_Sir Charles Wigge Takes Possession_
Mrs. Radigan has been overawed at last. Sir Charles Wigge has arrived,
and the masterful English solicitor is more than a match for her,
clever though she is. He seldom gives her an opportunity to speak, and
then her voice sounds in a faint tremolo that is almost pitiful. If you
asked her why England was great, she would simply point to the Duke of
Nocastle's friend and guide, and I do not know but that I should agree
with her. Fortunate, indeed, is the land that possesses such a man,
for, having him, it must be the centre of all the virtues. He must be
the court of last appeal at home, as there is nothing that he does not
know absolutely, no opinion not his that is worth considering. We all
feel very humble since we have had him around for a day or two, and I
actually have found myself wondering how I ever attained majority under
the barbarous conditions in which we live, in the glare of the sun, in
a dry and wholesome atmosphere, in warm houses, with little that is fit
to eat, and then so far from London. Our beer is bad, too, and as for
the water, Sir Charles spurns it. Men, says he, are like plants, that
to fully flower should be rained on daily, in proof of which he has
only to point to his own people.
I refuse to apologize. Pearl smiles. Mrs. Radigan is abject. Realizing
that this modern knight carries the Duke in his waistcoat pocket, she
fears to offend him and so agrees with everything he says.
"Ah, Sir Wigge," she said to him the other afternoon, "it must be a
great hardship for you to have to give up your beloved London for the
discomforts of New York."
"It is not a hardship," Sir Charles replied with a courtly grace. "You
know that as a youngster I served in the campaign against the Zulus.
An Englishman, Mrs. Radigan, adapts himself to his circumstances. He is
as much at home in a Zulu kraal or in America as he is in Piccadilly."
Now when Sir Charles speaks like this, it comes as if from Zeus. He
looks like Zeus shaved. I suggested this to Mrs. Radigan, but she
replied that she would not say, until she had seen the two together,
and I decided that it was not worth while for me to explain; I could
cherish for myself the conceit that this was some barbaric god, dressed
up by a Piccadilly tailor, and surveying the world through a monocle.
When I saw him first, I was standing in the Radigan library, gazing
disconsolately over the park, watching the endless stream of carriages
rolling along the drive-way, for the town was out enjoying the breath
of early spring. I was thinking of him, wondering when he would arrive,
when he would present himself to Pearl Veal to claim her hand and
her fortune for his noble master, the Duke of Nocastle. Then a smart
brougham bowled up to the curb, and by the Frenchmen on the box I
recognized a Bumpschus carriage, and I was not surprised when his Grace
climbed out. A great man followed, a very large man, with gray hair and
gray side-whiskers, clad in the conventional attire, so he might have
been taken for either a statesman or an undertaker. The two paused a
moment while the stranger gazed over the Radigan house. Then he turned
and, looking down at his companion, said something. The Duke laughed so
heartily that he dropped his monocle, and it took several moments of
beating around the air before his hands discovered it, dangling at the
end of its string.
"The Duke and Sir Charles Wigge have just come in," said I to Mrs.
Radigan.
"At last," said she, laying down her picture-paper and gliding over
to me. "My poor boy, I fear this is the end of your romance. It is
splendid of you to stand ready to give up Pearl to the Duke, and no
doubt you will find your reward in the consciousness of a duty done. To
a certain extent, it is hard for my little sister, for I think she is
fond of you, but while she says nothing, I am sure that she believes as
I do, that it would be wrong, absolutely wrong, for her to refuse an
offer from so great a man, a man any girl would deem it a privilege to
marry."
An appeal to Pearl brought me not even a smile.
"I thought Sir Charles would be here soon," she said, "for this
despatch in the papers from London says that the meeting of Nocastle's
creditors was postponed on receipt of a cablegram from him. Perhaps he
would like to see it, Sally."
But Sally did not hear. She was already hurrying downstairs to greet
her distinguished callers and to be utterly crushed. Just what Sir
Charles said to her I do not know, but how he said it I can easily
realize, for she brought the pair up to the library to have "a real
comfy time," as she put it, leaving word downstairs that if anyone
except Miss Bumpschus called she was not at home.
"And what do you think of America, Sir Wigge?" said Mrs. Radigan, when
she had him comfortably fixed with a glass of whiskey and a cigar.
"I had only to drive up Broadway, as you call your Strand, to realize
why _we_ did not care to keep New York," Sir Charles replied with a
grand smile.
"But did you not admire the skyscrapers?" said I boldly.
"In England," replied our visitor, "we have buildings every bit as
long, longer, indeed, much longer, but we lay them along the ground, as
they should be laid."
"But, your Lordship," put in Mrs. Radigan with some spirit, "we have
not the room, and must build up."
"You should find the room," said Sir Charles with royal good-nature.
"We find it in England, Mrs. Bannigan, and I am told that America is
somewhat larger even than England."
"Did Fifth Avenue not impress you?" inquired Pearl rather sweetly.
"Your Piccadilly--it is your Piccadilly, I believe--should be toned
down," replied the Englishman graciously. "It is too loud. The glare of
the sun is blinding and overheating, Miss Vial."
He spoke to my fiancée as though she were a bottle or an adjective, and
I could not forbear to interpose mildly, "Miss Ve-al, Sir Charles."
"In England," returned Sir Charles, "it would be Vial or possibly
Willy. I am told that in America you have an absurd custom of
pronouncing words the way they are spelled. Is it not so, Miss Weal?"
"Yes," Pearl replied, "but----"
"On the contrary," said Sir Charles, "it is easier, much easier, to
spell words the way they are not pronounced. The minute you begin to
pronounce as you spell, it becomes impossible to spell correctly at
all. Is it not so, your Grace?"
The Duke said that it was so. Moreover, he added admiringly that
whatever Sir Charles said was so. Mrs. Radigan, with some of her native
fire still smouldering, ventured to remark that she spelled entirely
by sound and then had her secretary make the corrections, which amused
her visitor immensely. When he had recovered his equanimity and
polished his glass, he proceeded to demonstrate how absurd was her view.
"In England, Mrs. Lanigan, we have for centuries pronounced words the
way they are not spelled. Don't you suppose that if we had not found it
the best thing to do we should have changed?"
"But, my Lord--" began Mrs. Radigan.
"The question is not one which allows any argument at all, Mrs.
Stranahan," said the solicitor. "We threshed it all over in England,
long ago, and decided it."
Then it was that Mrs. Radigan began to sympathize with him about the
hardships of his visit, and learned how the Zulu campaign had hardened
him for it. Then it was that Mrs. Radigan broached her plan for another
week-end at Westbury and secured his consent to come, though she had
discreetly promised not to show him anything, feeling, perhaps, that
there was nothing for such a man to see. Then it was that Sir Charles
graciously admitted that there was one thing in this country to see,
and announced his intention of honoring it with a look.
"While my visit to America is purely connected with matters of
business," he said, "I am going to make use of an opportunity to view
Niagara. I think I shall run out and back to-morrow. Possibly I shall
take an extra day and have a look at the Yellowstone Park, which I am
told in its way quite equals anything we have in England."
Now, it happened that Sir Charles Wigge was unable to work in that
extra day to visit the Yellowstone, as he was longer than he had
expected on his visit to Niagara, so Friday evening found us gathered
again around the board at Westbury, except Ethel Bumpschus, whose
absence I regarded as an ill-omen, one that presaged a defeat for her
and thus for me. His Grace was still a guest at the Bumpschus house,
but of late he had been spending all his afternoons and evenings with
the Radigans, not even the attentions of Prince Cosmospopolis of
Greece to his host's daughter serving to arouse him to action in that
quarter. Ethel was asked, I know, but she sent a polite but stiff note
of regret, whereupon Mrs. Radigan telephoned for Marian Speechless,
who came in a rush and made a vigorous attack on the Duke, talking him
almost to death. Perhaps Marian had dreams, but they could never be
more than dreams, as she has nothing but ancestry and charm. I thought,
perhaps, she would be able to do something with Sir Charles Wigge,
she is such a voluble person, so I carefully arranged a meeting after
dinner, when Mrs. Radigan had his Grace at her side and was drawing out
his ideas on the ginger-beer evil, the only subject on which he talks
complete sentences.
"I am so glad to have an opportunity to meet you," Marian gasped, while
Sir Charles polished his monocle. "There are so many things about which
I want to ask you."
"And I, for my part, shall be delighted to answer any questions you
care to put," returned Sir Charles gallantly, "but Miss Peaches----"
"Miss Speechless," I corrected gently.
"Impossible," said he. "It must have been Peaches originally in
England--then why did your family change the pronunciation? Now----"
"But--" began Marian indignantly.
"On the contrary," said Sir Charles, "you Americans----"
Ignobly I left the girl to bear the brunt of it, for I had glanced
about the drawing-room and saw that Pearl had gone. So I vanished, too,
coming to life in the deserted smoking-room, where she had settled
herself beside the fire and was contentedly blowing rings.
"It will be the last time," said I, taking a cigarette from her case
and her proffered light. "To-morrow, I think, I shall go the way of
Plumstone Smith and those Kansas City men you knew before you became
smart."
"Fellows," corrected Pearl.
"To-morrow," I went on unheeding, "Sir Charles Wigge will offer you
the hand of the great Duke of Nocastle."
"I should not be surprised," said Pearl, blowing a big ring and sending
a second hurtling through it.
"Mrs. Radigan has told me that it is settled beyond question," said I,
"for she has intimated plainly to Sir Charles that she and John will
make up a purse for you. They won't be outbid by the Bumpschuses."
"Then it is settled," said Pearl, "for who could refuse a duke? Think
of being a duchess, of taking precedence over a dozen other American
girls who have bought lords, of being able to snub that Bumpschus girl
who married Nothingham, and Ethel Bumpschus, who won't marry Nocastle.
Think of the columns in the papers, of the wedding-riot, and all that."
Seldom had I heard Pearl say so much, never with such a burst of
spirit, for generally she is in quiet mood. All was over now, it seemed
to me. With the Duke the end had come and it was useless to fight
against it.
"It is dazzling," said I meekly, "and I do not blame you."
"Still," said she meditatively, after a moment's silence, "there is one
thing greater than to marry a duke."
"And that?" said I.
"That," said she, "is to----"
Sir Charles loomed up before us, with Sally Radigan at his side.
"It will take just a moment to settle it," I heard him say to his
hostess.
"Sir Wigge wishes to speak to you, Pearl," said Mrs. Radigan softly to
her sister. And to me: "Come and make a four at bridge. Marian has gone
to bed with a violent headache."
"My dear Miss Vial," I heard Sir Charles say.
Pearl blew one last smoke ring, tossed away her cigarette, and turned
those lustrous eyes on him. I saw the inscrutable smile.
"Do you wonder his Highness is crazy about her?" said Mrs. Radigan, as
she led me away.