SAMUEL PLAYS A NEW GAME
The next morning Laurie awoke from troubled dreams with a vague feeling
that life was getting a rise out of him, a feeling that the absent
morning greeting of Rodney Bangs did not help to dissipate.
Without realizing it, young Devon had rather sunned himself in the
adulation of his chum. When this adulation was removed, he missed it;
and for the present, at least, there was no question that adulation was
lacking.
Not that Bangs failed in any of the outward forms of friendship, but his
manner had changed. He was increasingly preoccupied. When Laurie spoke,
Bangs had the effect of coming to him from a long distance, and even of
having one foot extended, as it were, for the return journey.
The two young men breakfasted together, for the first time in several
days; and over their coffee and cigarettes Laurie confided to his friend
his new anxiety about Mrs. Ordway.
Bangs at once became human. Indeed, he showed a degree of solicitude
that surprised his friend. It was suddenly clear that Rodney was vastly
interested in Louise. He had even ventured to call on her, though Laurie
did not yet know this; for the first call was made, as it happened, on
the afternoon of the day when the two young men had indulged in their
first serious quarrel.
Bangs, usually the most modest and self-conscious of youths, had
abruptly lost his shyness under the urge of a need to talk about his
chum to some one who would understand. And Louise had understood, quite
surprisingly. Recalling the long talk he and she had had, the help she
had given him, the plans they had made, Rodney grew very serious.
"It's lucky Sonya's in town," he said, when this further fact had been
revealed. "Let's go over to the hotel and see her right after breakfast.
Perhaps we ought to cable to Warren. Sonya will know."
He spoke with such studied carelessness that Laurie flashed a sudden
look at him. Under it Bangs flushed to the roots of his burnished
pompadour.
"Well, well," murmured Laurie, "this _is_ interesting! Odd I didn't
notice it before."
Whatever "it" was, he gave his whole attention to it now. Leaning
forward, he ostentatiously studied Bangs, with an expression at once
indulgent and amazed.
"A flush on his cheek, too," he mused aloud.
"Shut up!" Bangs clenched his teeth, while the flush deepened.
"Easily irritated; respiration slightly irregular, all the familiar
symptoms."
"For God's sake, Laurie, don't be an ass!" begged Bangs.
"All the familiar symptoms--of a heavy cold," murmured Laurie,
sympathetically. "A hot bath and a dose of quinine might help at this
stage. But if it gets worse--" Laurie reflected, anxiously shaking his
head--"if it gets worse I'll send for Sonya," he finished brightly.
He rose, dodged the roll Rodney hurled at him, and strolled out of the
room, opening the door again to add an afterthought that suddenly
occurred to him.
"Don't risk your life by going to the hotel, old man," he added, kindly.
"Take your quinine, and I will call on Sonya."
"She'll tell us whether or not to cable for Warren," repeated Bangs,
with great dignity.
But Sonya, when she came into her hotel sitting-room an hour later, did
not immediately solve this problem. For the moment her mind was wholly
on the Infant Samuel, who was to have his adenoids cut out that morning,
and who had been encouraged to look forward to the experience as a new
delight. While they were expressing fitting interest, Samuel himself
entered the room, alone, but with all the effect of a juvenile
procession. By the left leg he dragged his most cherished possession, a
battered and dim-featured rag doll. Hospitably greeting the two young
men, he solemnly presented the doll to Bangs.
"What's this?" asked Rodney, with a friendly impulse to adapt his
conversation to the young.
"Hullen," affirmed Samuel, "Hullen, R. J."
"What does that mean?" Bangs appealed to Sonya.
"It's the doll's name. He gave it to her himself. 'Hullen,' I suppose,
means Helen, and Mr. Warren's initials, you know, are R. J. Evidently
Samuel liked the sound of them."
Samuel retrieved Hullen R. J.
"Hullen R. J. go hos'tl wiv Sammy," he further announced.
"She will," corroborated Sonya. "He never stirs without her, and she
sleeps in his bed every night."
Laurie turned a shocked gaze on Samuel, and Sonya laughed, then gulped.
"I'm horribly nervous this morning," she admitted. "I wish it were over.
You see, a certain cherub isn't going to like matters at all after they
really begin at the hos'tl. And his mother will be more of a burden than
a help."
Bangs had an inspiration.
"Suppose I go with you," he suggested. "Then if you need a strong man to
hold the cherub--"
"Two strong men," corrected Laurie. "Do you imagine that I'm going to
desert Samuel in his hour of need? Besides, I've got to keep an eye on
Bangs," he added sweetly, and was rewarded by a glare from that
overwrought young man.
"Noticed anything odd about Bangs lately?" Laurie asked Sonya.
She turned on Rodney the dark gaze of her serene eyes.
"Why, no."
"You will," Laurie predicted, with a mournful shake of the head. "Watch
him closely, and call on me if there are alarming symptoms that you
don't understand."
Bangs rushed into confused speech.
"He thinks I've got a cold," he gulped. "His nonsense, of course.
Nothing in the world the matter with me. Er--how soon do we start?"
Laurie, helpless with laughter, rolled the ecstatic Samuel on the floor.
Samuel's voice took on an added note of jubilation. Sonya, his mother,
Hullen R. J., "Lawwie" and "Misser Bangs" all going with him to the
hos'tl--it was almost too much pleasure! Samuel became slightly
intoxicated.
"He wants to sing," remarked Laurie, with masculine understanding of a
fellow heart. "All right, old man," he encouraged. "How about that
beautiful hymn I taught you at Bab's wedding?"
With considerable help Samuel recalled the ditty:
"Hey, hey, ve gangsall here,
Whalahaloo we care,
Whalahaloo we care,
Now--_wow_--wow--WOW--_WOW_!"
"Laurie!"
Sonya spoke with sudden austerity. "It's a relief from his mental
strain," Laurie explained. "Any doctor will tell you that."
* * * * *
In the hos'tl, however, things assumed a different aspect. Still firmly
holding Hullen R. J. by the leg, and keeping a steadfast eye on the
surgeon, Samuel took in his immediate surroundings with a dawning
suspicion in his soul. Having two men throw lights on his face and look
down his throat had lost its novelty, though Sonya had assured him that
wonderful views were to be seen there which he alone could reveal. Also,
the men seemed hurried, and didn't want to look at Hullen R. J.'s
throat, though Samuel warmly recommended this variety in the
entertainment.
In short, the situation had become sinister. The smiles around him were
dreadful-looking things, all except Laurie's. With an appalling howl
Samuel detached himself from the surgeon's grasp and fled to Laurie, who
picked him up and held him firmly and comfortably in his lap until a
lady in white came with something nice for Samuel to smell.
The next thing Samuel knew was that he was in bed in a strange room. He
gulped and discovered that his throat was sore. He sat up, distended his
mouth for a yell, and then very slowly closed it.
From every corner of the room familiar figures were hastening to his
side. The lady in white, Sonya, and his mother all reached him at the
same moment. On the pillow beside him Hullen R. J. awaited the honor of
his attention like a perfect lady. No howls from her, as Sonya
immediately pointed out. As she thus soothed, Sonya was kissing him. The
lady in white was offering him something pleasant to drink. His mother
was patting his back.
For a long instant Samuel took in the gratifying fact of these
activities. Then he assorted his features, grabbed Hullen R. J.,
exchanged his yell for a large smile, and permitted himself to be waited
on. Deep in his masculine consciousness he had realized that his world
was normal again.
Bangs and Laurie walked up Fifth Avenue together, stopping at a
florist's to purchase the man's entire supply of roses for Mrs. Ordway.
Bangs also discovered some masses of poinsettia and chrysanthemums that,
as he said, "looked like her." Laden with these spoils, they took a
taxicab to the Ordway house, where they found Jepson exuding an
atmosphere of reassurance.
Yessir, Mrs. Hordway seemed better. She 'ad a more restful night, han'
Susanne said was quite bright this morning. Hof course she'd see Mr.
Devon, hand prob'bly Mr. Bangs, halso. Jepson would harsk at once.
Jepson moved ponderously away to do so, while Rodney, opening his big
box in the hall, drew out the poinsettia and chrysanthemums and
proceeded to arrange them in a gorgeous armful. Bangs had unexpected
taste in color and arrangement, as Epstein's stage-directors had
discovered in the past. Laurie watched him with polite interest.
"Making a picture of yourself, aren't you?" he asked. "Going into the
sick-room with your little hands full of flowers?" But even as he
scoffed he was unwrapping his own flowers. Bangs was right. The act of
handing a pasteboard box to a sick friend lacked esthetic value.
Jepson returned with a cordial message. Mrs. Ordway would be charmed to
see both young men, but she received only one visitor at a time. Would
Mr. Bangs come up now? And perhaps Mr. Devon would drop in again during
the afternoon or evening.
Rodney grasped his floral offerings and mounted the stairs two steps at
a time. He was excited and his brown eyes showed it. It was most awfully
good of Mrs. Ordway to let him come up in this informal way. Standing by
the _chaise longue_ where she lay, he told her so, his auburn head
shining among the flowers he carried, like a particularly large
chrysanthemum. Then, selecting some empty vases, he sat down on the
floor beside her and began to arrange his flowers, while she watched
him, at first with surprise, then with growing admiration.
Rodney had no social airs and graces, no parlor tricks. If he had been
formally sitting on a chair, holding his hat, he would have been a
self-conscious and unhappy young man. As it was, with hands and eyes
busy, and wholly at his ease, he talked his exuberant best.
"How about Laurie's romance?" Louise asked at once.
Bangs told her about the vision in the mirror. As he did so, luncheon
was served, and he was casually invited to share it. Susanne, moving
shuttle-like between the table in the sick-room and the dumb-waiter in
the upper hall, presently confided to a young footman a surprising piece
of news, which he in turn confided to the incredulous Jepson. Young Mr.
Bangs, who was lunching with Mrs. Ordway, must be as amusing as young
Mr. Devon himself. He had actually made the mistress laugh both times he
came. She was laughing now, as Susanne had not heard her laugh for
weeks. To be sure, this was one of her good days. But it wasn't easy to
amuse Mrs. Ordway at any time.
Jepson summed up the situation in an oracular utterance:
"Henny one that's a friend of Mr. Devon's his hall right."
When Rodney was leaving, Jepson's mistress expressed the same thought to
her guest in a different way.
"Come often," she said. "You have given me a new interest. I don't think
you can quite realize what that means to me."
When Sonya arrived at five that afternoon, she found Jepson still
exuding reassurance. With two doctors within call, a nurse in the house,
and Mr. Devon and Miss Orleneff to telephone to at a moment's notice,
"nothink much could 'appen." So reasoned Jepson. He beamed approvingly
on Sonya, informed her that Mr. Devon was in the sick-room now, and
waved her through the hall with an effect of benediction.
She found Laurie just leaving, and they had a moment's chat on the upper
landing. Mrs. Ordway, he told her, was rather restless this afternoon,
but she seemed better than she had been yesterday. However, he didn't
like her looks at all, and he fancied the nurse was disturbed. Suppose
Sonya sounded Louise about cabling for Warren? Surely Warren would want
to know, Laurie thought.
For the moment Laurie's striking good looks were slightly dimmed. He was
hollow-eyed, almost haggard. Things were coming just a bit too fast for
him. The habit of carrying the burden of others had been taken on too
suddenly. Under the strain of it, his untrained mental muscles ached.
It was the irony of fate that Sonya, looking at him with the clear brown
eyes that were so much softer than Bangs's, and so much less beautiful
than Doris's, should misinterpret his appearance, his emotion, and his
reaction from the high spirits of the morning. He was again going the
pace, she decided; and, mingled with her pity for him, rose the scorn of
a strong soul that was the absolute master of the body in which it
dwelt.
His newly aroused perception carried some hint of this scorn to the boy,
covered though it was by the friendliness of Sonya's manner. The
knowledge added to his wretchedness. He had a childish desire to
explain, but he conquered it and hurried away. Some day, if not now,
Sonya would understand.
What he himself did not understand was the long stride he had taken in
the moment when he felt and resented her unspoken criticism. Heretofore
his attitude had been one of expressed and sincere indifference to the
opinions others held of him. He wanted them to like him, but he didn't
care a hang whether or not they approved of him. Now, suddenly, he
wanted Sonya's respect as well as her liking. The discovery added to his
mental confusion.
If Sonya, when she entered the sick-room, was shocked by the change in
the appearance of her new friend, she showed no sign of it. Sitting down
beside the _chaise longue_, she entered briskly upon a description of
the recent experiences of Samuel. When she left the hospital the house
surgeon was obediently endeavoring to look down the throat of Hullen R.
J., and every nurse on Samuel's floor was scuttering in and out of his
room. Nevertheless the Infant, though graciously accepting these
attentions, had demanded and received Sonya's personal assurance that
the particular game of the morning was not to be repeated. There was an
unpleasant element in that game which grown-ups might not notice but
which he, Samuel, had caught on to.
Louise laughed and expressed a hope that Samuel would now be able to
breathe without disturbing his neighbors. Sonya came to the real purpose
of her visit.
"He and his mother are going back to Devon House Saturday," she said,
"but I've got to stay in New York for a few months, on account of my
literary galumphings. I wondered if you--if it would be convenient for
you--to put me up. I hate hotels and--"
Louise lay silent for a moment. Then she reached out and took Sonya's
hand.
"Yes, you unskilful prevaricator," she said. "You may come--and see me
through."
Sonya held the hand tightly in her own.
"There's one thing more," she went on, hesitatingly. "Laurie and Mr.
Bangs and I wondered if perhaps you wouldn't feel more comfortable if
Mr. Warren came home. You know he himself would want to--"
Louise closed her eyes.
"Yes," she said, "Bob would want to, if he knew."
She was silent for so long that Sonya began to think she was not to have
the answer to her question. Perhaps Mrs. Ordway was leaving the decision
to her.
But to leave to others decisions that concerned herself was not Louise
Ordway's habit. Instead, she was fighting a battle in which the lifelong
devotion of a supremely self-centered nature was struggling with a
new-born unselfishness. Though new-born, it was strong, as the invalid's
next words showed.
"If I were calling him back from anything but his honeymoon," she said
at last, "I'd do it. But he's utterly happy. His letters show that, in
every line. I want him to stay so, as long as he can. I want his
honeymoon to be long drawn out and perfect." Her manner changed.
"I have an idea that perhaps, after all, I'll be here when he gets
back," she added more lightly. "Life still has its interests. But, if I
happen not to be here, tell him why I didn't cable."
"I will tell him," Sonya promised.
Neither of them referred to the subject again.