CHAPTER XVIII
JILL RECEIVES NOTICE
I
The violins soared to one last high note; the bassoon uttered a finalmoan; the pensive person at the end of the orchestra-pit just underMrs. Waddesleigh Peagrim's box, whose duty it was to slam the drum atstated intervals, gave that much-enduring instrument a concludingwallop; and, laying aside his weapons, allowed his thoughts to strayin the direction of cooling drinks. Mr. Saltzburg lowered the batonwhich he had stretched quivering towards the roof and sat down andmopped his forehead. The curtain fell on the first act of "The Rose ofAmerica," and simultaneously tremendous applause broke out from allover the Gotham Theatre, which was crammed from floor to roof withthat heterogeneous collection of humanity which makes up the audienceof a New York opening performance. The applause continued like thebreaking of waves on a stony beach. The curtain rose and fell, roseand fell, rose and fell again. An usher, stealing down the centralaisle, gave to Mr. Saltzburg an enormous bouquet of American Beautyroses, which he handed to the prima donna, who took it with abrilliant smile and a bow, nicely combining humility with joyfulsurprise. The applause, which had begun to slacken, gathered strengthagain. It was a superb bouquet, nearly as big as Mr. Saltzburghimself. It had cost the prima donna close on a hundred dollars thatmorning at Thorley's, but it was worth every cent of the money.
The house-lights went up. The audience began to move up the aisles tostretch its legs and discuss the piece during the intermission. Therewas a general babble of conversation. Here, a composer who had not gotan interpolated number in the show was explaining to another composerwho had not got an interpolated number in the show the exact sourcefrom which a third composer who had got an interpolated number in theshow had stolen the number which he had got interpolated. There, twomusical comedy artists who were temporarily resting were agreeing thatthe prima donna was a dear thing but that, contrary as it was to theirlife-long policy to knock anybody, they must say that she wasbeginning to show the passage of years a trifle and ought to be warnedby some friend that her career as an _ingenue_ was a thing of thepast. Dramatic critics, slinking in twos and threes into dark corners,were telling each other that "The Rose of America" was just another ofthose things but it had apparently got over. The general public was ofthe opinion that it was a knock-out.
"Otie, darling," said Mrs. Waddesleigh Peagrim, leaning her ampleshoulder on Uncle Chris' perfectly fitting sleeve and speaking acrosshim to young Mr. Pilkington, "I do congratulate you, dear. It'sperfectly delightful! I don't know when I have enjoyed a musical pieceso much. Don't you think it's perfectly darling, Major Selby?"
"Capital!" agreed that suave man of the world, who had been bored asnear extinction as makes no matter. "Congratulate you, my boy!"
"You clever, clever thing!" said Mrs. Peagrim, skittishly striking hernephew on the knee with her fan. "I'm proud to be your aunt! Aren'tyou proud to know him, Mr. Rooke?"
The fourth occupant of the box awoke with a start from the species ofstupor into which he had been plunged by the spectacle of theMcWhustle of McWhustle in action. There had been other dark moments inFreddie's life. Once, back in London, Parker had sent him out into theheart of the West End without his spats and he had not discoveredtheir absence till he was half-way up Bond Street. On anotheroccasion, having taken on a stranger at squash for a quid a game, hehad discovered too late that the latter was an ex-public-schoolchampion. He had felt gloomy when he had learned of the breaking-offof the engagement between Jill Mariner and Derek Underhill, and sadwhen it had been brought to his notice that London was giving Derekthe cold shoulder in consequence. But never in his whole career had heexperienced such gloom and such sadness as had come to him thatevening while watching this unspeakable person in kilts murder thatpart that should have been his. And the audience, confound them, hadroared with laughter at every damn silly thing the fellow had said!
"Eh?" he replied. "Oh, yes, rather, absolutely!"
"We're _all_ proud of you, Otie darling," proceeded Mrs. Peagrim."The piece is a wonderful success. You will make a fortune out of it.And just think, Major Selby, I tried my best to argue the poor, dearboy out of putting it on! I thought it was so rash to risk his moneyin a theatrical venture. But then," said Mrs. Peagrim in extenuation,"I had only seen the piece when it was done at my house at Newport,and of course it really was rather dreadful nonsense then! I mighthave known that you would change it a great deal before you put it onin New York. As I always say, plays are not written, they arerewritten! Why, you have improved this piece a hundred per cent, Otie!I wouldn't know it was the same play!"
She slapped him smartly once more with her fan, ignorant of the gashesshe was inflicting. Poor Mr. Pilkington was suffering twin torments,the torture of remorse and the agonized jealousy of the unsuccessfulartist. It would have been bad enough to have to sit and watch a largeaudience rocking in its seats at the slap-stick comedy which WallyMason had substituted for his delicate social satire: but, had thisbeen all, at least he could have consoled himself with the sordidreflection that he, as owner of the piece, was going to make a lot ofmoney out of it. Now, even this material balm was denied him. He hadsold out, and he was feeling like the man who parts for a song withshares in an apparently goldless gold mine, only to read in the papersnext morning that a new reef has been located. Into each life somerain must fall. Quite a shower was falling now into young Mr.Pilkington's.
"Of course," went on Mrs. Peagrim, "when the play was done at myhouse, it was acted by amateurs. And you know what amateurs are! Thecast to-night is perfectly splendid. I do think that Scotchman is themost killing creature! Don't you think he is wonderful, Mr. Rooke?"
We may say what we will against the upper strata of Society, but itcannot be denied that breeding tells. Only by falling back for supporton the traditions of his class and the solid support of a gentleup-bringing was the Last of the Rookes able to crush down the wordsthat leaped to his lips and to substitute for them a politelyconventional agreement. If Mr. Pilkington was feeling like a tooimpulsive seller of gold mines, Freddie's emotions were akin to thoseof the Spartan boy with the fox under his vest. Nothing but Winchesterand Magdalen could have produced the smile which, though twisted andconfined entirely to his lips, flashed on to his face and off again athis hostess' question.
"Oh, rather! Priceless!"
"Wasn't that part an Englishman before?" asked Mrs. Peagrim. "Ithought so. Well, it was a stroke of genius changing it. ThisScotchman is too funny for words. And such an artist!"
Freddie rose shakily. One can stand just so much.
"Think," he mumbled, "I'll be pushing along and smoking a cigarette."
He groped his way to the door.
"I'll come with you, Freddie my boy," said Uncle Chris, who felt animperative need of five minutes' respite from Mrs. Peagrim. "Let's getout into the air for a moment. Uncommonly warm it is here."
Freddie assented. Air was what he felt he wanted most.
Left alone in the box with her nephew, Mrs. Peagrim continued for somemoments in the same vein, innocently twisting the knife in the openwound. It struck her from time to time that darling Otie was perhaps ashade unresponsive, but she put this down to the nervous straininseparable from a first night of a young author's first play.
"Why," she concluded, "you will make thousands and thousands ofdollars out of this piece. I am sure it is going to be another 'MerryWidow.'"
"You can't tell from a first night audience," said Mr. Pilkingtonsombrely, giving out a piece of theatrical wisdom he had picked up atrehearsals.
"Oh, but you can. It's so easy to distinguish polite applause from thereal thing. No doubt many of the people down here have friends in thecompany or other reasons for seeming to enjoy the play, but look howthe circle and the gallery were enjoying it! You can't tell me thatthat was not genuine. They love it. How hard," she proceededcommiseratingly, "you must have worked, poor boy, during the tour onthe road to improve the piece so much! I never liked to say so beforebut even you must
agree with me now that that original version ofyours, which was done down at Newport, was the most terrible nonsense!And how hard the company must have worked too! Otie," cried Mrs.Peagrim, aglow with the magic of a brilliant idea, "I will tell youwhat you must really do. You must give a supper and dance to thewhole company on the stage to-morrow night after the performance."
"What!" cried Otis Pilkington, startled out of his lethargy by thisappalling suggestion. Was he, the man who, after planking downthirty-two thousand eight hundred and fifty, nine dollars, sixty-eightcents for "props" and "frames" and "rehl," had sold out for a paltryten thousand, to be still further victimized?
"They do deserve it, don't they, after working so hard?"
"It's impossible," said Otis Pilkington vehemently. "Out of thequestion."
"But, Otie, darling, I was talking to Mr. Mason when he came down toNewport to see the piece last summer, and he told me that themanagement nearly always gives a supper to the company, especially ifthey have had a lot of extra rehearsing to do."
"Well, let Goble give them a supper if he wants to."
"But you know that Mr. Goble, though he has his name on the programmeas the manager, has really nothing to do with it. You own the piece,don't you?"
For a moment Mr. Pilkington felt an impulse to reveal all, butrefrained. He knew his Aunt Olive too well. If she found out that hehad parted at a heavy loss with this valuable property, her wholeattitude towards him would change--or, rather it would revert to hernormal attitude, which was not unlike that of a severe nurse to aweak-minded child. Even in his agony there had been a certain faintconsolation, due to the entirely unwonted note of respect in the voicewith which she had addressed him since the fall of the curtain. Heshrank from forfeiting this respect, unentitled though he was to it.
"Yes," he said in his precise voice. "That, of course, is so."
"Well, then!" said Mrs. Peagrim.
"But it seems so unnecessary! And think what it would cost."
This was a false step. Some of the reverence left Mrs. Peagrim'svoice, and she spoke a little coldly. A gay and gallant spenderherself, she had often had occasion to rebuke a tendency toover-parsimony in her nephew.
"We must not be mean, Otie!" she said.
Mr. Pilkington keenly resented her choice of pronouns. "We" indeed!Who was going to foot the bill? Both of them, hand in hand, or healone, the chump, the boob, the easy mark who got this sort of thingwished on him!
"I don't think it would be possible to get the stage for asupper-party," he pleaded, shifting his ground. "Goble wouldn't giveit to us."
"As if Mr. Goble would refuse you anything after you have written awonderful success for this theatre! And isn't he getting his share ofthe profits? Directly after the performance you must go round and askhim. Of course he will be delighted to give you the stage. I will behostess," said Mrs. Peagrim radiantly. "And now, let me see, whomshall we invite?"
Mr. Pilkington stared gloomily at the floor, too bowed down by hisweight of cares to resent the "we," which had plainly come to stay. Hewas trying to estimate the size of the gash which this preposterousentertainment would cleave in the Pilkington bank-roll. He doubted ifit was possible to go through with it under five hundred dollars; and,if, as seemed only too probable, Mrs. Peagrim took the matter in handand gave herself her head, it might get into four figures.
"Major Selby, of course," said Mrs. Peagrim musingly, with a cooingnote in her voice. Long since had that polished man of affairs made adeep impression upon her. "Of course Major Selby, for one. And Mr.Rooke. Then there are one or two of my friends who would be hurt ifthey were left out. How about Mr. Mason? Isn't he a friend of yours?"
Mr. Pilkington snorted. He had endured much and was prepared to enduremore, but he drew the line at squandering his money on the man who hadsneaked up behind his brain-child with a hatchet and chopped itsprecious person into little bits.
"He is _not_ a friend of mine," he said stiffly, "and I do not wishhim to be invited!"
Having attained her main objective, Mrs. Peagrim was prepared to yieldminor points.
"Very well, if you do not like him," she said. "But I thought he wasquite an intimate of yours. It was you who asked me to invite him toNewport last summer."
"Much," said Mr. Pilkington coldly, "has happened since last summer."
"Oh, very well," said Mrs. Peagrim again. "Then we will not includeMr. Mason. Now, directly the curtain has fallen, Otie dear, pop rightround and find Mr. Goble and tell him what you want."
II
It is not only twin-souls in this world who yearn to meet each other.Between Otis Pilkington and Mr. Goble there was little in common, yet,at the moment when Otis set out to find Mr. Goble, the thing which Mr.Goble desired most in the world was an interview with Otis. Since theend of the first act, the manager had been in a state of mentalupheaval. Reverting to the gold-mine simile again, Mr. Goble was inthe position of a man who has had a chance of purchasing such a mineand now, learning too late of the discovery of the reef, is feelingthe truth of the poet's dictum that "of all sad words of tongue orpen, the saddest are these: 'It might have been.'" The electricsuccess of "The Rose of America" had stunned Mr. Goble; and realizing,as he did, that he might have bought Otis Pilkington's share dirtcheap at almost any point of the preliminary tour, he was having a badhalf hour with himself. The only ray in the darkness which brooded onhis indomitable soul was the thought that it might still be possible,by getting hold of Mr. Pilkington before the notices appeared, andshaking his head sadly and talking about the misleading hopes whichyoung authors so often draw from an enthusiastic first-night receptionand impressing upon him that first-night receptions do not deceiveyour expert who has been fifteen years in the show-business andmentioning gloomily that he had heard a coupla the critics roastin'the show to beat the band ... by doing all these things, it mightstill be possible to depress Mr. Pilkington's young enthusiasm andinduce him to sell his share at a sacrifice price to a great-heartedfriend who didn't think the thing would run a week but was willing tobuy as a sporting speculation, because he thought Mr. Pilkington agood kid, and after all these shows that flop in New York sometimeshave a chance on the road.
Such were the meditations of Mr. Goble, and, on the final fall of thecurtain, amid unrestrained enthusiasm on the part of the audience, hehad despatched messengers in all directions with instructions to findMr. Pilkington and conduct him to the presence. Meanwhile, he waitedimpatiently on the empty stage.
The sudden advent of Wally Mason, who appeared at this moment, upsetMr. Goble terribly. Wally was a factor in the situation which he hadnot considered. An infernal, tactless fellow, always trying to makemischief and upset honest merchants, Wally, if present at theinterview with Otis Pilkington, would probably try to act in restraintof trade and would blurt out some untimely truth about the prospectsof the piece. Not for the first time, Mr. Goble wished Wally a suddenstroke of apoplexy.
"Went well, eh?" said Wally amiably. He did not like Mr. Goble, but onthe first night of a successful piece personal antipathies may besunk. Such was his effervescent good humour at the moment that he wasprepared to treat Mr. Goble as a man and a brother.
"H'm!" replied Mr. Goble doubtfully, paving the way.
"What are you h'ming about?" demanded Wally, astonished. "The thing'sa riot."
"You never know," responded Mr. Goble in the minor key.
"Well!" Wally stared. "I don't know what more you want. The audiencesat up on its hind legs and squealed, didn't they?"
"I've an idea," said Mr. Goble, raising his voice as the long form ofMr. Pilkington crossed the stage towards them, "that the critics willroast it. If you ask _me_," he went on loudly, "it's just the sort ofshow the critics will pan the life out of. I've been fifteen years inthe...."
"Critics!" cried Wally. "Well, I've just been talking to Alexander ofthe _Times_, and he said it was the best musical piece he had everseen and that all the other men he had talked to thought the same."
Mr. Goble turn
ed a distorted face to Mr. Pilkington. He wished thatWally would go. But Wally, he reflected, bitterly, was one of thosemen who never go. He faced Mr. Pilkington and did the best he could.
"Of course it's got a _chance_," he said gloomily. "Any show has got a_chance_! But I don't know.... I don't know...."
Mr. Pilkington was not interested in the future prospects of "The Roseof America." He had a favour to ask, and he wanted to ask it, have itrefused if possible, and get away. It occurred to him that, bysubstituting for the asking of a favour a peremptory demand, he mightsave himself a thousand dollars.
"I want the stage after the performance to-morrow night, for a supperto the company," he said brusquely.
He was shocked to find Mr. Goble immediately complaisant.
"Why, sure," said Mr. Goble readily. "Go as far as you like!" He tookMr. Pilkington by the elbow and drew him up-stage, lowering his voiceto a confidential undertone. "And now, listen," he said, "I'vesomething I want to talk to you about. Between you and I and thelamp-post, I don't think this show will last a month in New York. Itdon't add up right! There's something all wrong about it."
Mr. Pilkington assented with an emphasis which amazed the manager. "Iquite agree with you! If you had kept it the way it wasoriginally...."
"Too late for that!" sighed Mr. Goble, realizing that his star was inthe ascendant. He had forgotten for the moment that Mr. Pilkington wasan author. "We must make the best of a bad job! Now, you're a good kidand I wouldn't like you to go around town saying that I had let youin. It isn't business, maybe, but, just because I don't want you tohave any kick coming, I'm ready to buy your share of the thing andcall it a deal. After all, it may get money on the road. It ain'tlikely, but there's a chance, and I'm willing to take it. Well,listen, I'm probably robbing myself, but I'll give you fifteenthousand if you want to sell."
A hated voice spoke at his elbow.
"I'll make you a better offer than that," said Wally. "Give me yourshare of the show for three dollars in cash and I'll throw in a pairof sock-suspenders and an Ingersoll. Is it a go?"
Mr. Goble regarded him balefully.
"Who told you to butt in?" he enquired sourly.
"Conscience!" replied Wally. "Old Henry W. Conscience! I refuse tostand by and see the slaughter of the innocents. Why don't you waittill he's dead before you skin him!" He turned to Mr. Pilkington."Don't you be a fool!" he said earnestly. "Can't you see the thing isthe biggest hit in years? Do you think Jesse James here would beoffering you a cent for your share if he didn't know there was afortune in it? Do you imagine...?"
"It is immaterial to me," interrupted Otis Pilkington loftily, "whatMr. Goble offers. I have already sold my interest!"
"What!" cried Mr. Goble.
"When?" cried Wally.
"I sold it half-way through the road-tour," said Mr. Pilkington, "to alawyer, acting on behalf of a client whose name I did not learn."
In the silence which followed this revelation, another voice spoke.
"I should like to speak to you for a moment, Mr. Goble, if I may." Itwas Jill, who had joined the group unperceived.
Mr. Goble glowered at Jill, who met his gaze composedly.
"I'm busy!" snapped Mr. Goble. "See me to-morrow!"
"I would prefer to see you now."
"You would prefer!" Mr. Goble waved his hands despairingly, as ifcalling on heaven to witness the persecution of a good man.
Jill exhibited a piece of paper stamped with the letter-heading of themanagement.
"It's about this," she said. "I found it in the box as I was goingout."
"What's that?"
"It seems to be a fortnight's notice."
"And that," said Mr. Goble, "is what it _is_!"
Wally uttered an exclamation.
"Do you mean to say...?"
"Yes, I do!" said the manager, turning on him. He felt that he hadout-manoeuvred Wally. "I agreed to let her open in New York, andshe's done it, hasn't she? Now she can get out. I don't want her. Iwouldn't have her if you paid me. She's a nuisance in the company,always making trouble, and she can go."
"But I would prefer not to go," said Jill.
"You would prefer!" The phrase infuriated Mr. Goble. "And what haswhat you would prefer got to do with it?"
"Well, you see," said Jill, "I forgot to tell you before, but I ownthe piece!"
III
Mr. Goble's jaw fell. He had been waving his hands in another spaciousgesture, and he remained frozen with outstretched arms, like asemaphore. This evening had been a series of shocks for him, but thiswas the worst shock of all.
"You--what!" he stammered.
"I own the piece," repeated Jill. "Surely that gives me authority tosay what I want done and what I don't want done."
There was a silence, Mr. Goble, who was having difficulty with hisvocal chords, swallowed once or twice. Wally and Mr. Pilkington stareddumbly. At the back of the stage, a belated scene-shifter, homewardbound, was whistling as much as he could remember of the refrain of apopular song.
"What do you mean you own the piece?" Mr. Goble at length gurgled.
"I bought it."
"You bought it?"
"I bought Mr. Pilkington's share through a lawyer for ten thousanddollars."
"Ten thousand dollars! Where did you get ten thousand dollars?" Lightbroke upon Mr. Goble. The thing became clear to him. "Damn it!" hecried. "I might have known you had some man behind you! You'd neverhave been so darned fresh if you hadn't had some John in thebackground, paying the bills! Well, of all the...."
He broke off abruptly, not because he had said all that he wished tosay, for he had only touched the fringe of his subject, but because atthis point Wally's elbow smote him in the parts about the third buttonof his waistcoat and jarred all the breath out of him.
"Be quiet!" said Wally dangerously. He turned to Jill. "Jill, youdon't mind telling me how you got ten thousand dollars, do you?"
"Of course not, Wally. Uncle Chris sent it to me. Do you remembergiving me a letter from him at Rochester? The cheque was in that."
Wally stared.
"Your uncle! But he hasn't any money!"
"He must have made it somehow."
"But he couldn't! How could he?"
Otis Pilkington suddenly gave tongue. He broke in on them with a loudnoise that was half a snort and half a yell. Stunned by theinformation that it was Jill who had bought his share in the piece,Mr. Pilkington's mind had recovered slowly and then had begun to workwith a quite unusual rapidity. During the preceding conversation hehad been doing some tense thinking, and now he saw all.
"It's a swindle! It's a deliberate swindle!" shrilled Mr. Pilkington.The tortoise-shell-rimmed spectacles flashed sparks. "I've been made afool of! I've been swindled! I've been robbed!"
Jill regarded him with wide eyes.
"What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean!"
"I certainly do not! You were perfectly willing to sell the piece."
"I'm not talking about that! You know what I mean! I've been robbed!"
Wally snatched at his arm as it gyrated past him in a gesture ofanguish which rivalled the late efforts in that direction of Mr.Goble, who was now leaning against the safety-curtain trying to gethis breath back.
"Don't be a fool," said Wally curtly. "Talk sense! You know perfectlywell that Miss Mariner wouldn't swindle you."
"She may not have been in it," conceded Mr. Pilkington. "I don't knowwhether she was or not. But that uncle of hers swindled me out of tenthousand dollars! The smooth old crook!"
"Don't talk like that about Uncle Chris!" said Jill, her eyesflashing. "Tell me what you mean."
"Yes, come on, Pilkington," said Wally grimly. "You've been scatteringsome pretty serious charges about. Let's hear what you base them on.Be coherent for a couple of seconds."
Mr. Goble filled his depleted lungs.
"If you ask me...." he began.
"We don't," said Wally curtly. "This has nothing to do with you.Well," he
went on, "we're waiting to hear what this is all about."
Mr. Pilkington gulped. Like most men of weak intellect who are preyedon by the wolves of the world, he had ever a strong distaste foradmitting that he had been deceived. He liked to regard himself as ashrewd young man who knew his way about and could take care ofhimself.
"Major Selby," he said, adjusting his spectacles, which emotion hadcaused to slip down his nose, "came to me a few weeks ago with aproposition. He suggested the formation of a company to start MissMariner in the motion-pictures."
"What!" cried Jill.
"In the motion-pictures," repeated Mr. Pilkington. "He wished to knowif I cared to advance any capital towards the venture. I thought itover carefully and decided that I was favourably disposed towards thescheme. I...." Mr. Pilkington gulped again. "I gave him a cheque forten thousand dollars!"
"Of all the fools!" said Mr. Goble with a sharp laugh. He caughtWally's eye and subsided once more.
Mr. Pilkington's fingers strayed agitatedly to his spectacles.
"I may have been a fool," he cried shrilly, "though I was perfectlywilling to risk the money had it been applied to the object for whichI gave it. But when it comes to giving ten thousand dollars just tohave it paid back to me in exchange for a very valuable piece oftheatrical property ... my own money ... handed back to me...!"
Words failed Mr. Pilkington.
"I've been deliberately swindled!" he added, after a moment, harkingback to the main motive.
Jill's heart was like lead. She could not doubt for an instant thetruth of what the victim had said. Woven into every inch of thefabric, plainly hall-marked on its surface, she could perceive thesignature of Uncle Chris. If he had come and confessed to her himself,she could not have been more certain that he had acted precisely asMr. Pilkington had charged. There was that same impishness, that samebland unscrupulousness, that same pathetic desire to do her a goodturn however it might affect anybody else which, if she might comparethe two things, had caused him to pass her off on unfortunate Mr.Mariner of Brookport as a girl of wealth with tastes in the directionof real estate.
Wally was not so easily satisfied.
"You've no proof whatever...."
Jill shook her head.
"It's true, Wally. I know Uncle Chris. It must be true."
"But, Jill...!"
"It must be. How else could Uncle Chris have got the money?"
Mr. Pilkington, much encouraged by this ready acquiescence in histheories, got under way once more.
"The man's a swindler! A swindler! He's robbed me! I have been robbed!He never had any intention of starting a motion-picture company. Heplanned it all out...!"
Jill cut into the babble of his denunciations. She was sick at heart,and she spoke almost listlessly.
"Mr. Pilkington!" The victim stopped. "Mr. Pilkington, if what you sayis true, and I'm afraid there is no doubt that it is, the only thing Ican do is to give you back your property. So will you please try tounderstand that everything is just as it was before you gave my unclethe money. You've got back your ten thousand dollars and you've gotback your piece, so there's nothing more to talk about."
Mr. Pilkington, dimly realizing that the financial aspect of theaffair had been more or less satisfactorily adjusted, was neverthelessconscious of a feeling that he was being thwarted. He had much more tosay about Uncle Chris and his methods of doing business, and it irkedhim to be cut short like this.
"Yes, but I do not think.... That's all very well, but I have by nomeans finished...."
"Yes, you have," said Wally.
"There's nothing more to talk about," repeated Jill. "I'm sorry thisshould have happened, but you've nothing to complain about now, haveyou? Good night."
And she turned quickly away, and walked towards the door.
"But I hadn't _finished_!" wailed Mr. Pilkington, clutching at Wally.He was feeling profoundly aggrieved. If it is bad to be all dressed upand no place to go, it is almost worse to be full of talk and to haveno one to talk it to. Otis Pilkington had at least another twentyminutes of speech inside him on the topic of Uncle Chris, and Wallywas the nearest human being with a pair of ears.
Wally was in no mood to play the part of confidant. He pushed Mr.Pilkington earnestly in the chest and raced after Jill. Mr.Pilkington, with the feeling that the world was against him, totteredback into the arms of Mr. Goble, who had now recovered his breath andwas ready to talk business.
"Have a good cigar," said Mr. Goble, producing one. "Now, see here,let's get right down to it. If you'd care to sell out for twentythousand...."
"I would _not_ care to sell out for twenty thousand!" yelled theoverwrought Mr. Pilkington. "I wouldn't sell out for a million! You'rea swindler! You want to rob me! You're a crook!"
"Yes, yes," assented Mr. Goble gently. "But, all joking aside, supposeI was to go up to twenty-five thousand...?" He twined his fingerslovingly in the slack of Mr. Pilkington's coat. "Come now! You're agood kid I Shall we say twenty-five thousand?"
"We will _not_ say twenty-five thousand! Let me go!"
"Now, now, _now_!" pleaded Mr. Goble. "Be sensible! Don't get allworked up! Say, _do_ have a good cigar!"
"I _won't_ have a good cigar!" shouted Mr. Pilkington.
He detached himself with a jerk, and stalked with long strides up thestage. Mr. Goble watched him go with a lowering gaze. A heavy sense ofthe unkindness of fate was oppressing Mr. Goble. If you couldn't gyp abone-headed amateur out of a piece of property, whom could you gyp?Mr. Goble sighed. It hardly seemed to him worth while going on.
IV
Out in the street Wally had overtaken Jill, and they faced one anotherin the light of a street lamp. Forty-first Street at midnight is aquiet oasis. They had it to themselves.
Jill was pale, and she was breathing quickly, but she forced a smile.
"Well, Wally," she said. "My career as a manager didn't last long, didit?"
"What are you going to do?"
Jill looked down the street.
"I don't know," she said. "I suppose I shall have to start trying tofind something."
"But...."
Jill drew him suddenly into the dark alley-way leading to thestage-door of the Gotham Theatre's nearest neighbour, and, as she didso, a long, thin form, swathed in an overcoat and surmounted by anopera-hat, flashed past.
"I don't think I could have gone through another meeting with Mr.Pilkington," said Jill. "It wasn't his fault, and he was quitejustified, but what he said about Uncle Chris rather hurt."
Wally, who had ideas of his own similar to those of Mr. Pilkington onthe subject of Uncle Chris and had intended to express them, prudentlykept them unspoken.
"I suppose," he said, "there is no doubt...?"
"There can't be. Poor Uncle Chris! He is like Freddie. He means well!"
There was a pause. They left the alley and walked down the street.
"Where are you going now?" asked Wally.
"I'm going home."
"Where's home?"
"Forty-ninth Street. I live in a boarding-house there."
A sudden recollection of the boarding-house at which she had lived inAtlantic City smote Wally, and it turned the scale. He had notintended to speak, but he could not help himself.
"Jill!" he cried. "It's no good. I _must_ say it! I want to get youout of all this. I want to take care of you. Why should you go onliving this sort of life, when.... Why won't you let me...?"
He stopped. Even as he spoke, he realized the futility of what he wassaying. Jill was not a girl to be won with words.
They walked on in silence for a moment. They crossed Broadway, noisywith night traffic, and passed into the stillness on the other side.
"Wally," said Jill at last.
She was looking straight in front of her. Her voice was troubled.
"Yes?"
Jill hesitated.
"Wally, you wouldn't want me to marry you if you knew you weren't theonly man in the world that mattered to me, would you?"
/> They had reached Sixth Avenue before Wally replied.
"No!" he said.
For an instant, Jill could not have said whether the feeling that shotthrough her like the abrupt touching of a nerve was relief ordisappointment. Then suddenly she realized that it was disappointment.It was absurd to her to feel disappointed, but at that moment shewould have welcomed a different attitude in him. If only this problemof hers could be taken forcefully out of her hands, what a relief itwould be. If only Wally, masterfully insistent, would batter down herhesitations and _grab_ her, knock her on the head and carry her offlike a caveman, care less about her happiness and concentrate on hisown, what a solution it would be.... But then he wouldn't be Wally....Nevertheless, Jill gave a little sigh. Her new life had changed heralready. It had blunted the sharp edge of her independence. To-nightshe was feeling the need of some one to lean on--some one strong andcosy and sympathetic who would treat her like a little girl and shieldher from all the roughness of life. The fighting spirit had gone outof her, and she was no longer the little warrior facing the world witha brave eye and a tilted chin. She wanted to cry and be petted.
"No!" said Wally again. There had been the faintest suggestion of adoubt when he had spoken the word before, but now it shot out like abullet. "And I'll tell you why. I want _you_--and, if you married mefeeling like that, it wouldn't be you. I want Jill, the whole Jill,and nothing but Jill, and, if I can't have that, I'd rather not haveanything. Marriage isn't a motion-picture close-up with slow fade-outon the embrace. It's a partnership, and what's the good of apartnership if your heart's not in it? It's like collaborating with aman you dislike.... I believe you wish sometimes--not often, perhaps,but when you're feeling lonely and miserable--that I would pester andbludgeon you into marrying me.... What's the matter?"
Jill had started. It was disquieting to have her thoughts read withsuch accuracy.
"Nothing," she said.
"It wouldn't be any good," Wally went on, "because it wouldn't be_me_. I couldn't keep that attitude up, and I know I should hatemyself for ever having tried it. There's nothing in the world Iwouldn't do to help you, though I know it's no use offering to doanything. You're a fighter, and you mean to fight your own battle. Itmight happen that, if I kept after you and badgered you and naggedyou, one of these days, when you were feeling particularly all alonein the world and tired of fighting for yourself, you might consent tomarry me. But it wouldn't do. Even if you reconciled yourself to it,it wouldn't do. I suppose the cave-woman sometimes felt ratherrelieved when everything was settled for her with a club, but I'm surethe caveman must have had a hard time ridding himself of the thoughtthat he had behaved like a cad and taken a mean advantage. I don'twant to feel like that. I couldn't make you happy if I felt like that.Much better to have you go on regarding me as a friend ... knowingthat, if ever your feelings do change, that I am right there,waiting...."
"But by that time _your_ feelings will have changed!"
Wally laughed.
"Never!"
"You'll meet some other girl...."
"I've met every girl in the world! None of them will do!" Thelightness came back into Wally's voice. "I'm sorry for the poorthings, but they won't do! Take 'em away! There's only one girl in theworld for me--oh, confound it! why is it that one always thinks insong-titles! Well, there it is. I'm not going to bother you. We'repals. And, as a pal, may I offer you my bank-roll?"
"No!" said Jill. She smiled up at him. "I believe you would give meyour coat if I asked you for it!"
Wally stopped.
"Do you want it? Here you are!"
"Wally, behave! There's a policeman looking at you!"
"Oh, well, if you won't! It's a good coat, all the same."
They turned the corner and stopped before a brown-stone house, with along ladder of untidy steps running up to the front door.
"Is this where you live?" Wally asked. He looked at the gloomy placedisapprovingly. "You do choose the most awful places!"
"I don't choose them. They're thrust on me. Yes, this is where I live.If you want to know the exact room, it's the third window up thereover the front door. Well, good night."
"Good night," said Wally. He paused. "Jill."
"Yes?"
"I know it's not worth mentioning, and it's breaking our agreement tomention it, but you _do_ understand, don't you?"
"Yes, Wally dear, I understand."
"I'm round the corner, you know, waiting! And if you ever _do_ change,all you've got to do is just to come to me and say 'It's allright!'...."
Jill laughed a little shakily.
"That doesn't sound very romantic!"
"Not sound romantic? If you can think of any three words in thelanguage that sound more romantic, let me have them! Well, never mindhow they sound, just say them, and watch the result! But you must getto bed. Good night."
"Good night, Wally."
She passed in through the dingy door. It closed behind her, and Wallystood for some moments staring at it with a gloomy repulsion. Hethought he had never seen a dingier door.
Then he started to walk back to his apartment. He walked very quickly,with clenched hands. He was wondering if after all there was notsomething to be said for the methods of the caveman when he wenta-wooing. Twinges of conscience the caveman may have had when all wasover, but at least he had established his right to look after thewoman he loved.