"Never mind, John," Nielsen cut in. "You must allow us the occasional
escape of some of our surplus wind. Now, let's drop these bravado poses
and get down to business. I want the rest of the proposition. We know
that we're to put Erna to the test. Now, Breen, tell us how."
"There's nothing to explain. I said, put her to the test. Let each one,
in his own way and for himself, perhaps, pay her attentions--I don't
mean, make love to her--but simply, well, let him take her to the
theatre or to supper some evening--she's free nights--and find out how
close he can get to her--I don't mean seduction--but that he penetrate
her character. Let each, in his own way, learn for himself, and later
we'll compare notes and decide whether the respected lady has the moral
or the unmoral tendency or even whether she might develop an--er--"
"See here, Breen!" Carstairs exploded.
"Oh, I'd forgotten that we agreed to throw that out," the painter
apologized. "You see, I couldn't help thinking of that little affair
with the young prize ring gladiator. What was his name? Allen!"
"But that was only a temptation," Carstairs fought back.
"Of course, only a temptation. But we have only her word that it never
proved more."
The composer was ready with a hot retaliation when Nielsen interposed:
"Now don't let's revert to that topic again, Breen. We can never know
the whole story, and it only annoys John to refer to it. We know that
Erna was down and out at the time--she'd just come to Landsmann's, was
unsettled and that sort of thing--that much we know and that young Allen
followed her there with an offer of cash. At least, she intimated
something like that to John and said it was a case of being good or bad
then and there. She chose being good. Even if she had chosen the other,
the transaction might have been an unmoral and not an immoral one, for
she was fond of Allen."
"But--"
"Now never mind, Breen! We've threshed that out often enough. Erna
didn't flop--in fact, she showed Mr. Allen the door, hasn't seen him
since and--"
"But we have only _her_ word for all that stuff."
"All right. There's no other to contradict."
Breen, although silenced, was busy reflecting; Carstairs' ire was
appeased. Nielsen concluded: "Let's take up Breen's proposition, John,
each in his own way, whatever that may be, and then we'll compare notes
some day and settle the business. After all, Erna's only a waitress; we
needn't spend more than an ordinary amount of excitement over her."
"But she isn't a waitress. I tell you, she's a woman."
"All right, woman let her be," Nielsen conceded gracefully. "Now, we
don't want to sit here throwing words and phrases around all evening.
We've been at it too long as it is. Why not put the matter to a vote and
then drop it?"
"Yes."
"Breen, of course, votes that we put her to the test. Will you vote that
way too?"
Carstairs gave in with an effort.
"Fine!" Nielsen applauded. "I'll vote 'yes' too."
"Motion proposed and carried that one Erna Vitek, employed as waitress
at the Café Landsmann--"
"That'll do, Breen. We've had enough of your eloquence for one evening.
You've given me a headache. Besides, I'm sick of this subject. Let's
start something else."
Breen laughed his ever-ready, self-satisfied laugh, and Nielsen, and
even Carstairs, joined him. Presently, the studio slept the sleep of the
unperturbed. Carefully, Breen filled his pipe and began a deliberate
puffing, while Nielsen introduced some new anecdote in his droll,
even-tempered way. Carstairs, on the other hand, was meditating
gloomily: in an hour or so he would be due at that damnable hole, the
Phoenix Music Hall--where he earned his bread playing accompaniments. A
second thought cheered him not a little. He would still have time to eat
his supper at Landsmann's.