ROBBER’S ROOST, UNINCORPORATED
From a roadhouse two miles away Thaxton called up Mrs. Horoson, his
housekeeper. Without giving her a chance to protest he told her there
would be six, besides himself, for dinner that night and that a Mr. and
Mrs. Mosely were occupying the violet room.
He bade her break the news to Miss Gregg, on the latter’s imminent
return from Stormcrest, and to Miss Lane. Then he hung up,
precipitately, and rejoined Chase in the road.
“Let’s hustle!” he adjured. “She may find where we are from Central and
follow us. I can count on Horoson not to decamp even if the servants
do. But every now and then I feel toward her as I used to when I was a
kid and she caught me stealing Uncle Oz’s cigarettes. Hurry!”
It was within a half hour of dinner time when Vail and Chase, by
devious back ways, returned to Vailholme and let themselves in at a
rear door, preparatory to creeping upstairs to their rooms to dress for
the seven-o’clock meal.
The dinner ordeal was one of unrelieved hideousness. But for gallant
old Miss Gregg, the situation must have fallen asunder much sooner than
it did. Thaxton Vail, at the table’s head, writhed in misery. He had
absolutely no idea how to handle the unhandleable situation.
It was Miss Gregg who, unasked, took control of everything. Being
wholly fearless, she had no normal terror of the austere Horoson or of
the ever-sourer-visaged Vogel.
During the endless wait before dinner was announced she slipped out
to the dining room. Thaxton was there, flustered and curt, trying
to coerce his rebellious upper servants into setting the wheels of
domestic machinery into motion.
Vogel already had given warning, proclaiming briefly but proudly
the list of his former super-excellent positions, and repeating, as
a sort of eternal slogan of refrain that he was a butler and not a
boarding-house head waiter.
It was at this point that Hester Gregg took charge.
Grateful and sweating, Vail went back to the living room to listen
gloomily to the Moselys’ recital to Chase and Doris of the various inns
at which they had been either cheated or incompetently served. Though
the couple did not say so in actual words, Thaxton was left to infer
that Vailholme combined the worst qualities of all their tour’s other
wretched stopping places.
As he listened to the tale, Miss Gregg swept into the room again with
the pure exaltation in her eyes of one who has triumphed in a seemingly
hopeless battle. Presently thereafter Vogel announced dinner.
As the party filed stragglingly into the dining room, Clive Creede
came downstairs and joined them. He seemed a little better for his
afternoon’s rest, but still looked sick and shaky.
Thaxton’s collie, as usual, accompanied Vail to the dining room, lying
down majestically on the floor at the host’s left. From the shelter of
Joshua Q. Mosely’s bulk appeared the obese police dog, who also had
followed into the dining room. He disposed himself in a shadowy space,
behind Mrs. Mosely’s chair, where every passing servant must stumble
unseeingly over him.
“I hope you don’t mind our bringing Petty to dinner with us,” said
Joshua Q., as they sat down. “He’s quite one of the family. The wife
would as soon travel without her powder rag as without Petty. He goes
everywhere with us. Nice collie you’ve got there. I notice you had to
speak pretty firm to him, though, to keep him from pestering poor
Petty. Collies aren’t as clever at minding as police dogs. Had him
long?”
“He was bred by Mr. Creede, here,” answered Thaxton. “When Mr. Creede
went overseas, he left him at Vailholme.”
“And when I got back,” put in Clive, speaking for the first time, and
addressing Doris, “Macduff had clean forgotten me and had adopted Thax.
So I let him stay on here. Funny, wasn’t it? I’ve heard collies never
forget. I suppose that’s another nature fake. For Macduff certainly had
forgotten me. At least, he was civil to me, but he’d lost all interest
in me.”
Then fell a pause. Miss Gregg arose to the occasion by starting the
conversation-ball to rolling again.
“I think,” she said, “there ought to be a S. P. C. A. law against
naming animals till they’re grown. People call a baby pup ‘Fluffy’
or ‘Beauty.’ And then he grows up to look like Bill Sikes’ dog. For
instance, there’s nothing ‘petty’ about that big police dog. Yet when
he was a--”
“Oh,” spoke up Mrs. Mosely, “his name isn’t really ‘Petty.’ ‘Petty’ is
short for ‘Pet.’ His real name’s ‘Pet.’ He--”
Willis Chase cleared his throat portentously. Leaning far across the
table, he addressed the miserable Thaxton.
“Landlord!” he began, in awful imitation of the pompous Joshua Q.
Mosely. “Landlord, me good man, I--”
“Shut up!” snarled Vail, under his breath, glaring murderously.
A smile of utter sweetness overspread Willis Chase’s long countenance.
“Tut, tut!” he chided, patronizingly. “Don’t cringe, when I address
you, my honest fellow! Don’t be servile, just because I am a gentleman
and your own lot is cast among the working classes. I have every
respect for the dignity of labor. I don’t look down on you. In Heaven’s
sight all men are equal--landlords and gentlemen and day laborers and
plumbers and senators and bootleggers and authors and--”
“That sounds fine in theory, Mr.--Mr. Case, is it?” boomed Joshua Q.
“But it don’t work out always in real life. Not that I look down on a
man just because he’s got to run an inn or a boarding house to make a
living. Nor yet I don’t really look down on day laborers. Nor yet on
plumbers. Not even on authors--when they keep their place. But what’s
it to profit those of us who’ve made good and won our way to the
leisure classes, as you might say? What’s it to profit us if we’re to
be put on a level with folks who get paid for serving us? Money’s got
to count for _something_, hasn’t it? If a man’s got the brain and the
genius and the push to pile up a fortune, don’t he deserve to stand a
notch higher than the boob who ain’t--who _hasn’t_? Don’t he? Position
means something. It--”
“And family, too!” chimed in Mrs. Mosely, with much elegance of
diction. “I always tell Mr. M. that family counts every bit as much
as money, or it ought to. Even in these democratic days. I believe in
family. I don’t boast of it. But I believe in it. While I don’t brag
about my grandfather being the first Governor of--”
“Grandfathers!” sighed Willis Chase, ecstatically. “Now you’ve touched
my own hobby, Mrs.--Mrs. Mousely. I--”
“Mosely,” corrected Joshua Q., with much dignity. “And--”
“To be sure,” apologized Chase, meekly. “My mistake. But I murmur
‘Amen!’ to all you say about family and grandfathers. I even go a step
beyond. I even believe in pride of _great_-grandfathers.”
“Why--why, cert’nly,” assented Mrs. Mosely, albeit with a shade less
assurance. “Of course. And--”
“My own great-grandfather,” expounded Willis, unctuously, “my own
great-grandfather, Colonel Weilguse Chase, was the first white man to
be hanged in New Jersey. Not that I brag unduly of it. Yet it is sweet
to remember, in this age of so-called equality.... Landlord, these
trout are probably more or less fit to eat. But my doctor forbids me to
guzzle fish. I wonder if I might trouble you to order a little fried
tripe for me? I am willing to pay extra for it, of course. Nothing sets
off a dinner like a side dish of fried tripe. Or, still better, a nice
juicy slice of roast shoulder of tripe. But, speaking of family--”
“I’m afraid you don’t just get my point, Mr. Case,” interposed
Mrs. Mosely. “I mean about family. I don’t believe in pride of
ancestors--merely _as_ ancestors. But I believe in being proud
of ancestors who achieved something worth while. Do you see the
distinction?”
“Certainly,” agreed Chase, with much profundity. “And I feel the same
way. Now, out of all the millions of white men, great and small, who
from time to time have infested New Jersey, there could be but _one_
‘first white man’ hanged there. And that startling honor was reserved
for my own great-grandfather. Not that I brag of it--as I said. But
people like you and myself, Mrs. Mousely, can at least be honestly
proud of our ancestors. Now, I suppose our genial landlord here--”
“Luella!” boomed Joshua Q. Mosely, in sudden comprehension. “This--this
person is pokin’ fun at you. I’ll thank you, young man--”
“Speaking of family,” deftly intervened Miss Gregg, while Mosely
and Vail, from opposite sides of the table, looked homicide at the
unruffled Chase, “speaking of family, Clive, you remember the Bacons,
who used to live just beyond Canobie, don’t you? Your father asked
pompous old Standish Bacon if he happened to be descended from Sir
Francis Bacon. He answered: ‘Sir Francis left no descendants. But if he
had, I should be one of them.’ He--”
“If Mr. Case thinks it is a gentlemanly thing to insult--” boomed
Joshua Q., afresh.
“That’s just like Bacon,” cut in Clive Creede, coming to the old
lady’s rescue. “My father used to say--”
Then he fell silent, as though his tired mind was not equal to further
invention. He did not so much as recall the possibly mythical Bacon,
and he had not the energy to improvise further.
But Miss Gregg’s mind was never tired, nor was her endurance-trained
tongue acquainted with weariness. And before Mosely could boom his
protest afresh, she was in her stride once more.
“You’re right,” she assured Clive. “He was just that sort. If Standish
Bacon had lived in Bible times, he’d never have been content to be one
of the Apostles. He’d have insisted on being all twelve of them and a
couple of the High Priests thrown in. Doris, you’ll remember the time I
told him that?”
“Yes,” assented the girl, breaking involuntarily into the queer little
child-laugh that Vail loved. “I do, indeed. And I remember what he
answered. He--”
“If Mr. Case--” blustered the undeterred Mosely.
“I’d forgotten that part of it,” purred Miss Gregg, ignoring Joshua
Q. “I remember now. He said, in that stiff old-fashioned way of his:
‘Madam, you exaggerate. Yet in all modesty I may venture to believe
that if I had lived in Bible times, my unworthy name might have had the
honor to be mentioned in that Book of Books. Lesser folk than myself
were mentioned there by name. Fishermen and tanners and coppersmiths
and the like.’”
“No?” exploded Vail. “Did Bacon really say that? The old windbag! And
you let him get away with it, Miss Gregg? I should have thought--”
“No,” replied the old lady, complacently. “I can’t say I really ‘let
him get away with it.’ At least, not very far away. I’m afraid I even
lost my gentle temper, and that for once in my life I was just a
little rude. I said to him: ‘Why, Standish Bacon, you couldn’t have
gotten your name in Holy Writ if you’d lived through every one of its
books. You couldn’t even have gotten in by name if you’d broken up one
of St. Paul’s most crowded meetings at Ephesus. The best mention you
could have hoped to get for that would have been a verse, tucked away
somewhere in the middle of a chapter, in the Epistle to the Ephesians.
A verse like this: “_And it came to pass in those days that a Certain
Man of Ephesus busted up the meeting!_”’ Bacon didn’t like it very
well. But he--”
Joshua Q. Mosely and his glaringly indignant wife had been shut out of
the talk as skillfully as Miss Gregg’s ingenuity could devise. But mere
ingenuity cannot forever hold its own against a bull-bellow voice. Now
as the old lady still rambled on, Joshua Q. burst forth again:
“Excuse me for speaking out of turn, as the feller said!” he declaimed.
“But I want this Case person to know-- Hey, there!” he broke off, in
dismay. “What’s happenin’?”
For again the substance of his diatribe was shattered.
This time the needed and heaven-sent interruption did not come from
Miss Gregg, but from Macduff and Petty.
Thaxton, absent-mindedly, had tossed a fragment of trout to Macduff
on the floor beside him. He had long since dropped into the habit of
giving the collie surreptitious tidbits during the course of a meal.
Macduff was wont to accept them gravely, and he never begged.
But to-night, from his post behind Mrs. Mosely’s chair, the ever-hungry
police dog caught sight of the tossed morsel. He lumbered forward to
grab it. Macduff daintily picked up and swallowed the food, a second
before Petty could seize it.
Angry at loss of the prize and at another dog daring to get ahead of
him, Petty launched himself at the unsuspecting collie, driving his
teeth into Macduff’s fur-armored neck.
The collie resented this egregious attack by writhing out from under
his assailant, wrenching free from the half-averted grip, and flying at
the police dog’s throat.
In a flash of time an industrious and rackety dog fight was in progress
all over the dining room.
One of the maids screeched. Every one jumped up. A chair was overturned
bangingly. Mrs. Mosely shrieked:
“The brute is murdering poor darling Petty! _Help!_”
Excited past all caution, she dashed between the rearing and roaring
combatants just as Thaxton Vail recovered enough presence of mind to
shout imperatively to his collie.
At the command Macduff ceased to lay on. Turning reluctantly, he
walked back to his master. Joshua Q. Mosely, meantime, had flung his
incalculable weight upon the bellicose Petty, pinning the luckless
police dog to the floor. The fight was over.
Mrs. Mosely’s shrill voice, raised in anguish, soared above the hubbub.
“He’s bitten me!” she cried, nursing a bony finger whose knuckle bore a
faint abrasion from the glancing eyetooth of one of the warriors. “That
wretched collie has bitten me!”
Then it was that Joshua Q. Mosely proved himself a master of men and of
situations. Holding the fat police dog by the studded collar, he drew
himself to his full height.
“Come up to the room, Luella!” he bade his hysterical wife. “I’ll
wash out the cut for you and bind it up nice. If it’s bad, we’ll have
a doctor for it. As for you,” he continued, glowering awesomely upon
Vail, “you’re just at the first of what you’re going to get for this.
You tried to keep us from stopping here. Then you egged on one of your
other guests to insult Mrs. M. at the table. And now your dog attacks
ours and then bites my wife. We’re going to the room. To-morrow morning
we’ll have breakfast in it. You can send up the bill at the same time.
Because I don’t mean to sully my eyes or Mrs. M.’s by looking on your
face again. As soon as breakfast’s over we are leaving. At the first
police station I shall lodge complaint against you for maintaining a
vicious dog, a menace to public safety. And I’m going to write this
whole affair to my counsel and instruct him to institoot action. Come,
Luella.”
Out of the room they strode, Petty lugged protestingly along between
them. Miss Gregg broke the instant of dread silence by saying
decisively:
“I’m not surprised. I make it a rule never to be surprised at
anything said or done by a man who calls his wife ‘Mrs. M.’ or ‘Mrs.
Any-Other-Initial,’ or who speaks of ‘_the_ room.’ And their fat dog
was the only one of them that didn’t eat fish with a knife. Just the
same, Willis, you ought to be spanked! I’m ashamed of you. It was
all your fault; for trying to be funny with people outside your own
class. That’s as dangerous as massaging a mule’s tail, and ten times as
inexcusable.”
“I’m awfully sorry,” said Chase, remorsefully. “Honestly, I am. The
only bright side to it is the man’s promise that we’ll not see either
of them again. I’m sorry, Thax. I--”
Down the stairs clattered two pairs of bumpily running feet. Into the
dining room burst a flamingly red and bellowing Joshua Q. Mosely, his
wife spluttering along at his heels.
“We been robbed!” squealed Mosely, too upset to remember to boom.
“_What?_” gasped Vail, as the others stared open-mouthed.
Mosely repeated his clarion announcement:
“Robbed! Mrs. M.’s jewel case pinched right out of her locked bag.
Twelve thousand dollars’ worth of joolry stolen. It was there when we
come down to dinner, and now it’s gone, and the bag is busted open. I--”
“What are you talking about?” demanded Thaxton. “You can’t have been
robbed--_here_! What--?”
“Can’t, hey?” roared Mosely, his emotion scaling to the secondary
stage. “Can’t, hey?” he reiterated as he advanced on Vail with swinging
fists. “Well, we _have_! You’ve had us cleaned out! You run a robber’s
roost here, you dirty thief!”
Furious past further articulate words, Joshua Q. shook a hamlike fist
in Thaxton’s astonished face. Vail stepped in under the flailing arm.
Then he proceeded, quietly and scientifically, to knock the giant down.
After which, everything happened at once.