THE CUT DIRECT
A typographical error in one of the papers caused no end of amusement
to every one except Monty and Miss Drew. The headlines had announced
"Magnificent ball to be given Miss Drew by her Finance," and the
"Little Sons of the Rich" wondered why Monty did not see the humor of
it.
"He has too bad an attack to see anything but the lady," said Harrison
one evening when the "Sons" were gathered for an old-time supper party.
"It's always the way," commented the philosophical Bragdon, "When you
lose your heart your sense of humor goes too. Engaged couples couldn't
do such ridiculous stunts if they had the least particle of it left."
"Well, if Monty Brewster is still in love with Miss Drew he takes a
mighty poor way of showing it." "Subway" Smith's remark fell like a
bombshell. The thought had come to every one, but no one had been given
the courage to utter it. For them Brewster's silence on the subject
since the DeMille dinner seemed to have something ominous behind it.
"It's probably only a lovers' quarrel," said Bragdon. But further
comment was cut short by the entrance of Monty himself, and they took
their places at the table.
Before the evening came to an end they were in possession of many
astonishing details in connection with the coming ball. Monty did not
say that it was to be given for Miss Drew and her name was
conspicuously absent from his descriptions. As he unfolded his plans
even the "Little Sons," who were imaginative by instinct and reckless
on principle, could not be quite acquiescent.
"Nopper" Harrison solemnly expressed the opinion that the ball would
cost Brewster at least $125,000. The "Little Sons" looked at one
another in consternation, while Brewster's indifference expressed
itself in an unflattering comment upon his friend's vulgarity. "Good
Lord, Nopper," he added, "you would speculate about the price of gloves
for your wedding."
Harrison resented the taunt. "It would be much less vulgar to do that,
Monty, saving your presence, than to force your millions down every
one's throat."
"Well, they swallow them, I've noticed," retorted Brewster, "as though
they were chocolates."
Pettingill interrupted grandiloquently. "My friends and gentlemen!"
"Which is which?" asked Van Winkle, casually.
But the artist was in the saddle. "Permit me to present to you the boy
Croesus--the only one extant. His marbles are plunks and his kites are
made of fifty-dollar notes. He feeds upon coupons à la Newburgh, and
his champagne is liquid golden eagles. Look at him, gentlemen, while
you can, and watch him while he spends thirteen thousand dollars for
flowers!"
"With a Viennese orchestra for twenty-nine thousand!" added Bragdon.
"And yet they maintain that silence is golden."
"And three singers to divide twelve thousand among themselves! That's
absolutely criminal," cried Van Winkle. "Over in Germany they'd sing a
month for half that amount."
"Six hundred guests to feed--total cost of not less than forty thousand
dollars," groaned "Nopper," dolefully.
"And there aren't six hundred in town," lamented "Subway" Smith. "All
that glory wasted on two hundred rank outsiders."
"You men are borrowing a lot of trouble," yawned Brewster, with a
gallant effort to seem bored. "All I ask of you is to come to the party
and put up a good imitation of having the time of your life. Between
you and me I'd rather be caught at Huyler's drinking ice cream soda
than giving this thing. But--"
"That's what we want to know, but what?" and "Subway" leaned forward
eagerly.
"But," continued Monty, "I'm in for it now, and it is going to be a
ball that is a ball."
Nevertheless the optimistic Brewster could not find the courage to tell
Peggy of these picturesque extravagances. To satisfy her curiosity he
blandly informed her that he was getting off much more cheaply than he
had expected. He laughingly denounced as untrue the stories that had
come to her from outside sources. And before his convincing assertions
that reports were ridiculously exaggerated, the troubled expression in
the girl's eyes disappeared.
"I must seem a fool," groaned Monty, as he left the house after one of
these explanatory trials, "but what will she think of me toward the end
of the year when I am really in harness?" He found it hard to control
the desire to be straight with Peggy and tell her the story of his mad
race in pursuit of poverty.
Preparations for the ball went on steadily, and in a dull winter it had
its color value for society. It was to be a Spanish costume-ball, and
at many tea-tables the talk of it was a god-send. Sarcastic as it
frequently was on the question of Monty's extravagance, there was a
splendor about the Aladdin-like entertainment which had a charm.
Beneath the outward disapproval there was a secret admiration of the
superb nerve of the man. And there was little reluctance to help him in
the wild career he had chosen. It was so easy to go with him to the
edge of the precipice and let him take the plunge alone. Only the echo
of the criticism reached Brewster, for he had silenced Harrison with
work and Pettingill with opportunities. It troubled him little, as he
was engaged in jotting down items that swelled the profit side of his
ledger account enormously. The ball was bound to give him a good lead
in the race once more, despite the heavy handicap the Stock Exchange
had imposed. The "Little Sons" took off their coats and helped
Pettingill in the work of preparation. He found them quite superfluous,
for their ideas never agreed and each man had a way of preferring his
own suggestion. To Brewster's chagrin they were united in the effort to
curb his extravagance.
"He'll be giving automobiles and ropes of pearls for favors if we don't
stop him," said "Subway" Smith, after Monty had ordered a vintage
champagne to be served during the entire evening. "Give them two
glasses first, if you like, and then they won't mind if they have cider
the rest of the night."
"Monty is plain dotty," chimed Bragdon, "and the pace is beginning to
tell on him."
As a matter of fact the pace was beginning to tell on Brewster. Work
and worry were plainly having an effect on his health. His color was
bad, his eyes were losing their lustre, and there was a listlessness in
his actions that even determined effort could not conceal from his
friends. Little fits of fever annoyed him occasionally and he admitted
that he did not feel quite right.
"Something is wrong somewhere," he said, ruefully, "and my whole system
seems ready to stop work through sympathy."
Suddenly there was a mighty check to the preparations. Two days before
the date set for the ball everything came to a standstill and the
managers sank back in perplexity and consternation. Monty Brewster was
critically ill.
Appendicitis, the doctors called it, and an operation was imperative.
"Thank heaven it's fashionable," laughed Monty, who showed no fear of
the prospect. "How ridiculous if it had been the mumps, or if the
newspapers had said, 'On account of the whooping-cough, Mr. Brewster
did not attend his ball.'"
"You don't mean to say--the ball is off, of course," and Harrison was
really alarmed.
"Not a bit of it, Nopper," said Monty. "It's what I've been wanting all
along. You chaps do the handshaking and I stay at home."
There was an immediate council of war when this piece of news was
announced, and the "Little Sons" were unanimous in favor of recalling
the invitations and declaring the party off. At first Monty was
obdurate, but when some one suggested that he could give the ball later
on, after he was well, he relented. The opportunity to double the cost
by giving two parties was not to be ignored.
"Call it off, then, but say it is only postponed."
A great rushing to and fro resulted in the cancelling of contracts, the
recalling of invitations, the settling of accounts, with the most loyal
effort to save as much as possible from the wreckage. Harrison and his
associates, almost frantic with fear for Brewster's life, managed to
perform wonders in the few hours of grace. Gardner, with rare
foresight, saw that the Viennese orchestra would prove a dead loss. He
suggested the possibility of a concert tour through the country,
covering several weeks, and Monty, too ill to care one way or the
other, authorized him to carry out the plan if it seemed feasible.
To Monty, fearless and less disturbed than any other member of his
circle, appendicitis seemed as inevitable as vaccination.
"The appendix is becoming an important feature in the Book of Life," he
once told Peggy Gray.
He refused to go to a hospital, but pathetically begged to be taken to
his old rooms at Mrs. Gray's.
With all the unhappy loneliness of a sick boy, he craved the care and
companionship of those who seemed a part of his own. Dr. Lotless had
them transform a small bedchamber into a model operating room and Monty
took no small satisfaction in the thought that if he was to be denied
the privilege of spending money for several weeks, he would at least
make his illness as expensive as possible. A consultation of eminent
surgeons was called, but true to his colors, Brewster installed Dr.
Lotless, a "Little Son," as his house surgeon. Monty grimly bore the
pain and suffering and submitted to the operation which alone could
save his life. Then came the struggle, then the promise of victory and
then the quiet days of convalescence. In the little room where he had
dreamed his boyish dreams and suffered his boyish sorrows, he struggled
against death and gradually emerged from the mists of lassitude. He
found it harder than he had thought to come back to life. The burden of
it all seemed heavy. The trained nurses found that some more powerful
stimulant than the medicine was needed to awaken his ambition, and they
discovered it at last in Peggy.
"Child," he said to her the first time she was permitted to see him,
and his eyes had lights in them: "do you know, this isn't such a bad
old world after all. Sometimes as I've lain here, it has looked twisted
and queer. But there are things that straighten it out. To-day I feel
as though I had a place in it--as though I could fight things and win
out. What do you think, Peggy? Do you suppose there is something that I
could do? You know what I mean--something that some one else would not
do a thousand times better."
But Peggy, to whom this chastened mood in Monty was infinitely
pathetic, would not let him talk. She soothed him and cheered him and
touched his hair with her cool hands. And then she left him to think
and brood and dream.
It was many days before his turbulent mind drifted to the subject of
money, but suddenly he found himself hoping that the surgeons would be
generous with their charges. He almost suffered a relapse when Lotless,
visibly distressed, informed him that the total amount would reach
three thousand dollars.
"And what is the additional charge for the operation?" asked Monty,
unwilling to accept such unwarranted favors.
"It's included in the three thousand," said Lotless. "They knew you
were my friend and it was professional etiquette to help keep down
expenses."
For days Brewster remained at Mrs. Gray's, happy in its restfulness,
serene under the charm of Peggy's presence, and satisfied to be
hopelessly behind in his daily expense account. The interest shown by
the inquiries at the house and the anxiety of his friends were soothing
to the profligate. It gave him back a little of his lost self-respect.
The doctors finally decided that he would best recuperate in Florida,
and advised a month at least in the warmth. He leaped at the
proposition, but took the law into his own hands by ordering General
Manager Harrison to rent a place, and insisting that he needed the
companionship of Peggy and Mrs. Gray.
"How soon can I get back to work, Doctor?" demanded Monty, the day
before the special train was to carry him south. He was beginning to
see the dark side of this enforced idleness. His blood again was
tingling with the desire to be back in the harness of a spendthrift.
"To work?" laughed the physician. "And what is your occupation, pray?"
"Making other people rich," responded Brewster, soberly.
"Well, aren't you satisfied with what you have done for me? If you are
as charitable as that you must be still pretty sick. Be careful, and
you may be on your feet again in five or six weeks."
Harrison came in as Lotless left. Peggy smiled at him from the window.
She had been reading aloud from a novel so garrulous that it fairly
cried aloud for interruptions.
"Now, Nopper, what became of the ball I was going to give?" demanded
Monty, a troubled look in his eyes.
"Why, we called it off," said "Nopper," in surprise.
"Don't you remember, Monty?" asked Peggy, looking up quickly, and
wondering if his mind had gone trailing off.
"I know we didn't give it, of course; but what date did you hit upon?"
"We didn't postpone it at all," said "Nopper." "How could we? We didn't
know whether--I mean it wouldn't have been quite right to do that sort
of thing."
"I understand. Well, what has become of the orchestra, and the flowers,
and all that?"
"The orchestra is gallivanting around the country, quarreling with
itself and everybody else, and driving poor Gardner to the insane
asylum. The flowers have lost their bloom long ago."
"Well, we'll get together, Nopper, and try to have the ball at
mid-Lent. I think I'll be well by that time."
Peggy looked appealingly at Harrison for guidance, but to him silence
seemed the better part of valor, and he went off wondering if the
illness had completely carried away Monty's reason.