CALEB CONOVER TAKES AN AFTERNOON OFF
The Fighter made life a burden, next day, for the office staff of the
C. G. & X. An electric aura of uneasiness pervaded the big station--the
indefinable, wordless something that gives warning to the most remote
denizens of every office when the “boss” is out of temper.
Yet Caleb, as it happened, was not out of temper. He was merely
unhappy. The effect, to casual observers, was the same as on the not
very rare days of his rages. But, instead of storming up and down his
office as on the latter occasions, Caleb merely sulked in his desk
chair, chewed countless cigars, and roused himself every few minutes to
make toil a horror for such luckless subordinates as just then chanced
to impress their existence on his mind. Hence the President’s private
office was shunned like a pest-house by everyone who could avoid going
thither.
The office boy, official martyr of the day, shook visibly as he sidled
into the room, about three that afternoon, and laid on his chief’s desk
a sealed, unstamped envelope. Conover’s scowl vanished as he noted the
handwriting. The office boy breathed deeper and his knees grew firm.
“Any answer?” asked Conover; and for the first time since his arrival
his voice sounded scarcely more menacing than that of a sick bear.
“No, sir!” piped the youth with a propitiatory grin. “I ast the
mes’nger an’ he said--”
“Clear out!” mumbled Caleb, his eyes and mind fixed on the sheet he had
clumsily withdrawn from the envelope.
The boy departed; swaggering into the main office with all the
conscious heroism of a lion-tamer. The door, wind-caught, swung shut
behind him with a slam that turned swagger into helpless panic. But no
dreaded voice howled a reprimand through the panels. Caleb Conover was
reading and re-reading a few scribbled lines in exaggeratedly large
writing. The Fighter’s face softened as he read. Then, glancing about
in shame-faced caution, he hastily lifted the note; brushed it across
his lips with a furtive, yet careless mien; as though the gesture might
have been employed to cover a yawn. Contemptuous of the first covert
loverly deed of his career, he cleared his throat and for the sixth
time read the scrawled words. Half audibly, he perused them; smiling to
himself.
“_Please, I’m good now. I don’t think I’m EVER going to be bad again.
Wouldn’t it be fine if you should come and take me for a walk this
afternoon? D. S._”
“Isn’t she the dandiest ever?” Caleb asked himself gleefully as he
straightened his tie before the office mirror and jammed his felt hat
down over his forehead, “Why can’t the Letty girl be like her? Then
there’d be some pleasure in gettin’ married. Hope she and Dey’ll be
friends. If they ain’t--”
He strode through the outer office, looking so human that his
expression, combined with the far more important fact that he was
evidently departing for the day, put the whole staff into the utmost
good humor for the rest of the afternoon.
It was a very natural, self-controlled Desirée who met Conover on the
porch of the Shevlin cottage. If hers had been the muffled sobs that
had sent him home with a lump in his throat--if she had lain wide-eyed,
tortured, till broad daylight--there was no hint of such excess in her
flower face nor in the girlish vigor of her pose. Conover, doubtful
as to how he might best refer to the quarrel of the previous night,
for once did an absolutely wise and tactful thing. He made no mention
whatever of the affair.
“It was such a gorgeous day,” Desirée was saying, “that I felt I ought
to let you know what beautiful weather it was. You’d never have thought
to look, for yourself. You know you wouldn’t. Now take me somewhere.
Anywhere, so long as it’s far enough. And I want to walk; not drive.
Where are we going? It’s got to be somewhere outside of this squiffy,
hot old town. Out where there’s a whole sky-ful of air.”
“How’d you like to walk out to the Arareek?” he suggested, “We can sit
on the stoop there and drink seltzer lem’nade an’ watch the paretics
chase gutta percha pills over the golf links. Would you care ’about
doin’ that? There’s a big view there for folks that cares for that sort
of rot.”
She assented gaily and they set off, walking close together and
chattering like a couple of schoolgirls on a holiday. Caleb felt oddly
young and buoyant. The girl had ever the power of imparting to him,
when they were alone together, something of her own youth and gaiety.
To-day, the spell worked with double force, because of last night’s
scene. It would have needed a far cleverer onlooker than Conover to
detect any artificiality in Desirée’s high spirits. She bullied him,
petted him, cajoled and instructed him by turns as was her wont, until
they had entered the Arareek grounds. Then of a sudden she fell silent.
The deep clubhouse veranda was filled with knots of men and women.
Among the idling groups, the girl had recognized Letty Standish and
Caine. Jack Hawarden, who was sitting with the couple, ran down the
steps to welcome the newcomers.
“There are two extra chairs at our table,” he said eagerly, “And I
believe they’re the only two left on the whole veranda. I wondered why
no one took them. Now I see it was providential.”
Caleb hesitated, glancing in doubt at Desirée. The girl, a little to
his surprise, assented with perfect willingness to Jack’s suggestion,
and led the way between several bevies of frankly admiring men and
openly curious women, toward the table where Caine and Letty were
seated. Miss Standish’s cheeks were flushed as she noted their
approach. Nor did her gentle face wear quite its best expression. But
Caine, masculinely obtuse, was very evidently glad to see them. He
signalled a waiter as Caleb and Desirée seated themselves.
“When Providence ordained hot days like this,” said Caine oracularly,
“He mercifully devised seltzer lemonades to go with them. Would you
rather have a Scotch-and-soda, Conover?”
“No thanks,” demurred the Fighter. “No use in spoilin’ two perfec’ly
good things like booze an’ water by fizzin’ ’em up together.”
“That is so,” agreed Caine tritely, “Mixing whiskey with water is like
merging love into matrimony. It--”
Letty giggled appreciation. She had a marvellous ear for humor, and
could almost always tell by a speaker’s tone when he had said anything
funny. It was a natural gift many girls envied her. In the midst of the
laugh she remembered Desirée’s presence and fell back on her defenses
of gentle reserve.
Caine was hailed from another table and went across to reply to some
question. Jack, too, was for the moment, leaning over to speak with
someone on the lawn below. Caleb, left alone between Desirée and Letty,
racked his brain for something to say. For once, Desirée did not help
him. She was gazing out with dreamy joy at the beautiful grounds; her
eyes resting longest on the stately avenue of trees that wound up to
the house. Thus it devolved upon Letty to save the conversational ship
from utter wreck.
“I hardly thought to see you here, Miss Shevlin,” she observed with a
graciousness that did not however leave the second personal pronoun
quite unaccented.
“Why not?” asked Desirée, simply. “I hear some really very nice people
come here,--sometimes.”
“I--I meant I feared you would hardly feel at home,” persisted Letty,
walking round-eyed toward destruction.
“Oh, I don’t,” Desirée assured her, with a child-like smile. “At home
I never see men sit with their feet on a veranda rail. And I never see
women drinking whisky there, either,” she added with a glance toward a
nearby table whither a tray of high-balls had just been borne.
“I wonder you came, then,” sputtered Letty, with a despairing effort at
cold reproof.
“One goes anywhere nowadays,” replied Desirée. “And besides,” she
sighed raptly, “I _love_ the country. Everything about it always has
a charm for me. From trees like those splendid old oaks, down to--”
her eyes swept the scene for an antithesis; accidently resting for the
remotest instant on Letty’s profile as she finished, “down to the funny
little rabbits with their ridiculous round bodies and bulging, scared
eyes.”
“Gee!” groaned Caleb to himself, glancing helplessly from one girl to
the other, “It must be _hell_ to be a Mormon!”
For a moment, Letty pondered on Desirée’s harmless speech.
Then, all at once, a queer, gurgling little sound rumbled far down
in her throat and she slowly grew pink. Her nose quivered a mute
appeal to all mankind. Caine mercifully returned at this juncture. All
unconscious of the smouldering fires, he proceeded, man-like, to stir
up the coals.
“You have made one more of an endless line of conquests, Miss Shevlin,”
he announced, “General Greer,--Miss Standish’s uncle, you know,--called
me over to his table expressly to ask who you were; and to demand, in
lurid diction, why he had never met you before. He is coming over here
in a moment, if you’ll permit, to be introduced to you. You don’t mind?”
“Why, of course not,” said Desirée in sweet effusion, “Miss Standish
knows how glad I am to meet anyone connected with her. By the way, she
and I have been raving over the joys of country life. We--”
Letty was saved by the advent of an elderly man, apoplectic of mien,
stumpy of gait, who hobbled across to their table and greeted her with
a bluff manner he had spent many busy years in mastering. Then, without
waiting for her reply, he nodded to Jack and looked expectantly toward
Caine. The latter rose to the occasion.
“Miss Shevlin,” he said, trying to make the act seem bred of an
unexpected meeting, “May I present General Greer?”
The General bowed low; his best old-world air and his corpulence
battling doughtily for supremacy in the salutation. He was about to
follow up the bow with some remarks of a fatherly yet admiring nature,
when Caine, with malice aforethought, broke in:
“And, General, may I introduce Mr. Caleb Conover?”
The old man’s honeyed words collided with a snort that sprang unbidden
from his throat; resulting in a sound that was neither old-world or
fatherly.
“Conover, eh?” he rapped out. “Heard of you, sir! Heard of you!--
Too often, in fact. You’re the fellow that’s always buying up our
legislators, aren’t you? Why do you do it, sir?”
“Because they’re for sale,” said Caleb, unruffled. “I guess that’s
’bout the only reason I’m able to.”
“You mean to accuse the men who represent our interests at the
Capital,--to accuse them of being willing, untempted, to sell their
vote?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go so far as that,” answered Caleb with a tolerant
grin. “They ain’t _all_ waitin’ for chances to sell their vote. Some of
’em prefers to rent it out by the year.”
“Do you want me to believe such a libel on our statesmen?” declaimed
Greer. “On the men we--”
“I’m not exactly coaxin’ you to believe _anything_,” replied Caleb,
pleasantly, “An’ I ain’t liable to lay wake nights moanin’ because you
doubt it. If the people didn’t want to be run by a lobby, they wouldn’t
be. That’s all there is to it.”
“I didn’t come to discuss ethics with a man of your stamp,” sneered the
General. “But I can tell you you are wrong--_wrong_, sir--in thinking
the people will always stand such conditions as you and your kind are
thrusting upon them. Only yesterday one of my clients was telling me
that if he could not curb your legislative influence by fair means he
would--”
“Come to you for help?” finished Caleb blandly.
General Greer stared at him speechless, apoplectic. Letty, who, despite
years of sharp contrary experience, still clung to the fond delusion
that she was the spoiled-child-niece of fiction who could twist an
otherwise crotchety uncle about her finger, now intervened with one of
her inspired blunders. The General’s rumbling voice had drawn attention
to their table and Miss Standish conceived a plan of pouring oil on the
thundrous waters.
“Why, Uncle Guy!” she pouted prettily, “You’ll make Mr. Conover think
you’re in earnest in the dreadful things you are saying to him! It’s
just dear Uncle Guy’s bluff way, Mr. Conover, that he picked up when he
was commanding soldiers in the army. He’s really a darling old lamb, if
only--”
After one long, dumb glare of annihilation at his self-appointed
spoiled-child-niece, the darling old lamb stumped away, bleating
blasphemously.
“I wonder,” conjectured Desirée, looking up from her tall glass, “why
seltzer lemonades make such squizzy sounds through the straw when the
glass is almost empty.”
“If that’s a hint,--” observed Caine, glancing about for a waiter.
“No,” she replied. “Only a scientific comment. Oh, it _is_ good to be
in the country a day like this.”
“I’ll be in the country for the summer, this time next month,” said
Jack Hawarden, “Mother’s taken the same cottage at the Antlers we had
last year. It will be nice to get back to the old Adirondacks again.”
“The Adirondacks?” exclaimed Desirée. “Oh, take me along. I’ve always
wanted to go there!”
Letty, pained at a suggestion so palpably immodest, looked in
frightened appeal to Caine. But Amzi was once more talking to people
at the next table. So Miss Standish drew around her an aloofness that
lifted her high above any ribaldry that might be bandied about her.
“You’ve never been?” asked Jack in surprise, “You’ve missed a lot.
There’s no other region just like the Adirondacks. It rains about a
third of the time, as a rule. But when it’s clear you forget it can
ever be anything else. The breath goes down a mile deeper into your
lungs than it can in any other part of the world; and you never get
tired. A sort of perpetual ozone jag. Almost any place there is worth
going to. We generally hang out at the Antlers,--Mother and I. Up on
Raquette Lake, you know. It’s different from other places. It’s run
by Charlie Bennett, a giant of a man as broad as Mr. Conover and
half a foot taller. He and Father are old chums from the time when it
took three days to get into the wilderness and when you could shoot
Adirondack bear for breakfast any morning. Bennett used to be Father’s
guide in those days. Now, I suppose he could buy and sell Dad half a
dozen times over.”
“I _wish_ I could go there--or anywhere at all in the Adirondacks,”
sighed Desirée wistfully. “I read once--”
Caleb noted the longing inflection and made quick mental memorandum of
it.
“How big’s your cottage, Jack?” he asked the boy.
“Four rooms. We get our meals at the hotel. Why?”
“Oh, nothin’!” Continuing with elephantine humor, “Though maybe I might
drop in on you sometime. How many of you goin’ to be there?”
“Father can only stay a month this year. After that there will be only
Mother and I. Did you really think of joining us? We’d be ever so glad.
There’s an extra room.”
“Much obliged. I’ve never took a vacation yet, an’ I guess I’m a little
bit too old to begin. I don’t b’lieve in vacations. Neither would you
if you could see how my clerks look when they get back from ’em. The
first day back, you’d think they was beginnin’ a life sentence in
prison. It costs ’em six months’ savin’s to grow a bunch of callous
spots on their hands an’ tan on their faces that they could a’ got
free of charge, workin’ in my freight yards. When d’you expect to go to
the country, Miss Standish?” he broke off, remembering belatedly his
new-chosen role of attentive swain, and turning unexpectedly upon Letty
before she had an opportunity to resume the aloofness which she had
just discarded as unnecessary.
“I--I don’t quite know yet,” she made reply, unreasonably scared by his
sudden glance, “We shall probably stay in town rather late this year.”
“Good!” approved Caleb. “I hope we’ll see a lot of each other.”
And, looking into his light, masterful eyes, the girl knew all at
once that she would not have the wit nor the force to avoid him.
The knowledge turned her sick. Her round, helpless gaze shifted
involuntarily to Desirée, as the nearest woman to her. And, under the
genuine fright behind that appeal, the steel glint that had of a sudden
hardened Desirée’s big eyes, softened unaccountably. A quick sentence
that had risen to her lips died unborn.
For a moment, before convention could lower the veil, the two women
read each other to the very soul. At what the brief glance told her,
Letty drew her breath with a sharp intake that made Conover glance at
her inquiringly. To cover her confusion, Miss Standish plunged into
speech on the first subject that crossed her mind.
“I hope you didn’t mind Uncle Guy’s rudeness, Mr. Conover,” she began,
“He really doesn’t mean half the cross things he says. He suffers
so dreadfully from dyspepsia and--and there are sometimes family
troubles, too, that--”
“I know,” assented Caleb, “I’ve heard. Married a wife that was too
rich for him. She don’t always agree with him, I hear, an’ I s’pose it
gives him mental indigestion. No offence. I forgot they’re rel’tives of
yours.”
“I’m sorry, just the same, that he spoke so threateningly to you,” went
on Letty.
She found it so easy to talk to him now. A weight seemed off her heart.
“Threats don’t keep me guessin’ very much,” Conover reassured her,
delighted at her new ease of bearing toward him, “No one’s goin’ to
do a rich man any real harm or hold grouches against him. To him that
hath, it shall be forgiven. That’s in the Bible, ain’t it? Or somethin’
like it. The trouble with men like your uncle is that they don’t see
any farther ahead than twenty years ago. Business an’ pol’tics have
changed a lot since then. But the old crowd don’t see it. They’re like
a feller that rows a boat. They move ahead because the boat carries ’em
ahead. But they’re always facin’ astern.”
He felt he was talking amazingly well. He was almost annoyed when
Desirée, having sat in troubled silence for some minutes, rose abruptly
and proposed that they should go.
Letty Standish, watching them depart, was saying over and over to
herself in a rapturous sing-song:
“She won’t _let_ him make love to me. She won’t! She _won’t_!”