Elmer came and saw London, England. And the ancient burg gave him a
real good time. He went here, there and everywhere; his photograph was
in all the papers; columns were written about his book. There was a
brilliant luncheon at the Savoy. Lady Violet kept her promise. Big-wigs
attended it, including her father’s old friend the Prime Minister, who
seized the occasion to deliver a most significant address on the Value,
Etc., which was cabled verbatim all over the English-speaking world.
No young author, since the art of writing was invented, ever had a
more generous reception in the great metropolis. A modest, rather shy,
young man, he was inclined at first to be overwhelmed by it. But the
undefeated Mame, who met him at Euston, who took him to his hotel, who
gave him continual advice, saw to it that he wasn’t. For the honour of
Cowbarn, Iowa, he must stand right up to his job. It was her task to
see that he did so without flinching and she duly performed it. She
mothered him through receptions and tea parties; she toted him around;
and the bewildered and breathless Elmer hardly knew whether to be more
impressed by the storm his coming had aroused or by the manner in which
Mame rode it.
Nothing in the whole of London astonished him quite so much as Mame’s
transformation from her chrysalis Cowbarn period. Her clothes, her
style, her English accent fairly tickled him to death. Then the friends
she had made! She appeared to hob-nob with half the swells in Britain
and to have them feeding from the hand.
Elmer had many surprises in these crowded and glorious days. But,
shrewd and cool American citizen that he was, he managed to keep a
perfectly level head. For the life of him he couldn’t imagine what all
the fuss was about; or at least if he had an inkling of the reason for
it, he could not understand how Mame had contrived it all. She had
evidently had the luck to strike some very powerful backers.
Even before landing in England, he had surmised that such was the case.
The mysterious Celimene, of the weekly news-letter, had proved to be
so highly informed in social matters that her value had been clearly
demonstrated in New York. Her name had been given him in confidence
before he came over; and he was mighty keen to meet her.
They might be said to challenge each other’s curiosity. But their
meeting not only fulfilled their hopes of one another; it was the
beginning of a friendship. One could not help liking the author of
_Prairie City_. He was a well-set-up young man; and behind the dry
shrewdness and the determination to get there, qualities characteristic
of Mame herself, were genuine kindliness and modesty. His rise to fame
had been less sudden than it seemed. It had been prepared for and
earned. He owned to thirty-one years of life. They had not been easy
years, but they had made him the man he was.
Lady Violet was glad that Elmer answered fully to Mame’s description
of him as “a regular fellow.” There was something about him that
inspired confidence. Whether it was a certain slowness of speech which
implied depth of mind, a vein of real grit, or the charming air of
diffidence with which he wore the fame that so deservedly was his, she
instinctively felt that here was what Mame called a he-man.
This was well. She had a plan in that sagacious mind of hers. But the
carrying out of it depended upon Elmer P. himself. Unless he could pass
the test, and a pretty severe one, that a thorough woman of the world
felt bound to impose, the fine scheme was doomed from the outset. His
bearing, however, in those crowded days in which they saw a good deal
of each other, convinced this friend that rumour had not over-painted
him. Undoubtedly the young man deserved the position his talents had
won. Beneath a surface a little stiff and formal at first, and, the
critic thought, none the worse for that, was a warmth of heart and a
balance of nature which enabled him to pass his examination with flying
colours.
As much time as Elmer could spare from his exceedingly numerous
engagements was devoted to Half Moon Street. From the first afternoon
he went there to drink tea, with reviewers and people of influence
in the world of letters, he took a great liking to the place. For
one thing he was made to feel so much at home. The presence of Mame
guaranteed that. She was quite unspoiled in spite of the English
accent, which to Elmer’s secret delight was apt to wear a little thin
in places. He was no end of an observer, the author of _Prairie City_.
Back in the Cowbarn days there was something in Mame that had appealed
to him; and in this new orientation she was still the Mame he had
liked, smiled at just a little, and yet admired. Wonderful how she had
been able to get away with it; yet he was not really surprised. He had
always known that his little stenographer had a lot in her.
Everybody was so friendly in Half Moon Street. They seemed to take
quite a personal pride in his success; they seemed to treat it almost
as a part of their own. During the hours he spent there Mame and her
friend Lady Violet were always devising fresh schemes for _Prairie
City_. The boom was growing daily. But it must get bigger and bigger.
Had he been their own brother they could not have done more.
One afternoon, when Elmer had been in London a week, he came rather
early and happened to catch Lady Violet alone. Mame had gone, at
the call of duty, to the première of a new play. In this rather
providential absence, which yet did not owe quite so much to providence
as appeared on the surface, Lady Violet seized the chance to have a
private talk.
“So you are leaving us a week to-day?”
Elmer confessed that was his intention.
“If you find us all as complacent as our perfectly absurd newspapers
you won’t be sorry.”
Elmer had the tact to ignore the vexed question of the British
newspaper. “I’ll be sorry enough,” he said with simple sincerity. “You
are just giving me the time of my life.”
“Your book is so delightful. Every fresh reader is one friend more
for the man who has written it.” Lady Violet yielded to none in point
of tact. Over that course few could live with her. “But I do hope you
realise,” she went laughingly on, “that, although you are your own best
asset, as of course every true author has to be, you have also had a
very clever and enthusiastic friend to pull the strings over here.”
Elmer realised that.
“One doesn’t say your success might not have been as great without her;
but it could hardly have come so soon.”
Yes, Elmer was sure.
“The way that dear child has worked for you has simply been splendid.
Had she written the book herself, I don’t think she could have been
prouder of it. She literally bullied your publishers into boosting
you--you know what even the best publishers are!--she bullied me into
corralling the Prime Minister--it was a rare bit of luck getting him
to come and make that speech--and it was her idea, wasn’t it, that you
should come over here and let us see you?”
Elmer felt all this was true. But gallantly he wanted to include Lady
Violet herself in the big bill of his gratitude.
“Please keep it all for Mame. That good child deserves every bit. She
has worked for you like a demon. As good as gold, as true as steel. And
she is quite cast down that you are leaving us next week.”
Unluckily there was no help for it. But Elmer P., like most people of
true genius, was simple at heart. He responded to the piping. Mame
Durrance--in the mouth of her former employer the accent fell upon the
first syllable of her surname rather than upon the second--deserved all
the luck there was in the world. She was as real as they made them; and
she was able to think of others.
Lady Violet drove that right home. “I, of all people, have reason to
know it. She is capable of big things, that dear child. Some day, when
you come and see us again, as of course you will, I may tell you a
little story about her.”
Elmer could not help a feeling of subtle flattery. It is difficult for
rising young men to resist such a feeling when they find themselves
tête-à-tête with an accomplished woman of the world. Lady Violet was
quite as intriguing as any of the Fifth Avenue queens, with one or two
of whom he was beginning to get acquainted. Mame had had amazing luck
to put herself in so solid with this fascinating woman. It was true
that Elmer personally owed a lot to Mame, a peerless little go-getter,
but it was also true that Mame for her part owed much to this brilliant
daughter of a famous statesman who in his day had done a great deal
for the English-speaking world.
The clock ticked pleasantly on to five o’clock and then quite as
pleasantly to 5:15. But no Mame. Lady Violet feigned surprise. Then she
glanced at an imposing array of cards on the chimneypiece. Oh, yes,
she remembered! This was the at-home day of the wife of an influential
editor. Mame had evidently kept it in mind even if Lady Violet herself
had forgotten. “She’s gone there to boost _Prairie City_,” said her
friend with a smile. “Wherever she goes now she boosts _Prairie City_;
and at night she boosts it in her dreams.”
A quarter past five already! Elmer Pell Dobree rose with a start. At
5:30--Lady Violet must really excuse him--he was due in Aldwych to
orate to the Journalists’ Circle on the Coming of the American Novel.
He was sorry to go, but Mame had fixed that on him at about twelve
hours’ notice, and as his good fairy declared it would mean another
edition, he supposed he must stand up, a hero, and face it.
“You must.” Lady Violet had what Elmer privately described as a
Gioconda smile. Here was guile, here was subtlety or the author of
_Prairie City_ was not a judge of such matters. How intriguing she was.
Gee! she had a power of making your blood course quicker.
“I’ve one favour to ask, Lady Violet.” Elmer was moving to the door.
“Can you and Mame spare to-morrow evening to dine with me quietly at
the Savoy?”
Lady Violet took up a little red book from the writing table. A glance
revealed that by the courtesy of providence to-morrow night was free.
She could not answer for Mame, but to the best of her recollection
there was reason to think the little go-getter would not be in action
that evening.
So then it was arranged, a little dinner, just the three of them, for
the next evening, which was so providentially free, at the convenient
hour of eight. Unless, of course, Mame, which somehow Lady Violet felt
was hardly likely, telephoned him to the contrary.