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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43071 ***
+
+                           THE ALTERNATIVE
+
+                      By GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON
+
+    Author of "The Husbands of Edith," "The Purple Parasol," "The
+    Flyers," "The Butterfly Man," Etc.
+
+
+    WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
+    By HARRISON FISHER
+
+    A. L. BURT COMPANY
+    PUBLISHERS             NEW YORK
+
+    Copyright, 1909, by
+    DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
+
+    Published, April, 1909
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: "'Agrippa! Come here, sir!'"]
+
+
+
+
+Contents
+
+
+    CHAPTER I THE VAN PYCKES 1
+
+    CHAPTER II A YOUNG LADY ENTERS 26
+
+    CHAPTER III THE AMAZING MARRIAGE 53
+
+    CHAPTER IV THE SECRETARY GOES HOME 78
+
+    CHAPTER V HIS FIRST HOLIDAY 97
+
+
+
+
+Illustrations
+
+
+    "'Agrippa! Come here, sir!'" (_Frontispiece_)
+
+    "'I am Mrs. De Foe's secretary,' she said quietly"
+
+    "He was there. In fact he opened the door and assisted her to
+    alight"
+
+    "Her eyes were closed. He kissed the lids"
+
+
+
+
+THE ALTERNATIVE
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE VAN PYCKES
+
+
+A shrieking wind, thick with the sleety snow that knows no mercy nor
+feels remorse, beat vainly and with savage insolence against the staid
+windows in the lounging room of one of New York's most desirable
+clubs--one of those characteristic homes for college men who were up for
+membership on the day they were born, if one may speak so broadly of the
+virtue that links the early eighteenth-century graduate with his
+great-grandson of the class of 1908. Not to say, of course, that the
+eighteenth-century graduate was so carefully preserved from the biting
+snowstorm as the fellow of to-day, but that he got his learning in the
+ancient halls that now grind out his descendants by the hundred, one way
+or another. It is going much too far to assert that every member of this
+autocratic club had a colonial ancestor in college, but you'd think so
+if you didn't pin him down to an actual confession to the contrary. It
+is likely to be the way with college men who do not owe their degrees to
+certain mushroom institutions in the West, where electricity and
+mechanics are considered to be quite as necessary to a young man's
+equipment as the acquaintance, by tradition, with somebody's
+great-grandaddy, no matter how eminent he may have been in his
+primogenial day.
+
+All of which is neither here nor there. Ancestors for the future are in
+the club this night, enjoying the luxury, the coziness, the warmth, and
+the present good cheer of a great and glorious achievement: they are
+inside of solid walls on this bitter night, eating or tippling, smoking
+or toasting, reading or chatting with small regard for the ancient
+gentlemen who gave their _Alma Mater_ its name, but who, if suddenly
+come to life, would pass away again in a jiffy, not so much through the
+shock of opulence as at the sight of the wicked high-ball.
+
+At one of the windows, overlooking a broad street, stood two elderly
+gentlemen, conversing in no mild tones about the blizzard.
+Straight-backed, dignified gentlemen, they. They kept their hands
+clasped behind their backs, smoked very good cigars instead of cigarets,
+and spoke not of the chorus that gamboled just around a certain corner,
+but of the blizzard that did the same thing--in a less exalted
+manner--around _all_ corners.
+
+A thin, arrogant figure crossed from the hallway doors, his watery green
+eyes sweeping the group of young men at the lower end of the room.
+Evidently the person for whom he was looking was not among them. As he
+was turning toward the two elderly gentlemen in the window, one of the
+joyous spirits of 1908 saw him, and called out:
+
+"Hello, Mr. Van Pycke! Lookin' for Buzzy?"
+
+The thin old gentleman paused. He lifted his nose-glasses and
+deliberately set them upon the bridge of his long, aristocratic,--and we
+must say it,--somewhat rose-tinted nose. Then his slim fingers dropped
+to the end of his neat gray mustache. A coolly impersonal stare sought
+out the speaker.
+
+"Good evening," he said, in the most suave manner possible. No one would
+have suspected that he was unable to recall the name of the youth who
+put the question. "Yes, I rather expected to find Bosworth here. He said
+something about dining here."
+
+"He's upstairs in Peter Palmer's room."
+
+"Thank you. I sha'n't disturb him. Disagreeable night, gentlemen."
+
+The back of his spike-tailed coat confronted the group an instant later;
+he was crossing the room, headed for the gray-heads in the window.
+
+"Good evening, Billings. How are you, Knapp? A beastly night."
+
+The three did not shake hands. They had passed that stage long ago. They
+did nothing that they didn't have to do.
+
+"I was just telling Knapp that it reminds me of the blizzard in--"
+
+"Stop right there, Billings," interrupted Mr. Van Pycke. "It reminds me
+of every blizzard that has happened within my recollection. They're all
+alike--theoretically. A lot of wind, snow, and talk about the poor. Sit
+down here and have your liqueurs with me."
+
+"I'm glad I don't have to go in all this to-night," said little Mr.
+Billings, '59, unconsciously pressing his knees together as he sat down
+at the small table.
+
+"You're getting old, Billings."
+
+"So are you, Van Pycke. Demmit, I'm not more than two years older than
+you. What's more, you have a grown son."
+
+"My dear fellow, Bosworth is only twenty-five. A man doesn't have to be
+a Methuselah to have a grown son. They grow up like weeds. And some of
+them amount to about as much as--ahem! Ahem! Please press that button
+for me, will you, Knapp? I don't see why the devil they always have the
+button on the other side of the table. No, no! I'll sign for them, old
+chap. Don't think of it! Here, boy, let me have the ticket. Mr. Knapp
+rang, but he did it to oblige me. Now, see here, Knapp, I don't like
+that sort of--"
+
+"My dear Van Pycke, permit me! Billings is having his coffee with me.
+It's coming now. I insist on adding the cordial."
+
+"Very well, if you insist. Napoleon brandy with a single drop of
+Curaçao. Mind you,--a single drop, waiter. Ever try that fine old
+brandy, Knapp?"
+
+"I can't afford it," said Knapp, bluntly.
+
+"It's the only kind that I can drink," was all that Van Pycke said,
+lifting his thin eyebrows ever so slightly.
+
+"Yes, it's a rotten night," put in Mr. Billings with excellent haste.
+
+Knapp's face had gone a trifle red.
+
+Down at the other end of the room the "young bucks" were discussing the
+seared trio under the smileless portrait of a college founder. They
+spoke in rather subdued tones, with frequent glances toward the door at
+their left.
+
+"Old Van Pycke is the darndest sponge in the club. He never buys a
+drink, and yet he's always drinking," said one young man.
+
+"His nose shows that all right. I hate a pink nose."
+
+"You'd think he owned the club, the way he treats it," said another.
+
+"Tell me about him," said a new member--from the West. "He's the most
+elegant, the most fastidious gentleman I've ever seen. An old family?"
+
+"Rather! The Van Pyckes are as old as Bowling Green. Some of 'em came
+over in the Ark--or was it the 'Mayflower'?"
+
+"Buzzy came over in the 'Lusitania' last year," ventured one of them.
+
+The self-appointed historian, a drawler with ancestors in Trinity
+churchyard, went on: "Buckets of blue blood in 'em. The old man there is
+the last of his type. His son, Buzzy,--Bosworth Van Pycke,--he's the
+chap who gave the much-talked of supper for Carmen the other night--he's
+really a different sort. Or would be, I should have said, if he had half
+a chance. Buzzy's a good fellow--a regular--"
+
+"You bet he is!" exclaimed two or three approvingly.
+
+"The old man's got queer ideas about Buzzy. He insists on his being a
+regular gentleman."
+
+"Nothing queer in that," interrupted the Westerner.
+
+"Except that he thinks a fellow can't be a gentleman unless he's a
+loafer. He brought Buzzy up with the understanding that it wasn't
+necessary for him to be anything but a Van Pycke. The Van Pycke name,
+and all that sort of rot. It wouldn't be so bad if the old man had
+anything to back it up with. He hasn't a sou markee. That's the
+situation. For the last twenty years he's lived in the clubs, owing
+everybody and always being a gentleman about it. He has a small interest
+in the business of Rubenstein, Rosenthal & Meyer,--logical but not
+lineal descendants of the Van Pyckes who were gentlemen in dread of a
+rainy day,--but he doesn't get much out of it. Five or six thousand a
+year, I'd say. When Buzzy's maternal grandfather died, he left something
+in trust for the boy. Fixed it in such a way that he isn't to have the
+principal until he's fifty. By that time the old man over there will
+have passed in his checks. Catch the point? It was done to keep the
+amiable son-in-law from getting his fingers on the pile and squandering
+it as he squandered two or three other paternal and grand-paternal
+fortunes. Buzzy has about ten thousand a year from the trust fund. I
+know that he pays some of his father's debts--not all of 'em, of course;
+just the embarrassing kind that he hears about from creditors who really
+want their money. In a way, the old man has spoiled Buzzy. He has always
+pounded it into the boy's head that it isn't necessary to work--in fact,
+it's vulgar. When Buzzy first came into the club, two years ago, he was
+insufferable. At college, every one liked him. He was himself when out
+from under the old man's influence. After he left college, he set
+himself up as Van Pycke, gentleman. The old man told him the name was
+worth five millions at least. All he had to do was to wait around a bit
+and he'd have no trouble in marrying that amount or more. Marriage is
+the best business in the world for a gentleman, he argues. I've heard
+him say so myself.
+
+"Well, Buzzy's pretty much of a frivoler, but he isn't a cad. He'd like
+to do right, I'm sure. He didn't get started right, that's all. He goes
+about drinking tea and making love and spending all he has--like a
+gentleman. Just sleeps, eats, and frivols, that's all. He'll never
+amount to a hang. It's a shame, too. He's a darned good sort."
+
+At the little table down the room Van Pycke, senior, was holding forth
+in his most suave, convincing manner.
+
+"Gentlemen, I don't know what New York is coming to. There are not ten
+real gentlemen between the Battery and Central Park. Nothing but money
+grabbers. They don't know how to live. They eat like the devil and drink
+as though they lived in an aquarium; and they say they're New Yorkers."
+
+Mr. Van Pycke's patrician nose was a shade redder than usual. Billings,
+paying no heed to his remarks, was trying to remember how Van Pycke
+looked before his nose was thoroughly pickled. It was a long way back,
+thought Mr. Billings, vaguely.
+
+"I think I'll have a high-ball," said Mr. Van Pycke. "Have something,
+Knapp? Billings? Oh, I remember: you don't drink immediately after
+dinner. Splendid idea, too. I think I'll follow your example, to-night
+at least. I have a rather important--er--engagement, later on." He
+twirled his mustache fondly.
+
+"You'll pursue the fair sex up to the very brink of the grave, Van
+Pycke," grumbled Knapp.
+
+"If you mean my own grave, yes," said the other, calmly. "If you mean
+that I'll pursue any fair sexton to the brink of _her_ grave, you're
+mistaken. I don't like old women. By the way, Knapp, do you happen to
+know Jim Scoville's widow?"
+
+"You mean _young_ Jim Scoville?"
+
+"Certainly. I don't discuss dowagers. Everybody knows the old one. I
+mean the pretty Mrs. Scoville."
+
+"More or less scandal about her, isn't there?" ventured Billings,
+pricking up his ears.
+
+"Not a grain of truth in it, not a grain," retorted Mr. Van Pycke in
+such a way that you had the feeling he wanted you to believe there _was_
+scandal and that he was more or less connected with it. He studied the
+chandelier in a most evasive manner. "Ahem! Do you know her?"
+
+"Only by reputation," said Knapp, with gentle irony.
+
+"I've seen her," said Billings. "At the horse show. Or was it the
+automobile--"
+
+"I was in her box at one and in her tonneau at the other," said Mr. Van
+Pycke, taking the cigar Knapp extended. He glanced at his watch with
+sudden interest. "Yes, I see quite a bit of her. Charming girl--ahem! Of
+course" (punctuating his opinion with deliberate care) "she has been
+talked about, in a way. Lot of demmed old tabbies around town rippin'
+her up the back whenever she turns to look the other way. Old Mrs.
+Scoville is the queen tabby. She hates the young Mrs. Jim like poison.
+And, come to think of it, I don't blame the dowager. Charlotte is one of
+the most attract--"
+
+"Charlotte!" exclaimed Knapp. "Do you call her Charlotte?"
+
+"Certainly!" said Mr. Van Pycke, with a chilly uplifting of his
+eyebrows.
+
+"I thought her name was Laura," said Billings, who read all the gossip
+in the weekly periodicals.
+
+Mr. Van Pycke coughed. There seemed some likelihood of his bursting, the
+fit lasted so long.
+
+"Charlotte is a pet name we have for her," he explained, somewhat
+huskily, when it was over. "Demmed stupid of me!" he was saying to
+himself. "As I said before, I don't blame the old lady. Young Mrs. Jim
+has got five or six of the Scoville millions, and she's showing the
+family how to spend it. Her husband's been dead over two years. She's
+got a perfect right to take notice of other men and to have a bit of fun
+if she takes the notion. Hasn't she? I--I--it wouldn't surprise me at
+all if she were to take a new husband unto herself before long." He
+uttered a very conscious cackle and looked at his watch quite
+suddenly--or past it, rather, for he forgot to open the virtuously
+chased hunting case.
+
+Billings waited a moment. "I hear she is quite devoted to Chauncey De
+Foe,--or is it the other way?"
+
+Mr. Van Pycke took five puffs at his cigar before responding, all the
+while staring at Billings in a perfectly unseeing way.
+
+"I beg pardon? Oh, yes, I see. Not at all, my dear Billings. De Foe
+is--er--you might say, a part of her past. He's out of it, quite. I
+don't mind telling you, he's a--ahem! a damned nuisance, though." This
+time he looked at his watch with considerable asperity. "Half-past
+eight! Where the devil is Bos--I say, Knapp, can you see the length of
+the room? Is he in that crowd over there?"
+
+"No, he isn't," said Knapp, shortly.
+
+"I shall have to telephone up to Palmer's room. I must see him before
+leaving the club. Beastly night, isn't it?"
+
+"Beastly," remarked the two old gentlemen, unconsciously heaving sighs
+of relief as Mr. Van Pycke arose and adjusted his immaculate waistcoat.
+Then he moved away, trimly.
+
+A particularly vicious gust of wind swept up to the windows; the
+fusillade of gritty snowflakes caused the two old men to lift their gaze
+to the panes. Billings arose and peered into the swirling, seething
+street. A phantom-like hansom was passing, a vague, top-heavy thing in
+shifting whites. Two taxicabs crawled humbly up to the club entrance,
+and away again, ghostly in their surrender to the noise of the wind.
+
+Mr. Billings shuddered as he resumed his seat.
+
+"I wonder if Van Pycke imagines that she could even _think_ of marrying
+_him_! Sixty-three, if he's a day!" Mr. Billings had not been thinking
+of the storm while he stood in the window.
+
+"Fine old New York name, Billings," mused Knapp. "You can't tell what
+these women will do to get a name that means something."
+
+Mr. Billings was silent for a long time. Suddenly he stirred himself,
+relighted his cigar, and remarked: "By Jove, hear that wind howling,
+will you! It's really worse than the blizzard of '93." "Billings" was
+not yet a fine old New York name.
+
+The crowd of young fellows at the other end watched Mr. Van Pycke vanish
+through the door. He was peering into his nose-glasses in such a lofty
+manner that one might have believed that he scented something
+disagreeable in every one who passed. As a matter of fact, his sole
+object was to discover his son if possible. For a long time he had
+nourished the conviction that his son would not take the trouble to
+discover him, if he could help it, no matter how close the propinquity.
+Mr. Van Pycke attributed this phase of filial indifference to the
+sublimity of caste. After all, wasn't Bosworth the son of his father,
+and wasn't it quite natural that he should be an improvement on all the
+Van Pyckes who had gone before? What was the sense in having a son if it
+were not to better the breed?
+
+Sometimes, however, Mr. Van Pycke experienced the sickening fear that
+Bosworth avoided him because of a foolish prejudice against the lending
+of money to relatives. There was an admirable counter-irritant, however,
+in Bosworth's assertion that one never got back the money he lent to
+relatives; and, as long as Mr. Van Pycke had known him in a pecuniary
+way, the young man had lived up to this principle by not even suggesting
+the return of a loan. Mr. Van Pycke was very proud of his son. He
+sometimes wished he could see more of him.
+
+Bosworth lived in the club. Van Pycke, senior, had lived there, but was
+now living at one of the other clubs--he would have had some difficulty
+in remembering just which one if suddenly questioned.
+
+"I hope Buzzy isn't going to turn out like the old man," said one of the
+loungers, addressing himself to the crowd.
+
+"Oh, he'll marry rich and go the pace, and the old man will die happy,"
+said another.
+
+"He's hanging around that flossy Mrs. Scoville a good bit these days,"
+observed the drawler. "That's not the best thing in the world for him."
+
+"She's not as bad as she's painted," protested some one.
+
+"My mother says she's the limit," said the drawler.
+
+"That's what my mother says also," argued another, "but it's because
+she's afraid I'll slip up some day and fall a victim to the lady's
+charms. These mothers are a nifty lot. They've got their eyes peeled and
+their ears spread, and they don't give a hang what they say about a
+woman if she's likely to harm sonny-boy."
+
+"Well, say what you please, Mrs. Scoville is as swift as a bullet. She
+carried on to beat the band with Chauncey De Foe long before Jim
+Scoville died, and she's still going it. Everybody talked about it then,
+and people don't forget. My mother says she knows of a dozen of the best
+houses where she is no longer received. I'm sorry that Buzzy has taken
+it into his head to flutter about her flame. He's bound to get a good
+singeing."
+
+"Oh, Buzzy's not such a fool as you think. He's pretty wise to women.
+He's had nothing else to do but to study 'em since he left college."
+
+"But she's always doing some freakish thing to get into the newspapers.
+Next thing you know, Buzzy'll have his name in the paper as taking a
+chimpanzee out to dinner, or being toastmaster at a banquet for French
+poodles. She delights in it, just because it makes people sit up and
+gasp. That sliding down the banister party she gave at her coming-out
+party last spring must have been a ripper. Four or five old ladies who
+couldn't slide down a haystack got mad and went home. They've cut her
+since then."
+
+"Coming-out party?" queried the Westerner. "I thought you said she was a
+widow."
+
+"She is. It was when she came out of mourning."
+
+"I think I'd like to know her," mused the Westerner, his eyes lighting
+up.
+
+"She's very expensive," murmured the drawler, who also would have
+enjoyed an acquaintanceship.
+
+For a few minutes they all seemed to be interested in their own
+thoughts. Finally a youth in a lavender waistcoat and a gray dinner
+jacket broke the silence.
+
+"Gimme a cigaret, Bob."
+
+"Don't you ever _buy_ cigarets, Sticky?" growled the one addressed,
+reluctantly extending his case.
+
+"Sticky" ignored the question. "I wonder if Buzzy's got it into his head
+to get married," he said reflectively.
+
+"She's rich enough," remarked the drawler.
+
+"How about De Foe? He's the bell-cow, isn't he?"
+
+"She's in love with him, that's all. The name of Van Pycke would get her
+into the very heart of the Four Hundred. With Buzzy's patronymic and the
+lamented Jim's millions, she'd be an establishment in herself. And,
+besides, Buzzy's a chap any woman might be proud of as a husband. He's
+good-looking, amusing, popular, and--useless. His habits are unnaturally
+decent. Drinks less than any fellow in the club--except the spooks who
+don't drink at all. Gambles moderately and--"
+
+"Fellows, I believe Buzzy'd make something of himself if he didn't have
+the family name to carry around," burst out "Sticky." "Lemme take a
+cigaret, Bob. Yes, sir; he's got it in him. If the old man was off the
+map, Buzzy'd come to realize that there's something for him to do
+besides marrying for money. The way it is now, he's just got to marry a
+lot of dough. It's cut out for him. That's all he's ever been
+taught,--that's all he grew up for. He's--Sh! Here he is!"
+
+A slender young man, immaculately dressed from tip to toe, approached
+the group. If any feature was out of proportion in this young man's
+face, it was his nose,--or perhaps it was his mouth. His nose was rather
+long and fine,--a typically aristocratic Van Pycke nose, but
+unblooming,--and his mouth was a bit too large for perfect symmetry, you
+might argue. But the one denoted truly patrician blood; the other
+signified no small amount of strength as well as the most engaging good
+nature. That is to say, one could not, by any chance, take him for a
+snob; the mouth quite offset the nose. Mr. Van Pycke has already said he
+was twenty-five. He looked what he was set up to be,--a gentleman, bred
+and born.
+
+More than one of his friends noticed the absence of a certain genial
+smile that usually illumined his face when he joined a party of
+acquaintances. There was something almost suggestive of gloom in his
+eyes. The mobile lips were not spread in the gentle smile they knew so
+well; they were rather studied in their sedateness. His hands were in
+his pockets (which was most unusual), and--yes, his tie was rather
+carelessly knotted.
+
+"Your father's looking for you, Buzzy," said Sticky.
+
+"He is? I thought he was looking for some one when I passed him out
+there just now. Here, waiter, take the orders." He sat upon the edge of
+a table and swung one leg aimlessly while the servant took the orders.
+
+"I'll take a Bronx," he said, after the others had spoken.
+
+The drawler took it upon himself to instruct the waiter to find Mr. Van
+Pycke, senior, and tell him that his son was in the lounge.
+
+"Never mind," countermanded Bosworth, sharply. "I'll look him up
+directly. Beastly night, isn't it?"
+
+Every one said it was. It dawned upon them that Bosworth was not taking
+his first cocktail. It was quite plain that already he had taken
+several. They were unwilling to believe their senses. Buzzy _never_ got
+tight! He always had said it made him dreadfully ill the next day, and a
+man who is ill the next day--in that way--suffers tremendously during
+the period of upheaval in the additional loss of self-respect. Be that
+as it may, he appeared to have forgotten his squeamishness. Young Mr.
+Van Pycke--he of the sleek blond hair and dark gray eyes--was quite
+palpably drunk.
+
+"This is the sixth for me in the last half hour," he remarked, but not
+proudly, as he took up the cocktail. A spoonful or more leaked over the
+top of the glass as he raised it to his lips. "Here's how."
+
+"Six!" exclaimed the drawler. "What's got into you, Buzzy? I thought
+your limit was two."
+
+Buzzy appeared to be thinking. "Two's my limit when I'm perfectly
+sober," he said sagely. He waited a moment. "Say, did you fellers see
+that thing in the paper's mor--this morning about the party?"
+
+"What party?" demanded several.
+
+He looked aggrieved. "Why, there was only one. I haven't heard of
+another. The one at Mrs. Thistlethorpe's. By Jove, that's a--a hard name
+to pronounce. Didn't you see in the papers that they played a new game
+between the Bridge and the pantry? Jus' before supper Mrs. This--Thissus
+Miss--the same one I said before--introduced her new trained dog. It was
+Willy Buttsford. Willy--the silly ass--came into the room on all fours.
+She was leadin' him by a leash. Willy's got such a deuced thin neck that
+her poodle's diamond-studded collar fits'm all right. Then she had him
+beg for candy, roll over an' play dead, jump over her leg, and--say, he
+almost broke his nose doin' that! Awful mess he made of himself,
+slippin' on the rug. He closed the show by tellin' the age of every
+woman present, barkin' the numbers. I thought I'd die of fatigue when he
+gave Mrs. Thisum--ahem!--when he gave _her_ age. He thought it would be
+smart to run it up into the hundreds. The dam' fool barked for three
+quarters of an hour without stoppin'! I never was so disgusted in my
+life. Thass--that's why I'm gettin' full to-night."
+
+"I don't see why _you_ should get full," said Sticky.
+
+"Sticky, you _would_ see if you knew the horrible thought that's been
+botherin' me all day. Mos' dreadful thought."
+
+"What is it?"
+
+"It occurred to me that, next thing I know, I'll be doin' some idiotic
+trick like that. I've got a feelin'--an awful feelin'--that I won't be
+able to get out of it. Some woman'll want me to play a cow, or a goat,
+or a crocodile, sure's your're born, and I'll be _it_. Awful thought!"
+
+Everybody laughed but Bosworth. He flushed and looked very much hurt.
+
+"I'm not foolin', boys," he said quite seriously. "I feel it coming. I
+haven't money enough to tell 'em to go to the devil, and they know it.
+That's the trouble in not havin' money. So, I've made up my mind to
+follow the governor's advice. I'm going to marry it."
+
+"Good boy!" cried the drawler, humoring him.
+
+"Either that or go to work," said Bosworth, slowly, impressively. Again
+they laughed, and again he flushed. "I mean it. I'm either going to
+marry some one who can support me in the latest and most approved
+fashion, or I'm going to chuck the whole business and devote my time to
+solving the labor problem by trying to hold a job somewhere. Twelve
+thousand a year is all right if a chap's working part of the time. He's
+at least earning the interest on what he spends. But twelve thousand
+isn't even pin money in the crowd I'm trying to keep up with."
+
+"I've always said you'd marry a wad as big as the best of 'em," said
+Sticky, greatly encouraged.
+
+"If I don't marry pretty soon, the governor will," mused Buzzy. "The
+Lord knows _he_ won't marry for love or experience. No, gentlemen, you
+can't expect to be much more than a poodle dog on twelve thousand. I had
+to lick a feller at college once for calling me a pup. I'd hate it like
+the deuce if I should live to see his statement proved true. No, I won't
+be a trained dog. I'll get married and pay my debts. And--I say, what
+time's it getting to be? Eight forty-five? Well, I must be on my way."
+
+He swung his leg down from the table, straightened his slender, elegant
+figure with a palpable effort, and smiled his most genial farewells to
+the crowd.
+
+"Rotten night," he said once more.
+
+The drawler took his arm and accompanied him to the door. They were very
+good friends.
+
+"Better stay in to-night, Buzzy," he said.
+
+Bosworth looked at him in haughty surprise.
+
+"You think I'm tight," he retorted. "There, forgive me, old chap; I
+didn't mean to snap you off like that. Le' me tell you about those
+cocktails. I took 'em to brace me up. I'm going to do it to-night." This
+in a whisper.
+
+"Do it? Do what?"
+
+"Ask her!"
+
+"What the dev--Ask who what?"
+
+"I don't know just who yet, but I certainly know what. I'm going to ask
+some one to become Mrs. Van Pycke. There are three of 'em who are
+eligible, according to the governor. He's ding-donged 'em at me for
+three months. I've got a taxicab waiting for me out there. The chances
+are that it'll get stuck in the snow somewhere. That's why I can't say
+which one I'm going to ask. It all depends on which one lives nearest to
+the snowdrift in which we get stuck. They're all the same to me. And I
+think they are to the governor. But, see here, George, I'm not going to
+ask more than one of 'em. If I get turned down to-night, that ends it.
+I'm going to work!"
+
+"I don't wish you any bad luck, Buzzy, but I hope you'll be turned
+down," said his friend, earnestly.
+
+Van Pycke was staring straight before him. His brain seemed clearer when
+he replied. There was a distinctly plaintive note in his voice.
+
+"I wonder if I _could_ make good at work of any kind. Do you suppose any
+one would give me a trial?"
+
+"In a minute, Buzzy! And you would make good. Better stay in to-night.
+Let the--"
+
+"No," said Buzzy, resolutely. "I'm going to try the other thing first.
+That's what I've been trained for. Good night, George. Don't tell the
+fellows, will you? They'll guy me to death. I just wanted you to
+understand that I can't go on as I'm going on twelve thousand a year."
+
+"I quite understand, old boy."
+
+Buzzy held his hand for a moment, looking quite steadily into his eyes.
+"You don't think I'm as useless as the rest of 'em think I am, do you,
+George?"
+
+"God bless you, no! No one thinks that of you!"
+
+"George, I hate a liar," said Buzzy, but his face glowed with a happy
+smile.
+
+In the lobby he met his father.
+
+"Where the devil have you been?" demanded Van Pycke, senior. "Damitall,
+I've wasted half an hour waiting for you."
+
+"I didn't know you were waiting, dad. Why didn't you send in your card?"
+
+"Send in my--why, confound you, Bosworth, I'm a member of this club. Why
+should I send in--"
+
+"Don't lose your temper, dad. I apologize for keeping you waiting. Don't
+let me keep you any longer."
+
+Mr. Van Pycke looked his son over very carefully. A pained expression
+came into his face.
+
+"Bosworth, I am sorry to see you in this condition. It grieves me beyond
+measure. You have never--"
+
+"It's an awful night, isn't it, dad? Can't I give you a lift in my
+taxicab? I see you've got on your overcoat and hat." Bosworth was
+moving toward the clubhouse entrance. The old gentleman resolutely kept
+pace with him.
+
+"That's just what I meant to ask you," said he, with some celerity.
+"I--I can't get a cab of any sort for love or money. It's generous--"
+
+"You can't get much of anything for love in these days, dad, except
+love."
+
+Mr. Van Pycke pondered this while Bosworth got into his coat and hat.
+
+"I am very sorry to see you intox--"
+
+"Dad, I 'm celebrating," said his son, halting just inside the door.
+
+"Celebrating what?"
+
+"My approaching marriage, sir."
+
+Mr. Van Pycke dropped the glove he was pulling on. He went very white,
+except for his nose. That seemed redder by contrast.
+
+"Not--not a chorus girl?" he stammered, his hand shaking as he raised it
+to his brow.
+
+"No, dad. Not yet. I expect to marry some one else first. I'll save the
+other for a rainy day."
+
+"Who--who is it, my boy? Who is it?"
+
+"That, sir, is still a matter of conjecture. I haven't quite got down to
+the point of selecting--"
+
+"You insufferable booby," roared his father. "You gave me a--a dreadful
+shock, sir! Never do that again."
+
+"I thought you'd like to know, sir," said Bosworth, politely. He winked
+gravely at a mahogany doorpost, and motioned for his father to precede
+him through the storm doors.
+
+"By the way," muttered his father, obstructing the way, as if recalling
+something he had forgotten to attend to inside the club, "would you mind
+lending me fifty for a couple of days? I meant to speak to you about it
+in--"
+
+"Will ten do, dad? It's all I have with me, except a tip for the driver.
+We mustn't forget the driver on a night like this." Bosworth was feeling
+in his trousers pocket, no sign of resentment in his face.
+
+"I dare say I can borrow forty from Stone," said the other, readily.
+"No," he went on, after he had pocketed the crumpled bank note and was
+fastening his baby lamb collar close up to his shrivelled throat; "no,
+we can't forget the driver on a night like this. You really won't mind
+dropping me up town, will you, Bosworth? I don't mind walking if you'd
+rather not."
+
+"Come along, governor," said the other, pushing through the doors. "Ah,
+that cold air feels good!" The young man drew in a long, deep breath.
+
+"Good? It might feel good to a polar bear, but I don't see how--"
+
+"Sh! Be careful, dad! Don't let the driver hear you call me a polar
+bear. He wouldn't understand, and it might get into the papers--the very
+thing I'm trying to avoid."
+
+Mr. Van Pycke attributed this remarkable utterance to the cup that
+cheers and befuddles. At best he seldom appreciated or understood
+Bosworth's wit.
+
+The taxicab plowed and sputtered its way through a city block of pelting
+snow before he gave over trying to analyze this latest example. Then he
+broke the silence, in the shrill, chattering tones of one who is very
+cold.
+
+"I don't think I told the driver where he could put me down," he said.
+
+"Eh?" mumbled Bosworth, coming out of a dream. "Oh, I dare say it won't
+matter. I'll tell him when he puts me down."
+
+"But," expostulated his father, from the recesses of the baby lamb, "you
+may be going to--to Harlem." He could think of nothing worse. "I've been
+delayed in keeping my appointment on your account, as it is. It's very
+annoying, Bosworth, that I should be kept waiting a whole hour there in
+the club while you puttered your time away at--"
+
+"Where _do_ you want to get out, dad?" interrupted the scion of the
+house of Van Pycke.
+
+Mr. Van Pycke had been thinking. He was not sure that he wanted Bosworth
+to know just where he was going on this momentous night. It occurred to
+him that the walk of a block would not only throw the young man off the
+track, but might also serve to soften the heart of the lady for whom he
+was risking so much in the shape of health by venturing forth afoot in a
+storm so relentless. Moreover, he could tell her that he had walked all
+the way up from the club, cabless because even the hardiest of drivers
+balked at the prospect. A statement like that, attended by a bushel or
+more of snow in the vestibule where it had been brushed off by the
+butler, ought to convince the lady in mind that his devotion was thinly
+divorced from recklessness. So he told Bosworth that he would get out at
+Mr. Purdwell's house.
+
+The announcement caused Bosworth mentally to eliminate one of the ladies
+from his list. He gave a deep sigh of relief at that. The daughter of
+the shamelessly rich Mr. Purdwell was so homely and so vain that she was
+almost certain to have said "yes"--with all her millions--if he had
+asked her. He remembered that Miss Hebbins, almost as rich and quite as
+eager to get into the Four Hundred, was the next on his list. She lived
+a few blocks farther up the street.
+
+"All right, dad. Just push the button when we get to Purdwell's corner.
+I'm going beyond."
+
+Mr. Van Pycke hesitated for a moment. "Would it be too much trouble for
+you to stop for me on your way down, Bosworth?"
+
+"Not at all, dad." As an afterthought he added: "Something tells me I
+won't be up here long. Can you be ready at half-past ten?"
+
+"I think so," said his father, who had some misgivings.
+
+The taxi struggled bravely along for a couple of blocks. Bosworth was
+dozing comfortably. His father, seized by an unwelcome sense of
+compunction, was turning something over in his mind. In the end, he
+concluded to break a certain piece of news to his son.
+
+"Your mother has been dead for sixteen years, Bosworth."
+
+Bosworth opened his eyes.
+
+"Yes, sir," he said, trying to guess what was coming.
+
+"She was a noble woman, my boy. I--I shall never forget her."
+
+"I loved her," said Bosworth, vaguely.
+
+"I have always said that a man shouldn't marry a second time," proceeded
+Mr. Van Pycke. Bosworth sniffed. Mr. Van Pycke went on: "That is, until
+his first wife has been--er--at rest for fifteen years or more. It's
+only decent."
+
+"I see," said Bosworth, comprehending.
+
+"You do?" demanded his father, a bit upset.
+
+"Who is she, dad?"
+
+Mr. Van Pycke's chin was so far down in the baby lamb that his reply was
+barely audible. "I hope to be able to tell you in the morning--perhaps
+late this evening, my son."
+
+The young man was smiling in his corner of the cab. "Are you quite sure
+you love her, dad?" he asked, without guile.
+
+Mr. Van Pycke coughed.
+
+"Perhaps you'd better wait till morning to tell me that, too," said his
+son, coming to the rescue.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+A YOUNG LADY ENTERS
+
+
+Mr. Van Pycke got down in front of the Purdwell mansion. It must be
+admitted that he almost funked when he opened the door of the cab and
+let in a gust of wind and snow that almost took his breath away. But he
+steeled himself and slipped out into the seething blizzard. He blinked
+around in all directions as the taxicab chortled off into the white
+whirlwind. So dense was the flying snow that he could scarcely see the
+houses on the inner side of the pavement; he was nearly a minute in
+getting his bearings. Then he shuffled off through the great drifts on
+the walk, pointed toward a fashionable apartment building whose lights
+glimmered fantastically against the whistling, shifting screen.
+
+It may be added that Mr. Van Pycke was cursing himself for a fool at
+every wretched step of the way. Never, in all his life, had he seen
+snowdrifts so deep and never so stubborn. He said to himself that he'd
+be d--d if he pay a cent of taxes until civic affairs were administered
+by an assembly that knew enough to keep the sidewalks clear of snow. He
+also experienced the doleful fear that his nose was freezing in spite of
+all that he could do to prevent it.
+
+Bosworth's taxicab floundered heroically on for two blocks. Then it gave
+out and came to a frantic stop, pulsing and throbbing and jerking its
+very vitals out in the effort to go ahead.
+
+"She's stuck, sir," said the driver, opening the door.
+
+"Where are we?" demanded young Mr. Van Pycke. "Please come inside and
+close the door. I hate a draft. That's better. Now we can talk it over.
+Are we lost?"
+
+"Lost, sir? C'tainly not. I know w'ere we are, all right. Only we can't
+budge out of this snowdrift. It's the woist ever."
+
+"I suppose we'll have to sleep here," said Bosworth, resignedly. He was
+comfortably sleepy by this time.
+
+The driver struck a match, the better to inspect his amiable fare. "Not
+if I know myself," he growled. "If you should happen to lose your watch
+while you're in this condition, I'd be jugged for it. I'll take you to
+the Lackaday Hotel in the next block below and turn you over to the
+chambermaids. Come along, pardner. I'll see that you get there all
+right."
+
+Buzzy sat up and glared at him in the darkness. "Strike another match,
+confound you," he commanded. "How the devil am I to see your number?
+Never mind; I sha'n't report your impertinence, after all. I dare say
+you meant well. I am a bit drunk. But I can get along all right by
+myself. You say the Lackaday is back there in the next block?"
+
+"Yes, sir. The number you wanted is about three blocks furder up. If it
+hadn't a been--"
+
+"Let me out. I'll walk back. You--you've taken me past the number I
+wanted."
+
+"The ticket says 714, sir, plain as day," began the driver. "You didn't
+say nothin' about the Lackaday--"
+
+"You're quite right, my man. And you didn't say anything about stopping
+in the middle of the block for the night, did you? Well, there you are!
+That squares us."
+
+He clambered out into the snowdrift and unbuttoned his overcoat. The man
+seemed undecided whether to let him go or to drag him back into the
+vehicle. Bosworth found what he was looking for in his waistcoat pocket.
+He pressed it into the driver's hand.
+
+"I'm sorry it isn't more," he said regretfully. "It may be a dollar, or
+it may be a five, but no matter which it is, it ought to be more. Now
+I'll tell you what I want you to do. If you can't get this thing going
+by 'leven o'clock, I want you to go up to Martin's and have 'em send a
+four-horse sleigh to No. 511. It's the first residence north of the
+Lackaday, and it's the number I've been compelled to select as a last
+resort. Understand?"
+
+"Yes, sir. Martin's livery, sir. I'll attend to everything, sir. Thank
+you, sir."
+
+He stood there in the blinding snow, watching his fare struggle to the
+sidewalk. Then he decided to follow along behind him until the "young
+gent" was safely within the doors of No. 511. He had driven Mr. Van
+Pycke before and he knew that it was not a dollar bill.
+
+Bosworth reached the steps leading up to the rather imposing doorway at
+No. 511. There was a heavy, stubborn iron gate at the foot, which he
+had some difficulty in opening because of the snow. While he was working
+with it, a man came plump up against him. Together they seized upon the
+gate and yanked with all their might and main.
+
+"Thanks," said Buzzy, when it was open.
+
+"Don't thank me," snapped the other. "I'm going in myself."
+
+They mounted the six or eight steps to the storm doors, side by side,
+enveloped in the snow that scuttled around the corner of the big
+Lackaday hotel next door. With a great stamping of boots they floundered
+into the shelter of the outer vestibule.
+
+The light in the hall beyond shone through the glass doors, illuminating
+the box-like coop in which they paused, each selfishly to occupy himself
+in catching his breath and at the same time shake the snow from his
+person. In the act of knocking the snow from the tops of their silk hats
+they glanced up simultaneously, each having arrived at the moment when
+it was convenient for him to inquire into the identity of his fellow
+visitor.
+
+They stared hard for a moment.
+
+"Hello, dad! Are you lost?"
+
+Mr. Van Pycke muttered something into the collar of his coat.
+Fortunately the wind outside was making such a noise that his son did
+not hear the remark.
+
+"Is that you, Bosworth?" he demanded querulously, almost on the instant.
+
+"Yes, sir,--your long lost son. I--I thought I let you out at
+Purdwell's?" Bosworth seemed a bit hazy.
+
+Mr. Van Pycke cleared his throat. "I didn't find any one at home." It
+did not occur to him to ask why Bosworth was there. "So I came up here,
+unexpectedly, mind you. I thought perhaps the weather being so dreadful,
+I'd be sure to find Mrs. Scoville at home. No one would think of going
+out on a night like this."
+
+"Do you suppose the Purdwells went out _without_ thinking?" asked
+Bosworth, innocently.
+
+"Ring the bell," said Mr. Van Pycke, very sharply.
+
+His son found the button with some difficulty, and gave it a violent and
+unintentionally prolonged push. In silence they awaited the response of
+the footman.
+
+"Is your mistress at home, Bellows?" asked Mr. Van Pycke, as the door
+was opened part way to allow the indignant inspection of one who had
+certainly expected beggars.
+
+Bellows, smileless and resourceful individual, seemed a bit uncertain,
+not to say upset. He glanced over his shoulder in a very far from
+imperious manner, apparently expecting the answer to come from the
+softly lighted hallway behind him.
+
+"I'll see, Mr. Van Pycke. Will you step inside?"
+
+"Get a broom, Bellows, and brush off some of this snow."
+
+"Yes, sir." The footman appeared a moment later with a whisk broom.
+"It's a very nawsty night, sir," he informed them jointly as he began
+scattering the snow in all directions. From tip to toe he whisked the
+shivering Mr. Van Pycke, and then turned upon his silent companion. The
+elder slipped into the warm hall, feeling his nose in considerable
+agitation.
+
+"Bellows, come in here and take my coat. By Gad, I wonder if I am likely
+to catch pneumonia."
+
+"In a moment, sir."
+
+"You--you think it likely, Bellows? That suddenly?"
+
+Bosworth stepped inside, and Bellows gently closed the door before
+turning to the distressed Mr. Van Pycke, senior.
+
+"Bellows, is my nose frozen?" demanded that gentleman, in tones faint
+with dread.
+
+"No, sir. It looks to me to be quite warm, sir."
+
+"Is your mistress engaged, Bellows?" inserted Bosworth, quietly. "If she
+is, I'll not trouble you to help me off with my coat."
+
+"I--I think she is, sir. I'll see, however."
+
+"Very odd," said Mr. Van Pycke, senior, as the man disappeared down the
+hall.
+
+"I think there's a dinner going on," said Bosworth, beginning to button
+up his coat.
+
+"No one would go to a dinner on such a night as this," rasped Mr. Van
+Pycke, who knew all of the eleventh-hour habits of society. He took up
+his position over a simmering floor register. "I'm wet to my knees. My
+feet are like ice. I wish that demmed servant would hurry back here and
+get me a hot drink of some sort. Ring the bell there, Bosworth. I'm--I'm
+quite sure I feel something stuffy in my chest. Good God, if it should
+be pneumonia!" His legs trembled violently.
+
+Bosworth did not ring the bell. He was staring thoughtfully at the
+floor, and paid no attention to his father's maunderings. The humor of
+the situation was beginning to sift through his slowly clearing brain.
+
+Bellows returned.
+
+"Mrs. Scoville is at home, and begs the Misters Van Pycke to bear with
+her for a few minutes. She is at dinner with a few guests. In the
+drawing-room there are other guests. You will please to make yourselves
+at home until she leaves the table. The gentlemen are to smoke in the
+drawing-room to-night."
+
+"A crowd?" muttered Bosworth. Then his eyes lighted up with sudden
+relief. "Thank the Lord, I won't have to do it."
+
+"Do what?" demanded his father.
+
+Bosworth's wits were keener. "Go out into the storm without something to
+warm me up," he equivocated.
+
+"Bellows, who is in the drawing-room?" asked Mr. Van Pycke, eying the
+door with some curiosity. "They're deuced quiet, whoever they are."
+
+Bellows grew very red in the face and resolutely pressed his lips
+together. He took Mr. Bosworth's overcoat and hat and laid them
+carefully on the Italian hall seat before venturing to reply.
+
+"You can't hear them for the wind, sir," he said.
+
+"Bellows, I'm catching my death," shivered Mr. Van Pycke. "I feel it
+coming. Get me something to drink. My God, look at my shoes! They're
+sopping wet. Bosworth, don't stand there like a clothing store model! I
+must have dry shoes and stockings. I can't--"
+
+"A clothing store model?" murmured the footman, strangely perturbed.
+
+"I can't run the chance of pneumonia at my age," went on Mr. Van Pycke.
+"Bellows, do you suppose there's a dry pair of trousers in the house?
+I'm wet to the knees. I must have shoes. Demmit, Bosworth, do
+something!"
+
+"My dear father, don't look at me. I'm using my trousers. I dare say
+Bellows has an extra suit of livery."
+
+"If you wouldn't mind wearing brown trousers with a yellow stripe down
+the leg, sir," began Bellows.
+
+"Anything," interrupted Mr. Van Pycke, irritably. "But I must also have
+shoes."
+
+Bellows was thoughtful. "I think, sir, that there is an old pair of
+riding boots under the stairs, sir. They belonged to poor Mr. Scoville,
+sir."
+
+"I don't like the idea of wearing other men's shoes--" objected Mr. Van
+Pycke, with an apprehensive glance at his son.
+
+"I don't think it would matter, sir," said Bellows, affably. "Mr.
+Scoville hasn't worn them in two years and a half."
+
+Mr. Van Pycke's look of horror caused Bellows to realize.
+
+"I beg pardon, sir. It would be rather grewsome getting into dead men's
+boots, sir. I never thought--"
+
+"That's undoubtedly what Mr. Van Pycke is contemplating, Bellows," said
+Bosworth, slyly.
+
+"Sir!" snapped Mr. Van Pycke.
+
+Bellows' face lighted with the joy of a great discovery. "I have it,
+sir. If you will wait out here just a few moments, sir, I can have
+trousers, shoes, and stockings. Have you a notion, sir, as to the size?"
+He stood back and looked Mr. Van Pycke over carefully. "I think I can
+fix it, sir."
+
+He departed hastily, closing the drawing-room door behind him. Bosworth
+sat down upon a frail Italian chair and watched his father unbutton his
+shoes while standing on one foot, propped against the wall.
+
+"Dad, he's going to sandbag one of the guests and take off his clothes,"
+the young man said, smiling broadly. His eyes were quite steady now, and
+merry.
+
+"Why are you here, sir?" demanded his father, irrelevantly, suddenly
+remembering that Bosworth had not mentioned his intention to stop at
+Mrs. Scoville's.
+
+The young man was spared the expediency of a reply by the return of
+Bellows, with a pair of trousers over his arm, shoes and stockings in
+his hand. He seemed in some haste to close the drawing-room door behind
+him.
+
+"You can change in the room at the head of the stairs, sir."
+
+Mr. Van Pycke, in his stocking feet, preceded the footman up the stairs,
+treading very tenderly, as if in mortal fear of tacks.
+
+Buzzy twirled his thumbs impatiently. He yawned time and again, and more
+than once cast his glance in the direction of his coat and hat. Never
+before, in any house, had he been required to sit in a reception hall
+until the hostess was ready to receive him elsewhere. He could not
+understand it. Above all places, Mrs. Scoville's, where the freedom of
+the house was usually extended to all who in friendship came.
+
+From behind closed doors--distant closed doors, by the way--came the
+sound of laughter and joyous conversation, faintly audible to the young
+man in the hall.
+
+"I feel like an ass," said young Mr. Van Pycke, probably to the newel
+post, there being nothing else quite so human in sight. Then he leaned
+back with a comfortable smile. "I've virtually tried the three eligibles
+to-night," he mused. "It's a satisfaction to feel that they haven't
+dismissed me in so many words, and it's a relief to feel that they
+haven't had the actual opportunity to accept me. I've done my best. The
+blizzard disposes. I'll see Krosson to-morrow about a place in his
+offices."
+
+Mr. Van Pycke came down stairs even more tenderly than he went up. There
+was a look of pain in his face, and he walked slack-kneed, with his toes
+turned in a trifle. He was wearing a pair of trousers that had been
+constructed for a much larger man, except as to height.
+
+"The shoes are too small and the trousers too big," he groaned. "I'm
+leaving my own up there to be dried out. Bellows says they'll be dry in
+half an hour. I had to put these on for a while. One can't go around
+with--er--nothing on, so to speak."
+
+"I'm trying to think who's in there that wears trousers of that
+size--and shape," murmured Bosworth, surveying his father critically.
+
+"Bah!" rasped the uncomfortable Mr. Van Pycke. "Announce us, Bellows."
+
+Bellows opened the drawing-room door, took a quick peep within, and
+then, standing aside, announced in his most impressive tones:
+
+"Mr. Van Pycke! Mr. Bosworth Van Pycke!"
+
+The two gentlemen stepped into the long, dimly lighted room. Bellows
+disappeared quickly down the hall. Mr. Van Pycke, his sense of dignity
+increased by the desire to offset the only too apparent lack of it,
+advanced into the middle of the room, politely smiling for the benefit
+of a group of ladies and gentlemen congregated at the lower end, near
+the windows. So far as he could see, they were engaged in the vulgar
+occupation known as staring.
+
+Bosworth Van Pycke stopped just inside the door, clapping his hand to
+his forehead. His mouth fell open and his eyes popped wide with
+amazement--almost horror. He sat down suddenly in the nearest chair and
+continued to gaze blankly at the figures down the room. He heard his
+father say "Good evening" twice, but he heard no response from the
+group. His abrupt, incontrollable guffaw of understanding and joy caused
+his now annoyed parent to whirl upon him in surprise.
+
+"Oh, this is rich!" Bosworth was holding his sides, laughing
+immoderately.
+
+"Bosworth!" hissed his father, with a conscious glance at his feet and
+legs. "What the devil amuses you?"
+
+For answer his son strode over and clutched him by the arm, turning him
+around so that he faced the silent, immovable group.
+
+"See that man back there without trousers? The bare-legged, bare-footed
+chap? Well, dad, you've got on his pants."
+
+"Good God!" gasped Mr. Van Pycke, nervously hunting for the bridge of
+his nose with his glasses. "Is the poor fellow naked?"
+
+"Half naked, dad, that's all. Look closely!"
+
+"Sh! Demmit all, boy, he'd knock me down! And the ladies! What the devil
+does he mean, undressing in this bare-faced--"
+
+"Bare-legged, dad." With a fresh laugh he leaned forward and chucked the
+nearest lady under the chin. As she was standing directly in front of
+Van Pycke, senior, that gentleman, in some haste, moved back to avoid
+the retort physical.
+
+"Bosworth! How--how dare you?" he gasped.
+
+"Can't you see, dad? This is the richest thing I've ever known. Don't be
+afraid of 'em. They're wax figures, every one of them!"
+
+Mr. Van Pycke started. Then he stared.
+
+"Well, upon my soul!" he gasped. He repeated this remark four or five
+times during a hasty parade in front of the group, in each instance
+peering rudely and with growing temerity into the pink and white face of
+a surpassingly beautiful lady.
+
+"It seems to me that I recognize this one," he said, with a cackle of
+joy. "I've seen her in Altman's window. 'Pon my soul I have, Bosworth."
+
+"I don't know what Laura's game is, but, by Jove, it's ripping, I'll say
+that for it," said Bosworth, his face beaming. "How many of them are
+there?" He counted. "Fourteen. Seven spiketails and seven directoires.
+Great!"
+
+The two gentlemen withdrew to the upper end of the room, to better the
+effect. From the dining-room, four rooms away, came the more distinct
+sounds of laughter and conversation.
+
+"There is a _real_ party out there," said Bosworth, rubbing his chin
+contemplatively. "I wonder what's up?"
+
+Mr. Van Pycke sat down and twirled his thin mustache, first one side and
+then the other, murmuring "By Jove!" over and over again in a most
+perplexed way. Bosworth stood, with his chin between finger and thumb,
+thoughtfully viewing the inanimate group. For several minutes his face
+indicated the most penetrating contemplation of the exhibit down the
+room. He was still a trifle dizzy, but in no danger of losing his
+attitude of sober reflection.
+
+There were blond ladies and brunettes, old ladies and young ones, and
+some who were neither; all beautifully, elaborately gowned in the latest
+models from Paris. Their starry glass eyes gazed into space with the
+same innocuous stare that baffles all attempts to divert it through
+plate-glass windows. Some were sitting, some were standing. Gentlemen in
+evening clothes, with monocles or opera hats--mostly plebeian persons,
+from Eighth Avenue, you'd say--stood vaguely but stanchly in
+juxtaposition to ladies who paid no heed to them, but who, however, were
+not unique in their abstraction. Fuzzy-mustached gentlemen were they,
+with pink cheeks and iron-clad shoulders. They stared intently but not
+attentively at the chandeliers or the wall-paper, unwinking gallants who
+seemed only conscious of their clothes.
+
+The effect was startling, even grewsome. For five minutes Bosworth
+surveyed the waxy, over-dressed group in profound silence, cudgeling his
+brain for a key to the puzzling exhibition.
+
+"For the life of me," he said at last, "I can't understand it."
+
+"I understand it perfectly," said his father, still somewhat dismayed by
+the steady gaze of the last pair of blue eyes he had encountered. "Mrs.
+Scoville is ordering some new gowns, and the--er--modistes have sent up
+samples. Perfectly clear to me."
+
+"I suppose she's ordering a few suits of men's garments--garments is
+what they say in the clothing stores--to lend variety to her wardrobe,"
+said Bosworth, dryly.
+
+Mr. Van Pycke coughed indulgently. "Bosworth, you shouldn't take so many
+cocktails before--"
+
+"Yes, father," interrupted Bosworth, humbly. "I quite agree with you.
+For a while I thought it might be the cocktails, but now that you see
+them, too, I am very much relieved."
+
+"I am very sorry to see a son of mine--"
+
+"Hello!" said Bosworth, his gaze suddenly encountering a table near the
+fireplace on which were piled a number of small boxes. One could see at
+a glance that they were jeweller's boxes. "Looks like Christmas."
+
+He got up and strode over to the table.
+
+"Christmas is a week off," said Mr. Van Pycke. "What's up? Some one
+coming down the chimney? It wouldn't surprise me, by Jove!"
+
+His son was gazing, as if thunderstruck, at the contents of more than a
+dozen boxes of various sizes. He whistled softly, to best express his
+wonder.
+
+"Great Scott!" he said, after a moment. "There's half a million dollars'
+worth of dog-collars, pendants, tiaras, rings, and--" He was holding up,
+for his father's benefit, a rope of pearls that could not have cost less
+than a hundred thousand dollars. "Take a look at this, dad!"
+
+Mr. Van Pycke made his way painfully to his son's side. "Astounding!" he
+murmured, touching a tiara with respectful fingers.
+
+"Say!"
+
+The two Van Pyckes jumped. The voice that uttered the raucous
+monosyllable was masculine, and it seemed to burst from a spot not far
+removed from their elbows. Bewildered, they stared this way and that in
+quest of the rude owner of that voice.
+
+"Keep your hands off o' them jewels," said the voice, levelly.
+
+Bosworth's indignant gaze discovered the man in the very centre of the
+group of "dummies." The young man experienced a queer shiver of dismay.
+Was he losing his senses?
+
+A pink-cheeked gentleman with a crêpe mustache arose from a chair in the
+extreme background. He leveled a menacing finger, with Bosworth as the
+object of its concern.
+
+"Move back from that table, gents," remarked the vivified object near
+the windows. The Messrs. Van Pycke fell back several paces, still
+staring blankly at the figure.
+
+Bosworth gulped. "Are you--alive?" he demanded, putting his fingers to
+his temple.
+
+"Alive? What do you think I am? A corrupse?" exclaimed the figure.
+
+"I meant to say, are you the only live one in--in the crowd?"
+
+The man looked about him, perplexed. Then he understood. "Oh, you mean
+these freaks? Say, my disguise must be all right. I look like a waxwork,
+do I? I--"
+
+Mr. Van Pycke had recovered his dignity. "What the devil is the meaning
+of all this, sir? Explain yourself."
+
+The man picked his way carefully through the group of wax figures. He
+was a sturdy person whose evening clothes did not fit him, now that one
+observed him carefully. When he was clear of the group, he calmly turned
+back the lapel of his coat, revealing a nickel-plated star.
+
+"Does that star signify anything, gents? It says I'm here on this job,
+that's all. Just to see that nobody walks off with the sparklers. I'm
+from Wilkerson's Private Detective Agency. See? Now, I'd like to know
+when and how you got into this room."
+
+He faced them threateningly.
+
+The Van Pyckes started.
+
+"What do you mean?" exclaimed Bosworth, turning quite red.
+
+"Just what I say, young feller. When did you come in here?"
+
+"You say you are a detective!" sneered Bosworth.
+
+The man from Wilkerson's blinked his eyes suddenly. "I--I guess I
+dropped off to sleep for a couple of minutes. Up for three nights--"
+
+"Do you recognize these trousers?" demanded the young man, pointing to
+his father's ridiculous legs.
+
+The detective peered rather closely. Mr. Van Pycke drew back and glared
+at him through his glasses.
+
+"By thunder, they _don't_ fit him, do they? Say, there's something wrong
+with you guys. Where'd you get them pants, you?"
+
+"Me?" murmured Mr. Van Pycke.
+
+"Yes, _you_!"
+
+"I'll have you pitched from this house, you impertinent scoundrel!"
+roared Mr. Van Pycke, threatened with apoplexy.
+
+"Where'd you get them pants?" repeated the sleuth, steadily. "And them
+shoes! Say, this has a queer look. I'll have to--here! What's the matter
+with you? What you laughin' at? It won't be so blamed funny, young
+feller, let me tell you that. You guys can't--"
+
+"You're a fine detective, you are," laughed Bosworth.
+
+"I'm Doxey, the star man of the agency," retorted the detective,
+angrily.
+
+"It's a wonder my father isn't wearing your trousers, Mr. Doxey. It
+would have been quite as easy, and I really think they'd fit him better
+than they fit you. Don't lose your temper, please. Good detectives never
+lose their tempers. Please remember that. Now, if you'll be good enough
+to cast your eyes upon that shameless person near the cabinet over
+there, you'll--"
+
+"Great Scott!" gasped Mr. Doxey, his eyes bulging.
+
+"That's right! Keep your eye on him. I don't know who your friend is,
+Mr. Doxey, but my father is temporarily inhabiting his trousers--and
+shoes. You must have slept soundly not to have been disturbed when
+Bellows took them off. You'll find--"
+
+"Come off!" growled Doxey. "The old man didn't come here without pants,
+did he? And if he had his own on, what in thunder was he trading with--"
+
+Bosworth held up his hand imperatively.
+
+"Good detectives don't discuss their deductions with--never mind! I
+sha'n't say it. Now, it may interest you to know that we are close
+personal friends of Mrs. Scoville. We--"
+
+"Don't haggle with the demmed scoundrel," protested Mr. Van Pycke,
+vigorously.
+
+"Now, don't get fresh--don't get fresh!" said Mr. Doxey, his fusty black
+mustache coming loose on one side and drooping over his lip.
+
+"Don't bite it!" cautioned Bosworth, hastily. Mr. Doxey stuck it back in
+place with a white kid paw of huge dimensions.
+
+"I am Bosworth Van Pycke, and this is my father, Mr. Van Dieman Van
+Pycke," said Bosworth, bowing very low.
+
+"Van Pycke? Wait a minute. I got a list of the guests here in my pocket.
+I'll see if you're among 'em. If you belong here, why ain't you out
+there eatin' with the rest of 'em?" Mr. Doxey looked up suspiciously
+from the paper he had taken from his coat pocket. "I don't like this
+pants gag. It sounds fishy."
+
+"Fishy?" murmured Mr. Van Pycke. "What the devil does he mean by that,
+Bosworth?"
+
+"It's his way of calling me a liar, dad, that's all."
+
+"Say, there ain't any Van Pyckes on this list. And this is the _correct_
+list, too. The butler gave it to me himself. I--"
+
+Bosworth suddenly lost his playful manner. He was tired of the game.
+
+"That will do, Mr. Doxey. Be good enough to go back to your corner," he
+said coldly. "I mean it. Don't stand there glaring. It has no effect on
+me. I _am_ Mr. Bosworth Van Pycke. I don't blame you for protecting the
+jewels--even from Van Pyckes--but there's nothing more for you to do, so
+far as we are concerned. We are waiting for Mrs. Scoville and her
+guests. And, say, on your way back to your chair--or was it a couch?--be
+good enough to drape a table cover about the limbs of that unfortunate
+person with the bald head--and bald legs, I might add."
+
+Mr. Doxey looked from one to the other with interest, not to say
+curiosity. Something in the young man's manner carried conviction.
+
+"Are you the--the Buzzy Van Pycke who gave the supper for Carmen the
+other--"
+
+"I am," Bosworth interjected. "I didn't see you there, Mr. Doxey."
+
+Mr. Doxey snickered. "My wife wouldn't 'a' stood for me--"
+
+"My good man, there were a number of married men there. All of 'em, no
+doubt, were being shadowed by detectives. I thought perhaps you might
+have got in--but, there! I am tattling. Please sit down, Mr. Doxey."
+
+He threw himself into a comfortable chair and crossed his legs. Then he
+proceeded to light a cigaret.
+
+Mr. Van Pycke, senior, had been sitting for some minutes, a strangely
+preoccupied look in his eyes, his lips twitching as if with pain.
+
+"I guess I'll just set out here," said the detective, looking from one
+to the other shrewdly. "The town's full of those Raffles crooks. How do
+I know--"
+
+"Quite right, Doxey. How could you know? You sleep too soundly."
+
+"If you're what you say you are, why don't you call in the footman to
+identify you?"
+
+"Bellows has already announced us, Mr. Doxey. I'm hanged if I'll ask him
+to do it over again. Now that I think of it, he almost burst while doing
+it. It's not my fault that you did not hear him."
+
+Mr. Doxey looked uncomfortable.
+
+"Well, just keep your hands off from the jewels," he said.
+
+Mr. Van Pycke, senior, spoke for the first time in many minutes. It was
+easy to see where his thoughts had been directed during the trifling
+dialogue. His gaze was attached to the patent-leather shoes he wore.
+
+"I don't see how that demmed dummy ever got into these shoes. They're
+almost killing me. Confound it, Bosworth, don't grin like an ape! You
+are tight, sir,--disgustingly tight!"
+
+"I'll lay you a fiver I'm not so tight as the shoes, dad."
+
+Mr. Doxey snickered. Van Pycke, père, glared at him in a shocked sort of
+way for a moment, and then, disdaining the affront, fell to tenderly
+pressing each of his insteps, very much as if trying to discover a spot
+that had not yet developed a pain.
+
+The detective took a seat where he could watch the two gentlemen and at
+the same time keep an eye on the door through to the dining-room far
+beyond. Bosworth smoked in silence for some time.
+
+"What's the meaning of all this?" he asked, after a while, indicating
+the group of dummies with a comprehensive sweep of his hand.
+
+"I'm not here to answer questions," said Mr. Doxey, succinctly.
+
+"Oh!" said Bosworth.
+
+Mr. Van Pycke stirred restlessly. "By Jove, I think I'll--'I'll have to
+go upstairs and change these shoes for my own, wet or dry. I can't stand
+'em any longer. I dare say my trousers are dry by this time, too." He
+arose with great deliberateness. He took two delicate steps toward the
+hall door; then Mr. Doxey's irritatingly brusque voice brought him up
+with a jerk.
+
+"Hold on, there! None o' that--none o' that! You set right where you
+are, mister. I guess I'll just keep you in plain view for a while. Fine
+work, me lettin' you go upstairs, eh? Fine work, I don't think!"
+
+"Confound you, sir, I'll--" began Mr. Van Pycke, drawing himself to his
+full height with a spasmodic effort that brought its results in pain.
+
+"Sit down, father," advised Bosworth, gently. Mr. Van Pycke sat down.
+"There's some one coming," added his son a moment later. He arose and
+turned toward the portières at the upper end of the room, prepared to
+greet the beautiful Mrs. Scoville.
+
+The portières parted at the bottom. All eyes were lowered. The most
+unamiable looking bulldog that ever crossed man's path protruded his
+squat body into the room, pausing just inside the curtains to survey the
+trio before him in a most disconcertingly pointed manner. His whole body
+seemed to convert itself into a scowl of disapproval.
+
+Bosworth sat down dismayed. His father swore softly and drew his feet a
+bit nearer to the legs of the chair. Both of them knew the dog. They
+knew, moreover, that the only living creature in the whole world exempt
+from peril was the beast's mistress, the fair lady to whom they had come
+to pay coincidental devoirs. All other persons came under the head of
+prey, so far as Agrippa was concerned--Agrippa being the somewhat
+ominous name of the pet.
+
+"How--how does he happen to be loose?" murmured Bosworth, with a side
+glance at the detective.
+
+"Is he dangerous?" asked Mr. Doxey.
+
+"He's a man-eater," said the other, quite uncomfortably.
+
+"Nobody told me about a watchdog."
+
+"Ah, now I understand why he's loose," said Bosworth, promptly. Mr.
+Doxey looked thoughtful for a moment, and then opened his lips to resent
+the imputation, half rising from his chair to obtain greater emphasis in
+his delivery.
+
+Agrippa emitted a prophetic growl. Mr. Doxey resumed his seat in some
+haste.
+
+"Will he bite?" he demanded instead.
+
+"Bite? Hang it all, man, he'll chew us to ribbons if we move. I--I know
+that dog. We don't dare to twiddle until Mrs. Scoville comes in to call
+him off. He's got us treed, that's all there is to it. I wouldn't move
+my little finger for fifty dollars cash. Look at his eyes! Observe the
+size of his incisors!"
+
+"I believe you," said Mr. Doxey, with a belated shudder.
+
+"Demmed outrage!" sputtered Mr. Van Pycke. "Now I _can't_ take them
+off."
+
+Mr. Doxey was seized by an inspiration. He smiled. "Why don't you go
+upstairs and change 'em?" he asked. Mr. Van Pycke moved one foot,
+evidently agitated by a desire to kick Mr. Doxey. Agrippa growled. "Just
+to see if he _will_ bite," added the detective, with a nervous laugh.
+
+"You go to the devil, sir!" grated Mr. Van Pycke, but entirely without
+muscular emotion.
+
+Conversation lagged. For five minutes the three men sat immovable,
+staring with intensely wakeful eyes at the grim figure of Agrippa, who
+had eyes for all of them. He had moved farther into the room, possibly
+for the purpose of indulging in a more or less unobstructed scrutiny of
+the mysterious group of ladies and gentlemen beyond. Agrippa was puzzled
+but not disturbed. He was not what you would call an inquisitive dog.
+
+"I have never been so insulted in my life," said Mr. Van Pycke, without
+raising his voice above a polite monotone.
+
+"Neither have I," said Mr. Doxey.
+
+"You, sir? You are the _insult_, sir. How can you be insulted? It is
+impossible to insult an insult. I won't put up with--"
+
+"Keep cool, father," warned Bosworth. "You came very near to moving your
+leg just then. I warn you."
+
+"I'm quite sure a dog couldn't _add_ anything to the pain I'm already
+suffering from these demmed shoes. Come here, doggie! Nice doggie!" The
+wheedling tones made no impression on Agrippa. "What an unfriendly
+beast!"
+
+The figures in wax down the room were not more rigid than the four
+creatures above--three men and a dog. A little French clock on the
+mantelpiece clicked off the seconds in a more or less sonorous manner;
+Mr. Van Pycke's sighs and the detective's heavy breathing were quite
+plainly distinguishable, even though the wind howled with lusty lungs at
+every window in an effort to monopolize attention.
+
+"I shall have that dog shot the very first thing," mused Mr. Van Pycke
+aloud.
+
+"I guess not," protested Bosworth. "He's a corker. I wouldn't take a
+thousand for him."
+
+Then they shot simultaneous glances of apprehension at each other. Each
+wondered if he had let his cat out of the bag.
+
+Bosworth was quick to say to himself: "I see through the governor's
+game. Well, I'm a dutiful son. I've tried for three of them to-night and
+Fate has been against me. It means that I'm intended for something
+better than matrimony."
+
+Bosworth's father was thinking: "If I don't ask her at once, he'll
+propose. And she'll take him in a second if he does. I'll not give him
+the chance. I'll get it over with inside of five minutes. And I _will_
+kill that demmed dog."
+
+Agrippa pricked up his ears and turned his head ever so slightly in the
+direction of the portières behind him. A moment later the light, quick
+tread of some one was heard in the adjoining room, accompanied by the
+swish of silky garments.
+
+Three pairs of eyes were lifted to the portières. A young woman appeared
+between the heavy silk curtains. For a second she held an attitude of
+polite inquiry. Then a wrinkle of perplexity crept into her smooth,
+white forehead. She looked in surprise from one to the other of the
+motionless gentlemen, ignoring the detective as completely as if he had
+not been there at all.
+
+What surprised her most was the fact that the Messrs. Van Pycke, noted
+as the most courteous of men, remained rooted to their chairs.
+
+"Good evening," said Bosworth, allowing his gaze to stray from her now
+indignant face to the commanding jowl of Agrippa. "Pardon me for not
+arising--pardon all of us, I might say,--but it is quite out of the
+question. By Jove! Do you happen to know Agrippa? If you don't, please
+escape while you can. He's--"
+
+"Agrippa? Oh!" She had a very soft, musical voice. It was doubly
+attractive because of an uncertain quaver that bespoke amazement. "Are
+you Mr. Van Pycke?" She looked at the young man with unmistakable
+interest--or was it curiosity?
+
+"I am Mr. Van Pycke's son," said Bosworth, cautiously inclining his
+head.
+
+The young lady smiled suddenly. "You poor men!" she cried. "Agrippa!
+Come here, sir!"
+
+Agrippa's dominion was ended. He turned to her, a very humble dog. She
+leaned over and boxed his ears with a soft, white hand--but so gently
+that Agrippa would have smiled if he knew how. He did wag his stubby
+tail by way of acknowledgment. "Please don't stir," she said to the
+three appalled observers. "I'll take him away. He's a very naughty dog."
+
+She departed, Agrippa's collar in her fingers. A moment later she
+returned. The three men were standing, but, by curious coincidence, each
+had taken a position behind the chair he had occupied.
+
+"Mrs. Scoville begs me to say that she is sorry to have kept you waiting
+so long, and that she will be down as soon as she has changed her
+gown."
+
+"Her gown?" murmured Bosworth.
+
+"Changing it for what?" muttered Mr. Van Pycke, dreadfully bewildered.
+
+"For a street gown. She's going out, you see."
+
+Mr. Doxey coughed by way of attracting attention. "Do you know these
+gents, Miss Downing?"
+
+The smile deepened in her face. Bosworth never had seen a smile so
+ravishing. He smiled in sympathy, without knowing just why he did it.
+
+"It isn't necessary to watch them any longer," she said very sweetly.
+Mr. Doxey retired to the group near the windows.
+
+"Thanks," said Bosworth, bowing to her.
+
+"Pardon me," said his father, "but I understood Mrs. Scoville was at
+dinner."
+
+"That was some time ago, Mr. Van Pycke," the girl said quickly. "She
+just _had_ to change her gown, you know."
+
+"Spilled something on it?" he queried. "These confounded servants are
+so--"
+
+"Won't you sit down?" she interrupted. Bosworth noted a sudden touch of
+nervousness in her manner. For some reason she bit her lip as she looked
+in the direction of the dummies.
+
+"If you don't mind," mumbled Mr. Van Pycke, "I think I'll go upstairs
+and change my shoes and trousers." He started for the door.
+
+Miss Downing stood aghast--petrified.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE AMAZING MARRIAGE
+
+
+No one opposing him, Mr. Van Pycke carefully made his way to the door
+and disappeared into the hall. Miss Downing continued to stare after him
+for many seconds, plainly perplexed. She was not so transfixed, however,
+that she failed to note the grotesque misfit of his trousers; nor did
+his manner of locomotion escape her attention. Could this hobbling,
+ill-dressed person be the fastidious Van Dieman Van Pycke, of whom she
+had heard so much?
+
+And he was going upstairs to--by the virtue of all the saints, what
+_did_ he mean?
+
+A blush raced into her fair cheek. She turned to young Mr. Van Pycke
+with parted lips, half inclined to smile, half to protest. She found him
+smiling, yes, more than that; he had his hand over his mouth. Plainly,
+he was having a struggle of an inward character.
+
+"I--I don't understand," she murmured, the flush growing.
+
+"And _we_ don't understand," he responded after a moment, waving his
+hand in the direction of the dummies.
+
+She smiled brightly. "You've noticed them?"
+
+"Noticed them?" he repeated. He intended to say more, but a sudden,
+sickening doubt interfered. However, a quick, rather penetrating glance
+reassured him. Mr. Doxey had wrapped a rug about the unfortunate
+gentleman and was now engaged in making room for him behind the Steinway
+grand. The young lady's glance followed Bosworth's.
+
+"What is he doing?" she demanded, starting forward. "Those wax figures
+are not to be disturbed."
+
+Bosworth stayed her with a gesture. "You must not interfere with an
+officer in the discharge of his duty," he said with great gravity.
+
+"But--"
+
+"Please don't pay any attention to him," he pleaded, stepping in front
+of her. "Sit down and tell me about the dummies."
+
+She looked at the door through which Mr. Van Pycke had passed. "Where
+_has_ your father gone, Mr. Van Pycke?"
+
+"Can you keep a secret?"
+
+Her eyes were expressive.
+
+"You'll have to sit down--over here," he went on. "I don't want the
+detective to hear me."
+
+They sat down side by side in a Louis Seize divan. He told her of the
+predicament in which his father had found himself on arrival, and of the
+expedient footman who came to the rescue. Miss Downing stifled her
+laughter three times by successful applications of a handkerchief, but
+the fourth time she failed. If I were not writing of a young lady in a
+drawing-room, I'd tell the truth and say that she shrieked.
+
+"It _is_ droll, isn't it?" he asked, after watching her convulsed face
+for a moment.
+
+"Perfectly killing!" she gasped.
+
+He waited until she had dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief a few
+times and was able to meet his gaze with a certain degree of steadiness.
+Then he remarked: "It's strange that I've never met you before. Are you
+an old friend of Mrs. Scoville's?"
+
+"There isn't any Mrs. Scoville," she said quietly. She was watching his
+face.
+
+He stared. Then he started to his feet in alarm, with a bewildered look
+around the room.
+
+"Can it be that I am in the wrong house?"
+
+"There used to be a Mrs. Scoville here."
+
+"Used to be?"
+
+"But she's Mrs. De Foe now."
+
+She was smiling into his eyes now, so merrily, so frankly, that somehow
+he overcame the immediate impulse to express his consternation by
+leaping a foot or two into the air. Instead of doing anything so utterly
+common, he merely gulped and stared the harder.
+
+"She's--she's gone and got married to Chauncey De Foe?" he murmured, his
+eyes very wide.
+
+"This very night, Mr. Van Pycke," said she, leaning back to see how he
+would take it. His face grew suddenly radiant.
+
+"Oh," he exclaimed, "you don't know how happy you have made me!"
+
+"Happy? You?" she cried, amazed.
+
+"Yes. I--" he caught himself in time. "I'll tell you all about it, but
+not now. Some other day, if I may. Oh, I say, this will fetch the
+governor an awful cropper! Married to-night! Here? In this house?
+Why--why, it must have been in this very room. And those confounded
+dummies were--By Jove!" He stood up and surveyed the inanimate group
+through a seldom used monocle. An intensely thoughtful expression put
+many wrinkles upon his brow, but a sudden burst of understanding cleared
+them away in a jiffy. He beamed. "She's had real dummies at the wedding
+instead of the imitations that society provides. Oh, I say, that's
+sarcasm simplified. It's pretty rough, though, don't you think, Miss
+Downing?"
+
+"It doesn't seem to distress you very deeply, Mr. Van Pycke," she said.
+"But you are wrong in your conclusions. The figures do not represent the
+blockheads of New York society. They are meant to approximate the more
+active of the busybodies now at large. Do you see?"
+
+"I'm hanged if I do."
+
+"You are a very good friend of Mrs. Sco--Mrs. De Foe's, are you not?"
+she demanded.
+
+"A devoted admirer, I swear, or I wouldn't be here to-night."
+
+"Then, I think I may explain the situation to you. Those figures
+represent the society queens who closed their doors against Mrs.
+Scoville last season. The masculine examples represent the satellites of
+those virtuous ladies who profess never to have been found out. Mrs.
+Scoville made out her list of guests last week. She resolved to return
+good for evil. She invited the ladies and their satellites--by mental
+telepathy, I might say. Then she sent the butler over into Eighth Avenue
+with instructions to fetch them here in a moving van. They arrived last
+night, under cover of darkness. They spent the night in this room.
+Shocking, you'd say? That--"
+
+He interrupted, his eyes gleaming. "You mean to say that she rented
+these figures for no other purpose than to pose here as people who cut
+her because--er--because Mrs. Grundy gossiped too fluently? Suffering
+Mo--I should say, good gracious! What an idea!"
+
+"That's it precisely, Mr. Van Pycke. I fancy you know the ladies and
+gentlemen quite well. They treated her abominably last winter. She
+didn't mind it very much, as you know. She's not that sort. People _did_
+talk about her, but her real friends remained true. She thought it would
+be splendid to have her enemies here in just this way. With the
+understanding, of course, that the whole story is to get into the
+newspapers."
+
+He stared harder than ever. "Into the newspapers? Good heavens, you
+don't mean to say she's going to let the papers in on this?"
+
+"Certainly," she said very quietly. "Why not? It will make a beautiful
+story. People invite monkeys to dinner and the papers are not denied the
+facts, are they? They have banquets for dogs and picnics for cats, don't
+they? Some one gave a fashionable supper the other night for the
+three-legged girl in the circus, and some one else followed it up with a
+tea for the four-legged rooster. The papers were full of details. Mrs.
+Scooper and many other ladies gave dinners and balls for a woman who had
+been the favorite of nearly all the masculine crowned heads in Europe,
+and the richly cultivated Mrs. Rankling once included in the list of
+invitations to an author's reading the names of J. Fenimore Cooper and
+Nathaniel Hawthorne. I don't see why Mrs. De Foe's dummies are worse
+than the freaks I've mentioned. Heaven knows they're respectable."
+
+"I like your enthusiasm," he said, but still a little shaken by the
+intelligence.
+
+"Mrs. Sco--Mrs. De Foe is the best, the dearest friend I have in the
+world," said the girl, simply.
+
+Young Mr. Van Pycke was very tactful. He appeared properly impressed. At
+the same time he looked at her with new interest. She seemed very young
+to be calling the former Mrs. Scoville her dearest friend. Somehow, her
+face was vaguely familiar. He wondered where he had seen a photograph of
+her.
+
+"She's a terribly good sort," he agreed, and he meant it. "But, I say,
+this is ripping! Talk about monkey dinners and--why, there's never been
+anything like this! Dummy guests at one's own wedding! It's rich!
+It's--"
+
+She held up her hand, gentle reproof in her eyes. "I can't say that I
+like it, Mr. Van Pycke. I'm only saying I approve of it because she was
+bound to have her own way in spite of the rest of us. But, to be
+perfectly honest, I think that a wedding is something beautifully
+sacred. It should be held sacred in every respect. It seems
+dreadful--But, there, I won't say any more. It's all right, I know.
+Besides, it was not my wedding."
+
+"I quite agree with you. Next to a funeral, a wedding is our most sacred
+ceremony," he said.
+
+"I've never heard you accused of super-sacredness," she said, with a
+little smile.
+
+"But I have very fine feelings," he protested. As an afterthought he
+added, "Sometimes."
+
+She turned her head to look at the portières, apparently anticipating
+sounds from beyond. He had a fine view of her profile. Leaning back in
+the divan, he made the most of the opportunity. It was a very pure,
+gentle face, full of strength and character and sweetness. Hardly the
+face, thought he, of one who had trained for any length of time in the
+set affected by the new Mrs. De Foe. Her hair was dark and fine and came
+low about her temples. It was all her own, he was quite sure, and there
+was an abundance of it. A small ear peeped invitingly out at
+him--somewhat timidly, he felt, as if he were a very wicked person to be
+shunned. Her neck was round and slim, her shoulders white and almost
+velvety in their healthy youthfulness. Somewhat to his amazement, there
+were no bones in evidence; and yet she was slender. He laid this
+phenomenon to perfect health, a condition heretofore regarded as
+perfectly unfeminine. Her cheeks were warm and clear, her lips red and
+almost tremulous in their sweetness; her eyes were--well, he could not
+see them, but he quite certainly remembered that they were blue. The
+nose--a very patrician nose--recalled to his mind one that he had seen
+in a very famous portrait somewhere, sometime. He had a vague
+recollection that it was some one's "Portrait of a Lady." Just as he was
+visually caressing the firm, white chin and throat, she turned upon him
+with a warning "Sh!" He already had decided that she was twenty-one and
+that her white satin evening gown was quite new and very exquisite. His
+intense gaze, caught red-handed, so to speak, confused her. She was not
+used to it: that was plain. He had the grace to look at the portières
+expectantly.
+
+"They are coming," she said, arising at once.
+
+"Can't you tell me more about the wedding?" he asked, standing beside
+her.
+
+"Not now. Later on, perhaps. You _do_ know her well enough to wish her
+happiness, don't you?" She added the last imploringly.
+
+"That's what I came here for--to insure her happiness," he said, smiling
+to himself.
+
+"You knew then?" she whispered in wonder.
+
+"I can't say that I knew that she was going to be married so soon," he
+replied evasively. "As a matter of fact, I didn't have De Foe in mind at
+all."
+
+Men and women, laughing, were approaching through the next room.
+
+"Do I know them?" he asked, nervously adjusting his monocle.
+
+She named a dozen people quickly. He nodded his head after each name.
+They were old friends, all of them.
+
+"And Mr. Rexford," she concluded.
+
+"Rexford? Who's he?"
+
+"He's from Pittsburg," she said, looking away.
+
+He studied the back of her head for a moment. "Oh, I see," he said, with
+a dry laugh.
+
+She faced him. "You are very much mistaken," she said.
+
+Bellows threw back the curtains and a group of very lively persons came
+crowding into the room.
+
+"Hello, Buzzy!" shouted three or four of the men. They had dined
+beautifully. For that matter, so had the ladies. They surrounded him and
+assaulted him verbally. You could have heard them laugh as far down as
+35th Street, if you had been there. (Of course you were not, it being
+such a wretched night.)
+
+Bosworth grinned amiably under the volley of chaff they fired at him. He
+observed that Miss Downing effaced herself. She retired alone to the
+group of dummies. He was not long in wishing that he could be with her
+in that region of peace and rectitude.
+
+"Where's the groom?" he managed to ask, after ten or twelve voices had
+expended themselves in levity--not any of which appealed to his stricken
+bump of humor.
+
+"De Foe? He's changing," said one of the men. "They're leaving for
+Boston to-night."
+
+"Say, Buzzy, what do you think of the waxies?" cried another. "Have you
+seen 'em yet?"
+
+"Think I'm blind, Stockton? Good evening, Mrs. Runway. How do, Mrs.
+Clover."
+
+"I'm surprised you weren't asked, Buzzy," said Mrs. Runway, a blondish
+lady with black eyes and rather darkish skin. "You were such pals."
+
+"Where's your father, Buzzy?" shouted some one.
+
+"He was announced half an hour ago," said another. They all roared.
+Bosworth flushed painfully. There was a strange, new resentment in his
+heart.
+
+"He's changing," he announced coldly, and left them to wonder what he
+meant by the remark.
+
+Mr. Stockton volunteered: "Changing what? His spots or his mind?"
+
+But Bosworth had turned toward the young lady who had effaced herself.
+Somehow he rather rejoiced in the fact that she had forsaken this group
+for another and less objectionable one. Mrs. Runway intercepted him.
+
+"They do say, Buzzy, that you were in love with her," she said. "Are you
+dreadfully cut up about it?"
+
+He stared past her. "Not at all," he announced. "Far from it. Nothing
+would have afforded me greater pleasure than the privilege of giving the
+bride away."
+
+"Dear me," she said, as he smiled and walked on. Struck by a sudden
+impulse he turned to her.
+
+"Who is Miss Downing? Where have I seen her before?"
+
+"How should I know?" said Mrs. Runway, stiffly.
+
+"Oh," he said, turning again. A strange young man, very much the worse
+for champagne, had now approached the girl, his hands in his pockets, a
+vacuous smile on his flushed face. Bosworth changed his course and
+engaged young Mrs. Chanier in conversation, all the while keeping his
+eye on the girl down the room.
+
+"Terrible night, isn't it, Blanche?" he observed by way of reserving her
+attention, which seemed inclined to wander.
+
+"Ripping," she said. "Everything went off beautifully. Only one hitch,
+my dear. I say, who's the girl talking to Tommy Rexford?" She used her
+lorgnette.
+
+"I was just about to ask who the chap is talking to her. She's a Miss
+Downing."
+
+"Know her?"
+
+"Oh, yes," he prevaricated nobly, catching an ugly gleam in the young
+matron's eye. "She's a terribly nice girl."
+
+"I thought as much. Isn't she too nice?"
+
+"Who's this Rexford chap?"
+
+She stared at him. "Oh, he's all right, Mr. Buzzy Van Pycke," she said,
+resenting his ignorance. "Tommy Rexford is one of the dearest boys in
+the world. He's from Pittsburg. I met him at Palm Beach last winter. He
+comes to New York pretty often. I say, Buzzy, are you listening?"
+
+"Sure," said Buzzy, whose attention had drifted to the girl in the white
+satin. Plainly, she was being annoyed by the attentions of the
+intoxicated Mr. Rexford. He appeared to be relating a story which
+shocked her. "He seems very keen about Miss Downing," he volunteered, a
+queer bitterness in his heart.
+
+Mrs. Chanier bridled. "What? Why, he's been drinking a little too much,
+that's all." Her tone was nasty. Bosworth was not slow to grasp the true
+state of affairs.
+
+"How's your husband?" he asked bluntly.
+
+She smiled serenely. "Oh, he's still got his locomotor ataxia, if that's
+what you mean."
+
+Miss Downing abruptly left Mr. Rexford, who, looking after her for a
+moment as if dazed, allowed himself a short laugh of derision. Young Mr.
+Van Pycke's foot itched with the desire to kick young Mr. Rexford.
+
+"I'm sure liquor doesn't affect me in that way," he muttered, overtaken
+by the sudden recollection that he had imbibed quite freely, and further
+distressed by the fear that it had not entirely worn off. To himself he
+was saying: "That fellow's a warning to me. If I thought I looked or
+acted as he does, I'd--well, anyhow, I don't drink to excess, so I can't
+make comparisons or resolutions. That girl doesn't belong with this
+crowd. She's too good for them."
+
+With this sage conclusion he promptly took it upon himself to put her
+into better company. He joined her as she was about to pass into the
+library.
+
+"What was that fellow saying to you?" he demanded, quite as if he had
+always possessed the right to interrogate.
+
+"Was it so plain as all that, Mr. Van Pycke?" she asked, distress in her
+eyes. "He's been drinking."
+
+"That's no excuse," said he with surpassing severity. "I say, you--you
+don't really belong in this crowd," he went on earnestly. "Not that
+there's anything bad--I mean, the set's a bit faster than you're
+accustomed to. I can see that. I'm not throwing stones, so don't look at
+me so scornfully. Believe me, it's not the rottenest set in town. It's
+only the gayest. How do you happen to be here? Are you related to Mrs.
+Scoville?"
+
+"Birds of a feather," she said, a gleam of anger in her unsmiling eyes.
+
+"You mean that to apply to yourself or to me?" he asked, with a wry
+smile.
+
+"Do you profess to be any better than the rest of them, Mr. Van Pycke?
+They call you 'Buzzy' and 'dear,' so they must be your intimates. Why do
+you set yourself above them?"
+
+"The Lord knows I don't, Miss Downing. But I _do_ set you above them.
+You'll have to admit there's something in that. I--"
+
+She smiled faintly. "Please don't look so dismal. I didn't mean to bite
+your head off."
+
+"It would be amazingly interesting, I'm sure, if you were to try it," he
+said, with his finest smile. She was disarmed. "Still, I don't forget
+how you subdued Agrippa."
+
+"Oh, Agrippa loves me," she announced calmly. He looked into her deep
+eyes and realized that she was not an untrained girl from the country.
+She was very sure of herself.
+
+"Lucky dog," he said.
+
+"He has known me for ages," she explained.
+
+"That doesn't necessarily follow," he said gallantly. "It comes
+unexpectedly sometimes, even to dogs."
+
+"Do you like dogs, Mr. Van Pycke?" she asked, with disquieting serenity.
+
+"What is all this leading up to?" he demanded suspiciously. "You're not
+going to invite me to a dog dinner, are you?"
+
+"Dear me, no. How silly!"
+
+"Well, one never knows in these days."
+
+"These are not the dog days." He grinned amiably. "And so you are the
+wonderful Buzzy Van Pycke," she went on, quite frankly interested. "I've
+often wondered what you would be like."
+
+"You don't mean it," he said, surprised.
+
+Her only response was a penitent, apologetic smile; but it served better
+than words. He was dazzled. He afterward recalled that the whole course
+of his life changed in that instant. He was not quite sure that he
+didn't hear something snap inside. Still, it might have been his
+imagination.
+
+At this moment the bride hurried into the room, her arms full of furs.
+There was a shout of joy from the guests. She smiled for every one, and
+then sent a quick, searching glance among them. Discovering Bosworth,
+she uttered a little cry of pleasure, tossed the furs into a
+chair,--which, it seems, already was occupied,--and rushed over to him,
+both hands extended.
+
+"Dear old Buzzy, I'm so glad you came without an invitation! I am,
+truly. I would have sent you one, only I wasn't sure you would fit in
+under the circumstances. You see, it was a wedding. You'll understand,
+I'm sure."
+
+"Perfectly," he said. Regardless of Miss Downing's presence, he added
+without a qualm: "I'm rather glad you've done it, Laura. It's saved me a
+lot of despair, I'm sure. You see, I came up to-night to propose to
+you."
+
+She laughed easily, affecting no confusion. "And I might have accepted
+you. That's what you mean?"
+
+"Well, you might have done worse. But you haven't," he added hastily.
+"Chauncey's a brick. I've approved of him from the start. Always wanted
+him to get you, Laura."
+
+"It's nice of you to say that, Buzzy," she said, serious for an instant.
+Her fine eyes glowed. "I know you mean it, too. Others haven't been so
+generous." Then her manner changed. "Do you really have to marry some
+one, Buzzy? Are you so hard up as all that?"
+
+"My dear," he said, "you are alarming Miss Downing."
+
+"Nonsense! Miss Downing knows all about you and all about me. I have no
+secrets from her. She's not even wondering how you could have
+contemplated marrying me without loving me. She knows how rich I am."
+
+"Ah," he sighed, "I wonder if she knows how poor I am."
+
+"Every one knows that, Mr. Van Pycke," said Miss Downing. He stared.
+"You have a paltry twelve thousand a year. Even the street sweepers get
+more than that." Her sarcasm was veiled by a polite smile.
+
+The bride laughed. He felt a sudden, inexplicable shame.
+
+"Well, Buzzy, I can't stop here talking to you all night. We're leaving,
+you know, by the 11.30. Thanks, dear boy, for the thought that brought
+you up to-night, I appreciate the honor." She extended her hand. "Good
+luck, my friend. Try further up the street."
+
+"Oh, I say, Laura," he protested. She saw the genuine hurt in his eyes.
+Instead of withdrawing the hand he had clasped, she suddenly gave his a
+warm pressure. Her mocking eyes grew sober and earnest.
+
+"You're too much of a real man, Buzzy, for that sort of thing," she
+said. "Don't do it. Marry for love, my dear friend, even if it means
+getting along on twelve thousand a year. I don't believe, Bosworth Van
+Pycke, that down in your heart you can see much that is glorious in the
+spending of a woman's money. You're cut out for better work than that."
+
+"I've just come to the same conclusion, Laura," he said firmly. "Good
+luck and God bless you. You'll be happy: De Foe doesn't need your
+money."
+
+She dashed off to give orders to the butler and the maids who were
+waiting in the library beyond. De Foe's entrance was the signal for
+another outburst of joyous badinage. He was a handsome, strong-featured
+man of rather serious mien.
+
+Bosworth at once shook hands with him, the others looking on curiously.
+"God bless you and--thank you, old chap," he said. De Foe was never to
+know why the young man thanked him, but the attentive Miss Downing
+understood and favored the speaker with a glance of profound concern.
+
+He turned to her as De Foe was claimed by the others. An expression of
+deep uneasiness had come into his eyes.
+
+"I wonder what keeps father so long," he said, so quaintly that she
+laughed aloud. Then both of them turned to watch the preparations for
+departure.
+
+The butler tossed the jewel boxes into a stout black bag; the detective
+took charge of it. Bellows peered from the front windows in quest of the
+motor cars; everybody chattered and gabbled while they were being
+bundled into their outer garments by the nimble attendants. One could
+only think of the anterooms in the Savoy or the Ritz.
+
+"Now get out, every one of you," cried the bride. "I insist on being the
+last to leave the house. It's for good luck."
+
+Bellows said something in a low voice to Mr. De Foe. Any one but Bellows
+would have betrayed concern.
+
+"No motors!" exclaimed Mr. De Foe. There was a sudden silence in the
+room.
+
+"The blizzard, sir," said Bellows, briefly.
+
+"But, hang it all, we must get to the station," cried the groom. "What
+the devil's the meaning of all this?"
+
+"Don't blame Bellows, old man," said Bosworth Van Pycke. "He isn't a
+blizzard. And don't lose your temper, either. Remember it's your wedding
+night. Now, I have a big sleigh coming for me at 10.30. Taxis can't
+budge in this weather. You and the bride can take my sleigh--"
+
+He did not finish. Every man in the party had begun to berate the kind
+of car he owned and every woman was scolding the weather. Then there was
+a common demand for four-horse sleighs. Bellows received half a dozen
+orders to telephone to the garages and to the livery stables, all in the
+same breath, it seemed.
+
+"Don't worry, Chaunce. My sleigh is sure to come. The bride is safe."
+So spoke the confident Mr. Van Pycke. "All I ask you to do in return is
+to send it back here for me as soon as you're safely there."
+
+"You're an angel, Buzzy," cried the bride from the depths of her sables.
+
+Just as the sleigh was announced, half an hour later, a diversion was
+created by the entrance of Mr. Van Pycke, senior. He was dressed for the
+street, fur-coated and gloved. The shout which greeted him brought him
+up just inside the door. He glared at the crowd.
+
+"Where are you, Bosworth?" he called out, his voice husky with emotion.
+
+"Here, father. Are you ready to go?" His son stepped forward rather
+quickly.
+
+"Do you think I'm going to stay all night?" snapped the old gentleman.
+"I'm--I'm damned if I do!"
+
+Every one was rushing for the doors. The bride took time for a few words
+with the latest arrival.
+
+"How late you are, Mr. Van Pycke!" she cried, grasping his hand. "I'm so
+sorry we must be going. Catching a train, you know. By the way, Buzzy,
+we're sailing for the Azores day after to-morrow. When you're in Paris,
+be sure to look us up. Thank God, I'm never coming back to New York. Now
+you know why I don't care a snap what people say or think about my
+wedding guests. Good-bye, my dear. Good-bye, Mr. Van Pycke. Thanks, so
+much, for the roses you sent up to-day. Be sure we get the right sleigh,
+Bellows. Come, Mary, dear, kiss me. I _know_ you'll look me up when you
+come to Paris."
+
+She enveloped the pretty Miss Downing in her arms, kissed her warmly,
+and then rushed off into the hall, where the crowd was being shooed out
+into the storm ahead of her.
+
+Bosworth observed that Miss Downing was not attired for the street.
+
+"You're not going?" he asked quickly.
+
+"Not till to-morrow," she said. "I'm staying overnight."
+
+"Bosworth," put in Mr. Van Pycke, in deadly tones, "where is your cab?"
+
+"Stuck in the snow, dad. My sleigh will be back in half an hour. Take
+off your coat. Miss Downing won't mind our staying here a while longer.
+She--"
+
+"Not another minute, sir!" snapped Mr. Van Pycke. "You don't know what I
+know. You--"
+
+"I don't believe you know what I know, either, dad," said his son,
+dryly.
+
+Bellows entered. "Your sleigh will return in half an hour, Mr.--Mr.
+Bosworth. Will you wait, sir?"
+
+"No, he won't wait," said Mr. Van Pycke. "Get his coat and hat, Bellows.
+I'm--I'm going to take him away."
+
+"You'll be lost in the snow, sir," said Bellows, mildly. "It's worse
+than the Alps, sir."
+
+"Alps? Confound you, you've never seen the Alps!"
+
+"No, sir," said Bellows. "But Stokes, the butler, has, sir."
+
+"Send Stokes to me, Bellows," said Miss Downing, quietly. "I will give
+orders for to-night and to-morrow morning. I hope you will forgive me,
+Mr. Van Pycke, if I retire at once. I am very tired. It has been a busy
+day and--a rather wearing night."
+
+"Please don't go just yet," he begged. "You promised to tell me about
+the--" He was going to say wedding, but his father interrupted.
+
+"If you're not coming at once, Bosworth, I'll leave you here. I'll walk.
+I'll have pneumonia anyhow, so what's the sense of taking care of
+myself? I've been insulted, outraged, humiliated in this--But, I can't
+talk about it now, not in the presence of a lady--for I'm sure she is a
+lady. I can tell 'em by the sound of their voices. What, in God's name,
+are you doing here? That's the thing that puzzles me. 'Gad, if I did the
+proper thing, I'd take you away at once, storm or no storm."
+
+"Dad, you don't understand," began Bosworth.
+
+"Are you coming away with me?" roared his father, stamping the floor.
+
+"Do they still hurt you?" asked his son, with a solicitous glance at the
+old gentleman's feet.
+
+Mr. Van Pycke sputtered. "I have my own on, sir. But I'm crippled for
+life, just the same. Thank God, I got my trousers in the end." He passed
+his hand nervously over his brow.
+
+"In the end?" murmured Bosworth. Miss Downing turned to the fireplace.
+
+"I--I can't tell you about it now," said his father in a constrained
+manner. "'Gad, it was--it was awful! Bellows! Where the deuce is the
+man? Ah, here you are. Bellows, call me a cab or something at--"
+
+"Mr. Stokes will be here directly, Miss," said Bellows. "Very good, Mr.
+Van Pycke. A four-wheeler?"
+
+"Take the subway, dad," interposed Bosworth, glaring at Bellows. "Next
+corner below. But, think it over. You'd better wait for me."
+
+Stokes came in, and Miss Downing, with a significant glance at Bosworth,
+retired to the library with the butler.
+
+"Has everybody departed?" asked Bosworth of Bellows, who was turning off
+some of the lights in the lower end of the room. The young man dropped
+into a chair, opened his cigaret case, and then, first looking at the
+portières obscuring the library, yawned prodigiously.
+
+"Yes, sir," said Bellows, caught in the middle of an illy-suppressed
+yawn. "The detective, my mistress's maid, and Mr. De Foe's man, with the
+bags, sir, went away with the 'appy couple in your sleigh. It was a bit
+crowded, sir, for the driver."
+
+"Bellows," hissed Mr. Van Pycke, "who instructed you to take my trousers
+out to press 'em?"
+
+"They needed it, sir, badly," explained Bellows.
+
+"And my shoes, sir,--I did not ask to have them polished, did I?"
+
+"No, sir. As I remember it, you did not."
+
+"It wouldn't have been so bad," almost moaned the unhappy gentleman,
+turning to his son, "but I didn't discover their absence until after I
+had, in my ungovernable rage, thrown those confounded wax figure's
+garments from an upstairs window. And then, by Gad, sir, I couldn't
+find my own trousers. What's more, I couldn't find the bell button to
+call for Bellows. There I was, in a strange bedroom without--Oh, I'll
+never forget it, Bosworth--never! What the devil are you laughing at,
+sir?"
+
+Miss Downing had quietly reentered the room and was standing just inside
+the door, a growing smile of appreciation on her lips.
+
+"Wha--what did you do, sir?" asked Bosworth, controlling himself
+heroically.
+
+"Do? What could I do? Demmit all, trousers don't grow on chandeliers, do
+they? I couldn't pick off a pair, à la Santa Claus, could I? There was
+only one thing left to do. That was to shout for Bellows. Just as I was
+on the point of stealing out to the head of the stairs, I heard
+voices--a man's and a woman's. I dashed back into the bedroom. 'Gad,
+sir, what do you think? Those people were in the next room, and the
+door, which I hadn't noticed before, was partly ajar. At any minute they
+might come in and find--ahem! I didn't see you, Miss Downing."
+
+"Please go on," she said.
+
+"Only to convince you what kind of a house we have all gotten into," he
+explained, after a moment of indecision. "Well, I quickly entered a
+clothes closet near by. I don't want to hurt your feelings, Miss
+Downing, but the lady in the next bedchamber was your friend, Mrs.
+Scoville. The man was that confounded De Foe chap. I--I can't tell you
+what they were saying to each other. It was sickening, I'll say that
+much. No, no--I won't go into details. It seems there was a maid in
+there, hooking her up, but they didn't mind her. When the maid went out,
+I distinctly heard five or six kisses--ahem! Hang it all, Bosworth, I
+couldn't help eavesdropping. There were people in the hall outside. It
+was the most brazen thing I've ever known. Unfortunately, I had to
+sneeze."
+
+He stopped to blow his nose. Bellows also blew his, but for a different
+reason.
+
+"Yes, I sneezed. The exhibition ceased. I had just time to shut the
+closet door before De Foe came into the room, looking about. He said
+something about 'confounded servants,' and then went back to her. Then I
+heard him call her 'sweetheart' and ask her if she wouldn't tie his
+necktie for him, like a little darling. By Gad, sir, it was worse than I
+thought. I--"
+
+Bosworth coughed violently, and Miss Downing found it necessary to fleck
+some dust from a bronze bit at her elbow--somewhat to the rear of it, to
+be perfectly accurate.
+
+"You don't understand, father--" began Buzzy, nervously.
+
+"Confound it sir, I'm not deaf. I'll pass over the next half hour,
+except to say that they billed and cooed without cessation. I give you
+my word, that closet was like an ice-chest. I demmed near froze to
+death. At last they went away. Bellows came back with my trousers and
+shoes. After he'd gone, I stole out and got into 'em. There's a lot more
+I could tell, but--what's the use? I want to get out of here. Just to
+think that I came up here in all this storm to ask that creature to be
+my wife! 'Gad, I wouldn't ask her now if she was the last woman on
+earth. Open the door for me, Bellows! I'm going next door to the
+Lackaday, for the night, Bosworth. Call up by 'phone in the morning to
+see if I have pneumonia."
+
+He stormed into the hall without saying good night to Miss Downing. They
+heard him swear roundly as Bellows opened the door to the vestibule.
+Then there was a slam of the outer door. Together the young man and
+woman walked to the front window, and, side by side, they saw him fight
+his way down the steps and across the thirty feet of snowbank that lay
+between the house and the street entrance to the hotel bar.
+
+Mr. Van Pycke did not know, until he saw it in the papers next day, that
+there had been a wedding. It may be well to add in this connection that
+it was a long time before New York heard the last of that wedding and
+its amazing guests by proxy.
+
+"Good night," said Miss Downing, as they turned away from the window.
+
+"Oh, please, not yet," he cried.
+
+"I am so tired," she pleaded.
+
+"The sleigh will be back in twenty or thirty minutes."
+
+"I'll stay ten minutes," she agreed. "Come and sit before the fire in
+the library. You may have a cigar or a cigaret--but nothing to drink."
+He started guiltily.
+
+At the end of ten minutes, despite the fact that he was very amusing,
+she rose from the deep, comfortable chair before the fender, and said
+good night once more. "I hear sleigh bells in front," she said.
+
+"When are you leaving?" he asked, looking into her eyes with all of the
+new interest that had come into his own.
+
+"To-morrow. I'm to have a year's vacation on full pay," she said quite
+clearly. His eyes flew very wide open. "Isn't it nice, Mr. Van Pycke?"
+
+She was gone. He stood perfectly still, listening to the rustle of her
+gown as she sped up the stairs beyond. Something like a soft laugh came
+back to him from the dome of the hall. His face was a study.
+
+"By thunder!" he murmured, prior to a long, intent contemplation of the
+blazing coals. At last, shrugging his shoulders in dire perplexity, he
+turned and slowly made his way to the front windows.
+
+The sleigh was not in sight. He glanced at his watch. Eleven-twenty.
+With sudden exasperation he jammed his hands into his pockets and said
+something softly. Kicking a chair to the window, he sat down and glared
+at the snow-covered glass. Outside, the wind shrieked louder than ever.
+
+When Bellows came in to turn out the lights at a quarter to twelve,
+Bosworth did not hear him, nor did Bellows observe the limp figure in
+the chair. Mr. Van Pycke was sound asleep, and the footman did not have
+far to go to reach the same state.
+
+A sleigh came up, banked with snow, waited awhile in front of the dark
+house, and then departed.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+THE SECRETARY GOES HOME
+
+
+He was chilled to the bone when he awoke, an hour and a half later. The
+room was in pitchy darkness. It is only natural to suppose that he did
+not know where he was. He felt of himself, surprised to find that he was
+not undressed and not in bed. With more philosophy than is usually
+exhibited under such puzzling conditions, he fell back in his chair and
+forced himself into full wakefulness.
+
+A moment later, with a gasp of dismay, he was on his feet, scraping away
+the frost and peering from the black window into the night, his eyes
+wide with anxiety. His arms and legs were stiff with the cold; he found
+himself shivering as with a mighty chill. Turning his back to the
+window, for many minutes he stared dumbly into the opaqueness before
+him. The house was as black as the grave and quite as silent. He began
+to experience, strangely enough, the same dread of darkness he had felt
+when a boy.
+
+A furnace register, he remembered, was near the door leading to the
+hall, wherever that might be. His first thought was to seek the comfort
+of its friendly, warmth-giving drafts. On second thoughts, he ransacked
+his pockets for a match. A clock in the hall struck once, but how was
+he to know whether it signified one o'clock or half-past something else?
+Finding no match, he started for the register, his hands stretched
+before him.
+
+Of one thing he was reasonably sure; the household was wrapped in
+slumber. There was not a sound in the house. He was reminded of a
+childhood poem in which it was said: "Not a creature was stirring, not
+even a mouse." The memory of this line brought a smile to his lips.
+
+His progress was rather sharply checked by bodily contact with one of
+the dummies, whose presence he had quite forgotten. Not only was there a
+hollow protest from the dummy, but a more substantial one from Mr. Van
+Pycke. Not content with a mild encounter with this particular obstacle,
+he proceeded, in his confusion, to back into another, which, being less
+sturdy, toppled over with a crash that must have been heard in the
+attic.
+
+Panic-stricken, the young man floundered on, now intent upon reaching
+the hall and making as dignified an escape as possible before the
+servants appeared with blunderbusses and tongs. His only desire now was
+to find his overcoat and hat and the front steps without butting his
+brains out in the darkness.
+
+He brought up against a chair, creating additional racket and barking
+his knee into the bargain.
+
+"Good heaven," he muttered, "where am I? Is it a barricade?"
+
+His heart stood still for a second. Distinctly he heard the soft,
+suppressed cry of a woman--and then the unmistakable sound of scurrying
+fabrics. The sounds came from some remote corner of the room--or
+possibly from a room hard by--and were indicative of great alarm on the
+part of an unseen person.
+
+Bosworth was not a slow thinker. He took the safest way. Without
+hesitation he called out: "It's all right! I am Bosworth Van Pycke!"
+
+There was dead silence for the next sixty seconds. The French clock
+ticked them off. He involuntarily counted twenty-five or thirty before a
+small, hushed voice responded,--from the library, he was sure,--the
+voice of a woman.
+
+"What did you say?"
+
+"I am Mr. Van Pycke. Don't be alarmed. It's--it's all a mistake. I--"
+
+"Mr. Van Pycke? Why--why--"
+
+He recognized the voice.
+
+"Is that you, Miss Downing?"
+
+"Are you--are you sure that you are Mr. Van Pycke? I have my finger on
+the call button. Wha--what are you doing here?"
+
+"I am trying to get out," he said, lowering his voice. "Don't you
+recognize my voice?"
+
+"Ye--yes, I think I do."
+
+"Where are you?"
+
+"Why didn't you go out before?" asked the voice, a bit querulously he
+thought.
+
+"I am not a sleep walker," he said. Realizing that it was a poor time to
+jest, he hastily supplemented: "I went to sleep--waiting. Where are
+you? What time is it? Is every one in bed?"
+
+The curtains at the opposite end of the room parted very slowly. First,
+a strong, red glow appeared beyond, mellow and somewhat fitful; then the
+shadowy figure of the girl was silhouetted against the red, framed on
+either side by shivering drapery.
+
+She was still wearing the white satin evening gown. He took hope.
+
+"It isn't so late, after all," he cried, starting toward her.
+
+"I hope you will go away at once, Mr. Van Pycke," she said quickly. "It
+is half-past one--and every one _is_ in bed. I don't understand why you
+are still here."
+
+"I'll tell you all about it," he said, not very confidently. "Don't turn
+me out until I've got warm, please. I give you my word, I'm paralyzed
+with the cold."
+
+"Really, Mr. Van Pycke, I--I can't have you here--I mean, it is so
+terribly late. I--I--"
+
+"Were you horribly frightened?" he asked, somewhat irrelevantly. He had
+come up to her by this time, and, peering beyond, saw a splendid fire in
+the library grate. There were no lights in the room. A big chair stood
+before the fender, invitingly.
+
+His teeth were chattering.
+
+"I was almost petrified," she said rather breathlessly. "If you had not
+called out, I--I think my heart would have refused to beat again. Oh, I
+am _so_ glad it is you and not a burglar!"
+
+"May I come in and get warm?" he pleaded. She saw that he was shivering.
+With a quick glance over her shoulder she stood aside and allowed him to
+pass.
+
+"You _are_ cold," she said. "Sit down by the fire. I'll poke it up a
+bit. Just for a few minutes, and then you must go. I wonder if the
+racket alarmed the servants. You see, I am the only person in this part
+of the house, Mr. Van Pycke."
+
+He looked up from the grate, over which he was holding his hands. "By
+the way, why are you not in bed? I distinctly remember you said good
+night--and started."
+
+She hesitated. "I wasn't sleepy," she said.
+
+"On the other hand, I slept very soundly," he said. "Have you been down
+here all this time?"
+
+"Since twelve o'clock. I love a grate fire."
+
+"Won't you sit down? Do."
+
+"No, thank you. I'll wait till you have gone. If I sit down now, you'll
+stay, I'm afraid."
+
+He moved the big chair and drew up another for himself beside it. She
+watched the proceedings without approval or resentment. When the two
+chairs stood side by side before the fender, he motioned for her to sit
+down. She was now gazing at him fixedly, a somewhat detached smile on
+her lips. After a moment she shrugged her shoulders and sat down. He
+promptly dropped into the other chair and stretched out his feet to the
+fire.
+
+"You said something that surprised me, just as you left me--two hours
+ago," he remarked, after a long silence. "A year's vacation on full
+pay," he repeated.
+
+"I am Mrs. De Foe's secretary," she said quietly. He turned to look at
+her.
+
+[Illustration: "'I am Mrs. De Foe's secretary,' she said quietly."]
+
+"Secretary? I didn't dream of that, Miss Downing."
+
+"Have I fallen in your estimation?" she asked, meeting his gaze
+steadily.
+
+"I think you've risen," he said slowly.
+
+"You may not remember me, but I crossed on the steamer with you from
+Liverpool when I was eight years old. You were eleven, I think you said.
+I was a very pretty little girl. You said that, too. Do you remember?"
+
+He was cudgeling his brain. "I can't say that I do, to be perfectly
+candid. Still, I've been wondering where I've seen you. I recall the
+voyage, but as for little girls, I remember but one. Ah, she was a
+little beauty. I was so desperately in love with her that I dare say I
+had thoughts or eyes for no one else. I'm sorry."
+
+"Do you remember her name?"
+
+"Perfectly. It wasn't so long ago, you know. I'm twenty-five. She had a
+perfectly ungovernable nurse. I was obliged to do my worshiping from a
+distance. By Jove, that reminds me, her father was put down and out a
+few years ago in Wall Street. I think he had a stroke of paralysis, or
+something, poor devil, afterwards. Lost everything. I wonder what has
+become of her. I never saw her after we landed in New York."
+
+"Was her name Pembroke?"
+
+He started. "Yes,--Mary Pembroke! You knew her? Why, I believe--" He
+stared hard.
+
+"I am Mary Pembroke," said she, leaning back and smiling. His
+astonishment was unqualified.
+
+"You? Yes! I can see it now. All evening there has been some vague thing
+about you that has puzzled me. Why, it is wonderful--positively
+wonderful. I--" He stopped suddenly, a look of concern in his eyes. "I
+hope I didn't say anything just now to hurt you,--I mean, about your
+father."
+
+"You spoke of him as the world speaks, Mr. Van Pycke. And you did say
+'poor devil.' That was something. He is--still a helpless invalid.
+Perhaps you did not know that."
+
+"I'm sorry--very sorry." He hesitated for a moment. "Is that why you are
+Mrs. De Foe's secretary?"
+
+"We are quite poor, Mr. Van Pycke. So poor that I am unwilling to take
+from the slender annuity that keeps us together--my father, my two
+little sisters and me. There is enough for him to live on to the end of
+his poor, desolated life. I am strong, and I love him too well to take
+from that little store. Mine hasn't been such a trying position, after
+all. Mrs. Scoville is an old friend. I've known her since I was a little
+girl. She's been very kind and very generous. I don't mind the work.
+It's much better than marrying some one for his money, I'm sure. Have
+you ever read of Lily Bart? She had a very much harder time than I, poor
+thing, in her house of mirth. She did not deserve it, but she served as
+a warning to me."
+
+"I dare say you remember that I told Mrs. Scoville I had come up here
+to-night to propose to her," he said ruefully. She nodded, and her eyes
+narrowed.
+
+"You are not so brave as I am, Mr. Van Pycke," she said. "I thought you
+were very brave and very manly as a little boy."
+
+"Well, I didn't ask her, after all," he said, resenting her tone. "I
+don't believe I could have done it, if it had actually come to the test.
+I couldn't do it now to save my very soul. I'm going to marry for love
+or not at all. Money be hanged."
+
+"Oh, don't say that!" she cried. "You forget how rich you are!"
+
+"Rich! I'm a pauper."
+
+"On twelve thousand a year? I consider myself quite well off on the
+fifteen hundred Mrs. Scoville pays me. You are fabulously rich."
+
+"You are laughing at me," he exclaimed, shamed.
+
+"Who am I to laugh at the wonderful Buzzy Van Pycke, prince of the
+dandies in--"
+
+"Please don't." He clenched his hands and set his jaw, leaning forward
+to gaze into the bed of coals. She studied his averted face.
+
+"You have a strong face," she said at last, voicing her thoughts.
+
+"Thanks," he muttered.
+
+"You don't know _how_ to work. Is that it, Mr. Van Pycke?" she asked.
+
+"Oh, I fancy I could earn a living," he said, without looking up.
+
+"And then you could save the twelve thousand intact," she observed. He
+looked up curiously. "In ten years you would have at least one hundred
+and twenty-five thousand. You could buy a yacht with that much money.
+Just think what fun it would be to spend it all in an hour."
+
+"It may interest you to know that I _am_ going to work," he said,
+conscious of a burning sensation in his face.
+
+"Are you in earnest?"
+
+"Certainly. I'm tired of this sort of thing."
+
+"Splendid! And what are you going to do? Something gentlemanly, I hope,
+such as selling bonds on commission. Gentlemen who go to work always do
+that, don't they, whether they're qualified or not?"
+
+"You're a bit sarcastic, aren't you? I _was_ going to sell bonds, having
+been solicited to do so, but I've changed my mind. I'm going to get a
+job with an undertaker."
+
+They laughed, at first rather half heartedly, then merrily. For ten
+minutes they talked of the past, the present, and the future. He
+gathered that she had assumed the name of Downing for secretarial
+purposes only; that she kept herself very much in the background in Mrs.
+Scoville's establishment; that she had watched his social career with
+unflagging interest; that she was returning to her own home on the
+following day, with a check for fifteen hundred in her possession; that
+she expected to marry if the right man came along; that Mrs. Scoville
+had made her a present of the gown--and so on and so forth. They
+discussed the wedding and the hullabaloo it was to create. They united
+in deprecating the impulse which robbed the marriage of its natural
+sanctity, but they agreed that she was a lovely bride.
+
+"And now you must go home," she said at last. The clock chimed a quarter
+after two.
+
+"That reminds me," he said. "You said you were going to your own home in
+the morning, early enough to avoid the reporters, who are to be managed
+by Stokes. May I inquire where your own home is, Miss Pembroke?"
+
+"We live in Princeton, Mr. Van Pycke."
+
+"Princeton? Why, I was there four years, you know. Strange I never saw
+you."
+
+"You forget we were living in Fifth Avenue or Mayfair until two years
+ago. The house in Princeton is all that is left of the Pembroke
+millions. It was my mother's."
+
+"By Jove, I remember you came out three years ago. I--I was asked,
+wasn't I?"
+
+"You were. And you didn't come."
+
+"I'd like to come to Princeton, if it isn't too late."
+
+"If it doesn't interfere with your work, you mean."
+
+"Oh, come now!" he protested.
+
+"We have to consider everything," she said.
+
+"I'll try to get a job in the faculty. I remember distinctly that I knew
+more than any man in the faculty at one time. That would simplify
+matters, wouldn't it?"
+
+"Do you really feel the need of that eyeglass, Mr. Van Pycke?" she
+asked, again veering off, much to his annoyance.
+
+"Not at all." He calmly tossed the monocle upon the coals. She cried
+out.
+
+"Oh, I didn't mean you to do that. I _love_ monocles!"
+
+"The deuce! Why didn't you say so?" he lamented.
+
+"It's too bad," she sighed. "You would have needed it so much, too,
+looking for work."
+
+"By Jove, I like you!" he cried. "You're a plucky girl and a
+philosopher. You do something toward the support of a whole family,
+while I--well, look at me! What good have I done? I have not earned ten
+dollars in my whole life by honest toil. I'm ashamed. I am--"
+
+"Please, please," she interposed despairingly. "Don't go into that
+again. It's too late. I am really very sleepy now. I hate to turn you
+out in the storm, but you _must_ go. If the servants should--heavens,
+please go!"
+
+"You're right! I'm off. I'll be as quiet as a mouse, so don't worry.
+This has been the most gallant night of my life. I'll live it over a
+hundred times in my dreams. By the way, what train do you take in the
+morning?" He was shaking hands with her, standing beside her chair.
+There was a new light in his eyes.
+
+"The ten-fifteen, if it isn't snowbound. Why?"
+
+"Never mind. I just asked," he said. He was thinking of violets and a
+trip to the ferry.
+
+"Don't do anything so absurd, Mr. Van Pycke," she said severely, trying
+to read his thoughts. He laughed blithely, full of certain early morning
+enterprise. "Good-bye. Oh, just listen to the wind!"
+
+She shuddered.
+
+"Don't leave the fire," he said. "And _do go to bed_! Remember, you are
+to catch the ten-fifteen."
+
+He tiptoed into the hall. There was not a sound in the house. A minute
+later the outer doors closed behind him, gently. He was out in the cold,
+bitter night, plowing his way through snowdrifts three and four feet
+deep, bound for the hotel next door, the nearest place of refuge.
+
+In the office he left a call for seven o'clock. Not in ten years had he
+done anything so amazing.
+
+"She helps to support a family--a helpless father and two small
+sisters," he said to himself as he crept into bed. "But, it wouldn't be
+the same thing supporting my governor. _I should say not!_" Later on,
+very drowsily: "I was sure I had seen her before. Little Mary Pembroke!
+How I adored her! But it seems to me her hair was yellow then. It's
+black now. Still, I dare say that's better than if it had been black
+then and yellow now. Seven o'clock! What an ungodly hour to get up. But
+I'll have to get used to it."
+
+Miss Pembroke resisted the desire to look after him from the front
+window. She couldn't bear the thought of scraping the frost from the
+window pane with her fingernails, for one thing; for another, he might
+take it into his head to look back.
+
+So she went to bed, thinking of him--as she had been doing for an hour
+or more before his amazing second appearance.
+
+"He was such a shy boy," she reflected. "But he was the best looking
+thing. Dear me, how long ago it seems! And those silly love letters I
+wrote to him and never mailed. What funny things children are!"
+
+At nine o'clock the next morning she was called to the telephone. She
+was at breakfast, and her bag was ready for the train. An early glance
+from the window had filled her with misgivings. The street was
+absolutely impassable, it seemed to her.
+
+"I won't talk to the reporters," she said to Stokes.
+
+"It isn't a reporter, Miss. It's a gentleman."
+
+"Don't be a snob, Stokes. Who is it?"
+
+"It's Mr. Van Pycke, Miss."
+
+She started. Then she flushed warmly.
+
+"Say to him, Stokes, that I have gone," she said, after a moment.
+
+"Very good, Miss. Anything else?"
+
+She pondered. "Yes, Stokes. Ask him to hold the wire."
+
+"Hold the wire, Miss?"
+
+"Yes, while you run to the door to call me back."
+
+A moment later she was in the telephone room, quite out of breath.
+
+"Who is it?" she called. She compelled him to repeat the name four
+times. Eventually he got her serious attention.
+
+"No trains until this afternoon?" she cried despairingly. "Why, the
+children will be at the station to meet me."
+
+"Trains all snowbound," he announced quite cheerfully. "I've been
+telephoning."
+
+"It's awfully good of you. I'll call up the Pennsylvania--"
+
+"Don't bother," he called. "I've seen to all that. There's only one
+thing to do. Go to the ferry at one o'clock and wait. They'll get a
+train out as soon as possible. I'm glad it's to be no earlier than one.
+This is my busy day, you see."
+
+"What has that to do with it?"
+
+"I think I can be at liberty at one o'clock, that's all. I'm at my rooms
+now, writing letters of resignation to eleven clubs and declining
+invitations to four Christmas house parties on Long Island. I'm going
+down to see Thrush and Wrenn, the publishers, at eleven."
+
+"Indeed?"
+
+"Yes. I'm thinking of writing a book exposing New York society. They're
+all the rage now. This will be the literary remains of a fizzle."
+
+"Are you jesting?"
+
+"It depends," he said. "At ten I am to see George P. Krosson, the
+capital king. You see I _have_ been telephoning. I got him out of bed at
+seven-thirty. He says he didn't know I had it in me to be so energetic.
+He's an old friend, however, so it's all right. He--"
+
+"Please tell me what it's all about. I know who he is, so don't
+enlighten me. He once was an old friend of ours."
+
+"Well, he's always said he'd take me as a secretary, if I'd agree to
+buckle down to it. I'm going to try it on."
+
+"You--to be a secretary?"
+
+"Don't be so surprised, please! It's only a starter, you know. His last
+secretary owns a bank now, and the present one is going to Congress. But
+I'll tell you about it--at the ferry."
+
+She tried not to appear to be looking for him when her fretting taxicab
+finally struggled up to the ferry building at Twenty-third Street, just
+before one o'clock. Nearly an hour had been spent in the trip from the
+Scoville home to the ferry. There were times when she thought the effort
+would have to be abandoned.
+
+He was there. In fact he opened the door and assisted her to alight from
+the vehicle. There was a brief discussion with the driver over the
+register's showing. Then they hurried into the ferry building, pursued
+by three bags and a "Much obliged, Miss," from the surprised chauffeur.
+
+[Illustration: "He was there. In fact he opened the door and assisted
+her to alight."]
+
+"You were very reckless, giving him a dollar," he criticised severely,
+but not forgetting that he had given five the night before. He had been
+wondering all the morning if _she_ had noticed the cocktails.
+
+"It is so good of you to come down," she said, a color in her cheeks
+that was not from the cold. He was marveling. Never, in all his life,
+had he seen any one so pretty as this trim, proud young person in the
+Persian lamb coat and ermine stole and muff. She gauged his thoughts.
+"Presents from Mrs. Scoville--in advance of Christmas," she said dryly.
+He was properly embarrassed. "Now, I must ask about the trains."
+
+"It's all attended to, Miss Pembroke," he said. "I got here at half-past
+twelve, lunchless. Boat in ten minutes, train out of Jersey City at two
+o'clock, positively. We can have luncheon on the train." He seemed a bit
+embarrassed, as he ought to have been, in truth.
+
+She stood still and looked at him. "On the train?" she murmured.
+
+"Yes, Miss Pembroke. I have an afternoon off. I'm going to Princeton.
+Oh, by the way, don't bother about the tickets. I have them. Come along,
+please, or we'll miss the boat."
+
+Of course she protested. She was very much annoyed--or, at least, that
+is what she meant to be.
+
+He explained, in a burst of confidence meant to cover the unique
+trepidation he felt, that he was not to assume his duties as secretary
+to Mr. Krosson until the following Monday. "This is my last free week.
+Don't begrudge me an excursion. It's to take the place of four house
+parties."
+
+She held out stubbornly, for appearance's sake; it was not until they
+were in the middle of the Hudson that she said it would be very nice,
+and he could catch the five o'clock train back to New York.
+
+It would be difficult to relate all that they said during the tortuous
+trip to Princeton. Naturally they discussed his prospects.
+
+"I'm not sure that I know what a secretary has to do," he confessed.
+"But," with a determined gleam in his eyes, "whatever it is, I'm going
+to do it. I don't expect Mr. Krosson to give me a year's vacation on
+full pay, and I'm not looking for furs in my stocking at this or any
+other Christmas, but I do mean to live on what I earn. I'm to have
+twenty-five hundred a year, in the beginning."
+
+"Goodness, that _is_ a lot of money," she said. They were at luncheon in
+the private dining car.
+
+"I'll retain my membership in two clubs. I'm starting out to-morrow to
+find a couple of cozy rooms in a genteel apartment hotel."
+
+"Have you broken the news to your father?"
+
+He laughed. "No. I stopped at his room to see if he had pneumonia. He
+said he was asleep and couldn't tell--and for me to go to the devil."
+
+From the car window they watched the great white sea through which they
+were gliding. Their hearts were free and their hearts were sparkling.
+Constantly recurring in their thoughts were the little forgotten things
+of that memorable voyage across the Atlantic. It was he, however, who
+presumed to steal surreptitious glances in which wonder was uppermost;
+she steadfastly declined to be led by her impulses.
+
+"You've never heard anything particularly terrible about me, have you?"
+he demanded, rather anxiously, once in course of a duet of
+personalities.
+
+"Only that a great many women are in love with you."
+
+"It's funny I've never heard that," he said dolefully.
+
+"Men say that you are an exceptionally decent chap and it's too bad
+you'll never amount to anything."
+
+"Oh, they do, do they?" indignantly.
+
+"I think they'll be stunned when they hear of your latest move."
+
+"Well, I'll show 'em what I'm made of."
+
+"Splendid! I like to hear you speak in that way."
+
+"You do?" he asked eagerly. "You _do_ think I'll make good, don't you?"
+
+"What station is this?" she asked deliberately.
+
+"Rahway," he said, leaning close to her in order to see the name on the
+station.
+
+"I think I'll have a holiday on Christmas," he ventured carefully.
+"That's next week, you know. May I come down to Princeton for the
+afternoon and evening?"
+
+"To see me?" She seemed surprised.
+
+"Yes," he said simply. She had expected some frivolous reply. Her gaze
+wavered ever so slightly as it met his.
+
+"It will be a very dull way to spend Christmas," she said.
+
+"Christmas is always a dull day," he said, so imploringly that she
+laughed. He came very near to adding, irrelevantly, that she was
+prettier than ever when she smiled.
+
+"When there are no children about," he succeeded in saying, as an amend
+for his slip.
+
+"There are two in our house, besides myself," she said gayly.
+
+"Splendid!" he cried enthusiastically. "Can't we have a tree?"
+
+On the platform at Princeton he was introduced to two small and very
+pretty young ladies, six and eight, and to a resentful gallant aged
+nine, who seemed to look upon him with disfavor. It afterwards developed
+that he was the characteristic neighbor boy who loves beyond his years.
+He adored Miss Pembroke.
+
+"Mr. Van Pycke is coming down for Christmas," announced Miss Pembroke,
+in course of time, drawing her little sisters close to her side and
+smiling upon the dazzled gallant, aged nine.
+
+"Will you play bear for me?" asked the young lady aged six, after a sly
+look at her nurse.
+
+"The whole menagerie," said Mr. Van Pycke, most obligingly. Then, having
+occupied a perilously long time in shaking hands with the girl in the
+Persian lamb, he rushed off in response to the station master's
+satirical warning that last night's train was just pulling out for New
+York.
+
+"I know just what's going to happen to me," he said to himself,
+jubilantly, as he waved to her from the window. "I can feel it coming."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+HIS FIRST HOLIDAY
+
+
+Two days passed before Mr. Van Pycke, senior, in diligent and somewhat
+wrathful quest of his son, came to know that the young man had accepted
+a position as secretary to Mr. Krosson.
+
+"I can't believe it," said Mr. Van Pycke, a sudden pallor almost
+retrieving the lost complexion at the end of his nose. He then went
+about the search in earnest, ultimately discovering his son in his room
+at the club, busily engaged in superintending the packing of cherished
+Penates.
+
+"Is what I hear true, Bosworth?" demanded the old gentleman, without
+preliminaries.
+
+"Sit down, dad. Try that trunk. The chairs seem to be occupied by odds
+and ends." Bosworth was in his shirt sleeves. His hands were dirty, and
+there was a long dark streak across his brow. "I'm moving."
+
+"Moving? What the devil's the meaning of all this?" sputtered his
+father, kicking a package of rugs out of the way.
+
+"I can't afford to live here on twenty-five hundred a year," said his
+son, genially. The perspiring porters retired to the hall.
+
+"But you have twelve thou--"
+
+"And I have decided to save that twelve thousand. My salary will have to
+do for a few years, dad."
+
+"Your salary? Then it is true?" It was almost a wail.
+
+"It does seem too good to be true, doesn't it? I am like you, dad. I
+didn't believe any one would hire me. But Mr. Krosson seems to think
+I've got it in me to--"
+
+"Bosworth," interrupted his father, sternly, "I won't permit you to make
+an ass of yourself. I forbid you--"
+
+"Hold on, dad," said Bosworth, rather shortly. "We won't discuss it
+unless we can do so agreeably. I'm going into this thing with all my
+heart, and I mean to stick to it. There's an end to that. I'm tired of
+leading an absolutely useless, butterfly life."
+
+"But, my boy, my boy," groaned the other, "this step will blast every
+prospect of a suitable marriage. Demmit all, no one will marry you."
+
+"I'm not so sure of that," said his son, sticking his hands into his
+pockets and breathing deeply. "I think, if I'm careful, I can make a
+very suitable marriage."
+
+"Rubbish! Who'd marry a secretary?" sniffed Mr. Van Pycke, jabbing a
+chair-back with his cane.
+
+Bosworth radiated joy. "I would!" he cried so emphatically that Mr. Van
+Pycke almost rose to his toes.
+
+"That's not the point, sir," said he, a little bewildered. "You can't
+marry yourself."
+
+Bosworth laughed softly, but ventured no explanation to the odd remark.
+If, during the next ten minutes, his father noticed a detached,
+far-away look in the young man's eyes, he attributed it to the force of
+his own arguments. Just as he was beginning to feel that he had
+succeeded in turning the thoughtful young man from his suicidal course,
+Bosworth came to himself with a start.
+
+"Beg pardon, dad; my mind must have been wandering. What were you
+saying?"
+
+"Do--do you mean to tell me you haven't heard what I've been saying to
+you?" roared the old gentleman, coming to his feet.
+
+"I'm sorry; but, you see, this new undertaking is on my mind all the
+time. It's a rather serious step I'm taking and I can't help giving it a
+good deal of thought. Mr. Krosson says he'll raise my salary at the end
+of--"
+
+But Mr. Van Pycke was standing over him, his face red with anger.
+
+"I brought you up as a gentleman, sir, and this is what comes of it.
+What would your poor mother say? She, too, expected you to be a
+gentleman, sir. Your grandfather expected it. All Van Pyckes are
+gentlemen. You are the first to forget yourself, sir. By Gad, sir, I
+suppose you'll marry a shop girl or a stenographer. That's what you'll
+do! After the way in which I've brought you up and educated you and all
+that. And with the Van Pycke name and traditions at your command! It's
+so demmed preposterous that I can't express myself adequately. It's--"
+
+"It's no use, dad," said Bosworth, simply. "I'm lost."
+
+"You could marry that little Hebbins girl next week if you--"
+
+"I'm going to marry for love, dad," said his son.
+
+Mr. Van Pycke opened his lips to say something, thought better of it,
+and stalked majestically out of the room. In the hall he encountered the
+two porters.
+
+"Is Mr. Bosworth ready for us now, Mr.--" began one of the men, very
+deferentially, for Mr. Van Pycke was very well known in the club.
+
+"Get out of my way!" roared Mr. Van Pycke.
+
+The next morning, it being a Sunday at that, Bosworth sustained a blow
+that shook him mightily. In his box he found a curt letter from his
+father.
+
+"My dear son," it read, "I neglected to announce my coming marriage to
+you at our last meeting. I dare say it was because I was so upset. I am
+to be married to Mrs. Scoville on the third of January. If you can get
+away from the shop, or the office, or whatever it is, at three o'clock
+on that day, I will be very much gratified to see you at the ceremony.
+Your loving father."
+
+Bosworth clapped his hand to his brow, glaring at the note.
+
+"He's gone clean daffy!" he groaned. "Scoville? Why, he must know she's
+already--Great Scott! He means the old one!--the pelican!--that's who he
+means. The good Lord deliver us!"
+
+He was genuinely distressed. The dowager Mrs. Scoville, of all women!
+For a long time he stood in the window, staring out over the housetops,
+his heart full of pity for his wayward parent.
+
+"Poor old dad!" he said over and over again. "He's paying an awful
+price for the privilege of remaining a gentleman to the end. Hang it
+all! I would have taken care of him. I'd have given him half of my
+income--yes, two thirds of it--sooner than see him sell out to that old
+tigress. I'll see him at once. I'll make the proposition to him. He may
+be able to crawl out of it."
+
+He soon discovered that an appeal of any sort was out of the question.
+The Sunday papers announced the approaching marriage of the venerable
+society leaders. As a man of honor, Van Dieman Van Pycke could not now
+retreat.
+
+"Poor dad!" said Bosworth a hundred times that day. He could not banish
+the calamity from his mind. Thoughts of Mary Pembroke crept in
+frequently to chasten his ill humor, but even a developing interest in
+that adorable creature failed to overcome the shock he had received.
+
+He ended by writing a long, boyish letter of congratulation and well
+wishes to his father, closing with the ingenuous hope that he might live
+long to enjoy the fruits of his folly.
+
+The next day, bright and early, he was at the office of the great Mr.
+Krosson, a bit nervous, but withal full of the confidence that will not
+be gainsaid. Every man in the club, on that momentous Sunday, had
+congratulated him on the step he was taking. Somehow, he was beginning
+to feel that he was no longer "Buzzy" Van Pycke. He was almost a
+stranger to himself.
+
+Christmas came on Friday. By that time he was fairly well acquainted
+with the inner offices of Mr. Krosson. The novelty was wearing off, but
+his ambition was being constantly whetted by signs of achievement that
+met him, no matter which way he looked in contemplation of his new
+environment. To his surprise and gratification--and also to his
+consternation--society was not ready to drop him. As a matter of fact,
+he was more sought after than ever. Most of his time as secretary to Mr.
+Krosson was spent in declining the invitations that poured in upon him
+from admiring hostesses who, far from disdaining him, frankly intimated
+that they liked him the better for the step he had taken. Old Mrs.
+Beeker, society's leader, halted him in Fifth Avenue the day before
+Christmas and leaned from her carriage window to tell him that she was
+proud of him.
+
+"Women despise idlers and dawdlers, my dear boy," she said. "Make
+something of yourself. If you should happen to get a wife, beat her
+occasionally."
+
+His personal effects had been removed to less conspicuous rooms in
+Seventy-seventh Street. He was at home there every evening.
+
+"I wonder if this will last," he said to himself more than once in those
+first days.
+
+He was off to Princeton on the noon train, more pleasurably excited than
+he had been in many a day. He had asked Mr. Krosson if his services were
+necessary at the office on Christmas day.
+
+"If not, I think I will run down to Princeton to spend the holiday with
+friends."
+
+"I thought you were going to drop out of society, Bosworth," said the
+capitalist, putting his hand on the young man's shoulder.
+
+Bosworth flushed. "I expect to, Mr. Krosson, but I'm not going into a
+monastery," he said.
+
+"I'm glad you were not one of the guests at that ridiculous De
+Foe-Scoville wedding," said his old friend and new master. "That was the
+limit in outrages."
+
+"It was very daring," said Bosworth, swallowing hard.
+
+He had seven bundles and a suit case on the seat in front of him when
+the train pulled out of Jersey City. In his pocket was a great bunch of
+newspaper clippings, intended for the private eye of the new Mrs. De
+Foe's one-time secretary. He wondered how she would take the caustic,
+sometimes scurrilous things the editors were saying about the now
+historic wedding. Few if any of them left a shred on which the bride
+could depend for support if she ever presumed to apply to New York
+society for reestablishment. He was distressed by the fear that Mary
+Pembroke would take to heart the bitter things that were being said of
+her benefactress. He discovered, later on, that Mrs. De Foe had quite
+fully prepared the girl for the avalanche of criticism. And so it was
+that Mary was able to smile when he showed her the clippings.
+
+"I'm still her private secretary, Mr. Van Pycke," she said, "and
+therefore I cannot discuss her private affairs with any one. As Mr.
+Krosson's secretary, you wouldn't think of discussing his affairs, would
+you?"
+
+But we are getting ahead of the story, or, more properly speaking, ahead
+of the train. When he got down at Princeton, with his bundles and his
+bag, he was surprised and not a little mortified by the half-checked
+shriek of laughter that greeted him from the shelter of the station
+building. She had come down to meet him. He had not expected it. But it
+was most unkind of her to laugh at him. The bundles contained Christmas
+presents for the children, he had lugged them about at great
+inconvenience, and--He was thinking these things, but not venturing to
+express them aloud.
+
+"Forgive me," she cried, hurrying over to him. "You _are_ so funny with
+all those packages."
+
+He promptly set them down, regardless, and shook hands with her. His
+ears were a bit red. On second thoughts, he didn't blame her for
+laughing. He now recalled that other people had smiled as he crowded
+through the aisle of the car, but he had not noticed it at the time on
+account of a certain abstractedness that had to do with the future and
+not the present.
+
+"I didn't expect you," he said. "It's awfully good of you to meet me.
+Merry Christmas!"
+
+"To you the same," she cried, meeting his gaze with one in which
+happiness shone brightly. "I had a dark purpose in meeting you here, Mr.
+Van Pycke. It's very mysterious."
+
+"Splendid!" he said. "I've always wanted to be a conspirator."
+
+"Let me take some of the packages--yes, do! I insist! You are
+ridiculous, carrying all these things. I have a cab around the corner.
+We'll--"
+
+"A cab!" he exclaimed, dropping a picture puzzle with considerable
+effect. "My dear Miss Pembroke, we can't afford cabs! They're
+luxuries."
+
+"You won't say so when you see this one," she said gayly. Together they
+collected the bundles, large and small, and hurried off to the waiting
+cab. There was some doubt as to which should go in first, the passengers
+or the parcels.
+
+"If we get in first, there will be no room for the bundles," said he.
+"And if we put them in first, there'll be no room for us." The venerable
+driver scratched his head in perplexity.
+
+"We could make two loads of it, sir," he said. "I c'n take your wife and
+half the bundles up first and come back--"
+
+"It isn't to be thought off," interrupted Bosworth, quickly. "Don't you
+remember me, Tobias?"
+
+"It--it ain't Mr. Van Pycke? Well, by gracious! It beats the--"
+
+Bosworth checked him in time. To Miss Pembroke he said: "Tobias drove me
+all the way from the freshman class to the senior."
+
+"I knew it, Mr. Van Pycke. That's why I engaged him."
+
+Tobias was suddenly confused. "Excuse me, I was thinking of another
+gentleman when I said wife, sir. My mistake, sir. It sha'n't happen
+again."
+
+"Don't make rash statements like that, Tobias," said Bosworth, boldly.
+"You can't tell what will happen."
+
+"Put the bundles in, Tobias," said Miss Pembroke quietly, far from
+amused. "Mr. Van Pycke must ride on the seat with you. He has done it a
+great many times, if tradition is to be trusted."
+
+"My dear Miss Pembroke--"
+
+"Drive us into the alley at the rear of Mr. Pembroke's house, please.
+We're going in through the kitchen, Mr. Van Pycke. There's to be a
+Christmas tree at three o'clock. You are to be Santa Claus. I'll secrete
+you in the butler's pantry until it is time for you to appear. Now,
+please don't object. We have the fur coat and the whiskers and the red
+cap. All you have to do is to come in and play you're delighted. You
+will read off the names and--now, _do_ be nice! You know it will be
+great fun."
+
+He could not resist the appeal in her eyes. It seemed to him that to be
+disagreeable about it--or even reluctant--would be the most dastardly
+crime imaginable. He caught the spirit.
+
+"Great fun? It will be gorgeous!"
+
+"Oh, lovely," she cried. "Hurry up, please. It's after two, and I still
+have to put some things on the tree."
+
+She squeezed into the decrepit little hack, laughing joyously. He
+scrambled up beside Tobias, clinging manfully to less than ten inches of
+seat, a splendid grin on his face all the way across town, utterly
+oblivious to the curious stares of Christmas pedestrians who passed them
+by.
+
+He was thinking only of her smile of delight and of the amazing change
+it had wrought in him--like a flash, so to speak. Already Christmas was
+beginning to mean a great deal to him.
+
+The chatty Tobias, reminiscent and more or less paternal, swung into an
+alley entrance in course of time,--not without a smug uplifting of his
+left eyebrow,--and trotted his venerable nag onward until a sharp
+rapping on the window-glass from within brought him to a rather heroic
+stop between two widely separated back gates.
+
+"Drive on to the next gate," called out the young lady, partly opening
+the door. Bosworth almost fell off in his valiant attempt to catch a
+glimpse of her face.
+
+With a great deal of stealth and no small amount of suppressed, eager
+laughter, they made their way into the kitchen of the quaint old house.
+
+Half an hour later Mr. Bosworth Van Pycke, suffering somewhat from stage
+fright but buoyed by the promise of unequivocal success in his new rôle,
+bounded from the pantry into the dining-room, befurred and bewhiskered,
+with nothing showing but his nose, greatly to the delight and
+consternation of a dozen small children who shrieked with excitement.
+
+He had appeared with some success in amateur theatricals and had led
+cotillions under the most nerve-racking conditions, but never before had
+he come plump against an audience of children. It was rather terrifying.
+He halted in the middle of the room, to the left of the brilliantly
+lighted, tinselled tree with its load of presents, and there he stuck,
+spellbound, until the shrill voice of one less awed than the rest broke
+the hush that had fallen upon the expectant group in the row of chairs
+beyond.
+
+"Hello, Santy!" piped up this small, confident voice. Bosworth could
+not afford to be outdone in politeness. He responded:
+
+"Hello, Mr. What's-your-name!"
+
+"What a pretty voice you have," called out a pink little girl.
+
+Right there Bosworth forgot his lines. He was to say something about
+Christmas coming but once a year and that Santa Claus loved nice little
+girls and boys, after which he was to appeal to Miss Pembroke for
+assistance in distributing the presents. But the ingenuous compliment
+upset him. He made his appeal to Miss Pembroke first, and it was rather
+a piteous one at that. She flew at once to his relief. In two minutes he
+was talking volubly, even brilliantly, shouting back at the children and
+making himself so generously noisy that he would have been very much
+shocked if he could have stepped outside and heard himself.
+
+Four or five nurses in the background giggled and simpered; the
+housemaid and the cook grinned so amiably that Miss Pembroke had real
+hopes that she could keep them in Princeton for the rest of the winter.
+
+"The Pembroke infants are the only poor man's blessings in the crowd,
+Mr. Van Pycke," said Mary in a gay aside. "The others have everything.
+But they are having a good time, aren't they?"
+
+"They're not having half so good a time as I am," he said eagerly. By
+this time he was thoroughly imbued with the spirit of the hour. "I never
+knew Christmas could be so good to grown-ups. Why, it's--it's ripping!"
+
+Once at the top of a stepladder, he burst into uncontrollable laughter,
+seemingly for no reason on earth. It had just occurred to him to wonder
+what his friends in New York would say if they could see him now! Miss
+Pembroke looked up in some surprise.
+
+"What is it?" she called rather anxiously.
+
+"Nothing," he replied hastily. "A hang-over laugh from my youth, that's
+all. This is the first chance it's had to escape."
+
+At last the tree was completely shorn of its wealth; nothing but the
+tinsel, the pop-corn, and the tin candlesticks were left. In front of
+each child stretched a new panorama of possessions. Each little one was
+a person of vast and suddenly acquired wealth; arrogantly wealthy was
+each, at that, for no one admitted the superiority of another's
+acquisitions. We were all wealthy on the Christmas days of long ago.
+
+Bosworth had the satisfaction of knowing that his own presents to the
+small Pembrokes were received with wild acclaim. He could not help
+recalling certain presents he had bestowed on former Christmases, upon
+more mature ladies, who received them as a matter of tribute and with
+hardly so much as a sigh of pleasure.
+
+Then the children were herded into the library with their toys and their
+sweetmeats, pursued by anxious, colic-fearing nurses. Bosworth, very hot
+and very happy, retired to the pantry to remove his great coat, his
+whiskers, and his cotton wig (the latter the handiwork of Miss Pembroke,
+who, whatever else she might have been proficient in, was not a
+successful wig-maker).
+
+She appeared in the swinging door, her face flushed and her eyes
+glowing.
+
+"Wasn't it fun?" she cried.
+
+He was picking cotton from his hair. He paused in this operation to
+stare at her, entranced.
+
+"By Jove!" he murmured, his soul leaping to his eyes. As if fascinated,
+he advanced slowly, his hands extended to clasp hers. She drew back ever
+so slightly, confused by the look in his eyes. She gave him her hands,
+however,--warm, firm little hands that hesitated a long time before
+responding to the grip he gave them.
+
+"Do you know," he said, irrelevant but serious to the point of
+perplexing her, "I believe I've never had you out of my mind during all
+these years? I haven't realized it before, but now I honestly believe
+it's true. You've been here--in my brain--all this time. That's why no
+one else ever really got in. Mary Pembroke, you are still the loveliest
+girl I've ever seen--just as you were fourteen years ago. You are just
+as wonderful to me now as you were then--even though you were eight and
+yellow-haired and lived in the cabin _de luxe_. It's--it's marvelous.
+You've been lying dormant in my memory--in my heart--all these years.
+Now you are suddenly revived. It's a terribly queer sensation. I--I
+don't believe I'll get over it."
+
+She withdrew her hands; her lids wavered before his steady gaze.
+Something ineffably sweet crept into the dark eyes; a quick, almost
+imperceptible quiver flashed over her chin, and her lips parted in
+tremulous protest against the possibility of jest.
+
+"I'm--I 'm glad that you do remember me," she said, with a vague little
+smile.
+
+"I loved you--oh, how I loved you on that long-ago voyage," he said
+recklessly. "I used to lie awake half the night in my berth, lamenting
+the fact that I was so ungainly and so homely, and so utterly unfit to
+be a story-book hero to you. I had a terrible fear that my legs would
+always be beanpoles and that my chest would never grow to even
+respectable proportions. I thought my ears were big and--"
+
+"They _were_ big," she interposed, the mysterious quaver still in her
+voice.
+
+"They were like bat's ears, only bigger," he agreed dismally. "And I
+hated my freckles and despaired of my hair, which would curl up at the
+back of my neck. All this time you were so lovely, so perfect, so
+adorable--"
+
+"What a rhapsodist you are!" she cried.
+
+"You didn't possess a single flaw--not one," he announced firmly. "Every
+boy on the boat was perishing of love for you. By Jove, you knew it,
+too."
+
+"Oh, you forget how young I was!"
+
+"At any rate, you knew I was sick over you. And for months after we
+landed in New York--yes, until long after I went away to
+boarding-school--you were the princess of my dreams, the treasure of my
+heart. Then I thought I had forgotten you. You slipped back into my
+memory and hid yourself completely away. There you stayed snugly,
+serenely, quite as if I had stored you in a safety deposit box, all the
+while growing more beautiful, more lovely, more valuable. Last week I
+opened the box and took you out. I was amazed to find that you had
+always been there. I had put you there as a little girl, and when I came
+to take you out, you were a beautiful lady. I'd been treasuring you up
+through all these years without really knowing it. I never knew I was so
+rich."
+
+A sudden panic assailed her. She realized, without warning, that she was
+being made love to, and that underneath his fanciful declarations there
+was something real, and strong, and earnest. She might have laughed at
+him and chided him for his gallantry had it not been for one distressing
+obstacle: he, Bosworth Van Pycke, had been lying just as snugly all
+these years in the deepest recesses of her heart. Unlike him, however,
+she had never quite forgotten the flaxen-haired lad of the steamship.
+
+"It's so very nice of you to say--" she began.
+
+"I mean it all, too--every word of it," he said gently. "It's all come
+back to me--"
+
+"Don't you think we'd better go in where the children are?" she asked
+nervously, backing toward the door, the light in her eyes very bright.
+"This--this, Mr. Van Pycke, is the pantry."
+
+He flushed. "I--I dare say it does seem rather like backstairs
+gallantry," he said, in genuine humility.
+
+"I didn't mean it in that way," she cried instantly. "It was the most
+beautiful thought I've ever heard expressed." She stopped suddenly. "Are
+you coming?"
+
+"Not until I've said the rest of it," he said, looking over his
+shoulder. Then, with fierce eagerness, drawing closer to her: "I adored
+you when you were eight. You may call it boyish impulse or whatever you
+like. Be that as it may, I've never loved any one else. A hundred times
+I've tried to picture the face, the form, the character of the girl I'd
+really come to love. Always there came to my mind a face--not a child's
+face, but a child's face grown to a woman's. It was always the same. The
+face of the little girl who grew up in my brain without being
+observed--without a sign that she was there. When she was fifteen, she
+was fifteen to my dreams; when she was twenty, I imagined her as such.
+She grew up with me. Every year I saw the change in the girl I pictured
+as the one I could love. No other came up to that ideal. There could be
+no other, for there was a real girl there all the time. I loved you
+years ago, Mary Pembroke, and I must tell you that--"
+
+"Oh, you mustn't say it--you mustn't!" she cried, tremulously, putting
+out her hand. "It--it doesn't seem real--it wouldn't seem honest.
+Please, please don't treat it lightly. Don't spoil it all by--"
+
+"I never was so serious," he said. "I--I didn't mean to shock you. It
+must sound foolish to you. Of course, I've never meant anything to you.
+It's all on my side. I've been too abrupt. I've been an awful ass to
+blurt it out to you so soon. Why, you can't help looking upon me as a
+total stranger. You haven't thought of me in years and years."
+
+"Oh, I haven't forgotten the spindle-shanked boy," she said in a very
+low voice. "You may not have known it, my friend, but I was very deeply
+in love with you in the days of the old _Campania_. I was--"
+
+"You were! You really were?" he cried, with difficulty reducing it to a
+half whisper.
+
+"I was a very impressionable child," she said, regaining all of her lost
+ground as only a woman can when carried to the last extremity.
+
+"And--and I _may_ have a chance even now?" he cried, his eyes gleaming.
+
+She pushed the swing-door open with her elbow and demurely held it ajar
+for him, a soft smile on her lips that he did not then understand and
+never was to understand, being a male.
+
+"You are Santa Claus, not Romeo," she said. He also missed the flutter
+in her voice and entirely overlooked the fact that she was breathing
+quickly.
+
+He followed her into the dining-room, strangely subdued. They came by
+the light of a window. There, with an impulsive gesture and a quick
+laugh, she halted him. Her amused eyes were taking in his tumbled hair.
+
+"Wait," she said. "Do you mind if I pick some of the cotton out of your
+hair?"
+
+"Not at all," he said with alacrity.
+
+"Lean over," she said. He did so. Very daintily, very deftly she pulled
+the stray wisps of cotton from his hair, so deftly, in fact, that he
+scarcely felt the touch of her fingers, although his whole being
+thrilled with the delicious sensation of contact. For years he was to
+remember that infinite minute and a half. He knew how pleased Samson
+must have been while his strength was being shorn, even though the
+parable says he slept.
+
+A trifle dazed by exaltation, he followed her into the library. The
+children who had greeted him vociferously as Santa Claus were now
+strangely silent and tongue-tied in the presence of a mere human,--but
+only for a moment.
+
+"Oh, it's Mr. Pycke!" screamed the pinkest one of them all. "I know
+him!"
+
+Whereupon she announced that he had come down from New York to see her
+sister Mary and was going to stay for dinner and play bear.
+
+"Do you mind being left alone with them for a few minutes?" asked Mary.
+"I must go up to father's room. He is quite helpless, you know."
+
+"I'd forgotten to ask how he's feeling to-day," he murmured contritely.
+
+The tears suddenly rushed to her eyes. A very pathetic smile and a shake
+of her head was the only answer he received. She left him standing
+there, surrounded by glad, expectant revelers, prey to a most unusual
+depression--as swift as it was surprising. His heart, overflowing with a
+new sensation of tenderness and pity, followed the slender figure up the
+stairs; there was but little of it left below to encourage the gleeful
+spirits of the care-free lads and lassies.
+
+For some unexplained reason, which he afterward sought to attribute to
+hysteria, he hugged the pink little Pembroke girl with unnecessary
+ardor, and would have kissed her older sister if he could have caught
+her.
+
+When Miss Pembroke came downstairs half an hour later, she found him
+playing bear, with tiny Miss Florence leading him about the room at the
+end of a long red ribbon. His hair was rumpled and his face was flushed,
+and it seemed that he was gasping for breath--whether from exertion or
+because the ribbon was choking him, she could not tell. She rescued him
+at once.
+
+"I like it," he cried. "It's fun to be a kiddie once more. As a matter
+of fact, you know, I never really had a kid's life. I'm having the time
+of my life."
+
+"Why, they 're wearing you out," she cried. "May I ask what you were
+representing?"
+
+"A bear!" shouted eleven voices. Bosworth gravely nodded.
+
+"He was going to be a trained seal, only we couldn't get a tub for him
+to lie on," said Mary's nine-year-old worshiper.
+
+Miss Pembroke laughed gayly. "I understood you to say last week, Mr. Van
+Pycke, that you were through with menagerie performances for all time."
+There was a witchery in her eyes that enthralled him.
+
+"This is different," he protested in some confusion. "I draw the line at
+grown-up tomfoolery. It may interest you to know that I was a horse just
+before you came in. They've all had a ride on my back. This chap here,
+when I wasn't looking, took those cavalry spurs from the mantelpiece
+over there and, by Jove! he _did_ get me moving!"
+
+The children shrieked with glee.
+
+"You poor man!" Mary cried, genuinely troubled over his experiences.
+"You've had a dreadful time. I'll save you before it grows any worse.
+Come upstairs, won't you, please? Father is very eager to meet you."
+
+"But I've promised to be another horse," he said loyally.
+
+"It wasn't a horse," corrected one of the boys. "You have been that. You
+said you'd be a jackass. None of us ever saw a jackass."
+
+"You said you could be a jackass without half trying, Mr. Van Pycke,"
+said the little pink Pembroke.
+
+Mr. Van Pycke fled. His charming hostess overtook him in the hall,
+where, in dire humility, he had paused to wait for her. She was having
+immense difficulty to keep her face straight and serene.
+
+"I--I wonder if the little beggars think I _am_ such an idiot as I
+seem," was his unhappy lamentation.
+
+"They adore you!" she cried. "You have been too splendid for anything. I
+am so afraid you have been bored by--"
+
+"If you don't banish that pathetic droop from the corners of your--your
+adorable mouth, I'll do something positively desperate," he interrupted,
+folding' his arms resolutely so that he couldn't, by any chance, do it.
+
+She smiled at him, quite confidingly,--greatly to his disappointment,
+for he had rather hoped for consternation,--and said:
+
+"It is banished." Then she started up the stairs. "Come. I'll show you
+to your room first. You may come into father's room when you have
+brushed your hair. It looks positively savage."
+
+"My room?" he murmured, coming close behind her.
+
+"Yes. Don't you expect to dress for dinner, sir?"
+
+"Oh, I can't put you to the trouble of--"
+
+"You are to stop here--in this house, Mr. Van Pycke. Your room is all
+ready for you. I was compelled to turn you out in the cold the other
+night and I was so sorry. Now you are in my own home, you must stay--to
+make up for the other time. My father expects you to stay."
+
+"Over night?" he said unbelievingly.
+
+"Unless, of course, you've something else you'd rather do," she said
+quickly.
+
+"Why--why," he stammered, his head swimming with delight, "there's
+nothing in the world I'd rather do than to stay here. It seems
+incredible."
+
+"There's a train up at eight in the morning," she announced calmly.
+"You'll be called at six-thirty. Breakfast at seven. Bacon and eggs and
+popovers. Is that all right?"
+
+"There's only one thing lacking," he cried, his heart leaping. They were
+standing quite close to each other at the head of the stairs.
+
+"If our home isn't--"
+
+"If you'll promise to come down to breakfast, I'll never get over the
+joy of this visit," he said.
+
+"I always have breakfast with the children." He looked askance. "At
+seven o'clock," she vouchsafed.
+
+"By Jove!" was all he could gasp in his delirium.
+
+"That's father's door at the end of the hall. Come in there when you are
+ready. I'll be with him. Don't be long. Your room is here."
+
+He watched her until she closed her father's door behind her. Then he
+went into the sweet little bedroom across the hall, sat down rather
+heavily upon the edge of a couch, pulled his collar away from his throat
+as if that act were necessary to let the blood back from his head, and
+murmured over and over again, in the haziest manner imaginable:
+
+"Who would have thought it could come like this? Who would have dreamed
+it?"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Eleven o'clock that night. A fire in the library grate; logs crackling
+and the sap singing; the smell of live wood burning; the musketry of
+popping sparks; the swirl of smoke into the drafty chimney. New logs had
+just found their place of duty upon the half-starved fire behind the
+ancient "dogs." A sturdy poking had put life into the lazy embers. It
+was high time, indeed. For an hour the fire had gone neglected,
+unheeded. The chill of a bitter night had come creeping into the room,
+slowly conquering the warmth that had reigned supreme. Outside the wind
+had begun to whistle with a wilder glee; the creeking of wagon-wheels on
+the frozen roadway grew louder and more angrily insistent; a desolate
+cornet, far off in the Christmas air, sobbed its pathetic song to the
+fickle ear of the night.
+
+Two sentinels had stood watch over the fire for hours. It died as they
+watched it, and yet they did not see.
+
+Not unlike another fire, a week old and long since dead, was this one,
+and not unlike the soft glow of another fire-light was that which played
+on the serene faces of the two sentinels who sat side by side and
+watched their charge eke out its life. But on that other night these
+sentinels were not lovers.
+
+She shivered. He had been telling her of the world that was ahead of
+them and of all the joys it was to hold for him. He had told her that he
+would care for her all his life--that he would take care of her to the
+end of hers.
+
+It was then that she smiled fairly, a dear little pucker coming between
+her eyes.
+
+"I know, Bosworth, dear," she said quaintly, "but would you mind taking
+a little care of me now? I am freezing. Please poke up the fire."
+
+It was not until then that the fireplace renewed its roar of gladness,
+supported by his tardy but vigorous conscience.
+
+Together they stood before the resulting blaze. Her hands were in his,
+clasped close to his breast. Her eyes were closed. He kissed the lids.
+
+[Illustration: "Her eyes were closed. He kissed the lids."]
+
+"Fourteen years is a long time, Bosworth, dear, for two people to love
+each other without knowing it," she said, ever so softly, freeing one
+hand only that it might be slipped up to his cheek and then to his hair.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Alternative, by George Barr McCutcheon
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43071 ***