SOME OLD ACQUAINTANCES
I had dropped most of the old crowd--rather, they dropped me, not
approving of my new mode of life--but that evening, Saturday, I dined
with Roupell at Sherry's. It was one of those invitations, long
standing, you can't avoid without giving serious offense, and I had
nothing against the jovial Falstaff. Blunt's remark that he might be
connected with the Black Company was simply a haphazard one, for all my
acquaintances might be open to the same suspicion, and I had thought
little more about it.
"What!" he exclaimed, visibly affected, when I turned down his offer of
a drink. "This is a staggering blow. Come, surely you're not going to
compel me to drink alone? Only one glass, just to be sociable."
"Not one drop," I said, though every fiber of me was crying out in
protest. It was my first big temptation, and I set my teeth to meet it.
"You don't mean you've gone temperance?" he asked incredulously. "I
heard a tale to that effect, but couldn't believe it. Is it because of
that Red Bank affair? My dear man, a miss is as good as a mile. Why do
penance for something never committed?"
"No credit to me that it wasn't. I can never forget what might and, by
all odds, should have happened. No, I won't take anything, thank you,
and that's final."
So, still arguing and protesting, he consumed his own with such slow
and evident relish that I could have cracked him over the head. "Sure
you won't have a little?" he kept saying every once in a while; and
then he would squint at his glass against the light and smack his lips.
"If I come through this," I thought, clenching my hands under the
table, "I can come through anything."
"Awfully tragic about poor Ashton," he remarked presently, sighing
windily. "Haven't the police done anything yet? Ah, these 'business'
trips! But, then, boys will be boys."
"You're entirely wrong if you think he was on the loose," I said hotly.
"I know that some of the papers even went so far as to hint at opium
smoking, but any one who knew Tommy Ashton at all----"
"But consider the circumstances, Lawton. What else took him to
Chinatown?"
"He must have had business there."
"What kind? Come now, of course it won't go any farther, but between
ourselves we may as well admit--eh?"
I think it was a sudden and transient gleam in his cushioned eyes,
a mere hint of watchful suspicion so startlingly different from his
perennial jovial twinkle, that acted on me like a douche of ice water
and stilled my too ready tongue. Perhaps it was only a trick of the
light, but, anyway, I found myself regarding Howard Roupell with a new
interest, while suddenly mindful of Blunt's remarks about superfluous
flesh and malefactors.
For all its indulgent lines, the man's face was powerful in a sense,
and I wondered if there was a reverse side to the jovial mask--if mask
it were. On the other hand, he might be as innocent and harmless as I
had hitherto believed, with no ulterior motive in urging me to drink,
or in his talk about Ashton. The knowledge that a hidden and ubiquitous
enemy was gunning for me was having its inevitable effect, and I was
becoming suspicious of every one.
The entrance of Arnold Frean at this point changed the conversation.
"Hello," said Roupell, "there's that young scallawag. Since his father
chucked him out he's more affluent than ever. Wonder where he gets it?
Touting, I suppose. Hope he doesn't see us. You know, I'm no Puritan,
Lawton, but, between you and me, that's one fellow I never could
stomach. There isn't a straight hair in his head."
Being totally bald himself, Roupell never could have this criticism
passed on him. I refused to sit in judgment; and Frean, catching sight
of us, strolled over. It was our first meeting since that night in the
Admiral and, thinking of poor Ashton, my impulse now was to give Arnold
Frean a bit of all that was coming to him. If he had not actually
plotted or participated in Ashton's death, he was at least an associate
of those who had. But mindful of Blunt's emphatic request, and that a
hasty or ill-judged action of mine might ruin far-reaching plans of
which I knew nothing, I forced myself to meet Frean with composure,
though I could assume no show of cordiality. Roupell's greeting was
also chilly, but Frean was neither discouraged nor embarrassed. It took
a lot to shake his high opinion of himself.
"Awful crush to-night," he said. "May I butt in here? Thanks!" And he
sat down without waiting for an assent. I thought he wasn't looking
particularly well; his face was a bit drawn. He would take nothing but
mineral water.
"What!" exclaimed Roupell, as if startled out of his dignity and
aloofness. "What's the world coming to! You and Lawton both--two in one
night! This is an awful shock. Have the two of you fallen in love?"
A faint color tinged Frean's cheek, while I was uncomfortably aware
that my own countenance wasn't as impassive as I might have wished.
"Aha, that's it!" exclaimed Roupell, giving his loud, jovial laugh.
"Nothing but the ladies--that is, some of 'em--could produce this
tremendous catastrophe. Sworn off, eh? Till after the honeymoon, of
course. Who are the fortunate fair? Let us hope for the plural, that
it isn't a case of the old unhappy triangle. I'm afraid, Frean, you
wouldn't stand much of a chance against Lawton--I mean, the reformed
article. Consider his beauty and purse, a sort of Apollo-Midas, going
in strong for temperance and charity."
"When I think of marrying, Roupell, I'll let you know first--it would
be the simplest way of sending out announcements," yawned Frean. "If
I'm not drinking, it's on account of my liver, not my heart." But I
saw that Roupell's words had gone home, for Frean glowered at me for a
moment, and I sensed what Blunt would have called "the entrance of an
outside complicating factor." He was in love, or near it, with Brenda
Gelette.
"You got off mighty lucky from that Red Bank mess," he sneered
presently. "Nothing like being rich. How much did it cost you?"
"More, perhaps, than you would care to pay--simply the truth."
"You call me a liar?" he cried.
"Here! Remember where you are," exclaimed Roupell. "This is no place to
settle differences."
"I haven't called you anything," I said to Frean, "but you're at
liberty to draw your own inference. If you think I paid any hush
money or tried to square the case, you're mistaken. My innocence was
established on the facts."
"Oh, of course," he sneered. "You can establish anything if you're rich
enough; and that tale about your car being stolen was awfully thin."
"Well, don't worry about it," I said, pushing back my chair and
determined to keep my temper. "Sorry, Roupell, but I have to cut along."
"Hold on," said Frean. "You've given me the lie, Lawton, and I demand
satisfaction. I'll fight you with anything you please, and I know where
we can go. You can bring along Roupell here to see fair play."
"I say, that's hardly in my line, you know," protested Roupell, in some
distress. "Still, Lawton, I'll be happy to oblige. I think a lesson in
manners wouldn't do some one any harm."
"Thanks, but I'm not in the business," I replied. "Don't be an ass,
Frean, but go home and cool your head. If you're not drunk, you ought
to be."
"You're a rank coward!"
"Perhaps I am," I agreed. "Anyway, I refuse to quarrel about it." And I
left the room, marveling somewhat at my new-found self-control.
In the cloakroom Roupell said: "That fellow needs a good scragging,
and you ought to give it to him, Lawton. The Lord knows I'm a man of
peace, but you can't lie down under that insult. Take him up and finish
it to-night. I'll second you. If you don't, he'll brand you all over
town." Falstaff had grown very warlike, perhaps, like his prototype,
because some one else would be doing the actual fighting, and when I
signified utter indifference about the branding process and refused
absolutely to do any "scragging," he was visibly affected and seemed
quite put out.
As I walked the few blocks to the Belvedere, closely trailed by Nast,
I decided that on the following Monday, when I next saw Blunt, I would
direct his attention to Howard Roupell.
The next afternoon, while strolling aimlessly down the Avenue, one
of the Sunday four o'clock throng, I met Brenda Gelette. Indeed, we
actually collided as I turned the corner of the Waldorf. I had no idea
she was in town, and it was not until I had doffed my straw bonnet and
was voicing the conventional apology that I recognized her. We stared
at each other for a moment, and I saw the angry color mounting to her
cheek.
"Oh, how do--er--you do, Miss Gelette?" I finished lamely.
"I--er--do very well, thank you, Mr. Lawton," she mimicked acidly, and
marched past me toward my old friend, the maroon de luxe, standing at
the curb. Joyce was at the wheel.
Cheered greatly by not receiving the cut direct, I turned and overtook
her in a stride. "May I have a word with you, please?"
"No, you may not," she said, looking accurately through the brim of my
hat. "I don't talk with strangers."
"That's why I want the privilege of introducing myself."
"I don't desire your acquaintance, thank you."
"I'm not offering it. I merely wish the opportunity of apologizing and
explaining some past events."
"They are beyond explaining."
"Even the worst criminal is permitted to be heard in his own defense."
Already some curious passing glances had been turned on us, and she
flushed and bit her lip. "You're taking an unfair advantage of me," she
protested. "Must I call for help?"
"Really I don't need any."
"I shall call a policeman if you don't stop annoying me."
"It will take the whole force to get rid of me. In the words of Ruth--I
think it was Ruth--'Whither thou goest----' I insist on being heard.
You cannot be less generous than--well, lots of people."
"At least I didn't think you could be a coward and bully----Oh, very
well; anything to save a street scene." And she marched toward the car,
head erect and cheeks crimson.
"Where to?" I asked, bowing her in.
She sank back in a corner and smiled wickedly. "Oh, that's entirely for
you to say. I have absolutely nothing to do with it."
"Claremont," I said to Joyce, "and go as slow as you like."
The car moved off, and I had a fleeting glimpse of the faithful
Nast, supporting a lamp-post in his Sunday best, looking unutterable
reproaches. I had slipped him for once.
Miss Gelette had lost her momentary calm, and was once again indignant.
"How dare you!" she exclaimed. "If you think I'm going to dine with you
at the Claremont----"
"It's not compulsory. There is music and a beautiful view."
"I'm not going there at all!"
"But you are; you said it was for me to decide."
"I am not!"
The car continued up the Avenue. Miss Gelette drummed her heels. "I am
not!" she repeated. "Besides, I can't leave my uncle for so long. Stop
the car at once!"
I did not stop it.
"Oh, very well," she said. "You will answer for this--this outrage.
You refuse to stop, you prevent me by main force from communicating
with Joyce----"
"I haven't."
"Well, you will; I know you will."
"Certainly. I am absolutely reckless. It wouldn't do you any good to
try the speaking tube, anyway. Joyce's morality has been undermined; he
has been heavily bribed."
"How exciting!" she murmured. "Abducted by an ex-chauffeur, and what
a lovely afternoon it is." She leaned back and eyed the gay, moving
panorama of the sunlit Avenue through the open windows. Her mood had
changed; she was resigned. I could have asked no better confessional
than the town car; Joyce was completely shut off, and we were alone.
"Well," she said at length, "you may begin and have it over with. Or
haven't you rehearsed sufficiently?"
"I was wondering where to start----"
"I'm not surprised you find some difficulty."
"I suppose I'd better begin by saying how much I appreciate what your
uncle did for me! If he hadn't corroborated my statement--and I'm sure
he was entitled----"
"He could do nothing less, not through any veneration for you, but
because he is not in the habit of perjuring himself. He was asked for
the truth and he told it--quite unlike some people."
"Indeed, yes. It is remarkable how some people simply cannot tell the
truth."
"It is," she said, looking at me.
"Of course there are occasions when one must prevaricate; one is forced
into deception. There is an excuse----"
"There was absolutely no excuse for your deception, and you needn't
try to make one up!" she interrupted violently. "Oh, yes, it was one
of your well-known jokes! Something to laugh over later with your
dissolute friends. Yes, you even admitted to Joyce it was the result of
a drunken wager! Oh, the shame of it! I wonder how you can sit there
and laugh----"
"But I'm not laughing."
"You are!"
"Then my face isn't telling the truth."
"I'm not surprised."
"Really, I'm not laughing. Far from it. I tell you I never felt more
solemn or full of weighty reproaches in my life. In the first place I
ask you to consider my inheritance. Understand that I'm not trying to
shelter myself behind that; but I overheard you say one day something
to Mr. Varney regarding it which showed you could understand and,
perhaps, sympathize a little. I ask for that understanding now."
"I think you have always had it." Her eyes softened, but she added
uncompromisingly: "Well, does that explain and excuse everything?"
"No, I didn't mean that it should. I'm merely leading up to what lay
behind that wager with Mr. Hewitt. On his part it was not unworthy.
It was an effort at my reformation, and, when I was in a position to
realize it, I determined to profit by it. I assure you it meant a great
deal more than the winning of a wager; it meant the winning back of my
manhood and self-respect. It meant the battle of my life, and, if I
lost it, Peter Lawton would remain 'dead' for all time. My surroundings
helped me greatly; I was working once more for my living, spending
only what I earned, and I was cut off from friends I could well afford
to do without. Nor can I estimate your unconscious influence and that
of Mr. Varney. The promise I gave you that day was not given in jest,
something to laugh over later with my friends. It meant the turning
point in my life, the life of the previous six months. I have kept that
promise faithfully, and shall do so to the end, God helping me. To
sum up, consider a man fighting for his soul, and therefore throwing
everything into the scale."
She turned away suddenly and looked out of the window. "I--I think you
might have told me," she said over her shoulder.
As I had promised Blunt to say nothing to any one about the Black
Company, I had to leave all reference to it out of my present argument.
"How could I tell you?" I replied. "You know it could only have meant
my instant dismissal. I knew your uncle hated my people, but I didn't
know the reason. I assure you, also, I was ignorant of the Red Bank
matter. That had absolutely nothing to do with my maintaining the rôle
of Joyce."
"To do my uncle and me justice, we never thought it had," she said.
"We knew, though Mr. Frean didn't, that you couldn't have been in Red
Bank at that hour, considering the hour we met you at the crossroads.
And if there had been any trouble proving your innocence, we would have
offered our evidence unasked. Resentment or animosity never obscured
my uncle's sense of justice. And I will say I never actually believed
you were aware of the family history which caused that resentment and
animosity. I myself knew nothing about it till my uncle told me the
other day. Do you know now?"
I replied that Mr. Hannay had informed me. "As I have enough sins of my
own to answer for," I added, "I ask not to be blamed too much for what
my parents may have done. To put it baldly, they jilted Mr. Varney and
your mother, and none too delicately either. I quite understand why Mr.
Varney and you, too, for that matter, should have a particular aversion
for me."
The car had turned into Seventy-second Street from Broadway, and we
were speeding up the Drive.
"Then you credit me with a very narrow mind. There is excuse for my
uncle; he was affected immediately and has brooded over it. If I were
in his place I would have probably taken it the same way--if I didn't
kill your father, which would be more to my notion. On the other hand,
if I loved like your parents and was in the same situation, I should
very likely follow their example. We don't know how we may act under
certain circumstances, so what's the good of trying to judge others?
No, that ancient family history had no part in my 'particular aversion'
for you, nor could it. I only thought you treated me personally pretty
shabbily--and I'm not at all sure yet that you didn't.
"Of course," she went on, before I could reply, "it is very flattering
to think I was of any assistance at all in the terrible struggle you
were having. And I quite realize now the nature of that struggle, all
you suffered----"
We had reached the Claremont, and she arose to enter a final protest.
But a few minutes later we were seated at a table in a quiet corner.
"Well, certainly this is the last thing I expected!" she exclaimed.
"You are a singularly overbearing person, Mr. Lawton."