IN THE ONYX LOBBY
BY CAROLYN WELLS
_Author of “The Man Who Fell Through the Earth,” “The Room With the
Tassels,” “Faulkner’s Folly,” etc._
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1920,
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
CONTENTS
I SUCH A FEUD!
II A TRICKY GAME
III THE SCRAWLED MESSAGE
IV THE BUSY POLICE
V WHO WERE THE WOMEN?
VI THE LITTLE DINNER
VII ENLIGHTENING INTERVIEWS
VIII JULIA BAXTER
IX THE LIBRARY SET
X SEEK THE WOMEN
XI THE OLD FEUD
XII ONE WOMAN AND ANOTHER
XIII MOTIVES
XIV PENNY WISE
XV AND ZIZI
XVI TESTIMONY
XVII A WOMAN SCORNED
XVIII FITTED TO A T
IN THE ONYX LOBBY
CHAPTER I
Such a Feud!
“Well, by the Great Catamaran! I think it’s the most footle business I
ever heard of! A regulation, clinker-built, angle-iron, sunk-hinge
family feud, carried on by two women! Women! conducting a feud! They
might as well conduct a bakery!”
“I daresay they could do even that! Women have been known to bake—with
a fair degree of success!”
“Of course, of course,—but baking and conducting a bakery are not
identical propositions. Women are all right, in their place,—which, by
the way, is not necessarily in the home,—but a family feud, of all
things, calls for masculine management and skill.”
Sir Herbert Binney stood by the massive mantelpiece in the ornate
living-room of the Prall apartment. The Campanile Apartment House came
into being with the century, and though its type was now superseded by
the plain, flat stucco of the newer buildings, yet it haughtily flaunted
its elaborate façade and its deeply embrasured windows with the pride of
an elder day. Its onyx lobby, lined with massive pillars, had once been
the talk of the neighborhood, and the black and white tessellated floor
of the wide entrance hall was as black and as white as ever.
The location, between the Circle and the Square,—which is to say,
between Columbus Circle and Times Square, in the City of New York,—had
ceased to be regarded as the pick of the householders, though still
called the heart of the city. People who lived there were continually
explaining the reason for their stay, or moving across town.
But lots of worthwhile people yet tarried, and among them were none more
so than certain dwellers in The Campanile.
Miss Letitia Prall, lessee of the mantelpiece already referred to, was a
spinster, who, on dress parade, possessed dignity and poise quite
commensurate with the quality of her home.
But in the shelter of her own fireside, she allowed herself latitude of
speech and even loss of temper when she felt the occasion justified it.
And any reference to or participation in the famous feud was such
justification.
Her opponent in the deadly strife was one Mrs Everett, also an occupant
of The Campanile, and equally earnest in prolonging the life and energy
of the quarrel.
Sir Herbert Binney, an Englishman, knighted since the war, had come to
America in the interests of its own business, no less an enterprise than
the establishment of an American branch of the great and well-known
“Binney’s Buns.”
Celebrated in England, he hoped and expected to make the admirable buns
equally popular over here, and trusted to his engaging personality as
well as his mercantile acumen to accomplish this purpose.
Not exactly related to Miss Prall, Sir Herbert was connected by the
marriage of a relative. That is, his stepbrother’s son, one Richard
Bates, was also the son of Miss Prall’s sister. This young gentleman,
who, by the way, lived with his Aunt Letitia, was another reason for Sir
Herbert’s presence in New York. He had thought that if this nephew
showed the right sort of efficiency he could be set to manage the
American branch, or, at least, have a hand in the management.
And so, Binney of “Binney’s Buns” had established himself in one of the
smaller suites of The Campanile, had had his living-room repapered to
his taste, had made arrangements for his proper service, and was
comfortably domiciled.
The fly in his ointment was that young Bates didn’t take at all kindly
to the Bun proposition. For the chap was of an inventive turn, and had
already secured patents for some minor accessories and improvements
connected with aëroplanes. Without parents or fortune of his own,
Richard Bates was dependent, so far, on the generosity of his Aunt
Prall, which, though judicious, was sufficient for his bodily welfare.
But Bates was ambitious, and desired large sums with which to carry on
his inventions, certain that they, in turn, would repay a thousandfold.
As the only legal heir of both aunt and uncle, and with utmost faith in
his own powers of success, Richard requested, almost, indeed, demanded
advance on his inheritance, sufficient at least to put over his present
great piece of work, which was expected to prove of decided value in
aëronautic plans.
But such advances were positively refused; by Miss Prall, because
Richard declined to accede to an accompanying condition, and by Uncle
Binney, because he wanted his nephew for his Buns.
The recipe for the famous buns was of an age and tradition that made it
a historical document in England, and, as yet unattained in this
country, it was sought for by bakers and bunners of repute. But it was
not for sale. Sir Herbert Binney would establish Binney’s Buns in
America, and all good Americans could eat thereof, but sell the recipe
to some rival bakeshop he would not. This state of things had made
necessary much parley and many important meetings of Baking Powers.
Among these were the great Crippen’s Cake Company, the Vail Bread
Concern, the Popular Popovers and others of sufficient importance to get
a hearing.
Genial and good-natured, Sir Herbert met them all, discussed their
offers and reserved decision. He did not say, even to himself, that he
was waiting on the will of one young man,—but, practically, that was
the truth. If Bates would give up his fool inventing, and take hold of
the Buns in earnest, Sir Herbert would put him through with bells on,
would make him heir of the Buns and all the great English properties
that the Buns possessed, and would do all in his power to make the life
of young Bates a bed of choicest roses.
But Richard Bates had all the obstinacy and stubbornness of the born
inventor. He knew he couldn’t devote to Bun business a brain teeming
with new notions for the furtherance of scientific attainment. And he
was too honest and honorable to accept the Bun proposition and then turn
to aëronautics on the side. Nor was a side issue of sufficient
importance to satisfy his hunger for his own chosen work. He knew he
could put up the goods that he had in mind, if he could only get the
presently needed money for his experiments and models. If he could but
make either uncle or aunt agree to his views, he could, later, select
his own roses for his bed of life.
But Sir Herbert was as obstinate as his nephew and Miss Letitia Prall
more so than either of them.
Her unflinching and persistent adherence to her decisions was clearly
shown in the matter of the long continued feud. Not every woman could
meet an opponent frequently and casually for twenty years or so, and
pursue an even tenor of enmity.
In the same social circles, Miss Prall and Mrs Everett attended the same
teas, luncheons and bridge parties, yet never deviated one jot or one
tittle from their original inimical attitude.
Never, or at least, very rarely, were there sharp words in the presence
of others, but there were scathing silences, slighting inattentions and
even venomous looks that could not pass unseen.
In fact, they carried on their feud after what would doubtless be
conceded by connoisseurs the most approved methods.
And, indeed, after twenty years’ experience it would be strange if the
two ladies had not attained proficiency in the pursuit of quarreling as
a fine art. Not always had they lived under the same roof. The Feud had
begun when they were denizens of a small country town, and, fostered in
that nourishing atmosphere, had attained its proportions gradually but
steadily.
When circumstances took them to the city to live, and, as if afraid the
unsociability of town life might interfere with their hobby, the
Feudists acquired homes in two of the most desirable apartments of The
Campanile.
Miss Prall, tall, spare and with the unmistakable earmarks of
spinsterhood, directed her menage with the efficiency and capability of
a general. She was nicknamed among her friends, the Grenadier, and her
strong character and aggressive manner made the description an apt one.
Her one weakness was her adored nephew. As an orphaned infant, left to
Miss Letitia a bequest from the dying mother, he had been immediately
adopted into the child-hungry heart of the old maid and had held and
strengthened his position throughout the years until, at twenty-five, he
was the apple of one of her eyes, even as her precious feud was the
apple of the other.
But hers was no doting, misguided affection. Miss Prall had brought up
her nephew, as she did everything else, with wisdom and sound judgment.
To her training the young Richard owed many of his most admirable traits
and much of his force of character. No man could have more successfully
instilled into a boy’s heart the fundamental requisites for true
manliness, and only on rare occasions had his aunt’s doting heart
triumphed over her wise head in the matter of reproof or punishment.
And now, this upstart uncle, as Miss Prall considered him, had come over
here from England, with all sorts of plans to take her boy from his
chosen and desirable life work and set him to making buns!
Buns,—Binney’s Buns! for her gifted inventive genius!
This impending disaster together with a new and regrettable development
affecting the Feud had thrown Miss Prall into a state of nervous
agitation quite foreign to her usual condition of calm superiority.
“Masculine management and skill!” she repeated, with a fine scorn;
“because not every woman is fitted by nature and circumstances to
conduct affairs of importance it does not follow that there are not some
feminine spirits with all the force and power of the other sex!”
“By gad, madam, that is true,” and Sir Herbert watched the Grenadier as
she sat upright in her arm-chair, her fine head erect and her straight
shoulders well back. “I apologize for my seeming slight to your
quarrelsome abilities, and I concede your will and strength to fight
your own battles. In fact, my sympathies are for your antagonist.”
“Huh!” and Miss Prall looked at him sharply; for he had been known to
express satirical sentiments under guise of suavity. “Don’t waste your
solicitude on her! She, too, is able to look out for herself.”
“It would seem so, since she has taken part for twenty years in what is
still a drawn battle.”
“Let up, Oldsters,” laughed young Bates, coming breezily into the room.
“You know the main facts of the historic Feud, Uncle Herbert, and, take
it from me, sir, no amount of argument or advice on your part will help,
or in any way affect it. Aunt Letty will eat up your talk, and then
floor you with——”
“Floor me! I think not! Binney, of Binney’s Buns, is not of the
floorable variety.”
“You say that because you haven’t yet really met Auntie Let in the
arena. Binney’s Buns would cut no better figure than,—let us say,
Crippen’s Cakes.”
“Crippen’s Cakes! Do you know Crippen?”
“Does she!” and Richard Bates grinned; “why, the Cake Crippen is one of
Aunt Letitia’s old beaux,—might have been my uncle, if——”
“Hush, Richard!” said the aunt.
“If he hadn’t also shined up to Mrs Everett, the rival faction.” Richard
went on, with open relish of his aunt’s discomfiture.
“Hush, Richard!” she said, again, and this time some veiled hint
apparently was efficacious, for he changed the subject.
“I say, Uncle Herb, what about the Follies to-night? I’ve got a couple
of seats,—and I know your tastes——”
“Front row?”
“No; couldn’t corral those,—but good ones, in the fourth.”
“Nay, nay, Pauline. I don’t see well enough to sit so far back. Use
those yourself, Richard,—take your aunt, here! But I’ll find a seat in
the front row,—in some front row, if I have to buy their bloomin’
theater to get it!”
“Good for you, Sir Herbert!” exclaimed Miss Prall, who admired
determination wherever she met it. “I’ll go with _you_. I like the front
row, too.”
“Sorry, madam, but I’m not taking guests.” He winked at Richard.
“Naturally not,” Miss Letitia sniffed. “I know why you want to go
alone,—I know why you want the front row! You’re going to attract a
chorus girl, and invite her to supper with you.”
“Marvelous, Holmes, marvelous!” Sir Herbert exclaimed, with mock
amazement. “I am surprised at your clairvoyance, ma’am, but deeply
pained that you should know of and be so familiar with such goings on.
Do you learn of that sort of thing from your nephew? Really, Richard,
I’m amazed at you!”
“Nonsense, Uncle Bin, I passed through that stage long ago. I used to
girl around in my callow days, but I got fed up with it, and now life
holds more worthwhile temptations. It’s an old story to auntie, too. Why
she used to chaperon my giddiest parties,—bless her!”
Sir Herbert’s sharp eyes looked from one of his companions to the other.
“You’re a pair,” he opined, “both tarred with the same brush.”
“And the brush?” asked Miss Prall, belligerently.
“Modern sophistication and the present-day fad of belittling everything
that is interesting or pleasurable.”
“That mental phase is the inevitable result of worldly experience,” said
the lady, with a cynical smile. “How is it that you preserve such
youthful interest?”
“Well—” and the Englishman looked a little quizzical, “you see, the
girls are still young.”
“Very young,” assented Bates, gravely. “There’s a new bunch of Squabs at
the Gaynight Revue that’ll do you up! Better buy that place out, Unkie!”
“Perhaps; but now, young Richard, let’s discuss some more imminent, if
not more important, questions. Say, Buns, for instance.”
“Nothing doing. I’ve said my last word on the Bun subject, and
if you persist in recurring to it, you’ll only get that last
word over again,—repeated, reiterated, recapitulated and,—if
necessary,—reënforced!”
“With some good, strong epithets, I suppose,” remarked his uncle,
calmly. “I don’t blame you, Rick, for being bored by my persistency, but
you see I haven’t yet given up all hope of making you see reason. Why I
do——”
“Well, when you do—what?”
“Time enough to answer that question when it’s time to ask it. Instead,
let me recount the advantages I can offer you——”
“Oh, Lord!—pardon my interrupting,—but that recounting is an old
story, you know. Those advantages are as familiar to my wearied mind as
my own name,—or at least as yours,—and your precious Buns——”
“Stop, sir! Don’t you speak slightingly of Binney’s Buns! They were
eaten before you were born and will be eaten after you are dead and
forgotten.”
“Not forgotten if I put my invention over!”
“You’ll never do it. Your success is problematical. The Buns are an
assured fact. They were eaten before the war,—they will be eaten again
now that the war is over. They are eaten in England,—they will be eaten
in America. If not with the help of your interest and energy, then with
that of some one else. Think well, my boy, before you throw away fame
and fortune——”
“To acquire fame and fortune!”
“To strive for it and fail—for that is what you will do! You’re riding
for a fall, and you’re going to get it!”
“Not if I can prevent it,” Miss Prall interposed, in her low yet
incisive tones. “I’m ready to back Ricky’s prospects to the uttermost,
if only—”
“If only what? What is this condition you impose on the lad? And why
keep it so secret? Tell me, nephew, I’ll let you in on the Buns in spite
of any blot on your scutcheon. What is it that troubles your aunt?”
“What always troubles her? What has spoiled and embittered her whole
life? Hardened her heart? Corroded her soul? What, but her old
ridiculous, absurd, contemptible, damnable Feud!”
“There, there, my boy, remember your aunt is a lady, and such
expressions are not permissible before her——”
“Pish! Tush!” snorted Miss Prall, who would not have herself objected to
that descriptive verb, since it gives the very impression she wanted to
convey, “If I did not permit such expressions Richard would not use
them, rest assured of that.”
Bates smiled and lighted a fresh cigarette. These tilts between his
elders greatly amused him, they seemed so futile and inane, yet of such
desperate interest to the participants.
“Then that’s all right,” Sir Herbert conceded. “Now, Richard, for the
last time, I offer you the chance to fall in with my wishes, to consent
to my fondest desire, and attach yourself to my great, my really
stupendous enterprise. I want, with my whole soul, to keep Binney’s Buns
in the family,—I want a worthy partner and successor, and one of my own
blood kin,—but, I can’t force you into this agreement,—I can only urge
you, with all the powers of my persuasion, to see it rightly, and to
realize that your refusal will harm you more than any one else.”
“I’ll take a chance on that, Uncle Bin.” Bates gave him a cheery smile
that irritated by its very carelessness.
“You’ll lose, sir! You’ll see the day that you’ll wish you had taken up
with my offers. You’ll regret, when it’s too late——”
“Why, what’s your alternative plan?”
“Aha! Interested, are you? Well, young sir, my alternative plan is to
find somebody with more common sense and good judgment than your
rattle-pated, pig-headed self! That’s my alternative plan.”
“Got anybody in view?”
“And if I have?”
“Go to it! Take my blessing, and stand not on the order of your going to
it,—but skittle! You can’t go too fast to suit me!”
“You’re an impudent and disrespectful young rascal! Your bringing-up is
sadly at fault if it allows you to speak thus to your elders!”
“Oh, come off, Uncle Binney! You may be older than I in actual years,
but you’ve got to hand it to me on the score of temperamental
senescence! Why, you’re a very kid in your enthusiasm for the halls of
dazzling light and all that in them is! So, and, by the way, old top, I
mean no real disrespect, but I consider it a compliment to your youth
and beauty to recognize it in a feeling of camaraderie and
good-fellowship. Are we on?”
“Yes, that’s all right, son, but can’t your good-fellowship extend
itself to the Buns?”
“Nixy. Nevaire! Cut out all Bun talk, and I’m your friend and pardner.
Bun, and you Bun alone!”
A long, steady gaze between the eyes of the young man and the old seemed
to convince each of the immutability of this decision, and, with a deep
sigh, the Bun promoter changed the subject.
“This Gayheart Review, now, Richard,——” he began.
“Don’t consider the question settled, Sir Herbert,” said Miss Letitia
Prall, with a note of anxiety in her voice, quite unusual to it. “Give
me a chance to talk to Ricky alone, and I feel almost certain I can
influence his views.”
“A little late in the day, ma’am,” Binney returned, shortly. “I have an
alternative plan, but if I wait much longer to make use of it, the
opportunity may be lost. Unless Richard changes his mind to-day, he
needn’t change it at all,—so far as I am concerned.”
“Going to organize a Bakery of ex-chorus girls?” asked Bates,
flippantly. “Going to persuade them to throw in their fortunes with
yours?”
A merry, even affectionate smile robbed this speech of all unpleasant
effect, and Sir Herbert smiled back.
“Not that,” he returned; “I’d be ill fitted to attend to a bakery
business with a horde of enchanting damsels cavorting around the shop!
No, chorus girls are all right in their place,—which is not in the
home, nor yet in a business office.”
“That’s true, and I take off my hat to you, Uncle, as a real live
business man, with his undivided attention on his work,—in business
hours,—and outside of those, his doings are nobody’s business.”
“With your leanings toward the fair sex, it’s a wonder you never
married,” observed Miss Prall, inquisitively.
“My leanings toward them in no way implies their leanings toward me,”
returned the bachelor, his eyes twinkling. “And, moreover, a regard for
one of the fair sex that would imply a thought of marriage with her,
would be another matter entirely from a liking for the little stars of
the chorus. To me they are not even individuals, they are merely
necessary parts of an entertaining picture. I care no more for them,
personally, than for the orchestra that makes music for their dancing
feet, or for the stage manager who produces the setting for their
engaging gracefulness.”
“That’s so, Uncle,” Bates agreed; “you’re a stage Johnny, all right, but
you’re no Lothario.”
“Thank you, Son, such discriminating praise from Sir Hubert Stanley,
makes me more than ever regret not having his association in my business
affairs.”
“Don’t be too sure that you won’t have him,” Miss Prall temporized;
“when does his time for decision expire?”
“To-night,” said Sir Herbert, briefly, and at that, with a gesture of
bored impatience, Bates got up and went out.