The Honorable Peter Stirling and What People Thought of Him

  CHAPTER LVII

  HAPPINESS

  The evening on which Peter had left Grey-Court, Leonore had been moved"for sundry reasons" to go to her piano and sing an English balladentitled "Happiness." She had sung it several times, and with gusto.

  The next morning she read the political part of the papers. "I don't seeanything to have taken him back," she said "but I am really glad, for hewas getting hard to manage. I couldn't send him away, but now I hopehe'll stay there." Then Leonore fluttered all day, in the true Newportstyle, with no apparent thought of her "friend."

  But something at a dinner that evening interested her.

  "I'm ashamed," said the hostess, "of my shortage of men. Marlow wassummoned back to New York last night, by business, quite unexpectedly,and Mr. Dupont telegraphed me this afternoon that he was detainedthere."

  "It's curious," said Dorothy. "Mr. Rivington and my brother came onTuesday expecting to stay for a week, but they had special deliveryletters yesterday, and both started for New York. They would not tell mewhat it was."

  "Mr. Stirling received a special delivery, too," said Leonore, "andstarted at once. And he wouldn't tell."

  "How extraordinary!" said the hostess. "There must be something verygood at the roof-gardens."

  "It has something to do with headwears," said Leonore, not hiding herlight under a bushel.

  "Headwear?" said a man.

  "Yes," said Leonore. "I only had a glimpse of the heading, but I saw'Headwears N.G.S.N.Y.'"

  A sudden silence fell, no one laughing at the mistake.

  "What's the matter?" asked Leonore.

  "We are wondering what will happen," said the host, "if men go in forheadwear too."

  "They do that already," said a man, "but unlike women, they do it on theinside, not the outside of the head."

  But nobody laughed, and the dinner seemed to drag from that moment.

  Leonore and Dorothy had come together, and as soon as they were in theircarriage, Leonore said, "What a dull dinner it was?"

  "Oh, Leonore," cried Dorothy, "don't talk about dinners. I've kept uptill now, bu--" and Dorothy's sentence melted into a sob.

  "Is it home, Mrs. Rivington?" asked the tiger, sublimely unconscious, asa good servant should be, of this dialogue, and of his mistress's tears.

  "No, Portman, the Club," sobbed Dorothy.

  "Dorothy," begged Leonore, "what is it?"

  "Don't you understand?" sobbed Dorothy. "All this fearful anarchisttalk and discontent? And my poor, poor darling! Oh, don't talk to me."Dorothy became inarticulate once more.

  "How foolish married women are!" thought Leonore, even while putting herarm around Dorothy, and trying blindly to comfort her.

  "Is it a message, Mrs. Rivington?" asked the man, opening thecarriage-door.

  "Ask for Mr. Melton, or Mr. Duer, and say Mrs. Rivington wishes to seeone of them." Dorothy dried her eyes, and braced up. Before Leonore hadtime to demand an explanation, Peter's gentlemanly scoundrel was at thedoor.

  "What is it, Mrs. Rivington?" he asked.

  "Mr. Duer, is there any bad news from New York?"

  "Yes. A great strike on the Central is on, and the troops have beencalled in to keep order."

  "Is that all the news?" asked Dorothy.

  "Yes."

  "Thank you," said Dorothy. "Home, Portman."

  The two women were absolutely silent during the drive. But they kissedeach other in parting, not with the peck which women so often give eachother, but with a true kiss. And when Leonore, in crossing the porch,encountered the mastiff which Peter had given her, she stopped andkissed him too, very tenderly. What is more, she brought him inside,which was against the rules, and put him down before the fire. Then shetold the footman to bring her the evening-papers, and sitting down onthe rug by Betise, proceeded to search them, not now for the politicaloutlook, but for the labor troubles. Leonore suddenly awoke to the factthat there were such things as commercial depressions and unemployed.She read it all with the utmost care. She read the outpourings of theAnarchists, in a combination of indignation, amazement and fear, "Inever dreamed there could be such fearful wretches!" she said. There wasone man--a fellow named Podds--whom the paper reported as shrieking inUnion Square to a select audience:

  "Rise! Wipe from the face of the earth the money power! Kill! Kill! Only by blood atonement can we lead the way to better things. To a universal brotherhood of love. Down with rich men! Down with their paid hirelings, the troops! Blow them in pieces!"

  "Oh!" cried Leonore shuddering. "It's fearful. I wish some one wouldblow you in pieces!" Thereby was she proving herself not unlike Podds.All humanity have something of the Anarchist in them. Then Leonoreturned to the mastiff and told him some things. Of how bad the strikerswere, and how terrible were the Anarchists. "Yes, dear," she said, "Iwish we had them here, and then you could treat them as they deserve,wouldn't you, Betise? I'm so glad he has my luck-piece!"

  A moment later her father and another man came into the hall from thestreet, compelling Leonore to assume a more proper attitude.

  "Hello, Dot!" said Watts. "Still up? Vaughan and I are going to have agame of billiards. Won't you score for us?"

  "Yes," said Leonore.

  "Bad news from New York, isn't it?" said Vaughan, nonchalantly, as hestood back after his first play.

  Leonore saw her father make a grimace at Vaughan, which Vaughan did notsee. She said, "What?"

  "I missed," said Watts. "Your turn, Will."

  "Tell me the news before you shoot?" said Leonore.

  "The collision of the strikers and the troops."

  "Was any one hurt?" asked Leonore, calmly scoring two to her father'scredit.

  "Yes. Eleven soldiers and twenty-two strikers."

  "What regiment was it?" asked Leonore.

  "Colonel Stirling's," said Vaughan, making a brilliant _masse_."Fortunately it's a Mick regiment, so we needn't worry over who waskilled."

  Leonore thought to herself: "You are as bad every bit as Podds!" Aloudshe said, "Did it say who were killed?"

  "No. The dispatch only said fourteen dead."

  "That was a beautiful shot," said Leonore. "You ought to run the gameout with that position. I think, papa, that I'll go to bed. I find I'm alittle tired. Good-night, Mr. Vaughan." Leonore went upstairs, slowly,deep in thought. She did not ring for her maid. On the contrary she laydown on her bed in her dinner-gown, to its everlasting detriment. "Iknow he isn't hurt," she said, "because I should feel it. But I wish thetelegram had said." She hardly believed herself, apparently, for sheburied her head in the pillow, and began to sob quietly. "If I only hadsaid good-bye," she moaned.

  Early the next morning Watts found Leonore in the hall.

  "How pale my Dot is!" he exclaimed.

  "I didn't sleep well," said Leonore.

  "Aren't you going to ride with me?"

  "No. I don't feel like it this morning," said Leonore.

  As Watts left the hall, a servant entered it.

  "I had to wait, Miss D'Alloi," he said. "No papers are for sale tilleight o'clock."

  Leonore took the newspaper silently and went to the library. Then sheopened it and looked at the first column. She read it hurriedly.

  "I knew he wasn't hurt," she said, "because I would have felt it, andbecause he had my luck piece." Then she stepped out of one of thewindows, called Betise to her, and putting her arms about his neck,kissed him.

  When the New York papers came things were even better, for they recordedthe end of the strike. Leonore even laughed over that big, big D. "Ican't imagine him getting so angry," she said "He must have a temper,after all." She sang a little, as she fixed the flowers in the vases,and one of the songs was "Happiness." Nor did she snub a man who hintedat afternoon tea, as she had a poor unfortunate who suggested tennisearlier in the day.

  While they were sipping their tea, however, Watts came in from the club.

  "Helen," he said, going to the bay window farthest from the tea-table
,"come here I want to say something."

  They whispered for a moment, and then Mrs. D'Alloi came back to her tea.

  "Won't you have a cup, papa?" asked Leonore.

  "'Not to-day, dear," said Watts, with an unusual tenderness in hisvoice.

  Leonore was raising a spoon to her mouth, but suddenly her hand trembleda little. After a glance at her father and mother, she pushed hertea-cup into the centre of the table as if she had finished it, thoughit had just been poured. Then she turned and began to talk and laughwith the caller.

  But the moment the visitor was out of the room, Leonore said:

  "What is it, papa?"

  Watts was standing by the fire. He hesitated. Then he groaned. Then hewent to the door. "Ask your mother," he said, and went out of the room.

  "Mamma?" said Leonore.

  "Don't excite yourself, dear," said her mother. "I'll tell youto-morrow."

  Leonore was on her feet. "No," she said huskily, "tell me now."

  "Wait till we've had dinner."

  "Mamma," cried Leonore, appealingly, "don't you see that--that--that Isuffer more by not knowing it? Tell me."

  "Oh, Leonore," cried her mother, "don't look that way. I'll tell you;but don't look that way!"

  "What?"

  Mrs. D'Alloi put her arms about Leonore. "The Anarchists have exploded abomb."

  "Yes?" said Leonore.

  "And it killed a great many of the soldiers."

  "Not--?"

  "Yes."

  "Thank you, mamma," said Leonore. She unclasped her mother's arms, andwent towards the door.

  "Leonore," cried her mother, "stay here with me, dear."

  "I'd rather be alone," said Leonore, quietly. She went upstairs to herroom and sank down by an ottoman which stood in the middle of the floor.She sat silent and motionless, for over an hour, looking straight beforeher at nothing, as Peter had so often done. Is it harder to lose out oflife the man or woman whom one loves, or to see him or her happy in thelove of another. Is the hopelessness of the impossible less or greaterthan the hopelessness of the unattainable?

  Finally Leonore rose, and touched her bell. When her maid came she said,"Get me my travelling dress." Ten minutes later she came into thelibrary, saying to Watts.

  "Papa, I want you to take me to New York, by the first train."

  "Are you crazy, my darling?" cried Watts. "With riots and Anarchists allover the city."

  "I must go to New York," said Leonore. "If you won't take me, I'll gowith madame."

  "Not for a moment--" began Watts.

  "Papa," cried Leonore, "don't you see it's killing me? I can't bearit--" and Leonore stopped.

  "Yes, Watts, we must," said Mrs. D'Alloi.

  Two hours later they were all three rolling towards New York. It was afive hours' ride, but Leonore sat the whole distance without speaking,or showing any consciousness of her surroundings. For every turn ofthose wheels seemed to fall into a rhythmic repetition of: "If I hadonly said 'good-bye.'"

  The train was late in arriving, and Watts tried to induce Leonore to goto a hotel for the night. She only said "No. Take me to him," but it wasin a voice which Watts could not disregard. So after a few questions atthe terminal, which produced no satisfactory information, Watts told thecabman to drive to the City Hall Park.

  They did not reach it, however, for at the corner of Centre Street andChambers, there came a cry of "halt," and the cab had to stop.

  "You can't pass this line," said the sentry. "You must go round byBroadway."

  "Why?" asked Watts.

  "The street is impassable."

  Watts got out, and held a whispered dialogue with the sentry. Thisresulted in the summoning of the officer of the watch. In the mean timeLeonore descended and joined them. Watts turned and said to her: "Thesentry says he's here."

  Presently an officer came up.

  "An' what do the likes av yez want at this time av night?" he inquiredcrossly. "Go away wid yez."

  "Oh, Captain Moriarty," said Leonore, "won't you let me see him? I'mMiss D'Alloi."

  "Shure," said Dennis, "yez oughtn't to be afther disturbin' him. It'stwo nights he's had no sleep."

  Leonore suddenly put her hand on Dennis's arm. "He's not killed?" shewhispered, as if she could not breathe, and the figure swayed a little.

  "Divil a bit! They got it wrong entirely. It was that dirty spalpeen ava Podds."

  "Are you sure?" said Leonore, pleadingly. "You are not deceiving me?"

  "Begobs," said Dennis, "do yez think Oi could stand here wid a dry eyeif he was dead?"

  Leonore put her head on Dennis's shoulder, and began to sob softly. Fora moment Dennis looked aghast at the results of his speech, but suddenlyhis face changed. "Shure," he whispered, "we all love him just likethat, an that's why the Blessed Virgin saved him for us."

  Then Leonore, with tears in her eyes, said, "I felt it," in the mostjoyful of voices. A voice that had a whole _Te Deum_ in it.

  "Won't you let me see him?" she begged. "I won't wake him, I promiseyou."

  "That yez shall," said Dennis. "Will yez take my arm?" The four passedwithin the lines. "Step careful," he continued. "There's pavin' stones,and rails, and plate-glass everywheres. It looks like there'd been aprimary itself."

  All thought that was the best of jokes and laughed. They passed round agreat chasm in the street and sidewalk. Then they came to long rows ofbodies stretched on the grass, or rather what was left of the grass, inthe Park. Leonore shuddered. "Are they all dead?" she whispered. "Dead!Shurely not. It's the regiment sleepin'," she was told. They passedbetween these rows for a little distance. "This is him," said Dennis,"sleepin' like a babby." Dennis turned his back and began to describethe explosion to Mrs. D'Alloi and Watts.

  There, half covered with a blanket, wrapped in a regulation great coat,his head pillowed on a roll of newspapers, lay Peter. Leonore knelt downon the ground beside him, regardless of the proprieties or the damp. Shelistened to hear if he was breathing, and when she found that heactually was, her face had on it a little thanksgiving proclamation ofits own. Then with the prettiest of motherly manners, she softly pulledthe blanket up and tucked it in about his arms. Then she looked to seeif there was not something else to do. But there was nothing. So shemade more. "The poor dear oughtn't to sleep without something on hishead. He'll take cold." She took her handkerchief and tried to fix it sothat it should protect Peter's head. She tried four different ways, anyone of which would have served; but each time she thought of a betterway, and had to try once more. She probably would have thought of afifth, if Peter had not suddenly opened his eyes.

  "Oh!" said Leonore, "what a shame? I've waked you up. And just as I hadfixed it right."

  Peter studied the situation calmly, without moving a muscle. He lookedat the kneeling figure for some time. Then he looked up at the arc lighta little distance away. Then he looked at the City Hall clock. Then hiseyes came back to Leonore. "Peter," he said finally, "this is getting tobe a monomania. You must stop it."

  "What?" said Leonore, laughing at his manner as if it was intended as ajoke.

  Peter put out his hand and touched Leonore's dress. Then he rose quicklyto his feet. "What is the matter?" he asked.

  "Hello," cried Watts. "Have you come to? Well. Here we are, you see. Allthe way from Newport to see you in fragments, only to be disappointed.Shake!"

  Peter said nothing for a moment. But after he had shaken hands, he said,"It's very good of you to have thought of me."

  "Oh," explained Leonore promptly, "I'm always anxious about my friends.Mamma will tell you I am."

  Peter turned to Leonore, who had retired behind her mother. "Suchfriends are worth having," he said, with a strong emphasis on "friends."

  Then Leonore came out from behind her mother. "'How nice he's stupid,"she thought. "He is Peter Simple, after all."

  "Well," said Watts, "'your friends are nearly dying with hunger and wantof sleep, so the best thing we can do, since we needn't hunt for you inscraps, is to go
to the nearest hotel. Where is that?"

  "You'll have to go uptown," said Peter. "Nothing down here is open atthis time."

  "I'm not sleepy," said Leonore, "but I am so hungry!"

  "Serves you right for eating no din--" Watts started to say, but Leonoreinterjected, in an unusually loud voice. "Can't you get us something?"

  "Nothing; that will do for you, I'm afraid," said Peter. "I had Dennettsend up one of his coffee-boilers so that the men should have hot coffeethrough the night, and there's a sausage-roll man close to him who'sdoing a big business. But they'll hardly serve your purpose."

  "The very thing," cried Watts. "What a lark!"

  "I can eat anything," said Leonore.

  So they went over to the stands. Peter's blanket was spread on thesidewalk, and three Newport swells, and the Democratic nominee forgovernor sat upon it, with their feet in the gutter, and drank half-beancoffee and ate hot sausage rolls, made all the hotter by the undueamount of mustard which the cook would put in. What is worse, theyenjoyed it as much as if it was the finest of dinners. Would not societyhave been scandalized had it known of their doings?

  How true it is that happiness is in a mood rather than in a moment. Howeagerly we prepare for and pursue the fickle sprite, only to find ourpreparations and chase giving nothing but dullness, fatigue, and ennui.But then how often without exertion or warning, the sprite is upon us,and tinges the whole atmosphere. So it was at this moment, with two ofthe four. The coffee might have been all beans, and yet it would havebeen better than the best served in Viennese cafes. The rolls might havehad even a more weepy amount of mustard, and yet the burning and thetears would only have been the more of a joke. The sun came up, as theyate, talked and laughed, touching everything about them with gold, butit might have poured torrents, and the two would have been as happy.

  For Leonore was singing to herself: "He isn't dead. He isn't dead."

  And Peter was thinking: "She loves me. She must love me."