CHAPTER V--TRIVIALITIES
Luncheon came and went, but nothing actually tragic happened at it. Bobdidn't make more than a dozen remarks that failed to add to hispopularity. He tried to be agreeable, because that was his nature. That"even-tenor-of-his-way" condition made it incumbent on him--yes, made ithis sacred duty to be bright and amiable. So it was "Hence, loathedMelancholy!" and a brave endeavor to be as jocund as the poet's lines!Only those little unfortunate moments--airy preludes to largermisfortunes--had to occur, and just when he would flatter himself he wasnot doing so badly.
For example, when Mrs. Augustus Ossenreich Vanderpool said: "Don't youadore dogs, Mr. Bennett?"
"No. I like them." It became necessary to qualify that. "That is--notthe little kind."
The lady stiffened. Her beribboned and perfumed five-thousand-dollartoy-dogs were the idolized darlings of her heart. The children might berelegated to the nursery but the canines had the run of the boudoir.They rode with her when she went out in state while the French _bonne_took the children for an airing. "And why are the 'little kind' excludedfrom the realm of your approbation?" observed Mrs. Vanderpool coldly.
It was quite a contract to answer that. Bob wanted to be truthful; notto say too much or too little; only just as much as he was in honorbound to say. "I think people make too much fuss over them," he answeredat last. That reply seemed quite adequate and he trusted the lady wouldchange the subject. But people had a way of not doing what he wantedthem to, lately.
"What do you call 'too much fuss'?" pursued the lady persistently.
Bob explained as best he could. It was rather a thankless task and hefloundered a good deal as he went about it. He wasn't going to be a bitmore disagreeable than he could help, only he couldn't help being asdisagreeable as he had to be. The fact that Miss Gwendoline Gerald'sstarry eyes were on him with cold curiosity did not improve the lucidityof his explanation. In the midst of it, she to whom he was talking,seemed somehow to detach herself from him, gradually, not pointedly, forhe hardly knew just when or how she got away. She seemed just to floatoff and to attach herself somewhere else--to the bishop or to a certainjudge Mrs. Ralston always asked to her house-parties that they mighthave a judicial as well as an ecclesiastical touch--and Bob'sexplanation died on the thin air. He let it die. He didn't have to speaktruth to vacancy.
Then he tangoed, but not with Miss Gwendoline Gerald. He positivelydared not approach that young lady. He didn't tango because he wantedto, but because some one set a big music-box going and he knew he wasexpected to tango. He did it beautifully and the young lady was charmed.She was a little dark thing, of the clinging variety, and Dickie hadgone with her some. Her father owned properties that would go well withDickie's--there'd been some talk of consolidation, but it had never comeoff. Papa was inclined to be stand-offish. Then Dickie began to getattentive to the little dark thing, though nothing had yet come of thateither. Bob didn't own any properties but the little dark thing didn'tmind that. At tangoing, he was a dream. Properties can't tango.
"You do it so well," said the little dark thing breathlessly.
"Do I?" murmured Bob, thinking of a stately young goddess, now tangoingwith another fellow.
"Don't you adore it?" went on the little dark thing, nestling as closeas was conventional and proper.
"I might," observed Bob. That was almost as bad as the dog question. Hetrusted the matter would end there.
She giggled happily. "Maybe you disapprove of modern dancing, Mr.Bennett?"
"That depends," said Bob gloomily. He meant it depended upon who was"doing the modern" with the object of your fondest affections. If youyourself were engaged in the arduous pastime with said object, youwould, naturally harbor no particular objections against said moderntendencies, but if you weren't?--
Bob tangoed more swiftly. His thoughts were so bitter he wanted to runaway from them. The irony of gliding rhythmically and poetically inseeming joyous abandon of movement when his heart weighed a ton! If thatheaviness of heart were communicated to his legs, they would in realitybe as heavy as those of a deep-sea diver, weighted down for a ten-fathomplunge.
And in thus trying to run away from his thoughts Bob whirled the littledark thing quite madly. He couldn't dance ungracefully if he tried andthe little dark thing had a soul for rhythm. It was as if he were tryingto run away with her. He fairly took away her breath. She was a pantinglittle dark thing on his broad breast now, but she didn't ask him tostop. The music-box ceased to be musical and that brought them to astop. The eyes of the little dark thing--her name was Dolly--sparkled,and she gazed up at Bob with the respect one of her tender andimpressionable years has for a masculine whirlwind.
"You quite sweep one off one's feet, Mr. Bennett," she managed toejaculate.
At that moment Miss Gwendoline passed, a divine bud glowing on eitherproud cheek. She caught the remark and looked at the maker of it. Shenoted the sparkle in the eyes. The little dark thing was a wonder withthe men. She seemed to possess the knack--only second to MissGwendoline, in that line--of converting them into "trailers." MissGwendoline, though, never tried to attain this result. Men became hertrailers without any effort on her part, while the little dark thing hadto exert herself, but it was agreeable work. She made Bob a trailer now,temporarily. Miss Gwendoline turned her head slightly, with a gleam ofsurprise to watch him trail. She had noticed that Bob had danced withirresistible and almost pagan abandon. That argued enjoyment.
The little dark thing would "come in" ultimately for hundreds ofbelching chimneys and glowing furnaces and noisy factories--quite a snugif cacophonous legacy!--and Miss Gwendoline had only that day heardrumors that Bob's governor had fallen down and hurt himself on the"street." She, Miss Gwendoline, had not attached much importance tothose rumors. People were always having little mishaps in the "street,"and then bobbing up richer than ever.
But now that rumor recurred to her more vividly in the light of Bob'strailing performance and the mad abandon of his tangoing. Of course, allmen are gamblers, or fortune-hunters, or something equallyreprehensible, at heart! Tendency of a cynical, selfish andmoney-grabbing age! Miss Gwendoline was no moralist but she had lived ina wise set, where people keep their eyes open and weigh things for justwhat they are. Naturally a young man whose governor has gone on therocks (though only temporarily, perhaps), might think that belchingchimneys, though somewhat splotchy on the horizon and unpicturesque tothe eye, might be acceptable, in a first-aid-to-the-injured sense. ButBob as a plain, ordinary fortune-hunter?-- Somehow the role did not fithim.
Besides, a fortune-hunter would not bruskly and unceremoniously haverefused _her_ invitation to ride in the trap. And at the recollection ofthat affront, Miss Gwendoline's violet eyes again gleamed, until forsparkles they out-matched those of the little dark thing. However, sheheld herself too high to be really resentful. It was impossible sheshould resent anything so incomprehensible, she told herself. That wouldlend dignity to the offense. Therefore she could only be mildly amusedby it. This was, no doubt, a properly lofty attitude, but was it agenuine one? Was she not actually at heart, deeply resentful anddreadfully offended? Pride being one of her marked characteristics, shedemanded a great deal and would not accept a little.
The sparkles died from the hard violet eyes. A more tentative expressionreplaced that other look as her glance now passed meditatively over thedark little thing. The latter had certainly a piquant bizarreattraction. She looked as if she could be very intense, though she wasof that clinging-vine variety of young woman. She wore one of thosetango gowns which was odd, outre and a bit daring. It went with herpersonality. At the same time her innocent expression seemed a mute,almost pathetic little appeal to you _not_ to think it too daring.
As Miss Gerald studied the young lady, albeit without seeming to do soand holding her own in a sprightly tango kind of talk, another thoughtflashed into her mind. Bob might be genuinely and sentimentally smitten.Why not? Men frequently fell in love with the little dark thin
g, andafterward some of them said she had a "good deal of temperament." Bobmight be on a temperament-investigating quest. At any rate, it was allone to Miss Gerald. Life was a comedy. _N'est-ce-pas?_ What was itBalzac called it? _La Comedie Humaine._
Meanwhile, other eyes than Miss Gerald's were bent upon luckless Bob.Mrs. Dan and Mrs. Clarence looked as if they would like to have a wordwith him. Mrs. Dan even maneuvered in his direction at the conclusion ofthe dance while Bob watched her with ill-concealed apprehension. Hedetected, also, an uncanny interest in Mrs. Clarence's eyes as thatmasterful lady eyed him and Mrs. Dan from a distance. Mrs. Dan almostgot him when--the saints be praised!--Mrs. Ralston, herself, trippedblithely up and annexed him. For the moment he was safe, but only forthe moment.
A reckless desire to end it all surged through Bob's inmost being. Ifonly his hostess would say something demanding an answer that wouldincur such disapprobation on her part, he would feel impelled, in thenatural order of events, to hasten his departure. Maybe then (and hethrilled at the thought), she might even intimate in her chilliestmanner that his _immediate_ departure would be the logical sequence ofsome truthful spasm she, herself, had forced from him? He couldn't talkFrench to Mrs. Ralston now; he was in honor bound not to. He would haveto speak right up in the King's English--or Uncle Sam's American.
Of course, such a consummation--Bob's being practically _forced_ to takehis departure--was extremely unpleasant and awful to contemplate, yetworse things could happen than that--a whole string of them, one rightafter another!
However, he had no such luck as to be ordered forthwith off thepremises. He didn't offend Mrs. Ralston at all. That lady was very niceto him (or otherwise, from Bob's present view-point) and did most of thetalking herself. Perhaps she considered that compliment (?) Bob hadbestowed upon her at the Waldorf sufficient to excuse him for a whilefrom further undue efforts at flattery. At any rate, she didn't seem totake it amiss that Bob didn't say a lot more of equally nice things inthat Chesterfieldian manner and with such a perfect French accent.
But he "got in bad" that afternoon with divers and sundry other guestsof Mrs. Ralston. Mrs. Augustus O. Vanderpool and Miss Gerald weren't theonly ones who threw cold glances his way, for the faux pas he made--thathe _had_ to make--were something dreadful. For example, when some oneasked him what he thought of Miss Schermerhorn's voice, he had to sayhuskily what was in his mind:
"It is rather too strident, isn't it?" No sugar-coating the truth! If hehad said anything else he would have been compromising with veracity; hewould not have spoken the thought born in his brain at the question. Ofcourse, some one repeated what he said to Miss Schermerhorn, who camefrom one of the oldest families, was tall and angular, and cherishedfond illusions, or delusions, that she was an amateur nightingale. Thesome one who repeated, had to repeat, because Miss Schermerhorn was herdearest friend and confidante. Then Miss Schermerhorn came right up toBob and asked him if he had said it and he was obliged to answer that hehad. What she said, or thought, need not be repeated. She left poor Bobfeeling about as big as a caterpillar.
"How very tactful of Mr. Bennett!" was all Miss Gerald said, when MissDolly related to her the little incident.
"That's just what I adore in him!" gushed the temperamental littlething. "He doesn't seem to be afraid of saying anything to anybody. He'sso delightfully frank!"
"Frank, certainly!" answered Miss Gerald icily.
"Anyhow, he's a regular tango-king!" murmured Miss Dolly dreamily.
"I'm so glad _you_ approve of him, dear!" said Miss Gerald with anenigmatic smile. Perhaps she implied the temperamental little thingfound herself in a class, all by herself, in this regard.
The latter flew over to Bob. If he was so "frank" and ingenuous aboutMiss Schermerhorn, perhaps he would be equally so with other persons.Miss Dolly asked him if he didn't think the bishop's sermons "just toodear?" Bob did not. "Why not?" she persisted. Bob had just been reading_The Outside of the Pot_. "Why not?" repeated Miss Dolly.
"Antediluvian!" groaned Bob, then turned a fiery red. The bishop,standing on the other side of the doorway, had overheard. Maybe MissDolly had known he stood there for she now giggled and fled. Bob wantedto sink through the floor, but he couldn't.
"So, sir, you think my sermons antediluvian?" said the bishop, with atwinkle of the eye. _He_ never got mad, he was the best old man that waythat ever happened.
"Yes, sir," replied Bob, by rote.
"Thank you," said the bishop, and rubbed his nose. Then he eyed Bobcuriously. "Maybe you're right," he said. That made Bob feel awful, buthe couldn't retract. The truth as he saw it!--He felt as if he werechained to the wheel of fate--the truth as he saw it, though the heavensfell!
"Of course, that's only my poor insignificant opinion," he murmuredmiserably.
"Every man's opinion is entitled to respect," said the bishop.
"Yes, sir," replied Bob, more miserably still.
The bishop continued to study him. "You interest me, Mr. Bennett."
"Do I?" said Bob. "I'm rather interesting to myself just now."
"You evidently agree with the author of _The Outside of the Pot_?"
"That's it." Weakly.
"Well, cheer up," said the bishop, and walked away.
Later in the day the judge might have been heard to say to the bishopthat "that young Bennett cub is a good-for-nothing jackanapes"--fromwhich it might be inferred Bob had somehow managed to rub the judge'sermine the wrong way.
"Ha! ha!" laughed the bishop. "Did some one ask him what he thought ofjudges?"
But the judge did not laugh. His frown was awful.
"Or was it about the 'recall'? Or the relation of judges andcorporations?"
The judge looked stern as Jove. "Ass!" he muttered.
"Maybe he's a progressive," returned the bishop. "The world seems to bechanging. Ought we to change with it, I wonder?"
"I don't," snapped the judge. "If the world to-day is producing suchfatuous blockheads, give me the world as it was."
"The trouble is," said the bishop, again rubbing his nose, "can we getit back? Hasn't it left us behind and are we ever going to catch up?"
"Fudge!" said the judge. He and the bishop were such old friends, hecould take that liberty.
Another of the sterner sex--one of Mrs. Ralston's guests--looked as ifhe, too, could have said: "Fudge!" His lips fairly curled when heregarded Bob. He specialized as a vivisectionist, and he was a greatauthority. Now Bob loved the "under-dog" and was naturally kind andsympathetic. He had been blessed--or cursed--with a very tender heartfor such a compact, well-put-up, six foot or so compound of hard-headedmasculinity. Miss Dolly--imp of mischief--again rather forced the talk.It must be wonderful to cut things up and juggle with hind legs andkidneys and brains and mix them all up with different animals, until apoor little cat didn't know if it had a dog's brain or its own? And wasit true that sometimes the dogs me-owed, and when a cat started to purrdid it wag its tail instead? This was all right from Miss Dolly, butwhen the conversation expanded and Bob was appealed to, it wasdifferent. "Wouldn't _you_ just love to mix up the different 'parts'?"asked Miss Dolly, and put a rabbit's leg on a pussy, just to watch itsexpression of surprise when it started to run and found itself only ableto jump, or half-jump? That got honest Bob--who couldn't have carved upa poor dumb beast, to save his life--fairly involved, and before he hadstaggered from that conversational morass, he had offended Authorityabout two dozen times. Indeed, Authority openly turned its back on him.Authority found Bob impossible.
These are fair samples of a few of his experiences. And all the while hehad an uneasy presentiment that Mrs. Dan and Mrs. Clarence were waitingto get him and have _their_ innings. Now, Mrs. Dan would bestow upon hima too sweet smile between games of tennis; then Mrs. Clarence woulddrift casually in his direction, but something would happen that wouldprevent a heart-to-heart duologue, and she would as casually drift awayagain. These hit-and-miss tactics, however, gradually got on Bob'snerves, and in consequence, he who was us
ually a star and a cracker jackat the game, played abominable tennis that afternoon--thus enhancing hisunpopularity with divers partners who simply couldn't understand why hehad fallen off so. Indeed, about every one he came in contact with wasprofoundly dissatisfied or disgusted with Bob. Miss Gerald, who usuallyplayed with him, now firmly but unostentatiously, avoided him, andthough Bob couldn't blame her, of course, still the fact did not tend tomitigate his melancholy.
How different in the past!--that glorious, never-to-be-forgotten past!Then he had inwardly reveled and rejoiced in her lithe movements--forwith all her stateliness and proud carriage, she was like a youngpanther for grace. Now as luckless Bob played with some one else, atantalizing college ditty floated through his brain: "I wonder who'skissing her now?"
Of course, no one was. She wasn't that kind. Though some one, some day,would! It was in the natural order of things bound to occur, and Bob, infancy, saw those disdainful red lips, with some one hovering over, as heswung at a white ball and sent it--well, not where he should have.
"You are playing very badly, partner," a reproving voice reminded him.
Bob muttered something. Confound that frivolous haunting song! He woulddismiss the dire and absurd possibility. Some one else was with her,though, and that was sufficiently poignant. There were several of thefellows tremendously smitten in that quarter. Fine, husky athleticchaps, too! Some of them quite expert at wooing, no doubt, for devoteesof house-parties become educated and acquire finesse. They don't have totell the truth all the time, but on the contrary, are privileged toprevaricate in the most artistic manner. They can gaze into beautifuleyes and swear that they have "never before," and so on. They canperform prodigies of prevarication and "get away" with them. Bob playednow even worse than before.
The sun got low at last, however, and wearily he retired to his room, tochange his garments for dinner. Incidentally, he surveyed himself in themirror with haunting earnestness of gaze. Had he grown perceptiblyolder? He thought he could detect a few lines of care on his erstwhileunsullied brow, and with a sigh, he turned away to array himself in thecustomary black--or "glad rags"--which seemed now, however, but thehabiliments of woe. Then he descended to receive a new shock; he foundout that Mrs. Ralston had assigned Mrs. Dan to him, to take in todinner. Drearily Bob wondered if it were mere chance that he had drawnMrs. Dan for a dinner prize, or if Mrs. Dan herself had somehow broughtabout that, to her, desired consummation. As he gave Mrs. Dan his arm hesaw Mrs. Clarence exchange glances with the commodore's good lady. Mrs.Ralston went in with the monocle man.