A DOLL OR A BOX OF CANDY
Perdita, being one of those ardent, mercurial creatures who run with
winged feet to meet every event in life, whether it be joyous or
disastrous, had encountered her bad quarter of an hour the morning after
the dinner party.
Hepworth's, however, was postponed for a later and more lingering
occasion. We euphemistically limit these seasons of judgment to quarters
of an hour in speaking of them, but they are quite independent of time,
and may continue through days.
Perdita had a temperamental advantage. Hers were those swift changes of
mood so disconcerting to the devils of ennui and depression; but her
husband's period of reaction lasted, with but little mitigation, all the
way across the continent.
A most lusty and persistent demon of doubt and self-accusation boarded
his car within a few hours after the train left the station, invaded his
luxurious solitude and, indifferent to a chilling reception, there
remained. To Hepworth, the demon's most searing insinuation was that,
instead of a masterly retreat in good order, this departure of his for
the other side of the continent was a virtual renunciation of all that
he cared most to win and to hold. Fool and coward, the demon whispered,
to quit the game just at the moment when his presence was an imperative
necessity. But, although the demon was eloquent--it is an attribute of
demons--and his suggestions were like red-hot pincers, it never entered
Hepworth's head to turn back. On the contrary, it was characteristic
that having decided on a certain course, he was not to be swayed by the
demon's most subtle and ingenious arguments. He was merely rendered
supremely uncomfortable by them.
He had offered Perdita her freedom and he meant it without any
reservations. She should decide on her own course, follow her own
leadings according to the limits of her own folly or discretion, but
free she should be, and free even from any shadowy influence that his
mere presence might exert. Quixotic, scrupulously so: but then that was
Hepworth's way.
The demon laughed at this obstinately maintained, unalterable decision.
What chance, it sardonically suggested, had any mere average man against
a rival like Eugene Gresham? Women love glamour. Perdita especially
adored it blindly. Most women, certainly Perdita, would rather follow
the alluring, brilliant gleam of the will-o'-the-wisp, any time, than
the smoky but dependable light of the useful household lantern.
These gloomy reflections served to goad and stab like so many tormenting
banderillos, but Hepworth's resolution to absent himself for a time, and
thus insure Perdita a free hand, remained unalterable, in fact it
hardened, became like iron.
The journey over, his spirits improved; the demon was far less
persistent and only occasionally showed himself. There were a number of
business matters of varying importance requiring his attention, and
these very fully occupied his mind. He had made his headquarters for a
time at Santa Barbara.
Then, suddenly, his busy, if rather monotonous and routine existence
became diversified by a series of peculiar events which, in his most
wildly imaginative moments, he would never have conjectured.
One afternoon, as he sat before an open window in the villa he had
taken, looking out over a wonderful garden, all fragrance and color, at
the blue channel, the mountains, the distant islands gleaming fairy-like
through their golden haze, the name of Mr. James Fleming was brought to
him and served very effectually to rouse him from his spiritless
daydreaming, on whose confines hovered the demon.
Hepworth sat up, care vanished from his brow, the depressed droop of his
mouth changed to a smile. "Fleming! Jim Fleming!" he exclaimed. "Show
him in at once," to the waiting servant.
Mr. Fleming wasted no time in appearing and Hepworth pushed back his
chair and rose, meeting him with a hearty hand-clasp and one of his most
brilliant smiles.
This was the effect the arrival of Fleming invariably produced. One
might have thought from the way men greeted him that he was some great
public benefactor. Quite the opposite. Hepworth, and no doubt many
others, had, through him, lost thousands of dollars, but this did not in
the least affect their pleasure in his society nor tarnish their
confidence in his good intentions.
Fleming was about Hepworth's age, rather tall and rather stout. He had a
broad, clean-shaven face, and the mouth of an orator, large, mobile,
stretching across his face in a straight line and turning up sharply at
the corners. His eyes, which were blue-gray, had a most ingratiating and
irresistible expression of camaraderie.
During the course of his life many unkind names had been applied to
Fleming, but by women, mark you, never by men. There were quantities of
good wives and mothers who regarded him very much as the devil is
supposed to regard holy water. Had they not reason? At the very mention
of his name they had seen a certain wild, primitive gleam light the eyes
of even their most staid and house-broken men, and at the sound of his
voice the most tractable and responsible husbands would seem to hear
again the pipes of Pan, and forgetful of duty, daily bread and family
obligations would follow eagerly whither those wild notes led.
Beyond question Fleming possessed that magnetic quality which opens all
doors. He was at home in any society and where he was laughter flowed as
wine. He had neither profession nor settled business, but always
referred to himself as a "prospector--a prospector of the old school."
The first gay greetings over, Mr. Fleming established himself in a
comfortable chair, and said without preamble, but with his usual
devil-may-care nonchalance, "I've come to ask a favor of you, Cress, a
mighty big favor."
Hepworth mechanically stretched his hand out toward his check book.
"Oh, it's not money I want this time," said Fleming easily. "It's no
favor to me to lend me money. That's always spent on others. Anyway,
I've got more than I can handle for once. You see, it's this way. I've
got to go over to Idaho. I've just got wind of a big thing there, a big
thing. Two boys I know want me to go over and look at it and I'm off
to-day. Biggest thing that's been struck in years, they tell me. Both
of them stone broke. Didn't have enough money to pay railway fare. Stole
rides, practically no food for a week. If there's anything in it, I may
be good enough to allow you to finance it."
"Let me see," said Hepworth reflectively, "according to the invariable
law of ratio, I'm about due to win on some of these ventures of yours
I've so obligingly financed."
Mr. Fleming solemnly and sadly shook his head. "Set a beggar on
horseback and sooner or later he'll show his rags. The born millionaire!
You show all the degenerate earmarks." He pointed the finger of scorn at
Hepworth. "Even if I hadn't come along you would still have been a
millionaire, climbed to it on some one else's shoulders. Entirely
forgotten the old days, haven't you? Why who," explosively, "laid the
foundation of your soul-deadening fortune? Me. Myself. Well, that's what
a man has to expect in this world. But seriously, Cress, I do want you
to do something for me."
"Don't frighten me in this way then," said Hepworth. "If it isn't money,
I'm getting apprehensive. You're in some scrape and I've got to take
off my coat and work like a nigger to get you out."
"Honest to God, no," said Mr. Fleming fervently. "It's just this. You
see my little girl is here to spend her vacation with me--jumped across
three states and got here day before yesterday, and under the
circumstances it's kind of rough on her for me to go skating off this
way leaving her all alone in a barracks of a hotel and in this place
where she don't know a soul. Sure's I'm sitting here, Cress, I did my
best not to listen to the boys," Fleming spoke earnestly. He always had
the virtue of believing profoundly in himself. "It didn't seem fair to
her, you know. But, oh Lord! What's the use? You know how it is when a
new property swims into my ken. I get the fever so's I can't eat and I
can't sleep, and it's 'my heart in the Highlands' so's I'm like to die
unless I'm up and away to that little old new mine that's just been
found, seeing what's to her, anyway. And you may believe it or not," in
solemn asseveration, "but all the time I'm holding back and trying not
to go. I've got the cramp in my feet so that I can't hobble, but the
moment I yield, and take to the path again, it's gone. That's a fact.
Now," the musical note of persuasion was strong in Mr. Fleming's voice,
"now all I'm asking of you, Cress, is to look in on my little girl now
and then and see that she has everything she wants. She's got a sort of
vinegar-faced Sue with her that she calls her maid, so she's not
entirely alone; but I want to be easy in my mind about her, to know that
she's got some one to fall back on if anything unpleasant comes up.
"She's pretty cute, you know. About on to everything that's going. Can
take the best kind of care of herself. Has had to, poor kid. Her mother
died, and you know, Cress, she might just as well have had a grasshopper
for a father as me. Although I've tried, she'd tell you herself, I've
tried, that is, as far as the limitations of my artistic temperament
would permit. But when I feel the _wanderlust_ and the _weltschmerz_ and
all that in my blood and hear the siren voices of new properties
calling, why, the fireside fetters have got to fall, the white, clinging
arms have got to unloosen their grip. That's all there is to it. You
know in books how the father of a motherless daughter is always father
and mother and brothers and sisters and grandmother, uncles and aunts to
her? Well, I haven't been all those to Fuschia. I wouldn't have known
how and she wouldn't have stood for it. She's got no particular use for
fireside fetters, herself. Oh," optimistically, "I guess she'll be all
right here. I'm leaving her all the money she can spend. But I just want
you to keep an eye on her. Kind of see that the wheels are running all
right and that she's amused and don't mope. You'll like her, you know.
It's a funny thing, but everybody's just crazy and always has been about
that kid."
Hepworth was not proof against the appeal in his old friend's eyes,
neither was he capable of shattering Fleming's simple faith that he,
Hepworth, a jaded and middle-aged person, would find Fleming's daughter
a delightful and interesting charge.
Fleming's mind still ran on his child. "She's about the only thing in
petticoats that has any real confidence in me," he said, with pride.
"It's only been once or twice in my career that I've seen a look of real
friendship in a woman's eyes. The first sight of me brings that wary,
on-guard gleam way back in their blue or brown windows of the soul. You
can't fool a woman. They've got those intuitions, you know, and they
know instinctively that I'm a born missionary to the henpecked, that
it's my mission in life to bring a little cheer into the lives of those
poor shut-ins, the married men; scatter a little sunshine on their path.
"By the way," as if struck by a sudden thought, "you've married since I
last saw you. Some slip of a girl, I'll be bound. That's what the
middle-aged millionaire's sure to do. Well, hold on to your money,
Cress. Don't trust to your own fascinations. And you keep an eye on my
little Fuschia, won't you?"
Manfully concealing his apprehensions, Hepworth promised to do all that
lay in his power to be a father to Fleming's daughter and had the
consolation of seeing his old friend depart most jauntily and evidently
with a weight off his mind.
But when the door had finally closed on him Hepworth let his
perfunctorily smiling face relax. But it did not remain merely grave and
preoccupied, for as he continued to gaze fixedly, but unseeingly, at a
large paper weight before him, his eyes narrowed and his brow contracted
in a frown.
He had neither the heart, time nor inclination to spend his leisure
moments amusing such an utterly spoiled, untrained, undisciplined child
as he was sure Fleming's daughter must be. Allowed to choose her own
path from babyhood, wilful, headstrong--oh, well, what was the use of
anticipating? He'd promised to look after her, and disagreeable duty as
it was sure to be, he had to see it through, and that was all there was
about it.
He decided to look her up the next afternoon. Take her a doll or a box
of candy. Perhaps, though, she was too old for a doll. How old was she,
anyway? He had forgotten to ask Jim. Probably about twelve or fifteen
years. Yes, certainly, the box of candy was safer. That was always
acceptable and agreeable to any of the seven ages of women.
He sighed again, and then, as if seeking distraction, he picked up the
New York newspaper he was about to open when Fleming's card had been
brought to him. He surveyed it languidly, his eye roving with
indifference up and down the columns. Suddenly his attention was vividly
arrested.
His whole gaze, even further, his whole heart hung on a paragraph
stating that Eugene Gresham had just sailed on the _Mauritania_. It was
known among Mr. Gresham's friends that he had recently received a
commission to paint the portrait of a princess of the royal house of
Austria and that upon completing this he would go to England to finish a
portrait, already begun, on a previous occasion, of the beautiful Lady
Heppelwynd. Mr. Gresham, when seen on board ship a moment before
sailing, would neither confirm nor deny these rumors.
The frown disappeared from Hepworth's face. What commendable discretion!
Whether the credit were due Dita or Gresham mattered little. It was the
admirable restraint, this delicate and unexpected regard for
appearances, which Hepworth applauded. To do him justice, that was his
first thought, the sober second one was profound relief that the
fascinating will-o'-the-wisp was as far away from the impulsive and
curious Dita as was the smoky lantern. He put the paper down and rose to
his feet. Fleming's little girl should have a box of candy that was a
box of candy.