A DINNER AT THE BRITZ
When Rebener got back to the entrance hall he found Edestone standing
talking with an American newspaper correspondent, and as he came up
heard the inventor say: “Well you can say that if I sell my discovery
to anyone it will be to the United States, and that rather than sell
to any other nation I would hand it over to my own country as a free
gift.”
“Here, here,” Rebener joined in laughingly as he came up, “don’t you
offer to give away anything. Just because your father left you
comfortably well off is no reason that you shouldn’t sell things if
people want to buy. Sell and sell while you’ve got the market, and
sell to the highest bidder. Look at me, I am selling to both sides;
that is my way of stopping this war.” He turned to the young newspaper
man. “Is there anything new, Ralph?”
“Nothing, Mr. Rebener, except that there is a story out in New York
that Mr. Edestone here has been sent over to act as a sort of
unofficial go-between to bring England and Germany to terms; but he
denies this. Then there is another story that he is trying to sell
this new invention of his to England and that the German agents are
trying to get it away from him before he does. You’ve just heard what
he has to say on that subject, so I seem to have landed on a ‘Flivver’
all around.
“Say, Mr. Edestone, you’ll give me the dope on this lay-out won’t you,
before the other boys get to it?” he wheedled. “We all know that
something is going on, and she’s going to be a big story when she
breaks, and it would be the making of me with the ‘old man’ if I could
put it over first.
“I saw you, sir, this afternoon coming home from the Palace,” he
chuckled, “and the President, going out to the first ball game of the
season, surrounded by the Washington Blues, to toss the pill into the
diamond, certainly had nothing on you.”
“You’ve struck it,” said Edestone, with a good-humoured laugh at
himself. “I have been trying all day to think what I looked like, and
that’s it.”
Rebener laid his hand upon his arm. “Well, Jack,” he said, “hadn’t we
better be getting up to my place? I don’t want to keep the other
gentlemen waiting, and these Europeans have an awful habit of coming
at the hour they are invited, and do not, as we do in America, in
imitation of the ‘Snark,’ ‘dine on the following day.’
“Good-night, Ralph,” he waved his hand to the correspondent. “Drop
around tomorrow; I may have something for you.”
Then as they were going up in the elevator he confided to Edestone: “I
am not so crazy about these two chaps that are coming to dinner
tonight, but you know most of the good sort are at the front, or, if
they happen to be in London, are too busy to waste their time on us
Americans. Do you know, Jack, there is at this time quite a bit of
feeling against us in England? Exactly what it is they resent it is
hard to say. I certainly do not understand how they can expect us to
take any part in this war with our population composed of people from
every one of the countries that are engaged.”
They had scarcely had time to take off their coats when Lord Denton
and Mr. Karlbeck came in through the private entrance. Edestone was
introduced, and after the two Americans had had their cocktails, both
Englishmen having declined to indulge in this distinctly American
custom, the four sat down to dinner. Rebener put “Lord Denton” on his
right, Edestone on his left, while “Mr. Karlbeck” took the only
remaining seat. The conversation was general, and Edestone found that
both the Englishmen were evidently making an effort to be agreeable.
“You are quite like an Englishman,” said “Lord Denton” addressing him.
“I have known so few really nice Americans that I must say it is a
most delightful surprise. When I was told that you were a great
American inventor, I was prepared to see a fellow with the back of his
neck shaved, who, while chewing gum, would seize my lapel and hold on
to it while he insisted on explaining how I could save time and money
by using his electrical self-starting dishwasher or some such beastly
machine. When I visited New York two years ago, a committee had me in
charge for three days. Their one idea seemed to be to force large
cigars and mixed drinks on me at all hours of the day and night. One
of these charming gentlemen, a particularly objectionable fellow,
although he seemed to be very rich, was covered with diamonds and wore
the most ridiculous evening clothes topped off with a yachting cap
fronted with the insignia of some rowing club of which he had been
admiral. He always referred to his one-thousand-ton yacht as his
‘little canoe,’ and took delight in telling exactly what it cost him
by the hour to run, invariably adding that this amount did not include
his own food, wines, liquors, and cigars. ‘We always charge that up to
profit-and-loss account,’ he would say with a roar of laughter, in
which he was joined by a group of his satellites.”
“I’ll bet I can call the turn, eh, Jack?” Rebener glanced across the
table to Edestone, with a twinkle in his eye. “Didn’t the chap also
tell you with great seriousness, ‘Lord Denton,’ that he had pulled off
more good deals in his ‘little canoe’ than in all the hotel corridors
put together?”
“Well, I sincerely hope it’s the same,” said ‘Lord Denton’. “You can’t
have two such creatures in your country?”
“Was that the chap, ‘Denton,’” broke in “Karlbeck,” “who said to you,
the day that he slapped you on the back, that he was not so strong for
making all this fuss over Princes and things, as in his opinion it
wasn’t democratic?”
“Yes, that was when I was on board his yacht, but he said I was all
right and he didn’t mind spending money on me. ‘This is my pleasure
today,’ he said, ‘although the Boss did say he wanted you treated
right, and his word goes both ways with me. See!’”
“Tell them about your experience with the New York newspaper men,”
suggested “Karlbeck.”
“Oh, that was very amusing! The whole committee would stand around and
laugh while the ‘boys,’ as they called them, had a chance, which
consisted in my being asked the most impertinent questions by a lot of
objectionable little bounders whom they constantly referred to as ‘the
greatest institution of our glorious country,’ at times allowing also
that the country was ‘God’s own.’
“When I objected, some of your most powerful men would say: ‘You had
better tell the reporters something or they’ll get sore on you and
print a lot of lies about your women-folk.’
“The particularly offensive gentleman of whom I have spoken, after
telling me what he thought of the British aristocracy, which was not
always flattering, though I seemed to be exempt, said as he bade me
good-bye: ‘By the way, don’t forget that my wife and two daughters
will be stopping in London next spring.’”
“Well,” inquired Edestone with a faint smile, “you did forget that his
wife and two daughters were stopping in London in the spring, I am
quite sure, and sure that he is convinced you got the best of it.”
“Oh, I say, Mr. Edestone, that was a nasty one! You really would not
have expected me to introduce that fellow at my clubs, would you?”
“No,” said Edestone, toying with something on the table to hide the
smile that played across his lips. “No, no, not at all. The Lord Mayor
of London would have satisfied him.”
He would have dropped the subject there, but pressed by the other man
he continued rather seriously: “Since you ask me, ‘Lord Denton,’ I do
think that you should not have accepted that man’s hospitality unless
you were prepared to return it to a certain extent.”
“Well, what would you have expected His Royal Highness to do--I mean
‘Lord Denton?’” “Karlbeck” corrected himself hastily. Edestone set his
glass down, and looked at the man for a moment. When he finally spoke
it was with a touch of asperity. With a sarcastic smile he said:
“The quiet way in which you Europeans accept everything from us and
return nothing, is being resented, not by the lower classes for they
read in our papers how the King shook hands with Jack Johnson; not by
the _nouveaux riches_, for they are perfectly satisfied with the
notoriety they get at the hands of your broken-down aristocracy who
spend their money,--no not by these classes, but by our ladies and
gentlemen.”
“Then why do you entertain our Princes so lavishly?” sneered
“Karlbeck.”
“It is our sense of humour, which allows us to be imposed upon. That
sense of humour is often mistaken for hysterical hospitality by the
distinguished stranger. We--and when I say we I mean people of
breeding which does not include the vulgarian who knows nothing and
may be the son of your father’s ninth gardener--we know that the more
ridiculous we appear to you, the better you like it. Not to appear
ridiculous offends you, as it arouses a feeling of rivalry to which
you object, but with your lack of that same sense of humour, this you
deny.”
Again he would have willingly dropped the subject, but “Lord Denton”
once more insisted upon keeping up the discussion.
“You must remember,” said he, “Prince Henry’s visit to America. You
don’t mean to tell me the Americans were not complimented and pleased
at a visit from a Royal Prince?”
Edestone laughed. “You mean when Prince Henry of Prussia came over to
bridge the chasm which had formed between the German and American
nations over the Manila episode, by the interchange of courtesies
between the two ruling families, the Hohenzollerns and the Roosevelts?
“I was surprised that the Kaiser was so poorly informed as not to know
our attitude toward him and his Divine Right and mailed fist. Why,
everybody laughed except the Kaiser and the President--they were the
only ones who were fooled: the Kaiser, because he could not help
himself, it was in his blood; and Roosevelt, because he was at that
time in a most septic condition and was suffering from auto-intoxication
at the hands of that particular form of microbe.”
“Edestone entertained Prince Henry himself at his Little Place in the
Country,” said Rebener, who saw that “Lord Denton” was losing his
temper.
“Yes, I did,” said Edestone. “Not that I thought he would enjoy it,
but somebody--and now when I come to think of it, you were the man,
Rebener--insisted that he would like to visit my machine shops. And he
did seem to enjoy seeing them very much, and Admiral Tirpitz and his
staff took all kinds of notes while asking all kinds of questions.”
The reminiscence seemed to make the three other men a trifle
uncomfortable.
“Oh! what difference does it make after all?” said Rebener. “Let’s get
down to business.
“Now, Edestone,” he turned to the inventor, “you know me, and I’m not
much for beating about the bush. When I want something, my motto is,
‘Go to it.’ My object in inviting you here to meet these gentlemen
tonight was to see if we can’t get together. As I understand the
situation, Jack, you have something that you think is pretty good. You
have lots of money, and you don’t want to sell it. You don’t have to,
but you want to get England to use it, and if she won’t, you will try
Germany. Now is not that just about the size of it?”
“To a certain extent, yes,” replied Edestone.
“Then why in the name of common sense don’t you let ‘Lord Denton’ and
me have it and we will guarantee to have it used where it will do the
most good. He has more pull with the Government than any man in
England. I think you know pretty well now who he is,” he added with a
wink. “If it is the war you want stopped, he is the best man outside
of the King or Kaiser.”
“Well, yes, Mr. Rebener,” said Edestone, “I do know who ‘Lord Denton’
is and had the pleasure of seeing him this afternoon at Buckingham
Palace, but I thought perhaps he would prefer that I should preserve
his incognito and, following the example of his most charming Duchess,
permitted myself to forget. I shall be most happy to----”
He halted and turned as a waiter stepped up behind his chair to
interrupt him.
“I beg pardon, sir, but the Marquis of Lindenberry wishes to speak to
you on the telephone.
“I am sorry, sir, but you will have to go to the booth in the room
behind the stairs. Mr. Rebener’s telephone is out of order.”
“What do you mean, ‘my telephone is out of order’?” Rebener glanced up
sharply. “I used it not twenty minutes ago.” And going into the
adjoining room he tried to speak to the floor switchboard.
“The fellow’s right,” he admitted on returning to the table. “You’ll
have to use the booth, Jack. Waiter, show Mr. Edestone where to go.”
“This way, sir,” said the waiter, and he conducted Edestone down the
long corridor, passing one of Captain Bright’s cavalrymen at almost
every turn. Just around the foot of the stairs the waiter showed him a
door.
“There it is, sir,” he pointed.
Edestone went in and found himself in a room that was almost dark. It
was lighted only by a shaded electric bulb used by the man at the
switchboard, who sat facing the door but hidden from anyone entering
by the high instrument in front of him. Edestone walked over to him,
finding him almost obscured by the huge green shade pulled down over
his eyes, and seemingly very much occupied with both incoming and
outgoing calls.
“Is there a call for Mr. Edestone?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” said the man without looking up from his plugs. “The
second booth from this end, No. 2.”
Edestone, turning, saw in the dim light a row of booths against the
wall over beyond the door. It was quite dark in that corner, but he
could see that the door of the second booth was open. He went inside,
muttering as he did so, “I think they might give a fellow a little
more light.”
As he sat down and took up the receiver, he put out his hand to stop
the door from slowly closing, apparently by itself. It was one of
those double-walled, sound-proof, stuffy boxes, and he did not want
the door shut tight, so he put out his foot to hold it open. But he
was just a moment too late. The door shut with a little bang, and when
he tried to open it again, he found that it seemed to have jammed.