by Sewell Ford
CHAPTER X
MERRY DODGES A DEAD HEAT
Somehow I sensed it as a kind of a batty excursion at the start. Yousee, he'd asked me offhand would I come, and I'd said "Sure, Bo,"careless like, not thinkin' any more about it until here Saturdayafternoon I finds myself on the way to spend the week-end with J.Meredith Stidler.
Sounds imposing don't it? But his name's the weightiest part of J.Meredith. Course, around the Corrugated offices we call him Merry, andsome of the bond clerks even get it Miss Mary; which ain't hardly fair,for while he's no husky, rough-neck specimen, there's no sissy streakin him, either. Just one of these neat, finicky featherweights, J.Meredith is; a well finished two-by-four, with more polish than punch.You know the kind,--fussy about his clothes, gen'rally has a pink orsomething in his coat lapel, hair always just so, and carries a vestpocket mirror. We ain't got a classier dresser in the shop. Notnoisy, you understand: quiet grays, as a rule; but made for him specialand fittin' snug around the collar.
Near thirty, I should guess Merry was, and single, of course. No headof a fam'ly would be sportin' custom-made shoes and sleeve monograms,or havin' his nails manicured reg'lar twice a week. I'd often wonderedhow he could do it too, on seventy-five dollars a month.
For J. Meredith wa'n't even boss of his department. He just holds downone of the stools in the audit branch, where he has about as much showof gettin' a raise as a pavin' block has of bein' blown up Broadway ona windy day. We got a lot of material like that in theCorrugated,--just plain, simple cogs in a big dividend-producin'machine, grindin' along steady and patient, and their places easyfilled when one wears out. A caster off one of the rolltop desks wouldbe missed more.
Yet J. Meredith takes it cheerful. Always has a smile as he pushesthrough the brass gate, comin' or goin', and stands all the joshin'that's handed out to him without gettin' peevish. So when he springsthis over-Sunday invite I don't feel like turnin' it down. Course, I'mwise that it's sort of a charity contribution on his part. He puts itwell, though.
"It may be rather a dull way for you to pass the day," says he; "butI'd like to have you come."
"Let's see," says I. "Vincent won't be expectin' me up to Newportuntil later in the season, the Bradley Martins are still abroad, I'vecut the Reggy Vanderbilts, and--well, you're on, Merry. Call it thelast of the month, eh?"
"The fourth Saturday, then," says he. "Good!"
I was blamed near lettin' the date get past me too, when he stops me asI'm pikin' for the dairy lunch Friday noon. "Oh, I say, Torchy," sayshe, "ah--er--about tomorrow. Hope you don't mind my mentioning it, butthere will be two other guests--ladies--at dinner tomorrow night."
He seemed some fussed at gettin' it out; so I catches the cue quick."That's easy," says I. "Count me out until another time."
"Oh, not at all," says he. "In fact, you're expected. I merely wishedto suggest, you know, that--er--well, if you cared to do so, you mightbring along a suit of dark clothes."
"I get you," says I. "Swell comp'ny. Trust me."
I winks mysterious, and chuckles to myself, "Here's where I slip one onJ. Meredith." And when I packs my suitcase I puts in that full evenin'regalia that I wins off'm Son-in-Law Ferdy, you remember, in that realestate deal. Some Cinderella act, I judged that would be, when Merrydiscovers the meek and lowly office boy arrayed like a night-bloomin'head waiter. "That ought to hold him for a spell," thinks I.
But, say, you should see the joint we fetches up at out on the southshore of Long Island that afternoon. Figurin' on a basis ofseventy-five per, I was expectin' some private boardin' house whereMerry has the second floor front, maybe, with use of the bath. Butlisten,--a clipped privet hedge, bluestone drive, flower gardens, and aperfectly good double-breasted mansion standin' back among the trees.It's a little out of date so far as the lines go,--slate roof, jigsawwork on the dormers, and a cupola,--but it's more or less of a pluteshack, after all. Then there's a real live butler standin' at thecarriage entrance to open the hack door and take my bag.
"Gee!" says I. "Say, Merry, who belongs to all this?"
"Oh! Hadn't I told you?" says he. "You see, I live with my aunt. Sheis--er--somewhat peculiar; but----"
"I should worry!" I breaks in. "Believe me, with a joint like this inher own name, I wouldn't kick if she had her loft full of hummin'birds. Who's next in line for it?"
"Why, I suppose I am," says J. Meredith, "under certain conditions."
"Z-z-zin'!" says I. "And you hangin' onto a cheap skate job at theCorrugated!"
Well, while he's showin' me around the grounds I pumps out the rest ofthe sketch. Seems butlers and all that was no new thing to Merry.He'd been brought up on 'em. He'd lived abroad too. Studied musicthere. Not that he ever meant to work at it, but just because he likedit. You see, about that time the fam'ly income was rollin' in reg'larevery month from the mills back in Pawtucket, or Fall River, orsomewhere.
Then all of a sudden things begin to happen,--strikes, panics, stockgrabbin' by the trusts. Father's weak heart couldn't stand the strain.Meredith's mother followed soon after. And one rainy mornin' he wakesup in Baden Baden, or Monte Carlo, or wherever it was, to find thathe's a double orphan at the age of twenty-two, with no home, no cash,and no trade. All he could do was to write an S. O. S. message back toAunt Emma Jane. If she hadn't produced, he'd been there yet.
But Aunty got him out of pawn. Panics and so on hadn't cleaned out hershare of the Stidler estate--not so you'd notice it! She'd been on thespot, Aunt Emma had, watchin' the market. Long before the jinx hitWall Street she'd cashed in her mill stock for gold ballast, and whenproperty prices started tumblin' she dug up a lard pail from under thesyringa bush and begun investin' in bargain counter real estate. Nowshe owns business blocks, villa plots, and shore frontage in bigchunks, and spends her time collectin' rents, makin' new deals, andswearin' off her taxes.
You'd most thought, with a perfectly good nephew to blow in some of hersurplus on, she'd made a fam'ly pet of J. Meredith. But not her. Petswasn't in her line. Her prescription for him was work, somethingreg'lar and constant, so he wouldn't get into mischief. She didn'tcare what it brought in, so long as he kept himself in clothes andspendin' money. And that was about Merry's measure. He could add up acolumn of figures and put the sum down neat at the bottom of the page.So he fitted into our audit department like a nickel into a slotmachine. And there he stuck.
"But after sportin' around Europe so long," says I, "don't punchin' thetime clock come kind of tough?"
"It's a horrible, dull grind," says he. "Like being caught in atreadmill. But I suppose I deserve nothing better. I'm one of theuseless sort, you know. I've no liking, no ability, for business; butI'm in the mill, and I can't see any way out."
For a second J. Meredith's voice sounds hopeless. One look ahead hastaken out of him what little pep he had. But the next minute he bracesup, smiles weary, and remarks, "Oh, well! What's the use?"
Not knowin' the answer to that I shifts the subject by tryin' to get aline on the other comp'ny that's expected for dinner.
"They're our next-door neighbors," says he, "the Misses Hibbs."
"Queens?" says I.
He pinks up a little at that. "I presume you would call them oldmaids," says he. "They are about my age, and--er--the truth is, theyare rather large. But really they're quite nice,--refined, cultured,all that sort of thing."
"Specially which one?" says I, givin' him the wink.
"Now, now!" says he, shakin' his head. "You're as bad as Aunt Emma.Besides, they're her guests. She asks them over quite often. You see,they own almost as much property around here as she does, and--well,common interests, you know."
"Sure that's all?" says I, noticin' Merry flushin' up more.
"Why, of course," says he. "That is--er--well, I suppose I may as welladmit that Aunt Emma thinks she is trying her hand at match-making.Absurd, of course."
"Oh-ho!" says I. "Wants you to annex the adjoinin' rea
l estate, doesshe?"
"It--it isn't exactly that," says he. "I've no doubt she has decidedthat either Pansy or Violet would make a good wife for me."
"Pansy and Violet!" says I. "Listens well."
"Perhaps their names are hardly appropriate; but they are nice,sensible, rather attractive young women, both of them," insists Merry.
"Then why not?" says I. "What's the matter with the Hymen proposition?"
"Oh, it's out of the question," protests J. Meredith, blushin' deep."Really I--I've never thought of marrying anyone. Why, how could I?And besides I shouldn't know how to go about it,--proposing, and allthat. Oh, I couldn't! You--you can't understand. I'm such a dufferat most things."
There's no fake about him bein' modest. You could tell that by the wayhe colored up, even talkin' to me. Odd sort of a gink he was, with alot of queer streaks in him that didn't show on the outside. It wasmore or less entertainin', followin' up the plot of the piece; but allof a sudden Merry gets over his confidential spasm and shuts up like aclam.
"Almost time to dress for dinner," says he. "We'd best be going in."
And of course my appearin' in the banquet uniform don't give him anyserious jolt.
"Well, well, Torchy!" says he, as I strolls into the parlor aboutsix-thirty, tryin' to forget the points of my dress collar. "Howsplendid you look!"
"I had some battle with the tie," says I. "Ain't the bow lopsided?"
"A mere trifle," says he. "Allow me. There! Really, I'm quite proudof you. Aunty'll be pleased too; for, while she dresses very plainlyherself, she likes this sort of thing. You'll see."
I didn't notice any wild enthusiasm on Aunty's part, though, when sheshows up. A lean, wiry old girl, Aunty is, with her white hair bobbedup careless and a big shell comb stickin' up bristly, like a picketfence, on top. There's nothin' soft about her chin, or the square-cutmouth, and after she'd give me one glance out of them shrewd, squintyeyes I felt like she'd taken my number,--pedigree, past performances,and cost mark complete.
"Howdo, young man?" says she, and with out wastin' any more breath onme she pikes out to the front door to scout down the drive for theother guests.
They arrives on the tick of six-forty-five, and inside of three minutesAunty has shooed us into the dinin' room. And, say, the first goodlook I had at Pansy and Violet I nearly passed away. "Rather large,"Merry had described 'em. Yes, and then some! They wa'n't justordinary fat women; they was a pair of whales,--big all over, tall andwide and hefty. They had their weight pretty well placed at that; notlumpy or bulgy, you know, but with them expanses of shoulder, and theirbig, heavy faces--well, the picture of slim, narrow-chested MerryStidler sittin' wedged in between the two, like the ham in a lunchcounter sandwich, was most too much for me. I swallows a drink ofwater and chokes over it.
I expect Merry caught on too. I'd never seen him so fussed before.He's makin' a brave stab at bein' chatty; but I can tell he's doin' itall on his nerve. He glances first to the right, and then turns quickto the left; but on both sides he's hemmed in by them two humanmountains.
They wa'n't such bad lookers, either. They has good complexions, kindof pleasant eyes, and calm, comf'table ways. But there was so much of'em! Honest, when they both leans toward him at once I held my breath,expectin' to see him squeezed out like a piece of lead pipe run througha rollin' machine.
Nothin' tragic like that happens, though. They don't even crowd himinto the soup. But it's an odd sort of a meal, with J. Meredith andthe Hibbs sisters doin' a draggy three-handed dialogue, while me andAunty holds down the side lines. And nothin' that's said or done getsaway from them narrow-set eyes, believe me!
Looked like something wa'n't goin' just like she'd planned; for theglances she shoots across the table get sharper and sourer, andfinally, when the roast is brought in, she whispers to the butler, andthe next thing J. Meredith knows, as he glances up from his carvin', hesees James uncorkin' a bottle of fizz. Merry almost drops his fork andgawps at Aunty sort of dazed.
"Meredith," says she, snappy, "go on with your carving! Young man, Isuppose you don't take wine?"
"N-n-no, Ma'am," says I, watchin' her turn my glass down. I might havechanced a sip or two, at that; but Aunty has different ideas.
I notice that J. Meredith seems to shy at the bubbly stuff, as if hewas lettin' on he hated it. He makes a bluff or two; but all he doesis wet his lips. At that Aunty gives a snort.
"Meredith," says she, hoistin' her hollow-stemmed glass sporty, "to ourguests!"
"Ah, to be sure," says Merry, and puts his nose into the sparkles indead earnest.
Somehow the table chat livens up a lot soon after that. It was one ofthe Miss Hibbs askin' him something about life abroad that starts Merryoff. He begins tellin' about Budapest and Vienna and a lot more ofthem guidebook spots, and how comf'table you can live there, and themusic, and the cafes, and the sights, gettin' real enthusiastic overit, until one of the sisters breaks in with:
"Think of that, Pansy! If we could only do such things!"
"But why not?" says Merry.
"Two women alone?" says a Miss Hibbs.
"True," says J. Meredith. "One needs an escort."
"Ah-h-h-h, yes!" sighs Violet.
"Ah-h-h, yes!" echoes Pansy.
"James," puts in Aunty just then, "fill Mr. Stidler's glass."
Merry wa'n't shyin' it any more. He insists on clickin' rims with theHibbs sisters, and they does it real kittenish. Merry stops in themiddle of his salad to unload that old one about the Irishman that thedoctor tried to throw a scare into by tellin' him if he didn't quit thebooze he'd go blind within three months. You know--when Mike comesback with, "Well, I'm an old man, and I'm thinkin' I've seen mosteverything worth while." Pansy and Violet shook until their chairscreaked, and one of 'em near swallows her napkin tryin' to stop thechuckles.
In all the time I've known J. Meredith I'd never heard him try tospring anything comic before; but havin' made such a hit with this onehe follows with others, robbin' the almanac regardless.
"Oh, you deliciously funny man!" gasps Pansy, tappin' him playful onthe shoulder.
Course, it wa'n't any cabaret high jinks, you understand. Meredith wasjust limbered up a little. In the parlor afterwards while we washavin' coffee he strings off quite a fancy line of repartee, fin'llyallowin' himself to be pushed up to the piano, where he ripples througha few things from Bach and Beethoven and Percy Moore. It's near eleveno'clock when the Hibbs sisters get their wraps on and Merry starts towalk home with 'em.
"You might wait for me, Torchy," says he, pausin' at the door.
"Nonsense!" says Aunt Emma Jane.
"Time young people were in bed. Good night, young man."
There don't seem to be any chance for a debate on the subject; so Igoes up to my room. But it's a peach of a night, warm and moony; soafter I turns out the light I camps down on the windowseat and gazesout over the shrubby towards the water. I could see the top of theHibbs house and a little wharf down on the shore.
I don't know whether it was the moonlight or the coffee; but I didn'tfeel any more like bed than I did like breakfast. Pretty soon I hearsMerry come tiptoein' in and open his door, which was next to mine. Iwas goin' to hail him and give him a little josh about disposin' of thesisters so quick; but I didn't hear him stirrin' around any more untila few minutes later, when it sounds as if he'd tiptoed downstairsagain. But I wasn't sure. Nothin' doin' for some time after that.And you know how quiet the country can be on a still, moonshiny night.
I was gettin' dopy from it, and was startin' to shed my collar and tie,when off from a distance, somewhere out in the night, music breaksloose. I couldn't tell whether it was a cornet or a trombone; but it'ssomething like that. Seems to come from down along the waterfront.And, say, it sounds kind of weird, hearin' it at night that way. Tookme sometime to place the tune; but I fin'lly makes it out as that goodold mush favorite, "O Promise Me." It was bein' well done too, withlong quavers on th
e high notes and the low ones comin' out round anddeep. Honest, that was some playin'. I was wide awake once more,leanin' out over the sill and takin' it all in, when a window on thefloor below goes up and out bobs a white head. It's Aunty. She looksup and spots me too.
"Quite some concert, eh?" says I.
"Is that you, young man?" says she.
"Uh-huh," says I. "Just takin' in the music."
"Humph!" says she. "I believe it's that fool nephew of mine."
"Not Merry?" says I.
"It must be," says she. "And goodness knows why he's out making anidiot of himself at this time of night! He'll arouse the wholeneighbourhood."
"Why, I was just thinkin' how classy it was," says I.
"Bah!" says Aunty. "A lot you know about it. Are you dressed, youngman?"
I admits that I am.
"Then I wish you'd go down there and see if it is Merry," says she."If it is, tell him I say to come home and go to bed."
"And if it ain't?" says I.
"Go along and see," says she.
I begun to be sorry for Merry. I'd rather pay board than live with adisposition like that. Down I pikes, out the front door and backthrough the shrubby. Meantime the musician has finished "Promise Me"and has switched to "Annie Laurie." It's easy enough to get thegen'ral direction the sound comes from; but I couldn't place it exact.First off I thought it must be from a little summer house down by theshore; but it wa'n't. I couldn't see anyone around the grounds. Outon the far end of the Hibbs's wharf, though, there was somethin' dark.And a swell time I had too, buttin' my way through a five-foot hedgeand landin' in a veg'table garden. But I wades through tomatoes andlettuce until I strikes a gravel path, and in a couple of minutes I'mout on the dock just as the soloist is hittin' up "Believe Me, if AllThose Endearing Young Charms." Aunty had the correct dope. It'sMerry, all right. The first glimpse he gets of me he starts guilty andtries to hide the cornet under the tails of his dress coat.
"No use, Merry," says I. "You're pinched with the poultry."
"Wha-a-at!" says he. "Oh, it's you, is it, Torchy? Please--pleasedon't mention this to my aunt."
"She beat me to it," says I. "It was her sent me out after you with astop order. She says for you to chop the nocturne and go back to thehay."
"But how did she---- Oh, dear!" he sighs. "It was all her fault,anyway."
"I don't follow you," says I. "But what was it, a serenade?"
"Goodness, no!" gasps J. Meredith. "Who suggested that?"
"Why, it has all the earmarks of one," says I. "What else would you bedoin', out playin' the cornet by moonlight on the dock, if you wa'n'tserenadin' someone?"
"But I wasn't, truly," he protests. "It--it was the champagne, youknow."
"Eh?" says I. "You don't mean to say you got stewed? Not on a coupleof glasses!"
"Well, not exactly," says he. "But I can't take wine. I hardly everdo. It--it goes to my head always. And tonight--well, I couldn'tdecline. You saw. Then afterward--oh, I felt so buoyant, so full oflife, that I couldn't go to sleep. I simply had to do something to letoff steam. I wanted to play the cornet. So I came out here, as faraway from anyone as I could get."
"Too thin, Merry," says I. "That might pass with me; but withstrangers you'd get the laugh."
"But it's true," he goes on. "And I didn't dream anyone could hear mefrom here."
"Why, you boob," says I, "they could hear you a mile off!"
"Really?" says he. "But you don't suppose Vio--I mean, the MissesHibbs could hear, do you?"
"Unless it's their habit to putty up their ears at night," says I.
"But--but what will they think?" he gasps breathless.
"That they're bein' serenaded by some admirin' friend," says I."What's your guess?"
"Oh--oh!" says Merry, slumpin' down on a settee. "I--I had not thoughtof that."
"Ah, buck up!" say I. "Maybe you can fake an alibi in the mornin'.Anyway, you can't spend the night here. You got to report to Aunty."
He lets out another groan, and then gets on his feet. "There's a paththrough the bushes along here somewhere," says he.
"No more cross country work in full dress clothes for me," says I."We'll sneak down the Hibbs's drive where the goin's easy."
We was doin' it real sleuthy too, keepin' on the lawn and dodgin' fromshadow to shadow, when just as we're passin' the house Merry has tostub his toe and drop his blamed cornet with a bang.
Then out from a second story window floats a voice: "Who is that,please?"
Merry nudges me in the ribs. "Tell them it's you," he whispers.
"Why, it's--it's me--Torchy," says I reluctant.
"Oh! Ah!" says a couple of voices in chorus. Then one of 'em goes on,"The young man who is visiting dear Meredith?"
"Yep," says I. "Same one."
"But it wasn't you playing the cornet so beautifully, was it?" comescoaxin' from the window.
"Tell them yes," whispers Merry, nudgin' violent.
"Gwan!" I whispers back. "I'm in bad enough as it is." With that Ispeaks up before he can stop me, "Not much!" says I. "That was dearMeredith himself."
"Oh-oh!" says the voices together. Then there's whisperin' between'em. One seems urgin' the other on to something, and at last it comesout. "Young man," says the voice, smooth and persuadin', "please tellus who--that is--which one of us was the serenade intended for?"
This brings the deepest groan of all from J. Meredith.
"Come on, now," says I, hoarse and low in his ear. "It's up to you.Which?"
"Oh, really," he whispers back, "I--I can't!"
"You got to, and quick," says I. "Come now, was it Pansy?"
"No, no!" says he, gaspy.
"Huh!" says I. "Then Violet gets the decision." And I holds him offby main strength while I calls out, "Why, ain't you on yet? It was forViolet, of course."
"Ah-h-h-h! Thank you. Good night," comes a voice--no chorus thistime: just one--and the window is shut.
"There you are, Merry," says I. "It's all over. You're as good asbooked for life."
He was game about it, though, Merry was. He squares it with Auntybefore goin' to bed, and right after breakfast next mornin' he marchesover to the Hibbses real business-like. Half an hour later I saw himstrollin' out on the wharf with one of the big sisters, and I knew itmust be Violet. It was his busy day; so I says nothin' to anybody, butfades.
And you should have seen the jaunty, beamin' J. Meredith that swingsinto the Corrugated Monday mornin'. He stops at the gate to give me afraternal grip.
"It's all right, Torchy," says he. "She--she'll have me--Violet, youknow. And we are to live abroad. We sail in less than a month."
"But what about Pansy?" says I.
"Oh, she's coming with us, of course," says he. "Really, they're bothcharming girls."
"Huh!" says I. "That's where you were when I found you. You're pastthat point, remember."
"Yes, I know," says he. "It was you helped me too, and I wish in someway I could show my----"
"You can," says I. "Leave me the cornet. I might need it some daymyself."