One day Hollanden said: "There are forty-two people at Hemlock Inn, I
think. Fifteen are middle-aged ladies of the most aggressive
respectability. They have come here for no discernible purpose save to
get where they can see people and be displeased at them. They sit in a
large group on that porch and take measurements of character as
importantly as if they constituted the jury of heaven. When I arrived at
Hemlock Inn I at once cast my eye searchingly about me. Perceiving this
assemblage, I cried, 'There they are!' Barely waiting to change my
clothes, I made for this formidable body and endeavoured to conciliate
it. Almost every day I sit down among them and lie like a machine.
Privately I believe they should be hanged, but publicly I glisten with
admiration. Do you know, there is one of 'em who I know has not moved
from the inn in eight days, and this morning I said to her, 'These long
walks in the clear mountain air are doing you a world of good.' And I
keep continually saying, 'Your frankness is so charming!' Because of the
great law of universal balance, I know that this illustrious corps will
believe good of themselves with exactly the same readiness that they
will believe ill of others. So I ply them with it. In consequence, the
worst they ever say of me is, 'Isn't that Mr. Hollanden a peculiar man?'
And you know, my boy, that's not so bad for a literary person." After
some thought he added: "Good people, too. Good wives, good mothers, and
everything of that kind, you know. But conservative, very conservative.
Hate anything radical. Can not endure it. Were that way themselves once,
you know. They hit the mark, too, sometimes. Such general volleyings
can't fail to hit everything. May the devil fly away with them!"
Hawker regarded the group nervously, and at last propounded a great
question: "Say, I wonder where they all are recruited? When you come to
think that almost every summer hotel----"
"Certainly," said Hollanden, "almost every summer hotel. I've studied
the question, and have nearly established the fact that almost every
summer hotel is furnished with a full corps of----"
"To be sure," said Hawker; "and if you search for them in the winter,
you can find barely a sign of them, until you examine the boarding
houses, and then you observe----"
"Certainly," said Hollanden, "of course. By the way," he added, "you
haven't got any obviously loose screws in your character, have you?"
"No," said Hawker, after consideration, "only general poverty--that's
all."
"Of course, of course," said Hollanden. "But that's bad. They'll get on
to you, sure. Particularly since you come up here to see Miss Fanhall so
much."
Hawker glinted his eyes at his friend. "You've got a deuced open way of
speaking," he observed.
"Deuced open, is it?" cried Hollanden. "It isn't near so open as your
devotion to Miss Fanhall, which is as plain as a red petticoat hung on a
hedge."
Hawker's face gloomed, and he said, "Well, it might be plain to you, you
infernal cat, but that doesn't prove that all those old hens can see
it."
"I tell you that if they look twice at you they can't fail to see it.
And it's bad, too. Very bad. What's the matter with you? Haven't you
ever been in love before?"
"None of your business," replied Hawker.
Hollanden thought upon this point for a time. "Well," he admitted
finally, "that's true in a general way, but I hate to see you managing
your affairs so stupidly."
Rage flamed into Hawker's face, and he cried passionately, "I tell you
it is none of your business!" He suddenly confronted the other man.
Hollanden surveyed this outburst with a critical eye, and then slapped
his knee with emphasis. "You certainly have got it--a million times
worse than I thought. Why, you--you--you're heels over head."
"What if I am?" said Hawker, with a gesture of defiance and despair.
Hollanden saw a dramatic situation in the distance, and with a bright
smile he studied it. "Say," he exclaimed, "suppose she should not go to
the picnic to-morrow? She said this morning she did not know if she
could go. Somebody was expected from New York, I think. Wouldn't it
break you up, though! Eh?"
"You're so dev'lish clever!" said Hawker, with sullen irony.
Hollanden was still regarding the distant dramatic situation. "And
rivals, too! The woods must be crowded with them. A girl like that, you
know. And then all that money! Say, your rivals must number enough to
make a brigade of militia. Imagine them swarming around! But then it
doesn't matter so much," he went on cheerfully; "you've got a good play
there. You must appreciate them to her--you understand?--appreciate them
kindly, like a man in a watch-tower. You must laugh at them only about
once a week, and then very tolerantly--you understand?--and kindly,
and--and appreciatively."
"You're a colossal ass, Hollie!" said Hawker. "You----"
"Yes, yes, I know," replied the other peacefully; "a colossal ass. Of
course." After looking into the distance again, he murmured: "I'm
worried about that picnic. I wish I knew she was going. By heavens, as a
matter of fact, she must be made to go!"
"What have you got to do with it?" cried the painter, in another sudden
outburst.
"There! there!" said Hollanden, waving his hand. "You fool! Only a
spectator, I assure you."
Hawker seemed overcome then with a deep dislike of himself. "Oh, well,
you know, Hollie, this sort of thing----" He broke off and gazed at the
trees. "This sort of thing---- It----"
"How?" asked Hollanden.
"Confound you for a meddling, gabbling idiot!" cried Hawker suddenly.
Hollanden replied, "What did you do with that violet she dropped at the
side of the tennis court yesterday?"