The door slammed, and Underwood returned to the sitting room. Taking no
notice of Howard, he walked over to the desk, slowly selected a cigar
and lighted it. Howard looked up at him foolishly, not knowing what to
say. His frequent libations had so befuddled him that he had almost
forgotten the object of his visit.
"Excuse my butting in, old chap," he stammered, "but----"
Underwood made no answer. Howard stared at him in comic surprise. He was
not so drunk as not to be able to notice that something was wrong.
"Say, old fellow," he gurgled; "you're a regular Jim Dumps. Why so
chopfallen, so----? My! what a long face! Is that the way you greet a
classmate, a fellow frat? Wait till you hear my hard-luck story. That'll
cheer you up. Who was it said: 'There's nothing cheers us up so much as
other people's money?" Reaching for the whiskey bottle, he went on,
"First, I'll pour out another drink. You see, I need courage, old man.
I've got a favor to ask. I want some money. I not only want it--I need
it."
Underwood laughed, a hollow, mocking laugh of derision. His old
classmate had certainly chosen a good time to come and ask him for
money. Howard mistook the cynical gayety for good humor.
"I said I'd cheer you up," he went on. "I don't want to remind you of
that little matter of two hundred and fifty bucks which you borrowed
from me two years ago. I suppose you've forgotten it, but----"
A look of annoyance came over Underwood's face.
"Well, what of it?" he snapped.
Howard took another drink before he continued.
"I wouldn't remind you of the loan, old chap; but I'm up against it.
When the family kicked me out for marrying the finest girl that ever
lived, my father cut me off with a piking allowance which I told him to
put in the church plate. I told him I preferred independence. Well," he
went on with serio-comic gravity, "I got my independence, but I'm--I'm
dead broke. You might as well understand the situation plainly. I can't
find any business that I'm fitted for, and Annie threatens to go back to
work. Now, you know I can't stand for anything like that. I'm too much
of a man to be supported by any woman."
He looked toward Underwood in a stupid kind of way, as if looking for
some sign of approval, but he was disappointed. Underwood's face was a
study of supreme indifference. He did not even appear to be listening.
Somewhat disconcerted, Howard again raised the glass to his lips, and
thus refreshed, went on:
"Then I thought of you, old chap. You've made a rousing success of
it--got a big name as art collector--made lots of money and all
that----"
Underwood impatiently interrupted him.
"It's impossible, Jeffries. Things are a little hard with me, too, just
now. You'll have to wait for that $250."
Howard grinned.
"'Taint the $250, old man, I didn't want that. I want a couple of
thousand."
Underwood could not help laughing.
"A couple of thousand? Why not make it a million?"
Howard's demand struck him as being so humorous that he sat down
convulsed with laughter.
Looking at him stupidly, Howard helped himself to another drink.
"It seems I'm a hit," he said with a grin.
Underwood by this time had recovered his composure.
"So you've done nothing since you left college?" he said.
"No," answered Howard. "I don't seem to get down to anything. My ideas
won't stay in one place. I got a job as time-keeper, but I didn't keep
it down a week. I kept the time all right, but it wasn't the right
time," Again raising his glass to his lips, he added: "They're so
beastly particular."
"You keep pretty good time with that," laughed Underwood, pointing to
the whiskey.
Howard grinned in drunken fashion.
"It's the one thing I do punctually," he hiccoughed. "I can row, swim,
play tennis, football, golf and polo as well as anybody, but I'll be
damned if I can do anything quite as well as I can do this."
"What do you want $2,000 for?" demanded Underwood.
"I've got an opportunity to go into business. I want $2,000 and I want
it deuced quick."
Underwood shrugged his shoulders.
"Why don't you go home and ask your father?" he demanded.
His visitor seemed offended at the suggestion.
"What!" he exclaimed, with comic surprise, "after being turned out like
a dog with a young wife on my hands! Not much--no. I've injured their
pride. You know father married a second time, loaded me down with a
stepmother. She's all right, but she's so confoundedly aristocratic. You
know her. Say, didn't you and she--wasn't there some sort of an
engagement once? Seems to me I----"
Underwood rose to his feet and abruptly turned his back.
"I'd rather you wouldn't get personal," he said curtly. Sitting down at
a desk, he began to rummage with some papers and, turning impatiently to
Howard, he said:
"Say, old man, I'm very busy now. You'll have to excuse me."
If Howard had been sober, he would have understood that this was a
pretty strong hint for him to be gone, but in his besotted condition, he
did not propose to be disposed of so easily. Turning to Underwood, he
burst out with an air of offended dignity:
"Underwood, you wouldn't go back on me now. I'm an outcast, a pariah, a
derelict on the ocean of life, as one of my highly respectable uncles
wrote me. His grandfather was an iron puddler." With a drunken laugh he
went on: "Doesn't it make you sick? I'm no good because I married the
girl. If I had ruined her life I'd still be a decent member of society."
He helped himself to another drink, his hand shaking so that he could
hardly hold the decanter. He was fast approaching the state of complete
intoxication. Underwood made an attempt to interfere. Why should he care
if the young fool made a sot of himself? The sooner he drank himself
insensible the quicker he would get rid of him.
"No, Howard," he said; "you'd never make a decent member of society."
"P'r'aps not," hiccoughed Howard.
"How does Annie take her social ostracism?" inquired Underwood.
"Like a brick. She's a thoroughbred, all right. She's all to the good."
"All the same I'm sorry I ever introduced you to her," replied
Underwood. "I never thought you'd make such a fool of yourself as to
marry----"
Howard shook his head in a maudlin manner, as he replied:
"I don't know whether I made a fool of myself or not, but she's all
right. She's got in her the makings of a great woman--very crude, but
still the makings. The only thing I object to is, she insists on going
back to work, just as if I'd permit such a thing. Do you know what I
said on our wedding day? 'Mrs. Howard Jeffries, you are entering one of
the oldest families in America. Nature has fitted you for social
leadership. You'll be a petted, pampered member of that select few
called the "400,"' and now, damn it all, how can I ask her to go back
to work? But if you'll let me have that $2,000----"
By this time Howard was beginning to get drowsy. Lying back on the sofa,
he proceeded to make himself comfortable.
"Two thousand dollars!" laughed Underwood. "Why, man, I'm in debt up to
my eyes."
As far as his condition enabled him, Howard gave a start of surprise.
"Hard up!" he exclaimed. Pointing around the room, he said: "What's all
this--a bluff?"
Underwood nodded.
"A bluff, that's it. Not a picture, not a vase, not a stick belongs to
me. You'll have to go to your father."
"Never," said Howard despondently. The suggestion was evidently too much
for him, because he stretched out his hand for his whiskey glass.
"Father's done with me," he said dolefully.
"He'll relent," suggested Underwood.
Howard shook his head drowsily. Touching his brow, he said:
"Too much brains, too much up here." Placing his hand on his heart, he
went on: "Too little down here. Once he gets an idea, he never lets it
go, he holds on. Obstinate. One idea--stick to it. Gee, but I've made a
mess of things, haven't I?"
Underwood looked at him with contempt.
"You've made a mess of your life," he said bitterly, "yet you've had
some measure of happiness. You, at least, married the woman you love.
Drunken beast as you are, I envy you. The woman I wanted married some
one else, damn her!"
Howard was so drowsy from the effects of the whiskey that he was almost
asleep. As he lay back on the sofa, he gurgled:
"Say, old man; I didn't come here to listen to hard-luck stories. I came
to tell one."
In maudlin fashion he began to sing, _Oh, listen to my tale of woe_,
while Underwood sat glaring at him, wondering how he could put him out.
As he reached the last verse his head began to nod. The words came
thickly from his lips and he sank sleepily back among the soft divan
pillows.
Just at that moment the telephone bell rang. Underwood quickly picked up
the receiver.
"Who's that?" he asked. As he heard the answer his face lit up and he
replied eagerly: "Mrs. Jeffries--yes. I'll come down. No, tell her to
come up."
Hanging up the receiver, he hastily went over to the divan and shook
Howard.
"Howard, wake up! confound you! You've got to get out--there's somebody
coming."
He shook him roughly, but his old classmate made no attempt to move.
"Quick, do you hear!" exclaimed Underwood impatiently. "Wake up--some
one's coming."
Howard sleepily half opened his eyes. He had forgotten entirely where he
was and believed he was on the train, for he answered:
"Sure, I'm sleepy. Say--porter, make up my bed."
His patience exhausted, Underwood was about to pull him from the sofa by
force, when there was a ring at the front door.
Bending quickly over his companion, Underwood saw that he was fast
asleep. There was no time to awaken him and get him out of the way, so,
quickly, he took a big screen and arranged it around the divan so that
Howard could not be seen. Then he hurried to the front door and opened
it.
Alicia entered.