"Well, what d'you say, partner, shall we take it?"
I scrutinized his baffling expression and roared with laughter. He
joined me, laughing, until the tears trickled down his cheeks.
"But look here," he began, the flamboyancy of his manner persisting even
in private, "three millions isn't so much--and the profit would be
large."
So long as it was horseplay I enjoyed the joke. But with Fred the
barrier between jest and earnest is very thin, often indistinguishable.
"Don't talk rot," I told him. "Do you want a short cut to bankruptcy?"
"Well, it would be in a great cause," he grinned. "Got to help dear old
Roumania!" And humming a musical-comedy tune, he left me. But I am
still conscious of a dread lest Fred, in some moment of irresistible
magnificence, should commit poor little Salmon and Byrd to the devil or
the deep.
*CHAPTER IX*
To-day is a red-letter day for me. The red letter came from Dibdin. As
a matter of fact his brief scrawl in the peculiar, heavy, unadorned
script which I love is written on the minutely ruled paper and in the
violet ink of the Hotel de France at Papeete. But it was so
delightfully cheering to see his dear old fist again--almost like seeing
the man himself. The sheet is dated more than two months ago, and
postmarked San Francisco six days ago. I wonder what brute intrusted
with mailing it has carried it about in his pocket.
Without a word of preamble it begins in Dibdin's abrupt manner.
"I've got you on my mind. How are the kids prospering--and you, old
bookworm? I've picked up something for you even out here--a first
edition of Balzac's 'Pere Goriot', somewhat fly-blown and the worse for
wear, but intact all the same. I won't intrust it to the mails. I'll
bring it to you.
"I am enclosing a check for a thousand dollars. Now don't be an idiot,
however difficult that may prove. I know all you can say, and believe
me it isn't worth a damn. Use it in some way for the kids and make me
feel happy out here among the wrecks and loafers of white humanity. I
wish you could come out here some day and see to what creatures that
once were white men will stoop just to avoid a little work. However,
that's by the way. I count on you to do as I ask or you'll make me
sore.
"The blessed old tub I came out in sails for Suva in three days. And
from Suva I go to the Marquesas. You'll hear from me again before long.
If you want to take a chance and write me, the Hotel de France, Papeete,
is still the best address I can offer you. Yours, Dibdin."
That was all--after months of waiting. I wish the old fellow enjoyed
writing letters a little more than he seems to. Nevertheless I was
delighted. The irrepressible tramp! He speaks of the Marquesas as if
they were around the corner.
As to his check, my first impulse was to destroy it immediately. I
shall keep it, however, as a memento of Dibdin's absurd generosity of
spirit. It would have to be some desperate need that would ever compel
me to use it. Dibdin little dreams of Salmon and Byrd.
I called in the children to show them the letter. And though they were
less excited about it than I was, they seemed delighted at the fact that
after a day in the office I should appear gay and cheerful instead of
weary and careworn. Care is the badge of incomplete lives. And what I
needed was a letter from Dibdin.
A breath of the wide world has come to me with that pleasant burly note,
of other-worldliness, of freedom, of rovings and wanderings, something
of the zest I used to feel. I used to feel myself (or so I think)
strung like a lute, sensitive to every breath and sign of beauty, to all
the subtle tunes of life. My nerves are duller now, responsive only to
the obvious. In the inverted world of business I suppose that is
progress. Dibdin's letter has brought back something of my old self, at
least a nostalgia of other days.
And here my conscience smites me. It is long since I have seen
Gertrude. I must rectify that omission at once. After all, Gertrude
has been patience itself with my vagaries. And the thought of the old
freedom is struck through with the years of her friendship. Gertrude
never interfered.
I have seen Gertrude and she was indulgently amiable when I read her
Dibdin's letter.
"I believe, Ranny," she was pleased to say, "you are developing. Do you
know, I think business experience very good for you?" It was very
agreeable to see Gertrude curled up on a sofa in a very pretty tea gown
comfortably smoking her cigarette. I felt suddenly that the neglect of
feminine society is a mistake for any man, most of all for myself.
"I'm glad my partner isn't here," I told her. "He might give me away."
"I don't care," she answered. "You are a stronger man to-day than you
were a few months and even a few weeks ago. Here you are attracting
money. A thousand dollars is always a thousand dollars."
"Yes, indeed! Let Morgan look to his laurels," I relied. "His days are
numbered."
"Don't be absurd," she laughed. "You'll be rich before you know it.
But that isn't the point. Lots of other things you'll see in a new way.
You've been a sentimentalist, Ranny," she went on explaining. "Business
gives a man judgment instead of sentimentality. You'll come to
understand that my advice to you in a number of things, including the
children, had more sense to it then you guessed. You will recognize
that even children can be cared for better by efficient people trained
for it than by an inexperienced bachelor and a little foundling girl.
Don't worry about that now," she added hastily, "but you'll find out."
My answering grin must have been of a sickly pallid hue, for I own I
felt myself chilling at her words.
"I thought," I put in, "that that was all over and settled between us."
"So it is, Ranny dear," she answered quickly. "Don't misunderstand. I
am not advising now. I am merely prophesying."
"Oh, in that case," I endeavored to be conciliatory, "it will be a
pleasant game to watch how true your prophecy comes."
"Yes," she spoke more eagerly. "Now tell me about your business. It
must be horribly interesting."
"It horribly is," I agreed, "and fearfully done." And I went on to
describe to her amusement some of the ways and means of the ingenious
Fred Salmon.
"How delightful," was her laughing comment. "Do you know, Ranny, when
we're married I mean to come down to your office quite often?"
"Better come now," I suggested. "Who knows--whether there'll be an
office by then?"
"Oh, it isn't so long to wait--perhaps in--June--or when you take your
holiday."
"The sooner the better," I told her quite sincerely. "I see no object in
any further delay--" whereat Gertrude seemed pleased.
"Oh, I'll spring it on you one of these days," she smiled gayly. "Now
will you have some tea or something to drink?"
A very companionable person is Gertrude. Since, as a great man has
said, a grand passion is as rare as a grand opera, I presume that
notwithstanding novelists and romancers to the contrary, companionship
is what virtually all successful marriages are based on. One thing my
business experience has taught me thus far is a disgust with vague and
indefinite conditions. The sooner Gertrude and I are married, the
better I shall like it.
Barely had I written down the last words above than something occurred
to give them the lie. I am still shaken with anger at what I have
learned.
Alicia, whom I had thought to be in bed, rapped gently on my door and
came in, her sweet candid face so charged with pain and alarm that I
jumped from my chair at sight of her. I have seemed scarcely to notice
her these months, yet I realize she has grown as dear to me as any of
the other children. To see her suffering seemed poignantly intolerable.
"What on earth," I gasped, "is the matter, Alicia?" She could scarcely
speak for the tears that were choking her. "Is it any of the children?"
"N-no, sir," she sobbed. "They--are--all right."
"What on earth can it be then?" I demanded, putting my arm about this
little Niobe and gently seating her in the big chair. "Come, my dear,
tell me about it." She made an effort to control her sobs.
"You are--going to--send me away," she wept. The same old story. That,
I thought, must be this child's obsession.
"Am I?" I spoke as gently as I knew how, taking her little cold hand in
mine, "and why am I going to do that?"
"I don't know," she sobbed bitterly. "I suppose because I am no use
here--because you don't want me." I laughed at her boisterously in an
endeavor to shake her out of that notion.
"And who," I asked, "has said anything of the kind?" She did not
answer. "Was it Griselda?"
"No, sir," she breathed.
"Was it any of the children?"
"Oh, no, Uncle Ranny--I mean Mr. Byrd. They like me."
"What was it then?" I insisted gayly. "Come, out with it. I never
heard such bosh. Come, tell me the whole story, Alicia."
"I--I was in the square this afternoon," she began, drying her eyes with
a very wet and crumpled little handkerchief, "playing with Jimmie while
Laura and Ranny were roller-skating--" and she paused.
"Yes, yes," I urged, "and then?"
"A lady stopped to talk to me--it was Miss--Miss Bayard."
"Miss Bayard?" I repeated wonderingly. It was strange Gertrude had not
mentioned it. She must, I thought, have forgotten the incident. "And
what," I prompted, "did Miss Bayard say?"
"She said," and Alicia's lips quivered pitifully, "'are you still here,
child?'"
"Yes--go on!" I could hardly trust myself to speak for the premonitory
anger that was rising within me.
"I told her, yes, ma'am." Alicia spoke somewhat more easily, feeling,
evidently, that I was not against her. "And Miss Bayard said," she went
on, "that she thought I had gone away weeks ago. I didn't understand
what she meant, and I asked her where she thought I had gone. 'Didn't
anybody from the Home come to look you up?' she asked me. And I told
her that Miss Smith had come. And she asked me whether Miss Smith hadn't
done anything about me. And I told her that Miss Smith had--that she
said I could stay."
"And what did she say to that?" I gasped, by this time livid with anger.
"She said it was very strange--that she did not understand it. She
didn't say it to me. She seemed to be speaking to herself. And then
she just gave a little nod and walked away."
"Just gave a little nod and walked away," I repeated after her
mechanically. "And because of that you thought I was planning to send
you away?"
"Yes, Mr. Byrd," she murmured with a dejection that in the young is so
profoundly touching it makes one's heart ache.
"Well," and I hope my sickly laugh was as reassuring as it was meant to
be, "and if I tell you that I knew nothing at all about it--will that
make you feel better?" She nodded. "And if I tell you that so far from
planning to send you away, I couldn't do without you; that you are
necessary in this house, that you are just the same to me as any of the
other children; that I make no distinction between you; that, in
short--this house is your home until--until you grow up and get
married--as long as you want to be here--" and I sat on the side of the
chair, drew her to me and patted her as I might have patted little
Laura. "Is that all right?"
"Yes, Uncle--Mr. Ranny," she whispered, her head sinking toward me like
a child's, and a sigh of deep content escaped her. "I don't want
anything else in this world!"
How beautifully affection sits upon a child!
"Now go to bed, Alicia," I urged her gently, "and don't bother your
innocent little head about anything of that sort. Miss Bayard was
probably joking, but--she won't do that again--when she knows how badly
it made you feel."
She stirred as from a trance and slowly rose. "How is the school work
going?" I asked her. "All right?"
"Yes, Mr. Byrd," she murmured, "except the Latin--I don't put in enough
time on it, the teacher says, especially the Latin composition."
"Ah, we'll have to remedy that. You must come and let me help you.
What are you reading in Latin?"
"Caesar's Commentaries," she smiled, shamefacedly, like a troubled child
that has been restored to happiness.
"Ah, then you _must_ get it right. For what would happen, Alicia, if
you were to face the world ignorant of how Caesar conquered the
Belgians! And if you should go out into life without an intimate
knowledge of the equipment of Caesar's light-armed infantry, of the
habits of the Gauls and the right use of the catapult or the proper
employment of the chariot, the consequences might be little short of
ignominious! Better come to me and let me set you straight. I know you
understand indirect discourse from the way you told me your story
to-night. But the subjunctive, my dear--ah, the subjunctive must be
closer to you than a brother and nearer than hands and feet!"
She laughed a merry, delicious peal of laughter and when she said good
night I put my hand upon her soft silken hair and sent from the room a
very radiant, happy little girl.
But now, as my thought wanders back to Gertrude's surprising _demarche_,
uncontrollable indignation again possesses me. To think that it was she
who had instigated the visit of that little inspectress, Miss Smith,
weeks ago! It is unbelievable. Underhand methods in Gertrude are new
to me.
I have called up Gertrude on the telephone. And in spite of the
lateness of the hour she insisted in a somewhat wintry voice that I had
better come up at once and see her, as she put it, settle it once for
all. _Je m'y rend_. To settle it once for all is precisely what I
desire.
My desire has been stormily satisfied. Though inwardly indignant, I
returned to Gertrude with every intention of being very bland and very
reasonable, hoping against hope to have the unlovely fact somehow
cleared away. But Gertrude, it seems, had decided that the indignation
properly belonged to her.
"Hello, Ranny," she greeted me easily, in the gray tone that precedes a
tempest. "What do you mean by speaking to me as you did over the
telephone?"
"I--I mean this," I faltered, but that was the last time I faltered in
speaking to her. "Did you or did you not report the case of Alicia to
the Home and send an inspectress to me?"
She watched me with narrowed eyelids for a moment and then, deciding
evidently, that a little truculence would reduce me to my normal state
of pulp, she answered coolly:
"And suppose I did--what of it?"
"I merely want to know the truth," I answered her quietly enough. "Lies
are so detestable to me." She flinched perceptibly, but drew herself up
with hauteur.
"Well, then I didn't!" she returned loftily. "But what if I had?
Somebody ought to have reported it," she ran on with gathering temper by
which she thought to crush me. "I think it's indecent for you to have
in the house a girl of that age who's no relation to you. The fact that
you are a fool doesn't make it any less indecent. I'm the only woman
friend you have and somebody has to see you don't make a worse idiot of
yourself than nature made you to start with. Now do you understand, my
excellent friend?"
And having discharged this volley she stood panting lividly, as if
viewing my ruins. At the moment however I could not consider her. I
knew only that flashes of red appeared before my eyes, that I spoke the
literal truth when I told her:
"To me such an action and the person guilty of it would be equally
contemptible."
"You say that to me?" she gasped, taking a step forward, with a
colorable imitation of incredulity, strange in view of her denial.
"To you--yes," I told her, quietly enough, for now I was more master of
myself. "And contemptible is only a mild euphemism for what I should
really think." She stared at me speechless for a moment.
"_You_ think!" she uttered in mocking scorn. "You've posed as a sort of
God's fool--but what you are is the devil's tool."
"Take care, Gertrude," I warned her. "You might say something that you
will regret even more."
She waved me contemptuously away.
"I'll say this," she returned in level tones, seating herself and
clenching her hands in an effort at control--but in reality she was
beginning a new offensive. "You'd better go home, Ranny, and make up
your mind to send that girl away. All men are rotten. But it's because
I thought you were different that--that--" she did not finish, but
added: "And to have you gathering in girls from the gutter--"
"Stop!" I cried, "I won't hear another word," and turned away as if to
go, not trusting myself to say more.
"Come back!" she called, jumping from the sofa. "Come back and listen:
Either you send that girl away or I'll have nothing more to do with you.
Is that understood?"