Edward Nelson, the counsel, in some measure the political adviser and,
as to the public, the buffer of the Kimberly sugar interests, was fond
of entertaining. Being naturally an amiable gourmet, his interests
suited his tastes. Moreover, his wife, Lottie Nelson, pleasing of face,
with a figure well proportioned and with distinction in her bright,
indolent eyes, loved to entertain. And she loved to entertain without
working hard to do so. Morningside, her country home at Second Lake,
though both attractive and spacious, and designed with a view to
entertaining, was already being replaced with a new home more attractive
and more spacious, and meant to be filled with still more guests.
Observation and experience had convinced Lottie that the easiest way to
keep people in hand is to feed them well. And she quite understood that
a vital part of the feeding in such a philosophy is the drinking. There
were difficulties, it is true, but which of us has not difficulties?
People--provided, they were people of consequence--diverted Lottie. She
had no children--children had no place in her view of life--nor was she
vitally interested in her husband. The companionship of those whom she
called her friends thus became a necessity; the annoyance being that not
always would the particular friends whom she wanted--men chiefly--gather
to her.
On the evening of the De Castro dinner and dance, Lottie was in better
than her usual spirits. She had brought home Charles Kimberly--who as a
yachtsman bore the title of Commodore--and his wife, Imogene. Imogene,
the little Quakeress, did not like her, as Lottie was aware, but Charles
Kimberly was always in sorts and always tractable--different in that
respect from Robert. Charles and his wife took MacBirney and Fritzie
Venable to the Nelsons' with them and Alice was to follow with the De
Castros.
When Lottie reached home, Dora Morgan had already come over with George
Doane, one of the Kimberly stock brokers. These two assured the
evening. In the dining-room only a few--of the right sort--were needed
for good company.
But more was in prospect for this evening--Robert Kimberly was expected.
Nelson came down from the library with MacBirney and left him with
Imogene while he followed Charles to a smoking-room. Fritzie and Mrs.
Nelson joined Doane and Dora Morgan in the music-room. Cards were
proposed, but no one had the energy to get at them.
A servant passed in the hall to answer the door and Lottie Nelson at
once left the room. When she reached the vestibule the footman was
taking Robert Kimberly's coat. She walked well up to Robert before she
spoke: "At last!"
"I went back to The Towers for a moment," said Kimberly in explanation.
"Are Charles and Nelson here?"
"And is that all after a month--'Are Charles and Nelson here?'!" echoed
Lottie patiently and with a touch of intimate reproach.
"We have a conference to-night, you know, Lottie. How are you?"
She put back her abundant hair: "Why didn't you call up last week when
you were home to find out?"
"I was home only overnight. And I came late and left before you were
awake. You know I have been at the new refinery for a week. We began
melting yesterday."
"At the big one?"
"At the big one."
She took hold of the lei that he had worn over from the dance and in a
leisurely way made a pretence of braiding the stem of a loose rose back
into it. "This is the prettiest I've seen," said Lottie. "Who gave it
to you?"
"Grace. What is the matter with it?" he asked looking down at her white
fingers.
"You are losing your decoration," she murmured with leisurely
good-nature. "Nobody to do anything for you."
Kimberly looked at the parting lei with some annoyance, but if he
entertained doubts as to its needing attention he expressed none.
"These things are a nuisance anyway," he declared at length, lifting the
lei impatiently over his head and depositing it without more ado on a
console. "We will leave it there."
"Where else have you been all this time?" demanded Lottie with an
indolent interest.
"All over the country--even across the Rockies."
"Across the Rockies! And a whole big car to yourself! You must love
solitude. And now you are buying a lot of refineries."
"Not I--the companies are."
"Oh, it's all the same."
"Not precisely; this MacBirney purchase is not by my advice or with my
approval."
"He is in there now, Imogene is talking with him."
"The trip was extremely tedious," said Kimberly, casting his eyes slowly
around for means of escape.
"How could it be anything else with no friends along?"
"With McCrea and two secretaries and a stenographer, I hadn't time to
take any friends."
"What is time for?"
"I should say in the West it is valuable for getting home with."
"And when you do get home?"
"To build more; borrow more; control more; sell more; spend more. I'm
speaking for all the rest of you, not for myself. I'm just the
centrifugal to throw the money out."
"Never by any chance to live more, I suppose?"
"You mean to eat and drink more? How could we?"
"I _don't_ mean to eat and drink more. I mean just what I say, to live
more!"
They were at the threshold of the music room. He laughed good-naturedly,
but Lottie declined to be appeased.
"Lord, but I'm sick of it all!" she exclaimed petulantly.
Kimberly used care not to offend, yet he always interposed a screen
between himself and her, and however delicate the barrier, Lottie Nelson
had never been able to penetrate it.
"No sicker of it than I am," he returned. "But I'm a part of the
machine; I can't get out. I suppose you are, and you can't get out. But
you are too young to talk like that; wait till the new home is finished.
Then you will shine."
She uttered a contemptuous exclamation, not quite loud enough for the
others to hear, as she reentered the room. The others, in fact,
scarcely would have heard. Fritzie, Doane, and Dora Morgan were
laughing immoderately. Imogene at the piano was playing softly.
Kimberly stopped to speak to her.
"I forgot, by the way, to ask you when you sail, Imogene," he said.
She answered with one hand running over the keys: "That depends on you,
doesn't it, Robert? I do hope you'll get through soon."
"Anxious to get away, are you?"
"You know I always am."
"Where are you going this time?"
"To the Mediterranean, I suppose."
"You are fond of the Mediterranean."
"Every place else seems so savage after it."
"Lottie says you have been talking with MacBirney."
"Just a few minutes."
"How do you like him?" asked her brother-in-law.
Imogene laughed a little: "He is very intelligent. He confuses me a
little, though; he is so brisk."
"Is he entertaining?"
Imogene shrugged her shoulders: "Yes. Only, he rather makes you feel as
if he were selling you something, don't you know. I suppose it's hardly
fair to judge of one from the first interview. His views are broad,"
smiled Imogene in retrospect. "'I can't understand,' he said 'why our
American men should so unceasingly pursue money. What can more than a
million or two possibly be good for--unless to give away?'" Imogene
looked with a droll smile into Kimberly's stolid face. "When he said,
'a million or two,' I thought of my wretched brother-in-law struggling
along with thirty or forty that he hasn't yet managed to get rid of!"
"You don't think, then, he would accept a few of them?" suggested
Kimberly.
"Suppose you try him some time," smiled Imogene as she walked with
Kimberly to the card-table where Fritzie and Dora Morgan sat with Doane.
"Travelling agrees with you, Robert," observed Doane.
"The country agrees with you," returned Kimberly. "Good company, I
suppose, George, is the secret."
"How is the consolidation getting along?"
"There isn't any consolidation."
"Combination, then?"
"Slowly. How is the market?"
"Our end of it is waiting on you. When shall you have some news for
us?"
"You don't need news to make a market," returned Kimberly indifferently,
as he sat down. He looked at those around the table. "What are you
doing?"
"Tell your story again, Dora," suggested Doane.
Dora Morgan looked at Kimberly defiantly. "No," she said briefly.
"Pshaw, tell it," urged Doane. "It's about the Virgin Mary, Robert."
Dora was firm: "It's not a bachelor's story," she insisted.
"Most of your stories are bachelors' stories, Dora," said Kimberly.
Dora threw away her cigarette. "Listen to that! Didn't I tell you?"
she asked appealing to Doane. "Robert is getting to be a real nice
man."
In an effort to appease both sides, Doane laughed, but somewhat
carefully.
"I got into trouble only the other day in telling that story," continued
Dora, with the same undercurrent of defiance.
Effectively dressed, though with a tendency to color, and with dark,
regular features, flushed a little at night, Dora Morgan had a promise
of manner that contrasted peculiarly with her freedom of tongue.
"Tell us about it, Dora?" said Lottie Nelson.
"It was over at The Towers. I was telling the story to Uncle John. His
blood is red, yet," she added without looking at Robert Kimberly to
emphasize her implication.
"Uncle John!" echoed Fritzie, at fault. "Did Uncle John object?"
"Oh, no, you misunderstand. It wasn't Uncle John." Every one but
Kimberly laughed. "I was telling Uncle John the story, and his
nurse--your protege, what's his name? I never can remember--Lazarus?
the queer little Italian," she said, appealing to Kimberly.
"Brother Francis," he answered.
"He's not so awfully little," interposed Fritzie.
"Well, he was in the room," continued Dora, "and he got perfectly
furious the moment he heard it."
"Furious, Dora? Why, how funny!" exclaimed Lottie Nelson, languidly.
"He turned on me like a thunder-cloud. Poor Uncle John was still
laughing--he laughs on one side of his face since his stroke, and looks
so fiendish, you know--when Lazarus began to glower at me. He was
really insulting in his manner. 'Oh, I didn't know you were here,' I
said to hush him up. 'What difference should that make?' he asked, and
his eyes were flashing, I can tell you."
"'The Virgin Mary is no relation of yours, is she?' I demanded frigidly.
You ought to have seen the man. You know how sallow he is; he flushed
to the roots of his hair and his lips snapped like a trap. Then he
became ashamed of himself, I dare say, and his eyes fell; he put his
hand on his breast and bowed to me as if I had been a queen--they
certainly have the prettiest manners, these poor Italians--haven't they,
Imogene?"
"But what did he say?" asked Fritzie.
"'Madame,' he exclaimed, as if I had stabbed him to the heart, 'the
Blessed Virgin is my mother.' You really would have thought I had
insulted his own mother. They have such queer ideas, these foreigners.
My, but he was mad! Then, what do you think? The next day I passed him
walking up from the lake and he came over with such apologies! He
prayed I would overlook his anger--he professed to have been so shocked
that he had forgotten himself--no doubt he was afraid he would lose his
job."
"George, you look sleepy," Lottie Nelson complained, looking at Doane.
"You need something to wake you up. Suppose we adjourn to the
dining-room?"
Imogene returned to the piano. Kimberly walked to the door of the
dining-room with the others. "I will go upstairs," he said to Lottie
Nelson.
"Don't stay all night," she returned peremptorily. "And come have
something before you go up."
"Perhaps when I come down."
Fritzie caught his arm, and walked with him into the hall. They talked
for a moment. "You must meet her," declared Fritzie at length, "she is
perfectly lovely and will be over after a while with Dolly." Then she
looked at him suddenly: "I declare, I don't believe you've heard a word
of what I've been saying."
"I'm afraid not, Fritzie, but no matter, listen to what I say. Don't go
in there and drink with that bunch."
"I won't."
"Whiskey makes a fool of you."
Fritzie put up her hand: "Now don't scold."
Upstairs, Nelson and Charles Kimberly, facing each other, were seated at
a big table on which lay a number of type-written sheets, beautifully
clear and distinct. These they were examining.
"What are you going over?" asked Robert, taking the chair Nelson drew up
for him.
"The Colorado plants."
"Our own or the MacBirney?"
"Both."
Charles Kimberly with one hand in his pocket, and supporting his head
with the other as his elbow rested on the table, turned to Robert with a
question.
"You've seen the MacBirney figures. What do you think of them?"
"They are high. But I expected that."
"Do you really need the MacBirney plants to control the Western market?"
asked Charles Kimberly. With eyes half closed behind his glasses he
studied his brother's face, quite as occupied with his thoughts as with
his words.
Robert did not answer at once. "I should hate to say so, personally,"
he remarked at length.
"McCrea," continued Charles, "contends that we do need them to forestall
competition. That is, he thinks with the MacBirney crowd out of the
field we can have peace for ten years out there."
Nelson asked a question. "What kind of factories have they got?"
"Old-fashioned," answered Robert Kimberly.
"What kind of influence?"
"In public affairs, I don't know. In trade they are not dangerous,
though MacBirney is ambitious and full of energy. The father-in-law was
a fine old fellow. But he died just before the reorganization. I don't
know how much money they've got now."
"They haven't much," remarked Nelson.
"We bother them a good deal from San Francisco," continued Robert
Kimberly, reflecting, "but that is expensive. Ultimately we must own
more factories in Colorado. Of course, as far as that goes, I would
rather build new plants than remodel rat-hospitals."
Charles Kimberly straightened up and turned himself in his chair. "Ten
years of peace is worth a good deal to us. And if MacBirney can insure
that, we ought to have it. All of this," he appealed to Robert, as he
spoke, "is supposing that you are willing to assent."
"I do not assent, chiefly because I distrust MacBirney. If the rest of
you are satisfied to take him in, go ahead."
"The others seem to be, Robert."
"Then there is nothing more to be said. Let's get at the depreciation
charges and the estimates for next year's betterments, so we can go over
the new capitalization."
While the conference went on, the muffled hum of gathering motor-cars
came through the open windows.
Robert Kimberly leaving the two men, walked downstairs again. The rooms
were filling with the overflow from the dance. They who had come were
chiefly of the married set, though boys and girls were among them.
After the manner of those quite at home, the dancers, still wearing
their flower leis, were scattered in familiar fashion about small tables
where refreshment was being served.
At one end of the music room a group applauded a clever young man, who,
with his coat cuffs rolled back, was entertaining with amateur
sleight-of-hand.
At the other end of the room, surrounded by a second group, Fritzie
Venable played smashing rag-time. About the tables pretty, overfed
married women, of the plump, childless type, with little feet, fattening
hands, and rounding shoulders, carried on a running chatter with men
younger than their husbands.
A young girl, attended at her table by married men, was trying to tell a
story, and to overcome unobserved, her physical repugnance to the
whiskey she was drinking.
In the dining-room Lottie Nelson was the centre of a lively company, and
her familiar pallor, which indulgence seemed to leave untouched,
contrasted with the heightened color in Dora Morgan's face.
Robert Kimberly had paused to speak to some one, when Fritzie Venable
came up to ask a question. At that moment Arthur and Dolly De Castro,
with Alice on Dolly's left, entered from the other end of the room.
Kimberly saw again the attractive face of a woman he had noticed dancing
with Arthur at the Casino. The three passed on and into the hall.
Kimberly, listening to Fritzie's question, looked after them.
"Fritzie, who is that with Dolly?" he asked suddenly.
"That is Mrs. MacBirney."
"Mrs. MacBirney?" he echoed. "Who is Mrs. MacBirney?"
"Why, Mr. MacBirney's wife, of course. How stupid of you! I told you
all about her before you went upstairs. He has brought his wife on with
him. Dolly knew her mother and has been entertaining Alice for a week."
"Alice! Oh, yes. I've been away, you know. MacBirney's wife? Of
course. I was thinking of something else. Well--I suppose I ought to
meet her. Come, Fritzie."