III
THE GREEN MOUSE
_Showing the Value of a Helping Hand When It Is White and Slender_
This time he went leisurely to the door and opened it; a girl stoodthere, saying, "I beg your pardon for disturbing you--" It was high timeshe admitted it, for her eyes had been disturbing him day and night sincethe first time he passed her in the hall.
She appeared to be a trifle frightened, too, and, scarcely waiting forhis invitation, she stepped inside with a hurried glance behind her, andwalked to the center of the room holding her skirts carefully as thoughstepping through wet grass.
"I--I am annoyed," she said in a voice not perfectly under command. "Ifyou please, would you tell me whether there is such a thing as a pea-green mouse?"
Then he did a mean thing; he could have cleared up that matter with aword, a smile, and--he didn't.
"A green mouse?" he repeated gently, almost pitifully.
She nodded, then paled; he drew a big chair toward her, for her kneestrembled a little; and she sat down with an appealing glance that oughtto have made him ashamed of himself.
"What has frightened you?" inquired that meanest of men.
"I was in my studio--and I must first explain to you that for weeks andweeks I--I have imagined I heard sounds--" She looked carefully aroundher; nothing animate was visible. "Sounds," she repeated, swallowing alittle lump in her white throat, "like the faint squealing and squeakingand sniffing and scratching of--of live things. I asked the janitor, andhe said the house was not very well built and that the beams andwainscoting were shrinking."
"Did he say that?" inquired the young man, thinking of the bribes.
"Yes, and I tried to believe him. And one day I thought I heard about onehundred canaries singing, and I know I did, but that idiot janitor saidthey were the sparrows under the eaves. Then one day when your door wasopen, and I was coming up the stairway, and it was dark in the entry,something big and soft flopped across the carpet, and--it beingexceedingly common to scream--I didn't, but managed to get past it, and"--her violet eyes widened with horror--"do you know what that soft, floppything was? It was an owl!"
He was aware of it; he had managed to secure the escaped bird before herelectric summons could arouse the janitor.
"I called the janitor," she said, "and he came and we searched the entry;but there was no owl."
He appeared to be greatly impressed; she recognized the sympathy in hisbrown eyes.
"That wretched janitor declared I had seen a cat," she resumed; "and Icould not persuade him otherwise. For a week I scarcely dared set foot onthe stairs, but I had to--you see, I live at home and only come to mystudio to paint."
"I thought you lived here," he said, surprised.
"Oh, no. I have my studio--" she hesitated, then smiled. "Everybody makesfun of me, and I suppose they'll laugh me out of it, but I detestconventions, and I did hope I had talent for something besidesfrivolity."
Her gaze wandered around his room; then suddenly the possiblesignificance of her unconventional situation brought her to her feet,serious but self-possessed.
"I beg your pardon again," she said, "but I was really driven out of mystudio--quite frightened, I confess."
"What drove you out?" he asked guiltily.
"Something--you can scarcely credit it--and I dare not tell the janitorfor fear he will think me--queer." She raised her distressed and lovelyeyes again: "Oh, please believe that I _did_ see a bright green mouse!"
"I do believe it," he said, wincing.
"Thank you. I--I know perfectly well how it sounds--and I know thathorrid people see things like that, but"--she spoke piteously--"I hadonly one glass of claret at luncheon, and I am perfectly healthy in bodyand mind. How could I see such a thing if it was not there?"
"It was there," he declared.
"Do you really think so? A green--bright green mouse?"
"Haven't a doubt of it," he assured her; "saw one myself the other day."
"Where?"
"On the floor--" he made a vague gesture. "There's probably a crackbetween your studio and my wall, and the little rascal crept into yourplace."
She stood looking at him uncertainly: "Are there really such things asgreen mice?"
"Well," he explained, "I fancy this one was originally white. Somebodyprobably dyed it green."
"But who on earth would be silly enough to do such a thing?"
His ears grew red--he felt them doing it.
After a moment she said: "I am glad you told me that you, too, saw thisunspeakable mouse. I have decided to write to the owners of the house andrequest an immediate investigation. Would--would it be too much to askyou to write also?"
"Are you--you going to write?" he asked, appalled.
"Certainly. Either some dreadful creature here keeps a bird store andbrings home things that escape, or the house is infested. I don't carewhat the janitor says; I did hear squeals and whines and whimpers!"
"Suppose--suppose we wait," he began lamely; but at that moment her blueeyes widened; she caught him convulsively by the arm, pointing, one snowyfinger outstretched.
"Oh-h!" she said hysterically, and the next instant was standing upon achair, pale as a ghost. It was a wonder she had not mounted the dresser,too, for there, issuing in creepy single file from the wainscoting, camemice--mice of various tints. A red one led the grewsome rank, a black andwhite one came next, then in decorous procession followed the guiltygreen one, a yellow one, a blue one, and finally--horror of horrors!--ared-white-and-blue mouse, carrying a tiny American flag.
He turned a miserable face toward her; she, eyes dilated, frozen to astatue, saw him advance, hold out a white wand--saw the uncannyprocession of mice mount the stick and form into a row, tails hangingdown--saw him carry the creatures to a box and dump them in.
He was trying to speak now. She heard him stammer something about theescape of the mice; she heard him asking her pardon. Dazed, she laid herhand in his as he aided her to descend to the floor; nerveless,speechless, she sank into the big chair, horror still dilating her eyes.
"It's all up with me," he said slowly, "if you write to the owners. I'vebribed the janitor to say nothing. I'm dreadfully mortified that thesethings have happened to annoy you."
The color came back into her face; amazement dominated her anger. "Butwhy--why do you keep such creatures?"
"Why shouldn't I?" he asked. "It is my profession."
"Your--what?"
"My profession," he repeated doggedly.
"Oh," she said, revolted, "that is not true! You are a gentleman--I knowwho you are perfectly well!"
"Who am I?"
She called him by name, almost angrily.
"Well," he said sullenly, "what of it? If you have investigated my recordyou must know I am as poor as these miserable mice."
"I--I know it. But you are a gentleman----"
"I am a mountebank," he said; "I mean a mountebank in its originalinterpretation. There's neither sense nor necessity for me to deny it."
"I--I don't understand you," she whispered, shocked.
"Why, I do monkey tricks to entertain people," he replied, forcing alaugh, "or rather, I hope to do a few--and be paid for them. I fancyevery man finds his own level; I've found mine, apparently."
Her face was inscrutable; she lay back in the great chair, watching him.
"I have a little money left," he said; "enough to last a day or two. ThenI am to be paid for entertaining some people at Seabright; and," he addedwith that very attractive smile of his from which all bitterness haddeparted, "and that will be the first money I ever earned in all mylife."
She was young enough to be fascinated, child enough to feel the littlelump in her throat rising. She knew he was poor; her sisters had told herthat; but she had supposed it to be only comparative poverty--just as hercousins, for instance, had scarcely enough to keep more than two horsesin town and only one motor. But want--actual need--she had never dreamedof in his case--she could scarcely understand it
even now--he was so wellgroomed, so attractive, fairly radiating good breeding and the easyfinancial atmosphere she was accustomed to.
"So you see," he continued gayly, "if you complain to the owners aboutgreen mice, why, I shall have to leave, and, as a matter of fact, Ihaven't enough money to go anywhere except--" he laughed.
"Where?" she managed to say.
"The Park. I was joking, of course," he hastened to add, for she hadturned rather white.
"No," she said, "you were not joking." And as he made no reply: "Ofcourse, I shall not write--now. I had rather my studio were overrun withmulticolored mice--" She stopped with something almost like a sob. Hesmiled, thinking she was laughing.
But oh, the blow for her! In her youthful enthusiasm she had always, fromthe first time they had encountered one another, been sensitively awareof this tall, clean-cut, attractive young fellow. And by and by shelearned his name and asked her sisters about him, and when she heard ofhis recent ruin and withdrawal from the gatherings of his kind her youthflushed to its romantic roots, warming all within her toward thissplendid and radiant young man who lived so nobly, so proudly aloof. Andthen--miracle of Manhattan!--he had proved his courage before her dazedeyes--rising suddenly out of the very earth to save her from a fate whichher eager desire painted blacker every time she embellished the incident.And she decorated the memory of it every day.
And now! Here, beside her, was this prince among men, her champion,beaten to his ornamental knees by Fate, and contemplating a miserable,uncertain career to keep his godlike body from actual starvation. Andshe--she with more money than even she knew what to do with, powerless toaid him, prevented from flinging open her check book and bidding him towrite and write till he could write no more.
A memory--a thought crept in. Where had she heard his name connected withher father's name? In Ophir Steel? Certainly; and was it not this youngman's father who had laid the foundation for her father's fortune? Shehad heard some such thing, somewhere.
He said: "I had no idea of boring anybody--you least of all--with mywoes. Indeed, I haven't any sorrows now, because to-day I received myfirst encouragement; and no doubt I'll be a huge success. Only--I thoughtit best to make it clear why it would do me considerable damage just nowif you should write."
"Tell me," she said tremulously, "is there anything--anything I can doto--to balance the deep debt of gratitude I owe you----"
"What debt?" he asked, astonished. "Oh! that? Why, that is no debt--except that I was happy--perfectly and serenely happy to have had thatchance to--to hear your voice----"
"You were brave," she said hastily. "You may make as light of it as youplease, but I know."
"So do I," he laughed, enchanted with the rising color in her cheeks.
"No, you don't; you don't know how I felt--how afraid I was to show howdeeply--deeply I felt. I felt it so deeply that I did not even tell mysisters," she added naively.
"Your sisters?"
"Yes; you know them." And as he remained silent she said: "Do you notknow who I am? Do you not even know my name?"
He shook his head, laughing.
"I'd have given all I had to know; but, of course, I could not ask theservants!"
Surprise, disappointment, hurt pride that he had had no desire to knowgave quick place to a comprehension that set a little thrill tingling herfrom head to foot. His restraint was the nicest homage ever rendered her;she saw that instantly; and the straight look she gave him out of herclear eyes took his breath away for a second.
"Do you remember Sacharissa?" she asked.
"I do--certainly! I always thought----"
"What?" she said, smiling.
He muttered something about eyes and white skin and a trick of the heavylids.
She was perfectly at ease now; she leaned back in her chair, studying himcalmly.
"Suppose," she said, "people could see me here now."
"It would end your artistic career," he replied, laughing; "and fancy! Itook you for the sort that painted for a bare existence!"
"And I--I took you for----"
"Something very different than what I am."
"In one way--not in others."
"Oh! I look the mountebank?"
"I shall not explain what I mean," she said with heightened color, androse from her chair. "As there are no more green mice to peep out at mefrom behind my easel," she added, "I can have no excuse from abandoningart any longer. Can I?"
The trailing sweetness of the inquiry was scarcely a challenge, yet hedared take it up.
"You asked me," he said, "whether you could do anything for me."
"Can I?" she exclaimed.
"Yes."
"I will--I am glad--tell me what to do?"
"Why, it's only this. I've got to go before an audience of two hundredpeople and do things. I've had practice here by myself, but--but if youdon't mind I should like to try it before somebody--you. Do you mind?"
She stood there, slim, blue-eyed, reflecting; then innocently: "If I'vecompromised myself the damage was done long ago, wasn't it? They're goingto take away my studio anyhow, so I might as well have as much pleasureas I can."
And she sat down, gracefully, linking her white fingers over her knees.