Launched now upon a business venture that would require my unremitting
attention if it were to prosper, it may be imagined that I had little
leisure for the social vagaries of the Honourable George, shocking as
these might be to one’s finer tastes. And yet on the following morning
I found time to tell him what. To put it quite bluntly, I gave him
beans for his loose behaviour the previous evening, in publicly ogling
and meeting as an equal one whom one didn’t know.
To my amazement, instead of being heartily ashamed of his
licentiousness, I found him recalcitrant. Stubborn as a mule he was
and with a low animal cunning that I had never given him credit for.
“Demosthenes was the son of a cutler,” said he, “and Napoleon worked
on a canal-boat, what? Didn’t you say so yourself, you juggins, what?
Fancy there being upper and lower classes among natives! What rot! And
I like North America. I don’t mind telling you straight I’m going to
take it up.”
Horrified by these reckless words, I could only say “Noblesse oblige,”
meaning to convey that whatever the North Americans did, the next Earl
of Brinstead must not meet persons one doesn’t know, whereat he
rejoined tartly that I was “to stow that piffle!”
Being now quite alarmed, I took the further time to call upon
Belknap-Jackson, believing that he, if any one, could recall the
Honourable George to his better nature. He, too, was shocked, as I had
been, and at first would have put the blame entirely upon the
shoulders of Cousin Egbert, but at this I was obliged to admit that
the Honourable George had too often shown a regrettable fondness for
the society of persons that did not matter, especially females, and I
cited the case of the typing-girl and the Brixton millinery person,
with either of whom he would have allied himself in marriage had not
his lordship intervened. Belknap-Jackson was quite properly horrified
at these revelations.
“Has he no sense of ‘Noblesse oblige’?” he demanded, at which I quoted
the result of my own use of this phrase to the unfortunate man. Quite
too plain it was that “Noblesse oblige!” would never stop him from
yielding to his baser impulses.
“We must be tactful, then,” remarked Belknap-Jackson. “Without
appearing to oppose him we must yet show him who is really who in Red
Gap. We shall let him see that we have standards which must be as
rigidly adhered to as those of an older civilization. I fancy it can
be done.”
Privately I fancied not, yet I forbore to say this or to prolong the
painful interview, particularly as I was due at the United States
Grill.
The _Recorder_ of that morning had done me handsomely, declaring
my opening to have been a social event long to be remembered, and
describing the costumes of a dozen or more of the smartly gowned
matrons, quite as if it had been an assembly ball. My task now was to
see that the Grill was kept to the high level of its opening, both as
a social ganglion, if one may use the term, and as a place to which
the public would ever turn for food that mattered. For my first
luncheon the raccoons had prepared, under my direction, a
steak-and-kidney pie, in addition to which I offered a thick soup and
a pudding of high nutritive value.
To my pleased astonishment the crowd at midday was quite all that my
staff could serve, several of the Hobbs brood being at school, and the
luncheon was received with every sign of approval by the business
persons who sat to it. Not only were there drapers, chemists, and
shop-assistants, but solicitors and barristers, bankers and estate
agents, and all quite eager with their praise of my fare. To each of
these I explained that I should give them but few things, but that
these would be food in the finest sense of the word, adding that the
fault of the American school lay in attempting a too-great profusion
of dishes, none of which in consequence could be raised to its highest
power.
So sound was my theory and so nicely did my simple-dished luncheon
demonstrate it that I was engaged on the spot to provide the
bi-monthly banquet of the Chamber of Commerce, the president of which
rather seriously proposed that it now be made a monthly affair, since
they would no longer be at the mercy of a hotel caterer whose ambition
ran inversely to his skill. Indeed, after the pudding, I was this day
asked to become a member of the body, and I now felt that I was
indubitably one of them--America and I had taken each other as
seriously as could be desired.
More than once during the afternoon I wondered rather painfully what
the Honourable George might be doing. I knew that he had been promised
to a meeting of the Onwards and Upwards Club through the influence of
Mrs. Effie, where it had been hoped that he would give a talk on
Country Life in England. At least she had hinted to them that he might
do this, though I had known from the beginning that he would do
nothing of the sort, and had merely hoped that he would appear for a
dish of tea and stay quiet, which was as much as the North Side set
could expect of him. Induced to speak, I was quite certain he would
tell them straight that Country Life in England was silly rot, and
that was all to it. Now, not having seen him during the day, I could
but hope that he had attended the gathering in suitable afternoon
attire, and that he would have divined that the cattle-person’s hat
did not coordinate with this.
At four-thirty, while I was still concerned over the possible
misadventures of the Honourable George, my first patrons for tea began
to arrive, for I had let it be known that I should specialize in this.
Toasted crumpets there were, and muffins, and a tea cake rich with
plums, and tea, I need not say, which was all that tea could be.
Several tables were filled with prominent ladies of the North Side
set, who were loud in their exclamations of delight, especially at the
finished smartness of my service, for it was perhaps now that the
profoundly serious thought I had given to my silver, linen, and
glassware showed to best advantage. I suspect that this was the first
time many of my guests had encountered a tea cozy, since from that day
they began to be prevalent in Red Gap homes. Also my wagon containing
the crumpets, muffins, tea cake, jam and bread-and-butter, which I now
used for the first time created a veritable sensation.
There was an agreeable hum of chatter from these early comers when I
found myself welcoming Mrs. Judge Ballard and half a dozen members of
the Onwards and Upwards Club, all of them wearing what I made out to
be a baffled look. From these I presently managed to gather that their
guest of honour for the afternoon had simply not appeared, and that
the meeting, after awaiting him for two hours, had dissolved in some
resentment, the time having been spent chiefly in an unflattering
dissection of the Klondike woman’s behaviour the evening before.
“He is a naughty man to disappoint us so cruelly!” declared Mrs. Judge
Ballard of the Honourable George, but the coquetry of it was feigned
to cover a very real irritation. I made haste with possible excuses. I
said that he might be ill, or that important letters in that day’s
post might have detained him. I knew he had been astonishingly well
that morning, also that he loathed letters and almost practically
never received any; but something had to be said.
“A naughty, naughty fellow!” repeated Mrs. Ballard, and the members of
her party echoed it. They had looked forward rather pathetically, I
saw, to hearing about Country Life in England from one who had lived
it.
I was now drawn to greet the Belknap-Jacksons, who entered, and to the
pleasure of winning their hearty approval for the perfection of my
arrangements. As the wife presently joined Mrs. Ballard’s group, the
husband called me to his table and disclosed that almost the worst
might be feared of the Honourable George. He was at that moment, it
appeared, with a rabble of cow-persons and members of the lower class
gathered at a stockade at the edge of town, where various native
horses fresh from the wilderness were being taught to be ridden.
“The wretched Floud is with him,” continued my informant, “also the
Tuttle chap, who continues to be received by our best people in spite
of my remonstrances, and he yells quite like a demon when one of the
riders is thrown. I passed as quickly as I could. The spectacle
was--of course I make allowances for Vane-Basingwell’s ignorance of
our standards--it was nothing short of disgusting; a man of his
position consorting with the herd!”
“He told me no longer ago than this morning,” I said, “that he was
going to take up America.”
“He _has_!” said Belknap-Jackson with bitter emphasis. “You
should see what he has on--a cowboy hat and chapps! And the very
lowest of them are calling him ‘Judge’!”
“He flunked a meeting of the Onwards and Upwards Society,” I added.
“I know! I know! And who could have expected it in one of his lineage?
At this very moment he should be conducting himself as one of his
class. Can you wonder at my impatience with the West? Here at an hour
when our social life should be in evidence, when all trade should be
forgotten, I am the only man in the town who shows himself in a
tea-room; and Vane-Basingwell over there debasing himself with our
commonest sort!”
All at once I saw that I myself must bear the brunt of this scandal. I
had brought hither the Honourable George, promising a personage who
would for once and all unify the North Side set and perhaps
disintegrate its rival. I had been felicitated upon my master-stroke.
And now it seemed I had come a cropper. But I resolved not to give up,
and said as much now to Belknap-Jackson.
“I may be blamed for bringing him among you, but trust me if things
are really as bad as they seem, I’ll get him off again. I’ll not let
myself be bowled by such a silly lob as that. Trust me to devote
profound thought to this problem.”
“We all have every confidence in you,” he assured me, “but don’t be
too severe all at once with the chap. He might recover a sane balance
even yet.”
“I shall use discretion,” I assured him, “but if it proves that I have
fluffed my catch, rely upon me to use extreme measures.”
“Red Gap needs your best effort,” he replied in a voice that brimmed
with feeling.
At five-thirty, my rush being over, I repaired to the neighbourhood
where the Honourable George had been reported. The stockade now
contained only a half-score of the untaught horses, but across the
road from it was a public house, or saloon, from which came
unmistakable sounds of carousing. It was an unsavoury place,
frequented only by cattle and horse persons, the proprietor being an
abandoned character named Spilmer, who had once done a patron to death
in a drunken quarrel. Only slight legal difficulties had been made for
him, however, it having been pleaded that he acted in self-defence,
and the creature had at once resumed his trade as publican. There was
even public sympathy for him at the time on the ground that he
possessed a blind mother, though I have never been able to see that
this should have been a factor in adjudging him.
I paused now before the low place, imagining I could detect the tones
of the Honourable George high above the chorus that came out to me.
Deciding that in any event it would not become me to enter a resort of
this stamp, I walked slowly back toward the more reputable part of
town, and was presently rewarded by seeing the crowd emerge. It was
led, I saw, by the Honourable George. The cattle-hat was still down
upon his ears, and to my horror he had come upon the public
thoroughfare with his legs encased in the chapps--a species of
leathern pantalettes covered with goat’s wool--a garment which I need
not say no gentleman should be seen abroad in. As worn by the
cow-persons in their daily toil they are only just possible, being as
far from true vogue as anything well could be.
Accompanying him were Cousin Egbert, the Indian Tuttle, the
cow-persons, Hank and Buck, and three or four others of the same rough
stamp. Unobtrusively I followed them to our main thoroughfare, deeply
humiliated by the atrocious spectacle the Honourable George was making
of himself, only to observe them turn into another public house
entitled “The Family Liquor Store,” where it seemed only too certain,
since the bearing of all was highly animated, that they would again
carouse.
At once seeing my duty, I boldly entered, finding them aligned against
the American bar and clamouring for drink. My welcome was heartfelt,
even enthusiastic, almost every one of them beginning to regale me
with incidents of the afternoon’s horse-breaking. The Honourable
George, it seemed, had himself briefly mounted one of the animals,
having fallen into the belief that the cow-persons did not try
earnestly enough to stay on their mounts. I gathered that one
experience had dissuaded him from this opinion.
“That there little paint horse,” observed Cousin Egbert genially,
“stepped out from under the Judge the prettiest you ever saw.”
“He sure did,” remarked the Honourable George, with a palpable effort
to speak the American brogue. “A most flighty beast he was--nerves all
gone--I dare say a hopeless neurasthenic.”
And then when I would have rebuked him for so shamefully disappointing
the ladies of the Onwards and Upwards Society, he began to tell me of
the public house he had just left.
“I say, you know that Spilmer chap, he’s a genuine murderer--he let me
hold the weapon with which he did it--and he has blind relatives
dependent upon him, or something of that sort, otherwise I fancy
they’d have sent him to the gallows. And, by Gad! he’s a witty
scoundrel, what! Looking at his sign--leaving the settlement it reads,
‘Last Chance,’ but entering the settlement it reads, ‘First Chance.’
Last chance and first chance for a peg, do you see what I mean? I
tried it out; walked both ways under the sign and looked up; it worked
perfectly. Enter the settlement, ‘First Chance’; leave the settlement,
‘Last Chance.’ Do you see what I mean? Suggestive, what! Witty! You’d
never have expected that murderer-Johnny to be so subtle. Our own
murderers aren’t that way. I say, it’s a tremendous wheeze. I wonder
the press-chaps don’t take it up. It’s better than the blind factory,
though the chap’s mother or something is blind. What ho! But that’s
silly! To be sure one has nothing to do with the other. I say, have
another, you chaps! I’ve not felt so fit in ages. I’m going to take up
America!”
Plainly it was no occasion to use serious words to the man. He slapped
his companions smartly on their backs and was slapped in turn by all
of them. One or two of them called him an old horse! Not only was I
doing no good for the North Side set, but I had felt obliged to
consume two glasses of spirits that I did not wish. So I discreetly
withdrew. As I went, the Honourable George was again telling them that
he was “going in” for North America, and Cousin Egbert was calling
“Three rousing cheers!”
Thus luridly began, I may say, a scandal that was to be far-reaching
in its dreadful effects. Far from feeling a proper shame on the
following day, the Honourable George was as pleased as Punch with
himself, declaring his intention of again consorting with the cattle
and horse persons and very definitely declining an invitation to play
at golf with Belknap-Jackson.
“Golf!” he spluttered. “You do it, and then you’ve directly to do it
all over again. I mean to say, one gets nowhere. A silly game--what!”
Wishing to be in no manner held responsible for his vicious pursuits,
I that day removed my diggings from the Floud home to chambers in the
Pettengill block above the Grill, where I did myself quite nicely with
decent mantel ornaments, some vivacious prints of old-world
cathedrals, and a few good books, having for body-servant one of the
Hobbs lads who seemed rather teachable. I must admit, however, that I
was frequently obliged to address him more sharply than one should
ever address one’s servant, my theory having always been that a
serving person should be treated quite as if he were a gentleman
temporarily performing menial duties, but there was that strain of
lowness in all the Hobbses which often forbade this, a blending of
servility with more or less skilfully dissembled impertinence, which I
dare say is the distinguishing mark of our lower-class serving people.
Removed now from the immediate and more intimate effects of the
Honourable George’s digressions, I was privileged for days at a time
to devote my attention exclusively to my enterprise. It had thriven
from the beginning, and after a month I had so perfected the minor
details of management that everything was right as rain. In my
catering I continued to steer a middle course between the British
school of plain roast and boiled and a too often piffling French
complexity, seeking to retain the desirable features of each. My
luncheons for the tradesmen rather held to a cut from the joint with
vegetables and a suitable sweet, while in my dinners I relaxed a bit
into somewhat imaginative salads and entrées. For the tea-hour I
constantly strove to provide some appetizing novelty, often, I
confess, sacrificing nutrition to mere sightliness in view of my
almost exclusive feminine patronage, yet never carrying this to an
undignified extreme.
As a result of my sound judgment, dinner-giving in Red Gap began that
winter to be done almost entirely in my place. There might be small
informal affairs at home, but for dinners of any pretension the
hostesses of the North Side set came to me, relying almost quite
entirely upon my taste in the selection of the menu. Although at first
I was required to employ unlimited tact in dissuading them from
strange and laboured concoctions, whose photographs they fetched me
from their women’s magazines, I at length converted them from this
unwholesome striving for novelty and laid the foundations for that
sound scheme of gastronomy which to-day distinguishes this
fastest-growing town in the state, if not in the West of America.
It was during these early months, I ought perhaps to say, that I
rather distinguished myself in the matter of a relish which I
compounded one day when there was a cold round of beef for luncheon.
Little dreaming of the magnitude of the moment, I brought together
English mustard and the American tomato catsup, in proportions which
for reasons that will be made obvious I do not here disclose, together
with three other and lesser condiments whose identity also must remain
a secret. Serving this with my cold joint, I was rather amazed at the
sensation it created. My patrons clamoured for it repeatedly and a
barrister wished me to prepare a flask of it for use in his home. The
following day it was again demanded and other requests were made for
private supplies, while by the end of the week my relish had become
rather famous. Followed a suggestion from Mrs. Judson as she
overlooked my preparation of it one day from her own task of polishing
the glassware.
“Put it on the market,” said she, and at once I felt the inspiration
of her idea. To her I entrusted the formula. I procured a quantity of
suitable flasks, while in her own home she compounded the stuff and
filled them. Having no mind to claim credit not my own, I may now say
that this rather remarkable woman also evolved the idea of the label,
including the name, which was pasted upon the bottles when our product
was launched.
“Ruggles’ International Relish” she had named it after a moment’s
thought. Below was a print of my face taken from an excellent
photographic portrait, followed by a brief summary of the article’s
unsurpassed excellence, together with a list of the viands for which
it was commended. As the International Relish is now a matter of
history, the demand for it having spread as far east as Chicago and
those places, I may add that it was this capable woman again who
devised the large placard for hoardings in which a middle-aged but
glowing bon-vivant in evening dress rebukes the blackamoor who has
served his dinner for not having at once placed Ruggles’ International
Relish upon the table. The genial annoyance of the diner and the
apologetic concern of the black are excellently depicted by the
artist, for the original drawing of which I paid a stiffish price to
the leading artist fellow of Spokane. This now adorns the wall of my
sitting-room.
It must not be supposed that I had been free during these months from
annoyance and chagrin at the manner in which the Honourable George was
conducting himself. In the beginning it was hoped both by
Belknap-Jackson and myself that he might do no worse than merely
consort with the rougher element of the town. I mean to say, we
suspected that the apparent charm of the raffish cattle-persons might
suffice to keep him from any notorious alliance with the dreaded
Bohemian set. So long as he abstained from this he might still be
received at our best homes, despite his regrettable fondness for low
company. Even when he brought the murderer Spilmer to dine with him at
my place, the thing was condoned as a freakish grotesquerie in one
who, of unassailable social position, might well afford to stoop
momentarily.
I must say that the murderer--a heavy-jowled brute of husky voice, and
quite lacking a forehead--conducted himself on this occasion with an
entirely decent restraint of manner, quite in contrast to the
Honourable George, who betrayed an expansively naïve pride in his
guest, seeming to wish the world to know of the event. Between them
they consumed a fair bottle of the relish. Indeed, the Honourable
George was inordinately fond of this, as a result of which he would
often come out quite spotty again. Cousin Egbert was another who
became so addicted to it that his fondness might well have been called
a vice. Both he and the Honourable George would drench quite every
course with the sauce, and Cousin Egbert, with that explicit
directness which distinguished his character, would frankly sop his
bread-crusts in it, or even sip it with a coffee-spoon.
As I have intimated, in spite of the Honourable George’s affiliations
with the slum-characters of what I may call Red Gap’s East End, he had
not yet publicly identified himself with the Klondike woman and her
Bohemian set, in consequence of which--let him dine and wine a Spilmer
as he would--there was yet hope that he would not alienate himself
from the North Side set.
At intervals during the early months of his sojourn among us he
accepted dinner invitations at the Grill from our social leaders; in
fact, after the launching of the International Relish, I know of none
that he declined, but it was evident to me that he moved but
half-heartedly in this higher circle. On one occasion, too, he
appeared in the trousers of a lounge-suit of tweeds instead of his
dress trousers, and with tan boots. The trousers, to be sure, were of
a sombre hue, but the brown boots were quite too dreadfully
unmistakable. After this I may say that I looked for anything, and my
worst fears were soon confirmed.
It began as the vaguest sort of gossip. The Honourable George, it was
said, had been a guest at one of the Klondike woman’s evening affairs.
The rumour crystallized. He had been asked to meet the Bohemian set at
a Dutch supper and had gone. He had lingered until a late hour,
dancing the American folkdances (for which he had shown a surprising
adaptability) and conducting himself generally as the next Earl of
Brinstead should not have done. He had repeated his visit, repairing
to the woman’s house both afternoon and evening. He had become a
constant visitor. He had spoken regrettably of the dulness of a
meeting of the Onwards and Upwards Society which he had attended. He
was in the woman’s toils.
With gossip of this sort there was naturally much indignation, and yet
the leaders of the North Side set were so delicately placed that there
was every reason for concealing it. They redoubled their attentions to
the unfortunate man, seeking to leave him not an unoccupied evening or
afternoon. Such was the gravity of the crisis. Belknap-Jackson alone
remained finely judicial.
“The situation is of the gravest character,” he confided to me, “but
we must be wary. The day isn’t lost so long as he doesn’t appear
publicly in the creature’s train. For the present we have only
unverified rumour. As a man about town Vane-Basingwell may feel free
to consort with vicious companions and still maintain his proper
standing. Deplore it as all right-thinking people must, under present
social conditions he is undoubtedly free to lead what is called a
double life. We can only wait.”
Such was the state of the public mind, be it understood, up to the
time of the notorious and scandalous defection of this obsessed
creature, an occasion which I cannot recall without shuddering, and
which inspired me to a course that was later to have the most
inexplicable and far-reaching consequences.
Theatrical plays had been numerous with us during the season, with the
natural result of many after-theatre suppers being given by those who
attended, among them the North Side leaders, and frequently the
Klondike woman with her following. On several of these occasions,
moreover, the latter brought as supper guests certain representatives
of the theatrical profession, both male and female, she apparently
having a wide acquaintance with such persons. That this sort of thing
increased her unpopularity with the North Side set will be understood
when I add that now and then her guests would be of undoubted
respectability in their private lives, as theatrical persons often
are, and such as our smartest hostesses would have been only too glad
to entertain.
To counteract this effect Belknap-Jackson now broached to me a plan of
undoubted merit, which was nothing less than to hold an afternoon
reception at his home in honour of the world’s greatest pianoforte
artist, who was presently to give a recital in Red Gap.
“I’ve not met the chap myself,” he began, “but I knew his secretary
and travelling companion quite well in a happier day in Boston. The
recital here will be Saturday evening, which means that they will
remain here on Sunday until the evening train East. I shall suggest to
my friend that his employer, to while away the tedium of the Sunday,
might care to look in upon me in the afternoon and meet a few of our
best people. Nothing boring, of course. I’ve no doubt he will arrange
it. I’ve written him to Portland, where they now are.”
“Rather a card that will be,” I instantly cried. “Rather better class
than entertaining strolling players.” Indeed the merit of the proposal
rather overwhelmed me. It would be dignified and yet spectacular. It
would show the Klondike woman that we chose to have contact only with
artists of acknowledged preëminence and that such were quite willing
to accept our courtesies. I had hopes, too, that the Honourable George
might be aroused to advantages which he seemed bent upon casting to
the American winds.
A week later Belknap-Jackson joyously informed me that the great
artist had consented to accept his hospitality. There would be light
refreshments, with which I was charged. I suggested tea in the Russian
manner, which he applauded.
“And everything dainty in the way of food,” he warned me. “Nothing
common, nothing heavy. Some of those tiny lettuce sandwiches, a bit of
caviare, macaroons--nothing gross--a decanter of dry sherry, perhaps,
a few of the lightest wafers; things that cultivated persons may
trifle with--things not repugnant to the artist soul.”