AT FORT MYER
“THIS way, sir; your seats are in the upper gallery,” announced a
cavalry corporal. “Right up here, miss,” and he assisted Janet up
the first steps of the narrow stairway, then made way for Chichester
Barnard who followed her. “Let me see your tickets, please,” continued
the corporal as Duncan Fordyce appeared at his elbow, Marjorie in his
wake. “Very sorry, sir, but these seats are in the north gallery at the
other end of the riding-hall. You’ll have to go outside to get there,
sir.”
“Thundering devils!” ejaculated Duncan, taking back the two pink
pasteboards. “Mrs. Walbridge sold mother these four tickets. I supposed
the seats were all together. Wait here just a minute, Miss Marjorie,
and I’ll run out to the ticket agent and see if I can’t exchange these
seats for others on this side of the hall.”
Marjorie nodded a cheerful assent, and in Duncan’s absence watched the
new arrivals swarming into the building. The annual drill, given under
the auspices of the Woman’s Army Relief Society, was a great event, not
only at Fort Myer but in the National Capital and Georgetown as well,
and fashionable society had apparently turned out en masse to attend it.
“Splendid success, Marjorie,” boomed a voice close to her ear, and
turning she recognized Mrs. Walbridge, majestic in her ermine coat and
nearly two hundred pounds avoirdupois. “The ticket committee told me
the President and most of his Cabinet will be here. The hall is sold
out. Haven’t you a seat, child?”
“Yes, I am waiting for----” the name was lost in the slamming down of
chairs and the stamping of feet.
“That’s all right,” exclaimed Mrs. Walbridge, much relieved. “I
couldn’t have you stand. Be sure and bring your escort over to the
Administration Building for tea after the drill,” and she moved
ponderously down the aisle to her seat.
“Sorry to have been so long,” apologized Duncan, rejoining Marjorie. “I
succeeded in exchanging my tickets for two seats in this lower section.
Come on,” but Marjorie held back, and her face grew troubled.
“Hadn’t I better go upstairs and sit with your sister, and let Mr.
Barnard join you in these lower seats?” she asked.
“You take your chaperonage too seriously,” declared Duncan firmly. “I
hardly ever see you alone, Miss Marjorie, and now Fate has given me a
chance to enjoy myself, I decline to have your New England conscience
spoil my fun. But if it will make you feel any easier, I’ll run up and
tell Barnard where we are sitting. Here, Corporal, show this lady to
her chair,” and he turned and dashed upstairs.
Marjorie slowly followed the non-commissioned officer down the aisle to
the front row, speaking to her different friends as she passed them.
As she made herself comfortable in the narrow chair, she recognized
Baron von Valkenberg and the military attaches of the foreign embassies
at Washington, always interested spectators at the drills, sitting
near her. To her left was the box reserved for the President and the
Commandant of the Post, draped with the President’s personal flag and
the Stars and Stripes, while the Chief of Staff and his aides occupied
an adjoining box.
Duncan saw Janet and Barnard sitting midway in the front row of the
gallery, and with many apologies to the occupants of the chairs whose
feet he encountered on his way to them, he reached Barnard’s side, and
in a few words explained the situation, then, not waiting for comment,
turned and ran downstairs, reaching Marjorie’s side just as the opening
bars of the National Anthem echoed through the hall, and the entire
audience rose as the President stepped into his box.
“Oh, isn’t it grand!” shouted Janet to Barnard, clapping her hands as
a troop of cavalry rode on to the tanbark, and with a ringing cheer,
swept at a run down the hall straight to the President’s box, their
chargers’ noses stopping just short of the high railing, and their
sabers flashing in salute; then the drill was on.
So absorbed was Janet in the different events scheduled that her
companion received but scant attention.
“I declare, our soldiers are magnificent!” Janet drew a long breath,
and regretfully watched the company of picked roughriders leave the
hall.
“You little enthusiast!” Barnard’s handsome eyes glowed with some
warmer sentiment than mere approval as he studied her piquant face.
“Jove! It’s a liberal education to know you.”
“Now you are making fun of me,” she said reproachfully, her foot
beating time to the stirring tune the post band was playing across the
hall.
“I never was more in earnest.” The two heads were bent very close
together, and the tender timbre of his voice made her heart beat
quicker. “You have no idea, little girl, of the influence you
unconsciously exert on those about you. Please God, I’m a better,
cleaner man for having known you; only having known you----” his
whisper reached her ear alone--“life will never be the same unless you
are with me--always!” She stirred uneasily, frightened by the vehemence
of his manner. “Surely you guessed,” he whispered, bending down so that
she looked directly at him. His nearness, his comeliness, held her.
“I--I--don’t know!” she slid one trembling hand in his. “I know you
better than any other man. I think of you--often.”
His face lightened with hope. “I’ll make you love me,” and pretending
to pick up the program, he stooped and pressed his lips to her hand.
“Oh, don’t,” she stammered. “Suppose Duncan should see you.”
“I am willing that he should,” Barnard smiled happily. “But don’t
worry, your brother is too attentive in another quarter to bother about
us.”
“Duncan attentive?” in sharp surprise. “To whom?”
But Barnard’s eyes had wandered to the high jumping going on below them
and apparently he did not hear the question. “He’s down!” he shouted as
horse and rider plunged headlong to the ground, and for a time he and
Janet watched the jumping in absolute silence.
“How do you like your chaperon?” he asked finally.
“Marjorie? Very much, indeed. Father and mother think she is splendid,
and she has been just lovely to me. I don’t know how I could have
gotten through this month without her.”
“Good; I’m delighted to hear she’s such a success,” he exclaimed
heartily. “To be candid, I was afraid the experiment wouldn’t work.
Marjorie is not always easy to get along with; she just lost an awfully
good job before your mother engaged her. And Marjorie’s so blessed
poor, she needs every cent she can make.”
“It is fine the way she helps Madame Yvonett,” said Janet with genuine
enthusiasm. “Marjorie took me to see her aunt, and I think she is a
darling. I met her cousin there, Captain Nichols----”
“I hope you don’t think he’s a darling also?” in mock jealousy.
“Don’t be absurd!” But a warm color mantled Janet’s face, and to cover
her confusion she examined the program. “Oh, I see it is his battery
that is to drill this afternoon....”
“And here they come now,” broke in Barnard; a trumpet call drowned his
words.
Tom Nichols, looking every inch a soldier, rode at the head of his
battery and, after saluting the President, backed his horse to the side
of the hall and took up his station there, followed by his trumpeter.
Janet, her pulses dancing with excitement, leaned far over the balcony,
and watched the battery drill, that most stirring of spectacles, with
breathless attention. If her eyes stole now and then from the racing
mounted cannoniers, the plunging horses, and leaping gun-carriages to
a soldierly figure sitting erect and watchful on a restive charger, no
one, not even Barnard, was aware of it.
The two other members of their party sitting in the gallery beneath
them, had been almost as absorbed in the exhibition drill as Janet and
Barnard.
“Tired?” inquired Duncan, turning to Marjorie. She had watched
each thrilling performance in silent enjoyment, replying mostly in
monosyllables to his few remarks, and Duncan, slowly learning to divine
her moods and tenses, had been content to sit quietly by her side,
only occasionally stealing covert glances in her direction.
“No, indeed,” she protested. “I feel ‘abominably refreshed,’ as Aunt
Yvonett puts it. Is the drill over?”
“Apparently so.” Duncan rose and Marjorie followed his example. “Stand
here out of the crowd,” he suggested a moment later as they approached
the entrance. “We can see Janet and Barnard as they come down.” But
the crowd had thinned materially, and the band was playing its last
stirring quick-step, before the others put in their appearance.
“Awfully sorry to be so long,” apologized Barnard, holding open the
large swing door for Marjorie to pass through. “Where to now?”
“There’s a tea-dance at the Administration Building,” began Marjorie.
“Shall we go over there?”
“I have a better plan than that,” put in a voice behind her, and Tom
Nichols joined the little group. “Come and have tea with me; I am
particularly anxious to have you see my quarters.” The invitation was
addressed to Marjorie and her companions, but Tom’s eyes sought Janet,
and impulsively she responded to their mute pleading.
“Of course we’ll come,” and slipping her hand inside Marjorie’s arm,
she kept step with Tom as he piloted them across the parade grounds.
Duncan paused long enough to direct his chauffeur to bring the
limousine to Captain Nichols’ quarters, then hastened after them. With
no little pride Tom ushered his guests into his semi-detached house.
“Let me help you off with your coat, Miss Fordyce,” he said, but he was
too late; Barnard was already assisting her. Slightly discomforted Tom
turned back to Marjorie, only to find she had stepped into the parlor,
and was gazing into the lighted dining-room which opened out of it.
“Are you a magician, Tom?” she asked. “Here is your table all set for
tea, and you only knew three minutes ago that we were coming.”
Tom reddened under his tan. “I hoped you would come; Miss Fordyce told
me at the Army and Navy Club last night that she had tickets for the
drill.” Janet, scenting a discussion, hurried into the parlor, followed
by her brother and Barnard. “Besides,” added Tom, with honest intent,
but stumbling over his speech. “I--eh--gave a--eh--half invitation to
Joe Cooper to bring his mother and sister--there they are now,” and he
hastened into the reception hall as the electric bell buzzed.
Marjorie stifled an impatient sigh; she did not like the
Calhoun-Coopers. The dislike was mutual. They had tried assiduously
to cultivate the Fordyces, and Marjorie’s veiled opposition to any
intimacy between Pauline Calhoun-Cooper and Janet had aroused their
silent enmity.
“Mother was very sorry not to be able to come,” announced a penetrating
voice in the hall. “It was too sweet of you to ask us. Is this your
parlor?” and the portières were pulled back, admitting a strikingly
gowned young woman whose good looks were slightly marred by a
discontented expression. “Dear Miss Fordyce, so glad to see you,” she
gushed. “And of course, Miss Langdon,” but the latter handshake was
perfunctory, and Pauline turned with added warmth to greet Duncan and
Barnard. Joe Calhoun-Cooper was more quiet in his entrance, and Tom
was leading his guests into the dining-room before Duncan noticed his
presence. Barnard, lingering in the background, observed Duncan’s curt
nod and Joe’s darkening face, and his curiosity was instantly aroused.
It was the first time Joe had met Duncan since their encounter in the
dormitory of the Turkish Bath, Joe having been in New York, but he had
neither forgotten nor forgiven Duncan for his plain speech that day,
and the physical force with which he had punctuated his meaning.
“Will you take charge of the tea, Madge?” asked Tom, pulling out the
chair at the head of the table. “I hope everything is here,” anxiously
examining the bountifully supplied table. “Let me draw up a chair for
you, Miss Fordyce.” Then turning to the others. “Do make yourselves
comfortable,” he entreated.
Duncan found himself sandwiched in between Pauline and her brother,
Joe, and at some distance from Marjorie. He was spared the trouble of
making small talk, for Pauline took that matter into her own hands, and
kept up a running fire of comment which required only an occasional
answer. To his great annoyance he discovered that Barnard and Marjorie
were holding an animated, low-toned conversation, and Barnard’s manner
was becoming more intense as the slow minutes passed. Pauline finally
observed which way Duncan’s attention was straying, and her black eyes
snapped with anger.
“They make a very handsome couple,” she whispered confidentially,
nodding toward Marjorie. “An old affair....”
Duncan favored her with a blank, noncommittal stare, while inwardly
furious. “Ah, indeed,” vaguely, then in a voice which made his sister
jump, he called out: “Nice quarters you have, Nichols.”
“Mighty glad you like them, old man,” replied Tom, beaming with
pleasure. “Marjorie came over here when I first moved in and helped me
settle the house. She deserves all the praise.”
“I do not,” contradicted Marjorie, breaking off her tête-à-tête
with Barnard, and Duncan sat back well satisfied. “Aunt Yvonett is
responsible for your home.”
“I never knew before that bachelors had so much furniture,” chimed in
Pauline.
“They don’t,” replied Tom. “Most of this stuff,” waving his hand
vaguely toward the heavy pieces of furniture, “belongs to the
Government.”
“How long is your detail here?” asked Barnard.
“There is no specified limit, but we are expecting to be ordered to
another station very shortly.”
“I should think you’d hate to give up all this furniture when you move
away,” commented Janet, looking admiringly about the cozy room.
“I’ll find some exactly like it in the officers’ quarters at my
next post,” carelessly. “Uncle Sam partly furnishes all the houses
on Government Reservations, you know. What I shall miss will be
Washington.”
“Perhaps the War Department will extend your detail here,” exclaimed
Marjorie hopefully.
“No such luck,” groaned Tom. “Now, in the good old days ... I suppose
you have all heard of the marine officer who was stationed for so
many years at the marine barracks in Washington, that when he died he
bequeathed his Government quarters in the Yard to his daughters in his
will, thinking it belonged to him.”
“If you don’t want to leave Washington, Tom, why don’t you chuck the
service?” asked Joe. “You are a bloated plutocrat now.”
“What does he mean, Tom?” demanded Marjorie quickly. “Have you
inherited money?”
“No. Shut up, Joe.”
“Well, with your luck anything might happen,” protested Joe. “If you
don’t resign they may make you a major-general.”
“Bosh!” Tom looked as provoked as he felt. “Let me explain Joe’s
nonsense. When in Brussels two years ago, I attended the Vieux Marché
where the townspeople and peasants bring old junk on Sundays to be sold
for what it will bring, and I picked up an old coin for five centimes.
The other day I heard Admiral Lawrence discussing numismatology in the
club, and it occurred to me to show my coin to an antique dealer. Joe
went with me yesterday, and I’m blessed if the dealer didn’t tell me
the coin was worth between twelve and fifteen hundred dollars.”
“Oh, how romantic!” ejaculated Pauline, and Janet looked her interest.
“Let’s see the coin, Tom,” suggested Joe, “or have you sold it?”
“No, the dealer only gave me the address of a New York coin collector
whom he thought would buy it. If you really care to see the coin,”
looking anxiously at Janet, who nodded her head vigorously. “Just a
moment, I’ll run upstairs and get it.”
Pauline promptly opened a lively conversation with Barnard across the
table, and Duncan was just thinking of changing his seat when Tom
rejoined them carrying a small pasteboard box.
“There, isn’t that an ugly thing to be worth all that gold,” he said,
placing the coin in Janet’s hand, and the others crowded about to get a
better look at it.
“There’s no accounting for taste,” admitted Janet, handing it back to
Tom. “Personally I’d rather buy....”
A long blue flame shot out from under the teakettle, and Marjorie
jumped from her seat in alarm.
“Lord! the alcohol lamp’s busted,” shouted Tom, dropping the pasteboard
box on the sideboard, and reaching over he seized the boiling kettle
and its nickel frame. “Open the window, Fordyce,” and he tossed the
burning lamp out on the ground where it exploded harmlessly. “Were you
burned, Madge?” he asked, returning to her side.
“Oh, no, only frightened; the flame shot at me so suddenly.” Marjorie
passed a nervous hand over her mouth, conscious that her lips were
trembling.
“I really think we must be leaving,” broke in Pauline. She did not
like having attention diverted from herself, and playing second fiddle
to a girl who worked for her living was too novel a sensation to be
agreeable. “We’ve had a delightful time, Captain; good-bye everybody,”
and she sailed out of the room, accompanied by her flurried host and
her brother.
“I don’t like to hurry you, Janet, but we must be going also,” said
Marjorie quietly.
“Yes, it’s later than I thought,” responded the younger girl.
“Gracious, I entirely forgot we are going to the theater tonight.”
“We will all meet there,” Barnard helped Janet into her coat with
solicitous care. “Nichols and I are both invited by Judge and Mrs.
Walbridge.”
“Good-bye, Tom, we’ve had an awfully good time,” Marjorie gave her
cousin’s hand an affectionate squeeze as he helped her into the
limousine. The Calhoun-Coopers’ car was already a dim speck in the
distance.
“Good-bye--see you all tonight,” shouted Tom, and watched the limousine
out of sight. On re-entering the house he was on the point of going
upstairs when he remembered the coin. Retracing his footsteps he went
to the sideboard in the dining-room and opened the box. It was empty.
Tom glanced in deep perplexity at the box, and then about the room. He
had a very distinct recollection of stuffing the coin back into the box
just as the flame from the lamp leaped out, and of dropping the closed
box on the sideboard. There had been only himself and his guests in the
house, for he had sent his striker over to assist at the tea-dance at
the Administration Building, after first setting his master’s tea table.
Tom went rapidly through all his pockets; then searched the room,
then the parlor; next he went into the servants’ quarters and, as he
expected, found them empty. From there he went over the house, but he
was the only person in it, and the windows and doors were all securely
locked. Convinced of that fact, he returned to the dining-room, and
dropped bewildered into the nearest chair. His eyes fell on the
uptilted cardboard box; there was even a slight impress left on the
cotton where the coin had lain.
“It’s gone!” exclaimed Tom aloud. “Really gone!” And his face was as
blank as the opposite wall.