A TUG OF WAR
REPRESENTATIVE J. CALHOUN-COOPER laid down his pen and regarded his
wife in some surprise. “Are you going to church, Augusta?”
“No, I attended the morning services.” She ensconced herself in a chair
near him. “Pauline told me that you wish to see me.”
“Quite right; but I had no idea you were going out,” Calhoun-Cooper
hesitated. “However, I will not keep you long. Can you tell me who are
Joe’s associates in Washington?”
His wife stirred uneasily. “Do you mean men or girls?”
“Both.”
“Pauline’s friends and mine are his associates,” with an abruptness
equal to his own.
“Are you quite sure, Augusta?” She changed color under the peculiar
emphasis of his voice.
“Quite; Joe has been most exemplary in his behavior,” she saw a further
question trembling on his lips and forestalled it. “You are never fair
to Joe; you take everyone’s word against his. Joe has the making of a
splendid man if you didn’t hector him so continuously. Give the boy a
chance.”
“I have spent years doing it,” Calhoun-Cooper sighed. “Unfortunately
Augusta, what you term a ‘chance’ and I term an ‘opportunity’ are not
synonymous.”
“Your ‘opportunity’ spells work, I presume,” and his wife frowned. “You
never recollect Joe’s delicate lungs.”
“Delicate fiddlesticks!” interrupted her exasperated husband. “Too much
smoking....”
“There you go again,” the ready tears filled Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper’s
eyes. “Believing tales because you want to....”
“Nothing of the sort.”
“Then you must be fairer in your treatment of Joe,” protested his wife.
“Joe takes after my family, and instead of inheriting your robust
health, has our constitutional delicacy.”
Calhoun-Cooper glanced with some grimness mixed with amusement, at
his wife’s large frame and substantial weight. “Too bad the tendency
in your family, when it skipped your generation, didn’t crop out in
Pauline,” he commented slowly. “I would like a detailed answer to my
question, Augusta. Who are Joe’s particular associates?”
“Let me see; Duncan Fordyce and his sister, the Warren girls, Jimmie
Painter, and Carroll Logan”--she paused reflectively.
“Ever hear of a Miss Kathryn Allen?” asked her husband.
“Kathryn Allen? Wasn’t she Joe’s nurse at Garfield....”
“So I have heard,” dryly. “I am told the friendship between them
has--increased.”
“Is Pauline your informant?” demanded his wife, but he pretended not to
hear, and she continued hurriedly, “Whatever you hear in that quarter
is exaggerated nonsense. Far from spending his time with women, Joe is
usually with Chichester Barnard and his other men friends.”
“I haven’t seen Captain Nichols here lately,” Calhoun-Cooper tore a
fragment of a letter into long pieces and tossed them into the scrap
basket. “Do you know why he has stopped coming to see us?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” answered his wife candidly. “Unless
Pauline has--has not encouraged his attentions.”
“I did not know----” he broke off abruptly. “Tell me, Augusta, have you
been supplying Joe with money lately?”
“I? Oh, dear no,” but her eyes fell before his, and his face grew
graver. “What made you think such a thing?”
“It has happened before,” dryly. “I shall be exceedingly displeased
if you are giving Joe money. I cut down his allowance with very good
reason.”
“I believe you actually begrudge Joe money,” she put in passionately.
“For shame, as wealthy as you are----”
“It is not a matter of wealth, but of principle,” sternly. “Under
the plea of his supposed constitutional lung weakness you have
over-indulged Joe. It’s greatly my fault,” as his wife’s sobs
increased. “I gave too much time to my business and trusted to
incompetent tutors. Joe has two more years to toe the mark, and in
that time his character must be formed, otherwise he will go to the
bad utterly. I hope you have never disobeyed my injunction against
informing him of his prospective inheritance by the terms of my
father’s will?”
“Do you take me for a fool?” she asked sharply, and changed the
subject. “I must say, John, your father was very remiss not to leave
a like amount to Pauline, she bitterly resents Joe’s getting all that
money.”
“So you have told Pauline?” Her husband’s eyes kindled in wrath. “Well,
upon my word! Will you never learn discretion?”
Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper promptly took refuge behind more tears, a bulwark
which usually never failed her; but her husband was too indignant to
pay heed to her emotion, and continued sternly: “I trust you informed
Pauline that I would amply provide for her?” renewed sobbing was his
only reply. “I have told you before, Augusta, that I do not approve
of the partiality you show Joe; it is most unfair to Pauline, and
causes constant dissension and unhappiness. It must stop.”
“I’m sure I grant Pauline’s every wish,” exclaimed his wife, much
aggrieved. “She has her own way, and plenty of clothes, jewels----”
“Speaking of jewels,” broke in Calhoun-Cooper. “What has become of the
emerald and diamond bracelet, which formerly belonged to my mother,
the one I gave Pauline on her coming out? I haven’t seen her wear it
lately?”
His wife gulped back a sob, and wiped her eyes with a damp
handkerchief. She also had missed the bracelet, and she had last seen
it in Joe’s hand, Pauline having carelessly left it on her mother’s
dressing table the night of their large dinner dance. Joe had admitted
its beauty just before he went downstairs to assist his sister in
welcoming their guests.
“I--I--it’s at Galt’s being mended,” she stuttered; giving her husband
the same excuse for its disappearance which she had made to Pauline. “I
discovered some of the stones were loose.”
Calhoun-Cooper contemplated her rapidly crimsoning face with misgiving.
“Did you take the bracelet to Galt’s?”
“Of course. I’ll stop in and get it tomorrow,” she rose precipitously.
“How time flies! It’s after three; I have barely time to get to the
informal musicale Mrs. Fordyce is giving at four o’clock.”
“Do you and Pauline see much of Marjorie Langdon?”
“Not more than we can help,” snapped his wife, her temper getting the
upper hand. “Neither Pauline nor I trust her----”
“Trust her? Exactly what do you mean by that term?”
Startled by the curtness of his tone, Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper stopped on
her way to the door. “We feel that Marjorie Langdon is jealous of
Pauline’s friendship with Janet Fordyce, and is prejudicing her against
us. I’ll tell you more about our suspicion later, John; I must hurry
now. Oh, dear, I don’t believe I’m presentable!” getting a glimpse of
her tear-stained face in the mirror, and turning she hastened from the
room.
Calhoun-Cooper remained for some time at his desk; then, after
consulting the telephone book, he rose, and giving a few directions
to the butler, left the house and made his way to Madame Yvonett’s
residence.
Earlier in the afternoon Tom Nichols had left Fort Myer intending to
call on Janet. Since his interview with Duncan two days before, he had
received no message from Janet. In very desperation he had placed the
bracelet in a box containing a bunch of violets and left it with the
Fordyce butler the previous afternoon. Perkins had solemnly promised
to give the box to Janet on her return, and with a lighter heart, Tom
had returned to Fort Myer, fully expecting that Janet would call him
up on the telephone. But she never did so. While deeply wounded by her
silence, his longing to see her had finally conquered, and he motored
to Washington that Sunday afternoon intent on demanding an explanation.
On approaching the Fordyce residence he noticed a number of motors and
carriages driving up to the door, and thinking some entertainment was
going on, he promptly turned his car about and made for his cousin’s
house in Thirteenth Street. Madame Yvonett would probably be able to
give him news of Janet. On his arrival, to his great disgust, he found
the Quakeress with a room full of callers, and it was fully an hour
before they departed and he had her to himself.
“Draw up thy chair, Thomas,” directed Madame Yvonett. “Where has thee
been keeping thyself since Christmas?”
“Mostly at Myer. I’ve called you up on the telephone, Cousin Yvonett,
several times to ask how you were.”
“So Rebekah has told me, and I appreciate the trouble thee has taken.
Will thee let me refill thy cup?”
“No more, thank you,” setting down his empty teacup. “How is Marjorie?”
“Very busy just now; thee sees the season is in full swing, and she has
little opportunity to come in, but I talk with her every day on the
telephone.”
“Have you seen Janet Fordyce recently,” with elaborate carelessness,
helping himself to a pretzel.
“She was here but yesterday, and inquired particularly----” Madame
Yvonett stopped speaking as Minerva pulled back the hall portière and
Representative J. Calhoun-Cooper walked into the room.
“I fear you do not recall me, Madame Yvonett,” he said, as the
Quakeress rose. “I am John Cooper, and I had the pleasure of calling
upon you and your husband with my father years ago in Paris.”
“Thee does my memory an injustice, Friend Cooper,” exclaimed Madame
Yvonett cordially. “I have a very agreeable recollection of thy father
and thyself. But I admit thee has changed somewhat in appearance since
those days. Does thee know my cousin, Thomas Nichols?”
“Oh, yes, the Captain and I are old acquaintances,” shaking hands with
Tom as he spoke. “What has become of you lately? My wife and Pauline
tell me you have not been near them.”
“My duties at Myer have increased recently; courts-martial, and all
that,” answered Tom, slightly embarrassed by the direct question.
He had heard nothing further of his lost coin, and more than
ever convinced that Joe had stolen it, he had kept away from the
Calhoun-Coopers, disliking to accept their hospitality under the
circumstances. “I hope your wife and daughter are both well,” he added
hastily.
“Very well, thanks.” Calhoun-Cooper sat down near Madame Yvonett, and
declining the cup of tea offered him, began speaking of Paris, and the
Quakeress, enchanted at the allusion to the city and life she had loved
so well, recounted amusing experiences of her sojourn in the French
capital.
Tom took but little part in the conversation, and fidgeted uneasily.
He was determined to find out from Madame Yvonett all that she could
tell him about Janet, and waited with increasing impatience for
Calhoun-Cooper to take his departure. But he found out-sitting the
Representative a harder tax on his nervous system than he had bargained
for.
“Thee brings back happy memories,” said Madame Yvonett, with a
half-sigh. “Must thee go?” as Calhoun-Cooper stood up, “I have enjoyed
thy visit, friend; and if thee has an idle hour thee must come again.”
“I will,” promised Calhoun-Cooper, shaking hands warmly; then turning
to the expectant Tom, he asked; “Walk uptown with me, Nichols, I am
anxious to have a word with you.”
Tom’s face fell, and he was about to explain that he was obliged to
return almost immediately to Fort Myer when Madame Yvonett answered for
him.
“Go with Friend Cooper, Thomas,” she said, “and return and have supper
with me.”
“Thanks, Cousin Yvonett, I will. I only hesitated, sir,” addressing
Calhoun-Cooper, “because I am not walking; but I’ll be very happy to
take you home in my car.”
It was the Representative’s turn to hesitate. “Suppose you leave me at
the club instead,” he said finally. “Good night, Madame Yvonett.”
“Good night, friend,” the Quakeress accompanied the two men to her
front door. “Do not forget thee must come again soon.”
“I certainly will,” and raising his hat, Calhoun-Cooper stepped into
the motor. He watched Madame Yvonett until she closed the door.
“A gentlewoman of the old school, Nichols,” he commented softly.
“Cultured, brilliant, kindly----”
“She is that and then some,” exclaimed Tom enthusiastically. “Cousin
Yvonett is a brick.”
Calhoun-Cooper smiled. “Hardly the expression I should have selected,
but perhaps it covers my meaning.” He said no more until the car drew
up before his club. “Come in with me, Nichols, I am anxious to have an
uninterrupted talk with you. I will detain you but a few minutes.”
Barely waiting for Tom’s assent, he strode into the club and led the
way to a small unoccupied room and carefully closed the door. Tom
took the chair pushed toward him, and waited with some uneasiness for
his companion to explain why he wished to see him. He wondered if
Calhoun-Cooper had heard of some of Joe’s Washington escapades, and if
he was to be catechised on the subject.
“Miss Marjorie Langdon is your cousin, is she not?” asked
Calhoun-Cooper, breaking the silence.
“Yes; my second cousin, to be exact.”
“Can you tell me where she procured the emerald and diamond bracelet
which she pledged with the Justice of the Peace at Hyattsville...?”
“Can I what?” exclaimed Tom, in profound astonishment.
Calhoun-Cooper repeated the question.
“May I ask what earthly business it is of yours?” demanded Tom.
“The bracelet happens to belong to my daughter, Pauline,” was the calm
reply.
Hardly able to believe his ears, Tom sat back in his chair and glared
at Calhoun-Cooper.
“I was motoring down from Baltimore Christmas afternoon, and was
arrested for speeding just after your release,” continued the
Representative, receiving no response from his dumfounded companion.
“While paying my fine I saw and recognized Pauline’s bracelet lying
on the desk before the Justice of the Peace. He informed me it had
been left there by Miss Marjorie Langdon.” Tom’s convulsive start was
not lost on Calhoun-Cooper. “Will you kindly tell me how your cousin
obtained possession of my daughter’s bracelet?”
Tom stared stupidly at his questioner. “You’re cra--crazy,” he
stuttered. “My cou--cousin left her--left her own bracelet with the
Justice.”
“She did no such thing,” shortly. “I examined the bracelet carefully;
it belonged to my mother before I gave it to my daughter, and her
initials, my father’s, and the date of the wedding are engraved on the
inside of the bracelet. There was no possibility of my being mistaken.
Did you redeem the bracelet?”
“Yes.”
“Let me see it?” holding out his hand.
“I can’t; I’ve returned it....”
“In that case,” slowly, “suppose we ask Miss Langdon for it.”
Tom squirmed in his seat. Ask Marjorie? Then indeed the fat would be in
the fire, and his promise to Janet to keep her presence at Hyattsville
a profound secret would be broken. Marjorie would undoubtedly declare
she had not been with him at Hyattsville.
“You must be mistaken about the bracelet, sir,” he protested
vehemently. “Call up and ask your daughter if she hasn’t her own.”
“I asked her this morning, and she informed me it was not in her
possession.”
Tom turned white. What the devil was the man driving at? It _must_ be
Janet’s bracelet; she would have been wearing none but her own that
afternoon. A wealthy girl did not deck herself out in other people’s
jewelry.
“I intended seeing you before this, Nichols,” continued Calhoun-Cooper,
after an appreciable pause. “But I have been exceedingly busy for the
past four days, and have had no opportunity to take up the matter of
the bracelet until today. I not only prize the piece of jewelry for its
association and money value, but I am determined to find out _how_ that
bracelet got out of my daughter’s possession.”
“What did your bracelet look like?”
Quickly Calhoun-Cooper told him, and Tom’s heart sank; it was an
accurate description of the one Janet had pledged with the Justice and
he had later redeemed.
“Do you recognize it?” demanded the Representative, and Tom nodded a
reluctant assent.
“They sound the same,” he acknowledged cautiously. “But stranger
coincidences have been known. Perhaps your daughter was also motoring
on the Bladensburg Pike that afternoon.”
“Don’t be a fool!” retorted Calhoun-Cooper roughly. “That bracelet was
stolen....”
“D--mn you!” Tom sprang for the other’s throat.
“Take your hands off me!” thundered Calhoun-Cooper, struggling to free
himself.
“I’ll make you eat those words first,” and Tom’s grasp tightened.
“I didn’t say your cousin stole the bracelet,” panted the other. “Have
a little sense.”
Slowly Tom released him, and the Representative straightened his
rumpled collar and tie.
“Suppose you explain exactly what you are driving at,” said Tom,
resuming his seat.
Calhoun-Cooper did not reply at once. “I went to Madame Yvonett’s
intending to question her....”
“Good Lord!” broke in Tom.
“But on seeing that dear old Quakeress I couldn’t do it,” admitted
Calhoun-Cooper. “I’m a great believer in caste, Nichols; no niece of
Madame Yvonett’s will go wrong. Ask Marjorie Langdon to tell you the
truth about that bracelet, and I will believe every word she says.”
“Thanks,” mumbled Tom, at a loss for a longer answer.
“I will let you speak to Miss Langdon; she’ll probably confide the
whole matter to you,” added Calhoun-Cooper, rising, and Tom followed
his example. “But remember, if I don’t get that bracelet back in two
days with an adequate explanation, I’ll go to Miss Langdon myself, and
if necessary--to the police.”
“That threat is not necessary,” exclaimed Tom, his anger rising. “And
speaking of making criminal investigations, sir; hadn’t you better
watch a member of your own family?”
Calhoun-Cooper recoiled, and before he could recover from the emotion
that mastered him, Tom was out of the club and into his roadster. As
the car shot away into the darkness, Tom laid his head wearily on the
steering wheel.
“In God’s name,” he mumbled, “how can I question the girl I adore as to
how a piece of jewelry came into her possession?”