It was a cold bright day. The ice on the trees of Central Park was a
diamond iridescence. Nursemaids were leading children, bits of muffled
wealth, along the alleys. Horses pounded on the bridle paths.
Automobiles and taxis, that must have looked to the airman above like
aimless black planes drifting in a crystal sea, were carrying people to
a thousand destinies. Towering on all sides was the irregular concrete
mass of New York. As dusk fell, lights in those high buildings began
to appear, first intermittently, then as long necklaces of brilliants
strung against the sky. Silence fell on the Park.
Clavering walked until he could walk no farther, then took a bus at One
Hundred and Tenth Street for Claremont. When he reached the restaurant
he could think of only three men whose companionship would be
endurable, and failing to get any of them on the telephone resigned
himself to a solitary dinner. But still restless, he wandered over to
a window and stared out across the Hudson at the dark Palisades on the
opposite shore. Battleships were at anchor, for there had been no ice
in the Hudson this winter, and a steamboat with its double chain of
lights swam gracefully up the river. The cold winter stars winked down
indifferently upon seething human hearts.
He still refused to admit that the source of his uneasiness was that
revelation set for Saturday night. Nothing but death itself could halt
his marriage with this woman, for she herself had unequivocally stated
that after Saturday night the future would be in his hands.
_His!_ . . . Her secret? Not that she had had lovers, for he had
accepted that fact already, and for him the past had ceased to exist.
Her husband was dead. Nothing else mattered. Nevertheless, the vague
prescient chill he had experienced the night he first met her eyes, and
once or twice since, accompanied as it was by a curious sense that just
below his consciousness lay the key to the mystery, rattling now and
again, but sinking deeper every time he made a dart at it, had defied
further evasion since the receipt of her cryptic letter. He was the
more uneasy as she seemed far more certain of Mrs. Oglethorpe than of
himself.
Once more he heard the key rattle, but higher . . . almost in his
consciousness . . . for the first time it seemed to sound a double note
of warning . . . he had a sudden vision of a locked door--and not a
door locked on a mere secret.
He swung about impatiently. The explanation of his mood was this
hideous interval to be got through, Heaven alone knew how. No wonder
he had felt a sensation of terror. When a man is in the unsatisfied
stages of love he must expect occasional attacks of greensickness,
sullen passions intensified by unreasoning fear. And he was luckier
than most. He had been the confidant of men in love, with hope
deferred or blasted, and although he had been sympathetic enough, and
convinced that men had a far deeper capacity for suffering than women,
still had his pity been tempered by a certain contempt. Those had been
the times when he had flouted the idea that he was basically romantic;
and that he had never made a jackass of himself over any woman had
induced a feeling of superiority that had expanded his ego. Now he was
convinced that his capacity for love put theirs to shame, and he was
filled with pride at the thought. Still--he wished it were Saturday
night.
He was crossing the room to his solitary table when he saw Jim
Oglethorpe enter. His first impulse was to avoid him. The restaurant
was well-filled and he could easily take a table in a corner with his
back to the room. But dining alone was a melancholy business at
best--and tonight! If Oglethorpe brought up Madame Zattiany's name he
could change the subject or state bluntly that he had his reasons for
not wishing to discuss her. As he stood hesitating, Oglethorpe caught
sight of him and almost ran across the room, his face, which had looked
heavy and worried, glowing with pleasure.
"Jove, this is luck!" he exclaimed. "Alone? So am I. Got in this
morning and found Janet had a dinner on for those infernally noisy
friends of hers. Got something to think over, so thought I'd come out
here. This is really luck as I was going to hunt you up tomorrow.
Let's sit here. I want to talk."
He had led the way to a table in a remote corner, secluded, so far. He
beckoned the head waiter, who agreed that it should remain secluded.
Then he asked Clavering to order the dinner, and, folding his arms,
stared out of the window, his face sagging once more. He was still a
young man, not more than forty-five, but in spite of his love of
outdoor sport he showed a more consistent love of eating and drinking
in flabby muscles and pouches under the eyes. It was an amiable,
rather weak but stubborn face that had been handsome in youth when his
eyes were bright and clear skin covered firm muscles, and it would be
handsome again when years had compelled him to diet and his already
faded hair had turned white; his features were regular and his figure
well-knit under its premature accumulations.
He produced a flask from his pocket when the waiter had discreetly
turned his back, and their ice-water might have passed for cold tea.
"Think I'll come to the point," he said. "You know me well enough not
to mind anything I say."
Clavering glanced up from his oysters in alarm. "There's just one
question I won't discuss," he said sharply.
Oglethorpe stared. "You don't mean to say you're interested in her?
So much the better! And it strikes me you can't have any objection to
discussing her with me. I'm her father, ain't I?"
"Her father--are you talking of Janet?"
"Who else? I'm worried as the devil. Have been ever since I got in
this morning. I'd telegraphed I was coming, and when I got to the
house Molly told me that mother wanted to see me at once and I posted
down there. It was about Janet, and you know more about it than I do."
"I suppose I know what you mean. But it turned out all right. She
happened to meet me, not some man who might have annoyed her. Of
course she shouldn't have taken such a risk, but; what can you do with
these flappers? They're all in league together and you might as well
let them go their little pace. It won't last. They'll soon be older,
and I don't suppose you intend to play the heavy father and lock her
up."
"No, but I'd like damn well to get her married. Mother told me a
pretty tale. It seems she made a row at Sherry's last night, making
you and some lady you had with you as conspicuous as herself. Mrs.
Vane was there and carried it straight to mother. Mother's no fool and
had already got on to this younger generation business and given Janny
one or two tongue lashings, but she never dreamed it had gone as far as
it looks. Roaming the streets alone at one in the morning! She'd
undoubtedly been drinking last night--God! I've a notion to take a
switch to her. And I suppose she was pretty well lit the night you
picked her up. I've never seen a hint of it. Janny's spoilt enough.
Her mother never had the slightest control over her and she could
always get round me. But she won't in the future. I'll get top-hand
somehow. God! My daughter! Tell me your side of it, will you?"
Clavering, who was genuinely fond of Oglethorpe, and relieved,
moreover, that he had not yet heard of Madame Zattiany, gave a cautious
and colorless account of the adventure.
"It is possible that she had had a cocktail or two," he concluded.
"But you must expect that. If the flapper should adopt a coat of arms
no doubt it would be a cocktail rampant with three cigarettes argent on
a field de rouge. However, it wouldn't be a bad idea if you took her
in hand. That is, if you can."
"I'll do it all right. D'you mean to tell me she was at Farren's
without a chaperon?"
"There may have been a chaperon to each couple for all I know."
"You know damn well there wasn't. No chaperon would have left her
alone."
"But surely, Jim, you know that chaperons are practically obsolete.
They don't gee with cocktails and petting parties. The New Freedom!
The Reign of Youth!"
"Damn nonsense. No, I didn't know it. I supposed she was properly
chaperoned, as girls of her class always have been. You know how much
I care for Society, and I haven't got to the chicken stage either.
Took it for granted that certain cast-iron conventions were still
observed, in our set at least. Of course I've seen her drink cocktails
at home and thought it rather cute, and I've rubbed the paint off her
cheeks and lips once or twice. Girls are making up nowadays as if they
were strumpets, but some little fool started it, and you know the old
saying: 'What one monkey does the other monkey must do.' It never
worried me. Of course I've heard more or less about these young
idiots; they're always being discussed and written up; but somehow you
never think those things can happen in your own family. . . . I went
straight home and blew up Molly--haven't had a sight of Janet yet--and
of course she bawled. Always does. When I told her that Janet had
been at Farren's alone she protested that Janet had told her she was
going to bed early that night. Even last night, when she had a theatre
party, she understood that some young married woman was along. But
Molly's a fool. What on earth am I to do with Janet? There were no
such girls in my young days. Some of them were bad uns, but as
discreet as you make 'em. Didn't disgrace their families. Some of
them used to drink, right enough, but they were as smooth as silk in
public, and went to a sanitarium to sober up when it got the best of
'em. But these girls appear to be about as discreet as street-walkers.
You don't think they kick over the traces, do you?"
"I'm dead sure that Janet hasn't. She puts on the cap and bells partly
because it's the fashion, partly because she thinks girls are alive and
having their fun for the first time. But she's no fool. She nearly
floored me once or twice. She'll take care of herself."
"Girls don't take care of themselves when they're drunk. But I've an
idea there's something else the matter with her. At least mother has?"
"Something else?"
"In love."
"Well, there's your chance to marry her off. The sooner the better.
But why should it drive her to drink? If she's fixed her affections on
any of those chaps that dance at her beck----"
"She hasn't. She's in love with you."
"What!" Clavering dropped his fork. When the waiter had rushed to
present him with another and retired, he still stared at Oglethorpe as
if he had been stunned by a blow between the eyes. "Whatever--what on
earth put such an idea into Mrs. Oglethorpe's head? The child can't
endure me. She pretty well proved it last night, and I've always known
she disliked me--since she grew up, that is. To be perfectly frank,
aside from the fact that I don't care for young girls, she always
irritates me like the deuce, and I've never made any secret of it.
Night before last I couldn't well have made myself more disagreeable if
I'd rehearsed for the part."
Oglethorpe grinned. "Lot you know about girls. Just the way to make
'em crazy about you. Like all idealists, you don't know a thing about
women. Being a rank materialist myself, I know 'em like a book. The
emancipated flapper is just plain female under her paint and outside
her cocktails. More so for she's more stimulated. Where girls used to
be merely romantic, she's romantic--callow romance of youth, perhaps,
but still romantic--plus sex-instinct rampant. At least that's the way
I size 'em up, and its logic. There's no virginity of mind left,
mauled as they must be and half-stewed all the time, and they're wild
to get rid of the other. But they're too young yet to be promiscuous,
at least those of Janet's sort, and they want to fall in love and get
him quick. See the point?"
"No doubt you're right. But I'm not the object of Janet's young
affections. She's either led your mother to believe it for purposes of
her own, or Mrs. Oglethorpe has merely jumped at that conclusion--well,
Heaven only knows why."
"You know why. Because she'd like it. So would I."
"Good Lord, Jim! I'm nearly old enough to be her father. Barely ten
years younger than yourself."
"You'll never be as old as I am this minute, and I'd give my eyes to
see you married to her. Moreover, I'm convinced mother's right. Janny
let out something--broke down, I fancy, although mother wouldn't give
her away any further. And you used to be fond of her when she was a
child. She's sat on your lap a hundred times."
"My dear Jim," said Clavering drily. "You've just pronounced yourself
a man of consummate experience. Need I remind you that when a man has
held a girl on his lap as a child, she is generally the last girl he
wants on his lap later on? Man love's the shock of novelty, the spice
of surprise. It's hard to get that out of a girl you have spanked--as
I did Janet on two different occasions. She was a fascinating
youngster, but a little devil if there ever was one."
"She's full of fascination yet. I can see that, if I am her father. A
year or two from now, when she comes to her senses----"
"Oh, cut it out, Jim! I won't listen. Even it were true--and I'd
stake my life it isn't--I--well----"
"D'you mean there's some other woman?"
"I don't care to talk about it--but--let it go at that."
"Sorry. I'd have liked it. You could have made a fine woman out of
Janny. She has it in her."
Clavering did not express his doubts on this point aloud. He was in
truth horribly embarrassed and hardly knew what to say. Not for a
moment did he believe that the minx was in love with him, nor would he
have taken the trouble to find out, even to please Jim Oglethorpe and
his mother, had Mary Zattiany never crossed his horizon. But he felt
sorry for his friend and would have liked to banish his brooding
distress.
"Look here!" he exclaimed. "You'll have to buck up and take her in
hand. After all, you're her father and she respects you. No girl
respects her mother these days, apparently, but the father has the
advantage of being male. Give her a talking to. Tell her how cut up
you are. She's too young to be as hard as she likes to think. Don't
preach. That would make matters worse. Appeal to her. Tell her she's
making you miserable. If that doesn't work--well, your idea of taking
a switch to her isn't bad. A sound spanking is what they all need, and
it certainly would take the starch out of them. Make them feel so
damned young they'd forget just how blasé they're trying to be."
"She might run away," rumbled Oglethorpe. "I believe I'll try it,
though, if worse comes to worst. I'll have no filthy scandals in my
family."
"Why not collect all the fathers and plan a regular campaign? Without
their allowances they'd soon be helpless. It would be a battle royal
and might make history! Might also get hold of the fathers of these
young chaps. Few have independent incomes."
Oglethorpe laughed for the first time. "Not a bad idea for a bachelor,
Lee. Maybe I'll try it. Let's get out of this. How about the
Follies?"