WHICH EXHIBITS THE IMPORTANCE OF REMEMBERING A DANCE NUMBER
And so the kid was finding the same trouble which he had met. They had
been too frank in stating that they intended to obtain control of the
company without any larger investments than their patents and their
scheme. Sam wandered through the hall, revolving this matter in his
mind, and out at the rear door, which framed an inviting vista of
green. He strolled back past the barn toward the upper reaches of the
brook path, and sitting amid the comfortably gnarled roots of a big
tree he lit a cigar and began with violence to snap little pebbles into
the brook. If he were promoting a crooked scheme, he reflected
savagely, he would have no difficulty whatever in floating it upon
almost any terms he wanted. Well, there was one thing certain; at the
finish, control would be in his own hands! But how to secure it and
still float the company promptly and advantageously? There was the
problem. He liked this crowd. They were good, keen, vigorous,
enterprising men, fine men with whom to do business, men who would
snatch control away from him if they could, and throw him out in the
cold in a minute if they deemed it necessary or expedient. Of course
that was to be expected. It was a part of the game. He would rather
deal with these progressive people, knowing their tendencies, than with
a lot of sapheads.
How to get control? He lingered long and thoughtfully over that
question, perhaps an hour, until presently he became aware that a
slight young girl, with a fetching sun-hat and a basket, was walking
pensively along the path on the opposite side of the brook, for the
third time. Her passing and repassing before his abstracted and
unseeing vision had become slightly monotonous, and for the first time
he focused his eyes back from their distant view of pulp marshes and
stock certificates and inspected the girl directly. Why, he knew that
girl! It was Miss Hastings.
As if in obedience to his steady gaze she looked across at him and
waved her basket.
"Where are you going?" he asked with the heartiness of enforced
courtesy.
"After ferns," she responded, and laughed.
"By George, that's so!" he said, and ran up the stream to a narrow
place where he made a magnificent jump and only got one shoe wet.
He was profuse, not in his apologies, but in his intention to make them.
"Jinks!" he said. "I'm ashamed to say I forgot all about that. I
found myself suddenly confronted with a business proposition that had
to be worked out, and I thought of nothing else."
"I hope you succeeded," she said pleasantly.
There wasn't a particle of vengefulness about Miss Hastings. She was
not one to hold this against him; he could see that at once! She
understood men. She knew that grave problems frequently confronted
them, and that such minor things as fern gathering expeditions would
necessarily have to step aside and be forgotten. She was one of the
bright, cheerful, always smiling kind; one who would make a sunshiny
helpmate for any man, and never object to anything he did--before
marriage.
All this she conveyed in lively but appealing chatter; all, that is,
except the last part of it, a deduction which Sam supplied for himself.
For the first time in his life he had paused to judge a girl as he
would "size up" a man, and he was a little bit sorry that he had done
so, for while Miss Hastings was very agreeable, there was a certain
acidulous sharpness about her nose and uncompromising thinness about
her lips which no amount of laughing vivacity could quite conceal.
Dutifully, however, he gathered ferns for the rockery of her aunt in
Albany, and Miss Hastings, in return, did her best to amuse and
delight, and delicately to convey the thought of what an agreeable
thing it would be for a man always to have this cheerful companionship.
She even, on the way back, went so far as inadvertently to call him
Sam, and apologized immediately in the most charming confusion.
"Really," she added in explanation, "I have heard Mr. Westlake and the
others call you Sam so often that the name just seems to slip out."
"That's right," he said cordially. "Sam's my name. When people call
me Mr. Turner I know they are strangers."
"Then I think I shall call you Sam," she said, laughing most
engagingly. "It's so much easier," and sure enough she did as soon as
they were well within the hearing of Miss Westlake, at the hotel.
"Oh, Sam," she called, turning in the doorway, "you have my gloves in
your pocket."
Miss Westlake stiffened like an icicle, and a stern resolve came upon
her. Whatever happened, she saw her duty plainly before her. She had
introduced Mr. Turner to Miss Hastings, and she was responsible. It
was her moral obligation to rescue him from the clutches of that
designing young person, and she immediately reminded him that she had
an engagement to give him a tennis lesson every day. There was still
time for a set before dinner. Also, far be it from her to be so
forward as to call him Sam, or to annoy him with silly chattering. She
was serious-minded, was Miss Westlake, and sweet and helpful; any man
could see that; and she fairly adored business. It was so interesting.
When they came back from their tennis game, hurrying because it was
high time to dress for dinner and the dance, she met Miss Hastings in
the hall, but the two bosom friends barely nodded. There had sprung up
an unaccountable coolness between them, a coolness which Sam by no
means noticed, however, for at the far end of the porch sat Princeman,
already back from Hollis Creek to dress, and with him were Westlake and
McComas and Blackrock and Cuthbert, and they were in very close
conference. When Sam approached them they stopped talking abruptly for
just one little moment, then resumed the conversation quite naturally,
even more than quite naturally in fact, and the experienced Sam smiled
grimly as he excused himself to dress.
Billy Westlake met him as he was going up-stairs. To Billy had been
entrusted the office of rounding up all the young people who were going
over to Hollis Creek, and by previous instruction, though wondering at
his sister's choice, he assigned Sam to that young lady, a fate which
Sam accepted with becoming gratitude.
He had plenty of food for thought as he donned his costume of dead
black and staring white, and somehow or other he was distrait that
evening all the way over to Hollis Creek. Only when he met Miss
Stevens did he brighten, as he might well do, for Miss Stevens,
charming in every guise, was a revelation in evening costume; a
ravishing revelation; one to make a man pause and wonder and stand in
awe, and regard himself as a clumsy creature not worthy to touch the
hem of the garment which embellished such a divine being. Nevertheless
he conquered that wave of diffidence in a jiffy, or something like half
that space of time, and shook hands with her most eagerly, and looked
into her eyes and was grateful; for he found them smiling up at him in
most friendly fashion, and with rather an electric thrill in them, too,
though whether the thrill emanated from the eyes or was merely within
himself he was not sure.
"How many dances do I get?" he abruptly demanded.
"Just two," she told him, and showed him her card and gave him one on
which a list of names had already been marked by the young ladies of
Hollis Creek.
He saw on the card two dances with Miss Stevens, one each with Miss
Westlake and Miss Hastings, and one each with a number of other young
ladies whom he had met but vaguely, and one each with some whom he had
not met at all. He dutifully went through the first dance with a young
lady of excellent connections who would make a prime companion for any
advancing young man with social aspirations; he went dutifully through
the next dance with a young lady who was keen on intellectual pursuits,
and who would make an excellent helpmate for any young man who wished
to advance in culture as he progressed in business, and danced the next
one with a young lady who believed that home-making should be the
highest aim of womankind; and then came his first dance with Miss
Stevens! They did not talk very much, but it was very, very comforting
to be with her, just to know that she was there, and to know that
somehow she understood. He was sorry, though, that he stepped upon her
gown.
The promenade, which had seemed quite long enough with the other young
ladies, seemed all too short for Sam up to the point when Billy
Westlake came to take Miss Josephine away. He was feeling rather
lonely when Tilloughby came up to him, with a charming young lady who
was in quite a flutter. It seemed that there had been a dreadful
mistake in the making out of the dance cards, which the young ladies of
Hollis Creek had endeavored to do with strict equity, though hastily,
and all was now inextricable confusion. The charming young lady was on
the cards for this dance with both Mr. Tilloughby and Mr. Turner, and
Mr. Tilloughby had claimed her first. Would Mr. Turner kindly excuse
her? Just behind her came another young lady whom Mr. Tilloughby
introduced. This young lady was on Sam's card for the next dance
following this one, but it should be for the eighth dance, and would
Mr. Turner please change his card accordingly, which Mr. Turner
obligingly did, wondering what he should do when it came to the eighth
dance and he should find himself obligated to two young ladies. Oh,
well, he reflected, no doubt the other young lady was down for the
eighth dance with some one else, if they had things so mixed. Of one
thing he was sure. He had that tenth dance with Miss Stevens. He had
inspected both cards to make certain of that, and had seen with
carefully concealed joy that she had compared them as minutely as he
had. He saw confusion going on all about him, laughing young people
attempting to straighten out the tangle, and the dance was slow in
starting.
Almost the first two on the floor were Miss Stevens and Billy Westlake,
and as he saw them, from his vantage point outside one of the broad
windows, gliding gracefully up the far side of the room, he realized
with a twinge of impatience what a remarkably unskilled dancer he
himself was. Billy and Miss Stevens were talking, too, with the
greatest animation, and she was looking up at Billy as brightly, even
more brightly he thought, than she had at himself. There was a
delicate flush on her cheeks. Her lips, full and red and deliciously
curved, were parted in a smile. Confound it anyhow! What could she
find to talk about with Billy Westlake?
He was turning away in more or less impatience, when Mr. Stevens,
looking, in some way, with his aggressive, white, outstanding beard, as
if he ought to have a red ribbon diagonally across his white shirt
front, ranged beside him.
"Fine sight, isn't it?" observed Mr. Stevens.
"Yes," admitted Mr. Turner, almost shortly, and forced himself to turn
away from the following of that dazzling vision, which was almost
painful under the circumstances.
By mutual impulse they walked down the length of the side porch and
across the front porch. Sam drew himself away from dancing and certain
correlated ideas with a jerk.
"I've been wanting to talk with you, Mr. Stevens," he observed. "I
think I'll drop over to-morrow for a little while."
"Glad to have you any time, Sam," responded Mr. Stevens heartily, "but
there is no time like the present, you know. What's on your mind?"
"This Marsh Pulp Company," said Sam; "do you know anything about pulp
and paper?"
"A little bit. You know I have some stock in Princeman's company."
"Oh," returned Sam thoughtfully.
"Not enough to hurt, however," Stevens went on. "Twenty shares, I
believe. When I went in I had several times as much, but not enough to
make me a dominant factor by any means, and Princeman, as he made more
money, wanted some of it, so I let him buy up quite a number of shares.
At one time I was very much interested, however, and visited the mills
quite frequently."
"You're rather close to Princeman in a business way, aren't you?" Sam
asked after duly cautious reflection.
"Not at all, although we get along very nicely indeed. I made money on
my paper stock, both in dividends and in a very comfortable advance
when I sold it. Our relations have always been friendly, but very
little more. Why?"
"Oh, nothing. Only Princeman is much interested in my Pulp Company,
and all the people who are going in are his friends. The crowd over at
Meadow Brook talks of taking up approximately the entire stock of my
company. I thought possibly you might be interested."
"I am right now, from what I have already heard of it," returned
Stevens, who had almost at first sight succumbed to that indefinable
personal appeal which caused Sam Turner to be trusted of all men. "I
shall be very glad to hear more about it. It struck me when you spoke
of it yesterday as a very good proposition."
They had reached the dark corner at the far end of the porch, illumined
only by the subdued light which came from a half-hidden window, and now
they sat down. Sam fished in the little armpit pocket of his dress
coat and dragged forth two tiny samples of pulp and two tiny samples of
paper.
"These two," he stated, "were samples sent me to-day by my kid brother."
Mr. Stevens took the samples and examined them with interest. He felt
their texture. He twisted them and crumpled them and bent them
backward and forward and tore them. Then, the light at this window
being too weak, he went to one of the broad windows where a stronger
stream of light came out, and examined them anew. Sam, still sitting
in his chair, nodded in satisfied approval. He liked that kind of
inspection. Mr. Stevens brought the samples back.
"They are excellent, so far as I am able to judge," he announced.
"These are samples made by yourselves from marsh products?"
"Yes," Sam assured him. "Made from marsh-grown material by our new
process, which is much cheaper than the wood-pulp process. Do you know
Mr. Creamer of the Eureka Paper Mills?"
"Not very well. I've met him once or twice at dinners, but I'm not
intimately acquainted with him. I hear, however, that he is an
authority."
"Here's a letter from him, and some samples made by him under our
process," said Sam with secret satisfaction. "I just received them
this morning." From the same pocket he took the letter without its
envelope, and with it handed over the two other small samples.
"That's a fine showing," Stevens commented when he had examined
document and samples and brought them back, and he sat down, edging
about so that he and Sam sat side by side but facing each other, as in
a tête-à-tête chair. "Now tell me all about it."
On and on went the music in the ball-room, on went the shuffling of
feet, the swish of garments, the gay talk and laughter of the young
people; and on and on talked Mr. Stevens and Mr. Turner, until one
familiar strain of music penetrated into Sam's inner consciousness; the
_Home Sweet Home_ waltz!
"By George!" he exclaimed, jumping up. "That can't be the last."
"Sounds like it," commented Mr. Stevens, also rising. "It is the last
if they make up programs as they did in my young days. I don't
remember of many dances where the _Home Sweet Home_ waltz didn't end it
up. It's late enough anyhow. It's eleven-thirty."
"Then I have done it again!" said Sam ruefully. "I had the number ten
dance with your daughter."
Mr. Stevens closed his eyes to laugh.
"You certainly have put your foot in it," he admitted. "Oh, well, Jo's
sensible," he added with a father's fond ignorance. "She'll
understand."
"That's what I'm afraid of," replied Mr. Turner ruefully. "You'll have
to intercede for me. Explain to her about it and soften the case as
much as you can. Frankly, Mr. Stevens, I'd be tremendously cut up to
be on the outs with Miss Josephine."
"There are shoals of young men who feel that way about it, Sam," said
Mr. Stevens with large and commendable pride. "However, I am glad that
you have added yourself to the list," and he gazed after Sam with
considerable approbation, as that young man hurried away to display his
abjectness to the young lady in question.
Three times, on the arm of Princeman, she whirled past the open doorway
where Sam stood, but somehow or other he found it impossible to catch
her eye. The dance ended when she was on the other side of the room,
and immediately, with the last strains, the floor was in confusion.
Sam tried desperately to hurry across to where she was, but he lost her
in the crowd. He did not see her again until all of the Meadow Brook
folk, including himself, were seated in the carryalls, at which time
the Hollis Creek folk were at the edge of the porte-cochère and both
parties were exchanging a gabbling pandemonium of good-bys. He saw her
then, standing back among the crowd, and shouting her adieus as
vociferously as any of them. He caught her eye and she nodded to him
as pleasantly as to anybody, which was really worse than if she had
refused to acknowledge him at all!