That the memories of Masie's birthday party should have been revived
again and again, and that the several incidents should have been
discussed for days thereafter--every eye growing the brighter in the
telling--was to have been expected. Kitty could talk of nothing
else. The beauty of the room; the charm of Masie's costume; Kling's
generosity; and last, O'Day's bearing and appearance as he led the child
through the stately dance, looking, as Kitty expressed it, “that fine
and handsome you would have thought he was a lord mayor,” were now her
daily topics of conversation.
Masie was equally enthusiastic, rushing down-stairs the next morning to
throw her arms around his neck with an “Oh, Uncle Felix, I never, NEVER,
NEVER was so happy in all my life!”
Kling was still more jubilant. The success of Masie's banquet room had
established him at once among bric-a-brac dealers as a competitor quite
out of the ordinary. His old customers came in flocks, walking about
with gasps of astonishment. Before the week was out, a masonic lodge had
bought the throne, a seaside resort the big Chinese lantern, and two of
the four Spanish chairs had found a home in a millionaire's library.
Moreover--and this was all the more remarkable in view of his early
training--a certain deference became apparent in the Dutchman's manner
not only toward Felix but toward his customers. He no longer received
them in his shirt-sleeves. He bought some new clothes and sported a
collar, necktie, and hat, duplicating those worn by Felix as near as his
memory served.
Still more remarkable were the changes wrought among the neighbors in
their attitude toward O'Day. Until then they had, in their independent
fashion, treated him like any of the other men who came in and out their
several stores, pleased with his interest in the business, but quickly
forgetting him as they became reabsorbed in the affairs of the day. Now,
as they told him what a good time they had had on the birthday, they
raised their hats. Porterfield went so far as to tell the radiant Kitty
that her boarder was a “Jim Dandy,” and that if she should lay her hands
on another to “trot him out.”
Kitty of course had expected these triumphs, but that it was she who had
made them possible, and that but for her own individual efforts Felix
might still be wandering around the streets in search of bed and board,
apparently never crossed her mind. He would have been just as splendid,
she said to herself, and just as much of a man no matter who had helped
and no matter where his feet had landed.
If O'Day were aware of the changes of public opinion going on around
him, there was nothing in either his manner or in his speech to show it.
When they complimented him on the way in which he had utilized Otto's
old stock, producing so wonderful an interior, he would remark quietly
that it was nothing to his credit. He had always loved such things; that
it came natural to some people to put things to rights, and that any one
could have done as much. It was only when some one alluded to Masie that
his face would light up. “Yes, charming, was she not? Such a wonderful
little lady, and so good!”
That which did please him--please him immensely--was the outcome of a
visit made some days after the party by old Nat Ganger.
“Regular Aladdin lamp,” Nat shouted, slamming Kling's door behind
him. “One rub, bang goes the rubbish, and up comes an Oriental palace.
Another rub and little devils swarm over the walls and ceilings and
begin hanging up stuffs and lamps. Another rub, and before you can wink
your eye, out steps a little princess, a million times prettier than any
Cinderella that ever lived. Wonderful! WONDERFUL!
“Where is the darling child anyway. Can't I see her? I got away from
Sam, telling him I was going to look up another frame for one of my
pictures. Here it is. All a lie, every bit of it. It's Sam's picture.
Not mine. I wrapped it up so he wouldn't know, but I came to see that
darling child all the same, for I've got a surprise for her. But first I
want you to see this picture. Here, wait until I untie this string.
It's one of Sam's Hudson Rivery things. Palisades and a steamboat in the
foreground, and an afternoon sky. Easy dodge, don't you see? Yellow sky
and purple hill, and short streak for the steamboat and its wake, and a
smear of white steam straggling behind. Sam does 'em as well as anybody.
Sometimes he puts in a pile or two in the foreground for a broken dock
and a rowboat with a lone fisherman squatting on the hind seat. Then
he asks five dollars more. Always get more you know for figures in a
landscape.”
He had unwrapped the canvas by this time, and was holding it to the
light of the window that Felix might see it better.
Felix studied it carefully, even to the cramped signature in the corner,
“Samuel Dogger, A. N. A.”; and with an appreciative smile said: “Very
good, I should say. Yes, very good.”
“Good! It's really very bad, and you know it. So do I. But you're too
much of a gentleman to say so. Can't be worse, really, but 'puttying up'
is down by the heels, and there hasn't been an old master from Flushing,
Long Island, or Weehawken, New Jersey, lugged up our stairs for a
month;--two months, really. We had one last week from a dealer down-town
which turned out to be genuine after Sam had looked it over. And, of
course, Sam wouldn't touch it and sent for the auctioneer and told him
so. And the beggar made Sam hunt for the signature and Sam found it
at the top of the canvas instead of at the bottom. One of the early
Dutchmen Sam said it was. Some kind of a Beck or a Koven. And would you
believe it, the very next day the fellow got a whacking price for it
from a collector up in one of the side streets near the Park. So Sam
has gone back to the early American school. This means that he's getting
down to his last five-dollar bill, and I want to tell you that I'm
not far from it myself. I'd have been dead broke if I hadn't sold
two Fatimas. One in pink pants and the other a flying angel in summer
clothes to fit an alcove in an up-town barroom over the cigar-stand.
“But my money isn't Sam's money,” he went on without pausing, “and Sam
won't touch a penny of it. Never does unless I fool him on the sly. And
I've come up here to fool him now, and fool him bad. I want you to hold
on to this bust--wait until I get it out of my pocket.” Here he pulled
out a small bronze, a head of Augustus, beautifully wrought.
“If you buy the picture, I'll throw in the ancient Roman,” and he laid
it on the counter.
“And I want you to write Sam a note, asking him if he can't look around
for one of his masterpieces, something say ten by fourteen; wanted for a
customer who only buys good things. That any little landscape with water
in it will do. Remember, don't leave out the water. Then Sam will come
thumping down-stairs with the note, and I'll be awfully astonished and
we'll talk it over, and I'll pull this out from under a pile of stuff
where I'll hide it as soon as I get home. Then I'll say: 'Well, I'm
going up-town and have Mr. O'Day look at it, and maybe it will suit him,
and that if it does, I'll make him pay fifty dollars for it.' How do you
think that will work?”
Felix, who had been looking into the old fellow's eyes, reading his mind
in their depths, seeing clear down into the heart beneath, now picked up
the bronze and began passing his hand over it.
“Very lovely,” he said at last, “and a marvellous paten. Where did you
get it?”
“Spoken like a gentleman and a man of honor, and this time you tell the
truth. It's just what you say--marvellous. I swapped a twenty by thirty
for it. Will you take it?”
Felix shook his head, a smile playing about his lips.
“I would if I wanted to be unfair. Here, take your bronze and leave the
picture. I will find a frame for it, and have one of the men give it a
coat of varnish.”
“And you'll write the note?”
“Is that necessary?”
“Of COURSE, it's necessary. You don't know Sam. He's as cunning as a
weasel and can get away before you know it. Got to fool him. I always
do. Told him more lies in one minute this morning than a horse can trot.
Will you write the note?”
Felix laughed. “Yes, just as soon as you go.”
“And you won't hold on to the bronze?”
“No, I won't hold on to the bronze.”
“And you can get fifty dollars for this unexampled work of art? That, of
course, is the ASKING price. Ten would do a whole lot of good.”
“I cannot say positively, but I will try.”
“All right. And now where's that darling child?”
A laugh rang out from the top of the stairs, the laugh of a child
overjoyed at meeting some one she loves, followed by “do you mean me?”
“Of course, I mean you, Toddlekins. Come down here and let me give you
a big hug. And I've got a message for you from that dried-up old fellow
with the shaggy head. He sent you his love--every bit of it, he said.
And he's found some more gewgaws he's going to bring up some day. Told
me that, too.”
Masie had reached the floor and was running toward him with her hands
extended, Fudge springing in front.
The old painter caught her up in his arms, lifting her off her little
feet, and as quickly setting her down, his eyes snapping, his whole face
aglow. The joy bottled up in the child seemed to have swept through him
like an electric current.
“And wasn't it a beautiful party?” she burst out when she found her
breath. “And wasn't Uncle Felix good to make it all for me?” She had
moved to O'Day's side and had slipped her hand in his.
“Yes, of course, it was,” roared Ganger. “Why, old Sam Dogger was so
excited when he went to bed, he didn't sleep a wink all night. He's
thought of nothing else but parties ever since. He's getting up one for
you. Told me so this morning.”
The child's eyes dilated.
“What sort of a party?”
“Oh, a dandy party, but it's not going to be at night. It's going to be
in the daytime. All out in the blessed sunshine and under the trees. And
everybody is going to be invited--everybody who belongs.”
The child's brow clouded. “Everybody who belongs? Why, can't Uncle Felix
come?”
“Certainly, he can come. He 'belongs.'”
“And--Fudge?”
“What, that little devil of a dog? Yes, he can come, if he promises
to behave himself,” and he shook his head at the culprit. “And all the
chippies can come. Lots of 'em, and perhaps a couple of robins, if they
haven't gone away south. And there's a big Newfoundland dog, or was
before he was stolen, that could have swallowed this gentleman down
at one gulp, but he won't now. HE 'belonged' and always has. And, of
course, you 'belong' and so does Sam and so do I. We go out every
other week and sit under these very same trees. Sam paints the branches
wiggling down in the water, and I do leaky boats. When I get the picture
home, I put Jane Hoggson fishin' in the stern.”
Masie rolled her eyes.
“And you don't take her with you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“'Cause she don't 'belong.' Great difference whether you belong or not.
Jane Hoggson couldn't 'belong' if she was to be born all over again.”
O'Day now joined in. He had been watching Masie, noting the lights and
shadows which swept over her face as the old painter chattered away.
He always welcomed any plan for giving her pleasure, and was blessing
Ganger in his heart for providing the diversion.
“And where is all this to take place, Mr. Ganger?” Felix asked at last.
“Up on the Bronx. A place you know nothing of and wouldn't believe a
word about if I should tell you--not 'til you see it yourself. It's as
full of birds and butterflies as England along the Thames, or one of
those ducky little streams out of Paris. And it only costs five cents to
get there and five cents to get back. And you won't be more than a few
hours away from your shop. Fine, I tell you, you'll never forget it.”
Again Felix broke in.
“I have not a doubt of it, but when is all this to take place?”
Ganger gave a little start and grew suddenly grave.
“Well, as to that, you see the day is not yet fixed, not precisely. In
a week maybe, or it may be two weeks. This is Sam's party, you know, and
he hasn't completed all his arrangements--that is, he hadn't completed
them when I left him this morning. And, of course, a lot has to be
done to make everything ready”--here he nodded at Masie--“for little
princesses and great ladies in plumes and satins. But it is certainly
coming off. Old Sam told me so, and he means every word of it. And he
was to let you know when. That's it, he was to LET YOU KNOW. That's
another thing he told me to tell you.”
The child's name was now called from the top of the stairs, and the
Gossburger's head craned itself over the hand-rail. Fudge opened with a
sharp bark, and Masie, with an air kiss to Ganger, raced up the steps,
the dog at her heels, shouting as she ran: “Tell Mr. Dogger I send him a
kiss, and I thank him ever so much, and won't he please come and see me
very soon.”
When she had disappeared, the old fellow leaned forward, gazed knowingly
at Felix, and in soft-pedal tones said:
“You see, Sam couldn't say EXACTLY when the party was to take place
because--well, because he hasn't heard a word about it, and won't until
I get back. It is my party, not Sam's, and I've got to break it to him
gently. And I've got to fool him about the party, make him think it's
his party, or he'll think I'm holding it over him because I've got a
little more money than he has, just as I intend to fool him about the
picture. I couldn't say, when you asked me, when the day was to be
fixed, because I've told lies enough to that dear child. But I know just
what Sam will do when I tell him about his party; he'll stand on his
head he'll be so happy. You see if, when I unwrapped the picture, you
had talked ten dollars right out, why then I was going to make it next
Saturday; that is, to-morrow. But you hemmed and hawed so, I had to make
it 'some day soon.' Of course, I never expected the fifty; ten will be
enough for car-fare all around and some beer and sandwiches, that's all
we ever have. That's why I chucked in Augustus to make sure. Well, see
what you can do, and don't forget to write the note and I'll do the rest
of the lying.” And chuckling to himself he hurried away.
As the door swung wide, a slim man bustled past him, and, spying Felix,
moved briskly to where he stood. He had just ten minutes to spare, he
announced, and was looking for a present for his wife; “something in the
way of fans, old ones, and not over five dollars.”
Felix, who had raised the lid of the case and was stowing Dogger's
masterpiece inside to keep it out of harm's way, his mind wholly
occupied with the two old painters and their tenderness toward each
other, roused himself to answer:
“Yes, half a dozen. Not at your price, though, not old ones. Here are
two fairly good specimens,” and he handed them out and laid them on the
glass before him.
The man leaned forward and peered into the case.
“That's a picture of the Palisades, isn't it?” He had ignored the fans.
“Yes, so I understand.”
“Oh, I knew it first time I put my eyes on it. I'm in the real-estate
business. I've got a lot of cottage sites along that top edge. Is it for
sale?”
“It will be when it's cleaned and varnished and I have it framed.”
“Belong to you?”
“No; it belongs to a man who has left it for sale. He went out as you
came in.”
“What does he want for it?”
“He would be satisfied with ten dollars, even less, because he needs the
money. I want fifty.”
“You want to make the rest?”
“No, it all goes to him.”
“Well, what do you stick it on for?”
“Because if it isn't worth that, it isn't worth anything.”
“Take it out and let me have a look at it. Yes, just the spot. That
whitish streak and that little puff of steam is where they're breaking
stone. Make a good advertisement, wouldn't it, hanging up in your
office? You can show the owners just where the land lies, and you can
show a customer just what he's going to own.”
A brisk bargaining then followed, he determined to buy, and Felix to
maintain his price. Before the ten minutes were out, the bustling man
had forgotten all about the fan he was in search of for his wife and,
having assured himself that it was all oil-paint, every square inch of
it, had propped it up against an ancient clock, standing back to see the
effect, had haggled on five, then ten, then twenty-five, and had finally
surrendered by laying five ten-dollar bills on the glass case. After
which he tucked the picture under his arm, and without a word of any
kind disappeared through the street-door.
And that is why the note which Felix had promised to write Dogger was
sent by messenger instead of by mail within five minutes after the
picture and the buyer had disappeared. And that is why, too, all the
preliminary subterfuges were omitted, and the substitute contained the
announcement which follows:
“Dear Mr. Dogger:
“I have just sold your Palisade picture for fifty dollars. The amount is
at your service whenever you call.
“Yours truly,
“Felix O'Day.”
That, too, is why Dogger was so overjoyed that he beat the messenger
back to Kling's, skipping over the flag-stones most of the way till he
reached the Dutchman's door, where, as befitted a painter whose genius
had at last been recognized, he slowed down, entering the store with a
steady gait, a little restrained in his manner, saying, as he tried to
cram down his joy, that it was a mere sketch, you know, something that
he had knocked off out-of-doors; that Nat had liked it and had, so
he said, taken it up to have it framed. That, of course, he could not
afford ever to repeat the sale price--not for a ten by fourteen of that
quality, but that most of his rich patrons were still out of town, and
so it came in very well.
And, oh, yes, he had almost forgotten! He and Nat were going up to
Laguerre's, on the Bronx, to an old French cafe, where they often
lunched and painted; that Nat had suggested just as he left the studio
that it would be a good thing if Felix and that dear child Masie would
go with them, and that they would go Saturday, which was to-morrow, if
that would suit O'Day and Masie. And if that wouldn't suit, why then
they'd go the very first day that did, say Sunday or Monday, the sooner
the better.
To all of which Felix, reading every thought that lurked behind the
moist eyes of the tender-hearted old fraud, had replied that, if he had
the choosing, to-morrow, of all the days in the year, would be the very
day he would select, and that he and Masie would be ready any hour that
he and Mr. Ganger would be good enough to call for them.
At which the old painter took himself off in high glee.
And an altogether delightful and a very happy party it was. Sam, as
host-in-chief, sparing no expense, his first act being to pre-empt
a summer-house covered with vines, already tinged by the touches of
autumn's fingers; and his second to insist in a loud voice on chairs and
table-cloths, instead of a sandwich spread out on a bench, as had been
their custom, followed by a demand for olives and a small bottle of red
wine, to say nothing of a double brace of chops, and all with the air of
a multimillionaire ordering a cold bottle and a hot bird at Delmonico's.
And Nat, grown ten years younger--a mere boy in fact--showed Masie how
to throw little leaden weights down the throat of a small cast-iron
frog, and Felix mixed the salad and served it, Masie changing the dishes
and running back to the house for fresh ones, while Fudge, in frenzied
glee, scurried over the soft earth as if he had suddenly been seized
with St. Vitus's dance. And then, when there was not a crumb of anything
left even for the chippies, they all stretched themselves flat on
the grass in the warm Indian summer weather, the two old fellows
entertaining the child with all the stories they could think of, Felix
looking on, replenishing his pipe from time to time, his own spirit
soothed and comforted by the happiness around him.
Even Kitty noticed the new light in his eyes when they all came back,
for Felix brought the two old painters into her sitting-room so that
they might renew an acquaintance they had made on the night of the ball
and “become better known to a woman of distinction,” as he laughingly
put it, which so delighted the dear soul that that night she said to her
husband:
“He'll stop trampin' pretty soon, I think, John. Somethin's soaked into
him in the last day or two. It's them old painters, I think, that's
helpin' him. He come in a while ago with that child clingin' to him and
them two mossbacks followin' behin', and his face was all ironed out,
and I could see a song trembling on his lips all ready to burst out.
Pray God it'll last!”