THE SPORTING PRESIDENT
The President's name was Harris William Tetson. His wife had been
Mary Appleton, born of cultured parents in Philadelphia. She
welcomed Hemming in the most friendly manner. The third member of
the family was a tall girl, with a soft voice and an English accent.
She shook hands with Hemming, and he noticed that the pressure of her
hand was firm and steady, like that of a man's. She wore glasses.
The light from the shaded candles glowed warm on her white neck and
arms. Hemming had not expected to find any one like this in the
interior of South America. He used to know girls like her at home,
and one in particular flashed into his memory with a pang of
bitterness. In his agitation, he almost overlooked the extended hand
of Mr. Valentine Hicks.
The dinner was of great length. A few of the dishes were American,
but most were of the country. Two dusky servants waited upon the
diners. The claret was to Hemming's taste, and, as he listened to
Miss Tetson describe an incident of her morning's ride, a feeling of
rest and homeliness came to him. A little wind stole in from the
roses and fountains, and the man of wars and letters, great dreams
and unsung actions, saw, with wondering eyes, that it loosened a red
petal from the roses at her shoulder and dropped it upon her white
arm. He looked up sharply, and only the light of genial friendship
remained in the eyes that met those of Valentine Hicks. But Hicks
looked sulky; understanding came to the heart of Hemming. At last
the dinner came to an end, and Tetson dropped the subject of freight
on sugar, and took up the lighter one of real estate. Coffee was
brought; no one listened to Tetson, but he prosed on, his
good-natured face turned toward the shadows in the ceiling, a yellow
cigar stuck jauntily in his mouth. Hemming was busy with his own
thoughts, wondering into what nest of lunatics his free-lancing had
brought him. He longed for O'Rourke's help. The girl drew something
from her bodice, and laid it before him. It was a cigarette-case.
"You may take one, if you do not bore us by looking shocked," she
said.
Hemming drew forth a cigarette, and lit it at the nearest candle.
"As to being shocked," he replied, "why, I used to know a girl who--"
he stopped suddenly and glanced down at his coffee. "Of course it is
quite the thing now," he added, in stilted tones.
Hicks refused a cigarette from the silver case, and moodily puffed at
a black native cigar. Mrs. Tetson did not smoke, but entertained the
others with a description of her first and only attempt at the
recreation.
The little wind died away. Outside, the fountain splashed sleepily.
The blood-red petal fell from the girl's arm to the whiter cloth. A
flame-bewildered moth bungled into the President's coffee. Hemming's
workaday brain was lulled to repose, and now he was only Hemming the
poet. He looked into the eyes across the table. But he had lived so
long with men, and the foolish, evident affairs of generals and
statesmen, that Miss Tetson's glances were as weapons for which he
knew no manual of defence. They touched him more than he liked,
awaking in his hitherto disciplined memory a hundred fibres of broken
dreams. And every fibre tingled like a nerve with a sweetness sharp
as pain,--and time swung back, and all the healing of his long exile
was undone.
When the ladies rose from the table, Mr. Tetson came over to Hemming
and nudged him confidentially. He looked very sly. "What d'ye say
to a game of billiards?" he whispered.
"Delighted," murmured Hemming, relieved that his strange host had not
suggested something worse.
"I like the game," continued Tetson, "but as Hicks is a damn fool at
it, I don't indulge very often. Hicks is too young, anyway,--a nice
fellow, but altogether too young for men to associate with. Trotting
'round with the girls is more in his line."
"Really," remarked the newcomer, uneasily. He was not quite sure
whether or not Hicks had got out of ear-shot.
"Fact," said the President,--"cold truth. Marion can't play, either.
I've had Santosa up several times for a game, but he's too dashed
respectful to beat me. You'll not be that way, Hemming?"
"I should hope not," replied Hemming, absently, his eyes still turned
toward the door through which the rest of the party had vanished.
"What d'ye say to five dollars the game?" Tetson whispered. The
adventurer's heart sank, but he followed his host to the
billiard-room with an unconcerned air. They played until past
midnight, the President in his shirt-sleeves, with the yellow cigar
smouldering always. A servant marked for them, and another uncorked
the soda-water. After the last shot had been made, Valentine Hicks
strolled in, with his hands in his pockets and his brow clouded.
"Did the old man do you?" he inquired of Hemming.
The free-lance shook his head. "I took ten pounds away from him," he
said.
The secretary whistled.