They steamed slowly past the Statue of Liberty, early in the afternoon
a few days later. Jacob and his young companion were leaning over the
rail, watching the great, tangled city slowly define itself through a
shroud of mist.
"One good thing about this voyage," the latter remarked
sympathetically, "it's taken your mind off yourself--made you forget
your troubles, in a kind of way."
"You mean about poor Sam?"
"I'm afraid I wasn't thinking about your brother," Felixstowe
confessed. "I was thinking of the other little affair. Of course, it's
been rather a bad egg for you, so to speak, having her pop up every
minute or two, but there's something about life on one of these great
liners--I don't know what it is, but you seem to be able to shove all
sorts of things out of your mind, eh?"
Jacob felt for a moment rather ashamed of himself. It was not like him
to be inconstant in anything, and he would not for a moment admit that
what he had regarded as the passion of his life had been merely a
fantasy. At the same time, he could not ignore the fact that during
the last few days he had been conscious of a sense of freedom which
was altogether pleasant.
"I have conquered that," he declared proudly. "For me it is finished.
You must have observed my indifference at dinner last night. I find
myself able to converse with her now without the slightest emotion."
"Fine!" was the enthusiastic rejoinder. "You must have a will of iron.
Those things do pull you about a bit, though. I remember an affair of
my own with little Kitty Bond--second from the left in the front row
of the Gaiety, you know. For three days she was simply dropping
sugarplums down my throat, never took her eyes off me all through the
show, welcome at any hour to the flat, though mother was in the
country visiting the parson uncle--all the usual sort of slush, you
know. And then one day some one told her about dad and figured out
what my income was likely to be. Little Johnny in the rubber market it
was. I shall never forget the night Kitty introduced me and then went
off to supper with him in his coupe. Fairly gave me the pip."
"I beg," Jacob said with dignity, "that you will not compare your calf
love for a picture-postcard young lady with what might easily have
been a great passion."
Felixstowe tapped a cigarette upon the rail and lit it.
"It took me more than three days to get over it, at any rate," he
remarked pointedly.
A grave-looking, clean-shaven young man, very neatly dressed and
wearing thin, gold-rimmed spectacles, met them as they stepped off the
steamer.
"Mr. Jacob Pratt, I am sure?" he said. "My name is Morse--Sydney H.
Morse. I am your brother's secretary."
"How is Sam?" Jacob enquired eagerly.
"He is in precisely the same condition of coma," the secretary
replied. "The physician says that he may remain so for days."
"Shall I be able to see him?"
"Doctor Bardolf will discuss that with you, Mr. Pratt. In the
meantime, one of your brother's servants is here to see after all the
luggage and pass it through the Customs, if you will hand him the
list. I have a car here for you and--and--"
"My secretary," Jacob indicated. "Mr. Sydney Morse--Lord Felixstowe."
The former, startled for a moment out of his gravity, solemnly shook
hands.
"Glad to meet you, Lord Felixstowe," he said impressively. "Welcome to
New York."
"I am very glad to be here," Felixstowe observed, as he returned the
other's salute in friendly fashion. "Gay little hamlet, what?"
"It's a city full of interest, sir," the other affirmed.
"You'll have to show me around. I bet you know the ropes. The pick of
the world's fluff on its home soil, eh?"
The New Yorker looked a little staggered and edged his way towards
Jacob.
"Here is the car, Mr. Pratt," he announced, opening the door of a very
handsome limousine.
"Where are you taking us?" Jacob enquired.
"To your brother's house in Riverside Drive."
"Wouldn't it be more convenient for us to go to an hotel?" Jacob
suggested. "With sickness in the house, it seems to me that it would
be better."
"Your brother would never forgive me if I allowed such a thing," Morse
protested earnestly. "The house is very large, and there are half a
dozen suites well out of hearing of Mr. Pratt's rooms. Besides, you
will be able to see him then at the earliest possible moment."
"Just as you say," Jacob assented.
Their first drive through New York--up Fifth Avenue and along
Riverside Drive--was far too interesting for conversation to flourish.
The brownstone house which finally turned out to be their destination,
and which had once belonged to a famous multimillionaire, surpassed
all their expectations. An English butler hurried forward at the sound
of Morse's latchkey. A fountain banked with flowers was playing in
the middle of a circular hall. The light was toned and softened by
exquisite stained-glass windows. Everywhere was an air of unbounded
luxury. The adjoining suites into which Jacob and his companion were
ushered surpassed anything they had seen in domestic architecture.
They had scarcely had time to look around before a coloured servant in
livery, with a white linen coat, presented Scotch whisky and soda, and
a silver pail of ice, on a magnificent salver.
"I am going to like this country," Lord Felixstowe declared with
conviction. "Say when, Jacob."
The secretary, who had left them for a few minutes, returned presently
with a dignified personage whom he introduced as the senior of the
physicians in attendance upon Mr. Samuel Pratt.
"Doctor Bardolf has attended your brother for many years," he
explained.
"I am very glad to meet you, sir," the physician said, as he shook
hands. "I am going to pull your brother through this trouble, all
right, but you must be patient."
"That's good hearing," Jacob declared heartily.
"He is now," the physician continued, "in a state of coma, following
upon brain fever. I'd like you not to be in any hurry to visit him for
a day or two. I want him to come to himself quite naturally and not to
be brought round by the shock of seeing any one unexpectedly."
"I am entirely in your hands," Jacob replied. "Now that I am on the
spot, I feel much more comfortable."
"So do I," Morse echoed, with a little sigh of relief.
"Your brother is not a man with many friends, Mr. Pratt," the
physician proceeded, "and in the present state of the stock markets it
has not been thought advisable to advertise his illness. I dare say,
therefore, that Mr. Morse will be very glad of your advice and help in
many directions. I know, in fact, that he has been anxiously awaiting
it."
"I have indeed," the young man confessed earnestly. "Mr. Pratt as a
rule enjoys such excellent health that we have never even contemplated
a situation like this."
"I shall be pleased to do what I can," Jacob promised, a little
dubiously. "My brother and I are partners, of course, in the Pratt Oil
Combine, but I know very little of his affairs outside."
The physician smiled.
"Your brother has the reputation of being extraordinarily fortunate,"
he said. "That, however, is outside my province. I have only to add,
Mr. Pratt, that the invalid has two nurses, the best I could find in
New York, in constant attendance upon him. Any change in his condition
would bring me to his bedside in less than ten minutes. Until
to-morrow, I beg to take my leave."
The physician hurried away, and a few minutes later Morse also excused
himself, on the pretext of a heavy mail. Jacob and his young companion
made luxurious use of their wonderful bathrooms, subsequently attiring
themselves in the garments laid out by a ubiquitous and efficient
valet, after which Felixstowe set up his typewriter and insisted upon
justifying his existence. Jacob accordingly dictated a few lines to
Dauncey, which his anxious secretary took down with great care.
Felixstowe smudged his fingers badly with the carbon copy and, after
Jacob had appended his signature, stamped and addressed the missive
with punctilious attention.
"There is no doubt whatever," he declared, as he gave the letter over
to the care of a specially summoned servant and threw himself into the
most comfortable of the easy-chairs, "that a certain amount of work
does give spice to the day's pleasure."
"You'll have to do a great deal more than that," Jacob warned him,
"when the busy days come along."
"And why not?" was the grandiloquent reply. "When I get going, I shall
be able to do a great deal more without fatigue. Six o'clock, old
dear," he added, glancing at his watch, "and mark you, something tells
me that before long that genial blackamoor, with the smile which seems
to slit his face in two, will be here with cocktails. Footsteps
outside! Why, I can hear the ice chinking in the shaker!"
The door opened--to admit only Morse, however. Felixstowe's face
fell. The newcomer was attired in dinner clothes, which accorded
fairly well with the tenets of eastern civilisation except that his
jacket was unusually long and his black tie of the flowing
description.
"Mr. Pratt has an excellent chef here," he announced, "but I thought
that as you two gentlemen are strangers in New York, you would
probably like to sample one of the best restaurants. I have ordered
dinner at the Waldorf. It is not so exclusive as some of the other
places, but I feel sure that you will find it amusing."
"Is the bird's-nesting good there?" Felixstowe enquired anxiously.
"Bird's-nesting? I don't quite get you," Morse replied, politely
puzzled.
"The fluff," his questioner explained, "the skirts,--the little ladies
who help to make the world a cheerful and a joyous place."
Mr. Morse proved that behind his severe expression and depressing
spectacles he was only human. He smiled.
"The Waldorf is, I believe, very largely patronised by New York
ladies," he said. "I am afraid that in that respect I am not a very
efficient cicerone. I shall be able to introduce you, however, to
others who may be able to atone for my deficiency in that direction."
Morse was as good as his word. He had a plentiful acquaintance, and
the anxiety for news concerning Mr. Samuel Pratt brought visitors
continually to his table. His answer to one was practically his answer
to all.
"Just fine," he replied to an elderly stockbroker who questioned him
rather closely. "He is just now back in the Adirondacks, having the
time of his life, I guess. Going to bring home a great collection of
heads and finish up with a fortnight at the salmon--Why, yes, Mr.
Kindacott," he went on, a little doubtfully, "I could get a little
note through, if you particularly wished it, but you know what Mr.
Pratt's orders were--no business except in a matter of great urgency.
I am dealing with most everything from Riverside Drive."
The stockbroker passed on. Felixstowe glanced at his _vis-a-vis_ with
admiration.
"I should never have guessed from the look of you that you could tell
'em like that," he remarked.
Morse smiled deprecatingly.
"It is not my custom," he admitted, "to depart from the truth, but in
a business life out here you have to put scruples behind you. If they
knew down in Wall Street that Mr. Samuel was as ill as he is, a whole
bunch of stocks we are interested in would tumble down half a dozen
points. That is why I didn't introduce you, Mr. Pratt, as well as Lord
Felixstowe," he added, turning to Jacob. "If they got to know that you
were Mr. Samuel's brother, over from England, it would make them kind
of restless."
"I quite understand," Jacob assented. "I have no desire to make
acquaintances on this side until Sam is well enough to go round with
me."
The meal, a very excellent and somewhat prolonged one, came to a
conclusion about ten o'clock. Morse glanced at his watch.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I am now entirely at your service. If you would
like to go home, I admit that it is my usual custom to retire early.
If, on the other hand, Lord Felixstowe, or even you, Mr. Pratt, would
like to see a little New York night life, I will do my best."
"I am for the giddy whirl," Felixstowe declared promptly. "I have
eaten strange and delicious food of an exhilarating character. The
flavour of terrapin is upon my palate. I am imbibing New York. It is
getting into my blood."
"You are also imbibing a considerable quantity of Pommery," Jacob
observed. "I may have letters for the English mail at nine o'clock
to-morrow morning, remember."
"You will find me waiting by your bedside," the young man promised.
"To-night the magic of a strange city calls."
"If you will take the car home, Mr. Pratt," Morse suggested, "Lord
Felixstowe and I will take a taxi--that is to say, unless you care to
join us."
Jacob shook his head.
"Show Lord Felixstowe everything there is to be seen," he begged. "As
soon as my brother is out of danger, I'll have a turn around myself."
Towards three o'clock, Jacob, who was reading in bed, heard stealthy
footsteps in the next room. He coughed and Felixstowe at once entered.
"So you've got back," Jacob remarked, laying down his book.
Felixstowe's tie had escaped an inch or two to the right, his theatre
hat was set well on the back of his head, his expression was beatific.
"Jacob, old bean," he declared, sitting down heavily upon the bed,
"we've got the knock. London's a back number. We're beaten at the
post."
"In what respect?"
"The lasses!" Felixstowe exclaimed, smacking the part of the bed
where he imagined Jacob's leg to be,--"the lasses, the drink and
the gilded halls! And I'll tell you another thing. Our friend Morse
can take off his spectacles and go a bit. He's no stranger on the
merry-go-rounds.... Gee! What's that?"
The young man slipped from the bed and crossed the room to where, on
a very handsome little round table, a bottle of whisky and other
appurtenances were attractively displayed.
"The one thing I needed to send me to sleep like a top was a
nightcap," he declared, mixing himself a drink. "Jacob, have you any
more relatives? Let's visit 'em all."
"You go to bed," Jacob insisted. "I'm going to turn out the light
directly."
Lord Felixstowe, his glass in his hand, one-stepped lightly out of the
room, humming under his breath a little ditty which seemed to contain
dual references to a prospective sovereignty of the May and the hour
at which he would like his shaving water. Jacob turned over and slept
the sleep of the just.