Ben Blair

  CHAPTER XXII

  TWO FRIENDS HAVE IT OUT

  Clarence Sidwell was alone in his down-town bachelor quarters; that is,alone save for an individual the club-man's friends termed his "ManFriday," an undersized and very black negro named Alexander HamiltonBrown, but answering to the contraction "Alec." Valet, man of all work,steward, Alec was as much a fixture about the place as the floor or theceiling; and, like them, his presence, save as a convenience, wasignored.

  The rooms themselves were on the eleventh floor of a down-townoffice-building, as near the roof as it had been possible for him tosecure suitable quarters. For eight years Sidwell had made them his homewhen he was in town. The circle of his friends had commented, his motherand sisters (his father had been long dead) had protested, when, a muchyounger man, he first severed himself from the semi-colonial mansionwhich for three generations had borne the name of Sidwell; but as usual,he had had his own way.

  "I want to work when I feel so inclined, when the mood is on me, whetherit's two o'clock of the afternoon or of the morning,'" he had explained;"and I can't do it without interruption here with you and yourfriends."

  For the same reason he had chosen to live near the sky. There, highabove the noise and confusion, he could observe and catch the influenceof the activity which is in itself a powerful stimulant, withoutexperiencing its unpleasantness. Essentially, the man was an aesthete. Ifhe went to a race or a football game he wished to view it at a distance.To be close by, to mingle in the dust of action, to smell the sweat ofconflict, to listen to the low-voiced imprecations of the defeated,detracted from his pleasure. He could not prevent thesefeatures--therefore he avoided them.

  This particular evening he was doing nothing, which was very unusual forhim. The necessity for society, or for activity, physical or mental, hadlong ago become as much a part of his nature as the desire for food.Dilettante musician as well as artist, when alone at this time of theevening he was generally at the upright piano in the corner. Even Alecnoticed the unusual lack of occupation on this occasion, and exposed thekey-board suggestively; but, observing the action, Sidwell only smiled.

  "Think I ought to, Alec?" he queried.

  The negro rolled his eyes. Despite his long service, he had never quitelost his awe of the man he attended.

  "Sho, yo always do that, or something, sah," he said.

  Sidwell smiled again; but it was not a pleasant smile. So this was theway of it! Even his servant had observed his habitual restlessness, andhad doubtless commented upon it to his companions in the way servantshave of passing judgment upon their employers. And if Alec had noticedthis, then how much more probable it was that others of Sidwell'snumerous acquaintances had noticed it also! He winced at the thought.That this was his skeleton, and that he had endeavored to keep ithidden, Sidwell did not attempt to deny to himself. One of the reasonshe had _not_ given to his family for establishing these down-townquarters was this very one. Time and again, when he had felt the mood ofprotest strong upon him, he had come here and locked the doors to fightit out alone. But after all, it had been useless. The fact had beenobvious, despite the trick; mayhap even more so on account of it. Likethe Wandering Jew he was doomed, followed by a relentless curse.

  He shook himself, and walking over to the sideboard poured out a glassof Cognac and drank it as though it were wine. Sidwell did not oftendrink spirits. Experience had taught him that to begin usually meant toend with regret the following day; but to-night, with his present moodupon him, the action was as instinctive as breathing. He moved back tohis chair by the window.

  The evening was hot, on the street depressingly so, but up here afterthe sun was set there was always a breeze, and it was cool andcomfortable. The man looked out over the sooty, gravelled roofs of thesurrounding lower buildings, and down on the street, congested with itsflowing stream of cars, equipages, and pedestrians. Times without numberhe had viewed the currents and counter-currents of that scene, but neverbefore had he so caught its vital spirit and meaning. Born of theelect,--reared and educated among them,--the supercilious superiority ofhis class was as much a part of him as his name. While he realized thatphysically the high and the low were constructed on practically the sameplan, he had been wont to consider them as on totally separate mentalplanes. That the clerk and the roustabout on ten dollars a week,breathing the same atmosphere,--seeing daily, hourly, minute by minute,from separate viewpoints, the same life,--that they should have incommon the constant need of diversion had never before occurred to him.Multitudes of times, as a sociologist, or as a literary man in search ofrealism, he had visited the haunts of the under-man. Languidly,critically, as he would have observed at the "zoo" an animal with whosehabits he was unacquainted, he had watched this rather curious under-manin his foolish, or worse than foolish, endeavor to find amusement oroblivion. He had often been interested, as by a clown at a circus; butmore frequently the sight had merely inspired disgust, and he hadreturned to his own diversions, his own efforts to secure the same end,with an all but unconscious thankfulness that he was not such as thatother. To-night, for the first time, and with a wonder we all feel whenthe obvious but long unseen suddenly becomes apparent, the primary factof human brotherhood, irrespective of caste, came home to him. To-nightand now he realized, diminutive in the distance as they were, that theswarm of figures that he had hitherto considered mere animals vain ofdisplay were impelled upon the street, compelled to keep moving, moving,without a pre-arranged destination, by the same spirit of unrest thathad sent him to the buffet. At that moment he was probably nearer to hisfellow-man than ever before in his life; but the truth revealed madehim the more unhappy. He had grown to consider his own unhappinesstotally different and infinitely more acute than that of others; he hadeven taken a sort of morbid, paradoxical pleasure in considering it so;and now even this was taken from him. Not only had his own secretskeleton been visible when he believed it concealed, but all around himthere suddenly sprang up a very cemetery of other skeletons, grinning athis blindness and discomfiture. His was not a nature to extract contentfrom common discomfort, and but one palliative suggested itself,--thedull red decanter on the sideboard. Rising again and filling a glass, hereturned and stood for a moment full before the open casement of thewindow gazing down steadily.

  How long he stood there he hardly knew. Once Alec's dark face peeredinto the room, and disappeared as suddenly. At last there was a knock atthe door.

  "Come in," invited Sidwell, without moving. The door opened and closed,and Winston Hough stood inside. The big man gave one glance at thesurroundings, saw the empty glass, and backed away. "Pardon myintrusion," he said with his hand on the knob.

  Sidwell turned. "Intrusion--nothing!" He placed the decanter withglasses and a box of cigars on a convenient table. "Come and have adrink with me," and the liquor flowed until both glasses were nearlyfull.

  Hough hesitated in a reluctance that was not feigned. He felt thatdiscretion was the better part of valor, and that it would be well toescape while he could, even at the price of discourtesy.

  "Really," he said, "I only dropped in to say hello. I--"

  "Nonsense!" interrupted Sidwell. "You must think I'm as innocent as anew-born lamb. Come over here and sit down."

  Hough hesitated, but yielded.

  Sidwell lifted his glass. "Here's to--whatever the trouble may be thatbrought you here. People don't visit me for pleasure, or unless theyhave nowhere else to go. Drink deep!"

  They drank; and then Sidwell looking at Hough said, "Well, what is itthis time? Going to reform again, or something of that kind, are you?"

  Hough did not attempt evasion. He knew it would be useless. "No," hesaid; "to tell you the truth, I'm lonesome--beastly lonesome."

  Sidwell smiled. "Ah, I thought so. But why, pray? Aren't you a marriedman with an ark of refuge always waiting?"

  Hough made a grimace. "Yes, that's just the trouble. I'm too muchmarried, too thoroughly domesticated."

  The other looked blank. "I fail to underst
and. Certainly you and Elisehaven't at last--"

  "No, no; not that." Hough repelled the suggestion with a gesture asthough it were a tangible object. "Elise left to-day to spend a monthwith her uncle up in northern Wisconsin, and I can't get out of town fora week. I feel as I fancy a small bird feels when it has fallen out ofthe nest while its mother is away. The bottom seems to have dropped outof town and left me stranded."

  The host observed his guest humorously--a bit maliciously. "It is goodfor you, you complacent benedict," he remarked unsympathetically. "Youcan understand now the normal state of mind of bachelors. Perhaps aftera few more days you'll have been tortured enough to retract the argumentyou made to me about matrimony. I repeat, it's poetic justice, and goodfor a man now and then to have a dose of his own medicine."

  Hough smiled as at an oft-heard joke. "All right, old man, have it asyou please; only let's steer clear of a useless discussion of thesubject to-night."

  "With all my heart," said Sidwell. The decanter was once more in hishand. "Let's drink to the very good health of Elise on her journey."

  Hough hesitated. He had a feeling that there was an obscure desecrationin the toast, but it was not tangible enough to resent. "To her verygood health," he repeated in turn.

  For a moment he looked steadily into the face of his companion, now atrifle flushed. Again an inward monitor warned him it were better to go;but the first flood of the liquor had reached his brain, and thetemptation to remain was strong.

  "By the way, how are you coming on with your own affair of the heart?Have you propounded the momentous question to the lady?"

  Sidwell pulled forward the box of cigars and helped himself to one."No," he returned with deliberation. "I haven't had a good opportunity.A gentleman from the West, where they wear their hair long and theircoat-tails short, has suddenly appeared like an obscuring cloud on theBaker sky. I have a suspicion that he has aspirations for the hand ofthe lady in question. Anyhow, he's haunted the house like a ghostto-day. Mother Baker has for some reason taken a fancy to your humbleservant, and over the 'phone she has kept me informed of the stranger'stribulations. He seems to be meeting with sufficient difficultieswithout my interposition, so out of the goodness of my heart I've givenhim an open field. I hope you appreciate my consideration. I fear he'snot of a stripe to do so himself."

  Hough lit his cigar. "Yes, it certainly was kind of you," he said. "Verykind."

  With a sweep of his hand Sidwell brought the two glasses together with aclick. "I think so. Kind enough to deserve commemoration by a taste ofthe elixir of life, don't you agree?" and the liquor flowed beneath ahand steady in the first stages of intoxication.

  Hough pushed back his chair. "No," he protested. "I've had enough."

  "Enough!" The other laughed unmusically. "Enough! You haven't begun yet.Drink, and forget your loneliness, you benedict disconsolate!"

  But again the big man shook his head. "No," he repeated. "I've hadenough, and so have you. We'll be drunk, both of us, if we keep up thisclip much longer."

  The smile left the host's face. "Drunk!" he echoed. "Since when, pray,has that exalted state of the consciousness begun to inspire terror inyou? Drunk! Winston Hough, you're the last man I ever thought would failto prove game on an occasion like this! We're no nearer being babesthan we were the last time we got together, unless the termination oflife approximates the beginning. Drink!"

  But still, this time in silence, Hough shook his head. From a partiallyopen door leading into the adjoining room the negro's eyes peered out.

  Sidwell shifted in his seat with exaggerated deliberation and leanedforward. His dark mobile face worked passionately, compellingly."Winston Hough," he challenged, "do you wish to remain my friend?"

  "I certainly do."

  "Then you know what to do."

  Deep silence fell upon the room. Not only the eyes but the whole ofAlec's face appeared through the doorway. Hough could no more haveresisted longer than he could have leaped from the open window. Theydrank together.

  "Now," said Sidwell, "just to show that you mean it, we'll haveanother."

  And soon the enemy that puerile man puts into his mouth to steal hisbrains was enthroned.

  Sidwell sank into his chair, and lighting his cigar sent a great cloudof smoke curling up over his head. Hand and tongue were steady,unnaturally so, but the mood of irresponsible confidence was upon him.

  "Since you've decided to remain my friend," he said, "I'm going to tellyou something confidential, very confidential. You won't give it away?"

  "Never!" Hough shook his head.

  "On your honor?"

  The big man crossed his hands over his heart in the manner of smallboys.

  Sidwell was satisfied. "All right, then. This is the last time you and Iwill ever get--this way together."

  Hough looked as solemn as though at a funeral. "Why so?" he protested."Are you angry with me yet?"

  "No, it's not that. I've forgiven you."

  "What is it, then?" Hough felt that he must know the reason of his lostposition, and if in his power remove it.

  "I'm going to quit drinking after to-night, for one thing," explainedSidwell. "It isn't adequate. But even if I didn't, I don't expect we'llever be together again after a few days, after you go away."

  The listener looked blank. Even with his muddled brains he had anintimation that there was more in the statement than there seemed.

  "I don't see why," he said bewilderedly.

  Again Sidwell leaned forward. Again his face grew passionate andmagnetic.

  "The reason why is this. I have had enough, and more than enough, ofthis life I've been living. Unless I can find an interest, anextenuation, I would rather be dead, a hundred times over. I've become anightmare to myself, and I won't stand it. In a few days you'll havedeparted, and before you return I'll probably have gone too. Nothing butan intervention of Providence can prevent my marrying Florence Bakernow. Life isn't a story-book or we who live it undiscerning clods. Sheknows I am going to ask her to marry me, and I know what her answerwill be. We'll be away on our wedding-trip long before you and Elisereturn in the Fall." The speaker's voice was sober. Only the heightenedcolor of his face betrayed him.

  "I say I'm through with this sort of thing," he repeated, "and I meanit. I've tried everything on the face of the earth to find aninterest--but one--and Florence Baker represents that one. I hopeagainst hope that I'll find what I'm searching for there, but I amskeptical. I have been disappointed too many times to expect happinessnow. This is my last trump, old man, and I'm playing it deliberately andcarefully. If it fails, Florence will probably return; but before God, Inever will! I have thought it all out. I will leave her more money thanshe can ever spend--enough if she wishes to buy the elect of the elect.She is young, and she will soon forget--if it's necessary. With me, myactions have largely ceased to be a matter of ethics. I am desperate,Hough, and a desperate man takes what presents itself."

  But Hough was in no condition to appreciate the meaning of the selfishrevelation of his friend's true character. Since he married his lapseshad been infrequent, and already his surroundings were becoming a bitvague. His one ambition was to appear what he was not--sober; and hestraightened himself stiffly.

  "I see," he said, "sorry to lose you, old pal, very sorry; but what mustbe must be, I s'pose," and he drew himself together with a jerk.

  Sidwell glanced at the speaker sarcastically, almost with a shade ofcontempt. "I know you're sorry, deucedly sorry," he mocked. "So sorrythat you'd probably like to drown your excess of emotion in the flowingbowl." Again the ironic glance swept the other's face. "Another smilewould be good for you, anyway. You're entirely too serious. Here youare!" and the decanter once more did service.

  Hough picked up his glass and nodded with gravity "Yes, I always was asad devil." By successive movements the liquor approached his lips."Lots of troubles and tribulations all my--"

  The sentence was not completed; the Cognac remained untasted. At thatmoment there was a
knock upon the door.