Produced by Roger Frank and Sue Clark
NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH
By
FREDERIC S. ISHAM
Author of The Strollers, Under the Rose, The Social Buccaneer, Etc.
INDIANAPOLIS THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY PUBLISHERS
Copyright 1914 The Bobbs-Merrill Company
PRESS OF BRAUNWORTH & CO. BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS BROOKLYN, N. Y.
Table of Contents
THE TEMERITY OF BOB A TRY-OUT AN INAUSPICIOUS BEGINNING A CHAT ON THE LINKS TRIVIALITIES DINNER VARYING VICISSITUDES NEW COMPLICATIONS ANOTHER SURPRISE INTO BONDAGE FISHING JUST ONE THING AFTER ANOTHER AN ENFORCED REST CURE MUTINY AN EXTRAORDINARY INTERVIEW PLAYING WITH BOB A GOOD DEAL OF GEE-GEE A FORMIDABLE ADVERSARY BOB FORGETS HIMSELF HAND-READING HEART OF STONE A REAL BENEFACTOR MAKING GOOD AT THE PORTALS
NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH
CHAPTER I--THE TEMERITY OF BOB
"It can't be done."
"Of course, it can."
"A man couldn't survive the ordeal."
"Could do it myself."
The scene was the University Club. The talk spread over a good deal ofspace, as talk will when pink cocktails, or "green gardens in a glass"confront, or are in front of, the talkees. Dickie said it couldn't bedone and Bob said it was possible and that he could do it. He might nothave felt such confidence had it not been for the verdant stimulation.He could have done anything just then, so why not this particular feator stunt? And who was this temerarious one and what was he like?
As an excellent specimen of a masculine young animal, genus homo, BobBennett was good to look on. Some of those young ladies who wave bannerswhen young men strain their backs and their arms and their legs in thecause of learning, had, in the days of the not remote past, dubbed him,sub rosa, the "blue-eyed Apollo." Some of the fellows not soeuphemistically inclined had, however, during that same glorious periodfound frequent occasion to refer to him less classically, if moretruthfully, as "that darn fool, Bob Bennett." That was on account of astreak of wildness in him, for he was a free bold creature, was Bob.Conventional bars and gates chafed him. He may have looked like a"blue-eyed Apollo," but his spirit had the wings of a wild goose, thanwhich there are no faster birds--for a wild goose is the biplane of theempyrean.
Now that Bob had ceased the chase for learning and was out in the wideworld, he should have acquired an additional sobriquet--that of"Impecunious Bob." It would have fitted his pecuniary condition verynicely. Once he had had great expectations, but alas!--dad had just"come a cropper." They had sheared him on the street. The world ingeneral didn't know about it yet, but Bob did.
"We're broke, Bob," said dad that very morning.
"That's all right, Gov.," said Bob. "Can you get up?"
"I can't even procure a pair of crutches to hobble with," answered dad.
"Never mind," observed Bob magnanimously. "You've done pretty well by meup to date. Don't you worry or reproach yourself. I'm not going to heapabuse on those gray hairs."
"Thanks, Bob." Coolly. "_I'm_ not worrying. You see, it's up to younow."
"Me?" Bob stared.
"Yes. You see I believe in the Japanese method."
"What's that?" Uneasily.
"Duty of a child to support his parent, when said child is grown up!"
Bob whistled. "Say, Gov., do you mean it?"
"Gospel truth, Bob."
Bob whistled again. "Not joking?"
"'Pon honor!" Cheerfully.
"I never did like the Japanese," from Bob, sotto voce. "Blame lot ofheathens--that's what they are!"
"I've got a dollar or two that I owe tucked away where no one can findit except me," went on dad, unmindful of Bob's little soliloquy. "Thatwill have to last until you come to the rescue."
"Gee! I'm glad you were thoughtful enough for that!" ejaculated theyoung man. "Sure you can keep it hidden?"
"Burglars couldn't find it," said dad confidently, "let alone mycreditors--God bless them! But it won't last long, Bob. Bear that inmind. It'll be a mighty short respite."
"Oh, I'll not forget it. If--if it's not an impertinence, may I ask what_you_ are going to do, dad?"
"I'm contemplating a fishing trip, first of all, and after that--quiensabe? Some pleasure suitable to my retired condition will undoubtedlysuggest itself. I may take up the study of philosophy. Confucius hasalways interested me. They say it takes forty years to read him and thenforty years to digest what you have read. The occupation would, nodoubt, prove adequate. But don't concern yourself about that, dear boy.I'll get on. You owe me a large debt of gratitude. I'm thrusting a greatresponsibility on you. It should be the making of you." Bob had hissecret doubts. "Get out and hustle, dear boy. It's up to you, now!" Andhe spread out his hands in care-free fashion and smiled blandly. NoBuddha could have appeared more complacent--only instead of a lotusflower, Bob's dad held in his hand a long black weed, the puffing ofwhich seemed to afford a large measure of ecstatic satisfaction. "Go!"He waved the free hand. "My blessing on your efforts."
Bob started to go, and then he lingered. "Perhaps," he said, "you cantell me _what_ I am going to do?"
"Don't know." Cheerfully.
"What _can_ I do?" Hopelessly.
"Couldn't say."
"I don't know _anything_."
"Ha! ha!" Dad laughed, as if son had sprung a joke. "Well, that is acondition experience will remove. Experience _and_ hard knocks," headded.
Bob swore softly. His head was humming. No heroic purpose to get out andfight his way moved him. He didn't care about shoveling earth, orchopping down trees. He had no frenzied desire to brave thesixty-below-zero temperature of the Klondike in a mad search for gold.In a word, he didn't feel at all like the heroes in the books whoconquer under almost impossible conditions in the vastnesses of the"open," and incidentally whallop a few herculean simple-minded sons ofnature, just to prove that breed is better than brawn.
"Of course, I could give you a little advice, Bob," said the governorsoftly. "If you should find hustling a bit arduous for one of yourluxurious nature, there's an alternative. It is always open to a youngman upon whom nature has showered her favors."
"Don't know what you mean by that last," growled Bob, who dislikedpersonalities. "But what is the alternative to hustling?"
"Get married," said dad coolly.
Bob changed color. Dad watched him keenly.
"There's always the matrimonial market for young men who have notlearned to specialize. I've known many such marriages to turn outhappily, too. Marrying right, my boy, is a practical, not a sentimentalbusiness."
Bob looked disgusted.
"There's Miss Gwendoline Gerald, for example. Millions in her own name,and--"
"Hold on, dad!" cried Bob. His face was flaming now. The blue eyesgleamed almost fiercely.
"I knew you were acquainted," observed dad softly, still studying him.
"Besides she's a beautiful girl and--"
"Drop it, dad!" burst from Bob. "We've never had a quarrel, but--"Suddenly he realized his attitude was actually menacing. And towarddad--his own dad! "I beg your pardon, sir," he muttered contritely. "I'mafraid I am forgetting myself. But please turn the talk."
"All right," said dad. "I forgive you. I was only trying to elucidateyour position. But since it's not to be the matrimonial market, it'llhave to be a hustle, my boy. I'm too old to make another fortune. I'vedone my bit and now I'm going to retire on my son. Sounds fair andequitable, doesn't it, Bob?"
"I'd hate to contradict you, sir," the other answered moodily.
Dad walked up to him and laid an arm affectionately upon son's broadshoulders. "I've the utmost confidence in you, my boy," he said, with abland smile.
"Thank you, sir," replied Bob. He always preserved an attitude of filialrespect toward his one and only parent. But he tore himself away fromdad now as soon as he could. He wanted to think. The average hero,thrust out into the world, has only a single load to carry. He has onlyto earn a living for himself. Bob's load was a double one and thereforehe would have to be a double hero. Mechanically he walked on and on,cogitating upon his unenviable fate. Suddenly he stopped. He foundhimself in front of the club. Bob went in. And there he met Dickie,Clarence, Dan the doughty "commodore" and some others.
* * * * *
That Impecunious Bob should have said "It could be done" to ImperialDickie's "It couldn't" and have allowed himself to be drawn further intothe affair was, in itself, an impertinence. For Dickie was a person ofimportance. He had a string of simoleons so long that anewspaper-mathematician once computed if you spread them out, touchingone another, they would reach half around the world. Or was it twicearound? Anyhow, Dickie didn't have to worry about hustling, the way Bobdid now. At the moment the latter was in a mood to contradict any one.He felt reckless. He was ready for almost anything--short of animitation of that back-to-nature hero of a popular novel.
They had been going on about that "could" and "couldn't" proposition forsome time when some one staked Bob. That some one was promptly "called"by the "commodore"--as jolly a sea-dog as never trod a deck. Dan was aland-commodore, but he was very popular at the Yacht Club, wheresomething besides waves seethed when he was around. He didn't go oftento the University Club where he complained things were too pedagogic.(No one else ever complained of that.) He liked to see the decks--orfloors--wave. Then he was in his element and would issue orders with theblithe abandon of a son of Neptune. There was no delay in "clapping onsail" when the commodore was at the helm. And if he said: "Clear thedecks for action," there was action. When he did occasionally drift intothe University, he brought with him the flavor of the sea. Things atonce breezed up.
Well, the commodore called that some one quick.
"Five thousand he can't do it."
"For how long?" says Dickie.
"A week," answered the commodore.
"Make it two."
"Oh, very well."
"Three, if you like!" from Bob, the stormy petrel.
They gazed at him admiringly.
"It isn't the green garden talking, is it, Bob?" asked Clarence VanDuzen whose sole occupation was being a director in a fewcorporations--or, more strictly speaking, _not_ being one. It tookalmost all Clarence's time to "direct" his wife, or try to.
Bob looked at Clarence reproachfully. "No," he said. "I'm still masterof all my thoughts." Gloomily. "I couldn't forget if I tried."
"That's all right, then," said Dickie.
Then Clarence "took" some one else who staked Bob. And Dickie didlikewise. And there was some more talk. And then Bob staked himself.
"Little short of cash at the bank just now," he observed. "But if you'lltake my note--"
"Take your word if you want," said the commodore.
"No; here's my note." He gave it--a large amount--payable in thirtydays. It was awful, but he did it. He hardly thought what he was doing.Having the utmost confidence he would win, he didn't stop to realizewhat a large contract he was taking on. But Dan, Dickie, Clarence andthe others did.
"Of course, you can't go away and hide," said Dickie to Bob with suddensuspicion.
"No; you can't do that," from Clarence. "Or get yourself arrested andlocked up for three weeks! That wouldn't be fair, old chap."
"Bob understands he's got to go on in the even tenor of his way," saidthe commodore.
Bob nodded. "Just as if nothing had happened!" he observed. "I'll notseek, or I'll not shirk. I'm on honor, you understand."
"That's good enough for me!" said Dickie. "Bob's honest."
"And me!" from Clarence.
"And me!" from half a dozen other good souls, including the non-aqueouscommodore.
"Gentlemen, I thank you," said Bob, affected by this outburst ofconfidence. "I thank you for this display of--this display--"
"Cut it!"
"Cork it up! And speaking of corks--"
"When does it begin?" interrupted Bob.
"When you walk out of here,"
"At the front door?"
"When your foot touches the sidewalk, son." The commodore who was aboutforty in years sometimes assumed the paternal.
"Never mind the 'son.'" Bob shuddered. "One father at a time, please!"And then hastily, not to seem ungracious: "I've got such a jolly good,real dad, you understand--"
The commodore dropped the paternal. "Well, lads, here's a bumper toBob," he said.
"We see his finish."
"No doubt of that."
"To Bob! Good old Bob! Ho! ho!"
"Ha! ha!" said Bob funereally.
Then he got up.
"Going?"
"Might as well."
The commodore drew out a watch.
"Twelve minutes after three p.m. Monday, the twelfth of September, inthe year of our Lord, 1813," he said. "You are all witnesses of the timethe ball was opened?"
"We are."
"Good-by, Bob."
"Oh, let's go with him a way!"
"_Might_ be interesting," from Clarence sardonically.
"It might. Least we can do is to see him start on his way rejoicing."
"That's so. Come on." Which they did.
Bob offered no objection. He didn't much care at the time whether theydid or not. What would happen would. He braced himself for theinevitable.