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Wodehouse</title> + <style type="text/css"> + <!-- + h1 { text-align: center; } + h3.chap { text-align: center; page-break-before: always; padding-top: 8ex; } + h3.titl { text-align: center; padding-top: 3ex; padding-bottom: 1ex; } + h3.sect { text-align: center; padding-top: 3ex; padding-bottom: 1ex; } + p.normal { text-align: justify; text-indent: 7%; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} + p.right { text-align: right; text-indent: 7%; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} + p.left { text-align: justify; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} + p.center { text-align: center; margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} + --> + </style> +</head><body> + + +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Adventures of Sally, by P. G. Wodehouse +#26 in our series by P. G. Wodehouse + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Adventures of Sally + +Author: P. G. Wodehouse + +Release Date: February, 2005 [EBook #7464] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on May 4, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII, with a few ISO-8859-1 characters + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF SALLY *** + + + + +Produced by Tim Barnett + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<h1>The Adventures of Sally</h1> +<h1>by P. G. Wodehouse</h1> + +<h3 class="chap">CHAPTER I</h3> + +<h3 class="titl">SALLY GIVES A PARTY</h3> + +<h3 class="sect">1</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">Elsa +Doland, the pretty girl with the big eyes who sat on Mr. Bartlett’s +left, had other views.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Buy +a theatre. Sally, and put on good stuff.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Say, +listen,” interrupted another voice, “lemme tell you what +I’d do with four hundred thousand...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“If +I had four hundred thousand,” said Elsa Doland, “I know +what would be the first thing I’d do.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“What’s +that?” asked Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Pay +my bill for last week, due this morning.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +got up quickly, and flitting down the table, put her arm round her +friend’s shoulder and whispered in her ear:</p> + +<p class="normal">“Elsa +darling, are you really broke? If you are, you know, I’ll...”</p> + +<p class="normal">Elsa +Doland laughed.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“If +I’d twenty-five thousand,” said Augustus Bartlett, the +first to rally from the shock, “I’d buy Amalgamated...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“If +I had twenty-five thousand...” began Elsa Doland.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">He +brooded sombrely on what might have been.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Even +a couple of thousand on Benny Whistler...”said the mild young +man.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 Bush-wick 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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal"> +“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 his 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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Miss +Nicholas,” resumed Mr. Faucitt, lowering his cigar, “... +But why,” he demanded abruptly, “do I call her Miss +Nicholas?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Because +it’s her name,” hazarded the taller Murphy.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 <i>name,”</i> +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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">Fillmore +spoke.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’m +sure,” said Fillmore, “you don’t want a speech... +Very good of you to drink our health. Thank you.”</p> + +<p class="normal">He +sat down.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">Here +Sally kissed Mr. Faucitt and burst into tears.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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> + +<h3 class="sect">2</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“What +have <i>I </i>done?” demanded Fillmore plaintively.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Do +you want to hear all over again?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“You’re +going to be a fat man,” said Sally, coldly.</p> + +<p class="normal">Fillmore +refrained from discussing the point. He was sensitive.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“... +when you’d lost your week’s salary at poker and wanted to +borrow a few dollars for the rent.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +always paid them back,” protested Fillmore, defensively.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +did.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well, +<i>we</i> 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 class="normal">“One’s +friends...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +<i>friends,”</i> 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 class="normal">“In +the poor-house, probably,” said Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">Fillmore +was wounded.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Ah! +you don’t believe in me,” he sighed.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +you would be all right if you had one thing,” said Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“One +thing?” he said. “What’s that?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“A +nurse.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Good +evening, Mr. Foster.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Good +evening. Miss Nicholas.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +don’t know my brother, do you?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +don’t believe I do.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Well, +Jerry, darling,” she said. “What a shame you couldn’t +come to the party. Tell me all about everything.”</p> + +<h3 class="sect">3</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">A +slight cloud seemed to dim the sunniness of the author’s mood.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Well, +it happens...” Gerald hesitated once more. “It seems +that this man I was dining with to-night—a man named +Cracknell...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Cracknell? +Not <i>the</i> Cracknell?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“The +Cracknell?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“The +one people are always talking about. The man they call the +Millionaire Kid.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes. +Why, do you know him?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“He +was at Harvard with Fillmore. I never saw him, but he must be rather +a painful person.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +thought you would be pleased,” said Gerald.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +I am,” said Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Oh, +yes, we discussed that, of course.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">He +broke off, was silent for a moment, and began again with a question.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Do +you know Mabel Hobson?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Mabel +Hobson? I’ve seen her in the ‘Follies,’ of course.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Oh, +Jerry!”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Oh, +Jerry!” she said again.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Jerry! +Is it worth it?” she burst out vehemently.</p> + +<p class="normal">The +question seemed to sting the young man into something like his usual +decisive speech.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“But, +Jerry! Mabel Hobson! It’s... it’s murder! Murder in the +first degree.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +know how I’m going to spend a dollar of it,” said Gerald +completely restored.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +mean the big money. What’s a dollar?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“It +pays for a marriage-licence.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +gave his arm another squeeze.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Ladies +and gentlemen,” she said. “Look at this man. Observe +him. <i>My</i> partner!”</p> + + +<h3 class="chap">CHAPTER II</h3> + +<h3 class="titl">ENTER GINGER</h3> + +<h3 class="sect">1</h3> + + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">But, +if there was one drawback, she had discovered, to a morning on the +Roville <i>plage,</i> 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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Hard,” +diagnosed Sally. “I shouldn’t like him. A lawyer or +something, I think.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Rather +a dear,” decided Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“A +temper, I should think,” she meditated. “Very quick, but +soon over. Not very clever, I should say, but nice.”</p> + +<p class="normal">She +looked away, finding his fascinated gaze a little embarrassing.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“And +how <i>is</i> Scrymgeour?” he inquired.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +was surprised at his being here. He told me he meant to stay in +Paris.”</p> + +<p class="normal">There +was a slight pause. Sally gave the attentive poodle a piece of +nougat.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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> + +<h3 class="sect">2</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“My +dear fellow!” he ejaculated.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Still +you ought to be careful,” he said austerely.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“How +is Scrymgeour’s dyspepsia?”</p> + +<p class="normal">The +red-haired young man seemed but faintly interested in the +vicissitudes of Scrymgeour’s interior.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“What +hotel are you staying at?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“The +Normandie.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">His +companion’s bewilderment increased.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“There +are at least eleven thousand things he’s fussy about,” +interrupted the red-haired young man disapprovingly. “Jumpy +old blighter!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Oh, +Scrymgeour isn’t in Roville.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“No? +Where is he?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Paris, +I believe.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Yes, +he did.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“When +do you rejoin him?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +don’t.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“What!”</p> + +<p class="normal">The +red-haired young man’s manner was not unmistakably dogged.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well, +if you want to know,” he said, “the old blighter fired me +the day before yesterday.”</p> + +<h3 class="sect">3</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“<i>J’espère,”</i> +he said, having swallowed once or twice to brace himself up for the +journey through the jungle of a foreign tongue, <i>“ J’espère +que vous n’êtes pas—</i>oh, dammit, what’s +the word—<i>- J’espère que vous n’êtes +pas blessée?”</i></p> + +<p class="normal">“<i>Blessée?”</i></p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes, +<i>blessée. </i>Wounded. Hurt, don’t you know. +Bitten. Oh, dash it. <i>J’espère...”</i></p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Oh, +my sainted aunt!” he ejaculated.</p> + +<p class="normal">Then, +as if the situation was too much for him and flights 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> + +<h3 class="sect">4</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 <i>pensions</i> 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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Oh, +good evening,” said Sally welcomingly.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Er—good +evening,” he said, disentangling his feet, which, in the +embarrassment of the moment, had somehow got coiled up together.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Or +<i>bon soir,</i> I suppose <i>you</i> would say,” murmured +Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“It’s +a shame to have woken you up,” said Sally, commiseratingly, +stepping in.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Oh, +<i>esker... esker vous...”</i></p> + +<p class="normal">“Don’t +weaken,” said Sally. “I think you’ve got him +going.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“<i>Esker +vous... Pourquoi vous ne</i>... I mean <i>ne vous... </i>that is to +say, <i>quel est le raison</i>...”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Stop +him!” said Sally firmly.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Stop +him?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes. + Blow a whistle or something.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“<i>Zut!”</i> +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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">The +young man nodded intelligently. The advice was good.</p> + +<p class="normal">“<i>Lentement,”</i> +he said. <i>“Parlez lentement. Pas si—</i>you know what +I mean—<i>pas si</i> dashed <i>vite!”</i></p> + +<p class="normal">“Ah-a-ah!” +cried Jules, catching the idea on the fly. <i>“Lentement. Ah, +oui, lentement.”</i></p> + +<p class="normal">There +followed a lengthy conversation which, while conveying nothing to +Sally, seemed intelligible to the red-haired linguist.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +see,” said Sally. “So we’re shut in?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“It’s +the merest suggestion,” said Sally, “but oughtn’t +we to <i>do </i>something?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“What +could we do?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“What +a ripping idea!” said the young man, impressed.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’m +glad you like it. Now tell him the main out-line, or he’ll +think we’ve gone mad.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Fine!” +said Sally. “Now, all together at the word ‘three.’ +One—two—Oh, poor darling!” she broke off. “Look +at him!”</p> + +<p class="normal">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> + +<h3 class="sect">5</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Poor +darling!” said Sally, finding speech. “Ask him what’s +the matter.”</p> + +<p class="normal">The +young man looked at her doubtfully.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“The +idea!” said Sally. “Have you no heart? Are you one of +those fiends in human shape?”</p> + +<p class="normal">He +turned reluctantly to Jules, and paused to overhaul his vocabulary.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Something +about losing something, it seemed to me. I thought I caught the word +<i>perdu.”</i></p> + +<p class="normal">“But +that means a partridge, doesn’t it? I’m sure I’ve +seen it on the menus.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Would +he talk about partridges at a time like this?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“He +might. The French are extraordinary people.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Oh!” +he said with sudden enlightenment. “Your<i> job?</i>” +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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“You’d +better smoke,” she said. “It will be something to do.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Thanks +awfully.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“And +now,” said Sally, “tell me why Scrymgeour fired you.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“I +say, I’m glad... I’m fearfully sorry about that, you +know!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“About +Scrymgeour?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“No, +I say, don’t! It makes me feel such a chump.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“And +I’m sorry about my mouth. It <i>is</i> wide. But I know +you’re a fair-minded man and realize that it isn’t my +fault.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“You +were going to tell me about Scrymgeour,” said Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">The +young man blinked as if he had collided with some hard object while +sleep-walking. Eloquence had carried him away.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Scrymgeour?” +he said. “Oh, that would bore you.” +</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Mine? +Oh, ah, yes, I see what you mean.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +thought you would. I put it as clearly as I could. Well, what is +it?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Kemp.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“And +the first name?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“You +can’t shock <i>me,”</i> said Sally, encouragingly. “My +father’s name was Ezekiel, and I’ve a brother who was +christened Fillmore.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Get +on,” said Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +don’t blame them,” said Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Perhaps +you wouldn’t mind thinking of me as Ginger?’’ +suggested the young man diffidently.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Certainly.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“That’s +awfully good of you.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Not +at all.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Jules +stirred in his sleep and grunted. No other sound came to disturb the +stillness of the night.</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +were going to tell me about yourself?” said Mr. Lancelot +(Ginger) Kemp.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’m +going to tell you <i>all</i> about myself,” said Sally, “not +because I think it will interest you...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +it will!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Not, +I say, because I think it will interest you...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“It +will, really.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +looked at him coldly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Is +this a duet?” she inquired, “or have I the floor?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’m +awfully sorry.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Good +egg!” said Ginger Kemp.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +beg your pardon?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +mean, quite right. I bet you were quite right.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Uncles,” +said Ginger Kemp, feelingly, “are the devil. I’ve got +an... but I’m interrupting you.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Good +Lord! The blighter embezzled the lot?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Phil?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +broke it to you just now that my brother’s name was Fillmore.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +your brother. Oh, ah, yes.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“How +perfectly foul!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“But, +I say! How absolutely rotten it must have been for you!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 <i>me +</i>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 class="normal">“I +really think we had better shout, you know.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“And +lose Jules his job? Never!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well, +of course, I’m sorry for poor old Jules’ troubles, but I +hate to think of you having to…”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Now +get on with the story,” said Sally.</p> + +<h3 class="sect">6</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“I +hate talking about myself, you know,” he said.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“He +<i>is</i> snoring a bit, what? Does it annoy you? Shall I stir him?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Where +shall I start?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well, +not with your childhood, I think. We’ll skip that.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Thanks +for explaining. That has made it quite clear.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">Sally +gazed at him wide eyed.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Is +that good or bad?” she asked.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Eh?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Well, +it’s... it’s a rugger blue, you know.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +I see,” said Sally. “You mean a rugger blue.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +don’t.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +see at last. What you’re trying to tell me is that you were +very good at football.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Ginger +Kemp blushed warmly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +I don’t say that. England was pretty short of scrum-halves +that year.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Why, +of course?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“You +certainly do seem to be one of our most prominent young hashers!” +gasped Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +am,” said Ginger, modestly.</p> + +<p class="normal">There +was a silence.</p> + +<p class="normal">“And +what about Scrymgeour?” Sally asked.</p> + +<p class="normal">“That +was the last of the jobs,” said Ginger. “Scrymgeour is a +pompous old ass who think’s 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 class="normal">“Your +cousin used... ? I wish you would talk English.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“That +was my cousin who was with me on the beach this morning.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“And +what did you say he used to do for Mr. Scrymgeour?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +it’s called devilling. My cousin’s at the Bar, too— +one of our rising nibs, as a matter of fact...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +thought he was a lawyer of some kind.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +haven’t.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well, +he got me this job of secretary to Scrymgeour.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“And +why did Mr. Scrymgeour fire you?”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“I +don’t know if you’re fond of dogs?” said Ginger.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I’m +telling you.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’m +glad of that. I didn’t know.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“One +moment,” said Sally. “I’m getting an impression +that you don’t like Mr. Scrymgeour. Am I right?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +thought so. Womanly intuition! Go on.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Yes, +I know. Go on.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 +<i>started</i> 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 class="normal">Sally +did not speak for a moment.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +don’t know.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“You’ll +get something?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +yes, I shall get something, I suppose. The family will be pretty +sick, of course.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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> + + +<h3 class="chap">CHAPTER III</h3> + +<h3 class="titl">THE DIGNIFIED MR. CARMYLE</h3> + +<h3 class="sect">1</h3> + + +<p class="normal">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, <i>en route</i> for Cherbourg and the liner +whereon she had booked her passage for New York.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">There +are two Casinos at Roville-sur-Mer. The one on the Promenade goes in +mostly for sea-air and a mild game called <i>boule. </i>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 class="normal">“<i>Epatant!”</i> +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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“It’s +funny you didn’t find me, then, for that’s where I’ve +been. I was looking for you.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +felt I must have a talk with you before my train went.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Ginger +started violently.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Your +train? What do you mean?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“The +puff-puff,” explained Sally. “I’m leaving +to-night, you know.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 <i>leaving?</i> You’re not going away from Roville?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’m +afraid so.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“But +why? Where are you going?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Back +to America. My boat sails from Cherbourg tomorrow.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +my aunt!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’m +sorry,” said Sally, touched by his concern. She was a +warm-hearted girl and liked being appreciated. “But...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +say...” Ginger Kemp turned bright scarlet and glared before him +at the uniformed official, who was regarding their <i>tête-à-tête</i> +with the indulgent eye of one who has been through this sort of thing +himself. “I say, look here, will you marry me?”</p> + +<h3 class="sect">2</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Marry +you!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +know what I mean.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well, +yes, I suppose I do. You allude to the holy state. Yes, I know what +you mean.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Then +how about it?”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“But +isn’t this—don’t think I am trying to make +difficulties—isn’t this a little sudden?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“It’s +got to be sudden,” said Ginger Kemp, complainingly. “I +thought you were going to be here for weeks.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“If +I take a good look at you,” said Ginger, feverishly, “I’m +dashed if I’ll answer for the consequences.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“And +this is the man I was going to lecture on ‘Enterprise.’ ”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 <i>is</i> sudden. I can’t help that. I fell in +love with you the moment I saw you, and there you are!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“But...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Would +you buy me with your gold?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Has +it struck you that I may already be engaged to someone else?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +golly! Are you?”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Well, +yes, as a matter of fact I am,” she said soberly.</p> + +<p class="normal">Ginger +Kemp bit his lip and for a moment was silent.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +well, that’s torn it!” he said at last.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“You +don’t really mean it, you know.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Don’t +I!” said Ginger, hollowly. “Oh, don’t I!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“It’s +ridiculous.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Ginger +had simmered down to a mood of melancholy resignation.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">Ginger +did not appear noticeably elated at the suggested relationship.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Because +I really do take a tremendous interest in you.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Ginger +brightened. “That’s awfully good of you.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’m +going to speak words of wisdom. Ginger, why don’t you brace +up?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Brace +up?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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, <i>do</i> something! Try to +realize you’re alive, and try to imagine the family isn’t!”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +stopped and drew a deep breath. Ginger Kemp did not reply for a +moment. He seemed greatly impressed.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">Sally +uttered an indignant cry.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Do +you mean to say you haven’t been listening to a word I’ve +been saying,” she demanded.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +rather! Oh, by Jove, yes.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well, +what did I say?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“You... +er... And your eyes sort of shine, too.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Never +mind my eyes. What did I say?” +</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +told me,” said Ginger, on reflection, “to get a job.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“You +won’t have time for writing letters.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Just +about. What time does your train go?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Ginger! +My poor porter! Tip him. I forgot.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Right +ho!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“And +don’t forget what I’ve been saying.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Right +ho!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Look +after yourself and ‘Death to the Family!’”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Right +ho!”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“I’m +so sorry,” she said, breathlessly. “I hope I didn’t +hurt you.”</p> + +<p class="normal">She +found herself facing Ginger’s cousin, the dark man of +yesterday’s episode on the beach, Bruce Carmyle.</p> + +<h3 class="sect">3</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“If +you don’t mind,” said Sally, sitting down, “I think +I’ll breathe a little.”</p> + +<p class="normal">She +breathed. The train sped on.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Quite +a close thing,” said Bruce Carmyle, affably. The pain in his +toe was diminishing. “You nearly missed it.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes. + It was lucky Mr. Kemp was with me. He throws very straight, doesn’t +he.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Tell +me,” said Carmyle, “how do you come to know my Cousin? On +the beach yesterday morning...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">A +waiter entered the compartment, announcing in unexpected English that +dinner was served in the restaurant car. “Would you care for +dinner?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’m +starving,” said Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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, <i>“Boum!”</i> +in a pleased sort of way, and vanished.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Nice +old man!” said Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Infernally +familiar!” said Mr. Carmyle.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Mine...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +I know yours. Ginger—Mr. Kemp told me.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Mr. +Carmyle, who since the waiter’s departure, had been thawing, +stiffened again at the mention of Ginger.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Indeed?” +he said, coldly. “Apparently you got intimate.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Really?” + +</p> + +<p class="normal">“And +very interesting.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Mr. +Carmyle raised his eyebrows.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Would +you call him interesting?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +<i>did</i> 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 class="normal">“He +told me all about himself.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“And +you found that interesting?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Why +not?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +thought it was only royalty that called themselves ‘we.’ +“</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +meant myself—and the rest of the family.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Mr. +Kemp was telling me about Mr. Scrymgeour,” she went on at +length.</p> + +<p class="normal">Bruce +Carmyle stared for a moment at the yard or so of French bread which +the waiter had placed on the table.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Indeed?” +he said. “He has an engaging lack of reticence.”</p> + +<p class="normal">The +waiter returned bearing soup and dumped it down.</p> + +<p class="normal">“<i>V’la!”</i> +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 class="normal">“I +think Mr. Kemp had hard luck,” she said.</p> + +<p class="normal">“If +you will excuse me, I would prefer not to discuss the matter.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“He +was quite in the right. Mr. Scrymgeour was beating a dog...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’ve +heard the details.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +I didn’t know that. Well, don’t you agree with me, +then?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +do not. A man who would throw away an excellent position simply +because...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +well, if that’s your view, I suppose it <i>is</i> useless to +talk about it.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Quite.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Still, +there’s no harm in asking what you propose to do about +Gin—about Mr. Kemp.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Mr. +Carmyle became more glacial.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’m +afraid I cannot discuss...”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally’s +quick impatience, nobly restrained till now, finally got the better +of her.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Rosbif,” +said the waiter genially, manifesting himself suddenly beside them as +if he had popped up out of a trap.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“I +am sorry,” said Mr. Carmyle ponderously, “if my eyes are +fishy. The fact has not been called to my attention before.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +suppose you never had any sisters,” said Sally. “They +would have told you.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Mr. +Carmyle relapsed into an offended dumbness, which lasted till the +waiter had brought the coffee.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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> + + +<h3 class="chap">CHAPTER IV</h3> + +<h3 class="titl">GINGER IN DANGEROUS MOOD</h3> + + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Just +the man I wanted to see,” he observed.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +hullo!” said Ginger, without joy.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +was thinking of calling at your club.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes. + Cigarette?”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 <i>affaire</i> +Scrymgeour remained an un-healed wound, and the Family, Ginger knew, +were even now in session upon it.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Been +back in London long?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Day +or two.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">Ginger +started violently.</p> + +<p class="normal">“What!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“A +very attractive girl. We had a very pleasant talk.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +bet you did,” said Ginger enviously.</p> + +<p class="normal">“By +the way, she did not give you her address by any chance?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Well, +I—er—I promised to send her some books she was anxious to +read...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +shouldn’t think she gets much time for reading.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Books +which are not published in America.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +pretty nearly everything is published in America, what? Bound to be, +I mean.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Give +them to me and I’ll send them to her,” suggested Ginger.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Good +Lord, man!” snapped Mr. Carmyle. “I’m capable of +sending a few books to America. Where does she live?”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">There +was a pause. Bruce Carmyle coughed.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +saw Uncle Donald this morning,” he said.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“He +wants you to dine with him to-night at Bleke’s.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“To-night?” +he said. “Oh, you mean to-night? Well...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Oh, +all right.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Seven-thirty +sharp.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“All +right,” said Ginger gloomily.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 <i>Olympic, </i>and it ran as follows:</p> + +<p class="normal"><i>Remember. + Death to the Family. S.</i></p> + +<p class="normal">Ginger +sat down heavily on the bed.</p> + +<p class="normal">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> + + +<h3 class="chap">CHAPTER V</h3> + +<h3 class="titl">SALLY HEARS NEWS</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Oh, +is Elsa in the company?” she said.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“How +is Mr. Faucitt?”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 +<i>don’t</i> 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 class="normal">“Good +gracious! You don’t think... ?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“I +must go up and see him,” cried Sally. “Poor old dear.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Sally!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“One +moment. Here, Toto!”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I’ve +only just arrived in my hired barouche from the pier.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“And +you came to see your old friend without delay? I am grateful and +flattered. Sally, my dear.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Our +Sally had the time of her life.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Did +you visit England?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Only +passing through.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“How +did it look?” asked Mr. Faucitt eagerly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Moist. + Very moist.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +know I did—pneumonia.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Mr. +Faucitt shook his head reproachfully.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +attended a dog-fight which I was informed was a rehearsal,” +said Mr. Faucitt severely. “There is no rehearsing nowadays.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh +dear! Was it as bad as all that?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“The +play is good. The play—I will go further—is excellent. +It has fat. But the acting...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Mrs. +Meecher said you told her that Elsa was good.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Oh, +poor Ger—poor Mr. Foster!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">She +changed the conversation abruptly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Have +you seen anything of Fillmore while I’ve been away?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“I +rather fancy,” he said, “that the softening influence has +been the young man’s fiancée.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“What? +Fillmore’s not engaged?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">Sally +shook her head.</p> + +<p class="normal">“She +can’t be. Fillmore would never have got engaged to anyone like +that. Was her hair crimson?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Brown, +if I recollect rightly.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Very +loud, I suppose, and overdressed?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“On +the contrary, neat and quiet.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">A +knock at the door interrupted her complaint. Mrs. Meecher entered, +ushering in a pleasant little man with spectacles and black bag.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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>I</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 class="normal">“I +wonder,” said the doctor, “if you would mind going and +bringing me a small glass of water?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Why, +sure.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">The +examination did not take long. At the end of it the doctor seemed +somewhat chagrined.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Our +good friend’s diagnosis was correct. I’d give a leg to +say it wasn’t, but it was. It <i>is</i> 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 class="normal">“No, +no, merely...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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> + +<h3 class="chap">CHAPTER VI</h3> + +<h3 class="titl">FIRST AID FOR FILLMORE</h3> + +<h3 class="sect">1</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“It +hasn’t opened yet.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Don’t +be silly, Fill. Do pull yourself together. It opened last Monday.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +haven’t had time to read the papers. Oh, Fill, what an awful +shame!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes, +it’s pretty tough. Makes the company all on edge. I’ve +had the darndest time, I can tell you.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Why, +what have you got to do with it?”</p> + +<p class="normal">Fillmore +coughed.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +thought he had all the money in the world.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes, +he has a lot, but these fellows like to let a pal in on a good +thing.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Is +it a good thing?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“The +play’s fine.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“That’s +what Mr. Faucitt said. But Mabel Hobson...”</p> + +<p class="normal">Fillmore’s +ample face registered emotion.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“How +do you mean, a fuss about a paper-knife?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“One +of the props, you know. It got mislaid. I’m certain it wasn’t +my fault...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“How +could it have been your fault?” asked Sally wonderingly. Love +seemed to have the worst effects on Fillmore’s mentality.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well—er—you +know how it is. Angry woman... blames the first person she sees... +This paper-knife...”</p> + +<p class="normal">Fillmore’s +voice trailed off into pained silence.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Mr. +Faucitt said Elsa Doland was good.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">Fillmore +blushed richly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +do you know?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes. + Mr. Faucitt told me.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well, +I’m only human,” argued Fillmore.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +call that a very handsome admission. You’ve got quite modest, +Fill.”</p> + +<p class="normal">He +had certainly changed for the better since their last meeting.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“I’ll +introduce you sometime,’ said Fillmore.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +want to meet her very much.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’ll +have to be going now. I’ve got to see Bunbury. I thought he +might be in here.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Who’s +Bunbury?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“The +producer. I suppose he is breakfasting in his room. I’d +better go up.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +<i>are</i> busy, aren’t you. Little marvel! It’s lucky +they’ve got you to look after them.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">A +few minutes later he came in.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +Jerry darling,” said Sally, as he reached the table, “I’m +so sorry. I’ve just been hearing about it.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Why +not let her throw up her part?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">Sally’s +chin went up with a jerk. This was too much.</p> + +<p class="normal">“If +you find it a handicap being engaged to me...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Don’t +be silly.” Gerald took refuge in pathos. “Good God! It’s +tough! Here am I, worried to death, and you...”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“I’m +so sorry,” she said. “I’ve been a brute, but I do +sympathize, really.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’ve +had an awful time,” mumbled Gerald.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +know, I know. But you never told me you were glad to see me.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Of +course I’m glad to see you.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Did +you enjoy yourself?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Well,” +said Gerald, at length, looking at his watch, “I suppose I had +better be off.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Rehearsal?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes, +confound it. It’s the only way of getting through the day. +Are you coming along?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’ll +come directly I’ve unpacked and tidied myself up.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“See +you at the theatre, then.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +went out and rang for the lift to take her up to her room.</p> + +<h3 class="sect">2</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Why, +what do you mean, father?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Tiddly-omty-om,” +was the bowler-hatted one’s surprising reply. +“Tiddly-omty-om... long speech ending in ‘find me in the +library.’ <i>And exit,”</i> said the man in the bowler +hat, starting to do so.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“For +God’s sake!” said Mr. Bunbury.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Now +what?” inquired the bowler hat, interested, pausing hallway +across the stage.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Do +speak the lines, Teddy,” exclaimed Gerald. “Don’t +skip them in that sloppy fashion.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +don’t want me to go over the whole thing?” asked the +bowler hat, amazed.</p> + +<p class="normal">“<i>Yes!”</i></p> + +<p class="normal">“Not +the whole damn thing?” queried the bowler hat, fighting with +incredulity.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“<i>Miss +Winch!”</i></p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Hello?” +said Miss Winch, amiably.</p> + +<p class="normal">Mr. +Bunbury seemed profoundly moved.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Miss +Winch, did I or did I not ask you to refrain from chewing gum during +rehearsal?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“That’s +right, so you did,” admitted Miss Winch, chummily.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Then +why are you doing it?”</p> + +<p class="normal">Fillmore’s +fiancée revolved the critized refreshment about her tongue for +a moment before replying.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Bit +o’ business,” she announced, at length.</p> + +<p class="normal">“What +do you mean, a bit of business?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Character +stuff,” explained Miss Winch in her pleasant, drawling voice. +“Thought it out myself. Maids chew gum, you know.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Mr. +Bunbury ruffled his orange hair in an over-wrought manner with the +palm of his right hand.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Have +you ever seen a maid?” he asked, despairingly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes, +<i>sir. </i>And they chew gum.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">Miss +Winch considered the point.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“<i>Say!”</i></p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Say, +listen to me for just one moment!”</p> + +<p class="normal">Mr. +Bunbury recovered from his trance.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Miss +Hobson! Please!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes, +that’s all very well...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +are interrupting the rehearsal.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Now, +sweetie!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +can it, Reggie!” said Miss Hobson, curtly.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">Mr. +Bunbury sprang to his feet and waved his hands.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“She +said...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Now, +sweetie!” pleaded Mr. Cracknell, emerging from the collar like +a tortoise.</p> + +<p class="normal">Miss +Hobson reluctantly allowed herself to be reassured.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">She +retired, followed by Mr. Cracknell, and the wings swallowed her up.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Shall +I say my big speech now?” inquired Miss Winch, over the +footlights.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes, +yes! Get on with the rehearsal. We’ve wasted half the +morning.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Did +you ring, madam?” said Miss Winch to Elsa, who had been reading +her magazine placidly through the late scene.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Miss +Hobson!”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Oh, +gee!” said Miss Hobson, ceasing to be the distressed wife and +becoming the offended star. “What’s it this time?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“The +paper-knife is on the desk.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“It’s +not on the desk.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“No +paper-knife?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">The +advice appeared to strike Mr. Bunbury as good. He threw back his +head and bayed like a bloodhound.</p> + +<p class="normal">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> + +<h3 class="sect">3</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 <i>was</i> the paper-knife anyway?</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“You +couldn’t have done.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +assure you I did.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">A +calm, clear voice spoke.</p> + +<p class="normal">“It +was taken away,” said the calm, clear voice.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Miss +Hobson took it,” she went on in her cosy, drawling voice. “I +saw her.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“What’s +that? <i>I </i>took it? I never did anything of the sort.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Well, +I hate cats,” said Miss Hobson, as though that settled it.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">Miss +Hobson chose to regard this intervention as an affront.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Don’t +shout at me, Mr. Foster!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +wasn’t shouting at you.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“If +you have anything to say to me, lower your voice.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“He +can’t,” observed Miss Winch. “He’s a tenor.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Nazimova +never...” began Mr. Bunbury.</p> + +<p class="normal">Miss +Hobson was not to be diverted from her theme by reminiscences of +Nazimova. She had not finished dealing with Gerald.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Who +the devil,” inquired Miss Hobson, “is <i>that?”</i></p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +found herself an object of universal scrutiny and wished that she had +remained in the obscurity of the back rows.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +am Mr. Nicholas’ sister,” was the best method of +identification that she could find.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Who’s +Mr. Nicholas?”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Now, +sweetie!” urged Mr. Cracknell.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“But, +sweetie!” pleaded Mr. Cracknell, coming to the surface.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">Sally +trotted up the steps which had been propped against the stage to form +a bridge over the orchestra pit.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Hello, +Elsa.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Do +you know Gladys Winch?” asked Elsa.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Thank +you for saving Fillmore from the wolves,” she said. “They +would have torn him in pieces but for you.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +I don’t know,” said Miss Winch.</p> + +<p class="normal">“It +was noble.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +well!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +think,” said Sally, “I’ll go and have a talk with +Fillmore. He looks as though he wanted consoling.”</p> + +<p class="normal">She +made her way to that picturesque ruin.</p> + +<h3 class="sect">4</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Sally,” +said Fillmore, “I will be frank with you. Can you lend me ten +dollars?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +don’t see how you make that out an answer to my question, but +here you are.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Do +you like her?” asked Fillmore, brightening.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +love her.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +knew you would. She’s just the right girl for me, isn’t +she?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“She +certainly is.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“So +sympathetic.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“So kind.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes. +And she’s got brains enough for two, which is the exact +quantity the girl who marries you will need.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Fillmore +drew himself up with as much hauteur as a stout man sitting in a low +chair can achieve.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Some +day I will make you believe in me, Sally.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +have suffered certain reverses,” said Fillmore, with dignity, +“which have left me temporarily... Yes, every bean,” he +concluded simply.</p> + +<p class="normal">“How?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Yes?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“And +then I bought Russian Roubles for the fall, and they rose. So that +went wrong.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Good +gracious! Why, I’ve heard all this before.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Who +told you?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Not +quite. I had a few thousand left, and I went into a deal that really +did look cast-iron.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“And +that went wrong!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“You +will? Sally, I always said you were an ace.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +never heard you. You oughtn’t to mumble so.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Will +you lend me twenty thousand dollars?”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +patted his hand soothingly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Come +slowly down to earth,” she said. “Two hundred was the +sum I had in mind.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +want twenty thousand.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“You’d +better rob a bank. Any policeman will direct you to a good bank.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’ll +tell you <i>why</i> I want twenty thousand.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +might just mention it.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“It’s +a gold-mine!”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“All +right,” she said simply.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“You’ll +do it?” he whispered, and held his breath. After all he might +not have heard correctly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“<i>Yes.”</i></p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Cracknell,” +he said importantly, “one moment, I should like a word with +you.”</p> + + +<h3 class="chap">CHAPTER VII</h3> + +<h3 class="titl">SOME MEDITATIONS ON SUCCESS</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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> + +<p class="normal"><br></p> + +<p class="center">FILLMORE NICHOLAS</p> + +<p class="center">PRESENTS</p> + +<p class="normal"><br> +</p> + +<p class="left">the +populace had to make a detour to get round him.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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> + + +<h3 class="chap">CHAPTER VIII</h3> + +<h3 class="titl">REAPPEARANCE OF MR. CARMYLE—AND GINGER</h3> + +<h3 class="sect">1</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Yes, +do,” said Sally, breaking a long silence.</p> + +<p class="normal">Fillmore +awoke from happy dreams.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Eh?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +said ‘Yes, do.’ I think you owe it to your position.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Do +what?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Buy +a fur coat. Wasn’t that what you were meditating about?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“With +an astrakhan collar,” insisted Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Ike?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Ike +Schumann. He’s on the train. I met him just now.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“We +call him Ike!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Of +course I call him Ike,” said Fillmore heatedly. “Everyone +calls him Ike.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“<i>He</i> +wears a fur coat,” Sally murmured.</p> + +<p class="normal">Fillmore +registered annoyance.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +wish you wouldn’t keep on harping on that damned coat. And, +anyway, why shouldn’t I have a fur coat?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Do +leave off about the coat!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“‘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 class="normal">Fillmore +looked coldly at his watch.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’ve +got to go and see Ike Schumann.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“We +are in hourly consultation with Ike.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“He +wants to see me about the show. He suggests putting it into Chicago +before opening in New York.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh +no,” cried Sally, dismayed.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Why +not?”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">He +mused with drawn brows.</p> + +<p class="normal">“All +wrong,” said Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Eh?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Oh, +stop it!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 +<i>do</i> 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 <i>course</i> 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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“How +do you do, Miss Nicholas?”</p> + +<p class="normal">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> + +<h3 class="sect">2</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Mr. +Carmyle!” she cried.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +came over.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“And +what are your impressions of our glorious country?” said Sally +rallying.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“I +have been visiting Chicago,” he said after a brief travelogue.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“A +wonderful city.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’ve +never seen it. I’ve come from Detroit.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes, +I heard you were in Detroit.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally’s +eyes opened.</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +heard I was in Detroit? Good gracious! How?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I—ah—called +at your New York address and made inquiries,” said Mr. Carmyle +a little awkwardly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“But +how did you know where I lived?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“My +cousin—er—Lancelot told me.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“How +is Mr. Kemp?” she asked.</p> + +<p class="normal">Mr. +Carmyle’s dark face seemed to become a trifle darker.</p> + +<p class="normal">“We +have had no news of him,” he said shortly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“No +news? How do you mean? You speak as though he had disappeared.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“He +has disappeared!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Good +heavens! When?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Shortly +after I saw you last.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Disappeared!”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“But +where has he gone to?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“But +what happened? What was all the trouble about?”</p> + +<p class="normal">Mr. +Carmyle’s eyebrows met.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Keeping +in with?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes. + His future depended upon him.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“But +what did he do?” cried Sally, trying hard to keep a thoroughly +reprehensible joy out of her voice.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Oh, +hullo, Fill,” said Sally. “Fillmore, this is Mr. +Carmyle. We met abroad. My brother Fillmore, Mr. Carmyle.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Proper +introduction having been thus effected, Fillmore approved of Mr. +Carmyle. His air of being someone in particular appealed to him.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Strange +you meeting again like this,” he said affably.</p> + +<p class="normal">The +porter, who had been making up berths along the car, was now hovering +expectantly in the offing.</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +two had better go into the smoking room,” suggested Sally. +“I’m going to bed.”</p> + +<p class="normal">She +wanted to be alone, to think. Mr. Carmyle’s tale of a roused +and revolting Ginger had stirred her.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“What +about it?” said the Spectre of Doubt.</p> + +<h3 class="sect">3</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 darkwaters of +the Thames with the stare of hopelessness; climbing to the parapet +and... +</p> + +<p class="normal">“Ugh!” +said Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">Mrs. +Meecher was friendly and garrulous. <i>Variety,</i> 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 <i>alumni of</i> 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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Gone!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“To +England,” added Mrs. Meecher. Sally was vastly relieved.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +I thought you meant...” +</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 <i>well</i> enough. I never +seen anybody better. You’d think,” said Mrs. Meecher, +bearing 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 class="normal">“What!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 <i>you</i> 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 <i>don’t</i> 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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">Sally +bounded to the floor. She was a girl of courage, and she meant to +probe this matter thoroughly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“What +are you doing under my bed?”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Ginger!” + +</p> + +<p class="normal">Mr. +Lancelot Kemp, on all fours, blinked up at her.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +hullo!” he said.</p> + + +<h3 class="chap">CHAPTER IX</h3> + +<h3 class="titl">GINGER BECOMES A RIGHT-HAND MAN</h3> + + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">Sally +sat up, gurgling, and wiped her eyes.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +I <i>am</i> glad to see you,” she gasped.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“It +was like this...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Oh, +my aunt! Not really?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Now +would I deceive you on an important point like that?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Do +you mind if I have a look in the glass?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Certainly, +if you can stand it.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Ginger +moved hurriedly to the dressing-table.</p> + +<p class="normal">“You’re +perfectly right,” he announced, applying his handkerchief.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +thought I was. I’m very quick at noticing things.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“My +hair’s a bit rumpled, too.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Very +much so.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +take my tis,” said Ginger, earnestly, “and never lie +about under beds. There’s nothing in it.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“That +reminds me. You won’t be offended if I asked you something?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“No, +no. Go ahead.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“It’s +rather an impertinent question. You may resent it.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“No, +no.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well, +then, what <i>were</i> you doing under my bed?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +under your bed?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +was hiding.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Playing +hide-and-seek? That explains it.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Mrs. +What’s-her-name—Beecher—Meecher—was after me.</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +shook her head disapprovingly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +mustn’t encourage Mrs. Meecher in these childish pastimes. It +unsettles her.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Ginger +passed an agitated hand over his forehead.</p> + +<p class="normal">“It’s +like this...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">Ginger +inspected them.</p> + +<p class="normal">“They +are!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Why +not make a really good job of it and have a wash?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Do +you mind?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’d +prefer it.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Oh, +no.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Touching +the matter of soap...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Use +mine. We Americans are famous for our hospitality.” +</p> + +<p class="normal">“Thanks +awfully.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“The +towel is on your right.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Thanks +awfully.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“And +I’ve a clothes brush in my bag.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Thanks +awfully.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Splashing +followed like a sea-lion taking a dip. “Now, then,” said +Sally, “why were you hiding from Mrs. Meecher?”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 <i>me!</i> 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 class="normal">“Toto?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Why +couldn’t you have refused in a firm but gentlemanly manner to +take Toto out?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I’ve +been here just a week. That’s the week I’m behind with.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“But +why? You were a millionaire when I left you at Roville.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">One +of his familiar blushes raced over Ginger’s face. “Oh, I +thought I would. Land of opportunity, you know.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Have +you managed to find any of the opportunities yet?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Oh, +Ginger! You oughtn’t to be a waiter!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“That’s +what the boss seems to think.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +mean, you ought to be doing something ever so much better.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">Sally +reflected.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +know!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“What?” + +</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’ll +make Fillmore give you a job. I wonder I didn’t think of it +before.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Fillmore?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“My +brother. Yes, he’ll be able to use you.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“What +as?”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +considered.</p> + +<p class="normal">“As +a—as a—oh, as his right-hand man.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Does +he want a right-hand man?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Sure +to. He’s a young fellow trying to get along. Sure to want a +right-hand man.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“‘M +yes,” said Ginger reflectively. “Of course, I’ve +never been a right-hand man, you know.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +you’d pick it up. I’ll take you round to him now. He’s +staying at the Astor.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“There’s +just one thing,” said Ginger.</p> + +<p class="normal">“What’s +that?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +might make a hash of it.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Right +ho.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Don’t +be such a coward,” said Sally, severely.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes, +but...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“How +much do you owe Mrs. Meecher?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Round +about twelve dollars, I think it is.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’ll +pay her.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Ginger +flushed awkwardly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Awfully +sorry, but, honestly, that woolly dog...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Never +mind the dog. I’ll see you through.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“<i>Mister +Kemp!</i> I been looking for you.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +intervened brightly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Toto...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“You +know, you’re wonderful!” he said, regarding Sally with +unconcealed admiration.</p> + +<p class="normal">She +accepted the compliment composedly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“No, +I’ve—er—rather lost touch with the Family.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“So +I gathered from Mr. Carmyle. And I feel hideously responsible. It +was all through me that all this happened.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +no.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 <i>did</i> happen? I’m dying to know. Mr. Carmyle +said you insulted your uncle!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Noble +fellow!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Scrymgeour?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“No, +silly! You.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +ah!” Ginger blushed. “And then there was all that about +the soup, you know.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“How +do you mean, ‘all that about the soup’? What about the +soup? What soup?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well, +things sort of hotted up a bit when the soup arrived.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +don’t understand.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +know mulligatawny is a thick soup. Yes?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“What +books?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Bruce +said he wanted to send you some books. That was why I gave him your +address.” Sally stared. +</p> + +<p class="normal">“He +never sent me any books.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well, +he said he was going to, and I had to tell him where to send them.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Go +on telling me about your uncle,” she said. +</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“It’s +awfully good of you to bother about me.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Ginger,” +said Sally, “I regard you as a grandson. Hail that cab, will +you?”</p> + + +<h3 class="chap">CHAPTER X</h3> + +<h3 class="titl">SALLY IN THE SHADOWS</h3> + +<h3 class="sect">1</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Ginger, +desist,” said Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes, +but honestly...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“If +you don’t stop it, I’ll make you move that chair into the +next room.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Shall +I?” Ginger rubbed his blistered hands and took a new grip. +“Anything you say.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Back +she goes, then, what?”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +reflected frowningly. This business of setting up house was causing +her much thought.</p> + +<p class="normal">“No,” +she decided. “By the window is better.” She looked at +him remorsefully. “I’m giving you a lot of trouble.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Stop!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Right +ho... Still, you did, you know.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Hullo!” +she said. “Where’s that photograph of me? I’m sure +I put it on the mantelpiece yesterday.”</p> + +<p class="normal">His +exertions seemed to have brought the blood to Ginger’s face. +He was a rich red. He inspected the mantelpiece narrowly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“No. + No photograph here.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I’ve +never had a beautiful photograph taken of myself,” said Ginger, +solemnly, with gentle regret.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Cheer +up!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +I don’t <i>mind. </i>I only mentioned...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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. <i>If</i> there’s any tea—or milk—or cups.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Yes, +please nip. All this hard work has taken it out of me terribly.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Over +the tea-table Sally became inquisitive.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Oh, +I can usually get off.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“But +oughtn’t you to be at your post doing—whatever it is you +do? What <i>do</i> you do?”</p> + +<p class="normal">Ginger +stirred his tea thoughtfully and gave his mind to the question.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Does +Fillmore consult you much?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“As +a treat?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Which +revue?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Yes. + Ambitious sort of cove, your brother. Quite the Napoleon.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Of +course,” argued Ginger, “there’s money in revues. +Over in London fellows make pots out of them.</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +shook her head.</p> + +<p class="normal">“It +won’t do,” she said. “And I’ll tell you +another thing that won’t do. This armchair. Of <i>course</i> +it ought to be over by the window. You can see that yourself, can’t +you.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Absolutely!” +said Ginger, patiently preparing for action once more.</p> + +<h3 class="sect">2</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal"><i>Have you been feeding Fillmore meat?</i></p> + +<p class="left">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 <i>am</i> rather busy. I have a hundred +things to attend to.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well, +attend to me. That’ll only make a hundred and one. Fill, +what’s all this I hear about a revue?”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Oh +yes, the revue!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“It’s +no good saying ‘Oh yes’! You know perfectly well it’s +a crazy idea.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Really... +these business matters... this interference...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I’m +not worrying about the money. I’m worrying about you.”</p> + +<p class="normal">A +tolerant smile played about the lower slopes of Fillmore’s +face.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Don’t +be alarmed about <i>me. </i>I’m all right.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Do +you mean to say you have found somebody silly enough to put up +money?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“What!” +Sally had been disturbed before, but she was aghast now.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">Fillmore +misinterpreted the note of dismay in her voice.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“It +isn’t that. It’s...”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“My +dear girl...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“What +do <i>you</i> think?” demanded Miss Winch, turning to Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 <i>too?</i>”</p> + +<p class="normal">Fillmore +was buttoning and unbuttoning his waistcoat. He had a hounded look.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Certainly, +certainly,” he replied in a tone of some feverishness. “I +wish you girls would leave me to manage...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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—<i>me—</i>in a new show!”</p> + +<p class="normal">Fillmore +removed a hand from his waistcoat buttons and waved it protestingly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +have used my own judgment...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes, +<i>sir!”</i> 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 class="normal">“What +on earth do you mean?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Oh, +is Ginger in Chicago?” said Sally. “I wondered why he +wasn’t on his little chair in the outer office.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Well...” +Sally hesitated.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Don’t +say it! I know it just as well as you do. It’s too sad for +words.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 <i>me!”</i></p> + +<p class="normal">“My +dear girl...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 <i>there!</i> 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 class="normal">“My +dear Gladys!” cried Fillmore revolted.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“If +that’s how you feel,” he said in a stricken voice, “there +is nothing more to say.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +yes there is. We will now talk about this revue of yours. It’s +off!”</p> + +<p class="normal">Fillmore +bounded to his feet; he thumped the desk with a well-nourished fist. +A man can stand just so much.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">Sally +looked at Miss Winch, stunned. A roused and militant Fillmore was +new to her.</p> + +<p class="normal">Miss +Winch took out the stick of chewing-gum again and unwrapped it.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Isn’t +he cute!” she said. “I hope he doesn’t get the +soft kind,” she murmured, chewing reflectively.</p> + +<p class="normal">“The +soft kind.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 +<i>should</i> 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 <i>is</i> 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 class="normal">She +spoke with solemn earnestness which made Sally laugh.</p> + +<p class="normal">“What +do I do with my skin? I just carry it around with me.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“But +why do you want to get rid of them?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“How +absurd! Fillmore worships freckles.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Did +he tell you so?” asked Miss Winch eagerly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Not +in so many words, but you can see it in his eye.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 <i>tried</i> 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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">Ginger +did not abandon his attempts to indicate the silver lining.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">This +did interest Ginger. He sat up with a jerk.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +I say!” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes,” +said Sally, still agitated but pleased that she had at last shaken +him out of his trying attitude of detachment.</p> + +<p class="normal">Ginger +was scowling.</p> + +<p class="normal">“That’s +a bit off,” he observed.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +think so, too.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +don’t like that.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Nor +do I.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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, <i>is</i> 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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">Sally +gave a troubled laugh.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Oh, +all right. Rather a grubby sort of place.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“So +I’ve always heard. But you ought not to mind that, being a +Londoner.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“You +talk as if you had been dashing about the streets with your eyes +shut. Did you meet somebody you knew?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">Sally’s +heart jumped.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh! +Did you meet Gerald—Foster?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Ran +into him one night at the theatre.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“And +you were really at school with him?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes. + He was in the footer team with me my last year.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Was +he a scrum-half, too?” asked Sally, dimpling.</p> + +<p class="normal">Ginger +looked shocked.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Yes, +you told me that at Roville. What was Gerald—Mr. Foster then? +A six and seven-eighths, or something?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“He +was a wing-three,” said Ginger with a gravity befitting his +theme. “Rather fast, with a fairly decent swerve. But he +would <i>not</i> learn to give the reverse pass inside to the +centre.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Ghastly!” +said Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">“If,” +said Ginger earnestly, “a wing’s bottled up by his wing +and the back, the only thing he <i>can</i> do, if he doesn’t +want to be bundled into touch, is to give the reverse pass.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">Ginger +shook his head.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“What!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">Ginger, +who was lighting a cigarette without a care in the world, proceeded +to develop his theme.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">Sally +managed to control her voice, though it shook a little.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“If +you take my tip,” he mumbled, “you’ll drop him. +He’s a wrong ‘un.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“You’re +joking,” he said, feebly. There was a note of wistfulness in +his voice. “It isn’t true?”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +kicked the leg of her chair irritably. She read insolent disapproval +into the words. He was daring to criticize... +</p> + +<p class="normal">“Of +course it’s true...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Foster’s +married,” he said shortly. “He was married the day +before I left Chicago.”</p> + +<h3 class="sect">3</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Your +cigarette’s out.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Ginger +started violently. Her voice, coming suddenly out of the silence, +had struck him like a blow.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +thanks!”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">Sally +spoke again. Her voice sounded small and far off, an odd flatness in +it.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Married?”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Whom +has he married?”</p> + +<p class="normal">Ginger +coughed. Something was sticking in his throat, and speech was +difficult.</p> + +<p class="normal">“A +girl called Doland.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +Elsa Doland?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Elsa +Doland.” Sally drummed with her fingers on the arm of the +chair. “Oh, Elsa Doland?”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Go +and have dinner, Ginger,” she said. “You must be +starving.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Oh, +no,” he said. “Not a bit, really.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +switched on the light and set him blinking. She could bear to be +looked at now.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">When +he had gone. Sally sat down and began to cry. Then she dried her +eyes in a business-like manner.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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> + + + +<h3 class="chap">CHAPTER XI</h3> + +<h3 class="titl">SALLY RUNS AWAY</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">To-day +there were four of these funnels, causing Ginger to deduce the +<i>Mauritania. </i>As the boat on which he had come over from +England, the <i>Mauritania</i> 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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Hullo!” +he said.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Hullo!” +said Ginger.</p> + +<p class="normal">Uncomfortable +silence followed these civilities.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Have +you come to see Miss Nicholas?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Why, +yes.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Not +here?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“I +find I shall not want the car. You can take it back to the garage.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“You’ll +have to pay just the same,” he observed, opening his other eye +to lend emphasis to the words.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Of +course I shall pay,” snapped Mr. Carmyle, irritably. “How +much is it?”</p> + +<p class="normal">Money +passed. The car rolled off.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Gone +to England?” said Ginger, dizzily.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes, +gone to England.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“But +why?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 <i>Mauretania</i> this morning.”</p> + +<p class="normal">The +tragic irony of this overcame Ginger. That he should have stood on +the roof, calmly watching the boat down the river... +</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 <i>Mauretania. </i>He snatched it covetously from the +letter-rack, and carried it upstairs to his room.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“<i>Ginger, +dear.”</i></p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">Ginger +found himself compelled at this point to look at the photograph +again.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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, +<i>please</i> 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 class="normal">“Good-bye, +Ginger. I shall have to stop now. The mail is just closing.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Always +your pal, wherever I am.-—sally.” +</p> + +<p class="normal">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> + + +<h3 class="chap">CHAPTER XII</h3> + +<h3 class="titl">SOME LETTERS FOR GINGER</h3> + +<p class="right"> +Laurette et Cie,<br> +Regent Street,<br> +London, W.,<br> +England.<br> +<br> +</p> + +<p class="normal"><i>January +21st.</i></p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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! <i>That</i> 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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br> +</p> + +<p class="right"> +Laurette et Cie.<br> +London</p> + +<p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br> +</p> + +<p class="normal"><i>March 12th.</i> .</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">Mr. +Faucitt has sold the business and retired to the country, and I am +rather at a loose end…</p> + +<p class="normal"><br> +</p> + +<p class="right">Monk’s Crofton,<br> +<i>(whatever that means)</i><br> +Much Middleford,<br> +Salop,<br> +<i>(slang for Shropshire)</i><br> +England.</p> + +<p class="normal"><i>April 18th.</i></p> + +<p class="normal">Dear +Ginger,—What’s the use? What <i>is</i> 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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 <i>Mauretania. </i>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 class="normal">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. +<i>You</i> 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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 +<i>look</i> 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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">Time +to dress for dinner now. Good-bye.</p> + +<p class="right">Yours +in the balance,</p> + +<p class="right">sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">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> + +<p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br> +</p> + +<p class="right"><i>(Just for the moment)</i><br> +Monk’s Crofton,<br> +Much Middleford,<br> +Salop,<br> +England.</p> + +<p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br> +</p> + +<p class="normal"><i>April +20th.</i></p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="right">Yours +moving in an orderly manner to the exit,</p> + +<p class="right">SALLY.</p> + + +<h3 class="chap">CHAPTER XIII</h3> + +<h3 class="titl">STRANGE BEHAVIOUR OF A SPARRING-PARTNER</h3> + +<h3 class="sect">1</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“I +want Mr. Kemp,” said Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“What +name?” he said, coldly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Nicholas,” +said Sally. “I am Mr. Nicholas’ sister.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Thank +you,” said Sally. “Will you tell him I’m here.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +don’t want Mr. Nicholas. I want Mr. Kemp.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Mr. +Kemp?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes, +Mr. Kemp.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sorrow +at his inability to oblige shone from every hill-top on the boy’s +face.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Don’t +know of anyone of that name around here,” he said, +apologetically.</p> + +<p class="normal">“But +surely...” Sally broke off suddenly. A grim foreboding had +come to her. “How long have you been here?” she asked.</p> + +<p class="normal">“All +day, ma’am,” said the office-boy, with the manner of a +Casablanca.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +mean, how long have you been employed here?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Just +over a month, miss.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Hasn’t +Mr. Kemp been in the office all that time?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Name’s +new to <i>me,</i> lady. Does he look like anything? I meanter say, +what’s he look like?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“He +has very red hair.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“White +Plains? What for?”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“I +guess what’s happened is, he’s gone up to take a look at +Bugs Butler,” he said.</p> + +<p class="normal">“<i>Whose</i> +butler?” said Sally mystified.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Bugs +Butler is training up at White Plains, miss.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Who +is Bugs Butler?”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Ah!” +he replied, losing his air of respectful deference as he approached +the topic. “Who <i>is</i> he! That’s what they’re +all saying, all the wise guys. Who has Bugs Butler ever licked?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 <i>him. </i>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 class="normal">Sally +began to see daylight.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +Bugs—Mr. Butler is one of the boxers in this fight that my +brother is interested in?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“That’s +right. He’s going up against the lightweight champ. Lew Lucas +is the lightweight champ. He’s a bird!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Yes, +<i>sir!”</i> 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 class="normal">“It +doesn’t seem likely.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +spoke it!” said the lad crisply, striking unsuccessfully at a +fly which had settled on the blotting-paper.</p> + +<p class="normal">There +was a pause. Sally started to rise.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“It +sounds awfully difficult.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“You +don’t seem to like Mr. Butler.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">Sally +got up. Absorbing as this chat on current form was, more important +matters claimed her attention.</p> + +<p class="normal">“How +shall I find my brother when I get to White Plains?” she asked.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +anybody’ll show you the way to the training-camp. If you +hurry, there’s a train you can make now.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Thank +you very much.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“You’re +welcome.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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> + +<h3 class="sect">2</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Hallo, +Fillmore!”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Sally!” +A croaking whisper was the best he could achieve. “What... +what... ?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Did +I startle you? I’m sorry.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“What +are you doing here? Why aren’t you at Monk’s Crofton?”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +glanced past him at the ring and the crowd around it.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +decided I wanted to get back to America. Circumstances arose which +made it pleasanter to leave Monk’s Crofton.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Do you mean to say... ?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes. + Don’t let’s talk about it.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Do +you mean to say,” persisted Fillmore, “that Carmyle +proposed to you and you turned him down?”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +flushed.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +don’t think it’s particularly nice to talk about that +sort of thing, but—yes.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“But +why?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“You +mean you don’t like him?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +don’t know whether I do or not. I certainly don’t like +him enough to marry him.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“He’s +a darned good fellow.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Is +he? You say so. I don’t know.”</p> + +<p class="normal">The +imperious desire for bodily sustenance began to compete successfully +for Fillmore’s notice with his spiritual anguish.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +don’t want anything to eat, thanks.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Well, +run along then.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes, +but I want to talk...”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Say, +Mr. Nicholas, you ain’t going’? Bugs is just getting +ready to spar.”</p> + +<p class="normal">He +glanced inquiringly at Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">“My +sister—Mr. Burrowes,” said Fillmore faintly. “Mr. +Burrowes is Bugs Butler’s manager.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“How +do you do?” said Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Pleased +to meecher,” said Mr. Burrowes. “Say...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +was just going to the hotel to get something to eat,” said +Fillmore.</p> + +<p class="normal">Mr. +Burrowes clutched at his coat-button with a swoop, and held him with +a glittering eye.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes, +but, say, before-you-go-lemme-tell-ya-somef’n. You’ve +never seen this boy of mine, not when he was feeling <i>right. +</i>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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“He’s +the cleverest lightweight,” proceeded Mr. Burrowes fervently, +“since Joe Gans. I’m telling you and I <i>know! </i>He...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Can +he make a hundred and thirty-five ringside without being weak?” +asked Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Whazzat?” +said Mr. Burrowes feebly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“It +took him fifteen rounds to get a referee’s decision over +Cyclone Mullins,” said Sally severely, “and K-leg +Binns...”</p> + +<p class="normal">Mr. +Burrowes rallies.</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +ain’t got it <i>right”</i> 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 <i>kill</i> 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 +<i>seen</i> Bugs, ma’am?”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +had to admit that she had not had that privilege. Mr. Burrowes with +growing excitement felt in his breastpocket and produced a +picture-postcard, which he thrust into her hand.</p> + +<p class="normal">“That’s +Bugs,” he said. “Take a slant at that and then tell me +if he don’t look the goods.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">Mr. +Burrowes did the honours.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">However, +she exerted herself to be amiable.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +hope you are going to win, Mr. Butler,” she said.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“You +betcher,” he asserted briefly.</p> + +<p class="normal">Mr. +Burrows looked at his watch.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Time +you were starting, Bugs.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“All +right,” he said, bored.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I’ll +fetch him,” said Mr. Burrowes. “He’s back there +somewheres.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’m +going to show that guy up this afternoon,” said Mr. Butler +coldly. “He’s been getting too fresh.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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> + +<h3 class="sect">3</h3> + +<p class="normal">It +was the energetic Mr. Burrowes who broke the spell.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Come +on, come on,” he said impatiently. “Li’l speed +there, Reddy.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Who—him?” +he said in answer to Sally’s whispered question. “He’s +just one of Bugs’ sparring-partners.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“But...”</p> + +<p class="normal">Mr. +Burrowes, fussy now that the time had come for action, interrupted +her.</p> + +<p class="normal">“You’ll +excuse me, miss, but I have to hold the watch. We mustn’t +waste any time.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">His +friend, also plainly a guy of established wisdom, assented with a +curt nod.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Ah!” +he agreed.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Lew +Lucas,” said the first wise guy, “is just as shifty, and +he can punch.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Ah!” +said the second wise guy.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Ah!” +said the second wise guy.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Ready, +Bugs?” asked Mr. Burrowes.</p> + +<p class="normal">The +coming champion nodded carelessly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Go +to it,” said Mr. Burrowes.</p> + +<p class="normal">Ginger +ceased to pluck at his gloves and advanced into the ring.</p> + +<h3 class="sect">4</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Call +that punching?” said the first wise guy.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Ah!” +said the second wise guy.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Time!” +he snarled, casting a malevolent side-glance at his manager. “Like +hell it’s time!”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">The +Wise Guys were beyond speech. They were leaning against one another, +punching each other feebly in the back. One was crying.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">Bugs +Butler measured his distance, and Sally shut her eyes.</p> + + +<h3 class="chap">CHAPTER XIV</h3> + +<h3 class="titl">MR. ABRAHAMS RE-ENGAGES AN OLD EMPLOYEE</h3> + +<h3 class="sect">1</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">The +telephone bell rang at her elbow. She unhooked the receiver.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Hullo?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +hullo,” said a voice.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Ginger!” +cried Sally delightedly. +</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Ginger,” +interrupted Sally, “your voice is music, but I want to <i>see</i> +you. Where are you?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’m +at a chemist’s shop across the street. I was wondering if...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Come +here at once!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +say, may I? I was just going to ask.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +miserable creature, why haven’t you been round to see me +before?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well, +as a matter of fact, I haven’t been going about much for the +last day. You see...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Oh, +all right, thanks.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well, +hurry.”</p> + +<p class="normal">There +was a slight pause at the other end of the wire.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +say.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’m +not much to look at, you know.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +never were. Stop talking and hurry over.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +mean to say...”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Oh, +Ginger!”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“It’s +all <i>right,</i> you know,” he assured her.</p> + +<p class="normal">“It +isn’t. It’s awful! Oh, you poor darling!” She +clenched her teeth viciously. “I wish he had killed him!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Eh?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +wish Lew Lucas or whatever his name is had murdered him. Brute!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Do +you seriously mean to stand there and tell me you don’t loathe +the creature?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Sit +down,” said Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">Ginger +sat down.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Ginger,” +said Sally, “you’re too good to live.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +I say!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Jolly? +Being hammered about like that?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">Sally +uttered an exclamation.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“No? +Busy sort of cove, your brother.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Why +did Fillmore let you go?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Let +me go? Oh, you mean... well, there was a sort of mix-up. A kind of +misunderstanding.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“What +happened?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +it was nothing. Just a...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“What +happened?”</p> + +<p class="normal">Ginger’s +disfigured countenance betrayed embarrassment. He looked awkwardly +about the room.</p> + +<p class="normal">“It’s +not worth talking about.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“It +<i>is</i> worth talking about. I’ve a right to know. It was I +who sent you to Fillmore...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Now +<i>that,”</i> said Ginger, “was jolly decent of you.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">Ginger +twiddled his fingers unhappily.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well, +it was rather unfortunate. You see, his wife—I don’t +know if you know her?...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Of +course I know her.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">Ginger +came back reluctantly to the main theme.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well, +she came into the office one morning, and we started fooling +about...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Fooling +about?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well, +kind of chivvying each other.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Chivvying?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“At +least<i> I</i> was.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +were what?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Sort +of chasing her a bit, you know.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +regarded this apostle of frivolity with amazement.</p> + +<p class="normal">“What +<i>do</i> you mean?”</p> + +<p class="normal">Ginger’s +embarrassment increased.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Grabbed +what?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">Sally +shook her head.</p> + +<p class="normal">“It +sounds the craziest story to me. What was it that Mrs. Fillmore took +from you?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +just something.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +rapped the table imperiously.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Ginger!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well, +as a matter of fact,” said her goaded visitor, “It was a +photograph.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Who +of? Or, if you’re particular, of whom?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well... +you, to be absolutely accurate.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Me?” +Sally stared. “But I’ve never given you a photograph of +myself.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Ginger’s +face was a study in scarlet and purple.</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +didn’t exactly <i>give</i> it to me,” he mumbled. “When +I say give, I mean...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Why, +yes, I did sort of pinch it...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">There +was a brief silence. Ginger, confession over, seemed a trifle +happier.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“No, +really, I say, you mustn’t bother. I shall be all right.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“It’s +my duty. Now what is there that you really <i>can</i> 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 class="normal">Ginger +shook his head.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +shall wangle something, I expect.” ‘</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Of +course, if I had a bit of capital...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Ah! +The business man! And what,” inquired Sally, “would you +do, Mr. Morgan, if you had a bit of capital?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Run +a dog-thingummy,” said Ginger promptly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“What’s +a dog-thingummy?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Why, +a thingamajig. For dogs, you know.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +nodded.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Oh, +a <i>kennels?”</i></p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes, +a kennels.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Works +out at about a hundred per cent on the original outlay, I’ve +been told.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“You +must start to-day. Or early to-morrow.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes,” +said Ginger doubtfully. “Of course, there’s the catch, +you know.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“What +catch?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“The +capital. You’ve got to have that. This fellow wouldn’t +sell out under five thousand dollars.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’ll +lend you five thousand dollars.” +</p> + +<p class="normal">“No!” +said Ginger.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“I +can’t take five thousand dollars off you,” said Ginger +firmly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">Ginger +was becoming confused. Argument had never been his strong point.</p> + +<p class="normal">“But +it’s such a lot of money.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“I +don’t like it, you know,” he said.</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +don’t have to like it,” said Sally. “You just do +it.”</p> + +<p class="normal">A +consoling thought flashed upon Ginger.</p> + +<p class="normal">“You’d +have to let me pay you interest.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Let +you? My lad, you’ll <i>have</i> to pay me interest. What do +you think this is—a round game? It’s a cold business +deal.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Topping!” +said Ginger relieved. “How about twenty-five per cent.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Don’t +be silly,” said Sally quickly. “I want three.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“If +you insist, I’ll make it five. Not more.” +</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well, +ten, then?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Five!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Suppose,” +said Ginger insinuatingly, “I said seven?” +</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +never saw anyone like you for haggling,” said Sally with +disapproval. “Listen! Six. And that’s my last word.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Six?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Six.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Ginger +did sums in his head.</p> + +<p class="normal">“But +that would only work out at three hundred dollars a year. It isn’t +enough.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +suppose so.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Then +that’s settled. Is this man you talk about in New York?” + +</p> + +<p class="normal">“No, +he’s down on Long Island at a place on the south shore.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +mean, can you get him on the ‘phone and clinch the thing?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +yes. I know his address, and I suppose his number’s in the +book.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Then +go off at once and settle with him before somebody else snaps him up. + Don’t waste a minute.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Ginger +paused at the door.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +say, you’re absolutely sure about this?’’’</p> + +<p class="normal">“Of +course.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +mean to say...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Get +on,” said Sally.</p> + +<h3 class="sect">2</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Sally?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Hullo, +Fill. What are you going to call it?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“What +am I... Call what?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“The +dance you were doing outside here just now. It’s your own +invention, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Did +you see me?” said Fillmore, upset.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Of +course I saw you. I was fascinated.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I—er—I +was coming to have a talk with you. Sally...”</p> + +<p class="normal">Fillmore’s +voice trailed off.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well, +why didn’t you?”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Sally,” +he said at last, and coughed hollowly into the receiver.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I—that +is to say, I have asked Gladys... Gladys will be coming to see you +very shortly. Will you be in?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’ll +stay in. How is Gladys? I’m longing to see her again.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“She +is very well. A trifle—a little upset.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Upset? +What about?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“What +news?”</p> + +<p class="normal">There +was silence at the other end of the wire.</p> + +<p class="normal">“What +news?” repeated Sally, a little sharply. She hated mysteries.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">Sally +had been expecting the question, and answered it with composure.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +wanted to help Mr. Faucitt.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Who’s +Mr. Faucitt?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Well, +the trip’s done you good,” said Mrs. Fillmore. “You’re +prettier than ever.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Sally, +who’s this man Carmyle over in England?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +did Fillmore tell you about him?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">Sally’s +momentary annoyance faded. She could hardly, she felt, have expected +Fillmore to refrain from mentioning the matter to his wife.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes,” +she said. “That’s true.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +couldn’t write and say you’ve changed your mind?”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally’s +annoyance returned. All her life she had been intensely independent, +resentful of interference with her private concerns.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +suppose I could if I had—but I haven’t. Did Fillmore +tell you to try to talk me round?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">Sally’s +heart jumped as if an exposed nerve had been touched.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Elsa?” +she stammered, and hated herself because her voice shook. “Has—has +her marriage gone wrong?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Gone +all to bits,” said Mrs. Fillmore shortly. “You remember +she married Gerald Foster, the man who wrote ‘The Primrose +Way’?”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +with an effort repressed an hysterical laugh.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes, +I remember,” she said.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">Sally +stopped her.</p> + +<p class="normal">“No, +it’s no good. I don’t want to marry Mr. Carmyle.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“That’s +that, then,” said Mrs. Fillmore. “It’s a pity, +though.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Why +are you taking it so much to heart?” said Sally with a nervous +laugh.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“What +is it? I don’t understand.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Oh!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“But...” +Sally tried to speak, but Mrs. Fillmore went on.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">Sally +had listened with dismay to this catalogue of misfortunes.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +poor Fill!” she cried. “How dreadful!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Pretty +tough.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“But +‘The Primrose Way’ is a big success, isn’t it?” +said Sally, anxious to discover something of brightness in the +situation.</p> + +<p class="normal">“It +was.” Mrs. Fillmore flushed again. “This is the part I +hate having to tell you.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Ah, +she couldn’t!” cried Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“But +Elsa... She used not to be like that.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">Mrs. +Fillmore shrugged her square shoulders.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“What’s +funny?” asked Sally, dully.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“No.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +thought maybe you might have run into him. He lives right opposite.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +clutched at the arm of her chair.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Lives +right opposite? Gerald Foster? What do you mean?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">The +telephone-bell, tinkling sharply, rescued Sally from the necessity of +a reply. She forced herself across the room to answer it. +</p> + +<p class="normal">“Hullo?”</p> + +<p class="normal">Ginger’s +voice spoke jubilantly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Hullo. + Are you there? I say, it’s all right, about that binge, you +know.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +yes?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">There +was an instant in which Sally hesitated, but it was only an instant.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Why, +of course,” she said, steadily. “Why should you think I +had changed my mind?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well, +I thought... that is to say, you seemed... oh, I don’t know.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +say, I’m awfully sorry you’re worried.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh. + it’s all right.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Something +bad?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Nothing +that’ll kill me. I’m young and strong.” +</p> + +<p class="normal">Ginger +was silent for a moment.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +say, I don’t want to butt in, but can I do anything?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +was thinking of popping down this afternoon, just to take a look +round.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Let +me know what train you’re making and I’ll come and see +you off.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“That’s +ripping of you. Right ho. Well, so long.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“So +long,” said Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Sally,” +she said, “I think we ought to have a talk now about what +you’re going to do.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Oh, +that’s all right. I shall manage. You ought to be worrying +about Fillmore.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I’m +afraid,” interrupted Sally, “all the rest of my money, +what there is of it, is tied up.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +can’t get hold of it?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“No.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“There +really isn’t. I’m awfully obliged to you, Gladys dear, +but it’s impossible.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +really can’t.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Mrs. +Fillmore rose, plainly disappointed.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Why, +of course not. The whole thing was just bad luck.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“He’s +worried stiff about it.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well, +give him my love, and tell him not to be so silly.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Mrs. +Fillmore crossed the room and kissed Sally impulsively.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">The +door closed, and Sally sat down with her chin in her hands to think.</p> + +<h3 class="sect">3</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Mother,” +he said.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Pa?” +said Mrs. Abrahams.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +remember. You liked her. Jakie, dear, don’t gobble.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Ain’t +gobbling,” said Master Abrahams.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Ah!” +said Mrs. Abrahams, rather tonelessly. An ardent supporter of the +local motion-picture palace, she had hoped for a slightly more +gingery <i>denouement,</i> something with a bit more punch.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“What’s +gadding, Pop?” asked Master Jakie, the goulash having ceased to +chain his interest.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Pop!” +said Master Abrahams.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes, +Jakie?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“When +I’m grown up, I won’t never lose no money. I’ll +put it in the bank and save it.”</p> + +<p class="normal">The +slight depression caused by the contemplation of Sally’s +troubles left Mr. Abrahams as mist melts beneath a sunbeam.</p> + +<p class="normal">“That’s +a good boy, Jakie,” he said.</p> + +<p class="normal">He +felt in his waistcoat pocket, found a dime, put it back again, and +bent forward and patted Master Abrahams on the head.</p> + + +<h3 class="chap">CHAPTER XV</h3> + +<h3 class="titl">UNCLE DONALD SPEAKS HIS MIND</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“What’s +this? What’s this?” he contrived to ejaculate at last. +“You packing?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“You +going away?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Where +you going?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“America.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“When +you going?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“To-morrow +morning.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Why +you going?”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“You’re +going after that girl,” said Uncle Donald, accusingly.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Will +you have a whisky and soda, Uncle Donald?” he said, by way of +changing the conversation.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Never +thought you were a fool before,” he said severely.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“I’m +not a fool.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +<i>are</i> 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 class="normal">“Need +we discuss this?” said Bruce Carmyle, dropping, as he was apt +to do, into the grand manner.</p> + +<p class="normal">The +Head of the Family drank in a layer of moustache and blew it out +again.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Need +we discuss it?” he said with asperity. “We’re +<i>going to</i> discuss it! Whatch think I climbed all these blasted +stairs for with my weak heart? Gimme another!”</p> + +<p class="normal">Mr. +Carmyle gave him another.</p> + +<p class="normal">“‘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 class="normal">“O’Rafferty +Special.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“New +to me. Not bad. Quite good. Sound. Mellow. Wherej get it?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Bilby’s +in Oxford Street.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Must +order some. Mellow. He’d say... well, God knows <i>what</i> +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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Drawing +you on,” said Uncle Donald, promptly. “Luring you on. +Well-known trick. Girl in 1881, when I was at Oxford, tried to lure +<i>me</i> on. If I hadn’t had some sense and a weak heart... +Whatch know of this girl? Whatch <i>know</i> of her? That’s the +point. Who <i>is</i> she? Wherej meet her?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +met her at Roville, in France.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Travelling +with her family?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Travelling +alone,” said Bruce Carmyle, reluctantly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Not +even with that brother of hers? Bad!” said Uncle Donald. “Bad, +bad!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“American +girls are accustomed to more independence than English girls.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“That +young man,” said Uncle Donald, pursuing a train of thought, “is +going to be <i>fat</i> 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 class="normal">“Really, +Uncle Donald!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well, +must have got to know her somehow.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +was introduced to her by Lancelot. She was a friend of his.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +beg your pardon?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“I +shall do nothing of the kind,” he said briefly. “I sail +to-morrow.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Eh?” +he said.</p> + +<p class="normal">Mr. +Carmyle having started to defy, evidently decided to make a good job +of it.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +am over twenty-one,” said he. “I am financially +independent. I shall do as I please.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“But, +consider!” pleaded Uncle Donald, painfully conscious of the +weakness of his words. “Reflect!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +have reflected.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Your +position in the county...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’ve +thought of that.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +could marry anyone you pleased.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’m +going to.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +are determined to go running off to God-knows-where after this Miss +I-can’t-even-remember-her-dam-name?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Have +you considered,” said Uncle Donald, portentously, “that +you owe a duty to the Family.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Bruce +Carmyle’s patience snapped and he sank like a stone to +absolutely Gingerian depths of plain-spokenness.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +damn the Family!” he cried.</p> + +<p class="normal">There +was a painful silence, broken only by the relieved sigh of the +armchair as Uncle Donald heaved himself out of it.</p> + +<p class="normal">“After +that,” said Uncle Donald, “I have nothing more to say.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Good!” +said Mr. Carmyle rudely, lost to all shame.</p> + +<p class="normal">“’Cept +this. If you come back married to that girl, I’ll cut you in +Piccadilly. By George, I will!”</p> + +<p class="normal">He +moved to the door. Bruce Carmyle looked down his nose without +speaking. A tense moment.</p> + +<p class="normal">“What,” +asked Uncle Donald, his fingers on the handle, “did you say it +was called?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“What +was what called?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“That +whisky.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“O’Rafferty +Special.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“And +wherj get it?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Bilby’s, +in Oxford Street.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’ll +make a note of it,” said Uncle Donald.</p> + + +<h3 class="chap">CHAPTER XVI</h3> + +<h3 class="titl">AT THE FLOWER GARDEN</h3> + +<h3 class="sect">1</h3> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +don’t know,” said Sally, frankly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“A +big one would do it better.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Mr. +Cracknell kicked her on the shin in a dismayed sort of way.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Yes,” +said Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +thought as much,” said Mr. Cracknell.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Miss +Nicholas.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“No.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +go,” said the man earnestly. “You <i>go!</i> Take it +from me, it’s a swell show. You seen ‘Myrtle takes a +Turkish Bath’?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +don’t go to many theatres.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 other 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 class="normal">“Is +that Gerald Foster’s play?” she asked quickly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">Sally +found herself back at her table without knowing clearly how she had +got there.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Miss +Nicholas.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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> + +<h3 class="sect">2</h3> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">There +was a pause. Mr. Carmyle, having lighted his cigarette, puffed +vigorously.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +landed to-night,” said Bruce Carmyle, turning and faced her +squarely.</p> + +<p class="normal">“To-night!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“We +docked at ten.”</p> + +<p class="normal">He +turned away again. He had made his effect, and was content to leave +her to think it over.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Shall +we dance this?” he asked.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“If +you like.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Sally!”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">Monk’s +Crofton was looking cool and green and peaceful... +</p> + +<p class="normal">“Very well,” said Sally.</p> + +<h3 class="sect">3</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Deuce +of a lot of noise,” he said querulously.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes,” +agreed Sally. +</p> + +<p class="normal">“Is +it always like this?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +yes.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Infernal +racket!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Do +you often come here?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“What +for?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“To +dance.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“<i>Batti, +batti! I presto ravioli hollandaise,” </i>cried one of the +disputing waiters at his back—or to Bruce Carmyle’s +prejudiced hearing it sounded like that.</p> + +<p class="normal">“<i>La +Donna e mobile spaghetti napoli Tettrazina,”</i> rejoined the +second waiter with spirit.</p> + +<p class="normal">“... +you have made me so...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“<i>Infanta +Isabella lope de Vegas mulligatawny Toronto,”</i> said the +first waiter, weak but coming back pluckily.</p> + +<p class="normal">“... +so happy...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“<i>Funiculi +funicula Vincente y Blasco Ibanez vermicelli sul campo della gloria +risotto!”</i> said the second waiter clinchingly, and scored a +technical knockout.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“What +has become of your party?” he asked.</p> + +<p class="normal">“My +party?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I’m +not with anybody.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +am employed here,” said Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">Mr. +Carmyle started violently.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Employed +here?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“As +a dancer, you know. I...”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">The +red-headed young man was gazing fixedly at Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“You +see, I lost my money and had to do something,” said Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“I +think I will be going,” he said.</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +did not reply. She was watching Ginger, who still stood beside the +table recently vacated by Reginald Cracknell .</p> + +<p class="normal">“Good +night,” said Mr. Carmyle between his teeth.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Yes, +I’ve had enough of this place,” Bruce Carmyle was saying.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Good +night,” said Sally. She hesitated. “When shall I see +you?” she asked awkwardly.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I’m +afraid I can’t leave at a moment’s notice,” said +Sally, loyal to her obligations.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">He +walked quickly away and disappeared. And Ginger, beaming happily, +swooped on Sally’s table like a homing pigeon.</p> + +<h3 class="sect">4</h3> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Pipped?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Popped,” +explained Ginger. “I mean to say, he isn’t coming back +or any rot like that, is he?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Mr. +Carmyle? No, he has gone.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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<i>.</i></p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +Ginger! If you knew what it’s like seeing you!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“No, +really? Do you mean, honestly, you’re braced?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +should say I am braced.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well, +isn’t that fine! I was afraid you might have forgotten me.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Forgotten +you!”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“I’ve +missed you dreadfully,” she said, and felt the words inadequate +as she uttered them.</p> + +<p class="normal">“What +ho!” said Ginger, also internally condemning the poverty of +speech as a vehicle for conveying thought.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“You’re +looking wonderfully well,” she said trying to keep the +conversation on a pedestrian level.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +<i>am</i> 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 class="normal">“Miss +Nicholas.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Who +<i>was</i> that blighter?” he demanded with heat, when the +music ceased and Sally limped back.</p> + +<p class="normal">“That +was Mr. Schoenstein.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“And +who was the other?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“The +one I danced with? I don’t know.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +don’t <i>know?”</i></p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +perceived that the conversation had arrived at an embarrassing point. + There was nothing for it but candour.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">Complete +unintelligence showed itself on Ginger’s every feature.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +don’t understand,” he said—unnecessarily, for his +face revealed the fact.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’ve +got my old job back.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“But +why?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">Sally +stole a glance at his crimson face and looked away again quickly. +There was an electric silence.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 <i>won’t</i> +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... <i>love</i> +a blighter like me, but...”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +laid her hand oh his.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Sally...”</p> + +<p class="normal">She +pulled her arm away, her face working as she fought against the tears +that would not keep back.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">She +was gone, flitting among the tables like some wild creature running +to its home: and Ginger, motionless, watched her go.</p> + +<h3 class="sect">5</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 comming over the wire.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Hullo... +Hullo... I say... Hullo...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Hullo, +Ginger,” said Sally quietly.</p> + +<p class="normal">An +ejaculation that was half a shout and half gurgle answered her.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Sally! +Is that you?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes, +here I am, Ginger.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’ve +been trying to get you for ages.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I’ve +only just come in. I walked home.”</p> + +<p class="normal">There +was a pause.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Hullo.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Well, +I mean...” Ginger seemed to be finding his usual difficulty in +expressing himself. “About that, you know. What you said.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes?” +said Sally, trying to keep her voice from shaking.</p> + +<p class="normal">“You +said...” Again Ginger’s vocabulary failed him. “You +said you loved me.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes,” +said Sally simply.</p> + +<p class="normal">Another +odd sound floated over the wire, and there was a moment of silence +before Ginger found himself able to resume.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +must. I’ve promised.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“But, +good heavens...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“It’s +no good. I must.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“But +the man’s a blighter!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +can’t break my word.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +never heard such rot,” said Ginger vehemently. “Of +course you can. A girl isn’t expected...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +can’t, Ginger dear, I really can’t.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“But +look here...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“It’s +really no good talking about it any more, really it isn’t... +Where are you staying to-night?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Staying? +Me? At the Plaza. But look here...”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +found herself laughing weakly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Sally!”</p> + +<p class="normal">Gerald +Foster was standing in the doorway.</p> + +<h3 class="chap">CHAPTER XVII</h3> + +<h3 class="titl">SALLY LAYS A GHOST</h3> + +<h3 class="sect">1</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Hullo, +Sally!” said Gerald.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Hullo!” +said Gerald again.</p> + +<p class="normal">“What +do you want?” said Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Heard +your voice. Saw the door open. Thought I’d come in.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“What +do you want?”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">He +wept softly, full of pity for his hard case.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Very +miserable,” he murmured.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Go +to bed, Gerald,” she said. “You’ll feel better in +the morning.”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">Sally +was not in the mood for melodrama.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“You’re +very unsymp... unsympathetic,” he complained.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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> + +<h3 class="sect">2</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Hullo, +Sally!”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Whatever +was all that noise?” she demanded.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Noise?” +said Gerald, considering the point open-mouthed.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes, +noise,” snapped Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Well!” +said Sally with a gasp. “You’ve certainly made a good +job of it!”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“No +sympathy,” he said austerely.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +can’t help it,” cried Sally. “It’s too +funny.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Not +funny,” corrected Gerald, his brain beginning to cloud once +more.</p> + +<p class="normal">“What +did you do it for?”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 <i>shouldn’t</i> I smash +her things? Why should I stand for that sort of treatment? Why should +I?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“And +now,” she said, “I’m going to tidy up.”</p> + +<p class="normal">Gerald +had other views.</p> + +<p class="normal">“No,” +he said with sudden solemnity. “No! Nothing of the kind. +Leave it for her to find. Leave it as it is.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“No!” +said Gerald, wagging his head.</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +stamped her foot among the crackling ruins. Quite suddenly the sight +of him had become intolerable.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Do +as I tell you,” she cried.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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> + +<h3 class="sect">3</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">Sally +might have pointed out to him that he had certainly earned one, but +she refrained.</p> + +<p class="normal">“You’d +better go and have a wash,” she suggested.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Yes,” +said Gerald, heaving himself up again.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Would +you like some breakfast?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Don’t!” +said Gerald faintly, and tottered off to the bathroom.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Well, +here I am!” said Bruce Carmyle cheerily. “Are you +ready?”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“I’ve—er—got +the car outside, and...”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">At +his elbow the stout phantom of Uncle Donald puffed with satisfaction.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +told you so!” it said.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Get +out!” he said.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“Get +out!”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“So...” +he said again.</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +was eyeing him steadily—considering the circumstances, Mr. +Carmyle thought with not a little indignation, much too steadily.</p> + +<p class="normal">“This,” +he said ponderously, “is very amusing.”</p> + +<p class="normal">He +waited for her to speak, but she said nothing.</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +might have expected it,” said Mr. Carmyle with a bitter laugh.</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +forced herself from the lethargy which was gripping her.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Would +you like me to explain?” she said.</p> + +<p class="normal">“There +can be no explanation,” said Mr. Carmyle coldly.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Very +well,” said Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">There +was a pause.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Good-bye,” +said Bruce Carmyle.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Good-bye,” +said Sally.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">Five +minutes later, Ginger was splashing in his bath, singing +discordantly.</p> + +<h3 class="chap">CHAPTER XVIII</h3> + +<h3 class="titl">JOURNEY‘S END</h3> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Ginger,” +she called.</p> + +<p class="normal">“What +ho!”</p> + +<p class="normal">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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Bit +of luck for him,” said Ginger.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">“I +shall quite miss him.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“My +cave-man!” murmured Sally. “I always said you had a +frightfully brutal streak in you. Ginger, what an evening!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Good +Lord!” said Ginger suddenly, as they walked into the light of +the open kitchen door.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Now +what?”</p> + +<p class="normal">He +stopped and eyed her intently.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Do +you know you’re looking prettier than you were when I started +down to the village!”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +gave his arm a little hug.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Beloved!” +she said. “Did you get the chops?”</p> + +<p class="normal">Ginger +froze in his tracks, horrified.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +my aunt! I clean forgot them!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Oh, +Ginger, you are an old chump. Well, you’ll have to go in for a +little judicious dieting, like Toto.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“I +say, I’m most awfully sorry. I got the wool.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“If +you think I’m going to eat wool...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Isn’t +there anything in the house?”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Vegetables +and fruit.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“Fine! +But, of course, if you want chops...”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Absolutely +not! I was on to it like a knife. Two letters from fellows wanting +Airedale puppies.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“No! +Ginger, we <i>are</i> getting on!”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">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 class="normal">“Ginger, +look at this!”</p> + +<p class="normal">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> + +<p class="center">POPP’S</p> + +<p class="center">OUTSTANDING</p> + +<p class="center">SUCCULENT——APPETIZING——NUTRITIOUS.</p> + +<p class="center"><br></p> + +<p class="center">(JUST SAY “POP!” A CHILD</p> + +<p class="center">CAN DO IT.)</p> + +<p class="normal"><br></p> + +<p class="normal">Ginger +regarded this cipher with a puzzled frown.</p> + +<p class="normal">“What +is it?” he asked.</p> + +<p class="normal">“It’s +Fillmore.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“How +do you mean?”</p> + +<p class="normal">Sally +gurgled .</p> + +<p class="normal">“Fillmore +and Gladys have started a little restaurant in Pittsburg.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">Sally, +on the other hand—for sisters always seem to fail in proper +reverence for the greatness of their brothers—was delighted.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Why +Popp?” interrupted Ginger, ventilating a question which was +perplexing him deeply.</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Dashed +brainy chap. Always said so.”</p> + +<p class="normal">“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 class="normal">“Pork-pies!” +said Ginger, musingly, as the pangs of a healthy hunger began to +assail his interior. “I wish he’d <i>sent</i> us one of +the outstanding little chaps. I could do with it.”</p> + +<p class="normal"> +Sally got up and ruffled his red hair.</p> + +<p class="normal">“Poor +old Ginger! I knew you’d never be able to stick it. Come on, +it’s a lovely night, lets 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 style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br> +</p> + +<p style="text-indent: 1.27cm; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br> +</p> + +<p class="center">THE END</p> + +<p><br> </p> + +<p><br> </p> + + + + + + + +<pre> +End of Project Gutenberg's The Adventures of Sally, by P. G. Wodehouse + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF SALLY *** + +This file should be named dvsll10h.htm or dvsll10h.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, dvsll11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, dvsll10ah.htm + +Produced by Tim Barnett + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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