We are but Sitters at the Table, Guests,
Where each drinks more, the more that he protests,
Sees, One by One, his Fellows slip from Sight,
And then himself beneath the Table rests.
* * * * * *
Some walk the Sinuous Crack for Test, and Some
Judge by the throbbing Fullness of the Thumb--
But lo! the Fool continues till the Guests
Are changed to Pairs of Twins as in they come!
--_Imitations of Immorality_.
Barring the somewhat equivocal episode of the east room at Major
Pumphrey's, everything had gone to Mr. Alvord's liking since Mr.
Brassfield had placed the campaign in his hands. And, as a matter of
fact, that affair was so susceptible of plausible explanation, and so
fenced about by the sanctities of private hospitality, that Alvord was
reassured after a day or two had passed with no public scandal. Amidon
stayed away from headquarters, and Alvord, acting under the unlimited
authority granted by Brassfield, took all responsibility and proceeded
most effectively in his own way. Amidon's instructions by telephone,
to prepare a statement of disbursements to be made public, he regarded
as one of Brassfield's jokes. His suggestion that he meant to stand on
a platform of principles seemed equally humorous. To propose such
ridiculous things in a perfectly serious way, and laugh at the victim's
credulity in "biting" on the hoax, was quite in harmony with the
relations among the members of the set to which they belonged, where
practical jokes, merciless chaffing and perpetual efforts to get the
best of one another had given the group a more than local celebrity.
Having, therefore, no suspicion that his candidate's platform of
principles was in the hands of the reporters, and would appear in the
next morning's papers, Alvord took his way to the annual supper of the
A. O. C. M. feeling that all was well in the world, and that here, at
least, his candidate would acquit himself well.
Messrs. Bulliwinkle and Cox were absent when the time came for sitting
down to supper, and Mr. Simpson, the Master of the Revels, decreed that
no one was to be waited for. So the chairs of the absentees were
shoved up, and reminded Mr. Slater, who was quite high in spirits, of
_The Vacant Chair_, which he sang to the bass of Judge Blodgett, and a
humming accompaniment by Alvord and Edgington. Professor Blatherwick
listened with rapt attention and was much affected.
"Dis iss Heidelberg unt stutent tays," said he. "Strong and luffing
hearts, ant veak hets ant stomachs! Oh, te svorts ant steins ant songs
ant scraps! It iss brotuctife of tears ant schmiles!"
"Especially smiles," said Mr. Simpson; "and right in that connection,
these cocktails are supposed to go in ahead of the refection.
Gentlemen, a good time to all!"
Now, after some courses of soup and fish and _entrees_, Mr. Alvord
noted the cocktails and the unconsumed glasses of wine at the plates of
Bulliwinkle and Cox, and with a sense of equity truly Anglo-Saxon, he
raised the point that it was an injustice to those who had been prompt,
to have these two fresh competitors come in late and entirely sober in
the middle of the feast.
"Point seems to be well taken," said Judge Blodgett. "I move, your
Honor, that the wet goods apportionable to our absent friends be set
aside for them."
"Sustained!" roared Simpson. "Let the booze of Bulliwinkle and Cox be
filed away for future reference, in the sideboard!"
So their glasses stood in two rows, lengthening course by course,
awaiting the coming of the absentees. And thus it was that when Mr.
Bulliwinkle, fat, bald, and rubicund, made his appearance, the
proceedings were suspended until he had imbibed his share, glass by
glass, beginning with the cocktails and ending temporarily with
Madeira. Then Mr. Bulliwinkle suddenly became profoundly grave, and
was soon detected by Alvord in the act of stealthily endeavoring to
place his finger accurately upon certain small round spots in the
table-cloth. Whereupon, Mr. Bulliwinkle, to show how entirely he had
himself in hand, proposed a toast in verse beginning,
"Now here's to the girl with the auburn hair,
And the shoulders whiter than snow,"
and drank it off in a bumper. All seemed to forget Bulliwinkle at this
and transferred their attention to Amidon, and pounded on the table and
called for a response from him. Blodgett nodded for him to yield, and
in order that he might be fully in character, Florian began by saying
that they, who knew him so well were quite well aware that he could
respond to a toast in honor of the girl with the auburn hair----
"Or any other old color!" shouted Edgington.
"Or all colors at once!" roared a nameless wight at the foot of the
table.
At which gaucherie, the nameless wight was the recipient of nudges and
scowls in the direction of the professor (who was probably unaware of
the color of the hair on his own head, to say nothing of his
daughter's) and Edgington filled the gap caused by the unexpected
collapse of Amidon's response by charging that Cox was absent because
of his having recently taken passage upon the water-wagon, and was
traitorously staying away. Alvord proposed that a messenger be sent
for him, and when the A. D. T. boy came, a written summons was penned
on a menu card, on which progress to date was checked, and instructions
given that the document be presented to Cox at his home every twenty
minutes until he came--Cox to pay the charges; and the messenger to
return between trips to report, and to have the menu checked up so that
Cox might note the forward movement of events, and see how far he was
behind.
When Mr. Simpson rose to make a few general observations ushering in
that part of the program usually devoted to speech-making, Mr.
Bulliwinkle, whose vision was slightly impaired, took him for the tardy
Cox and some friend whom Cox had brought, and greeted them with a
strident "How-de-do!" After this blunder, of course, Mr. Bulliwinkle
was logically bound to show that the exclamation was uttered by virtue
of a deliberate plan, and so he repeated it from time to time all the
evening, until the ordeal of mixed drinks, to which his late arrival
had subjected him, proved too much for his endurance and robbed him of
speech. But this is anticipating.
A dozen matches were burning and a dozen Havanas sending forth their
first cloudlets of blue over the sparkling glasses of champagne, as Mr.
Simpson began his remarks.
"To most of those present," he said, "I don't need to say that this is
a sort of annual affair. To our new friends I will explain that this
club is an institution of Bellevale Lodge, Number 689, of the Ancient
Order of Christian Martyrs, of which noble fraternity we are all
devoted members. Present company are members, ex or incumbent, of the
Board of Control, and a system of fines for absence at board meetings
accumulates a fund which has to be spent, and we are now engaged in
spending it. Beyond the logic of the situation, which points
unerringly to the blowing-in of this fund, the impending happy event in
the life of our treasurer, Brother Brassfield, together with the public
honors already and about to be conferred on him, render it fitting that
this banquet be in his honor. What the devil is that racket? Oh, the
boy----! Let the wandering caitiff enter! What says the recreant
invader of our Mystic Circle?"
"He said he'd hev' me 'rested 'f I came there any more, an' the whole
bunch pulled," said the boy. "An' he chucked the paper out o' the
winder."
"Let another scroll be prepared," roared Simpson, "and go back to him
as per schedule."
"But," said the boy, "he said----"
"We hold the police force in the hollow of our hands!" shouted Simpson.
"We will protect you."
"I should say we would!" "You trust us!" "To the death!" chorused the
roisterers.
"I'll collect damages from him for your death!" said Judge Blodgett.
"Whom do you want 'em paid to?"
"D'vide the boodle," said the boy, "among my grandchildren--ekally. Do
I go back?"
"You do," said Simpson, "as soon as another Exhibit A is prepared."
"It's ready, most noble Potentate," said Edgington ritualistically.
"Then let the messenger depart. Where's that menu I had? Hang it,
you've used it for the kid, and it had my remarks on it. As I was
saying, this is Brassfield's night. Everybody tells a story, sings a
song or dances."
Edgington told a story which, he said, was "on Brassfield," and showed
what regular devil that gentleman had been. It seemed that he and
"Brass" were at one time fly-fishing in the mountains, and Eugene had
so wrought on the fancy of the schoolmistress that she had let school
out at three, and gone to learn casting of Brassfield.
"And when they came to the house at suppertime," he went on, "the whole
family were laying for them. 'Ketch anything?' said the old lady,
'anythin' more'n a bullhead?' 'I c'n see,' said the hired man, 'that
she's been castin' purty hard, by the way her dress is kinder pressed
around the waist. It allers fixes mine that way!'"
And so on, to the narration of the outbreak of hostilities with the
hired man, and the flight of Brassfield and Edgington. At every point
Amidon winced, as he got views of Brassfield's character which
hypnotism could not yield, and the assembly roared the louder at his
embarrassment.
The messenger boy returned again by this time, still unsuccessful, and
was provided with a bunch of cannon fire-crackers to be exploded in
Cox's front yard so that the invitation to the banquet might not be
overlooked. Then Slater told of Mr. Brassfield's adventures at the
Mardi Gras, the story consisting mostly of the account of Eugene's
wonderful series of winnings at the race course, where he adopted the
system of always finding what horse was given the longest odds, and
playing him.
"Our friend," said Slater, "on that last day, was too full of
mint-juleps and enthusiasm to tell the field from the judges' stand.
Said he never saw the judges' stand run with the horses before
(laughter); thought it was a good idea--judges could always tell
whether the riding was fair (cheers); and put his money on Azim at
about one hundred to one; and when Azim romped in a winner, they
stuffed all his pockets full of money, and the reporters came with
cameras to get shots at the northern millionaire who had such a
thundering run of luck, and you ought to have seen 'Gene when he saw
the papers in the morning! Had to take him to Pass Christian next day.
It was too strenuous for your humble servant at New Orleans. All the
sports knew him by this time, and wanted to run into him so as to touch
him for luck, and 'Gene wanted to fight every guy that touched him, and
about half the time was getting accommodated and taking second money in
every fight!" (Great laughter and applause.)
Amidon was unable to tell as to the absolute truth of these tales, but
they had such verisimilitude that they impressed and shocked him. He
was doubly astounded at the evident enjoyment with which they were
received by his friends, and especially at the fact of the hearty and
unrestrained manner in which Blodgett and even Blatherwick joined in
the applause. Every shot from the quiver of horse-play (except those
aimed at the luckless Cox) seemed directed at him, Amidon the
dignified. Here, it seemed, he was known to have been guilty of
gambling, drunkenness and libertinism--the three vices that he most
detested. His face burned with shame. How had Elizabeth ever cared
for such a man as that villain Brassfield? Where was the Sir Galahad,
or Lancelot either, in this life? He must somehow, some time, find a
way to tell her that it was Brassfield, not Amidon, who had done these
things, and that he, Amidon, reared by a doting mother and cared for by
a solicitous sister, and all his life the model of the moral town of
Hazelhurst, was as innocent of these things as she was.
These thoughts so filled his mind that he heard very little of Judge
Blodgett's dialect story. Professor Blatherwick began a German song
full of trilled r's, achs and hochs; but became offended at
Bulliwinkle's strident "How-de-do!" at the end of the first stanza, and
quit. Whereupon Bulliwinkle, for the first time sensing the fact that
something was wrong, in the goodness of his heart began singing, _Dot's
How Poor Yacob Found It Oudt_, in seeming compliment to the nationality
of the professor; but, owing to the subtlety of the reasoning, the
professor failed to take it as such. He took mortal umbrage instead,
and hurled his card down on the table with a bang, at which Bulliwinkle
slipped under the mahogany,
"Gently as a skylark settles down
Upon the clustered treasures of her nest."
Meantime, Mr. Simpson had called on Mr. Knaggs to do a dance, as he
alleged himself unable to do anything else. Mr. Knaggs responded, and
did pretty well considering the lateness of the hour, but insisted that
he ought to have a better surface than the carpet. Amidon dimly
resented as an impropriety Mr. Knaggs' brilliant proof of the
correctness of his position regarding the carpet, by a tumultuously
successful clog-dance on the table.
By this time, it being past the hour for retiring, according to the
habit of most, several of the guests were asleep, and most of the rest
were indulging in monologues under the impression that they were
conversing with their neighbors. Edgington was on his feet proposing a
series of interrogatories in strictly legal form requiring Amidon to
say how he got the support of Barney Conlon, what there was in his
labor record to win the support of Sheehan and Zalinsky, and various
other matters. At Alvord's request, Judge Blodgett was moving that
these be "struck out," while Slater insisted that it ought to be a
"base on balls." It was a new experience for Amidon. He was surprised
to find a something in it which he enjoyed. The very hubbub was
interesting.
No wonder, such being the conditions, that the A. D. T. boy rapped long
and was not heard. No wonder that the ultimate opening of the door was
unnoted by those present, or that no one observed the tall man with
whisker extensions to a mustache naturally too large, who came in after
the messenger. Observed or not, however, he entered and walked heavily
down the banqueting-hall.
"Brassfield, a summons for you," said he fiercely. "Here's the copy;
this is the 'rig'nal. Waive the readin', I s'pose? Sorry to
interrupt. So long."
Amidon looked at the stiff document as if it had been a Gila monster on
toast. He saw such words as "State of Pennsylvania, County of Rockoil,
ss," and "Default will be taken against you, and judgment rendered
thereon," and sundry dates and figures. Instinctively he turned to
Judge Blodgett, saying:
"What's this, Blodgett?"
A tremor of panic seized on Amidon, and a wave of sobriety passed over
the guests. Much the same thing must have marked the breaking up of
the feast of Belshazzar. The roisterers gazed at the paper, or began
their preparations for departure.
"What is it?" asked Amidon.
"I don't know enough about the practice here," said the judge slowly,
"to be able to say whether it's good or not--seems to have been hastily
and rather slovenly gotten up----"
"But what is the damned thing?" shouted Alvord; "cut it short and tell
us."
"Seems perfectly regular, though," went on the judge deliberately.
"It's a summons in the case of Daisy Scarlett versus Eugene Brassfield
in a suit for twenty-five thousand dollars for breach of promise of
marriage."
Amidon sank back in a collapse which was almost a faint. The little
nervous Alvord rose to command.
"Now," said he, standing in his place, "I want to say a few words
before a man leaves this room. I know something of this case, and I
want you to take my word that there's no more foundation for it than
there would be if it were brought against any one of us. And
furthermore, there must be nothing said about this. These papers are
not on record yet, and I believe something can be done. Why, confound
it, something shall be done! Every man must pledge me his word that he
won't breathe a word of this, and will deny it if asked about it."
"We promise!" came the unanimous shout.
Alvord walked toward the guest of honor, tripping over the legs of
Bulliwinkle as he went, and offered his hand to Amidon.
"I say, old man, I warned you that you were carrying on a little
strong; and now here's a--"
"How-de-do!" said Bulliwinkle.
_In vino veritas_! Truly, most bibulous Bulliwinkle, thou hast
supplied the very word to convey the meaning for which we at this
moment desire expression! Here's a how-de-do indeed! Just as our
friend Amidon has made a successful lodgment in the outworks of Port
Waldron--a citadel which he had taken by stratagem, abandoned for
conscience' sake, and re-invested on lines of fairer warfare, to say
nothing of the investment of the mayoralty--the hope of victory is
swallowed up in a sea of disasters. The meeting on the stairway, the
repudiation of Mrs. Hunter, the arrested flirtation in the east room:
all these--any of these--were enough: but what hope for us remains,
after this sensational summons, served in the small hours of a
bacchanalian revel, in a breach-of-promise action at the suit of the
dreadful "Strawberry Blonde"? Verily, Bulliwinkle, here is indeed a
how-de-do!
"Old man," said Mr. Alvord, in private communication to Mr. Amidon at
parting, "we're none of us in condition to discuss this calmly now; but
don't give up. It's a blow, but with our pull with the press, and our
personal relations with Cox, can be squelched, I believe. Until after
election----"
"Until when?" asked Amidon dazedly.
"After election," answered Alvord. "After that, while it will be a
blow, of course, it won't wreck things quite so completely, you know.
And even if it does sort of leak out, it's one of those mix-ups that
lots of voters'll rather admire you for, you know. It may react in
your favor, if we can----"
"Mr. Alvord," said Amidon, "please to understand that I don't care a
rush, one way or the other, about this election!"
"Now, now, don't say that!" said Alvord soothingly. "I can see how you
feel, 'Gene--pride, and affection, and Bessie, and the wedding coming
on--but, pshaw, we lots of us have things kind of tangle up on us
coming in on the home stretch of a pretty swift heat! Go home, and
don't worry too much. I'm with you, and we'll win. F. D. and B., you
know. Keep the other strings pulling right--it's only a day or so now.
Good night, old man, and brace up! See you to-morrow."
One rather likes the optimistic fighter--purely as a fighter--of the
Alvord stripe. He was so occupied with plans for the next day's battle
that the dubious features of the contest were already clearing up in
his mind with the forming of plans for attacking the situation. A few
hours of sleep, and he was up and at them. His telephone called up the
editors of the town with the morning star. Long before the enemy could
have known of the breach in his works, his trusty troops were busy
filling it up. He was almost happy again, when Edgington rushed into
his presence with a newspaper crushed in his clenched fist, and all
sorts of disaster depicted in his expression.
"Jim," he cried, "have you seen this?"
"No," answered Alvord. "It ain't that Scarlett business? I thought
I'd got that----"
"No, no! It isn't that!" groaned Edgington. "But we're done, all the
same! Done to a finish! You might as well close the headquarters and
go home, for if we win, on this platform, we lose, and all the money
we've put in is lost! I tell you, Jim, 'Gene Brassfield is either
insane--and I believe it's that--or he's the damnedest traitor and
sneak and two-faced hound that ever stepped, and I'll have it out with
him! Some way, if I wait ten years, I'll have it out with him, if I
have to do it with a gun! His business leaves my office at once. Why,
there aren't words fit for me to use, to describe the miserable, false,
lying----"
"See here, Edge!" said Alvord. "We may be done, as you say, but Eugene
Brassfield has made you, and he's my friend, and you'd better not go on
like that, here! Let me see that paper!"
Edgington threw it to him. In heavy type he saw the fateful platform
summarized in a black-bordered panel on the first page: