CHAPTER XV
ONE MORE WHIRL
Mr. Toomey folded his comfortable bathrobe over his new pajamas and tiedthe silken cord and tassel, remarking casually:
"I think we'll have breakfast here this morning."
The flowing sleeve of Mrs. Toomey's pink silk negligee fell away fromher bare arm as she stood arranging her hair before the wide-toppeddresser of Circassian walnut that looked so well against a background ofpale gray wall paper with a delicate pink border.
"They charge extra," she reminded him.
Toomey was already at the telephone.
"Whole ones? Certainly--and Floridas--be particular. Eggs--soft tomedium. Toast for two, without butter. And coffee? Of course, coffee.Send a paper with it, will you?"
As he hung up the receiver, "This is our last breakfast on earth, OldDear--we're going home to-morrow."
Mr. Toomey repaired to the adjoining bathroom with its immaculateporcelain and tiling, where he inspected his chin critically in theshaving mirror and commented upon the rapid growth of his beard, whichhe declared became tropical in a temperate climate.
"Just to be warm and not have to carry ashes--it's heavenly!"ecstatically sighed Mrs. Toomey.
"Forget it!" laconically. "What makes 'em so slow with that order?" Mr.Toomey lighted a gold-tipped cigarette and paced the floor impatiently.
Mrs. Toomey could not entirely rid herself of the notion that she wasdreaming. A lace petticoat hanging over the back of a chair and abrocaded pink corset over another contributed to the illusion. She couldnot yet believe they were hers, any more than was the twenty-dollarcreation in the hat box on the shelf in the closet.
During their week's stay in Chicago Mrs. Toomey had gone about mostly ina state which resembled the delightful languor of hasheesh, untroubled,irresponsible, save when something reminded her that after Chicago--thecataclysm. Yet she had not yielded easily to Toomey's importunities. Ithad required all his powers of persuasion to overcome her scruples, heringrained thrift and natural prudence.
"We need the change; we've lived too long in a high altitude, and we'renervous wrecks, both of us," he had argued. "We should get in touch withthings and the right kind of people. A trip like this is aninvestment--that's the way you want to look at it. If you want to winanything in this world you've got to take chances. It's the plungers,not the plodders, who make big winnings. I gotta hunch that I'm going toget in touch with somebody that'll take an interest in me."
Left to herself, Mrs. Toomey would have paid something on their mosturgent debts and bought prudently, but she told herself that Jap was aslikely to be right as she was, and the argument that he might meet someone who would be of benefit to him was convincing; so finally she hadconsented. The sense of unreality and wonder which Mrs. Toomeyexperienced when she saw her trunk going was surpassed only by theastonishment of the neighbors, who all but broke the glass in theirvarious windows as they pressed against it to convince themselves thatthe sight was not an optical illusion.
The Toomeys had traveled in a stateroom, over Mrs. Toomey's feebleprotest, and the best room with bath in one of the best hotels inChicago was not too good for Mr. Toomey. They had thought to stay threeweeks, with reasonable economy, and return with a modest bank balance,but the familiar environment was too much for Toomey, who dropped backinto his old way of living as though he never had been out of it, whilethe new clothes and the brightness of the atmosphere of prosperity afterthe years of anxiety and poverty drugged Mrs. Toomey's conscience andcaution into a profound slumber--the latter to be awakened only when,counting the banknotes in her husband's wallet, she was startled todiscover that they had little more than enough to pay their hotel billand return to Prouty in comfort. If either of them remembered the sourcefrom which their present luxurious enjoyment came, neither mentioned it.
The breakfast and service this morning were perfect and Mrs. Toomeysighed contentedly as she crumpled her napkin and reached for the paper.
"There's been a terrible blizzard west of the Mississippi," she murmuredfrom the depths of the _Journal_.
"I'm glad we've missed a little misery," Toomey replied carelessly."It'll mean late trains and all the rest of it. We'd better stay overuntil they're running again on schedule."
Mrs. Toomey ignored, if she heard, the suggestion, and continued:
"It says that the stock, and the sheep in particular, have died likeflies on the range, and scores of herders have been frozen."
"There's more herders where they came from." Toomey brushed the ashesfrom his cigarette into the excavated grapefruit, and yawned andstretched like a cat on its cushion.
"Think of something pleasant--what are we going to do this evening?"
"We mustn't do anything," Mrs. Toomey protested quickly. "If we spendany more we will have to get a check cashed, and that might be awkward,since we know no one; besides, we can't afford it. Let's have a quietevening."
"A quiet evening!" Toomey snorted. "That's my idea of hell. I'll tellyou about me, Old Dear--I'm going to have one more whirl if I have towalk back to Prouty, and you might as well go with me."
Since he was determined, Mrs. Toomey arrived at the same conclusionalso, for not only did she too shudder at the thought of a quietevening, but her presence was more or less of a restraint upon hisextravagant impulses. She endeavored to soothe her uneasiness by tellingherself that they could make up for it by some economy in traveling. Andjust one more good play--what, after all, did it really matter?
The theater was only four blocks from the hotel, but, as a matter ofcourse, Toomey called a taxicab. These modern conveniences were aninnovation that had come during his absence from "civilization" and hisdelight in them was not unlike the ecstasy of a child riding the flyinghorses. It availed Mrs. Toomey nothing to declare that she preferredexercise and they arrived at the theater in a taxi. At sight of the boxoffice Toomey forgot his promise to buy inexpensive seats, but asked forthe best obtainable.
Carefree and debonair, between acts Mr. Toomey strolled in the lobbysmoking and looking so very much in his element that Mrs. Toomeytemporarily forgot her disquietude in being proud of him. His dinnerjacket was not the latest cut, but after giving it much considerationthey had decided that it was not far enough off to be noticeable, andhow very handsome and assured he looked as he sauntered with theconfident air of a man who had only to entertain a whim to gratify it.
Such is the psychology of clothes and the effect of environment uponsome temperaments that that was the way Mr. Toomey felt about it. Proutyand importunate creditors did not exist for him. This condition ofmental intoxication continued when the play was over and, fearful, Mrs.Toomey spoke hastily of going home immediately.
"I'm hungry," he asserted. "We'll go somewhere first and eat something."
"Let's have sandwiches sent up to the room," she pleaded.
"Why not a bow-wow from the night-lunch cart I noticed in the alley? Ilike the feeling of the mustard running between my fingers," derisively.
"Oh, Jap, we oughtn't to--we really ought not!"
But he might have been deaf, for all the attention he paid to herearnest protests as he turned into one of the brilliantly lightedrestaurants which he had previously patronized and that he likedparticularly. There was a glitter in his eyes which increased heruneasiness, and a recklessness in his manner that was not reassuring.
"I may go to my grave without ever seeing another lobster," he said ashe ordered shellfish. "What will you have to drink?" while the waiterhovered.
"Nothing to-night," she replied, startled.
"Different here, Old Dear, I'm thirsty. The wine list, waiter."
That was the beginning. From the time the champagne and oysters arriveduntil long past midnight Mrs. Toomey experienced all the sensations thatcome to the woman who must sit passive and watch her husband passthrough the several stages of intoxication. And in addition, she had theknowledge that he could less afford the money he was spending than thewaiter who served him.
In hi
gh spirits at first, with his natural drollness, stimulated tobrilliancy, his sallies brought smiles from those at adjoining tables.Then he became in turn boastful, arrogant, argumentative, thick ofspeech, finally, and slow of comprehension, but obstinate always.
"Goin' back jail 'morra, Ol' Dear--goin' finish out my life sentence,"when she reminded him of the lateness of the hour and her weariness, andhe resented her interference so fiercely when she countermanded an orderthat she dared not repeat it.
"You lis'en me, waiter, thish my party. Might think I was towndrunkard--village sot way my wife tryin' flag me." Mrs. Toomey coloredpainfully at the attention he attracted.
He turned to a late comer who had seated himself at a small table acrossthe narrow aisle from them. "My wife's a great disappointment to me--nosport--never was, never will be. 'Morra," addressing himself to thestranger exclusively, "goin' back to hear the prairie dogschatter--goin' listen to the sagebrush tick--back one thousan' milesfrom an oyster--"
"Jap!" Mrs. Toomey interrupted desperately, "we must be going.Everyone's leaving."
"We'll be closing shortly," the waiter hinted.
Toomey blinked at the check he placed before him.
"Can't see whether tha's twenty dollars, or two hundred dollars or twothousand dollars."
The waiter murmured the amount, but not so softly but that Mrs. Toomeypaled when she heard it. He had not enough to pay it, she was sure ofit, for while he had brought from the room an amount that would havebeen ample for any ordinary theater supper, wine had not been in hiscalculations.
Mrs. Toomey looked on anxiously while he produced the contents of hispocket.
"Sorry, sir, but it isn't enough," said the waiter, after counting thenotes he tossed upon the plate.
Toomey found the discovery amusing.
"You s'prise me," he chuckled.
"Sorry, sir, but--" the waiter persisted.
With a swift transition of mood Toomey demanded haughtily:
"Gue'sh you don' know who I am?"
"No, sir."
Toomey tapped the lapel of his jacket impressively with his forefinger.
"I'm Jasper Toomey of Prouty, Wyoming."
The waiter received the information without flinching.
"Call up the Blackstone and they'll tell you I'll be in to-morra an'shettle." He wafted the waiter away grandly, that person shrugging adubious shoulder as he vanished. "They'll tell 'im the f'ancial standin'of Jasper Toomey--shirtingly."
The waiter returned almost immediately.
"The hotel knows you only as a guest, sir."
"Thish is insult--d'lib'rate insult." Mr. Toomey rose to his feet andstood unsteadily. "Send manager to me immedially--immedially!"
"He's busy, sir," replied the waiter with a touch of impatience, "but hesaid you'd have to settle before leaving."
Mrs. Toomey, crimson with mortification and panic-stricken as visions ofa patrol wagon and station house rose before her, interrupted whenToomey would have continued to argue.
"Jap, stay here while I go to the hotel--I can take a taxi and be backin a few minutes."
Toomey refused indignantly. He declared that not only would this be areflection upon his honesty, but equivalent to pawning him.
"How'd I know," he demanded shrewdly, "that you'd ever come back toredeem me?"
As Mrs. Toomey cast a look of despair about, her eyes met those of theman who was sitting alone at the table across the aisle. Even in herdistress she had observed him when he had entered, for his height,breadth of shoulder, erectness of carriage--together with the tan and acertain unconventional freedom of movement which, to the initiated,proclaimed him an outdoor westerner, made him noticeable.
He was fifty--more, possibly--with hair well grayed and the face of aman to whom success had not come easily. Yet that he had succeeded wasnot to be doubted, for neither his face nor bearing were those of a manwho could be, or had been, defeated. His appearance--substantial,unostentatious--inspired confidence in his integrity and confidence inhis ability to cope with any emergency. The lines in his strong facesuggested something more than the mere marks of obstacles conquered, ofbattles lost and won in the world of business--they came from a deepersource than surface struggles. His mouth, a trifle austere, had a droopof sadness, and in his calm gray eyes there was the look ofunderstanding which comes not only from wide experience but fromsuffering.
Mrs. Toomey had the feeling that he comprehended perfectly every emotionshe was experiencing--her fright, her mortification, her disgust atJap's maudlin speech and foolish appearance. But it was something morethan these things which had caused her to look at him frequently. Hereminded her of some one, yet she could not identify the resemblance. Intheir exchange of glances she now caught a sympathetic flash; then herose immediately and came over.
"May I be of service, brother?" As he spoke he indicated the smallbutton he wore which corresponded to another on Toomey's waistcoat. Witha slight inclination of the head towards Mrs. Toomey, "If you'll allowme--"
The relieved waiter promptly fled with the note he laid on the plate.
"These situations are a little awkward for the moment," he added,smiling slightly.
"Mighty nice of you, Old Top!" Toomey shook hands with him. "Lemme buyyou somethin'. Wha'll you have?"
The stranger declined and thanked him.
Mrs. Toomey expressed her gratitude incoherently.
"You must leave your name and address; we'll mail you a checkto-morrow."
"I always stay at the Auditorium. Mail addressed to me there will beforwarded." He laid his visiting card upon the table.
Toomey placed a detaining hand upon his arm as he turned from the table.
"Look here! Won't let you go till you promise come make us a visit--staymonth--stay year--stay rest o' your life--la'sh string hanging' out foryou. Pure air, Swizzerland of America, an' greatest naturalresources--"
The stranger detached himself gently.
"I appreciate your hospitality," he replied courteously. "Who knows?" toMrs. Toomey, "I might some day look in on you--I've never been out inthat section of the country."
With another bow he paid his own account and left the restaurant.
"Thoroughbred!" declared Toomey enthusiastically. "Old Dear, I made ahit with him."
Mrs. Toomey was staring after the erect commanding figure.
She read again the name on the card she held in her fingers and murmuredwith an expression of speculative wonder:
"The spelling's different but--Prentiss! and she looks enough like himto be his daughter."
The Fighting Shepherdess Page 15