“See here,” he said rather savagely, “this has got to stop.”
Gee-gee stared. “Bless its little heart, what is it talking about?”
“You know,” said Bob. The fact that he now saw Gwendoline Gerald
rejoined afar by the hammer-thrower did not improve his temper.
“Pardon me,” returned Gee-gee, tossing her auburn hair, “if I fail to
connect. Mrs. Ralston has been good enough to treat us as her regular
guests. And, indeed, why shouldn’t she?” With much dignity. “But if you
feel I ain’t good enough to speak to your Lord Highmightiness, except at
stage doors and alleys and roof gardens—” Cuttingly.
“This isn’t a question of social amenities,” said Bob. Gee-gee didn’t
know what “amenities” meant and that made _her_ madder. “You’ve come
down here to raise a regular hornet’s nest.”
Gee-gee sat down. She was so mad she had to do something. She wanted to
slap Bob’s face, but she couldn’t do that. As Mrs. Ralston’s guest she
couldn’t give way to her natural and primitive impulses. Her gown,
modishly tight all over, strained almost to bursting point; it seemed to
express the state of her feelings. A high-heeled shoe, encasing a
pink-stockinged foot, agitated itself like a flag in a gale.
“I like that,” she gasped. “And who are you to talk to me like that?
Maybe you think this is a rehearsal.”
“For argument’s sake, I’ll own I’m not much account just at present,”
said Bob. “Be that as it may, I’m going to try to stop the mischief you
are up to, if I can.” He didn’t know how he would stop it; he was
talking more to draw Gee-gee out than for any other purpose. Bob’s own
testimony, as to certain occurrences on that memorable roof-garden
evening, wouldn’t amount to much. The lawyers could impeach it even if
they let him (Bob) testify at all in those awful divorce cases that were
pending. But they probably wouldn’t let him take the witness-stand if he
was a prisoner. Bob didn’t know quite what was the law governing the
admissibility of testimony in a case like his.
Gee-gee shifted her mental attitude. She was getting her second breath
and caution whispered to her to control herself. This handsome young
gentleman had been the most indifferent member of the quartet on that
inauspicious occasion on the roof; indeed, he had yawned in the midst of
festivities. Bob, in love, cared not for show-girls or ponies. He had
even tried to discourage Dan and the others in their zest for innocent
enjoyment. Gee-gee now eyed Bob more critically. As a
young-man-sure-of-himself, he had impressed her on that other occasion!
Instinct had told her to avoid Bob and select Dan. Now that same
instinct told her it might be better to temporize with this
blunt-speaking young gentleman—to “sound” him.
“You sure have got me floating,” observed Gee-gee in more lady-like
accents. “I’m way up in the air. Throw out a few sand-bags and let’s hit
the earth.”
“That’s easy,” said Bob. “Do you deny you’re down here to raise Ned?”
“Do I deny it?” remarked Gee-gee with flashing eyes. “Do I? We are down
here to fill a little professional engagement. We are down here on
account of our histrionic talents.” A sound came from Bob’s throat.
Gee-gee professed not to notice it. “We are paid a fee—not a small
one—to come down here, to do privately our little turn which was the
hit of the piece and the talk of Broadway.”
“Bosh!” said Bob coolly. Gee-gee looked dangerous. Once more the
pink-stockinged ankle began to swing agitatedly, and again reckless Bob
narrowly escaped a slap in the face. “Mrs. Dan and Mrs. Clarence got
Mrs. Ralston to ask you down here,” he went on. “You weren’t asked on
account of your histrionic ability. You were asked because it was the
only feasible way to get you beyond other strong, I may even say
desperate, and to them, inimical influences. Mrs. Ralston isn’t the only
one who is financing your little rural expedition. I guess you know what
I mean?”
“Nix!” said Gee-gee. “You’ve got me up in the air again. Turn the little
wheel around and let the car come down. This ain’t Sunday, and if I was
taking a little Coney-Island treat, I wouldn’t choose you for my
escort.”
“It certainly isn’t Sunday in the sense of a day of rest,” remarked Bob
gloomily. By this time the hammer-man and Miss Gerald were beyond his
range of vision. But he would not think of them; he must not. He had a
duty to perform here; maybe it would do no good, but it was his duty to
try. “That publicity racket is all right up to a certain point,” he
said, bending his reproachful eyes upon Gee-gee. “But when it comes to
smashing reputations, stretching the truth, and injuring others
irreparably—all for a little cheap nauseating notoriety—Well”—Bob hit
straight from the shoulder—“I tell you it’s rotten. And I, for one,
shall do what I can to show up the whole conspiracy. That’s what it is.
It would be different if you were going to tell what was so, but you
aren’t. It isn’t in the cards.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Gee-gee’s tight dress nearly
exploded now. The blood had receded from her face and left it a mottled
cream while her greenish eyes glowed like opals. Her expression was
animalistic. It seemed to say she would like to crush something beneath
those high heels and grind them into it.
“Yes, you do,” said Bob. “And it will be a frame-up for poor old Dan and
Clarence, too!” Dickie’s description of what was going to happen
recurred to him poignantly. “I tell you it’s a wicked cruel thing to do.
I repeat, it’s rotten.”
If he thought he could overwhelm Gee-gee by a display of superior
masculine strength and moral force, he was mistaken. Gee-gee wasn’t that
kind of a girl. She had some force herself, though whether of the moral
kind is another matter.
“‘Wicked!’ ‘Rotten!’ ‘Cheap!’” she repeated slowly, but breathing hard.
“Listen to the infant! ‘Rotten!’” She lingered on the word as if it had
a familiar sound. “Well, what is life, anyhow?” she flung out suddenly
at the six-foot “infant.” “Maybe you think this theater business is like
going to Sunday-school—that all we have to do is to hold goody-goody
hands and sing those salvation songs! Salvation! Gee!” And Gee-gee
folded her arms. She seemed to meditate. “You know what kind of
salvation a girl gets down on old Broadway?” she scoffed. “Aren’t the
men nice and kind? Don’t they take you by the hand and say: ‘Come on,
little girl, I’ll give you a helping hand.’ Oh, yes, they give you a
helping hand. But it isn’t ‘up.’ It’s all ‘down.’ And every one wants to
see how deep they can make it. Say, Infant, I was born in one of those
avenues with letters. People like these”—looking toward the
house—“don’t know nothing about that kind of an avenue. It ought to be
called a rotten alley. That’s where I learned what ‘rotten’ meant. Nice
young gentlemen like you who toddled about with nursie in the park can’t
tell _me_.”
Bob tried not to look small; he endeavored to maintain his dignity. He
was almost sorry he had got Gee-gee started. The conversation was
leading into unexpected channels. “Why, I toddled about in rottenness,”
went on Gee-gee. “Gutters were my playground.” Dreamily. She seemed to
be forgetting her resentment in these childhood recollections.
“Sometimes I slept in cellar doorways, with the rotten cabbages all
around. But they and all the rest of the spoiled things seemed to agree
with me. I’ve thrived on rottenness, Infant!” Bob winced. “It’s all that
some girls get. Men!” And Gee-gee laughed. Here was a topic she could
dilate on. Again the opal eyes gleamed tigerishly. “I’ve got a lot of
cause to love ’em. Oh, ain’t they particular about _their_ reputations!”
Gee-gee’s chuckle was fiendish. “Poor, precious little dears! Be careful
and don’t get a teeny speck of smudge on their snowy white wings! My!
look out! don’t splash ’em! Or, if you do, rub it off quick so the
people in church won’t see it. But when it comes to us”—Gee-gee showed
her teeth. “I learned when I was in the gutter that I had to fight.
Sometimes I had to fight with dogs for a crust. Sometimes with boys who
were worse still. Later, with men who were worst of all. And,” said
Gee-gee, again tossing her auburn mane, “I’m still fighting, Infant!”
“Which means,” said Bob slowly, overlooking these repeated insults to
his dignity, “you aren’t here just to exhibit those histrionic talents
you talked about?”
Gee-gee laughed. She was feeling better-natured now that she had
relieved herself by speaking of some of those “wrongs” she and her sex
had undoubtedly to endure. There were times when Gee-gee just had to
moralize; it was born in her to do so. And she liked particularly to
grill the men, and after the grilling—usually to the receptive and
sympathetic Gid-up—she particularly liked, also, to go out and angle
for one. And after he had taken the hook—the deeper the better—Gee-gee
dearly loved the piscatorial sport that came later, of watching the
rushes, the wild turnings, the frenzied leaps.
She even began to eye the infant now with sleepy green eyes. But no hook
for him! He wasn’t hungry. He wouldn’t even smell of a bait. Gee-gee
felt this, having quite an instinct in such matters. Perhaps experience,
too, had helped make her a good fisherwoman. So she didn’t even bother
making any casts for Bob. But she answered him sweetly enough, having
now recovered her poise and being more sure of her ground:
“It doesn’t mean anything of the sort. Our act has been praised in a
number of the newspapers, I would have you understand.”
“All right,” said Bob, as strenuously as he was capable of speaking. “I
only wanted you to know that between you and me it will be—fight!”
This was sheer bluff, but he thought it might deter Gee-gee a little. It
might curb just a bit that lurid imagination of hers.
Gee-gee got up now, laughing musically. Also, she showed once more her
white teeth. Then she stretched somewhat robust arms.
“Fight with you?” she scoffed. “Why, you can’t fight, Infant! You
haven’t grown up yet.”
Bob had the grace to blush and Gee-gee, about to depart, noticed it. He
looked fresh and big and nice to her at that moment, so nice, indeed,
that suddenly she did throw out a bait—one of her most brilliant
smiles, supplemented by a speaking, sleepy glance. But Bob didn’t see
the bait. He was like a fish in a pool too deep for her line. Gee-gee
shrugged; then she walked away. Snip! That imitation gardener was now
among the vines, right underneath where Bob was sitting.
* * * * *
Gee-gee’s little act was better than Bob expected it would be. She sang
a French song with no more vulgarity than would mask as piquancy and the
men applauded loudly. Gee-gee was a success. Gid-up put hers “over,”
too; then together they did a few new dances not ungracefully. Mrs.
Dan’s face was rather a study. She was an extremist on the sex question
and would take the woman’s side against the man every time.
Theoretically, she would invite injured innocence right into camp. She
reversed that old humbug saying, “The woman did tempt me;” according to
her philosophy, man, being naturally not so good as a woman, was
entitled to shoulder the bulk of the blame. But when she looked at
Gee-gee she may have had her doubts.
She may even have regretted being instrumental in bringing her here at
all. And it is not unlikely that Mrs. Clarence may have entertained a
few secret regrets also, and doubts as to the application of a
broad-minded big way of looking at certain things pertaining to her own
sex, when she beheld her of the saucy turned-up nose and brazen freckle.
Certain it is, both Mrs. Dan and Mrs. Clarence looked more serious and
thoughtful than jubilant. They didn’t applaud; they just seemed to,
bringing their hands together without making a noise. But both ladies
were now committed to the inevitable. Gee-gee and Gid-up, displaying
their “histrionic talents,” were but calculated to make Mrs. Dan and
Mrs. Clarence the more determined to pursue the matter to the bitter
end. Among the guests now was a certain legal light. His presence there
at this particular time—when the two G’s adorned the festivities—might
be a mere coincidence; on the other hand it might signify much. He had
certainly spent a long time that afternoon talking to Gee-gee and
Gid-up. Mrs. Dan and Mrs. Clarence came in contact with them only by
proxy.
Bob was a deeply pained spectator of the wordless drama that was being
enacted. He, alone, besides those directly involved, knew the tragedy
lurking behind the mocking face of comedy. That gay music sounded to Bob
like a fugue. He could well believe what it was costing Mrs. Dan and
Mrs. Clarence to attain their purpose. They weren’t enjoying themselves.
It was altogether a miserable business, and almost made Bob forget his
own tragedy. A little incident, however, brought the latter once more
vividly to mind.
It occurred while Gee-gee, in answer to applause at the conclusion of
her dance with Gid-up, was singing another of those risque, French cafe
chantant songs. Bob sat next to the temperamental little thing who was
behaving with exemplary consistency. She had been comporting herself in
strictly comrade-fashion ever since their last talk, not once overdoing
the little chum act. She hadn’t asked him for a single kiss or to put
his arm about her waist in dark corners. Perhaps she was too anxious on
his account for sentimental considerations. She couldn’t understand the
way things were going—that is, things pertaining to Bob.
“Why _don’t_ they?” once she whispered to Bob.
He knew what she meant—arrest him? He shook his head. “Dallying,” he
answered.
“I could just scratch his eyes out,” she murmured with excess of
loyalty.
“Whose?”
“That monocle-man. You know what I did this afternoon?”
“No.” Bob, however, surmised it would be something interesting.
“I went up to that monocle-man and told him every word I had said to him
the night before wasn’t so.”
“You did?” Staring at her.
“Yes, I did.” Setting her cherry lips firmly. “I told him I was just
trying to fool him and that I would never—never—never testify to such
rubbish, if called on to do so.”
“But you’ll have to,” said Bob. “You’ve got to tell the truth.”
“I’d tell whoppers by the bushel to help you,” she confided to him
unblushingly. “That’s the kind of a friend I am.”
“But I wouldn’t have you. I wouldn’t let you,” he murmured in mild
consternation. “Great Scott! they’d have you up for perjury.”
“Oh, no, they wouldn’t. I’d do it so cleverly.”
“But the monocle-man would testify, too.”
“Who do you think a jury would rather believe, me or him?” she demanded
confidently. “Especially if I was all dressed up and looked at them, all
the time I was testifying.”
“Well,” said Bob, “I don’t believe you could do it, anyhow. Besides, it
would be stretching friendship too far. Though you’re a jolly little pal
to offer to!” She hunched a dainty little shoulder against his strong
arm.
“I’d go through fire and water for you,” breathed the jolly little pal.
“It’s fine of you to say it,” answered Bob fervently. “I haven’t many
friends now, you know. But—but it’s impossible, what you propose. It
would only get you into trouble. I’d be a big brute to allow that. It
would make me out a fine pal, wouldn’t it? Besides, it wouldn’t do any
good. Some one else heard me go into your room and knows all about it.
Some one else would fortify what the monocle-man would tell. And her
testimony and his would overwhelm yours. And I’d never forgive myself
for your being made a victim of your own loyalty.”
“Was that some one else Miss Gerald?” asked the jolly little pal
quickly.
“Yes,” said Bob. As he spoke he glanced toward Miss Gerald.
Gee-gee had now started to sing and nearly every one’s head was turned
toward the vivacious vocalist. Bob saw Miss Gerald’s proud profile. He
saw, too, the hammer-thrower, next to her, as usual. On the other side
of the hammer-thrower—the side nearer where Gee-gee stood—was the lady
who had given Bob the “cold shoulder” a few nights ago at dinner. The
hammer-thrower’s eyes were naturally turned toward that cold shoulder
now, and, as naturally, his gaze should have been bent over it, toward
the vocal center of attraction for the moment.
But his gaze had stopped at the shoulder, or something on it. Bob noted
that look. For a fraction of a minute, or second, it revealed a sudden
new odd intensity as it rested on a lovely string of pearls ornamenting
the cold shoulder. And at the same instant a wave of light seemed to
sweep over Bob. For that fraction of a minute he seemed strangely,
amazingly, to have been afforded a swift glimpse into a soul.
The whole thing was psychic. Bob couldn’t have told just how he came to
know. But he knew. He was sure now who had taken Mrs. Vanderpool’s
brooch. Strangely, too, the hammer-thrower, after that fraction of a
second’s relaxation of vigilance over his inner secret self, should have
turned and looked straight toward Bob. His look was now heavy, normal.
Bob’s was burning.
“You!” his eyes said as plainly as if he had called out the word.
The hammer-thrower’s face did not change in the least; nor did his look.
He turned his eyes toward the singer with heavy nonchalance and never
had his face appeared more honest and trustworthy.
“Oh, you beauty!” murmured Bob admiringly.
“Do you really think she is?” asked the jolly little pal. She thought
Bob meant Gee-gee. “Is that the style you like?”
“Thinking of something else,” said Bob.
“Some one, you mean?” with slight reproach.
“Pals aren’t jealous,” he reminded her. “Besides, it was a man.”
“Oh!” she said wonderingly.
“For life is but a game of hide-and-seek,”
sang Gee-gee, in the rather execrable French some one had drilled into
her.
“Come and catch me,” was the refrain.
Bob shook his head. He didn’t want to play at that game. But life was a
game of hide-and-seek, all right. He permitted himself the luxury of
smiling as he once more looked over at the hammer-thrower and applauded
Gee-gee. Odd, the idea of the hammer-thrower being that person he (Bob)
was supposed to be, had never occurred to the latter! But no one ever
would suspect that face! “My face is my fortune, sir,” he might have
said. The hammer-thrower caught Bob’s smile.
“‘Come and catch me,’” reiterated Gee-gee.
That might be applicable to the hammer-thrower. Bob, for the moment,
felt as happy as a child who has discovered the solution of a puzzle. So
that when Miss Gerald deigned casually to glance at him, she was
surprised at his new expression. It seemed a long while since Bob had
looked happy, but now he looked almost like his old self. Was it the
near presence of the temperamental young thing that had wrought this
change, Miss Gerald might well have asked herself.
Violet eyes looked now into temperamental dark ones. Gwendoline, too,
was smiling—at the song. But it was that cryptic kind of a smile once
more. Bob’s smile was a rather large cryptic counterpart of Miss
Gerald’s. The temperamental little thing, though, didn’t smile. She
seemed reading Miss Gerald’s soul. She was dropping a plumb-line deep
down into it.
Then Miss Gerald turned again to the hammer-thrower, who talked to her
just as if Bob hadn’t seen anything, or imagined he had. Gee-gee sat
down, at the same time condescending to bestow upon Bob a triumphal
look. He had dared to scoff at her histrionic talent, had he? Well, she
had shown him—and them. Maybe with a little publicity, she would become
a star of dazzling magnitude. At that moment, the world looked bright to
Gee-gee.