The Coming of Bill

by P. G. Wodehouse

  Chapter VI

  The Outcasts

  Three months of his new life had gone by before Kirk awoke from thestupor which had gripped him as the result of the general upheaval ofhis world. Ever since his return from Colombia he had honestly beenintending to resume his painting, and, attacking it this time in abusiness-like way, to try to mould himself into the semblance of anefficient artist.

  His mind had been full of fine resolutions. He would engage a goodteacher, some competent artist whom fortune had not treated well andwho would be glad of the job--Washington Square and its neighbourhoodwere full of them--and settle down grimly, working regular hours, torecover lost ground.

  But the rush of life, as lived on the upper avenue, had swept him away.He had been carried along on the rapids of dinners, parties, dances,theatres, luncheons, and the rest, and his great resolve had gonebobbing away from him on the current.

  He had recovered it now and climbed painfully ashore, feeling bruisedand exhausted, but determined.

  * * * * *

  Among the motley crowd which had made the studio a home in the days ofKirk's bachelorhood had been an artist--one might almost say anex-artist--named Robert Dwight Penway. An over-fondness for rye whiskyat the Brevoort cafe had handicapped Robert as an active force in theworld of New York art. As a practical worker he was not greatlyesteemed--least of all by the editors of magazines, who had paidadvance cheques to him for work which, when delivered at all, wasdelivered too late for publication. These, once bitten, were now twiceshy of Mr. Penway. They did not deny his great talents, which were,indeed, indisputable; but they were fixed in their determination not tomake use of them.

  Fate could have provided no more suitable ally for Kirk. It wasuniversally admitted around Washington Square and--grudgingly--down-townthat in the matter of theory Mr. Penway excelled. He could teach toperfection what he was too erratic to practise.

  Robert Dwight Penway, run to earth one sultry evening in the Brevoort,welcomed Kirk as a brother, as a rich brother. Even when his firstimpression, that he was to have the run of the house on Fifth Avenueand mix freely with touchable multi-millionaires, had been corrected,his altitude was still brotherly. He parted from Kirk with many solemnpromises to present himself at the studio daily and teach him enoughart to put him clear at the top of the profession. "Way above allthese other dubs," asserted Mr. Penway.

  Robert Dwight Penway's attitude toward his contemporaries in art bore astriking resemblance to Steve's estimate of his successors in themiddle-weight department of the American prize-ring.

  Surprisingly to those who knew him, Mr. Penway was as good as his word.Certainly Kirk's terms had been extremely generous; but he had thrownaway many a contract of equal value in his palmy days. Possibly hisactivity was due to his liking for Kirk; or it may have been that theprospect of sitting by with a cigar while somebody else worked, withnothing to do all day except offer criticism, and advice, appealed tohim.

  At any rate, he appeared at the studio on the following afternoon,completely sober and excessively critical. He examined the canvaseswhich Kirk had hauled from shelves and corners for his inspection. Oneafter another he gazed upon them in an increasingly significantsilence. When the last one was laid aside he delivered judgment.

  "Golly!" he said.

  Kirk flushed. It was not that he was not in complete agreement with theverdict. Looking at these paintings, some of which he had in the olddays thought extremely good, he was forced to admit that "Golly" wasthe only possible criticism.

  He had not seen them for a long time, and absence had enabled him tocorrect first impressions. Moreover, something had happened to him,causing him to detect flaws where he had seen only merits. Life hadsharpened his powers of judgment. He was a grown man looking at thefollies of his youth.

  "Burn them!" said Mr. Penway, lighting a cigar with the air of onerestoring his tissues after a strenuous ordeal. "Burn the lot. They'reawful. Darned amateur nightmares. They offend the eye. Cast them into aburning fiery furnace."

  Kirk nodded. The criticism was just. It erred, if at all, on the sideof mildness. Certainly something had happened to him since heperpetrated those daubs. He had developed. He saw things with new eyes.

  "I guess I had better start right in again at the beginning," he said.

  "Earlier than that," amended Mr. Penway.

  * * * * *

  So Kirk settled down to a routine of hard work; and, so doing, droveanother blow at the wedge which was separating his life from Ruth's.There were days now when they did not meet at all, and others when theysaw each other for a few short moments in which neither seemed to havemuch to say.

  Ruth had made a perfunctory protest against the new departure.

  "Really," she said, "it does seem absurd for you to spend all your timedown at that old studio. It isn't as if you had to. But, of course, ifyou want to----"

  And she had gone on to speak of other subjects. It was plain to Kirkthat his absence scarcely affected her. She was still in the rapids,and every day carried her farther away from him.

  It did not hurt him now. A sort of apathy seemed to have fallen on him.The old days became more and more remote. Sometimes he doubted whetheranything remained of her former love for him, and sometimes he wonderedif he still loved her. She was so different that it was almost as ifshe were a stranger. Once they had had everything in common. Now itseemed to him that they had nothing--not even Bill.

  He did not brood upon it. He gave himself no time for that. He workeddoggedly on under the blasphemous but efficient guidance of Mr. Penway.He was becoming a man with a fixed idea--the idea of making good.

  He began to make headway. His beginnings were small, but practical. Heno longer sat down when the spirit moved him to dash off vaguemasterpieces which might turn into something quite unexpected on theroad to completion; he snatched at anything definite that presenteditself.

  Sometimes it was a couple of illustrations to a short story in one ofthe minor magazines, sometimes a picture to go with an eulogy of apatent medicine. Whatever it was, he seized upon it and put into it allthe talent he possessed. And thanks to the indefatigable coaching ofRobert Dwight Penway, a certain merit was beginning to creep into hiswork. His drawing was growing firmer. He no longer shirkeddifficulties.

  Mr. Penway was good enough to approve of his progress. Being free fromany morbid distaste for himself, he attributed that progress to itsproper source. As he said once in a moment of expansive candour, hecould, given a free hand and something to drink and smoke while doingit, make an artist out of two sticks and a lump of coal.

  "Why, I've made _you_ turn out things that are like something onearth, my boy," he said proudly. "And that," he added, as he reachedout for the bottle of Bourbon which Kirk had provided for him, "isgoing some."

  Kirk was far too grateful to resent the slightly unflattering note amore spirited man might have detected in the remark.

  * * * * *

  Only once during those days did Kirk allow himself to weaken and admitto himself how wretched he was. He was drawing a picture of Steve atthe time, and Steve had the sympathy which encourages weakness inothers.

  It was a significant sign of his changed attitude towards hisprofession that he was not drawing Steve as a figure in an allegoricalpicture or as "Apollo" or "The Toiler," but simply as a well-developedyoung man who had had the good sense to support his nether garmentswith Middleton's Undeniable Suspenders. The picture, when completed,would show Steve smirking down at the region of his waist-line andannouncing with pride and satisfaction: "They're Middleton's!" Kirk wasputting all he knew into the work, and his face, as he drew, was darkand gloomy.

  Steve noted this with concern. He had perceived for some time that Kirkhad changed. He had lost all his old boyish enjoyment of theirsparring-bouts, and he threw the medicine-ball with an absent gloomalmost equal to Bailey's.

  It had not occurred to Steve to q
uestion Kirk about this. If Kirk hadanything on his mind which he wished to impart he would say it.Meanwhile, the friendly thing for him to do was to be quiet and pretendto notice nothing.

  It seemed to Steve that nothing was going right these days. Here washe, chafing at his inability to open his heart to Mamie. Here was Kirk,obviously in trouble. And--a smaller thing, but of interest, as showinghow universal the present depression was--there was Bailey Bannister,equally obviously much worried over something or other.

  For Bailey had reinstated Steve in the place he had occupied before oldJohn Bannister had dismissed him, and for some time past Steve hadmarked him down as a man with a secret trouble. He had never been of ariotously cheerful disposition, but it had been possible once to drawhim into conversation at the close of the morning's exercises. Now hehardly spoke. And often, when Steve arrived in the morning, he wasinformed that Mr. Bannister had started for Wall Street early onimportant business.

  These things troubled Steve. His simple soul abhorred a mystery.

  But it was the case of Kirk that worried him most, for he half guessedthat the latter's gloom had to do with Ruth; and he worshipped Ruth.

  Kirk laid down his sketch and got up.

  "I guess that'll do for the moment, Steve," he said.

  Steve relaxed the attitude of proud satisfaction which he had assumedin order to do justice to the Undeniable Suspenders. He stretchedhimself and sat down.

  "You certainly are working to beat the band just now, squire," heremarked.

  "It's a pretty good thing, work, Steve," said Kirk. "If it does nothingelse, it keeps you from thinking."

  He knew it was feeble of him, but he was powerfully impelled to relievehimself by confiding his wretchedness to Steve. He need not say much,he told himself plausibly--only just enough to lighten the burden alittle.

  He would not be disloyal to Ruth--he had not sunk to that--but, afterall Steve was Steve. It was not like blurting out his troubles to astranger. It would harm nobody, and do him a great deal of good, if hetalked to Steve.

  He relit his pipe, which had gone out during a tense spell of work onthe suspenders.

  "Well, Steve," he said, "what do you think of life? How is this best ofall possible worlds treating you?"

  Steve deposed that life was pretty punk.

  "You're a great describer, Steve. You've hit it first time. Punk is theword. It's funny, if you look at it properly. Take my own case. Thesuperficial observer, who is apt to be a bonehead, would say that Iought to be singing psalms of joy. I am married to the woman I wantedto marry. I have a son who, not to be fulsome, is a perfectly good sortof son. I have no financial troubles. I eat well. I have ceased totremble when I see a job of work. In fact, I have advanced in my art tosuch an extent that shrewd business men like Middleton put thepictorial side of their Undeniable Suspenders in my hands and go off toplay golf with their minds easy, having perfect confidence in my skilland judgment. If I can't be merry and bright, who can? Do you find memerry and bright, Steve?"

  "I've seen you in better shape," said Steve cautiously.

  "I've felt in better shape."

  Steve coughed. The conversation was about to become delicate.

  "What's eating you, colonel?" he asked presently.

  Kirk frowned in silence at the Undeniable for a few moments. Then thepent-up misery of months exploded in a cascade of words. He jumped upand began to walk restlessly about the studio.

  "Damn it! Steve, I ought not to say a word, I know. It's weak andcowardly and bad taste and everything else you can think of to speak ofit--even to you. One's supposed to stand this sort of roasting at thestake with a grin, as if one enjoyed it. But, after all, you _are_different. It's not as if it was any one. You _are_ different,aren't you?"

  "Sure."

  "Well, you know what's wrong as well as I do."

  "Surest thing you know. It's hit me, too."

  "How's that?"

  "Well, things ain't the same. That's about what it comes to."

  Kirk stopped and looked at him. His expression was wistful. "I oughtnot to be talking about it."

  "You go right ahead, squire," said Steve soothingly. "I know just howyou feel, and I guess talking's not going to do any harm. Act as if Iwasn't here. Look on it as a monologue. I don't amount to anything."

  "When did you go to the house last, Steve?"

  Steve reflected.

  "About a couple of weeks ago, I reckon."

  "See the kid?"

  Steve shook his head.

  "Seeing his nibs ain't my long suit these days. I may be wrong, but Igot the idea there was a dead-line for me about three blocks away fromthe nursery. I asked Keggs was the coast clear, but he said the Porterdame was in the ring, so I kind of thought I'd better away. I don'tseem to fit in with all them white tiles and thermometers."

  "You used to see him every day when we were here. And you didn't seemto contaminate him, as far as any one could notice."

  There was a silence.

  "Do you see him often, colonel?"

  Kirk laughed.

  "Oh, yes. I'm favoured. I pay a state visit every day. Think of that! Isit in a chair at the other end of the room while Mrs. Porter standsbetween to see that I don't start anything. Bill plays with hissterilized bricks. Occasionally he and I exchange a few civil words.It's as jolly and sociable as you could want. We have great times."

  "Say, on the level, I wonder you stand for it."

  "I've got to stand for it."

  "He's your kid."

  "Not exclusively. I have a partner, Steve."

  Steve snorted dolefully.

  "Ain't it hell the way things break loose in this world!" he sighed."Who'd have thought two years ago----"

  "Do you make it only two? I should have put it at about two thousand."

  "Honest, squire, if any one had told me then that Miss Ruth had it inher to take up with all these fool stunts----"

  "Well, I can't say I was prepared for it."

  Steve coughed again. Kirk was in an expansive mood this afternoon, andthe occasion was ideal for the putting forward of certain views whichhe had long wished to impart. But, on the other hand, the subject was apeculiarly delicate one. It has been well said that it is better for athird party to quarrel with a buzz-saw than to interfere betweenhusband and wife; and Steve was constitutionally averse to anythingthat savoured of butting in.

  Still, Kirk had turned the talk into this channel. He decided to riskit.

  "If I were you," he said, "I'd get busy and start something."

  "Such as what?"

  Steve decided to abandon caution and speak his mind. Him, almost asmuch as Kirk, the existing state of things had driven to desperation.Though in a sense he was only a spectator, the fact that the alteredconditions of Kirk's life involved his almost complete separation fromMamie gave him what might be called a stake in the affair. The briefand rare glimpses which he got of her nowadays made it absolutelyimpossible for him to conduct his wooing on a business-like basis. Adiffident man cannot possibly achieve any success in odd moments.Constant propinquity is his only hope.

  That fact alone, he considered, almost gave him the right to interfere.And, apart from that, his affection for Kirk and Ruth gave him a claim.Finally, he held what was practically an official position in thefamily councils on the strength of being William Bannister Winfield'sgodfather.

  He loved William Bannister as a son, and it had been one of hisfavourite day dreams to conjure up a vision of the time when he shouldbe permitted to undertake the child's physical training. He had toyedlovingly with the idea of imparting to this promising pupil all that heknew of the greatest game on earth. He had watched him in the old daysstaggering about the studio, and had pictured him grown to his fullstrength, his muscles trained, his brain full of the wisdom of one who,if his mother had not kicked, would have been middle-weight champion ofAmerica.

  He had resigned himself to the fact that the infant's social statusmade it impossible that he should be the r
eal White Hope whom he hadonce pictured beating all comers in the roped ring; but, after all,there was a certain mild fame to be acquired even by an amateur. Andnow that dream was over--unless Kirk could be goaded into strong actionin time.

  "Why don't you sneak the kid away somewhere?" he suggested. "Why don'tyou go right in at them and say: 'It's my kid, and I'm going to takehim away into the country out of all this white-tile stuff and let himroll in the mud same as he used to.' Why, say, there's that shack ofyours in Connecticut, just made for it. That kid would have the time ofhis life there."

  "You think that's the solution, do you, Steve?"

  "I'm dead sure it is." Steve's voice became more and more enthusiasticas the idea unfolded itself. "Why, it ain't only the kid I'm thinkingof. There's Miss Ruth. Say, you don't mind me pulling this line oftalk?"

  "Go ahead. I began it. What about Miss Ruth?"

  "Well, you know just what's the matter with her. She's let this societygame run away with her. I guess she started it because she feltlonesome when you were away; and now it's got her and she can't dropit. All she wants is a jolt. It would slow her up and show her justwhere she was. She's asking for it. One good, snappy jolt would put thewhole thing right. And this thing of jerking the kid away toConnecticut would be the right dope, believe _me_."

  Kirk shook his head.

  "It wouldn't do, Steve. It isn't that I don't want to do it; but onemust play to the rules. I can't explain what I mean. I can only sayit's impossible. Let's think of a parallel case. When you were in thering, there must have been times when you had a chance of hitting yourman low. Why didn't you do it? It would have jolted him, all right."

  "Why, I'd have lost on a foul."

  "Well, so should I lose on a foul if I started the sort of rough-houseyou suggest."

  "I don't get you."

  "Well, if you want it in plain English, Ruth would never forgive me. Isthat clear enough?"

  "You're dead wrong, boss," said Steve excitedly. "I know her."

  "I thought I did. Well, anyway, Steve, thanks for the suggestion; but,believe me, nothing doing. And now, if you feel like it, I wish youwould resume your celebrated imitation of a man exulting over the factthat he is wearing Middleton's Undeniable. There isn't much more to do,and I should like to get through with it to-day, if possible. There,hold that pose. It's exactly right. The honest man gloating over hissuspenders. You ought to go on the stage, Steve."