The Fashionable Adventures of Joshua Craig: A Novel

by David Graham Phillips

  Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team.

  THE FASHIONABLE ADVENTURES OF JOSHUA CRAIG

  A NOVEL

  BY DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS

  CONTENTS

  I.--MR. CRAIG ARRAYS HIMSELF II.--IN THE BEST SOCIETY III.--A DESPERATE YOUNG WOMAN IV.--"HE ISN'T LIKE US" V.--ALMOST HOOKED VI.--MR. CRAIG IN SWEET DANGER VII.--MRS. SEVERENCE IS ROUSED VIII.--MR. CRAIG CONFIDES IX.--SOMEWHAT CYCLONIC X.--A BELATED PROPOSAL XI.--MADAM BOWKER HEARS THE NEWS XII.--PUTTING DOWN A MUTINY XIII.--A MEMORABLE MEETING XIV.--MAGGIE AND JOSH XV.--THE EMBASSY GARDEN PARTY XVI.--A FIGHT AND A FINISH XVII.--A NIGHT MARCHXVIII.--PEACE AT ANY PRICE XIX.--MADAM BOWKER'S BLESSING XX.--MR. CRAIG KISSES THE IDOL'S FOOT XXI.--A SWOOP AND A SCRATCH XXII.--GETTING ACQUAINTEDXXIII.--WHAT THE MOON SAW AND DID XXIV.--"OUR HOUSE IS AFIRE" XXV.--MRS. JOSHUA CRAIG

  THE FASHIONABLE ADVENTURES OF JOSHUA CRAIG

  CHAPTER I

  MR. CRAIG ARRAYS HIMSELF

  It was one of the top-floor-rear flats in the Wyandotte, not merelybiggest of Washington's apartment hotels, but also "mostexclusive"--which is the elegant way of saying most expensive. TheWyandotte had gone up before landlords grasped the obvious truth that ina fire-proof structure locations farthest from noise and dust should andcould command highest prices; so Joshua Craig's flat was the cheapest inthe house. The ninety dollars a month loomed large in his eyes, focusedto little-town ideas of values; it was, in fact, small for shelter in"the DE LUXE district of the de luxe quarter," to quote Mrs. SenatorMulvey, that simple, far-Western soul, who, finding snobbishness to bethe chief distinguishing mark of the Eastern upper classes, assumed itwas a virtue, acquired it laboriously, and practiced it as openly andproudly as a preacher does piety. Craig's chief splendor was asitting-room, called a parlor and bedecked in the red plush andNottingham that represent hotel men's probably shrewd guess at thetraveling public's notion of interior opulence. Next the sitting-room,and with the same dreary outlook, or, rather, downlook, upon disheveledand squalid back yards, was a dingy box of a bedroom. Like the parlor,it was outfitted with furniture that had degenerated upward, floor byfloor, from the spacious and luxurious first-floor suites. Between thetwo rooms, in dark mustiness, lay a bathroom with suspicious-looking,wood-inclosed plumbing; the rusted iron of the tub peered through scuffsand seams in the age-grayed porcelain.

  Arkwright glanced from the parlor where he was sitting into the gloom ofthe open bathroom and back again. His cynical brown-green eyes pausedupon a scatter of clothing, half-hiding the badly-rubbed red plush ofthe sofa--a mussy flannel nightshirt with mothholes here and there;kneed trousers, uncannily reminiscent of a rough and strenuous wearer; asmoking-jacket that, after a youth of cheap gayety, was now a frayed andtattered wreck, like an old tramp, whose "better days" were none toogood. On the radiator stood a pair of wrinkled shoes that had neverknown trees; their soles were curved like rockers. An old pipe clamoredat his nostrils, though it was on the table near the window, the fulllength of the room from him. Papers and books were strewn abouteverywhere. It was difficult to believe these unkempt and uncouthsurroundings, and the personality that had created them, were actuallybeing harbored behind the walls of the Wyandotte.

  "What a hole!" grumbled Arkwright. He was in evening clothes, so correctin their care and in their carelessness that even a woman would havenoted and admired. "What a mess! What a hole!"

  "How's that?" came from the bedroom in an aggressive voice, sopenetrating that it seemed loud, though it was not, and much roughenedby open-air speaking. "What are you growling about?"

  Arkwright raised his tone: "Filthy hole!" said he. "Filthy mess!"

  Now appeared in the bedroom door a tall young man of unusual strengthand nearly perfect proportions. The fine head was carried commandingly;with its crop of dark, matted hair it suggested the rude, fiercefigure-head of a Viking galley; the huge, aggressively-masculinefeatures proclaimed ambition, energy, intelligence. To see Josh Craigwas to have instant sense of the presence of a personality. The contrastbetween him standing half-dressed in the doorway and the man seated infashionable and cynically-critical superciliousness was more than amatter of exteriors. Arkwright, with features carved, not hewn as wereCraig's, handsome in civilization's over-trained, overbred extreme, hadan intelligent, superior look also. But it was the look of expertness inthings hardly worth the trouble of learning; it was aristocracy'shighly-prized air of the dog that leads in the bench show and tails inthe field. He was like a firearm polished and incrusted with gems andhanging in a connoisseur's wall-case; Josh was like a battle-testedrifle in the sinewy hands of an Indian in full war-paint. Arkwrightshowed that he had physical strength, too; but it was of the kind got atthe gymnasium and at gentlemanly sport--the kind that wins only wherethe rules are carefully refined and amateurized. Craig's figure had thesolidity, the tough fiber of things grown in the open air, in the cold,wet hardship of the wilderness.

  Arkwright's first glance of admiration for this figure of the forest andthe teepee changed to a mingling of amusement and irritation. Thebarbarian was not clad in the skins of wild beasts, which would have sethim off superbly, but was trying to get himself arrayed for afashionable ball. He had on evening trousers, pumps, black cotton sockswith just enough silk woven in to give them the shabby, shamed air ofhaving been caught in a snobbish pretense at being silk. He wasbuttoning a shirt torn straight down the left side of the bosom fromcollar-band to end of tail; and the bosom had the stiff, glassy glazethat advertises the cheap laundry.

  "Didn't you write me I must get an apartment in this house?" demandedhe.

  "Not in the attic," rejoined Arkwright.

  "I can't afford anything better."

  "You can't afford anything so bad."

  "Bad!"

  Craig looked round as pleased as a Hottentot with a string of coloredglass beads. "Why, I've got a private sitting-room AND a private bath! Inever was so well-off before in my life. I tell you, Grant, I'm notsurprised any more that you Easterners get effete and worthless. I beginto like this lolling in luxury, and I keep the bell-boys on the jump.Won't you have something to drink?"

  Arkwright pointed his slim cane at the rent in the shirt. "What are yougoing to do with that?" said he.

  "This? Oh!"--Josh thrust his thick backwoods-man's hand in thetear--"Very simple. A safety-pin or so from the lining of thevest--excuse me, waistcoat--into the edge of the bosom."

  "Splendid!" ejaculated Arkwright. "Superb!"

  Craig, with no scent for sarcasm so delicate, pushed on with enthusiasm:"The safety-pin's the mainstay of bachelor life," said he rhetorically."It's his badge of freedom. Why, I can even repair socks with it!"

  "Throw that shirt away," said Arkwright, with a contemptuous switch ofhis cane. "Put on another. You're not dressing for a shindy in a shack."

  "But it's the only one of my half-dozen that has a bang-up bosom."

  "Bang-up? That sheet of mottled mica?"

  Craig surveyed the shiny surface ruefully. "What's the matter withthis?" he demanded.

  "Oh, nothing," replied Arkwright, in disgust. "Only, it looks more likesomething to roof a house with than like linen for a civilized man."

  Craig reared. "But, damn it, Grant, I'm not civilized. I'm a wild man,and I'm going to stay wild. I belong to the common people, and it's mygame--and my preference, too--to stick to them. I'm willing to makeconcessions; I'm not a fool. I know there was a certain amount of truthin those letters you took the trouble to write me from Europe. I knowthat to play the game here in Washington I've got to do something insociety. But"--here Josh's eyes flashed,
and he bent on his friend alook that was impressive--"I'm still going to be myself. I'll make 'emaccept me as I am. Dealing with men as individuals, I make them do what_I_ want, make 'em like me as I am."

  "Every game has its own rules," said Arkwright. "You'll get onbetter--quicker--go further--here if you'll learn a few elementarythings. I don't see that wearing a whole shirt decently done up is goingto compromise any principles. Surely you can do that and still be ascommon as you like. The people look up to the fellow that's just alittle better dressed than they."

  Josh eyed Arkwright in the way that always made him wonder whether hewas in full possession of the secret of this strenuous young Westerner."But," said he, "they love and trust the man who will have nothing whichall may not have. The shirt will do for this evening." And he turnedback into the bedroom.

  Arkwright reflected somewhat uncomfortably. He felt that he himself wasright; yet he could not deny that "Josh's cheap demagoguery" soundedfine and true. He soon forgot the argument in the study of hissurroundings. "You're living like a wild beast here, Josh," he presentlycalled out. "You must get a valet."

  A loud laugh was the reply.

  "Or a wife," continued Arkwright. Then, in the voice of one announcingan inspiration, "Yes--that's it! A wife!"

  Craig reappeared. He had on his waistcoat and coat now, and his hair wasbrushed. Arkwright could not but admit that the personality took theedge off the clothes; even the "mottled mica"--the rent was completelyhid--seemed to have lost the worst of its glaze and stiffness. "You'lldo, Josh," said he. "I spoke too quickly. If I hadn't accidentally beenthrust into the innermost secrets of your toilet I'd never havesuspected." He looked the Westerner over with gentle, friendlypatronage. "Yes, you'll do. You look fairly well at a glance--and aman's clothes rarely get more than that."

  Craig released his laugh upon his fastidious friend's judicialseriousness. "The trouble with you, Grant, is you've never lived a humanlife. You've always been sheltered and pampered, lifted in and out ofbed by valets, had a suit of clothes for every hour in the day. I don'tsee how it is I happen to like you." And in Craig's face and voice therewas frankly the condescension of superior to undoubted inferior.

  Arkwright seemed to be wavering between resentment and amused disdain.Then he remembered the circumstances of their first acquaintance--thosefrightful days in the Arizona desert, without food, with almost nowater, and how this man had been absolute ruler of the party of lost anddying men; how he had forced them to march on and on, with entreaties,with curses, with blows finally; how he had brought them to safety--allas a matter of course, without any vanity or boasting--had been leaderby divine right of strength of body and soul. Grant turned his eyes fromCraig, for there were tears in them. "I don't see why you like me,either, Josh," said he. "But you do--and--damn it all, I'd die for you."

  "I guess you'll come pretty near dying of shame before this evening'sover," laughed Craig. "This is the first time in my life I ever was in afashionable company."

  "There's nothing to be frightened about," Grant assured him.

  "Frightened!" Josh laughed boisterously--Arkwright could have wished hewould temper that laugh. "I--frightened by a bunch of popinjays? Yousee, it's not really in the least important whether they like me ornot--at least, not to me. I'll get there, anyhow. And when I do, I'lldeal with them according to their deserts. So they'd better hustle toget solid with me."

  In the two years since he had seen Craig, Arkwright had almost forgottenhis habit of bragging and blowing about himself--what he had done, whathe was going to do. The newspapers, the clippings Josh sent him, hadkept him informed of the young Minnesotan's steady, rapid rise inpolitics; and whenever he recalled the absurd boasting that had made himfeel Craig would never come to anything, he assumed it was a weakness ofyouth and inexperience which had, no doubt, been conquered. But, no;here was the same old, conceited Josh, as crudely and vulgarlyself-confident as when he was twenty-five and just starting at the lawin a country town. Yet Arkwright could not but admit there had been morethan a grain of truth in Craig's former self-laudations, that there wasin victories won a certain excuse for his confidence about the future.This young man, not much beyond thirty, with a personality so positiveand so rough that he made enemies right and left, rousing the envy ofmen to fear that here was an ambition which must be downed or it wouldbecome a tyranny over them--this young man, by skill at politics and bysympathetic power with people in the mass, had already compelled aPresident who didn't like him to appoint him to the chief post under anAttorney-General who detested him.

  "How are you getting on with the Attorney-General?" asked Arkwright, asthey set out in his electric brougham.

  "He's getting on with me much better," replied Craig, "now that he haslearned not to trifle with me."

  "Stillwater is said to be a pretty big man," said Arkwright warningly.

  "The bigger the man, the easier to frighten," replied Josh carelessly,"because the more he's got to lose. But it's a waste of time to talkpolitics to you. Grant, old man, I'm sick and worn out, and howlonesome! I'm successful. But what of that, since I'm miserable? If itwasn't for my sense of duty, by Heaven, I sometimes think I'd drop itall and go back to Wayne."

  "Don't do that, Josh!" exclaimed Arkwright. "Don't let the country gorolling off to ruin!"

  "Like all small creatures," said Craig, "you take serious matterslightly, and light matters seriously. You were right a moment ago whenyou said I needed a wife."

  "That's all settled," said Grant. "I'm going to get you one."

  "A woman doesn't need a man--if she isn't too lazy to earn a living,"pursued Craig. "But what's a man without a woman about?"

  "You want a wife, and you want her quick," said Arkwright.

  "You saw what a condition my clothes are in. Then, I need somebody totalk with."

  "To talk to," corrected Grant.

  "I can't have you round all the time to talk to."

  "Heaven forbid!" cried Arkwright. "You never talk about anything butyourself."

  "Some day, my boy," said Josh, with his grave good humor of the greatman tolerating the antics of a mountebank, "you'll appreciate it wasn'tthe subject that was dull, but the ears. For the day'll come wheneverybody'll be thinking and talking about me most of the time."

  Arkwright grinned. "It's lucky you don't let go before everybody likethat."

  "Yes, but I do," rejoined Craig. "And why not? They can't stop my goingahead. Besides, it's not a bad idea"--he nodded, with that shrewdnesswhich was the great, deep-lying vein in his nature--"not at all a badidea, to have people think you a frank, loose-mouthed, damn fool--IF youain't. Ambition's a war. And it's a tremendous advantage to lead yourenemies to underestimate you. That's one reason why I ALWAYS win ... Soyou're going TO TRY to get me a wife?"

  "I'm going to get you one--one of the sort you need. You need a womanwho'll tame you down and lick you into shape."

  Craig smiled scornfully.

  "One who'll know how to smooth the enemies you make with yourrough-and-tumble manners; one who'll win friends for you socially--"

  Josh made a vehement gesture of dissent. "Not on your life!" cried he."Of course, my wife must be a lady, and interested in my career. Butnone of your meddling politicians in petticoats for me! I'll do my ownpolitical maneuvering. I want a woman, not a bad imitation of a man."

  "Well, let that go," said Arkwright. "Also, she ought to be able tosupply you with funds for your political machinery."

  Josh sat up as if this were what he had been listening for.

  "That's right!" cried he. "Politics is hell for a poor man, nowadays.The people are such thoughtless, short-sighted fools--" He checkedhimself, and in a different tone went on: "However, I don't mean exactlythat--"

  "You needn't hedge, Josh, with me."

  "I don't want you to be thinking I'm looking for a rich woman."

  "Not at all--not at all," laughed his friend.

  "If she had too much money it'd be worse for my career than if she hadnone at
all."

  "I understand," said Arkwright.

  "Enough money to make me independent--if I should get in a tight place,"continued Josh. "Yes, I must marry. The people are suspicious of abachelor. The married men resent his freedom--even the happily marriedones. And all the women, married and single, resent his notsurrendering."

  "I never suspected you of cynicism."

  "Yes," continued Craig, in an instantly and radically changed tone, "thepeople like a married man, a man with children. It looks respectable,settled. It makes 'em feel he's got a stake in the country--a home andproperty to defend. Yes, I want a wife."

  "I don't see why you've neglected it so long."

  "Too busy."

  "And too--ambitious," suggested Arkwright.

  "What do you mean?" demanded Josh, bristling.

  "You thought you'd wait to marry until you were nearer your final placein the world. Being cut out for a king, you know--why, you thought you'dlike a queen--one of those fine, delicate ladies you'd read about."

  Craig's laugh might have been confession, it might have been mereamusement. "I want a wife that suits me," said he. "And I'll get her."

  It was Arkwright's turn to be amused. "There's one game you don't in theleast understand," said he.

  "What game is that?"

  "The woman game."

  Craig shrugged contemptuously. "Marbles! Jacks!" Then he added: "Nowthat I'm about ready to marry, I'll look the offerings over." He clappedhis friend on the shoulder. "And you can bet your last cent I'll takewhat I want."

  "Don't be too sure," jeered Arkwright.

  The brougham was passing a street lamp that for an instant illuminatedCraig's face. Again Arkwright saw the expression that made him feelextremely uncertain of the accuracy of his estimates of the "wild man's"character.

  "Yes, I'll get her," said Josh, "and for a reason that never occurs toyou shallow people. I get what I want because what I want wants me--forthe same reason that the magnet gets the steel."

  Arkwright looked admiringly at his friend's strong, aggressive face.

  "You're a queer one, Josh," said he. "Nothing ordinary about you."

  "I should hope not!" exclaimed Craig. "Now for the plunge."