"YOU NEVER SAW ME IN BLACK"
"Oh!" she gasped faintly.
That was all she said at first, her big blue eyes wide distended, her
white-gloved wrists curving above the chair-arms as though to rise. Easy
to see she was completely floored at seeing me.
And as it was her move, I just sat kind of grinning, you know, and
holding her tight with my monocle.
Then her mouth twitched a bit; next her head went up and I heard again
that delicious birdlike carol of a laugh. Her eyes came to rest upon the
hat in my hand. I had slipped my Harvard band around it, remembering the
admiration she had expressed for our colors.
"Oh!" she said again, and she looked at me hesitatingly. "Mr. Jones, is
it not--or is it--"
I chuckled. "Mr. Smith, you know," I said. "Mr. Smith, of course."
And then I just went on chuckling, for I thought it so devilish clever
of her, so humorous. And just then I thought of a dashed good repartee:
"Months--so many months, you know, since we met!" And I thought it
delightful the way she puckered her lovely little forehead and looked me
over. But she just looked so devilish enticing, I couldn't keep it up
myself. I leaned nearer and spoke behind my hat, trying to look the love
I felt.
"Didn't expect to see me, did you?"
She looked at me oddly and bit her lip. But her eyes were dancing and
the delicious dimple in her cheek twitched on the verge of laughter. She
shook her head.
"Indeed I did not." And again came that odd look in her face as though
she were studying, kind of balking, don't you know. By Jove, she was
perfectly dazzling!
"My dearest!" slipped softly from me as I held the hat.
She stared. Then once more that canary peal of merriment.
"Oh, dear!" Then her face sobered and she almost pouted. "Now you
mustn't--please, _really_--it gets so tiresome. Don't you American, or
rather, you Harvard men, ever talk anything to a girl but love? Why,
it's absurd." She smiled, but her lashes dropped reproof. By Jove, I was
taken back a little! Evidently she was piqued with me about something,
but what the devil was it? And then I thought I had it.
I slipped nearer--to the edge of the chair.
"I didn't know you were in town to-day--'pon honor, I didn't. Billings
never said a word about it," I explained. "Why, dash it, I would have
given _anything_ to have known."
She looked at me with a queer little smile, stroked her little lip with
the point of one gloved finger and looked across the river at the
Palisades. Dash the Palisades! Never could see any sense in them,
anyhow!
"Oh, thank you, but Elizabeth and I didn't know ourselves until last
evening that we would make the New York trip. She wanted to hear a
suffragette lecture at the Carnegie, and I had some shopping to do."
And she just gave me one of those calm, self-contained, thoroughbred
sort of smiles that are harder to get past than a six-foot hedge. What
the deuce _was_ the matter with the girl? Something had changed her; yet
I knew that nothing could really change her at heart--never.
But it was certain that she was put out about something. I would just
have to play her easy and try to find out what it was. I remembered
hearing Pugsley say--and he has had no end of experience with them--that
when women are put out they expect you to find out what it is, no matter
how devilishly improbable or unreasonable it may be.
And just then I remembered another clever idea of Pugsley's--what he
said was a corking good way of diverting their minds.
"I say, you know," I said suddenly--and though I threw a whole lot of
enthusiasm into my face in carrying out his idea, I didn't have to try
very hard--"I think that's a ripping gown. White is ever so much more
your style than--than--"
By Jove, I swallowed just in time! But it had roused her. I could see
her brighten.
"Oh!" she said. "Let me see--what _is_ it you remember?" And she kind of
muttered, "Perhaps I can tell from that--"
She paused expectantly.
"Oh, I say, you know!" And I twirled the hat, feeling a bit rattled. Why
the deuce did she want to rub it in?
"But I want you to tell me." Her beautiful eyes were teasing.
"_You_ know--in black." I twirled the hat faster.
"_Black!_" She stared, her exquisite lips standing apart like the two
petals of a rose. "Why, I never wore black in my life. You _know_ you
never saw me in black."
I felt hurt. I couldn't blame her for wanting to appear to forget about
it, but still--
She must have seen my face fall, for I know, by Jove, I could just feel
it kind of collapse, I was that hurt and disappointed. Her face softened
kindly and I took courage, for my devilishly alert mind just then hit
upon another explanation. I recalled that she had thoughtlessly left the
pajamas in my rooms. I also realized with dismay that Foxy Grandpa had
promised, or rather the officers had promised for him, that they should
be returned promptly. And, by Jove, I had forgotten all about them!
"Never mind," I said, thinking aloud, as I frequently do. "I'll
telephone about them as soon as we get to Wolhurst." Then a terrible
shock struck me. "Oh, I say, you didn't have your name on them, did
you?"
"On what?" How kindly, even if quizzically, she was regarding me! The
big white hat shifted an inch or two nearer. I realized with joy that
she was beginning to forget about being put out with me.
"Why--" I looked about cautiously and dropped my voice, though it was
not likely any one could hear above the quiver of the train. "Why, in
your black pajamas you left in my rooms."
A kind of little gasp was all I heard, and then she was on her feet and
looking--not at me, but above my head--looking away off down the length
of the car. Somehow--why, I couldn't understand--I had a weird, horrible
feeling of abasement, as though I had killed a child, or had done some
other dashed unreasonable thing like that. Her face had flushed but now
was deadly white. And then, by Jove, I saw she was looking for another
chair.
I jumped up at once and moved into the aisle.
"I'm so sorry," I said miserably, "so sorry, dear, I hurt you. I didn't
mean ever to speak of the pajamas. I knew you wanted to forget about the
other night, and I knew you wanted _me_ to forget, too--"
"Oh, please--" She shrank back, her beautiful eyes like those of a
frightened deer. But it was the last car, and I blocked the aisle. I
didn't realize at the time that I was doing it. It came to me afterward,
and was one of the things I kicked myself about for hours, more or less.
Just at the moment I was so dashed wild about setting myself right with
her. The only other thing I had presence of mind to remember was the
nearness about us of a lot of beady-eyed cats, and so I drew nearer and
lowered my voice so none could hear. For I had another feeling of
inspiration as to what really was the matter with her!
Matter! I should say, rather! She was beginning to look
angry--splendidly angry--her eyes just blazing blue fire. I knew I would
have to get in my explanation quickly, and what's more, if what Pugsley
thought was true, I would have to hit the jolly nail on the head or else
everything was off, you know.
"Why, Frances--sweetheart," I pleaded softly--just loud enough for her
to hear above the train, "I know you are put out with me because you
found me gone the next morning, but honestly, dear, I acted for the
best--indeed, I did." And to be on the safe side, I profited by another
inspiration: "And, my darling girl, I'll never mention the pajamas and
the other night--never any more--as long as we live, nor the cigarettes
nor cigars nor whisky. Why, I don't care if you--"
"Tarrytown--all out for Tarrytown!" came in a high tenor voice from the
end of the car, and something bowled down the aisle and brushed me
aside. It was the frump.
"Come on, Frances!" she exclaimed sharply; "our station." Next instant
they were streaking it for the door, with me a good second. I saw
Frances look behind once with--oh, such a look! Dashed if it didn't
shrivel me, you know--that sort. And, by Jove, I knew Pugsley was right,
and that I had failed to put the ball over!
I was not six feet behind as they scrambled through the station to the
other side where a large car stood panting. I saw Frances clutch the
frump's arm and whisper something, and I heard the frump's reply, for
her voice was loud and strongly masculine.
"Crazy?" she rasped. "Nonsense! Drunk, more likely. Most of them are
half the time."
I didn't have time to see what she referred to, for just then we reached
the side of the car. I didn't see a thing of Billings, but the chauffeur
jumped to the ground and received the ladies and their bags. He seemed
to me devilish familiar, too. By Jove, the way he held my darling's hand
was the most infernally audacious, outrageous thing I ever beheld! I
should have liked to punch his head. He helped them into the tonneau and
was so busy with his silly jackass chatter that he closed the door
before he turned and saw me. I was just standing there, leaning a little
forward with my cane, you know, and fixing my monocle reproachfully on
Frances--trying to get her eye.
And then, by jove, I felt a blow on my shoulder that almost bowled me
over, for I had my legs crossed, you know.
"Well, I'll be hanged--it's Dicky!" And he was grinning at me like a
what's-its-name cat. And with the grin I recognized him. It was the
fresh young fool who had been so devilish familiar at the pier the
morning Frances left.
Then he banged me again, dash it, and tried to get my hand, but I put it
behind me. But he did get my arm, and he turned toward the car. His
voice dropped.
"See here, I want you to meet--Eh?" He broke off, staring at the frump,
who was making signs with her eyes, frowning and beckoning him with her
green flower-pot. He left me, murmuring something, and stepped to the
running-board. I could see the flower-pot bobbing about energetically
and twice Frances nodded, it seemed to me reluctantly.
"Crazy--drunk? Pshaw, you're batty!" he said to the frump rudely. Then I
heard another murmur and his harsh voice rose again: "Yes--Lightnut, I
tell you--Dicky Lightnut. Yes--Jack Billings' great friend. You just
wait till he's back from the city, and if he don't get upon his
hind--Eh, what? His name is _Smith_? Rats!"
All this time I was just standing there, trying to catch Frances' eye.
I felt sure if I could catch her eye she would see how devilish sorry I
was. I moved back a few feet, for, dash it, without a sign from her, I
had no idea now, of course, of considering myself as one of the party.
Not finding Billings with the car, and the information I caught that he
was still in the city, just left me high and dry, you know.
"All right, Miss Smarty," the yellow-topped chauffeur rasped, addressing
the frump, "I'll just show you!"
He turned about and jerked his head.
"Oh, Dicky! Here, just a minute, old chap--will you?"
Of course I took no notice of him whatever. In fact I looked in the
other direction.
"Lightnut!" he called. I just stared up at the castle on the hill. I
felt devilish annoyed, though. I recalled a conversation the other day
at the club in which Van Dyne remarked that the intimacy affected now by
chauffeurs was growing insufferable. Declared his man had asked him for
a light that morning.
The fellow stared a little; then he came toward me, smirking in a
jocular, impertinent way.
"Say, stop your kidding, old man," he muttered; "girls have no sense of
humor, you know. Come along--I've just been telling them you are my best
friend."
I stole another look at the car, but Frances avoided me; so I came to a
decision. I turned shortly on the driver.
"See here now, my good fellow," I said sharply, "you stop subjecting
those ladies to annoyance. Drive on, or I'll report you to my friends."
He stared--seemed to be trying to stare me out of countenance, in fact.
Then the grin slowly faded.
"Why, Dicky!" he exclaimed in an aggrieved tone, "don't you remember
me--don't you know me?"
"I certainly do not," I answered with decision. I felt my face getting
red with vexation. "And what's more, my name is not 'Dicky.'"
His hand slowly swept his chin and he whistled.
"Wha--Well, I'll be jiggered!" He whirled toward the car.
"On me, this time, I guess! You're right!"
Then his face clouded and he moved down upon me.
"Here, you get along now about your business, whoever you are!" His hand
waved as though sweeping me away. "I've a mind to kick you for annoying
that young lady."
He looked toward Frances and I could see he was showing off. But I
thought she looked a bit disgusted. As for the frump, she suddenly
opened the door, stepped down and then up again, but this time behind
the steering wheel.
"If you don't come on, I'm going," she said quietly.
"Just a minute," he said, scowling back at her. He faced me.
"Look here, if I hit you once"--he leveled his finger--"well, they'll
have to pick you up with a sponge, that's all!"
But, except for fixing my glass for a better study of Frances, I never
moved. Didn't occur to me as necessary, you know, until she should drive
off. Just stood leaning on my cane and with feet crossed, you know, in
the way I had long ago found was the least exhausting, if one has to
stand at all. But, by Jove, the fellow was right in my face now, almost!
Devilish annoying!
"Did you hear me, you glass-eyed fool?" he barked in my ear. "You
masher! By George, _I'll_ mash you!"
And he looked at Frances again and laughed, but she was looking away off
up at the big stone castle on the Pocantico Hills behind. And I just
reveled in her glorious profile, splashed bright by the golden sunshine
reflected from the Tappan Zee opposite. Incidentally, I was trying in my
mind the three arm movements that must be made as one, and for which, to
learn, I had paid the great master, Galliard of Paris, a thousand francs
in gold.
The car began to edge away.
"All right--coming!" he yelled; and then he launched his blow. But so
rapid--instantaneous, in fact--are the famous three movements of the
great scientist, I don't remember that my eye even shifted its grip
upon the monocle. Therefore, as I came back into the same position again
as his shoulder hit the ground, I was in time to catch my darling's eye
at last just as they curved. And, by Jove, she looked amused--and
pleased.
As for the frump, she frankly and harshly laughed, and then moved up a
speed, just as a south-bound express took the station.
And I swung aboard it, back for little old New York. Didn't see what the
chauffeur did. Wasn't interested, you know, about that.