Eudoxia Pence immediately got herself into motion. During the watches of
the night she evolved plans for such a function as she thought the
present situation required. Her picture gallery, re-enforced by those six
or eight new masterpieces from Paris, she should throw open to the
general public. She would call the thing an afternoon reception, and
there would be tea. People were to be invited with some regard to form,
but the opportunity would be made rather general--almost anybody might
come who was willing to pay a dollar. This crush would supplement her
bazar, and would be announced as for the benefit of--oh, well, of any one
of the half-dozen charities that looked to her for support. She would
throw open the whole house and tea should flow like water. These doings
must take place within three days, at the outside. Time was precious and
none of her friends would take seriously anything of hers given at so
short a notice. No matter, then, who paid; no matter who poured; no
matter about anything, if only her net took in all the different people
she wanted to catch.
Next morning she rose for a busy day. She had brought back Gibbons, and
now she must bring back Hill. Young Prochnow was off the board, but that
did not put Daffingdon Dill back upon it; nor would he be there till she
should have placed him there. "We _must_ have that commission," said
Virgilia. "You shall, if I've got any influence," replied her aunt.
She had long foreseen that, one day or another, she must seize her
Grindstone stock in her talons, beat her wings about the head of Andrew
P. Hill, raise a threatening beak against his obdurate front, and ask him
what he meant by behaving so.
She drove to the bank. The old office stood empty; a last load of ancient
ledgers and of shabby furniture was just driving away. She ordered her
coupe to go to the new building. Here she found Andrew adjusting himself
to his grandiose environment, and delivered her assault.
What had he and the directors meant by such a game of fast-and-loose? Why
had they treated an artist of Mr. Dill's standing with such
inconsiderateness and injustice? Why had they tried to handle so
important a question by themselves? Why had they not consulted the
stock-holders? Why had they not consulted _her_--a stock-holder since the
foundation of the bank and an amateur of approved standing? And many more
interrogatories no less hard to answer.
Hill listened to her cowed, intimidated; it was one more trouble in a
time of trouble. He presently found his voice--or a part of it--and
explained in low, trembling tones that concerns of much greater
importance had come to the front; that this entire matter of decoration
must be set aside for the present, perhaps for all time; that some
other----
Eudoxia threw an indignant frown upon him and drove off to see his wife.
Almira Hill was at home--in these latter days she was seldom anywhere
else. Socially speaking, she had evaporated years ago; but there was no
reason why she should not precipitate herself and appear once more in
concrete form. Eudoxia had an intuitive sense that Almira would welcome
the chance.
"Receive with us," Eudoxia urged her. What easier way for Almira to see
some of her old friends? She considered. She consented.
Then Eudoxia opened against the bank. "Give me your help for my--nephew,"
she said to end with.
"Mr. Hill has spoken of this to me," replied the old lady slowly; "but he
is so worried, so anxious, about something these days, that I hardly----"
"_We_ are worried; we are anxious, too, my dear Mrs. Hill. Figure the
situation. Imagine the strain upon two young people----"
Almira had not lost all her sentiment, nor all her interest in the
concerns of youth. She promised to give what help she could.
Eudoxia sped on to see Euphrosyne McNulty. She found the household in a
state of suppressed tumult. The servant who opened the door was all at
sea; obscure sounds of sobbing came from somewhere above; and when
Euphrosyne finally washed in she was like the ocean half-subsided after a
storm. She had just learned that Preciosa had refused Robin Morrell.
"Such a caller at such a time!" she had articulated over Eudoxia's card.
It took away half the sweetness of the triumph. She rushed to her
toilet-table, hoping, meanwhile, that Norah had not boggled with the tray
and that her father-in-law had not left his pipe on top of the piano.
Eudoxia was brief. She made no vain passes of regret that Euphrosyne had
not taken her place earlier on her invitation-list. She invited her, now,
with all emphasis, to attend her "art reception," and hoped that she
would allow her dear daughter to help pour tea. A sunburst exploded
before Euphrosyne's unready eyes. She recovered herself and accepted for
both.
Eudoxia drove to the office of the Pin-and-Needle Combine. Like every
other moneyed person in town, she had a finger in that pie. Why shouldn't
she drop in on the cooks?
Robin Morrell was not there; she was received by Richard. Richard had
heard from Gibbons what was in the wind, but knew nothing as yet, of
course, about his brother's rejection.
Eudoxia understood that Richard was hand and glove with Hill. She asked
his influence as a matter of justice to Daffingdon Dill. Richard had been
impatient and resentful to begin with; now he became dogged and surly.
She had come at the wrong time and about the wrong business. Virgilia had
dismissed him with no gentle hand--people had smiled over his
discomfiture for a week. The memory of this still rankled. Why in the
world should he exert himself for Daffingdon Dill?
Let him exert himself for his brother then. But he became more dogged and
surly still. Why should his brother succeed when he himself had failed?
Why should his brother need help anyway? Why must this woman come poking
into a man's most private affairs? Eudoxia surmised, through the medium
of his sullen mood, a house divided against itself. She left Morrell in
anger and drove to her husband's office.
Every man had rebuffed her. Only the women had been complaisant--and even
these she had had to pay. As she sat by her husband's desk, waiting for
his attention, her wrath rose against the Grindstone and Hill, against
the Morrells and their Combine.
"I'll take my Grindstone stock," she declared, "and hawk it up and down
the street at eighty--half what it's worth. Let us see where Andrew Hill
will be _then_!"
Pence turned on her slowly. "I doubt whether you could get eighteen for
it to-day. The street is talking--talking low, but it's talking."
"Why, is anything wrong with the Grindstone?"
"Well, rather. Hill, I judge, has come as close to the edge as a man can
without falling over. I'm glad your holdings are no heavier."
"Ah!" said Eudoxia; "that's why he has choked off Dill! Well," she
resumed with unimpaired energy, "I'll take my Pin-and-Needle and sell it
for next to nothing. I'll give it away. I'll stick it under the cracks of
doors. I'll present it with every pound, or rather every cup of tea. Let
us see, then, how Richard Morrell----"
"Do that," said her husband, "and half the banks in town will fail.
You're not ready for such a crash as that, are you?"
"Why, what's the matter with Pin-and-Needle?" asked Eudoxia.
"It's at death's door. It's gasping. Unless something is injected, unless
somebody galvanizes it----"
"Ah!" cried Eudoxia; "so that's why Orlando Gibbons gave the McNulty
dinner! Oh, things must hold off a few days longer! Make them, Palmer!
That girl must marry him, so that I can save my Grindstone stock and my
Pin-and-Needle investments, and so that Daff can get those pictures to
paint, and so that Virgilia can get him!" Oh, heavens! She had once
aspired to guide the chariot of finance, yet all she had to offer against
this threatening squadron of calamities was an "art reception" with tea!