After a rather disturbed night in which he slept by fits and starts,
mostly starts, and occupied the intervening wakeful hours in considering
the Judge's unparalleled effrontery, Jim dawdled over a breakfast for
which he had no appetite, reflecting meanwhile what he could do.
Ordinarily his nerves were equal to any strain; but now he found himself
fidgety, which but added to his general perturbation. For her sake, as
much as his own, he was indignant over the deception practiced upon Mary
Allen, and resolved to punish the impostor if ever opportunity offered.
He decided that his first move must be to warn her. That, too, presented
its difficulty, as his one certain chance of finding her was at her
studio, and he doubted if she would be there before the late forenoon.
He scanned the list of hotel arrivals and learned that the Judge was a
guest at the Van Astor.
"That," he soliloquized, "is worth knowing; because after I have had a
talk with Mary, I'll call upon that human airship or write him a note
telling him what one James Gollop thinks about him!"
He was still perplexed and absent-minded when he somewhat listlessly
walked out into the morning sunlight and started rather aimlessly down
town; nor was he aware that he was passing the Van Astor until disturbed
by a sharp "Harrup! Ahem!" snorted out as if by a hippopotamus that had
just emerged from deep water, and looking around saw the object of his
indignation advancing toward him. If Jim's usual frown looked black, the
scowl that was on the Judge's face was cyclonic.
"You unspeakable scoundrel!" the Judge exclaimed, as he confronted
Jimmy.
"That, sir, is precisely the term I should have applied to you!"
retorted Jimmy. And then, before the Judge, who was not so quick on the
up-take, had time to recover, Jim poked his face belligerently forward
and added, "The sole condition that prevents me from giving you just
what you deserve--a punch in the jaw!--is that we are here on the
street; but I'll promise you this, you infernal windbag, that if ever I
get you alone, I'll change your facial boundaries until you'll never
more be mistaken for me."
"You--you--how dare you!" exclaimed the Judge, drawing back as if
aghast, and considerably alarmed by the threat of physical peril.
"See here," said Jim, advancing a step as the Judge retreated, "we'll
mention no names, but I'll say this: that if ever again you take
advantage of our resemblance to force your attentions on the young lady
with whom I saw you last night, I'll expose you. You should be ashamed
of yourself. There is a limit to everything, and your actions are beyond
the lines of decency--you--you--hypocritical blackguard!"
"Not another word! Not another word!" roared the Judge, as if he were
admonishing a highly obstreperous witness in his court "It's all I can
do to keep from turning you over to the police, and----"
"And it's all I can do to keep from putting my fist into your face until
someone calls for an ambulance! By God! I think I'll do it anyhow!"
exclaimed Jim with such evident intention that the Judge got from reach
not an instant too soon, and, deciding that he might as well continue
his progress after such a flying start, did not pause until he had
reached the security of the hotel rotunda. Jim's first impulse had been
to assist his departure with his boot, but after his leg had got
half-way into the air he recovered his senses, and then angrily turned
and walked down the avenue. Once around the corner of an intersecting
street he stopped, got out of the line of traffic, and despite the
coldness of the day, removed his hat and wiped moisture from his
forehead.
"Good Lord!" he muttered, "what a narrow escape! I came as near to
making an absolute fool of myself then as ever I have in my life. If I
hadn't controlled myself at the right moment I would have probably
booted the Judge; but would have kicked away my new job at the same
time. Will I never, never, never learn sense?"
The fact that the Judge had opened a meeting with an insult that
scarcely any red-blooded man could have failed to resent, did not, in
Jimmy's sober self-arraignment condone his own conduct.
"What I should have done," he thought, "was to keep my temper cool, and
let him know beyond any chance of misunderstanding just where we stand,
right now and in the future. I'm not going to run away from that big
bluffer any more. It's come to a show-down between him and me! I'm
done, not only with apologies, but, with side-stepping. If ever he
sticks his nose into my affairs again I'll make him wish he'd taken it
to a shipyard and had it armor plated. But how on earth did he happen to
bump into Mary? And where? That's what gets me!"
He thought he could picture it all--the chance meeting, her cordial
greeting, the Judge's joy at being hailed by such an extraordinary
beautiful and attractive creature when all the girls he had hitherto met
had been of the small town or tea-party variety, and his tacit
pretension that he was her accepted friend and pal, James Gollop.
"I reckon he'd smirk, and bow, and try to be clever and witty, and all
the time he'd be either patting himself on the back for his luck, or
envying or hating me," thought Jimmy. "When I let the people out in
Yimville think I was him, it was a joke; but this is a serious matter
and--it's positively indecent! That's what it is! It's an outrage!"
Imbued with a frantic wish to have Mary Allen share his indignation, he
started toward MacDougall Alley. And then his consideration for her
feelings and wish to shield her from distress caused him to ponder
whether it were not the best to avoid mention of the Judge unless she
broached the subject of the supposed James Gollop's actions on the
preceding night. That brought him to another tormenting question, which
was how long this affair had been going on. How long had the Judge been
in town? How many times had he met and entertained her? And--horrible
condition!--suppose of the two men she had learned to like Judge
Woodworth-Granger better than James Gollop? That would be a tragedy.
Never a doubt entered his mind but that the Judge would speedily fall in
love with such a paragon, and throw himself at her feet. It was
impossible that he should be such an imbecile as to do otherwise! Any
man in the world would do the same. It was to be expected, in the
natural course of things. Being something of an opportunist, he decided
to stop pondering over everything until he was in the presence of Mary,
and then to guide himself by his reception. He hoped that the Judge had,
as nearly as his capabilities permitted, lived up to the high standard
of the Gollop form, or, as Jimmy himself might have expressed it, that
the Judge "hadn't queered his pitch."
"It'd be just like him to make her hate me after one interview.
Considering how I hated myself after one meeting with him I couldn't
blame her," he admitted, dolefully.
With an unwonted trepidation he climbed the studio stairs and rapped on
the door.
"Come in." Her voice, sounding to Jimmy like a long unheard and
beautiful song, responded and he turned the handle and entered.
She was sitting in front of an easel and the forenoon light from outside
lent finer lights and shadows to her face as with her head half-turned
over her shoulder she regarded him.
"Oh, hello! It's you, is it?" she greeted, and then got to her feet
quickly, and stepped toward him as if to inspect him at shorter range,
or else as if wondering what mood he might be in at the moment. There
was a palpable uncertainty, curiosity, and perhaps reserve in her
attitude, as if she wondered whether he would begin talking pompous
platitudes or, on the contrary, breezing into some whimsy. He didn't
quite know what to say or do. He felt like a human interrogation point;
aware of the necessity of finding out something and adapting himself to
that knowledge.
He had kept away from her when discharged from the old employment and
sought her when his outlook was brightened by the new. He had tried to
find her when his dreams were flashing fast. He had anticipated this
interview. His imagination and love had so gilded her and her
surroundings with glamour that now, as he stood there, awkward,
irresolute, with hat in hand, everything seemed unreal. Everything
seemed reduced to hard realities. The fire that warmed the studio was a
real fire. The light that entered through the windows was real light.
The studio was but a real working room, and she but a real
flesh-and-blood girl standing there in a paint-soiled apron with a
palette in one hand and a brush in the other.
And then her voice brought him back to earth.
"For goodness sake! Can't you speak?" she asked, and extricated a thumb
from the palette, and turned to lay it and the paint brush on a littered
table near her easel. Inasmuch as her eyes were for the moment diverted
from him he succeeded in recovering some of his customary wits.
"Speak? Speak! I've got so much to speak that I'm smothered with talk,"
he replied. "Aren't you going to shake hands before I begin?"
"I suppose it's polite," she said, extending a hand which, with all the
delightful inconsequence of a man infatuated with love, he had
frequently craved to hold forever. "Suppose you sit down to tell it!"
she suggested, withdrawing her hand from his. "I'm--I'm rather curious
to hear you talk."
"Why?" he asked. "Don't I talk enough--usually?"
"Yes, but----" She stopped, appeared to hesitate, and then almost
irrelevantly said "You've never said what you thought of my work. Do you
think I should continue it, or drop it?"
Jimmy was so astonished by the unexpected that he forgot his
embarrassment.
"Drop it? Of course not. How absurd! It was never in me to do anything
very well," he added almost wistfully, "for I have no gifts. But if I
could sing even a little, I would cultivate my voice. And if I but knew
how to paint at all, I would work to paint better, always hoping that
some time I might do at least one picture. But--isn't it unusual for you
to be either discouraged, or questioning?"
"Perhaps," she said, looking away from him. "But--suppose I had to give
it up?"
"Why?" he cried solicitously. And then, remembering that all his recent
worries had been of a financial nature, he was fearful that some wolf of
poverty had thrust its head into the studio door. "If--if--it's money
that keeps you from going ahead as you have been, I--look here! Your
work mustn't stop. We're too good friends to be falsely modest. If--if
you're broke, I'd like to let you have some money. I haven't got much,
but--Mary--I'm going to make some. I'll--I'll buy a picture. I'd like
one. I've always wanted one of yours."
She smiled a trifle sadly and shook her head in negation. He thought she
doubted the affluence of a mere chocolate salesman and it brought his
mind back to his own good news.
"See here, Mary Allen," he expostulated, "a lot of things have happened
since I saw you last. I'm no longer Jimmy Gollop, candy drummer. I'm Mr.
James Gollop, Sales Manager for one of the best institutions on earth,
and I'm going to make good. I know I shall. I feel it here," and he
tapped his breast with his knuckles. She did not observe his gesture,
for she had turned still further from him, and was looking out of the
window as if half distracted by her own thought.
"Why," he blurted, "you'd be as unhappy without paint as I'd be without
work. Rather than have you give it up, I'd--I'd send you down to
Maryland to my mother. Why not do that? You'd love her, because everyone
does. And she'd love you because--well--just because she couldn't help
it. Mary--if you'd only go down there you could have a home--no fussy
hotel, and--and--I'd be so happy to----"
She suddenly turned toward him with a tiny gesture, then laughed. He was
rather hurt, and felt that possibly she was ridiculing his honest and
generous offer. As if she read his thought she came quickly toward him
and held out her hand and caught his and said, using the old jocular
name, "No, Bill Jones, Pirate, it isn't money! But don't think for an
instant that I don't appreciate the offer that comes from your big, fine
heart! I do! And--I wish I could accept it. I think I know what your
home is like--and what your mother is like."
She dropped his hand and now turned toward the easel, smudged a blotch
of paint with a slender finger tip in awkward pretense at being
interested in her study, and without looking at him said, "It's not
money. It's because the man to whom I am engaged to be married
disapproves of my little hobby and has asserted so in most emphatic
terms."
It seemed to Jim that the whole room was reeling, and that there was a
great burst of sound, followed by a stillness so profound that the
distressed beating of his heart had become loudly audible. His knees
trembled. His hands clutched and quivered. He felt mentally and
physically stricken, tried to speak, could utter no sound, and then, to
conceal his hurt, turned almost mechanically to the chair she had
proffered, groped blindly for its arm, and slowly subsided into it. He
was pitifully thankful that she had not observed his distress; that she
was still standing there in front of the easel. This betrothal was an
intervention that had never entered into any of his thoughts or dreams
of her. He had always pictured her as free, quite free, following her
whims and ambitions within the limitations of a meager purse. He sat
there, stunned, for a moment, and then remembered, dully, that he did
not even know her name. The absurdities of his position, and the
futilities of all his long aspirations and love dreams seemed magnified
through the shock of sudden and bitter knowledge. In a moment of bitter
disappointment, he wondered how he had ever dared to advance from the
accident of a chance meeting to friendship, and from friendship to love.
"I--I congratulate you," he said, lamely, for want of something better
to say.
"On what?" she asked. "Because the man to whom I am engaged doesn't
understand what this daubing of mine means to me?"
"No, not on that; but on being betrothed," he replied, and then added,
bluntly, "You see,--I--I didn't know it. You never told me. No, you
never told me anything about it in all these months in which--in which
you've been just Mary Allen, and I, Bill Jones!"
He was not aware of the sorry tragedy in his voice that contrasted so
sharply with the banality of his words. He felt that he was but a
pitiful jester who was like a clown, compelled to play a merry part
when there was anguish in his mind. But--he must play.
"I don't know why I was such a fool!" he declared. "Why I thought it
could go on in this way--with you as Mary Allen, and I as Bill Jones.
You see--I may as well tell the truth--now that it's come to this--You
see, I didn't know your name, or who you were! I thought on the day that
we met in Fifth Avenue you were someone in the trade, and I was ashamed
to admit that I'd forgotten where you came from. You knew who I was, but
I couldn't remember you. And so, after that first meeting, I was a
coward. I'm a coward now, Mary! Now that it doesn't matter!"
He sat staring at the rug and striving to his utmost to think of
something to say in his own defense.
"Well," she said, "since you have been so frank, I suppose that I may as
well add my confession. I never knew, until within the last five
minutes, who you were. Therefore I had nothing the best of you."
"What? What's that?" he asked as if incredulous, or in fear that he had
not heard her words aright.
He lifted his eyes and saw that she was now facing him.
"It's the truth," she bravely admitted. "I never knew that your name was
James Gollop, and that you were a commercial man, until within the last
five minutes! If there were need I could swear it."
"Then," he demanded, blankly, "who in the deuce did you think I was,
anyhow?"
"I thought," she said with a slight shrug, "that you were Judge James
Woodworth-Granger, of whom I suppose you have never heard. He is the
Judge of the Fourth District Court, seated in a small city called
Princetown."
He was so astounded that for the moment he was speechless. It seemed to
him that all his chickens had come home to roost.
"Granger? Judge Granger--that inflated, stiff-necked, egotistical bag of
conceit! And--and--you thought I was Granger!"
There was reproach in his voice as well as words.
"Yes," she admitted, "I thought you were Judge Granger. But--please wait
a moment--I thought that you were different when away from your
judicial position, admired your reticence concerning your profession,
and--and I thought that I knew the real man better than anyone else. And
I liked the change."
She uttered the last almost defiantly.
"I can at least thank you for that preference," his said, lowering his
eyes. "I've come to dislike myself since I met him. He's bothered me a
lot. Maybe I've bothered him. I played a joke on him one time and--he
hasn't ever forgiven me, although I've tried to patch it up. I think
he's about the most stupid, unforgiving, inhuman bounder that--"
"Please!" she objected, and Jimmy saw that she had turned toward the
window, and so paused whilst she walked toward it, and stared out before
again facing him. He wished that the light from without were less
glaring, for it rendered her face and expression indistinct.
"It's not quite fair for me to listen to anything disparaging Judge
Granger," she said. "That wouldn't be playing the game. Judge Granger is
the man to whom I am betrothed."
He was incredibly shocked. Mary Allen betrothed to Granger! It was like
the last blow--his ultimate humiliation. Had it been anyone but Granger
it might have been less unendurable.
"I apologize," he said, mechanically. "I didn't understand the
situation. Judge Granger is--is a very prominent man."
"Quite so," she assented. "A man who is distinguished, and I think will
be more so."
"I expect he'll be a governor, and then a senator, and--maybe a
president," said Jimmy, helplessly, and feeling his own insignificance.
"But--but does Judge Granger know that you knew me? I ask this because
I'm afraid that if he does, he might object to our--our
acquaintanceship. He doesn't exactly approve of me."
Somewhat to Jimmy's surprise she laughed as if amused.
"No," she said, "I don't think he does know that we are friends. Indeed,
I'm rather certain of it. But--just the same, if you are such
enemies--it's not fair for me to show friendship under existing
circumstances, is it? See here, Mr. Gollop--that's a terrible name!--You
could scarcely respect me if I who am engaged to marry Judge Granger
were to stand here and let you criticise him. There is a limit to most
things, isn't there?"
"There is," agreed Jimmy, soberly. "You are quite right in your
attitude. I'm helpless." He paused, got to his feet, buttoned his coat,
looked absently for his hat, found it on the window ledge, and seemed
undecided. It was the old, boyish impulsiveness that made him turn to
her in what he believed to be a parting and say, "But--Mary! Mary Allen!
It doesn't matter what I am, or anything about the accidents and the
misunderstandings--nothing matters now--to me--only this, that--that you
believe that I was honest to you and to myself when you were but Mary
Allen, and I but Bill Jones!"
"No," she said, "nothing else matters. That is something quite yours and
mine--our own. Conditions are about as we all make them for ourselves.
Sometimes they run away from us. But we can't alter things that have
been. This has been a mixup. Neither of us could help it."
He could find nothing to say, for he seemed involved in a cataclysm that
had crushed him, and so moved toward the door. She walked by his side
and stepped back when he opened it. He held out his hand as if to bid
her good-by, for the last time, but she appeared to disregard it and
stood quietly by his side.
"It--it seems a travesty--a blunder," she said, at last. "I--I don't
know quite what to do about it all! I feel as if this were a farewell.
I--I don't like to think of it as such. You have been so kind, and so
encouraging, and you are so frank and--Can't we have one day more? Can't
you come back to-morrow afternoon,--here--and be just Bill Jones, the
Pirate, for another day? I think we'd be happier--afterward--if you
could, and if we could forget certain things. Say you will come."
And as he walked dejectedly up the narrow confines of the blind little
alley after leaving her he loathed himself for his weakness in promising
that he would.