The Hillman

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  VIII

  Those first few sentences, spoken in the midst of a curious little crowdof strangers, seemed to John, when he thought of his long waiting,almost piteously inadequate. Louise, recognizing the difficulty of thesituation, swiftly recovered her composure. She was both tactful andgracious.

  "Do tell me how you got in here," she said. "No one is allowed to passthe stage door at rehearsal times. Mr. Faraday, to whom I will introduceyou in a moment, is a perfect autocrat; and Mr. Mullins, our stagemanager, is even worse."

  "I just asked for you," John explained. "The doorkeeper told me that youwere engaged, but I persuaded him to let me come in."

  She shook her head.

  "Bribery!" she declared accusingly.

  "I heard your voice, and after that it was hard to go away. I'm afraid Iought to have waited outside."

  Louise turned to Miles Faraday, who was looking a little annoyed.

  "Mr. Faraday," she said appealingly, "Mr. Strangewey comes from thecountry--he is, in fact, the most complete countryman I have ever met inmy life. He comes from Cumberland, and he once--well, very nearly savedmy life. He knows nothing about theaters, and he hasn't the least ideaof the importance of a rehearsal. You won't mind if we put himsomewhere out of the way till we have finished, will you?"

  "After such an introduction," Faraday said in a tone of resignation,"Mr. Strangewey would be welcome at any time."

  "There's a dear man!" Louise exclaimed. "Let me introduce him quickly.Mr. John Strangewey--Mr. Miles Faraday, M. Graillot, Miss Sophy Gerard,my particular little friend. The prince you already know, although youmay not recognize him trying to balance himself on that absurd stool."

  John bowed in various directions, and Faraday, taking him good-naturedlyby the arm, led him to a garden-seat at the back of the stage.

  "There!" he said. "You are one of the most privileged persons in London.You shall hear the finish of our rehearsal. There isn't a press man inLondon I'd have near the place."

  "Very kind of you, I'm sure," John replied. "Is this, may I ask, theplay that you are soon going to produce?"

  "Three weeks from next Monday, I hope," Faraday told him. "Don't attemptto judge by anything you hear this afternoon. We are just deciding uponsome cuts. See you later. You may smoke, if you like."

  Twenty-four hours away from his silent hills, John looked out withpuzzled eyes from his dusty seat among ropes and pulleys and leaningfragments of scenery. What he saw and heard seemed to him, for the mostpart, a meaningless tangle of gestures and phrases. The men and women infashionable clothes, moving about before that gloomy space of emptyauditorium, looked more like marionettes than creatures of flesh andblood, drawn this way and that at the bidding of the stout, masterlyFrenchman, who was continually muttering exclamations and banging themanuscript upon his hand.

  He kept his eyes fixed upon Louise. He told himself that he was in herpresence at last. As the moments passed, it became more and moredifficult for him to realize the actuality of the scene upon which hewas looking. It seemed like a dream-picture, with unreal men and womenmoving about aimlessly, saying strange words.

  Then there came a moment which brought a tingle into his blood, whichplunged his senses into hot confusion. He rose to his feet. Faraday wassitting down, and Louise was resting both her hands upon his shoulders.

  "Is there nothing I can be to you, then, Edmund?" she asked, her voicevibrating with a passion which he found it hard to believe was not real.

  Faraday turned slowly in his chair. He held out his arms.

  "One thing," he murmured.

  John had moved half a step forward when he felt the prince's eyes fixedupon him, and was conscious of a sudden sense of ignorance, almost ofuncouthness. It was a play which they were rehearsing, of course! It wasa damnable thing to see Louise taken into that cold and obviously unrealembrace, but it was only a play. It was part of her work.

  John resumed his seat and folded his arms. With the embrace had fallenan imaginary curtain, and the rehearsal was over. They were all crowdedtogether, talking, in the center of the stage. The prince, who hadstepped across the footlights, made his way to where John was sitting.

  "So you have deserted Cumberland for a time?" he courteously inquired.

  "I came up last night," John replied.

  "You are making a long stay?"

  John hesitated. He felt that no one knew less of his movements than hehimself. His eyes had wandered to where Louise and Graillot weretalking.

  "I can scarcely tell yet. I have made no plans."

  "London, at this season of the year," the prince observed, "is scarcelyat its best."

  John smiled.

  "I am afraid," he said, "that I am not critical. It is eight years sinceI was here last, on my way down from Oxford."

  "You have been abroad, perhaps?" the prince inquired.

  "I have not been out of Cumberland during the whole of that time," Johnconfessed.

  The prince, after a moment's incredulous stare, laughed softly tohimself.

  "You are a very wonderful person, Mr. Strangewey," he declared. "I haveheard of your good fortune. If I can be of any service to you duringyour stay in town," he added politely, "please command me."

  "You are very kind," John replied gratefully.

  Louise broke away from the little group and came across toward them.

  "Free at last!" she exclaimed. "Now let us go out and have some tea."

  They made their way down the little passage and out into the suddenblaze of the sunlit streets. Two cars were drawn up outside the stagedoor.

  "The Carlton or Rumpelmayer's?" asked the prince, who had overtaken themupon the pavement.

  "The Carlton, I think," Louise decided. "We can get a quiet table thereinside the restaurant. You bring Sophy, will you, Eugene? I am going totake possession of Mr. Strangewey."

  The prince, with a little bow, pointed to the door of his limousine,which a footman was holding open. Louise led John to a smaller car whichwas waiting in the rear.

  "The Carlton," she told the man, as he arranged the rugs. "And now," sheadded, turning to John, "why have you come to London? How long are yougoing to stay? What are you going to do? And--most important of all--inwhat spirit have you come?"

  John breathed a little sigh of contentment. They were moving slowly downa back street to take their place in the tide of traffic which floodedthe main thoroughfares.

  "That sounds so like you," he said. "I came up last night, suddenly. Ihave no idea how long I am going to stay; I have no idea what I am goingto do. As for the spirit in which I have come--well, I should call it aninquiring one."

  "A very good start," Louise murmured approvingly, "but still a littlevague!"

  "Then I will do away with all vagueness. I came to see you," Johnconfessed bluntly.

  "Dear me!" she exclaimed, looking at him with a little smile. "Howdownright you are!"

  "Country methods," he reminded her.

  "Don't overdo it," she begged.

  "The truth--" he began.

  "Has to be handled very carefully," she said, interrupting him. "Thetruth is either beautiful or crude, and the people who meddle with sucha wonderful thing need a great deal of tact. You have come to see me,you say. Very well, then, I will be just as frank. I have been hopingthat you would come!"

  "You can't imagine how good it is to hear you say that," he declared.

  "Mind," she went on, "I have been hoping it for more reasons than one.You have come to realize, I hope, that it is your duty to try to see alittle more of life than you possibly can leading a patriarchalexistence among your flocks and herds."

  "That may be so," John assented. "I have often thought of ourconversation. I don't know, even now, whether you were right or wrong. Ionly know that since you went away I have felt something of the unrestwith which you threatened me. I want to settle the matter one way or theother. I want to try, for a little time, what it is like to live in thecrowded places, to be near
you, to see, if I may, more of you and yourway of living."

  They were silent for several moments.

  "I thought you would come," Louise said at last; "and I am glad, buteven in these first few minutes I want to say something to you. If youwish to succeed in your object, and really understand the people youmeet here and the life they lead, don't be like your brother--too quickto judge. Do not hug your prejudices too tightly. You will come acrossmany problems, many situations which will seem strange to you. Do notmake up your mind about anything in a hurry."

  "I will remember that," he promised. "You must remember, though, that Idon't expect ever to become a convert. I believe I am a countryman, bredand born. Still, there are some things that I want to understand, if Ican, and, more than anything else--I want to see you!"

  She faced his direct speech this time with more deliberation.

  "Tell me exactly why."

  "If I could tell you that," he replied simply, "I should be able toanswer for myself the riddle which has kept me awake at night for weeksand months, which has puzzled me more than anything else in life hasever done."

  "You really have thought of me, then?"

  "Didn't you always know that I should?"

  "Perhaps," she admitted. "Anyhow, I always felt that we should meetagain, that you would come to London. The problem is," she added,smiling, "what to do with you now you are here."

  "I haven't come to be a nuisance," he assured her. "I just want a littlehelp from you."

  She became indiscreet. She looked at him with a little smile at thecorners of her lips.

  "Nothing else?" she asked, almost under her breath.

  "At the end of it all, yes," he answered simply. "I want to understandbecause it is your world. I want to feel myself nearer to you. I want--"

  She gripped at his arm suddenly. She knew well enough that she haddeliberately provoked his words, but there was a look in her face almostof fear.

  "Don't let us be too serious all at once," she begged quickly. "If youhave one fault, my dear big friend from the country," she went on, witha swiftly assumed gaiety, "it is that you are too serious for youryears. Sophy and I between us must try to cure you of that! You see, wehave arrived."

  He handed her out, followed her across the pavement, and found himselfplunged into what seemed to him to be an absolute vortex of humanbeings, all dressed in very much the same fashion, all laughing andtalking together very much in the same note, all criticising every freshgroup of arrivals with very much the same eyes and manner. Thepalm-court was crowded with little parties seated at the various roundtables, partaking languidly of the most indolent meal of the day. Eventhe broad passageway was full of men and women, standing about talkingor looking for tables. One could scarcely hear the music of theorchestra for the babel of voices.

  The Prince of Seyre beckoned to them from the steps. He seemed to havebeen awaiting their arrival there--a cold, immaculate, and, consideringhis lack of height, a curiously distinguished-looking figure.

  "I have a table inside," he told them as they approached. "It is betterfor conversation. The rest of the place is like a beer-garden. I am notsure if they will dance here to-day, but if they do, they will come alsointo the restaurant."

  "Wise man!" Louise declared. "I, too, hate the babel outside."

  They were ushered to a round table directly before the entrance, and acouple of attentive waiters stood behind their chairs.

  "We are faced," said the prince, as he took up the menu, "with our dailyproblem. What can I order for you?"

  "A cup of chocolate," Louise replied.

  "And Miss Sophy?"

  "Tea, please."

  John, too, preferred tea; the prince ordered absinth.

  "A polyglot meal, isn't it, Mr. Strangewey?" said Louise, as the orderwas executed; "not in the least; what that wonderful old butler of yourswould understand by tea. We become depraved in our appetites, as well asin our sensations. We are always seeking for something new. Sophy, putyour hat on straight if you want to make a good impression on Mr.Strangewey. I am hoping that you two will be great friends."

  Sophy turned toward John with a little grimace.

  "Louise is so tactless!" she said. "I am sure any idea you might havehad of liking me will have gone already. Has it, Mr. Strangewey?"

  "On the contrary," he replied, a little stiffly, but without hesitation,"I was thinking that Miss Maurel could scarcely have set me a morepleasant task."

  The girl looked reproachfully across at her friend.

  "You told me he came from the wilds and was quite unsophisticated!" sheexclaimed.

  "The truth," John assured them, looking with dismay at his little chinacup, "comes very easily to us. We are brought up on it in Cumberland."

  "Positively nourished on it," Louise agreed. "My dear Sophy, what hesays is quite true. Up there a man would tell you that he didn't likethe cut of your new blouse or the droop of your hat. It's a wonderfulatmosphere, and very austere. You ought to meet Mr. Strangewey'sbrother, if you want to know the truth about yourself. Do go on lookingabout you, Mr. Strangewey; and when you have finished, tell us just whatyou are thinking."

  "Well, just at that moment," he replied, "I was thinking that I oughtnot to have come here in these clothes."

  The girl by his side laughed reassuringly.

  "As a matter of fact, you couldn't have done anything more successful,"she declared. "The one thing up here that every one would like to do ifhe dared is to be different from his fellows; but very few have thenecessary courage. Besides, at heart we are all so frightfully,hatefully imitative. The last great success was the prince, when he worea black stock with a dinner-coat; but, alas, next evening there wereforty or fifty of them! If you come here to tea to-morrow afternoon, Idare say you will find dozens of men wearing gray tweed clothes, coloredshirts, and brown boots. I am sure they are most becoming!"

  "Don't chatter too much, child," Louise said benignly. "I want to hearsome more of Mr. Strangewey's impressions. This is--well, if not quite afashionable crowd, yet very nearly so. What do you think of it--thewomen, for instance?"

  "Well, to me," John confessed candidly, "they all look like dolls ormanikins. Their dresses and their hats overshadow their faces. They seemall the time to be wanting to show, not themselves, but what they haveon."

  They all laughed. Even the prince's lips were parted by the flicker of asmile. Sophy leaned across the table with a sigh.

  "Louise," she pleaded, "you will lend him to me sometimes, won't you?You won't keep him altogether to yourself? There are such a lot ofplaces I want to take him to!"

  "I was never greedy," Louise remarked, with an air of self-satisfaction."If you succeed in making a favorable impression upon him, I promise youyour share."

  "Tell us some more of your impressions, Mr. Strangewey," Sophy begged.

  "You want to laugh at me," John protested good-humoredly.

  "On the contrary," the prince assured him, as he fitted a cigarette intoa long, amber tube, "they want to laugh with you. You ought to realizeyour value as a companion in these days. You are the only person who cansee the truth. Eyes and tastes blurred with custom perceive so little.You are quite right when you say that these women are like manikins;that their bodies and faces are lost; but one does not notice it untilit is pointed out."

  "We will revert," Louise decided, "to a more primitive life. You and Iwill inaugurate a missionary enterprise, Mr. Strangewey. We will judgethe world afresh. We will reclothe and rehabilitate it."

  The prince flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette.

  "Morally as well as sartorially?" he asked.

  There was a moment's rather queer silence. The music rose above thehubbub of voices and died away again. Louise rose to her feet.

  "Quite an intelligent person, really," she said, moving her head in thedirection of the prince. "His little attacks of cynicism come only withindigestion or after absinth. Now, if you like, you shall escort mehome, Mr. Strangewey. I want to show him
exactly where I live," sheexplained, addressing the others, "so that he will have no excuse fornot coming to pay his respects to me to-morrow afternoon."

  The prince, with a skilful maneuver, made his way to her side as theyleft the restaurant.

  "To-morrow afternoon, I think you said?" he repeated quietly. "You willbe in town then?"

  "Yes, I think so."

  "You have changed your mind, then, about--"

  "M. Graillot will not listen to my leaving London," she interruptedrapidly. "He declares that it is too near the production of the play. Myown part may be perfect, but he needs me for the sake of the others. Heputs it like a Frenchman, of course."

  They had reached the outer door, which was being held open for them by abowing commissionnaire. John and Sophy were waiting upon the pavement.The prince drew a little back.

  "I understand!" he murmured.