CHAPTER FIFTEEN
1.
The lobby of the Hotel Cosmopolis is the exact center of New York,the spot where at certain hours one is sure of meeting everybody oneknows. The first person that Nelly and Freddie saw, as they passedthrough the swing doors, was Jill. She was seated on the chair by thebig pillar in the middle of the hall.
"What ho!" said Freddie. "Waiting for someone?"
"Hullo, Freddie. Yes, I'm waiting for Wally Mason. I got a note fromhim this morning, asking me to meet him here. I'm a little early. Ihaven't congratulated you yet. You're wonderful!"
"Thanks, old girl. Our young hero is making pretty hefty strides inhis chosen profesh, what! Mr Rooke, who appears quite simple andunspoiled by success, replied to our representative's enquiry as tohis future plans that he proposed to stagger into the grill-room andimbibe about eighteen dollars' worth of lunch. Yes, it is a bit ofall right, taking it by and large, isn't it? I mean to say, thesalary, the jolly old salary, you know . . . quite a help when afellow's lost all his money!"
Jill was surprised to observe that the Last of the Rookes wascontorting his face in an unsightly manner that seemed to be anattempt at a wink, pregnant with hidden meaning. She took her cuedutifully, though without understanding.
"Oh, yes," she replied.
Freddie seemed grateful. With a cordial "Cheerio!" he led Nelly offto the grill-room.
"I didn't know Jill knew Mr Mason," said Nelly, as they sat down attheir table.
"No?" said Freddie absently, running an experienced eye over thebill-of-fare. He gave an elaborate order. "What was that? Oh,absolutely! Jill and I and Wally were children together."
"How funny you should all be together again like this."
"Yes. Oh, good Lord!"
"What's the matter?"
"It's nothing. I meant to send a cable to a pal of mine in England.I'll send it after lunch."
Freddie took out his handkerchief, and tied a knot in it. He wasslightly ashamed of the necessity of taking such a precaution, but itwas better to be on the safe side. His interview with Jill at thetheatre had left him with the conviction that there was only onething for him to do, and that was to cable poor old Derek to forgetimpending elections and all the rest of it and pop over to America atonce. He knew that he would never have the courage to re-open thematter with Jill himself. As an ambassador he was a spent force. IfJill was to be wooed from her mood of intractability, Derek was theonly man to do it. Freddie was convinced that, seeing him in person,she would melt and fall into his arms. Too dashed absurd, Freddiefelt, two loving hearts being separated like this and all that sortof thing. He replaced his handkerchief in his pocket, relieved, andconcentrated himself on the entertainment of Nelly. A simple task,for, the longer he was with this girl, the easier did it seem to talkto her.
Jill, left alone in the lobby, was finding the moments pass quitepleasantly. She liked watching the people as they came in. One or twoof the girls of the company fluttered in like birds, were swoopedupon by their cavaliers, and fluttered off to the grill-room. Thered-headed Babe passed her with a genial nod, and, shortly after,Lois Denham, the willowy recipient of sunbursts from her friend Izzyof the hat-checks, came by in company with a sallow, hawk-faced youngman with a furtive eye, whom Jill took--correctly--to be Izzyhimself. Lois was looking pale and proud, and from the few wordswhich came to Jill's ears as they neared her, seemed to be annoyed athaving been kept waiting.
It was immediately after this that the swing-doors revolved rathermore violently than usual, and Mr Goble burst into view.
There was a cloud upon Mr Goble's brow, seeming to indicate that hisgrievance against life had not yet been satisfactorily adjusted: butit passed as he saw Jill, and he came up to her with what he wouldprobably have claimed to be an ingratiating smile.
"Hello!" said Mr Goble. "All alone?"
Jill was about to say that the condition was merely temporary whenthe manager went on.
"Come and have a bit of lunch."
"Thank you very much," said Jill, with the politeness of dislike,"but I'm waiting for someone."
"Chuck him!" advised Mr Goble cordially.
"No, thanks, I couldn't, really."
The cloud began to descend again upon Mr Goble's brow. He wasaccustomed to having these invitations of his treated as royalcommands.
"Come along!"
"I'm afraid it's impossible."
Mr Goble subjected her to a prolonged stare, seemed about to speak,changed his mind, and swung off moodily in the direction of thegrill-room. He was not used to this sort of treatment.
He had hardly gone, when Wally appeared.
"What was he saying to you?" demanded Wally abruptly, withoutpreliminary greeting.
"He was asking me to lunch."
Wally was silent for a moment. His good-natured face wore an unwontedscowl.
"He went in there, of course?" he said, pointing to the grill-room.
"Yes."
"Then let's go into the other room," said Wally. He regained hisgood-humor. "It was awfully good of you to come. I didn't knowwhether you would be able to."
"It was very nice of you to invite me."
Wally grinned.
"How perfect our manners are! It's a treat to listen! How did youknow that that was the one hat in New York I wanted you to wear?"
"Oh, these things get about. Do you like it?"
"It's wonderful. Let's take this table, shall we?"
2.
They sat down. The dim, tapestry-hung room soothed Jill. She wasfeeling a little tired after the rehearsal. At the far end of theroom an orchestra was playing a tune that she remembered and liked.Her mind went back to the last occasion on which she and Wally hadsat opposite each other at a restaurant. How long ago it seemed! Shereturned to the present to find Wally speaking to her.
"You left very suddenly the other night," said Wally.
"I didn't want to meet Freddie."
Wally looked at her commiseratingly.
"I don't want to spoil your lunch," he said, "but Freddie knows all.He has tracked you down. He met Nelly Bryant, whom he seems to havemade friends with in London, and she told him where you were and whatyou were doing. For a girl who fled at his mere approach the nightbefore last, you don't seem very agitated by the news," he said, asJill burst into a peal of laughter.
"You haven't heard?"
"Heard what?"
"Freddie got Mr Pilkington to put him in the chorus of the piece. Hewas rehearsing when I arrived at the theatre this morning, and havinga terrible time with Mr Miller. And, later on, Mr Goble had a quarrelwith the man who was playing the Englishman, and the man threw up hispart and Mr Goble said he could get any one in the chorus to play itjust as well, and he chose Freddie. So now Freddie is one of theprincipals, and bursting with pride!"
Wally threw his head back and uttered a roar of appreciation whichcaused a luncher at a neighboring table to drop an oyster which hewas poising in mid-air.
"Don't make such a noise!" said Jill severely. "Everyone's looking atyou."
"I must! It's the most priceless thing I ever heard. I've alwaysmaintained and I always will maintain that for pure lunacy nothingcan touch the musical comedy business. There isn't anything thatcan't happen in musical comedy. 'Alice in Wonderland' is nothing toit."
"Have you felt that, too? That's exactly how I feel. It's like aperpetual 'Mad Hatter's Tea-Party.'"
"But what on earth made Freddie join the company at all?"
A sudden gravity descended upon Jill. The words had reminded her ofthe thing which she was perpetually striving to keep out of herthoughts.
"He said he wanted to be there to keep an eye on me."
Gravity is infectious. Wally's smile disappeared. He, too, had beenrecalled to thoughts which were not pleasant.
Wally crumbled his roll. There was a serious expression on his face.
"Freddie was quite right. I didn't think he had so much sense."
"Freddie was not right," flared J
ill. The recollection of herconversation with that prominent artist still had the power to fireher independent soul. "I'm not a child. I can look after myself. WhatI do is my own business."
"I'm afraid you're going to find that your business is severalpeople's business. I am interested in it myself. I don't like yourbeing on the stage. Now bite my head off!"
"It's very kind of you to bother about me . . ."
"I said 'Bite my head off!' I didn't say 'Freeze me!' I take thelicense of an old friend who in his time has put worms down yourback, and I repeat--I don't like your being on the stage."
"I shouldn't have thought you would have been so"--Jill sought for adevastating adjective--"so mid-Victorian!"
"As far as you are concerned, I'm the middest Victorian in existence.Mid is my middle name." Wally met her indignant gaze squarely."I-do-not-like-your-being-on-the-stage! Especially in any companywhich Ike Goble is running."
"Why Mr Goble particularly?"
"Because he is not the sort of man you ought to be coming in contactwith."
"What nonsense!"
"It isn't nonsense at all. I suppose you've read a lot about themorals of theatrical managers . . ."
"Yes. And it seemed to be exaggerated and silly."
"So it is. There's nothing wrong with most of them. As a generalthing, they are very decent fellows,--extraordinarily decent if youthink of the position they are in. I don't say that in a business waythere's much they won't try to put over on you. In the theatre, whenit comes to business, everything goes except biting and gouging.'There's never a law of God or man runs north of fifty-three.' If youalter that to 'north of Forty-first Street,' it doesn't scan as well,but it's just as true. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say thatthe Golden Rule is suspended there. You get used to it after you havebeen in the theatre for awhile, and, except for leaving your watchand pocketbook at home when you have to pay a call on a manager andkeeping your face to him so that he can't get away with your backcollar-stud, you don't take any notice of it. It's all a game. If amanager swindles you, he wins the hole and takes the honor. If youfoil him, you are one up. In either case, it makes no difference tothe pleasantness of your relations. You go on calling him by hisfirst name, and he gives you a couple of cigars out of his waistcoatpocket and says you're a good kid. There is nothing personal in it.He has probably done his best friend out of a few thousand dollarsthe same morning, and you see them lunching together after theceremony as happily as possible. You've got to make allowances formanagers. They are the victims of heredity. When a burglar marries ahat-check girl, their offspring goes into the theatrical businessautomatically, and he can't shake off the early teaching which heimbibed at his father's knee. But morals . . ."
Wally broke off to allow the waiter to place a fried sole before him.Waiters always select the moment when we are talking our best tointrude themselves.
"As regards morals," resumed Wally, "that is a different matter. Mostmanagers are respectable, middle-aged men with wives and families.They are in the business to make money, and they don't want anythingelse out of it. The girls in their companies are like so many clerksto them, just machines that help to bring the money in. They don'tknow half a dozen of them to speak to. But our genial Ike is not likethat." Wally consumed a mouthful of sole. "Ike Goble is a badcitizen. He paws! He's a slinker and a prowler and a leerer. He's apest and a worm! He's fat and soft and flabby. He has a greasy soul,a withered heart, and an eye like a codfish. Not knocking him, ofcourse!" added Wally magnanimously. "Far be it from me to knockanyone! But, speaking with the utmost respect and viewing him in themost favorable light, he is a combination of tom-cat and the thingsyou see when you turn over a flat stone! Such are the reasons why Iam sorry that you are in his company."
Jill had listened to this diatribe with a certain uneasiness.
Her brief encounters with Mr Goble told her that every word wasprobably true. She could still feel the unpleasant sensation of beinginspected by the eye which Wally had compared--quite justly--to thatof a codfish. But her pride forbade any admission of weakness.
"I can take care of myself," she said.
"I don't doubt it," said Wally. "And you could probably take care ofyourself if you fell into a muddy pond. But I shouldn't like to standon the bank and watch you doing it. I know what girls in the chorushave to go through. Hanging about for hours in draughts, doingnothing, while the principals go through their scenes, and yelled atif they try to relieve the tedium of captivity with a little lightconversation . . ."
"Yes," admitted Jill. "There has been a good lot of that."
"There always is. I believe if the stage-carpenter was going to sticka screw in a flat, they would call a chorus-rehearsal to watch him doit . . . Jill, you must get out of it. It's no life for you. The work. . ."
"I like the work."
"While it's new, perhaps, but . . ."
Jill interrupted him passionately.
"Oh, can't you understand!" she cried. "I want the work. I need it. Iwant something to do, something to occupy my mind. I hate talkingabout it, but you know how things are with me. Freddie must have toldyou. Even if he didn't, you must have guessed, meeting me here allalone and remembering how things were when we last met. You mustunderstand! Haven't you ever had a terrible shock or a dreadfuldisappointment that seemed to smash up the whole world? And didn'tyou find that the only possible thing to do was to work and work andwork as hard as ever you could? When I first came to America, Inearly went mad. Uncle Chris sent me down to a place on Long Island,and I had nothing to do all day but think. I couldn't stand it. I ranaway and came to New York and met Nelly Bryant and got this work todo. It saved me. It kept me busy all day and tired me out and didn'tgive me time to think. The harder it is, the better it suits me. It'san antidote. I simply wouldn't give it up now. As for what you weresaying, I must put up with that. The other girls do, so why shouldn'tI?"
"They are toughened to it."
"Then I must get toughened to it. What else is there for me to do? Imust do something."
"Marry me!" said Wally, reaching across the table and putting hishand on hers. The light in his eyes lit up his homely face like alantern.
3.
The suddenness of it startled Jill into silence. She snatched herhand away and drew back, looking at him in wonderment. She wasconfusedly aware of a babble of sound,--people talking, peoplelaughing, the orchestra playing a lively tune. All her senses seemedto have become suddenly more acute. She was intensely alive to smalldetails. Then, abruptly, the whole world condensed itself into twoeyes that were fastened upon hers,--compelling eyes which she felt apanic desire to avoid.
She turned her head away, and looked out into the restaurant. Itseemed incredible that all these people, placidly intent upon theirfood and their small talk, should not be staring at her, wonderingwhat she was going to say; nudging each other and speculating. Theirdetachment made her feel alone and helpless. She was nothing to themand they did not care what happened to her, just as she had beennothing to those frozen marshes down at Brookport. She was alone inan indifferent world, with her own problems to settle for herself.
Other men had asked Jill to marry them,--a full dozen of them, hereand there in country houses and at London before she had met andloved Derek Underhill: but nothing that she had had in the way of experiencehad prepared her for Wally. These others had given her time tomarshal her forces, to collect herself, to weigh them thoughtfully inthe balance. Before speaking, they had signalled their devotion in ahundred perceptible ways--by their pinkness, their stammeringawkwardness, by the glassy look in their eyes. They had not shot aproposal at her like a bullet from out of the cover of a conversationthat had nothing to do with their emotions at all.
Yet, now that the shock of it was dying away, she began to remembersigns she would have noticed, speeches which ought to have warnedher . . .
"Wally!" she gasped.
She found that he affected her in an entirely different fashion fromthe luckless dozen of t
hose London days. He seemed to matter more, tobe more important, almost--though she rebelled at the word--moredangerous.
"Let me take you out of it all! You aren't fit for this sort of life.I can't bear to see you . . ."
Jill bent forward and touched his hand. He started as though he hadbeen burned. The muscles of his throat were working.
"Wally, it's--" She paused for a word. "Kind" was horrible. It wouldhave sounded cold, almost supercilious. "Sweet" was the sort of thingshe could imagine Lois Penham saying to her friend Izzy. She beganher sentence again. "You're a dear to say that, but . . ."
Wally laughed chokingly.
"You think I'm altruistic? I'm not. I'm just as selfish andself-centered as any other man who wants a thing very badly. I'm asaltruistic as a child crying for the moon. I want you to marry mebecause I love you, because there never was anybody like you, becauseyou're the whole world, because I always have loved you. I've beendreaming about you for a dozen years, thinking about you, wonderingabout you--wondering where you were, what you were doing, how youlooked. I used to think that it was just sentimentality, that youmerely stood for a time of my life when I was happier than I haveever been since. I used to think that you were just a sort of peg onwhich I was hanging a pleasant sentimental regret for days whichcould never come back. You were a memory that seemed to personify allthe other memories of the best time of my life. You were the goddessof old associations. Then I met you in London, and it was different.I wanted you--_you!_ I didn't want you because you recalled old timesand were associated with dead happiness, I wanted _you!_ I knew Iloved you directly you spoke to me at the theatre that night of thefire. I loved your voice and your eyes and your smile and yourcourage. And then you told me you were engaged. I might have expectedit, but I couldn't keep my jealousy from showing itself, and yousnubbed me as I deserved. But now . . . things are different now.Everything's different, except my love."
Jill turned her face to the wall beside her. A man at the next table,a corpulent red-faced man, had begun to stare. He could have heardnothing, for Wally had spoken in a low voice; but plainly he wasaware that something more interesting was happening at their tablethan at any of the other tables, and he was watching with a bovineinquisitiveness which affected Jill with a sense of outrage. A momentbefore, she had resented the indifference of the outer world. Now,this one staring man seemed like a watching multitude. There weretears in her eyes, and she felt that the red-faced man suspected it.
"Wally . . ." Her voice broke. "It's impossible."
"Why? Why, Jill?"
"Because . . . Oh, it's impossible!"
There was a silence.
"Because . . ." He seemed to find a difficulty in speaking, "Becauseof Underhill?"
Jill nodded. She felt wretched. The monstrous incongruity of hersurroundings oppressed her. The orchestra dashed into a rollickingmelody, which set her foot tapping in spite of herself. At a near-bytable somebody was shouting with laughter. Two waiters at aservice-stand were close enough for her to catch snatches of theirtalk. They were arguing about an order of fried potatoes. Once againher feelings veered round, and she loathed the detachment of theworld. Her heart ached for Wally. She could not look at him, but sheknew exactly what she would see if she did,--honest, pleading eyessearching her face for something which she could not give.
"Yes," she said.
The table creaked. Wally was leaning further forward. He seemed likesomething large and pathetic,--a big dog in trouble. She hated to behurting him. And all the time her foot tapped accompaniment to therag-time tune.
"But you can't live all your life with a memory," said Wally.
Jill turned and faced him. His eyes seemed to leap at her, and theywere just as she had pictured them.
"You don't understand," she said gently. "You don't understand."
"It's ended. It's over."
Jill shook her head.
"You can't still love him, after what has happened!"
"I don't know," said Jill unhappily.
The words seemed to bewilder Wally as much as they had bewilderedFreddie.
"You don't know!"
Jill shut her eyes tight. Wally quivered. It was a trick she had hadas a child. In perplexity, she had always screwed up her eyes justlike that, as if to shut herself up in herself.
"Don't talk for a minute, Wally," she said. "I want to think."
Her eyes opened.
"It's like this," she said. He had seen her look at him exactly thesame way a hundred times. "I don't suppose I can make you understand,but this is how it is. Suppose you had a room, and it was full ofthings. Furniture. And there wasn't any space left. You--you couldn'tput anything else in till you had taken all that out, could you? Itmight not be worth anything, but it would still be there taking upall the room."
Wally nodded.
"Yes," he said. "I see."
"My heart's full, Wally dear. I know it's just lumber that's chokingit up, but it's difficult to get it out. It takes time getting itout. I put it in, thinking it was wonderful furniture, the mostwonderful in the world, and--I was cheated. It was just lumber. Butit's there. It's still there. It's there all the time. And what am Ito do?"
The orchestra crashed, and was silent. The sudden stillness seemed tobreak a spell. The world invaded the little island where they sat. Achattering party of girls and men brushed past them. The waiter,judging that they had been there long enough, slipped a strip ofpaper, decorously turned upside down, in front of Wally. He took themoney, and went away to get change.
Wally turned to Jill.
"I understand," he said. "All this hasn't happened, and we're just asgood pals as before?"
"Yes."
"But . . ." He forced a laugh . . . "mark my words, a time may come,and then . . . !"
"I don't know," said Jill.
"A time may come," repeated Wally. "At any rate, let me think so. Ithas nothing to do with me. It's for you to decide, absolutely. I'mnot going to pursue you with my addresses! If ever you get that roomof yours emptied, you won't have to hang out a 'To Let' sign. I shallbe waiting and you will know where to find me. And, in the meantime,yours to command, Wallace Mason. Is that clear?"
"Quite clear." Jill looked at him affectionately. "There's nobody I'drather open that room to than you, Wally. You know that."
"Is that the solemn truth?"
"The solemn truth!"
"Then," said Wally, "in two minutes you will see a startled waiter.There will be about fourteen dollars change out of that twenty hetook away. I'm going to give it all to him."
"You mustn't!"
"Every cent!" said Wally firm. "And the young Greek brigand who stolemy hat at the door is going to get a dollar! That, as our ascetic andhonorable friend Goble would say, is the sort of little guy _I_ am!"
* * *
The red-faced man at the next table eyed them as they went out,leaving behind them a waiter who clutched totteringly for support atthe back of a chair.
"Had a row," he decided, "but made it up."
He called for a toothpick.
The Little Warrior Page 15