The Alternative

by George Barr McCutcheon

  CHAPTER III

  THE AMAZING MARRIAGE

  No one opposing him, Mr. Van Pycke carefully made his way to the doorand disappeared into the hall. Miss Downing continued to stare after himfor many seconds, plainly perplexed. She was not so transfixed, however,that she failed to note the grotesque misfit of his trousers; nor didhis manner of locomotion escape her attention. Could this hobbling,ill-dressed person be the fastidious Van Dieman Van Pycke, of whom shehad heard so much?

  And he was going upstairs to--by the virtue of all the saints, what_did_ he mean?

  A blush raced into her fair cheek. She turned to young Mr. Van Pyckewith parted lips, half inclined to smile, half to protest. She found himsmiling, yes, more than that; he had his hand over his mouth. Plainly,he was having a struggle of an inward character.

  "I--I don't understand," she murmured, the flush growing.

  "And _we_ don't understand," he responded after a moment, waving hishand in the direction of the dummies.

  She smiled brightly. "You've noticed them?"

  "Noticed them?" he repeated. He intended to say more, but a sudden,sickening doubt interfered. However, a quick, rather penetrating glancereassured him. Mr. Doxey had wrapped a rug about the unfortunategentleman and was now engaged in making room for him behind the Steinwaygrand. The young lady's glance followed Bosworth's.

  "What is he doing?" she demanded, starting forward. "Those wax figuresare not to be disturbed."

  Bosworth stayed her with a gesture. "You must not interfere with anofficer in the discharge of his duty," he said with great gravity.

  "But--"

  "Please don't pay any attention to him," he pleaded, stepping in frontof her. "Sit down and tell me about the dummies."

  She looked at the door through which Mr. Van Pycke had passed. "Where_has_ your father gone, Mr. Van Pycke?"

  "Can you keep a secret?"

  Her eyes were expressive.

  "You'll have to sit down--over here," he went on. "I don't want thedetective to hear me."

  They sat down side by side in a Louis Seize divan. He told her of thepredicament in which his father had found himself on arrival, and of theexpedient footman who came to the rescue. Miss Downing stifled herlaughter three times by successful applications of a handkerchief, butthe fourth time she failed. If I were not writing of a young lady in adrawing-room, I'd tell the truth and say that she shrieked.

  "It _is_ droll, isn't it?" he asked, after watching her convulsed facefor a moment.

  "Perfectly killing!" she gasped.

  He waited until she had dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief a fewtimes and was able to meet his gaze with a certain degree of steadiness.Then he remarked: "It's strange that I've never met you before. Are youan old friend of Mrs. Scoville's?"

  "There isn't any Mrs. Scoville," she said quietly. She was watching hisface.

  He stared. Then he started to his feet in alarm, with a bewildered lookaround the room.

  "Can it be that I am in the wrong house?"

  "There used to be a Mrs. Scoville here."

  "Used to be?"

  "But she's Mrs. De Foe now."

  She was smiling into his eyes now, so merrily, so frankly, that somehowhe overcame the immediate impulse to express his consternation byleaping a foot or two into the air. Instead of doing anything so utterlycommon, he merely gulped and stared the harder.

  "She's--she's gone and got married to Chauncey De Foe?" he murmured, hiseyes very wide.

  "This very night, Mr. Van Pycke," said she, leaning back to see how hewould take it. His face grew suddenly radiant.

  "Oh," he exclaimed, "you don't know how happy you have made me!"

  "Happy? You?" she cried, amazed.

  "Yes. I--" he caught himself in time. "I'll tell you all about it, butnot now. Some other day, if I may. Oh, I say, this will fetch thegovernor an awful cropper! Married to-night! Here? In this house?Why--why, it must have been in this very room. And those confoundeddummies were--By Jove!" He stood up and surveyed the inanimate groupthrough a seldom used monocle. An intensely thoughtful expression putmany wrinkles upon his brow, but a sudden burst of understanding clearedthem away in a jiffy. He beamed. "She's had real dummies at the weddinginstead of the imitations that society provides. Oh, I say, that'ssarcasm simplified. It's pretty rough, though, don't you think, MissDowning?"

  "It doesn't seem to distress you very deeply, Mr. Van Pycke," she said."But you are wrong in your conclusions. The figures do not represent theblockheads of New York society. They are meant to approximate the moreactive of the busybodies now at large. Do you see?"

  "I'm hanged if I do."

  "You are a very good friend of Mrs. Sco--Mrs. De Foe's, are you not?"she demanded.

  "A devoted admirer, I swear, or I wouldn't be here to-night."

  "Then, I think I may explain the situation to you. Those figuresrepresent the society queens who closed their doors against Mrs.Scoville last season. The masculine examples represent the satellites ofthose virtuous ladies who profess never to have been found out. Mrs.Scoville made out her list of guests last week. She resolved to returngood for evil. She invited the ladies and their satellites--by mentaltelepathy, I might say. Then she sent the butler over into Eighth Avenuewith instructions to fetch them here in a moving van. They arrived lastnight, under cover of darkness. They spent the night in this room.Shocking, you'd say? That--"

  He interrupted, his eyes gleaming. "You mean to say that she rentedthese figures for no other purpose than to pose here as people who cuther because--er--because Mrs. Grundy gossiped too fluently? SufferingMo--I should say, good gracious! What an idea!"

  "That's it precisely, Mr. Van Pycke. I fancy you know the ladies andgentlemen quite well. They treated her abominably last winter. Shedidn't mind it very much, as you know. She's not that sort. People _did_talk about her, but her real friends remained true. She thought it wouldbe splendid to have her enemies here in just this way. With theunderstanding, of course, that the whole story is to get into thenewspapers."

  He stared harder than ever. "Into the newspapers? Good heavens, youdon't mean to say she's going to let the papers in on this?"

  "Certainly," she said very quietly. "Why not? It will make a beautifulstory. People invite monkeys to dinner and the papers are not denied thefacts, are they? They have banquets for dogs and picnics for cats, don'tthey? Some one gave a fashionable supper the other night for thethree-legged girl in the circus, and some one else followed it up with atea for the four-legged rooster. The papers were full of details. Mrs.Scooper and many other ladies gave dinners and balls for a woman who hadbeen the favorite of nearly all the masculine crowned heads in Europe,and the richly cultivated Mrs. Rankling once included in the list ofinvitations to an author's reading the names of J. Fenimore Cooper andNathaniel Hawthorne. I don't see why Mrs. De Foe's dummies are worsethan the freaks I've mentioned. Heaven knows they're respectable."

  "I like your enthusiasm," he said, but still a little shaken by theintelligence.

  "Mrs. Sco--Mrs. De Foe is the best, the dearest friend I have in theworld," said the girl, simply.

  Young Mr. Van Pycke was very tactful. He appeared properly impressed. Atthe same time he looked at her with new interest. She seemed very youngto be calling the former Mrs. Scoville her dearest friend. Somehow, herface was vaguely familiar. He wondered where he had seen a photograph ofher.

  "She's a terribly good sort," he agreed, and he meant it. "But, I say,this is ripping! Talk about monkey dinners and--why, there's never beenanything like this! Dummy guests at one's own wedding! It's rich!It's--"

  She held up her hand, gentle reproof in her eyes. "I can't say that Ilike it, Mr. Van Pycke. I'm only saying I approve of it because she wasbound to have her own way in spite of the rest of us. But, to beperfectly honest, I think that a wedding is something beautifullysacred. It should be held sacred in every respect. It seemsdreadful--But, there, I won't say any more. It's all right, I know.Besides, it was not my wedding."

&nbs
p; "I quite agree with you. Next to a funeral, a wedding is our most sacredceremony," he said.

  "I've never heard you accused of super-sacredness," she said, with alittle smile.

  "But I have very fine feelings," he protested. As an afterthought headded, "Sometimes."

  She turned her head to look at the portieres, apparently anticipatingsounds from beyond. He had a fine view of her profile. Leaning back inthe divan, he made the most of the opportunity. It was a very pure,gentle face, full of strength and character and sweetness. Hardly theface, thought he, of one who had trained for any length of time in theset affected by the new Mrs. De Foe. Her hair was dark and fine and camelow about her temples. It was all her own, he was quite sure, and therewas an abundance of it. A small ear peeped invitingly out athim--somewhat timidly, he felt, as if he were a very wicked person to beshunned. Her neck was round and slim, her shoulders white and almostvelvety in their healthy youthfulness. Somewhat to his amazement, therewere no bones in evidence; and yet she was slender. He laid thisphenomenon to perfect health, a condition heretofore regarded asperfectly unfeminine. Her cheeks were warm and clear, her lips red andalmost tremulous in their sweetness; her eyes were--well, he could notsee them, but he quite certainly remembered that they were blue. Thenose--a very patrician nose--recalled to his mind one that he had seenin a very famous portrait somewhere, sometime. He had a vaguerecollection that it was some one's "Portrait of a Lady." Just as he wasvisually caressing the firm, white chin and throat, she turned upon himwith a warning "Sh!" He already had decided that she was twenty-one andthat her white satin evening gown was quite new and very exquisite. Hisintense gaze, caught red-handed, so to speak, confused her. She was notused to it: that was plain. He had the grace to look at the portieresexpectantly.

  "They are coming," she said, arising at once.

  "Can't you tell me more about the wedding?" he asked, standing besideher.

  "Not now. Later on, perhaps. You _do_ know her well enough to wish herhappiness, don't you?" She added the last imploringly.

  "That's what I came here for--to insure her happiness," he said, smilingto himself.

  "You knew then?" she whispered in wonder.

  "I can't say that I knew that she was going to be married so soon," hereplied evasively. "As a matter of fact, I didn't have De Foe in mind atall."

  Men and women, laughing, were approaching through the next room.

  "Do I know them?" he asked, nervously adjusting his monocle.

  She named a dozen people quickly. He nodded his head after each name.They were old friends, all of them.

  "And Mr. Rexford," she concluded.

  "Rexford? Who's he?"

  "He's from Pittsburg," she said, looking away.

  He studied the back of her head for a moment. "Oh, I see," he said, witha dry laugh.

  She faced him. "You are very much mistaken," she said.

  Bellows threw back the curtains and a group of very lively persons camecrowding into the room.

  "Hello, Buzzy!" shouted three or four of the men. They had dinedbeautifully. For that matter, so had the ladies. They surrounded him andassaulted him verbally. You could have heard them laugh as far down as35th Street, if you had been there. (Of course you were not, it beingsuch a wretched night.)

  Bosworth grinned amiably under the volley of chaff they fired at him. Heobserved that Miss Downing effaced herself. She retired alone to thegroup of dummies. He was not long in wishing that he could be with herin that region of peace and rectitude.

  "Where's the groom?" he managed to ask, after ten or twelve voices hadexpended themselves in levity--not any of which appealed to his strickenbump of humor.

  "De Foe? He's changing," said one of the men. "They're leaving forBoston to-night."

  "Say, Buzzy, what do you think of the waxies?" cried another. "Have youseen 'em yet?"

  "Think I'm blind, Stockton? Good evening, Mrs. Runway. How do, Mrs.Clover."

  "I'm surprised you weren't asked, Buzzy," said Mrs. Runway, a blondishlady with black eyes and rather darkish skin. "You were such pals."

  "Where's your father, Buzzy?" shouted some one.

  "He was announced half an hour ago," said another. They all roared.Bosworth flushed painfully. There was a strange, new resentment in hisheart.

  "He's changing," he announced coldly, and left them to wonder what hemeant by the remark.

  Mr. Stockton volunteered: "Changing what? His spots or his mind?"

  But Bosworth had turned toward the young lady who had effaced herself.Somehow he rather rejoiced in the fact that she had forsaken this groupfor another and less objectionable one. Mrs. Runway intercepted him.

  "They do say, Buzzy, that you were in love with her," she said. "Are youdreadfully cut up about it?"

  He stared past her. "Not at all," he announced. "Far from it. Nothingwould have afforded me greater pleasure than the privilege of giving thebride away."

  "Dear me," she said, as he smiled and walked on. Struck by a suddenimpulse he turned to her.

  "Who is Miss Downing? Where have I seen her before?"

  "How should I know?" said Mrs. Runway, stiffly.

  "Oh," he said, turning again. A strange young man, very much the worsefor champagne, had now approached the girl, his hands in his pockets, avacuous smile on his flushed face. Bosworth changed his course andengaged young Mrs. Chanier in conversation, all the while keeping hiseye on the girl down the room.

  "Terrible night, isn't it, Blanche?" he observed by way of reserving herattention, which seemed inclined to wander.

  "Ripping," she said. "Everything went off beautifully. Only one hitch,my dear. I say, who's the girl talking to Tommy Rexford?" She used herlorgnette.

  "I was just about to ask who the chap is talking to her. She's a MissDowning."

  "Know her?"

  "Oh, yes," he prevaricated nobly, catching an ugly gleam in the youngmatron's eye. "She's a terribly nice girl."

  "I thought as much. Isn't she too nice?"

  "Who's this Rexford chap?"

  She stared at him. "Oh, he's all right, Mr. Buzzy Van Pycke," she said,resenting his ignorance. "Tommy Rexford is one of the dearest boys inthe world. He's from Pittsburg. I met him at Palm Beach last winter. Hecomes to New York pretty often. I say, Buzzy, are you listening?"

  "Sure," said Buzzy, whose attention had drifted to the girl in the whitesatin. Plainly, she was being annoyed by the attentions of theintoxicated Mr. Rexford. He appeared to be relating a story whichshocked her. "He seems very keen about Miss Downing," he volunteered, aqueer bitterness in his heart.

  Mrs. Chanier bridled. "What? Why, he's been drinking a little too much,that's all." Her tone was nasty. Bosworth was not slow to grasp the truestate of affairs.

  "How's your husband?" he asked bluntly.

  She smiled serenely. "Oh, he's still got his locomotor ataxia, if that'swhat you mean."

  Miss Downing abruptly left Mr. Rexford, who, looking after her for amoment as if dazed, allowed himself a short laugh of derision. Young Mr.Van Pycke's foot itched with the desire to kick young Mr. Rexford.

  "I'm sure liquor doesn't affect me in that way," he muttered, overtakenby the sudden recollection that he had imbibed quite freely, and furtherdistressed by the fear that it had not entirely worn off. To himself hewas saying: "That fellow's a warning to me. If I thought I looked oracted as he does, I'd--well, anyhow, I don't drink to excess, so I can'tmake comparisons or resolutions. That girl doesn't belong with thiscrowd. She's too good for them."

  With this sage conclusion he promptly took it upon himself to put herinto better company. He joined her as she was about to pass into thelibrary.

  "What was that fellow saying to you?" he demanded, quite as if he hadalways possessed the right to interrogate.

  "Was it so plain as all that, Mr. Van Pycke?" she asked, distress in hereyes. "He's been drinking."

  "That's no excuse," said he with surpassing severity. "I say, you--youdon't really belong in this crowd," he went on earnestly. "N
ot thatthere's anything bad--I mean, the set's a bit faster than you'reaccustomed to. I can see that. I'm not throwing stones, so don't look atme so scornfully. Believe me, it's not the rottenest set in town. It'sonly the gayest. How do you happen to be here? Are you related to Mrs.Scoville?"

  "Birds of a feather," she said, a gleam of anger in her unsmiling eyes.

  "You mean that to apply to yourself or to me?" he asked, with a wrysmile.

  "Do you profess to be any better than the rest of them, Mr. Van Pycke?They call you 'Buzzy' and 'dear,' so they must be your intimates. Why doyou set yourself above them?"

  "The Lord knows I don't, Miss Downing. But I _do_ set you above them.You'll have to admit there's something in that. I--"

  She smiled faintly. "Please don't look so dismal. I didn't mean to biteyour head off."

  "It would be amazingly interesting, I'm sure, if you were to try it," hesaid, with his finest smile. She was disarmed. "Still, I don't forgethow you subdued Agrippa."

  "Oh, Agrippa loves me," she announced calmly. He looked into her deepeyes and realized that she was not an untrained girl from the country.She was very sure of herself.

  "Lucky dog," he said.

  "He has known me for ages," she explained.

  "That doesn't necessarily follow," he said gallantly. "It comesunexpectedly sometimes, even to dogs."

  "Do you like dogs, Mr. Van Pycke?" she asked, with disquieting serenity.

  "What is all this leading up to?" he demanded suspiciously. "You're notgoing to invite me to a dog dinner, are you?"

  "Dear me, no. How silly!"

  "Well, one never knows in these days."

  "These are not the dog days." He grinned amiably. "And so you are thewonderful Buzzy Van Pycke," she went on, quite frankly interested. "I'veoften wondered what you would be like."

  "You don't mean it," he said, surprised.

  Her only response was a penitent, apologetic smile; but it served betterthan words. He was dazzled. He afterward recalled that the whole courseof his life changed in that instant. He was not quite sure that hedidn't hear something snap inside. Still, it might have been hisimagination.

  At this moment the bride hurried into the room, her arms full of furs.There was a shout of joy from the guests. She smiled for every one, andthen sent a quick, searching glance among them. Discovering Bosworth,she uttered a little cry of pleasure, tossed the furs into achair,--which, it seems, already was occupied,--and rushed over to him,both hands extended.

  "Dear old Buzzy, I'm so glad you came without an invitation! I am,truly. I would have sent you one, only I wasn't sure you would fit inunder the circumstances. You see, it was a wedding. You'll understand,I'm sure."

  "Perfectly," he said. Regardless of Miss Downing's presence, he addedwithout a qualm: "I'm rather glad you've done it, Laura. It's saved me alot of despair, I'm sure. You see, I came up to-night to propose toyou."

  She laughed easily, affecting no confusion. "And I might have acceptedyou. That's what you mean?"

  "Well, you might have done worse. But you haven't," he added hastily."Chauncey's a brick. I've approved of him from the start. Always wantedhim to get you, Laura."

  "It's nice of you to say that, Buzzy," she said, serious for an instant.Her fine eyes glowed. "I know you mean it, too. Others haven't been sogenerous." Then her manner changed. "Do you really have to marry someone, Buzzy? Are you so hard up as all that?"

  "My dear," he said, "you are alarming Miss Downing."

  "Nonsense! Miss Downing knows all about you and all about me. I have nosecrets from her. She's not even wondering how you could havecontemplated marrying me without loving me. She knows how rich I am."

  "Ah," he sighed, "I wonder if she knows how poor I am."

  "Every one knows that, Mr. Van Pycke," said Miss Downing. He stared."You have a paltry twelve thousand a year. Even the street sweepers getmore than that." Her sarcasm was veiled by a polite smile.

  The bride laughed. He felt a sudden, inexplicable shame.

  "Well, Buzzy, I can't stop here talking to you all night. We're leaving,you know, by the 11.30. Thanks, dear boy, for the thought that broughtyou up to-night, I appreciate the honor." She extended her hand. "Goodluck, my friend. Try further up the street."

  "Oh, I say, Laura," he protested. She saw the genuine hurt in his eyes.Instead of withdrawing the hand he had clasped, she suddenly gave his awarm pressure. Her mocking eyes grew sober and earnest.

  "You're too much of a real man, Buzzy, for that sort of thing," shesaid. "Don't do it. Marry for love, my dear friend, even if it meansgetting along on twelve thousand a year. I don't believe, Bosworth VanPycke, that down in your heart you can see much that is glorious in thespending of a woman's money. You're cut out for better work than that."

  "I've just come to the same conclusion, Laura," he said firmly. "Goodluck and God bless you. You'll be happy: De Foe doesn't need yourmoney."

  She dashed off to give orders to the butler and the maids who werewaiting in the library beyond. De Foe's entrance was the signal foranother outburst of joyous badinage. He was a handsome, strong-featuredman of rather serious mien.

  Bosworth at once shook hands with him, the others looking on curiously."God bless you and--thank you, old chap," he said. De Foe was never toknow why the young man thanked him, but the attentive Miss Downingunderstood and favored the speaker with a glance of profound concern.

  He turned to her as De Foe was claimed by the others. An expression ofdeep uneasiness had come into his eyes.

  "I wonder what keeps father so long," he said, so quaintly that shelaughed aloud. Then both of them turned to watch the preparations fordeparture.

  The butler tossed the jewel boxes into a stout black bag; the detectivetook charge of it. Bellows peered from the front windows in quest of themotor cars; everybody chattered and gabbled while they were beingbundled into their outer garments by the nimble attendants. One couldonly think of the anterooms in the Savoy or the Ritz.

  "Now get out, every one of you," cried the bride. "I insist on being thelast to leave the house. It's for good luck."

  Bellows said something in a low voice to Mr. De Foe. Any one but Bellowswould have betrayed concern.

  "No motors!" exclaimed Mr. De Foe. There was a sudden silence in theroom.

  "The blizzard, sir," said Bellows, briefly.

  "But, hang it all, we must get to the station," cried the groom. "Whatthe devil's the meaning of all this?"

  "Don't blame Bellows, old man," said Bosworth Van Pycke. "He isn't ablizzard. And don't lose your temper, either. Remember it's your weddingnight. Now, I have a big sleigh coming for me at 10.30. Taxis can'tbudge in this weather. You and the bride can take my sleigh--"

  He did not finish. Every man in the party had begun to berate the kindof car he owned and every woman was scolding the weather. Then there wasa common demand for four-horse sleighs. Bellows received half a dozenorders to telephone to the garages and to the livery stables, all in thesame breath, it seemed.

  "Don't worry, Chaunce. My sleigh is sure to come. The bride is safe."So spoke the confident Mr. Van Pycke. "All I ask you to do in return isto send it back here for me as soon as you're safely there."

  "You're an angel, Buzzy," cried the bride from the depths of her sables.

  Just as the sleigh was announced, half an hour later, a diversion wascreated by the entrance of Mr. Van Pycke, senior. He was dressed for thestreet, fur-coated and gloved. The shout which greeted him brought himup just inside the door. He glared at the crowd.

  "Where are you, Bosworth?" he called out, his voice husky with emotion.

  "Here, father. Are you ready to go?" His son stepped forward ratherquickly.

  "Do you think I'm going to stay all night?" snapped the old gentleman."I'm--I'm damned if I do!"

  Every one was rushing for the doors. The bride took time for a few wordswith the latest arrival.

  "How late you are, Mr. Van Pycke!" she cried, grasping his hand. "I'm sosorry we must be going. Catching a tr
ain, you know. By the way, Buzzy,we're sailing for the Azores day after to-morrow. When you're in Paris,be sure to look us up. Thank God, I'm never coming back to New York. Nowyou know why I don't care a snap what people say or think about mywedding guests. Good-bye, my dear. Good-bye, Mr. Van Pycke. Thanks, somuch, for the roses you sent up to-day. Be sure we get the right sleigh,Bellows. Come, Mary, dear, kiss me. I _know_ you'll look me up when youcome to Paris."

  She enveloped the pretty Miss Downing in her arms, kissed her warmly,and then rushed off into the hall, where the crowd was being shooed outinto the storm ahead of her.

  Bosworth observed that Miss Downing was not attired for the street.

  "You're not going?" he asked quickly.

  "Not till to-morrow," she said. "I'm staying overnight."

  "Bosworth," put in Mr. Van Pycke, in deadly tones, "where is your cab?"

  "Stuck in the snow, dad. My sleigh will be back in half an hour. Takeoff your coat. Miss Downing won't mind our staying here a while longer.She--"

  "Not another minute, sir!" snapped Mr. Van Pycke. "You don't know what Iknow. You--"

  "I don't believe you know what I know, either, dad," said his son,dryly.

  Bellows entered. "Your sleigh will return in half an hour, Mr.--Mr.Bosworth. Will you wait, sir?"

  "No, he won't wait," said Mr. Van Pycke. "Get his coat and hat, Bellows.I'm--I'm going to take him away."

  "You'll be lost in the snow, sir," said Bellows, mildly. "It's worsethan the Alps, sir."

  "Alps? Confound you, you've never seen the Alps!"

  "No, sir," said Bellows. "But Stokes, the butler, has, sir."

  "Send Stokes to me, Bellows," said Miss Downing, quietly. "I will giveorders for to-night and to-morrow morning. I hope you will forgive me,Mr. Van Pycke, if I retire at once. I am very tired. It has been a busyday and--a rather wearing night."

  "Please don't go just yet," he begged. "You promised to tell me aboutthe--" He was going to say wedding, but his father interrupted.

  "If you're not coming at once, Bosworth, I'll leave you here. I'll walk.I'll have pneumonia anyhow, so what's the sense of taking care ofmyself? I've been insulted, outraged, humiliated in this--But, I can'ttalk about it now, not in the presence of a lady--for I'm sure she is alady. I can tell 'em by the sound of their voices. What, in God's name,are you doing here? That's the thing that puzzles me. 'Gad, if I did theproper thing, I'd take you away at once, storm or no storm."

  "Dad, you don't understand," began Bosworth.

  "Are you coming away with me?" roared his father, stamping the floor.

  "Do they still hurt you?" asked his son, with a solicitous glance at theold gentleman's feet.

  Mr. Van Pycke sputtered. "I have my own on, sir. But I'm crippled forlife, just the same. Thank God, I got my trousers in the end." He passedhis hand nervously over his brow.

  "In the end?" murmured Bosworth. Miss Downing turned to the fireplace.

  "I--I can't tell you about it now," said his father in a constrainedmanner. "'Gad, it was--it was awful! Bellows! Where the deuce is theman? Ah, here you are. Bellows, call me a cab or something at--"

  "Mr. Stokes will be here directly, Miss," said Bellows. "Very good, Mr.Van Pycke. A four-wheeler?"

  "Take the subway, dad," interposed Bosworth, glaring at Bellows. "Nextcorner below. But, think it over. You'd better wait for me."

  Stokes came in, and Miss Downing, with a significant glance at Bosworth,retired to the library with the butler.

  "Has everybody departed?" asked Bosworth of Bellows, who was turning offsome of the lights in the lower end of the room. The young man droppedinto a chair, opened his cigaret case, and then, first looking at theportieres obscuring the library, yawned prodigiously.

  "Yes, sir," said Bellows, caught in the middle of an illy-suppressedyawn. "The detective, my mistress's maid, and Mr. De Foe's man, with thebags, sir, went away with the 'appy couple in your sleigh. It was a bitcrowded, sir, for the driver."

  "Bellows," hissed Mr. Van Pycke, "who instructed you to take my trousersout to press 'em?"

  "They needed it, sir, badly," explained Bellows.

  "And my shoes, sir,--I did not ask to have them polished, did I?"

  "No, sir. As I remember it, you did not."

  "It wouldn't have been so bad," almost moaned the unhappy gentleman,turning to his son, "but I didn't discover their absence until after Ihad, in my ungovernable rage, thrown those confounded wax figure'sgarments from an upstairs window. And then, by Gad, sir, I couldn'tfind my own trousers. What's more, I couldn't find the bell button tocall for Bellows. There I was, in a strange bedroom without--Oh, I'llnever forget it, Bosworth--never! What the devil are you laughing at,sir?"

  Miss Downing had quietly reentered the room and was standing just insidethe door, a growing smile of appreciation on her lips.

  "Wha--what did you do, sir?" asked Bosworth, controlling himselfheroically.

  "Do? What could I do? Demmit all, trousers don't grow on chandeliers, dothey? I couldn't pick off a pair, a la Santa Claus, could I? There wasonly one thing left to do. That was to shout for Bellows. Just as I wason the point of stealing out to the head of the stairs, I heardvoices--a man's and a woman's. I dashed back into the bedroom. 'Gad,sir, what do you think? Those people were in the next room, and thedoor, which I hadn't noticed before, was partly ajar. At any minute theymight come in and find--ahem! I didn't see you, Miss Downing."

  "Please go on," she said.

  "Only to convince you what kind of a house we have all gotten into," heexplained, after a moment of indecision. "Well, I quickly entered aclothes closet near by. I don't want to hurt your feelings, MissDowning, but the lady in the next bedchamber was your friend, Mrs.Scoville. The man was that confounded De Foe chap. I--I can't tell youwhat they were saying to each other. It was sickening, I'll say thatmuch. No, no--I won't go into details. It seems there was a maid inthere, hooking her up, but they didn't mind her. When the maid went out,I distinctly heard five or six kisses--ahem! Hang it all, Bosworth, Icouldn't help eavesdropping. There were people in the hall outside. Itwas the most brazen thing I've ever known. Unfortunately, I had tosneeze."

  He stopped to blow his nose. Bellows also blew his, but for a differentreason.

  "Yes, I sneezed. The exhibition ceased. I had just time to shut thecloset door before De Foe came into the room, looking about. He saidsomething about 'confounded servants,' and then went back to her. Then Iheard him call her 'sweetheart' and ask her if she wouldn't tie hisnecktie for him, like a little darling. By Gad, sir, it was worse than Ithought. I--"

  Bosworth coughed violently, and Miss Downing found it necessary to flecksome dust from a bronze bit at her elbow--somewhat to the rear of it, tobe perfectly accurate.

  "You don't understand, father--" began Buzzy, nervously.

  "Confound it sir, I'm not deaf. I'll pass over the next half hour,except to say that they billed and cooed without cessation. I give youmy word, that closet was like an ice-chest. I demmed near froze todeath. At last they went away. Bellows came back with my trousers andshoes. After he'd gone, I stole out and got into 'em. There's a lot moreI could tell, but--what's the use? I want to get out of here. Just tothink that I came up here in all this storm to ask that creature to bemy wife! 'Gad, I wouldn't ask her now if she was the last woman onearth. Open the door for me, Bellows! I'm going next door to theLackaday, for the night, Bosworth. Call up by 'phone in the morning tosee if I have pneumonia."

  He stormed into the hall without saying good night to Miss Downing. Theyheard him swear roundly as Bellows opened the door to the vestibule.Then there was a slam of the outer door. Together the young man andwoman walked to the front window, and, side by side, they saw him fighthis way down the steps and across the thirty feet of snowbank that laybetween the house and the street entrance to the hotel bar.

  Mr. Van Pycke did not know, until he saw it in the papers next day, thatthere had been a wedding. It may be well to add in this connection thatit was a long time before N
ew York heard the last of that wedding andits amazing guests by proxy.

  "Good night," said Miss Downing, as they turned away from the window.

  "Oh, please, not yet," he cried.

  "I am so tired," she pleaded.

  "The sleigh will be back in twenty or thirty minutes."

  "I'll stay ten minutes," she agreed. "Come and sit before the fire inthe library. You may have a cigar or a cigaret--but nothing to drink."He started guiltily.

  At the end of ten minutes, despite the fact that he was very amusing,she rose from the deep, comfortable chair before the fender, and saidgood night once more. "I hear sleigh bells in front," she said.

  "When are you leaving?" he asked, looking into her eyes with all of thenew interest that had come into his own.

  "To-morrow. I'm to have a year's vacation on full pay," she said quiteclearly. His eyes flew very wide open. "Isn't it nice, Mr. Van Pycke?"

  She was gone. He stood perfectly still, listening to the rustle of hergown as she sped up the stairs beyond. Something like a soft laugh cameback to him from the dome of the hall. His face was a study.

  "By thunder!" he murmured, prior to a long, intent contemplation of theblazing coals. At last, shrugging his shoulders in dire perplexity, heturned and slowly made his way to the front windows.

  The sleigh was not in sight. He glanced at his watch. Eleven-twenty.With sudden exasperation he jammed his hands into his pockets and saidsomething softly. Kicking a chair to the window, he sat down and glaredat the snow-covered glass. Outside, the wind shrieked louder than ever.

  When Bellows came in to turn out the lights at a quarter to twelve,Bosworth did not hear him, nor did Bellows observe the limp figure inthe chair. Mr. Van Pycke was sound asleep, and the footman did not havefar to go to reach the same state.

  A sleigh came up, banked with snow, waited awhile in front of the darkhouse, and then departed.