSES THE WRONG MOMENT</h2> + +<p> +Archie reclaimed the family jewellery from its temporary home next morning; +and, having done so, sauntered back to the Cosmopolis. He was surprised, on +entering the lobby, to meet his father-in-law. More surprising still, Mr. +Brewster was manifestly in a mood of extraordinary geniality. Archie could +hardly believe his eyes when the other waved cheerily to him—nor his ears +a moment later when Mr. Brewster, addressing him as “my boy,” asked +him how he was and mentioned that the day was a warm one. +</p> + +<p> +Obviously this jovial frame of mind must be taken advantage of; and +Archie’s first thought was of the downtrodden Salvatore, to the tale of +whose wrongs he had listened so sympathetically on the previous day. Now was +plainly the moment for the waiter to submit his grievance, before some ebb-tide +caused the milk of human kindness to flow out of Daniel Brewster. With a swift +“Cheerio!” in his father-in-law’s direction, Archie bounded +into the grill-room. Salvatore, the hour for luncheon being imminent but not +yet having arrived, was standing against the far wall in an attitude of +thought. +</p> + +<p> +“Laddie!” cried Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“Sare?” +</p> + +<p> +“A most extraordinary thing has happened. Good old Brewster has suddenly +popped up through a trap and is out in the lobby now. And what’s still +more weird, he’s apparently bucked.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sare?” +</p> + +<p> +“Braced, you know. In the pink. Pleased about something. If you go to him +now with that yarn of yours, you can’t fail. He’ll kiss you on both +cheeks and give you his bank-roll and collar-stud. Charge along and ask the +head-waiter if you can have ten minutes off.” +</p> + +<p> +Salvatore vanished in search of the potentate named, and Archie returned to the +lobby to bask in the unwonted sunshine. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, well, what!” he said. “I thought you were at +Brookport.” +</p> + +<p> +“I came up this morning to meet a friend of mine,” replied Mr. +Brewster genially. “Professor Binstead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t think I know him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very interesting man,” said Mr. Brewster, still with the same +uncanny amiability. “He’s a dabbler in a good many +things—science, phrenology, antiques. I asked him to bid for me at a sale +yesterday. There was a little china figure—” +</p> + +<p> +Archie’s jaw fell. +</p> + +<p> +“China figure?” he stammered feebly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. The companion to one you may have noticed on my mantelpiece +upstairs. I have been trying to get the pair of them for years. I should never +have heard of this one if it had not been for that valet of mine, Parker. Very +good of him to let me know of it, considering I had fired him. Ah, here is +Binstead.”—He moved to greet the small, middle-aged man with the +tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles who was bustling across the +lobby.—“Well, Binstead, so you got it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose the price wasn’t particularly stiff?” +</p> + +<p> +“Twenty-three hundred.” +</p> + +<p> +“Twenty-three hundred!” Mr. Brewster seemed to reel in his tracks. +“Twenty-three <i>hundred!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“You gave me carte blanche.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but twenty-three hundred!” +</p> + +<p> +“I could have got it for a few dollars, but unfortunately I was a little +late, and, when I arrived, some young fool had bid it up to a thousand, and he +stuck to me till I finally shook him off at twenty-three hundred. Why, this is +the very man! Is he a friend of yours?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie coughed. +</p> + +<p> +“More a relation than a friend, what? Son-in-law, don’t you +know!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster’s amiability had vanished. +</p> + +<p> +“What damned foolery have you been up to <i>now?</i>” he demanded. +“Can’t I move a step without stubbing my toe on you? Why the devil +did you bid?” +</p> + +<p> +“We thought it would be rather a fruity scheme. We talked it over and +came to the conclusion that it was an egg. Wanted to get hold of the rummy +little object, don’t you know, and surprise you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s we?” +</p> + +<p> +“Lucille and I.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how did you hear of it at all?” +</p> + +<p> +“Parker, the valet-chappie, you know, wrote me a letter about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Parker! Didn’t he tell you that he had told me the figure was to +be sold?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely not!” A sudden suspicion came to Archie. He was +normally a guileless young man, but even to him the extreme fishiness of the +part played by Herbert Parker had become apparent. “I say, you know, it +looks to me as if friend Parker had been having us all on a bit, what? I mean +to say it was jolly old Herb, who tipped your son off—Bill, you +know—to go and bid for the thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bill! Was Bill there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely in person! We were bidding against each other like the +dickens till we managed to get together and get acquainted. And then this +bird—this gentleman—sailed in and started to slip it across +us.” +</p> + +<p> +Professor Binstead chuckled—the care-free chuckle of a man who sees all +those around him smitten in the pocket, while he himself remains untouched. +</p> + +<p> +“A very ingenious rogue, this Parker of yours, Brewster. His method seems +to have been simple but masterly. I have no doubt that either he or a +confederate obtained the figure and placed it with the auctioneer, and then he +ensured a good price for it by getting us all to bid against each other. Very +ingenious!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster struggled with his feelings. Then he seemed to overcome them and +to force himself to look on the bright side. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, anyway,” he said. “I’ve got the pair of figures, +and that’s what I wanted. Is that it in that parcel?” +</p> + +<p> +“This is it. I wouldn’t trust an express company to deliver it. +Suppose we go up to your room and see how the two look side by side.” +</p> + +<p> +They crossed the lobby to the lift.-The cloud was still on Mr. Brewster’s +brow as they stepped out and made their way to his suite. Like most men who +have risen from poverty to wealth by their own exertions, Mr. Brewster objected +to parting with his money unnecessarily, and it was plain that that +twenty-three hundred dollars still rankled. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster unlocked the door and crossed the room. Then, suddenly, he halted, +stared, and stared again. He sprang to the bell and pressed it, then stood +gurgling wordlessly. +</p> + +<p> +“Anything wrong, old bean?” queried Archie, solicitously. +</p> + +<p> +“Wrong! Wrong! It’s gone!” +</p> + +<p> +“Gone?” +</p> + +<p> +“The figure!” +</p> + +<p> +The floor-waiter had manifested himself silently in answer to the bell, and was +standing in the doorway. +</p> + +<p> +“Simmons!” Mr. Brewster turned to him wildly. “Has anyone +been in this suite since I went away?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody except your valet, sir—Parker. He said he had come to fetch +some things away. I supposed he had come from you, sir, with +instructions.” +</p> + +<p> +“Get out!” +</p> + +<p> +Professor Binstead had unwrapped his parcel, and had placed the Pongo on the +table. There was a weighty silence. Archie picked up the little china figure +and balanced it on the palm of his hand. It was a small thing, he reflected +philosophically, but it had made quite a stir in the world. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster fermented for a while without speaking. +</p> + +<p> +“So,” he said, at last, in a voice trembling with self-pity, +“I have been to all this trouble—” +</p> + +<p> +“And expense,” put in Professor Binstead, gently. +</p> + +<p> +“Merely to buy back something which had been stolen from me! And, owing +to your damned officiousness,” he cried, turning on Archie, “I have +had to pay twenty-three hundred dollars for it! I don’t know why they +make such a fuss about Job. Job never had anything like you around!” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” argued Archie, “he had one or two boils.” +</p> + +<p> +“Boils! What are boils?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dashed sorry,” murmured Archie. “Acted for the best. Meant +well. And all that sort of rot!” +</p> + +<p> +Professor Binstead’s mind seemed occupied to the exclusion of all other +aspects of the affair, with the ingenuity of the absent Parker. +</p> + +<p> +“A cunning scheme!” he said. “A very cunning scheme! This man +Parker must have a brain of no low order. I should like to feel his +bumps!” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to give him some!” said the stricken Mr. Brewster. +He breathed a deep breath. “Oh, well,” he said, “situated as +I am, with a crook valet and an imbecile son-in-law, I suppose I ought to be +thankful that I’ve still got my own property, even if I have had to pay +twenty-three hundred dollars for the privilege of keeping it.” He rounded +on Archie, who was in a reverie. The thought of the unfortunate Bill had just +crossed Archie’s mind. It would be many moons, many weary moons, before +Mr. Brewster would be in a suitable mood to listen sympathetically to the story +of love’s young dream. “Give me that figure!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie continued to toy absently with Pongo. He was wondering now how best to +break this sad occurrence to Lucille. It would be a disappointment for the poor +girl. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Give me that figure!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +Archie started violently. There was an instant in which Pongo seemed to hang +suspended, like Mohammed’s coffin, between heaven and earth, then the +force of gravity asserted itself. Pongo fell with a sharp crack and +disintegrated. And as it did so there was a knock at the door, and in walked a +dark, furtive person, who to the inflamed vision of Mr. Daniel Brewster looked +like something connected with the executive staff of the Black Hand. With all +time at his disposal, the unfortunate Salvatore had selected this moment for +stating his case. +</p> + +<p> +“Get out!” bellowed Mr. Brewster. “I didn’t ring for a +waiter.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie, his mind reeling beneath the catastrophe, recovered himself +sufficiently to do the honours. It was at his instigation that Salvatore was +there, and, greatly as he wished that he could have seen fit to choose a more +auspicious moment for his business chat, he felt compelled to do his best to +see him through. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I say, half a second,” he said. “You don’t quite +understand. As a matter of fact, this chappie is by way of being downtrodden +and oppressed and what not, and I suggested that he should get hold of you and +speak a few well-chosen words. Of course, if you’d rather—some +other time—” +</p> + +<p> +But Mr. Brewster was not permitted to postpone the interview. Before he could +get his breath, Salvatore had begun to talk. He was a strong, ambidextrous +talker, whom it was hard to interrupt; and it was not for some moments that Mr. +Brewster succeeded in getting a word in. When he did, he spoke to the point. +Though not a linguist, he had been able to follow the discourse closely enough +to realise that the waiter was dissatisfied with conditions in his hotel; and +Mr. Brewster, as has been indicated, had a short way with people who criticised +the Cosmopolis. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re fired!” said Mr. Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I say!” protested Archie. +</p> + +<p> +Salvatore muttered what sounded like a passage from Dante. +</p> + +<p> +“Fired!” repeated Mr. Brewster resolutely. “And I wish to +heaven,” he added, eyeing his son-in-law malignantly, “I could fire +<i>you!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Professor Binstead cheerfully, breaking the grim +silence which followed this outburst, “if you will give me your cheque, +Brewster, I think I will be going. Two thousand three hundred dollars. Make it +open, if you will, and then I can run round the corner and cash it before +lunch. That will be capital!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII.<br/> +BRIGHT EYES—AND A FLY</h2> + +<p> +The Hermitage (unrivalled scenery, superb cuisine, Daniel Brewster, proprietor) +was a picturesque summer hotel in the green heart of the mountains, built by +Archie’s father-in-law shortly after he assumed control of the +Cosmopolis. Mr. Brewster himself seldom went there, preferring to concentrate +his attention on his New York establishment; and Archie and Lucille, +breakfasting in the airy dining-room some ten days after the incidents recorded +in the last chapter, had consequently to be content with two out of the three +advertised attractions of the place. Through the window at their side quite a +slab of the unrivalled scenery was visible; some of the superb cuisine was +already on the table; and the fact that the eye searched in vain for Daniel +Brewster, proprietor, filled Archie, at any rate, with no sense of aching loss. +He bore it with equanimity and even with positive enthusiasm. In Archie’s +opinion, practically all a place needed to make it an earthly Paradise was for +Mr. Daniel Brewster to be about forty-seven miles away from it. +</p> + +<p> +It was at Lucille’s suggestion that they had come to the Hermitage. Never +a human sunbeam, Mr. Brewster had shown such a bleak front to the world, and +particularly to his son-in-law, in the days following the Pongo incident, that +Lucille had thought that he and Archie would for a time at least be better +apart—a view with which her husband cordially agreed. He had enjoyed his +stay at the Hermitage, and now he regarded the eternal hills with the +comfortable affection of a healthy man who is breakfasting well. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s going to be another perfectly topping day,” he +observed, eyeing the shimmering landscape, from which the morning mists were +swiftly shredding away like faint puffs of smoke. “Just the day you ought +to have been here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it’s too bad I’ve got to go. New York will be like an +oven.” +</p> + +<p> +“Put it off.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t, I’m afraid. I’ve a fitting.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie argued no further. He was a married man of old enough standing to know +the importance of fittings. +</p> + +<p> +“Besides,” said Lucille, “I want to see father.” Archie +repressed an exclamation of astonishment. “I’ll be back to-morrow +evening. You will be perfectly happy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Queen of my soul, you know I can’t be happy with you away. You +know—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” murmured Lucille, appreciatively. She never tired of hearing +Archie say this sort of thing. +</p> + +<p> +Archie’s voice had trailed off. He was looking across the room. +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “What an awfully pretty +woman!” +</p> + +<p> +“Where?” +</p> + +<p> +“Over there. Just coming in, I say, what wonderful eyes! I don’t +think I ever saw such eyes. Did you notice her eyes? Sort of flashing! Awfully +pretty woman!” +</p> + +<p> +Warm though the morning was, a suspicion of chill descended upon the +breakfast-table. A certain coldness seemed to come into Lucille’s face. +She could not always share Archie’s fresh young enthusiasms. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think so?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wonderful figure, too!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what I mean to say, fair to medium,” said Archie, recovering +a certain amount of that intelligence which raises man above the level of the +beasts of the field. “Not the sort of type I admire myself, of +course.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know her, don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely not and far from it,” said Archie, hastily. +“Never met her in my life.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve seen her on the stage. Her name’s Vera Silverton. We +saw her in—” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, yes. So we did. I say, I wonder what she’s doing here? +She ought to be in New York, rehearsing. I remember meeting +what’s-his-name—you know—chappie who writes plays and what +not—George Benham—I remember meeting George Benham, and he told me +she was rehearsing in a piece of his called—I forget the name, but I know +it was called something or other. Well, why isn’t she?” +</p> + +<p> +“She probably lost her temper and broke her contract and came away. +She’s always doing that sort of thing. She’s known for it. She must +be a horrid woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to talk about her. She used to be married to someone, +and she divorced him. And then she was married to someone else, and he divorced +her. And I’m certain her hair wasn’t that colour two years ago, and +I don’t think a woman ought to make up like that, and her dress is all +wrong for the country, and those pearls can’t be genuine, and I hate the +way she rolls her eyes about, and pink doesn’t suit her a bit. I think +she’s an awful woman, and I wish you wouldn’t keep on talking about +her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Right-o!” said Archie, dutifully. +</p> + +<p> +They finished breakfast, and Lucille went up to pack her bag. Archie strolled +out on to the terrace outside the hotel, where he smoked, communed with nature, +and thought of Lucille. He always thought of Lucille when he was alone, +especially when he chanced to find himself in poetic surroundings like those +provided by the unrivalled scenery encircling the Hotel Hermitage. The longer +he was married to her the more did the sacred institution seem to him a good +egg. Mr. Brewster might regard their marriage as one of the world’s most +unfortunate incidents, but to Archie it was, and always had been, a bit of all +right. The more he thought of it the more did he marvel that a girl like +Lucille should have been content to link her lot with that of a Class C +specimen like himself. His meditations were, in fact, precisely what a +happily-married man’s meditations ought to be. +</p> + +<p> +He was roused from them by a species of exclamation or cry almost at his elbow, +and turned to find that the spectacular Miss Silverton was standing beside him. +Her dubious hair gleamed in the sunlight, and one of the criticised eyes was +screwed up. The other gazed at Archie with an expression of appeal. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s something in my eye,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“No, really!” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder if you would mind? It would be so kind of you!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie would have preferred to remove himself, but no man worthy of the name +can decline to come to the rescue of womanhood in distress. To twist the +lady’s upper lid back and peer into it and jab at it with the corner of +his handkerchief was the only course open to him. His conduct may be classed as +not merely blameless but definitely praiseworthy. King Arthur’s knights +used to do this sort of thing all the time, and look what people think of them. +Lucille, therefore, coming out of the hotel just as the operation was +concluded, ought not to have felt the annoyance she did. But, of course, there +is a certain superficial intimacy about the attitude of a man who is taking a +fly out of a woman’s eye which may excusably jar upon the sensibilities +of his wife. It is an attitude which suggests a sort of <i>rapprochement</i> or +<i>camaraderie</i> or, as Archie would have put it, what not. +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks so much!” said Miss Silverton. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh no, rather not,” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“Such a nuisance getting things in your eye.” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m always doing it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Rotten luck!” +</p> + +<p> +“But I don’t often find anyone as clever as you to help me.” +</p> + +<p> +Lucille felt called upon to break in on this feast of reason and flow of soul. +</p> + +<p> +“Archie,” she said, “if you go and get your clubs now, I +shall just have time to walk round with you before my train goes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, ah!” said Archie, perceiving her for the first time. +“Oh, ah, yes, right-o, yes, yes, yes!” +</p> + +<p> +On the way to the first tee it seemed to Archie that Lucille was distrait and +abstracted in her manner; and it occurred to him, not for the first time in his +life, what a poor support a clear conscience is in moments of crisis. Dash it +all, he didn’t see what else he could have done. Couldn’t leave the +poor female staggering about the place with squads of flies wedged in her +eyeball. Nevertheless— +</p> + +<p> +“Rotten thing getting a fly in your eye,” he hazarded at length. +“Dashed awkward, I mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or convenient.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s a very good way of dispensing with an +introduction.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I say! You don’t mean you think—” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s a horrid woman!” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely! Can’t think what people see in her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you seemed to enjoy fussing over her!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no! Nothing of the kind! She inspired me with absolute +what-d’you-call-it—the sort of thing chappies do get inspired with, +you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“You were beaming all over your face.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wasn’t. I was just screwing up my face because the sun was in my +eye.” +</p> + +<p> +“All sorts of things seem to be in people’s eyes this +morning!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Archie was saddened. That this sort of misunderstanding should have occurred on +such a topping day and at a moment when they were to be torn asunder for about +thirty-six hours made him feel—well, it gave him the pip. He had an idea +that there were words which would have straightened everything out, but he was +not an eloquent young man and could not find them. He felt aggrieved. Lucille, +he considered, ought to have known that he was immune as regarded females with +flashing eyes and experimentally-coloured hair. Why, dash it, he could have +extracted flies from the eyes of Cleopatra with one hand and Helen of Troy with +the other, simultaneously, without giving them a second thought. It was in +depressed mood that he played a listless nine holes; nor had life brightened +for him when he came back to the hotel two hours later, after seeing Lucille +off in the train to New York. Never till now had they had anything remotely +resembling a quarrel. Life, Archie felt, was a bit of a wash-out. He was +disturbed and jumpy, and the sight of Miss Silverton, talking to somebody on a +settee in the corner of the hotel lobby, sent him shooting off at right angles +and brought him up with a bump against the desk behind which the room-clerk +sat. +</p> + +<p> +The room-clerk, always of a chatty disposition, was saying something to him, +but Archie did not listen. He nodded mechanically. It was something about his +room. He caught the word “satisfactory.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, rather, quite!” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +A fussy devil, the room-clerk! He knew perfectly well that Archie found his +room satisfactory. These chappies gassed on like this so as to try to make you +feel that the management took a personal interest in you. It was part of their +job. Archie beamed absently and went in to lunch. Lucille’s empty seat +stared at him mournfully, increasing his sense of desolation. +</p> + +<p> +He was half-way through his lunch, when the chair opposite ceased to be vacant. +Archie, transferring his gaze from the scenery outside the window, perceived +that his friend, George Benham, the playwright, had materialised from nowhere +and was now in his midst. +</p> + +<p> +“Hallo!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +George Benham was a grave young man whose spectacles gave him the look of a +mournful owl. He seemed to have something on his mind besides the artistically +straggling mop of black hair which swept down over his brow. He sighed wearily, +and ordered fish-pie. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought I saw you come through the lobby just now,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, was that you on the settee, talking to Miss Silverton?” +</p> + +<p> +“She was talking to <i>me</i>,” said the playwright, moodily. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you doing here?” asked Archie. He could have wished Mr. +Benham elsewhere, for he intruded on his gloom, but, the chappie being amongst +those present, it was only civil to talk to him. “I thought you were in +New York, watching the rehearsals of your jolly old drama.” +</p> + +<p> +“The rehearsals are hung up. And it looks as though there wasn’t +going to be any drama. Good Lord!” cried George Benham, with honest +warmth, “with opportunities opening out before one on every +side—with life extending prizes to one with both hands—when you see +coal-heavers making fifty dollars a week and the fellows who clean out the +sewers going happy and singing about their work—why does a man +deliberately choose a job like writing plays? Job was the only man that ever +lived who was really qualified to write a play, and he would have found it +pretty tough going if his leading woman had been anyone like Vera +Silverton!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie—and it was this fact, no doubt, which accounted for his possession +of such a large and varied circle of friends—was always able to shelve +his own troubles in order to listen to other people’s hard-luck stories. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me all, laddie,” he said. “Release the film! Has she +walked out on you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Left us flat! How did you hear about it? Oh, she told you, of +course?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie hastened to try to dispel the idea that he was on any such terms of +intimacy with Miss Silverton. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no! My wife said she thought it must be something of that nature or +order when we saw her come in to breakfast. I mean to say,” said Archie, +reasoning closely, “woman can’t come into breakfast here and be +rehearsing in New York at the same time. Why did she administer the raspberry, +old friend?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Benham helped himself to fish-pie, and spoke dully through the steam. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what happened was this. Knowing her as intimately as you +do—” +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>don’t</i> know her!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, anyway, it was like this. As you know, she has a dog—” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know she had a dog,” protested Archie. It seemed to +him that the world was in conspiracy to link him with this woman. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, she has a dog. A beastly great whacking brute of a bulldog. And +she brings it to rehearsal.” Mr. Benham’s eyes filled with tears, +as in his emotion he swallowed a mouthful of fish-pie some eighty-three degrees +Fahrenheit hotter than it looked. In the intermission caused by this disaster +his agile mind skipped a few chapters of the story, and, when he was able to +speak again, he said, “So then there was a lot of trouble. Everything +broke loose!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” Archie was puzzled. “Did the management object to her +bringing the dog to rehearsal?” +</p> + +<p> +“A lot of good that would have done! She does what she likes in the +theatre.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why was there trouble?” +</p> + +<p> +“You weren’t listening,” said Mr. Benham, reproachfully. +“I told you. This dog came snuffling up to where I was sitting—it +was quite dark in the body of the theatre, you know—and I got up to say +something about something that was happening on the stage, and somehow I must +have given it a push with my foot.” +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” said Archie, beginning to get the run of the plot. +“You kicked her dog.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pushed it. Accidentally. With my foot.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand. And when you brought off this kick—” +</p> + +<p> +“Push,” said Mr. Benham, austerely. +</p> + +<p> +“This kick or push. When you administered this kick or push—” +</p> + +<p> +“It was more a sort of light shove.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, when you did whatever you did, the trouble started?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Benham gave a slight shiver. +</p> + +<p> +“She talked for a while, and then walked out, taking the dog with her. +You see, this wasn’t the first time it had happened.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good Lord! Do you spend your whole time doing that sort of thing?” +</p> + +<p> +“It wasn’t me the first time. It was the stage-manager. He +didn’t know whose dog it was, and it came waddling on to the stage, and +he gave it a sort of pat, a kind of flick—” +</p> + +<p> +“A slosh?” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Not</i> a slosh,” corrected Mr. Benham, firmly. “You +might call it a tap—with the promptscript. Well, we had a lot of +difficulty smoothing her over that time. Still, we managed to do it, but she +said that if anything of the sort occurred again she would chuck up her +part.” +</p> + +<p> +“She must be fond of the dog,” said Archie, for the first time +feeling a touch of goodwill and sympathy towards the lady. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s crazy about it. That’s what made it so awkward when I +happened—quite inadvertently—to give it this sort of accidental +shove. Well, we spent the rest of the day trying to get her on the ’phone +at her apartment, and finally we heard that she had come here. So I took the +next train, and tried to persuade her to come back. She wouldn’t listen. +And that’s how matters stand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pretty rotten!” said Archie, sympathetically. +</p> + +<p> +“You can bet it’s pretty rotten—for me. There’s nobody +else who can play the part. Like a chump, I wrote the thing specially for her. +It means the play won’t be produced at all, if she doesn’t do it. +So you’re my last hope!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie, who was lighting a cigarette, nearly swallowed it. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> am?” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you might persuade her. Point out to her what a lot hangs on +her coming back. Jolly her along, <i>you</i> know the sort of thing!” +</p> + +<p> +“But, my dear old friend, I tell you I don’t know her!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Benham’s eyes opened behind their zareba of glass. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, she knows <i>you</i>. When you came through the lobby just now she +said that you were the only real human being she had ever met.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, as a matter of fact, I did take a fly out of her eye. +But—” +</p> + +<p> +“You did? Well, then, the whole thing’s simple. All you have to do +is to ask her how her eye is, and tell her she has the most beautiful eyes you +ever saw, and coo a bit.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, my dear old son!” The frightful programme which his friend +had mapped out stunned Archie. “I simply can’t! Anything to oblige +and all that sort of thing, but when it comes to cooing, distinctly +Napoo!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense! It isn’t hard to coo.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t understand, laddie. You’re not a married man. I +mean to say, whatever you say for or against marriage—personally +I’m all for it and consider it a ripe egg—the fact remains that it +practically makes a chappie a spent force as a cooer. I don’t want to +dish you in any way, old bean, but I must firmly and resolutely decline to +coo.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Benham rose and looked at his watch. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll have to be moving,” he said. “I’ve got to +get back to New York and report. I’ll tell them that I haven’t been +able to do anything myself, but that I’ve left the matter in good hands. +I know you will do your best.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, laddie!” +</p> + +<p> +“Think,” said Mr. Benham, solemnly, “of all that depends on +it! The other actors! The small-part people thrown out of a job! +Myself—but no! Perhaps you had better touch very lightly or not at all on +my connection with the thing. Well, you know how to handle it. I feel I can +leave it to you. Pitch it strong! Good-bye, my dear old man, and a thousand +thanks. I’ll do the same for you another time.” He moved towards +the door, leaving Archie transfixed. Half-way there he turned and came back. +“Oh, by the way,” he said, “my lunch. Have it put on your +bill, will you? I haven’t time to stay and settle. Good-bye! +Good-bye!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII.<br/> +RALLYING ROUND PERCY</h2> + +<p> +It amazed Archie through the whole of a long afternoon to reflect how swiftly +and unexpectedly the blue and brilliant sky of life can cloud over and with +what abruptness a man who fancies that his feet are on solid ground can find +himself immersed in Fate’s gumbo. He recalled, with the bitterness with +which one does recall such things, that that morning he had risen from his bed +without a care in the world, his happiness unruffled even by the thought that +Lucille would be leaving him for a short space. He had sung in his bath. Yes, +he had chirruped like a bally linnet. And now— +</p> + +<p> +Some men would have dismissed the unfortunate affairs of Mr. George Benham from +their mind as having nothing to do with themselves, but Archie had never been +made of this stern stuff. The fact that Mr. Benham, apart from being an +agreeable companion with whom he had lunched occasionally in New York, had no +claims upon him affected him little. He hated to see his fellowman in trouble. +On the other hand, what could he do? To seek Miss Silverton out and plead with +her—even if he did it without cooing—would undoubtedly establish an +intimacy between them which, instinct told him, might tinge her manner after +Lucille’s return with just that suggestion of Auld Lang Syne which makes +things so awkward. +</p> + +<p> +His whole being shrank from extending to Miss Silverton that inch which the +female artistic temperament is so apt to turn into an ell; and when, just as he +was about to go in to dinner, he met her in the lobby and she smiled brightly +at him and informed him that her eye was now completely recovered, he shied +away like a startled mustang of the prairie, and, abandoning his intention of +worrying the table d’hote in the same room with the amiable creature, +tottered off to the smoking-room, where he did the best he could with +sandwiches and coffee. +</p> + +<p> +Having got through the time as best he could till eleven o’clock, he went +up to bed. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +The room to which he and Lucille had been assigned by the management was on the +second floor, pleasantly sunny by day and at night filled with cool and +heartening fragrance of the pines. Hitherto Archie had always enjoyed taking a +final smoke on the balcony overlooking the woods, but, to-night such was his +mental stress that he prepared to go to bed directly he had closed the door. He +turned to the cupboard to get his pyjamas. +</p> + +<p> +His first thought, when even after a second scrutiny no pyjamas were visible, +was that this was merely another of those things which happen on days when life +goes wrong. He raked the cupboard for a third time with an annoyed eye. From +every hook hung various garments of Lucille’s, but no pyjamas. He was +breathing a soft malediction preparatory to embarking on a point-to-point hunt +for his missing property, when something in the cupboard caught his eye and +held him for a moment puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +He could have sworn that Lucille did not possess a mauve <i>négligé</i>. Why, +she had told him a dozen times that mauve was a colour which she did not like. +He frowned perplexedly; and as he did so, from near the window came a soft +cough. +</p> + +<p> +Archie spun round and subjected the room to as close a scrutiny as that which +he had bestowed upon the cupboard. Nothing was visible. The window opening on +to the balcony gaped wide. The balcony was manifestly empty. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Urrf!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +This time there was no possibility of error. The cough had come from the +immediate neighbourhood of the window. +</p> + +<p> +Archie was conscious of a pringly sensation about the roots of his +closely-cropped back-hair, as he moved cautiously across the room. The affair +was becoming uncanny; and, as he tip-toed towards the window, old ghost +stories, read in lighter moments before cheerful fires with plenty of light in +the room, flitted through his mind. He had the feeling—precisely as every +chappie in those stories had had—that he was not alone. +</p> + +<p> +Nor was he. In a basket behind an arm-chair, curled up, with his massive chin +resting on the edge of the wicker-work, lay a fine bulldog. +</p> + +<p> +“Urrf!” said the bulldog. +</p> + +<p> +“Good God!” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +There was a lengthy pause in which the bulldog looked earnestly at Archie and +Archie looked earnestly at the bulldog. +</p> + +<p> +Normally, Archie was a dog-lover. His hurry was never so great as to prevent +him stopping, when in the street, and introducing himself to any dog he met. In +a strange house, his first act was to assemble the canine population, roll it +on its back or backs, and punch it in the ribs. As a boy, his earliest ambition +had been to become a veterinary surgeon; and, though the years had cheated him +of his career, he knew all about dogs, their points, their manners, their +customs, and their treatment in sickness and in health. In short, he loved +dogs, and, had they met under happier conditions, he would undoubtedly have +been on excellent terms with this one within the space of a minute. But, as +things were, he abstained from fraternising and continued to goggle dumbly. +</p> + +<p> +And then his eye, wandering aside, collided with the following objects: a +fluffy pink dressing-gown, hung over the back of a chair, an entirely strange +suit-case, and, on the bureau, a photograph in a silver frame of a stout +gentleman in evening-dress whom he had never seen before in his life. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Much has been written of the emotions of the wanderer who, returning to his +childhood home, finds it altered out of all recognition; but poets have +neglected the theme—far more poignant—of the man who goes up to his +room in an hotel and finds it full of somebody else’s dressing-gowns and +bulldogs. +</p> + +<p> +Bulldogs! Archie’s heart jumped sideways and upwards with a wiggling +movement, turning two somersaults, and stopped beating. The hideous truth, +working its way slowly through the concrete, had at last penetrated to his +brain. He was not only in somebody else’s room, and a woman’s at +that. He was in the room belonging to Miss Vera Silverton. +</p> + +<p> +He could not understand it. He would have been prepared to stake the last cent +he could borrow from his father-in-law on the fact that he had made no error in +the number over the door. Yet, nevertheless, such was the case, and, below par +though his faculties were at the moment, he was sufficiently alert to perceive +that it behoved him to withdraw. +</p> + +<p> +He leaped to the door, and, as he did so, the handle began to turn. +</p> + +<p> +The cloud which had settled on Archie’s mind lifted abruptly. For an +instant he was enabled to think about a hundred times more quickly than was his +leisurely wont. Good fortune had brought him to within easy reach of the +electric-light switch. He snapped it back, and was in darkness. Then, diving +silently and swiftly to the floor, he wriggled under the bed. The thud of his +head against what appeared to be some sort of joist or support, unless it had +been placed there by the maker as a practical joke, on the chance of this kind +of thing happening some day, coincided with the creak of the opening door. Then +the light was switched on again, and the bulldog in the corner gave a welcoming +woofle. +</p> + +<p> +“And how is mamma’s precious angel?” +</p> + +<p> +Rightly concluding that the remark had not been addressed to himself and that +no social obligation demanded that he reply, Archie pressed his cheek against +the boards and said nothing. The question was not repeated, but from the other +side of the room came the sound of a patted dog. +</p> + +<p> +“Did he think his muzzer had fallen down dead and was never coming +up?” +</p> + +<p> +The beautiful picture which these words conjured up filled Archie with that +yearning for the might-have-been which is always so painful. He was finding his +position physically as well as mentally distressing. It was cramped under the +bed, and the boards were harder than anything he had ever encountered. Also, it +appeared to be the practice of the housemaids at the Hotel Hermitage to use the +space below the beds as a depository for all the dust which they swept off the +carpet, and much of this was insinuating itself into his nose and mouth. The +two things which Archie would have liked most to do at that moment were first +to kill Miss Silverton—if possible, painfully—and then to spend the +remainder of his life sneezing. +</p> + +<p> +After a prolonged period he heard a drawer open, and noted the fact as +promising. As the old married man, he presumed that it signified the putting +away of hair-pins. About now the dashed woman would be looking at herself in +the glass with her hair down. Then she would brush it. Then she would twiddle +it up into thingummies. Say, ten minutes for this. And after that she would go +to bed and turn out the light, and he would be able, after giving her a bit of +time to go to sleep, to creep out and leg it. Allowing at a conservative +estimate three-quarters of— +</p> + +<p> +“Come out!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie stiffened. For an instant a feeble hope came to him that this remark, +like the others, might be addressed to the dog. +</p> + +<p> +“Come out from under that bed!” said a stern voice. “And mind +how you come! I’ve got a pistol!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I mean to say, you know,” said Archie, in a propitiatory +voice, emerging from his lair like a tortoise and smiling as winningly as a man +can who has just bumped his head against the leg of a bed, “I suppose all +this seems fairly rummy, but—” +</p> + +<p> +“For the love of Mike!” said Miss Silverton. +</p> + +<p> +The point seemed to Archie well taken and the comment on the situation neatly +expressed. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you doing in my room?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if it comes to that, you know—shouldn’t have mentioned +it if you hadn’t brought the subject up in the course of general +chit-chat—what are you doing in mine?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yours?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, apparently there’s been a bloomer of some species somewhere, +but this was the room I had last night,” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“But the desk-clerk said that he had asked you if it would be quite +satisfactory to you giving it up to me, and you said yes. I come here every +summer, when I’m not working, and I always have this room.” +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove! I remember now. The chappie did say something to me about the +room, but I was thinking of something else and it rather went over the top. So +that’s what he was talking about, was it?” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Silverton was frowning. A moving-picture director, scanning her face, +would have perceived that she was registering disappointment. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing breaks right for me in this darned world,” she said, +regretfully. “When I caught sight of your leg sticking out from under the +bed, I did think that everything was all lined up for a real find and, at last, +I could close my eyes and see the thing in the papers. On the front page, with +photographs: ‘Plucky Actress Captures Burglar.’ Darn it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Fearfully sorry, you know!” +</p> + +<p> +“I just needed something like that. I’ve got a Press-agent, and I +will say for him that he eats well and sleeps well and has just enough +intelligence to cash his monthly cheque without forgetting what he went into +the bank for, but outside of that you can take it from me he’s not one of +the world’s workers! He’s about as much solid use to a girl with +aspirations as a pain in the lower ribs. It’s three weeks since he got me +into print at all, and then the brightest thing he could think up was that my +favourite breakfast-fruit was an apple. Well, I ask you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Rotten!” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“I did think that for once my guardian angel had gone back to work and +was doing something for me. ‘Stage Star and Midnight +Marauder,’” murmured Miss Silverton, wistfully. +“‘Footlight Favourite Foils Felon.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Bit thick!” agreed Archie, sympathetically. “Well, +you’ll probably be wanting to get to bed and all that sort of rot, so I +may as well be popping, what! Cheerio!” +</p> + +<p> +A sudden gleam came into Miss Silverton’s compelling eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait!” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait! I’ve got an idea!” The wistful sadness had gone from +her manner. She was bright and alert. “Sit down!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sure. Sit down and take the chill off the arm-chair. I’ve thought +of something.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie sat down as directed. At his elbow the bulldog eyed him gravely from the +basket. +</p> + +<p> +“Do they know you in this hotel?” +</p> + +<p> +“Know me? Well, I’ve been here about a week.” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean, do they know who you are? Do they know you’re a good +citizen?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if it comes to that, I suppose they don’t. But—” +</p> + +<p> +“Fine!” said Miss Silverton, appreciatively. “Then it’s +all right. We can carry on!” +</p> + +<p> +“Carry on!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, sure! All I want is to get the thing into the papers. It +doesn’t matter to me if it turns out later that there was a mistake and +that you weren’t a burglar trying for my jewels after all. It makes just +as good a story either way. I can’t think why that never struck me +before. Here have I been kicking because you weren’t a real burglar, when +it doesn’t amount to a hill of beans whether you are or not. All +I’ve got to do is to rush out and yell and rouse the hotel, and they come +in and pinch you, and I give the story to the papers, and everything’s +fine!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie leaped from his chair. +</p> + +<p> +“I say! What!” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s on your mind?” enquired Miss Silverton, +considerately. “Don’t you think it’s a nifty scheme?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nifty! My dear old soul! It’s frightful!” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t see what’s wrong with it,” grumbled Miss +Silverton. “After I’ve had someone get New York on the +long-distance ’phone and give the story to the papers you can explain, +and they’ll let you out. Surely to goodness you don’t object, as a +personal favour to me, to spending an hour or two in a cell? Why, probably they +haven’t got a prison at all out in these parts, and you’ll simply +be locked in a room. A child of ten could do it on his head,” said Miss +Silverton. “A child of six,” she emended. +</p> + +<p> +“But, dash it—I mean—what I mean to say—I’m +married!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” said Miss Silverton, with the politeness of faint interest. +“I’ve been married myself. I wouldn’t say it’s +altogether a bad thing, mind you, for those that like it, but a little of it +goes a long way. My first husband,” she proceeded, reminiscently, +“was a travelling man. I gave him a two-weeks’ try-out, and then I +told him to go on travelling. My second husband—now, <i>he</i> +wasn’t a gentleman in any sense of the word. I remember +once—” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t grasp the point. The jolly old point! You fail to grasp +it. If this bally thing comes out, my wife will be most frightfully +sick!” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Silverton regarded him with pained surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to say you would let a little thing like that stand in the +way of my getting on the front page of all the papers—<i>with</i> +photographs? Where’s your chivalry?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind my dashed chivalry!” +</p> + +<p> +“Besides, what does it matter if she does get a little sore? She’ll +soon get over it. You can put that right. Buy her a box of candy. Not that +I’m strong for candy myself. What I always say is, it may taste good, but +look what it does to your hips! I give you my honest word that, when I gave up +eating candy, I lost eleven ounces the first week. My second husband—no, +I’m a liar, it was my third—my third husband said—Say, +what’s the big idea? Where are you going?” +</p> + +<p> +“Out!” said Archie, firmly. “Bally out!” +</p> + +<p> +A dangerous light flickered in Miss Silverton’s eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll be all of that!” she said, raising the pistol. +“You stay right where you are, or I’ll fire!” +</p> + +<p> +“Right-o!” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean it!” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear old soul,” said Archie, “in the recent +unpleasantness in France I had chappies popping off things like that at me all +day and every day for close on five years, and here I am, what! I mean to say, +if I’ve got to choose between staying here and being pinched in your room +by the local constabulary and having the dashed thing get into the papers and +all sorts of trouble happening, and my wife getting the wind up and—I +say, if I’ve got to choose—” +</p> + +<p> +“Suck a lozenge and start again!” said Miss Silverton. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what I mean to say is, I’d much rather take a chance of +getting a bullet in the old bean than that. So loose it off and the best +o’ luck!” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Silverton lowered the pistol, sank into a chair, and burst into tears. +</p> + +<p> +“I think you’re the meanest man I ever met!” she sobbed. +“You know perfectly well the bang would send me into a fit!” +</p> + +<p> +“In that case,” said Archie, relieved, “cheerio, good luck, +pip-pip, toodle-oo, and good-bye-ee! I’ll be shifting!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you will!” cried Miss Silverton, energetically, recovering +with amazing swiftness from her collapse. “Yes, you will, I by no means +suppose! You think, just because I’m no champion with a pistol, I’m +helpless. You wait! Percy!” +</p> + +<p> +“My name is not Percy.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never said it was. Percy! Percy, come to muzzer!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a creaking rustle from behind the arm-chair. A heavy body flopped on +the carpet. Out into the room, heaving himself along as though sleep had +stiffened his joints, and breathing stertorously through his tilted nose, moved +the fine bulldog. Seen in the open, he looked even more formidable than he had +done in his basket. +</p> + +<p> +“Guard him, Percy! Good dog, guard him! Oh, heavens! What’s the +matter with him?” +</p> + +<p> +And with these words the emotional woman, uttering a wail of anguish, flung +herself on the floor beside the animal. +</p> + +<p> +Percy was, indeed, in manifestly bad shape. He seemed quite unable to drag his +limbs across the room. There was a curious arch in his back, and, as his +mistress touched him, he cried out plaintively, +</p> + +<p> +“Percy! Oh, what <i>is</i> the matter with him? His nose is +burning!” +</p> + +<p> +Now was the time, with both sections of the enemy’s forces occupied, for +Archie to have departed softly from the room. But never, since the day when at +the age of eleven he had carried a large, damp, and muddy terrier with a sore +foot three miles and deposited him on the best sofa in his mother’s +drawing-room, had he been able to ignore the spectacle of a dog in trouble. +</p> + +<p> +“He does look bad, what!” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s dying! Oh, he’s dying! Is it distemper? He’s +never had distemper.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie regarded the sufferer with the grave eye of the expert. He shook his +head. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not that,” he said. “Dogs with distemper make a +sort of snifting noise.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he <i>is</i> making a snifting noise!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, he’s making a snuffling noise. Great difference between +snuffling and snifting. Not the same thing at all. I mean to say, when they +snift they snift, and when they snuffle they—as it were—snuffle. +That’s how you can tell. If you ask <i>me</i>”—he passed his +hand over the dog’s back. Percy uttered another cry. “I know +what’s the matter with him.” +</p> + +<p> +“A brute of a man kicked him at rehearsal. Do you think he’s +injured internally?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s rheumatism,” said Archie. “Jolly old rheumatism. +That’s all that’s the trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you sure?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely!” +</p> + +<p> +“But what can I do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Give him a good hot bath, and mind and dry him well. He’ll have a +good sleep then, and won’t have any pain. Then, first thing to-morrow, +you want to give him salicylate of soda.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll never remember that.”—“I’ll write it +down for you. You ought to give him from ten to twenty grains three times a day +in an ounce of water. And rub him with any good embrocation.” +</p> + +<p> +“And he won’t die?” +</p> + +<p> +“Die! He’ll live to be as old as you are!-I mean to +say—” +</p> + +<p> +“I could kiss you!” said Miss Silverton, emotionally. +</p> + +<p> +Archie backed hastily. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, absolutely not! Nothing like that required, really!” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a darling!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I mean no. No, no, really!” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what to say. What can I say?” +</p> + +<p> +“Good night,” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish there was something I could do! If you hadn’t been here, I +should have gone off my head!” +</p> + +<p> +A great idea flashed across Archie’s brain. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you really want to do something?” +</p> + +<p> +“Anything!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I do wish, like a dear sweet soul, you would pop straight back to +New York to-morrow and go on with those rehearsals.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Silverton shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t do that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, right-o! But it isn’t much to ask, what!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not much to ask! I’ll never forgive that man for kicking +Percy!” +</p> + +<p> +“Now listen, dear old soul. You’ve got the story all wrong. As a +matter of fact, jolly old Benham told me himself that he has the greatest +esteem and respect for Percy, and wouldn’t have kicked him for the world. +And, you know it was more a sort of push than a kick. You might almost call it +a light shove. The fact is, it was beastly dark in the theatre, and he was +legging it sideways for some reason or other, no doubt with the best motives, +and unfortunately he happened to stub his toe on the poor old bean.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why didn’t he say so?” +</p> + +<p> +“As far as I could make out, you didn’t give him a chance.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Silverton wavered. +</p> + +<p> +“I always hate going back after I’ve walked out on a show,” +she said. “It seems so weak!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a bit of it! They’ll give three hearty cheers and think you a +topper. Besides, you’ve got to go to New York in any case. To take Percy +to a vet., you know, what!” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course. How right you always are!” Miss Silverton hesitated +again. “Would you really be glad if I went back to the show?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d go singing about the hotel! Great pal of mine, Benham. A +thoroughly cheery old bean, and very cut up about the whole affair. Besides, +think of all the coves thrown out of work—the thingummabobs and the poor +what-d’you-call-’ems!” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll do it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I say, you really are one of the best! Absolutely like mother made! +That’s fine! Well, I think I’ll be saying good night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good night. And thank you so much!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, rather not!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie moved to the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, by the way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” +</p> + +<p> +“If I were you, I think I should catch the very first train you can get +to New York. You see—er—you ought to take Percy to the vet. as soon +as ever you can.” +</p> + +<p> +“You really do think of everything,” said Miss Silverton. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Archie, meditatively. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV.<br/> +THE SAD CASE OF LOONEY BIDDLE</h2> + +<p> +Archie was a simple soul, and, as is the case with most simple souls, gratitude +came easily to him. He appreciated kind treatment. And when, on the following +day, Lucille returned to the Hermitage, all smiles and affection, and made no +further reference to Beauty’s Eyes and the flies that got into them, he +was conscious of a keen desire to show some solid recognition of this +magnanimity. Few wives, he was aware, could have had the nobility and what not +to refrain from occasionally turning the conversation in the direction of the +above-mentioned topics. It had not needed this behaviour on her part to +convince him that Lucille was a topper and a corker and one of the very best, +for he had been cognisant of these facts since the first moment he had met her: +but what he did feel was that she deserved to be rewarded in no uncertain +manner. And it seemed a happy coincidence to him that her birthday should be +coming along in the next week or so. Surely, felt Archie, he could whack up +some sort of a not unjuicy gift for that occasion—something pretty ripe +that would make a substantial hit with the dear girl. Surely something would +come along to relieve his chronic impecuniosity for just sufficient length of +time to enable him to spread himself on this great occasion. +</p> + +<p> +And, as if in direct answer to prayer, an almost forgotten aunt in England +suddenly, out of an absolutely blue sky, shot no less a sum than five hundred +dollars across the ocean. The present was so lavish and unexpected that Archie +had the awed feeling of one who participates in a miracle. He felt, like +Herbert Parker, that the righteous was not forsaken. It was the sort of thing +that restored a fellow’s faith in human nature. For nearly a week he went +about in a happy trance: and when, by thrift and enterprise—that is to +say, by betting Reggie van Tuyl that the New York Giants would win the opening +game of the series against the Pittsburg baseball team—he contrived to +double his capital, what it amounted to was simply that life had nothing more +to offer. He was actually in a position to go to a thousand dollars for +Lucille’s birthday present. He gathered in Mr. van Tuyl, of whose taste +in these matters he had a high opinion, and dragged him off to a +jeweller’s on Broadway. +</p> + +<p> +The jeweller, a stout, comfortable man, leaned on the counter and fingered +lovingly the bracelet which he had lifted out of its nest of blue plush. +Archie, leaning on the other side of the counter, inspected the bracelet +searchingly, wishing that he knew more about these things; for he had rather a +sort of idea that the merchant was scheming to do him in the eyeball. In a +chair by his side, Reggie van Tuyl, half asleep as usual, yawned despondently. +He had permitted Archie to lug him into this shop; and he wanted to buy +something and go. Any form of sustained concentration fatigued Reggie. +</p> + +<p> +“Now this,” said the jeweller, “I could do at eight hundred +and fifty dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +“Grab it!” murmured Mr. van Tuyl. +</p> + +<p> +The jeweller eyed him approvingly, a man after his own heart; but Archie looked +doubtful. It was all very well for Reggie to tell him to grab it in that +careless way. Reggie was a dashed millionaire, and no doubt bought bracelets by +the pound or the gross or what not; but he himself was in an entirely different +position. +</p> + +<p> +“Eight hundred and fifty dollars!” he said, hesitating. +</p> + +<p> +“Worth it,” mumbled Reggie van Tuyl. +</p> + +<p> +“More than worth it,” amended the jeweller. “I can assure you +that it is better value than you could get anywhere on Fifth Avenue.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” said Archie. He took the bracelet and twiddled it +thoughtfully. “Well, my dear old jeweller, one can’t say fairer +than that, can one—or two, as the case may be!” He frowned. +“Oh, well, all right! But it’s rummy that women are so fearfully +keen on these little thingummies, isn’t it? I mean to say, can’t +see what they see in them. Stones, and all that. Still, there it is, of +course!” +</p> + +<p> +“There,” said the jeweller, “as you say, it is, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, there it is!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, there it is,” said the jeweller, “fortunately for +people in my line of business. Will you take it with you, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie reflected. +</p> + +<p> +“No. No, not take it with me. The fact is, you know, my wife’s +coming back from the country to-night, and it’s her birthday to-morrow, +and the thing’s for her, and, if it was popping about the place to-night, +she might see it, and it would sort of spoil the surprise. I mean to say, she +doesn’t know I’m giving it her, and all that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Besides,” said Reggie, achieving a certain animation now that the +tedious business interview was concluded, “going to the ball-game this +afternoon—might get pocket picked—yes, better have it sent.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where shall I send it, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh? Oh, shoot it along to Mrs. Archibald Moffam, at the Cosmopolis. Not +to-day, you know. Buzz it in first thing to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +Having completed the satisfactory deal, the jeweller threw off the business +manner and became chatty. +</p> + +<p> +“So you are going to the ball-game? It should be an interesting +contest.” +</p> + +<p> +Reggie van Tuyl, now—by his own standards—completely awake, took +exception to this remark. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a bit of it!” he said, decidedly. “No contest! +Can’t call it a contest! Walkover for the Pirates!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie was stung to the quick. There is that about baseball which arouses +enthusiasm and the partisan spirit in the unlikeliest bosoms. It is almost +impossible for a man to live in America and not become gripped by the game; and +Archie had long been one of its warmest adherents. He was a whole-hearted +supporter of the Giants, and his only grievance against Reggie, in other +respects an estimable young man, was that the latter, whose money had been +inherited from steel-mills in that city, had an absurd regard for the Pirates +of Pittsburg. +</p> + +<p> +“What absolute bally rot!” he exclaimed. “Look what the +Giants did to them yesterday!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yesterday isn’t to-day,” said Reggie. +</p> + +<p> +“No, it’ll be a jolly sight worse,” said Archie. +“Looney Biddle’ll be pitching for the Giants to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s just what I mean. The Pirates have got him rattled. Look +what happened last time.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie understood, and his generous nature chafed at the innuendo. Looney +Biddle—so-called by an affectionately admiring public as the result of +certain marked eccentricities—was beyond dispute the greatest left-handed +pitcher New York had possessed in the last decade. But there was one blot on +Mr. Biddle’s otherwise stainless scutcheon. Five weeks before, on the +occasion of the Giants’ invasion of Pittsburg, he had gone mysteriously +to pieces. Few native-born partisans, brought up to baseball from the cradle, +had been plunged into a profounder gloom on that occasion than Archie; but his +soul revolted at the thought that that sort of thing could ever happen again. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not saying,” continued Reggie, “that Biddle +isn’t a very fair pitcher, but it’s cruel to send him against the +Pirates, and somebody ought to stop it. His best friends should interfere. Once +a team gets a pitcher rattled, he’s never any good against them again. He +loses his nerve.” +</p> + +<p> +The jeweller nodded approval of this sentiment. +</p> + +<p> +“They never come back,” he said, sententiously. +</p> + +<p> +The fighting blood of the Moffams was now thoroughly stirred. Archie eyed his +friend sternly. Reggie was a good chap—in many respects an extremely +sound egg—but he must not be allowed to talk rot of this description +about the greatest left-handed pitcher of the age. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems to me, old companion,” he said, “that a small bet +is indicated at this juncture. How about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t want to take your money.” +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t have to! In the cool twilight of the merry old summer +evening I, friend of my youth and companion of my riper years, shall be +trousering yours.” +</p> + +<p> +Reggie yawned. The day was very hot, and this argument was making him feel +sleepy again. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, just as you like, of course. Double or quits on yesterday’s +bet, if that suits you.” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment Archie hesitated. Firm as his faith was in Mr. Biddle’s +stout left arm, he had not intended to do the thing on quite this scale. That +thousand dollars of his was earmarked for Lucille’s birthday present, and +he doubted whether he ought to risk it. Then the thought that the honour of New +York was in his hands decided him. Besides, the risk was negligible. Betting on +Looney Biddle was like betting on the probable rise of the sun in the east. The +thing began to seem to Archie a rather unusually sound and conservative +investment. He remembered that the jeweller, until he drew him firmly but +kindly to earth and urged him to curb his exuberance and talk business on a +reasonable plane, had started brandishing bracelets that cost about two +thousand. There would be time to pop in at the shop this evening after the game +and change the one he had selected for one of those. Nothing was too good for +Lucille on her birthday. +</p> + +<p> +“Right-o!” he said. “Make it so, old friend!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Archie walked back to the Cosmopolis. No misgivings came to mar his perfect +contentment. He felt no qualms about separating Reggie from another thousand +dollars. Except for a little small change in the possession of the Messrs. +Rockefeller and Vincent Astor, Reggie had all the money in the world and could +afford to lose. He hummed a gay air as he entered the lobby and crossed to the +cigar-stand to buy a few cigarettes to see him through the afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +The girl behind the cigar counter welcomed him with a bright smile. Archie was +popular with all the employés of the Cosmopolis. +</p> + +<p> +“’S a great day, Mr. Moffam!” +</p> + +<p> +“One of the brightest and best,” agreed Archie. “Could you +dig me out two, or possibly three, cigarettes of the usual description? I shall +want something to smoke at the ball-game.” +</p> + +<p> +“You going to the ball-game?” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather! Wouldn’t miss it for a fortune.” +</p> + +<p> +“No?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely no! Not with jolly old Biddle pitching.” +</p> + +<p> +The cigar-stand girl laughed amusedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Is he pitching this afternoon? Say, that feller’s a nut? +D’you know him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Know him? Well, I’ve seen him pitch and so forth.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got a girl friend who’s engaged to him!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie looked at her with positive respect. It would have been more dramatic, +of course, if she had been engaged to the great man herself, but still the mere +fact that she had a girl friend in that astounding position gave her a sort of +halo. +</p> + +<p> +“No, really!” he said. “I say, by Jove, really! Fancy +that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, she’s engaged to him all right. Been engaged close on a +coupla months now.” +</p> + +<p> +“I say! That’s frightfully interesting! Fearfully interesting, +really!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s funny about that guy,” said the cigar-stand girl. +“He’s a nut! The fellow who said there’s plenty of room at +the top must have been thinking of Gus Biddle’s head! He’s crazy +about m’ girl friend, y’ know, and, whenever they have a fuss, it +seems like he sort of flies right off the handle.” +</p> + +<p> +“Goes in off the deep end, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, <i>sir!</i> Loses what little sense he’s got. Why, the last +time him and m’ girl friend got to scrapping was when he was going on to +Pittsburg to play, about a month ago. He’d been out with her the day he +left for there, and he had a grouch or something, and he started making low, +sneaky cracks about her Uncle Sigsbee. Well, m’ girl friend’s got a +nice disposition, but she c’n get mad, and she just left him flat and +told him all was over. And he went off to Pittsburg, and, when he started in to +pitch the opening game, he just couldn’t keep his mind on his job, and +look what them assassins done to him! Five runs in the first innings! Yessir, +he’s a nut all right!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie was deeply concerned. So this was the explanation of that mysterious +disaster, that weird tragedy which had puzzled the sporting press from coast to +coast. +</p> + +<p> +“Good God! Is he often taken like that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, he’s all right when he hasn’t had a fuss with m’ +girl friend,” said the cigar-stand girl, indifferently. Her interest in +baseball was tepid. Women are too often like this—mere butterflies, with +no concern for the deeper side of life. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but I say! What I mean to say, you know! Are they pretty pally now? +The good old Dove of Peace flapping its little wings fairly briskly and all +that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I guess everything’s nice and smooth just now. I seen m’ +girl friend yesterday, and Gus was taking her to the movies last night, so I +guess everything’s nice and smooth.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie breathed a sigh of relief. +</p> + +<p> +“Took her to the movies, did he? Stout fellow!” +</p> + +<p> +“I was at the funniest picture last week,” said the cigar-stand +girl. “Honest, it was a scream! It was like this—” +</p> + +<p> +Archie listened politely; then went in to get a bite of lunch. His equanimity, +shaken by the discovery of the rift in the peerless one’s armour, was +restored. Good old Biddle had taken the girl to the movies last night. Probably +he had squeezed her hand a goodish bit in the dark. With what result? Why, the +fellow would be feeling like one of those chappies who used to joust for the +smiles of females in the Middle Ages. What he meant to say, presumably the girl +would be at the game this afternoon, whooping him on, and good old Biddle would +be so full of beans and buck that there would be no holding him. +</p> + +<p> +Encouraged by these thoughts, Archie lunched with an untroubled mind. Luncheon +concluded, he proceeded to the lobby to buy back his hat and stick from the boy +brigand with whom he had left them. It was while he was conducting this +financial operation that he observed that at the cigar-stand, which adjoined +the coat-and-hat alcove, his friend behind the counter had become engaged in +conversation with another girl. +</p> + +<p> +This was a determined looking young woman in a blue dress and a large hat of a +bold and flowery species. Archie happening to attract her attention, she gave +him a glance out of a pair of fine brown eyes, then, as if she did not think +much of him, turned to her companion and resumed their +conversation—which, being of an essentially private and intimate nature, +she conducted, after the manner of her kind, in a ringing soprano which +penetrated into every corner of the lobby. Archie, waiting while the brigand +reluctantly made change for a dollar bill, was privileged to hear every word. +</p> + +<p> +“Right from the start I seen he was in a ugly mood. <i>You</i> know how +he gets, dearie! Chewing his upper lip and looking at you as if you were so +much dirt beneath his feet! How was <i>I</i> to know he’d lost fifteen +dollars fifty-five playing poker, and anyway, I don’t see where he gets a +licence to work off his grouches on me. And I told him so. I said to him, +‘Gus,’ I said, ‘if you can’t be bright and smiling and +cheerful when you take me out, why do you come round at all? Was I wrong or +right, dearie?” +</p> + +<p> +The girl behind the counter heartily endorsed her conduct. “Once you let +a man think he could use you as a door-mat, where were you?” +</p> + +<p> +“What happened then, honey?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, after that we went to the movies.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie started convulsively. The change from his dollar-bill leaped in his +hand. Some of it sprang overboard and tinkled across the floor, with the +brigand in pursuit. A monstrous suspicion had begun to take root in his mind. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we got good seats, but—well, you know how it is, once things +start going wrong. You know that hat of mine, the one with the daisies and +cherries and the feather—I’d taken it off and given it him to hold +when we went in, and what do you think that fell’r’d done? Put it +on the floor and crammed it under the seat, just to save himself the trouble of +holding it on his lap! And, when I showed him I was upset, all he said was that +he was a pitcher and not a hatstand!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie was paralysed. He paid no attention to the hat-check boy, who was trying +to induce him to accept treasure-trove to the amount of forty-five cents. His +whole being was concentrated on this frightful tragedy which had burst upon him +like a tidal wave. No possible room for doubt remained. “Gus” was +the only Gus in New York that mattered, and this resolute and injured female +before him was the Girl Friend, in whose slim hands rested the happiness of New +York’s baseball followers, the destiny of the unconscious Giants, and the +fate of his thousand dollars. A strangled croak proceeded from his parched +lips. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I didn’t say anything at the moment. It just shows how them +movies can work on a girl’s feelings. It was a Bryant Washburn film, and +somehow, whenever I see him on the screen, nothing else seems to matter. I just +get that goo-ey feeling, and couldn’t start a fight if you asked me to. +So we go off to have a soda, and I said to him, ‘That sure was a lovely +film, Gus!’ and would you believe me, he says straight out that he +didn’t think it was such a much, and he thought Bryant Washburn was a +pill! A pill!” The Girl Friend’s penetrating voice shook with +emotion. +</p> + +<p> +“He never!” exclaimed the shocked cigar-stand girl. +</p> + +<p> +“He did, if I die the next moment! I wasn’t more than half-way +through my vanilla and maple, but I got up without a word and left him. And I +ain’t seen a sight of him since. So there you are, dearie! Was I right or +wrong?” +</p> + +<p> +The cigar-stand girl gave unqualified approval. What men like Gus Biddle needed +for the salvation of their souls was an occasional good jolt right where it +would do most good. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad you think I acted right, dearie,” said the Girl +Friend. “I guess I’ve been too weak with Gus, and he’s took +advantage of it. I s’pose I’ll have to forgive him one of these old +days, but, believe me, it won’t be for a week.” +</p> + +<p> +The cigar-stand girl was in favour of a fortnight. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said the Girl Friend, regretfully. “I don’t +believe I could hold out that long. But, if I speak to him inside a week, +well—! Well, I gotta be going. Goodbye, honey.” +</p> + +<p> +The cigar-stand girl turned to attend to an impatient customer, and the Girl +Friend, walking with the firm and decisive steps which indicate character, made +for the swing-door leading to the street. And as she went, the paralysis which +had pipped Archie released its hold. Still ignoring the forty-five cents which +the boy continued to proffer, he leaped in her wake like a panther and came +upon her just as she was stepping into a car. The car was full, but not too +full for Archie. He dropped his five cents into the box and reached for a +vacant strap. He looked down upon the flowered hat. There she was. And there he +was. Archie rested his left ear against the forearm of a long, strongly-built +young man in a grey suit who had followed him into the car and was sharing his +strap, and pondered. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV.<br/> +SUMMER STORMS</h2> + +<p> +Of course, in a way, the thing was simple. The wheeze was, in a sense, +straightforward and uncomplicated. What he wanted to do was to point out to the +injured girl all that hung on her. He wished to touch her heart, to plead with +her, to desire her to restate her war-aims, and to persuade her—before +three o’clock when that stricken gentleman would be stepping into the +pitcher’s box to loose off the first ball against the Pittsburg +Pirates—to let bygones be bygones and forgive Augustus Biddle. But the +blighted problem was, how the deuce to find the opportunity to start. He +couldn’t yell at the girl in a crowded street-car; and, if he let go of +his strap and bent over her, somebody would step on his neck. +</p> + +<p> +The Girl Friend, who for the first five minutes had remained entirely concealed +beneath her hat, now sought diversion by looking up and examining the faces of +the upper strata of passengers. Her eye caught Archie’s in a glance of +recognition, and he smiled feebly, endeavouring to register bonhomie and +good-will. He was surprised to see a startled expression come into her brown +eyes. Her face turned pink. At least, it was pink already, but it turned +pinker. The next moment, the car having stopped to pick up more passengers, she +jumped off and started to hurry across the street. +</p> + +<p> +Archie was momentarily taken aback. When embarking on this business he had +never intended it to become a blend of otter-hunting and a moving-picture +chase. He followed her off the car with a sense that his grip on the affair was +slipping. Preoccupied with these thoughts, he did not perceive that the long +young man who had shared his strap had alighted too. His eyes were fixed on the +vanishing figure of the Girl Friend, who, having buzzed at a smart pace into +Sixth Avenue, was now legging it in the direction of the staircase leading to +one of the stations of the Elevated Railroad. Dashing up the stairs after her, +he shortly afterwards found himself suspended as before from a strap, gazing +upon the now familiar flowers on top of her hat. From another strap farther +down the carriage swayed the long young man in the grey suit. +</p> + +<p> +The train rattled on. Once or twice, when it stopped, the girl seemed undecided +whether to leave or remain. She half rose, then sank back again. Finally she +walked resolutely out of the car, and Archie, following, found himself in a +part of New York strange to him. The inhabitants of this district appeared to +eke out a precarious existence, not by taking in one another’s washing, +but by selling one another second-hand clothes. +</p> + +<p> +Archie glanced at his watch. He had lunched early, but so crowded with emotions +had been the period following lunch that he was surprised to find that the hour +was only just two. The discovery was a pleasant one. With a full hour before +the scheduled start of the game, much might be achieved. He hurried after the +girl, and came up with her just as she turned the corner into one of those +forlorn New York side-streets which are populated chiefly by children, cats, +desultory loafers, and empty meat-tins. +</p> + +<p> +The girl stopped and turned. Archie smiled a winning smile. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, my dear sweet creature!” he said. “I say, my dear old +thing, one moment!” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that so?” said the Girl Friend. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon?” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that so?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie began to feel certain tremors. Her eyes were gleaming, and her +determined mouth had become a perfectly straight line of scarlet. It was going +to be difficult to be chatty to this girl. She was going to be a hard audience. +Would mere words be able to touch her heart? The thought suggested itself that, +properly speaking, one would need to use a pick-axe. +</p> + +<p> +“If you could spare me a couple of minutes of your valuable +time—” +</p> + +<p> +“Say!” The lady drew herself up menacingly. “You tie a can to +yourself and disappear! Fade away, or I’ll call a cop!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie was horrified at this misinterpretation of his motives. One or two +children, playing close at hand, and a loafer who was trying to keep the wall +from falling down, seemed pleased. Theirs was a colourless existence and to the +rare purple moments which had enlivened it in the past the calling of a cop had +been the unfailing preliminary. The loafer nudged a fellow-loafer, sunning +himself against the same wall. The children, abandoning the meat-tin round +which their game had centred, drew closer. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear old soul!” said Archie. “You don’t +understand!” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t I! I know your sort, you trailing arbutus!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no! My dear old thing, believe me! I wouldn’t dream!” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going or aren’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +Eleven more children joined the ring of spectators. The loafers stared +silently, like awakened crocodiles. +</p> + +<p> +“But, I say, listen! I only wanted—” +</p> + +<p> +At this point another voice spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Say!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +The word “Say!” more almost than any word in the American language, +is capable of a variety of shades of expression. It can be genial, it can be +jovial, it can be appealing. It can also be truculent. The “Say!” +which at this juncture smote upon Archie’s ear-drum with a suddenness +which made him leap in the air was truculent; and the two loafers and +twenty-seven children who now formed the audience were well satisfied with the +dramatic development of the performance. To their experienced ears the word had +the right ring. +</p> + +<p> +Archie spun round. At his elbow stood a long, strongly-built young man in a +grey suit. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” said the young man, nastily. And he extended a large, +freckled face toward Archie’s. It seemed to the latter, as he backed +against the wall, that the young man’s neck must be composed of +india-rubber. It appeared to be growing longer every moment. His face, besides +being freckled, was a dull brick-red in colour; his lips curled back in an +unpleasant snarl, showing a gold tooth; and beside him, swaying in an ominous +sort of way, hung two clenched red hands about the size of two young legs of +mutton. Archie eyed him with a growing apprehension. There are moments in life +when, passing idly on our way, we see a strange face, look into strange eyes, +and with a sudden glow of human warmth say to ourselves, “We have found a +friend!” This was not one of those moments. The only person Archie had +ever seen in his life who looked less friendly was the sergeant-major who had +trained him in the early days of the war, before he had got his commission. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve had my eye on you!” said the young man. +</p> + +<p> +He still had his eye on him. It was a hot, gimlet-like eye, and it pierced the +recesses of Archie’s soul. He backed a little farther against the wall. +</p> + +<p> +Archie was frankly disturbed. He was no poltroon, and had proved the fact on +many occasions during the days when the entire German army seemed to be picking +on him personally, but he hated and shrank from anything in the nature of a +bally public scene. +</p> + +<p> +“What,” enquired the young man, still bearing the burden of the +conversation, and shifting his left hand a little farther behind his back, +“do you mean by following this young lady?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie was glad he had asked him. This was precisely what he wanted to explain. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear old lad—” he began. +</p> + +<p> +In spite of the fact that he had asked a question and presumably desired a +reply, the sound of Archie’s voice seemed to be more than the young man +could endure. It deprived him of the last vestige of restraint. With a rasping +snarl he brought his left fist round in a sweeping semicircle in the direction +of Archie’s head. +</p> + +<p> +Archie was no novice in the art of self-defence. Since his early days at school +he had learned much from leather-faced professors of the science. He had been +watching this unpleasant young man’s eyes with close attention, and the +latter could not have indicated his scheme of action more clearly if he had +sent him a formal note. Archie saw the swing all the way. He stepped nimbly +aside, and the fist crashed against the wall. The young man fell back with a +yelp of anguish. +</p> + +<p> +“Gus!” screamed the Girl Friend, bounding forward. +</p> + +<p> +She flung her arms round the injured man, who was ruefully examining a hand +which, always of an out-size, was now swelling to still further dimensions. +</p> + +<p> +“Gus, darling!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +A sudden chill gripped Archie. So engrossed had he been with his mission that +it had never occurred to him that the love-lorn pitcher might have taken it +into his head to follow the girl as well in the hope of putting in a word for +himself. Yet such apparently had been the case. Well, this had definitely torn +it. Two loving hearts were united again in complete reconciliation, but a fat +lot of good that was. It would be days before the misguided Looney Biddle would +be able to pitch with a hand like that. It looked like a ham already, and was +still swelling. Probably the wrist was sprained. For at least a week the +greatest left-handed pitcher of his time would be about as much use to the +Giants in any professional capacity as a cold in the head. And on that crippled +hand depended the fate of all the money Archie had in the world. He wished now +that he had not thwarted the fellow’s simple enthusiasm. To have had his +head knocked forcibly through a brick wall would not have been pleasant, but +the ultimate outcome would not have been as unpleasant as this. With a heavy +heart Archie prepared to withdraw, to be alone with his sorrow. +</p> + +<p> +At this moment, however, the Girl Friend, releasing her wounded lover, made a +sudden dash for him, with the plainest intention of blotting him from the +earth. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I say! Really!” said Archie, bounding backwards. “I mean +to say!” +</p> + +<p> +In a series of events, all of which had been a bit thick, this, in his opinion, +achieved the maximum of thickness. It was the extreme ragged, outside edge of +the limit. To brawl with a fellow-man in a public street had been bad, but to +be brawled with by a girl—the shot was not on the board. Absolutely not +on the board. There was only one thing to be done. It was dashed undignified, +no doubt, for a fellow to pick up the old waukeesis and leg it in the face of +the enemy, but there was no other course. Archie started to run; and, as he did +so, one of the loafers made the mistake of gripping him by the collar of his +coat. +</p> + +<p> +“I got him!” observed the loafer. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +There is a time for all things. This was essentially not the time for anyone of +the male sex to grip the collar of Archie’s coat. If a syndicate of +Dempsey, Carpentier, and one of the Zoo gorillas had endeavoured to stay his +progress at that moment, they would have had reason to consider it a rash move. +Archie wanted to be elsewhere, and the blood of generations of Moffams, many of +whom had swung a wicked axe in the free-for-all mix-ups of the Middle Ages, +boiled within him at any attempt to revise his plans. There was a good deal of +the loafer, but it was all soft. Releasing his hold when Archie’s heel +took him shrewdly on the shin, he received a nasty punch in what would have +been the middle of his waistcoat if he had worn one, uttered a gurgling bleat +like a wounded sheep, and collapsed against the wall. Archie, with a torn coat, +rounded the corner, and sprinted down Ninth Avenue. +</p> + +<p> +The suddenness of the move gave him an initial advantage. He was halfway down +the first block before the vanguard of the pursuit poured out of the side +street. Continuing to travel well, he skimmed past a large dray which had +pulled up across the road, and moved on. The noise of those who pursued was +loud and clamorous in the rear, but the dray hid him momentarily from their +sight, and it was this fact which led Archie, the old campaigner, to take his +next step. +</p> + +<p> +It was perfectly obvious—he was aware of this even in the novel +excitement of the chase—that a chappie couldn’t hoof it at +twenty-five miles an hour indefinitely along a main thoroughfare of a great +city without exciting remark. He must take cover. Cover! That was the wheeze. +He looked about him for cover. +</p> + +<p> +“You want a nice suit?” +</p> + +<p> +It takes a great deal to startle your commercial New Yorker. The small tailor, +standing in his doorway, seemed in no way surprised at the spectacle of Archie, +whom he had seen pass at a conventional walk some five minutes before, +returning like this at top speed. He assumed that Archie had suddenly +remembered that he wanted to buy something. +</p> + +<p> +This was exactly what Archie had done. More than anything else in the world, +what he wanted to do now was to get into that shop and have a long talk about +gents’ clothing. Pulling himself up abruptly, he shot past the small +tailor into the dim interior. A confused aroma of cheap clothing greeted him. +Except for a small oasis behind a grubby counter, practically all the available +space was occupied by suits. Stiff suits, looking like the body when discovered +by the police, hung from hooks. Limp suits, with the appearance of having +swooned from exhaustion, lay about on chairs and boxes. The place was a cloth +morgue, a Sargasso Sea of serge. +</p> + +<p> +Archie would not have had it otherwise. In these quiet groves of clothing a +regiment could have lain hid. +</p> + +<p> +“Something nifty in tweeds?” enquired the business-like proprietor +of this haven, following him amiably into the shop, “Or, maybe, yes, a +nice serge? Say, mister, I got a sweet thing in blue serge that’ll fit +you like the paper on the wall!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie wanted to talk about clothes, but not yet. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, laddie,” he said, hurriedly. “Lend me your ear for +half a jiffy!” Outside the baying of the pack had become imminent. +“Stow me away for a moment in the undergrowth, and I’ll buy +anything you want.” +</p> + +<p> +He withdrew into the jungle. The noise outside grew in volume. The pursuit had +been delayed for a priceless few instants by the arrival of another dray, +moving northwards, which had drawn level with the first dray and dexterously +bottled up the fairway. This obstacle had now been overcome, and the original +searchers, their ranks swelled by a few dozen more of the leisured classes, +were hot on the trail again. +</p> + +<p> +“You done a murder?” enquired the voice of the proprietor, mildly +interested, filtering through a wall of cloth. “Well, boys will be +boys!” he said, philosophically. “See anything there that you like? +There some sweet things there!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m inspecting them narrowly,” replied Archie. “If you +don’t let those chappies find me, I shouldn’t be surprised if I +bought one.” +</p> + +<p> +“One?” said the proprietor, with a touch of austerity. +</p> + +<p> +“Two,” said Archie, quickly. “Or possibly three or +six.” +</p> + +<p> +The proprietor’s cordiality returned. +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t have too many nice suits,” he said, approvingly, +“not a young feller like you that wants to look nice. All the nice girls +like a young feller that dresses nice. When you go out of here in a suit I got +hanging up there at the back, the girls’ll be all over you like flies +round a honey-pot.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you mind,” said Archie, “would you mind, as a personal +favour to me, old companion, not mentioning that word +‘girls’?” +</p> + +<p> +He broke off. A heavy foot had crossed the threshold of the shop. +</p> + +<p> +“Say, uncle,” said a deep voice, one of those beastly voices that +only the most poisonous blighters have, “you seen a young feller run past +here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Young feller?” The proprietor appeared to reflect. “Do you +mean a young feller in blue, with a Homburg hat?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the duck! We lost him. Where did he go?” +</p> + +<p> +“Him! Why, he come running past, quick as he could go. I wondered what he +was running for, a hot day like this. He went round the corner at the bottom of +the block.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I guess he’s got away,” said the voice, regretfully. +</p> + +<p> +“The way he was travelling,” agreed the proprietor, “I +wouldn’t be surprised if he was in Europe by this. You want a nice +suit?” +</p> + +<p> +The other, curtly expressing a wish that the proprietor would go to eternal +perdition and take his entire stock with him, stumped out. +</p> + +<p> +“This,” said the proprietor, tranquilly, burrowing his way to where +Archie stood and exhibiting a saffron-coloured outrage, which appeared to be a +poor relation of the flannel family, “would put you back fifty dollars. +And cheap!” +</p> + +<p> +“Fifty dollars!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sixty, I said. I don’t speak always distinct.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie regarded the distressing garment with a shuddering horror. A young man +with an educated taste in clothes, it got right in among his nerve centres. +</p> + +<p> +“But, honestly, old soul, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but +that isn’t a suit, it’s just a regrettable incident!” +</p> + +<p> +The proprietor turned to the door in a listening attitude. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe I hear that feller coming back,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Archie gulped. +</p> + +<p> +“How about trying it on?” he said. “I’m not sure, after +all, it isn’t fairly ripe.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the way to talk,” said the proprietor, cordially. +“You try it on. You can’t judge a suit, not a real nice suit like +this, by looking at it. You want to put it on. There!” He led the way to +a dusty mirror at the back of the shop. “Isn’t that a bargain at +seventy dollars?...Why, say, your mother would be proud if she could see her +boy now!” +</p> + +<p> +A quarter of an hour later, the proprietor, lovingly kneading a little sheaf of +currency bills, eyed with a fond look the heap of clothes which lay on the +counter. +</p> + +<p> +“As nice a little lot as I’ve ever had in my shop!” Archie +did not deny this. It was, he thought, probably only too true. +</p> + +<p> +“I only wish I could see you walking up Fifth Avenue in them!” +rhapsodised the proprietor. “You’ll give ’em a treat! What +you going to do with ’em? Carry ’em under your arm?” Archie +shuddered strongly. “Well, then, I can send ’em for you anywhere +you like. It’s all the same to me. Where’ll I send +’em?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie meditated. The future was black enough as it was. He shrank from the +prospect of being confronted next day, at the height of his misery, with these +appalling reach-me-downs. +</p> + +<p> +An idea struck him. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, send ’em,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the name and address?” +</p> + +<p> +“Daniel Brewster,” said Archie, “Hotel Cosmopolis.” +</p> + +<p> +It was a long time since he had given his father-in-law a present. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Archie went out into the street, and began to walk pensively down a now +peaceful Ninth Avenue. Out of the depths that covered him, black as the pit +from pole to pole, no single ray of hope came to cheer him. He could not, like +the poet, thank whatever gods there be for his unconquerable soul, for his soul +was licked to a splinter. He felt alone and friendless in a rotten world. With +the best intentions, he had succeeded only in landing himself squarely amongst +the ribstons. Why had he not been content with his wealth, instead of risking +it on that blighted bet with Reggie? Why had he trailed the Girl Friend, dash +her! He might have known that he would only make an ass of himself. And, +because he had done so, Looney Biddle’s left hand, that priceless left +hand before which opposing batters quailed and wilted, was out of action, +resting in a sling, careened like a damaged battleship; and any chance the +Giants might have had of beating the Pirates was gone—gone—as +surely as that thousand dollars which should have bought a birthday present for +Lucille. +</p> + +<p> +A birthday present for Lucille! He groaned in bitterness of spirit. She would +be coming back to-night, dear girl, all smiles and happiness, wondering what he +was going to give her tomorrow. And when to-morrow dawned, all he would be able +to give her would be a kind smile. A nice state of things! A jolly situation! A +thoroughly good egg, he did <i>not</i> think! +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to Archie that Nature, contrary to her usual custom of indifference +to human suffering, was mourning with him. The sky was overcast, and the sun +had ceased to shine. There was a sort of sombreness in the afternoon, which +fitted in with his mood. And then something splashed on his face. +</p> + +<p> +It says much for Archie’s pre-occupation that his first thought, as, +after a few scattered drops, as though the clouds were submitting samples for +approval, the whole sky suddenly began to stream like a shower-bath, was that +this was simply an additional infliction which he was called upon to bear, On +top of all his other troubles he would get soaked to the skin or have to hang +about in some doorway. He cursed richly, and sped for shelter. +</p> + +<p> +The rain was setting about its work in earnest. The world was full of that +rending, swishing sound which accompanies the more violent summer storms. +Thunder crashed, and lightning flicked out of the grey heavens. Out in the +street the raindrops bounded up off the stones like fairy fountains. Archie +surveyed them morosely from his refuge in the entrance of a shop. +</p> + +<p> +And then, suddenly, like one of those flashes which were lighting up the gloomy +sky, a thought lit up his mind. +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove! If this keeps up, there won’t be a ball-game +to-day!” +</p> + +<p> +With trembling fingers he pulled out his watch. The hands pointed to five +minutes to three. A blessed vision came to him of a moist and disappointed +crowd receiving rain-checks up at the Polo Grounds. +</p> + +<p> +“Switch it on, you blighters!” he cried, addressing the leaden +clouds. “Switch it on more and more!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +It was shortly before five o’clock that a young man bounded into a +jeweller’s shop near the Hotel Cosmopolis—a young man who, in spite +of the fact that his coat was torn near the collar and that he oozed water from +every inch of his drenched clothes, appeared in the highest spirits. It was +only when he spoke that the jeweller recognised in the human sponge the +immaculate youth who had looked in that morning to order a bracelet. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, old lad,” said this young man, “you remember that +jolly little what-not you showed me before lunch?” +</p> + +<p> +“The bracelet, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“As you observe with a manly candour which does you credit, my dear old +jeweller, the bracelet. Well, produce, exhibit, and bring it forth, would you +mind? Trot it out! Slip it across on a lordly dish!” +</p> + +<p> +“You wished me, surely, to put it aside and send it to the Cosmopolis +to-morrow?” +</p> + +<p> +The young man tapped the jeweller earnestly on his substantial chest. +</p> + +<p> +“What I wished and what I wish now are two bally separate and dashed +distinct things, friend of my college days! Never put off till to-morrow what +you can do to-day, and all that! I’m not taking any more chances. Not for +me! For others, yes, but not for Archibald! Here are the doubloons, produce the +jolly bracelet. Thanks!” +</p> + +<p> +The jeweller counted the notes with the same unction which Archie had observed +earlier in the day in the proprietor of the second-hand clothes-shop. The +process made him genial. +</p> + +<p> +“A nasty, wet day, sir, it’s been,” he observed, chattily. +</p> + +<p> +Archie shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Old friend,” he said, “you’re all wrong. Far +otherwise, and not a bit like it, my dear old trafficker in gems! You’ve +put your finger on the one aspect of this blighted p.m. that really deserves +credit and respect. Rarely in the experience of a lifetime have I encountered a +day so absolutely bally in nearly every shape and form, but there was one thing +that saved it, and that was its merry old wetness! Toodle-oo, laddie!” +</p> + +<p> +“Good evening, sir,” said the jeweller. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER XVI.<br/> +ARCHIE ACCEPTS A SITUATION</h2> + +<p> +Lucille moved her wrist slowly round, the better to examine the new bracelet. +</p> + +<p> +“You really are an angel, angel!” she murmured. +</p> + +<p> +“Like it?” said Archie complacently. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Like</i> it! Why, it’s gorgeous! It must have cost a +fortune.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, nothing to speak of. Just a few hard-earned pieces of eight. Just a +few doubloons from the old oak chest.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I didn’t know there were any doubloons in the old oak +chest.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, as a matter of fact,” admitted Archie, “at one point +in the proceedings there weren’t. But an aunt of mine in +England—peace be on her head!—happened to send me a chunk of the +necessary at what you might call the psychological moment.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you spent it all on a birthday present for me! Archie!” +Lucille gazed at her husband adoringly. “Archie, do you know what I +think?” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re the perfect man!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, really! What ho!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Lucille firmly. “I’ve long suspected it, +and now I know. I don’t think there’s anybody like you in the +world.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie patted her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a rummy thing,” he observed, “but your father +said almost exactly that to me only yesterday. Only I don’t fancy he +meant the same as you. To be absolutely frank, his exact expression was that he +thanked God there was only one of me.” +</p> + +<p> +A troubled look came into Lucille’s grey eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a shame about father. I do wish he appreciated you. But you +mustn’t be too hard on him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Me?” said Archie. “Hard on your father? Well, dash it all, I +don’t think I treat him with what you might call actual brutality, what! +I mean to say, my whole idea is rather to keep out of the old lad’s way +and curl up in a ball if I can’t dodge him. I’d just as soon be +hard on a stampeding elephant! I wouldn’t for the world say anything +derogatory, as it were, to your jolly old pater, but there is no getting away +from the fact that he’s by way of being one of our leading man-eating +fishes. It would be idle to deny that he considers that you let down the proud +old name of Brewster a bit when you brought me in and laid me on the +mat.” +</p> + +<p> +“Anyone would be lucky to get you for a son-in-law, precious.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fear me, light of my life, the dad doesn’t see eye to eye with +you on that point. No, every time I get hold of a daisy, I give him another +chance, but it always works out at ‘He loves me not!’” +</p> + +<p> +“You must make allowances for him, darling.” +</p> + +<p> +“Right-o! But I hope devoutly that he doesn’t catch me at it. +I’ve a sort of idea that if the old dad discovered that I was making +allowances for him, he would have from ten to fifteen fits.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s worried just now, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know. He doesn’t confide in me much.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s worried about that waiter.” +</p> + +<p> +“What waiter, queen of my soul?” +</p> + +<p> +“A man called Salvatore. Father dismissed him some time ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“Salvatore!” +</p> + +<p> +“Probably you don’t remember him. He used to wait on this +table.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why—” +</p> + +<p> +“And father dismissed him, apparently, and now there’s all sorts of +trouble. You see, father wants to build this new hotel of his, and he thought +he’d got the site and everything and could start building right away: and +now he finds that this man Salvatore’s mother owns a little newspaper and +tobacco shop right in the middle of the site, and there’s no way of +getting him out without buying the shop, and he won’t sell. At least, +he’s made his mother promise that she won’t sell.” +</p> + +<p> +“A boy’s best friend is his mother,” said Archie approvingly. +“I had a sort of idea all along—” +</p> + +<p> +“So father’s in despair.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie drew at his cigarette meditatively. +</p> + +<p> +“I remember a chappie—a policeman he was, as a matter of fact, and +incidentally a fairly pronounced blighter—remarking to me some time ago +that you could trample on the poor man’s face but you mustn’t be +surprised if he bit you in the leg while you were doing it. Apparently this is +what has happened to the old dad. I had a sort of idea all along that old +friend Salvatore would come out strong in the end if you only gave him time. +Brainy sort of feller! Great pal of mine.”—Lucille’s small +face lightened. She gazed at Archie with proud affection. She felt that she +ought to have known that he was the one to solve this difficulty. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re wonderful, darling! Is he really a friend of yours?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely. Many’s the time he and I have chatted in this very +grill-room.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it’s all right. If you went to him and argued with him, he +would agree to sell the shop, and father would be happy. Think how grateful +father would be to you! It would make all the difference.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie turned this over in his mind. +</p> + +<p> +“Something in that,” he agreed. +</p> + +<p> +“It would make him see what a pet lambkin you really are!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Archie, “I’m bound to say that any scheme +which what you might call culminates in your father regarding me as a pet +lambkin ought to receive one’s best attention. How much did he offer +Salvatore for his shop?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. There is father.—Call him over and ask +him.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie glanced over to where Mr. Brewster had sunk moodily into a chair at a +neighbouring table. It was plain even at that distance that Daniel Brewster had +his troubles and was bearing them with an ill grace. He was scowling absently +at the table-cloth. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>You</i> call him,” said Archie, having inspected his formidable +relative. “You know him better.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s go over to him.” +</p> + +<p> +They crossed the room. Lucille sat down opposite her father. Archie draped +himself over a chair in the background. +</p> + +<p> +“Father, dear,” said Lucille. “Archie has got an idea.” +</p> + +<p> +“Archie?” said Mr. Brewster incredulously. +</p> + +<p> +“This is me,” said Archie, indicating himself with a spoon. +“The tall, distinguished-looking bird.” +</p> + +<p> +“What new fool-thing is he up to now?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a splendid idea, father. He wants to help you over your new +hotel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wants to run it for me, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove!” said Archie, reflectively. “That’s not a bad +scheme! I never thought of running an hotel. I shouldn’t mind taking a +stab at it.” +</p> + +<p> +“He has thought of a way of getting rid of Salvatore and his shop.” +</p> + +<p> +For the first time Mr. Brewster’s interest in the conversation seemed to +stir. He looked sharply at his son-in-law. +</p> + +<p> +“He has, has he?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Archie balanced a roll on a fork and inserted a plate underneath. The roll +bounded away into a corner. +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry!” said Archie. “My fault, absolutely! I owe you a +roll. I’ll sign a bill for it. Oh, about this sportsman Salvatore, Well, +it’s like this, you know. He and I are great pals. I’ve known him +for years and years. At least, it seems like years and years. Lu was suggesting +that I seek him out in his lair and ensnare him with my diplomatic manner and +superior brain power and what not.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was your idea, precious,” said Lucille. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster was silent.—Much as it went against the grain to have to +admit it, there seemed to be something in this. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you propose to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Become a jolly old ambassador. How much did you offer the +chappie?” +</p> + +<p> +“Three thousand dollars. Twice as much as the place is worth. He’s +holding out on me for revenge.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, but how did you offer it to him, what? I mean to say, I bet you got +your lawyer to write him a letter full of whereases, peradventures, and parties +of the first part, and so forth. No good, old companion!” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t call me old companion!” +</p> + +<p> +“All wrong, laddie! Nothing like it, dear heart! No good at all, friend +of my youth! Take it from your Uncle Archibald! I’m a student of human +nature, and I know a thing or two.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s not much,” growled Mr. Brewster, who was finding his +son-in-law’s superior manner a little trying. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, don’t interrupt, father,” said Lucille, severely. +“Can’t you see that Archie is going to be tremendously clever in a +minute?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s got to show me!” +</p> + +<p> +“What you ought to do,” said Archie, “is to let me go and see +him, taking the stuff in crackling bills. I’ll roll them about on the +table in front of him. That’ll fetch him!” He prodded Mr. Brewster +encouragingly with a roll. “I’ll tell you what to do. Give me three +thousand of the best and crispest, and I’ll undertake to buy that shop. +It can’t fail, laddie!” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t call me laddie!” Mr. Brewster pondered. “Very +well,” he said at last. “I didn’t know you had so much +sense,” he added grudgingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, positively!” said Archie. “Beneath a rugged exterior I +hide a brain like a buzz-saw. Sense? I exude it, laddie; I drip with it.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +There were moments during the ensuing days when Mr. Brewster permitted himself +to hope; but more frequent were the moments when he told himself that a +pronounced chump like his son-in-law could not fail somehow to make a mess of +the negotiations. His relief, therefore, when Archie curveted into his private +room and announced that he had succeeded was great. +</p> + +<p> +“You really managed to make that wop sell out?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie brushed some papers off the desk with a careless gesture, and seated +himself on the vacant spot. +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely! I spoke to him as one old friend to another, sprayed the +bills all over the place; and he sang a few bars from ‘Rigoletto,’ +and signed on the dotted line.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not such a fool as you look,” owned Mr. Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +Archie scratched a match on the desk and lit a cigarette. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a jolly little shop,” he said. “I took quite a +fancy to it. Full of newspapers, don’t you know, and cheap novels, and +some weird-looking sort of chocolates, and cigars with the most fearfully +attractive labels. I think I’ll make a success of it. It’s bang in +the middle of a dashed good neighbourhood. One of these days somebody will be +building a big hotel round about there, and that’ll help trade a lot. I +look forward to ending my days on the other side of the counter with a full set +of white whiskers and a skull-cap, beloved by everybody. Everybody’ll +say, ‘Oh, you <i>must</i> patronise that quaint, delightful old blighter! +He’s quite a character.’” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster’s air of grim satisfaction had given way to a look of +discomfort, almost of alarm. He presumed his son-in-law was merely indulging in +<i>badinage;</i> but even so, his words were not soothing. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’m much obliged,” he said. “That infernal shop +was holding up everything. Now I can start building right away.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie raised his eyebrows. +</p> + +<p> +“But, my dear old top, I’m sorry to spoil your daydreams and stop +you chasing rainbows, and all that, but aren’t you forgetting that the +shop belongs to me? I don’t at all know that I want to sell, +either!” +</p> + +<p> +“I gave you the money to buy that shop!” +</p> + +<p> +“And dashed generous of you it was, too!” admitted Archie, +unreservedly. “It was the first money you ever gave me, and I shall +always tell interviewers that it was you who founded my fortunes. Some day, +when I’m the Newspaper-and-Tobacco-Shop King, I’ll tell the world +all about it in my autobiography.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster rose dangerously from his seat. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think you can hold me up, you—you worm?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Archie, “the way I look at it is this. Ever +since we met, you’ve been after me to become one of the world’s +workers, and earn a living for myself, and what not; and now I see a way to +repay you for your confidence and encouragement. You’ll look me up +sometimes at the good old shop, won’t you?” He slid off the table +and moved towards the door. “There won’t be any formalities where +you are concerned. You can sign bills for any reasonable amount any time you +want a cigar or a stick of chocolate. Well, toodle-oo!” +</p> + +<p> +“Stop!” +</p> + +<p> +“Now what?” +</p> + +<p> +“How much do you want for that damned shop?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want money.-I want a job.-If you are going to take my +life-work away from me, you ought to give me something else to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“What job?” +</p> + +<p> +“You suggested it yourself the other day. I want to manage your new +hotel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be a fool! What do you know about managing an hotel?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing. It will be your pleasing task to teach me the business while +the shanty is being run up.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause, while Mr. Brewster chewed three inches off a pen-holder. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” he said at last. +</p> + +<p> +“Topping!” said Archie. “I knew you’d see it. +I’ll study your methods, what! Adding some of my own, of course. You +know, I’ve thought of one improvement on the Cosmopolis already.” +</p> + +<p> +“Improvement on the Cosmopolis!” cried Mr. Brewster, gashed in his +finest feelings. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. There’s one point where the old Cosmop slips up badly, and +I’m going to see that it’s corrected at my little shack. Customers +will be entreated to leave their boots outside their doors at night, and +they’ll find them cleaned in the morning. Well, pip, pip! I must be +popping. Time is money, you know, with us business men.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER XVII.<br/> +BROTHER BILL’S ROMANCE</h2> + +<p> +“Her eyes,” said Bill Brewster, “are +like—like—what’s the word I want?” +</p> + +<p> +He looked across at Lucille and Archie. Lucille was leaning forward with an +eager and interested face; Archie was leaning back with his finger-tips +together and his eyes closed. This was not the first time since their meeting +in Beale’s Auction Rooms that his brother-in-law had touched on the +subject of the girl he had become engaged to marry during his trip to England. +Indeed, Brother Bill had touched on very little else: and Archie, though of a +sympathetic nature and fond of his young relative, was beginning to feel that +he had heard all he wished to hear about Mabel Winchester. Lucille, on the +other hand, was absorbed. Her brother’s recital had thrilled her. +</p> + +<p> +“Like—” said Bill. “Like—” +</p> + +<p> +“Stars?” suggested Lucille. +</p> + +<p> +“Stars,” said Bill gratefully. “Exactly the word. Twin stars +shining in a clear sky on a summer night. Her teeth are like—what shall I +say?” +</p> + +<p> +“Pearls?” +</p> + +<p> +“Pearls. And her hair is a lovely brown, like leaves in autumn. In +fact,” concluded Bill, slipping down from the heights with something of a +jerk, “she’s a corker. Isn’t she, Archie?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie opened his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite right, old top!” he said. “It was the only thing to +do.” +</p> + +<p> +“What the devil are you talking about?” demanded Bill coldly. He +had been suspicious all along of Archie’s statement that he could listen +better with his eyes shut. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh? Oh, sorry! Thinking of something else.” +</p> + +<p> +“You were asleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, positively and distinctly not. Frightfully interested and rapt +and all that, only I didn’t quite get what you said.” +</p> + +<p> +“I said that Mabel was a corker.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, absolutely in every respect.” +</p> + +<p> +“There!” Bill turned to Lucille triumphantly. “You hear that? +And Archie has only seen her photograph. Wait till he sees her in the +flesh.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear old chap!” said Archie, shocked. “Ladies present! I +mean to say, what!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid that father will be the one you’ll find it hard +to convince.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” admitted her brother gloomily. +</p> + +<p> +“Your Mabel sounds perfectly charming, but—well, you know what +father is. It <i>is</i> a pity she sings in the chorus.” +</p> + +<p> +“She hasn’t much of a voice,”—argued Bill—in +extenuation. +</p> + +<p> +“All the same—” +</p> + +<p> +Archie, the conversation having reached a topic on which he considered himself +one of the greatest living authorities—to wit, the unlovable disposition +of his father-in-law—addressed the meeting as one who has a right to be +heard. +</p> + +<p> +“Lucille’s absolutely right, old thing.—Absolutely correct-o! +Your esteemed progenitor is a pretty tough nut, and it’s no good trying +to get away from it.-And I’m sorry to have to say it, old bird, but, if +you come bounding in with part of the personnel of the ensemble on your arm and +try to dig a father’s blessing out of him, he’s extremely apt to +stab you in the gizzard.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish,” said Bill, annoyed, “you wouldn’t talk as +though Mabel were the ordinary kind of chorus-girl. She’s only on the +stage because her mother’s hard-up and she wants to educate her little +brother.” +</p> + +<p> +“I say,” said Archie, concerned. “Take my tip, old top. In +chatting the matter over with the pater, don’t dwell too much on that +aspect of the affair.—I’ve been watching him closely, and +it’s about all he can stick, having to support <i>me</i>. If you ring in +a mother and a little brother on him, he’ll crack under the +strain.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ve got to do something about it. Mabel will be over here +in a week.” +</p> + +<p> +“Great Scot! You never told us that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. She’s going to be in the new Billington show. And, naturally, +she will expect to meet my family. I’ve told her all about you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you explain father to her?” asked Lucille. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I just said she mustn’t mind him, as his bark was worse than +his bite.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Archie, thoughtfully, “he hasn’t bitten me +yet, so you may be right. But you’ve got to admit that he’s a bit +of a barker.” +</p> + +<p> +Lucille considered. +</p> + +<p> +“Really, Bill, I think your best plan would be to go straight to father +and tell him the whole thing.—You don’t want him to hear about it +in a roundabout way.” +</p> + +<p> +“The trouble is that, whenever I’m with father, I can’t think +of anything to say.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie found himself envying his father-in-law this merciful dispensation of +Providence; for, where he himself was concerned, there had been no lack of +eloquence on Bill’s part. In the brief period in which he had known him, +Bill had talked all the time and always on the one topic. As unpromising a +subject as the tariff laws was easily diverted by him into a discussion of the +absent Mabel. +</p> + +<p> +“When I’m with father,” said Bill, “I sort of lose my +nerve, and yammer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dashed awkward,” said Archie, politely. He sat up suddenly. +“I say! By Jove! I know what you want, old friend! Just thought of +it!” +</p> + +<p> +“That busy brain is never still,” explained Lucille. +</p> + +<p> +“Saw it in the paper this morning. An advertisement of a book, +don’t you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve no time for reading.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve time for reading this one, laddie, for you can’t +afford to miss it. It’s a what-d’you-call-it book. What I mean to +say is, if you read it and take its tips to heart, it guarantees to make you a +convincing talker. The advertisement says so. The advertisement’s all +about a chappie whose name I forget, whom everybody loved because he talked so +well. And, mark you, before he got hold of this book—<i>The Personality +That Wins</i> was the name of it, if I remember rightly—he was known to +all the lads in the office as Silent Samuel or something. Or it may have been +Tongue-Tied Thomas. Well, one day he happened by good luck to blow in the +necessary for the good old P. that W.’s, and now, whenever they want +someone to go and talk Rockefeller or someone into lending them a million or +so, they send for Samuel. Only now they call him Sammy the Spell-Binder and +fawn upon him pretty copiously and all that. How about it, old son? How do we +go?” +</p> + +<p> +“What perfect nonsense,” said Lucille. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” said Bill, plainly impressed. “There +might be something in it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely!” said Archie. “I remember it said, ‘Talk +convincingly, and no man will ever treat you with cold, unresponsive +indifference.’ Well, cold, unresponsive indifference is just what you +don’t want the pater to treat you with, isn’t it, or is it, or +isn’t it, what? I mean, what?” +</p> + +<p> +“It sounds all right,” said Bill. +</p> + +<p> +“It <i>is</i> all right,” said Archie. “It’s a scheme! +I’ll go farther. It’s an egg!” +</p> + +<p> +“The idea I had,” said Bill, “was to see if I couldn’t +get Mabel a job in some straight comedy. That would take the curse off the +thing a bit. Then I wouldn’t have to dwell on the chorus end of the +business, you see.” +</p> + +<p> +“Much more sensible,” said Lucille. +</p> + +<p> +“But what a-deuce of a sweat”—argued Archie. “I mean to +say, having to pop round and nose about and all that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aren’t you willing to take a little trouble for your stricken +brother-in-law, worm?” said Lucille severely. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, absolutely! My idea was to get this book and coach the dear old +chap. Rehearse him, don’t you know. He could bone up the early chapters a +bit and then drift round and try his convincing talk on me.” +</p> + +<p> +“It might be a good idea,” said Bill reflectively. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll tell you what <i>I’m</i> going to do,” said +Lucille. “I’m going to get Bill to introduce me to his Mabel, and, +if she’s as nice as he says she is, <i>I’ll</i> go to father and +talk convincingly to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re an ace!” said Bill. +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely!” agreed Archie cordially. “<i>My</i> partner, +what! All the same, we ought to keep the book as a second string, you know. I +mean to say, you are a young and delicately nurtured girl—full of +sensibility and shrinking what’s-its-name and all that—and you know +what the jolly old pater is. He might bark at you and put you out of action in +the first round. Well, then, if anything like that happened, don’t you +see, we could unleash old Bill, the trained silver-tongued expert, and let him +have a shot. Personally, I’m all for the P. that +W.’s.”—“Me, too,” said Bill. +</p> + +<p> +Lucille looked at her watch. +</p> + +<p> +“Good gracious! It’s nearly one o’clock!” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” Archie heaved himself up from his chair. “Well, +it’s a shame to break up this feast of reason and flow of soul and all +that, but, if we don’t leg it with some speed, we shall be late.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’re lunching at the Nicholson’s!” explained Lucille +to her brother. “I wish you were coming too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lunch!” Bill shook his head with a kind of tolerant scorn. +“Lunch means nothing to me these days. I’ve other things to think +of besides food.” He looked as spiritual as his rugged features would +permit. “I haven’t written to Her yet to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, dash it, old scream, if she’s going to be over here in a +week, what’s the good of writing? The letter would cross her.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not mailing my letters to England,” said Bill. +“I’m keeping them for her to read when she arrives.” +</p> + +<p> +“My sainted aunt!” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +Devotion like this was something beyond his outlook. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.<br/> +THE SAUSAGE CHAPPIE</h2> + +<p> +<i>The Personality That Wins</i> cost Archie two dollars in cash and a lot of +embarrassment when he asked for it at the store. To buy a treatise of that name +would automatically seem to argue that you haven’t a winning personality +already, and Archie was at some pains to explain to the girl behind the counter +that he wanted it for a friend. The girl seemed more interested in his English +accent than in his explanation, and Archie was uncomfortably aware, as he +receded, that she was practising it in an undertone for the benefit of her +colleagues and fellow-workers. However, what is a little discomfort, if endured +in friendship’s name? +</p> + +<p> +He was proceeding up Broadway after leaving the store when he encountered +Reggie van Tuyl, who was drifting along in somnambulistic fashion near +Thirty-Ninth Street. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo, Reggie old thing!” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo!” said Reggie, a man of few words. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve just been buying a book for Bill Brewster,” went on +Archie. “It appears that old Bill—What’s the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +He broke off his recital abruptly. A sort of spasm had passed across his +companion’s features. The hand holding Archie’s arm had tightened +convulsively. One would have said that Reginald had received a shock. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s nothing,” said Reggie. “I’m all right now. +I caught sight of that fellow’s clothes rather suddenly. They shook me a +bit. I’m all right now,” he said, bravely. +</p> + +<p> +Archie, following his friend’s gaze, understood. Reggie van Tuyl was +never at his strongest in the morning, and he had a sensitive eye for clothes. +He had been known to resign from clubs because members exceeded the bounds in +the matter of soft shirts with dinner-jackets. And the short, thick-set man who +was standing just in front of them in attitude of restful immobility was +certainly no dandy. His best friend could not have called him dapper. Take him +for all in all and on the hoof, he might have been posing as a model for a +sketch of What the Well-Dressed Man Should Not Wear. +</p> + +<p> +In costume, as in most other things, it is best to take a definite line and +stick to it. This man had obviously vacillated. His neck was swathed in a green +scarf; he wore an evening-dress coat; and his lower limbs were draped in a pair +of tweed trousers built for a larger man. To the north he was bounded by a +straw hat, to the south by brown shoes. +</p> + +<p> +Archie surveyed the man’s back carefully. +</p> + +<p> +“Bit thick!” he said, sympathetically. “But of course +Broadway isn’t Fifth Avenue. What I mean to say is, Bohemian licence and +what not. Broadway’s crammed with deuced brainy devils who don’t +care how they look. Probably this bird is a master-mind of some species.” +</p> + +<p> +“All the same, man’s no right to wear evening-dress coat with tweed +trousers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely not! I see what you mean.” +</p> + +<p> +At this point the sartorial offender turned. Seen from the front, he was even +more unnerving. He appeared to possess no shirt, though this defect was offset +by the fact that the tweed trousers fitted snugly under the arms. He was not a +handsome man. At his best he could never have been that, and in the recent past +he had managed to acquire a scar that ran from the corner of his mouth half-way +across his cheek. Even when his face was in repose he had an odd expression; +and when, as he chanced to do now, he smiled, odd became a mild adjective, +quite inadequate for purposes of description. It was not an unpleasant face, +however. Unquestionably genial, indeed. There was something in it that had a +quality of humorous appeal. +</p> + +<p> +Archie started. He stared at the man, Memory stirred. +</p> + +<p> +“Great Scot!” he cried. “It’s the Sausage +Chappie!” +</p> + +<p> +Reginald van Tuyl gave a little moan. He was not used to this sort of thing. A +sensitive young man as regarded scenes, Archie’s behaviour unmanned him. +For Archie, releasing his arm, had bounded forward and was shaking the +other’s hand warmly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, well! My dear old chap! You must remember me, what? No? +Yes?” +</p> + +<p> +The man with the scar seemed puzzled. He shuffled the brown shoes, patted the +straw hat, and eyed Archie questioningly. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t seem to place you,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Archie slapped the back of the evening-dress coat. He linked his arm +affectionately with that of the dress-reformer. +</p> + +<p> +“We met outside St Mihiel in the war. You gave me a bit of sausage. One +of the most sporting events in history. Nobody but a real sportsman would have +parted with a bit of sausage at that moment to a stranger. Never forgotten it, +by Jove. Saved my life, absolutely. Hadn’t chewed a morsel for eight +hours. Well, have you got anything on? I mean to say, you aren’t booked +for lunch or any rot of that species, are you? Fine! Then I move we all toddle +off and get a bite somewhere.” He squeezed the other’s arm fondly. +“Fancy meeting you again like this! I’ve often wondered what became +of you. But, by Jove, I was forgetting. Dashed rude of me. My friend, Mr. van +Tuyl.” +</p> + +<p> +Reggie gulped. The longer he looked at it, the harder this man’s costume +was to bear. His eye passed shudderingly from the brown shoes to the tweed +trousers, to the green scarf, from the green scarf to the straw hat. +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Just remembered. Important date. Late +already. Er—see you some time—” +</p> + +<p> +He melted away, a broken man. Archie was not sorry to see him go. Reggie was a +good chap, but he would undoubtedly have been <i>de trop</i> at this reunion. +</p> + +<p> +“I vote we go to the Cosmopolis,” he said, steering his newly-found +friend through the crowd. “The browsing and sluicing isn’t bad +there, and I can sign the bill which is no small consideration nowadays.” +</p> + +<p> +The Sausage Chappie chuckled amusedly. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t go to a place like the Cosmopolis looking like +this.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie, was a little embarrassed. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know, you know, don’t you know!” he said. +“Still, since you have brought the topic up, you <i>did</i> get the good +old wardrobe a bit mixed this morning what? I mean to say, you seem +absent-mindedly, as it were, to have got hold of samples from a good number of +your various suitings.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suitings? How do you mean, suitings? I haven’t any suitings! Who +do you think I am? Vincent Astor? All I have is what I stand up in.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie was shocked. This tragedy touched him. He himself had never had any +money in his life, but somehow he had always seemed to manage to have plenty of +clothes. How this was he could not say. He had always had a vague sort of idea +that tailors were kindly birds who never failed to have a pair of trousers or +something up their sleeve to present to the deserving. There was the drawback, +of course, that once they had given you things they were apt to write you +rather a lot of letters about it; but you soon managed to recognise their +handwriting, and then it was a simple task to extract their communications from +your morning mail and drop them in the waste-paper basket. This was the first +case he had encountered of a man who was really short of clothes. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear old lad,” he said, briskly, “this must be remedied! +Oh, positively! This must be remedied at once! I suppose my things +wouldn’t fit you? No. Well, I tell you what. We’ll wangle something +from my father-in-law. Old Brewster, you know, the fellow who runs the +Cosmopolis. His’ll fit you like the paper on the wall, because he’s +a tubby little blighter, too. What I mean to say is, he’s also one of +those sturdy, square, fine-looking chappies of about the middle height. By the +way, where are you stopping these days?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nowhere just at present. I thought of taking one of those self-contained +Park benches.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you broke?” +</p> + +<p> +“Am I!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie was concerned. +</p> + +<p> +“You ought to get a job.” +</p> + +<p> +“I ought. But somehow I don’t seem able to.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did you do before the war?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve forgotten.” +</p> + +<p> +“Forgotten!” +</p> + +<p> +“Forgotten.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you mean—forgotten? You can’t +mean—<i>forgotten?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. It’s quite gone.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I mean to say. You can’t have forgotten a thing like +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t I! I’ve forgotten all sorts of things. Where I was +born. How old I am. Whether I’m married or single. What my name +is—” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’m dashed!” said Archie, staggered. “But you +remembered about giving me a bit of sausage outside St. Mihiel?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I didn’t. I’m taking your word for it. For all I know +you may be luring me into some den to rob me of my straw hat. I don’t +know you from Adam. But I like your conversation—especially the part +about eating—and I’m taking a chance.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie was concerned. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen, old bean. Make an effort. You must remember that sausage +episode? It was just outside St. Mihiel, about five in the evening. Your little +lot were lying next to my little lot, and we happened to meet, and I said +‘What ho!’ and you said ‘Halloa!’ and I said +‘What ho! What ho!’ and you said ‘Have a bit of +sausage?’ and I said ‘What ho! What ho! What +<i>ho!</i>’” +</p> + +<p> +“The dialogue seems to have been darned sparkling but I don’t +remember it. It must have been after that that I stopped one. I don’t +seem quite to have caught up with myself since I got hit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! That’s how you got that scar?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I got that jumping through a plate-glass window in London on +Armistice night.” +</p> + +<p> +“What on earth did you do that for?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t know. It seemed a good idea at the time.” +</p> + +<p> +“But if you can remember a thing like that, why can’t you remember +your name?” +</p> + +<p> +“I remember everything that happened after I came out of hospital. +It’s the part before that’s gone.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie patted him on the shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“I know just what you want. You need a bit of quiet and repose, to think +things over and so forth. You mustn’t go sleeping on Park benches. +Won’t do at all. Not a bit like it. You must shift to the Cosmopolis. It +isn’t half a bad spot, the old Cosmop. I didn’t like it much the +first night I was there, because there was a dashed tap that went +drip-drip-drip all night and kept me awake, but the place has its +points.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is the Cosmopolis giving free board and lodging these days?” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather! That’ll be all right. Well, this is the spot. We’ll +start by trickling up to the old boy’s suite and looking over his +reach-me-downs. I know the waiter on his floor. A very sound chappie. +He’ll let us in with his pass-key.” +</p> + +<p> +And so it came about that Mr. Daniel Brewster, returning to his suite in the +middle of lunch in order to find a paper dealing with the subject he was +discussing with his guest, the architect of his new hotel, was aware of a +murmur of voices behind the closed door of his bedroom. Recognising the accents +of his son-in-law, he breathed an oath and charged in. He objected to Archie +wandering at large about his suite. +</p> + +<p> +The sight that met his eyes when he opened the door did nothing to soothe him. +The floor was a sea of clothes. There were coats on the chairs, trousers on the +bed, shirts on the bookshelf. And in the middle of his welter stood Archie, +with a man who, to Mr. Brewster’s heated eye, looked like a tramp +comedian out of a burlesque show. +</p> + +<p> +“Great Godfrey!” ejaculated Mr. Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +Archie looked up with a friendly smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, halloa-halloa!” he said, affably, “We were just glancing +through your spare scenery to see if we couldn’t find something for my +pal here. This is Mr. Brewster, my father-in-law, old man.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie scanned his relative’s twisted features. Something in his +expression seemed not altogether encouraging. He decided that the negotiations +had better be conducted in private. “One moment, old lad,” he said +to his new friend. “I just want to have a little talk with my +father-in-law in the other room. Just a little friendly business chat. You stay +here.” +</p> + +<p> +In the other room Mr. Brewster turned on Archie like a wounded lion of the +desert. +</p> + +<p> +“What the—!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie secured one of his coat-buttons and began to massage it affectionately. +</p> + +<p> +“Ought to have explained!” said Archie, “only didn’t +want to interrupt your lunch. The sportsman on the horizon is a dear old pal of +mine—” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster wrenched himself free. +</p> + +<p> +“What the devil do you mean, you worm, by bringing tramps into my bedroom +and messing about with my clothes?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s just what I’m trying to explain, if you’ll only +listen. This bird is a bird I met in France during the war. He gave me a bit of +sausage outside St. Mihiel—” +</p> + +<p> +“Damn you and him and the sausage!” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely. But listen. He can’t remember who he is or where he +was born or what his name is, and he’s broke; so, dash it, I must look +after him. You see, he gave me a bit of sausage.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster’s frenzy gave way to an ominous calm. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll give him two seconds to clear out of here. If he isn’t +gone by then I’ll have him thrown out.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie was shocked. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean that?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do mean that.” +</p> + +<p> +“But where is he to go?” +</p> + +<p> +“Outside.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you don’t understand. This chappie has lost his memory because +he was wounded in the war. Keep that fact firmly fixed in the old bean. He +fought for you. Fought and bled for you. Bled profusely, by Jove. <i>And</i> he +saved my life!” +</p> + +<p> +“If I’d got nothing else against him, that would be enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you can’t sling a chappie out into the cold hard world who +bled in gallons to make the world safe for the Hotel Cosmopolis.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster looked ostentatiously at his watch. +</p> + +<p> +“Two seconds!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +There was a silence. Archie appeared to be thinking. “Right-o!” he +said at last. “No need to get the wind up. I know where he can go. +It’s just occurred to me I’ll put him up at my little shop.” +</p> + +<p> +The purple ebbed from Mr. Brewster’s face. Such was his emotion that he +had forgotten that infernal shop. He sat down. There was more silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, gosh!” said Mr. Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +“I knew you would be reasonable about it,” said Archie, +approvingly. “Now, honestly, as man to man, how do we go?” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want me to do?” growled Mr. Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you might put the chappie up for a while, and give him a +chance to look round and nose about a bit.” +</p> + +<p> +“I absolutely refuse to give any more loafers free board and +lodging.” +</p> + +<p> +“Any <i>more?</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he would be the second, wouldn’t he?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie looked pained. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s true,” he said, “that when I first came here I +was temporarily resting, so to speak; but didn’t I go right out and grab +the managership of your new hotel? Positively!” +</p> + +<p> +“I will <i>not</i> adopt this tramp.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, find him a job, then.” +</p> + +<p> +“What sort of a job?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, any old sort.” +</p> + +<p> +“He can be a waiter if he likes.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right; I’ll put the matter before him.” +</p> + +<p> +He returned to the bedroom. The Sausage Chappie was gazing fondly into the +mirror with a spotted tie draped round his neck. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, old top,” said Archie, apologetically, “the Emperor +of the Blighters out yonder says you can have a job here as waiter, and he +won’t do another dashed thing for you. How about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do waiters eat?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose so. Though, by Jove, come to think of it, I’ve never +seen one at it.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s good enough for me!” said the Sausage Chappie. +“When do I begin?” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a>CHAPTER XIX.<br/> +REGGIE COMES TO LIFE</h2> + +<p> +The advantage of having plenty of time on one’s hands is that one has +leisure to attend to the affairs of all one’s circle of friends; and +Archie, assiduously as he watched over the destinies of the Sausage Chappie, +did not neglect the romantic needs of his brother-in-law Bill. A few days +later, Lucille, returning one morning to their mutual suite, found her husband +seated in an upright chair at the table, an unusually stern expression on his +amiable face. A large cigar was in the corner of his mouth. The fingers of one +hand rested in the armhole of his waistcoat: with the other hand he tapped +menacingly on the table. +</p> + +<p> +As she gazed upon him, wondering what could be the matter with him, Lucille was +suddenly aware of Bill’s presence. He had emerged sharply from the +bedroom and was walking briskly across the floor. He came to a halt in front of +the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Father!” said Bill. +</p> + +<p> +Archie looked up sharply, frowning heavily over his cigar. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, my boy,” he said in a strange, rasping voice. “What is +it? Speak up, my boy, speak up! Why the devil can’t you speak up? This is +my busy day!” +</p> + +<p> +“What on earth are you doing?” asked Lucille. +</p> + +<p> +Archie waved her away with the large gesture of a man of blood and iron +interrupted while concentrating. +</p> + +<p> +“Leave us, woman! We would be alone! Retire into the jolly old background +and amuse yourself for a bit. Read a book. Do acrostics. Charge ahead, +laddie.” +</p> + +<p> +“Father!” said Bill, again. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, my boy, yes? What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Father!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie picked up the red-covered volume that lay on the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Half a mo’, old son. Sorry to stop you, but I knew there was +something. I’ve just remembered. Your walk. All wrong!” +</p> + +<p> +“All wrong?” +</p> + +<p> +“All wrong! Where’s the chapter on the Art. of Walking? Here we +are. Listen, dear old soul. Drink this in. ‘In walking, one should strive +to acquire that swinging, easy movement from the hips. The correctly-poised +walker seems to float along, as it were.’ Now, old bean, you didn’t +float a dam’ bit. You just galloped in like a chappie charging into a +railway restaurant for a bowl of soup when his train leaves in two minutes. +Dashed important, this walking business, you know. Get started wrong, and where +are you? Try it again.... Much better.” He turned to Lucille. +“Notice him float along that time? Absolutely skimmed, what?” +</p> + +<p> +Lucille had taken a seat,-and was waiting for enlightenment. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you and Bill going into vaudeville?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +Archie, scrutinising-his-brother-in-law closely, had further criticism to make. +</p> + +<p> +“‘The man of self-respect and self-confidence,’” he +read, “‘stands erect in an easy, natural, graceful attitude. Heels +not too far apart, head erect, eyes to the front with a level +gaze’—get your gaze level, old thing!—‘shoulders thrown +back, arms hanging naturally at the sides when not otherwise +employed’—that means that, if he tries to hit you, it’s all +right to guard—‘chest expanded naturally, and +abdomen’—this is no place for you, Lucille. Leg it out of +earshot—‘ab—what I said before—drawn in somewhat and +above all not protruded.’ Now, have you got all that? Yes, you look all +right. Carry on, laddie, carry on. Let’s have two-penn’orth of the +Dynamic Voice and the Tone of Authority—some of the full, rich, round +stuff we hear so much about!” +</p> + +<p> +Bill fastened a gimlet eye upon his brother-in-law and drew a deep breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Father!” he said. “Father!” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll have to brighten up Bill’s dialogue a lot,” +said Lucille, critically, “or you will never get bookings.” +</p> + +<p> +“Father!” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean, it’s all right as far as it goes, but it’s sort of +monotonous. Besides, one of you ought to be asking questions and the other +answering. Bill ought to be saying, ‘Who was that lady I saw you coming +down the street with?’ so that you would be able to say, ‘That +wasn’t a lady. That was my wife.’ I <i>know!</i> I’ve been to +lots of vaudeville shows.” +</p> + +<p> +Bill relaxed his attitude. He deflated his chest, spread his heels, and ceased +to draw in his abdomen. +</p> + +<p> +“We’d better try this another time, when we’re alone,” +he said, frigidly. “I can’t do myself justice.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you want to do yourself justice?” asked Lucille. +</p> + +<p> +“Right-o!” said Archie, affably, casting off his forbidding +expression like a garment. “Rehearsal postponed. I was just putting old +Bill through it,” he explained, “with a view to getting him into +mid-season form for the jolly old pater.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” Lucille’s voice was the voice of one who sees light in +darkness. “When Bill walked in like a cat on hot bricks and stood there +looking stuffed, that was just the Personality That Wins!” +</p> + +<p> +“That was it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you couldn’t blame me for not recognising it, could +you?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie patted her head paternally. +</p> + +<p> +“A little less of the caustic critic stuff,” he said. “Bill +will be all right on the night. If you hadn’t come in then and put him +off his stroke, he’d have shot out some amazing stuff, full of authority +and dynamic accents and what not. I tell you, light of my soul, old Bill is all +right! He’s got the winning personality up a tree, ready whenever he +wants to go and get it. Speaking as his backer and trainer, I think he’ll +twist your father round his little finger. Absolutely! It wouldn’t +surprise me if at the end of five minutes the good old dad started jumping +through hoops and sitting up for lumps of sugar.” +</p> + +<p> +“It would surprise <i>me</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, that’s because you haven’t seen old Bill in action. You +crabbed his act before he had begun to spread himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t that at all. The reason why I think that Bill, however +winning his personality may be, won’t persuade father to let him marry a +girl in the chorus is something that happened last night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Last night?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, at three o’clock this morning. It’s on the front page +of the early editions of the evening papers. I brought one in for you to see, +only you were so busy. Look! There it is!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie seized the paper. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Great Scot!” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” asked Bill, irritably. “Don’t stand +goggling there! What the devil is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Listen to this, old thing!” +</p> + +<p class="center"> +REVELRY BY NIGHT.<br/> +SPIRITED BATTLE ROYAL AT HOTEL<br/> +COSMOPOLIS.<br/> +THE HOTEL DETECTIVE HAD A GOOD HEART<br/> +BUT PAULINE PACKED THE PUNCH. +</p> + +<p> +The logical contender for Jack Dempsey’s championship honours has been +discovered; and, in an age where women are stealing men’s jobs all the +time, it will not come as a surprise to our readers to learn that she belongs +to the sex that is more deadly than the male. Her name is Miss Pauline Preston, +and her wallop is vouched for under oath—under many oaths—by Mr. +Timothy O’Neill, known to his intimates as Pie-Face, who holds down the +arduous job of detective at the Hotel Cosmopolis. +</p> + +<p> +At three o’clock this morning, Mr. O’Neill was advised by the +night-clerk that the occupants of every room within earshot of number 618 had +’phoned the desk to complain of a disturbance, a noise, a vocal uproar +proceeding from the room mentioned. Thither, therefore, marched Mr. +O’Neill, his face full of cheese-sandwich, (for he had been indulging in +an early breakfast or a late supper) and his heart of devotion to duty. He +found there the Misses Pauline Preston and “Bobbie” St. Clair, of +the personnel of the chorus of the Frivolities, entertaining a few friends of +either sex. A pleasant time was being had by all, and at the moment of Mr. +O’Neill’s entry the entire strength of the company was rendering +with considerable emphasis that touching ballad, “There’s a Place +For Me In Heaven, For My Baby-Boy Is There.” +</p> + +<p> +The able and efficient officer at once suggested that there was a place for +them in the street and the patrol-wagon was there; and, being a man of action +as well as words, proceeded to gather up an armful of assorted guests as a +preliminary to a personally-conducted tour onto the cold night. It was at this +point that Miss Preston stepped into the limelight. Mr. O’Neill contends +that she hit him with a brick, an iron casing, and the Singer Building. Be that +as it may, her efforts were sufficiently able to induce him to retire for +reinforcements, which, arriving, arrested the supper-party regardless of age or +sex. +</p> + +<p> +At the police-court this morning Miss Preston maintained that she and her +friends were merely having a quiet home-evening and that Mr. O’Neill was +no gentleman. The male guests gave their names respectively as Woodrow Wilson, +David Lloyd-George, and William J. Bryan. These, however, are believed to be +incorrect. But the moral is, if you want excitement rather than sleep, stay at +the Hotel Cosmopolis. +</p> + +<p> +Bill may have quaked inwardly as he listened to this epic but outwardly he was +unmoved. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he said, “what about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“What about it!” said Lucille. +</p> + +<p> +“What about it!” said Archie. “Why, my dear old friend, it +simply means that all the time we’ve been putting in making your +personality winning has been chucked away. Absolutely a dead loss! We might +just as well have read a manual on how to knit sweaters.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see it,” maintained Bill, stoutly. +</p> + +<p> +Lucille turned apologetically to her husband. +</p> + +<p> +“You mustn’t judge me by him, Archie, darling. This sort of thing +doesn’t run in the family.-We are supposed to be rather bright on the +whole. But poor Bill was dropped by his nurse when he was a baby, and fell on +his head.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose what you’re driving at,” said the goaded Bill, +“is that what has happened will make father pretty sore against girls who +happen to be in the chorus?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s absolutely it, old thing, I’m sorry to say. The next +person who mentions the word chorus-girl in the jolly old governor’s +presence is going to take his life in his hands. I tell you, as one man to +another, that I’d much rather be back in France hopping over the top than +do it myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“What darned nonsense! Mabel may be in the chorus, but she isn’t +like those girls.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor old Bill!” said Lucille. “I’m awfully sorry, but +it’s no use not facing facts. You know perfectly well that the reputation +of the hotel is the thing father cares more about than anything else in the +world, and that this is going to make him furious with all the chorus-girls in +creation. It’s no good trying to explain to him that your Mabel is in the +chorus but not of the chorus, so to speak.” +</p> + +<p> +“Deuced well put!” said Archie, approvingly. “You’re +absolutely right. A chorus-girl by the river’s brim, so to speak, a +simple chorus-girl is to him, as it were, and she is nothing more, if you know +what I mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“So now,” said Lucille, “having shown you that the imbecile +scheme which you concocted with my poor well-meaning husband is no good at all, +I will bring you words of cheer. Your own original plan—of getting your +Mabel a part in a comedy—was always the best one. And you can do it. I +wouldn’t have broken the bad news so abruptly if I hadn’t had some +consolation to give you afterwards. I met Reggie van Tuyl just now, wandering +about as if the cares of the world were on his shoulders, and he told me that +he was putting up most of the money for a new play that’s going into +rehearsal right away. Reggie’s an old friend of yours. All you have to do +is to go to him and ask him to use his influence to get your Mabel a small +part. There’s sure to be a maid or something with only a line or two that +won’t matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“A ripe scheme!” said Archie. “Very sound and fruity!” +</p> + +<p> +The cloud did not lift from Bill’s corrugated brow. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all very well,” he said. “But you know what a +talker Reggie is. He’s an obliging sort of chump, but his tongue’s +fastened on at the middle and waggles at both ends. I don’t want the +whole of New York to know about my engagement, and have somebody spilling the +news to father, before I’m ready.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all right,” said Lucille. “Archie can speak to +him. There’s no need for him to mention your name at all. He can just say +there’s a girl he wants to get a part for. You would do it, +wouldn’t you, angel-face?” +</p> + +<p> +“Like a bird, queen of my soul.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then that’s splendid. You’d better give Archie that +photograph of Mabel to give to Reggie, Bill.” +</p> + +<p> +“Photograph?” said Bill. “Which photograph? I have +twenty-four!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Archie found Reggie van Tuyl brooding in a window of his club that looked over +Fifth Avenue. Reggie was a rather melancholy young man who suffered from +elephantiasis of the bank-roll and the other evils that arise from that +complaint. Gentle and sentimental by nature, his sensibilities had been much +wounded by contact with a sordid world; and the thing that had first endeared +Archie to him was the fact that the latter, though chronically hard-up, had +never made any attempt to borrow money from him. Reggie would have parted with +it on demand, but it had delighted him to find that Archie seemed to take a +pleasure in his society without having any ulterior motives. He was fond of +Archie, and also of Lucille; and their happy marriage was a constant source of +gratification to him. +</p> + +<p> +For Reggie was a sentimentalist. He would have liked to live in a world of +ideally united couples, himself ideally united to some charming and +affectionate girl. But, as a matter of cold fact, he was a bachelor, and most +of the couples he knew were veterans of several divorces. In Reggie’s +circle, therefore, the home-life of Archie and Lucille shone like a good deed +in a naughty world. It inspired him. In moments of depression it restored his +waning faith in human nature. +</p> + +<p> +Consequently, when Archie, having greeted him and slipped into a chair at his +side, suddenly produced from his inside pocket the photograph of an extremely +pretty girl and asked him to get her a small part in the play which he was +financing, he was shocked and disappointed. He was in a more than usually +sentimental mood that afternoon, and had, indeed, at the moment of +Archie’s arrival, been dreaming wistfully of soft arms clasped snugly +about his collar and the patter of little feet and all that sort of thing.-He +gazed reproachfully at Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“Archie!” his voice quivered with emotion. “Is it worth it?, +is it worth it, old man?-Think of the poor little woman at home!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie was puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh, old top? Which poor little woman?” +</p> + +<p> +“Think of her trust in you, her faith—“. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t absolutely get you, old bean.” +</p> + +<p> +“What would Lucille say if she knew about this?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, she does. She knows all about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good heavens!” cried Reggie. He was shocked to the core of his +being. One of the articles of his faith was that the union of Lucille and +Archie was different from those loose partnerships which were the custom in his +world. He had not been conscious of such a poignant feeling that the +foundations of the universe were cracked and tottering and that there was no +light and sweetness in life since the morning, eighteen months back, when a +negligent valet had sent him out into Fifth Avenue with only one spat on. +</p> + +<p> +“It was Lucille’s idea,” explained Archie. He was about to +mention his brother-in-law’s connection with the matter, but checked +himself in time, remembering Bill’s specific objection to having his +secret revealed to Reggie. “It’s like this, old thing, I’ve +never met this female, but she’s a pal of Lucille’s”—he +comforted his conscience by the reflection that, if she wasn’t now, she +would be in a few days-“and Lucille wants to do her a bit of good. +She’s been on the stage in England, you know, supporting a jolly old +widowed mother and educating a little brother and all that kind and species of +rot, you understand, and now she’s coming over to America, and Lucille +wants you to rally round and shove her into your show and generally keep the +home fires burning and so forth. How do we go?” +</p> + +<p> +Reggie beamed with relief. He felt just as he had felt on that other occasion +at the moment when a taxi-cab had rolled up and enabled him to hide his +spatless leg from the public gaze. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I see!” he said. “Why, delighted, old man, quite +delighted!” +</p> + +<p> +“Any small part would do. Isn’t there a maid or something in your +bob’s-worth of refined entertainment who drifts about saying, ‘Yes, +madam,’ and all that sort of thing? Well, then that’s just the +thing. Topping! I knew I could rely on you, old bird. I’ll get Lucille to +ship her round to your address when she arrives. I fancy she’s due to +totter in somewhere in the next few days. Well, I must be popping. +Toodle-oo!” +</p> + +<p> +“Pip-pip!” said Reggie. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +It was about a week later that Lucille came into the suite at the Hotel +Cosmopolis that was her home, and found Archie lying on the couch, smoking a +refreshing pipe after the labours of the day. It seemed to Archie that his wife +was not in her usual cheerful frame of mind. He kissed her, and, having +relieved her of her parasol, endeavoured without success to balance it on his +chin. Having picked it up from the floor and placed it on the table, he became +aware that Lucille was looking at him in a despondent sort of way. Her grey +eyes were clouded. +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa, old thing,” said Archie. “What’s up?” +</p> + +<p> +Lucille sighed wearily. +</p> + +<p> +“Archie, darling, do you know any really good swear-words?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Archie, reflectively, “let me see. I did pick up +a few tolerably ripe and breezy expressions out in France. All through my +military career there was something about me—some subtle magnetism, +don’t you know, and that sort of thing—that seemed to make colonels +and blighters of that order rather inventive. I sort of inspired them, +don’t you know. I remember one brass-hat addressing me for quite ten +minutes, saying something new all the time. And even then he seemed to think he +had only touched the fringe of the subject. As a matter of fact, he said +straight out in the most frank and confiding way that mere words couldn’t +do justice to me. But why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I want to relieve my feelings.” +</p> + +<p> +“Anything wrong?” +</p> + +<p> +“Everything’s wrong. I’ve just been having tea with Bill and +his Mabel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, ah!” said Archie, interested. “And what’s the +verdict?” +</p> + +<p> +“Guilty!” said Lucille. “And the sentence, if I had anything +to do with it, would be transportation for life.” She peeled off her +gloves irritably. “What fools men are! Not you, precious! You’re +the only man in the world that isn’t, it seems to me. You did marry a +nice girl, didn’t you? <i>You</i> didn’t go running round after +females with crimson hair, goggling at them with your eyes popping out of your +head like a bulldog waiting for a bone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I say! Does old Bill look like that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Worse!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie rose to a point of order. +</p> + +<p> +“But one moment, old lady. You speak of crimson hair. Surely old +Bill—in the extremely jolly monologues he used to deliver whenever I +didn’t see him coming and he got me alone—used to allude to her +hair as brown.” +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t brown now. It’s bright scarlet. Good gracious, I +ought to know. I’ve been looking at it all the afternoon. It dazzled me. +If I’ve got to meet her again, I mean to go to the oculist’s and +get a pair of those smoked glasses you wear at Palm Beach.” Lucille +brooded silently for a while over the tragedy. “I don’t want to say +anything against her, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, of course not.” +</p> + +<p> +“But of all the awful, second-rate girls I ever met, she’s the +worst! She has vermilion hair and an imitation Oxford manner. She’s so +horribly refined that it’s dreadful to listen to her. She’s a sly, +creepy, slinky, made-up, insincere vampire! She’s common! She’s +awful! She’s a cat!” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re quite right not to say anything against her,” said +Archie, approvingly. “It begins to look,” he went on, “as if +the good old pater was about due for another shock. He has a hard life!” +</p> + +<p> +“If Bill <i>dares</i> to introduce that girl to father, he’s taking +his life in his hands.” +</p> + +<p> +“But surely that was the idea—the scheme—the wheeze, +wasn’t it? Or do you think there’s any chance of his +weakening?” +</p> + +<p> +“Weakening! You should have seen him looking at her! It was like a small +boy flattening his nose against the window of a candy-store.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bit thick!” +</p> + +<p> +Lucille kicked the leg of the table. +</p> + +<p> +“And to think,” she said, “that, when I was a little girl, I +used to look up to Bill as a monument of wisdom. I used to hug his knees and +gaze into his face and wonder how anyone could be so magnificent.” She +gave the unoffending table another kick. “If I could have looked into the +future,” she said, with feeling, “I’d have bitten him in the +ankle!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +In the days which followed, Archie found himself a little out of touch with +Bill and his romance. Lucille referred to the matter only when he brought the +subject up, and made it plain that the topic of her future sister-in-law was +not one which she enjoyed discussing. Mr. Brewster, senior, when Archie, by way +of delicately preparing his mind for what was about to befall, asked him if he +liked red hair, called him a fool, and told him to go away and bother someone +else when they were busy. The only person who could have kept him thoroughly +abreast of the trend of affairs was Bill himself; and experience had made +Archie wary in the matter of meeting Bill. The position of confidant to a young +man in the early stages of love is no sinecure, and it made Archie sleepy even +to think of having to talk to his brother-in-law. He sedulously avoided his +love-lorn relative, and it was with a sinking feeling one day that, looking +over his shoulder as he sat in the Cosmopolis grill-room preparatory to +ordering lunch, he perceived Bill bearing down upon him, obviously resolved +upon joining his meal. +</p> + +<p> +To his surprise, however, Bill did not instantly embark upon his usual +monologue. Indeed, he hardly spoke at all. He champed a chop, and seemed to +Archie to avoid his eye. It was not till lunch was over and they were smoking +that he unburdened himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Archie!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Hallo, old thing!” said Archie. “Still there? I thought +you’d died or something. Talk about our old pals, Tongue-tied Thomas and +Silent Sammy! You could beat ’em both on the same evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s enough to make me silent.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is?” +</p> + +<p> +Bill had relapsed into a sort of waking dream. He sat frowning sombrely, lost +to the world. Archie, having waited what seemed to him a sufficient length of +time for an answer to his question, bent forward and touched his +brother-in-law’s hand gently with the lighted end of his cigar. Bill came +to himself with a howl. +</p> + +<p> +“What is?” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“What is what?” said Bill. +</p> + +<p> +“Now listen, old thing,” protested Archie. “Life is short and +time is flying. Suppose we cut out the cross-talk. You hinted there was +something on your mind—something worrying the old bean—and +I’m waiting to hear what it is.” +</p> + +<p> +Bill fiddled a moment with his coffee-spoon. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m in an awful hole,” he said at last. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the trouble?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s about that darned girl!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie blinked. +</p> + +<p> +“What!” +</p> + +<p> +“That darned girl!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie could scarcely credit his senses. He had been prepared—indeed, he +had steeled himself—to hear Bill allude to his affinity in a number of +ways. But “that darned girl” was not one of them. +</p> + +<p> +“Companion of my riper years,” he said, “let’s get this +thing straight. When you say ‘that darned girl,’ do you by any +possibility allude to—?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I do!” +</p> + +<p> +“But, William, old bird—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I know, I know, I know!” said Bill, irritably. +“You’re surprised to hear me talk like that about her?” +</p> + +<p> +“A trifle, yes. Possibly a trifle. When last heard from, laddie, you must +recollect, you were speaking of the lady as your soul-mate, and at least +once—if I remember rightly—you alluded to her as your little +dusky-haired lamb.” +</p> + +<p> +A sharp howl escaped Bill. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t!” A strong shudder convulsed his frame. +“Don’t remind me of it!” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s been a species of slump, then, in dusky-haired +lambs?” +</p> + +<p> +“How,” demanded Bill, savagely, “can a girl be a dusky-haired +lamb when her hair’s bright scarlet?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dashed difficult!” admitted Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose Lucille told you about that?” +</p> + +<p> +“She did touch on it. Lightly, as it were. With a sort of gossamer touch, +so to speak.” +</p> + +<p> +Bill threw off the last fragments of reserve. +</p> + +<p> +“Archie, I’m in the devil of a fix. I don’t know why it was, +but directly I saw her—things seemed so different over in England—I +mean.” He swallowed ice-water in gulps. “I suppose it was seeing +her with Lucille. Old Lu is such a thoroughbred. Seemed to kind of show her up. +Like seeing imitation pearls by the side of real pearls. And that crimson hair! +It sort of put the lid on it.” Bill brooded morosely. “It ought to +be a criminal offence for women to dye their hair. Especially red. What the +devil do women do that sort of thing for?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t blame me, old thing. It’s not my fault.” +</p> + +<p> +Bill looked furtive and harassed. +</p> + +<p> +“It makes me feel such a cad. Here am I, feeling that I would give all +I’ve got in the world to get out of the darned thing, and all the time +the poor girl seems to be getting fonder of me than ever.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know?” Archie surveyed his brother-in-law critically. +“Perhaps her feelings have changed too. Very possibly she may not like +the colour of <i>your</i> hair. I don’t myself. Now if you were to dye +yourself crimson—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, shut up! Of course a man knows when a girl’s fond of +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“By no means, laddie. When you’re my age—” +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>am</i> your age.” +</p> + +<p> +“So you are! I forgot that. Well, now, approaching the matter from +another angle, let us suppose, old son, that Miss +What’s-Her-Name—the party of the second part—” +</p> + +<p> +“Stop it!” said Bill suddenly. “Here comes Reggie!” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Here comes Reggie van Tuyl. I don’t want him to hear us talking +about the darned thing.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie looked over his shoulder and perceived that it was indeed so. Reggie was +threading his way among the tables. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, <i>he</i> looks pleased with things, anyway,” said Bill, +enviously. “Glad somebody’s happy.” +</p> + +<p> +He was right. Reggie van Tuyl’s usual mode of progress through a +restaurant was a somnolent slouch. Now he was positively bounding along. +Furthermore, the usual expression on Reggie’s face was a sleepy sadness. +Now he smiled brightly and with animation. He curveted towards their table, +beaming and erect, his head up, his gaze level, and his chest expanded, for all +the world as if he had been reading the hints in <i>The Personality That +Wins</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Archie was puzzled. Something had plainly happened to Reggie. But what? It was +idle to suppose that somebody had left him money, for he had been left +practically all the money there was a matter of ten years before. +</p> + +<p> +“Hallo, old bean,” he said, as the new-comer, radiating good will +and bonhomie, arrived at the table and hung over it like a noon-day sun. +“We’ve finished. But rally round and we’ll watch you eat. +Dashed interesting, watching old Reggie eat. Why go to the Zoo?” +</p> + +<p> +Reggie shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry, old man. Can’t. Just on my way to the Ritz. Stepped in +because I thought you might be here. I wanted you to be the first to hear the +news.” +</p> + +<p> +“News?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m the happiest man alive!” +</p> + +<p> +“You look it, darn you!” growled Bill, on whose mood of grey gloom +this human sunbeam was jarring heavily. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m engaged to be married!” +</p> + +<p> +“Congratulations, old egg!” Archie shook his hand cordially. +“Dash it, don’t you know, as an old married man I like to see you +young fellows settling down.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know how to thank you enough, Archie, old man,” said +Reggie, fervently. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank me?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was through you that I met her. Don’t you remember the girl you +sent to me? You wanted me to get her a small part—” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped, puzzled. Archie had uttered a sound that was half gasp and half +gurgle, but it was swallowed up in the extraordinary noise from the other side +of the table. Bill Brewster was leaning forward with bulging eyes and soaring +eyebrows. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you engaged to Mabel Winchester?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, by George!” said Reggie. “Do you know her?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie recovered himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Slightly,” he said. “Slightly. Old Bill knows her slightly, +as it were. Not very well, don’t you know, but—how shall I put +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Slightly,” suggested Bill. +</p> + +<p> +“Just the word. Slightly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Splendid!” said Reggie van Tuyl. “Why don’t you come +along to the Ritz and meet her now?” +</p> + +<p> +Bill stammered. Archie came to the rescue again. +</p> + +<p> +“Bill can’t come now. He’s got a date.” +</p> + +<p> +“A date?” said Bill. +</p> + +<p> +“A date,” said Archie. “An appointment, don’t you know. +A—a—in fact, a date.” +</p> + +<p> +“But—er—wish her happiness from me,” said Bill, +cordially. +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks very much, old man,” said Reggie. +</p> + +<p> +“And say I’m delighted, will you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly.” +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t forget the word, will you? Delighted.” +</p> + +<p> +“Delighted.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right. Delighted.” +</p> + +<p> +Reggie looked at his watch. +</p> + +<p> +“Halloa! I must rush!” +</p> + +<p> +Bill and Archie watched him as he bounded out of the restaurant. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor old Reggie!” said Bill, with a fleeting compunction. +</p> + +<p> +“Not necessarily,” said Archie. “What I mean to say is, +tastes differ, don’t you know. One man’s peach is another +man’s poison, and vice versa.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s something in that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely! Well,” said Archie, judicially, “this would +appear to be, as it were, the maddest, merriest day in all the glad New Year, +yes, no?” +</p> + +<p> +Bill drew a deep breath. +</p> + +<p> +“You bet your sorrowful existence it is!” he said. “I’d +like to do something to celebrate it.” +</p> + +<p> +“The right spirit!” said Archie. “Absolutely the right +spirit! Begin by paying for my lunch!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER XX.<br/> +THE-SAUSAGE-CHAPPIE-CLICKS</h2> + +<p> +Rendered restless by relief, Bill Brewster did not linger long at the +luncheon-table. Shortly after Reggie van Tuyl had retired, he got up and +announced his intention of going for a bit of a walk to calm his excited mind. +Archie dismissed him with a courteous wave of the hand; and, beckoning to the +Sausage Chappie, who in his role of waiter was hovering near, requested him to +bring the best cigar the hotel could supply. The padded seat in which he sat +was comfortable; he had no engagements; and it seemed to him that a pleasant +half-hour could be passed in smoking dreamily and watching his fellow-men eat. +</p> + +<p> +The grill-room had filled up. The Sausage Chappie, having brought Archie his +cigar, was attending to a table close by, at which a woman with a small boy in +a sailor suit had seated themselves. The woman was engrossed with the bill of +fare, but the child’s attention seemed riveted upon the Sausage Chappie. +He was drinking him in with wide eyes. He seemed to be brooding on him. +</p> + +<p> +Archie, too, was brooding on the Sausage Chappie, The latter made an excellent +waiter: he was brisk and attentive, and did the work as if he liked it; but +Archie was not satisfied. Something seemed to tell him that the man was fitted +for higher things. Archie was a grateful soul. That sausage, coming at the end +of a five-hour hike, had made a deep impression on his plastic nature. Reason +told him that only an exceptional man could have parted with half a sausage at +such a moment; and he could not feel that a job as waiter at a New York hotel +was an adequate job for an exceptional man. Of course, the root of the trouble +lay in the fact that the fellow could not remember what his real life-work had +been before the war. It was exasperating to reflect, as the other moved away to +take his order to the kitchen, that there, for all one knew, went the dickens +of a lawyer or doctor or architect or what not. +</p> + +<p> +His meditations were broken by the voice of the child. +</p> + +<p> +“Mummie,” asked the child interestedly, following the Sausage +Chappie with his eyes as the latter disappeared towards the kitchen, “why +has that man got such a funny face?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush, darling.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but why HAS he?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know, darling.” +</p> + +<p> +The child’s faith in the maternal omniscience seemed to have received a +shock. He had the air of a seeker after truth who has been baffled. His eyes +roamed the room discontentedly. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s got a funnier face than that man there,” he said, +pointing to Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“Hush, darling!” +</p> + +<p> +“But he has. Much funnier.” +</p> + +<p> +In a way it was a sort of compliment, but Archie felt embarrassed. He withdrew +coyly into the cushioned recess. Presently the Sausage Chappie returned, +attended to the needs of the woman and the child, and came over to Archie. His +homely face was beaming. +</p> + +<p> +“Say, I had a big night last night,” he said, leaning on the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” said Archie. “Party or something?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I mean I suddenly began to remember things. Something seems to have +happened to the works.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie sat up excitedly. This was great news. +</p> + +<p> +“No, really? My dear old lad, this is absolutely topping. This is +priceless.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yessir! First thing I remembered was that I was born at Springfield, +Ohio. It was like a mist starting to lift. Springfield, Ohio. That was it. It +suddenly came back to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Splendid! Anything else?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yessir! Just before I went to sleep I remembered my name as well.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie was stirred to his depths. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, the thing’s a walk-over!” he exclaimed. “Now +you’ve once got started, nothing can stop you. What is your name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, it’s—That’s funny! It’s gone again. I have +an idea it began with an S. What was it? Skeffington? Skillington?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sanderson?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; I’ll get it in a moment. Cunningham? Carrington? Wilberforce? +Debenham?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dennison?” suggested Archie, helpfully.—“No, no, no. +It’s on the tip of my tongue. Barrington? Montgomery? Hepplethwaite? +I’ve got it! Smith!” +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove! Really?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certain of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the first name?” +</p> + +<p> +An anxious expression came into the man’s eyes. He hesitated. He lowered +his voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I have a horrible feeling that it’s Lancelot!” +</p> + +<p> +“Good God!” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“It couldn’t really be that, could it?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie looked grave. He hated to give pain, but he felt he must be honest. +</p> + +<p> +“It might,” he said. “People give their children all sorts of +rummy names. My second name’s Tracy. And I have a pal in England who was +christened Cuthbert de la Hay Horace. Fortunately everyone calls him +Stinker.” +</p> + +<p> +The head-waiter began to drift up like a bank of fog, and the Sausage Chappie +returned to his professional duties. When he came back, he was beaming again. +</p> + +<p> +“Something else I remembered,” he said, removing the cover. +“I’m married!” +</p> + +<p> +“Good Lord!” +</p> + +<p> +“At least I was before the war. She had blue eyes and brown hair and a +Pekingese dog.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was her name?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you’re coming on,” said Archie. “I’ll +admit that. You’ve still got a bit of a way to go before you become like +one of those blighters who take the Memory Training Courses in the magazine +advertisements—I mean to say, you know, the lads who meet a fellow once +for five minutes, and then come across him again ten years later and grasp him +by the hand and say, ‘Surely this is Mr. Watkins of Seattle?’ +Still, you’re doing fine. You only need patience. Everything comes to him +who waits.” Archie sat up, electrified. “I say, by Jove, +that’s rather good, what! Everything comes to him who waits, and +you’re a waiter, what, what. I mean to say, what!” +</p> + +<p> +“Mummie,” said the child at the other table, still speculative, +“do you think something trod on his face?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush, darling.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps it was bitten by something?” +</p> + +<p> +“Eat your nice fish, darling,” said the mother, who seemed to be +one of those dull-witted persons whom it is impossible to interest in a +discussion on first causes. +</p> + +<p> +Archie felt stimulated. Not even the advent of his father-in-law, who came in a +few moments later and sat down at the other end of the room, could depress his +spirits. +</p> + +<p> +The Sausage Chappie came to his table again. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a funny thing,” he said. “Like waking up after +you’ve been asleep. Everything seems to be getting clearer. The +dog’s name was Marie. My wife’s dog, you know. And she had a mole +on her chin.” +</p> + +<p> +“The dog?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. My wife. Little beast! She bit me in the leg once.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your wife?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. The dog. Good Lord!” said the Sausage Chappie. +</p> + +<p> +Archie looked up and followed his gaze. +</p> + +<p> +A couple of tables away, next to a sideboard on which the management exposed +for view the cold meats and puddings and pies mentioned in volume two of the +bill of fare (“Buffet Froid”), a man and a girl had just seated +themselves. The man was stout and middle-aged. He bulged in practically every +place in which a man can bulge, and his head was almost entirely free from +hair. The girl was young and pretty. Her eyes were blue. Her hair was brown. +She had a rather attractive little mole on the left side of her chin. +</p> + +<p> +“Good Lord!” said the Sausage Chappie. +</p> + +<p> +“Now what?” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s that? Over at the table there?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie, through long attendance at the Cosmopolis Grill, knew most of the +habitues by sight. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a man named Gossett. James J. Gossett. He’s a +motion-picture man. You must have seen his name around.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t mean him. Who’s the girl?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve never seen her before.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s my wife!” said the Sausage Chappie. +</p> + +<p> +“Your wife!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes!” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you sure?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I’m sure!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, well!” said Archie. “Many happy returns of the +day!” +</p> + +<p> +At the other table, the girl, unconscious of the drama which was about to enter +her life, was engrossed in conversation with the stout man. And at this moment +the stout man leaned forward and patted her on the cheek. +</p> + +<p> +It was a paternal pat, the pat which a genial uncle might bestow on a favourite +niece, but it did not strike the Sausage Chappie in that light. He had been +advancing on the table at a fairly rapid pace, and now, stirred to his depths, +he bounded forward with a hoarse cry. +</p> + +<p> +Archie was at some pains to explain to his father-in-law later that, if the +management left cold pies and things about all over the place, this sort of +thing was bound to happen sooner or later. He urged that it was putting +temptation in people’s way, and that Mr. Brewster had only himself to +blame. Whatever the rights of the case, the Buffet Froid undoubtedly came in +remarkably handy at this crisis in the Sausage Chappie’s life. He had +almost reached the sideboard when the stout man patted the girl’s cheek, +and to seize a huckleberry pie was with him the work of a moment. The next +instant the pie had whizzed past the other’s head and burst like a shell +against the wall. +</p> + +<p> +There are, no doubt, restaurants where this sort of thing would have excited +little comment, but the Cosmopolis was not one of them. Everybody had something +to say, but the only one among those present who had anything sensible to say +was the child in the sailor suit. +</p> + +<p> +“Do it again!” said the child, cordially. +</p> + +<p> +The Sausage Chappie did it again. He took up a fruit salad, poised it for a +moment, then decanted it over Mr. Gossett’s bald head. The child’s +happy laughter rang over the restaurant. Whatever anybody else might think of +the affair, this child liked it and was prepared to go on record to that +effect. +</p> + +<p> +Epic events have a stunning quality. They paralyse the faculties. For a moment +there was a pause. The world stood still. Mr. Brewster bubbled inarticulately. +Mr. Gossett dried himself sketchily with a napkin. The Sausage Chappie snorted. +</p> + +<p> +The girl had risen to her feet and was staring wildly. +</p> + +<p> +“John!” she cried. +</p> + +<p> +Even at this moment of crisis the Sausage Chappie was able to look relieved. +</p> + +<p> +“So it is!” he said. “And I thought it was Lancelot!” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you were dead!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not!” said the Sausage Chappie. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gossett, speaking thickly through the fruit-salad, was understood to say +that he regretted this. And then confusion broke loose again. Everybody began +to talk at once. +</p> + +<p> +“I say!” said Archie. “I say! One moment!” +</p> + +<p> +Of the first stages of this interesting episode Archie had been a paralysed +spectator. The thing had numbed him. And then— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Sudden a thought came, like a full-blown rose.<br/> +Flushing his brow. +</p> + +<p> +When he reached the gesticulating group, he was calm and business-like. He had +a constructive policy to suggest. +</p> + +<p> +“I say,” he said. “I’ve got an idea!” +</p> + +<p> +“Go away!” said Mr. Brewster. “This is bad enough without you +butting in.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie quelled him with a gesture. +</p> + +<p> +“Leave us,” he said. “We would be alone. I want to have a +little business-talk with Mr. Gossett.” He turned to the movie-magnate, +who was gradually emerging from the fruit-salad rather after the manner of a +stout Venus rising from the sea. “Can you spare me a moment of your +valuable time?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll have him arrested!” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you do it, laddie. Listen!” +</p> + +<p> +“The man’s mad. Throwing pies!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie attached himself to his coat-button. +</p> + +<p> +“Be calm, laddie. Calm and reasonable!” +</p> + +<p> +For the first time Mr. Gossett seemed to become aware that what he had been +looking on as a vague annoyance was really an individual. +</p> + +<p> +“Who the devil are you?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie drew himself up with dignity. +</p> + +<p> +“I am this gentleman’s representative,” he replied, +indicating the Sausage Chappie with a motion of the hand. “His jolly old +personal representative. I act for him. And on his behalf I have a pretty ripe +proposition to lay before you. Reflect, dear old bean,” he proceeded +earnestly. “Are you going to let this chance slip? The opportunity of a +lifetime which will not occur again. By Jove, you ought to rise up and embrace +this bird. You ought to clasp the chappie to your bosom! He has thrown pies at +you, hasn’t he? Very well. You are a movie-magnate. Your whole fortune is +founded on chappies who throw pies. You probably scour the world for chappies +who throw pies. Yet, when one comes right to you without any fuss or trouble +and demonstrates before your very eyes the fact that he is without a peer as a +pie-propeller, you get the wind up and talk about having him arrested. +Consider! (There’s a bit of cherry just behind your left ear.) Be +sensible. Why let your personal feeling stand in the way of doing yourself a +bit of good? Give this chappie a job and give it him quick, or we go elsewhere. +Did you ever see Fatty Arbuckle handle pastry with a surer touch? Has Charlie +Chaplin got this fellow’s speed and control. Absolutely not. I tell you, +old friend, you’re in danger of throwing away a good thing!” +</p> + +<p> +He paused. The Sausage Chappie beamed. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve aways wanted to go into the movies,” he said. “I +was an actor before the war. Just remembered.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster attempted to speak. Archie waved him down. +</p> + +<p> +“How many times have I got to tell you not to butt in?” he said, +severely. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Gossett’s militant demeanour had become a trifle modified during +Archie’s harangue. First and foremost a man of business, Mr. Gossett was +not insensible to the arguments which had been put forward. He brushed a slice +of orange from the back of his neck, and mused awhile. +</p> + +<p> +“How do I know this fellow would screen well?” he said, at length. +</p> + +<p> +“Screen well!” cried Archie. “Of course he’ll screen +well. Look at his face. I ask you! The map! I call your attention to it.” +He turned apologetically to the Sausage Chappie. “Awfully sorry, old lad, +for dwelling on this, but it’s business, you know.” He turned to +Mr. Gossett. “Did you ever see a face like that? Of course not. Why +should I, as this gentleman’s personal representative, let a face like +that go to waste? There’s a fortune in it. By Jove, I’ll give you +two minutes to think the thing over, and, if you don’t talk business +then, I’ll jolly well take my man straight round to Mack Sennett or +someone. We don’t have to ask for jobs. We consider offers.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a silence. And then the clear voice of the child in the sailor suit +made itself heard again. +</p> + +<p> +“Mummie!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, darling?” +</p> + +<p> +“Is the man with the funny face going to throw any more pies?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, darling.” +</p> + +<p> +The child uttered a scream of disappointed fury. +</p> + +<p> +“I want the funny man to throw some more pies! I want the funny man to +throw some more pies!” +</p> + +<p> +A look almost of awe came into Mr. Gossett’s face. He had heard the voice +of the Public. He had felt the beating of the Public’s pulse. +</p> + +<p> +“Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings,” he said, picking a +piece of banana off his right eyebrow, “Out of the mouths of babes and +sucklings. Come round to my office!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a>CHAPTER XXI.<br/> +THE GROWING BOY</h2> + +<p> +The lobby of the Cosmopolis Hotel was a favourite stamping-ground of Mr. Daniel +Brewster, its proprietor. He liked to wander about there, keeping a paternal +eye on things, rather in the manner of the Jolly Innkeeper (hereinafter to be +referred to as Mine Host) of the old-fashioned novel. Customers who, hurrying +in to dinner, tripped over Mr. Brewster, were apt to mistake him for the hotel +detective—for his eye was keen and his aspect a trifle austere—but, +nevertheless, he was being as jolly an innkeeper as he knew how. His presence +in the lobby supplied a personal touch to the Cosmopolis which other New York +hotels lacked, and it undeniably made the girl at the book-stall +extraordinarily civil to her clients, which was all to the good. +</p> + +<p> +Most of the time Mr. Brewster stood in one spot and just looked thoughtful; but +now and again he would wander to the marble slab behind which he kept the +desk-clerk and run his eye over the register, to see who had booked +rooms—like a child examining the stocking on Christmas morning to +ascertain what Santa Claus had brought him. +</p> + +<p> +As a rule, Mr. Brewster concluded this performance by shoving the book back +across the marble slab and resuming his meditations. But one night a week or +two after the Sausage Chappie’s sudden restoration to the normal, he +varied this procedure by starting rather violently, turning purple, and +uttering an exclamation which was manifestly an exclamation of chagrin. He +turned abruptly and cannoned into Archie, who, in company with Lucille, +happened to be crossing the lobby at the moment on his way to dine in their +suite. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster apologised gruffly; then, recognising his victim, seemed to regret +having done so. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s you! Why can’t you look where you’re +going?” he demanded. He had suffered much from his son-in-law. +</p> + +<p> +“Frightfully sorry,” said Archie, amiably. “Never thought you +were going to fox-trot backwards all over the fairway.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mustn’t bully Archie,” said Lucille, severely, attaching +herself to her father’s back hair and giving it a punitive tug, +“because he’s an angel, and I love him, and you must learn to love +him, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Give you lessons at a reasonable rate,” murmured Archie. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster regarded his young relative with a lowering eye. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter, father darling?” asked Lucille. +“You seem upset.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am upset!” Mr. Brewster snorted. “Some people have got a +nerve!” He glowered forbiddingly at an inoffensive young man in a light +overcoat who had just entered, and the young man, though his conscience was +quite clear and Mr. Brewster an entire stranger to him, stopped dead, blushed, +and went out again—to dine elsewhere. “Some people have got the +nerve of an army mule!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, what’s happened?” +</p> + +<p> +“Those darned McCalls have registered here!” +</p> + +<p> +“No!” +</p> + +<p> +“Bit beyond me, this,” said Archie, insinuating himself into the +conversation. “Deep waters and what not! Who are the McCalls?” +</p> + +<p> +“Some people father dislikes,” said Lucille. “And +they’ve chosen his hotel to stop at. But, father dear, you mustn’t +mind. It’s really a compliment. They’ve come because they know +it’s the best hotel in New York.” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely!” said Archie. “Good accommodation for man and +beast! All the comforts of home! Look on the bright side, old bean. No good +getting the wind up. Cherrio, old companion!” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t call me old companion!” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh, what? Oh, right-o!” +</p> + +<p> +Lucille steered her husband out of the danger zone, and they entered the lift. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor father!” she said, as they went to their suite, +“it’s a shame. They must have done it to annoy him. This man McCall +has a place next to some property father bought in Westchester, and he’s +bringing a law-suit against father about a bit of land which he claims belongs +to him. He might have had the tact to go to another hotel. But, after all, I +don’t suppose it was the poor little fellow’s fault. He does +whatever his wife tells him to.” +</p> + +<p> +“We all do that,” said Archie the married man. +</p> + +<p> +Lucille eyed him fondly. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t it a shame, precious, that all husbands haven’t nice +wives like me?” +</p> + +<p> +“When I think of you, by Jove,” said Archie, fervently, “I +want to babble, absolutely babble!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I was telling you about the McCalls. Mr. McCall is one of those +little, meek men, and his wife’s one of those big, bullying women. It was +she who started all the trouble with father. Father and Mr. McCall were very +fond of each other till she made him begin the suit. I feel sure she made him +come to this hotel just to annoy father. Still, they’ve probably taken +the most expensive suite in the place, which is something.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie was at the telephone. His mood was now one of quiet peace. Of all the +happenings which went to make up existence in New York, he liked best the cosy +<i>tête-à-tête</i> dinners with Lucille in their suite, which, owing to their +engagements—for Lucille was a popular girl, with many +friends—occurred all too seldom. +</p> + +<p> +“Touching now the question of browsing and sluicing,” he said. +“I’ll be getting them to send along a waiter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, good gracious!” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve just remembered. I promised faithfully I would go and see +Jane Murchison to-day. And I clean forgot. I must rush.” +</p> + +<p> +“But light of my soul, we are about to eat. Pop around and see her after +dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t. She’s going to a theatre to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Give her the jolly old miss-in-baulk, then, for the nonce, and spring +round to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s sailing for England to-morrow morning, early. No, I must go +and see her now. What a shame! She’s sure to make me stop to dinner, I +tell you what. Order something for me, and, if I’m not back in half an +hour, start.” +</p> + +<p> +“Jane Murchison,” said Archie, “is a bally nuisance.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But I’ve known her since she was eight.” +</p> + +<p> +“If her parents had had any proper feeling,” said Archie, +“they would have drowned her long before that.” +</p> + +<p> +He unhooked the receiver, and asked despondently to be connected with Room +Service. He thought bitterly of the exigent Jane, whom he recollected dimly as +a tall female with teeth. He half thought of going down to the grill-room on +the chance of finding a friend there, but the waiter was on his way to the +room. He decided that he might as well stay where he was. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +The waiter arrived, booked the order, and departed. Archie had just completed +his toilet after a shower-bath when a musical clinking without announced the +advent of the meal. He opened the door. The waiter was there with a table +congested with things under covers, from which escaped a savoury and appetising +odour. In spite of his depression, Archie’s soul perked up a trifle. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly he became aware that he was not the only person present who was +deriving enjoyment from the scent of the meal. Standing beside the waiter and +gazing wistfully at the foodstuffs was a long, thin boy of about sixteen. He +was one of those boys who seem all legs and knuckles. He had pale red hair, +sandy eyelashes, and a long neck; and his eyes, as he removed them from +the-table and raised them to Archie’s, had a hungry look. He reminded +Archie of a half-grown, half-starved hound. +</p> + +<p> +“That smells good!” said the long boy. He inhaled deeply. +“Yes, sir,” he continued, as one whose mind is definitely made up, +“that smells good!” +</p> + +<p> +Before Archie could reply, the telephone bell rang. It was Lucille, confirming +her prophecy that the pest Jane would insist on her staying to dine. +</p> + +<p> +“Jane,” said Archie, into the telephone, “is a pot of poison. +The waiter is here now, setting out a rich banquet, and I shall have to eat two +of everything by myself.” +</p> + +<p> +He hung up the receiver, and, turning, met the pale eye of the long boy, who +had propped himself up in the doorway. +</p> + +<p> +“Were you expecting somebody to dinner?” asked the boy. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes, old friend, I was.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +The waiter left. The long boy hitched his back more firmly against the +doorpost, and returned to his original theme. +</p> + +<p> +“That surely does smell good!” He basked a moment in the aroma. +“Yes, sir! I’ll tell the world it does!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie was not an abnormally rapid thinker, but he began at this point to get a +clearly defined impression that this lad, if invited, would waive the +formalities and consent to join his meal. Indeed, the idea Archie got was that, +if he were not invited pretty soon, he would invite himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he agreed. “It doesn’t smell bad, what!” +</p> + +<p> +“It smells <i>good!</i>” said the boy. “Oh, doesn’t it! +Wake me up in the night and ask me if it doesn’t!” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Poulet en casserole</i>,” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“Golly!” said the boy, reverently. +</p> + +<p> +There was a pause. The situation began to seem to Archie a trifle difficult. He +wanted to start his meal, but it began to appear that he must either do so +under the penetrating gaze of his new friend or else eject the latter forcibly. +The boy showed no signs of ever wanting to leave the doorway. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve dined, I suppose, what?” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“I never dine.” +</p> + +<p> +“What!” +</p> + +<p> +“Not really dine, I mean. I only get vegetables and nuts and +things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dieting?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mother is.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t absolutely catch the drift, old bean,” said Archie. +The boy sniffed with half-closed eyes as a wave of perfume from the <i>poulet +en casserole</i> floated past him. He seemed to be anxious to intercept as much +of it as possible before it got through the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother’s a food-reformer,” he vouchsafed. “She +lectures on it. She makes Pop and me live on vegetables and nuts and +things.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie was shocked. It was like listening to a tale from the abyss. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear old chap, you must suffer agonies—absolute shooting +pains!” He had no hesitation now. Common humanity pointed out his course. +“Would you care to join me in a bite now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Would I!” The boy smiled a wan smile. “Would I! Just stop me +on the street and ask me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Come on in, then,” said Archie, rightly taking this peculiar +phrase for a formal acceptance. “And close the door. The fatted calf is +getting cold.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie was not a man with a wide visiting-list among people with families, and +it was so long since he had seen a growing boy in action at the table that he +had forgotten what sixteen is capable of doing with a knife and fork, when it +really squares its elbows, takes a deep breath, and gets going. The spectacle +which he witnessed was consequently at first a little unnerving. The long +boy’s idea of trifling with a meal appeared to be to swallow it whole and +reach out for more. He ate like a starving Eskimo. Archie, in the time he had +spent in the trenches making the world safe for the working-man to strike in, +had occasionally been quite peckish, but he sat dazed before this majestic +hunger. This was real eating. +</p> + +<p> +There was little conversation. The growing boy evidently did not believe in +table-talk when he could use his mouth for more practical purposes. It was not +until the final roll had been devoured to its last crumb that the guest found +leisure to address his host. Then he leaned back with a contented sigh. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother,” said the human python, “says you ought to chew +every mouthful thirty-three times....” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir! Thirty-three times!” He sighed again, “I +haven’t ever had a meal like that.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, was it, what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Was it! Was it! Call me up on the ’phone and ask me!-Yes, +sir!-Mother’s tipped off these darned waiters not to serve me anything +but vegetables and nuts and things, darn it!” +</p> + +<p> +“The mater seems to have drastic ideas about the good old feed-bag, +what!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll say she has! Pop hates it as much as me, but he’s +scared to kick. Mother says vegetables contain all the proteins you want. +Mother says, if you eat meat, your blood-pressure goes all blooey. Do you think +it does?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mine seems pretty well in the pink.” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s great on talking,” conceded the boy. +“She’s out to-night somewhere, giving a lecture on Rational Eating +to some ginks. I’ll have to be slipping up to our suite before she gets +back.” He rose, sluggishly. “That isn’t a bit of roll under +that napkin, is it?” he asked, anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +Archie raised the napkin. +</p> + +<p> +“No. Nothing of that species.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well!” said the boy, resignedly. “Then I believe +I’ll be going. Thanks very much for the dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a bit, old top. Come again if you’re ever trickling round in +this direction.” +</p> + +<p> +The long boy removed himself slowly, loath to leave. At the door he cast an +affectionate glance back at the table. +</p> + +<p> +“Some meal!” he said, devoutly. “Considerable meal!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie lit a cigarette. He felt like a Boy Scout who has done his day’s +Act of Kindness. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +On the following morning it chanced that Archie needed a fresh supply of +tobacco. It was his custom, when this happened, to repair to a small shop on +Sixth Avenue which he had discovered accidentally in the course of his rambles +about the great city. His relations with Jno. Blake, the proprietor, were +friendly and intimate. The discovery that Mr. Blake was English and had, +indeed, until a few years back maintained an establishment only a dozen doors +or so from Archie’s London club, had served as a bond. +</p> + +<p> +To-day he found Mr. Blake in a depressed mood. The tobacconist was a hearty, +red-faced man, who looked like an English sporting publican—the kind of +man who wears a fawn-coloured top-coat and drives to the Derby in a dog-cart; +and usually there seemed to be nothing on his mind except the vagaries of the +weather, concerning which he was a great conversationalist. But now moodiness +had claimed him for its own. After a short and melancholy “Good +morning,” he turned to the task of measuring out the tobacco in silence. +</p> + +<p> +Archie’s sympathetic nature was perturbed.—“What’s the +matter, laddie?” he enquired. “You would seem to be feeling a bit +of an onion this bright morning, what, yes, no? I can see it with the naked +eye.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blake grunted sorrowfully. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve had a knock, Mr. Moffam.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me all, friend of my youth.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blake, with a jerk of his thumb, indicated a poster which hung on the wall +behind the counter. Archie had noticed it as he came in, for it was designed to +attract the eye. It was printed in black letters on a yellow ground, and ran as +follows: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +CLOVER-LEAF SOCIAL AND OUTING CLUB<br/> +<br/> +GRAND CONTEST<br/> +<br/> +PIE-EATING CHAMPIONSHIP OF THE WEST SIDE<br/> +<br/> +SPIKE O’DOWD<br/> +(Champion)<br/> +<br/> +<i>v</i>.<br/> +<br/> +BLAKE’S UNKNOWN<br/> +<br/> +FOR A PURSE OF $50 AND SIDE-BET +</p> + +<p> +Archie examined this document gravely. It conveyed nothing to him +except—what he had long suspected—that his sporting-looking friend +had sporting blood as well as that kind of exterior. He expressed a kindly hope +that the other’s Unknown would bring home the bacon. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blake laughed one of those hollow, mirthless laughs. +</p> + +<p> +“There ain’t any blooming Unknown,” he said, bitterly. This +man had plainly suffered. “Yesterday, yes, but not now.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie sighed. +</p> + +<p> +“In the midst of life—Dead?” he enquired, delicately. +</p> + +<p> +“As good as,” replied the stricken tobacconist. He cast aside his +artificial restraint and became voluble. Archie was one of those sympathetic +souls in whom even strangers readily confided their most intimate troubles. He +was to those in travail of spirit very much what catnip is to a cat. +“It’s ’ard, sir, it’s blooming ’ard! I’d +got the event all sewed up in a parcel, and now this young feller-me-lad +’as to give me the knock. This lad of mine—sort of cousin ’e +is; comes from London, like you and me—’as always ’ad, ever +since he landed in this country, a most amazing knack of stowing away grub. +’E’d been a bit underfed these last two or three years over in the +old country, what with food restrictions and all, and ’e took to the food +over ’ere amazing. I’d ’ave backed ’im against a ruddy +orstridge! Orstridge! I’d ’ave backed ’im against ’arff +a dozen orstridges—take ’em on one after the other in the same ring +on the same evening—and given ’em a handicap, too! ’E was a +jewel, that boy. I’ve seen him polish off four pounds of steak and mealy +potatoes and then look round kind of wolfish, as much as to ask when dinner was +going to begin! That’s the kind of a lad ’e was till this very +morning. ’E would have out-swallowed this ’ere O’Dowd without +turning a hair, as a relish before ’is tea! I’d got a couple of +’undred dollars on ’im, and thought myself lucky to get the odds. +And now—” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blake relapsed into a tortured silence. +</p> + +<p> +“But what’s the matter with the blighter? Why can’t he go +over the top? Has he got indigestion?” +</p> + +<p> +“Indigestion?” Mr. Blaife laughed another of his hollow laughs. +“You couldn’t give that boy indigestion if you fed ’im in on +safety-razor blades. Religion’s more like what ’e’s +got.” +</p> + +<p> +“Religion?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you can call it that. Seems last night, instead of goin’ and +resting ’is mind at a picture-palace like I told him to, ’e sneaked +off to some sort of a lecture down on Eighth Avenue. ’E said +’e’d seen a piece about it in the papers, and it was about Rational +Eating, and that kind of attracted ’im. ’E sort of thought ’e +might pick up a few hints, like. ’E didn’t know what rational +eating was, but it sounded to ’im as if it must be something to do with +food, and ’e didn’t want to miss it. ’E came in here just +now,” said Mr. Blake, dully, “and ’e was a changed lad! +Scared to death ’e was! Said the way ’e’d been goin’ on +in the past, it was a wonder ’e’d got any stummick left! It was a +lady that give the lecture, and this boy said it was amazing what she told +’em about blood-pressure and things ’e didn’t even know +’e ’ad. She showed ’em pictures, coloured pictures, of what +’appens inside the injudicious eater’s stummick who doesn’t +chew his food, and it was like a battlefield! ’E said ’e would no +more think of eatin’ a lot of pie than ’e would of shootin’ +’imself, and anyhow eating pie would be a quicker death. I reasoned with +’im, Mr. Moffam, with tears in my eyes. I asked ’im was he +goin’ to chuck away fame and wealth just because a woman who didn’t +know what she was talking about had shown him a lot of faked pictures. But +there wasn’t any doin’ anything with him. ’E give me the +knock and ’opped it down the street to buy nuts.” Mr. Blake moaned. +“Two ’undred dollars and more gone pop, not to talk of the fifty +dollars ’e would have won and me to get twenty-five of!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie took his tobacco and walked pensively back to the hotel. He was fond of +Jno. Blake, and grieved for the trouble that had come upon him. It was odd, he +felt, how things seemed to link themselves up together. The woman who had +delivered the fateful lecture to injudicious eaters could not be other than the +mother of his young guest of last night. An uncomfortable woman! Not content +with starving her own family—Archie stopped in his tracks. A pedestrian, +walking behind him, charged into his back, but Archie paid no attention. He had +had one of those sudden, luminous ideas, which help a man who does not do much +thinking as a rule to restore his average. He stood there for a moment, almost +dizzy at the brilliance of his thoughts; then hurried on. Napoleon, he mused as +he walked, must have felt rather like this after thinking up a hot one to +spring on the enemy. +</p> + +<p> +As if Destiny were suiting her plans to his, one of the first persons he saw as +he entered the lobby of the Cosmopolis was the long boy. He was standing at the +bookstall, reading as much of a morning paper as could be read free under the +vigilant eyes of the presiding girl. Both he and she were observing the +unwritten rules which govern these affairs—to wit, that you may read +without interference as much as can be read without touching the paper. If you +touch the paper, you lose, and have to buy. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well, well!” said Archie. “Here we are again, +what!” He prodded the boy amiably in the lower ribs. “You’re +just the chap I was looking for. Got anything on for the time being?” +</p> + +<p> +The boy said he had no engagements. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I want you to stagger round with me to a chappie I know on Sixth +Avenue. It’s only a couple of blocks away. I think I can do you a bit of +good. Put you on to something tolerably ripe, if you know what I mean. Trickle +along, laddie. You don’t need a hat.” +</p> + +<p> +They found Mr. Blake brooding over his troubles in an empty shop. +</p> + +<p> +“Cheer up, old thing!” said Archie. “The relief expedition +has arrived.” He directed his companion’s gaze to the poster. +“Cast your eye over that. How does that strike you?” +</p> + +<p> +The long boy scanned the poster. A gleam appeared in his rather dull eye. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Some people have all the luck!” said the long boy, feelingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Would you like to compete, what?” +</p> + +<p> +The boy smiled a sad smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Would I! Would I! Say!...” +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” interrupted Archie. “Wake you up in the night and +ask you! I knew I could rely on you, old thing.” He turned to Mr. Blake. +“Here’s the fellow you’ve been wanting to meet. The finest +left-and-right-hand eater east of the Rockies! He’ll fight the good fight +for you.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blake’s English training had not been wholly overcome by residence in +New York. He still retained a nice eye for the distinctions of class. +</p> + +<p> +“But this young gentleman’s a young gentleman,” he urged, +doubtfully, yet with hope shining in his eye. “He wouldn’t do +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, he would. Don’t be ridic, old thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wouldn’t do what?” asked the boy. +</p> + +<p> +“Why save the old homestead by taking on the champion. Dashed sad case, +between ourselves! This poor egg’s nominee has given him the raspberry at +the eleventh hour, and only you can save him. And you owe it to him to do +something you know, because it was your jolly old mater’s lecture last +night that made the nominee quit. You must charge in and take his place. Sort +of poetic justice, don’t you know, and what not!” He turned to Mr. +Blake. “When is the conflict supposed to start? Two-thirty? You +haven’t any important engagement for two-thirty, have you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Mother’s lunching at some ladies’ club, and giving a +lecture afterwards. I can slip away.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie patted his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Then leg it where glory waits you, old bean!” +</p> + +<p> +The long boy was gazing earnestly at the poster. It seemed to fascinate him. +</p> + +<p> +“Pie!” he said in a hushed voice. +</p> + +<p> +The word was like a battle-cry. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a>CHAPTER XXII.<br/> +WASHY STEPS INTO THE HALL OF FAME</h2> + +<p> +At about nine o’clock next morning, in a suite at the Hotel Cosmopolis, +Mrs. Cora Bates McCall, the eminent lecturer on Rational Eating, was seated at +breakfast with her family. Before her sat Mr. McCall, a little hunted-looking +man, the natural peculiarities of whose face were accentuated by a pair of +glasses of semicircular shape, like half-moons with the horns turned up. Behind +these, Mr. McCall’s eyes played a perpetual game of peekaboo, now peering +over them, anon ducking down and hiding behind them. He was sipping a cup of +anti-caffeine. On his right, toying listlessly with a plateful of cereal, sat +his son, Washington. Mrs. McCall herself was eating a slice of Health Bread and +nut butter. For she practised as well as preached the doctrines which she had +striven for so many years to inculcate in an unthinking populace. Her day +always began with a light but nutritious breakfast, at which a peculiarly +uninviting cereal, which looked and tasted like an old straw hat that had been +run through a meat chopper, competed for first place in the dislike of her +husband and son with a more than usually offensive brand of imitation coffee. +Mr. McCall was inclined to think that he loathed the imitation coffee rather +more than the cereal, but Washington held strong views on the latter’s +superior ghastliness. Both Washington and his father, however, would have been +fair-minded enough to admit that it was a close thing. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. McCall regarded her offspring with grave approval. +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad to see, Lindsay,” she said to her husband, whose eyes +sprang dutifully over the glass fence as he heard his name, “that Washy +has recovered his appetite. When he refused his dinner last night, I was afraid +that he might be sickening for something. Especially as he had quite a flushed +look. You noticed his flushed look?” +</p> + +<p> +“He did look flushed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very flushed. And his breathing was almost stertorous. And, when he said +that he had no appetite, I am bound to say that I was anxious. But he is +evidently perfectly well this morning. You do feel perfectly well this morning, +Washy?” +</p> + +<p> +The heir of the McCall’s looked up from his cereal. He was a long, thin +boy of about sixteen, with pale red hair, sandy eyelashes, and a long neck. +</p> + +<p> +“Uh-huh,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. McCall nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely now you will agree, Lindsay, that a careful and rational diet is +what a boy needs? Washy’s constitution is superb. He has a remarkable +stamina, and I attribute it entirely to my careful supervision of his food. I +shudder when I think of the growing boys who are permitted by irresponsible +people to devour meat, candy, pie—” She broke off. “What is +the matter, Washy?” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed that the habit of shuddering at the thought of pie ran in the McCall +family, for at the mention of the word a kind of internal shimmy had convulsed +Washington’s lean frame, and over his face there had come an expression +that was almost one of pain. He had been reaching out his hand for a slice of +Health Bread, but now he withdrew it rather hurriedly and sat back breathing +hard. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m all right,” he said, huskily. +</p> + +<p> +“Pie,” proceeded Mrs. McCall, in her platform voice. She stopped +again abruptly. “Whatever is the matter, Washington? You are making me +feel nervous.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m all right.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. McCall had lost the thread of her remarks. Moreover, having now finished +her breakfast, she was inclined for a little light reading. One of the subjects +allied to the matter of dietary on which she felt deeply was the question of +reading at meals. She was of the opinion that the strain on the eye, coinciding +with the strain on the digestion, could not fail to give the latter the short +end of the contest; and it was a rule at her table that the morning paper +should not even be glanced at till the conclusion of the meal. She said that it +was upsetting to begin the day by reading the paper, and events were to prove +that she was occasionally right. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +All through breakfast the <i>New York Chronicle</i> had been lying neatly +folded beside her plate. She now opened it, and, with a remark about looking +for the report of her yesterday’s lecture at the Butterfly Club, directed +her gaze at the front page, on which she hoped that an editor with the best +interests of the public at heart had decided to place her. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. McCall, jumping up and down behind his glasses, scrutinised her face +closely as she began to read. He always did this on these occasions, for none +knew better than he that his comfort for the day depended largely on some +unknown reporter whom he had never met. If this unseen individual had done his +work properly and as befitted the importance of his subject, Mrs. +McCall’s mood for the next twelve hours would be as uniformly sunny as it +was possible for it to be. But sometimes the fellows scamped their job +disgracefully; and once, on a day which lived in Mr. McCall’s memory, +they had failed to make a report at all. +</p> + +<p> +To-day, he noted with relief, all seemed to be well. The report actually was on +the front page, an honour rarely accorded to his wife’s utterances. +Moreover, judging from the time it took her to read the thing, she had +evidently been reported at length. +</p> + +<p> +“Good, my dear?” he ventured. “Satisfactory?” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” Mrs. McCall smiled meditatively. “Oh, yes, excellent. +They have used my photograph, too. Not at all badly reproduced.” +</p> + +<p> +“Splendid!” said Mr. McCall. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. McCall gave a sharp shriek, and the paper fluttered from her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear!” said Mr. McCall, with concern. +</p> + +<p> +His wife had recovered the paper, and was reading with burning eyes. A bright +wave of colour had flowed over her masterful features. She was breathing as +stertorously as ever her son Washington had done on the previous night. +</p> + +<p> +“Washington!” +</p> + +<p> +A basilisk glare shot across the table and turned the long boy to +stone—all except his mouth, which opened feebly. +</p> + +<p> +“Washington! Is this true?” +</p> + +<p> +Washy closed his mouth, then let it slowly open again. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear!” Mr. McCall’s voice was alarmed. “What is +it?” His eyes had climbed up over his glasses and remained there. +“What is the matter? Is anything wrong?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wrong! Read for yourself!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. McCall was completely mystified. He could not even formulate a guess at the +cause of the trouble. That it appeared to concern his son Washington seemed to +be the one solid fact at his disposal, and that only made the matter still more +puzzling. Where, Mr. McCall asked himself, did Washington come in? +</p> + +<p> +He looked at the paper, and received immediate enlightenment. Headlines met his +eyes: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +GOOD STUFF IN THIS BOY.<br/> +ABOUT A TON OF IT.<br/> +SON OF CORA BATES McCALL<br/> +FAMOUS FOOD-REFORM LECTURER<br/> +WINS PIE-EATING CHAMPIONSHIP OF WEST SIDE. +</p> + +<p> +There followed a lyrical outburst. So uplifted had the reporter evidently felt +by the importance of his news that he had been unable to confine himself to +prose:— +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +My children, if you fail to shine or triumph in your special line; if, let us +say, your hopes are bent on some day being President, and folks ignore your +proper worth, and say you’ve not a chance on earth—Cheer up! for in +these stirring days Fame may be won in many ways. Consider, when your spirits +fall, the case of Washington McCall. +</p> + +<p> +Yes, cast your eye on Washy, please! He looks just like a piece of cheese: +he’s not a brilliant sort of chap: he has a dull and vacant map: his eyes +are blank, his face is red, his ears stick out beside his head. In fact, to end +these compliments, he would be dear at thirty cents. Yet Fame has welcomed to +her Hall this self-same Washington McCall. +</p> + +<p> +His mother (nee Miss Cora Bates) is one who frequently orates upon the proper +kind of food which every menu should include. With eloquence the world she +weans from chops and steaks and pork and beans. Such horrid things she’d +like to crush, and make us live on milk and mush. But oh! the thing that makes +her sigh is when she sees us eating pie. (We heard her lecture last July upon +“The Nation’s Menace—Pie.”) Alas, the hit it made was +small with Master Washington McCall. +</p> + +<p> +For yesterday we took a trip to see the great Pie Championship, where men with +bulging cheeks and eyes consume vast quantities of pies. A fashionable West +Side crowd beheld the champion, Spike O’Dowd, endeavour to defend his +throne against an upstart, Blake’s Unknown. He wasn’t an Unknown at +all. He was young Washington McCall. +</p> + +<p> +We freely own we’d give a leg if we could borrow, steal, or beg the skill +old Homer used to show. (He wrote the <i>Iliad</i>, you know.) Old Homer swung +a wicked pen, but we are ordinary men, and cannot even start to dream of doing +justice to our theme. The subject of that great repast is too magnificent and +vast. We can’t describe (or even try) the way those rivals wolfed their +pie. Enough to say that, when for hours each had extended all his pow’rs, +toward the quiet evenfall O’Dowd succumbed to young McCall. +</p> + +<p> +The champion was a willing lad. He gave the public all he had. His was a +genuine fighting soul. He’d lots of speed and much control. No yellow +streak did he evince. He tackled apple-pie and mince. This was the motto on his +shield—“O’Dowds may burst. They never yield.” His eyes +began to start and roll. He eased his belt another hole. Poor fellow! With a +single glance one saw that he had not a chance. A python would have had to +crawl and own defeat from young McCall. +</p> + +<p> +At last, long last, the finish came. His features overcast with shame, +O’Dowd, who’d faltered once or twice, declined to eat another +slice. He tottered off, and kindly men rallied around with oxygen. But Washy, +Cora Bates’s son, seemed disappointed it was done. He somehow made those +present feel he’d barely started on his meal. We ask him, +“Aren’t you feeling bad?” “Me!” said the +lion-hearted lad. “Lead me”—he started for the +street—“where I can get a bite to eat!” Oh, what a lesson +does it teach to all of us, that splendid speech! How better can the curtain +fall on Master Washington McCall! +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Mr. McCall read this epic through, then he looked at his son. He first looked +at him over his glasses, then through his glasses, then over his glasses again, +then through his glasses once more. A curious expression was in his eyes. If +such a thing had not been so impossible, one would have said that his gaze had +in it something of respect, of admiration, even of reverence. +</p> + +<p> +“But how did they find out your name?” he asked, at length. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. McCall exclaimed impatiently. +</p> + +<p> +“Is <i>that</i> all you have to say?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, my dear, of course not, quite so. But the point struck me as +curious.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wretched boy,” cried Mrs. McCall, “were you insane enough to +reveal your name?” +</p> + +<p> +Washington wriggled uneasily. Unable to endure the piercing stare of his +mother, he had withdrawn to the window, and was looking out with his back +turned. But even there he could feel her eyes on the back of his neck. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t think it ’ud matter,” he mumbled. “A +fellow with tortoiseshell-rimmed specs asked me, so I told him. How was I to +know—” +</p> + +<p> +His stumbling defence was cut short by the opening of the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Hallo-allo-allo! What ho! What ho!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie was standing in the doorway, beaming ingratiatingly on the family. +</p> + +<p> +The apparition of an entire stranger served to divert the lightning of Mrs. +McCall’s gaze from the unfortunate Washy. Archie, catching it between the +eyes, blinked and held on to the wall. He had begun to regret that he had +yielded so weakly to Lucille’s entreaty that he should look in on the +McCalls and use the magnetism of his personality upon them in the hope of +inducing them to settle the lawsuit. He wished, too, if the visit had to be +paid that he had postponed it till after lunch, for he was never at his +strongest in the morning. But Lucille had urged him to go now and get it over, +and here he was. +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” said Mrs. McCall, icily, “that you must have +mistaken your room.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie rallied his shaken forces. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no. Rather not. Better introduce myself, what? My name’s +Moffam, you know. I’m old Brewster’s son-in-law, and all that sort +of rot, if you know what I mean.” He gulped and continued. +“I’ve come about this jolly old lawsuit, don’t you +know.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. McCall seemed about to speak, but his wife anticipated him. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Brewster’s attorneys are in communication with ours. We do not +wish to discuss the matter.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie took an uninvited seat, eyed the Health Bread on the breakfast table for +a moment with frank curiosity, and resumed his discourse. +</p> + +<p> +“No, but I say, you know! I’ll tell you what happened. I hate to +totter in where I’m not wanted and all that, but my wife made such a +point of it. Rightly or wrongly she regards me as a bit of a hound in the +diplomacy line, and she begged me to look you up and see whether we +couldn’t do something about settling the jolly old thing. I mean to say, +you know, the old bird—old Brewster, you know—is considerably +perturbed about the affair—hates the thought of being in a posish where +he has either got to bite his old pal McCall in the neck or be bitten by +him—and—well, and so forth, don’t you know! How about +it?” He broke off. “Great Scot! I say, what!” +</p> + +<p> +So engrossed had he been in his appeal that he had not observed the presence of +the pie-eating champion, between whom and himself a large potted plant +intervened. But now Washington, hearing the familiar voice, had moved from the +window and was confronting him with an accusing stare. +</p> + +<p> +“<i>He</i> made me do it!” said Washy, with the stern joy a +sixteen-year-old boy feels when he sees somebody on to whose shoulders he can +shift trouble from his own. “That’s the fellow who took me to the +place!” +</p> + +<p> +“What are you talking about, Washington?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m telling you! He got me into the thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean this—this—” Mrs. McCall shuddered. +“Are you referring to this pie-eating contest?” +</p> + +<p> +“You bet I am!” +</p> + +<p> +“Is this true?” Mrs. McCall glared stonily at Archie, “Was it +you who lured my poor boy into that—that—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, absolutely. The fact is, don’t you know, a dear old pal of +mine who runs a tobacco shop on Sixth Avenue was rather in the soup. He had +backed a chappie against the champion, and the chappie was converted by one of +your lectures and swore off pie at the eleventh hour. Dashed hard luck on the +poor chap, don’t you know! And then I got the idea that our little friend +here was the one to step in and save the situash, so I broached the matter to +him. And I’ll tell you one thing,” said Archie, handsomely, +“I don’t know what sort of a capacity the original chappie had, but +I’ll bet he wasn’t in your son’s class. Your son has to be +seen to be believed! Absolutely! You ought to be proud of him!” He turned +in friendly fashion to Washy. “Rummy we should meet again like this! +Never dreamed I should find you here. And, by Jove, it’s absolutely +marvellous how fit you look after yesterday. I had a sort of idea you would be +groaning on a bed of sickness and all that.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a strange gurgling sound in the background. It resembled something +getting up steam. And this, curiously enough, is precisely what it was. The +thing that was getting up steam was Mr. Lindsay McCall. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +The first effect of the Washy revelations on Mr. McCall had been merely to stun +him. It was not until the arrival of Archie that he had had leisure to think; +but since Archie’s entrance he had been thinking rapidly and deeply. +</p> + +<p> +For many years Mr. McCall had been in a state of suppressed revolution. He had +smouldered, but had not dared to blaze. But this startling upheaval of his +fellow-sufferer, Washy, had acted upon him like a high explosive. There was a +strange gleam in his eye, a gleam of determination. He was breathing hard. +</p> + +<p> +“Washy!” +</p> + +<p> +His voice had lost its deprecating mildness. It rang strong and clear. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, pop?” +</p> + +<p> +“How many pies did you eat yesterday?” +</p> + +<p> +Washy considered. +</p> + +<p> +“A good few.” +</p> + +<p> +“How many? Twenty?” +</p> + +<p> +“More than that. I lost count. A good few.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you feel as well as ever?” +</p> + +<p> +“I feel fine.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. McCall dropped his glasses. He glowered for a moment at the breakfast +table. His eye took in the Health Bread, the imitation coffee-pot, the cereal, +the nut-butter. Then with a swift movement he seized the cloth, jerked it +forcibly, and brought the entire contents rattling and crashing to the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“Lindsay!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. McCall met his wife’s eye with quiet determination. It was plain that +something had happened in the hinterland of Mr. McCall’s soul. +</p> + +<p> +“Cora,” he said, resolutely, “I have come to a decision. +I’ve been letting you run things your own way a little too long in this +family. I’m going to assert myself. For one thing, I’ve had all I +want of this food-reform foolery. Look at Washy! Yesterday that boy seems to +have consumed anything from a couple of hundredweight to a ton of pie, and he +has thriven on it! Thriven! I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Cora, but +Washington and I have drunk our last cup of anti-caffeine! If you care to go on +with the stuff, that’s your look-out. But Washy and I are through.” +</p> + +<p> +He silenced his wife with a masterful gesture and turned to Archie. “And +there’s another thing. I never liked the idea of that lawsuit, but I let +you talk me into it. Now I’m going to do things my way. Mr. Moffam, +I’m glad you looked in this morning. I’ll do just what you want. +Take me to Dan Brewster now, and let’s call the thing off, and shake +hands on it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you mad, Lindsay?” +</p> + +<p> +It was Cora Bates McCall’s last shot. Mr. McCall paid no attention to it. +He was shaking hands with Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“I consider you, Mr. Moffam,” he said, “the most sensible +young man I have ever met!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie blushed modestly. +</p> + +<p> +“Awfully good of you, old bean,” he said. “I wonder if +you’d mind telling my jolly old father-in-law that? It’ll be a bit +of news for him!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.<br/> +MOTHER’S KNEE</h2> + +<p> +Archie Moffam’s connection with that devastatingly popular ballad, +“Mother’s Knee,” was one to which he always looked back later +with a certain pride. “Mother’s Knee,” it will be remembered, +went through the world like a pestilence. Scots elders hummed it on their way +to kirk; cannibals crooned it to their offspring in the jungles of Borneo; it +was a best-seller among the Bolshevists. In the United States alone three +million copies were disposed of. For a man who has not accomplished anything +outstandingly great in his life, it is something to have been in a sense +responsible for a song like that; and, though there were moments when Archie +experienced some of the emotions of a man who has punched a hole in the dam of +one of the larger reservoirs, he never really regretted his share in the +launching of the thing. +</p> + +<p> +It seems almost bizarre now to think that there was a time when even one person +in the world had not heard “Mother’s Knee”; but it came fresh +to Archie one afternoon some weeks after the episode of Washy, in his suite at +the Hotel Cosmopolis, where he was cementing with cigarettes and pleasant +conversation his renewed friendship with Wilson Hymack, whom he had first met +in the neighbourhood of Armentières during the war. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you doing these days?” enquired Wilson Hymack. +</p> + +<p> +“Me?” said Archie. “Well, as a matter of fact, there is what +you might call a sort of species of lull in my activities at the moment. But my +jolly old father-in-law is bustling about, running up a new hotel a bit farther +down-town, and the scheme is for me to be manager when it’s finished. +From what I have seen in this place, it’s a simple sort of job, and I +fancy I shall be somewhat hot stuff. How are you filling in the long +hours?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m in my uncle’s office, darn it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Starting at the bottom and learning the business and all that? A noble +pursuit, no doubt, but I’m bound to say it would give me the pip in no +uncertain manner.” +</p> + +<p> +“It gives me,” said Wilson Hymack, “a pain in the thorax. I +want to be a composer.” +</p> + +<p> +“A composer, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie felt that he should have guessed this. The chappie had a distinctly +artistic look. He wore a bow-tie and all that sort of thing. His trousers +bagged at the knees, and his hair, which during the martial epoch of his career +had been pruned to the roots, fell about his ears in luxuriant disarray. +</p> + +<p> +“Say! Do you want to hear the best thing I’ve ever done?” +</p> + +<p> +“Indubitably,” said Archie, politely. “Carry on, old +bird!” +</p> + +<p> +“I wrote the lyric as well as the melody,” said Wilson Hymack, who +had already seated himself at the piano. “It’s got the greatest +title you ever heard. It’s a lallapaloosa! It’s called +‘It’s a Long Way Back to Mother’s Knee.’ How’s +that? Poor, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie expelled a smoke-ring doubtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t it a little stale?” +</p> + +<p> +“Stale? What do you mean, stale? There’s always room for another +song boosting Mother.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, is it boosting Mother?” Archie’s face cleared. “I +thought it was a hit at the short skirts. Why, of course, that makes all the +difference. In that case, I see no reason why it should not be ripe, fruity, +and pretty well all to the mustard. Let’s have it.” +</p> + +<p> +Wilson Hymack pushed as much of his hair out of his eyes as he could reach with +one hand, cleared his throat, looked dreamily over the top of the piano at a +photograph of Archie’s father-in-law, Mr. Daniel Brewster, played a +prelude, and began to sing in a weak, high, composer’s voice. All +composers sing exactly alike, and they have to be heard to be believed. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“One night a young man wandered through the glitter of Broadway:<br/> +His money he had squandered. For a meal he couldn’t pay.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tough luck!” murmured Archie, sympathetically. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“He thought about the village where his boyhood he had spent,<br/> +And yearned for all the simple joys with which he’d been content.” +</p> + +<p> +“The right spirit!” said Archie, with approval. “I’m +beginning to like this chappie!” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t interrupt!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, right-o! Carried away and all that!” +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“He looked upon the city, so frivolous and gay; And,<br/> +as he heaved a weary sigh, these words he then did say:<br/> + It’s a long way back to Mother’s knee,<br/> + Mother’s knee,<br/> + Mother’s knee:<br/> + It’s a long way back to Mother’s knee,<br/> + Where I used to stand and prattle<br/> + With my teddy-bear and rattle:<br/> + Oh, those childhood days in Tennessee,<br/> + They sure look good to me!<br/> +It’s a long, long way, but I’m gonna start to-day!<br/> + I’m going back,<br/> + Believe me, oh!<br/> +I’m going back<br/> + (I want to go!)<br/> +I’m going back—back—on the seven-three<br/> +To the dear old shack where I used to be!<br/> +I’m going back to Mother’s knee!” +</p> + +<p> +Wilson Hymack’s voice cracked on the final high note, which was of an +altitude beyond his powers. He turned with a modest cough. +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll give you an idea of it!” +</p> + +<p> +“It has, old thing, it has!” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it or is it not a ball of fire?” +</p> + +<p> +“It has many of the earmarks of a sound egg,” admitted Archie. +“Of course—” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, it wants singing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just what I was going to suggest.” +</p> + +<p> +“It wants a woman to sing it. A woman who could reach out for that last +high note and teach it to take a joke. The whole refrain is working up to that. +You need Tetrazzini or someone who would just pick that note off the roof and +hold it till the janitor came round to lock up the building for the +night.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must buy a copy for my wife. Where can I get it?” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t get it! It isn’t published. Writing music’s +the darndest job!” Wilson Hymack snorted fiercely. It was plain that the +man was pouring out the pent-up emotion of many days. “You write the +biggest thing in years and you go round trying to get someone to sing it, and +they say you’re a genius and then shove the song away in a drawer and +forget about it.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie lit another cigarette. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m a jolly old child in these matters, old lad,” he said, +“but why don’t you take it direct to a publisher? As a matter of +fact, if it would be any use to you, I was foregathering with a music-publisher +only the other day. A bird of the name of Blumenthal. He was lunching in here +with a pal of mine, and we got tolerably matey. Why not let me tool you round +to the office to-morrow and play it to him?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, thanks. Much obliged, but I’m not going to play that melody in +any publisher’s office with his hired gang of Tin-Pan Alley composers +listening at the keyhole and taking notes. I’ll have to wait till I can +find somebody to sing it. Well, I must be going along. Glad to have seen you +again. Sooner or later I’ll take you to hear that high note sung by +someone in a way that’ll make your spine tie itself in knots round the +back of your neck.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll count the days,” said Archie, courteously. +“Pip-pip!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Hardly had the door closed behind the composer when it opened again to admit +Lucille. +</p> + +<p> +“Hallo, light of my soul!” said Archie, rising and embracing his +wife. “Where have you been all the afternoon? I was expecting you this +many an hour past. I wanted you to meet—” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been having tea with a girl down in Greenwich Village. I +couldn’t get away before. Who was that who went out just as I came along +the passage?” +</p> + +<p> +“Chappie of the name of Hymack. I met him in France. A composer and what +not.” +</p> + +<p> +“We seem to have been moving in artistic circles this afternoon. The girl +I went to see is a singer. At least, she wants to sing, but gets no +encouragement.” +</p> + +<p> +“Precisely the same with my bird. He wants to get his music sung but +nobody’ll sing it. But I didn’t know you knew any Greenwich Village +warblers, sunshine of my home. How did you meet this female?” +</p> + +<p> +Lucille sat down and gazed forlornly at him with her big grey eyes. She was +registering something, but Archie could not gather what it was. +</p> + +<p> +“Archie, darling, when you married me you undertook to share my sorrows, +didn’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely! It’s all in the book of words. For better or for +worse, in sickness and in health, all-down-set-’em-up-in-the-other-alley. +Regular iron-clad contract!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then share ’em!” said Lucille. “Bill’s in love +again!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie blinked. +</p> + +<p> +“Bill? When you say Bill, do you mean Bill? Your brother Bill? My +brother-in-law Bill? Jolly old William, the son and heir of the +Brewsters?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“You say he’s in love? Cupid’s dart?” +</p> + +<p> +“Even so!” +</p> + +<p> +“But, I say! Isn’t this rather—What I mean to say is, the +lad’s an absolute scourge! The Great Lover, what! Also ran, Brigham +Young, and all that sort of thing! Why, it’s only a few weeks ago that he +was moaning brokenly about that vermilion-haired female who subsequently hooked +on to old Reggie van Tuyl!” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s a little better than that girl, thank goodness. All the +same, I don’t think Father will approve.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of what calibre is the latest exhibit?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, she comes from the Middle West, and seems to be trying to be twice +as Bohemian as the rest of the girls down in Greenwich Village. She wears her +hair bobbed and goes about in a kimono. She’s probably read magazine +stories about Greenwich Village, and has modelled herself on them. It’s +so silly, when you can see Hicks Corners sticking out of her all the +time.” +</p> + +<p> +“That one got past me before I could grab it. What did you say she had +sticking out of her?” +</p> + +<p> +“I meant that anybody could see that she came from somewhere out in the +wilds. As a matter of fact, Bill tells me that she was brought up in Snake +Bite, Michigan.” +</p> + +<p> +“Snake Bite? What rummy names you have in America! Still, I’ll +admit there’s a village in England called Nether Wallop, so who am I to +cast the first stone? How is old Bill? Pretty feverish?” +</p> + +<p> +“He says this time it is the real thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what they all say! I wish I had a dollar for every +time—Forgotten what I was going to say!” broke off Archie, +prudently. “So you think,” he went on, after a pause, “that +William’s latest is going to be one more shock for the old dad?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t imagine Father approving of her.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve studied your merry old progenitor pretty closely,” said +Archie, “and, between you and me, I can’t imagine him approving of +anybody!” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t understand why it is that Bill goes out of his way to pick +these horrors. I know at least twenty delightful girls, all pretty and with +lots of money, who would be just the thing for him; but he sneaks away and goes +falling in love with someone impossible. And the worst of it is that one always +feels one’s got to do one’s best to see him through.” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely! One doesn’t want to throw a spanner into the works of +Love’s young dream. It behoves us to rally round. Have you heard this +girl sing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. She sang this afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +“What sort of a voice has she got?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s—loud!” +</p> + +<p> +“Could she pick a high note off the roof and hold it till the janitor +came round to lock up the building for the night?” +</p> + +<p> +“What on earth do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Answer me this, woman, frankly. How is her high note? Pretty +lofty?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then say no more,” said Archie. “Leave this to me, my dear +old better four-fifths! Hand the whole thing over to Archibald, the man who +never lets you down. I have a scheme!” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +As Archie approached his suite on the following afternoon he heard through the +closed door the drone of a gruff male voice; and, going in, discovered Lucille +in the company of his brother-in-law. Lucille, Archie thought, was looking a +trifle fatigued. Bill, on the other hand, was in great shape. His eyes were +shining, and his face looked so like that of a stuffed frog that Archie had no +difficulty in gathering that he had been lecturing on the subject of his latest +enslaver. +</p> + +<p> +“Hallo, Bill, old crumpet!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Hallo, Archie!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m so glad you’ve come,” said Lucille. “Bill is +telling me all about Spectatia.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who?” +</p> + +<p> +“Spectatia. The girl, you know. Her name is Spectatia Huskisson.” +</p> + +<p> +“It can’t be!” said Archie, incredulously. +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” growled Bill. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, how could it?” said Archie, appealing to him as a reasonable +man. “I mean to say! Spectatia Huskisson! I gravely doubt whether there +is such a name.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s wrong with it?” demanded the incensed Bill. +“It’s a darned sight better name than Archibald Moffam.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t fight, you two children!” intervened Lucille, firmly. +“It’s a good old Middle West name. Everybody knows the Huskissons +of Snake Bite, Michigan. Besides, Bill calls her Tootles.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pootles,” corrected Bill, austerely. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, Pootles. He calls her Pootles.” +</p> + +<p> +“Young blood! Young blood!” sighed Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you wouldn’t talk as if you were my grandfather.” +</p> + +<p> +“I look on you as a son, laddie, a favourite son!” +</p> + +<p> +“If I had a father like you—!”-“Ah, but you +haven’t, young-feller-me-lad, and that’s the trouble. If you had, +everything would be simple. But as your actual father, if you’ll allow me +to say so, is one of the finest specimens of the human vampire-bat in +captivity, something has got to be done about it, and you’re dashed lucky +to have me in your corner, a guide, philosopher, and friend, full of the +fruitiest ideas. Now, if you’ll kindly listen to me for a +moment—” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been listening to you ever since you came in.” +</p> + +<p> +“You wouldn’t speak in that harsh tone of voice if you knew all! +William, I have a scheme!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“The scheme to which I allude is what Maeterlinck would call a +lallapaloosa!” +</p> + +<p> +“What a little marvel he is!” said Lucille, regarding her husband +affectionately. “He eats a lot of fish, Bill. That’s what makes him +so clever!” +</p> + +<p> +“Shrimps!” diagnosed Bill, churlishly. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know the leader of the orchestra in the restaurant +downstairs?” asked Archie, ignoring the slur. +</p> + +<p> +“I know there <i>is</i> a leader of the orchestra. What about him?” +</p> + +<p> +“A sound fellow. Great pal of mine. I’ve forgotten his +name—” +</p> + +<p> +“Call him Pootles!” suggested Lucille. +</p> + +<p> +“Desist!” said Archie, as a wordless growl proceeded from his +stricken brother-in-law. “Temper your hilarity with a modicum of reserve. +This girlish frivolity is unseemly. Well, I’m going to have a chat with +this chappie and fix it all up.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fix what up?” +</p> + +<p> +“The whole jolly business. I’m going to kill two birds with one +stone. I’ve a composer chappie popping about in the background whose one +ambish. is to have his pet song sung before a discriminating audience. You have +a singer straining at the leash. I’m going to arrange with this egg who +leads the orchestra that your female shall sing my chappie’s song +downstairs one night during dinner. How about it? Is it or is it not a ball of +fire?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not a bad idea,” admitted Bill, brightening visibly. +“I wouldn’t have thought you had it in you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well—” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a capital idea,” said Lucille. “Quite out of the +question, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you know that the one thing Father hates more than anything +else in the world is anything like a cabaret? People are always coming to him, +suggesting that it would brighten up the dinner hour if he had singers and +things, and he crushes them into little bits. He thinks there’s nothing +that lowers the tone of a place more. He’ll bite you in three places when +you suggest it to him!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! But has it escaped your notice, lighting system of my soul, that the +dear old dad is not at present in residence? He went off to fish at Lake +What’s-its-name this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“You aren’t dreaming of doing this without asking him?” +</p> + +<p> +“That was the general idea.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he’ll be furious when he finds out.” +</p> + +<p> +“But will he find out? I ask you, will he?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course he will.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see why he should,” said Bill, on whose plastic mind +the plan had made a deep impression. +</p> + +<p> +“He won’t,” said Archie, confidently. “This wheeze is +for one night only. By the time the jolly old guv’nor returns, bitten to +the bone by mosquitoes, with one small stuffed trout in his suit-case, +everything will be over and all quiet once more along the Potomac. The scheme +is this. My chappie wants his song heard by a publisher. Your girl wants her +voice heard by one of the blighters who get up concerts and all that sort of +thing. No doubt you know such a bird, whom you could invite to the hotel for a +bit of dinner?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know Carl Steinburg. As a matter of fact, I was thinking of writing to +him about Spectatia.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re absolutely sure that <i>is</i> her name?” said +Archie, his voice still tinged with incredulity. “Oh, well, I suppose she +told you so herself, and no doubt she knows best. That will be topping. Rope in +your pal and hold him down at the table till the finish. Lucille, the beautiful +vision on the sky-line yonder, and I will be at another table entertaining +Maxie Blumenthal.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who on earth is Maxie Blumenthal?” asked Lucille. +</p> + +<p> +“One of my boyhood chums. A music-publisher. I’ll get him to come +along, and then we’ll all be set. At the conclusion of the performance +Miss—” Archie winced—“Miss Spectatia Huskisson will be +signed up for a forty weeks’ tour, and jovial old Blumenthal will be +making all arrangements for publishing the song. Two birds, as I indicated +before, with one stone! How about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a winner,” said Bill. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” said Archie, “I’m not urging you. I merely +make the suggestion. If you know a better ’ole go to it!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s terrific!” said Bill. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s absurd!” said Lucille. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear old partner of joys and sorrows,” said Archie, wounded, +“we court criticism, but this is mere abuse. What seems to be the +difficulty?” +</p> + +<p> +“The leader of the orchestra would be afraid to do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ten dollars—supplied by William here—push it over, Bill, old +man—will remove his tremors.” +</p> + +<p> +“And Father’s certain to find out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Am I afraid of Father?” cried Archie, manfully. “Well, yes, +I am!” he added, after a moment’s reflection. “But I +don’t see how he can possibly get to know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course he can’t,” said Bill, decidedly. “Fix it up +as soon as you can, Archie. This is what the doctor ordered.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.<br/> +THE MELTING OF MR. CONNOLLY</h2> + +<p> +The main dining-room of the Hotel Cosmopolis is a decorous place. The lighting +is artistically dim, and the genuine old tapestries on the walls seem, with +their mediaeval calm, to discourage any essay in the riotous. Soft-footed +waiters shimmer to and fro over thick, expensive carpets to the music of an +orchestra which abstains wholly from the noisy modernity of jazz. To Archie, +who during the past few days had been privileged to hear Miss Huskisson +rehearsing, the place had a sort of brooding quiet, like the ocean just before +the arrival of a cyclone. As Lucille had said, Miss Huskisson’s voice was +loud. It was a powerful organ, and there was no doubt that it would take the +cloistered stillness of the Cosmopolis dining-room and stand it on one ear. +Almost unconsciously, Archie found himself bracing his muscles and holding his +breath as he had done in France at the approach of the zero hour, when awaiting +the first roar of a barrage. He listened mechanically to the conversation of +Mr. Blumenthal. +</p> + +<p> +The music-publisher was talking with some vehemence on the subject of Labour. A +recent printers’ strike had bitten deeply into Mr. Blumenthal’s +soul. The working man, he considered, was rapidly landing God’s Country +in the soup, and he had twice upset his glass with the vehemence of his +gesticulation. He was an energetic right-and-left-hand talker. +</p> + +<p> +“The more you give ’em the more they want!” he complained. +“There’s no pleasing ’em! It isn’t only in my business. +There’s your father, Mrs. Moffam!” +</p> + +<p> +“Good God! Where?” said Archie, starting. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, take your father’s case. He’s doing all he knows to +get this new hotel of his finished, and what happens? A man gets fired for +loafing on his job, and Connolly calls a strike. And the building operations +are held up till the thing’s settled! It isn’t right!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a great shame,” agreed Lucille. “I was reading +about it in the paper this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“That man Connolly’s a tough guy. You’d think, being a +personal friend of your father, he would—” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know they were friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“Been friends for years. But a lot of difference that makes. Out come the +men just the same. It isn’t right! I was saying it wasn’t +right!” repeated Mr. Blumenthal to Archie, for he was a man who liked the +attention of every member of his audience. +</p> + +<p> +Archie did not reply. He was staring glassily across the room at two men who +had just come in. One was a large, stout, square-faced man of commanding +personality. The other was Mr. Daniel Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Blumenthal followed his gaze. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, there is Connolly coming in now!” +</p> + +<p> +“Father!” gasped Lucille. +</p> + +<p> +Her eyes met Archie’s. Archie took a hasty drink of ice-water. +</p> + +<p> +“This,” he murmured, “has torn it!” +</p> + +<p> +“Archie, you must do something!” +</p> + +<p> +“I know! But what?” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the trouble?” enquired Mr. Blumenthal, mystified. +</p> + +<p> +“Go over to their table and talk to them,” said Lucille. +</p> + +<p> +“Me!” Archie quivered. “No, I say, old thing, really!” +</p> + +<p> +“Get them away!” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know!” cried Lucille, inspired, “Father promised that you +should be manager of the new hotel when it was built. Well, then, this strike +affects you just as much as anybody else. You have a perfect right to talk it +over with them. Go and ask them to have dinner up in our suite where you can +discuss it quietly. Say that up there they won’t be disturbed by +the—the music.” +</p> + +<p> +At this moment, while Archie wavered, hesitating like a diver on the edge of a +spring-board who is trying to summon up the necessary nerve to project himself +into the deep, a bell-boy approached the table where the Messrs. Brewster and +Connolly had seated themselves. He murmured something in Mr. Brewster’s +ear, and the proprietor of the Cosmopolis rose and followed him out of the +room. +</p> + +<p> +“Quick! Now’s your chance!” said Lucille, eagerly. +“Father’s been called to the telephone. Hurry!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie took another drink of ice-water to steady his shaking nerve-centers, +pulled down his waistcoat, straightened his tie, and then, with something of +the air of a Roman gladiator entering the arena, tottered across the room. +Lucille turned to entertain the perplexed music-publisher. +</p> + +<p> +The nearer Archie got to Mr. Aloysius Connolly the less did he like the looks +of him. Even at a distance the Labour leader had had a formidable aspect. Seen +close to, he looked even more uninviting. His face had the appearance of having +been carved out of granite, and the eye which collided with Archie’s as +the latter, with an attempt at an ingratiating smile, pulled up a chair and sat +down at the table was hard and frosty. Mr. Connolly gave the impression that he +would be a good man to have on your side during a rough-and-tumble fight down +on the water-front or in some lumber-camp, but he did not look chummy. +</p> + +<p> +“Hallo-allo-allo!” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“Who the devil,” inquired Mr. Connolly, “are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“My name’s Archibald Moffam.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s not my fault.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m jolly old Brewster’s son-in-law.” +</p> + +<p> +“Glad to meet you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Glad to meet <i>you</i>,” said Archie, handsomely. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, good-bye!” said Mr. Connolly. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Run along and sell your papers. Your father-in-law and I have business +to discuss.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Private,” added Mr. Connolly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but I’m in on this binge, you know. I’m going to be the +manager of the new hotel.” +</p> + +<p> +“You!” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well!” said Mr. Connolly, noncommittally. +</p> + +<p> +Archie, pleased with the smoothness with which matters had opened, bent forward +winsomely. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, you know! It won’t do, you know! Absolutely no! Not a bit +like it! No, no, far from it! Well, how about it? How do we go? What? Yes? +No?” +</p> + +<p> +“What on earth are you talking about?” +</p> + +<p> +“Call it off, old thing!” +</p> + +<p> +“Call what off?” +</p> + +<p> +“This festive old strike.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not on your—hallo, Dan! Back again?” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Mr. Brewster, looming over the table like a thundercloud, regarded Archie with +more than his customary hostility. Life was no pleasant thing for the +proprietor of the Cosmopolis just now. Once a man starts building hotels, the +thing becomes like dram-drinking. Any hitch, any sudden cutting-off of the +daily dose, has the worst effects; and the strike which was holding up the +construction of his latest effort had plunged Mr. Brewster into a restless +gloom. In addition to having this strike on his hands, he had had to abandon +his annual fishing-trip just when he had begun to enjoy it; and, as if all this +were not enough, here was his son-in-law sitting at his table. Mr. Brewster had +a feeling that this was more than man was meant to bear. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want?” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“Hallo, old thing!” said Archie. “Come and join the +party!” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t call me old thing!” +</p> + +<p> +“Right-o, old companion, just as you say. I say, I was just going to +suggest to Mr. Connolly that we should all go up to my suite and talk this +business over quietly.” +</p> + +<p> +“He says he’s the manager of your new hotel,” said Mr. +Connolly. “Is that right?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose so,” said Mr. Brewster, gloomily. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’m doing you a kindness,” said Mr. Connolly, “in +not letting it be built.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief. The moments were flying, +and it began to seem impossible to shift these two men. Mr. Connolly was as +firmly settled in his chair as some primeval rock. As for Mr. Brewster, he, +too, had seated himself, and was gazing at Archie with a weary repulsion. Mr. +Brewster’s glance always made Archie feel as though there were soup on +his shirt-front. +</p> + +<p> +And suddenly from the orchestra at the other end of the room there came a +familiar sound, the prelude of “Mother’s Knee.” +</p> + +<p> +“So you’ve started a cabaret, Dan?” said Mr. Connolly, in a +satisfied voice. “I always told you you were behind the times +here!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster jumped. +</p> + +<p> +“Cabaret!” +</p> + +<p> +He stared unbelievingly at the white-robed figure which had just mounted the +orchestra dais, and then concentrated his gaze on Archie. +</p> + +<p> +Archie would not have looked at his father-in-law at this juncture if he had +had a free and untrammelled choice; but Mr. Brewster’s eye drew his with +something of the fascination which a snake’s has for a rabbit. Mr. +Brewster’s eye was fiery and intimidating. A basilisk might have gone to +him with advantage for a course of lessons. His gaze went right through Archie +till the latter seemed to feel his back-hair curling crisply in the flames. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this one of your fool-tricks?” +</p> + +<p> +Even in this tense moment Archie found time almost unconsciously to admire his +father-in-law’s penetration and intuition. He seemed to have a sort of +sixth sense. No doubt this was how great fortunes were made. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, as a matter of fact—to be absolutely accurate—it was +like this—” +</p> + +<p> +“Say, cut it out!” said Mr. Connolly. “Can the chatter! I +want to listen.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie was only too ready to oblige him. Conversation at the moment was the +last thing he himself desired. He managed with a strong effort to disengage +himself from Mr. Brewster’s eye, and turned to the orchestra dais, where +Miss Spectatia Huskisson was now beginning the first verse of Wilson +Hymack’s masterpiece. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Miss Huskisson, like so many of the female denizens of the Middle West, was +tall and blonde and constructed on substantial lines. She was a girl whose +appearance suggested the old homestead and fried pancakes and pop coming home +to dinner after the morning’s ploughing. Even her bobbed hair did not +altogether destroy this impression. She looked big and strong and healthy, and +her lungs were obviously good. She attacked the verse of the song with +something of the vigour and breadth of treatment with which in other days she +had reasoned with refractory mules. Her diction was the diction of one trained +to call the cattle home in the teeth of Western hurricanes. Whether you wanted +to or not, you heard every word. +</p> + +<p> +The subdued clatter of knives and forks had ceased. The diners, unused to this +sort of thing at the Cosmopolis, were trying to adjust their faculties to cope +with the outburst. Waiters stood transfixed, frozen, in attitudes of service. +In the momentary lull between verse and refrain Archie could hear the deep +breathing of Mr. Brewster. Involuntarily he turned to gaze at him once more, as +refugees from Pompeii may have turned to gaze upon Vesuvius; and, as he did so, +he caught sight of Mr. Connolly, and paused in astonishment. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Connolly was an altered man. His whole personality had undergone a subtle +change. His face still looked as though hewn from the living rock, but into his +eyes had crept an expression which in another man might almost have been called +sentimental. Incredible as it seemed to Archie, Mr. Connolly’s eyes were +dreamy. There was even in them a suggestion of unshed tears. And when with a +vast culmination of sound Miss Huskisson reached the high note at the end of +the refrain and, after holding it as some storming-party, spent but victorious, +holds the summit of a hard-won redoubt, broke off suddenly, in the stillness +which followed there proceeded from Mr. Connolly a deep sigh. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Huskisson began the second verse. And Mr. Brewster, seeming to recover +from some kind of a trance, leaped to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Great Godfrey!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down!” said Mr. Connolly, in a broken voice. “Sit down, +Dan!” +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“He went back to his mother on the train that very day:<br/> +He knew there was no other who could make him bright and gay:<br/> +He kissed her on the forehead and he whispered, ‘I’ve come +home!’<br/> +He told her he was never going any more to roam.<br/> +And onward through the happy years, till he grew old and grey,<br/> +He never once regretted those brave words he once did say:<br/> +It’s a long way back to mother’s knee—” +</p> + +<p> +The last high note screeched across the room like a shell, and the applause +that followed was like a shell’s bursting. One could hardly have +recognised the refined interior of the Cosmopolis dining-room. Fair women were +waving napkins; brave men were hammering on the tables with the butt-end of +knives, for all the world as if they imagined themselves to be in one of those +distressing midnight-revue places. Miss Huskisson bowed, retired, returned, +bowed, and retired again, the tears streaming down her ample face. Over in a +corner Archie could see his brother-in-law clapping strenuously. A waiter, with +a display of manly emotion that did him credit, dropped an order of new peas. +</p> + +<p> +“Thirty years ago last October,” said Mr. Connolly, in a shaking +voice, “I—” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster interrupted him violently. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll fire that orchestra-leader! He goes to-morrow! I’ll +fire—” He turned on Archie. “What the devil do you mean by +it, you—you—” +</p> + +<p> +“Thirty years ago,” said Mr. Connolly, wiping away a tear with his +napkin, “I left me dear old home in the old country—” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>My</i> hotel a bear-garden!” +</p> + +<p> +“Frightfully sorry and all that, old companion—” +</p> + +<p> +“Thirty years ago last October! ’Twas a fine autumn evening the +finest ye’d ever wish to see. Me old mother, she came to the station to +see me off.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster, who was not deeply interested in Mr. Connolly’s old mother, +continued to splutter inarticulately, like a firework trying to go off. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Ye’ll always be a good boy, Aloysius?’ she said to +me,” said Mr. Connolly, proceeding with, his autobiography. “And I +said: ‘Yes, Mother, I will!’” Mr. Connolly sighed and applied +the napkin again. “’Twas a liar I was!” he observed, +remorsefully. “Many’s the dirty I’ve played since then. +‘It’s a long way back to Mother’s knee.’ ’Tis a +true word!” He turned impulsively to Mr. Brewster. “Dan, +there’s a deal of trouble in this world without me going out of me way to +make more. The strike is over! I’ll send the men back tomorrow! +There’s me hand on it!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster, who had just managed to co-ordinate his views on the situation +and was about to express them with the generous strength which was ever his +custom when dealing with his son-in-law, checked himself abruptly. He stared at +his old friend and business enemy, wondering if he could have heard aright. +Hope began to creep back into Mr. Brewster’s heart, like a shamefaced dog +that has been away from home hunting for a day or two. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll what!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll send the men back to-morrow! That song was sent to guide me, +Dan! It was meant! Thirty years ago last October me dear old +mother—” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster bent forward attentively. His views on Mr. Connolly’s dear +old mother had changed. He wanted to hear all about her. +</p> + +<p> +“’Twas that last note that girl sang brought it all back to me as +if ’twas yesterday. As we waited on the platform, me old mother and I, +out comes the train from the tunnel, and the engine lets off a screech the way +ye’d hear it ten miles away. ’Twas thirty years ago—” +</p> + +<p> +Archie stole softly from the table. He felt that his presence, if it had ever +been required, was required no longer. Looking back, he could see his +father-in-law patting Mr. Connolly affectionately on the shoulder. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Archie and Lucille lingered over their coffee. Mr. Blumenthal was out in the +telephone-box settling the business end with Wilson Hymack. The music-publisher +had been unstinted in his praise of “Mother’s Knee.” It was +sure-fire, he said. The words, stated Mr. Blumenthal, were gooey enough to +hurt, and the tune reminded him of every other song-hit he had ever heard. +There was, in Mr. Blumenthal’s opinion, nothing to stop this thing +selling a million copies. +</p> + +<p> +Archie smoked contentedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Not a bad evening’s work, old thing,” he said. “Talk +about birds with one stone!” He looked at Lucille reproachfully. +“You don’t seem bubbling over with joy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I am, precious!” Lucille sighed. “I was only thinking +about Bill.” +</p> + +<p> +“What about Bill?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it’s rather awful to think of him tied for life to that-that +steam-siren.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, we mustn’t look on the jolly old dark side. +Perhaps—Hallo, Bill, old top! We were just talking about you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Were you?” said Bill Brewster, in a dispirited voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I take it that you want congratulations, what?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want sympathy!” +</p> + +<p> +“Sympathy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sympathy! And lots of it! She’s gone!” +</p> + +<p> +“Gone! Who?” +</p> + +<p> +“Spectatia!” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you mean, gone?” +</p> + +<p> +Bill glowered at the tablecloth. +</p> + +<p> +“Gone home. I’ve just seen her off in a cab. She’s gone back +to Washington Square to pack. She’s catching the ten o’clock train +back to Snake Bite. It was that damned song!” muttered Bill, in a +stricken voice. “She says she never realised before she sang it to-night +how hollow New York was. She said it suddenly came over her. She says +she’s going to give up her career and go back to her mother. What the +deuce are you twiddling your fingers for?” he broke off, irritably. +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry, old man. I was just counting.” +</p> + +<p> +“Counting? Counting what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Birds, old thing. Only birds!” said Archie. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a>CHAPTER XXV.<br/> +THE WIGMORE VENUS</h2> + +<p> +The morning was so brilliantly fine; the populace popped to and fro in so +active and cheery a manner; and everybody appeared to be so absolutely in the +pink, that a casual observer of the city of New York would have said that it +was one of those happy days. Yet Archie Moffam, as he turned out of the +sun-bathed street into the ramshackle building on the third floor of which was +the studio belonging to his artist friend, James B. Wheeler, was faintly +oppressed with a sort of a kind of feeling that something was wrong. He would +not have gone so far as to say that he had the pip—it was more a vague +sense of discomfort. And, searching for first causes as he made his way +upstairs, he came to the conclusion that the person responsible for this +nebulous depression was his wife, Lucille. It seemed to Archie that at +breakfast that morning Lucille’s manner had been subtly rummy. Nothing +you could put your finger on, still—rummy. +</p> + +<p> +Musing thus, he reached the studio, and found the door open and the room empty. +It had the air of a room whose owner has dashed in to fetch his golf-clubs and +biffed off, after the casual fashion of the artist temperament, without +bothering to close up behind him. And such, indeed, was the case. The studio +had seen the last of J. B. Wheeler for that day: but Archie, not realising this +and feeling that a chat with Mr. Wheeler, who was a light-hearted bird, was +what he needed this morning, sat down to wait. After a few moments, his gaze, +straying over the room, encountered a handsomely framed picture, and he went +across to take a look at it. +</p> + +<p> +J. B. Wheeler was an artist who made a large annual income as an illustrator +for the magazines, and it was a surprise to Archie to find that he also went in +for this kind of thing. For the picture, dashingly painted in oils, represented +a comfortably plump young woman who, from her rather weak-minded simper and the +fact that she wore absolutely nothing except a small dove on her left shoulder, +was plainly intended to be the goddess Venus. Archie was not much of a lad +around the picture-galleries, but he knew enough about Art to recognise Venus +when he saw her; though once or twice, it is true, artists had double-crossed +him by ringing in some such title as “Day Dreams,” or “When +the Heart is Young.” +</p> + +<p> +He inspected this picture for awhile, then, returning to his seat, lit a +cigarette and began to meditate on Lucille once more. “Yes, the dear girl +had been rummy at breakfast. She had not exactly said anything or done anything +out of the ordinary; but—well, you know how it is. We husbands, we lads +of the for-better-or-for-worse brigade, we learn to pierce the mask. There had +been in Lucille’s manner that curious, strained sweetness which comes to +women whose husbands have failed to match the piece of silk or forgotten to +post an important letter. If his conscience had not been as clear as crystal, +Archie would have said that that was what must have been the matter. But, when +Lucille wrote letters, she just stepped out of the suite and dropped them in +the mail-chute attached to the elevator. It couldn’t be that. And he +couldn’t have forgotten anything else, because—” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh my sainted aunt!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie’s cigarette smouldered, neglected, between his fingers. His jaw +had fallen and his eyes were staring glassily before him. He was appalled. His +memory was weak, he knew; but never before had it let him down so scurvily as +this. This was a record. It stood in a class by itself, printed in red ink and +marked with a star, as the bloomer of a lifetime. For a man may forget many +things: he may forget his name, his umbrella, his nationality, his spats, and +the friends of his youth: but there is one thing which your married man, your +in-sickness-and-in-health lizard must not forget: and that is the anniversary +of his wedding-day. +</p> + +<p> +Remorse swept over Archie like a wave. His heart bled for Lucille. No wonder +the poor girl had been rummy at breakfast. What girl wouldn’t be rummy at +breakfast, tied for life to a ghastly outsider like himself? He groaned +hollowly, and sagged forlornly in his chair: and, as he did so, the Venus +caught his eye. For it was an eye-catching picture. You might like it or +dislike it, but you could not ignore it. +</p> + +<p> +As a strong swimmer shoots to the surface after a high dive, Archie’s +soul rose suddenly from the depths to which it had descended. He did not often +get inspirations, but he got one now. Hope dawned with a jerk. The one way out +had presented itself to him. A rich present! That was the wheeze. If he +returned to her bearing a rich present, he might, with the help of Heaven and a +face of brass, succeed in making her believe that he had merely pretended to +forget the vital date in order to enhance the surprise. +</p> + +<p> +It was a scheme. Like some great general forming his plan of campaign on the +eve of battle, Archie had the whole binge neatly worked out inside a minute. He +scribbled a note to Mr. Wheeler, explaining the situation and promising +reasonable payment on the instalment system; then, placing the note in a +conspicuous position on the easel, he leaped to the telephone: and presently +found himself connected with Lucille’s room at the Cosmopolis. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo, darling,” he cooed. +</p> + +<p> +There was a slight pause at the other end of the wire. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, hullo, Archie!” +</p> + +<p> +Lucille’s voice was dull and listless, and Archie’s experienced ear +could detect that she had been crying. He raised his right foot, and kicked +himself indignantly on the left ankle. +</p> + +<p> +“Many happy returns of the day, old thing!” +</p> + +<p> +A muffled sob floated over the wire. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you only just remembered?” said Lucille in a small voice. +</p> + +<p> +Archie, bracing himself up, cackled gleefully into the receiver. +</p> + +<p> +“Did I take you in, light of my home? Do you mean to say you really +thought I had forgotten? For Heaven’s sake!” +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t say a word at breakfast.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, but that was all part of the devilish cunning. I hadn’t got a +present for you then. At least, I didn’t know whether it was +ready.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Archie, you darling!” Lucille’s voice had lost its +crushed melancholy. She trilled like a thrush, or a linnet, or any bird that +goes in largely for trilling. “Have you really got me a present?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s here now. The dickens of a fruity picture. One of J. B. +Wheeler’s things. You’ll like it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I know I shall. I love his work. You are an angel. We’ll hang +it over the piano.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll be round with it in something under three ticks, star of my +soul. I’ll take a taxi.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, do hurry! I want to hug you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Right-o!” said Archie. “I’ll take two taxis.” +</p> + +<p> +It is not far from Washington Square to the Hotel Cosmopolis, and Archie made +the journey without mishap. There was a little unpleasantness with the cabman +before starting—he, on the prudish plea that he was a married man with a +local reputation to keep up, declining at first to be seen in company with the +masterpiece. But, on Archie giving a promise to keep the front of the picture +away from the public gaze, he consented to take the job on; and, some ten +minutes later, having made his way blushfully through the hotel lobby and +endured the frank curiosity of the boy who worked the elevator, Archie entered +his suite, the picture under his arm. +</p> + +<p> +He placed it carefully against the wall in order to leave himself more scope +for embracing Lucille, and when the joyful reunion—or the sacred scene, +if you prefer so to call it, was concluded, he stepped forward to turn it round +and exhibit it. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, it’s enormous,” said Lucille. “I didn’t +know Mr. Wheeler ever painted pictures that size. When you said it was one of +his, I thought it must be the original of a magazine drawing or something +like—Oh!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie had moved back and given her an uninterrupted view of the work of art, +and she had started as if some unkindly disposed person had driven a bradawl +into her. +</p> + +<p> +“Pretty ripe, what?” said Archie enthusiastically. +</p> + +<p> +Lucille did not speak for a moment. It may have been sudden joy that kept her +silent. Or, on the other hand, it may not. She stood looking at the picture +with wide eyes and parted lips. +</p> + +<p> +“A bird, eh?” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“Y—yes,” said Lucille. +</p> + +<p> +“I knew you’d like it,” proceeded Archie with animation, +“You see? you’re by way of being a picture-hound—know all +about the things, and what not—inherit it from the dear old dad, I +shouldn’t wonder. Personally, I can’t tell one picture from another +as a rule, but I’m bound to say, the moment I set eyes on this, I said to +myself ‘What ho!’ or words to that effect, I rather think this will +add a touch of distinction to the home, yes, no? I’ll hang it up, shall +I? ’Phone down to the office, light of my soul, and tell them to send up +a nail, a bit of string, and the hotel hammer.” +</p> + +<p> +“One moment, darling. I’m not quite sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Where it ought to hang, I mean. You see—” +</p> + +<p> +“Over the piano, you said. The jolly old piano.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but I hadn’t seen it then.” +</p> + +<p> +A monstrous suspicion flitted for an instant into Archie’s mind. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, you <i>do</i> like it, don’t you?” he said anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Archie, darling! Of <i>course</i> I do! And it was so sweet of you +to give it to me. But, what I was trying to say was that this picture is +so—so striking that I feel that we ought to wait a little while and +decide where it would have the best effect. The light over the piano is rather +strong.” +</p> + +<p> +“You think it ought to hang in a dimmish light, what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes. The dimmer the—I mean, yes, in a dim light. Suppose we +leave it in the corner for the moment—over there—behind the sofa, +and—and I’ll think it over. It wants a lot of thought, you +know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Right-o! Here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, that will do splendidly. Oh, and, Archie.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think perhaps... Just turn its face to the wall, will you?” +Lucille gave a little gulp. “It will prevent it getting dusty.” +</p> + +<p> +It perplexed Archie a little during the next few days to notice in Lucille, +whom he had always looked on as pre-eminently a girl who knew her own mind, a +curious streak of vacillation. Quite half a dozen times he suggested various +spots on the wall as suitable for the Venus, but Lucille seemed unable to +decide. Archie wished that she would settle on something definite, for he +wanted to invite J. B. Wheeler to the suite to see the thing. He had heard +nothing from the artist since the day he had removed the picture, and one +morning, encountering him on Broadway, he expressed his appreciation of the +very decent manner in which the other had taken the whole affair. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that!” said J. B. Wheeler. “My dear fellow, you’re +welcome.” He paused for a moment. “More than welcome,” he +added. “You aren’t much of an expert on pictures, are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Archie, “I don’t know that you’d +call me an absolute nib, don’t you know, but of course I know enough to +see that this particular exhibit is not a little fruity. Absolutely one of the +best things you’ve ever done, laddie.” +</p> + +<p> +A slight purple tinge manifested itself in Mr. Wheeler’s round and rosy +face. His eyes bulged. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you talking about, you Tishbite? You misguided son of Belial, +are you under the impression that <i>I</i> painted that thing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Wheeler swallowed a little convulsively. +</p> + +<p> +“My fiancée painted it,” he said shortly. +</p> + +<p> +“Your fiancée? My dear old lad, I didn’t know you were engaged. Who +is she? Do I know her?” +</p> + +<p> +“Her name is Alice Wigmore. You don’t know her.” +</p> + +<p> +“And she painted that picture?” Archie was perturbed. “But, I +say! Won’t she be apt to wonder where the thing has got to?” +</p> + +<p> +“I told her it had been stolen. She thought it a great compliment, and +was tickled to death. So that’s all right.” +</p> + +<p> +“And, of course, she’ll paint you another.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not while I have my strength she won’t,” said J. B. Wheeler +firmly. “She’s given up painting since I taught her golf, thank +goodness, and my best efforts shall be employed in seeing that she +doesn’t have a relapse.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, laddie,” said Archie, puzzled, “you talk as though +there were something wrong with the picture. I thought it dashed hot +stuff.” +</p> + +<p> +“God bless you!” said J. B. Wheeler. +</p> + +<p> +Archie proceeded on his way, still mystified. Then he reflected that artists as +a class were all pretty weird and rummy and talked more or less consistently +through their hats. You couldn’t ever take an artist’s opinion on a +picture. Nine out of ten of them had views on Art which would have admitted +them to any looney-bin, and no questions asked. He had met several of the +species who absolutely raved over things which any reasonable chappie would +decline to be found dead in a ditch with. His admiration for the Wigmore Venus, +which had faltered for a moment during his conversation with J. B. Wheeler, +returned in all its pristine vigour. Absolute rot, he meant to say, to try to +make out that it wasn’t one of the ones and just like mother used to +make. Look how Lucille had liked it! +</p> + +<p> +At breakfast next morning, Archie once more brought up the question of the +hanging of the picture. It was absurd to let a thing like that go on wasting +its sweetness behind a sofa with its face to the wall. +</p> + +<p> +“Touching the jolly old masterpiece,” he said, “how about it? +I think it’s time we hoisted it up somewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +Lucille fiddled pensively with her coffee-spoon. +</p> + +<p> +“Archie, dear,” she said, “I’ve been thinking.” +</p> + +<p> +“And a very good thing to do,” said Archie. “I’ve often +meant to do it myself when I got a bit of time.” +</p> + +<p> +“About that picture, I mean. Did you know it was father’s birthday +to-morrow?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why no, old thing, I didn’t, to be absolutely honest. Your revered +parent doesn’t confide in me much these days, as a matter of fact.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it is. And I think we ought to give him a present.” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely. But how? I’m all for spreading sweetness and light, +and cheering up the jolly old pater’s sorrowful existence, but I +haven’t a bean. And, what is more, things have come to such a pass that I +scan the horizon without seeing a single soul I can touch. I suppose I could +get into Reggie van Tuyl’s ribs for a bit, but—I don’t +know—touching poor old Reggie always seems to me rather like potting a +sitting bird.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, I don’t want you to do anything like that. I was +thinking—Archie, darling, would you be very hurt if I gave father the +picture?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I say!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I can’t think of anything else.” +</p> + +<p> +“But wouldn’t you miss it most frightfully?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, of course I should. But you see—father’s +birthday—” +</p> + +<p> +Archie had always thought Lucille the dearest and most unselfish angel in the +world, but never had the fact come home to him so forcibly as now. He kissed +her fondly. +</p> + +<p> +“By Jove!” he exclaimed. “You really are, you know! This is +the biggest thing since jolly old Sir Philip What’s-his-name gave the +drink of water to the poor blighter whose need was greater than his, if you +recall the incident. I had to sweat it up at school, I remember. Sir Philip, +poor old bean, had a most ghastly thirst on, and he was just going to have one +on the house, so to speak, when... but it’s all in the history-books. +This is the sort of thing Boy Scouts do! Well, of course, it’s up to you, +queen of my soul. If you feel like making the sacrifice, right-o! Shall I bring +the pater up here and show him the picture?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I shouldn’t do that. Do you think you could get into his suite +to-morrow morning and hang it up somewhere? You see, if he had the chance +of—what I mean is, if—yes, I think it would be best to hang it up +and let him discover it there.” +</p> + +<p> +“It would give him a surprise, you mean, what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +Lucille sighed inaudibly. She was a girl with a conscience, and that conscience +was troubling her a little. She agreed with Archie that the discovery of the +Wigmore Venus in his artistically furnished suite would give Mr. Brewster a +surprise. Surprise, indeed, was perhaps an inadequate word. She was sorry for +her father, but the instinct of self-preservation is stronger than any other +emotion. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +Archie whistled merrily on the following morning as, having driven a nail into +his father-in-law’s wallpaper, he adjusted the cord from which the +Wigmore Venus was suspended. He was a kind-hearted young man, and, though Mr. +Daniel Brewster had on many occasions treated him with a good deal of +austerity, his simple soul was pleased at the thought of doing him a good turn, +He had just completed his work and was stepping cautiously down, when a voice +behind him nearly caused him to overbalance. +</p> + +<p> +“What the devil?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie turned beamingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Hullo, old thing! Many happy returns of the day!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster was standing in a frozen attitude. His strong face was slightly +flushed. +</p> + +<p> +“What—what—?” he gurgled. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster was not in one of his sunniest moods that morning. The proprietor +of a large hotel has many things to disturb him, and to-day things had been +going wrong. He had come up to his suite with the idea of restoring his shaken +nerve system with a quiet cigar, and the sight of his son-in-law had, as so +frequently happened, made him feel worse than ever. But, when Archie had +descended from the chair and moved aside to allow him an uninterrupted view of +the picture, Mr. Brewster realised that a worse thing had befallen him than a +mere visit from one who always made him feel that the world was a bleak place. +</p> + +<p> +He stared at the Venus dumbly. Unlike most hotel-proprietors, Daniel Brewster +was a connoisseur of Art. Connoisseuring was, in fact, his hobby. Even the +public rooms of the Cosmopolis were decorated with taste, and his own private +suite was a shrine of all that was best and most artistic. His tastes were +quiet and restrained, and it is not too much to say that the Wigmore Venus hit +him behind the ear like a stuffed eel-skin. +</p> + +<p> +So great was the shock that for some moments it kept him silent, and before he +could recover speech Archie had explained. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a birthday present from Lucille, don’t you know.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster crushed down the breezy speech he had intended to utter. +</p> + +<p> +“Lucille gave me—that?” he muttered. +</p> + +<p> +He swallowed pathetically. He was suffering, but the iron courage of the +Brewsters stood him in good stead. This man was no weakling. Presently the +rigidity of his face relaxed. He was himself again. Of all things in the world +he loved his daughter most, and if, in whatever mood of temporary insanity, she +had brought herself to suppose that this beastly daub was the sort of thing he +would like for a birthday present, he must accept the situation like a man. He +would on the whole have preferred death to a life lived in the society of the +Wigmore Venus, but even that torment must be endured if the alternative was the +hurting of Lucille’s feelings. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I’ve chosen a pretty likely spot to hang the thing, +what?” said Archie cheerfully. “It looks well alongside those +Japanese prints, don’t you think? Sort of stands out.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster licked his dry lips and grinned a ghastly grin. +</p> + +<p> +“It does stand out!” he agreed. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap26"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.<br/> +A TALE OF A GRANDFATHER</h2> + +<p> +Archie was not a man who readily allowed himself to become worried, especially +about people who were not in his own immediate circle of friends, but in the +course of the next week he was bound to admit that he was not altogether easy +in his mind about his father-in-law’s mental condition. He had read all +sorts of things in the Sunday papers and elsewhere about the constant strain to +which captains of industry are subjected, a strain which sooner or later is +only too apt to make the victim go all blooey, and it seemed to him that Mr. +Brewster was beginning to find the going a trifle too tough for his stamina. +Undeniably he was behaving in an odd manner, and Archie, though no physician, +was aware that, when the American business-man, that restless, ever-active +human machine, starts behaving in an odd manner, the next thing you know is +that two strong men, one attached to each arm, are hurrying him into the cab +bound for Bloomingdale. +</p> + +<p> +He did not confide his misgivings to Lucille, not wishing to cause her anxiety. +He hunted up Reggie van Tuyl at the club, and sought advice from him. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, Reggie, old thing—present company excepted—have there +been any loonies in your family?” +</p> + +<p> +Reggie stirred in the slumber which always gripped him in the early afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +“Loonies?” he mumbled, sleepily. “Rather! My uncle Edgar +thought he was twins.” +</p> + +<p> +“Twins, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Silly idea! I mean, you’d have thought one of my uncle Edgar +would have been enough for any man.” +</p> + +<p> +“How did the thing start?” asked Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“Start? Well, the first thing we noticed was when he began wanting two of +everything. Had to set two places for him at dinner and so on. Always wanted +two seats at the theatre. Ran into money, I can tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +“He didn’t behave rummily up till then? I mean to say, wasn’t +sort of jumpy and all that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not that I remember. Why?” +</p> + +<p> +Archie’s tone became grave. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll tell you, old man, though I don’t want it to go +any farther, that I’m a bit worried about my jolly old father-in-law. I +believe he’s about to go in off the deep-end. I think he’s cracking +under the strain. Dashed weird his behaviour has been the last few days.” +</p> + +<p> +“Such as?” murmured Mr. van Tuyl. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, the other morning I happened to be in his suite—incidentally +he wouldn’t go above ten dollars, and I wanted twenty-five-and he +suddenly picked up a whacking big paper-weight and bunged it for all he was +worth.” +</p> + +<p> +“At you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at me. That was the rummy part of it. At a mosquito on the wall, he +said. Well, I mean to say, do chappies bung paper-weights at mosquitoes? I +mean, is it done?” +</p> + +<p> +“Smash anything?” +</p> + +<p> +“Curiously enough, no. But he only just missed a rather decent picture +which Lucille had given him for his birthday. Another foot to the left and it +would have been a goner.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sounds queer.” +</p> + +<p> +“And, talking of that picture, I looked in on him about a couple of +afternoons later, and he’d taken it down from the wall and laid it on the +floor and was staring at it in a dashed marked sort of manner. That was +peculiar, what?” +</p> + +<p> +“On the floor?” +</p> + +<p> +“On the jolly old carpet. When I came in, he was goggling at it in a sort +of glassy way. Absolutely rapt, don’t you know. My coming in gave him a +start—seemed to rouse him from a kind of trance, you know—and he +jumped like an antelope; and, if I hadn’t happened to grab him, he would +have trampled bang on the thing. It was deuced unpleasant, you know. His manner +was rummy. He seemed to be brooding on something. What ought I to do about it, +do you think? It’s not my affair, of course, but it seems to me that, if +he goes on like this, one of these days he’ll be stabbing someone with a +pickle-fork.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +To Archie’s relief, his father-in-law’s symptoms showed no signs of +development. In fact, his manner reverted to the normal once more, and a few +days later, meeting Archie in the lobby of the hotel, he seemed quite cheerful. +It was not often that he wasted his time talking to his son-in-law, but on this +occasion he chatted with him for several minutes about the big picture-robbery +which had formed the chief item of news on the front pages of the morning +papers that day. It was Mr. Brewster’s opinion that the outrage had been +the work of a gang and that nobody was safe. +</p> + +<p> +Daniel Brewster had spoken of this matter with strange earnestness, but his +words had slipped from Archie’s mind when he made his way that night to +his father-in-law’s suite. Archie was in an exalted mood. In the course +of dinner he had had a bit of good news which was occupying his thoughts to the +exclusion of all other matters. It had left him in a comfortable, if rather +dizzy, condition of benevolence to all created things. He had smiled at the +room-clerk as he crossed the lobby, and if he had had a dollar, he would have +given it to the boy who took him up in the elevator. +</p> + +<p> +He found the door of the Brewster suite unlocked, which at any other time would +have struck him as unusual; but to-night he was in no frame of mind to notice +these trivialities. He went in, and, finding the room dark and no one at home, +sat down, too absorbed in his thoughts to switch on the lights, and gave +himself up to dreamy meditation. +</p> + +<p> +There are certain moods in which one loses count of time, and Archie could not +have said how long he had been sitting in the deep arm-chair near the window +when he first became aware that he was not alone in the room. He had closed his +eyes, the better to meditate, so had not seen anyone enter. Nor had he heard +the door open. The first intimation he had that somebody had come in was when +some hard substance knocked against some other hard object, producing a sharp +sound which brought him back to earth with a jerk. +</p> + +<p> +He sat up silently. The fact that the room was still in darkness made it +obvious that something nefarious was afoot. Plainly there was dirty work in +preparation at the cross-roads. He stared into the blackness, and, as his eyes +grew accustomed to it, was presently able to see an indistinct form bending +over something on the floor. The sound of rather stertorous breathing came to +him. +</p> + +<p> +Archie had many defects which prevented him being the perfect man, but lack of +courage was not one of them. His somewhat rudimentary intelligence had +occasionally led his superior officers during the war to thank God that Great +Britain had a Navy, but even these stern critics had found nothing to complain +of in the manner in which he bounded over the top. Some of us are thinkers, +others men of action. Archie was a man of action, and he was out of his chair +and sailing in the direction of the back of the intruder’s neck before a +wiser man would have completed his plan of campaign. The miscreant collapsed +under him with a squashy sound, like the wind going out of a pair of bellows, +and Archie, taking a firm seat on his spine, rubbed the other’s face in +the carpet and awaited the progress of events. +</p> + +<p> +At the end of half a minute it became apparent that there was going to be no +counter-attack. The dashing swiftness of the assault had apparently had the +effect of depriving the marauder of his entire stock of breath. He was gurgling +to himself in a pained sort of way and making no effort to rise. Archie, +feeling that it would be safe to get up and switch on the light, did so, and, +turning after completing this manoeuvre, was greeted by the spectacle of his +father-in-law, seated on the floor in a breathless and dishevelled condition, +blinking at the sudden illumination. On the carpet beside Mr. Brewster lay a +long knife, and beside the knife lay the handsomely framed masterpiece of J. B. +Wheeler’s fiancée, Miss Alice Wigmore. Archie stared at this collection +dumbly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, what-ho!” he observed at length, feebly. +</p> + +<p> +A distinct chill manifested itself in the region of Archie’s spine. This +could mean only one thing. His fears had been realised. The strain of modern +life, with all its hustle and excitement, had at last proved too much for Mr. +Brewster. Crushed by the thousand and one anxieties and worries of a +millionaire’s existence, Daniel Brewster had gone off his onion. +</p> + +<p> +Archie was nonplussed. This was his first experience of this kind of thing. +What, he asked himself, was the proper procedure in a situation of this sort? +What was the local rule? Where, in a word, did he go from here? He was still +musing in an embarrassed and baffled way, having taken the precaution of +kicking the knife under the sofa, when Mr. Brewster spoke. And there was in, +both the words and the method of their delivery so much of his old familiar +self that Archie felt quite relieved. +</p> + +<p> +“So it’s you, is it, you wretched blight, you miserable +weed!” said Mr. Brewster, having recovered enough breath to be going on +with. He glowered at his son-in-law despondently. “I might have expected +it! If I was at the North Pole, I could count on you butting in!” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I get you a drink of water?” said Archie. +</p> + +<p> +“What the devil,” demanded Mr. Brewster, “do you imagine I +want with a drink of water?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well—” Archie hesitated delicately. “I had a sort of +idea that you had been feeling the strain a bit. I mean to say, rush of modern +life and all that sort of thing—” +</p> + +<p> +“What are you doing in my room?” said Mr. Brewster, changing the +subject. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I came to tell you something, and I came in here and was waiting +for you, and I saw some chappie biffing about in the dark, and I thought it was +a burglar or something after some of your things, so, thinking it over, I got +the idea that it would be a fairly juicy scheme to land on him with both feet. +No idea it was you, old thing! Frightfully sorry and all that. Meant +well!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster sighed deeply. He was a just man, and he could not but realise +that, in the circumstances, Archie had behaved not unnaturally. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well!” he said. “I might have known something would go +wrong.” +</p> + +<p> +“Awfully sorry!” +</p> + +<p> +“It can’t be helped. What was it you wanted to tell me?” He +eyed his son-in-law piercingly. “Not a cent over twenty dollars!” +he said coldly. +</p> + +<p> +Archie hastened to dispel the pardonable error. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it wasn’t anything like that,” he said. “As a +matter of fact, I think it’s a good egg. It has bucked me up to no +inconsiderable degree. I was dining with Lucille just now, and, as we dallied +with the food-stuffs, she told me something which—well, I’m bound +to say, it made me feel considerably braced. She told me to trot along and ask +you if you would mind—” +</p> + +<p> +“I gave Lucille a hundred dollars only last Tuesday.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie was pained. +</p> + +<p> +“Adjust this sordid outlook, old thing!” he urged. “You +simply aren’t anywhere near it. Right off the target, absolutely! What +Lucille told me to ask you was if you would mind—at some tolerably near +date—being a grandfather! Rotten thing to be, of course,” proceeded +Archie commiseratingly, “for a chappie of your age, but there it +is!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster gulped. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to say—?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean, apt to make a fellow feel a bit of a patriarch. Snowy hair and +what not. And, of course, for a chappie in the prime of life like +you—” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to tell me—? Is this true?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely! Of course, speaking for myself, I’m all for it. I +don’t know when I’ve felt more bucked. I sang as I came up +here—absolutely warbled in the elevator. But you—” +</p> + +<p> +A curious change had come over Mr. Brewster. He was one of those men who have +the appearance of having been hewn out of the solid rock, but now in some +indescribable way he seemed to have melted. For a moment he gazed at Archie, +then, moving quickly forward, he grasped his hand in an iron grip. +</p> + +<p> +“This is the best news I’ve ever had!” he mumbled. +</p> + +<p> +“Awfully good of you to take it like this,” said Archie cordially. +“I mean, being a grandfather—” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster smiled. Of a man of his appearance one could hardly say that he +smiled playfully; but there was something in his expression that remotely +suggested playfulness. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear old bean,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Archie started. +</p> + +<p> +“My dear old bean,” repeated Mr. Brewster firmly, “I’m +the happiest man in America!” His eye fell on the picture which lay on +the floor. He gave a slight shudder, but recovered himself immediately. +“After this,” he said, “I can reconcile myself to living with +that thing for the rest of my life. I feel it doesn’t matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“I say,” said Archie, “how about that? Wouldn’t have +brought the thing up if you hadn’t introduced the topic, but, speaking as +man to man, what the dickens WERE you up to when I landed on your spine just +now?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you thought I had gone off my head?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’m bound to say—” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster cast an unfriendly glance at the picture. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I had every excuse, after living with that infernal thing for a +week!” +</p> + +<p> +Archie looked at him, astonished. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, old thing, I don’t know if I have got your meaning exactly, +but you somehow give me the impression that you don’t like that jolly old +work of Art.” +</p> + +<p> +“Like it!” cried Mr. Brewster. “It’s nearly driven me +mad! Every time it caught my eye, it gave me a pain in the neck. To-night I +felt as if I couldn’t stand it any longer. I didn’t want to hurt +Lucille’s feelings, by telling her, so I made up my mind I would cut the +damned thing out of its frame and tell her it had been stolen.” +</p> + +<p> +“What an extraordinary thing! Why, that’s exactly what old Wheeler +did.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is old Wheeler?” +</p> + +<p> +“Artist chappie. Pal of mine. His fiancée painted the thing, and, when I +lifted it off him, he told her it had been stolen. <i>He</i> didn’t seem +frightfully keen on it, either.” +</p> + +<p> +“Your friend Wheeler has evidently good taste.” +</p> + +<p> +Archie was thinking. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, all this rather gets past me,” he said. “Personally, +I’ve always admired the thing. Dashed ripe bit of work, I’ve always +considered. Still, of course, if you feel that way—” +</p> + +<p> +“You may take it from me that I do!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, in that case—You know what a clumsy devil I +am—You can tell Lucille it was all my fault—” +</p> + +<p> +The Wigmore Venus smiled up at Archie—it seemed to Archie with a +pathetic, pleading smile. For a moment he was conscious of a feeling of guilt; +then, closing his eyes and hardening his heart, he sprang lightly in the air +and descended with both feet on the picture. There was a sound of rending +canvas, and the Venus ceased to smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Golly!” said Archie, regarding the wreckage remorsefully. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Brewster did not share his remorse. For the second time that night he +gripped him by the hand. +</p> + +<p> +“My boy!” he quavered. He stared at Archie as if he were seeing him +with new eyes. “My dear boy, you were through the war, were you +not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh? Oh yes! Right through the jolly old war.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was your rank?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, second lieutenant.” +</p> + +<p> +“You ought to have been a general!” Mr. Brewster clasped his hand +once more in a vigorous embrace. “I only hope,” he added +“that your son will be like you!” +</p> + +<p> +There are certain compliments, or compliments coming from certain sources, +before which modesty reels, stunned. Archie’s did. +</p> + +<p> +He swallowed convulsively. He had never thought to hear these words from Daniel +Brewster. +</p> + +<p> +“How would it be, old thing,” he said almost brokenly, “if +you and I trickled down to the bar and had a spot of sherbet?” +</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE END +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INDISCRETIONS OF ARCHIE ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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