Echoes of the Monday night dinner reached me the following day. The
affair had passed off pleasantly enough, the members of the Bohemian
set conducting themselves quite as persons who mattered, with the
exception of the Klondike woman herself, who, I gathered, had
descended to a mood of most indecorous liveliness considering who the
guest of honour was. She had not only played and sung those noisy
native folksongs of hers, but she had, it seemed, conducted herself
with a certain facetious familiarity toward his lordship.
“Every now and then,” said Cousin Egbert, my principal informant,
“she’d whirl in and josh the Cap all over the place about them funny
whiskers he wears. She told him out and out he’d just got to lose
them.”
“Shocking rudeness!” I exclaimed.
“Oh, sure, sure!” he agreed, yet without indignation. “And the Cap
just hated her for it--you could tell that by the way he looked at
her. Oh, he hates her something terrible. He just can’t bear the sight
of her.”
“Naturally enough,” I observed, though there had been an undercurrent
to his speech that I thought almost quite a little odd. His accents
were queerly placed. Had I not known him too well I should have
thought him trying to be deep. I recalled his other phrases, that Mrs.
Effie was seeing which way a cat would leap, and that the Klondike
person would hand the ladies of the North Side set a lemon squash. I
put them all down as childish prattle and said as much to the Mixer
later in the day as she had a dish of tea at the Grill.
“Yes, Sour-dough’s right,” she observed. “That Earl just hates the
sight of her--can’t bear to look at her a minute.” But she, too,
intoned the thing queerly.
“He’s putting pressure to bear on her,” I said.
“Pressure!” said the Mixer; and then, “Hum!” very dryly.
With this news, however, it was plain as a pillar-box that things were
going badly with his lordship’s effort to release the Honourable
George from his entanglement. The woman, doubtless with his
compromising letters, would be holding out for a stiffish price; she
would think them worth no end. And plainly again, his lordship had
thrown off his mask; was unable longer to conceal his aversion for
her. This, to be sure, was more in accordance with his character as I
had long observed it. If he hated her it was like him to show it when
he looked at her. I mean he was quite like that with almost any one. I
hoped, however, that diplomacy might still save us all sorts of a
nasty row.
To my relief when the pair appeared for tea that afternoon--a sight no
longer causing the least sensation--I saw that his lordship must have
returned to his first or diplomatic manner. Doubtless he still hated
her, but one would little have suspected it from his manner of looking
at her. I mean to say, he looked at her another way. The opposite way,
in fact. He was being subtle in the extreme. I fancied it must have
been her wretched levity regarding his beard that had goaded him into
the exhibitions of hatred noted by Cousin Egbert and the Mixer.
Unquestionably his lordship may be goaded in no time if one
deliberately sets about it. At the time, doubtless, he had sliced a
drive or two, as one might say, but now he was back in form.
Again I confess I was not a little sorry for the creature, seeing her
there so smartly taken in by his effusive manner. He was having her on
in the most obvious way and she, poor dupe, taking it all quite
seriously. Prime it was, though, considering the creature’s designs;
and I again marvelled that in all the years of my association with his
lordship I had never suspected what a topping sort he could be at this
game. His mask was now perfect. It recalled, indeed, Cousin Egbert’s
simple but telling phrase about the Honourable George--“He looks at
her!” It could now have been said of his lordship with the utmost
significance to any but those in the know.
And so began, quite as had the first, the second week of his
lordship’s stay among us. Knowing he had booked a return from Cooks, I
fancied that results of some sort must soon ensue. The pressure he was
putting on the woman must begin to tell. And this was the extreme of
the encouragement I was able to offer the Belknap-Jacksons. Both he
and his wife were of course in a bit of a state. Nor could I blame
them. With an Earl for house guest they must be content with but a
glimpse of him at odd moments. Rather a barren honour they were
finding it.
His lordship’s conferences with the woman were unabated. When not
secluded with her at her own establishment he would be abroad with her
in her trap or in the car of Belknap-Jackson. The owner, however, no
longer drove his car. He had never taken another chance. And well I
knew these activities of his lordship’s were being basely misconstrued
by the gossips.
“The Cap is certainly some queener,” remarked Cousin Egbert, which
perhaps reflected the view of the deceived public at this time, the
curious term implying that his lordship was by way of being a bit of a
dog. But calm I remained under these aspersions, counting upon a
clean-cut vindication of his lordship’s methods when he should have
got the woman where he wished her.
I remained, I repeat, serenely confident that a signal triumph would
presently crown his lordship’s subtly planned attack. And then, at
midweek, I was rudely shocked to the suspicion that all might not be
going well with his plan. I had not seen the pair for a day, and when
they did appear for their tea I instantly detected a profound change
in their mutual bearing. His lordship still looked at the woman, but
the raillery of their past meetings had gone. Too plainly something
momentous had occurred. Even the woman was serious. Had they fought to
the last stand? Would she have been too much for him? I mean to say,
was the Honourable George cooked?
I now recalled that I had observed an almost similar change in the
latter’s manner. His face wore a look of wildest gloom that might have
been mitigated perhaps by a proper trimming of his beard, but even
then it would have been remarked by those who knew him well. I
divined, I repeat, that something momentous had now occurred and that
the Honourable George was one not least affected by it.
Rather a sleepless night I passed, wondering fearfully if, after all,
his lordship would have been unable to extricate the poor chap from
this sordid entanglement. Had the creature held out for too much? Had
she refused to compromise? Would there be one of those appalling legal
things which our best families so often suffer? What if the victim
were to cut off home?
Nor was my trepidation allayed by the cryptic remark of Mrs. Judson as
I passed her at her tasks in the pantry that morning:
“A prince in his palace not too good--that’s what I said!”
She shot the thing at me with a manner suspiciously near to flippancy.
I sternly demanded her meaning.
“I mean what I mean,” she retorted, shutting her lips upon it in a
definite way she has. Well enough I knew the import of her uncivil
speech, but I resolved not to bandy words with her, because in my
position it would be undignified; because, further, of an unfortunate
effect she has upon my temper at such times.
“She’s being terrible careful about _her_ associates,” she
presently went on, with a most irritating effect of addressing only
herself; “nothing at all but just dukes and earls and lords day in and
day out!” Too often when the woman seems to wish it she contrives to
get me in motion, as the American saying is.
“And it is deeply to be regretted,” I replied with dignity, “that
other persons must say less of themselves if put to it.”
Well she knew what I meant. Despite my previous clear warning, she had
more than once accepted small gifts from the cattle-persons, Hank and
Buck, and had even been seen brazenly in public with them at a cinema
palace. One of a more suspicious nature than I might have guessed that
she conducted herself thus for the specific purpose of enraging me,
but I am glad to say that no nature could be more free than mine from
vulgar jealousy, and I spoke now from the mere wish that she should
more carefully guard her reputation. As before, she exhibited a
surprising meekness under this rebuke, though I uneasily wondered if
there might not be guile beneath it.
“Can I help it,” she asked, “if they like to show me attentions? I
guess I’m a free woman.” She lifted her head to observe a glass she
had polished. Her eyes were curiously lighted. She had this way of
embarrassing me. And invariably, moreover, she aroused all that is
evil in my nature against the two cattle-persons, especially the Buck
one, actually on another occasion professing admiration for “his wavy
chestnut hair!” I saw now that I could not trust myself to speak of
the fellow. I took up another matter.
“That baby of yours is too horribly fat,” I said suddenly. I had long
meant to put this to her. “It’s too fat. It eats too much!”
To my amazement the creature was transformed into a vixen.
“It--it! Too fat! You call my boy ‘it’ and say he’s too fat! Don’t you
dare! What does a creature like you know of babies? Why, you wouldn’t
even know----”
But the thing was too painful. Let her angry words be forgotten.
Suffice to say, she permitted herself to cry out things that might
have given grave offence to one less certain of himself than I. Rather
chilled I admit I was by her frenzied outburst. I was shrewd enough to
see instantly that anything in the nature of a criticism of her
offspring must be led up to, rather; perhaps couched in less direct
phrases than I had chosen. Fearful I was that she would burst into
another torrent of rage, but to my amazement she all at once smiled.
“What a fool I am!” she exclaimed. “Kidding me, were you? Trying to
make me mad about the baby. Well, I’ll give you good. You did it. Yes,
sir, I never would have thought you had a kidding streak in you--old
glum-face!”
“Little you know me,” I retorted, and quickly withdrew, for I was then
more embarrassed than ever, and, besides, there were other and graver
matters forward to depress and occupy me.
In my fitful sleep of the night before I had dreamed vividly that I
saw the Honourable George being dragged shackled to the altar. I trust
I am not superstitious, but the vision had remained with me in all its
tormenting detail. A veiled woman had grimly awaited him as he
struggled with his uniformed captors. I mean to say, he was being
hustled along by two constables.
That day, let me now put down, was to be a day of the most fearful
shocks that a man of rather sensitive nervous organism has ever been
called upon to endure. There are now lines in my face that I make no
doubt showed then for the first time.
And it was a day that dragged interminably, so that I became fair off
my head with the suspense of it, feeling that at any moment the worst
might happen. For hours I saw no one with whom I could consult. Once I
was almost moved to call up Belknap-Jackson, so intolerable was the
menacing uncertainty; but this I knew bordered on hysteria, and I
restrained the impulse with an iron will.
But I wretchedly longed for a sight of Cousin Egbert or the Mixer, or
even of the Honourable George; some one to assure me that my horrid
dream of the night before had been a baseless fabric, as the saying
is. The very absence of these people and of his lordship was in itself
ominous.
Nervously I kept to a post at one of my windows where I could survey
the street. And here at mid-day I sustained my first shock. Terrific
it was. His lordship had emerged from the chemist’s across the street.
He paused a moment, as if to recall his next mission, then walked
briskly off. And this is what I had been stupefied to note: he was
clean shaven! The Brinstead side-whiskers were gone! Whiskers that had
been worn in precisely that fashion by a tremendous line of the Earls
of Brinstead! And the tenth of his line had abandoned them. As well, I
thought, could he have defaced the Brinstead arms.
It was plain as a pillar-box, indeed. The woman had our family at her
mercy, and she would show no mercy. My heart sank as I pictured the
Honourable George in her toils. My dream had been prophetic. Then I
reflected that this very circumstance of his lordship’s having
pandered to her lawless whim about his beard would go to show he had
not yet given up the fight. If the thing were hopeless I knew he would
have seen her--dashed--before he would have relinquished it. There
plainly was still hope for poor George. Indeed his lordship might well
have planned some splendid coup; this defacement would be a part of
his strategy, suffered in anguish for his ultimate triumph. Quite
cheered I became at the thought. I still scanned the street crowd for
some one who could acquaint me with developments I must have missed.
But then a moment later came the call by telephone of Belknap-Jackson.
I answered it, though with little hope than to hear more of his
unending complaints about his lordship’s negligence. Startled
instantly I was, however, for his voice was stranger than I had known
it even in moments of his acutest distress. Hoarse it was, and his
words alarming but hardly intelligible.
“Heard?--My God!--Heard?--My God!--Marriage! Marriage! God!” But here
he broke off into the most appalling laughter--the blood-curdling
laughter of a chained patient in a mad-house. Hardly could I endure it
and grateful I was when I heard the line close. Even when he attempted
vocables he had sounded quite like an inferior record on a
phonographic machine. But I had heard enough to leave me aghast.
Beyond doubt now the very worst had come upon our family. His
lordship’s tremendous sacrifice would have been all in vain. Marriage!
The Honourable George was done for. Better had it been the
typing-girl, I bitterly reflected. Her father had at least been a
curate!
Thankful enough I now was for the luncheon-hour rush: I could distract
myself from the appalling disaster. That day I took rather more than
my accustomed charge of the serving. I chatted with our business
chaps, recommending the joint in the highest terms; drawing corks;
seeing that the relish was abundantly stocked at every table. I was
striving to forget.
Mrs. Judson alone persisted in reminding me of the impending scandal.
“A prince in his palace,” she would maliciously murmur as I
encountered her. I think she must have observed that I was bitter, for
she at last spoke quite amiably of our morning’s dust-up.
“You certainly got my goat,” she said in the quaint American fashion,
“telling me little No-no was too fat. You had me going there for a
minute, thinking you meant it!”
The creature’s name was Albert, yet she persisted in calling it
“No-no,” because the child itself would thus falsely declare its name
upon being questioned, having in some strange manner gained this
impression. It was another matter I meant to bring to her attention,
but at this crisis I had no heart for it.
My crowd left. I was again alone to muse bitterly upon our plight.
Still I scanned the street, hoping for a sight of Cousin Egbert, who,
I fancied, would be informed as to the wretched details. Instead, now,
I saw the Honourable George. He walked on the opposite side of the
thoroughfare, his manner of dejection precisely what I should have
expected. Followed closely as usual he was by the Judson cur. A spirit
of desperate mockery seized me. I called to Mrs. Judson, who was
gathering glasses from a table. I indicated the pair.
“Mr. Barker,” I said, “is dogging his footsteps.” I mean to say, I
uttered the words in the most solemn manner. Little the woman knew
that one may often be moved in the most distressing moments to a jest
of this sort. She laughed heartily, being of quick discernment. And
thus jauntily did I carry my knowledge of the lowering cloud. But I
permitted myself no further sallies of that sort. I stayed expectantly
by the window, and I dare say my bearing would have deceived the most
alert. I was steadily calm. The situation called precisely for that.
The hours sped darkly and my fears mounted. In sheer desperation, at
length, I had myself put through to Belknap-Jackson. To my
astonishment he seemed quite revived, though in a state of feverish
gayety. He fair bubbled.
“Just leaving this moment with his lordship to gather up some friends.
We meet at your place. Yes, yes--all the uncertainty is past. Better
set up that largest table--rather a celebration.”
Almost more confusing it was than his former message, which had been
confined to calls upon his Maker and to maniac laughter. Was he, I
wondered, merely making the best of it? Had he resolved to be a dead
sportsman? A few moments later he discharged his lordship at my door
and drove rapidly on. (Only a question of time it is when he will be
had heavily for damages due to his reckless driving.)
His lordship bustled in with a cheerfulness that staggered me. He,
too, was gay; almost debonair. A gardenia was in his lapel. He was
vogue to the last detail in a form-fitting gray morning-suit that had
all the style essentials. Almost it seemed as if three valets had been
needed to groom him. He briskly rubbed his hands.
“Biggest table--people. Tea, that sort of thing. Have a go of
champagne, too, what, what! Beard off, much younger appearing? Of
course, course! Trust women, those matters. Tea cake, toast, crumpets,
marmalade--things like that. Plenty champagne! Not happen every day!
Ha! ha!”
To my acute distress he here thumbed me in the ribs and laughed again.
Was he, too, I wondered, madly resolved to be a dead sportsman in the
face of the unavoidable? I sought to edge in a discreet word of
condolence, for I knew that between us there need be no pretence.
“I know you did your best, sir,” I observed. “And I was never quite
free of a fear that the woman would prove too many for us. I trust the
Honourable George----”
But I had said as much as he would let me. He interrupted me with his
thumb again, and on his face was what in a lesser person I should
unhesitatingly have called a leer.
“You dog, you! Woman prove too many for us, what, what! Dare say you
knew what to expect. Silly old George! Though how she could ever have
fancied the juggins----”
I was about to remark that the creature had of course played her game
from entirely sordid motives and I should doubtless have ventured to
applaud the game spirit in which he was taking the blow. But before I
could shape my phrases on this delicate ground Mrs. Effie, the
Senator, and Cousin Egbert arrived. They somewhat formally had the air
of being expected. All of them rushed upon his lordship with an
excessive manner. Apparently they were all to be dead sportsmen
together. And then Mrs. Effie called me aside.
“You can do me a favour,” she began. “About the wedding breakfast and
reception. Dear Kate’s place is so small. It wouldn’t do. There will
be a crush, of course. I’ve had the loveliest idea for it--our own
house. You know how delighted we’d be. The Earl has been so charming
and everything has turned out so splendidly. Oh, I’d love to do them
this little parting kindness. Use your influence like a good fellow,
won’t you, when the thing is suggested?”
“Only too gladly,” I responded, sick at heart, and she returned to the
group. Well I knew her motive. She was by way of getting even with the
Belknap-Jacksons. As Cousin Egbert in his American fashion would put
it, she was trying to pass them a bison. But I was willing enough she
should house the dreadful affair. The more private the better, thought
I.
A moment later Belknap-Jackson’s car appeared at my door, now
discharging the Klondike woman, effusively escorted by the Mixer and
by Mrs. Belknap-Jackson. The latter at least, I had thought, would
show more principle. But she had buckled atrociously, quite as had her
husband, who had quickly, almost merrily, followed them. There was
increased gayety as they seated themselves about the large table, a
silly noise of pretended felicitation over a calamity that not even
the tenth Earl of Brinstead had been able to avert. And then
Belknap-Jackson beckoned me aside.
“I want your help, old chap, in case it’s needed,” he began.
“The wedding breakfast and reception?” I said quite cynically.
“You’ve thought of it? Good! Her own place is far too small. Crowd, of
course. And it’s rather proper at our place, too, his lordship having
been our house guest. You see? Use what influence you have. The affair
will be rather widely commented on--even the New York papers, I dare
say.”
“Count upon me,” I answered blandly, even as I had promised Mrs.
Effie. Disgusted I was. Let them maul each other about over the
wretched “honour.” They could all be dead sports if they chose, but I
was now firmly resolved that for myself I should make not a bit of
pretence. The creature might trick poor George into a marriage, but I
for one would not affect to regard it as other than a blight upon our
house. I was just on the point of hoping that the victim himself might
have cut off to unknown parts when I saw him enter. By the other
members of the party he was hailed with cries of delight, though his
own air was finely honest, being dejected in the extreme. He was
dressed as regrettably as usual, this time in parts of two
lounge-suits.
As he joined those at the table I constrained myself to serve the
champagne. Senator Floud arose with a brimming glass.
“My friends,” he began in his public-speaking manner, “let us remember
that Red Gap’s loss is England’s gain--to the future Countess of
Brinstead!”
To my astonishment this appalling breach of good taste was received
with the loudest applause, nor was his lordship the least clamorous of
them. I mean to say, the chap had as good as wished that his lordship
would directly pop off. It was beyond me. I walked to the farthest
window and stood a long time gazing pensively out; I wished to be away
from that false show. But they noticed my absence at length and called
to me. Monstrously I was desired to drink to the happiness of the
groom. I thought they were pressing me too far, but as they quite
gabbled now with their tea and things, I hoped to pass it off. The
Senator, however, seemed to fasten me with his eye as he proposed the
toast--“To the happy man!”