The rest of the party has scattered to the gardens or the porch--Oliver
has wandered into the library alone to wait for Peter who is bringing
around the two-seater himself. It is a big dim room with books all the
way up to the ceiling and a comfortable leather lounge upon which he
sinks, picks up a magazine from a little table beside it and starts
ruffling the pages idly. The chirrup of a telephone bell that seems to
come out of the wall beside him makes him jump.
Then he remembers--that must be Mr. Piper's office through the closed
door there. He remembers, as well, Peter joking with his father once
about his never getting away from business even in the country and
pointing at the half dozen telephones on top of the big flat desk with
a derisive gesture while detailing to Oliver the fondness that Sargent
Piper has for secretive private wires and the absurd precautions he
takes to keep them intensely private. “Why he went and had all his
special numbers here changed once just because I found out one of them
by mistake and called him up on it for a joke--the cryptic old person!”
Peter had said with mocking affection.
The telephone chirrups again and Oliver gets up and goes toward the door
of the office with a vague idea of answering it since there seem to be
no servants about. Then he remembers something else--Peter's telling him
that nothing irritates his father more than having anyone else answer
one of his private wires--and stops with his hand on the door that has
swung inward an inch or so already under his casual pressure. It doesn't
matter anyhow--there--somebody has answered it--Mr. Piper probably, as
there is another door to the office and both of them are generally
kept locked. Mr. Piper like all great business men has his petty
idiosyncrasies.
Oliver is just starting to turn away when a whisper of sound that seems
oddly like “Mrs. Severance” comes to his ear by some trick of acoustics
through the door. He hesitates--and stays where he is, wondering all the
time why he is doing anything so silly and unguest-like--and also what
on earth he could say if Mr. Piper suddenly flung open the door. But Ted
has told him a good deal at various times of the more mysterious aspects
of Mrs. Severance, and her name jumping out at him this way from the
middle of Mr. Piper's private office makes it rather hard to act like a
copybook gentleman--especially with his last conversation with Ted still
plain in his mind.
The voices are too low for him to hear anything distinctly but again one
of the speakers says “Mrs. Severance”--of that he is entirely sure. The
receiver clicks back and Oliver regains the lounge in three long soft
strides, thanking his carelessness that he is still wearing rubber-soled
sport-shoes. He is very much absorbed in an article on “Fishing for
Tuna” when Peter comes in.
“Well, Oliver, everything ready for you. Awfully sorry you have to rush
in this way--”
“Yes, nuisance all right, but it's my one best editor and that may mean
something real--terribly cheeky thing for me to do, Pete--bumming your
car like this--”
“Oh rats, you know you're welcome--and anyhow I'm lending it to you
because you'll have to bring it back, and that means you'll come back
yourself--”
“Well look, Pete, _please_ make all the excuses you can for me to
your mother. And I'll run back here and change and then go over to the
Rackstraws', as soon as I can--Elinor told you about Ted?”
“Yes. Sounds sort of simple to me asking him back tonight for that beach
picnic tomorrow when he absolutely had to leave this morning--but I
never could keep all Elinor's social arrangements straight. Certainly
hope he can get off.”
“So do I,” says Oliver non-committally and then the door of Mr. Piper's
office opens and Mr. Piper comes out looking as well-brushed and
courteous as usual but with a face that seems as if it had been touched
all over lightly with a grey painful stain.
“Hello, Father? Anything up from Secret Headquarters?”
“No, boy,” and Oliver is surprised at the effort with which Mr. Piper
smiles. “Winthrop called up a few minutes ago about those Hungarian
bonds but it wasn't anything important--” and again Oliver is very much
surprised indeed, though he does not show it.
“Is your mother here, Peter?”
“Upstairs dressing, I think, Father.”
Mr. Piper hesitates.
“Well, you might tell her--it's nothing of consequence but I must go in
to town for a few hours--I shall have them give me a sandwich or so now
and catch the 7.03, I think.”
“But look, Father, Oliver has to go in too, for dinner--he's taking
the two-seater now. Why don't you let him take you too--that would save
time--” “Perfectly delighted to, Mr. Piper, of course, and--”
Mr. Piper looks full at Oliver--a little strangely, Oliver thinks.
“That would be--” Mr. Piper begins, and then seems to change his mind
for no apparent reason. “No, I think the train would be better, I do not
wish to get in too early, though I thank you, Oliver,” he says with an
old-fashioned bob of his head. “And now I must really--a little food
perhaps”--and he escapes before either Oliver or Peter has time to argue
the question. Oliver turns to Peter.
“Look here, Pete, if I'm--”
“You're not. Oh _I'd_ think it'd be a lot more sensible of Father to let
you take him in, but you never can tell about Father. Something must be
up, though, in spite of what he says--he's supposed to be on a vacation
and I haven't seen him look the way he does tonight since some of the
tight squeezes in the war.”