CHAPTER III--AN INAUSPICIOUS BEGINNING
Mrs. Ralston's house-parties were usually satisfactory affairs. She wasfond of people, especially young people, and more especially of youngmen of the Apollo variety, though in a strictly proper, platonic andcritical sense. Indeed, her taste in the abstract, for animatedPraxiteles had, for well-nigh two-score of years, been unimpeachable. Atthe big gatherings in her noble country mansion, there was always aliberal sprinkling of decorative and animated objects of art of thisdescription. She liked to ornament her porches or her gardens with huskyand handsome young college athletes. She had an intuitive artistic tastefor stunning living-statuary, "dressed up," of course. Bob camedistinctly in that category. So behold him then, one fine morning, onthe little sawed-off train that whisked common people--and sometimes afew notables when their cars were otherwise engaged--countryward. Bobhad a big grip by his side, his golf sticks were in a rack and he had anewspaper in his hand. The sunshine came in on him but his mood was notsunny. An interview with dad just before leaving hadn't improved hisspirits. He had found dad at the breakfast table examining a book ofartificial flies, on one hand, and a big reel on the other.
"Which shall it be, my son?" dad had greeted him cordially. "Trout ortarpon?"
"I guess that's for you to decide," Robert had answered grumpily. Dad,in his new role, was beginning to get on Bob's nerves. Dad didn't seemto be at all concerned about his future. He shifted that weighty andmomentous subject just as lightly! He acted as if he hadn't a care inthe world.
"Wish I _could_ make up my mind," he said, like a boy in some doubt howhe can best put in his time when he plays hooky. "Minnows or whales?I'll toss up." He did. "Whales win. By the way, how's the hustlingcoming on?"
"Don't know."
"Well, don't put it off too long." Cheerfully. "I guess I can worryalong for about three weeks."
"Three weeks!" said Bob gloomily. Oh, that familiar sound!
"You wouldn't have me stint myself, would you, my son?" Halfreproachfully. "You wouldn't have dad deny himself anything?"
"No," answered the other truthfully enough. As a matter of fact thingscouldn't be much worse, so he didn't much care. Fortunately, dad didn'task any questions or show any curiosity about that "hustling" business.He seemed to take it for granted Bob would arise to the occasion and beas indulgent a son as he had been an indulgent dad--for he had neverdenied the boy anything. Bob softened when he thought of that. Butconfound dad's childlike faith in him, at this period of emergency. Itmade Bob nervous. He had no faith in himself that way. Dad _did_ lifthis eyebrows just a little when Bob brought down his big grip.
"Week-end?" he hazarded.
"Whole week," replied Bob in a melancholy tone.
"Whither?"
"Tonkton."
Dad beamed. "Mrs. Ralston?"
"Yes."
"Aunt of Miss Gwendoline Gerald, I believe?" With a quick penetratingglance at Bob.
"Yes."
"Sensible boy," observed dad, still studying him.
"Oh, I'm not going for the reason you think," said Bob quite savagely.He was most unlike himself.
"Of course not." Dad was conciliatory.
"I'm not. Think what you like."
"Too much work to think," yawned dad.
"But you _are_ thinking." Resentfully.
"Have it your own way."
Bob squared his shoulders. "You want to know really why I'm going toTonkton?"
"Have I ever tried to force your confidences, my son?"
"I'm going because I've got to. I can't help myself."
"Of course," said dad. "Ta! ta! Enjoy yourself. See you in three weeks."
"Three--!" But Bob didn't finish. What was the use? Dad thought he wasgoing to Tonkton because Miss Gerald might be there.
As a matter of fact Bob's one great wish now was that she wouldn't bethere. He wanted, and yet didn't want, to see her. What had he to hopenow? Why, he didn't have a son, or not enough of them to count. He wasto all practical intents and purposes a pauper. Dad's "going broke" hadchanged his whole life. He had been reared in the lap of luxury, apampered son. He had never dreamed of being otherwise. And consideringhimself a favored child of fortune, he had even dared entertain thedelirious hope of winning her--her, the goddess of his dreams.
But hope now was gone. Regrets were useless. He could no longer conceivehimself in the role of suitor. Why, there were few girls in the wholeland so overburdened with "rocks"--as Dickie called them! If only shedidn't have those rocks--or stocks! "Impecunious Gwendoline!" How wellthat would go with "Impecunious Bob!" If only her trustees would hit thetoboggan, the way dad did! But trustees don't go tobogganing. Theyeschew the smooth and slippery. They speculate in government bonds andthings that fluctuate about a point or so a century. No chance for quickaction there! On the contrary, the trustees were probably making thosemillions grow. Bob heaved a sigh. Then he took something white from hispocket and gazed at two words, ardently yet dubiously.
That "Will you?" of hers on Mrs. Ralston's card exhilarated and at thesame time depressed him. It implied she, herself, did expect to be ather aunt's country place. He attached no other especial importance tothe "Will you?" An imperious young person in her exalted position couldcommand as she pleased. She could say "Will you?" or "You will" todozens of more or less callow youths, or young grown-ups, with impunity,and none of said dozens would attach any undue flattering meaning to herwords. Miss Gerald found safety in numbers. She was as yet heart-free.
"Can you--aw!--tell me how far it is to Tonkton?" a voice behind hereinterrupted his ruminations.
Bob hastily returned the card to his pocket, and glancing back, saw amonocle. "Matter of ten miles or so," he responded curtly. He didn'tlike monocles.
"Aw!" said the man.
Bob picked up his newspaper that he had laid down, and frowningly beganto glance over the head-lines. The man behind him glanced over them,too.
"Another society robbery, I see," the latter remarked. "No functioncomplete without them nowadays, I understand. Wonderful country,America! Guests here always expect--aw!--to be robbed, I've been told."
"Have the paper," said Bob with cutting accents.
"Thanks awfully." The man with the monocle took the paper as a matter ofcourse, seeming totally unaware of the sarcasm in Bob's tone. At first,Bob felt like kicking himself; the rustle of the paper in those alienhands caused him to shuffle his feet with mild irritation. Then heforgot all about the paper and the monocle man. His thoughts began oncemore to go over and over the same old ground, until--
"T'nk'n!" The stentorian abbreviation of the conductor made Bob get upwith a start. Grabbing his grip--hardly any weight at all for hismuscular arm--in one hand, and his implements of the game in the other,he swung down the aisle and on to the platform. A good many people gotoff, for a small town nestled beneath the high rolling lands of thecountry estates of the affluent. There were vehicles of all kinds at thestation, among them a number of cars, and in one of the latter Bobrecognized Mrs. Ralston's chauffeur.
A moment he hesitated. He supposed he ought to step forward and get in,for that was what he naturally would do. But he wanted to think; hedidn't want to get to the house in a hurry. Still he had to do what henaturally would do and he started to do it when some other people Bobdidn't know--prospective guests, presumably, among them the man with themonocle--got into the car and fairly filled it. That let Bob out nicelyand naturally. It gave him another breathing spell. He had got so he waslooking forward to these little breathing spells.
"Hack, sir?" said a voice.
"Not for me," replied Bob. "But you can tote this up the hill,"indicating the grip. "Ralston house."
"Dollar and a half, sir," said the man. "Same price if you go along,too."
"What?" It just occurred to Bob he hadn't many dollars left, and ofcourse, tips would be expected up there, at the big house. It behoovedhim, therefore, to be frugal. But to argue about a dollar and ahalf!--he, a guest at the s
everal million dollar house! On the otherhand, that dollar looked large to Bob at this moment. Imagine if he hadto earn a dollar and a half! He couldn't at the moment tell how he woulddo it.
"Hold on." Bob took the grip away from the man. "Why, it's outrageous,such a tariff! Same price, with or without me, indeed! I tell you--"Suddenly he stopped. He had an awful realization that he was acting apart. That forced indignation of his was not the truth; that aloof kindof an attitude wasn't the truth, either.
"To tell you the truth," said Bob, "I can't afford it."
"Can't afford. Ha! ha!" That was a joke. One of Mrs. Ralston's guests,not afford--!
"No," said Bob. "I've only got about fifteen dollars and a half to myname. I guess you're worth more than that yourself, aren't you?" Withsudden respect in his tone.
"I guess I am," said the man, grinning.
"Then, logically, I should be carrying your valise," retorted Bob.
"Ha! ha! That's good." The fellow had been transporting the overflow ofMrs. Ralston's guests for years, but he had never met quite such aneccentric one as this. He chuckled now as if it were the best joke."I'll tell you what--I'll take it for nothing, and leave it to you whatyou give me!" Maybe, for a joke, he'd get a fifty--dollars, not cents.These young millionaire men did perpetrate little funnyisms like that.Why, one of them had once "beat him down" a quarter on his fare and thengiven him ten dollars for a tip. "Ha! ha!" repeated the fellow,surveying Bob's elegant and faultless attire, "I'll do it for nothing,and you--"
Bob walked away carrying his grip. Here he was telling the truth and hewasn't believed. The man took him for one of those irresponsible merryfellows. That was odd. Was it auspicious? Should he derive encouragementtherefrom? Maybe the others would only say "Ha! ha!" when he told thetruth. But though he tried to feel the fellow's attitude was a goodomen, he didn't succeed very well.
No use trying to deceive _himself_! Might as well get accustomed to thattruth-telling habit even in his own thoughts! That diabolical trio offriends had seen plainer than he. _They_ had realized the dazzlingdifficulties of the task confronting him. How they were laughing intheir sleeves now at "darn fool Bob!" Bob, a young Don Quixote, sallyingforth to attempt the impossible! The preposterous part of the wholebusiness was that his role _was_ preposterous. Why, he really and truly,in his transformed condition, ought to be just like every one else. Thathe was a unique exception--a figure alone in his glory, or ingloriouslyalone--was a fine commentary on this old world, anyhow.
What an old humbug of a world it was, he thought, when, passing beforethe one and only book-store the little village boasted of, he ran plumpinto, or almost into, Miss Gwendoline Gerald.
She, at that moment, had just emerged from the shop with a supply ofpopular magazines in her arms. A gracious expression immediatelysoftened the young lady's lovely patrician features and she extended ahand. As in a dream Bob looked at it, for the fraction of a second. Itwas a beautiful, shapely and capable hand. It was also sunburned. Itlooked like the hand of a young woman who would grasp what she wantedand wave aside peremptorily what she didn't want. It was a strong hand,but it was also an adorable hand. It went with the proud but lovelyface. It supplemented the steady, direct violet eyes. The pink nailsgleamed like sea-shells. Bob set down the grip and took the hand. Hisheart was going fast.
"Glad to see you," said Miss Gwendoline.
Bob remained silent. He was glad and he wasn't glad. That is to say, hewas deliriously glad and he knew he ought not to be. He found itdifficult to conceal the effect she had upon him. He dreaded, too, theoutcome of that meeting. So, how should he answer and yet tell thetruth? It was considerable of a "poser," he concluded, as he strove tocollect his perturbed thoughts.
"Well, why don't you say something?" she asked.
"Lovely clay," observed Bob.
The violet eyes drilled into him slightly. Shades of Hebe! but she had afine figure! She looked great next to Bob. Maybe she knew it. Perhapsthat was why she was just a shade more friendly and gracious to him thanto some of the others. They two appeared so well together. He certainlydid set her off.
"Is that all you have to say?" asked Miss Gwendoline after a moment.
"Let me put those magazines in the trap for you?" said Bob, making adesperate recovery and indicating the smart rig at the curb as he spoke.
"Thanks," she answered. "Make yourself useful." And gave them to him.But there was now a slight reserve on her part. His manner had slightlypuzzled her. There was a constraint, or hold-offishness about him thatseemed to her rather a new symptom in him. What did it mean? Had hemisinterpreted her "Will you?" The violet eyes flashed slightly, thenshe laughed. How ridiculous!
"There! You did it very well," she commended him mockingly.
"Thanks," said Bob awkwardly, and shifted. It would be better if she lethim go. Those awful things he might say?--that she might make him say?But she showed no disposition to permit him to depart at once. Shelingered. People didn't usually seek to terminate talks with her. As arule they just stuck and stuck around and it was hard to get rid ofthem. Did she divine his uneasiness? Bob showed he certainly wasn'tenjoying himself. The violet eyes grew more and more puzzled.
"What a brilliant conversationalist you are to-day, Mr. Bennett!" sheremarked with a trace of irony in her tones.
"Yes; I don't feel very strong on the talk to-day," answered Bobtruthfully.
Miss Gwendoline pondered a moment on this. She had seen young menembarrassed before--especially when she was alone with them. Sometimesher decidedly pronounced beauty had a disquieting effect on certainsensitive young souls. Bob's manner recalled the manner of one or two ofthose others just before they indulged, or tried to indulge, in unusualsentiments, or too close personalities. Miss Gerald's long sweepinglashes lowered ominously. Then they slowly lifted. She didn't feelto-day any inordinate endeavor or desire on Bob's part to break down thenice barriers of convention and to establish that more intimate andmagnetic atmosphere of a new relationship. Well, that was the way itshould be. It must be he was only stupid at the moment. That's why heacted strange and unlike himself.
Perhaps he had been up late the night before. Maybe he had a headache.His handsome face was certainly very sober. There was a silent appeal toher in that blond head, a little over half-a-head above hers. MissGwendoline's red lips softened. What a great, big, nice-looking boy hewas, after all! She let the lights of her eyes play on him more kindly.She had always thought Bob a good sort. He was an excellent partner intennis and when it came to horses--they had certainly had some greatspurts together. She had tried to follow Bob but it had sometimes beenhard. His "jumps" were famous. What he couldn't put a horse over, no oneelse could. For the sake of these and a few kindred recollections, shesoftened.
"I suppose men sometimes do feel that way the next day," she observedwith tentative sympathy. One just had to forgive Bob. She knew a lot ofcleverer men who weren't half so interesting on certain occasions.Intellectual conversation isn't everything. Even that soul-to-soul talkof the higher faddists sometimes palled. "I suppose that's why you'rewalking."
"Why?" he repeated, puzzled.
"To dissipate that 'tired feeling,' I believe you call it?"
"But I'm not tired," said Bob.
"Headachey, then?"
"No." He wasn't quite following the subtleties of her remarks.
"Then why _are_ you walking?" she persisted. "And with that?" Touchinghis grip with the tip of her toe.
"Save hack fare," answered Bob.
She smiled.
"Man wanted a dollar and a half," he went on.
"And you objected?" Lightly.
"I did."
Again she smiled. Bob saw she, too, thought it was a joke. And heremembered how she knew of one or two occasions when he had just thrownmoney to the winds--shoved it out of the window, as it were--orchids, bythe dozens, tips, two or three times too large, etc. Bob, with thosereckless eyes, object to a dollar and a half--or a hundred and fifty,for that matter? Not he! If e
ver there had been a spendthrift!--
"Well, I'll lend a hand to a poor, poverty-stricken wretch," said MissGerald, indulgently entering into the humor of the situation.
"What do you mean?" With new misgivings.
"Put them"--indicating the grip and the sticks--"in the trap," shecommanded.
Bob did. He couldn't do anything else. And then he assisted her in.
"Thanks for timely help!" he said more blithely, as he saw her slip onher gloves and begin to gather up the reins with those firm capablefingers. "And now--?" He started as if to go.
"Oh, you can get in, too." Why shouldn't he? There was room for two. Shespoke in a matter-of-fact manner.
"I--?" Bob hesitated. A long, long drive--unbounded opportunity forchats, confidences!--and all at the beginning of his sojourn here? Dad'swords--that horrid advice--burned on his brain like fire. He tried tothink of some excuse for not getting in. He might say he had to stop ata drug store, or call up a man in New York on business by telephone,or-- But no! he couldn't say any of those things. He was denied theblissful privilege of other men.
"Well, why don't you get in?" Miss Gerald spoke more sharply. "Don't youwant to?"
The words came like a thunder-clap, though Miss Gwendoline's voice washoney sweet. Bob raised a tragic head. That monster, Truth!
"No," he said.
An instant Miss Gwendoline looked at him, the violet eyes incredulous,amused. Then a slight line appeared on her beautiful forehead and herred lips parted a little as if she were going to say something, butdidn't. Instead, they closed tight, the way rosebuds shut when the nightis unusually frosty. Her eyes became hard like diamonds.
"How charmingly frank!" she said. Then she drew up the reins and trailedthe tip of the whip caressingly along the back of her spirited cob. Itsprang forward. "Look out for the sun, Mr. Bennett," she called back asthey dashed away. "It's rather hot to-day."
Bob stood and stared after her. What did she mean about the sun? Did shethink he had a touch of sunstroke, or brain-fever? It was aninauspicious beginning, indeed. If he had only known what next wascoming!