"What?" asked Mrs. Nolak as her face emerged, somewhat smudgy.
"Oh, what noise? Why, he sorta brays."
"Lemme see it in a mirror."
Before a wide mirror Perry tried on the head and turned from side to
side appraisingly. In the dim light the effect was distinctly
pleasing. The camel's face was a study in pessimism, decorated with
numerous abrasions, and it must be admitted that his coat was in
that state of general negligence peculiar to camels--in fact, he
needed to be cleaned and pressed--but distinctive he certainly was.
He was majestic. He would have attracted attention in any gathering
if only by his melancholy cast of feature and the look of pensive
hunger lurking round his shadowy eyes.
"You see you have to have two people," said Mrs. Nolak again.
Perry tentatively gathered up the body and legs and wrapped them
about him, tying the hind legs as a girdle round his waist. The
effect on the whole was bad. It was even irreverent--like one of
those medieval pictures of a monk changed into a beast by the
ministrations of Satan. At the very best the ensemble resembled a
humpbacked cow sitting on her haunches among blankets.
"Don't look like anything at all," objected Perry gloomily.
"No," said Mrs. Nolak; "you see you got to have two people."
A solution flashed upon Perry.
"You got a date to-night?"
"Oh, I couldn't possibly--"
"Oh, come on," said Perry encouragingly. "Sure you can! Here! Be a
good sport and climb into these hind legs."
With difficulty he located them and extended their yawning depths
ingratiatingly. But Mrs. Nolak seemed loath. She backed perversely
away.
"Oh, no--"
"C'm on! Why, you can be the front if you want to. Or we'll flip a
coin."
"Oh, no--"
"Make it worth your while."
Mrs. Nolak set her lips firmly together.
"Now you just stop!" she said with no coyness implied. "None of the
gentlemen ever acted up this way before. My husband--"
"You got a husband?" demanded Perry. "Where is he?"
"He's home."
"Wha's telephone number?"
After considerable parley he obtained the telephone number
pertaining to the Nolak penates and got into communication with that
small, weary voice he had heard once before that day. But Mr. Nolak,
though taken off his guard and somewhat confused by Perry's
brilliant flow of logic, stuck staunchly to his point. He refused
firmly but with dignity to help out Mr. Parkhurst in the capacity of
back part of a camel.
Having rung off, or rather having been rung off on, Perry sat down
on a three-legged stool to think it over. He named over to himself
those friends on whom he might call, and then his mind paused as
Betty Medill's name hazily and sorrowfully occurred to him. He had a
sentimental thought. He would ask her. Their love affair was over,
but she could not refuse this last request. Surely it was not much
to ask--to help him keep up his end of social obligation for one
short night. And if she insisted she could be the front part of the
camel and he would go as the back. His magnanimity pleased him. His
mind even turned to rosy-coloured dreams of a tender reconciliation
inside the camel--there hidden away from all the world.
"Now you'd better decide right off."
The bourgeois voice of Mrs. Nolak broke in upon his mellow fancies
and roused him to action. He went to the phone and called up the
Medill house. Miss Betty was out; had gone out to dinner.
Then, when all seemed lost, the camel's back wandered curiously into
the store. He was a dilapidated individual with a cold in his head
and a general trend about him of downwardness. His cap was pulled
down low on his head, and his chin was pulled down low on his chest,
his coat hung down to his shoes, he looked run-down, down at the
heels, and--Salvation Army to the contrary--down and out. He said
that he was the taxicab driver that the gentleman had hired at the
Clarendon Hotel. He had been instructed to wait outside, but he had
waited some time and a suspicion had grown upon him that the
gentleman had gone out the back way with purpose to defraud
him--gentlemen sometimes did--so he had come in. He sank down on to
the three-legged stool.
"Wanta go to a party?" demanded Perry sternly.
"I gotta work," answered the taxi driver lugubriously. "I gotta keep
my job."
"It's a very good party."
"'S a very good job."
"Come on!" urged Perry. "Be a good fella. See--it's pretty!" He held
the camel up and the taxi driver looked at it cynically.
"Huh!"
Perry searched feverishly among the folds of the cloth.
"See!" he cried enthusiastically, holding up a selection of folds.
"This is your part. You don't even have to talk. All you have to do
is to walk--and sit down occasionally. You do all the sitting down.
Think of it. I'm on my feet all the time and you can sit down some
of the time. The only time I can sit down is when we're lying down,
and you can sit down when--oh, any time. See?"
"What's 'at thing?" demanded the individual dubiously "A shroud?"
"Not at all," said Perry hurriedly. "It's a camel."
"Huh?"
Then Perry mentioned a sum of money, and the conversation left the
land of grunts and assumed a practical tinge. Perry and the taxi
driver tried on the camel in front of the mirror.
"You can't see it," explained Perry, peering anxiously out through
the eyeholes, "but honestly, ole man, you look sim'ly great! Honestly!"
A grunt from the hump acknowledged this somewhat dubious compliment.
"Honestly, you look great!" repeated Perry enthusiastically.
"Move round a little."
The hind legs moved forward, giving the effect of a huge cat-camel
hunching his back preparatory to a spring.
"No; move sideways."
The camel's hips went neatly out of joint; a hula dancer would have
writhed in envy.
"Good, isn't it?" demanded Perry, turning to Mrs. Nolak for approval.
"It looks lovely," agreed Mrs. Nolak.
"We'll take it," said Perry.
The bundle was safely stowed under Perry's arm and they left the shop.
"Go to the party!" he commanded as he took his seat in the back.
"What party?"
"Fanzy-dress party."
"Where 'bouts is it?"
This presented a new problem. Perry tried to remember, but the names
of all those who had given parties during the holidays danced
confusedly before his eyes. He could ask Mrs. Nolak, but on looking
out the window he saw that the shop was dark. Mrs. Nolak had already
faded out, a little black smudge far down the snowy street.
"Drive uptown," directed Perry with fine confidence. "If you see a
party, stop. Otherwise I'll tell you when we get there."
He fell into a hazy daydream and his thoughts wandered again to
Betty--he imagined vaguely that they had had a disagreement because
she refused to go to the party as the back part of the camel. He was
just slipping off into a chilly doze when he was wakened by the taxi
driver opening the door and shaking him by the arm.
"Here we are, maybe."
Perry looked out sleepily. A striped awning led from the curb up to
a spreading gray stone house, from inside which issued the low
drummy whine of expensive jazz. He recognized the Howard Tate house.
"Sure," he said emphatically; "'at's it! Tate's party to-night. Sure,
everybody's goin'."
"Say," said the individual anxiously after another look at the awning,
"you sure these people ain't gonna romp on me for comin' here?"
Perry drew himself up with dignity.
"'F anybody says anything to you, just tell 'em you're part of my
costume."
The visualization of himself as a thing rather than a person seemed
to reassure the individual,
"All right," he said reluctantly.
Perry stepped out under the shelter of the awning and began
unrolling the camel.
"Let's go," he commanded.
Several minutes later a melancholy, hungry-looking camel, emitting
clouds of smoke from his mouth and from the tip of his noble hump,
might have been seen crossing the threshold of the Howard Tate
residence, passing a startled footman without so much as a snort,
and leading directly for the main stairs that led up to the ballroom.
The beast walked with a peculiar gait which varied between an
uncertain lockstep and a stampede--but can best be described by the
word "halting." The camel had a halting gait--and as he walked he
alternately elongated and contracted like a gigantic concertina.
III
The Howard Tates are, as everyone who lives in Toledo knows, the
most formidable people in town. Mrs. Howard Tate was a Chicago Todd
before she became a Toledo Tate, and the family generally affect
that conscious simplicity which has begun to be the earmark of
American aristocracy. The Tates have reached the stage where they
talk about pigs and farms and look at you icy-eyed if you are not
amused. They have begun to prefer retainers rather than friends as
dinner guests, spend a lot of money in a quiet way and, having lost
all sense of competition, are in process of growing quite dull.
The dance this evening was for little Millicent Tate, and though
there was a scattering of people of all ages present the dancers
were mostly from school and college--the younger married crowd was
at the Townsends' circus ball up at the Tallyho Club. Mrs. Tate was
standing just inside the ballroom, following Millicent round with
her eyes and beaming whenever she caught her eye. Beside her were
two middle-aged sycophants who were saying what a perfectly exquisite
child Millicent was. It was at this moment that Mrs. Tate was
grasped firmly by the skirt and her youngest daughter, Emily, aged
eleven, hurled herself with an "Oof--!" into her mother's arms.
"Why, Emily, what's the trouble?"
"Mamma," said Emily, wild-eyed but voluble, "there's something out
on the stairs."
"What?"
"There's a thing out on the stairs, mamma. I think it's a big dog,
mamma, but it doesn't look like a dog."
"What do you mean, Emily?"
The sycophants waved their heads and hemmed sympathetically.
"Mamma, it looks like a--like a camel."
Mrs. Tate laughed.
"You saw a mean old shadow, dear, that's all."
"No, I didn't. No, it was some kind of thing, mamma--big. I was
downstairs going to see if there were any more people and this dog
or something, he was coming upstairs. Kinda funny, mamma, like he
was lame. And then he saw me and gave a sort of growl and then he
slipped at the top of the landing and I ran."
Mrs. Tate's laugh faded.
"The child must have seen something," she said.
The sycophants agreed that the child must have seen something--and
suddenly all three women took an instinctive step away from the door
as the sounds of muffled footsteps were audible just outside.
And then three startled gasps rang out as a dark brown form rounded
the corner and they saw what was apparently a huge beast looking
down at them hungrily.
"Oof!" cried Mrs. Tate.
"O-o-oh!" cried the ladies in a chorus.
The camel suddenly humped his back, and the gasps turned to shrieks.
"Oh--look!"
"What is it?"
The dancing stopped, but the dancers hurrying over got quite a
different impression of the invader from that of the ladies by the
door; in fact, the young people immediately suspected that it was a
stunt, a hired entertainer come to amuse the party. The boys in long
trousers looked at it rather disdainfully and sauntered over with
their hands in their pockets, feeling that their intelligence was
being insulted. But the girls ran over with much handclapping and
many little shouts of glee.
"It's a camel!"
"Well, if he isn't the funniest!"
The camel stood there uncertainly, swaying slightly from side to
side and seeming to take in the room in a careful, appraising glance;
then as if he had come to an abrupt decision he turned and ambled
swiftly out the door.
Mr. Howard Tate had just come out of his den on the lower floor and
was standing chatting with a good-looking young man in the hall.
Suddenly they heard the noise of shouting upstairs and almost
immediately a succession of bumping sounds, followed by the
precipitous appearance at the foot of the stairway of a large brown
beast who seemed to be going somewhere in a great hurry.
"Now what the devil!" said Mr. Tate, starting.
The beast picked itself up with some dignity and affecting an air of
extreme nonchalance, as if he had just remembered an important
engagement, started at a mixed gait toward the front door. In fact,
his front legs began casually to run.
"See here now," said Mr. Tate sternly. "Here! Grab it, Butterfield!
Grab it!"
The young man enveloped the rear of the camel in a pair of brawny
arms, and evidently realizing that further locomotion was quite
impossible the front end submitted to capture and stood resignedly
in a state of some agitation. By this time a flood of young people
was pouring downstairs, and Mr. Tate, suspecting everything from an
ingenious burglar to an escaped lunatic, gave crisp directions to
the good-looking young man:
"Hold him! Lead him in here; we'll soon see."
The camel consented to be led into the den, and Mr. Tate, after
locking the door, took a revolver from a table drawer and instructed
the young man to take the thing's head off. Then he gasped and
returned the revolver to its hiding place.
"Well, Perry Parkhurst!" he exclaimed in amazement.
"'M in the wrong pew," said Perry sheepishly. "Got the wrong party,
Mr. Tate. Hope I didn't scare you."
"Well--you gave us a thrill, Perry." Realization dawned on him.
"Why, of course; you're bound for the Townsends' circus ball."
"That's the general idea."
"Let me introduce Mr. Butterfield, Mr. Parkhurst. Parkhurst is our
most famous young bachelor here." Then turning to Perry:
"Butterfield is staying with us for a few days."
"I got a little mixed up," mumbled Perry. "I'm very sorry."
"Heavens, it's perfectly all right; most natural mistake in the world.
I've got a clown costume and I'm going down there myself after a
while. Silly idea for a man of my age." He turned to Butterfield.
"Better change your mind and come down with us."
The good-looking young man demurred. He was going to bed.
"Have a drink, Perry?" suggested Mr. Tate.
"Thanks, I will."
"And, say," continued Tate quickly, "I'd forgotten all about
your--friend here." He indicated the rear part of the camel.
"I didn't mean to seem discourteous. Is it any one I know? Bring him
out."
"It's not a friend," explained Perry hurriedly. "I just rented him."
"Does he drink?"
"Do you?" demanded Perry, twisting himself tortuously round.
There was a faint sound of assent.
"Sure he does!" said Mr. Tate heartily. "A really efficient camel
ought to be able to drink enough so it'd last him three days."
"Tell you, sir," said Perry anxiously, "he isn't exactly dressed up
enough to come out. If you give me the bottle I can hand it back to
him and he can take his inside."
From under the cloth was audible the enthusiastic smacking sound
inspired by this suggestion. When a butler had appeared with bottles,
glasses, and siphon one of the bottles was handed back, and
thereafter the silent partner could be heard imbibing long potations
at frequent intervals.
Thus passed a peaceful hour. At ten o'clock Mr. Tate decided that
they'd better be starting. He donned his clown's costume; Perry
replaced the camel's head with a sigh; side by side they progressed
on foot the single block between the Tate house and the Tallyho Club.
The circus ball was in full swing. A great tent fly had been put up
inside the ballroom and round the walls had been built rows of
booths representing the various attractions of a circus side show,
but these were now vacated and on the floor swarmed a shouting,
laughing medley of youth and colour--clowns, bearded ladies, acrobats,
bareback riders, ringmasters, tattooed men and charioteers. The
Townsends had determined to assure their party of success, so a
great quantity of liquor had been surreptitiously brought over from
their house in automobiles and it was flowing freely. A green ribbon
ran along the wall completely round the ballroom, with pointing
arrows alongside of it and signs which instructed the uninitiated to
"Follow the green line'" The green line led down to the bar, where
waited pure punch and wicked punch and plain dark-green bottles.
On the wall above the bar was another arrow, red and very wavy, and
under it the slogan: "Now follow this!"
But even amid the luxury of costume and high spirits represented
there the entrance of the camel created something of a stir, and
Perry was immediately surrounded by a curious, laughing crowd who
were anxious to penetrate the identity of this beast who stood by
the wide doorway eyeing the dancers with his hungry, melancholy gaze.
And then Perry saw Betty. She was standing in front of a booth
talking to a group of clowns, comic policemen and ringmasters. She
was dressed in the costume of an Egyptian snake charmer, a costume
carried out to the smallest detail. Her tawny hair was braided and
drawn through brass rings, the effect crowned with a glittering
Oriental tiara. Her fair face was stained to a warm olive glow and
on her bare arms and the half moon of her back writhed painted
serpents with single eyes of venomous green. Her feet were in
sandals and her skirt was slit to the knees, so that when she walked
one caught a glimpse of other slim serpents painted just above her
bare ankles. Wound about her neck was a huge, glittering,
cotton-stuffed cobra, and her bracelets were in the form of tiny
garter snakes. Altogether a very charming and beautiful costume--one
that made the more nervous among the older women shrink away from
her when she passed, and the more troublesome ones to make great
talk about "shouldn't be allowed" and "perfectly disgraceful."
But Perry, peering through the uncertain eyes of the camel, saw only
her face, radiant, animated and glowing with excitement, and her arms
and shoulders, whose mobile, expressive gestures made her always the
outstanding figure in any gathering. He was fascinated and his
fascination exercised a strangely sobering effect on him. With a
growing clarity the events of the day came back--he had lost forever
this shimmering princess in emerald green and black. Rage rose
within him, and with a half-formed intention of taking her away from
the crowd he started toward her--or rather he elongated slightly,
for he had neglected to issue the preparatory command necessary to
locomotion.
But at this point fickle Kismet, who for a day had played with him
bitterly and sardonically, decided to reward him in full for the
amusement he had afforded her. Kismet turned the tawny eyes of the
snake charmer to the camel. Kismet led her to lean toward the man
beside her and say, "Who's that? That camel?"
They all gazed.
"Darned if I know."
But a little man named Warburton, who knew it all, found it
necessary to hazard an opinion:
"It came in with Mr. Tate. I think it's probably Warren Butterfield,
the architect, who's visiting the Tates."
Something stirred in Betty Medill--that age-old interest of the
provincial girl in the visiting man.
"Oh," she said casually after a slight pause.
At the end of the next dance Betty and her partner finished up
within a few feet of the camel. With the informal audacity that was
the keynote of the evening she reached out and gently rubbed the
camel's nose.
"Hello, old camel."
The camel stirred uneasily.
"You 'fraid of me?" said Betty, lifting her eyebrows in mock reproof.
"Don't be. You see I'm a snake charmer, but I'm pretty good at
camels too."
The camel bowed very low and the groups round laughed and made the
obvious remark about the beauty and the beast.
Mrs. Townsend came bustling up.
"Well, Mr. Butterfield," she beamed, "I wouldn't have recognized you."
Perry bowed again and smiled gleefully behind his mask.
"And who is this with you?" she inquired.
"Oh," said Perry in a disguised voice, muffled by the thick
cloth and quite unrecognizable, "he isn't a fellow, Mrs. Townsend.
He's just part of my costume."
This seemed to get by, for Mrs. Townsend laughed and bustled away.
Perry turned again to Betty.
"So," he thought, "this is how much she cares! On the very day of
our final rupture she starts a flirtation with another man--an
absolute stranger."
On an impulse he gave her a soft nudge with his shoulder and waved
his head suggestively toward the hall, making it clear that he
desired her to leave her partner and accompany him. Betty seemed
quite willing.
"By-by, Bobby," she called laughingly to her partner. "This old
camel's got me. Where are we going, Prince of Beasts?"
The noble animal made no rejoinder, but stalked gravely along in the
direction of a secluded nook on the side stairs.
There Betty seated herself, and the camel, after some seconds of
confusion which included gruff orders and sounds of a heated dispute
going on in his interior, placed himself beside her, his hind legs
stretching out uncomfortably across two steps.
"Well, camel," said Betty cheerfully, "how do you like our happy
party?"
The camel indicated that he liked it by rolling his head
ecstatically and executing a gleeful kick with his hoofs.
"This is the first time that I ever had a tête-à-tête with a man's
valet round"--she pointed to the hind legs--"or whatever that is."
"Oh," said Perry, "he's deaf and blind. Forget about him."
"That sure is some costume! But I should think you'd feel rather
handicapped--you can't very well shimmy, even if you want to."
The camel hung his head lugubriously.
"I wish you'd say something," continued Betty sweetly. "Say you like
me, camel. Say you think I'm pretty. Say you'd like to belong to a
pretty snake charmer."
The camel would.
"Will you dance with me, camel?"
The camel would try.
Betty devoted half an hour to the camel. She devoted at least half
an hour to all visiting men. It was usually sufficient. When she
approached a new man the current débutantes were accustomed to
scatter right and left like a close column deploying before a
machine gun. And so to Perry Parkhurst was awarded the unique
privilege of seeing his love as others saw her. He was flirted with
violently!
IV
This paradise of frail foundation was broken into by the sound of a
general ingress to the ballroom; the cotillion was beginning. Betty
and the camel joined the crowd, her brown hand resting lightly on
his shoulder, defiantly symbolizing her complete adoption of him.
When they entered, the couples were already seating themselves at
tables round the walls, and Mrs. Townsend, resplendent as a super
bareback rider with rather too rotund calves, was standing in the
centre with the ringmaster who was in charge of arrangements. At a
signal to the band everyone rose and began to dance.
"Isn't it just slick!" breathed Betty.
"You bet!" said the camel.
"Do you think you can possibly dance?"
Perry nodded enthusiastically. He felt suddenly exuberant. After all,
he was here incognito talking to his girl--he felt like winking
patronizingly at the world.
"I think it's the best idea," cried Betty, "to give a party like this!
I don't see how they ever thought of it. Come on, let's dance!"
So Perry danced the cotillion. I say danced, but that is stretching
the word far beyond the wildest dreams of the jazziest terpsichorean.
He suffered his partner to put her hands on his helpless shoulders
and pull him here and there gently over the floor while he hung his
huge head docilely over her shoulder and made futile dummy motions
with his feet. His hind legs danced in a manner all their own,
chiefly by hopping first on one foot and then on the other. Never
being sure whether dancing was going on or not, the hind legs played
safe by going through a series of steps whenever the music started
playing. So the spectacle was frequently presented of the front part
of the camel standing at ease and the rear keeping up a constant
energetic motion calculated to rouse a sympathetic perspiration in
any soft-hearted observer.
He was frequently favoured. He danced first with a tall lady covered
with straw who announced jovially that she was a bale of hay and
coyly begged him not to eat her.
"I'd like to; you're so sweet," said the camel gallantly.
Each time the ringmaster shouted his call of "Men up!" he lumbered
ferociously for Betty with the cardboard wiener-wurst or the
photograph of the bearded lady or whatever the favour chanced to be.
Sometimes he reached her first, but usually his rushes were
unsuccessful and resulted in intense interior arguments.