'Sir,' said this one, as I floated by.
I gave him another bleak look. His conversation was the last thing I desired. I wanted to brood. 'Might I have a word with you, sir?' I went on floating by.
'I have had an idea, sir. With reference to the matter we were speaking of over your breakfast-tray.' I continued to pass along.
'This matter of money, sir.'
This checked me. No other word in the language would have done it. I stopped, looked, and listened.
'You mean you've thought of a way by which I can collect a bit of capital?'
'Yes, sir. I fancy I have found the solution to our problem.'
I goggled. He did not look a remarkably intelligent man. And yet, if credence was to be given to his words, he had succeeded where many a fine thinker would have failed.
'You have?'
'Yes, sir.'
'You mean that on reflection you find that you can advance me a trifle?' 'No, sir.'
'Then what do you mean?'
He became a bit conspiratorial. He looked this way, and he looked that. He peeped into the drawing-room and he peered up the stairs.
'It came to me as I was cleaning the silver, sir.'
'What did?'
'This idea, sir. I have often found that my brain is at its nimblest when I am cleaning the silver. It is as though the regular rhythmical motion assisted thought. His lordship frequently used to say —'
'Never mind about his lordship. What's your idea?'
He repeated the Secret Society stuff. 'Are we alone and unobserved?' his manner seemed to say. He lowered his voice to a whisper.
'The tooth, sir!'
I did not follow him.
'What's the truth?'
'Not truth, sir - tooth, sir.'
'Tooth?'
'Yes, sir. What crossed my mind, as I cleaned the silver, was the tooth. It came to me all of a sudden.' I could make nothing of this. His words were the words 130 of a plastered butler. But surely no butler could be plastered at so early an hour as this. Even Eggy hardly ever was. 'Whose tooth?*
'Yours, sir.' A look of anxiety came into his face. 'You have the tooth, sir?' I continued to grope. 'I had a tooth out yesterday.'
'Yes, sir. That's the one I mean. Did the dentist give it to you, sir?'
'How do you mean, give it to me? He took it from me.'
'Yes, sir, but when I was a small lad and had a tooth extracted the dentist would always give it to me to keep among my knick-knacks. And I was hoping —'
I shook my head.
'No. Nothing of that sort oc —' I paused. A sudden recollection had come to me. 'Yes, he did, by Jove. I've got it here in a cardboard box.'
I felt in my pocket, and pulled the thing out. The butler uttered an ecstatic 'Ha 1'
'Then all is well, sir,' he said in a relieved voice, like a butler who has had a weight taken off his mind.
I still didn't get it.
'Why?'
He became the Black Hander once more. He looked this way and he looked that. He peeped hither and peered thither. Then he lowered his voice to such a whisper that I couldn't hear a damn word.
'Speak up,' I said sharply.
He stooped and placed his lips to my ear.
'There's gold in that thar tooth!'
'Gold? Filling, do you mean?'
'Money, sir.'
'What!'
'Yes, sir. That was what suddenly came to me as I was cleaning the silver. One moment, my mind was a blank, as you might say. The next, I'd got it. I was polishing the cup Mr Brinkmeyer won in the Motion Picture Magnates'
Annual Golf Tournament at the time, and it just fell from my hands. "Puncture my vitals!" I said ...' 4Eh?'
' "Puncture my vitals", sir. It was a favourite expression of his lordship's in moments of excitement. "Puncture my vitals!" I said. "The tooth!" '
'Meaning what?'
'Think, sir, think I Reflect what a position you hold in the public esteem, sir. You are the Idol of American Motherhood. And the fans are inordinately desirous of obtaining souvenirs of their favourites, I can assure you. I have known large sums to change hands for one of Mr Fred Astaire's trouser buttons, very large sums indeed. And the human appeal of a trouser button cannot be compared with that of a tooth.'
I quivered. I had got his meaning at last.
'You think this tooth could be sold?'
'Over the counter, sir, over the counter.'
I quivered again. The man was beginning to inflame me.
'Who would buy it?'
'Anybody, sir. Any of the big collectors. But that would take time. My idea would be to approach one of these motion-picture magazines. The Screen Beautiful suggests itself. I should be vastly surprised if they didn't give two thousand dollars for it!'
'What!'
'Yes, sir, and they'd get their money back a dozen times over.' 'They would?'
'Certainly they would, sir. What would happen is, they'd run a competition for their readers. A dollar to enter the contest and the Cooley tooth to go to whoever did whatever it was - like it might be naming the twelve most popular stars in their correct order, or something like that.'
My head was buzzing. I felt as if I had backed an outsider in the Grand National and seen it skip over the last fence three lengths in front of the field.
'Two thousand dollars?'
'More, sir. Five, if you had a good agent.'
'Do you know a good agent?'
'What I would suggest, sir, is that you employed me to handle the deal for you.' 'Would you?'
'I should be proud and happy to do so, sir. For the customary agent's commission.' 'What would that be?' 'Fifty per cent, sir.'
'Fifty? I know an author chap whose agent sells his stuff for ten.'
'Literary productions, yes, sir, but not teeth. Teeth come higher.'
'Fifty's much too much. Dash it, it's my tooth.' 'But you are not in a position to trade.' 'I know, but —'
'You need somebody who knows how to talk terms.' 'Do you know how to talk terms?' He laughed indulgently.
'You would not ask that, sir, if you had ever seen me negotiating for my commission with the local tradesmen.'
I stood musing. The conversation might have reached a deadlock, had he not made a gesture.
'Well, well, sir, we will not haggle. Shall we say twenty?'
This seemed more reasonable.
'Right ho.'
'Though twenty per cent on the transaction will not make me a rich man. However, it shall be as you say. Might I have the box, sir, and perhaps a line in your handwriting, guaranteeing authenticity. These magazine editors have become very suspicious of late, ever since Film Fancies was took in by a Clark Gable undervest which proved to be spurious. I have a fountain-pen, sir. Perhaps you would just write a few words on the box.'
'Something like "Authorized tooth of J. Cooley. None other is genuine"?'
'That would do admirably, sir. Thank you, sir. Thank you, sir. I will take it to the magazine office directly luncheon is concluded. Until then I fear that my official duties will confine me to the premises.'
Some hours later, I was pacing beside the swimming-pool, humming a gay air. Luncheon was over. So were my troubles. The future, once so dark, seemed bathed in a golden glow.
The smooth, efficient way in which this excellent butler had taken charge was enough to show me that I could have placed my affairs in no better hands. He might have been selling teeth on commission all his life. He had rung up the Screen Beautiful, arranged for an interview, settled that the money, when a figure had been arrived at, was to be paid in small bills, and had gone off to the office to close the deal.
I had had a rotten lunch, at which the spinach motif had been almost farcically stressed, but despite the aching void within me I felt a new child. I was all buoyancy and optimism. Even if this butler proved to be less of a spell-binder than I took him to be and only managed to get a couple of thousand, that would be ample for my purpose. And something in his cal
m, purposeful face and quiet, confident manner seemed to tell me that he would extract the top price.
And so, as I say, I hummed a gay air, and would no doubt have continued to hum it for some little time, had not my attention been attracted by an intermittent low whistling which appeared to proceed from a clump of bushes across the lawn. I supposed, at first, that it was merely some local bird doing its stuff, but a few moments later a female voice spoke.
'Hey! Joseph!'
Ann's voice. I went across to see what she wanted.
Chapter 16
THE bushes were so thick that I couldn't see her at first. Then her face came into view and I noted that she, like the recent butler, had gone all conspiratorial. One of her eyes was closed in a significant wink, and attached to her lips was a finger. She was also wiggling her nose warningly, and when she spoke, it was in a croupy whisper.
'S'h!' she said.
'Eh?’
'Secrecy and silence!' 'How do you mean?' 'Where's Miss Brinkmeyer?' 'I don't know. Why?'
'There is dark work afoot, young Joseph. Speak low, for the very walls have ears. I've got a pork pie for you.' 'What!'
I don't know when I've been so profoundly moved. At that moment, my devotion to April June very nearly transferred itself to this girl before me. It was as if I were getting on to her hidden depths for the first time. I spoke in a trembling voice.
'You've got it on you?'
'It's in the house.'
'What size pork pie?'
'A big one.'
'Gosh!'
'Not so loud. Are you sure Miss Brinkmeyer's nowhere around?'
'I haven't seen her.'
'I'll bet she pops up... There!'
From the direction of the house there had come a rasping voice, and, turning, I perceived the neighbourhood curse hanging out of an upstairs window. She was regarding me in a nosey and offensive manner.
'What are you doing there?' she asked, plainly of the opinion that whatever it might be it was something I ought not to be doing. Even at this distance one sensed the lack of trust and simple faith.
It was a moment for swift and constructive thought.
'I am watching a beetle,' I said.
'A what?'
'There is a beetle here. I am watching it.' 'You are not bringing beetles into the house.' I raised my eyebrows. Wasted on her at that range, of course.
'It is not my intention to bring it into the house. I am merely observing its habits.'
'Oh? Well, don't get yourself all mussed up.'
She disappeared, and Ann bobbed up once more like a wood-nymph.
'You see. Your every movement is watched. Conveying pork pies to you, young Joseph, is like carrying despatches through the enemy's lines. I was going to tell you to slip in here and await my return, but it isn't safe. I forgot she could see us from her bedroom window. I'll tell you what. Stroll casually along and nip into the bathing-hut. I'll join you there.'
It was, as may be supposed, with no little chagrin that I walked off. Every minute that separated me from that pie was like an hour. I made for the bathing-hut, chafing.
There was a gardener inside, cleaning it out with a mop.
'Good afternoon, sir,' he said.
The purity of his enunciation surprised me a bit, for he looked Japanese and I should have expected something that sounded more like a buffalo pulling its foot out of a swamp. However, I was not at leisure to go into this, for I wanted to get him out of here with the greatest possible despatch.
'Are you going to be long?' I said.
'You wish to sit in this hut, sir?'
'Yes.'
'I have just finished. There, I think that will do.'
He did a couple of dabs with his mop and came out. As he passed me, I saw that he had a squint and a wart on his nose, and I divined that this must be the man of whom Joey Cooley had spoken. I felt very much inclined to take up the matter of horned toads with him. The window from which Miss Brinkmeyer had spoken was next but one to my bedroom, numbering off from the right, so that I now knew where to go in order to deposit horned toads where they would do most good. And after the way she had butted in just now, upsetting my schemes, she needed a sharp lesson.
However, I resisted the urge, and went into the hut. And presently Ann appeared.
I sprang to my feet eagerly, but my dreams were not yet to come true. All she was carrying was what Miss Brinkmeyer would have called a nosegay of roses. I stared at it dully.
'I'm sorry,' said Ann, noting my perturbation and reading its cause aright. 'You'll have to wait a little longer. I was just coming out of the hall, when Miss Brinkmeyer came downstairs. I had to cache the stuff hurriedly in an Oriental vase. I'll get it as soon as the coast's clear, so don't look so shattered.'
I tried not to look shattered, but the disappointment had been severe and it was difficult to wear the mask.
'And, anyway, here's something that will make you laugh,' said Ann. 'You see these roses. Who do you think sent them?'
I shrugged my shoulders moodily. It did not seem to me to matter who had sent them. Roses as a substitute for pork pie left me very tepid.
'Who?'
'April June.'
My lethargy slipped from me like a garment. 'What!'
'Yes. I thought that would hand you a giggle.'
It hadn't handed me a giggle at all. She had got the wrong angle entirely. I was profoundly touched. The thought of April June finding time in the midst of her busy life to send flowers to a sick—or tolerably sick—child made me glow all over. It even made me forget the hunger that gnawed me.
There seemed to me something so beautifully characteristic about the kindly act. That gentle heart, I felt, had functioned so absolutely in accordance with the form book. All the old devotion came sweeping back over me.
'Yes, she has sent you roses. Conscience, I suppose.'
'Conscience?' I said coldly, for she had spoken in a nasty dry way which I didn't at all like. I found myself eyeing her askance. The warmth of emotion which her offer of a pork pie had aroused in me was fading. I began to feel that I had been wrong about her hidden depths. A shallow girl, I now considered. 'Conscience?' I said. 'What do you mean?'
'I suppose she felt she owed you something, after horning in on your big scene like that and trying to steal your publicity the way she did. I'm sure I don't know what the girl needs a press agent for. There isn't one in the business who can teach her anything about sneaking the spotlight.'
'I don't understand you.'
She laughed.
'Hasn't anyone told you about that? Yesterday, when you were under the gas, the door suddenly burst open and April June rushed in. "Where is my little pal?" she cried, clasping her hands and acting all over the lot. "I want my little pal" - directing, as she spoke, a meaning glance at the newspaper boys, who snapped her in six positions -including bending over you and kissing your unconscious brow. Somebody then led her gently away, shaking with sobs. Oh, horse-feathers!'
I gave her another cold look. The expression which she had used was new to me, but one could gather its trend. Her ribald and offensive tone jarred upon me indescribably.
'I consider her behaviour little short of angelic,' I said.
'What!'
'Certainly. There is no other word for it. How many girls in her position would have bothered to take time off in order to come and kiss brows?'
She stared.
'Are you trying to kid me?' 'I am not.'
'You mean you really don't think April June is a pill?'
The first time I had heard this monstrous word applied to the woman I loved - by Joey Cooley over the National Geographic Magazine - I had, it will be remembered, choked down my indignation and extended the olive branch. But now I was in no mood to overlook the slur.
'That is quite enough,' I said. 'Either cease to speak derogatorily of that divine woman, or leave my presence.'
She was plainly piqued. A sudden flush mantled her cheek. I could see t
hat she burned, not with shame and remorse, but with resentment.
'Oh?' she said. 'Well, if that's the way you feel about it... all right, then. Good-bye.'
'Good-bye.'
'And not a bit of that pork pie do you get. No, sir, not a sniff of it.'
I confess that I wavered. The thrust was a keen one. But I was strong. I waved a hand nonchalantly - or as nonchalantly as I could.'
'That is entirely your affair,' I said in a reserved manner.
She paused at the door. Her bearing betrayed irresolution. Her better self, it appeared, was not wholly dead. 'You'd like that pie.' I vouchsafed no answer.
'And you know you think her a pill. You've told me so yourself.'
'I would prefer not to discuss the matter.' 'Oh, very well.'
She was gone. I sat there, brooding.
My thoughts were very bitter. Now that I was at leisure to devote myself to concentrating on it exclusively once more, I realized all that that pork pie had meant to me. My whole policy was wrapped up in it. And the reflection that April June would never know what I had given up for her sake stung like a serpent's tooth.
Presently I rose and wandered out into the sunshine, tightening my belt in the hope of dulling the ache within me. I walked at random, too distrait to care where I was going, until an unwonted softness in the terrain caused me to look down, and I saw that I had strayed off the path on to a border, beyond which was the low wall which encircled the Brinkmeyer estate. And I was about to put myself into reverse, for I had little doubt that one got hell in this establishment for trampling on the flower-beds, when I was arrested by the sight of a head. It shot up over the wall and said 'Yah!' The apparition was so unexpected that I halted in my tracks and stood staring.
It was a red head, whose roundness and outstanding ears gave it a resemblance to one of those antique vases with handles on each side, and it belonged to a tough-looking boy with green eyes and spots on his face. He was eyeing me in a manner unmistakably hostile.
'Yah!' he said.
The lad was a complete stranger to me. But then, so was almost everybody else I met in this new world of mine. To Joey Cooley, I presumed, he would have been well known. From this aspect and tone of voice I deduced that this must be someone whom my predecessor had at one time or another offended by word or act.