“Merry King Hal’s name also suggests a plenitude of wives, an
over-indulgence in womankind, ha!” he went on.
Sister Mary’s large eyes were wide open now, and I fancied I could
almost see in them an expression of fear, as well as pain. Evidently she
did not know what to expect next, and, I fancy if this guess of mine is
right, shared the apprehensions of the rest of us.
“Oh, oh, Jack,” gasped his sister.
“All right, Mary. Don’t be frightened; but this place is largely what
the French call a ‘House of Pleasure’ and it’s just as well Little
Partner should be warned.”
If the French mean anything dreadful by “House of Pleasure,” the words
conveyed nothing more to me than what I had found it, a place frequented
by men and women, many of them vulgar, who drank cocktails and smoked
cigarettes. But why should I be warned?
“I’m sure I’ve had dinner there often,” spoke up Mumsie, “and I know
many good people who frequently go there for tea.” That was comforting
anyhow.
“Yes,” drawled Mr. Bang, “ostensibly it’s an hotel.”
Then Uncle hit me a blow when he said, “But Belle, you would not care to
hear that Elsie had been seen in the Palm-room there, would you?” I am
quite sure that Uncle did not know the truth; though his nephew may
have. But oh! the pain it gave me, the agony of doubt and apprehension!
“Not exactly,” said Mumsie.
“The hotel was built to fill a long felt want,” said Uncle.
“And thereby hangs a tale,” retorted the nephew. “According to
Timkins,—(the blessed Timkins)—when the idea of building the hotel
came up, the Jinricky family led the patriotic enterprise. They invited
aid from the public-spirited, and opened a stock list. The hotel was
built and then the owning company leased it to an operating
company—which was the Jinrickeys—with the result that the stock of the
original company is worthless, while the stock of the new company is
profitable.”
“It was a palpable fraud,” murmured Mumsie.
“But unfortunately, a fraud the law can’t punish,” commented Uncle.
“It simply shows what people owning millions will do. There’s no measure
to human avarice. Personally, I refuse to have anything to do with
people who derive revenue from whiskey, either directly or through
stock-holdings. I have worked with a pick and shovel, rather than make
money by selling whiskey. Selling whiskey is absolutely beyond the pale,
and I claim the right to despise all those connected with it, down half
a dozen generations.”
At the end of this speech Sister Mary began to smile, finding relief no
doubt in the idea that her brother had spent his store of fury. I
believe his ill-nature accumulates till it gushes like a geyser, or
erupts like a volcano, which having gushed or erupted feels at ease. I
rather believe he is incensed with me. I am sure he knows I have been to
the Henry-the-Eighth. But I do not care, who is he?
In honour of Sister Mary we invaded Uncle’s den and talked, at least
Mumsie and Sister Mary and Uncle talked. Mr. Bang and I listened.
Perhaps only I was listening, for I do not think Mr. Bang paid the least
attention to the conversation. He seemed lost in his own thoughts. I can
see the antagonism existing between that brother and sister. To Mary,
Jack is still the _enfant terrible_. In her presence he becomes even
more irascible, and bridles up as if anticipating a reproof from her for
anything he may say. She seems always prepared to disagree with him,
and, at this, one perhaps may not wonder.
Uncle went into raptures over Jessie and Lawrence—Jessie is so bright,
so original, so active, and vivacious; and Lawrence has the makings of a
fine boy. I won’t try to describe either mother or children, for I do
not consider I shall ever be clever enough to write of children, and I
am quite sure Sister Mary is too deep for me to fathom.
When I might I slipped off to my own room—to think. The shock Uncle
gave me at dinner still hurt, and I am beginning to think the game is
not worth the candle. I believe in my efforts to get into society, I
have merely got switched into the fast set, and this is more than I
bargained for. How my head aches—and my nerves are all on edge.
Cocktails and cigarettes!
No further engagement was made with me by Charlie. I think I shall leave
the future to him. If he wishes to see me again, he can ring me up or
write. Since I arrived in town I have sought pleasure assiduously and
found—sensations. I dwell in fear continuously—fear that I shall be
discovered in my duplicity. Life is a nightmare—and yet I go on! No
doubt my remorse is due to reaction after this afternoon’s festivities.
If only Mr. Bang were as nice as I believe him to be good! Why are good
people so uninteresting, and in some cases so—positively repugnant?
Nothing on the tapis for to-morrow but writing this wretched diary
and—possibly a shopping expedition.