ELIAS DROOM'S DINNER PARTY
He was mystified and not a little upset by this almost peremptory
summons from the old man. He hurried over to Droom's quarters the
next morning, after ascertaining that the steamer would not reach
the dock until two or three o'clock. Droom was at work on one of
his amazing models.
"Hello," he said ungraciously. "I thought I invited you for to-night."
"I want to know something about it, Elias," said Graydon, sitting
upon the end of the workbench. "She'll not get in before the middle of
the afternoon, and she may not feel like going to Sherry's to-night."
"Just as she likes," said Droom pettishly. "You mean that she would
not like to be seen there with me unless there is to be something
in it for her, eh?"
"Nonsense. You've got something on your mind, Elias. What is it?
Why do you insist on going to-night?"
"I don't. It's to-night or not at all, however. I'm not in the
habit of letting people decide when I shall dine at Sherry's. If
she doesn't want to come, let her say so." That was all Graydon
could get out of him, so he left in a more perplexed frame of mind
than before.
He was at the dock long before the steamer came to a stop after
its eight days of ceaseless throbbing. She was waving to him from
the rail, her face beaming with happiness. It was just as he had
seen it in his dreams of this day. More than ever he arrayed his
love against her principle; more than ever was he determined to
overcome the obstacles which she had thrown up in her self-arraignment.
There was a cold, biting wind blowing, with the suggestion of snow
in the skies. The passengers came down with rosy cheeks, coloured
by the frost-laden hours on deck. After the tedious, disagreeable
hour with the customs officials, the Cables were driven to the
Holland House. Graydon Bansemer, sitting opposite to Jane in the
carriage, was almost speechless with joy and eagerness. The old
restraint was still upon him, but it was being worn down by degrees
as he gathered encouragement from the clear, inviting eyes of the
girl he worshipped. The love in those happy, glowing eyes could
not be mistaken for loyal indifference.
She was more beautiful than ever to his hungry, patient eyes; she
was more desirable, more priceless. David Cable and his wife had
been immensely benefited in every way by their months abroad. Jane
had found the sunshine for them and it had been her purpose in all
these months to keep them free from the shadows. They had travelled
Europe over and they had lived in the full warmth of pleasure.
Cable took Graydon aside as they entered the hotel. The latter
had implored Jane to give him a few minutes alone at the earliest
possible moment.
"Tell me about your father, Graydon," said David Cable.
"He is still in--in Joliet," replied the young man quietly.
"He has not offered to help us in clearing up the mystery?"
"I have had no word from him, Mr. Cable. He seems to be in his
tomb. I am afraid he will not help us, sir. He has said he would
not; that means a great deal, I am sorry to say."
He then told him of Elias Droom's strange invitation, adding that
he believed the old man was ready to reveal all that he knew.
"She must go with you to-night, then," said Cable. "It is necessary.
She wants to know the truth. She has said so."
"It won't matter, sir, so far as I am concerned. She--"
"She has come back, my boy, determined to go on with her plans.
I am sorry, Graydon, but I am at last convinced that she means to
give her life to the work."
"By Heaven, Mr. Cable, she shall not do it! I can't live without
her," cried Graydon miserably. Cable smiled sadly as he shook his
head.
At half past seven o'clock Jane Cable and Graydon met Droom at
Sherry's. She was paler than usual and there was a queer chill in
her heart. Bansemer was more nervous than he had ever been before
in his life.
Elias Droom, the strangest creature in the big restaurant, arose
to greet them as they entered the doors. He had been waiting inside
and out for half an hour, and his welcome was quite in keeping with
his character, He uttered a few gruff words of greeting to her,
accompanied by a perfunctory smile that gave out no warmth; then
he started off with rude haste toward the table he had reserved.
Not a word concerning her welfare, her health, her return to the
homeland--no sign of interest or consideration. They followed him
silently, anxiously.
The old man was conspicuously repulsive in his finery. It is
unnecessary to say that his clothes did not fit his lank figure:
tailors cannot perform miracles. His long chin was carefully shaven,
but the razor could not remove the ruts and creases that hid the
thick stubble of grey and black. Not one but one hundred diners
looked with curiosity upon the nervous, uncouth old man. There was
a buzz of interest and a craning of necks when the crowd saw the
handsome couple join him at the table in the corner.
"I wish you'd order the dinner for me, Graydon," he said, rather
plaintively. "I can pay for it, Miss Cable," he added with an
attempt at joviality, "but I'm no good at ordering. These young
swells know all about it. Get champagne, Graydon. Order something
nice for Miss Cable. Anywhere up to twenty dollars. I'm not a
millionaire, Miss Cable. Tell the waiter I'll pay for it, Graydon.
This is a swell place, isn't it, Miss Cable? I've never been in
Europe, but they say they can't touch our restaurants over there.
Get oysters, Graydon."
"By Jove, Elias, you are giving us a treat," laughed Graydon. The
old man's mood had changed suddenly. He was beaming in his effort
to be agreeable. A glance around the room had convinced him that
the prettiest woman there was sitting at his table. He felt a new
sense of pride.
"I am proud of myself," said Droom--and he meant it.
"It's very good of you to ask me to come, Mr. Droom," said Jane,
her bright eyes meeting his before they could lift themselves into
the customary stare above her head.
"I'm not so sure about that," said Elias. From time to time he
glanced uneasily toward a table at his left. It was set for six
persons, none of whom had arrived. "I trust it will not be the last
time you will honour me, Miss Cable. I am getting very hospitable
in my old age. If you don't mind, Graydon, I won't drink this
cocktail. I may take the champagne. I'm quite a teetotaler, you
see. Milk, always. By the way, Graydon," he said, turning suddenly
to the young man, "I suppose you've led her to believe that I had
a motive in asking her to dine to-night--I mean other than the
pleasure it would give to me."
"I--I rather thought something of the sort," stammered Graydon.
"Well, there is a motive. I've decided at last to tell all I knew.
Don't look like that, Miss Cable. You'll attract attention. Calm
yourself. It will be some time before the story is forthcoming.
Besides, I doubt very much whether you'll get any great satisfaction
out of it, although it may clear things up a bit for you. If
you've been hoping that your father and mother--well, we'll take
our time. Here are the oysters. Oysters make me think of your
father, Graydon. Don't choke, my boy," he chuckled as Graydon
stiffened quickly. "He had a woman arrested at her own dinner party
one night--right over there in Fifth Avenue, too. Search warrant,
and all that. The oysters were being served when the papers were
served. Ah, he was a great man for effective revenge. She had dared
him, you see. Did you ever hear of the other time when he permitted
an ignorant host to invite two deadly enemies to the same dinner?
One fellow had robbed the other fellow of his wife. Terrible scandal.
Your father knew that they expected to kill one another on sight.
And yet when the host told him whom he expected to invite he let
him ask the two men. He told me about it afterward. It amused
him. Everybody but the host knew of the row and there was a panic
in the drawing-room."
"Good Lord," gasped Graydon, helplessly pushing the oysters away.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Oh, it was a great joke. It's a good dinner story. The joke comes
in at the end. Both those fellows got tight and went home with their
arms about one another. By the way, Graydon, what do you hear from
your father?"
Graydon looked uncomfortably at Jane, whose face was set with
distress.
"Elias, you've got no right to--" began the young man coldly.
"I beg your pardon if I've offended," said Droom abjectly. "I--I
don't know the etiquette of small talk--forgive me. I was interested,
that is all."
"It may interest you to know that I had a long talk with Mr. Clegg
this afternoon. He says there is a movement on foot to secure a
pardon for father. Father hasn't asked anyone to intercede. It is
known that he will go to England to live as soon as he is released.
That's an inducement, you see," he said bitterly.
Droom's face turned a frozen white; his steely eyes took on a
peculiar glaze, and his hand grasped his leg as if it were a vise
intended to hold him in his chair.
"I haven't told you about it, Jane," went on Graydon. "Mr. Clegg
has seen father and he says he is indifferent about it. He intends
to leave the country in any event. I am going to write to him
to-night, asking him to let them apply for the pardon. It may save
him from three years more of servitude. Mr. Clegg is sure he can
get his release--what's the matter, Elias?"
The old clerk's body had stiffened and the look in his face was
something horrible to behold. Terror was visible in every lineament.
His companions started from their chairs in alarm. With a mighty
effort the old man succeeded in regaining a semblance of self-control.
His body relaxed, and his jaw dropped; his voice was trembling and
weak as he responded, an apologetic grin on his face.
"Nothing--nothing at all. A momentary pain. Don't mind me. Don't
mind me," he mumbled. "I have them often. I think it's my heart.
What were you saying, Graydon? Oh, yes, the pardon. I-I hope you'll
mention me in writing to your father. Tell him I hope to--to see
him if he comes to New York."
"I don't believe he likes you, Elias," said Graydon, half jestingly.
"Wha--what has he said to you?" demanded Droom sharply.
"He rather resented your taking Jane and me to Joliet that day."
The old man's grin was malicious. "He won't forgive you that."
"I shall never forget how he looked at you, Mr. Droom," said Jane
with a shudder. Droom trembled with a new spasm of fear.
Attention was diverted by the arrival of the party of six. The
men were distinguished in appearance, the women aristocratic but
spirited. That they were well known to many of the diners in those
days at Sherry's was at once apparent; they were bowing right and
left to near-by acquaintances. After much ado they finally relapsed
into the chairs obsequiously drawn back for them and the buzz of
conversation throughout the place was resumed.
Graydon, lowering his voice, named the newcomers to Jane, who looked
at them with fresh interest. The names were well known to New York
and European society. For the moment Elias Droom was unnoticed. He
took the opportunity to collect his nerves and to subdue his too
apparent emotion. Jane was recalled from her polite scrutiny of the
women at the next table by hearing her name mentioned in Droom's
hoarsest voice, modified into something like a whisper.
"Miss Cable, I not only asked you to come here in order to tell
you the name of your father, but to point him out to you."
There was an instant of breathless silence at the table. So
startling was his announcement that every other sound in the room
escaped the ears of his two listeners.
"There was a new hundred dollar bill found in the basket with you.
Your grandfather's signature was on that bill. He was the president
of the bank which issued it. Your mother was--" Here he leaned
forward and whispered a name that fairly stunned his hearers.
Graydon caught his breath and a new light appeared in his eyes.
He was beginning to believe that the old man's brain was affected.
Jane leaned forward in her chair, an incredulous smile on her lips.
"Don't jest, Elias," began Graydon, somewhat roughly.
"I am not jesting. It is the truth, I swear it," snapped Elias.
"But, great Heaven, man, consider what you've said. It's one of
the best families in this country-it's preposterous to say--"
"Of course, her family is one of the best. She was a blue stocking.
That's where Miss Cable gets most of her good blood."
"My God, Elias, I can't believe it!" cried Graydon.
Jane was staring blankly at the old man's face.
"Your father will tell you the same. For more than twenty years
I have known the secret. There is no documentary proof, but this
much I do know: James Bansemer received fifty thousand dollars for
keeping his mouth closed. He found out the truth and he profited
by it as usual. Oh, he knew that hundred dollar bills are not left
with pauper babes. I don't know how he unearthed the truth about
Miss--"
"Sh! Don't mention the name aloud!"
"But he did unearth it, beyond all possible chance of mistake. Your
father, Miss Cable, is sitting at that table. Don't look up just
yet. He is staring at you. He doesn't know you, but he does know
you are a pretty woman. The gentleman with the grey hair, Graydon.
See? That man is her father."
Graydon half started up in his chair, his lips apart, his eyes
riveted on the man designated. Every drop of blood seemed to have
frozen in his veins.
"Good God, Elias!" he whispered. "Why, that is--" The name stuck
in his throat.
"The son of the man who signed the banknote. He is Jane's father.
There's blue blood in him--there has been since King Henry's day--but
he is a villain for all that. Now, Miss Cable, I've done my duty.
I've told you the absolute truth. You could not have expected more--you
could not have asked a greater climax. The name of Vanderbilt or
Astor is no better known than that man's name, and no ancestry is
better than that of your mother. I will now give to you one of the
articles of proof that connects you with their history." He handed
to her a small package. "It is the letter written to James Bansemer
by your paternal grandfather, agreeing to an appointment to discuss
a question of grave moment. I found the letter that same day, and
I've kept it all these years. It bears your grandfather's signature.
That is all. I heard part of that interview, and I stake my soul
that what I've told you is true."
Jane sat looking at him as if paralysed. Her mind was quite incapable
of grasping the full import of his words--the words she had craved
for so many months, and yet dreaded.
"I knew he was coming here to-night. He gives a theatre party.
To-morrow he goes abroad. That is all."
"He's living in Paris," muttered Graydon mechanically. Jane spoke
for the first time, as in a daze.
"I--I have seen him many times in Paris. My father? Oh, oh, it
can't be true."
"Jane, let me take you away from here--" began Graydon, observing
her pallor.
"No. Let me stay. It can't matter, Graydon. I want to look at him
again and again," she said, shrinking back as if the whole world
were staring at her. By the most prodigious effort she regained
control of her fleeing composure. It was a trying moment.
"He's worth millions," said Droom. "It will be worth while for YOU
to--"
"No!" she exclaimed passionately. "Do you think I will present
myself to him after he has cast me off! No! a thousand times, no!"
At that instant the party of six hurriedly arose to leave the place.
The tall man with the grey hair--the handsomest man of all--was
staring boldly at Jane's averted face, now red with consciousness.
As he passed her in going out of the room, his look grew more
insistent. She glanced up and a faint smile crossed his face.
"Devilish handsome girl," he remarked to the man behind him and
then he passed out of her sight, perhaps forever.
"The woman with him?" cried Jane, her eyes following the beautiful
creature at his side, "is she my mother?"
"No," said Graydon, averting his eyes to avoid her expression; "she
is his wife."
Droom waited until the party was out of the restaurant before
uttering a word.
"Inside of two years I have pointed out two fathers to their
children--yours and his, Jane. Your mothers are dead. There isn't
much choice as to fathers. If I were you, I'd say I had the better
of the bargain. Take an old man's advice, both of you, and let
bygones be bygones. Start life now, just as if nothing had happened
before, and get every atom of happiness out of it that you can.
Don't you two pay for the sins of your fathers."
"I couldn't live in New York if he were living here," murmured
Jane.
"Hey, waiter, your bill," said Droom, with sudden harshness.
It was snowing and the wind was blowing a gale when they emerged
from the place. Jane hung heavily upon Graydon's arm; he could
feel that she was sobbing. He did not dare to look into her face,
but he felt something cruelly triumphant surging in his heart. Elias
Droom waited until their cab came up. Then he offered his hand to
both, hesitatingly, even timidly.
"Good-night. Be happy. There is nothing else left for you but that.
Graydon, when you write to your father, give him my love."