CHAPTER VI
LAURIE SOLVES A PROBLEM
Laurie walked across the square to his own rooms. A sudden gloom hadfallen upon him. He saw himself sitting in his study, gazing remotely athis shoes, until it was time to dress for the evening and his formalcall on Doris.
The prospect was not attractive. He hoped Bangs would be at home. If so,perhaps he could goad him into one of the rages in which Bangs was sopicturesque; but he was not sure of even this mild diversion. Rodney hadbeen wonderfully sweet-tempered the past three days, though preoccupied,as if in the early stages of creative art. Laurie half suspected that hehad begun work on his play. The suspicion aroused conflicting emotionsof relief and half-jealous regret. Why couldn't the fellow wait tillthey could go at it together? He ignored the fact that already thefellow had waited six weeks.
Bangs was not at home. The square, flat-topped mahogany desk at whichthe two young men worked together blinked up at Laurie with theundimmed luster of a fine piece of furniture on which the polisheralone had labored that morning. Without taking the trouble to remove hishat and coat, Laurie dropped into a chair and tried to think things out.But the process of thinking eluded him, or, rather, his mind shied at itas a skittish horse might shy if confronted on a dark road with shapesvaguely familiar yet mysterious.
Frankly, he couldn't make head or tail of this mess Doris seemed to bein. His memory reminded him that such "messes" existed. He had heard andread of all sorts of plots and counter-plots, in which all types ofhumans figured. His imagination underscored the memory. But, someway,Doris--he loved to repeat the name even to himself--someway Doris wasnot the type that figured in such plots.
Also, there were other things hard to understand. She had let herselfstarve for four days, though she wore around her neck a chain that sheadmitted represented a month's support. And this fellow, Herbert RansomeShaw--where the devil did he come in? A fellow with a name like that andwith snaky eyes like his was capable of anything. And yet--
Young Devon had the intolerance of American youth for the things outsidehis personal experience. The sort of thing Doris was hinting at didn'thappen here; that was all there was to it. What _was_ happening seemedpretty clear. The girl was, or fancied herself, in the power of anunscrupulous scamp who was using that power for some purpose of his own.If that was it--and this thing, Laurie handsomely admitted, really didhappen sometimes--it ought to be fairly easy for an athletic chap oftwenty-four to put an end to it. He recalled the look in Shaw'sprojecting eyes, the snakelike forward thrust of his sleek head; and anintense desire seized him to get his hands on the fellow's throat andchoke him till his eyes stuck out twice as far as they did now. If thatwere duty, then duty would be a delight.
Having reached this edifying point in his reflections, he rose. Whydelay? Perhaps he could find the chap somewhere. Perhaps the waiter atthe restaurant where they had lunched knew where he lived. But, no, ofcourse not. It was not the kind of restaurant his sort patronized. Shawhad simply followed him and Doris there; that was all there was to it.He, Laurie, would have to wait for another encounter. Meantime he mightrun around to the club and box for an hour. He had been getting a bitout of condition this month. A bout with McDonald, the club trainer,would do him good. Or, by Jove, he'd go and see Louise Ordway!
He had promised his new brother-in-law, Bob Warren, to keep an eye onBob's sister while Warren and Barbara were in Japan, and Laurie had keptthe promise with religious fidelity and very real pleasure. He immenselyliked and admired Mrs. Ordway, who seemed, strangely, to be always athome of late. He had formed the habit of running in several times aweek. Louise not only talked, but, as Laurie expressed it, "she saidthings." He had spent with her many of the afternoons and evenings Bangschecked up to the cabarets.
He glanced at his watch. For an hour he had been impersonating agentleman engaged in profound meditation, with the sole result that hehad decided to go to see Louise. It was quite possible he could enlisther interest in Doris. Now, that was an inspiration! Perhaps Mrs. Ordwaywould understand Doris. Every woman, he vaguely believed, understood allother women. He smoothed his hair, straightened his tie, and hurriedoff.
He found Mrs. Ordway reclining on a _chaise longue_ before an open fire,in the boudoir in which his sister Barbara had spent so many hours ofthe past year, playing the invalid to sleep. She wore a superb Mandarincoat, of soft and ravishing tints, and her love for rich colors wasreflected in the autumnal tones of her room and even in the vari-coloredflames of her driftwood fire. To Louise these colors were as definiteas mellow trumpet-tones. She had responded to them all her life. She wasresponding to them still, now that she lay dying among them. Somethingin their superb arrogance called forth an answering note from her ownarrogant soul.
She greeted her brother's young brother-in-law with the almostdisdainful smile she now turned on everything, but which was softened alittle for him. Ignorant of the malady that was eating her life away, asindeed all her friends were ignorant of it, save Barbara and herdoctors, Laurie delighted in the picture she made. He showed his delightas he dropped into a chair by her side. They fell at once into thecasual banter that characterized their intercourse.
"I wonder why I ever leave here?" he mused aloud, as the clock strucksix. He had been studying with a slight shock the changes that had takenplace in the few days since he had seen her. For the first time thesuspicion crossed his mind that she might be seriously ill. Throughouttheir talk he had observed things, trifles, perhaps, but significant,which, if they had occurred before, had escaped him.
Susanne, Mrs. Ordway's maid, though modestly in the background, wasrarely out of sight; and a white-capped nurse, till now an occasionaland illusive vision in the halls, blew in and out of the sick-room likea breeze, bringing liquids in glasses, which the patient obedientlyswallowed. Laurie, his attention once caught, took it all in. But hisface gave no hint of his new knowledge, and the eyes of Louise still methis with the challenge they turned on every one these days--a challengethat definitely forbade either understanding or sympathy.
"The real problem is why you ever come." She spoke lightly, but lookedat him with genuine affection. Laurie was one of her favorites, herprime favorite, indeed, next to Bob and Barbara. He smiled at her withtender significance.
"You know why I come."
"I do," she agreed, "perfectly. I know you're quite capable of flirtingwith me, too, if I'd let you, you absurd boy. Laurie,"--for a moment ortwo she was almost serious--"why don't you fall in love?"
"And this from you?"
"Don't be foolish. You know I like your ties," she interpolated kindly."But, really, isn't there some one?"
Laurie turned his profile to her, pulled a lock of hair over his brow,clasped his hands between his knees, and posed esthetically.
"Do you know," he sighed, "I begin to think that, just possibly,perhaps, there's a slight chance--that there is!"
"Be serious. Tell me about her."
"Well, she's a girl." He produced this confidence with ponderoussolemnity. "She lives across the square from me," he added.
"Things brighten," commented Louise, drily. "Go on."
"She's mysterious. I don't know who she is, or anything about her. But Iknow that she's in trouble."
"Of course she is! I have never known a mysterious maiden that wasn't,"commented the woman of the world. "What's her particular variety oftrouble?"
Laurie reflected.
"That's hard to say," he brought out at last. "But it appears to bemixed up with an offensive person in a crumpled blue suit who answers tothe name of Herbert Ransome Shaw. Have you ever heard of him?"
Louise wrinkled her fastidious nose.
"Never, I'm happy to say. But he doesn't sound attractive. However, tellme all about them. There seems a good chance that they may get you intotrouble."
"That's what she said."
"It's the one gleam of intelligence I see in the situation," commentedhis candid friend. "Is she pretty?"
"As lovely in her way as
you are. Think you could help her any?"wheedled Laurie.
"I doubt it. I'm too selfish to be bothered with girls who are introuble. I'll tell you who _can_ help her--Sonya Orleneff."
"Of course!" Laurie beamed at her. "Wonder why I didn't think of that."
"Probably because it was so obvious. Sonya is in town, as it happens,stopping at the Warwick. She has brought the Infant Samuel to New Yorkto have his adenoids cut out. Samuel made a devastating visit here thismorning. He's getting as fat as a little pig, and when he walks he puffslike a worn-out automobile going up a steep grade. He came up my stairson 'low,' and I'm sure they heard him on the avenue. I almost offeredhim a glass of gasolene. But he is a lamb," she added reflectively.Oddly enough, Samuel, late of New York's tenements, was another of herfavorites.
Laurie was following his own thoughts. Sonya was in town! Then, howevercomplicated his problem, it was already as good as solved.
"My dinner will be up soon," suggested Louise. "Are you dining with me?"
He glanced at his watch, reproachfully shook his head at it, and rose.
"Three hours of me are all you can have this time. But I'll probablydrop around about dawn to-morrow."
"Nice boy!" Her hot hand caught his and held it. "Laurie, if--if--Ishould send for you suddenly sometime--you'd come and--stand by?"
All the gaiety was wiped from his face. His brilliant black eyes, oddlysoftened, looked into her haughty blue ones with sudden understanding.
"You bet I will! Any time, anything! You'll remember that? Send for meas if I were Bob. Perhaps you've forgotten it," he added, more lightly,"but I happen to be your younger brother."
For a moment her face twisted. The mask of her arrogance fell from it.
"Bob didn't know," she said. "If he had felt the least suspicion hewouldn't have gone so far, or for so long. I thought I had three or fourmonths--"
Laurie bent and kissed her cheek.
"I'm coming in every day," he said, and abruptly left the room.
In the lower hall he stopped to take in the full real realization ofwhat he had discovered. Louise, superb, arrogant, beautiful Louise, wasreally ill, desperately ill. A feeling of remorse mingled with his senseof shock. He had believed her a sort of nervous hypochondriac. He had soresented her excessive demands on Barbara that it was only since he hadseen much of her in this last month that he had been ablewhole-heartedly to like and admire her.
As he stood silent, he became conscious of another presence--an august,impressive one, familiar in the past but veiled now, as it were, in amidst of human emotion. It was Jepson, the butler. He coughed humbly.
"Hexcuse me, sir," he faltered. "But Mrs. Hordway h'ain't quite so welllately, sir. 'Ave you hobserved that?"
Laurie nodded. "I noticed it to-day," he admitted.
"She's losin' strength very fast, sir. Hall of us 'as seen it. Cook saysshe don't eat nothink. And Susanne and the nurse says it's 'ard work toget 'er from the bed to 'er chair--"
Laurie checked these revelations.
"Has the doctor been here to-day?"
"Yessir, two of 'em 'ave been 'ere. Doctor Speyer comes hevery day. Thismorning 'e brought Doctor Hames again. Hit's very hupsetting, sir, with'er brother away and hall."
The man was genuinely anxious. Laurie tried to reassure him.
"She may be better in a day or two," he said, more buoyantly than hefelt. "But I'll come in every day. And here's my telephone number. Ifanything goes wrong, call me up immediately. Leave a message if I'm notthere."
"Yessir. Thank you, sir." Jepson was pathetically grateful and relieved.He had the English servant's characteristic need of sanction andauthority.
When Laurie reached his rooms, he called Sonya on the telephone. LikeJepson, he was feeling rather overwhelmed by his responsibilities. Itwas a relief to hear Sonya's deep, colorful voice.
"Didn't know you were here till just now," he told her. "I'm coming tosee you in the morning. I want to talk to you about a lot of things."
"Including Mrs. Ordway?" suggested Sonya.
"Yes. You saw her to-day. You noticed--"
"Of course. Samuel is to be operated on to-morrow. I'll send him back toDevon House with his mother in a few days, as soon as he can safelytravel, and I shall stay right here."
"That's splendid of you!"
"It's what Barbara and Mr. Warren would wish. And Mrs. Ordway, too, Ithink, though she would never suggest it."
"I'm sure it is."
Laurie hung up the receiver with a nervous hand. To a youth oftwenty-four it is a somewhat overpowering experience to discover thatdestiny is especially busy over the affairs of two women for whom hehas assumed a definite responsibility. As he turned from the instrumentits bell again compelled his attention. He took up the receiver, and thevoice of a girl came to his ear. A week or two ago he had rather likedthat voice and its owner, a gay, irresponsible, good-hearted littlecreature who pranced in the front row of an up-town pony ballet. Now helistened to it with keen distaste.
"Hello, Laurie," it twittered. "Is that you? This is Billie. Listen. Igotta plan. A bunch of us is goin' out to Gedney to supper to-night.We're goin' to leave right after the show. Are you on?"
Laurie got rid of the fair Billie. He did it courteously but veryfirmly. A rather unusual degree of firmness was necessary, for MissBillie was not used to having her invitations refused. She accepted thephenomenon with acute unwillingness and very lingeringly.
Bangs was not at home, to divert his chum's mind with his robustconversation. As he dressed for his call on Doris, the sharp contrastsof life struck Laurie with the peculiar force with which they hit theyoung and the inexperienced.
But were they really contrasts? On the one side were Louise, dying, andDoris, seemingly eager to die. On the other were Billie and herfriends--foolish little butterflies, enjoying their brief hour in thesecret garden of life, eternally chattering about "good times," playingthey were happy, perhaps even thinking they were happy, but infinitelymore tragic figures than Louise and Doris. Yet a week ago he had thoughtthey amused him!
Pondering on these and other large problems, he absently removed thebloom from three fresh white ties.
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