The home-bureau of charities was a success from the start; but beyond
the fact that it served to establish Thomas Webb as private secretary
in the Killigrew family, I was not deeply interested. I know that
Thomas ran about a good deal, delving into tenements and pedigrees,
judging candidates, passing or condemning, and that he earned his
salary, munificent as it appeared to him. Forbes told me that he
wouldn't have done the work for a thousand a week; and Forbes, like
Panurge, had ten ways of making money and twelve ways of spending it.
The amazing characteristic about Thomas was his unaffected modesty, his
naturalness, his eagerness to learn, his willingness to accept
suggestions, no matter from what source. Haberdashers' clerks--at
least, those I have known--are superior persons; they know it all, you
can not tell them a single thing. I can call to witness dozens of
neckties and shirts I shall never dare wear in public. But perhaps
seven years among a clientele of earls and dukes, who were set in their
ideas, had something to do with Thomas' attitude.
Killigrew was very well satisfied with the venture. He had had some
doubts at the beginning: a man whose past ended at Pier 60 did not look
like a wise speculation, especially in a household. But quite
unconsciously Thomas himself had taken these doubts out of Killigrew's
mind and--mislaid them. The subscriptions to all the suffragette
weeklies and monthlies were dropped; and there were no more banners
reading "Votes for Women" tacked over the doorways. Besides this, the
merchant had a man to talk to, after dinner, he with his cigar and
Thomas with his pipe, this privilege being insisted upon by the women
folk, who had tact to leave the two men to themselves.
Thomas amused the millionaire. Here was a young man of a species with
whom he had not come into contact in many years: a boy who did not know
the first thing about poker, or bridge, or pinochle, who played
outrageous billiards and who did not know who the latest reigning
theatrical beauty was, and moreover, did not care a rap; who could
understand a joke within reasonable time if he couldn't tell one; who
was neither a nincompoop nor a mollycoddle. Thomas interested
Killigrew more and more as the days went past.
Happily, the voice of conscience is heard by no ears but one's own.
After luncheons Thomas had a good deal of time on his hands; and, to
occupy this time he returned to his old love, composition. He began to
rewrite his romance; and one day Kitty discovered him pegging away at
it. He rose from his chair instantly.
"Will you be wanting me, Miss Killigrew?"
"Only to say that father will be detained down-town to-night and that
you will be expected to take mother and me to the theater. It is one
of your English musical comedies; and very good, they say."
Thomas had been dreading such a situation. As yet there had been no
entertaining at the Killigrew home; nearly all their friends were out
of town for the summer; thus far he had escaped.
"I am sorry, Miss Killigrew, but I have no suitable clothes." Which
was plain unvarnished truth. "And I do not possess an opera-hat." And
never did.
Kitty laughed pleasantly. "We are very democratic in this house, as by
this time you will have observed. In the summer we do not dress; we
take our amusements comfortably. Ordinarily we would be at our summer
home on Long Island; but delayed repairs will not let us into it till
August. Then we shall all take a vacation. You will join us as you
are; that is, of course, if you are not too busy with your own affairs."
"Never too busy to be of service to you, Miss Killigrew. I'm only
scribbling."
"A book?"--interestedly.
"Bally rot, possibly. Would you like to read it?"--one of the best
inspirations he had ever had. He was not one of those silly
individuals who hem and haw when some one discovers they have the itch
for writing, whose sole aim is to have the secret dragged out of them,
with hypocritical reluctance.
"May I?" Her friendly aloofness fell away from her as if touched by
magic. "I am an inveterate reader. Besides, I know several famous
editors, and perhaps I could help you."
"That would be jolly."
"And you are writing a story, and never told us about it!"
"It never occurred to me to tell you. I shall be very glad to go to
the theater with you and Mrs. Killigrew."
Kitty tucked the romance under her arm and flew to her room with it.
This Thomas was as full of surprises as a Christmas-box.
He eyed the empty doorway speculatively. He rather preferred the
friendly aloofness; otherwise some fatal nonsense might enter his head.
He resumed his chair and transferred his gaze to the blotter. He added
a few pothooks by the way: numerals in addition and subtraction (for he
was of Scotch descent), a name which he scratched out and scrawled
again and again scratched out. He examined the contents of his wallet.
How many pounds did a dress-suit cost in this hurly-burly country?
This question could be answered only in one way. He hastened out into
the hall, put on his hat, made for the subway, and got out directly
opposite the offices of Killigrew and Company, sugar, coffee and
spices. London-bred, it did not take him long to find his way about.
The racket disturbed him; that was all.
The building in which Killigrew and Company had its offices belonged to
Killigrew personally. It had cost him a round million to build, but
the office-rentals were making it a fine investment. These ornate
office-buildings caused Thomas to marvel unceasingly. In London
cubby-holes were sufficient. If merchants like Killigrew, generally
these were along the water-front; creaky, old, dim-windowed. In this
bewildering country a man conducted his business as from a palace. The
warehouses were distinct establishments.
Thomas entered the portals, stepped cautiously into one of the
express-elevators (so they insisted upon calling them here), and was
shot up to the fourteenth floor, all of which was occupied by Killigrew
and Company. It was Thomas' first venture in this district. And he
learned the amazing fact that it was ordinarily as easy to see Mr.
Killigrew as it was to see King George. Office-boys, minor clerks,
head clerks, managers; they quizzed and buffeted him hither and
thither. He never thought to state at the outset that he was Mrs.
Killigrew's private secretary; he merely said that it was very
important that he should see Mr. Killigrew at once.
"Mr. Killigrew is busy," he was informed by the assistant manager, at
whose desk Thomas finally arrived. "If you will give me your card I'll
have it sent in to him."
Thomas confessed that he had no card. The assistant manager grew
distinctly chilling.
"If you will be so kind as to inform Mr. Killigrew that Mr. Webb, Mrs.
Killigrew's private secretary . . ."
"Why didn't you say that at once, Mr. Webb? Here, boy; tell Mr.
Killigrew that Mr. Webb wishes to see him. You might just as well
follow the boy."
Killigrew was smoking, and perusing the baseball edition of his
favorite evening paper. All this red-tape to approach a man who wasn't
doing anything more vital than that! Thomas smiled. It was a
wonderful people.
"Why, hello, Webb! What's the matter? Anything wrong at the
house?"--anxiously.
"No, Mr. Killigrew. I came to see you on a personal matter."
Killigrew dropped the newspaper on his desk, a little frown between his
eyes. He made no inquiry.
"Miss Killigrew tells me that you will not be home this evening, and
that I am to take her and Mrs. Killigrew to the theater."
"Anything in the way to prevent you?" Killigrew appeared vastly
relieved for some reason.
"As a matter of fact, sir, I haven't the proper clothes; and I thought
you might advise me where to go to obtain them."
Killigrew laughed until the tears started. The very heartiness of it
robbed it of all rudeness. "Good lord! and I was worrying my head off.
Webb, you're all right. Do you need any funds?"
"I believe I have enough." Thomas appeared to be disturbed not in the
least by the older man's hilarity. It was not infectious, because he
did not understand it.
"Glad you came to me. Always come to me when you're in doubt about
anything. I'm no authority on clothes, but my secretary is. I'll have
him take you to a tailor where you can rent a suit for to-night. He'll
take your measure, and by the end of the week . . ." He did not finish
the sentence, but pressed one of the many buttons on his desk. "Clark,
this is Mr. Webb, Mrs. Killigrew's secretary. He wants some clothes.
Take him along with you."
Alone again, Killigrew smiled broadly. The humor of the situation did
not blind him to the salient fact that this Webb was a man of no small
courage. He recognized in this courage a commendable shrewdness also:
Webb wanted the right thing, honest clothes for honest dollars. A man
like that would be well worth watching. And for a moment he had
thought that Webb had fallen in love with Kitty and wanted to marry
her! He chuckled. Clothes!
What a boy Kitty would have made! What an infallible eye she had for
measuring a person! No servant-question ever dangled its hot
interrogation point before his eyes. Kitty saw to that. She was the
real manager of the household affairs, for all that he paid the bills.
Some day she would marry a proper man; but heaven keep that day as far
off as possible. What would he do without Kitty? Always ready to
perch on his knee, to smooth the day-cares from his forehead, to fend
off trouble, to make laughter in the house. He was not going to love
the man who eventually carried her off. He was always dreading that
day; young men about the house, the yacht and the summer home worried
him. The whole lot of them were not worthy to tie the laces of her
shoes, much as they might yearn to do so.
And all Webb wanted was a tailor! He would give a hundred for the
right to tell this scare to the boys at the club, but Webb's ingenuous
confidence did not merit betrayal. Still, nothing should prevent him
from telling Kitty, who knew how to keep a secret. He picked up the
newspaper and resumed his computation of averages (batting), chuckling
audibly from time to time. Clothes!
At quarter to six Thomas returned to the house, laden with fat bundles
which he hurried secretly to his room. He had never worn a dress-suit.
He had often guilelessly dreamed of possessing one: between paragraphs,
as another young man might have dreamed of vanquishing a rival. It was
inborn that we should wish to appear well in public; to better one's
condition, or, next best, to make the public believe one has. Thomas
was deeply observant and quickly adaptive. Between the man who goes to
school _with_ books and the man who goes to school _in_ books there is
wide difference. What we are forced to learn seldom lifts us above the
ordinary; what we learn by inclination plows our fields and reaps our
harvests. It is as natural as breathing that we should like our
tonics, mental as well as physical, sugar-coated.
Thomas had never worn a dress-suit; but in the matter of collars and
cravats and shirts he knew the last word. But why should he wish to
wear that mournfully conventional suit in which we are supposed to
enjoy ourselves? She had told him not to bother about dress. Was it
that very nonsense he dreaded, insidiously attacking the redoubts of
his common sense?
That evening at dinner Kitty nor her mother appeared to notice the
change. This gratified him; he knew that outwardly there was nothing
left to desire or attain.
Kitty began to talk about the romance immediately. She had found the
beginning very exciting; it was out of the usual run of stories; and if
it was all as good as the first part, there would be some editors glad
to get hold of it. So much for the confidence of youth. _The Black
Veil_, as I have reason to know, lies at the bottom of Thomas' ancient
trunk.
Long as he lived he would never forget the enjoyment of that night.
The electric signs along Broadway interested him intensely; he babbled
about them boyishly. Theater outside and theater within; a great drama
of light and shadow, of comedy and tragedy; for he gazed upon the scene
with all his poet's eyes. He enjoyed the opera, the color and music,
the propinquity of Kitty. Sometimes their shoulders touched; the
indefinable perfume of her hair thrilled him.
Kitty had seen all these things so many times that she no longer
experienced enthusiasm; but his was so genuine, so un-English, that she
found it impossible to escape the contagion. She did not bubble over,
however; on the contrary, she sat through the performance strangely
subdued, dimly alarmed over what she had done.
As they were leaving the lobby of the theater, a man bumped against
Thomas, quite accidentally.
"I beg your pardon!" said the stranger, politely raising his hat and
passing on.
[Illustration: "I beg your pardon!" said the stranger.]
Thomas' hand went clumsily to his own hat, which he fumbled and dropped
and ran after frantically across the mosaic flooring.
A ghost; yes, sir, Thomas had seen a ghost.