That "even tenor of their ways," to which reference has already been
made, ceased indeed to bear a remote resemblance to evenness. It may be
recorded here, that for one of them at least, Sunny's coming meant the
hasty despatch of his peace of mind. Their well laid schemes to be rid
of her seemed now in the face of their actions like absurd aberrations
that they were heartily ashamed of.
It is astonishing how we are affected by mere clothes. Perhaps if Sunny
had appeared at the door of Jerry Hammond's studio arrayed in the
shining garments of a Japanese, some measure of their alarm might have
remained. But she came to their door as an American girl. That Sunny
should have stood the test of American clothes, that she shone in them
with a distinction and grace that was all her own, was a matter of
extreme pride and delight to her infatuated friends. Appearances play a
great part in the imagination and thought of the young American. It was
the fantastic conception they had formed of her, and the imagined effect
of her strange appearance in America that had filled them with misgiving
and alarm--the sneeky sort of apprehension one feels at being made
conspicuous and ridiculous. There was an immense relief at the discovery
that their fears were entirely unfounded. Sunny appeared a finished
product in the art of dressing. Not that she was fashionably dressed.
She simply had achieved the look of one who belonged. She was as natural
in her clothes as any of their sisters or the girls they knew. There was
this difference, however: Sunny was one of those rare beings of earth
upon whom the Goddess of Beauty has ineffaceably laid her hands. Her
loveliness, in fact, startled one with its rareness, its crystal
delicacy. One looked at the girl's face, and caught his breath and
turned to look again, with that pang of longing that is almost pain when
we gaze upon a masterpiece.
Yet "under the skin" she was the same confiding, appealing, mischievous
little Sunny who had pushed her way into the hearts of her friends.
Her mission in America, much as it aroused the mirth of her friends, was
a very serious one, and it may be here stated, later, an eminently
successful one. Sunny came as an emissary from the mission school to
collect funds for the impoverished mission. Mr. Sutherland, a Scotchman
by birth, was not without a canny and shrewd streak to his character,
and he had not forgotten the generous contributions in the past of the
rich young Americans whose protégé Sunny had been.
All this, however, does not concern the devastating effect of her
presence in the studio of Jerry Hammond. There, in fact, Sunny had taken
up an apparently permanent residence, settling down as a matter of
course and right, and indeed assisted by the confused and alternately
dazed and beguiled Jerry.
Her effects consisted of a bag so small, and containing but a few
articles of Japanese silk clothing and a tiny gift for each of her dear
friends. Indeed, the smallness of Sunny's luggage appealed instantly to
her friends, who determined to purchase for her all the pretty clothes
her heart should desire. This ambition to deck Sunny in the fine raiment
of New York City was satisfactorily realised by each and everyone of the
former Syndicate, Sunny accompanying them with alacrity, overjoyed by
those delicious shopping tours, the results of which returned in Jinx's
Rolls Royce, Monty's taxi, Bobs' messenger boys, and borne by hand by
Jerry. These articles, however, became such a bone of contention among
her friends, each desiring her to wear his especial choice, that Sunny
had her hands full pleasing them all. She compromised by wearing a dress
donated by Monty, hat from Jinx, a coat from Jerry, and stockings and
gloves from Bobs. It was finally agreed by her friends that there should
be a cessation to the buying of further clothes for Sunny. Instead an
allowance of money was voted and quickly subscribed to by all, and after
that, Sunny, with the fatherly aid of a surprisingly new Hatton, did her
own purchasing.
Of her four friends, Jerry was possibly the happiest and the unhappiest
at this time. He was a prey to both exhilaration and panic. He moved
heaven and earth to make Sunny so comfortable and contented in his
studio, that all thought of returning to Japan would be banished forever
from her mind. On the other hand, he rushed off, panic stricken and sent
telegrams to Professor Barrowes, entreating him to come at once and
relieve Jerry of his dangerous charge. His telegrams, however, were
unfruitful, for after an aggravating delay, during which Sunny became,
like Hatton, one of the habits and necessities of Jerry's life, the
Telegraph Company notified him that Professor Barrowes was no longer at
that particular school of learning, and that his address there was
unknown. Jerry, driven to extremities by the situation in his studio,
made himself such a nuisance to the Telegraph Company, that they
bestirred themselves finally and ascertained that the last address of
Professor Timothy Barrowes was Red Deer, Alberta, Canada. Now Red Deer
represented nothing to Jerry Hammond save a town in Canada where a wire
would reach his friend. Accordingly he despatched the following:
Professor Timothy Barrowes,
Red Deer, Alberta, Canada.
Come at once. Sunny in New York. Need you take her charge. Delay
dangerous. Waiting for you. Come at once. Answer at once.
Important.
J. ADDISON HAMMOND.
Professor Barrowes received this frantic wire while sitting on a rock
very close to the edge of a deep excavation that had recently been dug
on the side of a cliff towering above a certain portion of the old Red
Deer River. Below, on a plateau, a gang of men were digging and scraping
and hammering at the cliff. Not in the manner of the husky workers of
northwestern Canada, but carefully, tenderly. Not so carefully, however,
but the tongue of the Professor on the rock above castigated and nagged
and warned. Ever and anon Sunny's old friend would leap down into the
excavation, and himself assist the work physically.
As stated, Jerry's telegram came to his hand while seated upon aforesaid
rock, was opened, and absent-mindedly scanned by Jerry's dear friend,
and then thrust hastily into the professor's vest pocket, there to
remain for several days, when it accidentally was resurrected, and he
most thoughtfully despatched a reply, as follows:
Jeremy Addison Hammond,
12 West 67th St.,
New York City, U. S. A.
Collect.
Glad to hear from you. Especially so this time. Discovered
dinosaur antedating post pleocene days. Of opinion Red Deer
district contains greatest number of fossils of antique period
in world. Expect discoveries prove historical event
archeological world. Will bring precious find New York about one
month or six weeks. Need extra funds transportation dinosaur and
guard for same. Expect trouble Canadian government in re-taking
valuable find across border. Much envy and propaganda take
credit from U. S. for most important discovery of century. Get
in communication right parties New York, Washington if
necessary. Have consul here wired give full protection and help.
Information sent confidential. Do not want press to get word of
remarkable find until fossil set up in museum. See curator about
arrangements. May be quoted as estimating age as quaternary
period. Wire two thousand dollars extra. Extraordinary find.
Greatest moment my life. Note news arrival New York Sunny. Sorry
unable be there take charge. Dinornis more important Sunny.
TIMOTHY BARROWES.
What Jerry said when he tore open and read that long expected telegram
would not bear printing. Suffice it to say that his good old friend was
consigned by the wrathful and disgusted Jerry to a warmer region than
Mother Earth. Then, squaring his shoulders like a man, and setting his
chin grimly, Jerry took up the burden of life, which in these latter
days had assumed for him such bewildering proportions.
That she was an amazing, actual part of his daily life seemed to him
incredible, and beguiling and fascinating as life now seemed to him with
her, and wretched and uncertain as it was away from her, his alarm
increased with every day and hour of her abode in his house. He assured
himself repeatedly that there was no more harm in Sunny living in his
apartment than there was in her living in his house in Japan. What
enraged the befuddled Jerry at this time was the officious attitude of
his friends. Monty took it upon himself to go room hunting for a place
for Sunny, and talked a good deal about the results he expected from a
letter written to Philadelphia. He did not refer to Sunny now as a
stone. Monty was sure that the place for Sunny was right in that
Philadelphia home, presided over by his doting parents and little
brothers and sisters, and where it was quite accessible for week-end
visits.
Jinx, after a stormy scene with his elder sister in which he endeavoured
to force Sunny upon the indignant and suspicious Mrs. Vanderlump, left
in high dudgeon the Newport home in which he had been born, and which
was his own personal inheritance, and with threats never to speak to his
sister again, he took up his residence at his club, just two blocks from
the 67th Street studio.
Bobs cleared out two of his friends from the flat, bought some cretonne
curtains with outrageous roses and patches of yellow, purple, red and
green, hung these in dining room and bedroom and parlour, bought a brand
new victrola and some quite gorgeous Chinese rugs, and had a woman in
cleaning for nearly a week. To his friends' gibes and suggestions that
he apparently contemplated matrimony, Bobs sentimentally rejoined that
sooner or later a fellow got tired of the dingy life of a
smoke-and-card-filled flat and wanted a bit of real sweetness to take
away the curse of life. He acquired two lots somewhere on Long Island
and spent considerable time consulting an architect, shamefully ignoring
Jerry's gifts in that line.
That his friends, who had so savagely protested again sharing the burden
of Sunny, should now try to go behind his back and take her away from
him was in the opinion of Jerry a clue to the kind of characters they
possessed, and of which hitherto he had no slightest suspicion.
Jerry, at this time, resembled the proverbial dog in the manger. He did
not want Sunny himself--that is, he dared not want Sunny--but the
thought of her going to any other place filled him with anguish and
resentment. Nevertheless he realised the impossibility of maintaining
her much longer in his studio. Already her presence there had excited
gossip and speculation in the studio building, but in that careless and
bohemian atmosphere with which denizens of the art world choose to
surround themselves the lovely young stranger in the studio of Jerry
Hammond aroused merely smiling and indulgent curiosity. Occasionally a
crude joke or inquiry from a neighbouring artist aroused murder in the
soul of the otherwise civilised Jerry. That anyone could imagine
anything wrong with Sunny seemed to him beyond belief.
Not that he felt always kindly toward Sunny. She aroused his ire more
often than she did his approval. She was altogether too free and
unconventional, in the opinion of Jerry, and in a clumsy way he tried to
teach her certain rules of deportment for a young woman living in the U.
S. A. Sunny, however, was so innocent and so evidently earnest in her
efforts to please him, that he invariably felt ashamed and accused
himself of being a pig and a brute. Jerry was, indeed, like the
unfortunate boatman, drifting toward the rocks, and seeing only the
golden hair of the Lorelei.
Sunny had settled down so neatly and completely in his studio that it
would have been hard to know how she was ever to be dislodged. Her
satisfaction and delight and surprise at every object upon the place was
a source of immense satisfaction and entertainment to Jerry. It should
be mentioned here, that an unbelievable change could have been observed
also in Hatton. The man was discovered to be human. His face cracked up
in smiles that were real, and clucks that bore a remote resemblance to
human laughter issued at intervals from the direction of the kitchen,
whither he very often hastily departed, his hand over mouth, after some
remark or action of Sunny that appeared to smite his funny bone.
The buttons on the wall were a never failing source of enchantment to
Sunny. To go into her own room in the dark, brush her hand along the
wall, touch an ivory button, and see the room spring into light charmed
her beyond words. So, too, the black buttons that, pressed, caused bells
to ring in the lower part of the house. But the speaking tube amazed and
at first almost terrified her. Jerry sprang the works on her first.
While in her room, a sudden screech coming from the wall, she looked
panically about her, and then started back as a voice issued forth from
that tube, hailing her by name. Spirits! Here in this so solid and
material America! It was only after Jerry, getting no response to his
calls of "Sunny! Hi! Sunny! Come on down! Come on down! Sunny! I want
you!" ran up the stairs, knocked at her door and stood laughing at her
in the doorway, that the colour came back to her cheeks. He was so
delighted with the experiments, that he led her to the telephone and
initiated her into that mystery. To watch Sunny's face, as with parted
lips, and eyes darkened by excitement, she listened to the voice of
Jinx, Monty or Bobs, and then suddenly broke loose and chattered sweet
things back, was in the opinion of Jerry worth the price of a dozen
telephones. However, he cut short her interviews with the delighted
fellows at the other end, as he did not wish to have them impose on her
good nature and take up too much of the girl's time.
The victrola and the player-piano worked day and night in Sunny's
behalf, and it was not long before she could trill back some of the
songs. Upon one occasion they pulled up the rugs, and Sunny had her
first lesson in dancing. Jerry told her she took to dancing "like a duck
does to water." He honestly believed he was doing a benevolent and
worthy act in surrounding the young girl with his arms and moving across
the floor with her to the music of the victrola. He would not for worlds
have admitted to himself that as his arms encircled Sunny, Jerry felt
just about as near to heaven as he ever hoped to get, though
premonitions that all was not normal with him came hazily to his mind as
he dimly realised that that tingling sensation that contact with Sunny
created was symptomatic of the chaos within. However, dancing with
Sunny, once she had acquired the step, which she, a professional dancer
in Japan, sensed immediately, was sheer joy, and all would have been
well, had not his friends arrived just when they were not wanted, and,
of course, Sunny, the little fool, had instantly wanted to try her new
accomplishment upon her admiring and too willing friends. The
consequence was Jerry's evening was completely spoiled, and what he
meant just as an innocent diversion was turned into a "riotous occasion"
by a "bunch of roughnecks," who took advantage of a little innocent
girl's eagerness to learn to dance, and handled her "a damn sight too
familiarly" to suit the paternal--he considered it paternal--taste of
Jerry.
Jerry, as Sunny passed in the arms of the light-footed Jinx, whose
dancing was really an accomplishment, registered several vows. One was
he proposed to give Sunny herself a good calling down. The other he
purposed curtailing some of the visits of the gang, and putting a stop
once and for all to the flow of gifts that were in his opinion rotten
taste on the part of Jinx, a joke coming from Monty, plainly suffering a
bad case of puppy love, and as for Bobs, no one knew better than Jerry
did that he could ill afford to enter into a flower competition with
Jinx. That Rolls Royce, when not bearing the enchanted Sunny through the
parks and even on little expeditions into the byways and highways of the
Great White Road, which runs through Westchester county, was parked not
before Jinx's club, or the garage, but, with amazing impudence before
the door of that duplex studio. Jerry intended to have a heart-to-heart
talk with old Jinx on that score.
Even at home, Sunny had wrought havoc. Before she had been three days
upon the place, Hatton, the stony faced and spare of tongue, had
confided to her the whole history of his life, and explained how his
missus had driven him to drink.
"It's 'ard on a man, miss. 'E tries to do 'is best in life, but it's
'ard, miss, when there's a woman 'as believes the worst, and brings out
the worst in a man, miss, and man is only yuman, only yuman, miss, and
all yuman beings 'as their failings, as no doubt you know, miss."
Sunny did know. She told Hatton that she was full of failings. She
didn't think him a bad man at all because once in a long time he drank a
little bit. Lots of men did that. There was the Count of Matsuyama. He
had made many gifts to the Shiba temple, but he loved sake very much,
and often in the tea-gardens the girls were kept up very late, because
the Count of Matsuyama never returned home till he had drunk all the
sake on the place, and that took many hours.
Gratuitously, and filled with a sudden noble purpose, Hatton gave Sunny
his solemn promise never again to touch the inebriating cup. She clapped
her hands with delight at this, and cried.
"Ho! How you are nicer man now. Mebbe you wife she come bag agin unto
you. How thad will be happy for you."
"No, no, miss," sadly and hastily Hatton rejoined, "you see, miss, there
was another woman in the case also, what the French call, miss: Shershy
la Fam. I'm sorry, miss, but I'm only yuman, beggin' your pardon, miss."
Sunny had assumed many of the duties that were previously Hatton's. The
kitchenette was her especial delight. Here swathed in a long pongee
smock, her sleeves rolled up, Sunny concocted some of those delectable
dishes which her friends named variously: Sunny Syndicate Cocktail;
Puree al la Sunny; Potatoes au Sunny; Sweet pickles par la Sunny, and so
forth. Her thrift also cut down Jerry's bills considerably, and he was
really so proud of her abilities in this line that he gave a special
dinner to which he generously invited all three of their mutual friends,
and announced at the table that the meal was entirely concocted by Sunny
at a price inconceivably low.
The piéce de resistance of this especial feast was a potato dish. Served
in a casserole, it might at first sight have been taken for a glorified
potatoes au gratin; but, no, when tasted it revealed its superior
qualities. The flushed and pleased Sunny, sitting at the head of the
table, and dishing out the third or fourth serving to her admiring
friends, was induced to reveal to her friends of what the dish was
composed. The revelation, it is regrettable to state, convulsed and
disconcerted her friends so that they ceased to eat the previously much
appreciated dish. Sunny proudly informed them that her dish was made up
mainly of potato peelings, washed, minced and scrambled in a mess of
odds and ends in the way of pieces of cheese, mushrooms, meat, and
various vegetables garnered from plates of a recently wasteful meal.
Her explanation caused such a profound silence for a moment, which was
followed by uneasy and then unrepressed mirth, that she was disconcerted
and distressed. Her friends consoled her by telling her that it didn't
matter what she made dishes of; everything she did was exactly right,
which made it a bit harder to explain that the shining pan under the
kitchen sink was the proper receptacle for all leftovers on the plates.
She was reconciled completely moreover, when Jerry assured her that the
janitor was kicking over the empty dinner pails that she had been
sending down the dumbwaiter.