That night the table was one prolonged uproar. The conspirators had
owned up frankly to their share of the villany, and were hard at work
concocting plans for its undoing. Marny was the one man in the group
that would not be pacified; nothing that either Pudfut, Stebbins or
Malone had said or could say changed his mind--and the discussion,
which had lasted all day, brought him no peace.
"Drove him out!--that's what you did, you bull-headed Englishman--you
and Malone and Stebbins ought to be ashamed of yourselves. If I had
known what you fellows were up to I'd have pitched you all over the
dike. Cost Joppy a lot of money and break up all his summer work! What
did you want to guy him like that for and send him off to be scalded
and squirted on in a damned Dutch--"
"But we didn't think he'd take it as hard as that."
"You didn't, didn't you! What DID you think he'd do? Didn't you see how
sensitive and nervous he was? The matter with you fellows is that Joppy
is a thoroughbred and you never saw one of his kind in your life. Ever
since he got here you've done nothing but jump all over him and try to
rile him, and he never squawked once--came up smiling every time. He's
a thoroughbred--that's what he is!"
The days that followed were burdened with a sadness the coterie could
not shake off. Whatever they had laughed at and derided in Joplin they
now longed for. The Bostonian may have been a nuisance in one way, but
he had kept the ball of conversation rolling--had started it many
times--and none of the others could fill his place. Certain of his
views became respected. "As dear old Joppy used to say," was a common
expression, and "By Jove, he was right!" not an uncommon opinion. In
conformity with his teachings, Marny reduced his girth measure an inch
and his weight two pounds--not much for Marny, but extraordinary all
the same when his appetite was considered.
Pudfut, in contrition of his offence, wrote his English friend Lord
Something-or-other, who owned the yacht, and who was at Carlsbad,
begging him to run up and see the "best ever" and "one of us"--and
Malone never lost an opportunity to say how quick he was in repartee,
or how he missed him. Stebbins kept his mouth shut.
He had started the crusade, he knew, and was personally responsible for
the result. He had tried to arouse Joplin's obstinacy and had only
aroused his fears. All he could do in reparation was to keep in touch
with the exile and pave the way for his homecoming. If Joppy was ill,
which he doubted, some of the German experts in whom the Bostonian
believed would find the cause and the remedy. If he was "sound as a
nut," to quote Joplin's own words, certainty of that fact, after an
exhaustive examination by men he trusted, would relieve his nervous
mind and make him all the happier.
The first letter came from Schonholz. Liberally translated, with the
assistance of Mynheer, who spoke a little German, it conveyed the
information that the Bostonian, after being put on a strict diet, had
been douched, pounded and rubbed; was then on his second week of
treatment; had one more to serve; was at the moment feeling like a
fighting-cock, and after a fifth week at Stuckbad, in the mountains,
where he was to take the after-cure, would be as strong as a
three-year-old, and as frisky.
The second letter was from Joplin himself and was addressed to
Stebbins. This last was authentic, and greatly relieved the situation.
It read:
Nothing like a thoroughly trained expert, my dear Stebbins. These
German savants fill me with wonder. The moment Dr. Stuffen fixed his
eyes upon me he read my case like an open book. No nitrogenous food of
any kind, was his first verdict; hot douches and complete rest packed
in wet compresses, the next. I am losing flesh, of course, but it is
only the "deadwood" of the body, so to speak. This Dr. Stuffen expects
to replace with new shoots--predicts I will weigh forty pounds more--a
charming and, to me, a most sane theory. You will be delighted also to
hear that my epigastric nerve hasn't troubled me since I arrived. Love
to the boys, whom I expect to see before the month is out. Joppy.
"Forty pounds heavier!" cried Marny from his end of the table. "He'll
look like a toy balloon in knee pants. Bully for Joppy! I wouldn't let
any Schweizerkase with a hot douche get within a hundred yards of me,
but then I'm not a bunch of nerves like Joppy. Anyhow, boys, we'll give
the lad a welcome that will raise the roof. Joppy thin was pretty good
fun, but Joppy fat will be a roaring farce."
And so it was decided, and at once all sorts and kinds of welcomes were
discussed, modified, rearranged and discussed again. Pudfut suggested
meeting him in Rotterdam and having a night of it. Malone thought of
chartering a steam launch, hiring a band and bringing him past the
towns with flags flying. Stebbins and Marny favored some demonstration
nearer home, where everybody could join in.
The programme finally agreed upon included a pathway of boughs strewn
with wild flowers from the steamboat landing, across the planking, over
the cobbles, under the old Gate of William of Orange, and so on to the
door of the inn; the appointment of Tine, dressed in a Zeeland costume
belonging to her grand-mother, as special envoy, to meet him with a
wreath of laurel, and Johann in short clothes--also heirlooms--was to
walk by his side as First Groom of the Bed Chamber.
The real Reception Committee, consisting of Mynheer in a burgomaster
suit borrowed from a friend, and the four painters--Marny as a Dutch
Falstaff, Pudfut as a Spanish Cavalier, Stebbins got up as a Night
Watch, and Malone in the costume of a Man-at-Arms--all costumes loaned
for the occasion by the antiquary in the next street--were to await
Joplin's coming in the privacy of the Gate--almost a tunnel--and so
close to the door of the inn that it might have passed for a part of
the establishment itself.
Meantime the four painters were to collect material for the decoration
of the coffee-room--wreaths of greens over the mantel and festoons of
ivy hanging down the back of Joplin's chair being prominent features;
while Mynheer, Tine and Johann were to concentrate their energies in
preparing a dinner the like of which had never been eaten since the
sluiceways in the dikes drowned out the Spanish duke. Not a word of all
this, of course, had reached the ears of the Bostonian. Half,
three-quarters, if not all, the enjoyment of the occasion would be
realized when they looked on Joplin's face and read his surprise.