LIGHT-FINGERED GENTRY
TOM NICHOLS passed down the long line of the receiving party at the
Charity Ball and paused near the north end of the New Willard ballroom
and looked about him. The floor was thronged with dancers, and from
where he stood it was impossible to make out the occupants of the boxes
which lined the length of the room on both sides. He waited for some
minutes, hoping that at the end of the dance he would be able to walk
about the floor, but the music was continuous, the Marine Band breaking
into a fox trot when the Engineer Band at the opposite end of the room,
ceased playing. He shouldered his way through the waiting men, and
dodging between the dancers, he walked down the room as best he could,
and reaching the center spied Marjorie and Janet sitting in their box
with several friends. In a few seconds he joined them.
“Better late than never, Tom,” exclaimed Marjorie gaily. “You’re a
sight for sair e’en. Janet dear, here is Captain Nichols.”
“Oh, how are you,” Janet paused long enough in her conversation with
Baron von Valkenberg to take Tom’s hand, then deliberately turned her
back on him.
Tom’s lips were compressed in a hard line as he bowed to Mrs.
Calhoun-Cooper, who was occupying an adjoining seat in the next box,
and leaning across the brass railing which divided them, he conversed
for a short time with her. A movement in his own box caused him to turn
back, and he discovered Janet on the point of leaving. He stepped in
front of her deliberately.
“My dance, Miss Janet,” he announced. A quick denial sprang to her
lips, only to be checked by the quiet confidence of his manner. Tom
encountered von Valkenberg’s astonished stare over her shoulder, and
addressed him directly. “Sorry, Baron, to disappoint you, but Miss
Janet promised me this dance some time ago; come,” and with care he
assisted Janet down the few steps leading to the floor.
So congested was the dancing that after circling the room once Tom
stopped his partner near the entrance to the small ballroom and led her
inside it.
“Suppose we sit over there,” he said pointing to some chairs at the
farther corner of the room. “There is no pleasure in dancing with such
a mob on the floor.”
“It’s much cooler here,” volunteered Janet, a few minutes later,
breaking a pause which threatened to become awkward.
“Yes,” absently.
Janet glanced askance at Tom. She had longed to see him, and now
that he was by her side, she was tongue-tied. She knew that every
instant spent in Tom’s society would arouse Barnard’s jealous rage, but
forbidden fruit was sweet.
“Why did you boast of our motor trip to Hyattsville?” she blurted out.
“I, boast of it? I never mentioned it to a soul!” If she had exploded a
firecracker before Tom, he could not have been more astounded. “I swear
I never told anyone,” he added, with vigor, and her aching heart was
comforted.
“I believe you,” she answered, with such trust kindling her shy regard
that Tom hitched his chair closer to her side.
“Did you really think I had betrayed your precious confidence in me?”
Janet shook her head.
“I couldn’t, just couldn’t, believe it,” she admitted.
“You darling!” Tom’s hand sought hers. “Who dared to say I boasted of
such a thing?”
“As long as you didn’t do it, the rest doesn’t matter,” declared Janet,
with true feminine logic, and changed the subject abruptly. “Was it fun
at the White House?”
“I’d have enjoyed it more if I hadn’t wanted to be elsewhere,” admitted
Tom truthfully. “An invitation to the White House is final--to an army
or navy officer; I couldn’t decline it, no previous engagement plea
goes. I hope you understand....”
“Oh, quite,” Janet was nervously playing with her fan. “But there have
been other times when you might have co--when the White House wouldn’t
have interfered with your coming to--to--see me.”
“Only your wish kept me away.”
“My wish?” Startled, Janet faced toward him.
“Certainly; how else was I to construe your silence?”
“My silence!” indignantly. “Did you want me to cry from the house-tops
that I wished to see you?”
“Such an extreme measure was not necessary,” retorted Tom stiffly. “An
answer to my message would have been sufficient.”
“I never received any message from you.”
“What! Why, I told your brother to ask you to telephone when I could
call and see you?”
“He never told me--only mentioned you were to dine with us tonight----”
“That’s the limit!” Tom banged his sword-hilt with his fist. “Not
getting any reply from you I jumped to the conclusion you were tired of
seeing me.”
“For a soldier you’re mighty easily discouraged,” taunted Janet, her
spirits rising as the misgivings and doubts of the past few days gave
way before Tom’s explanations.
“Never again,” vowed Tom. “Next time I’ll storm the citadel. But joking
aside,” dropping his bantering tone. “I did try to see you; called
several times, telephoned--but you were always out. I finally decided
it was intentional; thought you wanted to drop me.”
“How could you be so unjust!” Janet’s reproachful look caused Tom’s
heart to beat more rapidly under his blue uniform. “I am always loyal
to my friends. You won’t back out of dining with us tomorrow night?”
“What a way to put it?” Tom made a slight grimace. “Of course, I’m
coming, and I’ll count the hours until then.”
“The day after Christmas I waited in for you the whole afternoon and
evening, and you never came,” continued Janet plaintively.
“I couldn’t get away from Myer that afternoon, and had to wait until
Friday before going to Hyattsville to redeem your bracelet. By the way
that bracelet is very beautiful,” lowering his voice. “The emeralds and
diamonds are exceptionally fine, and the workmanship exquisite.”
“I am so glad your taste coincides with mine,” said Janet, with a quick
coquettish glance upward. “I couldn’t bear to lose the bracelet; it is
so unique.”
Tom stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Have you ever seen another bracelet
like it?” he questioned at length. A keen glance accompanied the words,
but Janet was watching the distant dancers, and her expression conveyed
nothing to him.
“N--no, I don’t believe I have,” she replied slowly, and Tom’s heart
sank. “It’s unusual appearance is one of its beauties to me. Have you
my bracelet with you?”
“Have I?” in profound astonishment. “No,” then seeing her disappointed
look, he asked sharply, “Why should you expect me to have your
bracelet?”
“Who else would have it?” her eyes opening wider. “Didn’t you redeem it
for me?”
“Of course I did, but I left it at your house on Saturday.”
“Left it at my house?” she half rose, then sank back again in her
chair. “I have never received it.”
“What! Didn’t you find it in the box of violets?”
“Violets? I never received any violets from you.”
“You didn’t?” Tom’s bewilderment was so pronounced that Janet took
fright.
“D--do you think the florist stole the bracelet?” she demanded
breathlessly.
“No, he couldn’t have. I bought the violets at Small’s, took them with
me in my motor, and on a side street opened the box and slipped the
bracelet over the stems, where you couldn’t fail to see it. I left the
box at your house myself.”
Janet looked at him queerly. “Ah, indeed; and with which member of the
household did you leave it?”
“I gave it to Perkins, and he promised to deliver it to you immediately
on your return.”
“He never gave it to me.”
Tom rose. “I’ll go straight up to your house and ask him for it.”
“No, no.” She laid a restraining hand on his sword-hilt. “He is
probably in bed by now; mother’s so thoughtful for her servants, she
lets them retire early when I’m out with Duncan; he always has his
latchkey. I’ll ask Perkins first thing in the morning.”
“And will you let me know the results?” Tom resumed his seat. “I shall
be on tenter-hooks until I know the bracelet is safely in your hands. I
feel responsible, you know; if it’s lost....”
“Nonsense,” noting his worried air. “Bracelets have disappeared before;
don’t take it to heart.”
“Can you tell me which jewelry shop it came from----?”
It was some moments before she replied. “It was an antique.”
Tom’s heart grew heavy again. At every question he ran into a blank
wall. How was he ever to disprove Representative J. Calhoun-Cooper’s
absurd statement unless he had something tangible to work on. The
bracelet was surely bewitched by some evil genius.
“An antique? That’s hard luck,” he answered finally. “If it is really
lost through my carelessness in trusting a servant, I shall want to
replace it....”
“You mustn’t think of such a thing,” vehemently.
“Oh, but I insist. You draw the design and I’ll have it made.”
“I shouldn’t think of letting you go to all that expense,” protested
Janet.
“To think I made you lose an ornament you value!” groaned Tom. “I, who
would move heaven and earth to spare you the slightest....” but Janet
never waited for him to complete the sentence; she had caught sight of
Chichester Barnard standing in the doorway talking to Mrs. Walbridge.
His back was turned to them; it was just possible that he had not seen
that she was with Tom. She sprang to her feet.
“Do forgive me,” she whispered hurriedly. “Marjorie has just waved to
me; I must go. Please don’t follow me.” And before the startled officer
could even get to his feet she had darted across the floor and out of
the room, and brought up breathless beside Mrs. Walbridge.
“No sign of late hours in these rosy cheeks,” commented the latter,
touching Janet’s scarlet face with her gloved finger. “She needs no
beauty sleep.”
“Indeed, no,” agreed Barnard. “But I’m going to be selfish enough to
ask Miss Janet to sit out a dance with me,” laying his hand with an air
of possession on her arm which enlightened sentimental Mrs. Walbridge.
“Run along,” she directed, interrupting Janet’s hasty protests. “I was
young once myself. Don’t bother to wait for me. My husband will get me
some fruit punch.”
Reluctantly Janet walked toward her box, Barnard in close attendance.
In her desire not to have him see her with Tom, she had given him
an opening for a quiet chat with her alone--unless Marjorie was in
their box. But Marjorie, attended by Baron von Valkenberg, had gone
“visiting” in a neighboring box, and Duncan was dancing with Pauline
Calhoun-Cooper. Janet prayed that Barnard was in a pleasant mood;
she had grown to dread his uncertain temper. He could be so charming
when he wanted to. Her heart was fluttering like a caged bird as she
preceded Barnard into the empty box; she dared not offend him, and she
dreaded more scenes.
“I hear congratulations are in order,” she began.
“For what?”
“On your inheritance.”
“Oh, that!” Barnard spoke as if it were a mere bagatelle. “I may be a
long time getting it; settling an estate is tedious work. Aunt Margaret
was angelic to remember me in her will, and I am doubly grateful,
because, when I receive the inheritance I can lavish it all on you, my
darling,” bending toward her, but a loud burst of laughter from the
Calhoun-Cooper box caused him to look in that direction. Janet moved
her chair imperceptibly nearer the brass railing and away from his side.
“On second’s thought I don’t believe I’ll let you spend any of your
inheritance on me,” she remarked thoughtfully, as he turned back to
her. The pupils of his eyes contracted, and Janet was conscious of a
feeling akin to repulsion.
“What do you mean?” he demanded.
“I’m not good enough for you, Chichester,” she stammered. “You
should marry a woman of brilliant mental attainments--a woman of the
world--I’m only an unformed schoolgirl.”
“You have too modest an opinion of yourself,” he protested with
passionate ardor. “It’s your freshness, your originality which I
adore. My bonnie lassie and her susceptible heart!” His voice and eyes
caressed her, and a warmer color suffused her cheeks. “I’m not half
good enough for you, but such as I am, I am your slave always.”
“Always!” she echoed, and Barnard leaned forward to look more closely
at her, but she avoided his direct gaze, and concentrated her attention
on the dancers on the floor beneath them.
All Washington apparently was present to aid the pet charity for which
the ball was annually given, and men and women in every condition
of life were enjoying the entertainment. High government officials,
diplomats, leaders of the ultra-smart set, and members of the resident
circle vied with each other to make the ball a success. Janet scanned
the opposite boxes in which sat beautifully gowned women, whose superb
jewels glittered in the rays of the hundreds of electric lights.
“My darling!” She jumped nervously, and held up a protesting hand.
“Hush!” she cautioned. “Don’t forget Mrs. J. Calhoun-Cooper is sitting
near us, and she may overhear....”
“Why doesn’t she go away,” muttered Barnard disgustedly. “Lately, I
seldom have you to myself. If I was of a suspicious nature, I might
think it was intentional”--Janet squirmed in her chair, and after
contemplating her a moment in smiling satisfaction, Barnard again
inspected Mrs. J. Calhoun-Cooper. “She looks like an Indian begum.”
“Don’t be so unkind in your criticism,” with an effort Janet summoned a
careless smile. “Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper’s gown is a creation.”
“Hum! the modiste has left most of the surface to be covered by
jewels--cold comfort tonight. Don’t you want your scarf over your
shoulders?”
“No, thank you; I am still warm from dancing.” Janet’s eyes again
sought the throng below her. “I wonder where Marjorie is--and Duncan.
Oh, look, who is the pretty woman dancing with Joe Calhoun-Cooper?”
Barnard glanced in the direction she indicated, and his eyebrows rose
suggestively. “No one you are likely to know, lady bird. How fearfully
they dance.”
“She is graceful,” declared Janet. “But Joe--nothing could make him so.”
“Women take to the new-fangled dances better than the men,” grumbled
Barnard. “Give me the old-fashioned waltz and two-step every time. Even
the music has deteriorated; no melody any more. Listen to that,” as the
Marine Band burst into a popular tune, “nothing to be heard but the big
drum, it drowns every other instrument--hark!”
“But I don’t want to hear it,” she objected. “Let us talk instead.”
“That is just what we can’t do--the big drum sounds distinct and clear;
listen--!”
[Illustration: “Barnard again inspected Mrs. J. Calhoun-Cooper. ‘She
looks like an Indian begum.’”]
Mrs. J. Calhoun-Cooper’s ever busy eyes had also noted the pretty woman
with whom Joe was dancing, and a displeased frown marked her forehead.
She was about to send one of her guests after Joe with a message
that she desired his presence, when she observed Marjorie Langdon
approaching. Joe and his pretty partner stopped dancing near the
latter, and Marjorie, recognizing Kathryn Allen, stepped forward and
held out her hand, but no sign of recognition lighted the nurse’s face,
and after inspecting Marjorie with marked insolence she cut her dead.
Mrs. J. Calhoun-Cooper, an interested spectator of the little drama,
thrilled with satisfaction as she caught the hot resentment that flamed
in Marjorie’s face. Controlling herself, Marjorie stepped back out of
the crowd and came face to face with Duncan Fordyce.
“I don’t know where you’ve been keeping yourself,” he said, “but I
searched both ballrooms and haven’t found a sign of you until now.”
“I haven’t been dancing,” she sighed rather wearily. “Mrs. Burns asked
me to sit in her box for a while; I am on my way back to Janet now to
arrange about going down to supper.”
“Let us have one dance first,” pleaded Duncan, and taking silence for
consent, he slipped his arm about her waist and they threaded a way
through the other dancers.
Pushing unpleasant thoughts to one side, Marjorie surrendered herself
wholly to the pleasure of the moment. The pressure of Duncan’s strong
arm gave her a sense of protection which soothed her jagged nerves
unutterably, and she danced almost without being conscious of the
people around her. Duncan’s gaze sought her face so persistently that
they had several narrow escapes from bad collisions. They were turning
a corner near the entrance to the small ballroom when they caromed
violently into a man who was striving to make his way down the room,
and shot him against the side of one of the boxes.
“I beg your pardon,” apologized Duncan and Marjorie in concert, and the
stranger, recovering his equilibrium, stared fixedly at Duncan.
“Nice way to treat old friends,” he began, but got no further.
“Paul Potter! by all that’s glorious!” shouted Duncan, seizing his hand
and wringing it hard. “Where did you drop from?”
“New York, stopping with Judge and Mrs. Walbridge. I tried to telephone
you”----he stopped out of breath.
“Miss Langdon, let me present Dr. Paul Potter, of San Francisco,” broke
in Duncan, and Marjorie found herself looking into the most piercing
eyes she had ever seen in human head, as her hand was taken in a firm
clasp.
“Very glad to meet you, Miss Langdon,” said the physician cordially.
“I’m sorry to have interrupted your dance.”
“We were on the point of stopping----” she began.
“Not so that I could notice it,” and Dr. Potter’s eyes twinkled.
“I am afraid we were exceeding the speed limit,” acknowledged Duncan.
“Come over to our box, Paul, and sit with us.”
“I can’t, old man, I must be getting back to Mrs. Walbridge; she is
anxious to go down to supper.”
“Perhaps we can get a table together. Come on, I’ll ask Mrs. Walbridge,
her box is near ours.”
Marjorie accompanied the two men to the steps leading to the boxes,
but on approaching the one occupied by Mrs. Walbridge she turned and
addressed Duncan.
“I won’t wait for you,” she said, “but will join Janet at once.”
“Very well, I’ll be along in a minute,” and Marjorie hastened down the
narrow aisle alone.
Janet and Chichester Barnard were still sitting as close as the chairs
permitted in the corner of the box, their heads almost touching as they
whispered together, and Marjorie’s eyes narrowed as she took in the
tableau. She had watched Janet dancing with Tom with a contented mind,
and the last she had seen of Barnard he was dancing attendance on Mrs.
Walbridge.
“Well, good people, thinking of supper?” she inquired, and noticed with
an odd sensation Janet’s flushed face and embarrassed manner as she
turned to meet her.
“Our thoughts are not so material,” protested Barnard easily.
“N--no?” and the faint irony of her tone was not lost on Barnard’s
keen susceptibilities.
“Who was the little man walking down the room with you and Duncan,
Marjorie?” questioned Janet hurriedly. “His face looked familiar.”
“Dr. Potter, of San Francisco.”
“Of course; how stupid of me not to recognize him, he once attended
mother,” in a hurried aside as her brother and Tom entered the box.
“Going down to supper?” asked Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper, attracted by her
neighbors’ preparations for leaving.
“Yes,” replied Marjorie shortly.
“Then suppose we join forces,” ignoring the lack of cordiality in
Marjorie’s manner. “Kindly hand me my scarf.” Her overbearing tone
brought the carmine to Marjorie’s cheeks, and a hot retort was on
her lips when, thinking better of it, she mastered her indignation.
Stooping she picked up the gold and silver Coronation scarf which had
fallen inside their box, and laid it across Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper’s bare
expanse of shoulder.
“All ready?” questioned Duncan, inspecting his small party. “Then come
on.”
Once in the crowded dining-room on the ground floor of the New Willard,
Marjorie thanked a kindly Providence which ordained that the tables
were too small to accommodate the Calhoun-Cooper party and her own,
and she saw them depart to another quarter of the room with inward
joy. Barnard, silently resenting that he was the fifth spoke in the
wheel, left them, and joined another group of friends, and Duncan,
contemplating his sister and Tom already deep in conversation, gave his
undivided attention to Marjorie. They were none of them conscious of
the tardiness of the service, or the flight of time, and Tom gave voice
to genuine regret as they finally rose from the table and made their
way to the lift.
“Why do good times have to end?” he grumbled. “I don’t know when I have
enjoyed myself so much.”
“It has been fun,” agreed Janet softly, secretly longing to linger
beside the distinguished-looking young officer. “Shall we see you at
dinner tomorrow?”
“You bet!” he whispered, with emphasis.
“Go ahead, Janet,” Duncan’s strong arm propelled his sister forward.
“Don’t you see the lift is waiting?”
As Marjorie and Tom started to follow them some new arrivals pushed
rudely between, and an instant later, the packed elevator shot upward.
“Never mind, we’ll catch the next one,” said Tom consolingly, as
he darted to the second shaft. “It’s coming down now.” They waited
impatiently for the passengers in the elevator to step out in the
square hall, then entered and found they had the lift to themselves.
The elevator boy was about to release the lever, when the starter
tapped on the glass partition, and throwing open the door, permitted
Representative J. Calhoun-Cooper to step inside.
“Good evening, sir,” said Marjorie cordially.
“Oh, how do you do,” replied Calhoun-Cooper, somewhat taken aback on
recognizing his companions. He barely nodded to Tom, whose greeting was
equally curt; and Marjorie, becoming aware of the apparently strained
relations between the two men, broke the awkward silence.
“I am afraid you are too late to see the ball at its height,” she said.
“I couldn’t get here any earlier,” answered Calhoun-Cooper. “Have you
seen my wife and daughter this evening?”
“Yes; they finished supper before we did, and have already gone back to
the ballroom.”
Calhoun-Cooper, who had been watching Marjorie with peculiar
intentness, wheeled on Tom.
“My congratulations, Captain,” he said sardonically. “You executed my
commission with commendable quickness.”
“I don’t catch your meaning, sir,” retorted Tom frigidly.
“The bracelet was returned to me this evening. My thanks to you--both,”
and bowing he turned to the door as the boy brought the lift to a stop.
Under the shock of his words Tom and Marjorie stood stock still, eying
one another in complete bewilderment, while one question raced through
the brains of both: what did the other know of the lost bracelet?
“All out,” exclaimed the elevator boy insistently, as he rolled
back the door, and Marjorie, recovering herself first, followed
Calhoun-Cooper into the reception hall out of which opened the large
ballroom and cloak-rooms.
Just as Calhoun-Cooper started for the ballroom, Pauline crossed the
threshold, and seeing her father, stopped short.
“Oh, father!” she exclaimed, making no effort to lower her penetrating
voice. “Mother’s pearl necklace has been stolen from her.”