A LANDING
The _Ariani_ was to sail that evening, her destination being Miami and
the West Coast where Portlaw desired to do some tarpon fishing and
Wayward had railroad interests. Malcourt, always in a receptive
attitude, was quite ready to go anywhere when invited. Otherwise he
preferred a remunerative attention to business.
Hamil, however, though with the gay company aboard, was not of them; he
had business at Palm Beach; his luggage had already been sent ashore;
and now, prepared to follow, he stood a little apart from the others on
the moonlit deck, making his adieux to the master of the _Ariani_.
"It's been perfectly stunning--this cruise," he said. "It was kind of
you, Wayward; I don't know how to tell you how kind--but your boat's a
corker and you are another--"
"Do you like this sort of thing?" asked Wayward grimly.
"Like it? It's only a part of your ordinary lives--yours and Portlaw's;
so you are not quite fitted to understand. But, Wayward, I've been in
heavy harness. You have been doing this sort of heavenly thing--how many
years?"
"Too many. Tell me; you've really made good this last year, haven't you,
Garry?"
Hamil nodded. "I had to."
He laid his hand on the older man's arm. "Why do you know," he said,
"when they gave me that first commission for the little park at Hampton
Hills--thanks to you--I hadn't five dollars in all the world."
Wayward stood looking at him through his spectacles, absently pulling at
his moustache, which was already partly gray.
"Garry," he said in his deep, pleasant voice that was however never very
clear, "Portlaw tells me that you are to do his place. Then there are
the new parks in Richmond Borough, and this enormous commission down
here among the snakes and jungles. Well--God bless you. You're
twenty-five and busy. I'm forty-five and"--he looked drearily into the
younger man's eyes--"burnt out," he said with his mirthless laugh--"and
still drenching the embers with the same stuff that set 'em ablaze....
Good-bye, Garry. Your boat's alongside. My compliments to your aunt."
At the gangway the younger man bade adieu to Malcourt and Portlaw,
laughing as the latter indignantly requested to know why Hamil wasted
his time attending to business.
Malcourt drew him aside:
"So you're going to rig up a big park and snake preserve for Neville
Cardross?"
"I'm going to try, Louis. You know the family, I believe, don't you?"
Malcourt gazed placidly at him. "Very well indeed," he replied
deliberately. "They're a, good, domestic, mother-pin-a-rose-on-me sort
of family.... I'm a sort of distant cousin--run of the house and
privilege of kissing the girls--not now, but once. I'm going to stay
there when we get back from Miami."
"You didn't tell me that?" observed Hamil, surprised.
"No," said Malcourt carelessly, "I didn't know it myself. Just made up
my mind to do it. Saves hotel expenses. Well--your cockle-shell is
waiting. Give my regards to the family--particularly to Shiela." He
looked curiously at Hamil; "particularly to Shiela," he repeated; but
Hamil missed the expression of his eyes in the dusk.
"Are you really going to throw us over like this?" demanded Portlaw as
the young men turned back together across the deck.
"Got to do it," said Hamil cheerfully, offering his hand in adieu.
"Don't plead necessity," insisted Portlaw. "You've just landed old man
Cardross, and you've got the Richmond parks, and you're going to sting
me for more than I'm worth. Why on earth do you cut and run this way?"
"No man in his proper senses really knows why he does anything.
Seriously, Portlaw, my party is ended--"
"Destiny gave Ulysses a proud party that lasted ten years; wasn't it
ten, Malcourt?" demanded Portlaw. "Stay with us, son; you've nine years
and eleven months of being a naughty boy coming to you--including a few
Circes and grand slams--"
"He's met his Circe," cut in Malcourt, leaning languidly over the rail;
"she's wearing a scarlet handkerchief this season--"
Portlaw, laughing fatly, nodded. "Louis discovered your Circe through
the glasses climbing into your boat--"
"What a busy little beast you are, Malcourt," observed Hamil, annoyed,
glancing down at the small boat alongside.
"'Beast' is good! You mean the mere sight of her transformed Louis into
the classic shote," added Portlaw, laughing louder as Hamil, still
smiling through his annoyance, went over the side. And a moment later
the gig shot away into the star-set darkness.
From the bridge Wayward wearily watched it through his night glasses;
Malcourt, slim and graceful, sat on the rail and looked out into the
Southern dusk, an unlighted cigarette between his lips.
"That kills our four at Bridge," grumbled Portlaw, leaning heavily
beside him. "We'll have to play Klondike and Preference now, or call in
the ship's cat.... Hello, is that you, Jim?" as Wayward came aft,
limping a trifle as he did at certain times.
"That girl had a good figure--through the glasses. I couldn't make out
her face; it was probably the limit; combinations are rare," mused
Malcourt. "And then--the fog came! It was like one of those low-down
classical tricks of Jupiter when caught philandering."
Portlaw laughed till his bulky body shook. "The Olympian fog was
wasted," he said; "John Garret Hamil 3d still preserves his nursery
illusions."
"He's lucky," remarked Wayward, staring into the gloom.
"But not fortunate," added Malcourt; "there's a difference between luck
and fortune. Read the French classics."
Wayward growled; Malcourt, who always took a malicious amusement in
stirring him up, grinned at him sideways.
"No man is fit for decent society until he's lost all his illusions," he
said, "particularly concerning women."
"Some of us have been fools enough to lose our illusions," retorted
Wayward sharply, "but you never had any, Malcourt; and that's no
compliment from me to you."
Portlaw chuckled. "We never lose illusions; we mislay 'em," he
suggested; "and then we are pretty careful to mislay only that
particular illusion which inconveniences us." He jerked his heavy head
in Malcourt's direction. "Nobody clings more frantically to illusions
than your unbaked cynic; Louis, you're not nearly such a devil of a
fellow as you imagine you are."
Malcourt smiled easily and looked out over the waves.
"Cynicism is old-fashioned," he said; "dogma is up to date. Credo! I
believe in a personal devil, virtuous maidens in bowers, and rosewood
furniture. As for illusions I cherish as many as you do!" He turned with
subtle impudence to Wayward. "And the world is littered with the
shattered fragments."
"It's littered with pups, too," observed Wayward, turning on his heel.
And he walked away, limping, his white mess jacket a pale spot in the
gloom.
Malcourt looked after him; an edge of teeth glimmering beneath his full
upper lip.
"It might be more logical if he'd cut out his alcohol before he starts
in as a gouty marine missionary," he observed. "Last night he sat there
looking like a superannuated cavalry colonel in spectacles, neuritis
twitching his entire left side, unable to light his own cigar; and there
he sat and rambled on and on about innate purity and American
womanhood."
He turned abruptly as a steward stepped up bearing a decanter and tray
of glasses.
Portlaw helped himself, grumbling under his breath that he meant to cut
out this sort of thing and set Wayward an example.
Malcourt lifted his glass gaily:
"Our wives and sweethearts; may they never meet!"
They set back their empty glasses; Portlaw started to move away, still
muttering about the folly of self-indulgence; but the other detained
him.
"Wayward took it out of me in 'Preference' this morning while Garry was
out courting. I'd better liquidate to-night, hadn't I, Billy?"
"Certainly," said Portlaw.
The other shook his head. "I'll get it all back at Miami, of course. In
the mean time--if you don't mind letting me have enough to square
things--"
Portlaw hesitated, balancing his bulk uneasily first on one foot, then
the other.
"I don't mind; no; only--"
"Only what?" asked Malcourt. "I told you I couldn't afford to play cards
on this trip, but you insisted."
"Certainly, certainly! I expected to consider you as--as--"
"I'm your general manager and I'm ready at all times to earn my salary.
If you think it best to take me away from the estate for a junketing
trip and make me play cards you can do it of course; but if you think
I'm here to throw my money overboard I'm going back to-morrow!"
"Nonsense," said Portlaw; "you're not going back. There's nothing doing
in winter up there that requires your personal attention--"
"It's a bad winter for the deer--I ought to be there now--"
"Well, can't Blake and O'Connor attend to that?"
"Yes, I suppose they can. But I'm not going to waste the winter and my
salary in the semi-tropics just because you want me to--"
"O Lord!" said Portlaw, "what are you kicking about? Have I ever--"
"You force me to be plain-spoken; you never seem to understand that if
you insist on my playing the wealthy do-nothing that you've got to keep
me going. And I tell you frankly, Billy, I'm tired of it."
"Oh, don't flatten your ears and show your teeth," protested Portlaw
amiably. "I only supposed you had enough--with such a salary--to give
yourself a little rope on a trip like this, considering you've nobody
but yourself to look out for, and that _I_ do that and pay you heavily
for the privilege"--his voice had become a mumble--"and all you do is to
take vacations in New York or sit on a horse and watch an army of men
plant trout and pheasants, and cut out ripe timber--O hell!"
"_What_ did you say?"
Portlaw became good-humouredly matter of fact: "I _said_ 'hell,'
Louis--which meant, 'what's the use of squabbling.' It also means that
you are going to have what you require as a matter of course; so come on
down to my state-room and let us figure it up before Jim Wayward begins
to turn restless and limp toward the card-room."
As they turned and strolled forward, Malcourt nudged him:
"Look at the fireworks over Lake Worth," he said; "probably Palm Beach's
welcome to her new and beardless prophet."
"It's one of their cheap Venetian fêtes," muttered Portlaw. "I know 'em;
they're rather amusing. If we weren't sailing in an hour we'd go. No
doubt Hamil's in it already; probably Cardross put him next to a bunch
of dreams and he's right in it at this very moment."
"With the girl in the red handkerchief," added Malcourt. "I wish we had
time."
"I believe I've seen that girl somewhere," mused Portlaw.
"Perhaps you have; there are all kinds at Palm Beach, even yours, and,"
he added with his easy impudence, "I expect to preserve my notions
concerning every one of them. Ho! Look at that sheaf of sky-rockets,
Billy! Zip! Whir-r! Bang! Great is Diana of the Ephesians!--bless her
heart!"
"Going up like Garret Hamil's illusions," said Portlaw, sentimentally.
"I wonder if he sees 'em and considers the moral they are writing across
the stars. O slush! Life is like a stomach; if you fill it too full it
hurts you. What about _that_ epigram, Louis? What about it?"
The other's dark, graceful head was turned toward the fiery fête on
shore, and his busy thoughts were with that lithe, dripping figure he
had seen through the sea-glasses, climbing into a distant boat. For the
figure reminded him of a girl he had known very well when the world was
younger; and the memory was not wholly agreeable.