CHAPTER XLII
PHIL MAKES AN APPEAL
The youth who stood before her now, however, was not the Phil Barbarahad seen at Mukojima. There was no hint of spruce grooming in hisattire; it was overlaid with the dust and grime of the road. The jaunty,self-satisfied look was ravaged by something cringing, that suggestedsleeplessness and undefined anxiety. Why should he come at such anhour--and to her? The distaste which her first view of him had inspiredreturned with added force as she felt the touch of his hand and heardherself say:
"So this is 'Phil.' I have often heard of you from your brother. Haveyou seen him?"
"No," he said. "I don't want him to know I'm here--yet. I--I came to seeyou." He paused, twisting his cloth cap in his fingers.
He was in a desperate strait. His brother's silence since his visit tothe house in Aoyama (of which Phil had learned from the servant) hadseemed to mean the worst. The place had contained sufficient documentsin evidence as to his mode of living, and the reflection opened gloomyvistas of poverty from which he turned with abject fear and dread. Therewas one alternative, and this, a grisly shadow, had stalked beside himsince an evening when he had dined with Bersonin. It had peopled hissleep with terrifying visions which even Haru and the brandy had beenunable to banish, and his waking hours had been haunted by the expert'syellowish eyes. Between devil and deep sea, he had heard of hisbrother's engagement, and the wild thought of appealing to him throughBarbara had come to him as a forlorn hope. Now, face to face with her,he found the words difficult to say.
"Won't you sit down?" she said, and took a chair opposite him, lookingat him inquiringly.
"I ought to apologize for a rig like this," he went on, glancing at hissorry raiment, "but I came in a friend's motor, and I'm going backto-night. I thought you wouldn't mind, now--now that you are engaged tomarry Austen. You are, aren't you?"
She inclined her head. "Yes," she said slowly, "I have promised to marryhim."
"Then you know him pretty well, and you know that he--that he doesn'taltogether approve of me."
"I have never heard him say that," she interrupted quickly.
"It's true, though," he rejoined bitterly. "He's always been down on me.I'm not staid enough for him. He made his money by grubbing, and hethinks everybody else ought to do the same. It's--it's the matter ofmoney I want to speak to you about."
He paused again. "Yes?" she said.
"Since I left college," he went on, "Austen has always made me anallowance. But I've been out here a year now, and I--well, you know whatthe East is. I've had to live as other young fellows do, and I've spentmore than he gives me. I've--played some, too, and then this spring Igot hit hard at the races. It was just a run of bad luck, when I hadexpected to square myself."
He was eager and voluble now. She seemed to be considering--he wasmaking an impression. He might come out all right after all! Hisvolatile spirits rose.
"You see," he said, "Austen never overlooks anything. He's as likely asnot to cut me off entirely and leave me high and dry. I--I thoughtperhaps you would--you might get him to do the decent thing and help meout of the hole. If I once got straight I'd stay so, but I want a fairallowance. It isn't as if he had to work for what I spend. He ought togive it to me. I can't go on as I am; I'm in debt--in deep. I can't takeup my _chits_ at the club. I'm living in Tokyo now--in a Japanese housein Aoyama that a friend has loaned me--because I haven't the face toshow myself in Yokohama!"
He twirled his cap and looked up at her. "That reminds me," he said,with a sudden recollection. "Austen was there the other day when I wasaway, and afterward I found something of yours which he must havedropped. Here it is. It has your name on it." He handed her a smalllocket with a broken chain.
She took it with an exclamation. She was staring at him strangely. "Thishouse you speak of--whose is it?"
"It belongs to Mr. Daunt."
"You mean--you say--that you have been living in it?"
"Yes. Why?"
She had risen slowly to her feet, her face hotly suffused. "Then--thenHaru--" She spoke in a dry whisper.
He started, looking at her with quick, resentful suspicion. "What do youknow about Haru?"
"Never mind! Never mind that! I want to know. Haru--she is--Mr. Dauntwas not--"
"He never saw her in his life so far as I know," he answered sulkily."What has that to do with it?"
For an instant she looked at him without a word, her fingers working.Then she began to laugh, in a low tone, wildly, chokingly. "Of course!Of course! What has that to do with it? What you want is more money,isn't it! That is all you came to tell me!"
He, too, was on his feet now, uncertain and mistrustful. Was she makinggame of him? He saw Barbara's gaze go past him--to fasten on somethingin the background. He turned. In the doorway with its maple-leafportiere stood Austen Ware.
Barbara's laugh had fallen in a shuddering breath that was like a sob."Here is your brother now," she said. "Austen, Phil and I have beengetting acquainted. And what do you think? He has found my lost locket."She held it up toward him.
He had come toward them. In the dim light his face looked very white,and his eyes glittered like quicksilver. He held out his hand.
"Why, Phil!" he exclaimed. "This is a great surprise. When did youarrive, and are you at this hotel?"
Phil had stood shamefaced. At the tone, however, which seemed an earnestof renewed favor, he flushed with relief. "I've just come," heanswered--"in a friend's motor, and I must go back at once. But I'llcome up again by train to-morrow, if you'd like me to."
"Very well," was Ware's reply. "We'll wait till then for our talk. I'llcome and see you off." Neither of the others caught the tense repressionin the tone or realized that his smile was forced and unnatural, as headded: "We must put a ban on late hours, Barbara, if you are to climbNantai-Zan to-morrow."
She went to the door, her thoughts in a tumult, a wild exhilarationpossessing her. She wanted to laugh and to cry. The black, cold mistthat had enveloped her had broken, and the warm sunlight was lookingagain into her heart.
"Good night, Phil," she said. "Thank you so much for--for bringing methe locket. You can't guess how much it meant to me!"
As the silk drapery fell behind her, the self-control dropped fromAusten Ware's face, and a hell of hatred sprang into it. Chance hadgiven Phil the one card that spelled disaster, and chance had promptedhim to play it. In Barbara's mind Daunt stood absolved! He saw thecastle he had been building tottering to its fall. He turned on hisbrother a countenance convulsed with a fury of passion from which Philshrank startled.
"Come," he said in a muffled voice. "We can't talk here." He led the waythrough the hall and across the foot-bridge to the hillside, gloomy now,for the incandescents in the trees had been extinguished.
Phil followed, his face gone white. A rack stood at the outer door, andhis fingers, slipping along it as he passed, closed on a riding-crop.
On the shrubberied slope Ware turned. One twitching hand dropped on hisbrother's shoulder; the other pointed down the path.
"Go, damn you!" he said, "and never show your face to me again! Not onecent shall you have from me! Now nor hereafter--I have taken care ofthat!"
Phil lifted the crop and struck him across the head--two savage, heavyblows. Ware staggered and fell backward down the steep declivity, hisweight crashing through the bushes with a dull, sickening sound.
There was a silence in which Phil did not breathe. The stars seemedsuddenly very bright. From an open window came a woman's shrill,careless laugh, threading the hushed roar of the water below. Thelighted _shoji_ across the river seemed to be drifting nearer. He couldsee the glow of a forge in a native smithy, like an angry, red-liddedeye. The crop fell from his grasp. He leaned over, staring into thedark.
"Austen!" he whispered hoarsely. "Austen!"
There was no response. As he gazed fearfully into the shadow, the risingmoon, peeping through a bank of cloud, deluged the landscap
e with amisty gossamer. The light fell on the phonograph. Phil recoiled, for itslong metal trumpet seemed a rigid arm stretched to seize him. With a lowcry he turned and fled.
He skirted the hill to the hotel stables, where Bersonin's hugemotor-car stood silent. The Japanese chauffeur was curled up in thetonneau, fast asleep.
Five minutes later Barbara heard the throb of the great mechanismspeeding down the shadowy cryptomeria road.