The Howard Tates are, as every one who lives in Toledo knows, the most
formidable people in town. Mrs. Howard Tate was a Chicago Todd before
she became a Toledo Tate, and the family generally affect that
conscious simplicity which has begun to be the earmark of American
aristocracy. The Tates have reached the stage where they talk about
pigs and farms and look at you icy-eyed if you are not amused. They
have begun to prefer retainers rather than friends as dinner guests,
spend a lot of money in a quiet way, and, having lost all sense of
competition, are in process of growing quite dull.
The dance this evening was for little Millicent Tate, and though all
ages were represented, the dancers were mostly from school and
college--the younger married crowd was at the Townsends’ circus ball
up at the Tallyho Club. Mrs. Tate was standing just inside the
ballroom, following Millicent round with her eyes, and beaming
whenever she caught her eye. Beside her were two middle-aged
sycophants, who were saying what a perfectly exquisite child Millicent
was. It was at this moment that Mrs. Tate was grasped firmly by the
skirt and her youngest daughter, Emily, aged eleven, hurled herself
with an “Oof!” into her mother’s arms.
“Why, Emily, what’s the trouble?”
“Mamma,” said Emily, wild-eyed but voluble, “there’s something out on
the stairs.”
“What?”
“There’s a thing out on the stairs, mamma. I think it’s a big dog,
mamma, but it doesn’t look like a dog.”
“What do you mean, Emily?”
The sycophants waved their heads sympathetically.
“Mamma, it looks like a--like a camel.”
Mrs. Tate laughed.
“You saw a mean old shadow, dear, that’s all.”
“No, I didn’t. No, it was some kind of thing, mamma--big. I was going
down-stairs to see if there were any more people, and this dog or
something, he was coming up-stairs. Kinda funny, mamma, like he was
lame. And then he saw me and gave a sort of growl, and then he slipped
at the top of the landing, and I ran.”
Mrs. Tate’s laugh faded.
“The child must have seen something,” she said.
The sycophants agreed that the child must have seen something--and
suddenly all three women took an instinctive step away from the door
as the sounds of muffled steps were audible just outside.
And then three startled gasps rang out as a dark brown form rounded
the corner, and they saw what was apparently a huge beast looking down
at them hungrily.
“Oof!” cried Mrs. Tate.
“O-o-oh!” cried the ladies in a chorus.
The camel suddenly humped his back, and the gasps turned to shrieks.
“Oh--look!”
“What is it?”
The dancing stopped, but the dancers hurrying over got quite a
different impression of the invader; in fact, the young people
immediately suspected that it was a stunt, a hired entertainer come to
amuse the party. The boys in long trousers looked at it rather
disdainfully, and sauntered over with their hands in their pockets,
feeling that their intelligence was being insulted. But the girls
uttered little shouts of glee.
“It’s a camel!”
“Well, if he isn’t the funniest!”
The camel stood there uncertainly, swaying slightly from side to side,
and seeming to take in the room in a careful, appraising glance; then
as if he had come to an abrupt decision, he turned and ambled swiftly
out the door.
Mr. Howard Tate had just come out of the library on the lower floor,
and was standing chatting with a young man in the hall. Suddenly they
heard the noise of shouting up-stairs, and almost immediately a
succession of bumping sounds, followed by the precipitous appearance
at the foot of the stairway of a large brown beast that seemed to be
going somewhere in a great hurry.
“Now what the devil!” said Mr. Tate, starting.
The beast picked itself up not without dignity and, affecting an air
of extreme nonchalance, as if he had just remembered an important
engagement, started at a mixed gait toward the front door. In fact,
his front legs began casually to run.
“See here now,” said Mr. Tate sternly. “Here! Grab it, Butterfield!
Grab it!”
The young man enveloped the rear of the camel in a pair of compelling
arms, and, realizing that further locomotion was impossible, the front
end submitted to capture and stood resignedly in a state of some
agitation. By this time a flood of young people was pouring
down-stairs, and Mr. Tate, suspecting everything from an ingenious
burglar to an escaped lunatic, gave crisp directions to the young man:
“Hold him! Lead him in here; we’ll soon see.”
The camel consented to be led into the library, and Mr. Tate, after
locking the door, took a revolver from a table drawer and instructed
the young man to take the thing’s head off. Then he gasped and
returned the revolver to its hiding-place.
“Well, Perry Parkhurst!” he exclaimed in amazement.
“Got the wrong party, Mr. Tate,” said Perry sheepishly. “Hope I didn’t
scare you.”
“Well--you gave us a thrill, Perry.” Realization dawned on him.
“You’re bound for the Townsends’ circus ball.”
“That’s the general idea.”
“Let me introduce Mr. Butterfield, Mr. Parkhurst.” Then turning to
Perry; “Butterfield is staying with us for a few days.”
“I got a little mixed up,” mumbled Perry. “I’m very sorry.”
“Perfectly all right; most natural mistake in the world. I’ve got a
clown rig and I’m going down there myself after a while.” He turned to
Butterfield. “Better change your mind and come down with us.”
The young man demurred. He was going to bed.
“Have a drink, Perry?” suggested Mr. Tate.
“Thanks, I will.”
“And, say,” continued Tate quickly, “I’d forgotten all about
your--friend here.” He indicated the rear part of the camel. “I didn’t
mean to seem discourteous. Is it any one I know? Bring him out.”
“It’s not a friend,” explained Perry hurriedly. “I just rented him.”
“Does he drink?”
“Do you?” demanded Perry, twisting himself tortuously round.
There was a faint sound of assent.
“Sure he does!” said Mr. Tate heartily. “A really efficient camel
ought to be able to drink enough so it’d last him three days.”
“Tell you,” said Perry anxiously, “he isn’t exactly dressed up enough
to come out. If you give me the bottle I can hand it back to him and
he can take his inside.”
From under the cloth was audible the enthusiastic smacking sound
inspired by this suggestion. When a butler had appeared with bottles,
glasses, and siphon one of the bottles was handed back; thereafter the
silent partner could be heard imbibing long potations at frequent
intervals.
Thus passed a benign hour. At ten o’clock Mr. Tate decided that they’d
better be starting. He donned his clown’s costume; Perry replaced the
camel’s head, and side by side they traversed on foot the single
block between the Tate house and the Tallyho Club.
The circus ball was in full swing. A great tent fly had been put up
inside the ballroom and round the walls had been built rows of booths
representing the various attractions of a circus side show, but these
were now vacated and over the floor swarmed a shouting, laughing
medley of youth and color--clowns, bearded ladies, acrobats, bareback
riders, ringmasters, tattooed men, and charioteers. The Townsends had
determined to assure their party of success, so a great quantity of
liquor had been surreptitiously brought over from their house and was
now flowing freely. A green ribbon ran along the wall completely round
the ballroom, with pointing arrows alongside and signs which
instructed the uninitiated to “Follow the green line!” The green line
led down to the bar, where waited pure punch and wicked punch and
plain dark-green bottles.
On the wall above the bar was another arrow, red and very wavy, and
under it the slogan: “Now follow this!”
But even amid the luxury of costume and high spirits represented,
there, the entrance of the camel created something of a stir, and
Perry was immediately surrounded by a curious, laughing crowd
attempting to penetrate the identity of this beast that stood by the
wide doorway eying the dancers with his hungry, melancholy gaze.
And then Perry saw Betty standing in front of a booth, talking to a
comic policeman. She was dressed in the costume of an Egyptian
snake-charmer: her tawny hair was braided and drawn through brass
rings, the effect crowned with a glittering Oriental tiara. Her fair
face was stained to a warm olive glow and on her arms and the half
moon of her back writhed painted serpents with single eyes of venomous
green. Her feet were in sandals and her skirt was slit to the knees,
so that when she walked one caught a glimpse of other slim serpents
painted just above her bare ankles. Wound about her neck was a
glittering cobra. Altogether a charming costume--one that caused the
more nervous among the older women to shrink away from her when she
passed, and the more troublesome ones to make great talk about
“shouldn’t be allowed” and “perfectly disgraceful.”
But Perry, peering through the uncertain eyes of the camel, saw only
her face, radiant, animated, and glowing with excitement, and her arms
and shoulders, whose mobile, expressive gestures made her always the
outstanding figure in any group. He was fascinated and his fascination
exercised a sobering effect on him. With a growing clarity the events
of the day came back--rage rose within him, and with a half-formed
intention of taking her away from the crowd he started toward her--or
rather he elongated slightly, for he had neglected to issue the
preparatory command necessary to locomotion.
But at this point fickle Kismet, who for a day had played with him
bitterly and sardonically, decided to reward him in full for the
amusement he had afforded her. Kismet turned the tawny eyes of the
snake-charmer to the camel. Kismet led her to lean toward the man
beside her and say, “Who’s that? That camel?”
“Darned if I know.”
But a little man named Warburton, who knew it all, found it necessary
to hazard an opinion:
“It came in with Mr. Tate. I think part of it’s probably Warren
Butterfield, the architect from New York, who’s visiting the Tates.”
Something stirred in Betty Medill--that age-old interest of the
provincial girl in the visiting man.
“Oh,” she said casually after a slight pause.
At the end of the next dance Betty and her partner finished up within
a few feet of the camel. With the informal audacity that was the
key-note of the evening she reached out and gently rubbed the camel’s
nose.
“Hello, old camel.”
The camel stirred uneasily.
“You ’fraid of me?” said Betty, lifting her eyebrows in reproof.
“Don’t be. You see I’m a snake-charmer, but I’m pretty good at camels
too.”
The camel bowed very low and some one made the obvious remark about
beauty and the beast.
Mrs. Townsend approached the group.
“Well, Mr. Butterfield,” she said helpfully, “I wouldn’t have
recognised you.”
Perry bowed again and smiled gleefully behind his mask.
“And who is this with you?” she inquired.
“Oh,” said Perry, his voice muffled by the thick cloth and quite
unrecognizable, “he isn’t a fellow, Mrs. Townsend. He’s just part of
my costume.”
Mrs. Townsend laughed and moved away. Perry turned again to Betty.
“So,” he thought, “this is how much she cares! On the very day of our
final rupture she starts a flirtation with another man--an absolute
stranger.”
On an impulse he gave her a soft nudge with his shoulder and waved his
head suggestively toward the hall, making it clear that he desired her
to leave her partner and accompany him.
“By-by, Rus,” she called to her partner. “This old camel’s got me.
Where we going, Prince of Beasts?”
The noble animal made no rejoinder, but stalked gravely along in the
direction of a secluded nook on the side stairs.
There she seated herself, and the camel, after some seconds of
confusion which included gruff orders and sounds of a heated dispute
going on in his interior, placed himself beside her--his hind legs
stretching out uncomfortably across two steps.
“Well, old egg,” said Betty cheerfully, “how do you like our happy
party?”
The old egg indicated that he liked it by rolling his head
ecstatically and executing a gleeful kick with his hoofs.
“This is the first time that I ever had a tête-à-tête with a man’s
valet ’round”--she pointed to the hind legs--“or whatever that is.”
“Oh,” mumbled Perry, “he’s deaf and blind.”
“I should think you’d feel rather handicapped--you can’t very well
toddle, even if you want to.”
The camel hang his head lugubriously.
“I wish you’d say something,” continued Betty sweetly. “Say you like
me, camel. Say you think I’m beautiful. Say you’d like to belong to a
pretty snake-charmer.”
The camel would.
“Will you dance with me, camel?”
The camel would try.
Betty devoted half an hour to the camel. She devoted at least half an
hour to all visiting men. It was usually sufficient. When she
approached a new man the current débutantes were accustomed to scatter
right and left like a close column deploying before a machine-gun. And
so to Perry Parkhurst was awarded the unique privilege of seeing his
love as others saw her. He was flirted with violently!