KITTY DROPS A BANDBOX
"What's the matter, Jack? Whenever you smoke, your cigar goes out; you
read a newspaper by staring over the top of it; you bump into people on
the streets, when there is plenty of room for you to pass; you leave
your watch under the pillow and have to hike back for it; you forget,
you are absent-minded. Now, what's the matter?"
"I don't know, Dan," said Hillard, relighting his cigar.
"Or you won't tell."
"Perhaps that's more like it."
"It's that woman, though you will not acknowledge it. By George, I'd
like to meet her face to face; I'd give her a piece of my mind."
"Or a piece of your heart!"
"Bah!" cried Merrihew, flipping his cigar-ash to the walk below,
careless whether it struck any of the leisurely-going pedestrians or
not.
"You have not seen her face, Dan; I have."
"Oh, she may be a queen and all that; but she has an evil influence over
all the people she meets. Here's Kitty, following her round, and the
Lord knows in what kind of trouble. She has hooked you, and presently
you'll be leaving me to get back home the best way I can."
"It is quite possible, my boy." And Hillard did not smile.
"Come, Jack, have you really got it? If you have, why, we'll pack up and
leave by the next steamer. I don't care to wander about Italy with a
sick man on my hands."
"Don't be hard on me, Dan," pleaded Hillard, smiling now. "Think of all
the Kitty Killigrews you've poured into my uncomplaining ears!"
"I got over it each time." But Merrihew felt a warmth in his cheeks.
"Happy man! And, once you see the face of this adventuress, as you call
her, Kitty Killigrew will pass with all the other lasses."
"I?" indignantly. "Rot! She won't hold a candle to Kitty."
"No, not a candle, but the most powerful light known to the human
eye--perfect beauty." Hillard sighed unconsciously.
"There you go again!" laughed Merrihew. "You tack that sigh to
everything you say; and that's what I've been complaining about."
Hillard was human; he might be deeply in love, but this had not
destroyed his healthy sense of humor. So he laughed at himself.
Then they mused silently for a while. On either side, from their
window-balcony, the lights of Lungarno spread out in a brilliant
half-circle, repeating themselves, after the fashion of women, in the
mirror of the Arno. On the hill across the river the statue of David was
visible above the Piazza Michelangelo.
"You never told me what she was like," said Merrihew finally.
"Haven't I? Perhaps you never asked. We went through the Pitti Palace
to-day. I couldn't drag you from Raphael's _Madonna of the Chair_. She
is as beautiful as that."
"Imagination is a wonderful thing," was Merrihew's solitary comment.
"Mine has not been unduly worked in this instance," Hillard declared
with emphasis. "Beauty in women has always been to me something in the
abstract, but it is so no longer. There is one thing which I wish to
impress upon you, Dan. She is not an adventuress. She has made no effort
to trap me. On the contrary, she has done all she could to keep out of
my way."
"It's a curious business; the dinner, the mask, the veil, the mystery. I
tell you frankly, Jack, something's wrong, and we shall both live to
find it out."
"But what? Heaven on earth, what? Haven't I tried to figure it out till
my brain aches? I haven't gone forward a single inch. On the steps of
the Formosa I told her that I loved her. There, you have it! I was in
doubt till I looked at her face, and then I knew that I had met the one
woman, and that there was a barrier between us that was not
self-imposed. Not even friendship, Dan; not even an ordinary thing like
that. I have spoken to this woman on only two occasions, and only once
have I seen her face. I am not a disciple of the theory of love at first
sight. I never shall be. An educated, rational man must have something
besides physical beauty; there must be wit, intellect, accomplishments.
Usually we recognize the beauty first, and then the other attributes,
one by one, as the acquaintance ripens. With me the things have been
switched round. The accomplishments came first; I became fascinated by a
voice and a mind. But when I saw her face.... Oh, well! Mrs. Sandford
warned me against her; the woman herself has warned me; the primal
instinct of self-preservation has warned me; yet, here I am! I had not
intended to bother you, Dan."
"It doesn't bother me, it worries me. If I have hurt you with any of my
careless jests, forgive me." Merrihew now realized that his friend was
in a bad way. Still, there was a hidden gladness in his heart that
Hillard, always railing at his (Merrihew's) affairs, was in the same
boat now, and rudderless at that.
"You haven't hurt me, Dan. As a matter of fact, your gibes have been a
tonic. They have made me face the fact that I was on the highroad to
imbecility."
"What shall you do?"
"Nothing. When we have seen Florence we'll drop down to Perugia and
Rome, then up to the Italian lakes; after that, home, if you say. The
bass season will be on then, and we've had some good sport on Lake
Ontario."
"Bass!" Merrihew went through the pleasant foolery of casting a line, of
drawing the bait, of lifting the hook, and of reeling in. "Four pounds,
Jack. He fit hard, as old Joe used to say. Remember?"
And so naturally they fell to recounting the splendid catches of the
gamiest fish in water. When the interest in this waned, Hillard looked
at his watch.
"Only nine," he said. "Let's go over to Gambrinus' and hear the music."
"And drink a boot of beer. Better than moping here."
The Hotel Italie was but a few blocks from the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele.
They found the _Halle_ crowded, noisy and interesting. The music was
good, as it always is in Italy, and the beer had the true German flavor,
Muenchener. Handsome uniforms brightened the scene; and there was
flirting and laughter, in which Merrihew found opportunity to join.
"If Kitty should see you!"
"Well, what if she did? When I'm married to her it will be mutually
understood that so long as I do not speak to them I may look at pretty
women."
"You seem very sure of marrying her."
"It's only a matter of time. The man who hangs on wins finally."
Merrihew had lost none of his confidence.
"I see; they marry you to get rid of you," said Hillard. "Yes, the man
who hangs on finally wins, in love or war or fortune. But I haven't
anything to hang on to."
"Who knows?" said Merrihew, wagging his head.
From the _Halle_ they went down-stairs to the billiard-room. The pockets
in the table bothered Merrihew; he did not care particularly for the
English game; and the American table was occupied by a quartet of young
Americans who were drinking champagne like Pittsburg millionaires. The
ventilation was so bad that the two friends were forced to give up the
game. Under the arcade they found a small table. It was cool and
delightful here, and there was a second boot of Munich beer.
Officers passed to and fro, in pairs or with women. Presently two
officers, one in the resplendent uniform of a colonel, went past.
Merrihew touched Hillard with his foot excitedly. Hillard nodded, but
his pulse was tuned to a quicker stroke.
"I hope he doesn't see us," he said, tipping his panama over his eyes.
Merrihew curled the ends of his juvenile mustache and scowled fiercely.
"This is his post evidently," he said. "What a smacking uniform! He must
have had a long furlough, to be wandering over Europe and America. If I
get a chance I'm going to ask a waiter who he is."
"So long as he doesn't observe us," said Hillard, "I have no interest in
his affairs." Had he none? he wondered. "A lady? Grace of Mary, that is
droll!" The muscles in his jaws hardened.
"But you twisted his cuffs for him that night in Monte Carlo. Monte
Carlo!" reminiscently. "Eighteen hundred dollars, my boy, and a good
fourteen still in my inside pocket. Wasn't I lucky? But I'll never
forgive Kitty for running away from us. That's got to be explained fully
some day."
"He is coming this way again, Dan," Hillard observed quietly.
"Ah!"
They waited. Hillard changed his mind; he pushed back his hat and held
up his chin. If the man with the scar saw him and spoke he would reply.
The colonel, glancing at the pair casually, halted. At first he was not
certain, but as he met the steady eyes of Hillard he no longer doubted.
It was true. He turned and spoke to his brother officer. Merrihew's
throat grew full, but not from fear. The man with the scar stepped over
to the table and leaned with his hands upon it. There was a savage humor
in his dark eyes.
"Did I not tell you that we should meet again?" he said to Hillard.
"This is a pleasant moment." He stood back again.
"Are you speaking to me?" asked Hillard, not the least perturbed. He had
not stirred in his chair, though every muscle in his body was alert and
ready at a moment's call.
"Certainly I am speaking to you. You understand Italian sufficiently
well. This is the fellow," speaking to his companion, at the same time
drawing off his gloves, "this is the fellow I spoke to you about."
"I object to the word fellow," said Hillard, smiling grimly. "Besides, I
do not know you."
"Ah, discreet!" sneered the man with the scar.
"Be careful, Enrico," warned the brother officer. "There are many about,
and a scene is not wise. Ask the American to take a walk. You could
arrange with more ease."
"Thank you," said Hillard, "but I am perfectly comfortable where I am.
If this gentleman has anything to say, he must say it here and now."
"Colonel!" cried the subaltern, as his senior smoothed the gloves and
placed them carefully in his left hand, closing his fingers over them.
"Oh, I am calm. But I have been dreaming of this moment. Now!" The
colonel readdressed Hillard. "You meddled with an affair that night in
which you had no concern," he began truculently.
"Are you quite sure?"
Merrihew eyed Hillard nervously. He did not understand the words, worse
luck, but the tone conveyed volumes. It was crisp and angry. Hillard
possessed a temper which was backed by considerable strength, and only
on rare occasions did this temper slip from his control. Thoroughly
angry, Hillard was not a happy man to antagonize.
"Yes, I am sure. And yet, as I think it over, as I recollect the
woman," went on the colonel, with a smile which was evil and
insinuating.... "Well, I shall not question you. The main thing is, you
annoyed me. In Monte Carlo I was practically alone. Here the scene is
different; it is Florence. Doubtless you will understand." He struck out
with the gloves.
But they never touched Hillard's face. His hand, expectant of this very
movement, caught the assailant's wrist, and, with a quick jerk, brought
him half-way across the table. He bore down on the wrist so fiercely
that the Italian cried faintly. Hillard, with his face but a span from
the other's, spoke tensely, but in an undertone.
"Listen carefully to what I have to say, signore. I understand
perfectly, but I shall fight no duel. It is an obsolete fashion, and
proves nothing but mechanical skill. I do not know what kind of
blackguard you are, but blackguard I know you to be. If you ever address
me again I promise on the word of a gentleman to give you a whipping
which will have a more lasting effect upon your future actions than a
dozen sermons. If that will not serve, I shall appeal to the police."
"Poltroon!"
"As often as you please!" Hillard flung him off roughly.
A small but interested crowd had gathered by now, and Merrihew saw
visions of Italian jails. Through the crowd the ever-present
_carabinieri_ shouldered their way.
"It is nothing," said the colonel, motioning them to stand back, which
they did with a sign of respect. This sign gave Hillard some food for
thought. His antagonist was evidently a personage of some importance.
"Figure of an American pig!"
Hillard laughed. "I might have broken your wrist, but did not. You are
not grateful."
The _carabinieri_ moved forward again.
"The affair is over," said Hillard amiably. "This officer has mistaken
me for some one he knows."
The scar was livid on the Italian's cheek. He stood undecided for a
space. His companion laid a restraining hand on his arm. He nodded, and
the two made off. What might in former days have been a tragedy was
nothing more than a farce. But it spoiled the night for Merrihew, and he
was for going back to the hotel. Hillard agreed.
"At first I wanted you to give him a good stiff punch," said Merrihew,
"but I am glad you didn't."
"We should have slept in the lockup over night if I had. The
_carabinieri_ would not have understood my excuses. If our friend is
left-handed, he'll be inconvenienced for a day or two. I put some force
into that grip. You see, Dan, the Italian still fights his duels.
Dueling is not extinct in the army here. An officer who refuses to
accept a challenge for a good or bad cause is practically hounded out of
the service. It would have been a fine joke if I had been fool enough to
accept his challenge. He would have put daylight through me at the first
stroke."
"I don't know about that," replied Merrihew loyally. "You are the crack
fencer in New York."
"But New York isn't Florence, my boy. I'll show you some fencing
to-morrow. If my old fencing master, Foresti Paoli, is yet in Florence,
I'll have him arrange some matches. New York affairs will look tame to
you then."
"But what has he to do with your vanishing lady?"
"I should like to know."
"I wish I had thought to ask a waiter who the duffer is. Did you notice
how respectful the _carabinieri_ were?"
"It set me thinking. Oh, I've a premonition that we haven't seen the
last of this distinguished gentleman. Perhaps we'll find out who he is
sooner than we care to."
"When the time comes," said Merrihew with a laugh, "be sure you soak it
to him, and an extra one for me."
Early on the morrow they rode out to the Cascine, formerly a dairy-farm,
but now a splendid park. The bridle-paths are the finest in the world,
not excepting those in the Bois de Bologne in Paris. They are not so
long, perhaps, but they are infinitely more beautiful. Take, for
instance, the long path under a tunnel of enormous trees, a bridle-path
where ten men may ride abreast with room to spare, and nearly half a
mile in length; there is nothing like it.
"I tell you what it is, Jack; Italy may put a tax on salt and sea-water,
but always gives something in return; she puts up a picture-gallery or a
museum, or a park like this. What do we get back in America? _Niente!_"
For two hours they romped through the park, running races, hurdling, and
playing rough pranks upon each other, such as only expert riders dare
attempt. They were both hardened by the long ride down to Florence, a
pair of animals as healthy as their mounts. They had determined not to
sell the horses till the last moment. A riding-master in the Via Lorenzo
ii Magnifico agreed to board them against the time of sale.
In the three days in Florence they had been through the galleries and
the museums; and Merrihew, to his great delight, began to find that he
could tell a Botticelli from a Lippi at first glance. He was beginning
to understand why people raved over this style or that. There was
something so gentle, so peaceful in a Botticelli that he really
preferred it to some of the famed colorists, always excepting Veronese,
to whom he had given his first admiration.
For luncheon this day Hillard took him to Paoli's in the Via dei
Tavolini--the way of the little tables. Here Merrihew saw a tavern such
as he had often conjured up while reading his Dumas; sausages and hams
and bacons and garlic and cheeses and dried vegetables hanging from the
ceiling, abrupt passages, rough tables and common chairs and strange
dishes; oil, oil, oil, even on the top of his coffee-cup, and magnums of
red and white Chianti. Hillard informed him that this was the most
famous Bohemian place in the city, the rendezvous of artists, sculptors,
writers, physicians, and civil authorities. The military seldom
patronized it, because it was not showy enough. Merrihew enjoyed the
scene, with its jabber-jabber and its clatter-clatter. And he was still
hungry when he left, but he would not admit it to Hillard, who adapted
himself to the over-abundance of oil with all the zest of an expatriated
Tuscan.
At three o'clock they went to the fencing academy of Foresti Paoli, near
the post-office. Foresti was a fine example of the military Italian of
former days. He was past sixty, but was as agile as any of his
celebrated pupils. As Hillard had written him the night before, he was
expected. He had been a pupil of Foresti's, and the veteran was glad to
see him. Merrihew saw some interesting bouts, and at length Foresti
prevailed upon Hillard to don the mask against an old pupil, a physician
who had formerly been amateur champion of Italy. Hillard, having been in
the saddle and the open air for two weeks, was in prime condition; and
he gave the ex-champion a pretty handful. But constant practice told in
the end, and Hillard was beaten. It was fine sport to Merrihew; the
quick pad-pad of the feet on the mat, the short triumphant cries as the
foil bent almost double, and the flash of the whites of their eyes
behind the mask. Merrihew knew that he should love Florence all the rest
of his days.
They were entering the Via Tornabuoni, toward the Havana cigar-store,
when a young woman came out of the little millinery shop a few doors
from the tobacconist's. Immediately Hillard stepped to one side of her
and Merrihew to the other.
"You can not run away this time, Kitty Killigrew!" cried Merrihew
joyously.
Kitty closed her eyes for a second, and the neat little bandbox slipped
to the sidewalk.