CHAPTER III
"PINKEY"
The train upon which Will Smith was expected was not due untiltwelve-thirty, so, since he could not go swimming and still feltrebellious over being forbidden, Wallie went upstairs to put thefinishing touches on a lemonade tray of japanned tin which he hadpainted and intended presenting to Mr. Cone.
The design was his own, and very excellent it seemed to Wallie as hestopped at intervals and held it from him. On a moss-green background ofrolling clouds a most artistic cluster of old-fashioned cabbage roseswas tossed carelessly, with a brown slug on a leaf as a touch ofrealism.
The gods have a way of apportioning their gifts unevenly, for not onlydid Wallie paint but he wrote poetry--free verse mostly; free chiefly inthe sense that his contributions to the smaller magazines were,perforce, gratuitous. Also he sang--if not divinely, at least soacceptably that his services were constantly asked for charity concerts.
In addition to these he had manlier accomplishments, playing good gamesof tennis, golf, and shuffle-board. Besides, Mr. Appel was his onlydangerous opponent on the bowling alley, and he had learned to ride atthe riding academy.
Now, as he worked, he speculated as to whether he had imagined it or"the girl from Wyoming" really had laughed at him. He could not dismissher from his mind and the incident rankled. He told himself that she hadnot been there long enough to appreciate him; she knew nothing of histalents or of his popularity. She would learn that to be singled out byhim for special attention meant something, and he did not considerhimself a conceited man either.
Yet Wallie continued to tingle each time that he thought of the laughterin her eyes--actual derision he feared it was. Then he had an idea, avery clever one it seemed to him. By this time she would have returnedfrom bathing and he would go down and exhibit the cabbage roses. Theywould be praised and she would hear it. It was nearly time for WillSmith to arrive, and he had to stop painting, anyhow.
Bearing the lemonade tray carefully in order not to smudge it, Walliestepped out of the elevator and stood in the wide doorway, agreeablyaware that he was a pleasing figure in his artist's smock and theflowing scarf which he always put on when he painted.
No one noticed him, however, for everyone was discussing the return ofthe "Smith boy," and the five dollars which Mr. Appel, the railwaymagnate, had unexpectedly contributed to the purse that he was going topresent to him on behalf of the guests.
Miss Spenceley was on the veranda as he had surmised she would be, andWallie debated as to whether he should wait until discovered and urgedto show his roses, or frankly offer his work for criticism.
While he hesitated, the clatter of hoofs and what appeared to be aserious runaway on the side avenue brought everyone up standing. Theswaying vehicle was a laundry wagon, and when it turned in at theentrance to the grounds of The Colonial, the astonished guests saw thatnot only had the horse a driver but a rider!
It was not a runaway. On the contrary, the person on the horse's backwas using his heels and his hat at every jump to get more speed out ofthe amazed animal.
The wagon stopped in front of the hotel with the driver grinninguncertainly, while a soldierly figure sprang over the wheel to wring thehand of Smith, the gardener. Another on the horse's back replaced hisservice cap at an extraordinary angle and waited nonchalantly for thegreetings to be over.
Before he went to the army "Willie" Smith had been a bashful boy whoblushed when the guests spoke to him, but he faced them now with theassurance of a vaudeville entertainer as he introduced his "buddy":
"Pinkey Fripp, of Wyoming--a hero, ladies and gentlemen! The grittiestlittle soldier in the A.E.F., with a medal to prove it!"
Followed an account of the deed of reckless courage for which Pinkey hadbeen decorated, and the Smith boy told it so well that everyone's eyeshad tears in them. Mrs. Appel, fumbling for her handkerchief, droppedher ball of yarn over the railing, where the cat wound it among the rosebushes so effectively that to disentangle it were an endless task.
The subject of the eulogy stared back unabashed at the guests, whostared at him in admiration and curiosity. Unflattered, unmoved, hesagged to one side of the bare-backed horse with the easy grace of oneaccustomed to the saddle. No one just like him ever had come under theobservation of the august patrons of The Colonial.
Pinkey Fripp was about five feet four and square as a bulldog."Hard-boiled" is a word which might have been coined specially todescribe him. The cropped hair on his round head was sandy, his skin asun-blistered red, and his lips had deep cracks in them. His nose didnot add to his beauty any more than the knife-scar around his neck,which looked as if someone had barely failed in an attempt to cut offhis head.
The feature that saved the young fellow's face from a look ofunmitigated "toughness" was his pale gray eyes, whose steady, fearlesslook seemed to contend with a whimsical gleam of humour.
Pinkey listened, with the disciplined patience of the army, to therecital of the exploit that had won the War Cross for him, but there wasa peculiar glint in his light eyes. As Smith drew to a conclusion,Pinkey slowly lifted his leg, stiffened by a machine-gun bullet, overthe horse's neck and sat sideways.
The applause was so vociferous, so spontaneous and hearty, that nothingapproaching it ever had been heard at The Colonial. But it stopped assuddenly, for in the middle of it Pinkey gathered himself and sprangthrough the air like a flying-squirrel, to bowl the Smith boy over. "Yousaid you wouldn't tell about that 'Craw de gare,' ner call me a hero,an' you've gone and done it!" he said, accusingly, as he sat astride ofhim. "I got feelin's jest like grown-up folks, and I don't like to belaughed at. Sorry, Big Boy, but you got this comin'!" Thereupon, with agrin, Pinkey banged his host's head on the gravel.
The two were surrounded when this astonishing incident was over and itwas found that not only was the Smith boy not injured but seemed to beused to it and bore no malice. The guests shook hands with the boys andcongratulated them; they examined the War Cross that Pinkey producedreluctantly from the bottom of the flour-sack in which he carried hisclothing, and finally Mr. Appel presented the purse in a speech to whichnobody listened--and the Smith boy shocked everybody by his extravagancewhen he gave five of it to the driver of the laundry wagon.
"I was shore pinin' to step in the middle of a horse," was Pinkey'sexplanation of their eccentric arrival. "It kinda rests me."
While all this was happening Wallie stood holding his lemonade tray.When he could get close, he welcomed the Smith boy and was introduced toPinkey, and stood around long enough to learn that the latter and HeleneSpenceley knew each other.
Nobody, however, was interested in seeing his roses. Even Miss MattieGaskett, who always clung like a burr to woollen clothing with theleast encouragement, said carelessly when he showed her the lemonadetray:
"As good as your best, Wallie," and edged over to hear what Pinkey wassaying.
There was nothing to do but withdraw unobtrusively, though Wallierealized with chagrin that he could have gone upstairs on his hands andknees without attracting the least attention. For the first time heregretted deeply that his eyesight had kept him out of the army, for he,too, might have been winning war crosses in the trenches instead ofrolling bandages and knitting socks and sweaters.
Wallie almost hated the lemonade tray as he slammed it on the table, forin his utter disgust with everything and everybody the design seemed tolook more like cabbages than roses.