CHAPTER XXVIII
SPENNIE'S HOUR OF CLEAR VISION
Mr. McEachern sat in the billiard-room, smoking. He was alone. Fromwhere he sat, he could hear distant strains of music. The morerigorous portion of the evening's entertainment, the theatricals,was over, and the nobility and gentry, having done their duty bysitting through the performance, were now enjoying themselves in theballroom. Everybody was happy. The play had been quite as successfulas the usual amateur performance. The prompter had made himself agreat favorite from the start, his series of duets with Spenniehaving been especially admired; and Jimmy, as became an oldprofessional, had played his part with great finish and certainty oftouch, though, like the bloodhounds in "Uncle Tom's Cabin" on theroad, he had had poor support. But the audience bore no malice. Nocollection of individuals is less vindictive than an audience atamateur theatricals. It was all over now. Charteris had literallygibbered in the presence of eye-witnesses at one point in the secondact, when Spennie, by giving a wrong cue, had jerked the playabruptly into act three, where his colleagues, dimly suspectingsomething wrong, but not knowing what it was, had kept it for twominutes, to the mystification of the audience. But, now Charterishad begun to forget. As he two-stepped down the room, the lines ofagony on his face were softened. He even smiled.
As for Spennie, the brilliance of his happy grin dazzled allbeholders.
He was still wearing it when he invaded the solitude of Mr.McEachern. In every dance, however greatly he may be enjoying it,there comes a time when a man needs a meditative cigarette apartfrom the throng. It came to Spennie after the seventh item on theprogram. The billiard-room struck him as admirably suitable in everyway. It was not likely to be used as a sitting-out place, and it wasnear enough to the ball-room to enable him to hear when the music ofitem number nine should begin.
Mr. McEachern welcomed his visitor. In the turmoil following thetheatricals, he had been unable to get a word with any of thepersons with whom he most wished to speak. He had been surprisedthat no announcement of the engagement had been made at the end ofthe performance. Spennie would be able to supply him withinformation as to when the announcement might be expected.
Spennie hesitated for an instant when he saw who was in the room. Hewas not over-anxious for a tete-a-tete with Molly's father justthen. But, re-fleeting that, after all, he was not to blame forany disappointment that might be troubling the other, he switched onhis grin again, and walked in.
"Came in for a smoke," he explained, by way of opening theconversation. "Not dancing the next."
"Come in, my boy, come in," said Mr. McEachern. "I was waiting tosee you."
Spennie regretted his entrance. He had supposed that the other hadheard the news of the breaking-off of the engagement. Evidently,however, McEachern had not. This was a nuisance. The idea of flightcame to Spennie, but he dismissed it. As nominal host that night, hehad to dance many duty-dances. This would be his only chance of asmoke for hours, and the billiard-room was the best place for it.
He sat down, and lighted a cigarette, casting about the while for aninnocuous topic of conversation.
"Like the show?" he inquired.
"Fine," said Mr. McEachern. "By the way--"
Spennie groaned inwardly. He had forgotten that a determined man canchange the conversation to any subject he pleases by means of thosethree words.
"By the way," said Mr. McEachern, "I thought Sir Thomas--wasn't youruncle intending to announce--?"
"Well, yes, he was," said Spennie.
"Going to do it during the dancing, maybe?"
"Well--er--no. The fact is, he's not going to do it at all, don'tyou know." Spennie inspected the red end of his cigarette closely."As a matter of fact, it's kind of broken off."
The other's exclamation jarred on him. Rotten, having to talk aboutthis sort of thing!
"Broken off?"
Spennie nodded.
"Miss McEachern thought it over, don't you know," he said, "and cameto the conclusion that it wasn't good enough."
Now that it was said, he felt easier. It had merely been theawkwardness of having to touch on the thing that had troubled him.That his news might be a blow to McEachern did not cross his mind.He was a singularly modest youth, and, though he realized vaguelythat his title had a certain value in some persons' eyes, he couldnot understand anyone mourning over the loss of him as a son-in-law.Katie's father, the old general, thought him a fool, and once,during an attack of gout, had said so. Spennie was wont to acceptthis as the view which a prospective father-in-law might be expectedto entertain regarding himself.
Oblivious, therefore, to the storm raging a yard away from him, hesmoked on with great contentment, till suddenly it struck him that,for a presumably devout lover, jilted that very night, he wasdisplaying too little emotion. He debated swiftly within himselfwhether or not he should have a dash at manly grief, but came to theconclusion that it could not be done. Melancholy on this maddest,merriest day of all the glad New Year, the day on which he hadutterly routed the powers of evil, as represented by Sir Thomas, wasimpossible. He decided, rather, on a let-us-be-reasonable attitude.
"It wouldn't have done, don't you know," he said. "We weren'tsuited. What I mean to say is, I'm a bit of a dashed sort of sillyass in some ways, if you know what I mean. A girl like MissMcEachern couldn't have been happy with me. She wants one of thesecapable, energetic fellers."
This struck him as a good beginning--modest, but not groveling. Hecontinued, tapping quite a respectably deep vein of philosophy as hespoke.
"You see, dear old top--I mean, sir, you see, it's like this. As faras women are concerned, fellers are divided into two classes.There's the masterful, capable Johnnies, and the--er--the othersort. Now, I'm the other sort. My idea of the happy married life isto be--well, not exactly downtrodden, but--you know what Imean--kind of second fiddle. I want a wife--" his voice grew soft anddreamy--"who'll pet me a good deal, don't you know, stroke my hair alot, and all that. I haven't it in me to do the master-in-my-own-housebusiness. For me, the silent-devotion touch. Sleeping on themat outside her door, don't you know, when she wasn't feeling well,and being found there in the morning and being rather cosseted formy thoughtfulness. That's the sort of idea. Hard to put it quite O.K., but you know the sort of thing I mean. A feller's got to realizehis jolly old limitations if he wants to be happy though married,what? Now, suppose Miss McEachern was to marry me! Great Scott,she'd be bored to death in a week. Honest! She couldn't helpherself. She wants a chap with the same amount of go in him thatshe's got."
He lighted another cigarette. He was feeling pleased with himself.Never before had ideas marshaled themselves in his mind in such longand well-ordered ranks. He felt that he could go on talking likethis all night. He was getting brainier every minute. He rememberedreading in some book somewhere of a girl (or chappie) who had hadher (or his) "hour of clear vision." This was precisely what hadhappened now. Whether it was owing to the excitement of what hadtaken place that night, or because he had been keying up histhinking powers with excellent dry champagne, he did not know. Allhe knew was that he felt on top of his subject. He wished he had hada larger audience.
"A girl like Miss McEachern doesn't want any of that hair-strokingbusiness. She'd simply laugh at a feller if he asked for it. Sheneeds a chappie of the get-on-or-get-out type, somebody in the sixcylinder class. And, as a matter of fact, between ourselves, Irather think she's found him."
"What!"
Mr. McEachern half rose from his chair. All his old fears had comesurging back.
"What do you mean?"
"Fact," said his lordship, nodding. "Mind you, I don't know forcertain. As the girl says in the song, I don't know, but I guess.What I mean to say is, they seemed jolly friendly, and all that;calling each other by their first names, and so on."
"Who--?"
"Pitt," said his lordship. He was leaning back, blowing a smoke-ringat the moment, so he did not see the look on the other's face andthe sudden grip of the fingers on the ar
ms of the chair. He went onwith some enthusiasm.
"Jimmy Pitt!" he said. "Now, there's a feller! Full of oats to thebrim, and fairly bursting with go and energy. A girl wouldn't have adull moment with a chap like that. You know," he proceededconfidently, "there's a lot in this idea of affinities. Take my wordfor it, dear old--sir. There's a girl up in London, for instance.Now, she and I hit it off most amazingly. There's hardly a thing wedon't think alike about. For instance, 'The Merry Widow' didn't makea bit of a hit with her. Nor did it with me. Yet, look at themillions of people who raved about it. And neither of us likesoysters. We're affinities--that's why. You see the same sort ofthing all over the place. It's a jolly queer business. Sometimes,makes me believe in re-in-what's-it's-name. You know what I mean.All that in the poem, you know. How does it go? 'When you were atiddley-om-pom, and I was a thingummajig.' Dashed brainy bit ofwork. I was reading it only the other day. Well, what I mean to sayis, it's my belief that Jimmy Pitt and Miss McEachern are by way ofbeing something in that line. Doesn't it strike you that they arejust the sort to get on together? You can see it with half an eye.You can't help liking a feller like Jimmy Pitt. He's a sport! I wishI could tell you some of the things he's done, but I can't, forreasons. But you can take it from me, he's a sport. You ought tocultivate him. You'd like him ... Oh, dash it, there's the music. Imust be off. Got to dance this one."
He rose from his chair, and dropped his cigarette into the ash-tray.
"So long," he said, with a friendly nod. "Wish I could stop, butit's no go. That's the last let-up I shall have to-night."
He went out, leaving Mr. McEachern a prey to many and variedemotions.