by Leroy Scott
CHAPTER XVIII
The next morning Larry tried to force his mind to attend strictly toMiss Sherwood's affairs. But in this effort he was less than fiftyper cent effective. His experience of the night before had been tooexciting, too provocative of speculation, too involved with what hefrankly recognized to be the major interest of his life, to allow himto apply himself with perfect and unperturbed concentration to the day'sroutine. Constantly he was seeing the transformed Maggie in the ceriseevening gown with the fan of green plumes--seeing her elaboratesetting in her suite at the Grantham--hearing that vaguely familiar butunplaceable voice outside her door--recalling the frenzied effort withwhich Maggie had so swiftly effected his escape.
This last matter puzzled him greatly. If she were so angered at him asshe had declared, if she so distrusted him, why had she not given him upwhen she had had him at her mercy? Could it be that, despite her words,she had an unacknowledged liking for him? He did not dare let himselfbelieve this.
Again and again he thought of this adventure in whose very middle Maggienow was, and of whose successful issue she had proudly boasted to him.It was indeed something big, as she had said; that establishment at theGrantham was proof of this. Larry could now perceive the adventure'sgeneral outlines. There was nothing original in what he perceived; andthe plan, so far as he could see it, would not have interested him inthe least as a novel creation of the brain were not Maggie its centralfigure, and were not Barney and Old Jimmie her directing agents.A pretty woman was being used as a lure to some rich man, and hisinfatuation for her was to cause him to part with a great deal ofmoney: some variation of this ancient idea, which has a thousandvariations--that was the plan.
Obviously the enterprise was not directed at some gross victim whosepalate might permit his swallowing anything. If any one item essentiallyproved this, it was the item of the overwhelmingly respectable chaperon.Maggie was being presented as an innocent, respectable, young girl; andthe victim, whoever he was, was the type of man for whom only such atype of girl would have a compelling appeal.
And this man--who was he? Ever and again he tried to place the man'svoice, with its faintly familiar quality, but it kept dodging away likea dream one cannot quite recall.
The whole business made Larry rage within himself. Maggie to be usedin such a way! He did not blame Maggie, for he understood her. Also heloved her. She was young, proud, willful, had been trained to regardsuch adventures as colorful and legitimate; and had not lived longenough for experience to teach her otherwise. No, Maggie was not toblame. But Old Jimmie! He would like to twist Old Jimmie's neck! Butthen Old Jimmie was Maggie's father; and the mere fact of Old Jimmiebeing Maggie's father would, he knew, safeguard the old man from hiswrath even were he at liberty to go forth and act.
He cursed his enforced seclusion. If only he were free to go out anddo his best in the open! But then, even if he were, his best endeavorswould have little influence upon Maggie--with her despising anddistrusting him as she did, and with her so determined to go ahead inher own way.
Once during the morning, he slipped from the library into his roomand gazed at the portrait of Maggie that Hunt had given him the nightbefore: Maggie, self-confident, willful, a beautiful nobody who wasstaring the world out of countenance; a Maggie that was a thousandpossible Maggies. And as he gazed he thought of the wager he had madewith Hunt, and of his own rather scatter-brained plannings concerningit. He removed Maggie's portrait from the fellowship of the picture ofthe Italian mother, and hid it in his chiffonier. Whatever he might doin his endeavor to make good his boast to Hunt, for the present he wouldregard Maggie's portrait as his private property. To use the painting ashe had vaguely planned, before he had been surprised to find it Maggie'sportrait, would be to pass it on into other possession where itmight become public--where, through some chance, the Maggie of theworking-girl's cheap shirt-waist might be identified with the rich MissCameron of the Grantham, to Maggie's great discomfiture, and possibly toher entanglement with the police.
When Miss Sherwood came into the library a little later, Larry tried toput Maggie and all matters pertaining to his previous night's adventureout of his mind. He had enough other affairs which he was tryingadroitly to handle--for instance, Miss Sherwood and Hunt; and when hisbusiness talk with her was ended, he remarked:
"I saw Mr. Hunt last evening."
He watched her closely, but he could detect no flash of interest atHunt's name.
"You went down to your grandmother's?"
"Yes."
"That was a very great risk for you to take," she reproved him. "I'mglad you got back safely."
Despite the disturbance Maggie had been to his thoughts, part of hisbrain had been trying to make plans to forward this other aim; so henow told Miss Sherwood of his wager with Hunt and his bringing awaya picture--he said "one picture." He wanted to awaken the suppressedinterest each had in the other; to help bridge or close the chasm whichhe sensed had opened between them. So he brought the picture of theItalian mother from his room. She regarded it critically, but with nosign of approval or disapproval.
"What do you think of it?" she asked.
"It's a most remarkable piece of work!" he said emphatically--wishing hecould bring in that picture of Maggie as additional evidence supportinghis opinion.
She made no further comment, and it was up to Larry to keep theconversation alive. "What is the most Mr. Hunt ever was paid for apainting? I mean one of what he swears at as his `pretty pictures'?"
"I believe about two thousand dollars."
That was part of the information necessary to Larry's plan.
"Miss Sherwood, I'm going to ask another favor of you. In connectionwith a bet I made with Mr. Hunt. I want to talk with a picturedealer--the best one there is. I can't very well go to him. Can youmanage to have him come here?"
"Easily. I know the man best for your purpose. I'll telephone, and ifhe's in New York he'll come to see you this afternoon."
"Thank you."
She started out, then turned. "Better finish your business with himto-day if you can. We go to the country to-morrow or the day after. I'vejust had word that the workmen are finally out of the house; though thegrounds, of course, are in bad shape, and will probably remain so. Withthis labor situation, it's practically impossible to get men."
Larry remembered something else. "Miss Sherwood, you recall my oncespeaking about a man I got to be friends with in prison--Joe Ellison?"
"Yes."
"I've written him, under an assumed name, of course, and have had ananswer. He'll be out in a very few days now. He's through with his oldways. I know he'd like nothing better than a quiet place to work, off tohimself somewhere. I'm sure you can trust him."
"We'll arrange to have him come out to Cedar Crest. Oh, don't think I'mbeing generous or sentimental," she interrupted smilingly as he startedto thank her. "I'd be glad to put two or three more ex-convicts to workon our place if I could get them. And so would my friends; they can'tget workmen of any kind."
That afternoon the picture dealer came. Miss Sherwood introduced Larryto him as Mr. Brandon, her cousin, and then left the two men together.Larry appraised Mr. Graham as a shrewd man who knew his business and whowould like to score a triumph in his own particular field. He decidedthat the dealer had to be handled with a great deal of frankness, andwith some stiff bluffing which must appear equally frank. The secretof Larry's earlier success had been to establish confidence and evenenthusiasm in something which had little or no value. In selling anhonest thing at an honest price, the first and fundamental procedure wasthe same, to establish confidence and, if possible, enthusiasm.
From the moment of introduction Larry quietly assumed the manner of anart collector who was very sure of himself; which manner was abetted bythe setting of the Sherwood library. He felt something of the old zestwhen wits had been matched against wits, even though this was to be astrictly honorable enterprise.
"You know the work of Mr. Jerome Hunt?" he asked.
"I was referring to work in his recent manner."
"He has not been doing any work recently," corrected Mr. Graham.
"No?" Larry picked up the Italian mother which for this occasion he hadmounted with thumb-tacks upon a drawing-board, and stood it upon a chairin the most advantageous light. "There is a little thing in Mr. Hunt'srecent manner which I lately purchased."
Mr. Graham regarded the painting long and critically.
Finally he remarked:
"At least it is different."
"Different and better," said Larry with his quiet positiveness. "So muchbetter that I paid him three thousand dollars for it."
"Three thousand!" The dealer regarded Larry sharply. "Three thousand forthat?"
"Yes. And I consider that I got a bargain."
Mr. Graham was silent for several moments. Then he said "For what reasonhave I been asked here?"
"I want you to undertake to sell this picture."
"For how much?"
"Five thousand dollars."
"Five thousand dollars!"
"It is easily worth five thousand," Larry said quietly.
"If you value it so highly, why do you want to sell?"
"I am pressed by the present money shortage. Also I secured a secondpicture when I got this one. That second picture I shall not sell. Youshould have no difficulty in selling this," Larry continued, "if youhandle the matter right. Think of how people have started again to talkabout Gaugin: about his starting to paint in a new manner down there inthe Marquesas Islands, of his trading a picture for a stick of furnitureor selling it for a few hundred francs--which same paintings are noweach worth a small fortune. Capitalize this Gaugin talk; also the talkabout poor mad Blakeslie. You've got a new sensation. One all your own."
"You can't start a sensation with one painting," Mr. Graham remarkeddryly.
This had been the very remark Larry had adroitly been trying to drawfrom the dealer.
"Why, that's so!" he exclaimed. And then as if the thought had only thatmoment come to him: "Why not have an exhibition of paintings done in hisnew manner? He's got a studio full of things just as characteristic asthis one."
Larry caught the gleam which came into the dealer's eyes. It wasinstantly masked.
"Too late in the spring for a picture show. Couldn't put on anexhibition before next season."
"But why not have a private pre-exhibition showing?" Larry argued--"withspecial invitations sent to a small, carefully chosen list, putting itover strong to them that you were offering them the chance of a firstand exclusive view of something very remarkable. Most of them will feelflattered and will come. And that will start talk and stir up interestin your public exhibition in the fall. That's the idea!"
Again there was the gleam, quickly masked, in the dealer's eyes. ButLarry got it.
"How do I know this picture here isn't just an accident?--the only oneof the sort Mr. Hunt has ever painted, or ever will paint?" cautiouslyinquired Mr. Graham. "You said you had a second picture. May I see it?"
Larry hesitated. But he believed he had the dealer almost "sold"; alittle more and Mr. Graham would be convinced. So he brought in Maggie'sportrait. The dealer looked it over with a face which he tried to keepexpressionless.
"How much is this one?" he asked at length.
"It is not for sale."
"It will bring more money than the other. It's a more interestingsubject."
"That's why I'm keeping it," said Larry. "I think you'll admit, Mr.Graham, that this proves that Mr. Hunt is not now painting accidents."
"You're right." The mask suddenly dropped from Mr. Graham's face; he wasno longer merely an art merchant; he was also an art enthusiast. "Hunthas struck something bold and fresh, and I think I can put him over.I'll try that scheme you mentioned. Tell me where I can find him andI'll see him at once."
"That picture has got to be sold before I give you his address. No useseeing him until then; he'd laugh at you, and not listen to anything.He's sore at the world; thinks it doesn't understand him. An actual salewould be the only argument that would have weight with him."
"All right--I'll buy the picture myself. Hunt and I have had a fallingout, and I'd like him to have proof that I believe in him." Again Mr.Graham was the art merchant. "Though, of course, I can't pay the fivethousand you ask. Hunt's new manner may catch on, and it may not. It's abig gamble."
"What will you pay?"
"What you paid for it--three thousand."
"That's an awful drop from what I expected. When can you pay it?"
"I'll send you my check by an assistant as soon as I get back to myplace."
"I told you I was squeezed financially--so the picture is yours. I'llsend you Mr. Hunt's present address when I receive your check. Make itpayable to 'cash.'"
When Mr. Graham had gone with the Italian mother--it was then the veryend of the afternoon--Larry wondered if his plan to draw Hunt out of hishermitage was going to succeed; and wondered what would be the result,if any, upon the relationship between Hunt and Miss Sherwood if Huntshould come openly back into his world an acclaimed success, andcome with the changed attitude toward every one and every thing thatrecognition bestows.
But something was to make Larry wonder even more a few minutes later.Dick, that habitual late riser, had had to hurry away that morningwithout speaking to him. Now, when he came home toward six o'clock, Dickshouted cheerily from the hallway:
"Ahoy! Where you anchored, Captain Nemo?"
Larry did not answer. He sat over his papers as one frozen. He knewnow whose had been the elusively familiar voice he had heard outsideMaggie's door. It was Dick Sherwood's.
Dick paused without to take some messages from Judkins, and Larry's mindraced feverishly. Dick Sherwood was the victim Maggie and Barney and OldJimmie were so cautiously and elaborately trying to trim! It seemed animpossible coincidence. But no, not impossible, after all. Their nethad been spread for just such game: a young man, impressionable,pleasure-loving, with plenty of money, and with no strings tied to hisspending of it. That Barney should have made his acquaintance was easilyexplained; to establish acquaintance with such persons as Dick wasBarney's specialty. What more natural than that the high-spirited,irresponsible Dick should fall into this trap?--or indeed that he shouldhave been picked out in advance as the ideal victim and have been drawninto it?
"Hello, there!" grumbled Dick, entering. "Why didn't you answer ashipmate's hail?"
"I heard you; but just then I was adding a column of figures, and I knewyou'd look in."
At that moment Larry noted the portrait of Maggie, looking up from thechair beside him. With a swiftness which he tried to disguise into amechanical action, he seized the painting and rolled it up, face inside.
"What's that you've got?" demanded Dick.
"Just a little daub of my own."
"So you paint, too. What else can you do? Let's have a look."
"It's too rotten. I'd rather let you see something else--though all mystuff is bad."
"You wouldn't do any little thing, would you, to brighten this tiredesthour in the day of a tired business man," complained Dick. "I've reallybeen a business man to-day, Captain. Worked like the devil--or anangel--whichever works the harder."
He lit a cigarette and settled with a sigh on the corner of Larry'sdesk. Larry regarded him with a stranger and more contradictingmixture of feelings than he had ever thought to contain: solicitude forDick--jealousy of him--and the instinct to protect Maggie. This lastseemed to Larry grotesquely absurd the instant it seethed up in him, butthere the instinct was: was Dick treating Maggie right?
"How was the show last night, Dick?"
"Punk!"
"I thought you said you were to see 'The Jest.' I've heard it's one ofthe best things for years."
"Oh, I guess the show's all right. But the company was poor. My company,I mean. The person I wanted to see couldn't come."
"Hope you had a supper party that made up for the disappointment,"pursued Larry, adroitly trying to lead him on.
"I sure had that, Captain!"
Dick slid to a chair beside Larry, dropped a hand on Larry's knee, andsaid in a lowered tone:
"Captain, I've recently met a new girl--and believe me, she's aknock-out!"
"Better keep clear of those show girls, Dick."
"Never again! The last one cured me for life. Miss Cameron--MaggieCameron, how's that for a name?--is no Broadway girl, Captain. She's noteven a New York girl."
"No?"
"She's from some place out West. Father owned several big ranches. Shesays that explains her crudeness. Her crude? I should say not! Theydon't grow better manners right here in New York. And she's pretty, andclever, and utterly naive about everything in New York. Though I mustsay," Dick added, "that I'm not so keen about her cousin and her uncle.I'd met the cousin a few times the last year or two around town; hebelongs here. The two are the sort of poor stock that crops out in everygood family. They've got one merit, though: they don't try to impose onher too much."
"What is your Miss Cameron doing in New York?"
"Having her first look at the town before going to some resort for thesummer; perhaps taking a cottage somewhere. I say, Captain"--leaningcloser--"I wish you didn't feel you had to stick around this apartmentso tight. I'd like to take you out and introduce you to her."
Larry could imagine the resulting scene if ever this innocently proposedintroduction were given.
"I guess that for the present I'll have to depend upon your reports,Dick."
"Well, you can take it from me that she's just about all right!"
It was Larry's strange instinct to protect Maggie that prompted his nextremark:
"You're not just out joy-riding, are you, Dick?"
Dick flushed. "Nothing of that sort. She's not that kind of girl.Besides--I think it's the real thing, Captain."
The honest look in Dick's eyes, even more than his words, quietedLarry's fear for Maggie. Presently Dick walked out leaving Larry yetanother problem added to his life. He could not let anything happento Maggie. He could not let anything happen to Dick. He had to protecteach; he had to do something. Yet what could he do?
Yes, this certainly was a problem! He paced the room, another victim ofthe ancient predicament of divided and antagonistic duty.