THE NAME ON THE BILLBOARD
Ryder arrived in New York after dark. He did not go to his rooms,
for he feared if he did so his presence would become known to some of
his friends and he would be obliged to make explanations.
When the taxicab deposited him, baggageless, at the hotel he
selected, he noted the variegated lights of a drugstore across the
street. He went into it before entering the hotel and shoved a
well-wrinkled prescription across the counter to the clerk. The
latter raised his brows.
"I've got to sleep tonight," John Ryder said quietly. "You will see
Dr. Harmstick's name clearly written on that prescription. He is my
family physician. Here is my card."
He got the drug, and, as soon as a room was assigned to him, took the
medicine and went to bed. He could not have slept without the dose,
and that took effect in a short time. But, superinduced by drugs as
it was, his sleep was not refreshing. However, his mind was clear
and his body alert and vigorous when he arose on Sunday morning.
He sent a boy to skirmish for clean linen and a fresh tie, and made
himself presentable before going down for a bit of breakfast. He had
eaten practically nothing the day before, and while he ate now he
tried to plan his future course of action.
Future! Why, the word held nothing for him but the promise of
continued pain and shame. John Ryder of spotless name had given that
name into the keeping of a woman who was unworthy of it--whether she
had intentionally flouted him or not, this fact seemed to be
established. The newspapers must soon learn the story of his
marriage fiasco. It would be blazoned forth for the whole world to
read.
He would be a marked man. John Ryder, the man who had married a
woman offhand, without knowing anything about her! At least, he had
known her but seven days. And she had run away from him with another
man!
It would be a nice bit for the scandal mongers. It would be
something he could never live down. Every man with whom he did
business hereafter would be saying to himself while in Ryder's
presence:
"There must be something the matter with this fellow. They say his
wife ran away from him the day after they were married."
Yet, even these thoughts were not the bitterest in his soul. Higher
than the shame of having his trouble publicly known and discussed,
rose the fact that he had lost the treasure to which his heart clung.
Ruth was the one woman in the world whom he had ever, or could ever,
love. He felt it--he knew it!
Short as their acquaintance had been, Ryder knew that he loved Ruth
as he should never be able to love another woman. He had thought he
loved her when he had first seen her on the deck of the _Minnequago_;
but since their marriage--since the old clergyman had pronounced them
man and wife--a deeper and more tender feeling for his girlish bride
had grown in his mind and heart.
On shipboard, coming over, she had merely been a beautiful
creature--a woman of heart and mind and of fine physique--who
attracted his admiration and fired his passion.
Once bound, as he supposed legally and holily to Ruth Mont, his love
for her had taken on a deeper meaning. He was not a man who
philosophized much, or who catechised his own motives or thoughts;
but he knew that a subtle change had taken place in his feelings
toward the woman even before the minister had joined their hands.
It had been half pique and half determination to obtain his own
desire that had made him write that peremptory note to Miss Mont
before the _Minnequago_ docked. It grated upon him to think of a man
like Marks bearing off such a prize, even in a sordid business
transaction.
But the instant he had seen Ruth waiting for him when he landed--the
moment she had put her hands into his--the instant she had whispered:
"I will marry you," a greater love had leaped into full and glowing
life in John Ryder's bosom.
It was no longer a matter of mutual attraction, or the charm of her
beautiful face and figure, or her mental attributes that held him
captive. From that moment of their meeting on the dock his heart
knew her heart; they had become one.
And this knowledge, which he could not scorn or overlook despite all
that had happened since, made the darker part of the puzzle. Had he
not been sure of his love and of her love, he could have understood
in part how she had come to leave him and go with this other man.
For he could not accept the suggestion that all her sweetness and
sheer happiness as a bride was merely a pose. That, as an actress,
she had simulated a part. No, the woman did not live, he believed,
who could so befool him.
He gazed out of the restaurant window at the church parade on the
broad Fifth Avenue walk, and with eyes that saw more than the passing
throng. Two or three couples went by whom he knew--men and their
wives going home after service.
They suggested domesticity, companionship, the best there is for
human beings in this old world of ours. He realized what he had
lost--aye, what he had merely grasped at only to have the treasure
snatched from him by this cruel turn of fate.
Later he went out and wandered about somewhat aimlessly. Not that he
expected to find either of the two people he was looking for. They
would not be in the Sunday street crowd. And yet he could not help
looking into the faces of those he met with keen scrutiny.
He could not easily set on foot any serious search for Ruth and White
on Sunday. Nor was he sure he wished to. The thought of bringing
the police or even private detectives into the case horrified him.
Yet, was he to lose Ruth without lifting a hand to win her back?
All day long John Ryder weltered in the waters of indecision. Should
he seek Ruth through the regular police channels? Should he let
matters run their own course? This was a new state of mind for the
determined, decisive business man.
Somewhere over on the West Side, about seven o'clock he dropped in at
a restaurant to dine. Afterward he wandered slowly down the broad
and busy avenue that lends itself the airs of Broadway after dark,
jostled by the crowds, without a person to speak to and desirous
indeed of no companionship.
He came to a theater before which was a huge billboard that
advertised mockingly "Sacred Concert," following which was a long
list of vaudeville turns. Many of the crowd turned in here. There
were speculators at the door hawking tickets, and a little eddy of
people held up John Ryder. His eye caught, altogether by accident it
would seem, in flaring red type, the following announcement:
SPECIAL ATTRACTION
First Appearance
of
ENGLAND'S MOST FAMOUS ENTERTAINER
MISS MONT
Imitator and Comédienne
Under the sole management of Mr. Sam Marks
Seeing that he was attracting attention, Ryder moved away. People
were looking into his face curiously. He felt his heart pounding as
though it would burst through the shell of his chest. Rage blinded
him. Despair shook him through every fibre of his being.
The half darkness of a narrower thoroughfare offered him shelter.
The horror and shame of his position well nigh leveled John Ryder's
pride with the ground.
He saw what it all meant now. There could be, he thought, no further
doubt or mistake. She had intended to do this from the first. Marks
had doubtless put her up to it. The scandal of her having married
Ryder and left him after twenty-four hours--on some trumped up charge
of course--would give her an amount of free advertising such as no
vaudeville actress could resist!
The story was already in the papers. John Ryder could not doubt it.
His friends were laughing at his predicament. And how coolly, and
with what utter heartlessness, had the game been played upon him.
Doubtless the woman had been under contract with Marks when the ship
left the other side. Ryder had foolishly showed her that he was in
love with her. Between them, Marks and the girl had hatched this
plot.
And who was White? The answer was easy.
He was some poor actor whom Marks had hired to impersonate a wronged
lover or husband, whichever might best fit the needs of the case.
His following them to the Pinewood Inn had been for the purpose of
creating a scene that would separate the newly wedded couple.
Mrs. Judson's illness had precluded the necessity for that scene.
Fate had played into the hands of the heartless jade; and when the
game had gone far enough for her purpose, she had run away and
returned to New York to fill this, her initial engagement before an
American public.
He even understood now about those pretty frocks she had worn. Of
course they were a part of a stage wardrobe Miss Mont already
possessed.
These thoughts all but turned John Ryder's brain. He found himself
after a time back at the entrance to the theater. But he could not
have told how he got there. One of the ticket speculators assailed
him.
"Best seat in the house, boss. Right down front on the side. Two
bucks. See the whole show."
"When does Miss--Miss Mont come on?"
"Nine-thirty."
"Is she----"
"She's a corker! She had her try-out before the manager and a crowd
of newspaper sharps this morning, and she's a scream. They'll put
out the S.R.O. signs on her for the rest of the week--you take it
from me."
Ryder bought the seat and passed in at the orchestra entrance of the
theater.