Now Trampy--even if he had to marry her for it, by Jove!--had set his mind
on having Lily, at any cost; and that not only because of her prettiness,
but also that he might play Clifton a damned good trick and teach him that
he must smart for treating a gentleman as he had treated him in Mexico. It
would be paying him out with interest to take his Lily from him. Besides,
think of the credit it would give Trampy in the profession to have for his
wife the prettiest, the cleverest girl on the boards, each of whose shows,
when she performed alone, would be worth at least three pounds, as much as
a whole troupe! He suspected in her the ripe fruit that was bound to drop;
and he shook the tree to hasten the fall. He considered his reputation at
stake: he, the man with the thirty-six girls, as he was called at the
music-hall. He got caught in his own toils and wanted Lily madly, out of
revenge and pride ... and jealousy too, for he suspected that Jimmy was
courting her; and the idea that he had a rival inflamed his ardor.
In the evening, pen in hand, in his dressing-room, or else at a table in a
cafe, after a second and a third glass of old port, he prepared his
batteries: letters, post-cards, he excelled in everything, was careful
about his phrases, with the vanity of an author whose writings are widely
quoted. Lily was "fascinating" and "bewildering;" he compared her to
"those strange Indian poppies whose scent intoxicates a man and sometimes
gives him death." Gee, but that set Lily dreaming! Fancy having all that
in her! Who on earth would have thought it? Never mind, it was very nice.
And the way in which she received her correspondence amused her as much as
the rest. Trampy, it goes without saying, did not write direct: a few
pence to Tom, who hated Clifton, and Lily received the cards in secret,
devoured them when she was alone and then quickly tore them into little
pieces and sent them flying through the window.
Her trouble was how to answer. She really did not know what to say:
"Pa was so angry with the girls yesterday. I got a kick of the pedal
on my shin. Otherwise I am quite well. Excuse more for the present. I
must now conclude.
"Lily."
By return of post, she received "a thousand kisses on her rosy cheeks, on
her fair tresses, everywhere," kisses without end.
"He's mad," thought Lily.
But she was greatly flattered by Trampy's attentions. He treated her as a
woman, not as a child, as Pa and Ma went out of their way to do. Her life,
after all, would be more agreeable if she was Trampy's wife; and he was
delivering the attack in person, since his return from Lancashire, where
he had traveled about with his property red-hot stove. He overwhelmed her
with bouquets, even as a general bombards a bastion before the final
assault, and he managed to meet her now. He dazzled Lily with his big gold
watch-chain and the diamond in his tie. When he was able to whisper a word
to her, it was always the same thing--"Motor-cars! Paris gowns! Jewels!
Flowers!"--until Lily thought she saw all the shop-windows in Regent
Street poured out at her feet.
Jimmy made but a sorry lover, compared with Trampy. He never promised
anything, silk dresses, diamonds or jewels. "The husband at work, the wife
at home." Gee, there were no ostrich-feathers in that! But he adored her
all the same, as Lily was well able to see; and she had many occasions to
talk to both of them. Not that Lily was less closely watched. She never
went out alone, but it was not always Ma who was at her heels: it was
sometimes Glass-Eye. With faithful Glass-Eye, things took their own course
and the interviews with Trampy became easy. As for Jimmy, he saw her every
day at practice and he took that opportunity to tell her of his ideas, his
plans for the future.
"I shall succeed, you will see, Lily," he said. "I shall do something some
day. I'm a bit of a mechanic, a bit of an electrician, that is to say, a
bit of a wizard. Others have started lower down and climbed very high."
"Yes," replied Lily, "I know. It's like Pa. He wasn't much before he got
me into shape; and look at him now!"
This was said with an artless candor that enraptured Jimmy.
"What a dear little girlie you are!" he said. "What an adorable kid!"
"That's right," retorted Lily. "Why not a baby, while you're about it, a
school-girl in the biking-class and so on? Some people treat me as a
woman, Jimmy, and propose to marry me!"
"What's that?"
"What I say, Jimmy."
"And this man making up to you is worthy of you, I suppose? And do you
love him?" asked Jimmy, greatly upset.
"Pooh!" said Lily. "I'm not quite sure."
"But you wouldn't marry him unless you loved him?"
"I should marry him to change my life."
"A change, Lily," said Jimmy, with feeling, "is not always a change for
the better! And your life is a little pleasanter now, you told me so
yourself. Your mother is sorry. You're getting pocket-money; ten shillings
a week, eh? Why, Lily, that's splendid!"
"Well; and I earn it, I suppose," said Lily. "And Ma isn't a bit sorry. Pa
said he wouldn't have it, that's all. They were afraid of my running away
if it went on. I am no longer a child!"
"No," said Jimmy, taking her hands, "an adorable girl; that's what you
are. Oh, a man whom you would love should do great things! He would love
you with all his heart! And your life would be different then! No, you
would not be a performing dog, as you call it; you would be a darling
little wife. It's all very well to rove about the world, from theater to
theater, riding round and round on your bike...."
"I adore the stage, for all that!" interrupted Lily.
"But that can't go on for ever," continued Jimmy. "You're entitled to have
a nicer life: a home of your own, Lily; you have the making of a lady in
you, if you were taught. In a year or two, Lily, you would be the equal of
any lady in the land."
"Learning, more learning, always learning! I've had enough of it in my
life!" muttered Lily, affected, nevertheless, by Jimmy's intense
excitement, and lowering her eyes under his glance.
"Why, yes, Lily, always learning, that's life!" said Jimmy. "But the other
chap, of course, promises you the earth! Some millionaire, I suppose: an
admirer in the front boxes?"
"He's an artiste," said Lily.
"Why," said Jimmy, stepping back, without letting go of her. "But, no,
it's impossible; you're not thinking of Trampy!"
"Why not?" said Lily angrily, trying to release herself from Jimmy's
passionate grasp.
"Why, because ... because he's a drunkard ... a ... The other day I saw
him at the bar of the Crown, as I was passing. He was blind-drunk."
"What's the good of talking?" said Lily. "He's miserable. He worships me.
He drinks to forget. He told me so himself!"
"But they say he's married," said Jimmy. "Why ..."
"It's mean and jealous of you to say that," said Lily, suddenly
withdrawing her hands. "You deserve a smacking! How can he be married,
when he wants to marry me?"
And with that she left him and went up to the dressing-room.
Jimmy was heartbroken.
"It's a joke of Lily's ... as in my shop, some months ago, when she
pretended to have a sweetheart, though she hadn't!"
But, argue as he would, Jimmy thought with terror of Trampy's habits of
conquest, of his reputation in the profession as a Don Juan. He bitterly
regretted waiting so long to speak to Lily. He had thought that he was
pleasing her by keeping in the background, for fear of causing her
annoyance at home: was his sole offense now that of coming too late?
Oh, if he had only had evidence to hand! But Trampy's marriage was one of
those vague rumors. One could say nothing for certain. However, the
danger, no doubt, was not yet imminent. And Jimmy had a friend who was
doing America in the theaters of the Eastern and Western Trust: he
resolved to write to him; the friend would receive his letter at the
Majestic, Houston, Texas, or at the Denver Orpheum. The thing had happened
over there; they would probably remember it in the theaters he passed
through; he could make inquiries, perhaps even obtain proofs. That
exquisite Lily, that masterpiece of grace: what a darling wife she would
make! And all for Trampy! Jimmy was determined to do everything to prevent
it.
He did not despair of supplying Lily, before long, with the proof that
Trampy was married; he would give the name, the date; he would compel
Trampy to admit it. But he was not sure enough yet to accuse him openly:
Lily would have seen nothing in it but a ridiculous jealousy and would
never have forgiven him.
Then Jimmy was worried: people came to him for this, for that, for the
thousand details of the stage.
Lily, on her side, left the theater. That day, she was accompanied by
Maud, who fixed her with her glass eye, while the other was engaged in
watching the flies. Of course, Trampy was prowling round the theater to
see her part of the way home; for he, too, had decided to carry things
with a high hand. And he set to work at a quicker pace than ever.
He had none of Jimmy's scruples; he was not afraid of exaggerating: far
from it. Lily always left him under the impression of a glimpse of
paradise. This time, however, she failed to smile when Trampy vowed that
she was "the sweetest little thing that one could lay eyes on, by Jove!"
For a long time, but especially since that morning, she had been burning
to put a question to him. Possibly she had no intention of marrying him,
but she wouldn't allow him to make a fool of her; and she interrupted him
in his compliments to ask if what they said was true.
"Who says so? It's a lie!" Trampy hastened to answer.
"I mean your marriage," replied Lily.
"I thought as much," said Trampy.
"Tell me the truth," persisted Lily innocently, looking him straight in
the eyes.
"If I was married, Lily, would I want to marry you?"
"Of course not," said Lily, already shaken.
"Who's been talking to you about that?" asked Trampy. "Your Pa, eh? And
Jimmy: I'll bet that Jimmy ...?"
"Jimmy too."
"If I don't box that fellow's ears!" shouted Trampy. "Can't you see that
he's jealous? Why? He didn't even give you my bouquets! He handed them to
your Ma! And so I've been married, eh? Whereabouts? In America, I'll
wager?"
"Yes, somewhere on the Western Tour."
"Of course," said Trampy. "That's what I've heard myself. Still, it seems
to me that, if I had a wife, I ought to be the first to know it; don't you
think so, Lily?"
This was proof positive. Lily could find nothing to answer.
"Come and have a drink, Lily?"
"They're waiting for me at home," said Lily.
Trampy went into the bar alone, in a desperate state of love which made
him call for a port and another, by Jove! Then he sat down at a table in a
corner, lit a cigar and examined his glass, as though truth lay at the
bottom. For he could not tell for certain. Was he married or was he not?
That's what he himself would like to know! According to him, upon his soul
and conscience, he was not a married man; he did himself that justice.
Opportunities, certainly, had not been wanting ... with all the girls he
had known ... enough to fill a dozen beauty-shows. Sometimes even he had
had a narrow escape, as in that damned town in the West, in one of those
states where you can't so much as take a girl to supper without finding
yourself married to her in the morning, all for entering yourself in the
hotel book as "Mr. and Mrs. Trampy," in other words, as man and wife. And
yet he couldn't ask the girl who adored him to sleep on the mat! Yes, a
poor girl who had found glowing words in which to tell him her love, one
night in Mexico, words which had set Trampy quivering with longing
compassion: was he to be reproached with that? He had made her happy,
after all; and, on the whole, this lark was one of his pleasantest
memories; it hadn't lasted too long: a matter of a few weeks at most. He
had left Mexico, taking the girl with him, and played Trampy Wheel-Pad in
the Western States, with any amount of success, by Jove! Encores, packets
of tobacco, a new suit of clothes! And, by way of _entr'acte_, the
girl--"Tramp Wheel-Pad's Jumping Flea," as she was called--turned
somersaults and flip-flaps. But she would have killed him, this dark girl
with great dark eyes,--this girl with a boy's figure, all muscle and
sinew, keeping him awake all night and talking of nothing but smackings,
as though she had never learned anything else. And so much in love that
she would bite and scratch: a very tigress. Any one but himself would have
wearied of it. And then, one fine morning, for coupling their names in the
visitors' book, they found themselves married, in the name of the law! And
that was what people called a marriage! So little married were they,
according to him, that he had given her the slip then and there, leaving
her all the money he possessed, however: he was not the man to look at
fifteen dollars, when honor demanded it. Trampy had had more stories of
this kind in his life; they left as much impression on his mind as the
recollection of a "schooner" swallowed at a bar on a summer night.
It was dishonest, he considered, to pretend that he was married. Not that
he was perfect: far from it! He did not set up as a model. He had had
scandals in his life: he admitted it humbly; and, if some jealous person,
some Jimmy, for instance, wanted to do him harm, all he had to do was to
dig in the heap, instead of hawking round that story of an imaginary
marriage.
His differences with Poland, the Parisienne, for instance: a regular Mrs.
Potiphar, that one. He had found it a hard job to get away from her. And
ever and ever so many others! He couldn't remember. People were always
talking ill of him. There was more than that, however: he, too, was
capable of manly ambition; he, too, had taken a breakneck risk. He had
perfected and patented at Washington an invention of which he had seen a
drawing, by accident, in a scientific journal--_Engineering_, or
another--a purely theoretical invention. The inventor himself, a young
London electrician, declared it to be unrealizable. Well, he,
Trampy--Poland had helped him with her purse; she was very nice about
it--he, Trampy, had had the thing made. He had deposited the models at the
Patent Office; and the apparatus itself was now in a London storage. He
would get it out, some day, and show them all what he was capable of.
Now he was wrong, perhaps, in abandoning Poland, after accepting her
services; but, after all, those were matters which concerned nobody but
himself. It was not fair play to tell Lily about them: she, he felt, would
always be the girl of his heart, the thirty-seventh and last, and it would
take a better man than Jimmy to snatch her from him!
Already, it was much to have pacified Lily on that incident of the
marriage: Lily believed him. One thing, however, disquieted Trampy:
bigamy, all the same, meant doing time. Now, if some jealous person
produced the proof of that marriage, contracted under the Western law ...
suppose it were valid ... really valid? H'm! Was he going to lose Lily for
that? And his liberty into the bargain? That Lily who was worth her weight
in gold, love and fortune in one!
Trampy resolved to broach this delicate subject:
"Suppose I was married," he hinted, one day, "that wouldn't matter.
Couldn't we ... live together ... eh?"
"I like your style!" said Lily, feeling slightly indignant at such a
proposal. "What do you take me for?"
"I was only joking," Trampy hastened to say. "If you want to be married,
I'm quite agreeable."
"I insist upon it!"
"So then you prefer to take strangers into our confidence?"
"What strangers?" asked Lily, in surprise.
"Why, the quill-drivers at Somerset House and those damned fire-escapes."
Lily had enough religion to know that the fire-escape was the clergyman:
"As for that," she said, "we shall see later; but I want the registrar's
office. If I'm to be your little wife, I want to be so for good and all:
marriage or nothing!"
"I shall be delighted, Lily!"
"And I'm determined!"
Lily was the more bent upon it, because marriage made her free: that was
the essential point. If she were not married, her parents could make her
come back, she thought ... keep her with them ... gee! It gave her cold
shivers down the back! Once married, she was protected by law; Pa and Ma
had nothing to say; and so she was very keen upon marriage.
"What a dear little wife she'll make!" thought Trampy. "And how she loves
me!"
That, however, did not advance matters. It was all very well for him to
put his arm round her waist, to talk softly to her, to whisper those words
which had already won him so many conquests:--one day, even, he had kissed
her on the lips,--Lily thought that very nice; it was all very well for
him to cut a dash at the bar, to stand her a claret and a biscuit; it was
all very well for him to sing his love-litany: all this did not help him;
at the rate at which he was going, he wouldn't get anywhere in six
months.
Lily, between those two jossers, amused herself immensely. How lucky she
was! Two men, at her age! They irritated her, sometimes; when they went
too far--Trampy, especially, who got excited at the game--anyhow, it was a
homage paid to her beauty. Between that and going away with him there was
all the difference in the world! To leave home was quite another matter.
Why, goodness, if things went on as they were, she could do without
marriage at all!