AT THE COUNTRY CLUB
To show that she was not limited to her own particular set in her choice
of guests, Mabel had asked Raridan, whom she wished to know better, and
Wheaton, who had danced with her at the carnival ball, to be of her
party. Chaperons were tolerated but not required in Clarkson. For this
reason Mabel had thought it wise to ask Mrs. Whipple, whom she wished to
impress; and as she liked to surprise her fellow citizens, it was worth
while in this instance to yield something to the _convenances_. The
general was too old for such nonsense; but he was willing to sacrifice
his wife, and she went, giving as her excuse for taking "that Margrave
girl's bait," that she was doing it in Evelyn's interest.
The coach rolled with loud yodeling to the Porter door, where there was
much laughing and bantering as the guests settled into their places.
When the locked wheels ground the hillside and the horn was bravely
blown by an admirer of Mabel's from Keokuk, it was clear to every one
that Timothy Margrave's daughter was achieving another triumph. The
young man from Keokuk was zealous with the horn; a four-in-hand was not
often seen in the streets of Clarkson, albeit this same vehicle was
always to be had from the leading liveryman, and town and country turned
admiring eyes on the party as the coach rolled along in the golden haze
of early October. The sun warmed the dry air; and far across the
Missouri flats its light fell mildly upon yellow bluffs where the clay
was exposed in broad surfaces which held the light. The foliage of the
hills beyond the river was lit with color in many places; a shower in
the morning had freshened the green things of earth, giving them a new,
brief lease of life, and there was no dust in the highways. In such a
day the dying year bends benignantly to earth and is fain to loiter in
the ways of youth.
The paint was still fresh in the club house, which was a long bungalow,
set in a clump of cottonwoods. There was an amplitude of veranda, and
the rooms within were roughly furnished in Texas pine. The older people
of the town looked upon the club with some suspicion as something new
and untried. The younger element was just beginning to know the
implements and vocabulary of golf. The first tee was only a few feet
from the veranda, so that a degree of heroism and Christian resignation
was essential in those who began their game under the eyes of a full
gallery. There were the usual members of both sexes who talked a good
deal about their swing without really having any worth mentioning; and
there were others more given to reading the golf news in the golf papers
at the club house, than to playing, to the end that they might discuss
the game volubly without the discomfort of acquiring practical
knowledge.
The walls of the dining-room had not been smoothed or whitened. They
were hung with prints which ranged in subject from golf to Gibson girls.
Mabel had supplemented the meager furnishings of the club pantry with
embellishments from her own house, and had given her own touch to the
table. As her touch carried a certain style, her crystal and silver
shone to good advantage under the lamps which she had substituted for
the bare incandescents of the room. The young man from Keokuk who was,
just then, as the gossips said, "devoted" to Mabel, had supplied a
prodigal array of flowers, ordered by telegraph from Chicago for the
occasion. The table was served by colored men, who had been previously
subsidized by Mabel, in violation of the club rules; and they
accordingly made up in zeal what they lacked in skill.
Mabel talked a great deal about informality, and drove her guests into
the dining-room without any attempt at order, and they found their
name-cards with the surprises and exclamations which usually
characterize that proceeding.
Captain Wheelock sat at the end of the oblong table opposite Mabel, who
placed the man from Keokuk at her right and Raridan at her left. Evelyn
was between Raridan and one of Mabel's "men," who was evidently
impressed by this propinquity. He was the Assistant General Something of
one of the railroads and owned a horse that was known as far away from
home as the Independence, Iowa, track. There was a great deal of talking
back and forth, and Evelyn told herself that it did not much matter that
her guests had fallen into rather poor hands. She was quite sure that
Captain Wheelock, who liked showy girls, would not be much interested
in Annie Warren, who was distinctly not showy. Belle Marshall, with her
drollery, was not likely to be dismayed by Wheaton's years and poverty
of small talk. Belle was not easily abashed, and when the others paused
now and then under the spell of her dialect, which seemed funny when she
did not mean it to be so, she was not distressed. She had grown used to
having people listen to her drawl, and to complimentary speeches from
"you No'the'ne's" on her charming accent. Evelyn found that it was
unnecessary to talk to Raridan; he and Mabel seemed to get on very well
together, and in her pique at him, Evelyn was glad to have it so.
Mabel's supper was bountiful, and Raridan, who thought he knew the
possibilities of the club's cuisine, marveled at the chicken, fried in
Maryland style, and at the shoestring potatoes and flaky rolls, which
marked an advance on anything that the club kitchen had produced before.
There was champagne from the stock which the Margraves carried in their
car, and it foamed and bubbled in the Venetian glasses that Mabel had
brought from home, at a temperature that Mabel herself had regulated.
Captain Wheelock made much of frequently lifting his glass to Mabel in
imaginary toasts. The man from Keokuk drank his champagne with awe; he
had heard that Mabel Margrave was a "tank," and he thought this a
delightful thing to be said of a girl. Mrs. Whipple noted with wonder
Mabel's capacity, while most of the others tried not to be conscious of
it. Mabel grew a little boisterous at times through the dinner, but no
one dared think that it was the champagne. Mrs. Whipple remembered with
satisfaction that she had no son to marry Mabel. There were, she
considered, certain things which one escapes by being childless, and a
bibulous daughter-in-law was one of them.
Attention was arrested for a time by a colloquy between Mrs. Whipple and
Captain Wheelock as to the merits of army girls compared with their
civilian sisters; and the whole table gave heed. Wheelock maintained
that the army girl was the only cosmopolitan type of American girl, and
Mrs. Whipple combated the idea. She took the ground that American girls
are never provincial; that they all wear the same clothes, though, she
admitted, they wore them with a difference; and that the army girl as a
distinct type was a myth.
"My furniture," she said, "has followed the flag as much as anybody's;
but the army girl is only a superstition among fledgling lieutenants. On
my street are people from Maine, Indiana and Georgia. You don't have to
go to the army to find cosmopolitan young women; they are the first
generation after the founders of all this western country. Right here in
the Missouri valley are the real Americans, made by the mingling of
elements from everywhere. Am I stepping on anybody's toes?" she asked,
looking around suddenly.
"Oh, don't mind us," drawled Belle, turning with a mournful air to
Annie.
"We've counting on you to marry and settle amongst us," said Mrs.
Whipple palliatingly.
"Gentlemen!" exclaimed Raridan, looking significantly from one man to
another; "destiny is pointing to us!"
"You're in no danger, Mr. Raridan," Belle flung back at him. "Miss
Warren and I can go back where we came from."
Raridan's rage at Evelyn had spent itself; he was ready for peace. She
had been politely indifferent to him at the table, to the mischievous
joy of Belle Marshall, who had an eye for such little bits of comedy. As
they all stood about after supper in the outer hall, Evelyn chatted with
Wheaton, and continued to be oblivious of Raridan, who watched her over
the shoulder of one of Mabel's particular allies and waited for a
tete-a-tete. Warry had the skill of long practice in such matters; there
were men whom it was difficult to dislodge, but Wheaton was not one of
them. He took advantage of a movement toward benches and chairs to
attach himself to Evelyn and to shunt Wheaton into Belle's company,--a
manoeuver which that young woman understood perfectly and did not enjoy.
There was something so open and casual in Warry's tactics that the
beholder was likely to be misled by them. Evelyn was half disposed to
thwart him; he had been distinctly disagreeable at the ball, and had not
appeared at the house since. She knew what he wanted, and she had no
intention of making his approaches easy. Some of the others moved toward
the verandas, and Warry led the way thither, while he talked on, telling
some bits of news about a common acquaintance from whom he had just
heard. It was cool outside and she sent him for her cape, and then they
walked the length of the long promenade. He paused several times to
point out to her some of the improvements which were to be made in the
grounds the following spring. This also was a part of the game; it
served to interrupt the walk; and he spoke of the guests at the Hill,
and said that it was too bad they had not come when things were
livelier. Then he stood silent for a moment, busy with his cigarette.
Evelyn gathered her golf cape about her, leaned against a pillar and
tapped the floor with her shoe.
"You haven't been particularly attentive to them, have you?" she said.
"I thought you really liked them."
"Of course I like them, but I've been very busy." Warry stared ahead of
him across the dim starlit golf grounds.
"That's very nice," she said, still tapping the floor and looking past
him into the night. "Industry is always an excuse for any one. But, come
to think of it, you were very good in showing them about at the ball. I
appreciate it, I'm sure."
It was of his conduct at the ball that he wished to speak; she knew it,
and tried to make it hard for him.
"See here, Evelyn, you know well enough why I kept away from you that
night. I told you before the ball that I didn't,--well, I didn't like
it! If I hadn't cared a whole lot it wouldn't have made any
difference--but that show was so tawdry and hideous--"
Evelyn readjusted her cape and sat down on the veranda railing.
"Oh, I was tawdry, was I?" she asked, sweetly. "I knew some one would
tell me the real truth about it if I waited."
"I didn't come here to have you make fun of me," he said, bitterly. He
imagined that since the ball he had been suffering a kind of martyrdom.
Evelyn could not help laughing.
"Poor Warry!" she exclaimed in mock sympathy. "What a hard time you
make yourself have! Just listen to Mr. Foster laughing on the other side
of the porch; it must be much cheerfuller over there." Mr. Foster was
the young man from Keokuk; he wore a secret society pin in his cravat,
and Warry hated him particularly.
"What an ass that fellow is!" he blurted, savagely. He had just lighted
a fresh cigarette, and threw away the stump of the discarded one with an
unnecessary exercise of strength.
"But he's cheerful, and has very nice manners!" said Evelyn. Warry was
still looking away from her petulantly. Her attitude toward him just now
was that of an older sister toward a young offending brother. He felt
that the interview lacked dignity on his side, and he swung around
suddenly.
"You know we can't go on this way. You know I wouldn't offend you for
anything in the world,--that if I've been churlish it's simply because I
care a great deal; because it has hurt me to find you getting mixed up
with the wrong people. If you knew what your coming home meant to me,
how much I've been counting on it! and then to find that you wouldn't
meet me on our old friendly basis, and didn't want any suggestions from
me."
He had, almost unconsciously, been expecting her to interrupt him; but
she did not do so, and left him to flounder along as best he could. When
he paused helplessly, she said, still like a forbearing sister:
"I didn't know you could be so tragic, Warry. The first thing I know
you'll be really quarreling with me, and I don't intend to have that.
Why don't you change your tactics and be a good little boy? You've been
spoiled by too much indulgence of late. Now I don't intend to spoil you
a bit. You were terribly rude,--I didn't think you capable of it, and
all because I wouldn't offend my father and his friends and other very
good people, by refusing to take part in the harmless exercises of that
perfectly ridiculous but useful society, the Knights of Midas. That's
all over now; and the sun comes up every morning just as it used to. You
and I live in the same small town and it's too small to quarrel in."
She paused and laughed, seeing how he was swaying between the impulse to
accept her truce and the inclination to parley further. He had been
persuading himself that he loved her, and he had found keen joy in the
misery into which he had worked himself, thinking that there was
something ideal and noble in his attitude. He did not know Evelyn as
well as he thought he did; when she came home he had imagined that all
would go smoothly between them; he had meant to monopolize her, and to
dictate to her when need be. He had assumed that they would meet on a
plane that would be accessible to no other man in Clarkson; and his
conceit was shaken to find that she was disposed to be generously
hospitable toward all. It was this that enraged him particularly against
Wheaton, who stood quite as well with her, he assured himself, as he
did. Her beauty and sweetness seemed to mock him; if he did not love her
now as he thought he did, he at least was deeply appreciative of the
qualities which set her apart from other women.
There are men like Raridan, who are devoid of evil impulse, and who are
swayed and touched by the charm of women through an excess in themselves
of that nicer feeling which we call feminine, usually in depreciation,
as if it were contemptible. But there is something appealing and fine
about it; it is not altogether a weakness; doers of the world's
worthiest tasks have been notable possessors of this quality. Raridan
had a true sense of personal honor, and yet his imagination was strong
enough to play tricks with his conscience. He had argued himself into a
mood of desperate love; he felt that he was swayed by passion; but it
was of jealousy and not of love.
Evelyn walked a little way toward the door and he followed gloomily
along. He called her name and she paused. They were not alone on the
veranda, and she did not want a scene. Raridan began again:
"Why, ever since we were children together I've looked forward to this
time. It always seemed the most natural thing in the world that I should
love you. When you went away to college, I never had any fear that it
would make any difference; when I saw you down there you were always
kind,--"
"Of course I was kind," she interrupted; "and I don't mean to be
anything else now."
"You know what I mean," he urged, though he did not know himself what he
meant. "I had no idea that your going away would make any difference; if
I had dreamed of it, I should have spoken long ago. And when I went to
see you those few times at college--"
"Yes, you came and I was awfully glad to see you, too; but how many
women's colleges have you visited in these four years? There was that
Brooklyn girl you were devoted to at Bryn Mawr; and that pretty little
French Canadian you rushed at Wellesley,--but of course I don't pretend
to know the whole catalogue of them. That was all perfectly proper, you
understand; I'm not complaining--"
"No; I wish you were," he said, bitterly. If he had known it, he was
really enjoying this; there was, perhaps, at the bottom of his heart, a
little vanity which these reminiscences appealed to. He rallied now:
"But you could afford to have me see other girls," he said. "You ought
to know--you should have known all the time that you were the only one
in all the world for me."
"That's a trifle obvious, Warry;" and she laughed. "You're not living up
to your reputation for subtlety of approach."
"Evelyn"--his voice trembled; he was sure now that he was very much in
love; "I tried to tell you before the carnival that the reason I didn't
want you to appear in the ball was that I cared a great deal,--so very
much,--that I love you!"
She stepped back, drawing the cape together at her throat.
"Please, Warry," she said pleadingly, "don't spoil everything by talking
of such things. I wished that we might be the best of friends, but you
insist on spoiling everything."
"Oh, I know," he broke in, "that I spoil things, that I'm a failure--a
ne'er-do-well." It was not love that he was hungry for half so much as
sympathy; they are often identical in such natures as his.
She bent toward him, as she always did when she talked earnestly, and as
frankly as though she were speaking to a girl.
"Warry Raridan, it's exactly as I told you a moment ago. You've been
spoiled, and it shows in a lot of ways. Why, you're positively
childish!" She laughed softly. He had thrust his hands into his pockets
and was feeling foolish. He wanted to make another effort to maintain
his position as a serious lover, but was not equal to it. She went on,
with growing kindness in her tone: "Now, I'll say to you frankly that I
didn't at all like being mixed up in the Knights of Midas ball; if you
had been as wise as I have always thought, you might have known it. You
ought to have shown your interest in me by helping me; but you chose to
take a very ungenerous and unkind attitude about it; you helped to make
it harder for me than it might have been. I relied on you as an old
friend, but you deserted me at your first chance to show that you really
had my interests at heart. If you had cared about me, you certainly
wouldn't have acted so."
"Why, Evelyn, I wouldn't hurt you for anything in the world; if I had
understood--"
"But that's the trouble," she interrupted, still very patiently. She saw
that she had struck the right chord in appealing to his chivalry, and in
conceding as much as she had by the reference to their old comradeship.
She had never liked him better than she did now; but she certainly did
not love him.
She had directed the talk safely into tranquil channels, and he was
growing happier, and, if he had known it, relieved besides. He wanted to
be nearer to her than any one else, and he was touched by her
declaration that she had needed him, and that he had failed her.
"But sometime--you will not forget--"
"Oh, sometime! we are not going to bother about that now. Just at
present it's getting too cool for the open air and we must go inside."
"But is it all right? You will pardon my offenses, won't you? And you
won't let any one else--"
"Oh, you must be careful, and very good," she answered lightly, and
gathered up her skirts in her hand. "We must go in, and," she looked
down at him, laughing, "there must be a smile on the face of the tiger!"
A fire of pinyon logs, brought from the Colorado hills, blazed in the
wide fireplace at the end of the hall, and Evelyn and Warry joined the
circle which had formed about it.
"Has the moon gone down?" asked Captain Wheelock, as a place was made
for them.
"Not necessarily," said Raridan coolly. "Anybody but you would know that
the moon isn't due yet."
"It was getting cool outside," said Evelyn, finding a seat in the
ingle-nook.
"Oh!" exclaimed the captain significantly, and looking hard at Raridan.
"Poor Mr. Raridan! The weather bureau has hardly reported a single frost
thus far, and yet--and yet!" The others laughed, and Evelyn looked at
him reproachfully.
"You might try the weather conditions yourself," said Raridan easily,
wishing to draw the fire to himself. "But at your age a man must be
careful of the night air."
He and Wheelock abused each other until the others begged them to
desist; then some one attacked the piano and a few couples began to
dance. Mabel was anxious to stimulate the interest of the young man from
Keokuk, who had not thus far manifested sufficient courage to lead her
off for a tete-a-tete. He had proved a little slow, and she sought to
treat him cruelly by seeming very much interested in Raridan, who sat
down to talk to her. Warry was certainly much more distinguished than
any other young man in Clarkson,--a conclusion which was, in her mind,
based on the fact that Warry lived without labor. The pilgrim from
Keokuk was the vice-president of an elevator company, and it seemed to
her much nobler to live on the income of property that had been acquired
by one's ancestors than to be immediately concerned in earning a
livelihood. She and Warry took several turns about the hall to the waltz
which Belle Marshall was playing, and when the music ceased suddenly
they were in a far corner of the room. The chain on which her
heart-pendant hung caught on a button of Raridan's coat as they stopped,
and he took off his glasses to find and loosen the tangle, while she
stood in a kind of triumphant embarrassment, knowing that Evelyn could
see them from her corner by the fire. After the chain had been freed she
led the way to the window seat and sat down with a great show of fatigue
from her dance.
"A girl that wears her heart on a chain is likely to have daws pecking
at it, isn't she?" suggested Raridan, wiping his glasses, and looking
at her with the vagueness of near-sighted eyes. This was, he knew,
somewhat flirtatious; but he could no more help saying such things to
young women than he could help his good looks. The fact that he had a
few moments before been making love to another girl, with what he
believed at the time to be real ardor, did not deter him. Mabel was a
girl, and therefore pretty speeches were to be made to her. She was
unmistakably handsome, and a handsome girl, in particular, deserves a
man's tribute of admiration. Mabel was not, however, used to Raridan's
methods; the men she had known best did not paraphrase Shakspere to her.
But it was very agreeable to be sitting thus with the most eligible and
brilliant young man of Clarkson. Evelyn Porter, she could see, was
entertaining the young man from Keokuk, and the situation pleased her.
"Oh, the chain is strong enough to hold it," she answered, running the
slight strands through her fingers, and looking up archly. Her black
eyes were fine; she exercised a kind of witchery with them.
"Lucky chap--the victim inside," continued Raridan, indicating the
heart.
"Well, that depends on the way you look at it."
"I hope he knows," continued Warry. "It would be a shame for a man to
enjoy that kind of distinction and not know it."
Mabel held the silver heart in one hand and stroked it carefully with
the other. Most of the men she knew would be capable of taking the
heart, even at the cost of a scuffle, and looking into it. She felt safe
with Raridan. The young romantic actor whose picture enjoyed the
distinction of a place in the trinket did not know, of course, and would
have been bored if he had.
"It would hardly be fair to carry his picture around if he didn't know
it, would it?" asked Mabel.
"Of course not," said Warry; "I didn't imagine that you bought it!"
"It wouldn't be nice for you to," said Mabel. The fact that she had
acquired it for twenty-five cents at a local bookstore did not trouble
her.
The music had begun again, but they continued talking, though others
were dancing. Wheaton had joined Evelyn in the ingle-nook; and Evelyn
was aware, without looking, that Mabel was making the most of her
opportunity with Raridan; and she knew, too, that he was not averse to a
bit of by-play with her. She knew that if she really cared for him it
would hurt her to see him thus talking to another girl, but she was
conscious of no pang. Her heart burned with anger for a moment at the
thought that he must think her conquest assured; but this was, she
remembered, "Warry's way," falling back on a phrase that was often
spoken of him. She was a little tired, and experienced a feeling of
relief in sitting here with Wheaton and listening to his commonplace
talk, which could be followed without effort.
Wheaton was finding himself much at ease at Mabel's party, though he
questioned its propriety; he had a great respect for conventions. He was
well aware that there were differences between Evelyn Porter and her
friends, and Miss Margrave and those whom he knew to be her intimates.
Miss Porter was much finer in her instincts and her intelligence; he
would have been puzzled for an explanation of the points of variance,
but he knew that they existed. The young man from Keokuk had moved away
and left him with Evelyn, and it was certainly very pleasant to be
sitting in a quiet corner with a girl whom everybody admired, and who
was, he felt sure, easily the most distinguished girl in town. He had
arrived late, to be sure, in the first social circle of Clarkson, but he
had found the gate open, and he was suffered to enter and make himself
at home just as thoroughly as any other man might--as completely so, for
instance, as Warrick Raridan, who had wealth and the prestige of an old
family behind him.
"I'm sure we shall all get much pleasure out of the Country Club," said
Evelyn, who sat on the low bench between him and the fire.
"Yes, and the house is pretty good, considering the small amount of
money that was put into it."
"Another case where good taste is better than money. We Americans have
been so slow about such things; but now there seems to be widespread
interest in outdoor life." Wheaton knew only vaguely that there was, but
he was learning that it was not necessary to know much about things to
be able to talk of them; so he acquiesced, and they fell to discussing
golf, or at least Evelyn did, with the zeal of the fresh convert.
"I think I'll have to take it up. You make it sound very attractive."
"The Scotch owed us something good," said Evelyn; "they gave us oatmeal
for breakfast, and made life unendurable to that extent. But we can
forgive them if they take us out of doors and get us away from offices
and houses. Our western business men are incorrigible, though. The
farther west you go, the more hours a day men put into business."
Evelyn soon sent Wheaton to bring Mrs. Whipple and Annie Warren, who
were stranded in a corner, and they became spectators of the pranks of
some of the others, who had now gathered about the piano, where Captain
Wheelock had undertaken to lead in the singing of popular airs. The
singers were not taking their efforts very seriously. All knew some of
the words of "Annie Carroll," but none knew all, so that their efforts
were marked by scattering good-will rather than by unanimity of
knowledge. When one lost the words and broke down, they all laughed in
derision. Mabel and Raridan had joined the circle, and Warry entered
into the tentative singing with the spirit he always brought to any
occasion. Mabel, who imported all the new songs from New York, gave
"Don't Throw Snowballs at the Soda-water Man" as a solo, and did it
well--almost too well. Occasionally one of the group at the piano turned
to demand that those who lingered by the fireside join in the singing,
but Wheaton was shy of this hilarity, and was comfortable in his belief
that Evelyn was showing a preference for him in electing to remain
aloof. He did not understand that her evident preference was due to a
feeling that he was older than the rest and too stiff and formal for
their frivolity.
Mrs. Whipple made little effort to talk to Wheaton, though she
occasionally threw out some comment on the singers to Evelyn. Wheaton
did not amuse Mrs. Whipple. He had only lately dawned on her horizon,
and she had already appraised him and filed her impression away in her
memory. He was not, she had determined, a complex character; she knew,
as perfectly as if he had made a full confession of himself to her, his
new ambitions, his increasing conceit and belief in himself. She had
been more successful in preventing marriages than in effecting them, and
she sat watching him with a quizzical expression in her eyes; for there
might be danger in him for this girl, though it had not appeared. But
when her eyes rested on Evelyn she seemed to find an answer that allayed
her fears; Evelyn was hardly a girl that would need guardianship. As the
noise from the group at the piano rose to the crescendo at which it
broke into laughing discord, Evelyn met suddenly the gaze with which
this old friend had been regarding her, and gave back a nod and smile
that were in themselves unconsciously reassuring.
Some one suggested presently that if they were to drive home in the
moonlight they should be going; and the coach soon swung away from the
door into the moon's floodtide. The wind was still, as if in awe of the
lighted world. The town lay far below in a white pool. Mabel again took
the reins, and as the coach rumbled and crunched over the road, light
hearts had recourse to song; but even the singing was subdued, and the
trumpeter's note failed miserably when the horses' hoofs struck smartly
on the streets of the town.