I BEGIN TO PLOT
I had the mourning band taken from my silk hat, while I have worn my
frock coat so little that it looked very nicely. A new pair of gloves
and a scarf purchased for the occasion completed my war-paint for the
Van Rossum reception, as I made my way to the mansions glorifying the
eastern edge of the Park. It was a civility due to my friend and a mark
of respect I was only too glad to pay so handsome and unaffected a young
millionairess as Miss Sophia; moreover, as a second, and perhaps
unworthy, thought, I considered that a visit to such a princely
establishment might give me the atmosphere I so often needed during the
course of some of my stories. Hummingbirds, bees and novelists gladly
draw sustenance from the humblest flowers, at times, but are never
averse to the juices of scions of the horticultural nobility.
My hat and coat were seized upon in an anteroom, after I had deposited
my card in a great chased receptacle, and I made my way up the wide
staircase, softly carpeted in crimson and adorned at the sides with
balusters of ancient, black, carved oak. The great hallway I had just
left gave an impression of respectable age, like a neat and primped up
old gentleman still able to wear a flower in his buttonhole. There were
just enough ancient cavaliers looking from the walls to afford, with two
shining suits of armor, a suggestion that the Van Rossums were reaping
the just reward due to the offspring of noble swashbucklers.
In my ascension I closely followed three young ladies and blessed the
fate that had abolished long trains. But for its decree, I should have
been filled with the hot trepidation of the man who knows that he is
apt, at the slightest opportunity, to tread on sweeping flounces, and
who has had his share of furious and transfixing haughty looks. Others
were coming behind me in a stream. The music of fiddles and mandolins
hidden in a bower of palms, on the landing, mingled with a murmur of
many voices. I soon entered a great parlor, through huge doors, and
followed a line of matrons and damsels diversified by a scattering of
the masculine element.
I immediately recognized Mrs. Van Rossum, very resplendent in pearl gray
silk, and her daughter's goodnatured face, very smiling and friendly to
all. Gordon was standing quite near, chatting with some ladies. Mr. Van
Rossum I knew at once, since his countenance has been, many times and
oft, represented in the press among other portraits of enviable men of
wealth. So urbane and mild did he look that I wondered how any one could
hesitate to borrow a million from him. My chance to make my bow came
very soon. The elder lady smiled to me most charmingly, in most evident
and utter forgetfulness of my identity, but Miss Sophia showed an
excellent memory.
"My dear Mr. Cole! How very kind of you to come! Yes, it's a most
charming day. Lucy, dearest, this is Mr. Cole who writes the most
delightful books. You must read them, but he will tell you all about
them."
Swiftly, she turned to others and I was left in the care of the dearest
little lady, just five feet nothing in highest heels, who looked like a
rosebud wrapped in lace, and smiled at me.
"I am going to take you right over there by the window," she said. "I
just dote on people who write books and I remember your name perfectly
well. You are the author of 'The World's Grist' and 'Meg's Temptation.'"
She sat down, with a little sign extending her gracious permission for
me to do likewise, whereupon I hastened to assure her that I made no
claim to the reputation so thoroughly deserved by the authors of those
magnificent novels.
"Then, tell me the names of your books, won't you?"
Somewhat diffidently I acquainted her with a few of the titles,
whereupon she joyfully declared that she remembered one of them
perfectly.
"The heroine was called Rose," she said, triumphantly.
"It seems to me that it was Kate," I replied, modestly.
"Yes, Kate, of course, and do you really think she was happy ever after
with that extraordinary man Jonas?"
"I think I recollect marrying her off to one Fitzjames, but that is only
a minor detail. A novelist, my dear young lady, may assert with some
show of confidence that the weddings he brings about are warranted not
to crock, but you must remember he deals with fiction. The future lies
in the hollow of no man's hand and, since I write chiefly of modern
days, I save myself the saddening task of following my heroines to the
grave. To me they are all alive, yet, happy as the day is long,
revelling in sunshine and basking in undying love."
She folded her little hands on her lap, opened her big blue eyes very
widely and sighed gently.
"How awfully delightful!" she said, "and I think you're ever so clever.
But--but I think you'll have to pardon me."
I rose, as she gained her feet and smiled at me again. Then she rushed
off to another corner of the room and placed her hand on the coatsleeve
of a six-footer who looked at her, joyfully. Her little turned-up face,
in a fraction of a second, must have spoken several volumes. Then,
slowly and very casually, they drifted off towards the big conservatory
to the left.
Twenty minutes later, floating with the crowd, I chanced to be behind
them. It is possible that they had found the retreat too populous.
"I am sure that you must have flirted disgracefully before I came," the
man accused her, tenderly.
"Not a bit! I just sat down with the dearest old fogy who is supposed to
write novels, so that you shouldn't be jealous, if you saw me," she
replied, contentedly.
I moved away, rather swiftly. I should evidently have been delighted at
the opportunity of rendering such signal service to so charming a little
person. I had served as an aegid for her, as a buckler to protect her
innocence and display it to the world in general and to six feet of
stalwart manhood in particular. Yet, I confess that this little bud had
driven a tiny thorn in me.
"Well," I reflected, "it is perhaps good to be an old fogy with scanty
hair and the beginning of crow's feet. At any rate it helps make Frieda
fond of me and has given me the trustful friendship of Frances. Baby
Paul, I think, also appreciates his venerable friend."
Just then, Gordon came to me.
"By Jove, Dave! You're rather a fine figure of a man, when you're
properly groomed," he told me.
"That's nonsense," I told him, severely. "I have just had a wireless
informing me that I am a back number. Why are you no longer receiving at
the side of your intended bride? She looks exceedingly handsome and
graceful."
"The engagement has really not been announced yet," he answered. "It is
not official. The Van Rossums are going to Florida, because the old
gentleman has lost some tarpon he wants to find again. After that they
are going to California where he is to look up something about an oil
well. I may possibly run over there to see them. The--It won't happen
for ever so long, perhaps not till fall. Wish I could go out with you
and beat you at billiards, but I'm to stay till the bitter end. Isn't
she looking splendidly?"
My eyes turned to where Miss Van Rossum was still receiving guests. She
was certainly a fine creature, full of the joy of living. If some of her
tastes in the way of pursuits were somewhat masculine, it detracted
nothing from her elegance and charm. These might, in later years, become
rather exuberant, I reflected, looking at the amplitude of form
displayed by her parents, but, after all, none of us are beyond the
grasp of Father Time.
"Just as splendidly as she does in your exquisite painting," I replied,
nodding towards the portrait, wonderfully framed, that stood on an easel
in the best light that could have been found for it.
A moment later he was torn away from me. From time to time he returned
to the side of the young lady, who was always much occupied in
conversation and pleasant laughter with many friends.
If Gordon thinks that the engagement is as yet something of a secret, he
is badly in error. Hints, glances, little movements of heads in his
direction, constantly apprised me that the information was scattered far
and wide. Two dowagers close to me indulged in a stage whisper that
revealed to me the fact that they wondered whether the projected
marriage would not be something of a _mesalliance_ on the part of dear
Sophia.
"After all, you know, he's nothing but a painter, and no one heard of
him until three or four years ago!"
"But they say he charges enormously," said the other.
This, evidently, was quite a redeeming feature in my friend's favor, but
I am afraid it was the only one, from their point of view.
I soon decided that I had done my full duty and sought the stairway
again. Here, I once more ran into Gordon.
"I know just what the hippo in the zoo feels like," he confided to me,
"and he has the advantage of a thicker skin. But I'm putting it all down
to advertising expense. Good-by, Dave, old boy, give my kindest regards
to--to Frieda."
I was glad when I reached the sidewalk again. I am no cynical detractor
of the advantages of wealth, breeding, education and all the things that
go towards refining away some of the dross which clings to the original
man. Were it not for the hope of lucre, how many would be the works of
art, how great would be the achievements of the world! Still, I felt
that a man can have a little too much of the scent of roses, a surfeit
of gilded lilies and gems in profusion. The good, old, hard sidewalk
seemed to give me just as pleasant a welcome as that extended by softest
rugs, while the keen and bracing air filled my lungs more agreeably than
the warmed and perfumed atmosphere I had just left. I climbed on top of
one of the auto-busses, holding on to my hat, and was taken all the way
down to Washington Square, where some of the ancient aristocracy of
Gotham lives cheek by jowl with the proletariat burrowing a little
further south.
I walked away, slowly, seeking to remember in that crowded assembly
uptown some face I could favorably compare with that of Frances. No, it
had been a road from Dan to Beersheba, barren of such beauty as blossoms
on the fourth floor back, of what Gordon calls my menagerie. One of my
venturesome fancies painted for me the Murillo-woman gliding through
those rooms. She would have been like a great evening star among
twinkling asteroids. My imagination vaguely clothed her with a raiment
of beauty, but the smile of her needed no changing.
I reached the house just as the young ladies who sell candy were
returning. My silk hat, I think, impressed them, as well as my yellow
gloves and the ancient gold-mounted Malacca I inherited from my father.
"My! Ain't you handsome to-day, Mr. Cole!" exclaimed one of them.
"You been to a weddin', Mr. Cole?" asked another.
"I have been to pay my respects to two people who are drifting that way,
if signs don't fail," I answered. "I should be happy indeed to look just
as handsome whenever any of you favors me with an invitation to her
marriage."
At this they giggled, appearing rather pleased, and I made my way
upstairs, glad indeed to climb them. How fortunate it is that I selected
the higher levels, considering that they would give me greater privacy
and less interference with typewriting at night! My lucky star, when I
so decided, was plainly in its apogee.
I have been told that I am rather quiet and silent of movement. I
certainly did not seek to conceal my coming, but when I reached the top
floor I saw that my neighbor's door was open and a voice that was most
familiar and yet utterly new to me was crooning something. I listened.
It was a bit of a dear old Breton song with a little meaningless
_ritournelle_:
_Gaiement je chante et chanterai; Ti-ho-ho,
Car mon bonheur je garderai. Ti-ho-ho-ho._
For a moment my heart stood still and I awaited, breathless. But there
was no more, they were the last two words of the song. She had been
singing to her little one, very low and sweetly, and the huskiness
seemed to have disappeared. I thought upon these words "Gaily I sing and
I will sing, for my happiness I will keep." Was the great wish of her
heart coming to her now? Would Baby Paul be able to listen to the voice
that had entranced his father and crow with delight at the loving notes
that had stolen the man's heart?
A tiny pain shot through me. The bird was finding its song; would it now
also use its wings? Is Frances destined to become a great singer again?
Will her life, after a time, be led away from humbler surroundings, from
her modest friends, and is her personality to become in my memory but
one of those dear and charming recollections every man stores away in
his heart, as some hide away faded flowers, a scented note, or perchance
the glove that has touched a beloved hand?
I coughed, prudently, to announce my coming. She was in the big chair
with Baby Paul on her lap and put her finger to her lips, thus
announcing that her offspring had fallen asleep. I entered on tiptoe and
drew a chair towards her, with due precaution, assuming the air of a
Grand Inquisitor.
"Frances," I accused her, severely, but in a low voice, "you have been
guilty of singing. This you have most certainly done without the
faculty's permission. Dr. Porter would scold you most sternly, if he
heard of it, and I feel that it is my duty to take so disagreeable a job
from his shoulders. You are a bad, bold, rebellious creature and I don't
know what I shall do to you!"
"I--I think I shall be able to sing again," she whispered, her eyes
shining brightly. "Dear--dear David, I--I am so happy!"
Across the body of Baby Paul she extended her arm and hand. I took her
fingers in mine.
"You deserve to have them well rapped with a ruler," I told her, "but,
as no such instrument of torture is at hand, I shall punish you
otherwise."
So I was bold enough to touch them to my lips for a second and abandoned
them, suddenly possessed by a huge fear that I had taken an inexcusable
liberty, but she looked at the baby, smiling.
"Indeed, Frances, I share your happiness and trust that your
anticipations are to be realized in fullest measure. A mean, little,
selfish feeling came to me, a moment ago, that the fulfilment of your
hopes might take you away from us. I confess that I am shamed and
contrite at the thought, but I have become very fond of--of Baby Paul.
Now, however, I rejoice with you. But, my dear child, for Heaven's sake
remember what our good little doctor told you! I beg you not to spoil
his magnificent work!"
"Oh! David! I'll be ever so careful, I promise, and, whatever happens,
you will always be the same dear old David to us. I assure you I won't
try again, for ever so long. I think I just began without knowing what I
was doing. The first thing I knew I was just humming that bit of song to
Paul, and then the words came quite clear, so easily that I hardly
realized I was singing. But I won't try again, until Dr. Porter allows
me to. And then, it will be very little at a time, ever so little."
"And then, you will have to go to the very best man in New York, and
take more lessons and practise a lot, because your throat has been idle
so long that it has forgotten all it ever knew, and--and----"
"And it would cost a dreadful lot of money, and I have none, and it is
all a great big lovely dream, but I must awaken from it and go back to
Mr. McGrath's for a few days more, and then to Felicie's shop, because
it opens again next week and she declares she can't get along without
me. I am afraid, my poor David, that I shall have to be quite content
with singing to Baby Paul, as best I can, and, perhaps, to Frieda and
you."
I rose, angrily, and paced the room several times.
"That's arrant nonsense," I finally declared. "You will go to Gordon's
and you will also return to Madame Felicie Smith's, for a short time. In
the meanwhile I will have the piano moved into your room, because it is
a silly incumbrance in mine. You can practise a little by yourself, if
Porter allows you to. Then, as soon as he says it is all right, you will
go to the Signora Stefano, or to Richetti or some such expert teacher.
I have some money in the bank and I am going to advance it to you,
because you can return it later on, when you give concerts or sing at
the opera. If you don't give it back, I'll dun you, sue you, set the
minions of the law after you, if such a promise can give you any
comfort. Don't you dare answer, it is bad for your throat to speak too
much, especially when it is nonsense. And I'm going to make a lot more
money besides. I have an idea about an old maid and a canary that the
magazines will bid for, hungrily. It's the finest thing I ever wrote,
although it is still incubating in my head."
She rose, ever so carefully, so as not to awaken Baby Paul, and
deposited him in his crib. Then she came to me with both hands
outstretched.
"Do you really think, David, that I would squander your poor little
savings? Do you think I am one to speculate on friendship and try to
coin money out of kindness?"
She held both my shoulders, her great beautiful eyes seeming to search
my soul, which the tears that trembled on her lashes appeared to sear as
if they had been drops of molten lead. With some effort, I brought a
smile to my lips and shook my head.
"You are a silly infant," I told her, gravely. "Little Paul, on the
other hand, is a man, an individual endowed with intelligence beyond his
months. He will understand that you are not at all concerned in this
matter and that I only want to help him out. I want to give him a mother
of whom he will be proud, one who will make the little scrivener she met
on a top floor ever boastful that once upon a time he was a friend and
still maintains her regard. I am only seeking to help him, since we are
great pals, to graduate from long frocks to trousers, in anticipation of
college and other steps towards useful manhood. He is a particular
friend of mine; he smiles upon me; he has drooled upon my shirtfront and
pulled my moustache. We understand one another, Paul and I, and together
we deplore your feminine obstinacy."
To my frightful embarrassment Frances let go of my shoulders and seized
my hands, which she carried swiftly as a flash to her lips, before I
could draw them away.
"When I teach him to pray, you will not be forgotten, David. We--we will
speak of this some other time, because, perhaps, after all, my voice
will never return--as it was before, and then all this will have been
but--but idle speculations--and--and I will never forget your goodness."
Just then, Baby Paul, perhaps thinking that our conversation had lasted
long enough, gave the signal for me to retire. He is a rather impatient
young man, and I stepped out, closing the door behind me, and went to my
room where I thankfully removed the frock coat, after which, David was
himself again.
Richetti, I have heard, is a marvelous teacher, and there is no better
judge of the possibilities of a voice. I am going to interview him and
explain the intricacies of the case. Then, I shall tell him that if he
sees the slightest chance he will put me under lasting obligation by
sending the bills to me, meanwhile, assuring Frances that he is teaching
her gratuitously, in order to enhance his reputation by turning out such
a consummate artist. She will fall in my snare and be captured by my
wiles.
There are various fashions, I have always heard, of causing the demise
of a cat. Here is where the shrewd and clever conspirator is going to
use the plots of his fiction in real life. I am thankful that my
professional training is at last to serve me so well!