At this point a maid announced that supper was served and instantly
Gilbert took his departure. At the same time the family arose and Mrs.
Griffiths asked the maid: "Has Bella telephoned yet?"
"No, ma'am," replied the servant, "not yet."
"Well, have Mrs. Truesdale call up the Finchleys and see if she's
there. You tell her I said that she is to come home at once."
The maid departed for a moment while the group proceeded to the dining
room, which lay to the west of the stairs at the rear. Again, as Clyde
saw, this was another splendidly furnished room done in a very light
brown, with a long center table of carved walnut, evidently used only
for special occasions. It was surrounded by high-backed chairs and
lighted by candelabras set at even spaces upon it. In a lower ceilinged
and yet ample circular alcove beyond this, looking out on the garden to
the south, was a smaller table set for six. It was in this alcove that
they were to dine, a different thing from what Clyde had expected for
some reason.
Seated in a very placid fashion, he found himself answering questions
principally as to his own family, the nature of its life, past and
present; how old was his father now? His mother? What had been the
places of their residence before moving to Denver? How many brothers
and sisters had he? How old was his older sister, Esta? What did she
do? And the others? Did his father like managing a hotel? What had been
the nature of his father's work in Kansas City? How long had the family
lived there?
Clyde was not a little troubled and embarrassed by this chain of
questions which flowed rather heavily and solemnly from Samuel
Griffiths or his wife. And from Clyde's hesitating replies, especially
in regard to the nature of the family life in Kansas City, both
gathered that he was embarrassed and troubled by some of the questions.
They laid it to the extreme poverty of their relatives, of course. For
having asked, "I suppose you began your hotel work in Kansas City,
didn't you, after you left school?" Clyde blushed deeply, bethinking
himself of the incident of the stolen car and of how little real
schooling he had had. Most certainly he did not like the thought of
having himself identified with hotel life in Kansas City, and more
especially the Green-Davidson.
But fortunately at this moment, the door opened and Bella entered,
accompanied by two girls such as Clyde would have assumed at once
belonged to this world. How different to Rita and Zella with whom
his thought so recently had been disturbedly concerned. He did not
know Bella, of course, until she proceeded most familiarly to address
her family. But the others--one was Sondra Finchley, so frequently
referred to by Bella and her mother--as smart and vain and sweet a
girl as Clyde had ever laid his eyes upon--so different to any he
had ever known and so superior. She was dressed in a close-fitting
tailored suit which followed her form exactly and which was enhanced
by a small dark leather hat, pulled fetchingly low over her eyes. A
leather belt of the same color encircled her neck. By a leather leash
she led a French bull and over one arm carried a most striking coat of
black and gray checks--not too pronounced and yet having the effect
of a man's modish overcoat. To Clyde's eyes she was the most adorable
feminine thing he had seen in all his days. Indeed her effect on him
was electric--thrilling--arousing in him a curiously stinging sense of
what it was to want and not to have--to wish to win and yet to feel,
almost agonizingly, that he was destined not even to win a glance from
her. It tortured and flustered him. At one moment he had a keen desire
to close his eyes and shut her out--at another to look only at her
constantly--so truly was he captivated.
Yet, whether she saw him or not, she gave no sign at first, exclaiming
to her dog: "Now, Bissell, if you're not going to behave, I'm going to
take you out and tie you out there. Oh, I don't believe I can stay a
moment if he won't behave better than this." He had seen a family cat
and was tugging to get near her.
Beside her was another girl whom Clyde did not fancy nearly so much,
and yet who, after her fashion, was as smart as Sondra and perhaps as
alluring to some. She was blonde--tow-headed--with clear almond-shaped,
greenish-gray eyes, a small, graceful, catlike figure, and a slinky
feline manner. At once, on entering, she sidled across the room to the
end of the table where Mrs. Griffiths sat and leaning over her at once
began to purr.
"Oh, how are you, Mrs. Griffiths? I'm so glad to see you again. It's
been some time since I've been over here, hasn't it? But then Mother
and I have been away. She and Grant are over at Albany to-day. And I
just picked up Bella and Sondra here at the Lamberts'. You're just
having a quiet little supper by yourselves, aren't you? How are you,
Myra?" she called, and reaching over Mrs. Griffiths' shoulder touched
Myra quite casually on the arm, as though it were more a matter of form
than anything else.
In the meantime Bella, who next to Sondra seemed to Clyde decidedly
the most charming of the three, was exclaiming: "Oh, I'm late. Sorry,
Mamma and Daddy. Won't that do this time?" Then noting Clyde, and as
though for the first time, although he had risen as they entered and
was still standing, she paused in semi-mock modesty as did the others.
And Clyde, over-sensitive to just such airs and material distinctions,
was fairly tremulous with a sense of his own inadequacy, as he waited
to be introduced. For to him, youth and beauty in such a station as
this represented the ultimate triumph of the female. His weakness for
Hortense Briggs, to say nothing of Rita, who was not so attractive as
either of these, illustrated the effect of trim femininity on him,
regardless of merit.
"Bella," observed Samuel Griffiths, heavily, noting Clyde still
standing, "your cousin, Clyde."
"Oh, yes," replied Bella, observing that Clyde looked exceedingly like
Gilbert. "How are you? Mother has been saying that you were coming to
call one of these days." She extended a finger or two, then turned
toward her friends. "My friends, Miss Finchley and Miss Cranston, Mr.
Griffiths."
The two girls bowed, each in the most stiff and formal manner, at the
same time studying Clyde most carefully and rather directly, "Well, he
does look like Gil a lot, doesn't he?" whispered Sondra to Bertine, who
had drawn near to her. And Bertine replied: "I never saw anything like
it. He's really better-looking, isn't he--a lot?"
Sondra nodded, pleased to note in the first instance that he was
somewhat better-looking than Bella's brother, whom she did not
like--next that he was obviously stricken with her, which was her
due, as she invariably decided in connection with youths thus smitten
with her. But having thus decided, and seeing that his glance was
persistently and helplessly drawn to her, she concluded that she need
pay no more attention to him, for the present anyway. He was too easy.
But now Mrs. Griffiths, who had not anticipated this visitation and was
a little irritated with Bella for introducing her friends at this time
since it at once raised the question of Clyde's social position here,
observed: "Hadn't you two better lay off your coats and sit down? I'll
just have Nadine lay extra plates at this end. Bella, you can sit next
to your father."
"Oh, no, not at all," and "No, indeed, we're just on our way home
ourselves. I can't stay a minute," came from Sondra and Bertine. But
now that they were here and Clyde had proved to be as attractive as he
was, they were perversely interested to see what, if any, social flare
there was to him. Gilbert Griffiths, as both knew, was far from being
popular in some quarters--their own in particular, however much they
might like Bella. He was, for two such self-centered beauties as these,
too aggressive, self-willed and contemptuous at times. Whereas Clyde,
if one were to judge by his looks, at least was much more malleable.
And if it were to prove now that he was of equal station, or that the
Griffiths thought so, decidedly he would be available locally, would he
not? At any rate, it would be interesting to know whether he was rich.
But this thought was almost instantly satisfied by Mrs. Griffiths, who
observed rather definitely and intentionally to Bertine: "Mr. Griffiths
is a nephew of ours from the West who has come on to see if he can make
a place for himself in my husband's factory. He's a young man who has
to make his own way in the world and my husband has been kind enough to
give him an opportunity."
Clyde flushed, since obviously this was a notice to him that his social
position here was decidedly below that of the Griffiths or these girls.
At the same time, as he also noticed, the look of Bertine Cranston,
who was only interested in youths of means and position, changed from
one of curiosity to marked indifference. On the other hand, Sondra
Finchley, by no means so practical as her friend, though of a superior
station in her set, since she was so very attractive and her parents
possessed of even more means--re-surveyed Clyde with one thought
written rather plainly on her face, that it was too bad. He really was
so attractive.
At the same time Samuel Griffiths, having a peculiar fondness for
Sondra, if not Bertine, whom Mrs. Griffiths also disliked as being too
tricky and sly, was calling to her: "Here, Sondra, tie up your dog to
one of the dining-room chairs and come and sit by me. Throw your coat
over that chair. Here's room for you." He motioned to her to come.
"But I can't, Uncle Samuel!" called Sondra, familiarly and showily and
yet somehow sweetly, seeking to ingratiate herself by this affected
relationship. "We're late now. Besides Bissell won't behave. Bertine
and I are just on our way home, truly."
"Oh, yes, Papa," put in Bella, quickly, "Bertine's horse ran a nail in
his foot yesterday and is going lame to-day. And neither Grant nor his
father is home. She wants to know if you know anything that's good for
it."
"Which foot is it?" inquired Griffiths, interested, while Clyde
continued to survey Sondra as best he might. She was so delicious, he
thought--her nose so tiny and tilted--her upper lip arched so roguishly
upward toward her nose.
"It's the left fore. I was riding out on the East Kingston road
yesterday afternoon. Jerry threw a shoe and must have picked up a
splinter, but John doesn't seem to be able to find it."
"Did you ride him much with the nail, do you think?"
"About eight miles--all the way back."
"Well, you had better have John put on some liniment and a bandage and
call a veterinary. He'll come around all right, I'm sure."
The group showed no signs of leaving and Clyde, left quite to himself
for the moment, was thinking what an easy, delightful world this must
be--this local society. For here they were without a care, apparently,
between any of them. All their talk was of houses being built, horses
they were riding, friends they had met, places they were going to,
things they were going to do. And there was Gilbert, who had left
only a little while before--motoring somewhere with a group of young
men. And Bella, his cousin, trifling around with these girls in the
beautiful homes of this street, while he was shunted away in a small
third-floor room at Mrs. Cuppy's with no place to go. And with only
fifteen dollars a week to live on. And in the morning he would be
working in the basement again, while these girls were rising to more
pleasure. And out in Denver were his parents with their small lodging
house and mission, which he dared not even describe accurately here.
Suddenly the two girls declaring they must go, they took themselves
off. And he and the Griffiths were once more left to themselves--he
with the feeling that he was very much out of place and neglected here,
since Samuel Griffiths and his wife and Bella, anyhow, if not Myra,
seemed to be feeling that he was merely being permitted to look into
a world to which he did not belong; also, that because of his poverty
it would be impossible to fit him into--however much he might dream
of associating with three such wonderful girls as these. And at once
he felt sad--very--his eyes and his mood darkening so much that not
only Samuel Griffiths, but his wife as well as Myra noticed it. If he
could enter upon this world, find some way. But of the group it was
only Myra, not any of the others, who sensed that in all likelihood he
was lonely and depressed. And in consequence as all were rising and
returning to the large living room (Samuel chiding Bella for her habit
of keeping her family waiting) it was Myra who drew near to Clyde to
say: "I think after you've been here a little while you'll probably
like Lycurgus better than you do now, even. There are quite a number of
interesting places to go and see around here--lakes and the Adirondacks
are just north of here, about seventy miles. And when the summer comes
and we get settled at Greenwood, I'm sure Father and Mother will like
you to come up there once in a while."
She was by no means sure that this was true, but under the
circumstances, whether it was or not, she felt like saying it to Clyde.
And thereafter, since he felt more comfortable with her, he talked with
her as much as he could without neglecting either Bella or the family,
until about half-past nine, when, suddenly feeling very much out of
place and alone, he arose saying that he must go, that he had to get up
early in the morning. And as he did so, Samuel Griffiths walked with
him to the front door and let him out. But he, too, by now, as had
Myra before him, feeling that Clyde was rather attractive and yet, for
reasons of poverty, likely to be neglected from now on, not only by his
family, but by himself as well, observed most pleasantly, and, as he
hoped, compensatively: "It's rather nice out, isn't it? Wykeagy Avenue
hasn't begun to show what it can do yet because the spring isn't quite
here. But in a few weeks," and he looked up most inquiringly at the sky
and sniffed the late April air, "we must have you out. All the trees
and flowers will be in bloom then and you can see how really nice it
is. Good-night."
He smiled and put a very cordial note into his voice, and once more
Clyde felt that, whatever Gilbert Griffiths' attitude might be, most
certainly his father was not wholly indifferent to him.