Pennoyer, coming home one morning with two gigantic cakes to accompany
the coffee at the breakfast in the den, saw a young man bounce from a
horse car. He gave a shout. "Hello, there, Billie! Hello!"
"Hello, Penny!" said Hawker. "What are you doing out so early?" It was
somewhat after nine o'clock.
"Out to get breakfast," said Pennoyer, waving the cakes. "Have a good
time, old man?"
"Great."
"Do much work?"
"No. Not so much. How are all the people?"
"Oh, pretty good. Come in and see us eat breakfast," said Pennoyer,
throwing open the door of the den. Wrinkles, in his shirt, was making
coffee. Grief sat in a chair trying to loosen the grasp of sleep. "Why,
Billie Hawker, b'ginger!" they cried.
"How's the wolf, boys? At the door yet?"
"'At the door yet?' He's halfway up the back stairs, and coming fast. He
and the landlord will be here to-morrow. 'Mr. Landlord, allow me to
present Mr. F. Wolf, of Hunger, N. J. Mr. Wolf--Mr. Landlord.'"
"Bad as that?" said Hawker.
"You bet it is! Easy Street is somewhere in heaven, for all we know.
Have some breakfast?--coffee and cake, I mean."
"No, thanks, boys. Had breakfast."
Wrinkles added to the shirt, Grief aroused himself, and Pennoyer brought
the coffee. Cheerfully throwing some drawings from the table to the
floor, they thus made room for the breakfast, and grouped themselves
with beaming smiles at the board.
"Well, Billie, come back to the old gang again, eh? How did the country
seem? Do much work?"
"Not very much. A few things. How's everybody?"
"Splutter was in last night. Looking out of sight. Seemed glad to hear
that you were coming back soon."
"Did she? Penny, did anybody call wanting me to do a ten-thousand-dollar
portrait for them?"
"No. That frame-maker, though, was here with a bill. I told him----"
Afterward Hawker crossed the corridor and threw open the door of his own
large studio. The great skylight, far above his head, shed its clear
rays upon a scene which appeared to indicate that some one had very
recently ceased work here and started for the country. A distant closet
door was open, and the interior showed the effects of a sudden pillage.
There was an unfinished "Girl in Apple Orchard" upon the tall Dutch
easel, and sketches and studies were thick upon the floor. Hawker took a
pipe and filled it from his friend the tan and gold jar. He cast himself
into a chair and, taking an envelope from his pocket, emptied two
violets from it to the palm of his hand and stared long at them. Upon
the walls of the studio various labours of his life, in heavy gilt
frames, contemplated him and the violets.
At last Pennoyer burst impetuously in upon him. "Hi, Billie! come over
and---- What's the matter?"
Hawker had hastily placed the violets in the envelope and hurried it to
his pocket. "Nothing," he answered.
"Why, I thought--" said Pennoyer, "I thought you looked rather rattled.
Didn't you have--I thought I saw something in your hand."
"Nothing, I tell you!" cried Hawker.
"Er--oh, I beg your pardon," said Pennoyer. "Why, I was going to tell
you that Splutter is over in our place, and she wants to see you."
"Wants to see me? What for?" demanded Hawker. "Why don't she come over
here, then?"
"I'm sure I don't know," replied Pennoyer. "She sent me to call you."
"Well, do you think I'm going to---- Oh, well, I suppose she wants to be
unpleasant, and knows she loses a certain mental position if she comes
over here, but if she meets me in your place she can be as infernally
disagreeable as she---- That's it, I'll bet."
When they entered the den Florinda was gazing from the window. Her back
was toward the door.
At last she turned to them, holding herself very straight. "Well, Billie
Hawker," she said grimly, "you don't seem very glad to see a fellow."
"Why, heavens, did you think I was going to turn somersaults in the
air?"
"Well, you didn't come out when you heard me pass your door," said
Florinda, with gloomy resentment.
Hawker appeared to be ruffled and vexed. "Oh, great Scott!" he said,
making a gesture of despair.
Florinda returned to the window. In the ensuing conversation she took no
part, save when there was an opportunity to harry some speech of
Hawker's, which she did in short contemptuous sentences. Hawker made no
reply save to glare in her direction. At last he said, "Well, I must go
over and do some work." Florinda did not turn from the window. "Well,
so-long, boys," said Hawker, "I'll see you later."
As the door slammed Pennoyer apologetically said, "Billie is a trifle
off his feed this morning."
"What about?" asked Grief.
"I don't know; but when I went to call him he was sitting deep in his
chair staring at some----" He looked at Florinda and became silent.
"Staring at what?" asked Florinda, turning then from the window.
Pennoyer seemed embarrassed. "Why, I don't know--nothing, I guess--I
couldn't see very well. I was only fooling."
Florinda scanned his face suspiciously. "Staring at what?" she demanded
imperatively.
"Nothing, I tell you!" shouted Pennoyer.
Florinda looked at him, and wavered and debated. Presently she said,
softly: "Ah, go on, Penny. Tell me."
"It wasn't anything at all, I say!" cried Pennoyer stoutly. "I was only
giving you a jolly. Sit down, Splutter, and hit a cigarette."
She obeyed, but she continued to cast the dubious eye at Pennoyer. Once
she said to him privately: "Go on, Penny, tell me. I know it was
something from the way you are acting."
"Oh, let up, Splutter, for heaven's sake!"
"Tell me," beseeched Florinda.
"No."
"Tell me."
"No."
"Pl-e-a-se tell me."
"No."
"Oh, go on."
"No."
"Ah, what makes you so mean, Penny? You know I'd tell you, if it was the
other way about."
"But it's none of my business, Splutter. I can't tell you something
which is Billie Hawker's private affair. If I did I would be a chump."
"But I'll never say you told me. Go on."
"No."
"Pl-e-a-se tell me."
"No."