A Supper Party
Since the days in which Aileen had been left more or less lonely by
Cowperwood, however, no two individuals had been more faithful in their
attentions than Taylor Lord and Kent McKibben. Both were fond of her
in a general way, finding her interesting physically and
temperamentally; but, being beholden to the magnate for many favors,
they were exceedingly circumspect in their attitude toward her,
particularly during those early years in which they knew that
Cowperwood was intensely devoted to her. Later they were not so
careful.
It was during this latter period that Aileen came gradually, through
the agency of these two men, to share in a form of mid-world life that
was not utterly dull. In every large city there is a kind of social
half world, where artists and the more adventurous of the socially
unconventional and restless meet for an exchange of things which cannot
be counted mere social form and civility. It is the age-old world of
Bohemia. Hither resort those "accidentals" of fancy that make the
stage, the drawing-room, and all the schools of artistic endeavor
interesting or peculiar. In a number of studios in Chicago such as
those of Lane Cross and Rhees Crier, such little circles were to be
found. Rhees Crier, for instance, a purely parlor artist, with all the
airs, conventions, and social adaptability of the tribe, had quite a
following. Here and to several other places by turns Taylor Lord and
Kent McKibben conducted Aileen, both asking and obtaining permission to
be civil to her when Cowperwood was away.
Among the friends of these two at this time was a certain Polk Lynde,
an interesting society figure, whose father owned an immense reaper
works, and whose time was spent in idling, racing, gambling,
socializing--anything, in short, that it came into his head to do. He
was tall, dark, athletic, straight, muscular, with a small dark
mustache, dark, black-brown eyes, kinky black hair, and a fine, almost
military carriage--which he clothed always to the best advantage. A
clever philanderer, it was quite his pride that he did not boast of his
conquests. One look at him, however, by the initiated, and the story
was told. Aileen first saw him on a visit to the studio of Rhees
Grier. Being introduced to him very casually on this occasion, she was
nevertheless clearly conscious that she was encountering a fascinating
man, and that he was fixing her with a warm, avid eye. For the moment
she recoiled from him as being a little too brazen in his stare, and
yet she admired the general appearance of him. He was of that smart
world that she admired so much, and from which now apparently she was
hopelessly debarred. That trig, bold air of his realized for her at
last the type of man, outside of Cowperwood, whom she would prefer
within limits to admire her. If she were going to be "bad," as she
would have phrased it to herself, she would be "bad" with a man such as
he. He would be winsome and coaxing, but at the same time strong,
direct, deliciously brutal, like her Frank. He had, too, what
Cowperwood could not have, a certain social air or swagger which came
with idleness, much loafing, a sense of social superiority and
security--a devil-may-care insouciance which recks little of other
people's will or whims.
When she next saw him, which was several weeks later at an affair of
the Courtney Tabors, friends of Lord's, he exclaimed:
"Oh yes. By George! You're the Mrs. Cowperwood I met several weeks ago
at Rhees Grier's studio. I've not forgotten you. I've seen you in my
eye all over Chicago. Taylor Lord introduced me to you. Say, but
you're a beautiful woman!"
He leaned ingratiatingly, whimsically, admiringly near.
Aileen realized that for so early in the afternoon, and considering the
crowd, he was curiously enthusiastic. The truth was that because of
some rounds he had made elsewhere he was verging toward too much
liquor. His eye was alight, his color coppery, his air swagger,
devil-may-care, bacchanal. This made her a little cautious; but she
rather liked his brown, hard face, handsome mouth, and crisp Jovian
curls. His compliment was not utterly improper; but she nevertheless
attempted coyly to avoid him.
"Come, Polk, here's an old friend of yours over here--Sadie
Boutwell--she wants to meet you again," some one observed, catching him
by the arm.
"No, you don't," he exclaimed, genially, and yet at the same time a
little resentfully--the kind of disjointed resentment a man who has had
the least bit too much is apt to feel on being interrupted. "I'm not
going to walk all over Chicago thinking of a woman I've seen somewhere
only to be carried away the first time I do meet her. I'm going to
talk to her first."
Aileen laughed. "It's charming of you, but we can meet again, perhaps.
Besides, there's some one here"--Lord was tactfully directing her
attention to another woman. Rhees Grier and McKibben, who were present
also, came to her assistance. In the hubbub that ensued Aileen was
temporarily extricated and Lynde tactfully steered out of her way. But
they had met again, and it was not to be the last time. Subsequent to
this second meeting, Lynde thought the matter over quite calmly, and
decided that he must make a definite effort to become more intimate
with Aileen. Though she was not as young as some others, she suited
his present mood exactly. She was rich physically--voluptuous and
sentient. She was not of his world precisely, but what of it? She was
the wife of an eminent financier, who had been in society once, and she
herself had a dramatic record. He was sure of that. He could win her
if he wanted to. It would be easy, knowing her as he did, and knowing
what he did about her.
So not long after, Lynde ventured to invite her, with Lord, McKibben,
Mr. and Mrs. Rhees Grier, and a young girl friend of Mrs. Grier who was
rather attractive, a Miss Chrystobel Lanman, to a theater and supper
party. The programme was to hear a reigning farce at Hooley's, then to
sup at the Richelieu, and finally to visit a certain exclusive
gambling-parlor which then flourished on the South Side--the resort of
actors, society gamblers, and the like--where roulette,
trente-et-quarante, baccarat, and the honest game of poker, to say
nothing of various other games of chance, could be played amid
exceedingly recherche surroundings.
The party was gay, especially after the adjournment to the Richelieu,
where special dishes of chicken, lobster, and a bucket of champagne
were served. Later at the Alcott Club, as the gambling resort was
known, Aileen, according to Lynde, was to be taught to play baccarat,
poker, and any other game that she wished. "You follow my advice, Mrs.
Cowperwood," he observed, cheerfully, at dinner--being host, he had put
her between himself and McKibben--"and I'll show you how to get your
money back anyhow. That's more than some others can do," he added,
spiritedly, recalling by a look a recent occasion when he and McKibben,
being out with friends, the latter had advised liberally and had seen
his advice go wrong.
"Have you been gambling, Kent?" asked Aileen, archly, turning to her
long-time social mentor and friend.
"No, I can honestly say I haven't," replied McKibben, with a bland
smile. "I may have thought I was gambling, but I admit I don't know
how. Now Polk, here, wins all the time, don't you, Polk? Just follow
him."
A wry smile spread over Lynde's face at this, for it was on record in
certain circles that he had lost as much as ten and even fifteen
thousand in an evening. He also had a record of winning twenty-five
thousand once at baccarat at an all-night and all-day sitting, and then
losing it.
Lynde all through the evening had been casting hard, meaning glances
into Aileen's eyes. She could not avoid this, and she did not feel
that she wanted to. He was so charming. He was talking to her half
the time at the theater, without apparently addressing or even seeing
her. Aileen knew well enough what was in his mind. At times, quite as
in those days when she had first met Cowperwood, she felt an unwilled
titillation in her blood. Her eyes brightened. It was just possible
that she could come to love a man like this, although it would be hard.
It would serve Cowperwood right for neglecting her. Yet even now the
shadow of Cowperwood was over her, but also the desire for love and a
full sex life.
In the gambling-rooms was gathered an interested and fairly smart
throng--actors, actresses, clubmen, one or two very emancipated women
of the high local social world, and a number of more or less
gentlemanly young gamblers. Both Lord and McKibben began suggesting
column numbers for first plays to their proteges, while Lynde leaned
caressingly over Aileen's powdered shoulders. "Let me put this on
quatre premier for you," he suggested, throwing down a twenty-dollar
gold piece.
"Oh, but let it be my money," complained Aileen. "I want to play with
my money. I won't feel that it's mine if I don't."
"Very well, but you can't just now. You can't play with bills." She
was extracting a crisp roll from her purse. "I'll have to exchange
them later for you for gold. You can pay me then. He's going to call
now, anyhow. There you are. He's done it. Wait a moment. You may
win." And he paused to study the little ball as it circled round and
round above the receiving pockets.
"Let me see. How much do I get if I win quatre premier?" She was
trying to recall her experiences abroad.
"Ten for one," replied Lynde; "but you didn't get it. Let's try it
once more for luck. It comes up every so often--once in ten or twelve.
I've made it often on a first play. How long has it been since the
last quatre premier?" he asked of a neighbor whom he recognized.
"Seven, I think, Polk. Six or seven. How's tricks?"
"Oh, so so." He turned again to Aileen. "It ought to come up now soon.
I always make it a rule to double my plays each time. It gets you back
all you've lost, some time or other." He put down two twenties.
"Goodness," she exclaimed, "that will be two hundred! I had forgotten
that."
Just then the call came for all placements to cease, and Aileen
directed her attention to the ball. It circled and circled in its
dizzy way and then suddenly dropped.
"Lost again," commented Lynde. "Well, now we'll make it eighty," and
he threw down four twenties. "Just for luck we'll put something on
thirty-six, and thirteen, and nine." With an easy air he laid one
hundred dollars in gold on each number.
Aileen liked his manner. This was like Frank. Lynde had the cool
spirit of a plunger. His father, recognizing his temperament, had set
over a large fixed sum to be paid to him annually. She recognized, as
in Cowperwood, the spirit of adventure, only working out in another
way. Lynde was perhaps destined to come to some startlingly reckless
end, but what of it? He was a gentleman. His position in life was
secure. That had always been Aileen's sad, secret thought. Hers had
not been and might never be now.
"Oh, I'm getting foozled already," she exclaimed, gaily reverting to a
girlhood habit of clapping her hands. "How much will I win if I win?"
The gesture attracted attention even as the ball fell.
"By George, you have it!" exclaimed Lynde, who was watching the
croupier. "Eight hundred, two hundred, two hundred"--he was counting
to himself--"but we lose thirteen. Very good, that makes us nearly one
thousand ahead, counting out what we put down. Rather nice for a
beginning, don't you think? Now, if you'll take my advice you'll not
play quatre premier any more for a while. Suppose you double a
thirteen--you lost on that--and play Bates's formula. I'll show you
what that is."
Already, because he was known to be a plunger, Lynde was gathering a
few spectators behind him, and Aileen, fascinated, and not knowing
these mysteries of chance, was content to watch him. At one stage of
the playing Lynde leaned over and, seeing her smile, whispered:
"What adorable hair and eyes you have! You glow like a great rose. You
have a radiance that is wonderful."
"Oh, Mr. Lynde! How you talk! Does gambling always affect you this way?"
"No, you do. Always, apparently!" And he stared hard into her upturned
eyes. Still playing ostensibly for Aileen's benefit, he now doubled
the cash deposit on his system, laying down a thousand in gold. Aileen
urged him to play for himself and let her watch. "I'll just put a
little money on these odd numbers here and there, and you play any
system you want. How will that do?"
"No, not at all," he replied, feelingly. "You're my luck. I play with
you. You keep the gold for me. I'll make you a fine present if I win.
The losses are mine."
"Just as you like. I don't know really enough about it to play. But I
surely get the nice present if you win?"
"You do, win or lose," he murmured. "And now you put the money on the
numbers I call. Twenty on seven. Eighty on thirteen. Eighty on
thirty. Twenty on nine. Fifty on twenty-four." He was following a
system of his own, and in obedience Aileen's white, plump arm reached
here and there while the spectators paused, realizing that heavier
playing was being done by this pair than by any one else. Lynde was
plunging for effect. He lost a thousand and fifty dollars at one clip.
"Oh, all that good money!" exclaimed Aileen, mock-pathetically, as the
croupier raked it in.
"Never mind, we'll get it back," exclaimed Lynde, throwing two
one-thousand-dollar bills to the cashier. "Give me gold for those."
The man gave him a double handful, which he put down between Aileen's
white arms.
"One hundred on two. One hundred on four. One hundred on six. One
hundred on eight."
The pieces were five-dollar gold pieces, and Aileen quickly built up
the little yellow stacks and shoved them in place. Again the other
players stopped and began to watch the odd pair. Aileen's red-gold
head, and pink cheeks, and swimming eyes, her body swathed in silks and
rich laces; and Lynde, erect, his shirt bosom snowy white, his face
dark, almost coppery, his eyes and hair black--they were indeed a
strikingly assorted pair.
"What's this? What's this?" asked Grier, coming up. "Who's plunging?
You, Mrs. Cowperwood?"
"Not plunging," replied Lynde, indifferently. "We're merely working
out a formula--Mrs. Cowperwood and I. We're doing it together."
Aileen smiled. She was in her element at last. She was beginning to
shine. She was attracting attention.
"One hundred on twelve. One hundred on eighteen. One hundred on
twenty-six."
"Good heavens, what are you up to, Lynde?" exclaimed Lord, leaving Mrs.
Rhees and coming over. She followed. Strangers also were gathering.
The business of the place was at its topmost toss--it being two o'clock
in the morning--and the rooms were full.
"How interesting!" observed Miss Lanman, at the other end of the table,
pausing in her playing and staring. McKibben, who was beside her, also
paused. "They're plunging. Do look at all the money! Goodness, isn't
she daring-looking--and he?" Aileen's shining arm was moving deftly,
showily about.
"Look at the bills he's breaking!" Lynde was taking out a thick layer
of fresh, yellow bills which he was exchanging for gold. "They make a
striking pair, don't they?"
The board was now practically covered with Lynde's gold in quaint
little stacks. He had followed a system called Mazarin, which should
give him five for one, and possibly break the bank. Quite a crowd
swarmed about the table, their faces glowing in the artificial light.
The exclamation "plunging!" "plunging!" was to be heard whispered here
and there. Lynde was delightfully cool and straight. His lithe body
was quite erect, his eyes reflective, his teeth set over an unlighted
cigarette. Aileen was excited as a child, delighted to be once more
the center of comment. Lord looked at her with sympathetic eyes. He
liked her. Well, let her he amused. It was good for her now and then;
but Lynde was a fool to make a show of himself and risk so much money.
"Table closed!" called the croupier, and instantly the little ball
began to spin. All eyes followed it. Round and round it went--Aileen
as keen an observer as any. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright.
"If we lose this," said Lynde, "we will make one more bet double, and
then if we don't win that we'll quit." He was already out nearly three
thousand dollars.
"Oh yes, indeed! Only I think we ought to quit now. Here goes two
thousand if we don't win. Don't you think that's quite enough? I
haven't brought you much luck, have I?"
"You are luck," he whispered. "All the luck I want. One more. Stand
by me for one more try, will you? If we win I'll quit."
The little ball clicked even as she nodded, and the croupier, paying
out on a few small stacks here and there, raked all the rest solemnly
into the receiving orifice, while murmurs of sympathetic
dissatisfaction went up here and there.
"How much did they have on the board?" asked Miss Lanman of McKibben,
in surprise. "It must have been a great deal, wasn't it?"
"Oh, two thousand dollars, perhaps. That isn't so high here, though.
People do plunge for as much as eight or ten thousand. It all depends."
McKibben was in a belittling, depreciating mood.
"Oh yes, but not often, surely."
"For the love of heavens, Polk!" exclaimed Rhees Grier, coming up and
plucking at his sleeve; "if you want to give your money away give it to
me. I can gather it in just as well as that croupier, and I'll go get
a truck and haul it home, where it will do some good. It's perfectly
terrible the way you are carrying on."
Lynde took his loss with equanimity. "Now to double it," he observed,
"and get all our losses back, or go downstairs and have a rarebit and
some champagne. What form of a present would please you best?--but
never mind. I know a souvenir for this occasion."
He smiled and bought more gold. Aileen stacked it up showily, if a
little repentantly. She did not quite approve of this--his
plunging--and yet she did; she could not help sympathizing with the
plunging spirit. In a few moments it was on the board--the same
combination, the same stacks, only doubled--four thousand all told.
The croupier called, the ball rolled and fell. Barring three hundred
dollars returned, the bank took it all.
"Well, now for a rarebit," exclaimed Lynde, easily, turning to Lord,
who stood behind him smiling. "You haven't a match, have you? We've
had a run of bad luck, that's sure."
Lynde was secretly the least bit disgruntled, for if he had won he had
intended to take a portion of the winnings and put it in a necklace or
some other gewgaw for Aileen. Now he must pay for it. Yet there was
some satisfaction in having made an impression as a calm and
indifferent, though heavy loser. He gave Aileen his arm.
"Well, my lady," he observed, "we didn't win; but we had a little fun
out of it, I hope? That combination, if it had come out, would have set
us up handsomely. Better luck next time, eh?"
He smiled genially.
"Yes, but I was to have been your luck, and I wasn't," replied Aileen.
"You are all the luck I want, if you're willing to be. Come to the
Richelieu to-morrow with me for lunch--will you?"
"Let me see," replied Aileen, who, observing his ready and somewhat
iron fervor, was doubtful. "I can't do that," she said, finally, "I
have another engagement."
"How about Tuesday, then?"
Aileen, realizing of a sudden that she was making much of a situation
that ought to be handled with a light hand, answered readily: "Very
well--Tuesday! Only call me up before. I may have to change my mind or
the time." And she smiled good-naturedly.
After this Lynde had no opportunity to talk to Aileen privately; but in
saying good night he ventured to press her arm suggestively. She
suffered a peculiar nervous thrill from this, but decided curiously
that she had brought it upon herself by her eagerness for life and
revenge, and must make up her mind. Did she or did she not wish to go
on with this? This was the question uppermost, and she felt that she
must decide. However, as in most such cases, circumstances were to
help decide for her, and, unquestionably, a portion of this truth was
in her mind as she was shown gallantly to her door by Taylor Lord.