CHAPTER IV. WORK WANTED
It seemed to Archie, as he surveyed his position at the end of the firstmonth of his married life, that all was for the best in the best of allpossible worlds. In their attitude towards America, visiting Englishmenalmost invariably incline to extremes, either detesting all that thereinis or else becoming enthusiasts on the subject of the country, itsclimate, and its institutions. Archie belonged to the second class. Heliked America and got on splendidly with Americans from the start. Hewas a friendly soul, a mixer; and in New York, that city of mixers,he found himself at home. The atmosphere of good-fellowship and theopen-hearted hospitality of everybody he met appealed to him. There weremoments when it seemed to him as though New York had simply been waitingfor him to arrive before giving the word to let the revels commence.
Nothing, of course, in this world is perfect; and, rosy as were theglasses through which Archie looked on his new surroundings, he had toadmit that there was one flaw, one fly in the ointment, one individualcaterpillar in the salad. Mr. Daniel Brewster, his father-in-law,remained consistently unfriendly. Indeed, his manner towards his newrelative became daily more and more a manner which would have causedgossip on the plantation if Simon Legree had exhibited it in hisrelations with Uncle Tom. And this in spite of the fact that Archie, asearly as the third morning of his stay, had gone to him and in themost frank and manly way, had withdrawn his criticism of the HotelCosmopolis, giving it as his considered opinion that the HotelCosmopolis on closer inspection appeared to be a good egg, one of thebest and brightest, and a bit of all right.
"A credit to you, old thing," said Archie cordially.
"Don't call me old thing!" growled Mr. Brewster.
"Right-o, old companion!" said Archie amiably.
Archie, a true philosopher, bore this hostility with fortitude, but itworried Lucille.
"I do wish father understood you better," was her wistful comment whenArchie had related the conversation.
"Well, you know," said Archie, "I'm open for being understood any timehe cares to take a stab at it."
"You must try and make him fond of you."
"But how? I smile winsomely at him and what not, but he doesn'trespond."
"Well, we shall have to think of something. I want him to realise whatan angel you are. You ARE an angel, you know."
"No, really?"
"Of course you are."
"It's a rummy thing," said Archie, pursuing a train of thought which wasconstantly with him, "the more I see of you, the more I wonder how youcan have a father like--I mean to say, what I mean to say is, I wish Ihad known your mother; she must have been frightfully attractive."
"What would really please him, I know," said Lucille, "would be if yougot some work to do. He loves people who work."
"Yes?" said Archie doubtfully. "Well, you know, I heard him interviewingthat chappie behind the desk this morning, who works like the dickensfrom early morn to dewy eve, on the subject of a mistake in his figures;and, if he loved him, he dissembled it all right. Of course, I admitthat so far I haven't been one of the toilers, but the dashed difficultthing is to know how to start. I'm nosing round, but the openings for abright young man seem so scarce."
"Well, keep on trying. I feel sure that, if you could only findsomething to do, it doesn't matter what, father would be quitedifferent."
It was possibly the dazzling prospect of making Mr. Brewster quitedifferent that stimulated Archie. He was strongly of the opinion thatany change in his father-in-law must inevitably be for the better. Achance meeting with James B. Wheeler, the artist, at the Pen-and-InkClub seemed to open the way.
To a visitor to New York who has the ability to make himself likedit almost appears as though the leading industry in that city wasthe issuing of two-weeks' invitation-cards to clubs. Archie sincehis arrival had been showered with these pleasant evidences of hispopularity; and he was now an honorary member of so many clubs ofvarious kinds that he had not time to go to them all. There were thefashionable clubs along Fifth Avenue to which his friend Reggie vanTuyl, son of his Florida hostess, had introduced him. There were thebusinessmen's clubs of which he was made free by more solid citizens.And, best of all, there were the Lambs', the Players', the Friars', theCoffee-House, the Pen-and-Ink,--and the other resorts of the artist, theauthor, the actor, and the Bohemian. It was in these that Archie spentmost of his time, and it was here that he made the acquaintance of J. B.Wheeler, the popular illustrator.
To Mr. Wheeler, over a friendly lunch, Archie had been confidingsome of his ambitions to qualify as the hero of one of theGet-on-or-get-out-young-man-step-lively-books.
"You want a job?" said Mr. Wheeler.
"I want a job," said Archie.
Mr. Wheeler consumed eight fried potatoes in quick succession. He was anable trencherman.
"I always looked on you as one of our leading lilies of the field," hesaid. "Why this anxiety to toil and spin?"
"Well, my wife, you know, seems to think it might put me one-up with thejolly old dad if I did something."
"And you're not particular what you do, so long as it has the outeraspect of work?"
"Anything in the world, laddie, anything in the world."
"Then come and pose for a picture I'm doing," said J. B. Wheeler. "It'sfor a magazine cover. You're just the model I want, and I'll pay you atthe usual rates. Is it a go?"
"Pose?"
"You've only got to stand still and look like a chunk of wood. You cando that, surely?"
"I can do that," said Archie.
"Then come along down to my studio to-morrow."
"Right-o!" said Archie.