Lonesome Town

by E. S. Dorrance and James French Dorrance

  CHAPTER XII--WHAT A WELCOME!

  At exactly ten of the clock next morning Peter Stansbury Pape, Esquire,garbed in the form prescribed by the chart on the wall of his Astorsuite, was admitted for the second time to the Sturgis brownstone. Hehad awakened with the idea. His mind, which last night had feltshell-shocked out of its normal functions by that "home-at-last-dear"bomb, must have worked it out while he slept. The telephone, Jasper ofthe jowls and a certain exuberant "young lady of to-day"--all seemed toapprove it. Even Aunt Helene, who received him, wore a manner that wentwith her _ante-meridian_ negligee, pliable and gracious as its materialof rose-hued Georgette.

  She was so glad to see him again, although he was a very naughty personto have permitted her to believe him a detective the other night. Yes,her niece had explained all about him after he had gone. Still, shesupposed that he meant well--her pet charity was to believe the best ofevery one. And she was so relieved that all of them had lived throughthe excitement that she could have forgiven a worse crime than hiseffort to help under false pretense. She had narrowly saved herself acomplete nervous collapse by a few days absence from the scene of therobbery--that robbery of nothing at all except a keepsake of suchinappreciable value that its loser would not name its name. Her niece,Miss Lauderdale, always had been a rather secretive, sentimental girl,and had since regretted, she felt sure, the worry she had caused them.

  "We never permit ourselves to forget that she is an orphan, poor dear,"added the matron. "Irene tries to make everything up to her. Really, sheis fonder of her cousin than she could be of any one short of a twin.And I am very glad to have it so. Jane has such a good influence overIrene. She is much older, you know."

  "And has Miss Lauderdale no--no brothers or----" the visitor began.

  "No near relative except ourselves, nor money enough to assure herindependence. But we are only too happy to have her need us, to love herand provide for her. She is--" Mrs. Sturgis hesitated and seemed to bechoosing her words with a nice regard for the delicacy of the subject."She is perhaps just a bit strong-minded for the taste of men, our dearJane. But strength is a splendid quality in a woman if applied in theright direction. Don't you think so? Perhaps you don't, though, being atower of strength yourself. Anyway, Jane Lauderdale is a dear girl--and_so_ dependable."

  Mrs. Sturgis _did_ hope he was enjoying to the full his stay in NewYork. Yes, her daughter would be down directly and it _was_ nice of himto ask the child riding. She did not often consent to her essaying thepark. Irene's daring was her real reason for keeping their horses in thecountry, although she pretended that it was for the horses' sake. He,being such a friend of her niece, came well recommended. Miss Lauderdalehad told state secrets about him--had admitted at Irene's demand that hewas the most superb horseman she had met in the West. That pronouncedhim capable of taking care of a woman if any one could. Irene rode well,to be sure. But there always was a risk about a rented mount. And therewere so many unexpected turns along the park bridle paths and suchwhizzing of cars and shrieking of sirens. She hoped that he had selecteda safe mount for her child.

  "I thought some, ma'am, of having Polkadot, my own friend horse, saddledup feminine," Pape advised her. "But he ain't used even to the skirts ofa habit coat. Besides which, it might have put his Roman nose out ofjoint to see me forking another. No telling what a jealous horse willdo."

  "Any more than a jealous woman," she contributed.

  "Can't say as to the women. But I reckon that, jealous, they ain'tagreeable or safe, either. I've made a practice of sloping along at thefirst eye-flicker of that sort of trouble. But you cheer up, Mrs.Sturgis. The filly I picked as a trailmate for my Dot this morning is asreliable as the hobbies in the riding school."

  Despite her manner--and, positively, she was treating him like aneligible--the mother's black brows had lifted semi-occasionally duringhis speech, he presumed at his choice of language. Although he jotteddown a mental note of the necessity of increased care to weed out hisunseasonable crop of hardy range vernacular, somehow her presence madehim worse. He remembered having read somewhere that the choice of topicsin a refined duet of mixed sexes should be left to the lady. The thoughtproved restful; left him some spare time for self-communings.

  Why hadn't Jane Lauderdale at the very start of the game told him thatshe was married? Worse he wouldn't--couldn't--believe of her. To do herjustice, she hadn't exactly encouraged him, yet she scarcely could havehelped seeing with both eyes bandaged the weak state he was in.

  When she had thrown open a top-floor-front window of that old, scaly,painted-brick retreat of hers last night, had she observed him standingin the shadow of the odorous gas tank opposite? If so, did sheunderstand the hard-dying hope which had kept him stationed there anhour, with five minutes thrown in to benefit the sickening doubt whichhad been tricked into certainty?

  If she had seen and understood, did she pity or exult over hisobservances and deductions? The building was four stories and an attichigh. The variance in window curtaining proclaimed it a "flat" housecontaining at least four separate sets of tenants. As proof, a youngmother had emerged with a wailing infant onto the third floorfire-escape landing; a party of four, shirt-sleeved and kimono-clad,could be seen playing cards at a table just within the windows of thesecond-floor front; the shades of the first were jerked down when thegas was lit. And surely none who could afford the space of an entirehouse would have endured the district.

  That beneficial five minutes which failed to benefit he had thrown inafter the top floor lights had been suddenly turned out. He'd never haveknown the stubbornness of his hope that she would reappear, except forhope's slow death. Undoubtedly she who was known to him as MissLauderdale had settled for the night in the home of the tall, blond manwho had kissed her in the doorway. He knew where one member of theSturgis family, at least, went for peace and quiet!

  A question had been asked him; had been repeated with a slight crescendoof the modulated voice which had played accompaniment to his tragicreminiscence; recalled him to the here and now. From the matron'ssurprised look and her wait for some sort of response, he realized thatautomatic answers didn't always satisfy. What was it she had asked?

  "You have a family tree, Mr. Pope--I mean Pape? Pape _is_ such an oddname, isn't it?"

  "Sure--that is to say, certainly, madam. A forest of the same."

  She frowned in face of his attempt at elegant diction and intent to makeher smile.

  "I fear you don't quite grasp my meaning. It is the Pape lineage I mean.You can trace it back, I suppose?"

  Just here was Peter Pape's cue to spread out all his Stansbury cardsupon the table, but in trying to match this mother in rose-huednegligee, he overplayed the hand.

  "Oh, we go back to the days long before kings and queens or even jacks,Mrs. Sturgis--clear to Adam and Eve and the apple orchard."

  This time she beamed. "Indeed! And you have an escutcheon?"

  Before he could assure her, the daughter of the house clattered inhigh-heeled boots through the doorway.

  Irene wore white cloth breeches and a black suede coat, no hat at alland a radiant freshness that took his breath. In the stress of recentdoings and undoings, he had forgotten the spectacular beauty of thisparticular young lady of to-day. Crow-haired was she, bright-cheeked,brighter-lipped. The slight unevenness of her dazzling display of teethbut added piquancy to her smile. She was both strong-built and lithe ofbody. And as to her mind, never an incipient doubt of hersuper-desirability weakened that. Truly, she was a vital and vitalizingcreature, Irene.

  It was not unpleasant to have a beautiful girl greet him with frankcordiality. After recent roughnesses of his experience--Well, not sincethat floral-wreathed sign first had blazed its reassurance into hisnostalgic gaze had he been made to feel so welcome.

  "Oh, you poor man--you poor, dear, bored-to-death man!" she offered withboth her hands. "Has my maternal mamma been talking you to pieces aboutmy virtues? I'll bet you have, at that, you darling villainess!"

 
; Freeing one hand, she shook her ivory-handled crop at her protestingparent, then almost at once re-seized Pape's sunburned paw.

  "It's your very own fault I took so long to get ready. Do I hear youasking why, Why-Not? Because your groom rode up on the most satiny blackthat ever stopped before our domicile, instead of the regular roan Iexpected. I was all togged out in my new tan covert, but of course hadto change in order to be becoming to the black. I'm _never_ late!"

  _"My dear!"_

  There was incredulity in Mrs. Sturgis' voice.

  "You mustn't get nasty, dar-rling. You know that I'm _almost_ never,except to punish people. And of course Mr. Pape and I haven't got farenough along for me to need to punish him--_not yet_."

  Although nothing seemed to be expected of him, Pape sought for a seemlyretort. "Let us hope that we never get that far along."

  "Let us hope that we get there soon," she corrected him. "Come, shan'twe be on our way?"

  Mrs. Sturgis followed them to the street door; showed a becominganxiety; hoped, even prayed, that they'd return safely.

  "Safely and anon--don't expect me sooner than anon."

  Irene tossed the promise with a finger-flung kiss from the saddle intowhich she had swung with scarcely a foot-touch upon the stirrup held forher. Pape instructed the groom as to his return to stables on the otherside of the park. They were off on the most parade-effect ride in whichhe, for one, ever had participated.

  The girl pulled in close enough to keep talking during their necessarilysedate pace down the avenue toward The Plaza entrance to the park.

  "You were a dear to keep calling up while I was in the country. Oh,don't look so innocent!"

  Her charge made him hope he wasn't showing in his face the strangesomething that happened to his spinal column each time she called him"dear"--he felt so sure that she only was leading up to that adorablyYankee-ized "dar-rling" of hers.

  "I'm sorry if I--glad if I look innocent."

  "You ought to be. Any modern man ought to be." She laughed more happilythan he could manage to do at the moment. "And don't you deny callingme--don't you deny anything! It won't do a bit of good."

  Believing that it wouldn't--not with Irene--he didn't.

  "You see, Jasper's butlering job depends upon his accuracy," shecontinued. "Well he knows if he lost me one single message from onesingle only man I ever loved----"

  "We trust that all your only-ever men are single?" he persiflaged intoher pause.

  "Most. Never cared for the back-door and porch affairs--one has to be sodiscreet. You don't yourself, do you, Why-Not?"

  In her query Pape saw an opening for the idea which had wakened him up.Not that he would have pried into the affairs of Jane Lauderdale throughher discreet-and-proud-of-it young cousin any more than he had crossedthe cobbles of that soiled East Side street last night to question herfellow-tenants on the fire escape. No. He knew he couldn't and wouldn'tdo anything so deliberately base as that. But if Irene must babble, itwas only fair that she babble upon a subject that interested thesemi-silent member of the colloquy. So----

  "No, I don't like side-porch affairs," he admitted, "although I've gotthe reputation of being discreet."

  "That's why you're so nice-nice," enthused Irene. "The man's being goodgives the girl all the better chance to be bad. Oh, I _hope_ I'veshocked you! Come across, B. B.--that's short either for 'BlushingBachelor' or 'Brazen Benedict.' _Haven't_ I?

  "You'll shock me worse if you don't hold in until that traffic cop blowshis horn."

  With the warning, Pape reached over and himself curbed her black untiltheir crossing into the bridle path was whistle-advised.

  Probably she considered that the time had come to start "punishing" him,for, once in the park, she literally ran away from him along the EastPath which so far he had traveled alone. But Polkadot, asserting hisindignation in none too subtle snorts, soon overhauled the rented horse,then showed his equine etiquette by settling to a companionable walk.His man, too, after one look into the flushed, exultant, impish facebeneath the cloud of wind-tossed curls, forgave.

  "The trouble with you, W. W., is simply this," he propounded, referringto her late allegation in superior vein.

  "W. W.'? Explanation!" she demanded.

  Attempting a look of polite surprise, he obliged. "Inclusive for 'WickedWife' and 'Wiley Wirgin.' I am here to say that, as your sex is runnowadays, it is hard to tell which are which. In this woman's town noneof 'em seem to want to wear the marriage brand. Many a Mrs. callsherself Miss. You keep too close to your mother, likely, to be yokedwithout her knowing it. But how could an outsider know, for instance,whether or not your cousin, Miss Lauderdale----"

  "Jane married? What an idea!" As expected, Irene interrupted on gettingthe general drift of his remarks. "Not but what she's plenty old enough.She's _twenty-six_--think of it! Maybe I oughtn't to tell her age.Still, any one can see it on her face, don't you think so--or _do_ you?And it isn't as though you were interested in her instead of me. Jane isconsidered still very attractive, though. A good many men have admiredher even since my day and degeneration. Do you know, I never can resistadding that 'degeneration' to 'my day'! It's trite, I know, but it'strue--too-trite-true. Jane has a whole raft of women friends. She'salways off visiting them. She is down at Hempstead Plains now with oneof them."

  Pape rose in his stirrups, as it turned out, merely to hold back alow-hung bough which had threatened to brush the girl's artfully tousledlocks.

  "Fortunately," she babbled on, "Mills Harford still wants to marry her.Mother and I both think she ought to snap him up. Don't you? Harfy hasmoney and he isn't bad looking, although I myself shouldn't consider himas a suitor. I guess he knows that." She transferred her glance from himto the path ahead. "Here's the longest straight-away in Central Park,"she cried. "I don't want to leave you again--better come along!"

  Bombed again! Pape pressed one hand against his brow as he shook Dot'srein, a signal to follow the spurt to which Irene had put the academymare. He wasn't given to headaches from any pace of his horse, but asudden hurting sensation had shot through his brain.

  Jane Lauderdale wasn't, then, married so far as her relatives knew. Andshe was covering her whereabouts from them as she had tried to coverfrom him. By no tax of the imagination could he think of the peeling oldbrick house on East Sixty-third Street as the "place" of any of thoseelite "women friends" mentioned; yet even could he do so, why one with ahusband or other male attache who would wait and kiss their fair guestat the door?

  Incidentally, Polkadot won the brush over this tangent, coming up fromthe rear at an "I'll-show-you" pace. Willingly enough he waited for theblack mare where the bridle path again became winding.

  Irene, on catching up, looked him over with irritation that proved tohave nothing to do with the comparative speed of their mounts, as justcounted against her.

  "I don't believe you were listening to me at all back there," shecharged. "I _dote_ on deep, dark natures, but this doesn't seem to methe time or place to get mysterious. Come out of it and pay me'tentions!"

  He undertook to obey. "I'd be tickled pink to pay you anything that----"

  "You're a deeper and darker color than pink already," she interrupted,"but you don't look tickled at all. Here, see for yourself!"

  From her breast-pocket she produced a flat vanity case covered with theblack suede of her coat; flipped open a small mirror; held it above thehorn of his saddle where he could look into it. His countenance was,indeed, nearer beet-red than pink. After a wicked moue over hisdiscomfiture, she took out a "stick" and proceeded openly, calmly,critically, to rouge her youth-ripe lips.

  "I'll pay you," she proposed with a smile, "anything that you considerfair for the thoughts that brought that blush."

  "I was just wondering if--thinking that----" he floundered. "What asimilarity of coloring there is among you, your mother and your--yourcousin, you know, and yet how different you are."

  "You're cheating, Why-Not. You know you weren't thinking anything
sobanal. Do you expect me to pay for that?"

  She pulled her trim little black closer to his rangy piebald and leanedover toward him. And he bent toward her; somehow, couldn't help it. Amoment her eyes glittered close under his. Her blown black hair strovetoward his lips. A pout that would have tempted the palest-corpuscled ofmen curved the lips so carefully prepared--for what?

  Peter Pape's corpuscles, as happened, weren't pale. Then, too, he latelyhad been bombed out of some few; traditions and restraints. He caughthis breath; caught the idea; caught her arm.

  "Child, do you know that--Do you understand--"

  "You _are_ nice-nice!"

  With complete understanding, she awaited his pleasure and, possibly, herown.

  Irene had shown selectiveness in the set for the scene. The path at thatpoint was low-leaved and lone. Nothing broke the silence except thesiren-chorus of invisible cars. Nothing marred the woodsy fragrancesexcept the reek of gasoline. Nothing held Pape back except therealization that, once he had kissed this almost irresistible young ladyof to-day----

  At that, only Polkadot saved the situation. Whether intolerant of hispropinquity with a mere hireling, whether sensing the predicament of aman-master who never had brushed stirrups with a woman unless on somepicnic ride with a crowd along, or whether too fed-up on stable fodderto endure such inactivity one second longer, at any rate, the paintedpony forewent all equine etiquette; bolted.

  Not until they had made a flying turn at Harlem Mere and startedcross-park toward the West Path did Pape's strong hand at the reindictate that they let the trailing black catch up. When again the twohorses, as nicely matched for contrast as were their riders, paced sideby side in form----

  "You all right, dar-rling?" panted Irene, from excitement and exercisebeautiful as the favorite "still" of a picture queen.

  "Right as--as you nearly had me wrong."

  At his serious look, she laughed up at him shamelessly. "You missed yourchance that time. And a miss to me is as good as many miles."

  "Don't you mean," he asked, "that a Miss is as bad as a Mrs.?"

  The rest of the ride he insisted on playing the heavy respectful. Hewasn't to be baby-vamped into making love to any girl; to that he hadmade up his mind flyingly but firmly. Tempting, indeed, was she. Butuntil he should commit himself to temptation, she should not over-tempthim. Even in this, their "day and degeneration," he claimed the decidingvote of the male. Why not?

  After that _he_ chose the topics of conversation, favoring oneintroduced that day by the girl's own mother--genealogy. Irene's answerswere considerably less animated than his questions.

  Yes, "family" was the hobby-pace of her only mamma. She, herself, didn'tcare a Russian kopeck from what a man came, so that he was present whenshe wanted him. Still, if Pape aspired to get along with parent-Helene,he'd have to trump her genealogical lead. Could he and would he producea family escutcheon?

  If there was one to be had in town! So he promised with hand-on-heart.He had been born and bred and all that, he declared. And he had reasonsfor wishing to be properly installed as a friend of the Sturgis family.Would an escutcheon really need to be laid within range of the maternallorgnette? If so, just what was an escutcheon most like?

  Ha, he began to see! It was, then, an authenticated something which oneemblazoned on what he owned to show that he owned it, like theinterrogation point which he branded on his cattle back home? Heexplained the significance of the name of the distant Queer QuestionRanch back in Hellroaring Valley, a name derived from his own whys andwhy-nots. He'd see what he could do toward authenticating a creditableescutcheon and exhibiting the same to mamma.

  They had curved around North Meadow, had skirted the silver circle ofthe receiving reservoir and were approaching The Green, before Pape'sabsorption in this self-selected topic was broken. He had cast asurreptitious glance toward a clump of poplars that disputed possessionof a hillock with an outcrop of granite. Beneath them he had seen whatcaused his heart to take one quick flop, then stand still.

  What next occurred was better understood by Friend Polkadot than FriendGirl. The horse received a knee-pressed signal, the meaning of which wasclear, if not the particular reason therefor. Just why Why-Not shouldwish to rid himself of a riding-mate he had seemed to find sodelightful----

  However, Dot was enough of a soldier never to argue actual orders. Hepromptly went lame. And he rather enjoyed doing so. The trick had beendear to him ever since the petting lavished upon him during his recoveryfrom a real injury years ago. He slowed to a stop; up-held hisfore-hoof; himself demanded "'tentions."

  "What's matter, old hoss?"

  Perfect in his part of this play to retire from trail company no longercongenial, the Westerner flung himself off-saddle, accepted and examinedthe pitiful "paw." Even when the supposed victim winked and drew backhis upper lip in a wide horse grin, there showed no change in the pokerface of the Montana man.

  "Is it a sprain? Does it hurt so much as all that?" Although Irene woulddoubtless--and justly--have been furious to know it, her concern was theone real factor in the incident.

  "He may have slipped on that bolt of his back yonder." Pape wasn't usedeven to suggesting lies and his voice sounded as unconvincing to himselfas though pitched from the vicinity of Washington Square. "Serve himright if he did. At that, I'm afraid our ride's ended for to-day.Fortunately----" He paused in a search of the surroundings, presumedlyto get their exact bearings; in fact, to convince himself that he hadseen what he had seen. "Fortunately the stable I'm using lies just overthere on Central Park West."

  "And I was just about to propose that we make the reverse round." Irenepouted like the spoiled child she was. "I'd set my heart on a realsprint between my mare and your cocksure charger. It would have been sosort of symbolic of life to-day, you know--a race of male versusfemale."

  Her heart for horses, however, soon softened in pity for Polkadot. Papeliked her cordially as he hated himself for the endearments andconsolations she showered upon that supposed unfortunate.

  "Don't you worry one little bit, Polkadot dar-rling," she urged, leaningto one of the pinto's forward-flicking ears. "If it isn't all right byto-morrow-day, Irene will come around herself and rub it well for you."

  When Dot, having received no "cure" signal, limped more noticeably thanbefore as they neared his stable-hostelry, she added in her sweet-lispedbaby talk:

  "Just a few steps more, booful boy. Don't 'oo care. You'll be all wellto-morrow-day."

  Considering the tenderness of her mood toward the four-footed fakir, herchange was sudden and radical toward the biped of the pair when shegrasped that he intended to send her home in a taxi.

  "You're not going to _take_ me?" she demanded through the down-droppedsash of the door he had closed.

  "If you'll excuse me, no, Miss Sturgis. I am very sorry to miss thepleasure and sorrier if I seem discourteous. But I--I owe a duty to afriend."

  She looked with a hard glance straight into his eyes, her lips thinning."Then you think more of your _horse_ than you do of me?"

  "Oh, I wouldn't say that," he temporized.

  She pressed the point. "You may think I lack reserve, Mr. Pape.Sometimes I myself feel that I am too impulsive and too--too honest."

  "Oh, I wouldn't say that," he repeated. It was the best he could offerand he was in doubt about that.

  "No, I suppose you wouldn't," she snapped. "But why don't you assume avirtue if you have it not--why not be a little bit honest yourself? Whynot answer the truth? Heaven knows I might better learn it now thanlater. Tell me, Why-Not, is it only Polkadot for whom you are desertingme?"

  Pape tried unobtrusively to give the chauffeur the start signal; shiftedhis weight; cleared his throat.

  "Well, it isn't exactly--not entirely on account of the horse, althougha man's cayuse is his cayuse and that's that. No, miss. You see, we werekind of late starting, owing to your change of--of habits. And I have afriend that I'm sort of committed to help because she--he----"

  But hi
s impromptu defense merged into her high-pitched scorn which, inits turn, merged into tears before she was through.

  "I knew it. I _divined_ it. And me meriting a man's whole soul! Kindlytell the driver to start at once. As for you, Peter Stansbury Pape, Ithink you're _contemptible_!"

  Grooms were caring for the horses on Pape's return to the stable. The"cripple" he miraculously cured by a word and a touch. In his dressingroom, he hurried into street clothes.

  Out in the park, beneath that clump of poplars----

  Talking was all very well in its way. But at last he had sightedsomething to _do_!