Although Quin had taken himself and his career seriously before Eleanor's
home-coming, it was nothing in comparison to the fever of energy that
possessed him after her departure. He was determined to forge ahead in
business, get an education, and become versed in the gentler branches of
social life at the earliest possible moment. His chief trouble was that
the days contained only twenty-four hours. Even his dreams were a jumble
of plows and personal pronouns, of mathematical problems and social
proprieties.
At the factory he flung himself into the affairs of the firm with a zeal
that at times bordered on officiousness. But Mr. Bangs was beginning to
find him useful, and, while he continued to snub him and correct him, he
also came to depend upon him, especially in an emergency. Quin, on his
part, was for the first time turning a critical eye on his own
achievements in relation to those of bigger and abler men, and the result
was chastening.
As for his mad thirst for knowledge, even the university classes,
difficult as they were proving, failed to satisfy him. He purchased an
expensive "system" in fifteen volumes, by means of which, the prospectus
assured him, he could easily achieve a college education in eight months.
He wore the covers off the first two booklets, then became disgusted, and
devoted himself instead to a small handbook entitled "Words We
Mispronounce."
The branch of his education in which he was making least effort and most
progress was in the customs and manners of polite society. He did not
shine as yet, but he had ceased to offend, and that was a long step
forward. Once initiated into the refinements of life, he took to them
naturally. Miss Isobel and Miss Enid Bartlett had given him the cue, and
Mr. Chester was keeping him up to his standard.
Between him and the latter had sprung up a queer friendship verging on
intimacy. Ever since the night of the symphony concert he had served as a
connecting link between the long-severed lovers, and out of gratitude he
had been adopted as a protégé. It was Mr. Chester who assumed
responsibility not only for his musical and literary tastes but for his
neckties and hosiery as well. Mr. Chester, in fact, being too negative
and conservative, acted as a much-needed soft pedal on Quin's noisy
aggressiveness. "Not so loud, Quinby," or, "A little more gently, my
boy," he would often say. And Quin would acquiesce good-naturedly and
even gratefully. "That's right, call me down," he would say; "I guess
I'll learn before I die."
In all that he did and said and thought, one object was paramount. He
never lost sight of the fact that he was making himself over for Eleanor,
and the prize at stake was so colossal that no obstacles deterred him. To
be sure, this was not by any means his first amatory venture. As Rose
Martel had said, he "had a way with him"--a way that had kept him
involved in affairs of the heart since the early days in Nanking when he
had succumbed to the charms of a slant-eyed little Celestial at the
tender age of seven. He had always had a girl, just as he had always had
a job; but both had varied with time and place. With a vocabulary of a
dozen words and the sign language, he had managed to flirt across France
and back again. He had frivoled with half a dozen trained nurses in as
many different hospitals, and had even had a sentimental round with a
pretty young stewardess on the transport coming home.
But this affair had been quite different. Instead of wading about in the
shallows of love, he had tumbled in head first, and found himself beyond
his depth and out of sight of land. It was a case of sink or swim, and
Quin was determined not to sink if he could help himself.
The fact that Eleanor Bartlett was not of his world, that she apparently
never gave him a second thought, that he had less than nothing on which
to build his hopes, only made him take a deeper breath and a longer
stroke.
The first gleam of encouragement he had received was that Sunday in the
country, when for the fraction of a second she had let him hold her hand.
Since then he had written her five letters and received but one brief
note in reply. Her silence, however, did not depress him. She had told
him she hated to write letters, a sentiment he fully shared. Only in this
case he could not help himself. The moment anything of interest happened,
he was seized with an uncontrollable impulse to tell Eleanor. He would
rush home from the university at night, go up to his room, and, using the
corner of his bureau for a desk, cover pages of lined tablet paper with a
detailed account of the day's adventures. When every doubtful word has to
be looked up in the dictionary, and newly acquired knowledge concerning
participles and personal pronouns duly applied, letter-writing is a
serious business. Sometimes a page was copied three times before it met
with the critical approval of the composer.
Since the passing of the acute financial crisis in the Mattel family,
Papa Claude had revived amazingly, and was once more wearing a rose in
his buttonhole and courting the Muse. He and Harold Phipps spent several
afternoons a week working on their play, which they hoped to get fully
blocked out before the latter left the service and returned to his home
in Chicago.
But, even though the sale of the farm had relieved the financial strain,
some other trouble was brewing in the family, the cause of which Quin
could not make out. The usually sunny atmosphere was disturbed by
frequent electric storms between Cass and Rose, marked by stern
disapproval on his part and fiery rebellion on hers. "Rose is going to
get herself into trouble!" Cass predicted darkly to Quin; while Rose, on
her part, declared that Cass should shave his head and enter a monastery.
"What are you two ragging about, anyhow?" Quin asked one morning at
breakfast, when things were worse than usual.
"Rose knows what I'm talking about," said Cass significantly. "Somebody's
going to get his face pushed in if things keep on like they are going."
Absorption in his own affairs alone prevented Quin from taking an
immediate hand in this new family complication. It was not until late in
May that he hit upon the truth, quite by accident.
Coming home rather later than usual one night, he stumbled over Cass
sitting hunched up on the dark stairway, looking in his striped pajamas
like an escaped convict.
"What in the devil are you up to?" Quin demanded, rubbing a bruised shin.
"I am waiting for Rose," said Cass grimly. "Some fellow comes by here
every few nights and takes her out in a machine."
"Who is he?"
"I don't know--that's what I'm going to find out."
"You crazy wop!" said Quin. "What's got into you lately? Can't you trust
Rose to take care of herself?"
"Yes; but I don't trust any fellow that'll go with a girl and be ashamed
to be seen with her."
"How do you know he's ashamed to be seen with her?"
"Because he comes sneaking in here after we've all gone to bed. He don't
ring the door-bell; he honks once or twice; and then I hear Rose slipping
past my door."
"I didn't know any of Rose's beaux had a machine."
"They haven't. This is some rich guy that thinks any girl that works for
her living is an easy mark. I'll show him a thing or two! I'll break his
damned---- Listen! There's an automobile stopping now."
He started excitedly down the steps, but Quin grasped his arms.
"Come back here, Cass! You can't go cavorting out there in your pajamas,
making a mess of things. You leave it to me. I'll go out the side way and
amble around to the front door the same time they do. They'll think I'm
just getting home, and I can size him up for you."
The next moment he was out of the house, over the low hedge, and casually
sauntering toward the corner. The night was very dark, lightened only by
the swinging street lamp and the two staring eyes of an automobile that
had stopped a little distance from the house. Quin saw Rose dart out of
the shadows and run toward the house. Some one called her name softly and
peremptorily, but she did not stop. A man was following her out of the
shadows. But Quin did not wait for him to arrive; he promptly stepped
around the corner and met Rose at the front gate.
"What's up?" he demanded, seeing her quivering lips and angry, excited
eyes.
"Tell him to go away!" she whispered, trying to get the gate open. "Tell
him I never want him to speak to me again. He _can't_ apologize--there
isn't anything he can say. Just make him go away, that's all."
"Miss Martel is making a mountain out of a molehill," said a suave voice
behind them, and, turning, Quin saw the somewhat perturbed face of Harold
Phipps, "If she would listen to me for two minutes----"
"But I won't--not for one minute! You sha'n't speak to me----"
"Just one word alone with you----"
"See here," said Quin, stepping between them and looking Harold Phipps
squarely in the eyes. "You heard what she said, didn't you?"
"Yes; but I insist upon her listening to me. She entirely misunderstood
something I said."
"I did not!" Rose broke in furiously. "You know perfectly well I didn't.
I won't listen to anything you have to say on that or any other subject."
"I sha'n't let you go until you do," he replied in his most authoritative
tone.
"Oh, yes, you will," said Quin quietly. "I don't know what the row's
about, but she doesn't have to talk to you if she doesn't want to."
For a moment the two men stood silently measuring each other; then the
one in uniform gave a slight shrug and permitted himself a faint superior
smile.
"I see," he said. "The young lady's conduct did not lead me to suppose
she was engaged. I congratulate you!" And, turning on his heel, he went
back to his car.
Rose turned quickly and seized Quin's arm.
"Don't tell anybody about this, please," she implored. "I've had my
lesson--the beast!"
"What did he do?" demanded Quin, longing for an excuse to annihilate
Phipps.
"It wasn't so much what he did--it was what he said. But you've got to
promise not to give me away, Quin. You mustn't let on that I was out
to-night."
"But Cass is on to it. He's waiting there in the hall now."
She caught her breath sharply.
"Does he know who I was with?"
"Not yet."
"Then he mustn't. It would spoil everything for Papa Claude and the play;
and, besides, Cass is so excitable. I _haven't_ done anything wrong,
Quin! I was just out for a little fun, and that contemptible puppy
thought----"
"I wish to God I'd cracked his bean!" said Quin fervently.
"Promise me that you won't tell!"
"I won't tell, but I intend to have it out with him."
"No, no!" she whispered hysterically. "I tell you, nothing more must be
said about it. It was partly my fault; only, I didn't know he was that
kind of a man. You know yourself I never really liked him. Only it was
fun to go out in his car, and I get so sick of not having any clothes or
money and having to stay in that deadly old store day in and day out!"
She buried her face in her hands and sobbed violently for a moment; then
she caught hold of Quin's sleeve.
"You won't speak to him," she implored, "and you won't tell Cass?"
"I won't do anything you don't want me to," promised Quin, proffering his
handkerchief with his sympathy, "It's your shooting-match, and Cass has
got to keep his hands off."
Cass at this moment cautiously opened the front door, and stood in his
bare feet, viewing them with anxious suspicion.
"It's all right, old cove," said Quin, slipping Rose into the house and
pulling the door to after her. "No harm's done, and she won't do it
again."
"How do you know?"
"Because she and the fellow had a blow-out. She says she is through with
him for good and all."
"Did you see him?"
"Yes; he's a average-sized fellow with a smooth face and brown hair."
"Would you know him if you saw him again?"
"Sure. I'll keep an eye out for him. But you've got to leave it to me. I
can handle the situation all right now, if you just won't butt in."
"If you can get Rose to promise not to see him again, she'll stick to it;
I can say that for her."
"She won't see him. They've quarreled, I tell you. I heard her balling
him out good before he left. The whole thing is settled, and all you got
to do is to button up your lip and go to bed."
A week later Papa Claude announced that Harold Phipps was at last
released from his onerous duties in the army and had returned to his home
in Chicago, where he would in future devote himself to the writing and
producing of great American plays.