MR. BLITHERS GOES VISITING
I repeat: Prince Robin was as handsome a chap as you'll see in a week's
journey. He was just under six feet, slender, erect and strong in the
way that a fine blade is strong. His hair was dark and straight, his
eyes blue-black, his cheek brown and ruddy with the health of a life
well-ordered. Nose, mouth and chin were clean-cut and indicative of
power, while his brow was broad and smooth, with a surface so serene
that it might have belonged to a woman. At first glance you would have
taken him for a healthy, eager American athlete, just out of college,
but that aforementioned seriousness in his deep-set, thoughtful eyes
would have caused you to think twice before pronouncing him a
fledgling. He had enjoyed life, he had made the most of his play-days,
but always there had hung over his young head the shadow of the cross
that would have to be supported to the end of his reign, through thick
and thin, through joy and sorrow, through peace and strife.
He saw the shadow when he was little more than a baby; it was like a
figure striding beside him always; it never left him. He could not be
like other boys, for he was a prince, and it was a serious business
being a prince! A thousand times, as a lad, he had wished that he could
have a few "weeks off" from being what he was and be just a common,
ordinary, harum scarum boy, like the "kids" of Petrove, the head
stableman. He would even have put up with the thrashings they got from
their father, just for the sake of enjoying the mischief that purchased
the punishment. But alas! no one would ever dream of giving him the
lovely "tannings" that other boys got when they were naughty. Such joys
were not for him; he was mildly reproved and that was all. But his
valiant spirit found release in many a glorious though secret encounter
with boys both large and small, and not infrequently he sustained
severe pummelings at the hands of plebeians who never were quite sure
that they wouldn't be beheaded for obliging him in the matter of a
"scrap," but who fought like little wild-cats while they were about it.
They were always fair fights, for he fought as a boy and not as a
prince. He took his lickings like a prince, however, and his victories
like a boy. The one thing he wanted to do above all others was to play
foot-ball. But they taught him fencing, riding, shooting and tennis
instead, for, said they, foot-ball is only to be looked-at, not
played,--fine argument, said Robin!
Be that as it may, he was physically intact and bodily perfect. He had
no broken nose, smashed ribs, stiff shoulder joints or weak ankles, nor
was he toothless. In all his ambitious young life he had never achieved
anything more enduring than a bloody nose, a cracked lip or a purple
eye, and he had been compelled to struggle pretty hard for even those
blessings. And to him the pity of it all was that he was as hard as
nails and as strong as a bullock--a sad waste, if one were to believe
him in his bitter lamentations.
Toward the end of his first week at Red Roof, the summer home of the
Truxton Kings, he might have been found on the broad lawn late one
afternoon, playing tennis with his hostess, the lovely and vivacious
"Aunt Loraine." To him, Mrs. King would always be "Aunt Loraine," even
as he would never be anything but Bobby to her.
She was several years under forty and as light and active as a young
girl. Her smooth cheek glowed with the happiness and thrill of the
sport, and he was hard put to hold his own against her, even though she
insisted that he play his level best.
Truxton King, stalwart and lazy, lounged on the turf, umpiring the
game, attended by two pretty young girls, a lieutenant in flannels and
the ceremonious Count Quinnox, iron grey and gaunt-faced battleman with
the sabre scars on his cheek and the bullet wound in his side.
"Good work, Rainie," shouted the umpire as his wife safely placed the
ball far out of her opponent's reach.
"Hi!" shouted Robin, turning on him with a scowl. "You're not supposed
to cheer anybody, d' you understand? You're only an umpire."
"Outburst of excitement, Kid," apologised the umpire complacently.
"Couldn't help it. Forty thirty. Get busy."
"He called him 'kid,'" whispered one of the young girls to the other.
"Well I heard the Prince call Mr. King 'Truck' a little while ago,"
whispered the other.
"Isn't he good-looking?" sighed the first one.
They were sisters, very young, and lived in the cottage across the road
with their widowed mother. Their existence was quite unknown to Mr. and
Mrs. Blithers, although the amiable Maud was rather nice to them. She
had once picked them up in her automobile when she encountered them
walking to the station. After that she called them by their Christian
names and generously asked them to call her Maud. It might appear from
this that Maud suffered somewhat from loneliness in the great house on
the hill. The Felton girls had known Robin a scant three-quarters of an
hour and were deeply in love with him. Fannie was eighteen and Nellie
but little more than sixteen. He was their first Prince.
"Whee-ee!" shrilled Mrs. King, going madly after a return that her
opponent had lobbed over the net. She missed.
"Deuce," said her husband laconically. A servant was crossing the lawn
with a tray of iced drinks. As he neared the recumbent group he paused
irresolutely and allowed his gaze to shift toward the road below. Then
he came on and as he drew alongside the interested umpire he leaned
over and spoke in a low tone of voice.
"What?" demanded King, squinting.
"Just coming in the gate, sir," said the footman.
King shot a glance over his shoulder and then sat up in astonishment.
"Good Lord! Blithers! What the deuce can he be doing here? I say,
Loraine! Hi!"
"Vantage in," cried his pretty wife, dashing a stray lock from her eyes.
Mr. King's astonishment was genuine. It might better have been
pronounced bewilderment. Mr. Blithers was paying his first visit to Red
Roof. Up to this minute it is doubtful if he ever had accorded it so
much as a glance of interest in passing. He bowed to King occasionally
at the station, but that was all.
But now his manner was exceedingly friendly as he advanced upon the
group. One might have been pardoned for believing him to be a most
intimate friend of the family and given to constantly dropping in at
any and all hours of the day.
The game was promptly interrupted. It would not be far from wrong to
say that Mrs. King's pretty mouth was open not entirely as an aid to
breathing. She couldn't believe her eyes as she slowly abandoned her
court and came forward to meet their advancing visitor.
"Take my racket, dear," she said to one of the Peltons, It happened to
be Fannie and the poor child almost fainted with joy.
The Prince remained in the far court, idly twirling his racket.
"Afternoon, King," said Mr. Blithers, doffing his panama--to fan a
heated brow. "Been watching the game from the road for a spell. Out for
a stroll. Couldn't resist running in for a minute. You play a beautiful
game, Mrs. King. How do you do! Pretty hot work though, isn't it?"
He was shaking hands with King and smiling genially upon the trim,
panting figure of the Prince's adversary.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Blithers," said King, still staring. "You--you
know my wife?"
Mr. Blithers ignored what might have been regarded as an introduction,
and blandly announced that tennis wasn't a game for fat people, patting
his somewhat aggressive extension in mock dolefulness as he spoke.
"You should see my daughter play," he went on, scarcely heeding Mrs.
King's tactless remark that she affected the game because she had a
horror of getting fat. "Corking, she is, and as quick as a cat. Got a
medal at Lakewood last spring. I'll fix up a match soon, Mrs. King,
between you and Maud. Ought to be worth going miles to see, eh, King?"
"Oh, I am afraid, Mr. Blithers, that I am not in your daughter's
class," said Loraine King, much too innocently.
"We've got a pretty fair tennis court up at Blitherwood," said Mr.
Blithers calmly. "I have a professional instructor up every week to
play with Maud. She can trim most of the amateurs so--"
"May I offer you a drink of some kind, Mr. Blithers?" asked King,
recovering his poise to some extent. "We are having lemonades, but
perhaps you'd prefer something--"
"Lemonade will do for me, thanks," said the visitor affably. "We ought
to run in on each other a little more often than--thanks! By jove, it
looks refreshing. Your health, Mrs. King. Too bad to drink a lady's
health in lemonade but--the sentiment's the same."
He was looking over her shoulder at the bounding Prince in the far
court as he spoke, and it seemed that he held his glass a trifle too
high in proposing the toast.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Blithers," mumbled King. "Permit me to
introduce Count Quinnox and Lieutenant Dank." Both of the foreigners
had arisen and were standing very erect and soldierly a few yards away.
"You know Miss Felton, of course."
"Delighted to meet you, Count," said Mr. Blithers, advancing with
outstretched hand. He shook the hand of the lieutenant with a shade
less energy. "Enjoying the game?"
"Immensely," said the Count. "It is rarely played so well."
Mr. Blithers affected a most degage manner, squinting carelessly at the
Prince.
"That young chap plays a nice game. Who is he?"
The two Graustarkians stiffened perceptibly, and waited for King to
make the revelation to his visitor.
"That's Prince Robin of--" he began but Mr. Blithers cut him short with
a genial wave of the hand.
"Of course," he exclaimed, as if annoyed by his own stupidity. "I did
hear that you were entertaining a Prince. Slipped my mind, however.
Well, well, we're coming up in the world, eh?--having a real nabob
among us." He hesitated for a moment. "But don't let me interrupt the
game," he went on, as if expecting King to end the contest in order to
present the Prince to him.
"Won't you sit down, Mr. Blithers?" said Mrs. King. "Or would you
prefer a more comfortable chair on the porch? We--"
"No, thanks, I'll stay here if you don't mind," said he hastily, and
dragged up the camp chair that Lieutenant Dank had been occupying.
"Fetch another chair, Lucas," said King to the servant. "And another
glass of lemonade for Miss Felton."
"Felton?" queried Mr. Blithers, sitting down very carefully on the
rather fragile chair, and hitching up his white flannel trousers at the
knees to reveal a pair of purple socks, somewhat elementary in tone.
"We know your daughter, Mr. Blithers," said little Miss Nellie eagerly.
"I was just trying to remember--"
"We live across the road--over there in the little white house with the
ivy--"
"--where I'd heard the name," proceeded Mr. Blithers, still looking at
the Prince. "By jove, I should think my daughter and the Prince would
make a rattling good match. I mean," he added, with a boisterous laugh,
"a good match at tennis. We'll have to get 'em together some day, eh,
up at Blitherwood. How long is the Prince to be with you, Mrs. King?"
"It's rather uncertain, Mr. Blithers," said she, and no more.
Mr. Blithers fanned himself in patience for a moment or two. Then he
looked at his watch.
"Getting along toward dinner-time up our way," he ventured. Everybody
seemed rather intent on the game, which was extremely one-sided.
"Good work!" shouted King as Fannie Felton managed to return an easy
service.
Lieutenant Dank applauded vigorously. "Splendid!" he cried out.
"Capitally placed!"
"They speak remarkably good English, don't they?" said Mr. Blithers in
an audible aside to Mrs. King. "Beats the deuce how quickly they pick
it up."
She smiled. "Officers in the Graustark army are required to speak
English, French and German, Mr. Blithers."
"It's a good idea," said he. "Maud speaks French and Italian like a
native. She was educated in Paris and Rome, you know. Fact is, she's
lived abroad a great deal."
"Is she at home now, Mr. Blithers?"
"Depends on what you'd call home, Mrs. King. We've got so many I don't
know just which is the real one. If you mean Blitherwood, yes, she's
there. Course, there's our town house in Madison Avenue, the place at
Newport, one at Nice and one at Pasadena--California, you know--and a
little shack in London. By the way, my wife says you live quite near
our place in New York."
"We live in Madison Avenue, but it's a rather long street, Mr.
Blithers. Just where is your house?" she inquired, rather spitefully.
He looked astonished. "You surely must know where the Blithers house is
at--"
"Game!" shrieked Fannie Felton, tossing her racket in the air, a victor.
"They're through," said Mr. Blithers in a tone of relief. He shifted
his legs and put his hands on his knees, suggesting a readiness to
arise on an instant's notice.
"Shall we try another set?" called out the Prince.
"Make it doubles," put in Lieutenant Dank, and turned to Nellie. "Shall
we take them on?"
And doubles it was, much to the disgust of Mr. Blithers. He sat through
the nine games, manifesting an interest he was far from feeling, and
then--as dusk fell across the valley--arose expectantly with the cry of
"game and set." He had discoursed freely on the relative merits of
various motor cars, stoutly maintaining that the one he drove was
without question the best in the market (in fact, there wasn't another
"make" that he would have as a gift); the clubs he belonged to in New
York were the only ones that were worth belonging to (he wouldn't be
caught dead in any of the others); his tailor was the only tailor in
the country who knew how to make a decent looking suit of clothes (the
rest of them were "the limit"); the Pomeranian that he had given his
daughter was the best dog of its breed in the world (he was looking at
Mrs. King's Pomeranian as he made the remark); the tennis court at
Blitherwood was pronounced by experts to be the finest they'd, ever
seen--and so on and so on, until the long-drawn-out set was ended.
To his utter amazement, at the conclusion of the game, the four players
made a dash for the house without even so much as a glance in his
direction. It was the Prince who shouted something that sounded like
"now for a shower!" as he raced up the terrace, followed by the other
participants.
Mr. Blithers said something violent under his breath, but resolutely
retained his seat. It was King who glanced slyly at his watch this
time, and subsequently shot a questioning look at his wife. She was
frowning in considerable perplexity, and biting her firm red lips.
Count Quinnox coolly arose and excused himself with the remark that he
was off to dress for dinner. He also looked at his watch, which
certainly was an act that one would hardly have expected of a diplomat.
"Well, well," said Mr. Blithers profoundly. Then he looked at his own
watch--and settled back in his chair, a somewhat dogged compression
about his jaws. He was not the man to be thwarted. "You certainly have
a cosy little place here. King," he remarked after a moment or two.
"We like it," said King, twiddling his fingers behind his back. "Humble
but homelike."
"Mrs. Blithers has been planning to come over for some time, Mrs. King.
I told her she oughtn't to put it off--be neighbourly, don't you know.
That's me. I'm for being neighbourly with my neighbours. But women,
they--well, you know how it is, Mrs. King. Always something turning up
to keep 'em from doing the things they want to do most. And Mrs.
Blithers has so many sociable obli--I beg pardon?"
"I was just wondering if you would stay and have dinner with us, Mr.
Blithers," said she, utterly helpless. She wouldn't look her husband in
the eye--and it was quite fortunate that she was unable to do so, for
it would have resulted in a laughing duet that could never have been
explained.
"Why," said Mr. Blithers, arising and looking at his watch again,
"bless my soul, it is _past_ dinner time, isn't it? I had no idea it
was so late. 'Pon my soul, it's good of you, Mrs. King. You see, we
have dinner at seven up at Blitherwood and--I declare it's half-past
now. I don't see where the time has gone. Thanks, I _will_ stay if you
really mean to be kind to a poor old beggar. Don't do anything extra on
my account, though, just your regular dinner, you know. No frills, if
you please." He looked himself over in some uncertainty. "Will this rag
of mine do?"
"We shan't notice it, Mr. Blithers," said she, and he turned the remark
over in his mind several times as he walked beside her toward the
house. Somehow it didn't sound just right to him, but for the life of
him he couldn't tell why. "We are quite simple folk, you see," she went
on desperately, making note of the fact that her husband lagged behind
like the coward he was. "Red Roof is as nothing compared to
Blitherwood, with its army of servants and--"
Mr. Blithers magnanimously said "Pooh!" and, continuing, remarked that
he wouldn't say exactly how many they employed but he was sure there
were not more than forty, including the gardeners. "Besides," he added
gallantly, "what is an army of servants compared to the army of
Grasstock? You've got the real article, Mrs. King, so don't you worry.
But, I say, if necessary, I can telephone up to the house and have a
dress suit sent down. It won't take fifteen minutes, Lou--er--Mrs.
Blithers always has 'em laid out for me, in case of an emergency, and--"
"Pray do not think of it," she cried. "The men change, of course, after
they've been playing tennis, but we--we--well, you see, you haven't
been playing," she concluded, quite breathlessly.
At that instant the sprightly Feltons dashed pell mell down the steps
and across the lawn homeward, shrieking something unintelligible to
Mrs. King as they passed.
"Rather skittish," observed Mr. Blithers, glaring after them
disapprovingly.
"They are dears," said Mrs. King.
"The--er--Prince attracted by either one of 'em?" he queried.
"He barely knows them, Mr. Blithers."
"I see. Shouldn't think they'd appeal to him. Rather light, I should
say--I mean up here," and he tapped his forehead so that she wouldn't
think that he referred to pounds and ounces. "I don't believe Maud
knows 'em, as the little one said. Maud is rather--"
"It is possible they have mistaken some one else for your daughter,"
said she very gently.
"Impossible," said he with force.
"They are coming back here to dinner," she said, and her eyes sparkled
with mischief. "I shall put you between them, Mr. Blithers. You will
find that they are very bright, attractive girls."
"We'll see," said he succinctly.
King caught them up at the top of the steps. He seemed to be slightly
out of breath.
"Make yourself at home, Mr. Blithers. I must get into something besides
these duds I'm wearing," he said. "Would you like to--er--wash up while
we're--"
"No, thanks," interposed Mr. Blithers. "I'm as clean as a whistle.
Don't mind me, please. Run along and dress, both of you. I'll sit out
here and--count the minutes," the last with a very elaborate bow to
Mrs. King.
"Dinner's at half-past eight," said she, and disappeared. Mr. Blithers
recalled his last glance at his watch, and calculated that he would
have at least fifty minutes to count, provided dinner was served
promptly on the dot.
"You will excuse me if I leave you--"
"Don't mention it, old man," said the new guest, rather more curtly
than he intended. "I'll take it easy."
"Shall I have the butler telephone to Blitherwood to say that you won't
be home to dinner?"
"It would be better if he were to say that I wasn't home to dinner,"
said Mr. Blithers. "It's over by this time."
"Something to drink while you're--"
"No, thanks. I can wait," and he sat down.
"You don't mind my--"
"Not at all."
Mr. Blithers settled himself in the big porch chair and glowered at the
shadowy hills on the opposite side of the valley. The little cottage of
the Feltons came directly in his line of vision. He scowled more deeply
than before. At the end of fifteen minutes he started up suddenly and,
after a quick uneasy glance about him, started off across the lawn,
walking more rapidly than was his wont.
He had remembered that his chauffeur was waiting for him with the car
just around a bend in the road--and had been waiting for two hours or
more.
"Go home," he said to the man. "Come back at twelve. And don't use the
cut-out going up that hill, either."
Later on, he met the Prince. Very warmly he shook the tall young man's
hand,--he even gave it a prophetic second squeeze,--and said:
"I am happy to welcome you to the Catskills, Prince."
"Thank you," said Prince Robin.