by Owen Johnson
*CHAPTER XV*
The next morning he was awakened by Gunther's abrupt hand.
"Up, up, you sluggard!"
He jumped out hastily and found it was almost half-past eight.
"Nice time to sleep," said Gunther sarcastically. "Have you forgotten alittle visit we're to make to that sweet person, Mr. Garraboy? You'vegot just twenty-two minutes to beautify yourself and fill the innerbeing."
"If we're to see your charming friend, Mr. Garraboy," said Gunther halfan hour later, as they were speeding for the congested, stirring, lowercity, "we've got to nip our man before the opening of the StockExchange. Now let's hear what happened at Mrs. Kildair's last night."
The events in which Mrs. Bloodgood was concerned were sealed inconfidence; but Beecher felt at liberty to recount to his friend thebare details of McKenna's visit as he had known them.
"What the deuce is behind it all?" said Gunther, puzzled. "I gotMcKenna on the wire and that's all he would tell me. What's the reasonshe wants to bottle up everything? What's her mix-up with Slade?Depend upon it, Ted, that woman knows more than we do--or why should sheexpect the ring to be returned? She's got a reason for that."
"If it's returned," said Beecher, "it's Mrs. Bloodgood who took it."
"Never! No woman ever got that ring out of the apartment--not alone;not a Mrs. Bloodgood, or a Nan Charters, or a Mrs. Cheever, or--"Suddenly he reflected. "Ted, there's one person I'd like to meet."
"Miss Lille?"
"Yes. Supposing we look her up a little more."
"I've thought quite a lot about her," said Beecher musingly; and,remembering all at once her self-possession on the night of the theft,he added: "There's nothing weak about her certainly; still, I can't seethe motive."
They had left behind them the free, unbounded sky, boring their waythrough the towering sides of the sky-scraping district, where buildingsrose in regular, comb-like structures, with their thousands of humancells tenanted by human bees. Entering a street where the obstructedsun never shone, they were swept on by the feverish rush offellow-beings and shot up sixteen stories to their destination. Theoffice-boy in the antechamber took their cards with the condescensionwhich only an office-boy between the ages of twelve and sixteen canfeel, and disappeared within.
"The old screw'll keep us waiting half an hour, said Gunther, whodisliked all delays.
"Bet he's trying to figure out what we're here for?" said Beecher, whoadmitted to himself a delicious satisfaction at the prospectivehumiliation of the man he cordially disliked.
The next moment Garraboy himself appeared at the rail, dapper, dried up,and severe.
"How do you do?" he said sharply, but without inviting them in. "Whatcan I do for you? It's a very busy day for me."
"I assure you I don't intend to take any more time than I am compelledto," said Beecher stiffly, with an accent that gave another meaning tothe phrase. He plunged his hand into his pocket. "I have an order foryou."
"Oh, yes, I remember now," said Garraboy, with a malicious drawing up ofhis lips. "You can save yourself the trouble."
"What do you mean?" asked Beecher, greatly surprised.
"You have an order on me to deliver certain stocks I hold for MissCharters?"
"I have."
"Well, Miss Charters has changed her mind," said Garraboy, letting hisglance rest on Beecher with the vacant, impudent stare of which he wasmaster.
"You have seen Miss Charters?" said Beecher, growing very angry.
"I have; and when I explained to her that she had been unduly excited bysome one who evidently is not aware that there are laws in civilizedcountries adequate to deal with those who attack the reputations orinterests--"
"Sir!" exclaimed Beecher, moving so quickly toward the rail thatGarraboy hastily retreated.
"When Miss Charters learned that, and likewise that she had parted withstocks worth considerably over twenty thousand dollars, she changed hermind very quickly."
"Mr. Garraboy," said Gunther abruptly, "all this is not to the point.We have a formal order on you for certain stocks. Ted, present it."
"True, I forgot," said Garraboy, and produced from his coat a letter,which he looked over with nonchalant delay and finally handed toBeecher. "I presume you are acting from altruistic motives and are notstanding on technicalities. Here is a little note which Miss Chartersrequested me to give you."
"That has nothing to do with it," said Gunther at once, for thepersonality of the broker aroused the pugnacious side of him. "Yourtransaction has been closed. Get your stocks."
Beecher, frowning, unable to conceal the vexation that this unexpectedcheck brought him, opened the letter. The address by its formalitycompleted his irritation:
DEAR MR. BEECHER:
Mr. Garraboy has called and explained everything satisfactorily. I amafraid I was needlessly alarmed last night and did him an injustice. Ashe has shown me how advantageous it will be for me to transfer myholdings to other stocks, now far below their market value, I havedecided not to lose the opportunity. Thank you just the same for yourinterest in this matter. I shall be in at five this afternoon and willexplain to you more fully.
Cordially yours, NAN CHARTERS.
The two watched him read to the end, fold the letter carefully, and putit in his pocket.
"Well?" said Garraboy.
"Insist on the delivery, Ted," said Gunther militantly. "If MissCharters wants to return them again, that's her affair. The stocks areyours."
He looked at his friend with a glance of warning which sought to conveyto him the distrust he could not openly phrase.
"If Mr. Beecher wishes to stand on technicalities," said Garraboy, inhis even, oily voice, "he can do so. He can make a very nice profit.Which is it? I repeat, I can not give you much time."
"Miss Charters' letter is sufficient," said Beecher suddenly."Good-day."
The feeling of mortification and chagrin which her action had brought onhim dominated all other feelings. He went out in a rage, tearing theletter into minute fragments. Without a word they reached the streetand entered the automobile.
"Last time I ever try to help a woman!" he said, between his teeth.
"What the deuce did you play into his game for?" said Gunther. "He'sbamboozled her. I believe the fellow is an out-and-out crook--he's gota rotten bad eye. Why the deuce didn't you get the stocks?"
"She can take her own risks," said Beecher furiously. "It's her ownaffair if she's going to blow hot and cold. By Jove, Bruce, I never metany one who could make me so mad clear through and through."
He stopped, biting his lips, and Gunther with a shy glance stored awayfor future comment the impression he received.
"What's the use of taking them seriously?" he said, with a shrug of theshoulders. "Amuse yourself, but don't let them absorb you. Suppose wetake a turn at the Curb and see what's doing."
With the opening of the market, all the giant sides of Wall Streetseemed suddenly animated with the fury of a disturbed ant-hill. Everyone was rushing in and out, carrying with them the pollution of disasterand alarm. Eddie Fontaine and Steve Plunkett hurried past them withquick nods. At the curb market the brokers were shrieking and flingingtheir frantic signals in the air. They entered the Stock Exchange,nodding to the doorkeeper, who knew Gunther, and reached the balcony,their ears suddenly smitten with the confused uproar from below. Theystood there a few minutes, marveling at that Inferno of speculation andembattled greed flung before them in all the nakedness of man's terror;and then left, oppressed by the too frank exhibition of their mortalcounterparts.
"What's doing?" asked Gunther as they returned.
The doorkeeper, with a shrug of his shoulders, flung down his thumb--thegesture of the Roman circus.
"You like that?" said Beecher, when once more they were in theautomobile and the din and oppression of cell-like monstrosities hadreceded.
"I do," Gunther replied, locking and unlocking his broad hand
s.
"Horrible!"
"That's only one side of it--speculation," said Gunther warmly; "buteven that is impressive. Look beyond those little mobs we saw, get thefeeling of the whole country, the vast nation, rising in anger--flingingover hundreds of thousands of holdings--sweeping down the littlegamblers with the tremendous waves of its alarm. Beyond that the wholevibrating industry of the nation is here, within a quarter of amile--the great projects of development, the wars of millions, thefuture of immense territories to the West and the South. There's a bigside to it--a real side--that gets me. I've a mind to walk down now andface the old governor and tell him I'm ready."
"Why don't you?" said Beecher. He himself had felt the restlessness ofindecision and enforced idleness. He gave a laugh. "You know, Bruce,I'm beginning to feel the same way. Either I've got to get into thecurrent somewhere, or I'm going to pack off for Africa some fine day."
"By the way, Tilton's up at the club. He's here for a few days, gettingready for a lion hunt or something."
"Tilton?" exclaimed Beecher joyfully. "By Jove, I must get hold of him.I'd go in a minute!"
He believed what he said. The whirl of emotions into which he hadlately been plunged--revealing to him as it had all the mercenary,clutching side of the city--had left him disturbed, rebellious, longingto be away from the mass of men in general, and of women in particular,the brilliant, keen, and calculating women of the city with whom he hadbeen thrown. Impatient and disillusionized, without realizing the truecause, he repeated:
"By Jove, I'd go in a minute!"
In the afternoon he went to call on Miss Charters. After having declaredtwenty times that he would not go near her, he suddenly remembered, atthe end of a wearied discussion between his conscience and hisinclination, that his check for twenty thousand dollars was to bereclaimed and, at once seizing such a satisfactory reason, he abandonedthe attitude of embattled dignity which he had logically built up.
"That's true; I must get the check," he said, and he set out.
But as he neared his destination and began to rehearse all the gravecauses for offense that he held against her, he was surprised at theslender stock of ammunition he held.
"Why, it was perfectly natural," he thought, struck by the idea--havingconsidered her reasons for the first time. "If Garraboy called andexplained everything to her satisfaction, why shouldn't she change hermind? Besides, there is nothing against Garraboy--nothing definite.After all, I may have been unjust to him."
Very sheepish, he felt his irritation slipping away as he yielded to theeager desire of once more entering her presence.
"What the deuce was I so wild about?" he asked himself, amazed, as heentered the elevator.
But all at once he remembered that she had allowed him to receive thenews at the hands of a person intensely disagreeable to him.
"Why didn't she telephone me? That's the whole point."
And, all his irritation restored by this one outstanding fact, heentered the apartment with the dignity of a justly offended person.
She was seated by the fire in an easy-chair, and she did not rise as heentered. She was bending eagerly forward, an open manuscript in herhand, and, without turning, she made a little sign to him to be seateduntil she should have finished.
"Wonderful!" she cried at last, dropping the play in her lap. "It iswonderful!" she repeated, her whole body vibrating with the enthusiasmof her mood. "Wonderful--astonishing--what a scene!" And, tapping themanuscript with a gesture of decision, she exclaimed: "I will play thatpart--it will be an enormous sensation!"
Her mind still obsessed by the thought of the newly discoveredmasterpiece, she turned toward Beecher, who was seated like a ramrod onthe edge of his chair.
"A marvelous play! Really, that Mr. Hargrave is a coming man."Forgetting her previous estimate, she rushed on: "Isn't it strange--Ialways knew he would do it, from the very first! What is extraordinaryis the subtlety of it--how he twines two or three emotions together inthe same scene. What a glorious chance for an actress! I must telephonethe office."
As she rose, a slip of paper which she had been using as a markerfluttered to the floor. She picked it up, recognized it, and handed itto him.
"Oh, yes, here's your check!" she said. "I put it there so as not toforget it. Thanks very much. I'll explain in a minute. I musttelephone Stigler; I'm all excited!"
Beecher, more annoyed by this revelation of her professional life thanby the rub to his vanity, took the check and pocketed it--not havingpronounced a word since his arrival.
She considered him carefully from the corner of her eye as she took upthe telephone; but her personal emotion was too buoyant for trivialinterruptions.
Stigler, her manager, was out, and she put down the receiver with a jarof impatience. She looked at Beecher again, and, perceiving that therewas an explanation due, sought at once to shift the responsibility.
"Do you know, really, you were ridiculously alarmed last night," shesaid, a spirit of opposition in her voice. "I don't know what made youso panicky."
"Of course," he said sarcastically, "I realize now that I should neverhave stirred you up, when everything was so calm. It's strange that Idid not explain to you the natural reasons for Mr. Garraboy's notcalling you up--but then, I usually lose my head at such times."
"You are angry!" she said.
"What a strange idea! On the contrary, it was a charming experience toenter Mr. Garraboy's office and be so delightfully reassured thateverything was so prosperous with him."
She did not like irony, or know how to combat it, so she frowned andsaid:
"I telephoned you."
"Why should you do that? You might have deprived me of the pleasure ofmeeting your charming friend, Mr. Garraboy."
"I telephoned. You were not in."
"When?"
"Last night. Four times."
He was mollified by this, but tried not to show it.
"And this morning?"
"But I never get up before ten," she cried, aghast.
"Your explanations are crushingly convincing," he said, with a bow and asmile.
She watched him with an uneasy look, totally unconscious of any sense ofobligation, accustomed as she was to have her requests for serviceregarded as favors. The reaction from their last interview had left herin a coldly antagonistic state, determined to pluck in the bud thisprogress toward intimacy which had so threatened her scheme of life.Now, seeing him collected and ironical, she was instinctively alarmed atthe distance which he, not she, had placed between them.
"My dear Teddy," she began, in a more confidential tone.
"Teddy?" he said, smiling.
He was perfectly good-natured, and as she felt that he was notirritated, but amusing himself at her tricks which he had divined, shewas uneasy under this ironical examination. She felt that he hadescaped her; and, disturbed by this thought, she looked at him, seeingall at once his quality. As he had made not the slightest reference tothe very apparent obligation which he had been willing to undergo forher, she felt his social superiority and his reticence of good breeding.Besides, other women--brilliant women--had been attracted by him: Mrs.Craig Fontaine, Mrs. Kildair, and, above all, Emma Fornez. But anothermood had possession of her, the mood of the artist transformed by thejoy of personal sensation. She wished to keep him, but at the momentshe was irritated that such a little thing should come to interfere withthe joy of the imagined future triumph.
"Don't be horrid, Teddy," she said impatiently, and, wishing to appeasehim quickly, that she might talk to him of the play, she continued: "Thefact is, Mr. Garraboy has done everything he could for me. He sold mystocks a week ago, foreseeing this panic, and saved me several thousanddollars. He offered to give me his check for twenty-two thousand fivehundred dollars, or to reinvest it for me when the time came in theenormous bargains that can be picked up now. What was I to do?"
"You're quite right, and I made a great mistake to mislead you so," heanswere
d, with great seriousness.
"It wasn't your fault," she said abruptly.
"Wasn't it?" he said, opening his eyes with a show of surprise.
She comprehended that she would have to surrender, and, changing hertone to one of gentleness, she said:
"It was a great thing for you to do what you did, Teddy--I shall neverforget it."
"Nonsense," he said, persisting in misunderstanding her. "I often getup early--that was nothing at all."
"You are not at all the way you were last time," she said reproachfully,forgetting that that was just what she wished to avoid.
But at this moment the telephone rang. Stigler, her manager, wascalling. Immediately she forgot their misunderstanding, carried away bythe enthusiasm of the moment. Beecher, with a clear vision, followedher, noticing in her voice, as she sought to cajole the manager, thesame caressing pleading which she had employed a moment before with him.
"Now I really see her," he thought, with a liberation of his spirit."Emma was entirely wrong. She's not a woman--she always an actress."
"I'll send you the play right away," she was saying. "Mr. Hargrave iscoming. I'll have him take it to the hotel. But you must read ittonight. Promise! Oh, yes, lots of comedy--delicious! Heart interestand big scenes--yes, sensational. Just the part for Fannestock. I musthave him for the part! You'll see him in every line! Now, Mr. Stigler,please read it tonight!"
"Ah, there's Fannestock too," said Beecher grimly to himself.
She rose from telephoning, joyous and excited.
"Oh, if Stigler will only see it! It's a great part--a great part!There's a wonderful scene at the close of the third act, between the twowomen and the father, that will bring down the house."
Miss Tilbury came in to announce that Mr. Hargrave was calling. Anexpression of delight lit up the features of the actress. But all atonce she turned anxiously to Beecher, who had risen stiffly.
"By Jove, I've overstayed my time," he said readily, glancing at theclock.
She was grateful, and yet dissatisfied that he had suggested what shewished, and, recalling his new spirit of independence, she saidanxiously, with a compensating smile:
"Teddy, call me up in the morning--this is so important."
In the hallway he stepped aside while Hargrave, a frail, oldish-youngman, entered, with his famished, doubting glance.
"Oh, it is wonderful--wonderful!" cried the actress, seizing both hishands. "I am still thrilled. Wonderful---wonderful!"
"You liked it?" said Hargrave timidly. At her words, he saw heaven openbefore his eyes in a confused vision of frantic audiences, applaudingcritics, checks for thousands for royalty, all confused by rollingautomobiles, magnificent bouquets and languishing feminine eyes.
"Like it!" continued Nan Charters, retaining hold of one hand to drawhim into the salon. "It is marvelous! How could you know all this soyoung!"
Beecher, in the excitement, quietly made his escape. In the elevator,to the surprise of the wondering bell-boy, he was seized with a madlaughter, which continued to convulse him as he rolled into the street.
"Heaven be praised!" he exclaimed. "Cured--cured, by Jove! I wouldn'thave missed it for worlds!"
On turning the corner of his club, he ran into Becker, a clubacquaintance whom he tolerantly disliked.
"Becker, old boy," he said, seizing his arm and flourishing his cane inthe direction of the club, "what can I buy you? Come on--_en avant_!"
"What the deuce has got in you?" said that correct youth.
"Joy, laughter, everything! I'm happy as a Croton water-bug on a hotmarble slab!"
At the bar, he gathered every one in sight, slapping them on theirshoulders. His comrades looked at him with envy and awe, believing thathe had profited by a tip to make a killing in the market. Their ownenjoyment was little enough. The market, outdoing the day before, hadplunged like a wild steer into the maelstrom of panic. A billiondollars had receded, scattered, evaporated in the mad day. The disasterhad reached the whole country; every bank was threatened. The UnitedStates Treasury had been implored to come to the assistance of thecountry. Gunther, Fontaine, Marx, Haggerty, were in hourly conference;while before the swelling hurricane of fright, every paper was imploringits readers to stand firm.