diff options
Diffstat (limited to '7464-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 7464-h/7464-h.htm | 12623 |
1 files changed, 12623 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/7464-h/7464-h.htm b/7464-h/7464-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b42c339 --- /dev/null +++ b/7464-h/7464-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12623 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + The Adventures of Sally, by P. G. Wodehouse + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventures of Sally, by P. G. Wodehouse + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Adventures of Sally + +Author: P. G. Wodehouse + +Release Date: July 31, 2009 [EBook #7464] +Last Updated: March 12, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF SALLY *** + + + + +Produced by Tim Barnett, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE ADVENTURES OF SALLY + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By P. G. Wodehouse + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> SALLY GIVES A + PARTY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> ENTER + GINGER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> THE + DIGNIFIED MR. CARMYLE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. + </a> GINGER IN DANGEROUS MOOD <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> SALLY HEARS NEWS <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> FIRST AID FOR + FILLMORE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> SOME + MEDITATIONS ON SUCCESS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. + </a> REAPPEARANCE OF MR. CARMYLE—AND GINGER <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> GINGER BECOMES A + RIGHT-HAND MAN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> SALLY + IN THE SHADOWS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> SALLY + RUNS AWAY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> SOME + LETTERS FOR GINGER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. + </a> STRANGE BEHAVIOUR OF A SPARRING-PARTNER <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> MR. ABRAHAMS + RE-ENGAGES AN OLD EMPLOYEE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER + XV. </a> UNCLE DONALD SPEAKS HIS MIND <br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> AT THE FLOWER GARDEN + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> SALLY + LAYS A GHOST <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> JOURNEY'S + END <br /><br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. SALLY GIVES A PARTY + </h2> + <p> + 1 + </p> + <p> + Sally looked contentedly down the long table. She felt happy at last. + Everybody was talking and laughing now, and her party, rallying after an + uncertain start, was plainly the success she had hoped it would be. The + first atmosphere of uncomfortable restraint, caused, she was only too well + aware, by her brother Fillmore's white evening waistcoat, had worn off; + and the male and female patrons of Mrs. Meecher's select boarding-house + (transient and residential) were themselves again. + </p> + <p> + At her end of the table the conversation had turned once more to the great + vital topic of Sally's legacy and what she ought to do with it. The next + best thing to having money of one's own, is to dictate the spending of + somebody else's, and Sally's guests were finding a good deal of + satisfaction in arranging a Budget for her. Rumour having put the sum at + their disposal at a high figure, their suggestions had certain + spaciousness. + </p> + <p> + “Let me tell you,” said Augustus Bartlett, briskly, “what I'd do, if I + were you.” Augustus Bartlett, who occupied an intensely subordinate + position in the firm of Kahn, Morris and Brown, the Wall Street brokers, + always affected a brisk, incisive style of speech, as befitted a man in + close touch with the great ones of Finance. “I'd sink a couple of hundred + thousand in some good, safe bond-issue—we've just put one out which + you would do well to consider—and play about with the rest. When I + say play about, I mean have a flutter in anything good that crops up. + Multiple Steel's worth looking at. They tell me it'll be up to a hundred + and fifty before next Saturday.” + </p> + <p> + Elsa Doland, the pretty girl with the big eyes who sat on Mr. Bartlett's + left, had other views. + </p> + <p> + “Buy a theatre, Sally, and put on good stuff.” + </p> + <p> + “And lose every bean you've got,” said a mild young man, with a deep voice + across the table. “If I had a few hundred thousand,” said the mild young + man, “I'd put every cent of it on Benny Whistler for the heavyweight + championship. I've private information that Battling Tuke has been got at + and means to lie down in the seventh...” + </p> + <p> + “Say, listen,” interrupted another voice, “lemme tell you what I'd do with + four hundred thousand...” + </p> + <p> + “If I had four hundred thousand,” said Elsa Doland, “I know what would be + the first thing I'd do.” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” asked Sally. + </p> + <p> + “Pay my bill for last week, due this morning.” + </p> + <p> + Sally got up quickly, and flitting down the table, put her arm round her + friend's shoulder and whispered in her ear: + </p> + <p> + “Elsa darling, are you really broke? If you are, you know, I'll...” + </p> + <p> + Elsa Doland laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You're an angel, Sally. There's no one like you. You'd give your last + cent to anyone. Of course I'm not broke. I've just come back from the + road, and I've saved a fortune. I only said that to draw you.” + </p> + <p> + Sally returned to her seat, relieved, and found that the company had now + divided itself into two schools of thought. The conservative and prudent + element, led by Augustus Bartlett, had definitely decided on three hundred + thousand in Liberty Bonds and the rest in some safe real estate; while the + smaller, more sporting section, impressed by the mild young man's inside + information, had already placed Sally's money on Benny Whistler, doling it + out cautiously in small sums so as not to spoil the market. And so solid, + it seemed, was Mr. Tuke's reputation with those in the inner circle of + knowledge that the mild young man was confident that, if you went about + the matter cannily and without precipitation, three to one might be + obtained. It seemed to Sally that the time had come to correct certain + misapprehensions. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know where you get your figures,” she said, “but I'm afraid + they're wrong. I've just twenty-five thousand dollars.” + </p> + <p> + The statement had a chilling effect. To these jugglers with half-millions + the amount mentioned seemed for the moment almost too small to bother + about. It was the sort of sum which they had been mentally setting aside + for the heiress's car fare. Then they managed to adjust their minds to it. + After all, one could do something even with a pittance like twenty-five + thousand. + </p> + <p> + “If I'd twenty-five thousand,” said Augustus Bartlett, the first to rally + from the shock, “I'd buy Amalgamated...” + </p> + <p> + “If I had twenty-five thousand...” began Elsa Doland. + </p> + <p> + “If I'd had twenty-five thousand in the year nineteen hundred,” observed a + gloomy-looking man with spectacles, “I could have started a revolution in + Paraguay.” + </p> + <p> + He brooded sombrely on what might have been. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll tell you exactly what I'm going to do,” said Sally. “I'm going + to start with a trip to Europe... France, specially. I've heard France + well spoken of—as soon as I can get my passport; and after I've + loafed there for a few weeks, I'm coming back to look about and find some + nice cosy little business which will let me put money into it and keep me + in luxury. Are there any complaints?” + </p> + <p> + “Even a couple of thousand on Benny Whistler...” said the mild young man. + </p> + <p> + “I don't want your Benny Whistler,” said Sally. “I wouldn't have him if + you gave him to me. If I want to lose money, I'll go to Monte Carlo and do + it properly.” + </p> + <p> + “Monte Carlo,” said the gloomy man, brightening up at the magic name. “I + was in Monte Carlo in the year '97, and if I'd had another fifty + dollars... just fifty... I'd have...” + </p> + <p> + At the far end of the table there was a stir, a cough, and the grating of + a chair on the floor; and slowly, with that easy grace which actors of the + old school learned in the days when acting was acting, Mr. Maxwell + Faucitt, the boarding-house's oldest inhabitant, rose to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Ladies,” said Mr. Faucitt, bowing courteously, “and...” ceasing to bow + and casting from beneath his white and venerable eyebrows a quelling + glance at certain male members of the boarding-house's younger set who + were showing a disposition towards restiveness, “... gentlemen. I feel + that I cannot allow this occasion to pass without saying a few words.” + </p> + <p> + His audience did not seem surprised. It was possible that life, always + prolific of incident in a great city like New York, might some day produce + an occasion which Mr. Faucitt would feel that he could allow to pass + without saying a few words; but nothing of the sort had happened as yet, + and they had given up hope. Right from the start of the meal they had felt + that it would be optimism run mad to expect the old gentleman to abstain + from speech on the night of Sally Nicholas' farewell dinner party; and + partly because they had braced themselves to it, but principally because + Miss Nicholas' hospitality had left them with a genial feeling of + repletion, they settled themselves to listen with something resembling + equanimity. A movement on the part of the Marvellous Murphys—new + arrivals, who had been playing the Bushwick with their equilibristic act + during the preceding week—to form a party of the extreme left and + heckle the speaker, broke down under a cold look from their hostess. Brief + though their acquaintance had been, both of these lissom young gentlemen + admired Sally immensely. + </p> + <p> + And it should be set on record that this admiration of theirs was not + misplaced. He would have been hard to please who had not been attracted by + Sally. She was a small, trim, wisp of a girl with the tiniest hands and + feet, the friendliest of smiles, and a dimple that came and went in the + curve of her rounded chin. Her eyes, which disappeared when she laughed, + which was often, were a bright hazel; her hair a soft mass of brown. She + had, moreover, a manner, an air of distinction lacking in the majority of + Mrs. Meecher's guests. And she carried youth like a banner. In approving + of Sally, the Marvellous Murphys had been guilty of no lapse from their + high critical standard. + </p> + <p> + “I have been asked,” proceeded Mr. Faucitt, “though I am aware that there + are others here far worthier of such a task—Brutuses compared with + whom I, like Marc Antony, am no orator—I have been asked to propose + the health...” + </p> + <p> + “Who asked you?” It was the smaller of the Marvellous Murphys who spoke. + He was an unpleasant youth, snub-nosed and spotty. Still, he could balance + himself with one hand on an inverted ginger-ale bottle while revolving a + barrel on the soles of his feet. There is good in all of us. + </p> + <p> + “I have been asked,” repeated Mr. Faucitt, ignoring the unmannerly + interruption, which, indeed, he would have found it hard to answer, “to + propose the health of our charming hostess (applause), coupled with the + name of her brother, our old friend Fillmore Nicholas.” + </p> + <p> + The gentleman referred to, who sat at the speaker's end of the table, + acknowledged the tribute with a brief nod of the head. It was a nod of + condescension; the nod of one who, conscious of being hedged about by + social inferiors, nevertheless does his best to be not unkindly. And + Sally, seeing it, debated in her mind for an instant the advisability of + throwing an orange at her brother. There was one lying ready to her hand, + and his glistening shirt-front offered an admirable mark; but she + restrained herself. After all, if a hostess yields to her primitive + impulses, what happens? Chaos. She had just frowned down the exuberance of + the rebellious Murphys, and she felt that if, even with the highest + motives, she began throwing fruit, her influence for good in that quarter + would be weakened. + </p> + <p> + She leaned back with a sigh. The temptation had been hard to resist. A + democratic girl, pomposity was a quality which she thoroughly disliked; + and though she loved him, she could not disguise from herself that, ever + since affluence had descended upon him some months ago, her brother + Fillmore had become insufferably pompous. If there are any young men whom + inherited wealth improves, Fillmore Nicholas was not one of them. He + seemed to regard himself nowadays as a sort of Man of Destiny. To converse + with him was for the ordinary human being like being received in audience + by some more than stand-offish monarch. It had taken Sally over an hour to + persuade him to leave his apartment on Riverside Drive and revisit the + boarding-house for this special occasion; and, when he had come, he had + entered wearing such faultless evening dress that he had made the rest of + the party look like a gathering of tramp-cyclists. His white waistcoat + alone was a silent reproach to honest poverty, and had caused an awkward + constraint right through the soup and fish courses. Most of those present + had known Fillmore Nicholas as an impecunious young man who could make a + tweed suit last longer than one would have believed possible; they had + called him “Fill” and helped him in more than usually lean times with + small loans: but to-night they had eyed the waistcoat dumbly and shrank + back abashed. + </p> + <p> + “Speaking,” said Mr. Faucitt, “as an Englishman—for though I have + long since taken out what are technically known as my 'papers' it was as a + subject of the island kingdom that I first visited this great country—I + may say that the two factors in American life which have always made the + profoundest impression upon me have been the lavishness of American + hospitality and the charm of the American girl. To-night we have been + privileged to witness the American girl in the capacity of hostess, and I + think I am right in saying, in asseverating, in committing myself to the + statement that this has been a night which none of us present here will + ever forget. Miss Nicholas has given us, ladies and gentlemen, a banquet. + I repeat, a banquet. There has been alcoholic refreshment. I do not know + where it came from: I do not ask how it was procured, but we have had it. + Miss Nicholas...” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Faucitt paused to puff at his cigar. Sally's brother Fillmore + suppressed a yawn and glanced at his watch. Sally continued to lean + forward raptly. She knew how happy it made the old gentleman to deliver a + formal speech; and though she wished the subject had been different, she + was prepared to listen indefinitely. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Nicholas,” resumed Mr. Faucitt, lowering his cigar, “... But why,” + he demanded abruptly, “do I call her Miss Nicholas?” + </p> + <p> + “Because it's her name,” hazarded the taller Murphy. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Faucitt eyed him with disfavour. He disapproved of the marvellous + brethren on general grounds because, himself a resident of years standing, + he considered that these transients from the vaudeville stage lowered the + tone of the boarding-house; but particularly because the one who had just + spoken had, on his first evening in the place, addressed him as “grandpa.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” he said severely, “it is her name. But she has another name, + sweeter to those who love her, those who worship her, those who have + watched her with the eye of sedulous affection through the three years she + has spent beneath this roof, though that name,” said Mr. Faucitt, lowering + the tone of his address and descending to what might almost be termed + personalities, “may not be familiar to a couple of dud acrobats who have + only been in the place a week-end, thank heaven, and are off to-morrow to + infest some other city. That name,” said Mr. Faucitt, soaring once more to + a loftier plane, “is Sally. Our Sally. For three years our Sally has + flitted about this establishment like—I choose the simile advisedly—like + a ray of sunshine. For three years she has made life for us a brighter, + sweeter thing. And now a sudden access of worldly wealth, happily + synchronizing with her twenty-first birthday, is to remove her from our + midst. From our midst, ladies and gentlemen, but not from our hearts. And + I think I may venture to hope, to prognosticate, that, whatever lofty + sphere she may adorn in the future, to whatever heights in the social + world she may soar, she will still continue to hold a corner in her own + golden heart for the comrades of her Bohemian days. Ladies and gentlemen, + I give you our hostess, Miss Sally Nicholas, coupled with the name of our + old friend, her brother Fillmore.” + </p> + <p> + Sally, watching her brother heave himself to his feet as the cheers died + away, felt her heart beat a little faster with anticipation. Fillmore was + a fluent young man, once a power in his college debating society, and it + was for that reason that she had insisted on his coming here tonight. + </p> + <p> + She had guessed that Mr. Faucitt, the old dear, would say all sorts of + delightful things about her, and she had mistrusted her ability to make a + fitting reply. And it was imperative that a fitting reply should proceed + from someone. She knew Mr. Faucitt so well. He looked on these occasions + rather in the light of scenes from some play; and, sustaining his own part + in them with such polished grace, was certain to be pained by anything in + the nature of an anti-climax after he should have ceased to take the + stage. Eloquent himself, he must be answered with eloquence, or his whole + evening would be spoiled. + </p> + <p> + Fillmore Nicholas smoothed a wrinkle out of his white waistcoat; and + having rested one podgy hand on the table-cloth and the thumb of the other + in his pocket, glanced down the table with eyes so haughtily drooping that + Sally's fingers closed automatically about her orange, as she wondered + whether even now it might not be a good thing... + </p> + <p> + It seems to be one of Nature's laws that the most attractive girls should + have the least attractive brothers. Fillmore Nicholas had not worn well. + At the age of seven he had been an extraordinarily beautiful child, but + after that he had gone all to pieces; and now, at the age of twenty-five, + it would be idle to deny that he was something of a mess. For the three + years preceding his twenty-fifth birthday, restricted means and hard work + had kept his figure in check; but with money there had come an + ever-increasing sleekness. He looked as if he fed too often and too well. + </p> + <p> + All this, however, Sally was prepared to forgive him, if he would only + make a good speech. She could see Mr. Faucitt leaning back in his chair, + all courteous attention. Rolling periods were meat and drink to the old + gentleman. + </p> + <p> + Fillmore spoke. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure,” said Fillmore, “you don't want a speech... Very good of you to + drink our health. Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down. + </p> + <p> + The effect of these few simple words on the company was marked, but not in + every case identical. To the majority the emotion which they brought was + one of unmixed relief. There had been something so menacing, so easy and + practised, in Fillmore's attitude as he had stood there that the + gloomier-minded had given him at least twenty minutes, and even the + optimists had reckoned that they would be lucky if they got off with ten. + As far as the bulk of the guests were concerned, there was no grumbling. + Fillmore's, to their thinking, had been the ideal after-dinner speech. + </p> + <p> + Far different was it with Mr. Maxwell Faucitt. The poor old man was + wearing such an expression of surprise and dismay as he might have worn + had somebody unexpectedly pulled the chair from under him. He was feeling + the sick shock which comes to those who tread on a non-existent last + stair. And Sally, catching sight of his face, uttered a sharp wordless + exclamation as if she had seen a child fall down and hurt itself in the + street. The next moment she had run round the table and was standing + behind him with her arms round his neck. She spoke across him with a sob + in her voice. + </p> + <p> + “My brother,” she stammered, directing a malevolent look at the immaculate + Fillmore, who, avoiding her gaze, glanced down his nose and smoothed + another wrinkle out of his waistcoat, “has not said quite—quite all + I hoped he was going to say. I can't make a speech, but...” Sally gulped, + “... but, I love you all and of course I shall never forget you, and... + and...” + </p> + <p> + Here Sally kissed Mr. Faucitt and burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + “There, there,” said Mr. Faucitt, soothingly. The kindest critic could not + have claimed that Sally had been eloquent: nevertheless Mr. Maxwell + Faucitt was conscious of no sense of anti-climax. + </p> + <p> + 2 + </p> + <p> + Sally had just finished telling her brother Fillmore what a pig he was. + The lecture had taken place in the street outside the boarding-house + immediately on the conclusion of the festivities, when Fillmore, who had + furtively collected his hat and overcoat, had stolen forth into the night, + had been overtaken and brought to bay by his justly indignant sister. Her + remarks, punctuated at intervals by bleating sounds from the accused, had + lasted some ten minutes. + </p> + <p> + As she paused for breath, Fillmore seemed to expand, like an indiarubber + ball which has been sat on. Dignified as he was to the world, he had never + been able to prevent himself being intimidated by Sally when in one of + these moods of hers. He regretted this, for it hurt his self-esteem, but + he did not see how the fact could be altered. Sally had always been like + that. Even the uncle, who after the deaths of their parents had become + their guardian, had never, though a grim man, been able to cope + successfully with Sally. In that last hectic scene three years ago, which + had ended in their going out into the world, together like a second Adam + and Eve, the verbal victory had been hers. And it had been Sally who had + achieved triumph in the one battle which Mrs. Meecher, apparently as a + matter of duty, always brought about with each of her patrons in the first + week of their stay. A sweet-tempered girl, Sally, like most women of a + generous spirit, had cyclonic potentialities. + </p> + <p> + As she seemed to have said her say, Fillmore kept on expanding till he had + reached the normal, when he ventured upon a speech for the defence. + </p> + <p> + “What have I done?” demanded Fillmore plaintively. + </p> + <p> + “Do you want to hear all over again?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Fillmore hastily. “But, listen, Sally, you don't understand + my position. You don't seem to realize that all that sort of thing, all + that boarding-house stuff, is a thing of the past. One's got beyond it. + One wants to drop it. One wants to forget it, darn it! Be fair. Look at it + from my viewpoint. I'm going to be a big man...” + </p> + <p> + “You're going to be a fat man,” said Sally, coldly. + </p> + <p> + Fillmore refrained from discussing the point. He was sensitive. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to do big things,” he substituted. “I've got a deal on at this + very moment which... well, I can't tell you about it, but it's going to be + big. Well, what I'm driving at, is about all this sort of thing”—he + indicated the lighted front of Mrs. Meecher's home-from-home with a wide + gesture—“is that it's over. Finished and done with. These people + were all very well when...” + </p> + <p> + “... when you'd lost your week's salary at poker and wanted to borrow a + few dollars for the rent.” + </p> + <p> + “I always paid them back,” protested Fillmore, defensively. + </p> + <p> + “I did.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we did,” said Fillmore, accepting the amendment with the air of a + man who has no time for chopping straws. “Anyway, what I mean is, I don't + see why, just because one has known people at a certain period in one's + life when one was practically down and out, one should have them round + one's neck for ever. One can't prevent people forming an I-knew-him-when + club, but, darn it, one needn't attend the meetings.” + </p> + <p> + “One's friends...” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, friends,” said Fillmore. “That's just where all this makes me so + tired. One's in a position where all these people are entitled to call + themselves one's friends, simply because father put it in his will that I + wasn't to get the money till I was twenty-five, instead of letting me have + it at twenty-one like anybody else. I wonder where I should have been by + now if I could have got that money when I was twenty-one.” + </p> + <p> + “In the poor-house, probably,” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + Fillmore was wounded. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you don't believe in me,” he sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you would be all right if you had one thing,” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + Fillmore passed his qualities in swift review before his mental eye. + Brains? Dash? Spaciousness? Initiative? All present and correct. He + wondered where Sally imagined the hiatus to exist. + </p> + <p> + “One thing?” he said. “What's that?” + </p> + <p> + “A nurse.” + </p> + <p> + Fillmore's sense of injury deepened. He supposed that this was always the + way, that those nearest to a man never believed in his ability till he had + proved it so masterfully that it no longer required the assistance of + faith. Still, it was trying; and there was not much consolation to be + derived from the thought that Napoleon had had to go through this sort of + thing in his day. “I shall find my place in the world,” he said sulkily. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you'll find your place all right,” said Sally. “And I'll come round + and bring you jelly and read to you on the days when visitors are + allowed... Oh, hullo.” + </p> + <p> + The last remark was addressed to a young man who had been swinging briskly + along the sidewalk from the direction of Broadway and who now, coming + abreast of them, stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, Mr. Foster.” + </p> + <p> + “Good evening. Miss Nicholas.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't know my brother, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe I do.” + </p> + <p> + “He left the underworld before you came to it,” said Sally. “You wouldn't + think it to look at him, but he was once a prune-eater among the + proletariat, even as you and I. Mrs. Meecher looks on him as a son.” + </p> + <p> + The two men shook hands. Fillmore was not short, but Gerald Foster with + his lean, well-built figure seemed to tower over him. He was an + Englishman, a man in the middle twenties, clean-shaven, keen-eyed, and + very good to look at. Fillmore, who had recently been going in for one of + those sum-up-your-fellow-man-at-a-glance courses, the better to fit + himself for his career of greatness, was rather impressed. It seemed to + him that this Mr. Foster, like himself, was one of those who Get There. If + you are that kind yourself, you get into the knack of recognizing the + others. It is a sort of gift. + </p> + <p> + There was a few moments of desultory conversation, of the kind that + usually follows an introduction, and then Fillmore, by no means sorry to + get the chance, took advantage of the coming of this new arrival to remove + himself. He had not enjoyed his chat with Sally, and it seemed probable + that he would enjoy a continuation of it even less. He was glad that Mr. + Foster had happened along at this particular juncture. Excusing himself + briefly, he hurried off down the street. + </p> + <p> + Sally stood for a minute, watching him till he had disappeared round the + corner. She had a slightly regretful feeling that, now it was too late, + she would think of a whole lot more good things which it would have been + agreeable to say to him. And it had become obvious to her that Fillmore + was not getting nearly enough of that kind of thing said to him nowadays. + Then she dismissed him from her mind and turning to Gerald Foster, slipped + her arm through his. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Jerry, darling,” she said. “What a shame you couldn't come to the + party. Tell me all about everything.” + </p> + <p> + 3 + </p> + <p> + It was exactly two months since Sally had become engaged to Gerald Foster; + but so rigorously had they kept the secret that nobody at Mrs. Meecher's + so much as suspected it. To Sally, who all her life had hated concealing + things, secrecy of any kind was objectionable: but in this matter Gerald + had shown an odd streak almost of furtiveness in his character. An + announced engagement complicated life. People fussed about you and + bothered you. People either watched you or avoided you. Such were his + arguments, and Sally, who would have glossed over and found excuses for a + disposition on his part towards homicide or arson, put them down to + artistic sensitiveness. There is nobody so sensitive as your artist, + particularly if he be unsuccessful: and when an artist has so little + success that he cannot afford to make a home for the woman he loves, his + sensitiveness presumably becomes great indeed. Putting herself in his + place, Sally could see that a protracted engagement, known by everybody, + would be a standing advertisement of Gerald's failure to make good: and + she acquiesced in the policy of secrecy, hoping that it would not last + long. It seemed absurd to think of Gerald as an unsuccessful man. He had + in him, as the recent Fillmore had perceived, something dynamic. He was + one of those men of whom one could predict that they would succeed very + suddenly and rapidly—overnight, as it were. + </p> + <p> + “The party,” said Sally, “went off splendidly.” They had passed the + boarding-house door, and were walking slowly down the street. “Everybody + enjoyed themselves, I think, even though Fillmore did his best to spoil + things by coming looking like an advertisement of What The Smart Men Will + Wear This Season. You didn't see his waistcoat just now. He had covered it + up. Conscience, I suppose. It was white and bulgy and gleaming and full up + of pearl buttons and everything. I saw Augustus Bartlett curl up like a + burnt feather when he caught sight of it. Still, time seemed to heal the + wound, and everybody relaxed after a bit. Mr. Faucitt made a speech and I + made a speech and cried, and...oh, it was all very festive. It only needed + you.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could have come. I had to go to that dinner, though. Sally...” + Gerald paused, and Sally saw that he was electric with suppressed + excitement. “Sally, the play's going to be put on!” + </p> + <p> + Sally gave a little gasp. She had lived this moment in anticipation for + weeks. She had always known that sooner or later this would happen. She + had read his plays over and over again, and was convinced that they were + wonderful. Of course, hers was a biased view, but then Elsa Doland also + admired them; and Elsa's opinion was one that carried weight. Elsa was + another of those people who were bound to succeed suddenly. Even old Mr. + Faucitt, who was a stern judge of acting and rather inclined to consider + that nowadays there was no such thing, believed that she was a girl with a + future who would do something big directly she got her chance. + </p> + <p> + “Jerry!” She gave his arm a hug. “How simply terrific! Then Goble and Kohn + have changed their minds after all and want it? I knew they would.” + </p> + <p> + A slight cloud seemed to dim the sunniness of the author's mood. + </p> + <p> + “No, not that one,” he said reluctantly. “No hope there, I'm afraid. I saw + Goble this morning about that, and he said it didn't add up right. The one + that's going to be put on is 'The Primrose Way.' You remember? It's got a + big part for a girl in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course! The one Elsa liked so much. Well, that's just as good. Who's + going to do it? I thought you hadn't sent it out again.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it happens...” Gerald hesitated once more. “It seems that this man + I was dining with to-night—a man named Cracknell...” + </p> + <p> + “Cracknell? Not the Cracknell?” + </p> + <p> + “The Cracknell?” + </p> + <p> + “The one people are always talking about. The man they call the + Millionaire Kid.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Why, do you know him?” + </p> + <p> + “He was at Harvard with Fillmore. I never saw him, but he must be rather a + painful person.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he's all right. Not much brains, of course, but—well, he's all + right. And, anyway, he wants to put the play on.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's splendid,” said Sally: but she could not get the right ring + of enthusiasm into her voice. She had had ideals for Gerald. She had + dreamed of him invading Broadway triumphantly under the banner of one of + the big managers whose name carried a prestige, and there seemed something + unworthy in this association with a man whose chief claim to eminence lay + in the fact that he was credited by metropolitan gossip with possessing + the largest private stock of alcohol in existence. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you would be pleased,” said Gerald. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I am,” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + With the buoyant optimism which never deserted her for long, she had + already begun to cast off her momentary depression. After all, did it + matter who financed a play so long as it obtained a production? A manager + was simply a piece of machinery for paying the bills; and if he had money + for that purpose, why demand asceticism and the finer sensibilities from + him? The real thing that mattered was the question of who was going to + play the leading part, that deftly drawn character which had so excited + the admiration of Elsa Doland. She sought information on this point. + </p> + <p> + “Who will play Ruth?” she asked. “You must have somebody wonderful. It + needs a tremendously clever woman. Did Mr. Cracknell say anything about + that?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, we discussed that, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it seems...” Again Sally noticed that odd, almost stealthy + embarrassment. Gerald appeared unable to begin a sentence to-night without + feeling his way into it like a man creeping cautiously down a dark alley. + She noticed it the more because it was so different from his usual direct + method. Gerald, as a rule, was not one of those who apologize for + themselves. He was forthright and masterful and inclined to talk to her + from a height. To-night he seemed different. + </p> + <p> + He broke off, was silent for a moment, and began again with a question. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know Mabel Hobson?” + </p> + <p> + “Mabel Hobson? I've seen her in the 'Follies,' of course.” + </p> + <p> + Sally started. A suspicion had stung her, so monstrous that its absurdity + became manifest the moment it had formed. And yet was it absurd? Most + Broadway gossip filtered eventually into the boarding-house, chiefly + through the medium of that seasoned sport, the mild young man who thought + so highly of the redoubtable Benny Whistler, and she was aware that the + name of Reginald Cracknell, which was always getting itself linked with + somebody, had been coupled with that of Miss Hobson. It seemed likely that + in this instance rumour spoke truth, for the lady was of that compellingly + blonde beauty which attracts the Cracknells of this world. But even so... + </p> + <p> + “It seems that Cracknell...” said Gerald. “Apparently this man + Cracknell...” He was finding Sally's bright, horrified gaze somewhat + trying. “Well, the fact is Cracknell believes in Mabel Hobson...and... + well, he thinks this part would suit her.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Jerry!” + </p> + <p> + Could infatuation go to such a length? Could even the spacious heart of a + Reginald Cracknell so dominate that gentleman's small size in heads as to + make him entrust a part like Ruth in “The Primrose Way” to one who, when + desired by the producer of her last revue to carry a bowl of roses across + the stage and place it on a table, had rebelled on the plea that she had + not been engaged as a dancer? Surely even lovelorn Reginald could perceive + that this was not the stuff of which great emotional actresses are made. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Jerry!” she said again. + </p> + <p> + There was an uncomfortable silence. They turned and walked back in the + direction of the boarding-house. Somehow Gerald's arm had managed to get + itself detached from Sally's. She was conscious of a curious dull ache + that was almost like a physical pain. + </p> + <p> + “Jerry! Is it worth it?” she burst out vehemently. + </p> + <p> + The question seemed to sting the young man into something like his usual + decisive speech. + </p> + <p> + “Worth it? Of course it's worth it. It's a Broadway production. That's all + that matters. Good heavens! I've been trying long enough to get a play on + Broadway, and it isn't likely that I'm going to chuck away my chance when + it comes along just because one might do better in the way of casting.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Jerry! Mabel Hobson! It's... it's murder! Murder in the first + degree.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense. She'll be all right. The part will play itself. Besides, she + has a personality and a following, and Cracknell will spend all the money + in the world to make the thing a success. And it will be a start, whatever + happens. Of course, it's worth it.” + </p> + <p> + Fillmore would have been impressed by this speech. He would have + recognized and respected in it the unmistakable ring which characterizes + even the lightest utterances of those who get there. On Sally it had not + immediately that effect. Nevertheless, her habit of making the best of + things, working together with that primary article of her creed that the + man she loved could do no wrong, succeeded finally in raising her spirits. + Of course Jerry was right. It would have been foolish to refuse a contract + because all its clauses were not ideal. + </p> + <p> + “You old darling,” she said affectionately attaching herself to the vacant + arm once more and giving it a penitent squeeze, “you're quite right. Of + course you are. I can see it now. I was only a little startled at first. + Everything's going to be wonderful. Let's get all our chickens out and + count 'em. How are you going to spend the money?” + </p> + <p> + “I know how I'm going to spend a dollar of it,” said Gerald completely + restored. + </p> + <p> + “I mean the big money. What's a dollar?” + </p> + <p> + “It pays for a marriage-licence.” + </p> + <p> + Sally gave his arm another squeeze. + </p> + <p> + “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said. “Look at this man. Observe him. My + partner!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. ENTER GINGER + </h2> + <p> + 1 + </p> + <p> + Sally was sitting with her back against a hillock of golden sand, watching + with half-closed eyes the denizens of Roville-sur-Mer at their familiar + morning occupations. At Roville, as at most French seashore resorts, the + morning is the time when the visiting population assembles in force on the + beach. Whiskered fathers of families made cheerful patches of colour in + the foreground. Their female friends and relatives clustered in groups + under gay parasols. Dogs roamed to and fro, and children dug industriously + with spades, ever and anon suspending their labours in order to smite one + another with these handy implements. One of the dogs, a poodle of military + aspect, wandered up to Sally: and discovering that she was in possession + of a box of sweets, decided to remain and await developments. + </p> + <p> + Few things are so pleasant as the anticipation of them, but Sally's + vacation had proved an exception to this rule. It had been a magic month + of lazy happiness. She had drifted luxuriously from one French town to + another, till the charm of Roville, with its blue sky, its Casino, its + snow-white hotels along the Promenade, and its general glitter and gaiety, + had brought her to a halt. Here she could have stayed indefinitely, but + the voice of America was calling her back. Gerald had written to say that + “The Primrose Way” was to be produced in Detroit, preliminary to its New + York run, so soon that, if she wished to see the opening, she must return + at once. A scrappy, hurried, unsatisfactory letter, the letter of a busy + man: but one that Sally could not ignore. She was leaving Roville + to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + To-day, however, was to-day: and she sat and watched the bathers with a + familiar feeling of peace, revelling as usual in the still novel sensation + of having nothing to do but bask in the warm sunshine and listen to the + faint murmur of the little waves. + </p> + <p> + But, if there was one drawback, she had discovered, to a morning on the + Roville plage, it was that you had a tendency to fall asleep: and this is + a degrading thing to do so soon after breakfast, even if you are on a + holiday. Usually, Sally fought stoutly against the temptation, but to-day + the sun was so warm and the whisper of the waves so insinuating that she + had almost dozed off, when she was aroused by voices close at hand. There + were many voices on the beach, both near and distant, but these were + talking English, a novelty in Roville, and the sound of the familiar + tongue jerked Sally back from the borders of sleep. A few feet away, two + men had seated themselves on the sand. + </p> + <p> + From the first moment she had set out on her travels, it had been one of + Sally's principal amusements to examine the strangers whom chance threw in + her way and to try by the light of her intuition to fit them out with + characters and occupations: nor had she been discouraged by an almost + consistent failure to guess right. Out of the corner of her eye she + inspected these two men. + </p> + <p> + The first of the pair did not attract her. He was a tall, dark man whose + tight, precise mouth and rather high cheeks bones gave him an appearance + vaguely sinister. He had the dusky look of the clean-shaven man whose life + is a perpetual struggle with a determined beard. He certainly shaved twice + a day, and just as certainly had the self-control not to swear when he cut + himself. She could picture him smiling nastily when this happened. + </p> + <p> + “Hard,” diagnosed Sally. “I shouldn't like him. A lawyer or something, I + think.” + </p> + <p> + She turned to the other and found herself looking into his eyes. This was + because he had been staring at Sally with the utmost intentness ever since + his arrival. His mouth had opened slightly. He had the air of a man who, + after many disappointments, has at last found something worth looking at. + </p> + <p> + “Rather a dear,” decided Sally. + </p> + <p> + He was a sturdy, thick-set young man with an amiable, freckled face and + the reddest hair Sally had ever seen. He had a square chin, and at one + angle of the chin a slight cut. And Sally was convinced that, however he + had behaved on receipt of that wound, it had not been with superior + self-control. + </p> + <p> + “A temper, I should think,” she meditated. “Very quick, but soon over. Not + very clever, I should say, but nice.” + </p> + <p> + She looked away, finding his fascinated gaze a little embarrassing. + </p> + <p> + The dark man, who in the objectionably competent fashion which, one felt, + characterized all his actions, had just succeeded in lighting a cigarette + in the teeth of a strong breeze, threw away the match and resumed the + conversation, which had presumably been interrupted by the process of + sitting down. + </p> + <p> + “And how is Scrymgeour?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, all right,” replied the young man with red hair absently. Sally was + looking straight in front of her, but she felt that his eyes were still + busy. + </p> + <p> + “I was surprised at his being here. He told me he meant to stay in Paris.” + </p> + <p> + There was a slight pause. Sally gave the attentive poodle a piece of + nougat. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” observed the red-haired young man in clear, penetrating tones + that vibrated with intense feeling, “that's the prettiest girl I've seen + in my life!” + </p> + <p> + 2 + </p> + <p> + At this frank revelation of the red-haired young man's personal opinions, + Sally, though considerably startled, was not displeased. A broad-minded + girl, the outburst seemed to her a legitimate comment on a matter of + public interest. The young man's companion, on the other hand, was + unmixedly shocked. + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow!” he ejaculated. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's all right,” said the red-haired young man, unmoved. “She can't + understand. There isn't a bally soul in this dashed place that can speak a + word of English. If I didn't happen to remember a few odd bits of French, + I should have starved by this time. That girl,” he went on, returning to + the subject most imperatively occupying his mind, “is an absolute topper! + I give you my solemn word I've never seen anybody to touch her. Look at + those hands and feet. You don't get them outside France. Of course, her + mouth is a bit wide,” he said reluctantly. + </p> + <p> + Sally's immobility, added to the other's assurance concerning the + linguistic deficiencies of the inhabitants of Roville, seemed to reassure + the dark man. He breathed again. At no period of his life had he ever + behaved with anything but the most scrupulous correctness himself, but he + had quailed at the idea of being associated even remotely with + incorrectness in another. It had been a black moment for him when the + red-haired young man had uttered those few kind words. + </p> + <p> + “Still you ought to be careful,” he said austerely. + </p> + <p> + He looked at Sally, who was now dividing her attention between the poodle + and a raffish-looking mongrel, who had joined the party, and returned to + the topic of the mysterious Scrymgeour. + </p> + <p> + “How is Scrymgeour's dyspepsia?” + </p> + <p> + The red-haired young man seemed but faintly interested in the vicissitudes + of Scrymgeour's interior. + </p> + <p> + “Do you notice the way her hair sort of curls over her ears?” he said. + “Eh? Oh, pretty much the same, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “What hotel are you staying at?” + </p> + <p> + “The Normandie.” + </p> + <p> + Sally, dipping into the box for another chocolate cream, gave an + imperceptible start. She, too, was staying at the Normandie. She presumed + that her admirer was a recent arrival, for she had seen nothing of him at + the hotel. + </p> + <p> + “The Normandie?” The dark man looked puzzled. “I know Roville pretty well + by report, but I've never heard of any Hotel Normandie. Where is it?” + </p> + <p> + “It's a little shanty down near the station. Not much of a place. Still, + it's cheap, and the cooking's all right.” + </p> + <p> + His companion's bewilderment increased. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth is a man like Scrymgeour doing there?” he said. Sally was + conscious of an urgent desire to know more and more about the absent + Scrymgeour. Constant repetition of his name had made him seem almost like + an old friend. “If there's one thing he's fussy about...” + </p> + <p> + “There are at least eleven thousand things he's fussy about,” interrupted + the red-haired young man disapprovingly. “Jumpy old blighter!” + </p> + <p> + “If there's one thing he's particular about, it's the sort of hotel he + goes to. Ever since I've known him he has always wanted the best. I should + have thought he would have gone to the Splendide.” He mused on this + problem in a dissatisfied sort of way for a moment, then seemed to + reconcile himself to the fact that a rich man's eccentricities must be + humoured. “I'd like to see him again. Ask him if he will dine with me at + the Splendide to-night. Say eight sharp.” + </p> + <p> + Sally, occupied with her dogs, whose numbers had now been augmented by a + white terrier with a black patch over its left eye, could not see the + young man's face: but his voice, when he replied, told her that something + was wrong. There was a false airiness in it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Scrymgeour isn't in Roville.” + </p> + <p> + “No? Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Paris, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” The dark man's voice sharpened. He sounded as though he were + cross-examining a reluctant witness. “Then why aren't you there? What are + you doing here? Did he give you a holiday?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he did.” + </p> + <p> + “When do you rejoin him?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” + </p> + <p> + The red-haired young man's manner was not unmistakably dogged. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you want to know,” he said, “the old blighter fired me the day + before yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + 3 + </p> + <p> + There was a shuffling of sand as the dark man sprang up. Sally, intent on + the drama which was unfolding itself beside her, absent-mindedly gave the + poodle a piece of nougat which should by rights have gone to the terrier. + She shot a swift glance sideways, and saw the dark man standing in an + attitude rather reminiscent of the stern father of melodrama about to + drive his erring daughter out into the snow. The red-haired young man, + outwardly stolid, was gazing before him down the beach at a fat bather in + an orange suit who, after six false starts, was now actually in the water, + floating with the dignity of a wrecked balloon. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to tell me,” demanded the dark man, “that, after all the + trouble the family took to get you what was practically a sinecure with + endless possibilities if you only behaved yourself, you have deliberately + thrown away...” A despairing gesture completed the sentence. “Good God, + you're hopeless!” + </p> + <p> + The red-haired young man made no reply. He continued to gaze down the + beach. Of all outdoor sports, few are more stimulating than watching + middle-aged Frenchmen bathe. Drama, action, suspense, all are here. From + the first stealthy testing of the water with an apprehensive toe to the + final seal-like plunge, there is never a dull moment. And apart from the + excitement of the thing, judging it from a purely aesthetic standpoint, + his must be a dull soul who can fail to be uplifted by the spectacle of a + series of very stout men with whiskers, seen in tight bathing suits + against a background of brightest blue. Yet the young man with red hair, + recently in the employment of Mr. Scrymgeour, eyed this free circus + without any enjoyment whatever. + </p> + <p> + “It's maddening! What are you going to do? What do you expect us to do? + Are we to spend our whole lives getting you positions which you won't + keep? I can tell you we're... it's monstrous! It's sickening! Good God!” + </p> + <p> + And with these words the dark man, apparently feeling, as Sally had + sometimes felt in the society of her brother Fillmore, the futility of + mere language, turned sharply and stalked away up the beach, the dignity + of his exit somewhat marred a moment later by the fact of his straw hat + blowing off and being trodden on by a passing child. + </p> + <p> + He left behind him the sort of electric calm which follows the falling of + a thunderbolt; that stunned calm through which the air seems still to + quiver protestingly. How long this would have lasted one cannot say: for + towards the end of the first minute it was shattered by a purely + terrestrial uproar. With an abruptness heralded only by one short, low + gurgling snarl, there sprang into being the prettiest dog fight that + Roville had seen that season. + </p> + <p> + It was the terrier with the black patch who began it. That was Sally's + opinion: and such, one feels, will be the verdict of history. His best + friend, anxious to make out a case for him, could not have denied that he + fired the first gun of the campaign. But we must be just. The fault was + really Sally's. Absorbed in the scene which had just concluded and acutely + inquisitive as to why the shadowy Scrymgeour had seen fit to dispense with + the red-haired young man's services, she had thrice in succession helped + the poodle out of his turn. The third occasion was too much for the + terrier. + </p> + <p> + There is about any dog fight a wild, gusty fury which affects the average + mortal with something of the helplessness induced by some vast clashing of + the elements. It seems so outside one's jurisdiction. One is oppressed + with a sense of the futility of interference. And this was no ordinary dog + fight. It was a stunning mêlée, which would have excited favourable + comment even among the blasé residents of a negro quarter or the not + easily-pleased critics of a Lancashire mining-village. From all over the + beach dogs of every size, breed, and colour were racing to the scene: and + while some of these merely remained in the ringside seats and barked, a + considerable proportion immediately started fighting one another on + general principles, well content to be in action without bothering about + first causes. The terrier had got the poodle by the left hind-leg and was + restating his war-aims. The raffish mongrel was apparently endeavouring to + fletcherize a complete stranger of the Sealyham family. + </p> + <p> + Sally was frankly unequal to the situation, as were the entire crowd of + spectators who had come galloping up from the water's edge. She had been + paralysed from the start. Snarling bundles bumped against her legs and + bounced away again, but she made no move. Advice in fluent French rent the + air. Arms waved, and well-filled bathing suits leaped up and down. But + nobody did anything practical until in the centre of the theatre of war + there suddenly appeared the red-haired young man. + </p> + <p> + The only reason why dog fights do not go on for ever is that Providence + has decided that on each such occasion there shall always be among those + present one Master Mind; one wizard who, whatever his shortcomings in + other battles of life, is in this single particular sphere competent and + dominating. At Roville-sur-Mer it was the red-haired young man. His dark + companion might have turned from him in disgust: his services might not + have seemed worth retaining by the haughty Scrymgeour: he might be a pain + in the neck to “the family”; but he did know how to stop a dog fight. From + the first moment of his intervention calm began to steal over the scene. + He had the same effect on the almost inextricably entwined belligerents + as, in mediaeval legend, the Holy Grail, sliding down the sunbeam, used to + have on battling knights. He did not look like a dove of peace, but the + most captious could not have denied that he brought home the goods. There + was a magic in his soothing hands, a spell in his voice: and in a shorter + time than one would have believed possible dog after dog had been sorted + out and calmed down; until presently all that was left of Armageddon was + one solitary small Scotch terrier, thoughtfully licking a chewed leg. The + rest of the combatants, once more in their right mind and wondering what + all the fuss was about, had been captured and haled away in a whirl of + recrimination by voluble owners. + </p> + <p> + Having achieved this miracle, the young man turned to Sally. Gallant, one + might say reckless, as he had been a moment before, he now gave + indications of a rather pleasing shyness. He braced himself with that + painful air of effort which announces to the world that an Englishman is + about to speak a language other than his own. + </p> + <p> + “J'espère,” he said, having swallowed once or twice to brace himself up + for the journey through the jungle of a foreign tongue, “J'espère que vous + n'êtes pas—oh, dammit, what's the word—J'espère que vous + n'êtes pas blessée?” + </p> + <p> + “Blessée?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, blessée. Wounded. Hurt, don't you know. Bitten. Oh, dash it. + J'espère...” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bitten!” said Sally, dimpling. “Oh, no, thanks very much. I wasn't + bitten. And I think it was awfully brave of you to save all our lives.” + </p> + <p> + The compliment seemed to pass over the young man's head. He stared at + Sally with horrified eyes. Over his amiable face there swept a vivid + blush. His jaw dropped. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my sainted aunt!” he ejaculated. + </p> + <p> + Then, as if the situation was too much for him and flight the only + possible solution, he spun round and disappeared at a walk so rapid that + it was almost a run. Sally watched him go and was sorry that he had torn + himself away. She still wanted to know why Scrymgeour had fired him. + </p> + <p> + 4 + </p> + <p> + Bedtime at Roville is an hour that seems to vary according to one's + proximity to the sea. The gilded palaces along the front keep deplorable + hours, polluting the night air till dawn with indefatigable jazz: but at + the pensions of the economical like the Normandie, early to bed is the + rule. True, Jules, the stout young native who combined the offices of + night-clerk and lift attendant at that establishment, was on duty in the + hall throughout the night, but few of the Normandie's patrons made use of + his services. + </p> + <p> + Sally, entering shortly before twelve o'clock on the night of the day on + which the dark man, the red-haired young man, and their friend Scrymgeour + had come into her life, found the little hall dim and silent. Through the + iron cage of the lift a single faint bulb glowed: another, over the desk + in the far corner, illuminated the upper half of Jules, slumbering in a + chair. Jules seemed to Sally to be on duty in some capacity or other all + the time. His work, like women's, was never done. He was now restoring his + tissues with a few winks of much-needed beauty sleep. Sally, who had been + to the Casino to hear the band and afterwards had strolled on the moonlit + promenade, had a guilty sense of intrusion. + </p> + <p> + As she stood there, reluctant to break in on Jules' rest—for her + sympathetic heart, always at the disposal of the oppressed, had long ached + for this overworked peon—she was relieved to hear footsteps in the + street outside, followed by the opening of the front door. If Jules would + have had to wake up anyway, she felt her sense of responsibility lessened. + The door, having opened, closed again with a bang. Jules stirred, gurgled, + blinked, and sat up, and Sally, turning, perceived that the new arrival + was the red-haired young man. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, good evening,” said Sally welcomingly. + </p> + <p> + The young man stopped, and shuffled uncomfortably. The morning's + happenings were obviously still green in his memory. He had either not + ceased blushing since their last meeting or he was celebrating their + reunion by beginning to blush again: for his face was a familiar scarlet. + </p> + <p> + “Er—good evening,” he said, disentangling his feet, which, in the + embarrassment of the moment, had somehow got coiled up together. + </p> + <p> + “Or bon soir, I suppose you would say,” murmured Sally. + </p> + <p> + The young man acknowledged receipt of this thrust by dropping his hat and + tripping over it as he stooped to pick it up. + </p> + <p> + Jules, meanwhile, who had been navigating in a sort of somnambulistic + trance in the neighbourhood of the lift, now threw back the cage with a + rattle. + </p> + <p> + “It's a shame to have woken you up,” said Sally, commiseratingly, stepping + in. + </p> + <p> + Jules did not reply, for the excellent reason that he had not been woken + up. Constant practice enabled him to do this sort of work without breaking + his slumber. His brain, if you could call it that, was working + automatically. He had shut up the gate with a clang and was tugging + sluggishly at the correct rope, so that the lift was going slowly up + instead of retiring down into the basement, but he was not awake. + </p> + <p> + Sally and the red-haired young man sat side by side on the small seat, + watching their conductor's efforts. After the first spurt, conversation + had languished. Sally had nothing of immediate interest to say, and her + companion seemed to be one of these strong, silent men you read about. + Only a slight snore from Jules broke the silence. + </p> + <p> + At the third floor Sally leaned forward and prodded Jules in the lower + ribs. All through her stay at Roville, she had found in dealing with the + native population that actions spoke louder than words. If she wanted + anything in a restaurant or at a shop, she pointed; and, when she wished + the lift to stop, she prodded the man in charge. It was a system worth a + dozen French conversation books. + </p> + <p> + Jules brought the machine to a halt: and it was at this point that he + should have done the one thing connected with his professional activities + which he did really well—the opening, to wit, of the iron cage. + There are ways of doing this. Jules' was the right way. He was accustomed + to do it with a flourish, and generally remarked “V'la!” in a modest but + self-congratulatory voice as though he would have liked to see another man + who could have put through a job like that. Jules' opinion was that he + might not be much to look at, but that he could open a lift door. + </p> + <p> + To-night, however, it seemed as if even this not very exacting feat was + beyond his powers. Instead of inserting his key in the lock, he stood + staring in an attitude of frozen horror. He was a man who took most things + in life pretty seriously, and whatever was the little difficulty just now + seemed to have broken him all up. + </p> + <p> + “There appears,” said Sally, turning to her companion, “to be a hitch. + Would you mind asking what's the matter? I don't know any French myself + except 'oo la la!'” + </p> + <p> + The young man, thus appealed to, nerved himself to the task. He eyed the + melancholy Jules doubtfully, and coughed in a strangled sort of way. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, esker... esker vous...” + </p> + <p> + “Don't weaken,” said Sally. “I think you've got him going.” + </p> + <p> + “Esker vous... Pourquoi vous ne... I mean ne vous... that is to say, quel + est le raison...” + </p> + <p> + He broke off here, because at this point Jules began to explain. He + explained very rapidly and at considerable length. The fact that neither + of his hearers understood a word of what he was saying appeared not to + have impressed itself upon him. Or, if he gave a thought to it, he + dismissed the objection as trifling. He wanted to explain, and he + explained. Words rushed from him like water from a geyser. Sounds which + you felt you would have been able to put a meaning to if he had detached + them from the main body and repeated them slowly, went swirling down the + stream and were lost for ever. + </p> + <p> + “Stop him!” said Sally firmly. + </p> + <p> + The red-haired young man looked as a native of Johnstown might have looked + on being requested to stop that city's celebrated flood. + </p> + <p> + “Stop him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Blow a whistle or something.” + </p> + <p> + Out of the depths of the young man's memory there swam to the surface a + single word—a word which he must have heard somewhere or read + somewhere: a legacy, perhaps, from long-vanished school-days. + </p> + <p> + “Zut!” he barked, and instantaneously Jules turned himself off at the + main. There was a moment of dazed silence, such as might occur in a + boiler-factory if the works suddenly shut down. + </p> + <p> + “Quick! Now you've got him!” cried Sally. “Ask him what he's talking about—if + he knows, which I doubt—and tell him to speak slowly. Then we shall + get somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + The young man nodded intelligently. The advice was good. + </p> + <p> + “Lentement,” he said. “Parlez lentement. Pas si—you know what I mean—pas + si dashed vite!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah-a-ah!” cried Jules, catching the idea on the fly. “Lentement. Ah, oui, + lentement.” + </p> + <p> + There followed a lengthy conversation which, while conveying nothing to + Sally, seemed intelligible to the red-haired linguist. + </p> + <p> + “The silly ass,” he was able to announce some few minutes later, “has made + a bloomer. Apparently he was half asleep when we came in, and he shoved us + into the lift and slammed the door, forgetting that he had left the keys + on the desk.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Sally. “So we're shut in?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid so. I wish to goodness,” said the young man, “I knew French + well. I'd curse him with some vim and not a little animation, the chump! I + wonder what 'blighter' is in French,” he said, meditating. + </p> + <p> + “It's the merest suggestion,” said Sally, “but oughtn't we to do + something?” + </p> + <p> + “What could we do?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, for one thing, we might all utter a loud yell. It would scare most + of the people in the hotel to death, but there might be a survivor or two + who would come and investigate and let us out.” + </p> + <p> + “What a ripping idea!” said the young man, impressed. + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad you like it. Now tell him the main out-line, or he'll think + we've gone mad.” + </p> + <p> + The young man searched for words, and eventually found some which + expressed his meaning lamely but well enough to cause Jules to nod in a + depressed sort of way. + </p> + <p> + “Fine!” said Sally. “Now, all together at the word 'three.' One—two—Oh, + poor darling!” she broke off. “Look at him!” + </p> + <p> + In the far corner of the lift, the emotional Jules was sobbing silently + into the bunch of cotton-waste which served him in the office of a + pocket-handkerchief. His broken-hearted gulps echoed hollowly down the + shaft. + </p> + <p> + 5 + </p> + <p> + In these days of cheap books of instruction on every subject under the + sun, we most of us know how to behave in the majority of life's little + crises. We have only ourselves to blame if we are ignorant of what to do + before the doctor comes, of how to make a dainty winter coat for baby out + of father's last year's under-vest and of the best method of coping with + the cold mutton. But nobody yet has come forward with practical advice as + to the correct method of behaviour to be adopted when a lift-attendant + starts crying. And Sally and her companion, as a consequence, for a few + moments merely stared at each other helplessly. + </p> + <p> + “Poor darling!” said Sally, finding speech. “Ask him what's the matter.” + </p> + <p> + The young man looked at her doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “You know,” he said, “I don't enjoy chatting with this blighter. I mean to + say, it's a bit of an effort. I don't know why it is, but talking French + always makes me feel as if my nose were coming off. Couldn't we just leave + him to have his cry out by himself?” + </p> + <p> + “The idea!” said Sally. “Have you no heart? Are you one of those fiends in + human shape?” + </p> + <p> + He turned reluctantly to Jules, and paused to overhaul his vocabulary. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to be thankful for this chance,” said Sally. “It's the only + real way of learning French, and you're getting a lesson for nothing. What + did he say then?” + </p> + <p> + “Something about losing something, it seemed to me. I thought I caught the + word perdu.” + </p> + <p> + “But that means a partridge, doesn't it? I'm sure I've seen it on the + menus.” + </p> + <p> + “Would he talk about partridges at a time like this?” + </p> + <p> + “He might. The French are extraordinary people.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll have another go at him. But he's a difficult chap to chat + with. If you give him the least encouragement, he sort of goes off like a + rocket.” He addressed another question to the sufferer, and listened + attentively to the voluble reply. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” he said with sudden enlightenment. “Your job?” He turned to Sally. + “I got it that time,” he said. “The trouble is, he says, that if we yell + and rouse the house, we'll get out all right, but he will lose his job, + because this is the second time this sort of thing has happened, and they + warned him last time that once more would mean the push.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we mustn't dream of yelling,” said Sally, decidedly. “It means a + pretty long wait, you know. As far as I can gather, there's just a chance + of somebody else coming in later, in which case he could let us out. But + it's doubtful. He rather thinks that everybody has gone to roost.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we must try it. I wouldn't think of losing the poor man his job. + Tell him to take the car down to the ground-floor, and then we'll just sit + and amuse ourselves till something happens. We've lots to talk about. We + can tell each other the story of our lives.” + </p> + <p> + Jules, cheered by his victims' kindly forbearance, lowered the car to the + ground floor, where, after a glance of infinite longing at the keys on the + distant desk, the sort of glance which Moses must have cast at the + Promised Land from the summit of Mount Pisgah, he sagged down in a heap + and resumed his slumbers. Sally settled herself as comfortably as possible + in her corner. + </p> + <p> + “You'd better smoke,” she said. “It will be something to do.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks awfully.” + </p> + <p> + “And now,” said Sally, “tell me why Scrymgeour fired you.” + </p> + <p> + Little by little, under the stimulating influence of this nocturnal + adventure, the red-haired young man had lost that shy confusion which had + rendered him so ill at ease when he had encountered Sally in the hall of + the hotel; but at this question embarrassment gripped him once more. + Another of those comprehensive blushes of his raced over his face, and he + stammered. + </p> + <p> + “I say, I'm glad... I'm fearfully sorry about that, you know!” + </p> + <p> + “About Scrymgeour?” + </p> + <p> + “You know what I mean. I mean, about making such a most ghastly ass of + myself this morning. I... I never dreamed you understood English.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I didn't object. I thought you were very nice and complimentary. Of + course, I don't know how many girls you've seen in your life, but...” + </p> + <p> + “No, I say, don't! It makes me feel such a chump.” + </p> + <p> + “And I'm sorry about my mouth. It is wide. But I know you're a fair-minded + man and realize that it isn't my fault.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't rub it in,” pleaded the young man. “As a matter of fact, if you + want to know, I think your mouth is absolutely perfect. I think,” he + proceeded, a little feverishly, “that you are the most indescribable + topper that ever...” + </p> + <p> + “You were going to tell me about Scrymgeour,” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + The young man blinked as if he had collided with some hard object while + sleep-walking. Eloquence had carried him away. + </p> + <p> + “Scrymgeour?” he said. “Oh, that would bore you.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be silly,” said Sally reprovingly. “Can't you realize that we're + practically castaways on a desert island? There's nothing to do till + to-morrow but talk about ourselves. I want to hear all about you, and then + I'll tell you all about myself. If you feel diffident about starting the + revelations, I'll begin. Better start with names. Mine is Sally Nicholas. + What's yours?” + </p> + <p> + “Mine? Oh, ah, yes, I see what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you would. I put it as clearly as I could. Well, what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Kemp.” + </p> + <p> + “And the first name?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, as a matter of fact,” said the young man, “I've always rather + hushed up my first name, because when I was christened they worked a + low-down trick on me!” + </p> + <p> + “You can't shock me,” said Sally, encouragingly. “My father's name was + Ezekiel, and I've a brother who was christened Fillmore.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Kemp brightened. “Well, mine isn't as bad as that... No, I don't mean + that,” he broke off apologetically. “Both awfully jolly names, of + course...” + </p> + <p> + “Get on,” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + “Well, they called me Lancelot. And, of course, the thing is that I don't + look like a Lancelot and never shall. My pals,” he added in a more + cheerful strain, “call me Ginger.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't blame them,” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you wouldn't mind thinking of me as Ginger?'' suggested the young + man diffidently. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “That's awfully good of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all.” + </p> + <p> + Jules stirred in his sleep and grunted. No other sound came to disturb the + stillness of the night. + </p> + <p> + “You were going to tell me about yourself?” said Mr. Lancelot (Ginger) + Kemp. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to tell you all about myself,” said Sally, “not because I think + it will interest you...” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it will!” + </p> + <p> + “Not, I say, because I think it will interest you...” + </p> + <p> + “It will, really.” + </p> + <p> + Sally looked at him coldly. + </p> + <p> + “Is this a duet?” she inquired, “or have I the floor?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm awfully sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “Not, I repeat for the third time, because I think It will interest you, + but because if I do you won't have any excuse for not telling me your + life-history, and you wouldn't believe how inquisitive I am. Well, in the + first place, I live in America. I'm over here on a holiday. And it's the + first real holiday I've had in three years—since I left home, in + fact.” Sally paused. “I ran away from home,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Good egg!” said Ginger Kemp. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean, quite right. I bet you were quite right.” + </p> + <p> + “When I say home,” Sally went on, “it was only a sort of imitation home, + you know. One of those just-as-good homes which are never as satisfactory + as the real kind. My father and mother both died a good many years ago. My + brother and I were dumped down on the reluctant doorstep of an uncle.” + </p> + <p> + “Uncles,” said Ginger Kemp, feelingly, “are the devil. I've got an... but + I'm interrupting you.” + </p> + <p> + “My uncle was our trustee. He had control of all my brother's money and + mine till I was twenty-one. My brother was to get his when he was + twenty-five. My poor father trusted him blindly, and what do you think + happened?” + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord! The blighter embezzled the lot?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not a cent. Wasn't it extraordinary! Have you ever heard of a blindly + trusted uncle who was perfectly honest? Well, mine was. But the trouble + was that, while an excellent man to have looking after one's money, he + wasn't a very lovable character. He was very hard. Hard! He was as hard as—well, + nearly as hard as this seat. He hated poor Fill...” + </p> + <p> + “Phil?” + </p> + <p> + “I broke it to you just now that my brother's name was Fillmore.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, your brother. Oh, ah, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “He was always picking on poor Fill. And I'm bound to say that Fill rather + laid himself out as what you might call a pickee. He was always getting + into trouble. One day, about three years ago, he was expelled from + Harvard, and my uncle vowed he would have nothing more to do with him. So + I said, if Fill left, I would leave. And, as this seemed to be my uncle's + idea of a large evening, no objection was raised, and Fill and I departed. + We went to New York, and there we've been ever since. About six months' + ago Fill passed the twenty-five mark and collected his money, and last + month I marched past the given point and got mine. So it all ends happily, + you see. Now tell me about yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “But, I say, you know, dash it, you've skipped a lot. I mean to say, you + must have had an awful time in New York, didn't you? How on earth did you + get along?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we found work. My brother tried one or two things, and finally became + an assistant stage-manager with some theatre people. The only thing I + could do, having been raised in enervating luxury, was ballroom dancing, + so I ball-room danced. I got a job at a place in Broadway called 'The + Flower Garden' as what is humorously called an 'instructress,' as if + anybody could 'instruct' the men who came there. One was lucky if one + saved one's life and wasn't quashed to death.” + </p> + <p> + “How perfectly foul!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know. It was rather fun for a while. Still,” said Sally, + meditatively, “I'm not saying I could have held out much longer: I was + beginning to give. I suppose I've been trampled underfoot by more fat men + than any other girl of my age in America. I don't know why it was, but + every man who came in who was a bit overweight seemed to make for me by + instinct. That's why I like to sit on the sands here and watch these + Frenchmen bathing. It's just heavenly to lie back and watch a two hundred + and fifty pound man, coming along and feel that he isn't going to dance + with me.” + </p> + <p> + “But, I say! How absolutely rotten it must have been for you!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll tell you one thing. It's going to make me a very domesticated + wife one of these days. You won't find me gadding about in gilded + jazz-palaces! For me, a little place in the country somewhere, with my + knitting and an Elsie book, and bed at half-past nine! And now tell me the + story of your life. And make it long because I'm perfectly certain there's + going to be no relief-expedition. I'm sure the last dweller under this + roof came in years ago. We shall be here till morning.” + </p> + <p> + “I really think we had better shout, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “And lose Jules his job? Never!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, of course, I'm sorry for poor old Jules' troubles, but I hate to + think of you having to...” + </p> + <p> + “Now get on with the story,” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + 6 + </p> + <p> + Ginger Kemp exhibited some of the symptoms of a young bridegroom called + upon at a wedding-breakfast to respond to the toast. He moved his feet + restlessly and twisted his fingers. + </p> + <p> + “I hate talking about myself, you know,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “So I supposed,” said Sally. “That's why I gave you my autobiography + first, to give you no chance of backing out. Don't be such a shrinking + violet. We're all shipwrecked mariners here. I am intensely interested in + your narrative. And, even if I wasn't, I'd much rather listen to it than + to Jules' snoring.” + </p> + <p> + “He is snoring a bit, what? Does it annoy you? Shall I stir him?” + </p> + <p> + “You seem to have an extraordinary brutal streak in your nature,” said + Sally. “You appear to think of nothing else but schemes for harassing poor + Jules. Leave him alone for a second, and start telling me about yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Where shall I start?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, not with your childhood, I think. We'll skip that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well...” Ginger Kemp knitted his brow, searching for a dramatic opening. + “Well, I'm more or less what you might call an orphan, like you. I mean to + say, both my people are dead and all that sort of thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks for explaining. That has made it quite clear.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't remember my mother. My father died when I was in my last year at + Cambridge. I'd been having a most awfully good time at the 'varsity,'” + said Ginger, warming to his theme. “Not thick, you know, but good. I'd got + my rugger and boxing blues and I'd just been picked for scrum-half for + England against the North in the first trial match, and between ourselves + it really did look as if I was more or less of a snip for my + international.” + </p> + <p> + Sally gazed at him wide eyed. + </p> + <p> + “Is that good or bad?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you reciting a catalogue of your crimes, or do you expect me to get + up and cheer? What is a rugger blue, to start with?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's... it's a rugger blue, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I see,” said Sally. “You mean a rugger blue.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean to say, I played rugger—footer—that's to say, football—Rugby + football—for Cambridge, against Oxford. I was scrum-half.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is a scrum-half?” asked Sally, patiently. “Yes, I know you're + going to say it's a scrum-half, but can't you make it easier?” + </p> + <p> + “The scrum-half,” said Ginger, “is the half who works the scrum. He slings + the pill out to the fly-half, who starts the three-quarters going. I don't + know if you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't.” + </p> + <p> + “It's dashed hard to explain,” said Ginger Kemp, unhappily. “I mean, I + don't think I've ever met anyone before who didn't know what a scrum-half + was.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I can see that it has something to do with football, so we'll leave + it at that. I suppose it's something like our quarter-back. And what's an + international?” + </p> + <p> + “It's called getting your international when you play for England, you + know. England plays Wales, France, Ireland, and Scotland. If it hadn't + been for the smash, I think I should have played for England against + Wales.” + </p> + <p> + “I see at last. What you're trying to tell me is that you were very good + at football.” + </p> + <p> + Ginger Kemp blushed warmly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't say that. England was pretty short of scrum-halves that + year.” + </p> + <p> + “What a horrible thing to happen to a country! Still, you were likely to + be picked on the All-England team when the smash came? What was the + smash?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it turned out that the poor old pater hadn't left a penny. I never + understood the process exactly, but I'd always supposed that we were + pretty well off; and then it turned out that I hadn't anything at all. I'm + bound to say it was a bit of a jar. I had to come down from Cambridge and + go to work in my uncle's office. Of course, I made an absolute hash of + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm not a very clever sort of chap, you see. I somehow didn't seem + able to grasp the workings. After about a year, my uncle, getting a bit + fed-up, hoofed me out and got me a mastership at a school, and I made a + hash of that. He got me one or two other jobs, and I made a hash of + those.” + </p> + <p> + “You certainly do seem to be one of our most prominent young hashers!” + gasped Sally. + </p> + <p> + “I am,” said Ginger, modestly. + </p> + <p> + There was a silence. + </p> + <p> + “And what about Scrymgeour?” Sally asked. + </p> + <p> + “That was the last of the jobs,” said Ginger. “Scrymgeour is a pompous old + ass who thinks he's going to be Prime Minister some day. He's a big bug at + the Bar and has just got into Parliament. My cousin used to devil for him. + That's how I got mixed up with the blighter.” + </p> + <p> + “Your cousin used...? I wish you would talk English.” + </p> + <p> + “That was my cousin who was with me on the beach this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “And what did you say he used to do for Mr. Scrymgeour?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's called devilling. My cousin's at the Bar, too—one of our + rising nibs, as a matter of fact...” + </p> + <p> + “I thought he was a lawyer of some kind.” + </p> + <p> + “He's got a long way beyond it now, but when he started he used to devil + for Scrymgeour—assist him, don't you know. His name's Carmyle, you + know. Perhaps you've heard of him? He's rather a prominent johnny in his + way. Bruce Carmyle, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he got me this job of secretary to Scrymgeour.” + </p> + <p> + “And why did Mr. Scrymgeour fire you?” + </p> + <p> + Ginger Kemp's face darkened. He frowned. Sally, watching him, felt that + she had been right when she had guessed that he had a temper. She liked + him none the worse for it. Mild men did not appeal to her. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know if you're fond of dogs?” said Ginger. + </p> + <p> + “I used to be before this morning,” said Sally. “And I suppose I shall be + again in time. For the moment I've had what you might call rather a + surfeit of dogs. But aren't you straying from the point? I asked you why + Mr. Scrymgeour dismissed you.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm telling you.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad of that. I didn't know.” + </p> + <p> + “The old brute,” said Ginger, frowning again, “has a dog. A very jolly + little spaniel. Great pal of mine. And Scrymgeour is the sort of fool who + oughtn't to be allowed to own a dog. He's one of those asses who isn't fit + to own a dog. As a matter of fact, of all the blighted, pompous, bullying, + shrivelled-souled old devils...” + </p> + <p> + “One moment,” said Sally. “I'm getting an impression that you don't like + Mr. Scrymgeour. Am I right?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” + </p> + <p> + “I thought so. Womanly intuition! Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “He used to insist on the poor animal doing tricks. I hate seeing a dog do + tricks. Dogs loathe it, you know. They're frightfully sensitive. Well, + Scrymgeour used to make this spaniel of his do tricks—fool-things + that no self-respecting dogs would do: and eventually poor old Billy got + fed up and jibbed. He was too polite to bite, but he sort of shook his + head and crawled under a chair. You'd have thought anyone would have let + it go at that, but would old Scrymgeour? Not a bit of it! Of all the + poisonous...” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know. Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the thing ended in the blighter hauling him out from under the + chair and getting more and more shirty, until finally he laid into him + with a stick. That is to say,” said Ginger, coldly accurate, “he started + laying into him with a stick.” He brooded for a moment with knit brows. “A + spaniel, mind you! Can you imagine anyone beating a spaniel? It's like + hitting a little girl. Well, he's a fairly oldish man, you know, and that + hampered me a bit: but I got hold of the stick and broke it into about + eleven pieces, and by great good luck it was a stick he happened to value + rather highly. It had a gold knob and had been presented to him by his + constituents or something. I minced it up a goodish bit, and then I told + him a fair amount about himself. And then—well, after that he shot + me out, and I came here.” + </p> + <p> + Sally did not speak for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “You were quite right,” she said at last, in a sober voice that had + nothing in it of her customary flippancy. She paused again. “And what are + you going to do now?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll get something?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I shall get something, I suppose. The family will be pretty + sick, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “For goodness' sake! Why do you bother about the family?” Sally burst out. + She could not reconcile this young man's flabby dependence on his family + with the enterprise and vigour which he had shown in his dealings with the + unspeakable Scrymgeour. Of course, he had been brought up to look on + himself as a rich man's son and appeared to have drifted as such young men + are wont to do; but even so... “The whole trouble with you,” she said, + embarking on a subject on which she held strong views, “is that...” + </p> + <p> + Her harangue was interrupted by what—at the Normandie, at one + o'clock in the morning—practically amounted to a miracle. The front + door of the hotel opened, and there entered a young man in evening dress. + Such persons were sufficiently rare at the Normandie, which catered + principally for the staid and middle-aged, and this youth's presence was + due, if one must pause to explain it, to the fact that, in the middle of + his stay at Roville, a disastrous evening at the Casino had so diminished + his funds that he had been obliged to make a hurried shift from the Hotel + Splendide to the humbler Normandie. His late appearance to-night was + caused by the fact that he had been attending a dance at the Splendide, + principally in the hope of finding there some kind-hearted friend of his + prosperity from whom he might borrow. + </p> + <p> + A rapid-fire dialogue having taken place between Jules and the newcomer, + the keys were handed through the cage, the door opened and the lift was + set once more in motion. And a few minutes later, Sally, suddenly aware of + an overpowering sleepiness, had switched off her light and jumped into + bed. Her last waking thought was a regret that she had not been able to + speak at length to Mr. Ginger Kemp on the subject of enterprise, and + resolve that the address should be delivered at the earliest opportunity. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. THE DIGNIFIED MR. CARMYLE + </h2> + <p> + 1 + </p> + <p> + By six o'clock on the following evening, however, Sally had been forced to + the conclusion that Ginger would have to struggle through life as best he + could without the assistance of her contemplated remarks: for she had seen + nothing of him all day and in another hour she would have left Roville on + the seven-fifteen express which was to take her to Paris, en route for + Cherbourg and the liner whereon she had booked her passage for New York. + </p> + <p> + It was in the faint hope of finding him even now that, at half-past six, + having conveyed her baggage to the station and left it in charge of an + amiable porter, she paid a last visit to the Casino Municipale. She + disliked the thought of leaving Ginger without having uplifted him. Like + so many alert and active-minded girls, she possessed in a great degree the + quality of interesting herself in—or, as her brother Fillmore + preferred to put it, messing about with—the private affairs of + others. Ginger had impressed her as a man to whom it was worth while to + give a friendly shove on the right path; and it was with much + gratification, therefore, that, having entered the Casino, she perceived a + flaming head shining through the crowd which had gathered at one of the + roulette-tables. + </p> + <p> + There are two Casinos at Roville-sur-Mer. The one on the Promenade goes in + mostly for sea-air and a mild game called boule. It is the big Casino + Municipale down in the Palace Massena near the railway station which is + the haunt of the earnest gambler who means business; and it was plain to + Sally directly she arrived that Ginger Kemp not only meant business but + was getting results. Ginger was going extremely strong. He was entrenched + behind an opulent-looking mound of square counters: and, even as Sally + looked, a wooden-faced croupier shoved a further instalment across the + table to him at the end of his long rake. + </p> + <p> + “Epatant!” murmured a wistful man at Sally's side, removing an elbow from + her ribs in order the better to gesticulate. Sally, though no French + scholar, gathered that he was startled and gratified. The entire crowd + seemed to be startled and gratified. There is undoubtedly a certain + altruism in the make-up of the spectators at a Continental roulette-table. + They seem to derive a spiritual pleasure from seeing somebody else win. + </p> + <p> + The croupier gave his moustache a twist with his left hand and the wheel a + twist with his right, and silence fell again. Sally, who had shifted to a + spot where the pressure of the crowd was less acute, was now able to see + Ginger's face, and as she saw it she gave an involuntary laugh. He looked + exactly like a dog at a rat-hole. His hair seemed to bristle with + excitement. One could almost fancy that his ears were pricked up. + </p> + <p> + In the tense hush which had fallen on the crowd at the restarting of the + wheel, Sally's laugh rang out with an embarrassing clearness. It had a + marked effect on all those within hearing. There is something almost of + religious ecstasy in the deportment of the spectators at a table where + anyone is having a run of luck at roulette, and if she had guffawed in a + cathedral she could not have caused a more pained consternation. The + earnest worshippers gazed at her with shocked eyes, and Ginger, turning + with a start, saw her and jumped up. As he did so, the ball fell with a + rattling click into a red compartment of the wheel; and, as it ceased to + revolve and it was seen that at last the big winner had picked the wrong + colour, a shuddering groan ran through the congregation like that which + convulses the penitents' bench at a negro revival meeting. More glances of + reproach were cast at Sally. It was generally felt that her injudicious + behaviour had changed Ginger's luck. + </p> + <p> + The only person who did not appear to be concerned was Ginger himself. He + gathered up his loot, thrust it into his pocket, and elbowed his way to + where Sally stood, now definitely established in the eyes of the crowd as + a pariah. There was universal regret that he had decided to call it a day. + It was to the spectators as though a star had suddenly walked off the + stage in the middle of his big scene; and not even a loud and violent + quarrel which sprang up at this moment between two excitable gamblers over + a disputed five-franc counter could wholly console them. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” said Ginger, dexterously plucking Sally out of the crowd, “this + is topping, meeting you like this. I've been looking for you everywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “It's funny you didn't find me, then, for that's where I've been. I was + looking for you.” + </p> + <p> + “No, really?” Ginger seemed pleased. He led the way to the quiet ante-room + outside the gambling-hall, and they sat down in a corner. It was pleasant + here, with nobody near except the gorgeously uniformed attendant over by + the door. “That was awfully good of you.” + </p> + <p> + “I felt I must have a talk with you before my train went.” + </p> + <p> + Ginger started violently. + </p> + <p> + “Your train? What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “The puff-puff,” explained Sally. “I'm leaving to-night, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Leaving?” Ginger looked as horrified as the devoutest of the congregation + of which Sally had just ceased to be a member. “You don't mean leaving? + You're not going away from Roville?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid so.” + </p> + <p> + “But why? Where are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “Back to America. My boat sails from Cherbourg tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my aunt!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry,” said Sally, touched by his concern. She was a warm-hearted + girl and liked being appreciated. “But...” + </p> + <p> + “I say...” Ginger Kemp turned bright scarlet and glared before him at the + uniformed official, who was regarding their tête-à -tête with the indulgent + eye of one who has been through this sort of thing himself. “I say, look + here, will you marry me?” + </p> + <p> + 2 + </p> + <p> + Sally stared at his vermilion profile in frank amazement. Ginger, she had + realized by this time, was in many ways a surprising young man, but she + had not expected him to be as surprising as this. + </p> + <p> + “Marry you!” + </p> + <p> + “You know what I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes, I suppose I do. You allude to the holy state. Yes, I know what + you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Then how about it?” + </p> + <p> + Sally began to regain her composure. Her sense of humour was tickled. She + looked at Ginger gravely. He did not meet her eye, but continued to drink + in the uniformed official, who was by now so carried away by the romance + of it all that he had begun to hum a love-ballad under his breath. The + official could not hear what they were saying, and would not have been + able to understand it even if he could have heard; but he was an expert in + the language of the eyes. + </p> + <p> + “But isn't this—don't think I am trying to make difficulties—isn't + this a little sudden?” + </p> + <p> + “It's got to be sudden,” said Ginger Kemp, complainingly. “I thought you + were going to be here for weeks.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my infant, my babe, has it occurred to you that we are practically + strangers?” She patted his hand tolerantly, causing the uniformed official + to heave a tender sigh. “I see what has happened,” she said. “You're + mistaking me for some other girl, some girl you know really well, and were + properly introduced to. Take a good look at me, and you'll see.” + </p> + <p> + “If I take a good look at you,” said Ginger, feverishly, “I'm dashed if + I'll answer for the consequences.” + </p> + <p> + “And this is the man I was going to lecture on 'Enterprise.'” + </p> + <p> + “You're the most wonderful girl I've ever met, dash it!” said Ginger, his + gaze still riveted on the official by the door “I dare say it is sudden. I + can't help that. I fell in love with you the moment I saw you, and there + you are!” + </p> + <p> + “But...” + </p> + <p> + “Now, look here, I know I'm not much of a chap and all that, but... well, + I've just won the deuce of a lot of money in there...” + </p> + <p> + “Would you buy me with your gold?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean to say, we should have enough to start on, and... of course I've + made an infernal hash of everything I've tried up till now, but there must + be something I can do, and you can jolly well bet I'd have a goodish stab + at it. I mean to say, with you to buck me up and so forth, don't you know. + Well, I mean...” + </p> + <p> + “Has it struck you that I may already be engaged to someone else?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, golly! Are you?” + </p> + <p> + For the first time he turned and faced her, and there was a look in his + eyes which touched Sally and drove all sense of the ludicrous out of her. + Absurd as it was, this man was really serious. + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes, as a matter of fact I am,” she said soberly. + </p> + <p> + Ginger Kemp bit his lip and for a moment was silent. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, that's torn it!” he said at last. + </p> + <p> + Sally was aware of an emotion too complex to analyse. There was pity in + it, but amusement too. The emotion, though she did not recognize it, was + maternal. Mothers, listening to their children pleading with engaging + absurdity for something wholly out of their power to bestow, feel that + same wavering between tears and laughter. Sally wanted to pick Ginger up + and kiss him. The one thing she could not do was to look on him, sorry as + she was for him, as a reasonable, grown-up man. + </p> + <p> + “You don't really mean it, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't I!” said Ginger, hollowly. “Oh, don't I!” + </p> + <p> + “You can't! There isn't such a thing in real life as love at first sight. + Love's a thing that comes when you know a person well and...” She paused. + It had just occurred to her that she was hardly the girl to lecture in + this strain. Her love for Gerald Foster had been sufficiently sudden, even + instantaneous. What did she know of Gerald except that she loved him? They + had become engaged within two weeks of their first meeting. She found this + recollection damping to her eloquence, and ended by saying tamely: + </p> + <p> + “It's ridiculous.” + </p> + <p> + Ginger had simmered down to a mood of melancholy resignation. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't have expected you to care for me, I suppose, anyway,” he said, + sombrely. “I'm not much of a chap.” + </p> + <p> + It was just the diversion from the theme under discussion which Sally had + been longing to find. She welcomed the chance of continuing the + conversation on a less intimate and sentimental note. + </p> + <p> + “That's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about,” she said, seizing the + opportunity offered by this display of humility. “I've been looking for + you all day to go on with what I was starting to say in the lift last + night when we were interrupted. Do you mind if I talk to you like an aunt—or + a sister, suppose we say? Really, the best plan would be for you to adopt + me as an honorary sister. What do you think?” + </p> + <p> + Ginger did not appear noticeably elated at the suggested relationship. + </p> + <p> + “Because I really do take a tremendous interest in you.” + </p> + <p> + Ginger brightened. “That's awfully good of you.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to speak words of wisdom. Ginger, why don't you brace up?” + </p> + <p> + “Brace up?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, stiffen your backbone and stick out your chin, and square your + elbows, and really amount to something. Why do you simply flop about and + do nothing and leave everything to what you call 'the family'? Why do you + have to be helped all the time? Why don't you help yourself? Why do you + have to have jobs found for you? Why don't you rush out and get one? Why + do you have to worry about what, 'the family' thinks of you? Why don't you + make yourself independent of them? I know you had hard luck, suddenly + finding yourself without money and all that, but, good heavens, everybody + else in the world who has ever done anything has been broke at one time or + another. It's part of the fun. You'll never get anywhere by letting + yourself be picked up by the family like... like a floppy Newfoundland + puppy and dumped down in any old place that happens to suit them. A job's + a thing you've got to choose for yourself and get for yourself. Think what + you can do—there must be something—and then go at it with a + snort and grab it and hold it down and teach it to take a joke. You've + managed to collect some money. It will give you time to look round. And, + when you've had a look round, do something! Try to realize you're alive, + and try to imagine the family isn't!” + </p> + <p> + Sally stopped and drew a deep breath. Ginger Kemp did not reply for a + moment. He seemed greatly impressed. + </p> + <p> + “When you talk quick,” he said at length, in a serious meditative voice, + “your nose sort of goes all squiggly. Ripping, it looks!” + </p> + <p> + Sally uttered an indignant cry. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say you haven't been listening to a word I've been + saying,” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, rather! Oh, by Jove, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what did I say?” + </p> + <p> + “You... er... And your eyes sort of shine, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind my eyes. What did I say?” + </p> + <p> + “You told me,” said Ginger, on reflection, “to get a job.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes. I put it much better than that, but that's what it amounted + to, I suppose. All right, then. I'm glad you...” + </p> + <p> + Ginger was eyeing her with mournful devotion. “I say,” he interrupted, “I + wish you'd let me write to you. Letters, I mean, and all that. I have an + idea it would kind of buck me up.” + </p> + <p> + “You won't have time for writing letters.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll have time to write them to you. You haven't an address or anything + of that sort in America, have you, by any chance? I mean, so that I'd know + where to write to.” + </p> + <p> + “I can give you an address which will always find me.” She told him the + number and street of Mrs. Meecher's boarding-house, and he wrote them down + reverently on his shirt-cuff. “Yes, on second thoughts, do write,” she + said. “Of course, I shall want to know how you've got on. I... oh, my + goodness! That clock's not right?” + </p> + <p> + “Just about. What time does your train go?” + </p> + <p> + “Go! It's gone! Or, at least, it goes in about two seconds.” She made a + rush for the swing-door, to the confusion of the uniformed official who + had not been expecting this sudden activity. “Good-bye, Ginger. Write to + me, and remember what I said.” + </p> + <p> + Ginger, alert after his unexpected fashion when it became a question of + physical action, had followed her through the swing-door, and they emerged + together and started running down the square. + </p> + <p> + “Stick it!” said Ginger, encouragingly. He was running easily and well, as + becomes a man who, in his day, had been a snip for his international at + scrum-half. + </p> + <p> + Sally saved her breath. The train was beginning to move slowly out of the + station as they sprinted abreast on to the platform. Ginger dived for the + nearest door, wrenched it open, gathered Sally neatly in his arms, and + flung her in. She landed squarely on the toes of a man who occupied the + corner seat, and, bounding off again, made for the window. Ginger, + faithful to the last, was trotting beside the train as it gathered speed. + </p> + <p> + “Ginger! My poor porter! Tip him. I forgot.” + </p> + <p> + “Right ho!” + </p> + <p> + “And don't forget what I've been saying.” + </p> + <p> + “Right ho!” + </p> + <p> + “Look after yourself and 'Death to the Family!'” + </p> + <p> + “Right ho!” + </p> + <p> + The train passed smoothly out of the station. Sally cast one last look + back at her red-haired friend, who had now halted and was waving a + handkerchief. Then she turned to apologize to the other occupant of the + carriage. + </p> + <p> + “I'm so sorry,” she said, breathlessly. “I hope I didn't hurt you.” + </p> + <p> + She found herself facing Ginger's cousin, the dark man of yesterday's + episode on the beach, Bruce Carmyle. + </p> + <p> + 3 + </p> + <p> + Mr. Carmyle was not a man who readily allowed himself to be disturbed by + life's little surprises, but at the present moment he could not help + feeling slightly dazed. He recognized Sally now as the French girl who had + attracted his cousin Lancelot's notice on the beach. At least he had + assumed that she was French, and it was startling to be addressed by her + now in fluent English. How had she suddenly acquired this gift of tongues? + And how on earth had she had time since yesterday, when he had been a + total stranger to her, to become sufficiently intimate with Cousin + Lancelot to be sprinting with him down station platforms and addressing + him out of railway-carriage windows as Ginger? Bruce Carmyle was aware + that most members of that sub-species of humanity, his cousin's personal + friends, called him by that familiar—and, so Carmyle held, vulgar—nickname: + but how had this girl got hold of it? + </p> + <p> + If Sally had been less pretty, Mr. Carmyle would undoubtedly have looked + disapprovingly at her, for she had given his rather rigid sense of the + proprieties a nasty jar. But as, panting and flushed from her run, she was + prettier than any girl he had yet met, he contrived to smile. + </p> + <p> + “Not at all,” he said in answer to her question, though it was far from + the truth. His left big toe was aching confoundedly. Even a girl with a + foot as small as Sally's can make her presence felt on a man's toe if the + scrum-half who is handling her aims well and uses plenty of vigour. + </p> + <p> + “If you don't mind,” said Sally, sitting down, “I think I'll breathe a + little.” + </p> + <p> + She breathed. The train sped on. + </p> + <p> + “Quite a close thing,” said Bruce Carmyle, affably. The pain in his toe + was diminishing. “You nearly missed it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It was lucky Mr. Kemp was with me. He throws very straight, doesn't + he.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” said Carmyle, “how do you come to know my Cousin? On the beach + yesterday morning...” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we didn't know each other then. But we were staying at the same + hotel, and we spent an hour or so shut up in an elevator together. That + was when we really got acquainted.” + </p> + <p> + A waiter entered the compartment, announcing in unexpected English that + dinner was served in the restaurant car. “Would you care for dinner?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm starving,” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + She reproved herself, as they made their way down the corridor, for being + so foolish as to judge anyone by his appearance. This man was perfectly + pleasant in spite of his grim exterior. She had decided by the time they + had seated themselves at the table she liked him. + </p> + <p> + At the table, however, Mr. Carmyle's manner changed for the worse. He lost + his amiability. He was evidently a man who took his meals seriously and + believed in treating waiters with severity. He shuddered austerely at a + stain on the table-cloth, and then concentrated himself frowningly on the + bill of fare. Sally, meanwhile, was establishing cosy relations with the + much too friendly waiter, a cheerful old man who from the start seemed to + have made up his mind to regard her as a favourite daughter. The waiter + talked no English and Sally no French, but they were getting along + capitally, when Mr. Carmyle, who had been irritably waving aside the + servitor's light-hearted advice—at the Hotel Splendide the waiters + never bent over you and breathed cordial suggestions down the side of your + face—gave his order crisply in the Anglo-Gallic dialect of the + travelling Briton. The waiter remarked, “Boum!” in a pleased sort of way, + and vanished. + </p> + <p> + “Nice old man!” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + “Infernally familiar!” said Mr. Carmyle. + </p> + <p> + Sally perceived that on the topic of the waiter she and her host did not + see eye to eye and that little pleasure or profit could be derived from + any discussion centring about him. She changed the subject. She was not + liking Mr. Carmyle quite so much as she had done a few minutes ago, but it + was courteous of him to give her dinner, and she tried to like him as much + as she could. + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” she said, “my name is Nicholas. I always think it's a good + thing to start with names, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Mine...” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know yours. Ginger—Mr. Kemp told me.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Carmyle, who since the waiter's departure, had been thawing, stiffened + again at the mention of Ginger. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed?” he said, coldly. “Apparently you got intimate.” + </p> + <p> + Sally did not like his tone. He seemed to be criticizing her, and she + resented criticism from a stranger. Her eyes opened wide and she looked + dangerously across the table. + </p> + <p> + “Why 'apparently'? I told you that we had got intimate, and I explained + how. You can't stay shut up in an elevator half the night with anybody + without getting to know him. I found Mr. Kemp very pleasant.” + </p> + <p> + “Really?” + </p> + <p> + “And very interesting.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Carmyle raised his eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + “Would you call him interesting?” + </p> + <p> + “I did call him interesting.” Sally was beginning to feel the exhilaration + of battle. Men usually made themselves extremely agreeable to her, and she + reacted belligerently under the stiff unfriendliness which had come over + her companion in the last few minutes. + </p> + <p> + “He told me all about himself.” + </p> + <p> + “And you found that interesting?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Well...” A frigid half-smile came and went on Bruce Carmyle's dark face. + “My cousin has many excellent qualities, no doubt—he used to play + football well, and I understand that he is a capable amateur pugilist—but + I should not have supposed him entertaining. We find him a little dull.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought it was only royalty that called themselves 'we.'” + </p> + <p> + “I meant myself—and the rest of the family.” + </p> + <p> + The mention of the family was too much for Sally. She had to stop talking + in order to allow her mind to clear itself of rude thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Kemp was telling me about Mr. Scrymgeour,” she went on at length. + </p> + <p> + Bruce Carmyle stared for a moment at the yard or so of French bread which + the waiter had placed on the table. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed?” he said. “He has an engaging lack of reticence.” + </p> + <p> + The waiter returned bearing soup and dumped it down. + </p> + <p> + “V'la!” he observed, with the satisfied air of a man who has successfully + performed a difficult conjuring trick. He smiled at Sally expectantly, as + though confident of applause from this section of his audience at least. + But Sally's face was set and rigid. She had been snubbed, and the + sensation was as pleasant as it was novel. + </p> + <p> + “I think Mr. Kemp had hard luck,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “If you will excuse me, I would prefer not to discuss the matter.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Carmyle's attitude was that Sally might be a pretty girl, but she was + a stranger, and the intimate affairs of the Family were not to be + discussed with strangers, however prepossessing. + </p> + <p> + “He was quite in the right. Mr. Scrymgeour was beating a dog...” + </p> + <p> + “I've heard the details.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I didn't know that. Well, don't you agree with me, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not. A man who would throw away an excellent position simply + because...” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, if that's your view, I suppose it is useless to talk about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite.” + </p> + <p> + “Still, there's no harm in asking what you propose to do about Gin—about + Mr. Kemp.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Carmyle became more glacial. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I cannot discuss...” + </p> + <p> + Sally's quick impatience, nobly restrained till now, finally got the + better of her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, for goodness' sake,” she snapped, “do try to be human, and don't + always be snubbing people. You remind me of one of those portraits of men + in the eighteenth century, with wooden faces, who look out of heavy gold + frames at you with fishy eyes as if you were a regrettable incident.” + </p> + <p> + “Rosbif,” said the waiter genially, manifesting himself suddenly beside + them as if he had popped up out of a trap. + </p> + <p> + Bruce Carmyle attacked his roast beef morosely. Sally who was in the mood + when she knew that she would be ashamed of herself later on, but was full + of battle at the moment, sat in silence. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry,” said Mr. Carmyle ponderously, “if my eyes are fishy. The + fact has not been called to my attention before.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you never had any sisters,” said Sally. “They would have told + you.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Carmyle relapsed into an offended dumbness, which lasted till the + waiter had brought the coffee. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Sally, getting up, “I'll be going now. I don't seem to + want any coffee, and, if I stay on, I may say something rude. I thought I + might be able to put in a good word for Mr. Kemp and save him from being + massacred, but apparently it's no use. Good-bye, Mr. Carmyle, and thank + you for giving me dinner.” + </p> + <p> + She made her way down the car, followed by Bruce Carmyle's indignant, yet + fascinated, gaze. Strange emotions were stirring in Mr. Carmyle's bosom. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. GINGER IN DANGEROUS MOOD + </h2> + <p> + Some few days later, owing to the fact that the latter, being preoccupied, + did not see him first, Bruce Carmyle met his cousin Lancelot in + Piccadilly. They had returned by different routes from Roville, and Ginger + would have preferred the separation to continue. He was hurrying on with a + nod, when Carmyle stopped him. + </p> + <p> + “Just the man I wanted to see,” he observed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hullo!” said Ginger, without joy. + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking of calling at your club.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Cigarette?” + </p> + <p> + Ginger peered at the proffered case with the vague suspicion of the man + who has allowed himself to be lured on to the platform and is accepting a + card from the conjurer. He felt bewildered. In all the years of their + acquaintance he could not recall another such exhibition of geniality on + his cousin's part. He was surprised, indeed, at Mr. Carmyle's speaking to + him at all, for the affaire Scrymgeour remained an un-healed wound, and + the Family, Ginger knew, were even now in session upon it. + </p> + <p> + “Been back in London long?” + </p> + <p> + “Day or two.” + </p> + <p> + “I heard quite by accident that you had returned and that you were staying + at the club. By the way, thank you for introducing me to Miss Nicholas.” + </p> + <p> + Ginger started violently. + </p> + <p> + “What!” + </p> + <p> + “I was in that compartment, you know, at Roville Station. You threw her + right on top of me. We agreed to consider that an introduction. An + attractive girl.” + </p> + <p> + Bruce Carmyle had not entirely made up his mind regarding Sally, but on + one point he was clear, that she should not, if he could help it, pass out + of his life. Her abrupt departure had left him with that baffled and + dissatisfied feeling which, though it has little in common with love at + first sight, frequently produces the same effects. She had had, he could + not disguise it from himself, the better of their late encounter and he + was conscious of a desire to meet her again and show her that there was + more in him than she apparently supposed. Bruce Carmyle, in a word, was + piqued: and, though he could not quite decide whether he liked or disliked + Sally, he was very sure that a future without her would have an element of + flatness. + </p> + <p> + “A very attractive girl. We had a very pleasant talk.” + </p> + <p> + “I bet you did,” said Ginger enviously. + </p> + <p> + “By the way, she did not give you her address by any chance?” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” said Ginger suspiciously. His attitude towards Sally's address + resembled somewhat that of a connoisseur who has acquired a unique work of + art. He wanted to keep it to himself and gloat over it. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I—er—I promised to send her some books she was anxious + to read...” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't think she gets much time for reading.” + </p> + <p> + “Books which are not published in America.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, pretty nearly everything is published in America, what? Bound to be, + I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, these particular books are not,” said Mr. Carmyle shortly. He was + finding Ginger's reserve a little trying, and wished that he had been more + inventive. + </p> + <p> + “Give them to me and I'll send them to her,” suggested Ginger. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord, man!” snapped Mr. Carmyle. “I'm capable of sending a few books + to America. Where does she live?” + </p> + <p> + Ginger revealed the sacred number of the holy street which had the luck to + be Sally's headquarters. He did it because with a persistent devil like + his cousin there seemed no way of getting out of it: but he did it + grudgingly. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks.” Bruce Carmyle wrote the information down with a gold pencil in a + dapper little morocco-bound note-book. He was the sort of man who always + has a pencil, and the backs of old envelopes never enter into his life. + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. Bruce Carmyle coughed. + </p> + <p> + “I saw Uncle Donald this morning,” he said. + </p> + <p> + His manner had lost its geniality. There was no need for it now, and he + was a man who objected to waste. He spoke coldly, and in his voice there + was a familiar sub-tingle of reproof. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Ginger moodily. This was the uncle in whose office he had made + his debut as a hasher: a worthy man, highly respected in the National + Liberal Club, but never a favourite of Ginger's. There were other minor + uncles and a few subsidiary aunts who went to make up the Family, but + Uncle Donald was unquestionably the managing director of that body and it + was Ginger's considered opinion that in this capacity he approximated to a + human blister. + </p> + <p> + “He wants you to dine with him to-night at Bleke's.” + </p> + <p> + Ginger's depression deepened. A dinner with Uncle Donald would hardly have + been a cheerful function, even in the surroundings of a banquet in the + Arabian Nights. There was that about Uncle Donald's personality which + would have cast a sobering influence over the orgies of the Emperor + Tiberius at Capri. To dine with him at a morgue like that relic of Old + London, Bleke's Coffee House, which confined its custom principally to + regular patrons who had not missed an evening there for half a century, + was to touch something very near bed-rock. Ginger was extremely doubtful + whether flesh and blood were equal to it. + </p> + <p> + “To-night?” he said. “Oh, you mean to-night? Well...” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be a fool. You know as well as I do that you've got to go.” Uncle + Donald's invitations were royal commands in the Family. “If you've another + engagement you must put it off.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Seven-thirty sharp.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Ginger gloomily. + </p> + <p> + The two men went their ways, Bruce Carmyle eastwards because he had + clients to see in his chambers at the Temple; Ginger westwards because Mr. + Carmyle had gone east. There was little sympathy between these cousins: + yet, oddly enough, their thoughts as they walked centred on the same + object. Bruce Carmyle, threading his way briskly through the crowds of + Piccadilly Circus, was thinking of Sally: and so was Ginger as he loafed + aimlessly towards Hyde Park Corner, bumping in a sort of coma from + pedestrian to pedestrian. + </p> + <p> + Since his return to London Ginger had been in bad shape. He mooned through + the days and slept poorly at night. If there is one thing rottener than + another in a pretty blighted world, one thing which gives a fellow the pip + and reduces him to the condition of an absolute onion, it is hopeless + love. Hopeless love had got Ginger all stirred up. His had been hitherto a + placid soul. Even the financial crash which had so altered his life had + not bruised him very deeply. His temperament had enabled him to bear the + slings and arrows of outrageous fortune with a philosophic “Right ho!” But + now everything seemed different. Things irritated him acutely, which + before he had accepted as inevitable—his Uncle Donald's moustache, + for instance, and its owner's habit of employing it during meals as a sort + of zareba or earthwork against the assaults of soup. + </p> + <p> + “By gad!” thought Ginger, stopping suddenly opposite Devonshire House. “If + he uses that damned shrubbery as soup-strainer to-night, I'll slosh him + with a fork!” + </p> + <p> + Hard thoughts... hard thoughts! And getting harder all the time, for + nothing grows more quickly than a mood of rebellion. Rebellion is a forest + fire that flames across the soul. The spark had been lighted in Ginger, + and long before he reached Hyde Park Corner he was ablaze and crackling. + By the time he returned to his club he was practically a menace to society—to + that section of it, at any rate, which embraced his Uncle Donald, his + minor uncles George and William, and his aunts Mary, Geraldine, and + Louise. + </p> + <p> + Nor had the mood passed when he began to dress for the dismal festivities + of Bleke's Coffee House. He scowled as he struggled morosely with an + obstinate tie. One cannot disguise the fact—Ginger was warming up. + And it was just at this moment that Fate, as though it had been waiting + for the psychological instant, applied the finishing touch. There was a + knock at the door, and a waiter came in with a telegram. + </p> + <p> + Ginger looked at the envelope. It had been readdressed and forwarded on + from the Hotel Normandie. It was a wireless, handed in on board the White + Star liner Olympic, and it ran as follows: + </p> + <p> + Remember. Death to the Family. S. + </p> + <p> + Ginger sat down heavily on the bed. + </p> + <p> + The driver of the taxi-cab which at twenty-five minutes past seven drew up + at the dingy door of Bleke's Coffee House in the Strand was rather struck + by his fare's manner and appearance. A determined-looking sort of young + bloke, was the taxi-driver's verdict. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. SALLY HEARS NEWS + </h2> + <p> + It had been Sally's intention, on arriving in New York, to take a room at + the St. Regis and revel in the gilded luxury to which her wealth entitled + her before moving into the small but comfortable apartment which, as soon + as she had the time, she intended to find and make her permanent abode. + But when the moment came and she was giving directions to the taxi-driver + at the dock, there seemed to her something revoltingly Fillmorian about + the scheme. It would be time enough to sever herself from the + boarding-house which had been her home for three years when she had found + the apartment. Meanwhile, the decent thing to do, if she did not want to + brand herself in the sight of her conscience as a female Fillmore, was to + go back temporarily to Mrs. Meecher's admirable establishment and + foregather with her old friends. After all, home is where the heart is, + even if there are more prunes there than the gourmet would consider + judicious. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it was the unavoidable complacency induced by the thought that she + was doing the right thing, or possibly it was the tingling expectation of + meeting Gerald Foster again after all these weeks of separation, that made + the familiar streets seem wonderfully bright as she drove through them. It + was a perfect, crisp New York morning, all blue sky and amber sunshine, + and even the ash-cans had a stimulating look about them. The street cars + were full of happy people rollicking off to work: policemen directed the + traffic with jaunty affability: and the white-clad street-cleaners went + about their poetic tasks with a quiet but none the less noticeable relish. + It was improbable that any of these people knew that she was back, but + somehow they all seemed to be behaving as though this were a special day. + </p> + <p> + The first discordant note in this overture of happiness was struck by Mrs. + Meecher, who informed Sally, after expressing her gratification at the + news that she required her old room, that Gerald Foster had left town that + morning. + </p> + <p> + “Gone to Detroit, he has,” said Mrs. Meecher. “Miss Doland, too.” She + broke off to speak a caustic word to the boarding-house handyman, who, + with Sally's trunk as a weapon, was depreciating the value of the + wall-paper in the hall. “There's that play of his being tried out there, + you know, Monday,” resumed Mrs. Meecher, after the handyman had bumped his + way up the staircase. “They been rehearsing ever since you left.” + </p> + <p> + Sally was disappointed, but it was such a beautiful morning, and New York + was so wonderful after the dull voyage in the liner that she was not going + to allow herself to be depressed without good reason. After all, she could + go on to Detroit tomorrow. It was nice to have something to which she + could look forward. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, is Elsa in the company?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Sure. And very good too, I hear.” Mrs. Meecher kept abreast of theatrical + gossip. She was an ex-member of the profession herself, having been in the + first production of “Florodora,” though, unlike everybody else, not one of + the original Sextette. “Mr. Faucitt was down to see a rehearsal, and he + said Miss Doland was fine. And he's not easy to please, as you know.” + </p> + <p> + “How is Mr. Faucitt?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Meecher, not unwillingly, for she was a woman who enjoyed the + tragedies of life, made her second essay in the direction of lowering + Sally's uplifted mood. + </p> + <p> + “Poor old gentleman, he ain't over and above well. Went to bed early last + night with a headache, and this morning I been to see him and he don't + look well. There's a lot of this Spanish influenza about. It might be + that. Lots o' people have been dying of it, if you believe what you see in + the papers,” said Mrs. Meecher buoyantly. + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious! You don't think...?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he ain't turned black,” admitted Mrs. Meecher with regret. “They + say they turn black. If you believe what you see in the papers, that is. + Of course, that may come later,” she added with the air of one confident + that all will come right in the future. “The doctor'll be in to see him + pretty soon. He's quite happy. Toto's sitting with him.” + </p> + <p> + Sally's concern increased. Like everyone who had ever spent any length of + time in the house, she had strong views on Toto. This quadruped, who + stained the fame of the entire canine race by posing as a dog, was a small + woolly animal with a persistent and penetrating yap, hard to bear with + equanimity in health and certainly quite outside the range of a sick man. + Her heart bled for Mr. Faucitt. Mrs. Meecher, on the other hand, who held + a faith in her little pet's amiability and power to soothe which seven + years' close association had been unable to shake, seemed to feel that, + with Toto on the spot, all that could be done had been done as far as + pampering the invalid was concerned. + </p> + <p> + “I must go up and see him,” cried Sally. “Poor old dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure. You know his room. You can hear Toto talking to him now,” said Mrs. + Meecher complacently. “He wants a cracker, that's what he wants. Toto + likes a cracker after breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + The invalid's eyes, as Sally entered the room, turned wearily to the door. + At the sight of Sally they lit up with an incredulous rapture. Almost any + intervention would have pleased Mr. Faucitt at that moment, for his little + playmate had long outstayed any welcome that might originally have been + his: but that the caller should be his beloved Sally seemed to the old man + something in the nature of a return of the age of miracles. + </p> + <p> + “Sally!” + </p> + <p> + “One moment. Here, Toto!” + </p> + <p> + Toto, struck momentarily dumb by the sight of food, had jumped off the bed + and was standing with his head on one side, peering questioningly at the + cracker. He was a suspicious dog, but he allowed himself to be lured into + the passage, upon which Sally threw the cracker down and slipped in and + shut the door. Toto, after a couple of yaps, which may have been gratitude + or baffled fury, trotted off downstairs, and Mr. Faucitt drew a deep + breath. + </p> + <p> + “Sally, you come, as ever, as an angel of mercy. Our worthy Mrs. Meecher + means well, and I yield to no man in my respect for her innate kindness of + heart: but she errs in supposing that that thrice-damned whelp of hers is + a combination of sick-nurse, soothing medicine, and a week at the seaside. + She insisted on bringing him here. He was yapping then, as he was yapping + when, with womanly resource which I cannot sufficiently praise, you + decoyed him hence. And each yap went through me like hammer-strokes on + sheeted tin. Sally, you stand alone among womankind. You shine like a good + deed in a naughty world. When did you get back?” + </p> + <p> + “I've only just arrived in my hired barouche from the pier.” + </p> + <p> + “And you came to see your old friend without delay? I am grateful and + flattered. Sally, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I came to see you. Do you suppose that, when Mrs. Meecher told + me you were sick, I just said 'Is that so?' and went on talking about the + weather? Well, what do you mean by it? Frightening everybody. Poor old + darling, do you feel very bad?” + </p> + <p> + “One thousand individual mice are nibbling the base of my spine, and I am + conscious of a constant need of cooling refreshment. But what of that? + Your presence is a tonic. Tell me, how did our Sally enjoy foreign + travel?” + </p> + <p> + “Our Sally had the time of her life.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you visit England?” + </p> + <p> + “Only passing through.” + </p> + <p> + “How did it look?” asked Mr. Faucitt eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Moist. Very moist.” + </p> + <p> + “It would,” said Mr. Faucitt indulgently. “I confess that, happy as I have + been in this country, there are times when I miss those wonderful London + days, when a sort of cosy brown mist hangs over the streets and the + pavements ooze with a perspiration of mud and water, and you see through + the haze the yellow glow of the Bodega lamps shining in the distance like + harbour-lights. Not,” said Mr. Faucitt, “that I specify the Bodega to the + exclusion of other and equally worthy hostelries. I have passed just as + pleasant hours in Rule's and Short's. You missed something by not + lingering in England, Sally.” + </p> + <p> + “I know I did—pneumonia.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Faucitt shook his head reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + “You are prejudiced, my dear. You would have enjoyed London if you had had + the courage to brave its superficial gloom. Where did you spend your + holiday? Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “Part of the time. And the rest of the while I was down by the sea. It was + glorious. I don't think I would ever have come back if I hadn't had to. + But, of course, I wanted to see you all again. And I wanted to be at the + opening of Mr. Foster's play. Mrs. Meecher tells me you went to one of the + rehearsals.” + </p> + <p> + “I attended a dog-fight which I was informed was a rehearsal,” said Mr. + Faucitt severely. “There is no rehearsing nowadays.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear! Was it as bad as all that?” + </p> + <p> + “The play is good. The play—I will go further—is excellent. It + has fat. But the acting...” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Meecher said you told her that Elsa was good.” + </p> + <p> + “Our worthy hostess did not misreport me. Miss Doland has great + possibilities. She reminds me somewhat of Matilda Devine, under whose + banner I played a season at the Old Royalty in London many years ago. She + has the seeds of greatness in her, but she is wasted in the present case + on an insignificant part. There is only one part in the play. I allude to + the one murdered by Miss Mabel Hobson.” + </p> + <p> + “Murdered!” Sally's heart sank. She had been afraid of this, and it was no + satisfaction to feel that she had warned Gerald. “Is she very terrible?” + </p> + <p> + “She has the face of an angel and the histrionic ability of that curious + suet pudding which our estimable Mrs. Meecher is apt to give us on + Fridays. In my professional career I have seen many cases of what I may + term the Lady Friend in the role of star, but Miss Hobson eclipses them + all. I remember in the year '94 a certain scion of the plutocracy took it + into his head to present a female for whom he had conceived an admiration + in a part which would have taxed the resources of the ablest. I was + engaged in her support, and at the first rehearsal I recollect saying to + my dear old friend, Arthur Moseby—dead, alas, these many years. An + excellent juvenile, but, like so many good fellows, cursed with a tendency + to lift the elbow—I recollect saying to him 'Arthur, dear boy, I + give it two weeks.' 'Max,' was his reply, 'you are an incurable optimist. + One consecutive night, laddie, one consecutive night.' We had, I recall, + an even half-crown upon it. He won. We opened at Wigan, our leading lady + got the bird, and the show closed next day. I was forcibly reminded of + this incident as I watched Miss Hobson rehearsing.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, poor Ger—poor Mr. Foster!” + </p> + <p> + “I do not share your commiseration for that young man,” said Mr. Faucitt + austerely. “You probably are almost a stranger to him, but he and I have + been thrown together a good deal of late. A young man upon whom, mark my + words, success, if it ever comes, will have the worst effects. I dislike + him. Sally. He is, I think, without exception, the most selfish and + self-centred young man of my acquaintance. He reminds me very much of old + Billy Fothergill, with whom I toured a good deal in the later eighties. + Did I ever tell you the story of Billy and the amateur who...?” + </p> + <p> + Sally was in no mood to listen to the adventures of Mr. Fothergill. The + old man's innocent criticism of Gerald had stabbed her deeply. A momentary + impulse to speak hotly in his defence died away as she saw Mr. Faucitt's + pale, worn old face. He had meant no harm, after all. How could he know + what Gerald was to her? + </p> + <p> + She changed the conversation abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen anything of Fillmore while I've been away?” + </p> + <p> + “Fillmore? Why yes, my dear, curiously enough I happened to run into him + on Broadway only a few days ago. He seemed changed—less stiff and + aloof than he had been for some time past. I may be wronging him, but + there have been times of late when one might almost have fancied him a + trifle up-stage. All that was gone at our last encounter. He appeared glad + to see me and was most cordial.” + </p> + <p> + Sally found her composure restored. Her lecture on the night of the party + had evidently, she thought, not been wasted. Mr. Faucitt, however, + advanced another theory to account for the change in the Man of Destiny. + </p> + <p> + “I rather fancy,” he said, “that the softening influence has been the + young man's fiancée.” + </p> + <p> + “What? Fillmore's not engaged?” + </p> + <p> + “Did he not write and tell you? I suppose he was waiting to inform you + when you returned. Yes, Fillmore is betrothed. The lady was with him when + we met. A Miss Winch. In the profession, I understand. He introduced me. A + very charming and sensible young lady, I thought.” + </p> + <p> + Sally shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “She can't be. Fillmore would never have got engaged to anyone like that. + Was her hair crimson?” + </p> + <p> + “Brown, if I recollect rightly.” + </p> + <p> + “Very loud, I suppose, and overdressed?” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, neat and quiet.” + </p> + <p> + “You've made a mistake,” said Sally decidedly. “She can't have been like + that. I shall have to look into this. It does seem hard that I can't go + away for a few weeks without all my friends taking to beds of sickness and + all my brothers getting ensnared by vampires.” + </p> + <p> + A knock at the door interrupted her complaint. Mrs. Meecher entered, + ushering in a pleasant little man with spectacles and black bag. + </p> + <p> + “The doctor to see you, Mr. Faucitt.” Mrs. Meecher cast an appraising eye + at the invalid, as if to detect symptoms of approaching discoloration. + “I've been telling him that what I think you've gotten is this here new + Spanish influenza. Two more deaths there were in the paper this morning, + if you can believe what you see...” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” said the doctor, “if you would mind going and bringing me a + small glass of water?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a large glass—a small glass. Just let the tap run for a few + moments and take care not to spill any as you come up the stairs. I always + ask ladies, like our friend who has just gone,” he added as the door + closed, “to bring me a glass of water. It keeps them amused and interested + and gets them out of the way, and they think I am going to do a conjuring + trick with it. As a matter of fact, I'm going to drink it. Now let's have + a look at you.” + </p> + <p> + The examination did not take long. At the end of it the doctor seemed + somewhat chagrined. + </p> + <p> + “Our good friend's diagnosis was correct. I'd give a leg to say it wasn't, + but it was. It is this here new Spanish influenza. Not a bad attack. You + want to stay in bed and keep warm, and I'll write you out a prescription. + You ought to be nursed. Is this young lady a nurse?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, merely...” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I'm a nurse,” said Sally decidedly. “It isn't difficult, is it, + doctor? I know nurses smooth pillows. I can do that. Is there anything + else?” + </p> + <p> + “Their principal duty is to sit here and prevent the excellent and + garrulous lady who has just left us from getting in. They must also be + able to aim straight with a book or an old shoe, if that small woolly dog + I met downstairs tries to force an entrance. If you are equal to these + tasks, I can leave the case in your hands with every confidence.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Sally, my dear,” said Mr. Faucitt, concerned, “you must not waste + your time looking after me. You have a thousand things to occupy you.” + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing I want to do more than help you to get better. I'll just + go out and send a wire, and then I'll be right back.” + </p> + <p> + Five minutes later, Sally was in a Western Union office, telegraphing to + Gerald that she would be unable to reach Detroit in time for the opening. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. FIRST AID FOR FILLMORE + </h2> + <p> + 1 + </p> + <p> + It was not till the following Friday that Sally was able to start for + Detroit. She arrived on the Saturday morning and drove to the Hotel + Statler. Having ascertained that Gerald was stopping in the hotel and + having 'phoned up to his room to tell him to join her, she went into the + dining-room and ordered breakfast. + </p> + <p> + She felt low-spirited as she waited for the food to arrive. The nursing of + Mr. Faucitt had left her tired, and she had not slept well on the train. + But the real cause of her depression was the fact that there had been a + lack of enthusiasm in Gerald's greeting over the telephone just now. He + had spoken listlessly, as though the fact of her returning after all these + weeks was a matter of no account, and she felt hurt and perplexed. + </p> + <p> + A cup of coffee had a stimulating effect. Men, of course, were always like + this in the early morning. It would, no doubt, be a very different Gerald + who would presently bound into the dining-room, quickened and restored by + a cold shower-bath. In the meantime, here was food, and she needed it. + </p> + <p> + She was pouring out her second cup of coffee when a stout young man, of + whom she had caught a glimpse as he moved about that section of the hotel + lobby which was visible through the open door of the dining-room, came in + and stood peering about as though in search of someone. The momentary + sight she had had of this young man had interested Sally. She had thought + how extraordinarily like he was to her brother Fillmore. Now she perceived + that it was Fillmore himself. + </p> + <p> + Sally was puzzled. What could Fillmore be doing so far west? She had + supposed him to be a permanent resident of New York. But, of course, your + man of affairs and vast interests flits about all over the place. At any + rate, here he was, and she called him. And, after he had stood in the + doorway looking in every direction except the right one for another + minute, he saw her and came over to her table. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Sally?” His manner, she thought, was nervous—one might almost + have said embarrassed. She attributed this to a guilty conscience. + Presently he would have to break to her the news that he had become + engaged to be married without her sisterly sanction, and no doubt he was + wondering how to begin. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in + Europe.” + </p> + <p> + “I got back a week ago, but I've been nursing poor old Mr. Faucitt ever + since then. He's been ill, poor old dear. I've come here to see Mr. + Foster's play, 'The Primrose Way,' you know. Is it a success?” + </p> + <p> + “It hasn't opened yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be silly, Fill. Do pull yourself together. It opened last Monday.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it didn't. Haven't you heard? They've closed all the theatres because + of this infernal Spanish influenza. Nothing has been playing this week. + You must have seen it in the papers.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't had time to read the papers. Oh, Fill, what an awful shame!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it's pretty tough. Makes the company all on edge. I've had the + darndest time, I can tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what have you got to do with it?” + </p> + <p> + Fillmore coughed. + </p> + <p> + “I—er—oh, I didn't tell you that. I'm sort of—er—mixed + up in the show. Cracknell—you remember he was at college with me—suggested + that I should come down and look at it. Shouldn't wonder if he wants me to + put money into it and so on.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought he had all the money in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he has a lot, but these fellows like to let a pal in on a good + thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it a good thing?” + </p> + <p> + “The play's fine.” + </p> + <p> + “That's what Mr. Faucitt said. But Mabel Hobson...” + </p> + <p> + Fillmore's ample face registered emotion. + </p> + <p> + “She's an awful woman, Sally! She can't act, and she throws her weight + about all the time. The other day there was a fuss about a paper-knife...” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean, a fuss about a paper-knife?” + </p> + <p> + “One of the props, you know. It got mislaid. I'm certain it wasn't my + fault...” + </p> + <p> + “How could it have been your fault?” asked Sally wonderingly. Love seemed + to have the worst effects on Fillmore's mentality. + </p> + <p> + “Well—er—you know how it is. Angry woman... blames the first + person she sees... This paper-knife...” + </p> + <p> + Fillmore's voice trailed off into pained silence. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Faucitt said Elsa Doland was good.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she's all right,” said Fillmore indifferently. “But—” His face + brightened and animation crept into his voice. “But the girl you want to + watch is Miss Winch. Gladys Winch. She plays the maid. She's only in the + first act, and hasn't much to say, except 'Did you ring, madam?' and + things like that. But it's the way she says 'em! Sally, that girl's a + genius! The greatest character actress in a dozen years! You mark my + words, in a darned little while you'll see her name up on Broadway in + electric light. Personality? Ask me! Charm? She wrote the words and music! + Looks?...” + </p> + <p> + “All right! All right! I know all about it, Fill. And will you kindly + inform me how you dared to get engaged without consulting me?” + </p> + <p> + Fillmore blushed richly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Mr. Faucitt told me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well...” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm only human,” argued Fillmore. + </p> + <p> + “I call that a very handsome admission. You've got quite modest, Fill.” + </p> + <p> + He had certainly changed for the better since their last meeting. + </p> + <p> + It was as if someone had punctured him and let out all the pomposity. If + this was due, as Mr. Faucitt had suggested, to the influence of Miss + Winch, Sally felt that she could not but approve of the romance. + </p> + <p> + “I'll introduce you sometime,' said Fillmore. + </p> + <p> + “I want to meet her very much.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll have to be going now. I've got to see Bunbury. I thought he might be + in here.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's Bunbury?” + </p> + <p> + “The producer. I suppose he is breakfasting in his room. I'd better go + up.” + </p> + <p> + “You are busy, aren't you. Little marvel! It's lucky they've got you to + look after them.” + </p> + <p> + Fillmore retired and Sally settled down to wait for Gerald, no longer hurt + by his manner over the telephone. Poor Gerald! No wonder he had seemed + upset. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later he came in. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Jerry darling,” said Sally, as he reached the table, “I'm so sorry. + I've just been hearing about it.” + </p> + <p> + Gerald sat down. His appearance fulfilled the promise of his voice over + the telephone. A sort of nervous dullness wrapped him about like a + garment. + </p> + <p> + “It's just my luck,” he said gloomily. “It's the kind of thing that + couldn't happen to anyone but me. Damned fools! Where's the sense in + shutting the theatres, even if there is influenza about? They let people + jam against one another all day in the stores. If that doesn't hurt them + why should it hurt them to go to theatres? Besides, it's all infernal + nonsense about this thing. I don't believe there is such a thing as + Spanish influenza. People get colds in their heads and think they're + dying. It's all a fake scare.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think it's that,” said Sally. “Poor Mr. Faucitt had it quite + badly. That's why I couldn't come earlier.” + </p> + <p> + Gerald did not seem interested either by the news of Mr. Faucitt's illness + or by the fact that Sally, after delay, had at last arrived. He dug a + spoon sombrely into his grape-fruit. + </p> + <p> + “We've been hanging about here day after day, getting bored to death all + the time... The company's going all to pieces. They're sick of rehearsing + and rehearsing when nobody knows if we'll ever open. They were all keyed + up a week ago, and they've been sagging ever since. It will ruin the play, + of course. My first chance! Just chucked away.” + </p> + <p> + Sally was listening with a growing feeling of desolation. She tried to be + fair, to remember that he had had a terrible disappointment and was under + a great strain. And yet... it was unfortunate that self-pity was a thing + she particularly disliked in a man. Her vanity, too, was hurt. It was + obvious that her arrival, so far from acting as a magic restorative, had + effected nothing. She could not help remembering, though it made her feel + disloyal, what Mr. Faucitt had said about Gerald. She had never noticed + before that he was remarkably self-centred, but he was thrusting the fact + upon her attention now. + </p> + <p> + “That Hobson woman is beginning to make trouble,” went on Gerald, prodding + in a despairing sort of way at scrambled eggs. “She ought never to have + had the part, never. She can't handle it. Elsa Doland could play it a + thousand times better. I wrote Elsa in a few lines the other day, and the + Hobson woman went right up in the air. You don't know what a star is till + you've seen one of these promoted clothes-props from the Follies trying to + be one. It took me an hour to talk her round and keep her from throwing up + her part.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not let her throw up her part?” + </p> + <p> + “For heaven's sake talk sense,” said Gerald querulously. “Do you suppose + that man Cracknell would keep the play on if she wasn't in it? He would + close the show in a second, and where would I be then? You don't seem to + realize that this is a big chance for me. I'd look a fool throwing it + away.” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Sally, shortly. She had never felt so wretched in her life. + Foreign travel, she decided, was a mistake. It might be pleasant and + broadening to the mind, but it seemed to put you so out of touch with + people when you got back. She analysed her sensations, and arrived at the + conclusion that what she was resenting was the fact that Gerald was trying + to get the advantages of two attitudes simultaneously. A man in trouble + may either be the captain of his soul and superior to pity, or he may be a + broken thing for a woman to pet and comfort. Gerald, it seemed to her, was + advertising himself as an object for her commiseration, and at the same + time raising a barrier against it. He appeared to demand her sympathy + while holding himself aloof from it. She had the uncomfortable sensation + of feeling herself shut out and useless. + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” said Gerald, “there's one thing. I have to keep her jollying + along all the time, so for goodness' sake don't go letting it out that + we're engaged.” + </p> + <p> + Sally's chin went up with a jerk. This was too much. + </p> + <p> + “If you find it a handicap being engaged to me...” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be silly.” Gerald took refuge in pathos. “Good God! It's tough! + Here am I, worried to death, and you...” + </p> + <p> + Before he could finish the sentence, Sally's mood had undergone one of + those swift changes which sometimes made her feel that she must be lacking + in character. A simple, comforting thought had come to her, altering her + entire outlook. She had come off the train tired and gritty, and what + seemed the general out-of-jointness of the world was entirely due, she + decided, to the fact that she had not had a bath and that her hair was all + anyhow. She felt suddenly tranquil. If it was merely her grubby and + dishevelled condition that made Gerald seem to her so different, all was + well. She put her hand on his with a quick gesture of penitence. + </p> + <p> + “I'm so sorry,” she said. “I've been a brute, but I do sympathize, + really.” + </p> + <p> + “I've had an awful time,” mumbled Gerald. + </p> + <p> + “I know, I know. But you never told me you were glad to see me.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I'm glad to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you say so, then, you poor fish? And why didn't you ask me if + I had enjoyed myself in Europe?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you enjoy yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, except that I missed you so much. There! Now we can consider my + lecture on foreign travel finished, and you can go on telling me your + troubles.” + </p> + <p> + Gerald accepted the invitation. He spoke at considerable length, though + with little variety. It appeared definitely established in his mind that + Providence had invented Spanish influenza purely with a view to wrecking + his future. But now he seemed less aloof, more open to sympathy. The brief + thunderstorm had cleared the air. Sally lost that sense of detachment and + exclusion which had weighed upon her. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Gerald, at length, looking at his watch, “I suppose I had + better be off.” + </p> + <p> + “Rehearsal?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, confound it. It's the only way of getting through the day. Are you + coming along?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll come directly I've unpacked and tidied myself up.” + </p> + <p> + “See you at the theatre, then.” + </p> + <p> + Sally went out and rang for the lift to take her up to her room. + </p> + <p> + 2 + </p> + <p> + The rehearsal had started when she reached the theatre. As she entered the + dark auditorium, voices came to her with that thin and reedy effect which + is produced by people talking in an empty building. She sat down at the + back of the house, and, as her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, was able + to see Gerald sitting in the front row beside a man with a bald head + fringed with orange hair whom she took correctly to be Mr. Bunbury, the + producer. Dotted about the house in ones and twos were members of the + company whose presence was not required in the first act. On the stage, + Elsa Doland, looking very attractive, was playing a scene with a man in a + bowler hat. She was speaking a line, as Sally came in. + </p> + <p> + “Why, what do you mean, father?” + </p> + <p> + “Tiddly-omty-om,” was the bowler-hatted one's surprising reply. + “Tiddly-omty-om... long speech ending in 'find me in the library.' And + exit,” said the man in the bowler hat, starting to do so. + </p> + <p> + For the first time Sally became aware of the atmosphere of nerves. Mr. + Bunbury, who seemed to be a man of temperament, picked up his + walking-stick, which was leaning against the next seat, and flung it with + some violence across the house. + </p> + <p> + “For God's sake!” said Mr. Bunbury. + </p> + <p> + “Now what?” inquired the bowler hat, interested, pausing hallway across + the stage. + </p> + <p> + “Do speak the lines, Teddy,” exclaimed Gerald. “Don't skip them in that + sloppy fashion.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't want me to go over the whole thing?” asked the bowler hat, + amazed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” + </p> + <p> + “Not the whole damn thing?” queried the bowler hat, fighting with + incredulity. + </p> + <p> + “This is a rehearsal,” snapped Mr. Bunbury. “If we are not going to do it + properly, what's the use of doing it at all?” + </p> + <p> + This seemed to strike the erring Teddy, if not as reasonable, at any rate + as one way of looking at it. He delivered the speech in an injured tone + and shuffled off. The atmosphere of tenseness was unmistakable now. Sally + could feel it. The world of the theatre is simply a large nursery and its + inhabitants children who readily become fretful if anything goes wrong. + The waiting and the uncertainty, the loafing about in strange hotels in a + strange city, the dreary rehearsing of lines which had been polished to + the last syllable more than a week ago—these things had sapped the + nerve of the Primrose Way company and demoralization had set in. It would + require only a trifle to produce an explosion. + </p> + <p> + Elsa Doland now moved to the door, pressed a bell, and, taking a magazine + from the table, sat down in a chair near the footlights. A moment later, + in answer to the ring, a young woman entered, to be greeted instantly by + an impassioned bellow from Mr. Bunbury. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Winch!” + </p> + <p> + The new arrival stopped and looked out over the footlights, not in the + pained manner of the man in the bowler hat, but with the sort of genial + indulgence of one who has come to a juvenile party to amuse the children. + She was a square, wholesome, good-humoured looking girl with a serious + face, the gravity of which was contradicted by the faint smile that seemed + to lurk about the corner of her mouth. She was certainly not pretty, and + Sally, watching her with keen interest, was surprised that Fillmore had + had the sense to disregard surface homeliness and recognize her charm. + Deep down in Fillmore, Sally decided, there must lurk an unsuspected vein + of intelligence. + </p> + <p> + “Hello?” said Miss Winch, amiably. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bunbury seemed profoundly moved. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Winch, did I or did I not ask you to refrain from chewing gum during + rehearsal?” + </p> + <p> + “That's right, so you did,” admitted Miss Winch, chummily. + </p> + <p> + “Then why are you doing it?” + </p> + <p> + Fillmore's fiancée revolved the criticized refreshment about her tongue + for a moment before replying. + </p> + <p> + “Bit o' business,” she announced, at length. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, a bit of business?” + </p> + <p> + “Character stuff,” explained Miss Winch in her pleasant, drawling voice. + “Thought it out myself. Maids chew gum, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bunbury ruffled his orange hair in an over-wrought manner with the + palm of his right hand. + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever seen a maid?” he asked, despairingly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. And they chew gum.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean a parlour-maid in a smart house,” moaned Mr. Bunbury. “Do you + imagine for a moment that in a house such as this is supposed to be the + parlour-maid would be allowed to come into the drawing-room champing that + disgusting, beastly stuff?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Winch considered the point. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe you're right.” She brightened. “Listen! Great idea! Mr. Foster can + write in a line for Elsa, calling me down, and another giving me a good + come-back, and then another for Elsa saying something else, and then + something really funny for me, and so on. We can work it up into a big + comic scene. Five or six minutes, all laughs.” + </p> + <p> + This ingenious suggestion had the effect of depriving the producer + momentarily of speech, and while he was struggling for utterance, there + dashed out from the wings a gorgeous being in blue velvet and a hat of + such unimpeachable smartness that Sally ached at the sight of it with a + spasm of pure envy. + </p> + <p> + “Say!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Mabel Hobson had practically every personal advantage which nature + can bestow with the exception of a musical voice. Her figure was perfect, + her face beautiful, and her hair a mass of spun gold; but her voice in + moments of emotion was the voice of a peacock. + </p> + <p> + “Say, listen to me for just one moment!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bunbury recovered from his trance. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Hobson! Please!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's all very well...” + </p> + <p> + “You are interrupting the rehearsal.” + </p> + <p> + “You bet your sorrowful existence I'm interrupting the rehearsal,” agreed + Miss Hobson, with emphasis. “And, if you want to make a little easy money, + you go and bet somebody ten seeds that I'm going to interrupt it again + every time there's any talk of writing up any darned part in the show + except mine. Write up other people's parts? Not while I have my strength!” + </p> + <p> + A young man with butter-coloured hair, who had entered from the wings in + close attendance on the injured lady, attempted to calm the storm. + </p> + <p> + “Now, sweetie!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, can it, Reggie!” said Miss Hobson, curtly. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cracknell obediently canned it. He was not one of your brutal + cave-men. He subsided into the recesses of a high collar and began to chew + the knob of his stick. + </p> + <p> + “I'm the star,” resumed Miss Hobson, vehemently, “and, if you think + anybody else's part's going to be written up... well, pardon me while I + choke with laughter! If so much as a syllable is written into anybody's + part, I walk straight out on my two feet. You won't see me go, I'll be so + quick.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bunbury sprang to his feet and waved his hands. + </p> + <p> + “For heaven's sake! Are we rehearsing, or is this a debating society? Miss + Hobson, nothing is going to be written into anybody's part. Now are you + satisfied?” + </p> + <p> + “She said...” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, never mind,” observed Miss Winch, equably. “It was only a random + thought. Working for the good of the show all the time. That's me.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, sweetie!” pleaded Mr. Cracknell, emerging from the collar like a + tortoise. + </p> + <p> + Miss Hobson reluctantly allowed herself to be reassured. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, that's all right, then. But don't forget I know how to look + after myself,” she said, stating a fact which was abundantly obvious to + all who had had the privilege of listening to her. “Any raw work, and out + I walk so quick it'll make you giddy.” + </p> + <p> + She retired, followed by Mr. Cracknell, and the wings swallowed her up. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I say my big speech now?” inquired Miss Winch, over the footlights. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes! Get on with the rehearsal. We've wasted half the morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you ring, madam?” said Miss Winch to Elsa, who had been reading her + magazine placidly through the late scene. + </p> + <p> + The rehearsal proceeded, and Sally watched it with a sinking heart. It was + all wrong. Novice as she was in things theatrical, she could see that. + There was no doubt that Miss Hobson was superbly beautiful and would have + shed lustre on any part which involved the minimum of words and the + maximum of clothes: but in the pivotal role of a serious play, her very + physical attributes only served to emphasize and point her hopeless + incapacity. Sally remembered Mr. Faucitt's story of the lady who got the + bird at Wigan. She did not see how history could fail to repeat itself. + The theatrical public of America will endure much from youth and beauty, + but there is a limit. + </p> + <p> + A shrill, passionate cry from the front row, and Mr. Bunbury was on his + feet again. Sally could not help wondering whether things were going + particularly wrong to-day, or whether this was one of Mr. Bunbury's + ordinary mornings. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Hobson!” + </p> + <p> + The action of the drama had just brought that emotional lady on left + centre and had taken her across to the desk which stood on the other side + of the stage. The desk was an important feature of the play, for it + symbolized the absorption in business which, exhibited by her husband, was + rapidly breaking Miss Hobson's heart. He loved his desk better than his + young wife, that was what it amounted to, and no wife can stand that sort + of thing. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, gee!” said Miss Hobson, ceasing to be the distressed wife and + becoming the offended star. “What's it this time?” + </p> + <p> + “I suggested at the last rehearsal and at the rehearsal before and the + rehearsal before that, that, on that line, you, should pick up the + paper-knife and toy negligently with it. You did it yesterday, and to-day + you've forgotten it again.” + </p> + <p> + “My God!” cried Miss Hobson, wounded to the quick. “If this don't beat + everything! How the heck can I toy negligently with a paper-knife when + there's no paper-knife for me to toy negligently with?” + </p> + <p> + “The paper-knife is on the desk.” + </p> + <p> + “It's not on the desk.” + </p> + <p> + “No paper-knife?” + </p> + <p> + “No paper-knife. And it's no good picking on me. I'm the star, not the + assistant stage manager. If you're going to pick on anybody, pick on him.” + </p> + <p> + The advice appeared to strike Mr. Bunbury as good. He threw back his head + and bayed like a bloodhound. + </p> + <p> + There was a momentary pause, and then from the wings on the prompt side + there shambled out a stout and shrinking figure, in whose hand was a + script of the play and on whose face, lit up by the footlights, there + shone a look of apprehension. It was Fillmore, the Man of Destiny. + </p> + <p> + 3 + </p> + <p> + Alas, poor Fillmore! He stood in the middle of the stage with the + lightning of Mr. Bunbury's wrath playing about his defenceless head, and + Sally, recovering from her first astonishment, sent a wave of sisterly + commiseration floating across the theatre to him. She did not often pity + Fillmore. His was a nature which in the sunshine of prosperity had a + tendency to grow a trifle lush; and such of the minor ills of life as had + afflicted him during the past three years, had, she considered, been + wholesome and educative and a matter not for concern but for + congratulation. Unmoved, she had watched him through that lean period + lunching on coffee and buckwheat cakes, and curbing from motives of + economy a somewhat florid taste in dress. But this was different. This was + tragedy. Somehow or other, blasting disaster must have smitten the + Fillmore bank-roll, and he was back where he had started. His presence + here this morning could mean nothing else. + </p> + <p> + She recalled his words at the breakfast-table about financing the play. + How like Fillmore to try to save his face for the moment with an + outrageous bluff, though well aware that he would have to reveal the truth + sooner or later. She realized how he must have felt when he had seen her + at the hotel. Yes, she was sorry for Fillmore. + </p> + <p> + And, as she listened to the fervent eloquence of Mr. Bunbury, she + perceived that she had every reason to be. Fillmore was having a bad time. + One of the chief articles of faith in the creed of all theatrical + producers is that if anything goes wrong it must be the fault of the + assistant stage manager and Mr. Bunbury was evidently orthodox in his + views. He was showing oratorical gifts of no mean order. The paper-knife + seemed to inspire him. Gradually, Sally began to get the feeling that this + harmless, necessary stage-property was the source from which sprang most, + if not all, of the trouble in the world. It had disappeared before. Now it + had disappeared again. Could Mr. Bunbury go on struggling in a universe + where this sort of thing happened? He seemed to doubt it. Being a + red-blooded, one-hundred-per-cent American man, he would try hard, but it + was a hundred to one shot that he would get through. He had asked for a + paper-knife. There was no paper-knife. Why was there no paper-knife? Where + was the paper-knife anyway? + </p> + <p> + “I assure you, Mr. Bunbury,” bleated the unhappy Fillmore, obsequiously. + “I placed it with the rest of the properties after the last rehearsal.” + </p> + <p> + “You couldn't have done.” + </p> + <p> + “I assure you I did.” + </p> + <p> + “And it walked away, I suppose,” said Miss Hobson with cold scorn, pausing + in the operation of brightening up her lower lip with a lip-stick. + </p> + <p> + A calm, clear voice spoke. + </p> + <p> + “It was taken away,” said the calm, clear voice. + </p> + <p> + Miss Winch had added herself to the symposium. She stood beside Fillmore, + chewing placidly. It took more than raised voices and gesticulating hands + to disturb Miss Winch. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Hobson took it,” she went on in her cosy, drawling voice. “I saw + her.” + </p> + <p> + Sensation in court. The prisoner, who seemed to feel his position deeply, + cast a pop-eyed glance full of gratitude at his advocate. Mr. Bunbury, in + his capacity of prosecuting attorney, ran his fingers through his hair in + some embarrassment, for he was regretting now that he had made such a + fuss. Miss Hobson thus assailed by an underling, spun round and dropped + the lip-stick, which was neatly retrieved by the assiduous Mr. Cracknell. + Mr. Cracknell had his limitations, but he was rather good at picking up + lip-sticks. + </p> + <p> + “What's that? I took it? I never did anything of the sort.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Hobson took it after the rehearsal yesterday,” drawled Gladys Winch, + addressing the world in general, “and threw it negligently at the theatre + cat.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Hobson seemed taken aback. Her composure was not restored by Mr. + Bunbury's next remark. The producer, like his company, had been feeling + the strain of the past few days, and, though as a rule he avoided anything + in the nature of a clash with the temperamental star, this matter of the + missing paper-knife had bitten so deeply into his soul that he felt + compelled to speak his mind. + </p> + <p> + “In future, Miss Hobson, I should be glad if, when you wish to throw + anything at the cat, you would not select a missile from the property box. + Good heavens!” he cried, stung by the way fate was maltreating him, “I + have never experienced anything like this before. I have been producing + plays all my life, and this is the first time this has happened. I have + produced Nazimova. Nazimova never threw paper-knives at cats.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I hate cats,” said Miss Hobson, as though that settled it. + </p> + <p> + “I,” murmured Miss Winch, “love little pussy, her fur is so warm, and if I + don't hurt her she'll do me no...” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my heavens!” shouted Gerald Foster, bounding from his seat and for + the first time taking a share in the debate. “Are we going to spend the + whole day arguing about cats and paper-knives? For goodness' sake, clear + the stage and stop wasting time.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Hobson chose to regard this intervention as an affront. + </p> + <p> + “Don't shout at me, Mr. Foster!” + </p> + <p> + “I wasn't shouting at you.” + </p> + <p> + “If you have anything to say to me, lower your voice.” + </p> + <p> + “He can't,” observed Miss Winch. “He's a tenor.” + </p> + <p> + “Nazimova never...” began Mr. Bunbury. + </p> + <p> + Miss Hobson was not to be diverted from her theme by reminiscences of + Nazimova. She had not finished dealing with Gerald. + </p> + <p> + “In the shows I've been in,” she said, mordantly, “the author wasn't + allowed to go about the place getting fresh with the leading lady. In the + shows I've been in the author sat at the back and spoke when he was spoken + to. In the shows I've been in...” + </p> + <p> + Sally was tingling all over. This reminded her of the dog-fight on the + Roville sands. She wanted to be in it, and only the recognition that it + was a private fight and that she would be intruding kept her silent. The + lure of the fray, however, was too strong for her wholly to resist it. + Almost unconsciously, she had risen from her place and drifted down the + aisle so as to be nearer the white-hot centre of things. She was now + standing in the lighted space by the orchestra-pit, and her presence + attracted the roving attention of Miss Hobson, who, having concluded her + remarks on authors and their legitimate sphere of activity, was looking + about for some other object of attack. + </p> + <p> + “Who the devil,” inquired Miss Hobson, “is that?” + </p> + <p> + Sally found herself an object of universal scrutiny and wished that she + had remained in the obscurity of the back rows. + </p> + <p> + “I am Mr. Nicholas' sister,” was the best method of identification that + she could find. + </p> + <p> + “Who's Mr. Nicholas?” + </p> + <p> + Fillmore timidly admitted that he was Mr. Nicholas. He did it in the + manner of one in the dock pleading guilty to a major charge, and at least + half of those present seemed surprised. To them, till now, Fillmore had + been a nameless thing, answering to the shout of “Hi!” + </p> + <p> + Miss Hobson received the information with a laugh of such exceeding + bitterness that strong men blanched and Mr. Cracknell started so + convulsively that he nearly jerked his collar off its stud. + </p> + <p> + “Now, sweetie!” urged Mr. Cracknell. + </p> + <p> + Miss Hobson said that Mr. Cracknell gave her a pain in the gizzard. She + recommended his fading away, and he did so—into his collar. He + seemed to feel that once well inside his collar he was “home” and safe + from attack. + </p> + <p> + “I'm through!” announced Miss Hobson. It appeared that Sally's presence + had in some mysterious fashion fulfilled the function of the last straw. + “This is the by-Goddest show I was ever in! I can stand for a whole lot, + but when it comes to the assistant stage manager being allowed to fill the + theatre with his sisters and his cousins and his aunts it's time to quit.” + </p> + <p> + “But, sweetie!” pleaded Mr. Cracknell, coming to the surface. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, go and choke yourself!” said Miss Hobson, crisply. And, swinging + round like a blue panther, she strode off. A door banged, and the sound of + it seemed to restore Mr. Cracknell's power of movement. He, too, shot up + stage and disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Sally,” said Elsa Doland, looking up from her magazine. The + battle, raging all round her, had failed to disturb her detachment. “When + did you get back?” + </p> + <p> + Sally trotted up the steps which had been propped against the stage to + form a bridge over the orchestra pit. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Elsa.” + </p> + <p> + The late debaters had split into groups. Mr. Bunbury and Gerald were + pacing up and down the central aisle, talking earnestly. Fillmore had + subsided into a chair. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know Gladys Winch?” asked Elsa. + </p> + <p> + Sally shook hands with the placid lodestar of her brother's affections. + Miss Winch, on closer inspection, proved to have deep grey eyes and + freckles. Sally's liking for her increased. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for saving Fillmore from the wolves,” she said. “They would + have torn him in pieces but for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know,” said Miss Winch. + </p> + <p> + “It was noble.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well!” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Sally, “I'll go and have a talk with Fillmore. He looks as + though he wanted consoling.” + </p> + <p> + She made her way to that picturesque ruin. + </p> + <p> + 4 + </p> + <p> + Fillmore had the air of a man who thought it wasn't loaded. A wild, + startled expression had settled itself upon his face and he was breathing + heavily. + </p> + <p> + “Cheer up!” said Sally. Fillmore jumped like a stricken jelly. “Tell me + all,” said Sally, sitting down beside him. “I leave you a gentleman of + large and independent means, and I come back and find you one of the + wage-slaves again. How did it all happen?” + </p> + <p> + “Sally,” said Fillmore, “I will be frank with you. Can you lend me ten + dollars?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't see how you make that out an answer to my question, but here you + are.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks.” Fillmore pocketed the bill. “I'll let you have it back next + week. I want to take Miss Winch out to lunch.” + </p> + <p> + “If that's what you want it for, don't look on it as a loan, take it as a + gift with my blessing thrown in.” She looked over her shoulder at Miss + Winch, who, the cares of rehearsal being temporarily suspended, was + practising golf-shots with an umbrella at the other side of the stage. + “However did you have the sense to fall in love with her, Fill?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you like her?” asked Fillmore, brightening. + </p> + <p> + “I love her.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew you would. She's just the right girl for me, isn't she?” + </p> + <p> + “She certainly is.” + </p> + <p> + “So sympathetic.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “So kind.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And she's got brains enough for two, which is the exact quantity the girl + who marries you will need.” + </p> + <p> + Fillmore drew himself up with as much hauteur as a stout man sitting in a + low chair can achieve. + </p> + <p> + “Some day I will make you believe in me, Sally.” + </p> + <p> + “Less of the Merchant Prince, my lad,” said Sally, firmly. “You just + confine yourself to explaining how you got this way, instead of taking up + my valuable time telling me what you mean to do in the future. You've lost + all your money?” + </p> + <p> + “I have suffered certain reverses,” said Fillmore, with dignity, “which + have left me temporarily... Yes, every bean,” he concluded simply. + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “Well...” Fillmore hesitated. “I've had bad luck, you know. First I bought + Consolidated Rails for the rise, and they fell. So that went wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “And then I bought Russian Roubles for the fall, and they rose. So that + went wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious! Why, I've heard all this before.” + </p> + <p> + “Who told you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I remember now. It's just that you remind me of a man I met at + Roville. He was telling me the story of his life, and how he had made a + hash of everything. Well, that took all you had, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Not quite. I had a few thousand left, and I went into a deal that really + did look cast-iron.” + </p> + <p> + “And that went wrong!” + </p> + <p> + “It wasn't my fault,” said Fillmore querulously. “It was just my poisonous + luck. A man I knew got me to join a syndicate which had bought up a lot of + whisky. The idea was to ship it into Chicago in herring-barrels. We should + have cleaned up big, only a mutt of a detective took it into his darned + head to go fooling about with a crowbar. Officious ass! It wasn't as if + the barrels weren't labelled 'Herrings' as plainly as they could be,” said + Fillmore with honest indignation. He shuddered. “I nearly got arrested.” + </p> + <p> + “But that went wrong? Well, that's something to be thankful for. Stripes + wouldn't suit your figure.” Sally gave his arm a squeeze. She was very + fond of Fillmore, though for the good of his soul she generally concealed + her affection beneath a manner which he had once compared, not without + some reason, to that of a governess who had afflicted their mutual + childhood. “Never mind, you poor ill-used martyr. Things are sure to come + right. We shall see you a millionaire some day. And, oh heavens, brother + Fillmore, what a bore you'll be when you are! I can just see you being + interviewed and giving hints to young men on how to make good. 'Mr. + Nicholas attributes his success to sheer hard work. He can lay his hand on + his bulging waistcoat and say that he has never once indulged in those + rash get-rich-quick speculations, where you buy for the rise and watch + things fall and then rush out and buy for the fall and watch 'em rise.' + Fill... I'll tell you what I'll do. They all say it's the first bit of + money that counts in building a vast fortune. I'll lend you some of mine.” + </p> + <p> + “You will? Sally, I always said you were an ace.” + </p> + <p> + “I never heard you. You oughtn't to mumble so.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you lend me twenty thousand dollars?” + </p> + <p> + Sally patted his hand soothingly. + </p> + <p> + “Come slowly down to earth,” she said. “Two hundred was the sum I had in + mind.” + </p> + <p> + “I want twenty thousand.” + </p> + <p> + “You'd better rob a bank. Any policeman will direct you to a good bank.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you why I want twenty thousand.” + </p> + <p> + “You might just mention it.” + </p> + <p> + “If I had twenty thousand, I'd buy this production from Cracknell. He'll + be back in a few minutes to tell us that the Hobson woman has quit: and, + if she really has, you take it from me that he will close the show. And, + even if he manages to jolly her along this time and she comes back, it's + going to happen sooner or later. It's a shame to let a show like this + close. I believe in it, Sally. It's a darn good play. With Elsa Doland in + the big part, it couldn't fail.” + </p> + <p> + Sally started. Her money was too recent for her to have grown fully + accustomed to it, and she had never realized that she was in a position to + wave a wand and make things happen on any big scale. The financing of a + theatrical production had always been to her something mysterious and out + of the reach of ordinary persons like herself. Fillmore, that spacious + thinker, had brought it into the sphere of the possible. + </p> + <p> + “He'd sell for less than that, of course, but one would need a bit in + hand. You have to face a loss on the road before coming into New York. I'd + give you ten per cent on your money, Sally.” + </p> + <p> + Sally found herself wavering. The prudent side of her nature, which + hitherto had steered her safely through most of life's rapids, seemed + oddly dormant. Sub-consciously she was aware that on past performances + Fillmore was decidedly not the man to be allowed control of anybody's + little fortune, but somehow the thought did not seem to grip her. He had + touched her imagination. + </p> + <p> + “It's a gold-mine!” + </p> + <p> + Sally's prudent side stirred in its sleep. Fillmore had chosen an + unfortunate expression. To the novice in finance the word gold-mine had + repellent associations. If there was one thing in which Sally had proposed + not to invest her legacy, it was a gold-mine; what she had had in view, as + a matter of fact, had been one of those little fancy shops which are + called Ye Blue Bird or Ye Corner Shoppe, or something like that, where you + sell exotic bric-a-brac to the wealthy at extortionate prices. She knew + two girls who were doing splendidly in that line. As Fillmore spoke those + words, Ye Corner Shoppe suddenly looked very good to her. + </p> + <p> + At this moment, however, two things happened. Gerald and Mr. Bunbury, in + the course of their perambulations, came into the glow of the footlights, + and she was able to see Gerald's face: and at the same time Mr. Reginald + Cracknell hurried on to the stage, his whole demeanour that of the bearer + of evil tidings. + </p> + <p> + The sight of Gerald's face annihilated Sally's prudence at a single + stroke. Ye Corner Shoppe, which a moment before had been shining brightly + before her mental eye, flickered and melted out. The whole issue became + clear and simple. Gerald was miserable and she had it in her power to make + him happy. He was sullenly awaiting disaster and she with a word could + avert it. She wondered that she had ever hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” she said simply. + </p> + <p> + Fillmore quivered from head to foot. A powerful electric shock could not + have produced a stronger convulsion. He knew Sally of old as cautious and + clear-headed, by no means to be stampeded by a brother's eloquence; and he + had never looked on this thing as anything better than a hundred to one + shot. + </p> + <p> + “You'll do it?” he whispered, and held his breath. After all he might not + have heard correctly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + All the complex emotion in Fillmore's soul found expression in one vast + whoop. It rang through the empty theatre like the last trump, beating + against the back wall and rising in hollow echoes to the very gallery. Mr. + Bunbury, conversing in low undertones with Mr. Cracknell across the + footlights, shied like a startled mule. There was reproach and menace in + the look he cast at Fillmore, and a minute earlier it would have reduced + that financial magnate to apologetic pulp. But Fillmore was not to be + intimidated now by a look. He strode down to the group at the footlights, + </p> + <p> + “Cracknell,” he said importantly, “one moment, I should like a word with + you.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. SOME MEDITATIONS ON SUCCESS + </h2> + <p> + If actors and actresses are like children in that they are readily + depressed by disaster, they have the child's compensating gift of being + easily uplifted by good fortune. It amazed Sally that any one mortal + should have been able to spread such universal happiness as she had done + by the simple act of lending her brother Fillmore twenty thousand dollars. + If the Millennium had arrived, the members of the Primrose Way Company + could not have been on better terms with themselves. The lethargy and + dispiritedness, caused by their week of inaction, fell from them like a + cloak. The sudden elevation of that creature of the abyss, the assistant + stage manager, to the dizzy height of proprietor of the show appealed to + their sense of drama. Most of them had played in pieces where much the + same thing had happened to the persecuted heroine round about eleven + o'clock, and the situation struck them as theatrically sound. Also, now + that she had gone, the extent to which Miss Hobson had acted as a blight + was universally recognized. + </p> + <p> + A spirit of optimism reigned, and cheerful rumours became current. The + bowler-hatted Teddy had it straight from the lift-boy at his hotel that + the ban on the theatres was to be lifted on Tuesday at the latest; while + no less an authority than the cigar-stand girl at the Pontchatrain had + informed the man who played the butler that Toledo and Cleveland were + opening to-morrow. It was generally felt that the sun was bursting through + the clouds and that Fate would soon despair of the hopeless task of trying + to keep good men down. + </p> + <p> + Fillmore was himself again. We all have our particular mode of + self-expression in moments of elation. Fillmore's took the shape of buying + a new waistcoat and a hundred half-dollar cigars and being very fussy + about what he had for lunch. It may have been an optical illusion, but he + appeared to Sally to put on at least six pounds in weight on the first day + of the new regime. As a serf looking after paper-knives and other + properties, he had been—for him—almost slim. As a manager he + blossomed out into soft billowy curves, and when he stood on the sidewalk + in front of the theatre, gloating over the new posters which bore the + legend, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + FILLMORE NICHOLAS + + PRESENTS +</pre> + <p> + the populace had to make a detour to get round him. + </p> + <p> + In this era of bubbling joy, it was hard that Sally, the fairy godmother + responsible for it all, should not have been completely happy too; and it + puzzled her why she was not. But whatever it was that cast the faint + shadow refused obstinately to come out from the back of her mind and show + itself and be challenged. It was not till she was out driving in a hired + car with Gerald one afternoon on Belle Isle that enlightenment came. + </p> + <p> + Gerald, since the departure of Miss Hobson, had been at his best. Like + Fillmore, he was a man who responded to the sunshine of prosperity. His + moodiness had vanished, and all his old charm had returned. And yet... it + seemed to Sally, as the car slid smoothly through the pleasant woods and + fields by the river, that there was something that jarred. + </p> + <p> + Gerald was cheerful and talkative. He, at any rate, found nothing wrong + with life. He held forth spaciously on the big things he intended to do. + </p> + <p> + “If this play get over—and it's going to—I'll show 'em!” His + jaw was squared, and his eyes glowed as they stared into the inviting + future. “One success—that's all I need—then watch me! I + haven't had a chance yet, but...” + </p> + <p> + His voice rolled on, but Sally had ceased to listen. It was the time of + year when the chill of evening follows swiftly on the mellow warmth of + afternoon. The sun had gone behind the trees, and a cold wind was blowing + up from the river. And quite suddenly, as though it was the wind that had + cleared her mind, she understood what it was that had been lurking at the + back of her thoughts. For an instant it stood out nakedly without + concealment, and the world became a forlorn place. She had realized the + fundamental difference between man's outlook on life and woman's. + </p> + <p> + Success! How men worshipped it, and how little of themselves they had to + spare for anything else. Ironically, it was the theme of this very play of + Gerald's which she had saved from destruction. Of all the men she knew, + how many had any view of life except as a race which they must strain + every nerve to win, regardless of what they missed by the wayside in their + haste? Fillmore—Gerald—all of them. There might be a woman in + each of their lives, but she came second—an afterthought—a + thing for their spare time. Gerald was everything to her. His success + would never be more than a side-issue as far as she was concerned. He + himself, without any of the trappings of success, was enough for her. But + she was not enough for him. A spasm of futile jealousy shook her. She + shivered. + </p> + <p> + “Cold?” said Gerald. “I'll tell the man to drive back... I don't see any + reason why this play shouldn't run a year in New York. Everybody says it's + good... if it does get over, they'll all be after me. I...” + </p> + <p> + Sally stared out into a bleak world. The sky was a leaden grey, and the + wind from the river blew with a dismal chill. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. REAPPEARANCE OF MR. CARMYLE—AND GINGER + </h2> + <p> + 1 + </p> + <p> + When Sally left Detroit on the following Saturday, accompanied by + Fillmore, who was returning to the metropolis for a few days in order to + secure offices and generally make his presence felt along Broadway, her + spirits had completely recovered. She felt guiltily that she had been + fanciful, even morbid. Naturally men wanted to get on in the world. It was + their job. She told herself that she was bound up with Gerald's success, + and that the last thing of which she ought to complain was the energy he + put into efforts of which she as well as he would reap the reward. + </p> + <p> + To this happier frame of mind the excitement of the last few days had + contributed. Detroit, that city of amiable audiences, had liked “The + Primrose Way.” The theatre, in fulfilment of Teddy's prophecy, had been + allowed to open on the Tuesday, and a full house, hungry for entertainment + after its enforced abstinence, had welcomed the play wholeheartedly. The + papers, not always in agreement with the applause of a first-night + audience, had on this occasion endorsed the verdict, with agreeable + unanimity hailing Gerald as the coming author and Elsa Doland as the + coming star. There had even been a brief mention of Fillmore as the coming + manager. But there is always some trifle that jars in our greatest + moments, and Fillmore's triumph had been almost spoilt by the fact that + the only notice taken of Gladys Winch was by the critic who printed her + name—spelt Wunch—in the list of those whom the cast “also + included.” + </p> + <p> + “One of the greatest character actresses on the stage,” said Fillmore + bitterly, talking over this outrage with Sally on the morning after the + production. + </p> + <p> + From this blow, however, his buoyant nature had soon enabled him to rally. + Life contained so much that was bright that it would have been churlish to + concentrate the attention on the one dark spot. Business had been + excellent all through the week. Elsa Doland had got better at every + performance. The receipt of a long and agitated telegram from Mr. + Cracknell, pleading to be allowed to buy the piece back, the passage of + time having apparently softened Miss Hobson, was a pleasant incident. And, + best of all, the great Ike Schumann, who owned half the theatres in New + York and had been in Detroit superintending one of his musical + productions, had looked in one evening and stamped “The Primrose Way” with + the seal of his approval. As Fillmore sat opposite Sally on the train, he + radiated contentment and importance. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, do,” said Sally, breaking a long silence. + </p> + <p> + Fillmore awoke from happy dreams. + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I said 'Yes, do.' I think you owe it to your position.” + </p> + <p> + “Do what?” + </p> + <p> + “Buy a fur coat. Wasn't that what you were meditating about?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be a chump,” said Fillmore, blushing nevertheless. It was true that + once or twice during the past week he had toyed negligently, as Mr. + Bunbury would have said, with the notion, and why not? A fellow must keep + warm. + </p> + <p> + “With an astrakhan collar,” insisted Sally. + </p> + <p> + “As a matter of fact,” said Fillmore loftily, his great soul ill-attuned + to this badinage, “what I was really thinking about at the moment was + something Ike said.” + </p> + <p> + “Ike?” + </p> + <p> + “Ike Schumann. He's on the train. I met him just now.” + </p> + <p> + “We call him Ike!” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I call him Ike,” said Fillmore heatedly. “Everyone calls him + Ike.” + </p> + <p> + “He wears a fur coat,” Sally murmured. + </p> + <p> + Fillmore registered annoyance. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you wouldn't keep on harping on that damned coat. And, anyway, why + shouldn't I have a fur coat?” + </p> + <p> + “Fill...! How can you be so brutal as to suggest that I ever said you + shouldn't? Why, I'm one of the strongest supporters of the fur coat. With + big cuffs. And you must roll up Fifth Avenue in your car, and I'll point + and say 'That's my brother!' 'Your brother? No!' 'He is, really.' 'You're + joking. Why, that's the great Fillmore Nicholas.' 'I know. But he really + is my brother. And I was with him when he bought that coat.'” + </p> + <p> + “Do leave off about the coat!” + </p> + <p> + “'And it isn't only the coat,' I shall say. 'It's what's underneath. + Tucked away inside that mass of fur, dodging about behind that dollar + cigar, is one to whom we point with pride... '” + </p> + <p> + Fillmore looked coldly at his watch. + </p> + <p> + “I've got to go and see Ike Schumann.” + </p> + <p> + “We are in hourly consultation with Ike.” + </p> + <p> + “He wants to see me about the show. He suggests putting it into Chicago + before opening in New York.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no,” cried Sally, dismayed. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + Sally recovered herself. Identifying Gerald so closely with his play, she + had supposed for a moment that if the piece opened in Chicago it would + mean a further prolonged separation from him. But of course there would be + no need, she realized, for him to stay with the company after the first + day or two. + </p> + <p> + “You're thinking that we ought to have a New York reputation before + tackling Chicago. There's a lot to be said for that. Still, it works both + ways. A Chicago run would help us in New York. Well, I'll have to think it + over,” said Fillmore, importantly, “I'll have to think it over.” + </p> + <p> + He mused with drawn brows. + </p> + <p> + “All wrong,” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit like it. The lips should be compressed and the forefinger of + the right hand laid in a careworn way against the right temple. You've a + lot to learn. Fill.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, stop it!” + </p> + <p> + “Fillmore Nicholas,” said Sally, “if you knew what pain it gives me to + josh my only brother, you'd be sorry for me. But you know it's for your + good. Now run along and put Ike out of his misery. I know he's waiting for + you with his watch out. 'You do think he'll come, Miss Nicholas?' were his + last words to me as he stepped on the train, and oh, Fill, the yearning in + his voice. 'Why, of course he will, Mr. Schumann,' I said. 'For all his + exalted position, my brother is kindliness itself. Of course he'll come.' + 'If I could only think so!' he said with a gulp. 'If I could only think + so. But you know what these managers are. A thousand calls on their time. + They get brooding on their fur coats and forget everything else.' 'Have no + fear, Mr. Schumann,' I said. 'Fillmore Nicholas is a man of his word.'” + </p> + <p> + She would have been willing, for she was a girl who never believed in + sparing herself where it was a question of entertaining her nearest and + dearest, to continue the dialogue, but Fillmore was already moving down + the car, his rigid back a silent protest against sisterly levity. Sally + watched him disappear, then picked up a magazine and began to read. + </p> + <p> + She had just finished tracking a story of gripping interest through a + jungle of advertisements, only to find that it was in two parts, of which + the one she was reading was the first, when a voice spoke. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Miss Nicholas?” + </p> + <p> + Into the seat before her, recently released from the weight of the coming + manager, Bruce Carmyle of all people in the world insinuated himself with + that well-bred air of deferential restraint which never left him. + </p> + <p> + 2 + </p> + <p> + Sally was considerably startled. Everybody travels nowadays, of course, + and there is nothing really remarkable in finding a man in America whom + you had supposed to be in Europe: but nevertheless she was conscious of a + dream-like sensation, as though the clock had been turned back and a + chapter of her life reopened which she had thought closed for ever. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Carmyle!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + If Sally had been constantly in Bruce Carmyle's thoughts since they had + parted on the Paris express, Mr. Carmyle had been very little in Sally's—so + little, indeed, that she had had to search her memory for a moment before + she identified him. + </p> + <p> + “We're always meeting on trains, aren't we?” she went on, her composure + returning. “I never expected to see you in America.” + </p> + <p> + “I came over.” + </p> + <p> + Sally was tempted to reply that she gathered that, but a sudden + embarrassment curbed her tongue. She had just remembered that at their + last meeting she had been abominably rude to this man. She was never rude + to anyone, without subsequent remorse. She contented herself with a tame + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mr. Carmyle, “it is a good many years since I have taken a + real holiday. My doctor seemed to think I was a trifle run down. It seemed + a good opportunity to visit America. Everybody,” said Mr. Carmyle + oracularly, endeavouring, as he had often done since his ship had left + England, to persuade himself that his object in making the trip had not + been merely to renew his acquaintance with Sally, “everybody ought to + visit America at least once. It is part of one's education.” + </p> + <p> + “And what are your impressions of our glorious country?” said Sally + rallying. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Carmyle seemed glad of the opportunity of lecturing on an impersonal + subject. He, too, though his face had shown no trace of it, had been + embarrassed in the opening stages of the conversation. The sound of his + voice restored him. + </p> + <p> + “I have been visiting Chicago,” he said after a brief travelogue. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” + </p> + <p> + “A wonderful city.” + </p> + <p> + “I've never seen it. I've come from Detroit.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I heard you were in Detroit.” + </p> + <p> + Sally's eyes opened. + </p> + <p> + “You heard I was in Detroit? Good gracious! How?” + </p> + <p> + “I—ah—called at your New York address and made inquiries,” + said Mr. Carmyle a little awkwardly. + </p> + <p> + “But how did you know where I lived?” + </p> + <p> + “My cousin—er—Lancelot told me.” + </p> + <p> + Sally was silent for a moment. She had much the same feeling that comes to + the man in the detective story who realizes that he is being shadowed. + Even if this almost complete stranger had not actually come to America in + direct pursuit of her, there was no disguising the fact that he evidently + found her an object of considerable interest. It was a compliment, but + Sally was not at all sure that she liked it. Bruce Carmyle meant nothing + to her, and it was rather disturbing to find that she was apparently of + great importance to him. She seized on the mention of Ginger as a lever + for diverting the conversation from its present too intimate course. + </p> + <p> + “How is Mr. Kemp?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Carmyle's dark face seemed to become a trifle darker. + </p> + <p> + “We have had no news of him,” he said shortly. + </p> + <p> + “No news? How do you mean? You speak as though he had disappeared.” + </p> + <p> + “He has disappeared!” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens! When?” + </p> + <p> + “Shortly after I saw you last.” + </p> + <p> + “Disappeared!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Carmyle frowned. Sally, watching him, found her antipathy stirring + again. There was something about this man which she had disliked + instinctively from the first, a sort of hardness. + </p> + <p> + “But where has he gone to?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” Mr. Carmyle frowned again. The subject of Ginger was + plainly a sore one. “And I don't want to know,” he went on heatedly, a + dull flush rising in the cheeks which Sally was sure he had to shave twice + a day. “I don't care to know. The Family have washed their hands of him. + For the future he may look after himself as best he can. I believe he is + off his head.” + </p> + <p> + Sally's rebellious temper was well ablaze now, but she fought it down. She + would dearly have loved to give battle to Mr. Carmyle—it was odd, + she felt, how she seemed to have constituted herself Ginger's champion and + protector—but she perceived that, if she wished, as she did, to hear + more of her red-headed friend, he must be humoured and conciliated. + </p> + <p> + “But what happened? What was all the trouble about?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Carmyle's eyebrows met. + </p> + <p> + “He—insulted his uncle. His uncle Donald. He insulted him—grossly. + The one man in the world he should have made a point of—er—” + </p> + <p> + “Keeping in with?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. His future depended upon him.” + </p> + <p> + “But what did he do?” cried Sally, trying hard to keep a thoroughly + reprehensible joy out of her voice. + </p> + <p> + “I have heard no details. My uncle is reticent as to what actually took + place. He invited Lancelot to dinner to discuss his plans, and it appears + that Lancelot—defied him. Defied him! He was rude and insulting. My + uncle refuses to have anything more to do with him. Apparently the young + fool managed to win some money at the tables at Roville, and this seems to + have turned his head completely. My uncle insists that he is mad. I agree + with him. Since the night of that dinner nothing has been heard of + Lancelot.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Carmyle broke off to brood once more, and before Sally could speak the + impressive bulk of Fillmore loomed up in the aisle beside them. + Explanations seemed to Fillmore to be in order. He cast a questioning + glance at the mysterious stranger, who, in addition to being in + conversation with his sister, had collared his seat. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hullo, Fill,” said Sally. “Fillmore, this is Mr. Carmyle. We met + abroad. My brother Fillmore, Mr. Carmyle.” + </p> + <p> + Proper introduction having been thus effected, Fillmore approved of Mr. + Carmyle. His air of being someone in particular appealed to him. + </p> + <p> + “Strange you meeting again like this,” he said affably. + </p> + <p> + The porter, who had been making up berths along the car, was now hovering + expectantly in the offing. + </p> + <p> + “You two had better go into the smoking room,” suggested Sally. “I'm going + to bed.” + </p> + <p> + She wanted to be alone, to think. Mr. Carmyle's tale of a roused and + revolting Ginger had stirred her. + </p> + <p> + The two men went off to the smoking-room, and Sally found an empty seat + and sat down to wait for her berth to be made up. She was aglow with a + curious exhilaration. So Ginger had taken her advice! Excellent Ginger! + She felt proud of him. She also had that feeling of complacency, amounting + almost to sinful pride, which comes to those who give advice and find it + acted upon. She had the emotions of a creator. After all, had she not + created this new Ginger? It was she who had stirred him up. It was she who + had unleashed him. She had changed him from a meek dependent of the Family + to a ravening creature, who went about the place insulting uncles. + </p> + <p> + It was a feat, there was no denying it. It was something attempted, + something done: and by all the rules laid down by the poet it should, + therefore, have earned a night's repose. Yet, Sally, jolted by the train, + which towards the small hours seemed to be trying out some new + buck-and-wing steps of its own invention, slept ill, and presently, as she + lay awake, there came to her bedside the Spectre of Doubt, gaunt and + questioning. Had she, after all, wrought so well? Had she been wise in + tampering with this young man's life? + </p> + <p> + “What about it?” said the Spectre of Doubt. + </p> + <p> + 3 + </p> + <p> + Daylight brought no comforting answer to the question. Breakfast failed to + manufacture an easy mind. Sally got off the train, at the Grand Central + station in a state of remorseful concern. She declined the offer of Mr. + Carmyle to drive her to the boarding-house, and started to walk there, + hoping that the crisp morning air would effect a cure. + </p> + <p> + She wondered now how she could ever have looked with approval on her rash + act. She wondered what demon of interference and meddling had possessed + her, to make her blunder into people's lives, upsetting them. She wondered + that she was allowed to go around loose. She was nothing more nor less + than a menace to society. Here was an estimable young man, obviously the + sort of young man who would always have to be assisted through life by his + relatives, and she had deliberately egged him on to wreck his prospects. + She blushed hotly as she remembered that mad wireless she had sent him + from the boat. + </p> + <p> + Miserable Ginger! She pictured him, his little stock of money gone, + wandering foot-sore about London, seeking in vain for work; forcing + himself to call on Uncle Donald; being thrown down the front steps by + haughty footmen; sleeping on the Embankment; gazing into the dark waters + of the Thames with the stare of hopelessness; climbing to the parapet + and... + </p> + <p> + “Ugh!” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + She had arrived at the door of the boarding-house, and Mrs. Meecher was + regarding her with welcoming eyes, little knowing that to all practical + intents and purposes she had slain in his prime a red-headed young man of + amiable manners and—when not ill-advised by meddling, muddling + females—of excellent behaviour. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Meecher was friendly and garrulous. Variety, the journal which, next + to the dog Toto, was the thing she loved best in the world, had informed + her on the Friday morning that Mr. Foster's play had got over big in + Detroit, and that Miss Doland had made every kind of hit. It was not often + that the old alumni of the boarding-house forced their way after this + fashion into the Hall of Fame, and, according to Mrs. Meecher, the + establishment was ringing with the news. That blue ribbon round Toto's + neck was worn in honour of the triumph. There was also, though you could + not see it, a chicken dinner in Toto's interior, by way of further + celebration. + </p> + <p> + And was it true that Mr. Fillmore had bought the piece? A great man, was + Mrs. Meecher's verdict. Mr. Faucitt had always said so... + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how is Mr. Faucitt?” Sally asked, reproaching herself for having + allowed the pressure of other matters to drive all thoughts of her late + patient from her mind. + </p> + <p> + “He's gone,” said Mrs. Meecher with such relish that to Sally, in her + morbid condition, the words had only one meaning. She turned white and + clutched at the banisters. + </p> + <p> + “Gone!” + </p> + <p> + “To England,” added Mrs. Meecher. Sally was vastly relieved. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I thought you meant...” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, not that.” Mrs. Meecher sighed, for she had been a little + disappointed in the old gentleman, who started out as such a promising + invalid, only to fall away into the dullness of robust health once more. + “He's well enough. I never seen anybody better. You'd think,” said Mrs. + Meecher, bearing up with difficulty under her grievance, “you'd think this + here new Spanish influenza was a sort of a tonic or somep'n, the way he + looks now. Of course,” she added, trying to find justification for a + respected lodger, “he's had good news. His brother's dead.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” + </p> + <p> + “Not, I don't mean, that that was good news, far from it, though, come to + think of it, all flesh is as grass and we all got to be prepared for + somep'n of the sort breaking loose...but it seems this here new brother of + his—I didn't know he'd a brother, and I don't suppose you knew he + had a brother. Men are secretive, ain't they!—this brother of his + has left him a parcel of money, and Mr. Faucitt he had to get on the + Wednesday boat quick as he could and go right over to the other side to + look after things. Wind up the estate, I believe they call it. Left in a + awful hurry, he did. Sent his love to you and said he'd write. Funny him + having a brother, now, wasn't it? Not,” said Mrs. Meecher, at heart a + reasonable woman, “that folks don't have brothers. I got two myself, one + in Portland, Oregon, and the other goodness knows where he is. But what + I'm trying to say...” + </p> + <p> + Sally disengaged herself, and went up to her room. For a brief while the + excitement which comes of hearing good news about those of whom we are + fond acted as a stimulant, and she felt almost cheerful. Dear old Mr. + Faucitt. She was sorry for his brother, of course, though she had never + had the pleasure of his acquaintance and had only just heard that he had + ever existed; but it was nice to think that her old friend's remaining + years would be years of affluence. + </p> + <p> + Presently, however, she found her thoughts wandering back into their + melancholy groove. She threw herself wearily on the bed. She was tired + after her bad night. + </p> + <p> + But she could not sleep. Remorse kept her awake. Besides, she could hear + Mrs. Meecher prowling disturbingly about the house, apparently in search + of someone, her progress indicated by creaking boards and the strenuous + yapping of Toto. + </p> + <p> + Sally turned restlessly, and, having turned remained for a long instant + transfixed and rigid. She had seen something, and what she had seen was + enough to surprise any girl in the privacy of her bedroom. From underneath + the bed there peeped coyly forth an undeniably masculine shoe and six + inches of a grey trouser-leg. + </p> + <p> + Sally bounded to the floor. She was a girl of courage, and she meant to + probe this matter thoroughly. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing under my bed?” + </p> + <p> + The question was a reasonable one, and evidently seemed to the intruder to + deserve an answer. There was a muffled sneeze, and he began to crawl out. + </p> + <p> + The shoe came first. Then the legs. Then a sturdy body in a dusty coat. + And finally there flashed on Sally's fascinated gaze a head of so nearly + the maximum redness that it could only belong to one person in the world. + </p> + <p> + “Ginger!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Lancelot Kemp, on all fours, blinked up at her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hullo!” he said. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. GINGER BECOMES A RIGHT-HAND MAN + </h2> + <p> + It was not till she saw him actually standing there before her with his + hair rumpled and a large smut on the tip of his nose, that Sally really + understood how profoundly troubled she had been about this young man, and + how vivid had been that vision of him bobbing about on the waters of the + Thames, a cold and unappreciated corpse. She was a girl of keen + imagination, and she had allowed her imagination to riot unchecked. + Astonishment, therefore, at the extraordinary fact of his being there was + for the moment thrust aside by relief. Never before in her life had she + experienced such an overwhelming rush of exhilaration. She flung herself + into a chair and burst into a screech of laughter which even to her own + ears sounded strange. It struck Ginger as hysterical. + </p> + <p> + “I say, you know!” said Ginger, as the merriment showed no signs of + abating. Ginger was concerned. Nasty shock for a girl, finding blighters + under her bed. + </p> + <p> + Sally sat up, gurgling, and wiped her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I am glad to see you,” she gasped. + </p> + <p> + “No, really?” said Ginger, gratified. “That's fine.” It occurred to him + that some sort of apology would be a graceful act. “I say, you know, + awfully sorry. About barging in here, I mean. Never dreamed it was your + room. Unoccupied, I thought.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't mention it. I ought not to have disturbed you. You were having a + nice sleep, of course. Do you always sleep on the floor?” + </p> + <p> + “It was like this...” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, if you're wearing it for ornament, as a sort of beauty-spot,” + said Sally, “all right. But in case you don't know, you've a smut on your + nose.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my aunt! Not really?” + </p> + <p> + “Now would I deceive you on an important point like that?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mind if I have a look in the glass?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, if you can stand it.” + </p> + <p> + Ginger moved hurriedly to the dressing-table. + </p> + <p> + “You're perfectly right,” he announced, applying his handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “I thought I was. I'm very quick at noticing things.” + </p> + <p> + “My hair's a bit rumpled, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Very much so.” + </p> + <p> + “You take my tip,” said Ginger, earnestly, “and never lie about under + beds. There's nothing in it.” + </p> + <p> + “That reminds me. You won't be offended if I asked you something?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no. Go ahead.” + </p> + <p> + “It's rather an impertinent question. You may resent it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, what were you doing under my bed?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, under your bed?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Under my bed. This. It's a bed, you know. Mine. My bed. You were + under it. Why? Or putting it another way, why were you under my bed?” + </p> + <p> + “I was hiding.” + </p> + <p> + “Playing hide-and-seek? That explains it.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. What's-her-name—Beecher—Meecher—was after me.” + </p> + <p> + Sally shook her head disapprovingly. + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't encourage Mrs. Meecher in these childish pastimes. It + unsettles her.” + </p> + <p> + Ginger passed an agitated hand over his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “It's like this...” + </p> + <p> + “I hate to keep criticizing your appearance,” said Sally, “and personally + I like it; but, when you clutched your brow just then, you put about a + pound of dust on it. Your hands are probably grubby.” + </p> + <p> + Ginger inspected them. + </p> + <p> + “They are!” + </p> + <p> + “Why not make a really good job of it and have a wash?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mind?” + </p> + <p> + “I'd prefer it.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks awfully. I mean to say it's your basin, you know, and all that. + What I mean is, seem to be making myself pretty well at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no.” + </p> + <p> + “Touching the matter of soap...” + </p> + <p> + “Use mine. We Americans are famous for our hospitality.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks awfully.” + </p> + <p> + “The towel is on your right.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks awfully.” + </p> + <p> + “And I've a clothes brush in my bag.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks awfully.” + </p> + <p> + Splashing followed like a sea-lion taking a dip. “Now, then,” said Sally, + “why were you hiding from Mrs. Meecher?” + </p> + <p> + A careworn, almost hunted look came into Ginger's face. “I say, you know, + that woman is rather by way of being one of the lads, what! Scares me! + Word was brought that she was on the prowl, so it seemed to me a judicious + move to take cover till she sort of blew over. If she'd found me, she'd + have made me take that dog of hers for a walk.” + </p> + <p> + “Toto?” + </p> + <p> + “Toto. You know,” said Ginger, with a strong sense of injury, “no dog's + got a right to be a dog like that. I don't suppose there's anyone keener + on dogs than I am, but a thing like a woolly rat.” He shuddered slightly. + “Well, one hates to be seen about with it in the public streets.” + </p> + <p> + “Why couldn't you have refused in a firm but gentlemanly manner to take + Toto out?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! There you rather touch the spot. You see, the fact of the matter is, + I'm a bit behind with the rent, and that makes it rather hard to take what + you might call a firm stand.” + </p> + <p> + “But how can you be behind with the rent? I only left here the Saturday + before last and you weren't in the place then. You can't have been here + more than a week.” + </p> + <p> + “I've been here just a week. That's the week I'm behind with.” + </p> + <p> + “But why? You were a millionaire when I left you at Roville.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the fact of the matter is, I went back to the tables that night and + lost a goodish bit of what I'd won. And, somehow or another, when I got to + America, the stuff seemed to slip away.” + </p> + <p> + “What made you come to America at all?” said Sally, asking the question + which, she felt, any sensible person would have asked at the opening of + the conversation. + </p> + <p> + One of his familiar blushes raced over Ginger's face. “Oh, I thought I + would. Land of opportunity, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you managed to find any of the opportunities yet?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I have got a job of sorts, I'm a waiter at a rummy little place on + Second Avenue. The salary isn't big, but I'd have wangled enough out of it + to pay last week's rent, only they docked me a goodish bit for breaking + plates and what not. The fact is, I'm making rather a hash of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Ginger! You oughtn't to be a waiter!” + </p> + <p> + “That's what the boss seems to think.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean, you ought to be doing something ever so much better.” + </p> + <p> + “But what? You've no notion how well all these blighters here seem to be + able to get along without my help. I've tramped all over the place, + offering my services, but they all say they'll try to carry on as they + are.” + </p> + <p> + Sally reflected. + </p> + <p> + “I know!” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll make Fillmore give you a job. I wonder I didn't think of it before.” + </p> + <p> + “Fillmore?” + </p> + <p> + “My brother. Yes, he'll be able to use you.” + </p> + <p> + “What as?” + </p> + <p> + Sally considered. + </p> + <p> + “As a—as a—oh, as his right-hand man.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he want a right-hand man?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure to. He's a young fellow trying to get along. Sure to want a + right-hand man.” + </p> + <p> + “'M yes,” said Ginger reflectively. “Of course, I've never been a + right-hand man, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you'd pick it up. I'll take you round to him now. He's staying at the + Astor.” + </p> + <p> + “There's just one thing,” said Ginger. + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” + </p> + <p> + “I might make a hash of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Heavens, Ginger! There must be something in this world that you wouldn't + make a hash of. Don't stand arguing any longer. Are you dry? and clean? + Very well, then. Let's be off.” + </p> + <p> + “Right ho.” + </p> + <p> + Ginger took a step towards the door, then paused, rigid, with one leg in + the air, as though some spell had been cast upon him. From the passage + outside there had sounded a shrill yapping. Ginger looked at Sally. Then + he looked—longingly—at the bed. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be such a coward,” said Sally, severely. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but...” + </p> + <p> + “How much do you owe Mrs. Meecher?” + </p> + <p> + “Round about twelve dollars, I think it is.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll pay her.” + </p> + <p> + Ginger flushed awkwardly. + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm hanged if you will! I mean,” he stammered, “it's frightfully good + of you and all that, and I can't tell you how grateful I am, but honestly, + I couldn't...” + </p> + <p> + Sally did not press the point. She liked him the better for a rugged + independence, which in the days of his impecuniousness her brother + Fillmore had never dreamed of exhibiting. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” she said. “Have it your own way. Proud. That's me all over, + Mabel. Ginger!” She broke off sharply. “Pull yourself together. Where is + your manly spirit? I'd be ashamed to be such a coward.” + </p> + <p> + “Awfully sorry, but, honestly, that woolly dog...” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind the dog. I'll see you through.” + </p> + <p> + They came out into the passage almost on top of Toto, who was stalking + phantom rats. Mrs. Meecher was manoeuvring in the background. Her face lit + up grimly at the sight of Ginger. + </p> + <p> + “Mister Kemp! I been looking for you.” + </p> + <p> + Sally intervened brightly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mrs. Meecher,” she said, shepherding her young charge through the + danger zone, “I was so surprised to meet Mr. Kemp here. He is a great + friend of mine. We met in France. We're going off now to have a long talk + about old times, and then I'm taking him to see my brother...” + </p> + <p> + “Toto...” + </p> + <p> + “Dear little thing! You ought to take him for a walk,” said Sally. “It's a + lovely day. Mr. Kemp was saying just now that he would have liked to take + him, but we're rather in a hurry and shall probably have to get into a + taxi. You've no idea how busy my brother is just now. If we're late, he'll + never forgive us.” + </p> + <p> + She passed on down the stairs, leaving Mrs. Meecher dissatisfied but + irresolute. There was something about Sally which even in her pre-wealthy + days had always baffled Mrs. Meecher and cramped her style, and now that + she was rich and independent she inspired in the chatelaine of the + boarding-house an emotion which was almost awe. The front door had closed + before Mrs. Meecher had collected her faculties; and Ginger, pausing on + the sidewalk, drew a long breath. + </p> + <p> + “You know, you're wonderful!” he said, regarding Sally with unconcealed + admiration. + </p> + <p> + She accepted the compliment composedly. + </p> + <p> + “Now we'll go and hunt up Fillmore,” she said. “But there's no need to + hurry, of course, really. We'll go for a walk first, and then call at the + Astor and make him give us lunch. I want to hear all about you. I've heard + something already. I met your cousin, Mr. Carmyle. He was on the train + coming from Detroit. Did you know that he was in America?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I've—er—rather lost touch with the Family.” + </p> + <p> + “So I gathered from Mr. Carmyle. And I feel hideously responsible. It was + all through me that all this happened.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it was. I made you what you are to-day—I hope I'm + satisfied—I dragged and dragged you down until the soul within you + died, so to speak. I know perfectly well that you wouldn't have dreamed of + savaging the Family as you seem to have done if it hadn't been for what I + said to you at Roville. Ginger, tell me, what did happen? I'm dying to + know. Mr. Carmyle said you insulted your uncle!” + </p> + <p> + “Donald. Yes, we did have a bit of a scrap, as a matter of fact. He made + me go out to dinner with him and we—er—sort of disagreed. To + start with, he wanted me to apologize to old Scrymgeour, and I rather gave + it a miss.” + </p> + <p> + “Noble fellow!” + </p> + <p> + “Scrymgeour?” + </p> + <p> + “No, silly! You.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ah!” Ginger blushed. “And then there was all that about the soup, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean, 'all that about the soup'? What about the soup? What + soup?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, things sort of hotted up a bit when the soup arrived.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean, the trouble seemed to start, as it were, when the waiter had + finished ladling out the mulligatawny. Thick soup, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I know mulligatawny is a thick soup. Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my old uncle—I'm not blaming him, don't you know—more + his misfortune than his fault—I can see that now—but he's got + a heavy moustache. Like a walrus, rather, and he's a bit apt to inhale the + stuff through it. And I—well, I asked him not to. It was just a + suggestion, you know. He cut up fairly rough, and by the time the fish + came round we were more or less down on the mat chewing holes in one + another. My fault, probably. I wasn't feeling particularly well-disposed + towards the Family that night. I'd just had a talk with Bruce—my + cousin, you know—in Piccadilly, and that had rather got the wind up + me. Bruce always seems to get on my nerves a bit somehow and—Uncle + Donald asking me to dinner and all that. By the way, did you get the + books?” + </p> + <p> + “What books?” + </p> + <p> + “Bruce said he wanted to send you some books. That was why I gave him your + address.” Sally stared. + </p> + <p> + “He never sent me any books.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he said he was going to, and I had to tell him where to send them.” + </p> + <p> + Sally walked on, a little thoughtfully. She was not a vain girl, but it + was impossible not to perceive in the light of this fresh evidence that + Mr. Carmyle had made a journey of three thousand miles with the sole + object of renewing his acquaintance with her. It did not matter, of + course, but it was vaguely disturbing. No girl cares to be dogged by a man + she rather dislikes. + </p> + <p> + “Go on telling me about your uncle,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Well, there's not much more to tell. I'd happened to get that wireless of + yours just before I started out to dinner with him, and I was more or less + feeling that I wasn't going to stand any rot from the Family. I'd got to + the fish course, hadn't I? Well, we managed to get through that somehow, + but we didn't survive the fillet steak. One thing seemed to lead to + another, and the show sort of bust up. He called me a good many things, + and I got a bit fed-up, and finally I told him I hadn't any more use for + the Family and was going to start out on my own. And—well, I did, + don't you know. And here I am.” + </p> + <p> + Sally listened to this saga breathlessly. More than ever did she feel + responsible for her young protégé, and any faint qualms which she had + entertained as to the wisdom of transferring practically the whole of her + patrimony to the care of so erratic a financier as her brother vanished. + It was her plain duty to see that Ginger was started well in the race of + life, and Fillmore was going to come in uncommonly handy. + </p> + <p> + “We'll go to the Astor now,” she said, “and I'll introduce you to + Fillmore. He's a theatrical manager and he's sure to have something for + you.” + </p> + <p> + “It's awfully good of you to bother about me.” + </p> + <p> + “Ginger,” said Sally, “I regard you as a grandson. Hail that cab, will + you?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. SALLY IN THE SHADOWS + </h2> + <p> + 1 + </p> + <p> + It seemed to Sally in the weeks that followed her reunion with Ginger Kemp + that a sort of golden age had set in. On all the frontiers of her little + kingdom there was peace and prosperity, and she woke each morning in a + world so neatly smoothed and ironed out that the most captious pessimist + could hardly have found anything in it to criticize. + </p> + <p> + True, Gerald was still a thousand miles away. Going to Chicago to + superintend the opening of “The Primrose Way”; for Fillmore had acceded to + his friend Ike's suggestion in the matter of producing it first in + Chicago, and he had been called in by a distracted manager to revise the + work of a brother dramatist, whose comedy was in difficulties at one of + the theatres in that city; and this meant he would have to remain on the + spot for some time to come. It was disappointing, for Sally had been + looking forward to having him back in New York in a few days; but she + refused to allow herself to be depressed. Life as a whole was much too + satisfactory for that. Life indeed, in every other respect, seemed + perfect. Fillmore was going strong; Ginger was off her conscience; she had + found an apartment; her new hat suited her; and “The Primrose Way” was a + tremendous success. Chicago, it appeared from Fillmore's account, was + paying little attention to anything except “The Primrose Way.” National + problems had ceased to interest the citizens. Local problems left them + cold. Their minds were riveted to the exclusion of all else on the problem + of how to secure seats. The production of the piece, according to + Fillmore, had been the most terrific experience that had come to stir + Chicago since the great fire. + </p> + <p> + Of all these satisfactory happenings, the most satisfactory, to Sally's + thinking, was the fact that the problem of Ginger's future had been + solved. Ginger had entered the service of the Fillmore Nicholas Theatrical + Enterprises Ltd. (Managing Director, Fillmore Nicholas)—Fillmore + would have made the title longer, only that was all that would go on the + brass plate—and was to be found daily in the outer office, his + duties consisting mainly, it seemed, in reading the evening papers. What + exactly he was, even Ginger hardly knew. Sometimes he felt like the man at + the wheel, sometimes like a glorified office boy, and not so very + glorified at that. For the most part he had to prevent the mob rushing and + getting at Fillmore, who sat in semi-regal state in the inner office + pondering great schemes. + </p> + <p> + But, though there might be an occasional passing uncertainty in Ginger's + mind as to just what he was supposed to be doing in exchange for the fifty + dollars he drew every Friday, there was nothing uncertain about his + gratitude to Sally for having pulled the strings and enabled him to do it. + He tried to thank her every time they met, and nowadays they were meeting + frequently; for Ginger was helping her to furnish her new apartment. In + this task, he spared no efforts. He said that it kept him in condition. + </p> + <p> + “And what I mean to say is,” said Ginger, pausing in the act of carrying a + massive easy chair to the third spot which Sally had selected in the last + ten minutes, “if I didn't sweat about a bit and help you after the way you + got me that job...” + </p> + <p> + “Ginger, desist,” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but honestly...” + </p> + <p> + “If you don't stop it, I'll make you move that chair into the next room.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I?” Ginger rubbed his blistered hands and took a new grip. + “Anything you say.” + </p> + <p> + “Silly! Of course not. The only other rooms are my bedroom, the bathroom + and the kitchen. What on earth would I want a great lumbering chair in + them for? All the same, I believe the first we chose was the best.” + </p> + <p> + “Back she goes, then, what?” + </p> + <p> + Sally reflected frowningly. This business of setting up house was causing + her much thought. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she decided. “By the window is better.” She looked at him + remorsefully. “I'm giving you a lot of trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “Trouble!” Ginger, accompanied by a chair, staggered across the room. “The + way I look at it is this.” He wiped a bead of perspiration from his + freckled forehead. “You got me that job, and...” + </p> + <p> + “Stop!” + </p> + <p> + “Right ho... Still, you did, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Sally sat down in the armchair and stretched herself. Watching Ginger work + had given her a vicarious fatigue. She surveyed the room proudly. It was + certainly beginning to look cosy. The pictures were up, the carpet down, + the furniture very neatly in order. For almost the first time in her life + she had the restful sensation of being at home. She had always longed, + during the past three years of boarding-house existence, for a settled + abode, a place where she could lock the door on herself and be alone. The + apartment was small, but it was undeniably a haven. She looked about her + and could see no flaw in it... except... She had a sudden sense of + something missing. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo!” she said. “Where's that photograph of me? I'm sure I put it on + the mantelpiece yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + His exertions seemed to have brought the blood to Ginger's face. He was a + rich red. He inspected the mantelpiece narrowly. + </p> + <p> + “No. No photograph here.” + </p> + <p> + “I know there isn't. But it was there yesterday. Or was it? I know I meant + to put it there. Perhaps I forgot. It's the most beautiful thing you ever + saw. Not a bit like me; but what of that? They touch 'em up in the + dark-room, you know. I value it because it looks the way I should like to + look if I could.” + </p> + <p> + “I've never had a beautiful photograph taken of myself,” said Ginger, + solemnly, with gentle regret. + </p> + <p> + “Cheer up!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't mind. I only mentioned...” + </p> + <p> + “Ginger,” said Sally, “pardon my interrupting your remarks, which I know + are valuable, but this chair is—not—right! It ought to be + where it was at the beginning. Could you give your imitation of a + pack-mule just once more? And after that I'll make you some tea. If + there's any tea—or milk—or cups.” + </p> + <p> + “There are cups all right. I know, because I smashed two the day before + yesterday. I'll nip round the corner for some milk, shall I?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, please nip. All this hard work has taken it out of me terribly.” + </p> + <p> + Over the tea-table Sally became inquisitive. + </p> + <p> + “What I can't understand about this job of yours. Ginger—which as + you are just about to observe, I was noble enough to secure for you—is + the amount of leisure that seems to go with it. How is it that you are + able to spend your valuable time—Fillmore's valuable time, rather—juggling + with my furniture every day?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I can usually get off.” + </p> + <p> + “But oughtn't you to be at your post doing—whatever it is you do? + What do you do?” + </p> + <p> + Ginger stirred his tea thoughtfully and gave his mind to the question. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I sort of mess about, you know.” He pondered. “I interview divers + blighters and tell 'em your brother is out and take their names and + addresses and... oh, all that sort of thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Does Fillmore consult you much?” + </p> + <p> + “He lets me read some of the plays that are sent in. Awful tosh most of + them. Sometimes he sends me off to a vaudeville house of an evening.” + </p> + <p> + “As a treat?” + </p> + <p> + “To see some special act, you know. To report on it. In case he might want + to use it for this revue of his.” + </p> + <p> + “Which revue?” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't you know he was going to put on a revue? Oh, rather. A whacking + big affair. Going to cut out the Follies and all that sort of thing.” + </p> + <p> + “But—my goodness!” Sally was alarmed. It was just like Fillmore, she + felt, to go branching out into these expensive schemes when he ought to be + moving warily and trying to consolidate the small success he had had. All + his life he had thought in millions where the prudent man would have been + content with hundreds. An inexhaustible fount of optimism bubbled + eternally within him. “That's rather ambitious,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Ambitious sort of cove, your brother. Quite the Napoleon.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall have to talk to him,” said Sally decidedly. She was annoyed with + Fillmore. Everything had been going so beautifully, with everybody + peaceful and happy and prosperous and no anxiety anywhere, till he had + spoiled things. Now she would have to start worrying again. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” argued Ginger, “there's money in revues. Over in London + fellows make pots out of them.” + </p> + <p> + Sally shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “It won't do,” she said. “And I'll tell you another thing that won't do. + This armchair. Of course it ought to be over by the window. You can see + that yourself, can't you.” + </p> + <p> + “Absolutely!” said Ginger, patiently preparing for action once more. + </p> + <p> + 2 + </p> + <p> + Sally's anxiety with regard to her ebullient brother was not lessened by + the receipt shortly afterwards of a telegram from Miss Winch in Chicago. + </p> + <p> + Have you been feeding Fillmore meat? + </p> + <p> + the telegram ran: and, while Sally could not have claimed that she + completely understood it, there was a sinister suggestion about the + message which decided her to wait no longer before making investigations. + She tore herself away from the joys of furnishing and went round to the + headquarters of the Fillmore Nicholas Theatrical Enterprises Ltd. + (Managing Director, Fillmore Nicholas) without delay. + </p> + <p> + Ginger, she discovered on arrival, was absent from his customary post, his + place in the outer office being taken by a lad of tender years and pimply + exterior, who thawed and cast off a proud reserve on hearing Sally's name, + and told her to walk right in. Sally walked right in, and found Fillmore + with his feet on an untidy desk, studying what appeared to be + costume-designs. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Sally!” he said in the distrait, tired voice which speaks of vast + preoccupations. Prosperity was still putting in its silent, deadly work on + the Hope of the American Theatre. What, even at as late an epoch as the + return from Detroit, had been merely a smooth fullness around the angle of + the jaw was now frankly and without disguise a double chin. He was wearing + a new waistcoat and it was unbuttoned. “I am rather busy,” he went on. + “Always glad to see you, but I am rather busy. I have a hundred things to + attend to.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, attend to me. That'll only make a hundred and one. Fill, what's all + this I hear about a revue?” + </p> + <p> + Fillmore looked as like a small boy caught in the act of stealing jam as + it is possible for a great theatrical manager to look. He had been + wondering in his darker moments what Sally would say about that project + when she heard of it, and he had hoped that she would not hear of it until + all the preparations were so complete that interference would be + impossible. He was extremely fond of Sally, but there was, he knew, a + lamentable vein of caution in her make-up which might lead her to + criticize. And how can your man of affairs carry on if women are buzzing + round criticizing all the time? He picked up a pen and put it down; + buttoned his waistcoat and unbuttoned it; and scratched his ear with one + of the costume-designs. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, the revue!” + </p> + <p> + “It's no good saying 'Oh yes'! You know perfectly well it's a crazy idea.” + </p> + <p> + “Really... these business matters... this interference...” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to run your affairs for you, Fill, but that money of mine + does make me a sort of partner, I suppose, and I think I have a right to + raise a loud yell of agony when I see you risking it on a...” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” said Fillmore loftily, looking happier. “Let me explain. + Women never understand business matters. Your money is tied up exclusively + in 'The Primrose Way,' which, as you know, is a tremendous success. You + have nothing whatever to worry about as regards any new production I may + make.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not worrying about the money. I'm worrying about you.” + </p> + <p> + A tolerant smile played about the lower slopes of Fillmore's face. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be alarmed about me. I'm all right.” + </p> + <p> + “You aren't all right. You've no business, when you've only just got + started as a manager, to be rushing into an enormous production like this. + You can't afford it.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear child, as I said before, women cannot understand these things. A + man in my position can always command money for a new venture.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say you have found somebody silly enough to put up money?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. I don't know that there is any secret about it. Your friend, + Mr. Carmyle, has taken an interest in some of my forthcoming productions.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” Sally had been disturbed before, but she was aghast now. + </p> + <p> + This was something she had never anticipated. Bruce Carmyle seemed to be + creeping into her life like an advancing tide. There appeared to be no + eluding him. Wherever she turned, there he was, and she could do nothing + but rage impotently. The situation was becoming impossible. + </p> + <p> + Fillmore misinterpreted the note of dismay in her voice. + </p> + <p> + “It's quite all right,” he assured her. “He's a very rich man. Large + private means, besides his big income. Even if anything goes wrong...” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't that. It's...” + </p> + <p> + The hopelessness of explaining to Fillmore stopped Sally. And while she + was chafing at this new complication which had come to upset the orderly + routine of her life there was an outburst of voices in the other office. + Ginger's understudy seemed to be endeavouring to convince somebody that + the Big Chief was engaged and not to be intruded upon. In this he was + unsuccessful, for the door opened tempestuously and Miss Winch sailed in. + </p> + <p> + “Fillmore, you poor nut,” said Miss Winch, for though she might wrap up + her meaning somewhat obscurely in her telegraphic communications, when it + came to the spoken word she was directness itself, “stop picking straws in + your hair and listen to me. You're dippy!” + </p> + <p> + The last time Sally had seen Fillmore's fiancée, she had been impressed by + her imperturbable calm. Miss Winch, in Detroit, had seemed a girl whom + nothing could ruffle. That she had lapsed now from this serene placidity, + struck Sally as ominous. Slightly though she knew her, she felt that it + could be no ordinary happening that had so animated her + sister-in-law-to-be. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Here you are!” said Fillmore. He had started to his feet indignantly + at the opening of the door, like a lion bearded in its den, but calm had + returned when he saw who the intruder was. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, here I am!” Miss Winch dropped despairingly into a swivel-chair, and + endeavoured to restore herself with a stick of chewing-gum. “Fillmore, + darling, you're the sweetest thing on earth, and I love you, but on + present form you could just walk straight into Bloomingdale and they'd + give you the royal suite.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear girl...” + </p> + <p> + “What do you think?” demanded Miss Winch, turning to Sally. + </p> + <p> + “I've just been telling him,” said Sally, welcoming this ally, “I think + it's absurd at this stage of things for him to put on an enormous + revue...” + </p> + <p> + “Revue?” Miss Winch stopped in the act of gnawing her gum. “What revue?” + She flung up her arms. “I shall have to swallow this gum,” she said. “You + can't chew with your head going round. Are you putting on a revue too?” + </p> + <p> + Fillmore was buttoning and unbuttoning his waistcoat. He had a hounded + look. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, certainly,” he replied in a tone of some feverishness. “I wish + you girls would leave me to manage...” + </p> + <p> + “Dippy!” said Miss Winch once more. “Telegraphic address: Tea-Pot, + Matteawan.” She swivelled round to Sally again. “Say, listen! This boy + must be stopped. We must form a gang in his best interests and get him put + away. What do you think he proposes doing? I'll give you three guesses. + Oh, what's the use? You'd never hit it. This poor wandering lad has got it + all fixed up to star me—me—in a new show!” + </p> + <p> + Fillmore removed a hand from his waistcoat buttons and waved it + protestingly. + </p> + <p> + “I have used my own judgment...” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir!” proceeded Miss Winch, riding over the interruption. “That's + what he's planning to spring on an unsuspicious public. I'm sitting + peacefully in my room at the hotel in Chicago, pronging a few cents' worth + of scrambled eggs and reading the morning paper, when the telephone rings. + Gentleman below would like to see me. Oh, ask him to wait. Business of + flinging on a few clothes. Down in elevator. Bright sunrise effects in + lobby.” + </p> + <p> + “What on earth do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “The gentleman had a head of red hair which had to be seen to be + believed,” explained Miss Winch. “Lit up the lobby. Management had + switched off all the electrics for sake of economy. An Englishman he was. + Nice fellow. Named Kemp.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, is Ginger in Chicago?” said Sally. “I wondered why he wasn't on his + little chair in the outer office. + </p> + <p> + “I sent Kemp to Chicago,” said Fillmore, “to have a look at the show. It + is my policy, if I am unable to pay periodical visits myself, to send a + representative...” + </p> + <p> + “Save it up for the long winter evenings,” advised Miss Winch, cutting in + on this statement of managerial tactics. “Mr. Kemp may have been there to + look at the show, but his chief reason for coming was to tell me to beat + it back to New York to enter into my kingdom. Fillmore wanted me on the + spot, he told me, so that I could sit around in this office here, + interviewing my supporting company. Me! Can you or can you not,” inquired + Miss Winch frankly, “tie it?” + </p> + <p> + “Well...” Sally hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Don't say it! I know it just as well as you do. It's too sad for words.” + </p> + <p> + “You persist in underestimating your abilities, Gladys,” said Fillmore + reproachfully. “I have had a certain amount of experience in theatrical + matters—I have seen a good deal of acting—and I assure you + that as a character-actress you...” + </p> + <p> + Miss Winch rose swiftly from her seat, kissed Fillmore energetically, and + sat down again. She produced another stick of chewing-gum, then shook her + head and replaced it in her bag. + </p> + <p> + “You're a darling old thing to talk like that,” she said, “and I hate to + wake you out of your daydreams, but, honestly, Fillmore, dear, do just + step out of the padded cell for one moment and listen to reason. I know + exactly what has been passing in your poor disordered bean. You took Elsa + Doland out of a minor part and made her a star overnight. She goes to + Chicago, and the critics and everybody else rave about her. As a matter of + fact,” she said to Sally with enthusiasm, for hers was an honest and + generous nature, “you can't realize, not having seen her play there, what + an amazing hit she has made. She really is a sensation. Everybody says + she's going to be the biggest thing on record. Very well, then, what does + Fillmore do? The poor fish claps his hand to his forehead and cries + 'Gadzooks! An idea! I've done it before, I'll do it again. I'm the fellow + who can make a star out of anything.' And he picks on me!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear girl...” + </p> + <p> + “Now, the flaw in the scheme is this. Elsa is a genius, and if he hadn't + made her a star somebody else would have done. But little Gladys? That's + something else again.” She turned to Sally. “You've seen me in action, and + let me tell you you've seen me at my best. Give me a maid's part, with a + tray to carry on in act one and a couple of 'Yes, madam's' in act two, and + I'm there! Ellen Terry hasn't anything on me when it comes to saying 'Yes, + madam,' and I'm willing to back myself for gold, notes, or lima beans + against Sarah Bernhardt as a tray-carrier. But there I finish. That lets + me out. And anybody who thinks otherwise is going to lose a lot of money. + Between ourselves the only thing I can do really well is to cook...” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Gladys!” cried Fillmore revolted. + </p> + <p> + “I'm a heaven-born cook, and I don't mind notifying the world to that + effect. I can cook a chicken casserole so that you would leave home and + mother for it. Also my English pork-pies! One of these days I'll take an + afternoon off and assemble one for you. You'd be surprised! But acting—no. + I can't do it, and I don't want to do it. I only went on the stage for + fun, and my idea of fun isn't to plough through a star part with all the + critics waving their axes in the front row, and me knowing all the time + that it's taking money out of Fillmore's bankroll that ought to be going + towards buying the little home with stationary wash-tubs... Well, that's + that, Fillmore, old darling. I thought I'd just mention it.” + </p> + <p> + Sally could not help being sorry for Fillmore. He was sitting with his + chin on his hands, staring moodily before him—Napoleon at Elba. It + was plain that this project of taking Miss Winch by the scruff of the neck + and hurling her to the heights had been very near his heart. + </p> + <p> + “If that's how you feel,” he said in a stricken voice, “there is nothing + more to say.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes there is. We will now talk about this revue of yours. It's off!” + </p> + <p> + Fillmore bounded to his feet; he thumped the desk with a well-nourished + fist. A man can stand just so much. + </p> + <p> + “It is not off! Great heavens! It's too much! I will not put up with this + interference with my business concerns. I will not be tied and hampered. + Here am I, a man of broad vision and... and... broad vision... I form my + plans... my plans... I form them... I shape my schemes... and what + happens? A horde of girls flock into my private office while I am + endeavouring to concentrate... and concentrate... I won't stand it. + Advice, yes. Interference, no. I... I... I... and kindly remember that!” + </p> + <p> + The door closed with a bang. A fainter detonation announced the whirlwind + passage through the outer office. Footsteps died away down the corridor. + </p> + <p> + Sally looked at Miss Winch, stunned. A roused and militant Fillmore was + new to her. + </p> + <p> + Miss Winch took out the stick of chewing-gum again and unwrapped it. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't he cute!” she said. “I hope he doesn't get the soft kind,” she + murmured, chewing reflectively. + </p> + <p> + “The soft kind.” + </p> + <p> + “He'll be back soon with a box of candy,” explained Miss Winch, “and he + will get that sloshy, creamy sort, though I keep telling him I like the + other. Well, one thing's certain. Fillmore's got it up his nose. He's + beginning to hop about and sing in the sunlight. It's going to be hard + work to get that boy down to earth again.” Miss Winch heaved a gentle + sigh. “I should like him to have enough left in the old stocking to pay + the first year's rent when the wedding bells ring out.” She bit + meditatively on her chewing-gum. “Not,” she said, “that it matters. I'd be + just as happy in two rooms and a kitchenette, so long as Fillmore was + there. You've no notion how dippy I am about him.” Her freckled face + glowed. “He grows on me like a darned drug. And the funny thing is that I + keep right on admiring him though I can see all the while that he's the + most perfect chump. He is a chump, you know. That's what I love about him. + That and the way his ears wiggle when he gets excited. Chumps always make + the best husbands. When you marry, Sally, grab a chump. Tap his forehead + first, and if it rings solid, don't hesitate. All the unhappy marriages + come from the husband having brains. What good are brains to a man? They + only unsettle him.” She broke off and scrutinized Sally closely. “Say, + what do you do with your skin?” + </p> + <p> + She spoke with solemn earnestness which made Sally laugh. + </p> + <p> + “What do I do with my skin? I just carry it around with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Miss Winch enviously, “I wish I could train my darned fool of + a complexion to get that way. Freckles are the devil. When I was eight I + had the finest collection in the Middle West, and I've been adding to it + right along. Some folks say lemon-juice'll cure 'em. Mine lap up all I + give 'em and ask for more. There's only one way of getting rid of + freckles, and that is to saw the head off at the neck.” + </p> + <p> + “But why do you want to get rid of them?” + </p> + <p> + “Why? Because a sensitive girl, anxious to retain her future husband's + love, doesn't enjoy going about looking like something out of a dime + museum.” + </p> + <p> + “How absurd! Fillmore worships freckles.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he tell you so?” asked Miss Winch eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Not in so many words, but you can see it in his eye.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he certainly asked me to marry him, knowing all about them, I will + say that. And, what's more, I don't think feminine loveliness means much + to Fillmore, or he'd never have picked on me. Still, it is calculated to + give a girl a jar, you must admit, when she picks up a magazine and reads + an advertisement of a face-cream beginning, 'Your husband is growing cold + to you. Can you blame him? Have you really tried to cure those unsightly + blemishes?'—meaning what I've got. Still, I haven't noticed Fillmore + growing cold to me, so maybe it's all right.” + </p> + <p> + It was a subdued Sally who received Ginger when he called at her apartment + a few days later on his return from Chicago. It seemed to her, thinking + over the recent scene, that matters were even worse than she had feared. + This absurd revue, which she had looked on as a mere isolated outbreak of + foolishness, was, it would appear, only a specimen of the sort of thing + her misguided brother proposed to do, a sample selected at random from a + wholesale lot of frantic schemes. Fillmore, there was no longer any room + for doubt, was preparing to express his great soul on a vast scale. And + she could not dissuade him. A humiliating thought. She had grown so + accustomed through the years to being the dominating mind that this revolt + from her authority made her feel helpless and inadequate. Her + self-confidence was shaken. + </p> + <p> + And Bruce Carmyle was financing him... It was illogical, but Sally could + not help feeling that when—she had not the optimism to say “if”—he + lost his money, she would somehow be under an obligation to him, as if the + disaster had been her fault. She disliked, with a whole-hearted intensity, + the thought of being under an obligation to Mr. Carmyle. + </p> + <p> + Ginger said he had looked in to inspect the furniture on the chance that + Sally might want it shifted again: but Sally had no criticisms to make on + that subject. Weightier matters occupied her mind. She sat Ginger down in + the armchair and started to pour out her troubles. It soothed her to talk + to him. In a world which had somehow become chaotic again after an all too + brief period of peace, he was solid and consoling. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't worry,” observed Ginger with Winch-like calm, when she had + finished drawing for him the picture of a Fillmore rampant against a + background of expensive revues. Sally nearly shook him. + </p> + <p> + “It's all very well to tell me not to worry,” she cried. “How can I help + worrying? Fillmore's simply a baby, and he's just playing the fool. He has + lost his head completely. And I can't stop him! That is the awful part of + it. I used to be able to look him in the eye, and he would wag his tail + and crawl back into his basket, but now I seem to have no influence at all + over him. He just snorts and goes on running round in circles, breathing + fire.” + </p> + <p> + Ginger did not abandon his attempts to indicate the silver lining. + </p> + <p> + “I think you are making too much of all this, you know. I mean to say, + it's quite likely he's found some mug... what I mean is, it's just + possible that your brother isn't standing the entire racket himself. + Perhaps some rich Johnnie has breezed along with a pot of money. It often + happens like that, you know. You read in the paper that some manager or + other is putting on some show or other, when really the chap who's + actually supplying the pieces of eight is some anonymous lad in the + background.” + </p> + <p> + “That is just what has happened, and it makes it worse than ever. Fillmore + tells me that your cousin, Mr. Carmyle, is providing the money.” + </p> + <p> + This did interest Ginger. He sat up with a jerk. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Sally, still agitated but pleased that she had at last shaken + him out of his trying attitude of detachment. + </p> + <p> + Ginger was scowling. + </p> + <p> + “That's a bit off,” he observed. + </p> + <p> + “I think so, too.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't like that.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor do I.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what I think?” said Ginger, ever a man of plain speech and a + reckless plunger into delicate subjects. “The blighter's in love with + you.” + </p> + <p> + Sally flushed. After examining the evidence before her, she had reached + the same conclusion in the privacy of her thoughts, but it embarrassed her + to hear the thing put into bald words. + </p> + <p> + “I know Bruce,” continued Ginger, “and, believe me, he isn't the sort of + cove to take any kind of flutter without a jolly good motive. Of course, + he's got tons of money. His old guvnor was the Carmyle of Carmyle, Brent + & Co.—coal mines up in Wales, and all that sort of thing—and + I suppose he must have left Bruce something like half a million. No need + for the fellow to have worked at all, if he hadn't wanted to. As far as + having the stuff goes, he's in a position to back all the shows he wants + to. But the point is, it's right out of his line. He doesn't do that sort + of thing. Not a drop of sporting blood in the chap. Why I've known him + stick the whole family on to me just because it got noised about that I'd + dropped a couple of quid on the Grand National. If he's really brought + himself to the point of shelling out on a risky proposition like a show, + it means something, take my word for it. And I don't see what else it can + mean except... well, I mean to say, is it likely that he's doing it simply + to make your brother look on him as a good egg and a pal, and all that + sort of thing?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it's not,” agreed Sally. “But don't let's talk about it any more. + Tell me all about your trip to Chicago.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. But, returning to this binge for a moment, I don't see how it + matters to you one way or the other. You're engaged to another fellow, and + when Bruce rolls up and says: 'What about it?' you've simply to tell him + that the shot isn't on the board and will he kindly melt away. Then you + hand him his hat and out he goes.” + </p> + <p> + Sally gave a troubled laugh. + </p> + <p> + “You think that's simple, do you? I suppose you imagine that a girl enjoys + that sort of thing? Oh, what's the use of talking about it? It's horrible, + and no amount of arguing will make it anything else. Do let's change the + subject. How did you like Chicago?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, all right. Rather a grubby sort of place.” + </p> + <p> + “So I've always heard. But you ought not to mind that, being a Londoner.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I didn't mind it. As a matter of fact, I had rather a good time. Saw + one or two shows, you know. Got in on my face as your brother's + representative, which was all to the good. By the way, it's rummy how you + run into people when you move about, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “You talk as if you had been dashing about the streets with your eyes + shut. Did you meet somebody you knew?” + </p> + <p> + “Chap I hadn't seen for years. Was at school with him, as a matter of + fact. Fellow named Foster. But I expect you know him, too, don't you? By + name, at any rate. He wrote your brother's show.” + </p> + <p> + Sally's heart jumped. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Did you meet Gerald—Foster?” + </p> + <p> + “Ran into him one night at the theatre.” + </p> + <p> + “And you were really at school with him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He was in the footer team with me my last year.” + </p> + <p> + “Was he a scrum-half, too?” asked Sally, dimpling. + </p> + <p> + Ginger looked shocked. + </p> + <p> + “You don't have two scrum-halves in a team,” he said, pained at this + ignorance on a vital matter. “The scrum-half is the half who works the + scrum and...” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you told me that at Roville. What was Gerald—Mr. Foster then? + A six and seven-eighths, or something?” + </p> + <p> + “He was a wing-three,” said Ginger with a gravity befitting his theme. + “Rather fast, with a fairly decent swerve. But he would not learn to give + the reverse pass inside to the centre.” + </p> + <p> + “Ghastly!” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + “If,” said Ginger earnestly, “a wing's bottled up by his wing and the + back, the only thing he can do, if he doesn't want to be bundled into + touch, is to give the reverse pass.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Sally. “If I've thought that once, I've thought it a + hundred times. How nice it must have been for you meeting again. I suppose + you had all sorts of things to talk about?” + </p> + <p> + Ginger shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Not such a frightful lot. We were never very thick. You see, this chap + Foster was by way of being a bit of a worm.” + </p> + <p> + “What!” + </p> + <p> + “A tick,” explained Ginger. “A rotter. He was pretty generally barred at + school. Personally, I never had any use for him at all.” + </p> + <p> + Sally stiffened. She had liked Ginger up to that moment, and later on, no + doubt, she would resume her liking for him: but in the immediate moment + which followed these words she found herself regarding him with stormy + hostility. How dare he sit there saying things like that about Gerald? + </p> + <p> + Ginger, who was lighting a cigarette without a care in the world, + proceeded to develop his theme. + </p> + <p> + “It's a rummy thing about school. Generally, if a fellow's good at games—in + the cricket team or the footer team and so forth—he can hardly help + being fairly popular. But this blighter Foster somehow—nobody seemed + very keen on him. Of course, he had a few of his own pals, but most of the + chaps rather gave him a miss. It may have been because he was a bit + sidey... had rather an edge on him, you know... Personally, the reason I + barred him was because he wasn't straight. You didn't notice it if you + weren't thrown a goodish bit with him, of course, but he and I were in the + same house, and...” + </p> + <p> + Sally managed to control her voice, though it shook a little. + </p> + <p> + “I ought to tell you,” she said, and her tone would have warned him had he + been less occupied, “that Mr. Foster is a great friend of mine.” + </p> + <p> + But Ginger was intent on the lighting of his cigarette, a delicate + operation with the breeze blowing in through the open window. His head was + bent, and he had formed his hands into a protective framework which half + hid his face. + </p> + <p> + “If you take my tip,” he mumbled, “you'll drop him. He's a wrong 'un.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke with the absent-minded drawl of preoccupation, and Sally could + keep the conflagration under no longer. She was aflame from head to foot. + </p> + <p> + “It may interest you to know,” she said, shooting the words out like + bullets from between clenched teeth, “that Gerald Foster is the man I am + engaged to marry.” + </p> + <p> + Ginger's head came slowly up from his cupped hands. Amazement was in his + eyes, and a sort of horror. The cigarette hung limply from his mouth. He + did not speak, but sat looking at her, dazed. Then the match burnt his + fingers, and he dropped it with a start. The sharp sting of it seemed to + wake him. He blinked. + </p> + <p> + “You're joking,” he said, feebly. There was a note of wistfulness in his + voice. “It isn't true?” + </p> + <p> + Sally kicked the leg of her chair irritably. She read insolent disapproval + into the words. He was daring to criticize... + </p> + <p> + “Of course it's true...” + </p> + <p> + “But...” A look of hopeless misery came into Ginger's pleasant face. He + hesitated. Then, with the air of a man bracing himself to a dreadful, but + unavoidable, ordeal, he went on. He spoke gruffly, and his eyes, which had + been fixed on Sally's, wandered down to the match on the carpet. It was + still glowing, and mechanically he put a foot on it. + </p> + <p> + “Foster's married,” he said shortly. “He was married the day before I left + Chicago.” + </p> + <p> + 3 + </p> + <p> + It seemed to Ginger that in the silence which followed, brooding over the + room like a living presence, even the noises in the street had ceased, as + though what he had said had been a spell cutting Sally and himself off + from the outer world. Only the little clock on the mantelpiece ticked—ticked—ticked, + like a heart beating fast. + </p> + <p> + He stared straight before him, conscious of a strange rigidity. He felt + incapable of movement, as he had sometimes felt in nightmares; and not for + all the wealth of America could he have raised his eyes just then to + Sally's face. He could see her hands. They had tightened on the arm of the + chair. The knuckles were white. + </p> + <p> + He was blaming himself bitterly now for his oafish clumsiness in blurting + out the news so abruptly. And yet, curiously, in his remorse there was + something of elation. Never before had he felt so near to her. It was as + though a barrier that had been between them had fallen. + </p> + <p> + Something moved... It was Sally's hand, slowly relaxing. The fingers + loosened their grip, tightened again, then, as if reluctantly relaxed once + more. The blood flowed back. + </p> + <p> + “Your cigarette's out.” + </p> + <p> + Ginger started violently. Her voice, coming suddenly out of the silence, + had struck him like a blow. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thanks!” + </p> + <p> + He forced himself to light another match. It sputtered noisily in the + stillness. He blew it out, and the uncanny quiet fell again. + </p> + <p> + Ginger drew at his cigarette mechanically. For an instant he had seen + Sally's face, white-cheeked and bright-eyed, the chin tilted like a flag + flying over a stricken field. His mood changed. All his emotions had + crystallized into a dull, futile rage, a helpless fury directed at a man a + thousand miles away. + </p> + <p> + Sally spoke again. Her voice sounded small and far off, an odd flatness in + it. + </p> + <p> + “Married?” + </p> + <p> + Ginger threw his cigarette out of the window. He was shocked to find that + he was smoking. Nothing could have been farther from his intention than to + smoke. He nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Whom has he married?” + </p> + <p> + Ginger coughed. Something was sticking in his throat, and speech was + difficult. + </p> + <p> + “A girl called Doland.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Elsa Doland?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Elsa Doland.” Sally drummed with her fingers on the arm of the chair. + “Oh, Elsa Doland?” + </p> + <p> + There was silence again. The little clock ticked fussily on the + mantelpiece. Out in the street automobile horns were blowing. From + somewhere in the distance came faintly the rumble of an elevated train. + Familiar sounds, but they came to Sally now with a curious, unreal sense + of novelty. She felt as though she had been projected into another world + where everything was new and strange and horrible—everything except + Ginger. About him, in the mere sight of him, there was something known and + heartening. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, she became aware that she was feeling that Ginger was behaving + extremely well. She seemed to have been taken out of herself and to be + regarding the scene from outside, regarding it coolly and critically; and + it was plain to her that Ginger, in this upheaval of all things, was + bearing himself perfectly. He had attempted no banal words of sympathy. He + had said nothing and he was not looking at her. And Sally felt that + sympathy just now would be torture, and that she could not have borne to + be looked at. + </p> + <p> + Ginger was wonderful. In that curious, detached spirit that had come upon + her, she examined him impartially, and gratitude welled up from the very + depths of her. There he sat, saying nothing and doing nothing, as if he + knew that all she needed, the only thing that could keep her sane in this + world of nightmare, was the sight of that dear, flaming head of his that + made her feel that the world had not slipped away from her altogether. + </p> + <p> + Ginger did not move. The room had grown almost dark now. A spear of light + from a street lamp shone in through the window. + </p> + <p> + Sally got up abruptly. Slowly, gradually, inch by inch, the great + suffocating cloud which had been crushing her had lifted. She felt alive + again. Her black hour had gone, and she was back in the world of living + things once more. She was afire with a fierce, tearing pain that tormented + her almost beyond endurance, but dimly she sensed the fact that she had + passed through something that was worse than pain, and, with Ginger's + stolid presence to aid her, had passed triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + “Go and have dinner, Ginger,” she said. “You must be starving.” + </p> + <p> + Ginger came to life like a courtier in the palace of the Sleeping Beauty. + He shook himself, and rose stiffly from his chair. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” he said. “Not a bit, really.” + </p> + <p> + Sally switched on the light and set him blinking. She could bear to be + looked at now. + </p> + <p> + “Go and dine,” she said. “Dine lavishly and luxuriously. You've certainly + earned...” Her voice faltered for a moment. She held out her hand. + “Ginger,” she said shakily, “I... Ginger, you're a pal.” + </p> + <p> + When he had gone. Sally sat down and began to cry. Then she dried her eyes + in a business-like manner. + </p> + <p> + “There, Miss Nicholas!” she said. “You couldn't have done that an hour + ago... We will now boil you an egg for your dinner and see how that suits + you!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. SALLY RUNS AWAY + </h2> + <p> + If Ginger Kemp had been asked to enumerate his good qualities, it is not + probable that he would have drawn up a very lengthy list. He might have + started by claiming for himself the virtue of meaning well, but after that + he would have had to chew the pencil in prolonged meditation. And, even if + he could eventually have added one or two further items to the catalogue, + tact and delicacy of feeling would not have been among them. + </p> + <p> + Yet, by staying away from Sally during the next few days he showed + considerable delicacy. It was not easy to stay away from her, but he + forced himself to do so. He argued from his own tastes, and was strongly + of opinion that in times of travail, solitude was what the sufferer most + desired. In his time he, too, had had what he would have described as + nasty jars, and on these occasions all he had asked was to be allowed to + sit and think things over and fight his battle out by himself. + </p> + <p> + By Saturday, however, he had come to the conclusion that some form of + action might now be taken. Saturday was rather a good day for picking up + the threads again. He had not to go to the office, and, what was still + more to the point, he had just drawn his week's salary. Mrs. Meecher had + deftly taken a certain amount of this off him, but enough remained to + enable him to attempt consolation on a fairly princely scale. There + presented itself to him as a judicious move the idea of hiring a car and + taking Sally out to dinner at one of the road-houses he had heard about up + the Boston Post Road. He examined the scheme. The more he looked at it, + the better it seemed. + </p> + <p> + He was helped to this decision by the extraordinary perfection of the + weather. The weather of late had been a revelation to Ginger. It was his + first experience of America's Indian Summer, and it had quite overcome + him. As he stood on the roof of Mrs. Meecher's establishment on the + Saturday morning, thrilled by the velvet wonder of the sunshine, it seemed + to him that the only possible way of passing such a day was to take Sally + for a ride in an open car. + </p> + <p> + The Maison Meecher was a lofty building on one of the side-streets at the + lower end of the avenue. From its roof, after you had worked your way + through the groves of washing which hung limply from the clothes-line, you + could see many things of interest. To the left lay Washington Square, full + of somnolent Italians and roller-skating children; to the right was a + spectacle which never failed to intrigue Ginger, the high smoke-stacks of + a Cunard liner moving slowly down the river, sticking up over the + house-tops as if the boat was travelling down Ninth Avenue. + </p> + <p> + To-day there were four of these funnels, causing Ginger to deduce the + Mauritania. As the boat on which he had come over from England, the + Mauritania had a sentimental interest for him. He stood watching her + stately progress till the higher buildings farther down the town shut her + from his sight; then picked his way through the washing and went down to + his room to get his hat. A quarter of an hour later he was in the hall-way + of Sally's apartment house, gazing with ill-concealed disgust at the + serge-clad back of his cousin Mr. Carmyle, who was engaged in conversation + with a gentleman in overalls. + </p> + <p> + No care-free prospector, singing his way through the Mojave Desert and + suddenly finding himself confronted by a rattlesnake, could have + experienced so abrupt a change of mood as did Ginger at this revolting + spectacle. Even in their native Piccadilly it had been unpleasant to run + into Mr. Carmyle. To find him here now was nothing short of nauseating. + Only one thing could have brought him to this place. Obviously, he must + have come to see Sally; and with a sudden sinking of the heart Ginger + remembered the shiny, expensive automobile which he had seen waiting at + the door. He, it was clear, was not the only person to whom the idea had + occurred of taking Sally for a drive on this golden day. + </p> + <p> + He was still standing there when Mr. Carmyle swung round with a frown on + his dark face which seemed to say that he had not found the janitor's + conversation entertaining. The sight of Ginger plainly did nothing to + lighten his gloom. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo!” said Ginger. + </p> + <p> + Uncomfortable silence followed these civilities. + </p> + <p> + “Have you come to see Miss Nicholas?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “She isn't here,” said Mr. Carmyle, and the fact that he had found someone + to share the bad news, seemed to cheer him a little. + </p> + <p> + “Not here?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Apparently...” Bruce Carmyle's scowl betrayed that resentment which a + well-balanced man cannot but feel at the unreasonableness of others. “... + Apparently, for some extraordinary reason, she has taken it into her head + to dash over to England.” + </p> + <p> + Ginger tottered. The unexpectedness of the blow was crushing. He followed + his cousin out into the sunshine in a sort of dream. Bruce Carmyle was + addressing the driver of the expensive automobile. + </p> + <p> + “I find I shall not want the car. You can take it back to the garage.” + </p> + <p> + The chauffeur, a moody man, opened one half-closed eye and spat + cautiously. It was the way Rockefeller would have spat when approaching + the crisis of some delicate financial negotiation. + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to pay just the same,” he observed, opening his other eye to + lend emphasis to the words. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I shall pay,” snapped Mr. Carmyle, irritably. “How much is it?” + </p> + <p> + Money passed. The car rolled off. + </p> + <p> + “Gone to England?” said Ginger, dizzily. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, gone to England.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” + </p> + <p> + “How the devil do I know why?” Bruce Carmyle would have found his best + friend trying at this moment. Gaping Ginger gave him almost a physical + pain. “All I know is what the janitor told me, that she sailed on the + Mauretania this morning.” + </p> + <p> + The tragic irony of this overcame Ginger. That he should have stood on the + roof, calmly watching the boat down the river... + </p> + <p> + He nodded absently to Mr. Carmyle and walked off. He had no further + remarks to make. The warmth had gone out of the sunshine and all interest + had departed from his life. He felt dull, listless, at a loose end. Not + even the thought that his cousin, a careful man with his money, had had to + pay a day's hire for a car which he could not use brought him any balm. He + loafed aimlessly about the streets. He wandered in the Park and out again. + The Park bored him. The streets bored him. The whole city bored him. A + city without Sally in it was a drab, futile city, and nothing that the sun + could do to brighten it could make it otherwise. + </p> + <p> + Night came at last, and with it a letter. It was the first even passably + pleasant thing that had happened to Ginger in the whole of this dreary and + unprofitable day: for the envelope bore the crest of the good ship + Mauretania. He snatched it covetously from the letter-rack, and carried it + upstairs to his room. + </p> + <p> + Very few of the rooms at Mrs. Meecher's boarding-house struck any note of + luxury. Mrs. Meecher was not one of your fashionable interior decorators. + She considered that when she had added a Morris chair to the essentials + which make up a bedroom, she had gone as far in the direction of pomp as + any guest at seven-and-a-half per could expect her to go. As a rule, the + severity of his surroundings afflicted Ginger with a touch of gloom when + he went to bed; but to-night—such is the magic of a letter from the + right person—he was uplifted and almost gay. There are moments when + even illuminated texts over the wash-stand cannot wholly quell us. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing of haste and much of ceremony in Ginger's method of + approaching the perusal of his correspondence. He bore himself after the + manner of a small boy in the presence of unexpected ice-cream, gloating + for awhile before embarking on the treat, anxious to make it last out. His + first move was to feel in the breast-pocket of his coat and produce the + photograph of Sally which he had feloniously removed from her apartment. + At this he looked long and earnestly before propping it up within easy + reach against his basin, to be handy, if required, for purposes of + reference. He then took off his coat, collar, and shoes, filled and lit a + pipe, placed pouch and matches on the arm of the Morris chair, and drew + that chair up so that he could sit with his feet on the bed. Having + manoeuvred himself into a position of ease, he lit his pipe again and took + up the letter. He looked at the crest, the handwriting of the address, and + the postmark. He weighed it in his hand. It was a bulky letter. + </p> + <p> + He took Sally's photograph from the wash-stand and scrutinized it once + more. Then he lit his pipe again, and, finally, wriggling himself into the + depths of the chair, opened the envelope. + </p> + <p> + “Ginger, dear.” + </p> + <p> + Having read so far, Ginger found it necessary to take up the photograph + and study it with an even greater intentness than before. He gazed at it + for many minutes, then laid it down and lit his pipe again. Then he went + on with the letter. + </p> + <p> + “Ginger, dear—I'm afraid this address is going to give you rather a + shock, and I'm feeling very guilty. I'm running away, and I haven't even + stopped to say good-bye. I can't help it. I know it's weak and cowardly, + but I simply can't help it. I stood it for a day or two, and then I saw + that it was no good. (Thank you for leaving me alone and not coming round + to see me. Nobody else but you would have done that. But then, nobody ever + has been or ever could be so understanding as you.)” + </p> + <p> + Ginger found himself compelled at this point to look at the photograph + again. + </p> + <p> + “There was too much in New York to remind me. That's the worst of being + happy in a place. When things go wrong you find there are too many ghosts + about. I just couldn't stand it. I tried, but I couldn't. I'm going away + to get cured—if I can. Mr. Faucitt is over in England, and when I + went down to Mrs. Meecher for my letters, I found one from him. His + brother is dead, you know, and he has inherited, of all things, a + fashionable dress-making place in Regent Street. His brother was Laurette + et Cie. I suppose he will sell the business later on, but, just at + present, the poor old dear is apparently quite bewildered and that doesn't + seem to have occurred to him. He kept saying in his letter how much he + wished I was with him, to help him, and I was tempted and ran. Anything to + get away from the ghosts and have something to do. I don't suppose I shall + feel much better in England, but, at least, every street corner won't have + associations. Don't ever be happy anywhere, Ginger. It's too big a risk, + much too big a risk. + </p> + <p> + “There was a letter from Elsa Doland, too. Bubbling over with affection. + We had always been tremendous friends. Of course, she never knew anything + about my being engaged to Gerald. I lent Fillmore the money to buy that + piece, which gave Elsa her first big chance, and so she's very grateful. + She says, if ever she gets the opportunity of doing me a good turn... + Aren't things muddled? + </p> + <p> + “And there was a letter from Gerald. I was expecting one, of course, + but... what would you have done, Ginger? Would you have read it? I sat + with it in front of me for an hour, I should think, just looking at the + envelope, and then... You see, what was the use? I could guess exactly the + sort of thing that would be in it, and reading it would only have hurt a + lot more. The thing was done, so why bother about explanations? What good + are explanations, anyway? They don't help. They don't do anything... I + burned it, Ginger. The last letter I shall ever get from him. I made a + bonfire on the bathroom floor, and it smouldered and went brown, and then + flared a little, and every now and then I lit another match and kept it + burning, and at last it was just black ashes and a stain on the tiles. + Just a mess! + </p> + <p> + “Ginger, burn this letter, too. I'm pouring out all the poison to you, + hoping it will make me feel better. You don't mind, do you? But I know you + don't. If ever anybody had a real pal... + </p> + <p> + “It's a dreadful thing, fascination, Ginger. It grips you and you are + helpless. One can be so sensible and reasonable about other people's love + affairs. When I was working at the dance place I told you about there was + a girl who fell in love with the most awful little beast. He had a mean + mouth and shiny black hair brushed straight back, and anybody would have + seen what he was. But this girl wouldn't listen to a word. I talked to her + by the hour. It makes me smile now when I think how sensible and + level-headed I was. But she wouldn't listen. In some mysterious way this + was the man she wanted, and, of course, everything happened that one knew + would happen. + </p> + <p> + “If one could manage one's own life as well as one can manage other + people's! If all this wretched thing of mine had happened to some other + girl, how beautifully I could have proved that it was the best thing that + could have happened, and that a man who could behave as Gerald has done + wasn't worth worrying about. I can just hear myself. But, you see, + whatever he has done, Gerald is still Gerald and Sally is still Sally and, + however much I argue, I can't get away from that. All I can do is to come + howling to my redheaded pal, when I know just as well as he does that a + girl of any spirit would be dignified and keep her troubles to herself and + be much too proud to let anyone know that she was hurt. + </p> + <p> + “Proud! That's the real trouble, Ginger. My pride has been battered and + chopped up and broken into as many pieces as you broke Mr. Scrymgeour's + stick! What pitiful creatures we are. Girls, I mean. At least, I suppose a + good many girls are like me. If Gerald had died and I had lost him that + way, I know quite well I shouldn't be feeling as I do now. I should have + been broken-hearted, but it wouldn't have been the same. It's my pride + that is hurt. I have always been a bossy, cocksure little creature, + swaggering about the world like an English sparrow; and now I'm paying for + it! Oh, Ginger, I'm paying for it! I wonder if running away is going to do + me any good at all. Perhaps, if Mr. Faucitt has some real hard work for me + to do... + </p> + <p> + “Of course, I know exactly how all this has come about. Elsa's pretty and + attractive. But the point is that she is a success, and as a success she + appeals to Gerald's weakest side. He worships success. She is going to + have a marvellous career, and she can help Gerald on in his. He can write + plays for her to star in. What have I to offer against that? Yes, I know + it's grovelling and contemptible of me to say that, Ginger. I ought to be + above it, oughtn't I—talking as if I were competing for some + prize... But I haven't any pride left. Oh, well! + </p> + <p> + “There! I've poured it all out and I really do feel a little better just + for the moment. It won't last, of course, but even a minute is something. + Ginger, dear, I shan't see you for ever so long, even if we ever do meet + again, but you'll try to remember that I'm thinking of you a whole lot, + won't you? I feel responsible for you. You're my baby. You've got started + now and you've only to stick to it. Please, please, please don't 'make a + hash of it'! Good-bye. I never did find that photograph of me that we were + looking for that afternoon in the apartment, or I would send it to you. + Then you could have kept it on your mantelpiece, and whenever you felt + inclined to make a hash of anything I would have caught your eye sternly + and you would have pulled up. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, Ginger. I shall have to stop now. The mail is just closing. + </p> + <p> + “Always your pal, wherever I am.—-SALLY.” + </p> + <p> + Ginger laid the letter down, and a little sound escaped him that was half + a sigh, half an oath. He was wondering whether even now some desirable end + might not be achieved by going to Chicago and breaking Gerald Foster's + neck. Abandoning this scheme as impracticable, and not being able to think + of anything else to do he re-lit his pipe and started to read the letter + again. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. SOME LETTERS FOR GINGER + </h2> + <p> + Laurette et Cie, + </p> + <p> + Regent Street, + </p> + <p> + London, W., + </p> + <p> + England. + </p> + <p> + January 21st. + </p> + <p> + Dear Ginger,—I'm feeling better. As it's three months since I last + wrote to you, no doubt you will say to yourself that I would be a poor, + weak-minded creature if I wasn't. I suppose one ought to be able to get + over anything in three months. Unfortunately, I'm afraid I haven't quite + succeeded in doing that, but at least I have managed to get my troubles + stowed away in the cellar, and I'm not dragging them out and looking at + them all the time. That's something, isn't it? + </p> + <p> + I ought to give you all my impressions of London, I suppose; but I've + grown so used to the place that I don't think I have any now. I seem to + have been here years and years. + </p> + <p> + You will see by the address that Mr. Faucitt has not yet sold his + inheritance. He expects to do so very soon, he tells me—there is a + rich-looking man with whiskers and a keen eye whom he is always lunching + with, and I think big deals are in progress. Poor dear! he is crazy to get + away into the country and settle down and grow ducks and things. London + has disappointed him. It is not the place it used to be. Until quite + lately, when he grew resigned, he used to wander about in a disconsolate + sort of way, trying to locate the landmarks of his youth. (He has not been + in England for nearly thirty years!) The trouble is, it seems, that about + once in every thirty years a sort of craze for change comes over London, + and they paint a shop-front red instead of blue, and that upsets the + returned exile dreadfully. Mr. Faucitt feels like Rip Van Winkle. His + first shock was when he found that the Empire was a theatre now instead of + a music-hall. Then he was told that another music-hall, the Tivoli, had + been pulled down altogether. And when on top of that he went to look at + the baker's shop in Rupert Street, over which he had lodgings in the + eighties, and discovered that it had been turned into a dressmaker's, he + grew very melancholy, and only cheered up a little when a lovely magenta + fog came on and showed him that some things were still going along as in + the good old days. + </p> + <p> + I am kept quite busy at Laurette et Cie., thank goodness. (Not being a + French scholar like you—do you remember Jules?—I thought at + first that Cie was the name of the junior partner, and looked forward to + meeting him. “Miss Nicholas, shake hands with Mr. Cie, one of your + greatest admirers.”) I hold down the female equivalent of your job at the + Fillmore Nicholas Theatrical Enterprises Ltd.—that is to say, I'm a + sort of right-hand woman. I hang around and sidle up to the customers when + they come in, and say, “Chawming weather, moddom!” (which is usually a + black lie) and pass them on to the staff, who do the actual work. I + shouldn't mind going on like this for the next few years, but Mr. Faucitt + is determined to sell. I don't know if you are like that, but every other + Englishman I've ever met seems to have an ambition to own a house and lot + in Loamshire or Hants or Salop or somewhere. Their one object in life is + to make some money and “buy back the old place”—which was sold, of + course, at the end of act one to pay the heir's gambling debts. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Faucitt, when he was a small boy, used to live in a little village in + Gloucestershire, near a place called Cirencester—at least, it isn't: + it's called Cissister, which I bet you didn't know—and after + forgetting about it for fifty years, he has suddenly been bitten by the + desire to end his days there, surrounded by pigs and chickens. He took me + down to see the place the other day. Oh, Ginger, this English country! Why + any of you ever live in towns I can't think. Old, old grey stone houses + with yellow haystacks and lovely squelchy muddy lanes and great fat trees + and blue hills in the distance. The peace of it! If ever I sell my soul, I + shall insist on the devil giving me at least forty years in some English + country place in exchange. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps you will think from all this that I am too much occupied to + remember your existence. Just to show how interested I am in you, let me + tell you that, when I was reading the paper a week ago, I happened to see + the headline, “International Match.” It didn't seem to mean anything at + first, and then I suddenly recollected. This was the thing you had once + been a snip for! So I went down to a place called Twickenham, where this + football game was to be, to see the sort of thing you used to do before I + took charge of you and made you a respectable right-hand man. There was an + enormous crowd there, and I was nearly squeezed to death, but I bore it + for your sake. I found out that the English team were the ones wearing + white shirts, and that the ones in red were the Welsh. I said to the man + next to me, after he had finished yelling himself black in the face, + “Could you kindly inform me which is the English scrum-half?” And just at + that moment the players came quite near where I was, and about a dozen + assassins in red hurled themselves violently on top of a meek-looking + little fellow who had just fallen on the ball. Ginger, you are well out of + it! That was the scrum-half, and I gathered that that sort of thing was a + mere commonplace in his existence. Stopping a rush, it is called, and he + is expected to do it all the time. The idea of you ever going in for such + brutal sports! You thank your stars that you are safe on your little stool + in Fillmore's outer office, and that, if anybody jumps on top of you now, + you can call a cop. Do you mean to say you really used to do these + daredevil feats? You must have hidden depths in you which I have never + suspected. + </p> + <p> + As I was taking a ride down Piccadilly the other day on top of a bus, I + saw somebody walking along who seemed familiar. It was Mr. Carmyle. So + he's back in England again. He didn't see me, thank goodness. I don't want + to meet anybody just at present who reminds me of New York. + </p> + <p> + Thanks for telling me all the news, but please don't do it again. It makes + me remember, and I don't want to. It's this way, Ginger. Let me write to + you, because it really does relieve me, but don't answer my letters. Do + you mind? I'm sure you'll understand. + </p> + <p> + So Fillmore and Gladys Winch are married! From what I have seen of her, + it's the best thing that has ever happened to Brother F. She is a splendid + girl. I must write to him... + </p> + <p> + Laurette et Cie.. + </p> + <p> + London + </p> + <p> + March 12th. + </p> + <p> + Dear Ginger,—I saw in a Sunday paper last week that “The Primrose + Way” had been produced in New York, and was a great success. Well, I'm + very glad. But I don't think the papers ought to print things like that. + It's unsettling. + </p> + <p> + Next day, I did one of those funny things you do when you're feeling blue + and lonely and a long way away from everybody. I called at your club and + asked for you! Such a nice old man in uniform at the desk said in a + fatherly way that you hadn't been in lately, and he rather fancied you + were out of town, but would I take a seat while he inquired. He then + summoned a tiny boy, also in uniform, and the child skipped off chanting, + “Mister Kemp! Mister Kemp!” in a shrill treble. It gave me such an odd + feeling to hear your name echoing in the distance. I felt so ashamed for + giving them all that trouble; and when the boy came back I slipped + twopence into his palm, which I suppose was against all the rules, though + he seemed to like it. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Faucitt has sold the business and retired to the country, and I am + rather at a loose end... + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Monk's Crofton, + (whatever that means) + Much Middleford, + Salop, + (slang for Shropshire) + England. +</pre> + <p> + April 18th. + </p> + <p> + Dear Ginger,—What's the use? What is the use? I do all I can to get + right away from New York, and New York comes after me and tracks me down + in my hiding-place. A week or so ago, as I was walking down the Strand in + an aimless sort of way, out there came right on top of me—who do you + think? Fillmore, arm in arm with Mr. Carmyle! I couldn't dodge. In the + first place, Mr. Carmyle had seen me; in the second place, it is a day's + journey to dodge poor dear Fillmore now. I blushed for him. Ginger! Right + there in the Strand I blushed for him. In my worst dreams I had never + pictured him so enormous. Upon what meat doth this our Fillmore feed that + he is grown so great? Poor Gladys! When she looks at him she must feel + like a bigamist. + </p> + <p> + Apparently Fillmore is still full of big schemes, for he talked airily + about buying all sorts of English plays. He has come over, as I suppose + you know, to arrange about putting on “The Primrose Way” over here. He is + staying at the Savoy, and they took me off there to lunch, whooping + joyfully as over a strayed lamb. It was the worst thing that could + possibly have happened to me. Fillmore talked Broadway without a pause, + till by the time he had worked his way past the French pastry and was + lolling back, breathing a little stertorously, waiting for the coffee and + liqueurs, he had got me so homesick that, if it hadn't been that I didn't + want to make a public exhibition of myself, I should have broken down and + howled. It was crazy of me ever to go near the Savoy. Of course, it's + simply an annex to Broadway. There were Americans at every table as far as + the eye could reach. I might just as well have been at the Astor. + </p> + <p> + Well, if Fate insists in bringing New York to England for my special + discomfiture, I suppose I have got to put up with it. I just let events + take their course, and I have been drifting ever since. Two days ago I + drifted here. Mr. Carmyle invited Fillmore—he seems to love Fillmore—and + me to Monk's Crofton, and I hadn't even the shadow of an excuse for + refusing. So I came, and I am now sitting writing to you in an enormous + bedroom with an open fire and armchairs and every other sort of luxury. + Fillmore is out golfing. He sails for New York on Saturday on the + Mauretania. I am horrified to hear from him that, in addition to all his + other big schemes, he is now promoting a fight for the light-weight + championship in Jersey City, and guaranteeing enormous sums to both + boxers. It's no good arguing with him. If you do, he simply quotes figures + to show the fortunes other people have made out of these things. Besides, + it's too late now, anyway. As far as I can make out, the fight is going to + take place in another week or two. All the same, it makes my flesh creep. + </p> + <p> + Well, it's no use worrying, I suppose. Let's change the subject. Do you + know Monk's Crofton? Probably you don't, as I seem to remember hearing + something said about it being a recent purchase. Mr. Carmyle bought it + from some lord or other who had been losing money on the Stock Exchange. I + hope you haven't seen it, anyway, because I want to describe it at great + length. I want to pour out my soul about it. Ginger, what has England ever + done to deserve such paradises? I thought, in my ignorance, that Mr. + Faucitt's Cissister place was pretty good, but it doesn't even begin. It + can't compete. Of course, his is just an ordinary country house, and this + is a Seat. Monk's Crofton is the sort of place they used to write about in + the English novels. You know. “The sunset was falling on the walls of G—— + Castle, in B——shire, hard by the picturesque village of H——, + and not a stone's throw from the hamlet of J——.” I can imagine + Tennyson's Maud living here. It is one of the stately homes of England; + how beautiful they stand, and I'm crazy about it. + </p> + <p> + You motor up from the station, and after you have gone about three miles, + you turn in at a big iron gate with stone posts on each side with stone + beasts on them. Close by the gate is the cutest little house with an old + man inside it who pops out and touches his hat. This is only the lodge, + really, but you think you have arrived; so you get all ready to jump out, + and then the car goes rolling on for another fifty miles or so through + beech woods full of rabbits and open meadows with deer in them. Finally, + just as you think you are going on for ever, you whizz round a corner, and + there's the house. You don't get a glimpse of it till then, because the + trees are too thick. + </p> + <p> + It's very large, and sort of low and square, with a kind of tower at one + side and the most fascinating upper porch sort of thing with battlements. + I suppose in the old days you used to stand on this and drop molten lead + on visitors' heads. Wonderful lawns all round, and shrubberies and a lake + that you can just see where the ground dips beyond the fields. Of course + it's too early yet for them to be out, but to the left of the house + there's a place where there will be about a million roses when June comes + round, and all along the side of the rose-garden is a high wall of old red + brick which shuts off the kitchen garden. I went exploring there this + morning. It's an enormous place, with hot-houses and things, and there's + the cunningest farm at one end with a stable yard full of puppies that + just tear the heart out of you, they're so sweet. And a big, sleepy cat, + which sits and blinks in the sun and lets the puppies run all over her. + And there's a lovely stillness, and you can hear everything growing. And + thrushes and blackbirds... Oh, Ginger, it's heavenly! + </p> + <p> + But there's a catch. It's a case of “Where every prospect pleases and only + man is vile.” At least, not exactly vile, I suppose, but terribly stodgy. + I can see now why you couldn't hit it off with the Family. Because I've + seen 'em all! They're here! Yes, Uncle Donald and all of them. Is it a + habit of your family to collect in gangs, or have I just happened to + stumble into an accidental Old Home Week? When I came down to dinner the + first evening, the drawing-room was full to bursting point—not + simply because Fillmore was there, but because there were uncles and aunts + all over the place. I felt like a small lion in a den of Daniels. I know + exactly now what you mean about the Family. They look at you! Of course, + it's all right for me, because I am snowy white clear through, but I can + just imagine what it must have been like for you with your permanently + guilty conscience. You must have had an awful time. + </p> + <p> + By the way, it's going to be a delicate business getting this letter + through to you—rather like carrying the despatches through the + enemy's lines in a Civil War play. You're supposed to leave letters on the + table in the hall, and someone collects them in the afternoon and takes + them down to the village on a bicycle. But, if I do that some aunt or + uncle is bound to see it, and I shall be an object of loathing, for it is + no light matter, my lad, to be caught having correspondence with a human + Jimpson weed like you. It would blast me socially. At least, so I gather + from the way they behaved when your name came up at dinner last night. + Somebody mentioned you, and the most awful roasting party broke loose. + Uncle Donald acting as cheer-leader. I said feebly that I had met you and + had found you part human, and there was an awful silence till they all + started at the same time to show me where I was wrong, and how cruelly my + girlish inexperience had deceived me. A young and innocent half-portion + like me, it appears, is absolutely incapable of suspecting the true infamy + of the dregs of society. You aren't fit to speak to the likes of me, being + at the kindest estimate little more than a blot on the human race. I tell + you this in case you may imagine you're popular with the Family. You're + not. + </p> + <p> + So I shall have to exercise a good deal of snaky craft in smuggling this + letter through. I'll take it down to the village myself if I can sneak + away. But it's going to be pretty difficult, because for some reason I + seem to be a centre of attraction. Except when I take refuge in my room, + hardly a moment passes without an aunt or an uncle popping out and having + a cosy talk with me. It sometimes seems as though they were weighing me in + the balance. Well, let 'em weigh! + </p> + <p> + Time to dress for dinner now. Good-bye. + </p> + <p> + Yours in the balance, + </p> + <p> + Sally. + </p> + <p> + P.S.—You were perfectly right about your Uncle Donald's moustache, + but I don't agree with you that it is more his misfortune than his fault. + I think he does it on purpose. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + (Just for the moment) + Monk's Crofton, + Much Middleford, + Salop, + England. +</pre> + <p> + April 20th. + </p> + <p> + Dear Ginger,—Leaving here to-day. In disgrace. Hard, cold looks from + the family. Strained silences. Uncle Donald far from chummy. You can guess + what has happened. I might have seen it coming. I can see now that it was + in the air all along. + </p> + <p> + Fillmore knows nothing about it. He left just before it happened. I shall + see him very soon, for I have decided to come back and stop running away + from things any longer. It's cowardly to skulk about over here. Besides, + I'm feeling so much better that I believe I can face the ghosts. Anyway, + I'm going to try. See you almost as soon as you get this. + </p> + <p> + I shall mail this in London, and I suppose it will come over by the same + boat as me. It's hardly worth writing, really, of course, but I have + sneaked up to my room to wait till the motor arrives to take me to the + station, and it's something to do. I can hear muffled voices. The Family + talking me over, probably. Saying they never really liked me all along. + Oh, well! + </p> + <p> + Yours moving in an orderly manner to the exit, + </p> + <p> + Sally. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. STRANGE BEHAVIOUR OF A SPARRING-PARTNER + </h2> + <p> + 1 + </p> + <p> + Sally's emotions, as she sat in her apartment on the morning of her return + to New York, resembled somewhat those of a swimmer who, after wavering on + a raw morning at the brink of a chill pool, nerves himself to the plunge. + She was aching, but she knew that she had done well. If she wanted + happiness, she must fight for it, and for all these months she had been + shirking the fight. She had done with wavering on the brink, and here she + was, in mid-stream, ready for whatever might befall. It hurt, this coming + to grips. She had expected it to hurt. But it was a pain that stimulated, + not a dull melancholy that smothered. She felt alive and defiant. + </p> + <p> + She had finished unpacking and tidying up. The next move was certainly to + go and see Ginger. She had suddenly become aware that she wanted very + badly to see Ginger. His stolid friendliness would be a support and a + prop. She wished now that she had sent him a cable, so that he could have + met her at the dock. It had been rather terrible at the dock. The echoing + customs sheds had sapped her valour and she felt alone and forlorn. + </p> + <p> + She looked at her watch, and was surprised to find how early it was. She + could catch him at the office and make him take her out to lunch. She put + on her hat and went out. + </p> + <p> + The restless hand of change, always active in New York, had not spared the + outer office of the Fillmore Nicholas Theatrical Enterprises Ltd. in the + months of her absence. She was greeted on her arrival by an entirely new + and original stripling in the place of the one with whom at her last visit + she had established such cordial relations. Like his predecessor he was + generously pimpled, but there the resemblance stopped. He was a grim boy, + and his manner was stern and suspicious. He peered narrowly at Sally for a + moment as if he had caught her in the act of purloining the office + blotting-paper, then, with no little acerbity, desired her to state her + business. + </p> + <p> + “I want Mr. Kemp,” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + The office-boy scratched his cheek dourly with a ruler. No one would have + guessed, so austere was his aspect, that a moment before her entrance he + had been trying to balance it on his chin, juggling the while with a pair + of paper-weights. For, impervious as he seemed to human weaknesses, it was + this lad's ambition one day to go into vaudeville. + </p> + <p> + “What name?” he said, coldly. + </p> + <p> + “Nicholas,” said Sally. “I am Mr. Nicholas' sister.” + </p> + <p> + On a previous occasion when she had made this announcement, disastrous + results had ensued; but to-day it went well. It seemed to hit the + office-boy like a bullet. He started convulsively, opened his mouth, and + dropped the ruler. In the interval of stooping and recovering it he was + able to pull himself together. He had not been curious about Sally's name. + What he had wished was to have the name of the person for whom she was + asking repeated. He now perceived that he had had a bit of luck. A + wearying period of disappointment in the matter of keeping the + paper-weights circulating while balancing the ruler, had left him peevish, + and it had been his intention to work off his ill-humour on the young + visitor. The discovery that it was the boss's sister who was taking up his + time, suggested the advisability of a radical change of tactics. He had + stooped with a frown: he returned to the perpendicular with a smile that + was positively winning. It was like the sun suddenly bursting through a + London fog. + </p> + <p> + “Will you take a seat, lady?” he said, with polished courtesy even + unbending so far as to reach out and dust one with the sleeve of his coat. + He added that the morning was a fine one. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Sally. “Will you tell him I'm here.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Nicholas is out, miss,” said the office-boy, with gentlemanly regret. + “He's back in New York, but he's gone out.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want Mr. Nicholas. I want Mr. Kemp.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Kemp?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mr. Kemp.” + </p> + <p> + Sorrow at his inability to oblige shone from every hill-top on the boy's + face. + </p> + <p> + “Don't know of anyone of that name around here,” he said, apologetically. + </p> + <p> + “But surely...” Sally broke off suddenly. A grim foreboding had come to + her. “How long have you been here?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “All day, ma'am,” said the office-boy, with the manner of a Casablanca. + </p> + <p> + “I mean, how long have you been employed here?” + </p> + <p> + “Just over a month, miss.” + </p> + <p> + “Hasn't Mr. Kemp been in the office all that time?” + </p> + <p> + “Name's new to me, lady. Does he look like anything? I meanter say, what's + he look like?” + </p> + <p> + “He has very red hair.” + </p> + <p> + “Never seen him in here,” said the office-boy. The truth shone coldly on + Sally. She blamed herself for ever having gone away, and told herself that + she might have known what would happen. Left to his own resources, the + unhappy Ginger had once more made a hash of it. And this hash must have + been a more notable and outstanding hash than any of his previous efforts, + for, surely, Fillmore would not lightly have dismissed one who had come to + him under her special protection. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Mr. Nicholas?” she asked. It seemed to her that Fillmore was the + only possible source of information. “Did you say he was out?” + </p> + <p> + “Really out, miss,” said the office-boy, with engaging candour. “He went + off to White Plains in his automobile half-an-hour ago.” + </p> + <p> + “White Plains? What for?” + </p> + <p> + The pimpled stripling had now given himself up wholeheartedly to social + chit-chat. Usually he liked his time to himself and resented the intrusion + of the outer world, for he who had chosen jugglery for his walk in life + must neglect no opportunity of practising: but so favourable was the + impression which Sally had made on his plastic mind that he was delighted + to converse with her as long as she wished. + </p> + <p> + “I guess what's happened is, he's gone up to take a look at Bugs Butler,” + he said. + </p> + <p> + “Whose butler?” said Sally mystified. + </p> + <p> + The office-boy smiled a tolerant smile. Though an admirer of the sex, he + was aware that women were seldom hep to the really important things in + life. He did not blame them. That was the way they were constructed, and + one simply had to accept it. + </p> + <p> + “Bugs Butler is training up at White Plains, miss.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is Bugs Butler?” + </p> + <p> + Something of his former bleakness of aspect returned to the office-boy. + Sally's question had opened up a subject on which he felt deeply. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he replied, losing his air of respectful deference as he approached + the topic. “Who is he! That's what they're all saying, all the wise guys. + Who has Bugs Butler ever licked?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said Sally, for he had fixed her with a penetrating gaze + and seemed to be pausing for a reply. + </p> + <p> + “Nor nobody else,” said the stripling vehemently. “A lot of stiffs out on + the coast, that's all. Ginks nobody has ever heard of, except Cyclone + Mullins, and it took that false alarm fifteen rounds to get a referee's + decision over him. The boss would go and give him a chance against the + champ, but I could have told him that the legitimate contender was K-leg + Binns. K-leg put Cyclone Mullins out in the fifth. Well,” said the + office-boy in the overwrought tone of one chafing at human folly, “if + anybody thinks Bugs Butler can last six rounds with Lew Lucas, I've two + bucks right here in my vest pocket that says it ain't so.” + </p> + <p> + Sally began to see daylight. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Bugs—Mr. Butler is one of the boxers in this fight that my + brother is interested in?” + </p> + <p> + “That's right. He's going up against the lightweight champ. Lew Lucas is + the lightweight champ. He's a bird!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Sally. This youth had a way of looking at her with his head + cocked on one side as though he expected her to say something. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir!” said the stripling with emphasis. “Lew Lucas is a hot sketch. + He used to live on the next street to me,” he added as clinching evidence + of his hero's prowess. “I've seen his old mother as close as I am to you. + Say, I seen her a hundred times. Is any stiff of a Bugs Butler going to + lick a fellow like that?” + </p> + <p> + “It doesn't seem likely.” + </p> + <p> + “You spoke it!” said the lad crisply, striking unsuccessfully at a fly + which had settled on the blotting-paper. + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. Sally started to rise. + </p> + <p> + “And there's another thing,” said the office-boy, loath to close the + subject. “Can Bugs Butler make a hundred and thirty-five ringside without + being weak?” + </p> + <p> + “It sounds awfully difficult.” + </p> + <p> + “They say he's clever.” The expert laughed satirically. “Well, what's that + going to get him? The poor fish can't punch a hole in a nut-sundae.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't seem to like Mr. Butler.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I've nothing against him,” said the office-boy magnanimously. “I'm + only saying he's no licence to be mixing it with Lew Lucas.” + </p> + <p> + Sally got up. Absorbing as this chat on current form was, more important + matters claimed her attention. + </p> + <p> + “How shall I find my brother when I get to White Plains?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, anybody'll show you the way to the training-camp. If you hurry, + there's a train you can make now.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you very much.” + </p> + <p> + “You're welcome.” + </p> + <p> + He opened the door for her with an old-world politeness which disuse had + rendered a little rusty: then, with an air of getting back to business + after a pleasant but frivolous interlude, he took up the paper-weights + once more and placed the ruler with nice care on his upturned chin. + </p> + <p> + 2 + </p> + <p> + Fillmore heaved a sigh of relief and began to sidle from the room. It was + a large room, half barn, half gymnasium. Athletic appliances of various + kinds hung on the walls and in the middle there was a wide roped-off + space, around which a small crowd had distributed itself with an air of + expectancy. This is a commercial age, and the days when a prominent + pugilist's training activities used to be hidden from the public gaze are + over. To-day, if the public can lay its hands on fifty cents, it may come + and gaze its fill. This afternoon, plutocrats to the number of about forty + had assembled, though not all of these, to the regret of Mr. Lester + Burrowes, the manager of the eminent Bugs Butler, had parted with solid + coin. Many of those present were newspaper representatives and on the free + list—writers who would polish up Mr. Butler's somewhat crude + prognostications as to what he proposed to do to Mr. Lew Lucas, and would + report him as saying, “I am in really superb condition and feel little + apprehension of the issue,” and artists who would depict him in a state of + semi-nudity with feet several sizes too large for any man. + </p> + <p> + The reason for Fillmore's relief was that Mr. Burrowes, who was a great + talker and had buttonholed him a quarter of an hour ago, had at last had + his attention distracted elsewhere, and had gone off to investigate some + matter that called for his personal handling, leaving Fillmore free to + slide away to the hotel and get a bite to eat, which he sorely needed. The + zeal which had brought him to the training-camp to inspect the final day + of Mr. Butler's preparation—for the fight was to take place on the + morrow—had been so great that he had omitted to lunch before leaving + New York. + </p> + <p> + So Fillmore made thankfully for the door. And it was at the door that he + encountered Sally. He was looking over his shoulder at the moment, and was + not aware of her presence till she spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Hallo, Fillmore!” + </p> + <p> + Sally had spoken softly, but a dynamite explosion could not have shattered + her brother's composure with more completeness. In the leaping twist which + brought him facing her, he rose a clear three inches from the floor. He + had a confused sensation, as though his nervous system had been stirred up + with a pole. He struggled for breath and moistened his lips with the tip + of his tongue, staring at her continuously during the process. + </p> + <p> + Great men, in their moments of weakness, are to be pitied rather than + scorned. If ever a man had an excuse for leaping like a young ram, + Fillmore had it. He had left Sally not much more than a week ago in + England, in Shropshire, at Monk's Crofton. She had said nothing of any + intention on her part of leaving the country, the county, or the house. + Yet here she was, in Bugs Butler's training-camp at White Plains, in the + State of New York, speaking softly in his ear without even going through + the preliminary of tapping him on the shoulder to advertise her presence. + No wonder that Fillmore was startled. And no wonder that, as he adjusted + his faculties to the situation, there crept upon him a chill apprehension. + </p> + <p> + For Fillmore had not been blind to the significance of that invitation to + Monk's Crofton. Nowadays your wooer does not formally approach a girl's + nearest relative and ask permission to pay his addresses; but, when he + invites her and that nearest relative to his country home and collects all + the rest of the family to meet her, the thing may be said to have advanced + beyond the realms of mere speculation. Shrewdly Fillmore had deduced that + Bruce Carmyle was in love with Sally, and mentally he had joined their + hands and given them a brother's blessing. And now it was only too plain + that disaster must have occurred. If the invitation could mean only one + thing, so also could Sally's presence at White Plains mean only one thing. + </p> + <p> + “Sally!” A croaking whisper was the best he could achieve. “What... + what...?” + </p> + <p> + “Did I startle you? I'm sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing here? Why aren't you at Monk's Crofton?” + </p> + <p> + Sally glanced past him at the ring and the crowd around it. + </p> + <p> + “I decided I wanted to get back to America. Circumstances arose which made + it pleasanter to leave Monk's Crofton.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say...?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Don't let's talk about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say,” persisted Fillmore, “that Carmyle proposed to you + and you turned him down?” + </p> + <p> + Sally flushed. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think it's particularly nice to talk about that sort of thing, + but—yes.” + </p> + <p> + A feeling of desolation overcame Fillmore. That conviction, which saddens + us at all times, of the wilful bone-headedness of our fellows swept coldly + upon him. Everything had been so perfect, the whole arrangement so ideal, + that it had never occurred to him as a possibility that Sally might take + it into her head to spoil it by declining to play the part allotted to + her. The match was so obviously the best thing that could happen. It was + not merely the suitor's impressive wealth that made him hold this opinion, + though it would be idle to deny that the prospect of having a + brother-in-lawful claim on the Carmyle bank-balance had cast a rosy + glamour over the future as he had envisaged it. He honestly liked and + respected the man. He appreciated his quiet and aristocratic reserve. A + well-bred fellow, sensible withal, just the sort of husband a girl like + Sally needed. And now she had ruined everything. With the capricious + perversity which so characterizes her otherwise delightful sex, she had + spilled the beans. + </p> + <p> + “But why?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Fill!” Sally had expected that realization of the facts would produce + these symptoms in him, but now that they had presented themselves she was + finding them rasping to the nerves. “I should have thought the reason was + obvious.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean you don't like him?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know whether I do or not. I certainly don't like him enough to + marry him.” + </p> + <p> + “He's a darned good fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he? You say so. I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + The imperious desire for bodily sustenance began to compete successfully + for Fillmore's notice with his spiritual anguish. + </p> + <p> + “Let's go to the hotel and talk it over. We'll go to the hotel and I'll + give you something to eat.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want anything to eat, thanks.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't want anything to eat?” said Fillmore incredulously. He supposed + in a vague sort of way that there were eccentric people of this sort, but + it was hard to realize that he had met one of them. “I'm starving.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, run along then.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but I want to talk...” + </p> + <p> + He was not the only person who wanted to talk. At the moment a small man + of sporting exterior hurried up. He wore what his tailor's advertisements + would have called a “nobbly” suit of checked tweed and—in defiance + of popular prejudice—a brown bowler hat. Mr. Lester Burrowes, having + dealt with the business which had interrupted their conversation a few + minutes before, was anxious to resume his remarks on the subject of the + supreme excellence in every respect of his young charge. + </p> + <p> + “Say, Mr. Nicholas, you ain't going'? Bugs is just getting ready to spar.” + </p> + <p> + He glanced inquiringly at Sally. + </p> + <p> + “My sister—Mr. Burrowes,” said Fillmore faintly. “Mr. Burrowes is + Bugs Butler's manager.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you do?” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + “Pleased to meecher,” said Mr. Burrowes. “Say...” + </p> + <p> + “I was just going to the hotel to get something to eat,” said Fillmore. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Burrowes clutched at his coat-button with a swoop, and held him with a + glittering eye. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but, say, before-you-go-lemme-tell-ya-somef'n. You've never seen + this boy of mine, not when he was feeling right. Believe me, he's there! + He's a wizard. He's a Hindoo! Say, he's been practising up a left shift + that...” + </p> + <p> + Fillmore's eye met Sally's wanly, and she pitied him. Presently she would + require him to explain to her how he had dared to dismiss Ginger from his + employment—and make that explanation a good one: but in the meantime + she remembered that he was her brother and was suffering. + </p> + <p> + “He's the cleverest lightweight,” proceeded Mr. Burrowes fervently, “since + Joe Gans. I'm telling you and I know! He...” + </p> + <p> + “Can he make a hundred and thirty-five ringside without being weak?” asked + Sally. + </p> + <p> + The effect of this simple question on Mr. Burrowes was stupendous. He + dropped away from Fillmore's coat-button like an exhausted bivalve, and + his small mouth opened feebly. It was as if a child had suddenly + propounded to an eminent mathematician some abstruse problem in the higher + algebra. Females who took an interest in boxing had come into Mr. + Burrowes' life before—-in his younger days, when he was a famous + featherweight, the first of his three wives had been accustomed to sit at + the ringside during his contests and urge him in language of the severest + technicality to knock opponents' blocks off—but somehow he had not + supposed from her appearance and manner that Sally was one of the elect. + He gaped at her, and the relieved Fillmore sidled off like a bird hopping + from the compelling gaze of a snake. He was not quite sure that he was + acting correctly in allowing his sister to roam at large among the + somewhat Bohemian surroundings of a training-camp, but the instinct of + self-preservation turned the scale. He had breakfasted early, and if he + did not eat right speedily it seemed to him that dissolution would set in. + </p> + <p> + “Whazzat?” said Mr. Burrowes feebly. + </p> + <p> + “It took him fifteen rounds to get a referee's decision over Cyclone + Mullins,” said Sally severely, “and K-leg Binns...” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Burrowes rallies. + </p> + <p> + “You ain't got it right” he protested. “Say, you mustn't believe what you + see in the papers. The referee was dead against us, and Cyclone was down + once for all of half a minute and they wouldn't count him out. Gee! You + got to kill a guy in some towns before they'll give you a decision. At + that, they couldn't do nothing so raw as make it anything but a win for my + boy, after him leading by a mile all the way. Have you ever seen Bugs, + ma'am?” + </p> + <p> + Sally had to admit that she had not had that privilege. Mr. Burrowes with + growing excitement felt in his breast-pocket and produced a + picture-postcard, which he thrust into her hand. + </p> + <p> + “That's Bugs,” he said. “Take a slant at that and then tell me if he don't + look the goods.” + </p> + <p> + The photograph represented a young man in the irreducible minimum of + clothing who crouched painfully, as though stricken with one of the acuter + forms of gastritis. + </p> + <p> + “I'll call him over and have him sign it for you,” said Mr. Burrowes, + before Sally had had time to grasp the fact that this work of art was a + gift and no mere loan. “Here, Bugs—wantcher.” + </p> + <p> + A youth enveloped in a bath-robe, who had been talking to a group of + admirers near the ring, turned, started languidly towards them, then, + seeing Sally, quickened his pace. He was an admirer of the sex. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Burrowes did the honours. + </p> + <p> + “Bugs, this is Miss Nicholas, come to see you work out. I have been + telling her she's going to have a treat.” And to Sally. “Shake hands with + Bugs Butler, ma'am, the coming lightweight champion of the world.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Butler's photograph, Sally considered, had flattered him. He was, in + the flesh, a singularly repellent young man. There was a mean and cruel + curve to his lips and a cold arrogance in his eye; a something dangerous + and sinister in the atmosphere he radiated. Moreover, she did not like the + way he smirked at her. + </p> + <p> + However, she exerted herself to be amiable. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you are going to win, Mr. Butler,” she said. + </p> + <p> + The smile which she forced as she spoke the words removed the coming + champion's doubts, though they had never been serious. He was convinced + now that he had made a hit. He always did, he reflected, with the girls. + It was something about him. His chest swelled complacently beneath the + bath-robe. + </p> + <p> + “You betcher,” he asserted briefly. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Burrows looked at his watch. + </p> + <p> + “Time you were starting, Bugs.” + </p> + <p> + The coming champion removed his gaze from Sally's face, into which he had + been peering in a conquering manner, and cast a disparaging glance at the + audience. It was far from being as large as he could have wished, and at + least a third of it was composed of non-payers from the newspapers. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” he said, bored. + </p> + <p> + His languor left him, as his gaze fell on Sally again, and his spirits + revived somewhat. After all, small though the numbers of spectators might + be, bright eyes would watch and admire him. + </p> + <p> + “I'll go a couple of rounds with Reddy for a starter,” he said. “Seen him + anywheres? He's never around when he's wanted.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll fetch him,” said Mr. Burrowes. “He's back there somewheres.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to show that guy up this afternoon,” said Mr. Butler coldly. + “He's been getting too fresh.” + </p> + <p> + The manager bustled off, and Bugs Butler, with a final smirk, left Sally + and dived under the ropes. There was a stir of interest in the audience, + though the newspaper men, blasé through familiarity, exhibited no emotion. + Presently Mr. Burrowes reappeared, shepherding a young man whose face was + hidden by the sweater which he was pulling over his head. He was a + sturdily built young man. The sweater, moving from his body, revealed a + good pair of shoulders. + </p> + <p> + A last tug, and the sweater was off. Red hair flashed into view, tousled + and disordered: and, as she saw it, Sally uttered an involuntary gasp of + astonishment which caused many eyes to turn towards her. And the + red-headed young man, who had been stooping to pick up his gloves, + straightened himself with a jerk and stood staring at her blankly and + incredulously, his face slowly crimsoning. + </p> + <p> + 3 + </p> + <p> + It was the energetic Mr. Burrowes who broke the spell. + </p> + <p> + “Come on, come on,” he said impatiently. “Li'l speed there, Reddy.” + </p> + <p> + Ginger Kemp started like a sleep-walker awakened; then recovering himself, + slowly began to pull on the gloves. Embarrassment was stamped on his + agreeable features. His face matched his hair. + </p> + <p> + Sally plucked at the little manager's elbow. He turned irritably, but + beamed in a distrait sort of manner when he perceived the source of the + interruption. + </p> + <p> + “Who—him?” he said in answer to Sally's whispered question. “He's + just one of Bugs' sparring-partners.” + </p> + <p> + “But...” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Burrowes, fussy now that the time had come for action, interrupted + her. + </p> + <p> + “You'll excuse me, miss, but I have to hold the watch. We mustn't waste + any time.” + </p> + <p> + Sally drew back. She felt like an infidel who intrudes upon the + celebration of strange rites. This was Man's hour, and women must keep in + the background. She had the sensation of being very small and yet very + much in the way, like a puppy who has wandered into a church. The novelty + and solemnity of the scene awed her. + </p> + <p> + She looked at Ginger, who with averted gaze was fiddling with his clothes + in the opposite corner of the ring. He was as removed from communication + as if he had been in another world. She continued to stare, wide-eyed, and + Ginger, shuffling his feet self-consciously, plucked at his gloves. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Butler, meanwhile, having doffed his bath-robe, stretched himself, and + with leisurely nonchalance put on a second pair of gloves, was filling in + the time with a little shadow boxing. He moved rhythmically to and fro, + now ducking his head, now striking out with his muffled hands, and a + sickening realization of the man's animal power swept over Sally and + turned her cold. Swathed in his bath-robe, Bugs Butler had conveyed an + atmosphere of dangerousness: in the boxing-tights which showed up every + rippling muscle, he was horrible and sinister, a machine built for + destruction, a human panther. + </p> + <p> + So he appeared to Sally, but a stout and bulbous eyed man standing at her + side was not equally impressed. Obviously one of the Wise Guys of whom her + friend the sporting office-boy had spoken, he was frankly dissatisfied + with the exhibition. + </p> + <p> + “Shadow-boxing,” he observed in a cavilling spirit to his companion. “Yes, + he can do that all right, just like I can fox-trot if I ain't got a + partner to get in the way. But one good wallop, and then watch him.” + </p> + <p> + His friend, also plainly a guy of established wisdom, assented with a curt + nod. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he agreed. + </p> + <p> + “Lew Lucas,” said the first wise guy, “is just as shifty, and he can + punch.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the second wise guy. + </p> + <p> + “Just because he beats up a few poor mutts of sparring-partners,” said the + first wise guy disparagingly, “he thinks he's someone.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the second wise guy. + </p> + <p> + As far as Sally could interpret these remarks, the full meaning of which + was shrouded from her, they seemed to be reassuring. For a comforting + moment she ceased to regard Ginger as a martyr waiting to be devoured by a + lion. Mr. Butler, she gathered, was not so formidable as he appeared. But + her relief was not to be long-lived. + </p> + <p> + “Of course he'll eat this red-headed gink,” went on the first wise guy. + “That's the thing he does best, killing his sparring-partners. But Lew + Lucas...” + </p> + <p> + Sally was not interested in Lew Lucas. That numbing fear had come back to + her. Even these cognoscenti, little as they esteemed Mr. Butler, had + plainly no doubts as to what he would do to Ginger. She tried to tear + herself away, but something stronger than her own will kept her there + standing where she was, holding on to the rope and staring forlornly into + the ring. + </p> + <p> + “Ready, Bugs?” asked Mr. Burrowes. + </p> + <p> + The coming champion nodded carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “Go to it,” said Mr. Burrowes. + </p> + <p> + Ginger ceased to pluck at his gloves and advanced into the ring. + </p> + <p> + 4 + </p> + <p> + Of all the learned professions, pugilism is the one in which the trained + expert is most sharply divided from the mere dabbler. In other fields the + amateur may occasionally hope to compete successfully with the man who has + made a business of what is to him but a sport, but at boxing never: and + the whole demeanour of Bugs Butler showed that he had laid this truth to + heart. It would be too little to say that his bearing was confident: he + comported himself with the care-free jauntiness of an infant about to + demolish a Noah's Ark with a tack-hammer. Cyclone Mullinses might + withstand him for fifteen rounds where they yielded to a K-leg Binns in + the fifth, but, when it came to beating up a sparring-partner and an + amateur at that, Bugs Butler knew his potentialities. He was there forty + ways and he did not attempt to conceal it. Crouching as was his wont, he + uncoiled himself like a striking rattlesnake and flicked Ginger lightly + over his guard. Then he returned to his crouch and circled sinuously about + the ring with the amiable intention of showing the crowd, payers and + deadheads alike, what real footwork was. If there was one thing on which + Bugs Butler prided himself, it was footwork. + </p> + <p> + The adverb “lightly” is a relative term, and the blow which had just + planted a dull patch on Ginger's cheekbone affected those present in + different degrees. Ginger himself appeared stolidly callous. Sally + shuddered to the core of her being and had to hold more tightly to the + rope to support herself. The two wise guys mocked openly. To the wise + guys, expert connoisseurs of swat, the thing had appeared richly farcical. + They seemed to consider the blow, administered to a third party and not to + themselves, hardly worth calling a blow at all. Two more, landing as + quickly and neatly as the first, left them equally cold. + </p> + <p> + “Call that punching?” said the first wise guy. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the second wise guy. + </p> + <p> + But Mr. Butler, if he heard this criticism—and it is probable that + he did—for the wise ones had been restrained by no delicacy of + feeling from raising their voices, was in no way discommoded by it. Bugs + Butler knew what he was about. Bright eyes were watching him, and he meant + to give them a treat. The girls like smooth work. Any roughneck could sail + into a guy and knock the daylights out of him, but how few could be clever + and flashy and scientific? Few, few, indeed, thought Mr. Butler as he slid + in and led once more. + </p> + <p> + Something solid smote Mr. Butler's nose, rocking him on to his heels and + inducing an unpleasant smarting sensation about his eyes. He backed away + and regarded Ginger with astonishment, almost with pain. Until this moment + he had scarcely considered him as an active participant in the scene at + all, and he felt strongly that this sort of thing was bad form. It was not + being done by sparring-partners. + </p> + <p> + A juster man might have reflected that he himself was to blame. He had + undeniably been careless. In the very act of leading he had allowed his + eyes to flicker sideways to see how Sally was taking this exhibition of + science, and he had paid the penalty. Nevertheless, he was piqued. He + shimmered about the ring, thinking it over. And the more he thought it + over, the less did he approve of his young assistant's conduct. Hard + thoughts towards Ginger began to float in his mind. + </p> + <p> + Ginger, too, was thinking hard thoughts. He had not had an easy time since + he had come to the training camp, but never till to-day had he experienced + any resentment towards his employer. Until this afternoon Bugs Butler had + pounded him honestly and without malice, and he had gone through it, as + the other sparring-partners did, phlegmatically, taking it as part of the + day's work. But this afternoon there had been a difference. Those careless + flicks had been an insult, a deliberate offence. The man was trying to + make a fool of him, playing to the gallery: and the thought of who was in + that gallery inflamed Ginger past thought of consequences. No one, not + even Mr. Butler, was more keenly alive than he to the fact that in a + serious conflict with a man who to-morrow night might be light-weight + champion of the world he stood no chance whatever: but he did not intend + to be made an exhibition of in front of Sally without doing something to + hold his end up. He proposed to go down with his flag flying, and in + pursuance of this object he dug Mr. Butler heavily in the lower ribs with + his right, causing that expert to clinch and the two wise guys to utter + sharp barking sounds expressive of derision. + </p> + <p> + “Say, what the hell d'ya think you're getting at?” demanded the aggrieved + pugilist in a heated whisper in Ginger's ear as they fell into the + embrace. “What's the idea, you jelly bean?” + </p> + <p> + Ginger maintained a pink silence. His jaw was set, and the temper which + Nature had bestowed upon him to go with his hair had reached white heat. + He dodged a vicious right which whizzed up at his chin out of the breaking + clinch, and rushed. A left hook shook him, but was too high to do more. + There was rough work in the far corner, and suddenly with startling + abruptness Bugs Butler, bothered by the ropes at his back and trying to + side-step, ran into a swing and fell. + </p> + <p> + “Time!” shouted the scandalized Mr. Burrowes, utterly aghast at this + frightful misadventure. In the whole course of his professional experience + he could recall no such devastating occurrence. + </p> + <p> + The audience was no less startled. There was audible gasping. The + newspaper men looked at each other with a wild surmise and conjured up + pleasant pictures of their sporting editors receiving this sensational + item of news later on over the telephone. The two wise guys, continuing to + pursue Mr. Butler with their dislike, emitted loud and raucous laughs, and + one of them, forming his hands into a megaphone, urged the fallen warrior + to go away and get a rep. As for Sally, she was conscious of a sudden, + fierce, cave-womanly rush of happiness which swept away completely the + sickening qualms of the last few minutes. Her teeth were clenched and her + eyes blazed with joyous excitement. She looked at Ginger yearningly, + longing to forget a gentle upbringing and shout congratulation to him. She + was proud of him. And mingled with the pride was a curious feeling that + was almost fear. This was not the mild and amiable young man whom she was + wont to mother through the difficulties of a world in which he was + unfitted to struggle for himself. This was a new Ginger, a stranger to + her. + </p> + <p> + On the rare occasions on which he had been knocked down in the past, it + had been Bugs Butler's canny practice to pause for a while and rest before + rising and continuing the argument, but now he was up almost before he had + touched the boards, and the satire of the second wise guy, who had begun + to saw the air with his hand and count loudly, lost its point. It was only + too plain that Mr. Butler's motto was that a man may be down, but he is + never out. And, indeed, the knock-down had been largely a stumble. Bugs + Butler's educated feet, which had carried him unscathed through so many + contests, had for this single occasion managed to get themselves crossed + just as Ginger's blow landed, and it was to his lack of balance rather + than the force of the swing that his downfall had been due. + </p> + <p> + “Time!” he snarled, casting a malevolent side-glance at his manager. “Like + hell it's time!” + </p> + <p> + And in a whirlwind of flying gloves he flung himself upon Ginger, driving + him across the ring, while Mr. Burrowes, watch in hand, stared with + dropping jaw. If Ginger had seemed a new Ginger to Sally, still more did + this seem a new Bugs Butler to Mr. Burrowes, and the manager groaned in + spirit. Coolness, skill and science—these had been the qualities in + his protégé which had always so endeared him to Mr. Lester Burrowes and + had so enriched their respective bank accounts: and now, on the eve of the + most important fight in his life, before an audience of newspaper men, he + had thrown them all aside and was making an exhibition of himself with a + common sparring-partner. + </p> + <p> + That was the bitter blow to Mr. Burrowes. Had this lapse into the + unscientific primitive happened in a regular fight, he might have mourned + and poured reproof into Bug's ear when he got him back in his corner at + the end of the round; but he would not have experienced this feeling of + helpless horror—the sort of horror an elder of the church might feel + if he saw his favourite bishop yielding in public to the fascination of + jazz. It was the fact that Bugs Butler was lowering himself to extend his + powers against a sparring-partner that shocked Mr. Burrowes. There is an + etiquette in these things. A champion may batter his sparring-partners + into insensibility if he pleases, but he must do it with nonchalance. He + must not appear to be really trying. + </p> + <p> + And nothing could be more manifest than that Bugs Butler was trying. His + whole fighting soul was in his efforts to corner Ginger and destroy him. + The battle was raging across the ring and down the ring, and up the ring + and back again; yet always Ginger, like a storm-driven ship, contrived + somehow to weather the tempest. Out of the flurry of swinging arms he + emerged time after time bruised, bleeding, but fighting hard. + </p> + <p> + For Bugs Butler's fury was defeating its object. Had he remained his cool + and scientific self, he could have demolished Ginger and cut through his + defence in a matter of seconds. But he had lapsed back into the methods of + his unskilled novitiate. He swung and missed, swung and missed again, + struck but found no vital spot. And now there was blood on his face, too. + In some wild mêlée the sacred fount had been tapped, and his teeth gleamed + through a crimson mist. + </p> + <p> + The Wise Guys were beyond speech. They were leaning against one another, + punching each other feebly in the back. One was crying. + </p> + <p> + And then suddenly the end came, as swiftly and unexpectedly as the thing + had begun. His wild swings had tired Bugs Butler, and with fatigue + prudence returned to him. His feet began once more their subtle weaving in + and out. Twice his left hand flickered home. A quick feint, a short, + jolting stab, and Ginger's guard was down and he was swaying in the middle + of the ring, his hands hanging and his knees a-quiver. + </p> + <p> + Bugs Butler measured his distance, and Sally shut her eyes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. MR. ABRAHAMS RE-ENGAGES AN OLD EMPLOYEE + </h2> + <p> + 1 + </p> + <p> + The only real happiness, we are told, is to be obtained by bringing + happiness to others. Bugs Butler's mood, accordingly, when some thirty + hours after the painful episode recorded in the last chapter he awoke from + a state of coma in the ring at Jersey City to discover that Mr. Lew Lucas + had knocked him out in the middle of the third round, should have been one + of quiet contentment. His inability to block a short left-hook followed by + a right to the point of the jaw had ameliorated quite a number of + existences. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Lew Lucas, for one, was noticeably pleased. So were Mr. Lucas's + seconds, one of whom went so far as to kiss him. And most of the crowd, + who had betted heavily on the champion, were delighted. Yet Bugs Butler + did not rejoice. It is not too much to say that his peevish bearing struck + a jarring note in the general gaiety. A heavy frown disfigured his face as + he slouched from the ring. + </p> + <p> + But the happiness which he had spread went on spreading. The two Wise + Guys, who had been unable to attend the fight in person, received the + result on the ticker and exuberantly proclaimed themselves the richer by + five hundred dollars. The pimpled office-boy at the Fillmore Nicholas + Theatrical Enterprises Ltd. caused remark in the Subway by whooping + gleefully when he read the news in his morning paper, for he, too, had + been rendered wealthier by the brittleness of Mr. Butler's chin. And it + was with fierce satisfaction that Sally, breakfasting in her little + apartment, informed herself through the sporting page of the details of + the contender's downfall. She was not a girl who disliked many people, but + she had acquired a lively distaste for Bugs Butler. + </p> + <p> + Lew Lucas seemed a man after her own heart. If he had been a personal + friend of Ginger's he could not, considering the brief time at his + disposal, have avenged him with more thoroughness. In round one he had + done all sorts of diverting things to Mr. Butler's left eye: in round two + he had continued the good work on that gentleman's body; and in round + three he had knocked him out. Could anyone have done more? Sally thought + not, and she drank Lew Lucas's health in a cup of coffee and hoped his old + mother was proud of him. + </p> + <p> + The telephone bell rang at her elbow. She unhooked the receiver. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, hullo,” said a voice. + </p> + <p> + “Ginger!” cried Sally delightedly. + </p> + <p> + “I say, I'm awfully glad you're back. I only got your letter this morning. + Found it at the boarding-house. I happened to look in there and...” + </p> + <p> + “Ginger,” interrupted Sally, “your voice is music, but I want to see you. + Where are you?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm at a chemist's shop across the street. I was wondering if...” + </p> + <p> + “Come here at once!” + </p> + <p> + “I say, may I? I was just going to ask.” + </p> + <p> + “You miserable creature, why haven't you been round to see me before?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, as a matter of fact, I haven't been going about much for the last + day. You see...” + </p> + <p> + “I know. Of course.” Quick sympathy came into Sally's voice. She gave a + sidelong glance of approval and gratitude at the large picture of Lew + Lucas which beamed up at her from the morning paper. “You poor thing! How + are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, all right, thanks.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, hurry.” + </p> + <p> + There was a slight pause at the other end of the wire. + </p> + <p> + “I say.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not much to look at, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “You never were. Stop talking and hurry over.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean to say...” + </p> + <p> + Sally hung up the receiver firmly. She waited eagerly for some minutes, + and then footsteps came along the passage. They stopped at her door and + the bell rang. Sally ran to the door, flung it open, and recoiled in + consternation. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Ginger!” + </p> + <p> + He had stated the facts accurately when he had said that he was not much + to look at. He gazed at her devotedly out of an unblemished right eye, but + the other was hidden altogether by a puffy swelling of dull purple. A + great bruise marred his left cheek-bone, and he spoke with some difficulty + through swollen lips. + </p> + <p> + “It's all right, you know,” he assured her. + </p> + <p> + “It isn't. It's awful! Oh, you poor darling!” She clenched her teeth + viciously. “I wish he had killed him!” + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish Lew Lucas or whatever his name is had murdered him. Brute!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know, you know.” Ginger's sense of fairness compelled him to + defend his late employer against these harsh sentiments. “He isn't a bad + sort of chap, really. Bugs Butler, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you seriously mean to stand there and tell me you don't loathe the + creature?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he's all right. See his point of view and all that. Can't blame him, + if you come to think of it, for getting the wind up a bit in the circs. + Bit thick, I mean to say, a sparring-partner going at him like that. + Naturally he didn't think it much of a wheeze. It was my fault right + along. Oughtn't to have done it, of course, but somehow, when he started + making an ass of me and I knew you were looking on... well, it seemed a + good idea to have a dash at doing something on my own. No right to, of + course. A sparring-partner isn't supposed...” + </p> + <p> + “Sit down,” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + Ginger sat down. + </p> + <p> + “Ginger,” said Sally, “you're too good to live.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say!” + </p> + <p> + “I believe if someone sandbagged you and stole your watch and chain you'd + say there were faults on both sides or something. I'm just a cat, and I + say I wish your beast of a Bugs Butler had perished miserably. I'd have + gone and danced on his grave... But whatever made you go in for that sort + of thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it seemed the only job that was going at the moment. I've always + done a goodish bit of boxing and I was very fit and so on, and it looked + to me rather an opening. Gave me something to get along with. You get paid + quite fairly decently, you know, and it's rather a jolly life...” + </p> + <p> + “Jolly? Being hammered about like that?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you don't notice it much. I've always enjoyed scrapping rather. And, + you see, when your brother gave me the push...” + </p> + <p> + Sally uttered an exclamation. + </p> + <p> + “What an extraordinary thing it is—I went all the way out to White + Plains that afternoon to find Fillmore and tackle him about that and I + didn't say a word about it. And I haven't seen or been able to get hold of + him since.” + </p> + <p> + “No? Busy sort of cove, your brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did Fillmore let you go?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me go? Oh, you mean... well, there was a sort of mix-up. A kind of + misunderstanding.” + </p> + <p> + “What happened?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it was nothing. Just a...” + </p> + <p> + “What happened?” + </p> + <p> + Ginger's disfigured countenance betrayed embarrassment. He looked + awkwardly about the room. + </p> + <p> + “It's not worth talking about.” + </p> + <p> + “It is worth talking about. I've a right to know. It was I who sent you to + Fillmore...” + </p> + <p> + “Now that,” said Ginger, “was jolly decent of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't interrupt! I sent you to Fillmore, and he had no business to let + you go without saying a word to me. What happened?” + </p> + <p> + Ginger twiddled his fingers unhappily. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it was rather unfortunate. You see, his wife—I don't know if + you know her?...” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I know her.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, you would, wouldn't you? Your brother's wife, I mean,” said + Ginger acutely. “Though, as a matter of fact, you often find + sisters-in-law who won't have anything to do with one another. I know a + fellow...” + </p> + <p> + “Ginger,” said Sally, “it's no good your thinking you can get out of + telling me by rambling off on other subjects. I'm grim and resolute and + relentless, and I mean to get this story out of you if I have to use a + corkscrew. Fillmore's wife, you were saying...” + </p> + <p> + Ginger came back reluctantly to the main theme. + </p> + <p> + “Well, she came into the office one morning, and we started fooling + about...” + </p> + <p> + “Fooling about?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, kind of chivvying each other.” + </p> + <p> + “Chivvying?” + </p> + <p> + “At least I was.” + </p> + <p> + “You were what?” + </p> + <p> + “Sort of chasing her a bit, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Sally regarded this apostle of frivolity with amazement. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + Ginger's embarrassment increased. + </p> + <p> + “The thing was, you see, she happened to trickle in rather quietly when I + happened to be looking at something, and I didn't know she was there till + she suddenly grabbed it...” + </p> + <p> + “Grabbed what?” + </p> + <p> + “The thing. The thing I happened to be looking at. She bagged it... + collared it... took it away from me, you know, and wouldn't give it back + and generally started to rot about a bit, so I rather began to chivvy her + to some extent, and I'd just caught her when your brother happened to roll + in. I suppose,” said Ginger, putting two and two together, “he had really + come with her to the office and had happened to hang back for a minute or + two, to talk to somebody or something... well, of course, he was + considerably fed to see me apparently doing jiu-jitsu with his wife. + Enough to rattle any man, if you come to think of it,” said Ginger, ever + fair-minded. “Well, he didn't say anything at the time, but a bit later in + the day he called me in and administered the push.” + </p> + <p> + Sally shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “It sounds the craziest story to me. What was it that Mrs. Fillmore took + from you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, just something.” + </p> + <p> + Sally rapped the table imperiously. + </p> + <p> + “Ginger!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, as a matter of fact,” said her goaded visitor, “It was a + photograph.” + </p> + <p> + “Who of? Or, if you're particular, of whom?” + </p> + <p> + “Well... you, to be absolutely accurate.” + </p> + <p> + “Me?” Sally stared. “But I've never given you a photograph of myself.” + </p> + <p> + Ginger's face was a study in scarlet and purple. + </p> + <p> + “You didn't exactly give it to me,” he mumbled. “When I say give, I + mean...” + </p> + <p> + “Good gracious!” Sudden enlightenment came upon Sally. “That photograph we + were hunting for when I first came here! Had you stolen it all the time?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, I did sort of pinch it...” + </p> + <p> + “You fraud! You humbug! And you pretended to help me look for it.” She + gazed at him almost with respect. “I never knew you were so deep and + snaky. I'm discovering all sorts of new things about you.” + </p> + <p> + There was a brief silence. Ginger, confession over, seemed a trifle + happier. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you're not frightfully sick about it?” he said at length. “It was + lying about, you know, and I rather felt I must have it. Hadn't the cheek + to ask you for it, so...” + </p> + <p> + “Don't apologize,” said Sally cordially. “Great compliment. So I have + caused your downfall again, have I? I'm certainly your evil genius, + Ginger. I'm beginning to feel like a regular rag and a bone and a hank of + hair. First I egged you on to insult your family—oh, by the way, I + want to thank you about that. Now that I've met your Uncle Donald I can + see how public-spirited you were. I ruined your prospects there, and now + my fatal beauty—cabinet size—has led to your destruction once + more. It's certainly up to me to find you another job, I can see that.” + </p> + <p> + “No, really, I say, you mustn't bother. I shall be all right.” + </p> + <p> + “It's my duty. Now what is there that you really can do? Burglary, of + course, but it's not respectable. You've tried being a waiter and a + prize-fighter and a right-hand man, and none of those seems to be just + right. Can't you suggest anything?” + </p> + <p> + Ginger shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I shall wangle something, I expect.”' + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but what? It must be something good this time. I don't want to be + walking along Broadway and come on you suddenly as a street-cleaner. I + don't want to send for an express-man and find you popping up. My idea + would be to go to my bank to arrange an overdraft and be told the + president could give me two minutes and crawl in humbly and find you + prezzing away to beat the band in a big chair. Isn't there anything in the + world that you can do that's solid and substantial and will keep you out + of the poor-house in your old age? Think!” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, if I had a bit of capital...” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! The business man! And what,” inquired Sally, “would you do, Mr. + Morgan, if you had a bit of capital?” + </p> + <p> + “Run a dog-thingummy,” said Ginger promptly. + </p> + <p> + “What's a dog-thingummy?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, a thingamajig. For dogs, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Sally nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a thingamajig for dogs? Now I understand. You will put things so + obscurely at first. Ginger, you poor fish, what are you raving about? What + on earth is a thingamajig for dogs?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean a sort of place like fellows have. Breeding dogs, you know, and + selling them and winning prizes and all that. There are lots of them + about.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a kennels?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a kennels.” + </p> + <p> + “What a weird mind you have, Ginger. You couldn't say kennels at first, + could you? That wouldn't have made it difficult enough. I suppose, if + anyone asked you where you had your lunch, you would say, 'Oh, at a + thingamajig for mutton chops'... Ginger, my lad, there is something in + this. I believe for the first time in our acquaintance you have spoken + something very nearly resembling a mouthful. You're wonderful with dogs, + aren't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm dashed keen on them, and I've studied them a bit. As a matter of + fact, though it seems rather like swanking, there isn't much about dogs + that I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. I believe you're a sort of honorary dog yourself. I could tell + it by the way you stopped that fight at Roville. You plunged into a + howling mass of about a million hounds of all species and just whispered + in their ears and they stopped at once. Why, the more one examines this, + the better it looks. I do believe it's the one thing you couldn't help + making a success of. It's very paying, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Works out at about a hundred per cent on the original outlay, I've been + told.” + </p> + <p> + “A hundred per cent? That sounds too much like something of Fillmore's for + comfort. Let's say ninety-nine and be conservative. Ginger, you have hit + it. Say no more. You shall be the Dog King, the biggest thingamajigger for + dogs in the country. But how do you start?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, as a matter of fact, while I was up at White Plains, I ran into a + cove who had a place of the sort and wanted to sell out. That was what + made me think of it.” + </p> + <p> + “You must start to-day. Or early to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Ginger doubtfully. “Of course, there's the catch, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “What catch?” + </p> + <p> + “The capital. You've got to have that. This fellow wouldn't sell out under + five thousand dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll lend you five thousand dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” said Ginger. + </p> + <p> + Sally looked at him with exasperation. “Ginger, I'd like to slap you,” she + said. It was maddening, this intrusion of sentiment into business affairs. + Why, simply because he was a man and she was a woman, should she be + restrained from investing money in a sound commercial undertaking? If + Columbus had taken up this bone-headed stand towards Queen Isabella, + America would never have been discovered. + </p> + <p> + “I can't take five thousand dollars off you,” said Ginger firmly. + </p> + <p> + “Who's talking of taking it off me, as you call it?” stormed Sally. “Can't + you forget your burglarious career for a second? This isn't the same thing + as going about stealing defenceless girls' photographs. This is business. + I think you would make an enormous success of a dog-place, and you admit + you're good, so why make frivolous objections? Why shouldn't I put money + into a good thing? Don't you want me to get rich, or what is it?” + </p> + <p> + Ginger was becoming confused. Argument had never been his strong point. + </p> + <p> + “But it's such a lot of money.” + </p> + <p> + “To you, perhaps. Not to me. I'm a plutocrat. Five thousand dollars! + What's five thousand dollars? I feed it to the birds.” + </p> + <p> + Ginger pondered woodenly for a while. His was a literal mind, and he knew + nothing of Sally's finances beyond the fact that when he had first met her + she had come into a legacy of some kind. Moreover, he had been hugely + impressed by Fillmore's magnificence. It seemed plain enough that the + Nicholases were a wealthy family. + </p> + <p> + “I don't like it, you know,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You don't have to like it,” said Sally. “You just do it.” + </p> + <p> + A consoling thought flashed upon Ginger. + </p> + <p> + “You'd have to let me pay you interest.” + </p> + <p> + “Let you? My lad, you'll have to pay me interest. What do you think this + is—a round game? It's a cold business deal.” + </p> + <p> + “Topping!” said Ginger relieved. “How about twenty-five per cent.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be silly,” said Sally quickly. “I want three.” + </p> + <p> + “No, that's all rot,” protested Ginger. “I mean to say—three. I + don't,” he went on, making a concession, “mind saying twenty.” + </p> + <p> + “If you insist, I'll make it five. Not more.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, ten, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Five!” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose,” said Ginger insinuatingly, “I said seven?” + </p> + <p> + “I never saw anyone like you for haggling,” said Sally with disapproval. + “Listen! Six. And that's my last word.” + </p> + <p> + “Six?” + </p> + <p> + “Six.” + </p> + <p> + Ginger did sums in his head. + </p> + <p> + “But that would only work out at three hundred dollars a year. It isn't + enough.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you know about it? As if I hadn't been handling this sort of deal + in my life. Six! Do you agree?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so.” + </p> + <p> + “Then that's settled. Is this man you talk about in New York?” + </p> + <p> + “No, he's down on Long Island at a place on the south shore.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean, can you get him on the 'phone and clinch the thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. I know his address, and I suppose his number's in the book.” + </p> + <p> + “Then go off at once and settle with him before somebody else snaps him + up. Don't waste a minute.” + </p> + <p> + Ginger paused at the door. + </p> + <p> + “I say, you're absolutely sure about this?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean to say...” + </p> + <p> + “Get on,” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + 2 + </p> + <p> + The window of Sally's sitting-room looked out on to a street which, while + not one of the city's important arteries, was capable, nevertheless, of + affording a certain amount of entertainment to the observer: and after + Ginger had left, she carried the morning paper to the window-sill and + proceeded to divide her attention between a third reading of the + fight-report and a lazy survey of the outer world. It was a beautiful day, + and the outer world was looking its best. + </p> + <p> + She had not been at her post for many minutes when a taxi-cab stopped at + the apartment-house, and she was surprised and interested to see her + brother Fillmore heave himself out of the interior. He paid the driver, + and the cab moved off, leaving him on the sidewalk casting a large shadow + in the sunshine. Sally was on the point of calling to him, when his + behaviour became so odd that astonishment checked her. + </p> + <p> + From where she sat Fillmore had all the appearance of a man practising the + steps of a new dance, and sheer curiosity as to what he would do next kept + Sally watching in silence. First, he moved in a resolute sort of way + towards the front door; then, suddenly stopping, scuttled back. This + movement he repeated twice, after which he stood in deep thought before + making another dash for the door, which, like the others, came to an + abrupt end as though he had run into some invisible obstacle. And, + finally, wheeling sharply, he bustled off down the street and was lost to + view. + </p> + <p> + Sally could make nothing of it. If Fillmore had taken the trouble to come + in a taxi-cab, obviously to call upon her, why had he abandoned the idea + at her very threshold? She was still speculating on this mystery when the + telephone-bell rang, and her brother's voice spoke huskily in her ear. + </p> + <p> + “Sally?” + </p> + <p> + “Hullo, Fill. What are you going to call it?” + </p> + <p> + “What am I... Call what?” + </p> + <p> + “The dance you were doing outside here just now. It's your own invention, + isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you see me?” said Fillmore, upset. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I saw you. I was fascinated.” + </p> + <p> + “I—er—I was coming to have a talk with you. Sally...” + </p> + <p> + Fillmore's voice trailed off. + </p> + <p> + “Well, why didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause—on Fillmore's part, if the timbre of at his voice + correctly indicated his feelings, a pause of discomfort. Something was + plainly vexing Fillmore's great mind. + </p> + <p> + “Sally,” he said at last, and coughed hollowly into the receiver. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I—that is to say, I have asked Gladys... Gladys will be coming to + see you very shortly. Will you be in?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll stay in. How is Gladys? I'm longing to see her again.” + </p> + <p> + “She is very well. A trifle—a little upset.” + </p> + <p> + “Upset? What about?” + </p> + <p> + “She will tell you when she arrives. I have just been 'phoning to her. She + is coming at once.” There was another pause. “I'm afraid she has bad + news.” + </p> + <p> + “What news?” + </p> + <p> + There was silence at the other end of the wire. + </p> + <p> + “What news?” repeated Sally, a little sharply. She hated mysteries. + </p> + <p> + But Fillmore had rung off. Sally hung up the receiver thoughtfully. She + was puzzled and anxious. However, there being nothing to be gained by + worrying, she carried the breakfast things into the kitchen and tried to + divert herself by washing up. Presently a ring at the door-bell brought + her out, to find her sister-in-law. + </p> + <p> + Marriage, even though it had brought with it the lofty position of + partnership with the Hope of the American Stage, had effected no + noticeable alteration in the former Miss Winch. As Mrs. Fillmore she was + the same square, friendly creature. She hugged Sally in a muscular manner + and went on in the sitting-room. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's great seeing you again,” she said. “I began to think you were + never coming back. What was the big idea, springing over to England like + that?” + </p> + <p> + Sally had been expecting the question, and answered it with composure. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to help Mr. Faucitt.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's Mr. Faucitt?” + </p> + <p> + “Hasn't Fillmore ever mentioned him? He was a dear old man at the + boarding-house, and his brother died and left him a dressmaking + establishment in London. He screamed to me to come and tell him what to do + about it. He has sold it now and is quite happy in the country.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the trip's done you good,” said Mrs. Fillmore. “You're prettier + than ever.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. Already, in these trivial opening exchanges, Sally had + sensed a suggestion of unwonted gravity in her companion. She missed that + careless whimsicality which had been the chief characteristic of Miss + Gladys Winch and seemed to have been cast off by Mrs. Fillmore Nicholas. + At their meeting, before she had spoken, Sally had not noticed this, but + now it was apparent that something was weighing on her companion. Mrs. + Fillmore's honest eyes were troubled. + </p> + <p> + “What's the bad news?” asked Sally abruptly. She wanted to end the + suspense. “Fillmore was telling me over the 'phone that you had some bad + news for me.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fillmore scratched at the carpet for a moment with the end of her + parasol without replying. When she spoke it was not in answer to the + question. + </p> + <p> + “Sally, who's this man Carmyle over in England?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, did Fillmore tell you about him?” + </p> + <p> + “He told me there was a rich fellow over in England who was crazy about + you and had asked you to marry him, and that you had turned him down.” + </p> + <p> + Sally's momentary annoyance faded. She could hardly, she felt, have + expected Fillmore to refrain from mentioning the matter to his wife. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said. “That's true.” + </p> + <p> + “You couldn't write and say you've changed your mind?” + </p> + <p> + Sally's annoyance returned. All her life she had been intensely + independent, resentful of interference with her private concerns. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I could if I had—but I haven't. Did Fillmore tell you to + try to talk me round?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm not trying to talk you round,” said Mrs. Fillmore quickly. + “Goodness knows, I'm the last person to try and jolly anyone into marrying + anybody if they didn't feel like it. I've seen too many marriages go wrong + to do that. Look at Elsa Doland.” + </p> + <p> + Sally's heart jumped as if an exposed nerve had been touched. + </p> + <p> + “Elsa?” she stammered, and hated herself because her voice shook. “Has—has + her marriage gone wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “Gone all to bits,” said Mrs. Fillmore shortly. “You remember she married + Gerald Foster, the man who wrote 'The Primrose Way'?” + </p> + <p> + Sally with an effort repressed an hysterical laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I remember,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's all gone bloo-ey. I'll tell you about that in a minute. Coming + back to this man in England, if you're in any doubt about it... I mean, + you can't always tell right away whether you're fond of a man or not... + When first I met Fillmore, I couldn't see him with a spy-glass, and now + he's just the whole shooting-match... But that's not what I wanted to talk + about. I was saying one doesn't always know one's own mind at first, and + if this fellow really is a good fellow... and Fillmore tells me he's got + all the money in the world...” + </p> + <p> + Sally stopped her. + </p> + <p> + “No, it's no good. I don't want to marry Mr. Carmyle.” + </p> + <p> + “That's that, then,” said Mrs. Fillmore. “It's a pity, though.” + </p> + <p> + “Why are you taking it so much to heart?” said Sally with a nervous laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Well...” Mrs. Fillmore paused. Sally's anxiety was growing. It must, she + realized, be something very serious indeed that had happened if it had the + power to make her forthright sister-in-law disjointed in her talk. “You + see...” went on Mrs. Fillmore, and stopped again. “Gee! I'm hating this!” + she murmured. + </p> + <p> + “What is it? I don't understand.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll find it's all too darned clear by the time I'm through,” said Mrs. + Fillmore mournfully. “If I'm going to explain this thing, I guess I'd best + start at the beginning. You remember that revue of Fillmore's—the + one we both begged him not to put on. It flopped!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It flopped on the road and died there. Never got to New York at all. + Ike Schumann wouldn't let Fillmore have a theatre. The book wanted fixing + and the numbers wanted fixing and the scenery wasn't right: and while they + were tinkering with all that there was trouble about the cast and the + Actors Equity closed the show. Best thing that could have happened, + really, and I was glad at the time, because going on with it would only + have meant wasting more money, and it had cost a fortune already. After + that Fillmore put on a play of Gerald Foster's and that was a frost, too. + It ran a week at the Booth. I hear the new piece he's got in rehearsal now + is no good either. It's called 'The Wild Rose,' or something. But + Fillmore's got nothing to do with that.” + </p> + <p> + “But...” Sally tried to speak, but Mrs. Fillmore went on. + </p> + <p> + “Don't talk just yet, or I shall never get this thing straight. Well, you + know Fillmore, poor darling. Anyone else would have pulled in his horns + and gone slow for a spell, but he's one of those fellows whose horse is + always going to win the next race. The big killing is always just round + the corner with him. Funny how you can see what a chump a man is and yet + love him to death... I remember saying something like that to you + before... He thought he could get it all back by staging this fight of his + that came off in Jersey City last night. And if everything had gone right + he might have got afloat again. But it seems as if he can't touch anything + without it turning to mud. On the very day before the fight was to come + off, the poor mutt who was going against the champion goes and lets a + sparring-partner of his own knock him down and fool around with him. With + all the newspaper men there too! You probably saw about it in the papers. + It made a great story for them. Well, that killed the whole thing. The + public had never been any too sure that this fellow Bugs Butler had a + chance of putting up a scrap with the champion that would be worth paying + to see; and, when they read that he couldn't even stop his + sparring-partners slamming him all around the place they simply decided to + stay away. Poor old Fill! It was a finisher for him. The house wasn't a + quarter full, and after he'd paid these two pluguglies their guarantees, + which they insisted on having before they'd so much as go into the ring, + he was just about cleaned out. So there you are!” + </p> + <p> + Sally had listened with dismay to this catalogue of misfortunes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, poor Fill!” she cried. “How dreadful!” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty tough.” + </p> + <p> + “But 'The Primrose Way' is a big success, isn't it?” said Sally, anxious + to discover something of brightness in the situation. + </p> + <p> + “It was.” Mrs. Fillmore flushed again. “This is the part I hate having to + tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “It was? Do you mean it isn't still? I thought Elsa had made such a + tremendous hit. I read about it when I was over in London. It was even in + one of the English papers.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she made a hit all right,” said Mrs. Fillmore drily. “She made such + a hit that all the other managements in New York were after her right + away, and Fillmore had hardly sailed when she handed in her notice and + signed up with Goble and Cohn for a new piece they are starring her in.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, she couldn't!” cried Sally. + </p> + <p> + “My dear, she did! She's out on the road with it now. I had to break the + news to poor old Fillmore at the dock when he landed. It was rather a + blow. I must say it wasn't what I would call playing the game. I know + there isn't supposed to be any sentiment in business, but after all we had + given Elsa her big chance. But Fillmore wouldn't put her name up over the + theatre in electrics, and Goble and Cohn made it a clause in her contract + that they would, so nothing else mattered. People are like that.” + </p> + <p> + “But Elsa... She used not to be like that.” + </p> + <p> + “They all get that way. They must grab success if it's to be grabbed. I + suppose you can't blame them. You might just as well expect a cat to keep + off catnip. Still, she might have waited to the end of the New York run.” + Mrs. Fillmore put out her hand and touched Sally's. “Well, I've got it out + now,” she said, “and, believe me, it was one rotten job. You don't know + how sorry I am. Sally. I wouldn't have had it happen for a million + dollars. Nor would Fillmore. I'm not sure that I blame him for getting + cold feet and backing out of telling you himself. He just hadn't the nerve + to come and confess that he had fooled away your money. He was hoping all + along that this fight would pan out big and that he'd be able to pay you + back what you had loaned him, but things didn't happen right.” + </p> + <p> + Sally was silent. She was thinking how strange it was that this room in + which she had hoped to be so happy had been from the first moment of her + occupancy a storm centre of bad news and miserable disillusionment. In + this first shock of the tidings, it was the disillusionment that hurt + most. She had always been so fond of Elsa, and Elsa had always seemed so + fond of her. She remembered that letter of Elsa's with all its + protestations of gratitude... It wasn't straight. It was horrible. + Callous, selfish, altogether horrible... + </p> + <p> + “It's...” She choked, as a rush of indignation brought the tears to her + eyes. “It's... beastly! I'm... I'm not thinking about my money. That's + just bad luck. But Elsa...” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fillmore shrugged her square shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it's happening all the time in the show business,” she said. “And + in every other business, too, I guess, if one only knew enough about them + to be able to say. Of course, it hits you hard because Elsa was a pal of + yours, and you're thinking she might have considered you after all you've + done for her. I can't say I'm much surprised myself.” Mrs. Fillmore was + talking rapidly, and dimly Sally understood that she was talking so that + talk would carry her over this bad moment. Silence now would have been + unendurable. “I was in the company with her, and it sometimes seems to me + as if you can't get to know a person right through till you've been in the + same company with them. Elsa's all right, but she's two people really, + like these dual identity cases you read about. She's awfully fond of you. + I know she is. She was always saying so, and it was quite genuine. If it + didn't interfere with business there's nothing she wouldn't do for you. + But when it's a case of her career you don't count. Nobody counts. Not + even her husband. Now that's funny. If you think that sort of thing funny. + Personally, it gives me the willies.” + </p> + <p> + “What's funny?” asked Sally, dully. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you weren't there, so you didn't see it, but I was on the spot all + the time, and I know as well as I know anything that he simply married her + because he thought she could get him on in the game. He hardly paid any + attention to her at all till she was such a riot in Chicago, and then he + was all over her. And now he's got stung. She throws down his show and + goes off to another fellow's. It's like marrying for money and finding the + girl hasn't any. And she's got stung, too, in a way, because I'm pretty + sure she married him mostly because she thought he was going to be the + next big man in the play-writing business and could boost her up the + ladder. And now it doesn't look as though he had another success in him. + The result is they're at outs. I hear he's drinking. Somebody who'd seen + him told me he had gone all to pieces. You haven't seen him, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought maybe you might have run into him. He lives right opposite.” + </p> + <p> + Sally clutched at the arm of her chair. + </p> + <p> + “Lives right opposite? Gerald Foster? What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Across the passage there,” said Mrs. Fillmore, jerking her thumb at the + door. “Didn't you know? That's right, I suppose you didn't. They moved in + after you had beaten it for England. Elsa wanted to be near you, and she + was tickled to death when she found there was an apartment to be had right + across from you. Now, that just proves what I was saying a while ago about + Elsa. If she wasn't fond of you, would she go out of her way to camp next + door? And yet, though she's so fond of you, she doesn't hesitate about + wrecking your property by quitting the show when she sees a chance of + doing herself a bit of good. It's funny, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + The telephone-bell, tinkling sharply, rescued Sally from the necessity of + a reply. She forced herself across the room to answer it. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo?” + </p> + <p> + Ginger's voice spoke jubilantly. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo. Are you there? I say, it's all right, about that binge, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes?” + </p> + <p> + “That dog fellow, you know,” said Ginger, with a slight diminution of + exuberance. His sensitive ear had seemed to detect a lack of animation in + her voice. “I've just been talking to him over the 'phone, and it's all + settled. If,” he added, with a touch of doubt, “you still feel like going + into it, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + There was an instant in which Sally hesitated, but it was only an instant. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course,” she said, steadily. “Why should you think I had changed + my mind?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I thought... that is to say, you seemed... oh, I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “You imagine things. I was a little worried about something when you + called me up, and my mind wasn't working properly. Of course, go ahead + with it. Ginger. I'm delighted.” + </p> + <p> + “I say, I'm awfully sorry you're worried.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh. it's all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Something bad?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing that'll kill me. I'm young and strong.” + </p> + <p> + Ginger was silent for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “I say, I don't want to butt in, but can I do anything?” + </p> + <p> + “No, really, Ginger, I know you would do anything you could, but this is + just something I must worry through by myself. When do you go down to this + place?” + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking of popping down this afternoon, just to take a look + round.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me know what train you're making and I'll come and see you off.” + </p> + <p> + “That's ripping of you. Right ho. Well, so long.” + </p> + <p> + “So long,” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fillmore, who had been sitting in that state of suspended animation + which comes upon people who are present at a telephone conversation which + has nothing to do with themselves, came to life as Sally replaced the + receiver. + </p> + <p> + “Sally,” she said, “I think we ought to have a talk now about what you're + going to do.” + </p> + <p> + Sally was not feeling equal to any discussion of the future. All she asked + of the world at the moment was to be left alone. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's all right. I shall manage. You ought to be worrying about + Fillmore.” + </p> + <p> + “Fillmore's got me to look after him,” said Gladys, with quiet + determination. “You're the one that's on my mind. I lay awake all last + night thinking about you. As far as I can make out from Fillmore, you've + still a few thousand dollars left. Well, as it happens, I can put you on + to a really good thing. I know a girl...” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid,” interrupted Sally, “all the rest of my money, what there is + of it, is tied up.” + </p> + <p> + “You can't get hold of it?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “But listen,” said Mrs. Fillmore, urgently. “This is a really good thing. + This girl I know started an interior decorating business some time ago and + is pulling in the money in handfuls. But she wants more capital, and she's + willing to let go of a third of the business to anyone who'll put in a few + thousand. She won't have any difficulty getting it, but I 'phoned her this + morning to hold off till I'd heard from you. Honestly, Sally, it's the + chance of a lifetime. It would put you right on easy street. Isn't there + really any way you could get your money out of this other thing and take + on this deal?” + </p> + <p> + “There really isn't. I'm awfully obliged to you, Gladys dear, but it's + impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Mrs. Fillmore, prodding the carpet energetically with her + parasol, “I don't know what you've gone into, but, unless they've given + you a share in the Mint or something, you'll be losing by not making the + switch. You're sure you can't do it?” + </p> + <p> + “I really can't.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fillmore rose, plainly disappointed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you know best, of course. Gosh! What a muddle everything is. + Sally,” she said, suddenly stopping at the door, “you're not going to hate + poor old Fillmore over this, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course not. The whole thing was just bad luck.” + </p> + <p> + “He's worried stiff about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, give him my love, and tell him not to be so silly.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fillmore crossed the room and kissed Sally impulsively. + </p> + <p> + “You're an angel,” she said. “I wish there were more like you. But I guess + they've lost the pattern. Well, I'll go back and tell Fillmore that. It'll + relieve him.” + </p> + <p> + The door closed, and Sally sat down with her chin in her hands to think. + </p> + <p> + 3 + </p> + <p> + Mr. Isadore Abrahams, the founder and proprietor of that deservedly + popular dancing resort poetically named “The Flower Garden,” leaned back + in his chair with a contented sigh and laid down the knife and fork with + which he had been assailing a plateful of succulent goulash. He was + dining, as was his admirable custom, in the bosom of his family at his + residence at Far Rockaway. Across the table, his wife, Rebecca, beamed at + him over her comfortable plinth of chins, and round the table his + children, David, Jacob, Morris and Saide, would have beamed at him if they + had not been too busy at the moment ingurgitating goulash. A genial, + honest, domestic man was Mr. Abrahams, a credit to the community. + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Pa?” said Mrs. Abrahams. + </p> + <p> + “Knew there was something I'd meant to tell you,” said Mr. Abrahams, + absently chasing a piece of bread round his plate with a stout finger. + “You remember that girl I told you about some time back—girl working + at the Garden—girl called Nicholas, who came into a bit of money and + threw up her job...” + </p> + <p> + “I remember. You liked her. Jakie, dear, don't gobble.” + </p> + <p> + “Ain't gobbling,” said Master Abrahams. + </p> + <p> + “Everybody liked her,” said Mr. Abrahams. “The nicest girl I ever hired, + and I don't hire none but nice girls, because the Garden's a nice place, + and I like to run it nice. I wouldn't give you a nickel for any of your + tough joints where you get nothing but low-lifes and scare away all the + real folks. Everybody liked Sally Nicholas. Always pleasant and always + smiling, and never anything but the lady. It was a treat to have her + around. Well, what do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “Dead?” inquired Mrs. Abrahams, apprehensively. The story had sounded to + her as though it were heading that way. “Wipe your mouth, Jakie dear.” + </p> + <p> + “No, not dead,” said Mr. Abrahams, conscious for the first time that the + remainder of his narrative might be considered by a critic something of an + anti-climax and lacking in drama. “But she was in to see me this afternoon + and wants her job back.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Mrs. Abrahams, rather tonelessly. An ardent supporter of the + local motion-picture palace, she had hoped for a slightly more gingery + denouement, something with a bit more punch. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but don't it show you?” continued Mr. Abrahams, gallantly trying to + work up the interest. “There's this girl, goes out of my place not more'n + a year ago, with a good bank-roll in her pocket, and here she is, back + again, all of it spent. Don't it show you what a tragedy life is, if you + see what I mean, and how careful one ought to be about money? It's what I + call a human document. Goodness knows how she's been and gone and spent it + all. I'd never have thought she was the sort of girl to go gadding around. + Always seemed to me to be kind of sensible.” + </p> + <p> + “What's gadding, Pop?” asked Master Jakie, the goulash having ceased to + chain his interest. + </p> + <p> + “Well, she wanted her job back and I gave it to her, and glad to get her + back again. There's class to that girl. She's the sort of girl I want in + the place. Don't seem quite to have so much get-up in her as she used + to... seems kind of quieted down... but she's got class, and I'm glad + she's back. I hope she'll stay. But don't it show you?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Mrs. Abrahams, with more enthusiasm than before. It had not + worked out such a bad story after all. In its essentials it was not unlike + the film she had seen the previous evening—Gloria Gooch in “A Girl + against the World.” + </p> + <p> + “Pop!” said Master Abrahams. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Jakie?” + </p> + <p> + “When I'm grown up, I won't never lose no money. I'll put it in the bank + and save it.” + </p> + <p> + The slight depression caused by the contemplation of Sally's troubles left + Mr. Abrahams as mist melts beneath a sunbeam. + </p> + <p> + “That's a good boy, Jakie,” he said. + </p> + <p> + He felt in his waistcoat pocket, found a dime, put it back again, and bent + forward and patted Master Abrahams on the head. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. UNCLE DONALD SPEAKS HIS MIND + </h2> + <p> + There is in certain men—and Bruce Carmyle was one of them—a + quality of resilience, a sturdy refusal to acknowledge defeat, which aids + them as effectively in affairs of the heart as in encounters of a sterner + and more practical kind. As a wooer, Bruce Carmyle resembled that durable + type of pugilist who can only give of his best after he has received at + least one substantial wallop on some tender spot. Although Sally had + refused his offer of marriage quite definitely at Monk's Crofton, it had + never occurred to him to consider the episode closed. All his life he had + been accustomed to getting what he wanted, and he meant to get it now. + </p> + <p> + He was quite sure that he wanted Sally. There had been moments when he had + been conscious of certain doubts, but in the smart of temporary defeat + these had vanished. That streak of Bohemianism in her which from time to + time since their first meeting had jarred upon his orderly mind was + forgotten; and all that Mr. Carmyle could remember was the brightness of + her eyes, the jaunty lift of her chin, and the gallant trimness of her. + Her gay prettiness seemed to flick at him like a whip in the darkness of + wakeful nights, lashing him to pursuit. And quietly and methodically, like + a respectable wolf settling on the trail of a Red Riding Hood, he prepared + to pursue. Delicacy and imagination might have kept him back, but in these + qualities he had never been strong. One cannot have everything. + </p> + <p> + His preparations for departure, though he did his best to make them + swiftly and secretly, did not escape the notice of the Family. In many + English families there seems to exist a system of inter-communication and + news-distribution like that of those savage tribes in Africa who pass the + latest item of news and interest from point to point over miles of + intervening jungle by some telepathic method never properly explained. On + his last night in London, there entered to Bruce Carmyle at his apartment + in South Audley Street, the Family's chosen representative, the man to + whom the Family pointed with pride—Uncle Donald, in the flesh. + </p> + <p> + There were two hundred and forty pounds of the flesh Uncle Donald was in, + and the chair in which he deposited it creaked beneath its burden. Once, + at Monk's Crofton, Sally had spoiled a whole morning for her brother + Fillmore, by indicating Uncle Donald as the exact image of what he would + be when he grew up. A superstition, cherished from early schooldays, that + he had a weak heart had caused the Family's managing director to abstain + from every form of exercise for nearly fifty years; and, as he combined + with a distaste for exercise one of the three heartiest appetites in the + south-western postal division of London, Uncle Donald, at sixty-two, was + not a man one would willingly have lounging in one's armchairs. Bruce + Carmyle's customary respectfulness was tinged with something approaching + dislike as he looked at him. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Donald's walrus moustache heaved gently upon his laboured breath, + like seaweed on a ground-swell. There had been stairs to climb. + </p> + <p> + “What's this? What's this?” he contrived to ejaculate at last. “You + packing?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Mr. Carmyle, shortly. For the first time in his life he was + conscious of that sensation of furtive guilt which was habitual with his + cousin Ginger when in the presence of this large, mackerel-eyed man. + </p> + <p> + “You going away?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Where you going?” + </p> + <p> + “America.” + </p> + <p> + “When you going?” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Why you going?” + </p> + <p> + This dialogue has been set down as though it had been as brisk and snappy + as any cross-talk between vaudeville comedians, but in reality Uncle + Donald's peculiar methods of conversation had stretched it over a period + of nearly three minutes: for after each reply and before each question he + had puffed and sighed and inhaled his moustache with such painful + deliberation that his companion's nerves were finding it difficult to bear + up under the strain. + </p> + <p> + “You're going after that girl,” said Uncle Donald, accusingly. + </p> + <p> + Bruce Carmyle flushed darkly. And it is interesting to record that at this + moment there flitted through his mind the thought that Ginger's behaviour + at Bleke's Coffee House, on a certain notable occasion, had not been so + utterly inexcusable as he had supposed. There was no doubt that the + Family's Chosen One could be trying. + </p> + <p> + “Will you have a whisky and soda, Uncle Donald?” he said, by way of + changing the conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said his relative, in pursuance of a vow he had made in the early + eighties never to refuse an offer of this kind. “Gimme!” + </p> + <p> + You would have thought that that would have put matters on a pleasanter + footing. But no. Having lapped up the restorative, Uncle Donald returned + to the attack quite un-softened. + </p> + <p> + “Never thought you were a fool before,” he said severely. + </p> + <p> + Bruce Carmyle's proud spirit chafed. This sort of interview, which had + become a commonplace with his cousin Ginger, was new to him. Hitherto, his + actions had received neither criticism nor been subjected to it. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not a fool.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a fool. A damn fool,” continued Uncle Donald, specifying more + exactly. “Don't like the girl. Never did. Not a nice girl. Didn't like + her. Right from the first.” + </p> + <p> + “Need we discuss this?” said Bruce Carmyle, dropping, as he was apt to do, + into the grand manner. + </p> + <p> + The Head of the Family drank in a layer of moustache and blew it out + again. + </p> + <p> + “Need we discuss it?” he said with asperity. “We're going to discuss it! + Whatch think I climbed all these blasted stairs for with my weak heart? + Gimme another!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Carmyle gave him another. + </p> + <p> + “'S a bad business,” moaned Uncle Donald, having gone through the + movements once more. “Shocking bad business. If your poor father were + alive, whatch think he'd say to your tearing across the world after this + girl? I'll tell you what he'd say. He'd say... What kind of whisky's + this?” + </p> + <p> + “O'Rafferty Special.” + </p> + <p> + “New to me. Not bad. Quite good. Sound. Mellow. Wherej get it?” + </p> + <p> + “Bilby's in Oxford Street.” + </p> + <p> + “Must order some. Mellow. He'd say... well, God knows what he'd say. + Whatch doing it for? Whatch doing it for? That's what I can't see. None of + us can see. Puzzles your uncle George. Baffles your aunt Geraldine. Nobody + can understand it. Girl's simply after your money. Anyone can see that.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, Uncle Donald,” said Mr. Carmyle, stiffly, “but that is surely + rather absurd. If that were the case, why should she have refused me at + Monk's Crofton?” + </p> + <p> + “Drawing you on,” said Uncle Donald, promptly. “Luring you on. Well-known + trick. Girl in 1881, when I was at Oxford, tried to lure me on. If I + hadn't had some sense and a weak heart... Whatch know of this girl? Whatch + know of her? That's the point. Who is she? Wherej meet her?” + </p> + <p> + “I met her at Roville, in France.” + </p> + <p> + “Travelling with her family?” + </p> + <p> + “Travelling alone,” said Bruce Carmyle, reluctantly. + </p> + <p> + “Not even with that brother of hers? Bad!” said Uncle Donald. “Bad, bad!” + </p> + <p> + “American girls are accustomed to more independence than English girls.” + </p> + <p> + “That young man,” said Uncle Donald, pursuing a train of thought, “is + going to be fat one of these days, if he doesn't look out. Travelling + alone, was she? What did you do? Catch her eye on the pier?” + </p> + <p> + “Really, Uncle Donald!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, must have got to know her somehow.” + </p> + <p> + “I was introduced to her by Lancelot. She was a friend of his.” + </p> + <p> + “Lancelot!” exploded Uncle Donald, quivering all over like a smitten jelly + at the loathed name. “Well, that shows you what sort of a girl she is. Any + girl that would be a friend of... Unpack!” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon?” + </p> + <p> + “Unpack! Mustn't go on with this foolery. Out of the question. Find some + girl make you a good wife. Your aunt Mary's been meeting some people name + of Bassington-Bassington, related Kent Bassington-Bassingtons... eldest + daughter charming girl, just do for you.” + </p> + <p> + Outside the pages of the more old-fashioned type of fiction nobody ever + really ground his teeth, but Bruce Carmyle came nearer to it at that + moment than anyone had ever come before. He scowled blackly, and the last + trace of suavity left him. + </p> + <p> + “I shall do nothing of the kind,” he said briefly. “I sail to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Uncle Donald had had a previous experience of being defied by a nephew, + but it had not accustomed him to the sensation. He was aware of an + unpleasant feeling of impotence. Nothing is harder than to know what to do + next when defied. + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” he said. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Carmyle having started to defy, evidently decided to make a good job + of it. + </p> + <p> + “I am over twenty-one,” said he. “I am financially independent. I shall do + as I please.” + </p> + <p> + “But, consider!” pleaded Uncle Donald, painfully conscious of the weakness + of his words. “Reflect!” + </p> + <p> + “I have reflected.” + </p> + <p> + “Your position in the county...” + </p> + <p> + “I've thought of that.” + </p> + <p> + “You could marry anyone you pleased.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to.” + </p> + <p> + “You are determined to go running off to God-knows-where after this Miss + I-can't-even-remember-her-dam-name?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you considered,” said Uncle Donald, portentously, “that you owe a + duty to the Family.” + </p> + <p> + Bruce Carmyle's patience snapped and he sank like a stone to absolutely + Gingerian depths of plain-spokenness. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, damn the Family!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + There was a painful silence, broken only by the relieved sigh of the + armchair as Uncle Donald heaved himself out of it. + </p> + <p> + “After that,” said Uncle Donald, “I have nothing more to say.” + </p> + <p> + “Good!” said Mr. Carmyle rudely, lost to all shame. + </p> + <p> + “'Cept this. If you come back married to that girl, I'll cut you in + Piccadilly. By George, I will!” + </p> + <p> + He moved to the door. Bruce Carmyle looked down his nose without speaking. + A tense moment. + </p> + <p> + “What,” asked Uncle Donald, his fingers on the handle, “did you say it was + called?” + </p> + <p> + “What was what called?” + </p> + <p> + “That whisky.” + </p> + <p> + “O'Rafferty Special.” + </p> + <p> + “And wherj get it?” + </p> + <p> + “Bilby's, in Oxford Street.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll make a note of it,” said Uncle Donald. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. AT THE FLOWER GARDEN + </h2> + <p> + 1 + </p> + <p> + “And after all I've done for her,” said Mr. Reginald Cracknell, his voice + tremulous with self-pity and his eyes moist with the combined effects of + anguish and over-indulgence in his celebrated private stock, “after all + I've done for her she throws me down.” + </p> + <p> + Sally did not reply. The orchestra of the Flower Garden was of a calibre + that discouraged vocal competition; and she was having, moreover, too much + difficulty in adjusting her feet to Mr. Cracknell's erratic dance-steps to + employ her attention elsewhere. They manoeuvred jerkily past the table + where Miss Mabel Hobson, the Flower Garden's newest “hostess,” sat + watching the revels with a distant hauteur. Miss Hobson was looking her + most regal in old gold and black, and a sorrowful gulp escaped the + stricken Mr. Cracknell as he shambled beneath her eye. + </p> + <p> + “If I told you,” he moaned in Sally's ear, “what... was that your ankle? + Sorry! Don't know what I'm doing to-night... If I told you what I had + spent on that woman, you wouldn't believe it. And then she throws me down. + And all because I said I didn't like her in that hat. She hasn't spoken to + me for a week, and won't answer when I call up on the 'phone. And I was + right, too. It was a rotten hat. Didn't suit her a bit. But that,” said + Mr. Cracknell, morosely, “is a woman all over!” + </p> + <p> + Sally uttered a stifled exclamation as his wandering foot descended on + hers before she could get it out of the way. Mr. Cracknell interpreted the + ejaculation as a protest against the sweeping harshness of his last + remark, and gallantly tried to make amends. + </p> + <p> + “I don't mean you're like that,” he said. “You're different. I could see + that directly I saw you. You have a sympathetic nature. That's why I'm + telling you all this. You're a sensible and broad-minded girl and can + understand. I've done everything for that woman. I got her this job as + hostess here—you wouldn't believe what they pay her. I starred her + in a show once. Did you see those pearls she was wearing? I gave her + those. And she won't speak to me. Just because I didn't like her hat. I + wish you could have seen that hat. You would agree with me, I know, + because you're a sensible, broad-minded girl and understand hats. I don't + know what to do. I come here every night.” Sally was aware of this. She + had seen him often, but this was the first time that Lee Schoenstein, the + gentlemanly master of ceremonies, had inflicted him on her. “I come here + every night and dance past her table, but she won't look at me. What,” + asked Mr. Cracknell, tears welling in his pale eyes, “would you do about + it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said Sally, frankly. + </p> + <p> + “Nor do I. I thought you wouldn't, because you're a sensible, + broad-minded... I mean, nor do I. I'm having one last try to-night, if you + can keep a secret. You won't tell anyone, will you?” pleaded Mr. + Cracknell, urgently. “But I know you won't because you're a sensible... + I'm giving her a little present. Having it brought here to-night. Little + present. That ought to soften her, don't you think?” + </p> + <p> + “A big one would do it better.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cracknell kicked her on the shin in a dismayed sort of way. + </p> + <p> + “I never thought of that. Perhaps you're right. But it's too late now. + Still, it might. Or wouldn't it? Which do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + “I thought as much,” said Mr. Cracknell. + </p> + <p> + The orchestra stopped with a thump and a bang, leaving Mr. Cracknell + clapping feebly in the middle of the floor. Sally slipped back to her + table. Her late partner, after an uncertain glance about him, as if he had + mislaid something but could not remember what, zigzagged off in search of + his own seat. The noise of many conversations, drowned by the music, broke + out with renewed vigour. The hot, close air was full of voices; and Sally, + pressing her hands on her closed eyes, was reminded once more that she had + a headache. + </p> + <p> + Nearly a month had passed since her return to Mr. Abrahams' employment. It + had been a dull, leaden month, a monotonous succession of lifeless days + during which life had become a bad dream. In some strange nightmare + fashion, she seemed nowadays to be cut off from her kind. It was weeks + since she had seen a familiar face. None of the companions of her old + boarding-house days had crossed her path. Fillmore, no doubt from + uneasiness of conscience, had not sought her out, and Ginger was working + out his destiny on the south shore of Long Island. + </p> + <p> + She lowered her hands and opened her eyes and looked at the room. It was + crowded, as always. The Flower Garden was one of the many establishments + of the same kind which had swum to popularity on the rising flood of New + York's dancing craze; and doubtless because, as its proprietor had + claimed, it was a nice place and run nice, it had continued, unlike many + of its rivals, to enjoy unvarying prosperity. In its advertisement, it + described itself as “a supper-club for after-theatre dining and dancing,” + adding that “large and spacious, and sumptuously appointed,” it was “one + of the town's wonder-places, with its incomparable dance-floor, enchanting + music, cuisine, and service de luxe.” From which it may be gathered, even + without his personal statements to that effect, that Isadore Abrahams + thought well of the place. + </p> + <p> + There had been a time when Sally had liked it, too. In her first period of + employment there she had found it diverting, stimulating and full of + entertainment. But in those days she had never had headaches or, what was + worse, this dreadful listless depression which weighed her down and made + her nightly work a burden. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Nicholas.” + </p> + <p> + The orchestra, never silent for long at the Flower Garden, had started + again, and Lee Schoenstein, the master of ceremonies, was presenting a new + partner. She got up mechanically. + </p> + <p> + “This is the first time I have been in this place,” said the man, as they + bumped over the crowded floor. He was big and clumsy, of course. To-night + it seemed to Sally that the whole world was big and clumsy. “It's a swell + place. I come from up-state myself. We got nothing like this where I come + from.” He cleared a space before him, using Sally as a battering-ram, and + Sally, though she had not enjoyed her recent excursion with Mr. Cracknell, + now began to look back to it almost with wistfulness. This man was + undoubtedly the worst dancer in America. + </p> + <p> + “Give me li'l old New York,” said the man from up-state, unpatriotically. + “It's good enough for me. I been to some swell shows since I got to town. + You seen this year's 'Follies'?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “You go,” said the man earnestly. “You go! Take it from me, it's a swell + show. You seen 'Myrtle takes a Turkish Bath'?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't go to many theatres.” + </p> + <p> + “You go! It's a scream. I been to a show every night since I got here. + Every night regular. Swell shows all of 'em, except this last one. I + cert'nly picked a lemon to-night all right. I was taking a chance, y'see, + because it was an opening. Thought it would be something to say, when I + got home, that I'd been to a New York opening. Set me back + two-seventy-five, including tax, and I wish I'd got it in my kick right + now. 'The Wild Rose,' they called it,” he said satirically, as if exposing + a low subterfuge on the part of the management. “'The Wild Rose!' It sure + made me wild all right. Two dollars seventy-five tossed away, just like + that.” + </p> + <p> + Something stirred in Sally's memory. Why did that title seem so familiar? + Then, with a shock, she remembered. It was Gerald's new play. For some + time after her return to New York, she had been haunted by the fear lest, + coming out of her apartment, she might meet him coming out of his; and + then she had seen a paragraph in her morning paper which had relieved her + of this apprehension. Gerald was out on the road with a new play, and “The + Wild Rose,” she was almost sure, was the name of it. + </p> + <p> + “Is that Gerald Foster's play?” she asked quickly. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know who wrote it,” said her partner, “but let me tell you he's + one lucky guy to get away alive. There's fellows breaking stones on the + Ossining Road that's done a lot less to deserve a sentence. Wild Rose! + I'll tell the world it made me go good and wild,” said the man from + up-state, an economical soul who disliked waste and was accustomed to + spread out his humorous efforts so as to give them every chance. “Why, + before the second act was over, the people were beating it for the exits, + and if it hadn't been for someone shouting 'Women and children first' + there'd have been a panic.” + </p> + <p> + Sally found herself back at her table without knowing clearly how she had + got there. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Nicholas.” + </p> + <p> + She started to rise, and was aware suddenly that this was not the voice of + duty calling her once more through the gold teeth of Mr. Schoenstein. The + man who had spoken her name had seated himself beside her, and was talking + in precise, clipped accents, oddly familiar. The mist cleared from her + eyes and she recognized Bruce Carmyle. + </p> + <p> + 2 + </p> + <p> + “I called at your place,” Mr. Carmyle was saying, “and the hall porter + told me that you were here, so I ventured to follow you. I hope you do not + mind? May I smoke?” + </p> + <p> + He lit a cigarette with something of an air. His fingers trembled as he + raised the match, but he flattered himself that there was nothing else in + his demeanour to indicate that he was violently excited. Bruce Carmyle's + ideal was the strong man who can rise superior to his emotions. He was + alive to the fact that this was an embarrassing moment, but he was + determined not to show that he appreciated it. He cast a sideways glance + at Sally, and thought that never, not even in the garden at Monk's Crofton + on a certain momentous occasion, had he seen her looking prettier. Her + face was flushed and her eyes aflame. The stout wraith of Uncle Donald, + which had accompanied Mr. Carmyle on this expedition of his, faded into + nothingness as he gazed. + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. Mr. Carmyle, having lighted his cigarette, puffed + vigorously. + </p> + <p> + “When did you land?” asked Sally, feeling the need of saying something. + Her mind was confused. She could not have said whether she was glad or + sorry that he was there. Glad, she thought, on the whole. There was + something in his dark, cool, stiff English aspect that gave her a curious + feeling of relief. He was so unlike Mr. Cracknell and the man from + up-state and so calmly remote from the feverish atmosphere in which she + lived her nights that it was restful to look at him. + </p> + <p> + “I landed to-night,” said Bruce Carmyle, turning and faced her squarely. + </p> + <p> + “To-night!” + </p> + <p> + “We docked at ten.” + </p> + <p> + He turned away again. He had made his effect, and was content to leave her + to think it over. + </p> + <p> + Sally was silent. The significance of his words had not escaped her. She + realized that his presence there was a challenge which she must answer. + And yet it hardly stirred her. She had been fighting so long, and she felt + utterly inert. She was like a swimmer who can battle no longer and + prepares to yield to the numbness of exhaustion. The heat of the room + pressed down on her like a smothering blanket. Her tired nerves cried out + under the blare of music and the clatter of voices. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we dance this?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The orchestra had started to play again, a sensuous, creamy melody which + was making the most of its brief reign as Broadway's leading song-hit, + overfamiliar to her from a hundred repetitions. + </p> + <p> + “If you like.” + </p> + <p> + Efficiency was Bruce Carmyle's gospel. He was one of these men who do not + attempt anything which they cannot accomplish to perfection. Dancing, he + had decided early in his life, was a part of a gentleman's education, and + he had seen to it that he was educated thoroughly. Sally, who, as they + swept out on to the floor, had braced herself automatically for a + repetition of the usual bumping struggle which dancing at the Flower + Garden had come to mean for her, found herself in the arms of a masterful + expert, a man who danced better than she did, and suddenly there came to + her a feeling that was almost gratitude, a miraculous slackening of her + taut nerves, a delicious peace. Soothed and contented, she yielded herself + with eyes half closed to the rhythm of the melody, finding it now robbed + in some mysterious manner of all its stale cheapness, and in that moment + her whole attitude towards Bruce Carmyle underwent a complete change. + </p> + <p> + She had never troubled to examine with any minuteness her feelings towards + him: but one thing she had known clearly since their first meeting—that + he was physically distasteful to her. For all his good looks, and in his + rather sinister way he was a handsome man, she had shrunk from him. Now, + spirited away by the magic of the dance, that repugnance had left her. It + was as if some barrier had been broken down between them. + </p> + <p> + “Sally!” + </p> + <p> + She felt his arm tighten about her, the muscles quivering. She caught + sight of his face. His dark eyes suddenly blazed into hers and she + stumbled with an odd feeling of helplessness; realizing with a shock that + brought her with a jerk out of the half-dream into which she had been + lulled that this dance had not postponed the moment of decision, as she + had looked to it to do. In a hot whisper, the words swept away on the + flood of the music which had suddenly become raucous and blaring once + more, he was repeating what he had said under the trees at Monk's Crofton + on that far-off morning in the English springtime. Dizzily she knew that + she was resenting the unfairness of the attack at such a moment, but her + mind seemed numbed. + </p> + <p> + The music stopped abruptly. Insistent clapping started it again, but Sally + moved away to her table, and he followed her like a shadow. Neither spoke. + Bruce Carmyle had said his say, and Sally was sitting staring before her, + trying to think. She was tired, tired. Her eyes were burning. She tried to + force herself to face the situation squarely. Was it worth struggling? Was + anything in the world worth a struggle? She only knew that she was tired, + desperately tired, tired to the very depths of her soul. + </p> + <p> + The music stopped. There was more clapping, but this time the orchestra + did not respond. Gradually the floor emptied. The shuffling of feet + ceased. The Flower Garden was as quiet as it was ever able to be. Even the + voices of the babblers seemed strangely hushed. Sally closed her eyes, and + as she did so from somewhere up near the roof there came the song of a + bird. + </p> + <p> + Isadore Abrahams was a man of his word. He advertised a Flower Garden, and + he had tried to give the public something as closely resembling a + flower-garden as it was possible for an overcrowded, overheated, overnoisy + Broadway dancing-resort to achieve. Paper roses festooned the walls; + genuine tulips bloomed in tubs by every pillar; and from the roof hung + cages with birds in them. One of these, stirred by the sudden cessation of + the tumult below, had began to sing. + </p> + <p> + Sally had often pitied these birds, and more than once had pleaded in vain + with Abrahams for a remission of their sentence, but somehow at this + moment it did not occur to her that this one was merely praying in its own + language, as she often had prayed in her thoughts, to be taken out of this + place. To her, sitting there wrestling with Fate, the song seemed + cheerful. It soothed her. It healed her to listen to it. And suddenly + before her eyes there rose a vision of Monk's Crofton, cool, green, and + peaceful under the mild English sun, luring her as an oasis seen in the + distance lures the desert traveller... + </p> + <p> + She became aware that the master of Monk's Crofton had placed his hand on + hers and was holding it in a tightening grip. She looked down and gave a + little shiver. She had always disliked Bruce Carmyle's hands. They were + strong and bony and black hair grew on the back of them. One of the + earliest feelings regarding him had been that she would hate to have those + hands touching her. But she did not move. Again that vision of the old + garden had flickered across her mind... a haven where she could rest... + </p> + <p> + He was leaning towards her, whispering in her ear. The room was hotter + than it had ever been, noisier than it had ever been, fuller than it had + ever been. The bird on the roof was singing again and now she understood + what it said. “Take me out of this!” Did anything matter except that? What + did it matter how one was taken, or where, or by whom, so that one was + taken. + </p> + <p> + Monk's Crofton was looking cool and green and peaceful... + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + 3 + </p> + <p> + Bruce Carmyle, in the capacity of accepted suitor, found himself at + something of a loss. He had a dissatisfied feeling. It was not the manner + of Sally's acceptance that caused this. It would, of course, have pleased + him better if she had shown more warmth, but he was prepared to wait for + warmth. What did trouble him was the fact that his correct mind perceived + now for the first time that he had chosen an unsuitable moment and place + for his outburst of emotion. He belonged to the orthodox school of thought + which looks on moonlight and solitude as the proper setting for a proposal + of marriage; and the surroundings of the Flower Garden, for all its + nice-ness and the nice manner in which it was conducted, jarred upon him + profoundly. + </p> + <p> + Music had begun again, but it was not the soft music such as a lover + demands if he is to give of his best. It was a brassy, clashy rendering of + a ribald one-step, enough to choke the eloquence of the most ardent. + Couples were dipping and swaying and bumping into one another as far as + the eye could reach; while just behind him two waiters had halted in order + to thrash out one of those voluble arguments in which waiters love to + indulge. To continue the scene at the proper emotional level was + impossible, and Bruce Carmyle began his career as an engaged man by + dropping into Smalltalk. + </p> + <p> + “Deuce of a lot of noise,” he said querulously. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” agreed Sally. + </p> + <p> + “Is it always like this?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Infernal racket!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + The romantic side of Mr. Carmyle's nature could have cried aloud at the + hideous unworthiness of these banalities. In the visions which he had had + of himself as a successful wooer, it had always been in the moments + immediately succeeding the all-important question and its whispered reply + that he had come out particularly strong. He had been accustomed to + picture himself bending with a proud tenderness over his partner in the + scene and murmuring some notably good things to her bowed head. How could + any man murmur in a pandemonium like this. From tenderness Bruce Carmyle + descended with a sharp swoop to irritability. + </p> + <p> + “Do you often come here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “To dance.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Carmyle chafed helplessly. The scene, which should be so romantic, had + suddenly reminded him of the occasion when, at the age of twenty, he had + attended his first ball and had sat in a corner behind a potted palm + perspiring shyly and endeavouring to make conversation to a formidable + nymph in pink. It was one of the few occasions in his life at which he had + ever been at a complete disadvantage. He could still remember the clammy + discomfort of his too high collar as it melted on him. Most certainly it + was not a scene which he enjoyed recalling; and that he should be forced + to recall it now, at what ought to have been the supreme moment of his + life, annoyed him intensely. Almost angrily he endeavoured to jerk the + conversation to a higher level. + </p> + <p> + “Darling,” he murmured, for by moving his chair two feet to the right and + bending sideways he found that he was in a position to murmur, “you have + made me so...” + </p> + <p> + “Batti, batti! I presto ravioli hollandaise,” cried one of the disputing + waiters at his back—or to Bruce Carmyle's prejudiced hearing it + sounded like that. + </p> + <p> + “La Donna e mobile spaghetti napoli Tettrazina,” rejoined the second + waiter with spirit. + </p> + <p> + “... you have made me so...” + </p> + <p> + “Infanta Isabella lope de Vegas mulligatawny Toronto,” said the first + waiter, weak but coming back pluckily. + </p> + <p> + “... so happy...” + </p> + <p> + “Funiculi funicula Vincente y Blasco Ibanez vermicelli sul campo della + gloria risotto!” said the second waiter clinchingly, and scored a + technical knockout. + </p> + <p> + Bruce Carmyle gave it up, and lit a moody cigarette. He was oppressed by + that feeling which so many of us have felt in our time, that it was all + wrong. + </p> + <p> + The music stopped. The two leading citizens of Little Italy vanished and + went their way, probably to start a vendetta. There followed comparative + calm. But Bruce Carmyle's emotions, like sweet bells jangled, were out of + tune, and he could not recapture the first fine careless rapture. He found + nothing within him but small-talk. + </p> + <p> + “What has become of your party?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “My party?” + </p> + <p> + “The people you are with,” said Mr. Carmyle. Even in the stress of his + emotion this problem had been exercising him. In his correctly ordered + world girls did not go to restaurants alone. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not with anybody.” + </p> + <p> + “You came here by yourself?” exclaimed Bruce Carmyle, frankly aghast. And, + as he spoke, the wraith of Uncle Donald, banished till now, returned as + large as ever, puffing disapproval through a walrus moustache. + </p> + <p> + “I am employed here,” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Carmyle started violently. + </p> + <p> + “Employed here?” + </p> + <p> + “As a dancer, you know. I...” + </p> + <p> + Sally broke off, her attention abruptly diverted to something which had + just caught her eye at a table on the other side of the room. That + something was a red-headed young man of sturdy build who had just appeared + beside the chair in which Mr. Reginald Cracknell was sitting in huddled + gloom. In one hand he carried a basket, and from this basket, rising above + the din of conversation, there came a sudden sharp yapping. Mr. Cracknell + roused himself from his stupor, took the basket, raised the lid. The + yapping increased in volume. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cracknell rose, the basket in his arms. With uncertain steps and a + look on his face like that of those who lead forlorn hopes he crossed the + floor to where Miss Mabel Hobson sat, proud and aloof. The next moment + that haughty lady, the centre of an admiring and curious crowd, was + hugging to her bosom a protesting Pekingese puppy, and Mr. Cracknell, + seizing his opportunity like a good general, had deposited himself in a + chair at her side. The course of true love was running smooth again. + </p> + <p> + The red-headed young man was gazing fixedly at Sally. + </p> + <p> + “As a dancer!” ejaculated Mr. Carmyle. Of all those within sight of the + moving drama which had just taken place, he alone had paid no attention to + it. Replete as it was with human interest, sex-appeal, the punch, and all + the other qualities which a drama should possess, it had failed to grip + him. His thoughts had been elsewhere. The accusing figure of Uncle Donald + refused to vanish from his mental eye. The stern voice of Uncle Donald + seemed still to ring in his ear. + </p> + <p> + A dancer! A professional dancer at a Broadway restaurant! Hideous doubts + began to creep like snakes into Bruce Carmyle's mind. What, he asked + himself, did he really know of this girl on whom he had bestowed the + priceless boon of his society for life? How did he know what she was—he + could not find the exact adjective to express his meaning, but he knew + what he meant. Was she worthy of the boon? That was what it amounted to. + All his life he had had a prim shrinking from the section of the feminine + world which is connected with the light-life of large cities. Club + acquaintances of his in London had from time to time married into the + Gaiety Chorus, and Mr. Carmyle, though he had no objection to the Gaiety + Chorus in its proper place—on the other side of the footlights—had + always looked on these young men after as social outcasts. The fine + dashing frenzy which had brought him all the way from South Audley Street + to win Sally was ebbing fast. + </p> + <p> + Sally, hearing him speak, had turned. And there was a candid honesty in + her gaze which for a moment sent all those creeping doubts scuttling away + into the darkness whence they had come. He had not made a fool of himself, + he protested to the lowering phantom of Uncle Donald. Who, he demanded, + could look at Sally and think for an instant that she was not all that was + perfect and lovable? A warm revulsion of feeling swept over Bruce Carmyle + like a returning tide. + </p> + <p> + “You see, I lost my money and had to do something,” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + “I see, I see,” murmured Mr. Carmyle; and if only Fate had left him alone + who knows to what heights of tenderness he might not have soared? But at + this moment Fate, being no respecter of persons, sent into his life the + disturbing personality of George Washington Williams. + </p> + <p> + George Washington Williams was the talented coloured gentleman who had + been extracted from small-time vaudeville by Mr. Abrahams to do a nightly + speciality at the Flower Garden. He was, in fact, a trap-drummer: and it + was his amiable practice, after he had done a few minutes trap-drumming, + to rise from his seat and make a circular tour of the tables on the edge + of the dancing-floor, whimsically pretending to clip the locks of the male + patrons with a pair of drumsticks held scissor-wise. And so it came about + that, just as Mr. Carmyle was bending towards Sally in an access of manly + sentiment, and was on the very verge of pouring out his soul in a series + of well-phrased remarks, he was surprised and annoyed to find an Ethiopian + to whom he had never been introduced leaning over him and taking quite + unpardonable liberties with his back hair. + </p> + <p> + One says that Mr. Carmyle was annoyed. The word is weak. The interruption + coming at such a moment jarred every ganglion in his body. The clicking + noise of the drumsticks maddened him. And the gleaming whiteness of Mr. + Williams' friendly and benignant smile was the last straw. His dignity + writhed beneath this abominable infliction. People at other tables were + laughing. At him. A loathing for the Flower Garden flowed over Bruce + Carmyle, and with it a feeling of suspicion and disapproval of everyone + connected with the establishment. He sprang to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “I think I will be going,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Sally did not reply. She was watching Ginger, who still stood beside the + table recently vacated by Reginald Cracknell. + </p> + <p> + “Good night,” said Mr. Carmyle between his teeth. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, are you going?” said Sally with a start. She felt embarrassed. Try as + she would, she was unable to find words of any intimacy. She tried to + realize that she had promised to marry this man, but never before had he + seemed so much a stranger to her, so little a part of her life. It came to + her with a sensation of the incredible that she had done this thing, taken + this irrevocable step. + </p> + <p> + The sudden sight of Ginger had shaken her. It was as though in the last + half-hour she had forgotten him and only now realized what marriage with + Bruce Carmyle would mean to their comradeship. From now on he was dead to + her. If anything in this world was certain that was. Sally Nicholas was + Ginger's pal, but Mrs. Carmyle, she realized, would never be allowed to + see him again. A devastating feeling of loss smote her like a blow. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I've had enough of this place,” Bruce Carmyle was saying. + </p> + <p> + “Good night,” said Sally. She hesitated. “When shall I see you?” she asked + awkwardly. + </p> + <p> + It occurred to Bruce Carmyle that he was not showing himself at his best. + He had, he perceived, allowed his nerves to run away with him. + </p> + <p> + “You don't mind if I go?” he said more amiably. “The fact is, I can't + stand this place any longer. I'll tell you one thing, I'm going to take + you out of here quick.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I can't leave at a moment's notice,” said Sally, loyal to her + obligations. + </p> + <p> + “We'll talk over that to-morrow. I'll call for you in the morning and take + you for a drive somewhere in a car. You want some fresh air after this.” + Mr. Carmyle looked about him in stiff disgust, and expressed his + unalterable sentiments concerning the Flower Garden, that apple of Isadore + Abrahams' eye, in a snort of loathing. “My God! What a place!” + </p> + <p> + He walked quickly away and disappeared. And Ginger, beaming happily, + swooped on Sally's table like a homing pigeon. + </p> + <p> + 4 + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord, I say, what ho!” cried Ginger. “Fancy meeting you here. What a + bit of luck!” He glanced over his shoulder warily. “Has that blighter + pipped?” + </p> + <p> + “Pipped?” + </p> + <p> + “Popped,” explained Ginger. “I mean to say, he isn't coming back or any + rot like that, is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Carmyle? No, he has gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Sound egg!” said Ginger with satisfaction. “For a moment, when I saw you + yarning away together, I thought he might be with your party. What on + earth is he doing over here at all, confound him? He's got all Europe to + play about in, why should he come infesting New York? I say, it really is + ripping, seeing you again. It seems years... Of course, one get's a + certain amount of satisfaction writing letters, but it's not the same. + Besides, I write such rotten letters. I say, this really is rather + priceless. Can't I get you something? A cup of coffee, I mean, or an egg + or something? By jove! this really is top-hole.” + </p> + <p> + His homely, honest face glowed with pleasure, and it seemed to Sally as + though she had come out of a winter's night into a warm friendly room. Her + mercurial spirits soared. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Ginger! If you knew what it's like seeing you!” + </p> + <p> + “No, really? Do you mean, honestly, you're braced?” + </p> + <p> + “I should say I am braced.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, isn't that fine! I was afraid you might have forgotten me.” + </p> + <p> + “Forgotten you!” + </p> + <p> + With something of the effect of a revelation it suddenly struck Sally how + far she had been from forgetting him, how large was the place he had + occupied in her thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “I've missed you dreadfully,” she said, and felt the words inadequate as + she uttered them. + </p> + <p> + “What ho!” said Ginger, also internally condemning the poverty of speech + as a vehicle for conveying thought. + </p> + <p> + There was a brief silence. The first exhilaration of the reunion over, + Sally deep down in her heart was aware of a troubled feeling as though the + world were out of joint. She forced herself to ignore it, but it would not + be ignored. It grew. Dimly she was beginning to realize what Ginger meant + to her, and she fought to keep herself from realizing it. Strange things + were happening to her to-night, strange emotions stirring her. Ginger + seemed somehow different, as if she were really seeing him for the first + time. + </p> + <p> + “You're looking wonderfully well,” she said trying to keep the + conversation on a pedestrian level. + </p> + <p> + “I am well,” said Ginger. “Never felt fitter in my life. Been out in the + open all day long... simple life and all that... working like blazes. I + say, business is booming. Did you see me just now, handing over Percy the + Pup to what's-his-name? Five hundred dollars on that one deal. Got the + cheque in my pocket. But what an extraordinarily rummy thing that I should + have come to this place to deliver the goods just when you happened to be + here. I couldn't believe my eyes at first. I say, I hope the people you're + with won't think I'm butting in. You'll have to explain that we're old + pals and that you started me in business and all that sort of thing. Look + here,” he said lowering his voice, “I know how you hate being thanked, but + I simply must say how terrifically decent...” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Nicholas.” + </p> + <p> + Lee Schoenstein was standing at the table, and by his side an expectant + youth with a small moustache and pince-nez. Sally got up, and the next + moment Ginger was alone, gaping perplexedly after her as she vanished and + reappeared in the jogging throng on the dancing floor. It was the nearest + thing Ginger had seen to a conjuring trick, and at that moment he was + ill-attuned to conjuring tricks. He brooded, fuming, at what seemed to him + the supremest exhibition of pure cheek, of monumental nerve, and of + undiluted crust that had ever come within his notice. To come and charge + into a private conversation like that and whisk her away without a word... + </p> + <p> + “Who was that blighter?” he demanded with heat, when the music ceased and + Sally limped back. + </p> + <p> + “That was Mr. Schoenstein.” + </p> + <p> + “And who was the other?” + </p> + <p> + “The one I danced with? I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't know?” + </p> + <p> + Sally perceived that the conversation had arrived at an embarrassing + point. There was nothing for it but candour. + </p> + <p> + “Ginger,” she said, “you remember my telling you when we first met that I + used to dance in a Broadway place? This is the place. I'm working again.” + </p> + <p> + Complete unintelligence showed itself on Ginger's every feature. + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand,” he said—unnecessarily, for his face revealed + the fact. + </p> + <p> + “I've got my old job back.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I had to do something.” She went on rapidly. Already a light dimly + resembling the light of understanding was beginning to appear in Ginger's + eyes. “Fillmore went smash, you know—it wasn't his fault, poor dear. + He had the worst kind of luck—and most of my money was tied up in + his business, so you see...” + </p> + <p> + She broke off confused by the look in his eyes, conscious of an absurd + feeling of guilt. There was amazement in that look and a sort of + incredulous horror. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say...” Ginger gulped and started again. “Do you mean to + tell me that you let me have... all that money... for the dog-business... + when you were broke? Do you mean to say...” + </p> + <p> + Sally stole a glance at his crimson face and looked away again quickly. + There was an electric silence. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” exploded Ginger with sudden violence, “you've got to marry + me. You've jolly well got to marry me! I don't mean that,” he added + quickly. “I mean to say I know you're going to marry whoever you please... + but won't you marry me? Sally, for God's sake have a dash at it! I've been + keeping it in all this time because it seemed rather rotten to bother you + about it, but now....Oh, dammit, I wish I could put it into words. I + always was rotten at talking. But... well, look here, what I mean is, I + know I'm not much of a chap, but it seems to me you must care for me a bit + to do a thing like that for a fellow... and... I've loved you like the + dickens ever since I met you... I do wish you'd have a stab at it, Sally. + At least I could look after you, you know, and all that... I mean to say, + work like the deuce and try to give you a good time... I'm not such an ass + as to think a girl like you could ever really... er... love a blighter + like me, but...” + </p> + <p> + Sally laid her hand on his. + </p> + <p> + “Ginger, dear,” she said, “I do love you. I ought to have known it all + along, but I seem to be understanding myself to-night for the first time.” + She got up and bent over him for a swift moment, whispering in his ear, “I + shall never love anyone but you, Ginger. Will you try to remember that.” + She was moving away, but he caught at her arm and stopped her. + </p> + <p> + “Sally...” + </p> + <p> + She pulled her arm away, her face working as she fought against the tears + that would not keep back. + </p> + <p> + “I've made a fool of myself,” she said. “Ginger, your cousin... Mr. + Carmyle... just now he asked me to marry him, and I said I would.” + </p> + <p> + She was gone, flitting among the tables like some wild creature running to + its home: and Ginger, motionless, watched her go. + </p> + <p> + 5 + </p> + <p> + The telephone-bell in Sally's little sitting-room was ringing jerkily as + she let herself in at the front door. She guessed who it was at the other + end of the wire, and the noise of the bell sounded to her like the voice + of a friend in distress crying for help. Without stopping to close the + door, she ran to the table and unhooked the receiver. Muffled, plaintive + sounds were coming over the wire. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo... Hullo... I say... Hullo...” + </p> + <p> + “Hullo, Ginger,” said Sally quietly. + </p> + <p> + An ejaculation that was half a shout and half gurgle answered her. + </p> + <p> + “Sally! Is that you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, here I am, Ginger.” + </p> + <p> + “I've been trying to get you for ages.” + </p> + <p> + “I've only just come in. I walked home.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I mean...” Ginger seemed to be finding his usual difficulty in + expressing himself. “About that, you know. What you said.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Sally, trying to keep her voice from shaking. + </p> + <p> + “You said...” Again Ginger's vocabulary failed him. “You said you loved + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Sally simply. + </p> + <p> + Another odd sound floated over the wire, and there was a moment of silence + before Ginger found himself able to resume. + </p> + <p> + “I... I... Well, we can talk about that when we meet. I mean, it's no good + trying to say what I think over the 'phone, I'm sort of knocked out. I + never dreamed... But, I say, what did you mean about Bruce?” + </p> + <p> + “I told you, I told you.” Sally's face was twisted and the receiver shook + in her hand. “I've made a fool of myself. I never realized... And now it's + too late.” + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” Ginger's voice rose in a sharp wail. “You can't mean you + really... You don't seriously intend to marry the man?” + </p> + <p> + “I must. I've promised.” + </p> + <p> + “But, good heavens...” + </p> + <p> + “It's no good. I must.” + </p> + <p> + “But the man's a blighter!” + </p> + <p> + “I can't break my word.” + </p> + <p> + “I never heard such rot,” said Ginger vehemently. “Of course you can. A + girl isn't expected...” + </p> + <p> + “I can't, Ginger dear, I really can't.” + </p> + <p> + “But look here...” + </p> + <p> + “It's really no good talking about it any more, really it isn't... Where + are you staying to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “Staying? Me? At the Plaza. But look here...” + </p> + <p> + Sally found herself laughing weakly. + </p> + <p> + “At the Plaza! Oh, Ginger, you really do want somebody to look after you. + Squandering your pennies like that... Well, don't talk any more now. It's + so late and I'm so tired. I'll come and see you to-morrow. Good night.” + </p> + <p> + She hung up the receiver quickly, to cut short a fresh outburst of + protest. And as she turned away a voice spoke behind her. + </p> + <p> + “Sally!” + </p> + <p> + Gerald Foster was standing in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. SALLY LAYS A GHOST + </h2> + <p> + 1 + </p> + <p> + The blood flowed slowly back into Sally's face, and her heart, which had + leaped madly for an instant at the sound of his voice, resumed its normal + beat. The suddenness of the shock over, she was surprised to find herself + perfectly calm. Always when she had imagined this meeting, knowing that it + would have to take place sooner or later, she had felt something akin to + panic: but now that it had actually occurred it hardly seemed to stir her. + The events of the night had left her incapable of any violent emotion. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo, Sally!” said Gerald. + </p> + <p> + He spoke thickly, and there was a foolish smile on his face as he stood + swaying with one hand on the door. He was in his shirt-sleeves, + collarless: and it was plain that he had been drinking heavily. His face + was white and puffy, and about him there hung like a nimbus a sodden + disreputableness. + </p> + <p> + Sally did not speak. Weighed down before by a numbing exhaustion, she + seemed now to have passed into that second phase in which over-tired + nerves enter upon a sort of Indian summer of abnormal alertness. She + looked at him quietly, coolly and altogether dispassionately, as if he had + been a stranger. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo!” said Gerald again. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + “Heard your voice. Saw the door open. Thought I'd come in.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” + </p> + <p> + The weak smile which had seemed pinned on Gerald's face vanished. A tear + rolled down his cheek. His intoxication had reached the maudlin stage. + </p> + <p> + “Sally... S-Sally... I'm very miserable.” He slurred awkwardly over the + difficult syllables. “Heard your voice. Saw the door open. Thought I'd + come in.” + </p> + <p> + Something flicked at the back of Sally's mind. She seemed to have been + through all this before. Then she remembered. This was simply Mr. Reginald + Cracknell over again. + </p> + <p> + “I think you had better go to bed, Gerald,” she said steadily. Nothing + about him seemed to touch her now, neither the sight of him nor his + shameless misery. + </p> + <p> + “What's the use? Can't sleep. No good. Couldn't sleep. Sally, you don't + know how worried I am. I see what a fool I've been.” + </p> + <p> + Sally made a quick gesture, to check what she supposed was about to + develop into a belated expression of regret for his treatment of herself. + She did not want to stand there listening to Gerald apologizing with tears + for having done his best to wreck her life. But it seemed that it was not + this that was weighing upon his soul. + </p> + <p> + “I was a fool ever to try writing plays,” he went on. “Got a winner first + time, but can't repeat. It's no good. Ought to have stuck to newspaper + work. I'm good at that. Shall have to go back to it. Had another frost + to-night. No good trying any more. Shall have to go back to the old grind, + damn it.” + </p> + <p> + He wept softly, full of pity for his hard case. + </p> + <p> + “Very miserable,” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + He came forward a step into the room, lurched, and retreated to the safe + support of the door. For an instant Sally's artificial calm was shot + through by a swift stab of contempt. It passed, and she was back again in + her armour of indifference. + </p> + <p> + “Go to bed, Gerald,” she said. “You'll feel better in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + Perhaps some inkling of how he was going to feel in the morning worked + through to Gerald's muddled intelligence, for he winced, and his manner + took on a deeper melancholy. + </p> + <p> + “May not be alive in the morning,” he said solemnly. “Good mind to end it + all. End it all!” he repeated with the beginning of a sweeping gesture + which was cut off abruptly as he clutched at the friendly door. + </p> + <p> + Sally was not in the mood for melodrama. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, go to bed,” she said impatiently. The strange frozen indifference + which had gripped her was beginning to pass, leaving in its place a + growing feeling of resentment—resentment against Gerald for + degrading himself like this, against herself for ever having found glamour + in the man. It humiliated her to remember how utterly she had once allowed + his personality to master hers. And under the sting of this humiliation + she felt hard and pitiless. Dimly she was aware that a curious change had + come over her to-night. Normally, the sight of any living thing in + distress was enough to stir her quick sympathy: but Gerald mourning over + the prospect of having to go back to regular work made no appeal to her—a + fact which the sufferer noted and commented upon. + </p> + <p> + “You're very unsymp... unsympathetic,” he complained. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry,” said Sally. She walked briskly to the door and gave it a + push. Gerald, still clinging to his chosen support, moved out into the + passage, attached to the handle, with the air of a man the foundations of + whose world have suddenly lost their stability. He released the handle and + moved uncertainly across the passage. Finding his own door open before + him, he staggered over the threshold; and Sally, having watched him safely + to his journey's end, went into her bedroom with the intention of + terminating this disturbing night by going to sleep. + </p> + <p> + Almost immediately she changed her mind. Sleep was out of the question. A + fever of restlessness had come upon her. She put on a kimono, and went + into the kitchen to ascertain whether her commissariat arrangements would + permit of a glass of hot milk. + </p> + <p> + She had just remembered that she had that morning presented the last of + the milk to a sandy cat with a purposeful eye which had dropped in through + the window to take breakfast with her, when her regrets for this + thriftless hospitality were interrupted by a muffled crash. + </p> + <p> + She listened intently. The sound had seemed to come from across the + passage. She hurried to the door and opened it. As she did so, from behind + the door of the apartment opposite there came a perfect fusillade of + crashes, each seeming to her strained hearing louder and more appalling + than the last. + </p> + <p> + There is something about sudden, loud noises in the stillness of the night + which shatters the most rigid detachment. A short while before, Gerald, + toying with the idea of ending his sorrows by violence, had left Sally + unmoved: but now her mind leapt back to what he had said, and apprehension + succeeded indifference. There was no disputing the fact that Gerald was in + an irresponsible mood, under the influence of which he was capable of + doing almost anything. Sally, listening in the doorway, felt a momentary + panic. + </p> + <p> + A brief silence had succeeded the fusillade, but, as she stood there + hesitating, the noise broke out again; and this time it was so loud and + compelling that Sally hesitated no longer. She ran across the passage and + beat on the door. + </p> + <p> + 2 + </p> + <p> + Whatever devastating happenings had been going on in his home, it was + plain a moment later that Gerald had managed to survive them: for there + came the sound of a dragging footstep, and the door opened. Gerald stood + on the threshold, the weak smile back on his face. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo, Sally!” + </p> + <p> + At the sight of him, disreputable and obviously unscathed, Sally's brief + alarm died away, leaving in its place the old feeling of impatient + resentment. In addition to her other grievances against him, he had + apparently frightened her unnecessarily. + </p> + <p> + “Whatever was all that noise?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Noise?” said Gerald, considering the point open-mouthed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, noise,” snapped Sally. + </p> + <p> + “I've been cleaning house,” said Gerald with the owl-like gravity of a man + just conscious that he is not wholly himself. + </p> + <p> + Sally pushed her way past him. The apartment in which she found herself + was almost an exact replica of her own, and it was evident that Elsa + Doland had taken pains to make it pretty and comfortable in a niggly + feminine way. Amateur interior decoration had always been a hobby of hers. + Even in the unpromising surroundings of her bedroom at Mrs. Meecher's + boarding-house she had contrived to create a certain daintiness which + Sally, who had no ability in that direction herself, had always rather + envied. As a decorator Elsa's mind ran in the direction of small, fragile + ornaments, and she was not afraid of over-furnishing. Pictures jostled one + another on the walls: china of all description stood about on little + tables: there was a profusion of lamps with shades of parti-coloured + glass: and plates were ranged along a series of shelves. + </p> + <p> + One says that the plates were ranged and the pictures jostled one another, + but it would be more correct to put it they had jostled and had been + ranged, for it was only by guess-work that Sally was able to reconstruct + the scene as it must have appeared before Gerald had started, as he put + it, to clean house. She had walked into the flat briskly enough, but she + pulled up short as she crossed the threshold, appalled by the majestic + ruin that met her gaze. A shell bursting in the little sitting-room could + hardly have created more havoc. + </p> + <p> + The psychology of a man of weak character under the influence of alcohol + and disappointed ambition is not easy to plumb, for his moods follow one + another with a rapidity which baffles the observer. Ten minutes before, + Gerald Foster had been in the grip of a clammy self-pity, and it seemed + from his aspect at the present moment that this phase had returned. But in + the interval there had manifestly occurred a brief but adequate spasm of + what would appear to have been an almost Berserk fury. What had caused it + and why it should have expended itself so abruptly, Sally was not + psychologist enough to explain; but that it had existed there was ocular + evidence of the most convincing kind. A heavy niblick, flung petulantly—or + remorsefully—into a corner, showed by what medium the destruction + had been accomplished. + </p> + <p> + Bleak chaos appeared on every side. The floor was littered with every + imaginable shape and size of broken glass and china. Fragments of + pictures, looking as if they had been chewed by some prehistoric animal, + lay amid heaps of shattered statuettes and vases. As Sally moved slowly + into the room after her involuntary pause, china crackled beneath her + feet. She surveyed the stripped walls with a wondering eye, and turned to + Gerald for an explanation. + </p> + <p> + Gerald had subsided on to an occasional table, and was weeping softly + again. It had come over him once more that he had been very, very badly + treated. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” said Sally with a gasp. “You've certainly made a good job of it!” + </p> + <p> + There was a sharp crack as the occasional table, never designed by its + maker to bear heavy weights, gave way in a splintering flurry of broken + legs under the pressure of the master of the house: and Sally's mood + underwent an abrupt change. There are few situations in life which do not + hold equal potentialities for both tragedy and farce, and it was the + ludicrous side of this drama that chanced to appeal to Sally at this + moment. Her sense of humour was tickled. It was, if she could have + analysed her feelings, at herself that she was mocking—at the feeble + sentimental Sally who had once conceived the absurd idea of taking this + preposterous man seriously. She felt light-hearted and light-headed, and + she sank into a chair with a gurgling laugh. + </p> + <p> + The shock of his fall appeared to have had the desirable effect of + restoring Gerald to something approaching intelligence. He picked himself + up from the remains of a set of water-colours, gazing at Sally with + growing disapproval. + </p> + <p> + “No sympathy,” he said austerely. + </p> + <p> + “I can't help it,” cried Sally. “It's too funny.” + </p> + <p> + “Not funny,” corrected Gerald, his brain beginning to cloud once more. + </p> + <p> + “What did you do it for?” + </p> + <p> + Gerald returned for a moment to that mood of honest indignation, which had + so strengthened his arm when wielding the niblick. He bethought him once + again of his grievance. + </p> + <p> + “Wasn't going to stand for it any longer,” he said heatedly. “A fellow's + wife goes and lets him down... ruins his show by going off and playing in + another show... why shouldn't I smash her things? Why should I stand for + that sort of treatment? Why should I?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you haven't,” said Sally, “so there's no need to discuss it. You + seem to have acted in a thoroughly manly and independent way.” + </p> + <p> + “That's it. Manly independent.” He waggled his finger impressively. “Don't + care what she says,” he continued. “Don't care if she never comes back. + That woman...” + </p> + <p> + Sally was not prepared to embark with him upon a discussion of the absent + Elsa. Already the amusing aspect of the affair had begun to fade, and her + hilarity was giving way to a tired distaste for the sordidness of the + whole business. She had become aware that she could not endure the society + of Gerald Foster much longer. She got up and spoke decidedly. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” she said, “I'm going to tidy up.” + </p> + <p> + Gerald had other views. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said with sudden solemnity. “No! Nothing of the kind. Leave it + for her to find. Leave it as it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be silly. All this has got to be cleaned up. I'll do it. You go and + sit in my apartment. I'll come and tell you when you can come back.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” said Gerald, wagging his head. + </p> + <p> + Sally stamped her foot among the crackling ruins. Quite suddenly the sight + of him had become intolerable. + </p> + <p> + “Do as I tell you,” she cried. + </p> + <p> + Gerald wavered for a moment, but his brief militant mood was ebbing fast. + After a faint protest he shuffled off, and Sally heard him go into her + room. She breathed a deep breath of relief and turned to her task. + </p> + <p> + A visit to the kitchen revealed a long-handled broom, and, armed with + this, Sally was soon busy. She was an efficient little person, and + presently out of chaos there began to emerge a certain order. Nothing + short of complete re-decoration would ever make the place look habitable + again, but at the end of half an hour she had cleared the floor, and the + fragments of vases, plates, lamp-shades, pictures and glasses were stacked + in tiny heaps against the walls. She returned the broom to the kitchen, + and, going back into the sitting-room, flung open the window and stood + looking out. + </p> + <p> + With a sense of unreality she perceived that the night had gone. Over the + quiet street below there brooded that strange, metallic light which ushers + in the dawn of a fine day. A cold breeze whispered to and fro. Above the + house-tops the sky was a faint, level blue. + </p> + <p> + She left the window and started to cross the room. And suddenly there came + over her a feeling of utter weakness. She stumbled to a chair, conscious + only of being tired beyond the possibility of a further effort. Her eyes + closed, and almost before her head had touched the cushions she was + asleep. + </p> + <p> + 3 + </p> + <p> + Sally woke. Sunshine was streaming through the open window, and with it + the myriad noises of a city awake and about its business. Footsteps + clattered on the sidewalk, automobile horns were sounding, and she could + hear the clank of street cars as they passed over the points. She could + only guess at the hour, but it was evident that the morning was well + advanced. She got up stiffly. Her head was aching. + </p> + <p> + She went into the bathroom, bathed her face, and felt better. The dull + oppression which comes of a bad night was leaving her. She leaned out of + the window, revelling in the fresh air, then crossed the passage and + entered her own apartment. Stertorous breathing greeted her, and she + perceived that Gerald Foster had also passed the night in a chair. He was + sprawling by the window with his legs stretched out and his head resting + on one of the arms, an unlovely spectacle. + </p> + <p> + Sally stood regarding him for a moment with a return of the distaste which + she had felt on the previous night. And yet, mingled with the distaste, + there was a certain elation. A black chapter of her life was closed for + ever. Whatever the years to come might bring to her, they would be free + from any wistful yearnings for the man who had once been woven so + inextricably into the fabric of her life. She had thought that his + personality had gripped her too strongly ever to be dislodged, but now she + could look at him calmly and feel only a faint half-pity, half-contempt. + The glamour had departed. + </p> + <p> + She shook him gently, and he sat up with a start, blinking in the strong + light. His mouth was still open. He stared at Sally foolishly, then + scrambled awkwardly out of the chair. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my God!” said Gerald, pressing both his hands to his forehead and + sitting down again. He licked his lips with a dry tongue and moaned. “Oh, + I've got a headache!” + </p> + <p> + Sally might have pointed out to him that he had certainly earned one, but + she refrained. + </p> + <p> + “You'd better go and have a wash,” she suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Gerald, heaving himself up again. + </p> + <p> + “Would you like some breakfast?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't!” said Gerald faintly, and tottered off to the bathroom. + </p> + <p> + Sally sat down in the chair he had vacated. She had never felt quite like + this before in her life. Everything seemed dreamlike. The splashing of + water in the bathroom came faintly to her, and she realized that she had + been on the point of falling asleep again. She got up and opened the + window, and once more the air acted as a restorative. She watched the + activities of the street with a distant interest. They, too, seemed + dreamlike and unreal. People were hurrying up and down on mysterious + errands. An inscrutable cat picked its way daintily across the road. At + the door of the apartment house an open car purred sleepily. + </p> + <p> + She was roused by a ring at the bell. She went to the door and opened it, + and found Bruce Carmyle standing on the threshold. He wore a light + motor-coat, and he was plainly endeavouring to soften the severity of his + saturnine face with a smile of beaming kindliness. + </p> + <p> + “Well, here I am!” said Bruce Carmyle cheerily. “Are you ready?” + </p> + <p> + With the coming of daylight a certain penitence had descended on Mr. + Carmyle. Thinking things over while shaving and subsequently in his bath, + he had come to the conclusion that his behaviour overnight had not been + all that could have been desired. He had not actually been brutal, + perhaps, but he had undoubtedly not been winning. There had been an + abruptness in the manner of his leaving Sally at the Flower Garden which a + perfect lover ought not to have shown. He had allowed his nerves to get + the better of him, and now he desired to make amends. Hence a cheerfulness + which he did not usually exhibit so early in the morning. + </p> + <p> + Sally was staring at him blankly. She had completely forgotten that he had + said that he would come and take her for a drive this morning. She + searched in her mind for words, and found none. And, as Mr. Carmyle was + debating within himself whether to kiss her now or wait for a more + suitable moment, embarrassment came upon them both like a fog, and the + genial smile faded from his face as if the motive-power behind it had + suddenly failed. + </p> + <p> + “I've—er—got the car outside, and...” + </p> + <p> + At this point speech failed Mr. Carmyle, for, even as he began the + sentence, the door that led to the bathroom opened and Gerald Foster came + out. Mr. Carmyle gaped at Gerald: Gerald gaped at Mr. Carmyle. + </p> + <p> + The application of cold water to the face and head is an excellent thing + on the morning after an imprudent night, but as a tonic it only goes part + of the way. In the case of Gerald Foster, which was an extremely serious + and aggravated case, it had gone hardly any way at all. The person unknown + who had been driving red-hot rivets into the base of Gerald Foster's skull + ever since the moment of his awakening was still busily engaged on that + task. He gazed at Mr. Carmyle wanly. + </p> + <p> + Bruce Carmyle drew in his breath with a sharp hiss, and stood rigid. His + eyes, burning now with a grim light, flickered over Gerald's person and + found nothing in it to entertain them. He saw a slouching figure in + shirt-sleeves and the foundations of evening dress, a disgusting, degraded + figure with pink eyes and a white face that needed a shave. And all the + doubts that had ever come to vex Mr. Carmyle's mind since his first + meeting with Sally became on the instant certainties. So Uncle Donald had + been right after all! This was the sort of girl she was! + </p> + <p> + At his elbow the stout phantom of Uncle Donald puffed with satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “I told you so!” it said. + </p> + <p> + Sally had not moved. The situation was beyond her. Just as if this had + really been the dream it seemed, she felt incapable of speech or action. + </p> + <p> + “So...” said Mr. Carmyle, becoming articulate, and allowed an impressive + aposiopesis to take the place of the rest of the speech. A cold fury had + gripped him. He pointed at Gerald, began to speak, found that he was + stuttering, and gulped back the words. In this supreme moment he was not + going to have his dignity impaired by a stutter. He gulped and found a + sentence which, while brief enough to insure against this disaster, was + sufficiently long to express his meaning. + </p> + <p> + “Get out!” he said. + </p> + <p> + Gerald Foster had his dignity, too, and it seemed to him that the time had + come to assert it. But he also had a most excruciating headache, and when + he drew himself up haughtily to ask Mr. Carmyle what the devil he meant by + it, a severe access of pain sent him huddling back immediately to a safer + attitude. He clasped his forehead and groaned. + </p> + <p> + “Get out!” + </p> + <p> + For a moment Gerald hesitated. Then another sudden shooting spasm + convinced him that no profit or pleasure was to be derived from a + continuance of the argument, and he began to shamble slowly across to the + door. Bruce Carmyle watched him go with twitching hands. There was a + moment when the human man in him, somewhat atrophied from long disuse, + stirred him almost to the point of assault; then dignity whispered more + prudent counsel in his ear, and Gerald was past the danger-zone and out in + the passage. Mr. Carmyle turned to face Sally, as King Arthur on a similar + but less impressive occasion must have turned to deal with Guinevere. + </p> + <p> + “So...” he said again. + </p> + <p> + Sally was eyeing him steadily—considering the circumstances, Mr. + Carmyle thought with not a little indignation, much too steadily. + </p> + <p> + “This,” he said ponderously, “is very amusing.” + </p> + <p> + He waited for her to speak, but she said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “I might have expected it,” said Mr. Carmyle with a bitter laugh. + </p> + <p> + Sally forced herself from the lethargy which was gripping her. + </p> + <p> + “Would you like me to explain?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “There can be no explanation,” said Mr. Carmyle coldly. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye,” said Bruce Carmyle. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye,” said Sally. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Carmyle walked to the door. There he stopped for an instant and + glanced back at her. Sally had walked to the window and was looking out. + For one swift instant something about her trim little figure and the gleam + of her hair where the sunlight shone on it seemed to catch at Bruce + Carmyle's heart, and he wavered. But the next moment he was strong again, + and the door had closed behind him with a resolute bang. + </p> + <p> + Out in the street, climbing into his car, he looked up involuntarily to + see if she was still there, but she had gone. As the car, gathering speed, + hummed down the street. Sally was at the telephone listening to the sleepy + voice of Ginger Kemp, which, as he became aware who it was that had woken + him from his rest and what she had to say to him, magically lost its + sleepiness and took on a note of riotous ecstasy. + </p> + <p> + Five minutes later, Ginger was splashing in his bath, singing + discordantly. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. JOURNEY'S END + </h2> + <p> + Darkness was beginning to gather slowly and with almost an apologetic air, + as if it regretted the painful duty of putting an end to the perfect + summer day. Over to the west beyond the trees there still lingered a faint + afterglow, and a new moon shone like a silver sickle above the big barn. + Sally came out of the house and bowed gravely three times for luck. She + stood on the gravel, outside the porch, drinking in the sweet evening + scents, and found life good. + </p> + <p> + The darkness, having shown a certain reluctance at the start, was now + buckling down to make a quick and thorough job of it. The sky turned to a + uniform dark blue, picked out with quiet stars. The cement of the state + road which led to Patchogue, Babylon, and other important centres ceased + to be a pale blur and became invisible. Lights appeared in the windows of + the houses across the meadows. From the direction of the kennels there + came a single sleepy bark, and the small white woolly dog which had + scampered out at Sally's heels stopped short and uttered a challenging + squeak. + </p> + <p> + The evening was so still that Ginger's footsteps, as he pounded along the + road on his way back from the village, whither he had gone to buy + provisions, evening papers, and wool for the sweater which Sally was + knitting, were audible long before he turned in at the gate. Sally could + not see him, but she looked in the direction of the sound and once again + felt that pleasant, cosy thrill of happiness which had come to her every + evening for the last year. + </p> + <p> + “Ginger,” she called. + </p> + <p> + “What ho!” + </p> + <p> + The woolly dog, with another important squeak, scuttled down the drive to + look into the matter, and was coldly greeted. Ginger, for all his love of + dogs, had never been able to bring himself to regard Toto with affection. + He had protested when Sally, a month before, finding Mrs. Meecher + distraught on account of a dreadful lethargy which had seized her pet, had + begged him to offer hospitality and country air to the invalid. + </p> + <p> + “It's wonderful what you've done for Toto, angel,” said Sally, as he came + up frigidly eluding that curious animal's leaps of welcome. “He's a + different dog.” + </p> + <p> + “Bit of luck for him,” said Ginger. + </p> + <p> + “In all the years I was at Mrs. Meecher's I never knew him move at + anything more rapid than a stately walk. Now he runs about all the time.” + </p> + <p> + “The blighter had been overeating from birth,” said Ginger. “That was all + that was wrong with him. A little judicious dieting put him right. We'll + be able,” said Ginger brightening, “to ship him back next week.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall quite miss him.” + </p> + <p> + “I nearly missed him—this morning—with a shoe,” said Ginger. + “He was up on the kitchen table wolfing the bacon, and I took steps.” + </p> + <p> + “My cave-man!” murmured Sally. “I always said you had a frightfully brutal + streak in you. Ginger, what an evening!” + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord!” said Ginger suddenly, as they walked into the light of the + open kitchen door. + </p> + <p> + “Now what?” + </p> + <p> + He stopped and eyed her intently. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know you're looking prettier than you were when I started down to + the village!” + </p> + <p> + Sally gave his arm a little hug. + </p> + <p> + “Beloved!” she said. “Did you get the chops?” + </p> + <p> + Ginger froze in his tracks, horrified. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my aunt! I clean forgot them!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Ginger, you are an old chump. Well, you'll have to go in for a little + judicious dieting, like Toto.” + </p> + <p> + “I say, I'm most awfully sorry. I got the wool.” + </p> + <p> + “If you think I'm going to eat wool...” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't there anything in the house?” + </p> + <p> + “Vegetables and fruit.” + </p> + <p> + “Fine! But, of course, if you want chops...” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. I'm spiritual. Besides, people say that vegetables are good + for the blood-pressure or something. Of course you forgot to get the mail, + too?” + </p> + <p> + “Absolutely not! I was on to it like a knife. Two letters from fellows + wanting Airedale puppies.” + </p> + <p> + “No! Ginger, we are getting on!” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty bloated,” agreed Ginger complacently. “Pretty bloated. We'll be + able to get that two-seater if things go buzzing on like this. There was a + letter for you. Here it is.” + </p> + <p> + “It's from Fillmore,” said Sally, examining the envelope as they went into + the kitchen. “And about time, too. I haven't had a word from him for + months.” + </p> + <p> + She sat down and opened the letter. Ginger, heaving himself on to the + table, wriggled into a position of comfort and started to read his evening + paper. But after he had skimmed over the sporting page he lowered it and + allowed his gaze to rest on Sally's bent head with a feeling of utter + contentment. + </p> + <p> + Although a married man of nearly a year's standing, Ginger was still + moving about a magic world in a state of dazed incredulity, unable fully + to realize that such bliss could be. Ginger in his time had seen many + things that looked good from a distance, but not one that had borne the + test of a closer acquaintance—except this business of marriage. + </p> + <p> + Marriage, with Sally for a partner, seemed to be one of the very few + things in the world in which there was no catch. His honest eyes glowed as + he watched her. Sally broke into a little splutter of laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Ginger, look at this!” + </p> + <p> + He reached down and took the slip of paper which she held out to him. The + following legend met his eye, printed in bold letters: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + POPP'S + + OUTSTANDING + + SUCCULENT——APPETIZING——NUTRITIOUS. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + (JUST SAY “POP!” A CHILD + + CAN DO IT.) +</pre> + <p> + Ginger regarded this cipher with a puzzled frown. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “It's Fillmore.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + Sally gurgled. + </p> + <p> + “Fillmore and Gladys have started a little restaurant in Pittsburg.” + </p> + <p> + “A restaurant!” There was a shocked note in Ginger's voice. Although he + knew that the managerial career of that modern Napoleon, his + brother-in-law, had terminated in something of a smash, he had never quite + lost his reverence for one whom he considered a bit of a master-mind. That + Fillmore Nicholas, the Man of Destiny, should have descended to conducting + a restaurant—and a little restaurant at that—struck him as + almost indecent. + </p> + <p> + Sally, on the other hand—for sisters always seem to fail in proper + reverence for the greatness of their brothers—was delighted. + </p> + <p> + “It's the most splendid idea,” she said with enthusiasm. “It really does + look as if Fillmore was going to amount to something at last. Apparently + they started on quite a small scale, just making pork-pies...” + </p> + <p> + “Why Popp?” interrupted Ginger, ventilating a question which was + perplexing him deeply. + </p> + <p> + “Just a trade name, silly. Gladys is a wonderful cook, you know, and she + made the pies and Fillmore toddled round selling them. And they did so + well that now they've started a regular restaurant, and that's a success, + too. Listen to this.” Sally gurgled again and turned over the letter. + “Where is it? Oh yes! '... sound financial footing. In fact, our success + has been so instantaneous that I have decided to launch out on a really + big scale. It is Big Ideas that lead to Big Business. I am contemplating a + vast extension of this venture of ours, and in a very short time I shall + organize branches in New York, Chicago, Detroit, and all the big cities, + each in charge of a manager and each offering as a special feature, in + addition to the usual restaurant cuisine, these Popp's Outstanding + Pork-pies of ours. That done, and having established all these branches as + going concerns, I shall sail for England and introduce Popp's Pork-pies + there...' Isn't he a little wonder!” + </p> + <p> + “Dashed brainy chap. Always said so.” + </p> + <p> + “I must say I was rather uneasy when I read that. I've seen so many of + Fillmore's Big Ideas. That's always the way with him. He gets something + good and then goes and overdoes it and bursts. However, it's all right now + that he's got Gladys to look after him. She has added a postscript. Just + four words, but oh! how comforting to a sister's heart. 'Yes, I don't + think!' is what she says, and I don't know when I've read anything more + cheering. Thank heaven, she's got poor dear Fillmore well in hand.” + </p> + <p> + “Pork-pies!” said Ginger, musingly, as the pangs of a healthy hunger began + to assail his interior. “I wish he'd sent us one of the outstanding little + chaps. I could do with it.” + </p> + <p> + Sally got up and ruffled his red hair. + </p> + <p> + “Poor old Ginger! I knew you'd never be able to stick it. Come on, it's a + lovely night, let's walk to the village and revel at the inn. We're going + to be millionaires before we know where we are, so we can afford it.” + </p> + <p> + THE END <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Adventures of Sally, by P. G. Wodehouse + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF SALLY *** + +***** This file should be named 7464-h.htm or 7464-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/4/6/7464/ + +Produced by Tim Barnett, and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + </body> +</html> |