THE CAT SHOWS HER CLAWS
Ryder had got all over the desire for human company. He did not even
care to ask how White was getting along, and the doctor had said not
a word about the man. Ryder was just about worn out. What he wanted
was rest and sleep.
He sought the parlor, determined to find a comfortable chair there,
in spite of Miss Solomons. But the house detective did not appear to
be present. James had fallen into a chair himself, and was snoring
with his head upon the back of the seat. Mr. Cudger was sleeping as
peacefully as a child. "The Cheesemonger" could have been stolen by
anybody who desired a new sail for a catboat, for instance, and had a
sharp knife to cut away the canvas from its frame.
Ryder settled into a chair with a groan, first being sure that it was
unoccupied. He closed his eyes. He was almost asleep when this
disturbing thought partially aroused him:
"_Ruth a trained nurse_? She spoke of it before. But she never told
me aboard the _Minnequago_. I remember distinctly that she said she
had learned nothing she could turn to good account, now that she was
left to her own resources, save her talent for stage entertainment.
"Humph! perhaps nursing isn't a well paid profession in England. In
America, I believe, when a trained nurse enters one's home, one might
as well hand her the bankbook.
"Don't understand it," said this new-made cynic. "Huh! There's a
lot of things I don't understand. One is, _Why is a honeymoon?_
"I've heard it said a man gets his eyes opened after he's married. I
swear my vision is fast becoming clouded. There are a lot of things
I want explained. Goodness! am I developing suspicious qualities
that I never knew I possessed before? It does seem as though a dozen
things poor Ruth has said puzzle me mightily.
"It must be because we have known each other so short a time, and our
whole affair was so hurried. Goodness! I haven't found time yet to
learn whether I am a benedict or still a bachelor. But how easily
she assumes the little airs and graces of a bride!
"I suppose most womenly women are so. Their whole young lives are
lived in preparation for this event--the event of giving themselves
into the keeping of the man they love." Ryder lacked expert
knowledge on this point, it will be noted. "And what an imaginary
little thing she is! Miss Solomons has nothing on Ruth when it comes
to imagination," and Ryder made a face in the dark at thought of the
house detective.
"To think of a girl's dreaming about what her husband, whom she does
not know and never has heard of, will be like; fairly conjuring up a
vision of the man which the real husband, when he appears, has to
stack up against.
"Bless her heart! If she believes me half as fine and noble as the
picture she imagined of the man she some day expected to marry----
By thunder! I wonder what is in that locket she wears and gazes at
so fondly?"
The thought pretty well awoke him. He cursed himself roundly, and
aloud, and James stirred in his sleep and groaned.
"Great heavens! That thought is unworthy of me--and of her!" Ryder
muttered. "Bless her sweet face! No woman could hold sacred the
memento of another man and show so clearly--as does Ruth--that she
loves her husband.
"Can I ever forget how she looked just now running through that hall?
She was wild to think that some harm had befallen me--befallen her
husband. No mistake there, John Ryder! You are it. You are the man
she loves."
He sighed ecstatically. He closed his eyes. He fell asleep almost
at once. James was snoring gently. Old Cudger added his nasal
murmur to James' snores. And from a distant corner that John Ryder
had overlooked, the eagle eye of the house detective still watched
him.
When John Ryder awoke he was stiff and lame and chilled to his
marrow. The candles had burned down to puddles of grease in the
saucers. A cold gray light stole into the parlor through a high
window and lay in a comfortless mantle over Mr. Cudger, James and
"The Cheesemonger."
The heart in John Ryder lay like lead. Never had he risen with such
a sickening premonition of ill as upon this gloomy Saturday morning.
Indeed, John Ryder was not in the habit of having premonitions at all.
He was a healthy, sane and perfectly level-headed individual. Never
before in his busy life had he found time for romance; and certainly
the brand of romance that Fate had handed out to him since the
_Minnequago_ had docked did not encourage Ryder to wish for more.
"It was Friday!" he suddenly muttered. "No wonder everything went
wrong. Friday!"
He was hungry for a sight of Ruth's face and for a word with her. In
spite of the feeling within him that everything had gone wrong during
the past several hours, he turned to the thought of his beautiful
girl-wife as a child turns to its mother when it wishes comfort.
Circumstances may have handed John Ryder some awful jolts during the
past night; but his thought of Ruth was one of joy and the delight of
possession. He started, rubbing his eyes and yawning, for Suite
Three.
Just as he reached the door a maid came out. She evidently
recognized Ryder when he asked:
"What's going on in there this morning?"
"Oh, she's sleeping, sir. Just as swate as a baby. I've been
filling the heater again and I left it burning, sir, so it would be
warm when she gets up. Yes, sir.
"Who? Mrs. Judson?" Ryder asked gloomily.
"Bless you! No, sir. _She_ went back to her own room hours ago.
Doctor says she's all right. Gittin' scare't about her jool'ry cured
her quicker than his medicines."
"She's gone!" cried Ryder in delight.
"Yes, sir. Oh, thank you, sir! 'Tis your own little lady I was
spakin' of. Shall--shall I open the door for ye, sir, with me pass
key?"
"No, no!" said John Ryder, blushing a little but feeling extremely
relieved. "I won't disturb her if she's sleeping," and he
immediately turned toward the breakfast room.
Going down the main stairway, he saw Colonel Aurelius Brack and his
wife before him, the doughty colonel having difficulty in making the
trip because of his artificial limb. He had gone up to his room the
night before while the elevators were still running, and now depended
upon the balustrade and his wife's arm to get safely to the bottom of
the flight of steps.
Mrs. Brack was a delightfully motherly looking woman with a face as
peaceful as the colonel's was stormy. He scowled savagely at John
Ryder. The latter wished for no words with the old fire-eater,
especially in the presence of his wife; but as he would have passed
them the woman placed a detaining hand on his arm.
"You are Mr. Ryder?" she asked sweetly.
Ryder felt his face flush, and he was as confused as a boy caught in
some peccadillo. He was sorry now that, in his ill temper, he had
treated the colonel so cavalierly in the café. The colonel looked
away from the younger man, but the latter could not avoid Mrs.
Brack's searching gaze.
"I am sure you are the gentleman who put himself out to make me
comfortable," she said softly. "I thank you very much for the stove
and light. It was very good of you to remember an old woman--and a
stranger. But I hope we will not be strangers now. I want to meet
your charming wife, whom I saw at dinner last evening."
"Thank you, Madam!" exclaimed Ryder, his coldness melted instantly by
her courtesy. "But you should thank the clerk and the steward.
Without their advice and assistance I should not have known those
guests who were clearly entitled to consideration."
He bowed and passed down ahead of the old couple. There was a
strange face at the desk in place of George's so he went on to the
breakfast room where Al himself stood directing the guests to their
tables. There was plainly a dearth of waiters. Several of the oil
heaters had been brought in here, and with screens about the tables
to fend off any possible draught, the guests were being made
comfortable.
As Ryder stopped to speak to Al, Mrs. Judson and the hard-featured
committee woman of the S.B.C.D.G. swept in. The widow did not look
like a person who had spent a hard night. Ryder felt his gorge rise
at her fresh and rejuvenated appearance.
Ruth had been utterly worn out and he had spent a most woful time
from midnight till dawn, all because of this hysterical woman. And
here she was as fresh as a daisy! That the widow bowed very
distantly to him, Ryder did not remark--nor would he have cared in
the least had he noticed her haughtiness.
"Let me find a table for you, Mr. Ryder," Al said. "Your lady will
not be down?"
"Not yet. She is still asleep."
"I'll speak to the chef," promised the steward. "She shall have
something nice for breakfast sent up to her when she rings. We have
warned most of the other guests that it will be impossible to serve
breakfasts upstairs until we get more help."
He led Ryder to a small table next to that occupied by Mrs. Judson
and the other woman, but there was a screen between the two tables
and the women did not know of Ryder's presence.
"Wasn't that the Mr. Ryder who bought the lamps for us?" the
hard-featured woman asked, quite loud enough for the man in question
to hear. "That man who stood in the doorway?"
"Oh!" ejaculated the widow, "_is_ that his name? Are you sure?"
"So I am told. He was pointed out to me last evening by a gentleman
who knows him. John Ryder. One of the shrewdest speculators in Wall
Street they say. Quite remarkable that he should have played the
Good Angel to us all after cornering the heating and lighting
supplies of the town," and she laughed unpleasantly.
"Oh, my!" drawled Mrs. Judson. "Are you _sure, quite sure_, that is
his name?"
"Certainly."
"Well--I--declare!" gasped the widow, breathlessly. Ryder might have
risen and sought another table, but her next words held him
motionless in his chair. "Do you know, I _thought_ there was
something very odd about them. I never heard the like in all my
life! And I should have _known_, too, after what Miss Solomons said.
_She_ declares they tried to rob me----"
"Who tried to rob you?" exclaimed the other woman, evidently puzzled.
"This Ryder, as he calls himself, and that woman with him."
"Why, Ryder is his name I tell you," declared her vis-à-vis at table.
"Then," said the widow in an impressive tone, "that woman with him is
not his wife."
"_What!_"
Ryder might have uttered that exclamation himself, there was so much
emphasis in it. The dull red of rage rose in his cheek. He was
tempted to leap up and kick aside the screen and----
"It--it is awful!" wailed Mrs. Judson. "And people have seen me with
them. I--I was over-urged by them to take supper at their table last
night. And it was in their rooms I had my bad spell later. You
know, dear, I am not at all myself when I get hysterical. I am not
accountable for what I do. The doctor says so himself. But when
Miss Solomons interfered and kept them from robbing me----"
"Robbing you!" gasped the other woman. "How terrible!"
"Wasn't it? That girl really is sharp. Of course, it seems strange
to have a girl for a house detective, and she is dreadfully slangy
and bookish----"
"Yes, yes!" murmured the other. "But tell me about this Ryder and
the woman? Of course, he would not have robbed you. It must have
been the woman--some awful creature he has brought here, of course.
Men are such beasts!"
"Aren't they?" agreed the widow. "And she gave me quite another name
from Ryder. The bold thing!"
"Are they here under an alias?" gasped the other gossip. "I was told
they had only just been married."
"They can't be married at all. She doesn't go by his name. I never
heard of anything so disgraceful--and right here at the Pinewood Inn
which is supposed to be so select."
Ryder rose up so suddenly that he kicked over his chair. He wanted
to kick away the screen, too, and fall tooth and nail upon "that old
cat who dared say such vile things about Ruth."
Not daring to trust himself even to look at the two women, he hurried
out of the room, completely forgetting his breakfast.
"There!" he muttered, striding in the direction of the café. "That
serves us right for associating with strangers. Ruth shouldn't have
taken up with her in the first place.
"Hang it! I should not have allowed the woman's familiarity myself.
I could have nipped it in the bud last night at supper. I shouldn't
expect an unsophisticated girl like Ruth to see through such an old
stager as that Judson. And Miss Solomons! Gad!
"How can human beings be so cruel to each other? Women in
particular! It is a mystery to me!
"What did the old cat mean about Ruth giving her another name? I
swear I must have a talk with Ruth. Not my wife? Heavens on earth!
when I've got the certificate of our marriage right here in my
pocket?" and he struck himself on the breast with emphasis.
"If that old fool keeps up her clatter I may have to have the
certificate photographed and a copy handed to every guest of the
Pinewood Inn!"