CHAPTER XVIII
TRAILING DUDLEY THROUGH A TRANCE
The Adamses hadn't been in the neighborhood two weeks before Sadie'sdiscovered Veronica and was ravin' over her. "Isn't she perfectlystunning, Shorty?" she demands.
"Now that you mention it, I expect she is," says I, playin' safe andfoxy. It's a useful phrase to pull in such cases; but here was once whenI must have worked it overtime. Sadie sniffs.
"Pooh!" says she. "Just as though you couldn't see for yourself! Don'tbe absurd, Shorty."
"Gee! but you're hard to suit!" says I. "If I remember right, the lasttime I got enthusiastic over the looks of a young queen you wrinkledyour nose and made remarks about my taste."
"It was that snippy little Marjorie Lowry with the baby face, wasn'tit?" says she. "Oh, very well, if you prefer that kind. Just like aman!"
"Do I have to pick either one?" says I. "I hope not; for, between youand me, Sadie, I'm satisfied as it stands."
"Goose!" says she, snugglin' up forgivin'. "And--would you guessit?--they say she's twenty-six! I wonder why she isn't married?"
"There you go!" says I. "I could see it comin'."
"But she is such an attractive girl," goes on Sadie, "so well poised,graceful, dignified, all that! And she has such exquisite coloring, andsuch charming manners!"
Yep, I guess it was all so. One of these wavin' palm models, Veronicawas,--tall and willowy, with all the classy points of a heroine in athirty-five-cent magazine serial,--dark eyes, dark, wavy hair, goodcolor scheme in her cheeks,--the whole bag of tricks,--and speciallylong on dignity. Say, she had me muffled from the first tap of the bell,and you know how apt I am to try to break that sort of spell with a fewfrivolous cracks. Not when Veronica swings on me with that calm gaze ofhers, though!
For Sadie don't do a thing but call on the Adamses, give a tea forVeronica, and proceed to round up all the Johnnies in sight to meet her.It's her reg'lar campaign, you know.
"Ah, why not let the poor girl alone?" says I. "Maybe she's got one intrainin' somewhere herself. There's no tellin', too, but what she'sstayin' single from choice."
"Humph!" says Sadie. "Only the homely ones are entitled to give thatexcuse, because they have no other; and only a stupid man would believeit in either case. I suppose Miss Adams hasn't married because the rightman hasn't asked her. Sometimes they don't, you know. But it's a perfectshame, and if I can help the right one to find her I'm going to do it."
"Sure you are," says I. "That's the skirt instinct. But, say, while themen still have the vote all to themselves they ought to revise the gamelaws by declarin' a close season on bachelors, say from the fifteenth ofAugust to the fifteenth of December."
"Too bad about the young men, isn't it?" says Sadie. "Anyone would thinkwe set traps for them."
"Show me a trap easier to fall into and harder to get out of," says I,"and I'll make my fortune by puttin' it on the market as a new puzzle.But blaze ahead. I ain't worryin'. I'm on the inside lookin' out,anyway. Wish a hubby on her if you can."
And I must say it ain't any amateur effort Sadie puts over. From far andnear she rounds 'em up on one excuse or another, and manages to have 'emmeet Veronica. She don't take 'em miscellaneous or casual, like shewould for most girls. I notices that she sifts 'em out skillful, andthem that don't come somewhere near the six-foot mark gets the gateearly in the game. You catch the idea? Course, nobody would expectVeronica to fall for any stunted Romeo that would give her a crick inthe back when it come to nestlin' her head on his shoulder.
So with size added to the other elimination tests it must have made hardscratchin' at times. But somehow or other Sadie produces a dozen or morehusky young chaps with good fam'ly connections and the proper financialratin's. Among 'em was a polo player, two ex-varsity fullbacks, and ablond German military aide that she borrowed from a friend in Washingtonfor the occasion. She tries 'em out single and in groups, using Mrs.Purdy-Pell's horseshow box and town house as liberal as railroad waitin'rooms. And, say, when it comes to arrangin' chance tete-a-tetes, andcozy little dinner parties where the guests are placed just right, shedevelops more ingenuity than a lady book agent runnin' down her victims.Talk about shifty work! She makes this fly-and-spider fable soundclumsy.
Course, she had a cinch in one way. All she has to do is exhibitVeronica in some public place, and she has every man in sight twistin'his neck. They dropped for her at the first glimpse. It didn't need anyelaborate scenic effects to cause a stampede, either; for the simplershe gets herself up the more dangerous she is, and in a plain blackvelvet dress, with an old lace collar cut a little low in front, all shelacks is a gold frame and a number to look like a prize portrait at theNational Academy. Say, I ain't got much of an eye that way myself, butthe first time I saw her in that rig I held my breath for two minutes ona stretch, and just gawped.
Another thing that helped was the fact that Veronica could sing,--nocommon parlor warblin', mind you, of such pieces as "The Rosary" or"Land of the Sky Blue Water," but genuine operatic stuff, such as youhear Louise Homer and Schumann-Heink shootin' on the three-dollarrecords. Why not? Hadn't Veronica studied abroad for two years underParcheesi, who'd begged her almost on his knees to do the title role ina new opera he was goin' to try out before the King of Bavaria? Uh-huh!We had that straight from Mrs. Adams, who wa'n't much for boostin' thefam'ly. But no stagework for her!
In private, though, Veronica was good-natured and obligin'; so it was aneasy after-dinner cue for a young gent to lead her to the piano andpersuade her to tear off a few little operatic gems, while he leaned onone elbow and gazed soulful at her. And I expect they didn't have toknow such a lot about grand opera to play the leanin' part, either.
Just how much tumult was caused under dress shirt fronts durin' them fewweeks I couldn't say for certain, but at least four or five of the younggents had bad attacks. The odd thing about it, though, was the suddenway they dropped out. One day they'd be sendin' her flowers, andfollowin' her around to teas and lunches and dances, gazin' longin' ather every chance they got, and displayin' the usual mush symptoms, andthe next they wouldn't show up at all. They'd disappeared.
That's what puzzled Sadie so much at first. She couldn't make out whathad happened,--whether they'd got rash and gone on the rug too soon, orhad been run over by a truck while crossin' the street. Fin'ly she comesacross one of the quitters one afternoon as I'm towin' her downFifth-ave. on her way home from somewhere, and she puts me up to givehim the quiz.
"There, Shorty!" says she, stoppin' sudden. "There's Monty Willetts, whowas so crazy about Veronica. No one has seen him for a week. Couldn'tyou ask if anything serious has happened to him?"
I expect her idea was for me to put him through the third degree sosubtle he wouldn't suspect. Well, leavin' Sadie gazin' into a jew'lrywindow, I overhauls him and does my best.
"Say, Monty," says I, jabbin' him playful in the ribs, "how about youand that Miss Adams? Did you follow her to the frost line, or what?"
"That's an excellent way to put it, McCabe," says he. "And I'm chillyyet from the experience."
"Sporty lad!" says I. "Did you try to hold her hand, or something likethat?"
"What!" he gasps. "Try to hold hands with the stately Miss Adams? Heavenforbid! I'm not absolutely reckless, you know. It was in our firstconfidential chat that I went on the rocks. We'd discussed polo for halfan hour, until I found she knew more about the English team than I did.Why, she'd visited at Hurlingham House during the practice matches. So Ifloundered about, trying to shift the subject, until we hit on antiquevases--deuced if I know why. But my Governor dabbled in such junk a bit,you know, and I suppose I thought, from having heard him talk, that Iwas up on antiques. But, say, hanged if she couldn't name more kindsthan I ever knew existed! Rippled on about Pompeian art, and Satsumaware, and Egyptian tear jugs as readily as Ted Keefe, my stable manager,would about ponies. I tried again and asked if she'd seen many of thenew plays, and the next thing I knew I was bluffing through a dialogueabout Galsworthy and Masef
ield and Sudermann on an experience strictlylimited to musical comedies and Belasco's latest. Whe-e-e-ew! I made myescape after that. Say, isn't it a shame a girl with eyes like hersshould know so blamed much?"
I couldn't help grinnin' at Monty, and when I picks up Sadie again Igives her the diagnosis.
"Case of springin' the highbrow chatter on a sportin' chappy that wearsa fifteen and a half collar and a six and three-quarters hat," says I."He's as thankful as if he'd come through a train wreck with hiscigarette still lighted. You ought to tip Veronica to chop her lines andwork the spell with her eyes."
"Pooh!" says Sadie. "Monty never had a chance, anyway. You can't expecta brilliant girl like Veronica to be satisfied with a husband who's athis best only when he's knocking a goal or leading a hunt, even if he isbig and handsome."
But with this as a clew I figured out how two or three of the othercandidates came to side-step so abrupt. The average Johnny is all rightso long as the debate is confined to gossipy bits about the latest Renorecruits, or who's to be asked to Mrs. Stuyve Fish's next dinner dance;but cut loose on anything serious and you have him grabbin' for thelifeline.
There was two, though, that came through to the finals, as you mightsay. One was this German guy, Baron Duesseldorf; and the other was youngBeverley Duer, whose fad is takin' movin' pictures of wild animals intheir native jungles and givin' private movie shows in the Plazaballroom. Some strong on the wise conversation himself, Beverley is. Hepaints a bit, plays the 'cello pretty fair, has a collection of ivorycarvin's, and has traveled all over the lot. You can't faze him with thesnappy repartee, either; for that's his specialty.
As for the Baron, his long suit was listenin'. He was a bear for it.He'd sit there, big and ornamental, with his light blue eyes glued onVeronica, takin' it all in as fast as she could feed it to him, andlookin' almost intelligent. Course, when he did try a comeback inEnglish he chopped his words up comic; but he could speak four otherlanguages, and Veronica seemed pleased enough to find someone she couldpractice her French and German on.
For awhile there I'd have picked either of the two as a winner; only Icouldn't just make up my mind which would get the decision. But somehowthe affair don't seem to progress the way it should. Each one appearedto get about so far, and then stick. They both seemed anxious enoughtoo; but just as one would take an extra spurt Veronica would somehowcool him down. She didn't seem to be playin' one against the other,either. Looked like careless work to me. Sadie gets almost peeved withher.
Then one night at our house a lot of the mystery was cleared up by somefriendly joshin' across the dinner table. We had all the Adamses therethat evenin',--Pa Adams, a tall, dignified, white-whiskered old sport,who looked like he might have been quite a gay boy in his day; Mother, acheery, twinklin'-eyed, rather chubby old girl; and Veronica, all inwhite satin and dazzlin' to look at. Also Sadie had asked in MissPrescott, an old maid neighbor of ours, who's so rich it hurts, butwho's as plain and simple as they come. She's a fruit preservin'specialist, and every fall her and Sadie gets real chummy over swappin'cannin' receipts.
About five P.M., though, Miss Prescott 'phones over her regrets, sayin'how her nephew had arrived unexpected; so of course she gets the word tobring Dudley Byron along with her. Emerson, his last name is, and whileI hadn't seen much of him lately we'd been more or less friendly when hewas takin' special post-graduate work at some agricultural college andwas around home durin' vacations. An odd, quiet chap, Dudley Byron, whonever figured much anywhere,--one of the kind you can fill in withreckless and depend on not to make a break or get in the way. He's aslim, sharp-faced young gent, with pale hair plastered down tight, anddeep-set gray eyes that sort of wander around aimless.
It might have been kind of dull if it hadn't been for the Adamses; butVeronica and her Pa are lively enough to wake up any crowd. They'regen'rally jollyin' each other about something. This time what started itwas someone remarkin' about a weddin' that was to be pulled off soon,and how the bride was to be the last of five daughters.
"Fortunate parent!" says Pa Adams. "Five! And here I've been unable toget rid of one."
"You didn't begin early enough," comes back Veronica. "Do you know, Mrs.McCabe, when I was nineteen Daddy used to be so afraid I would bestolen away from him that he would almost lie in wait for young men witha shotgun. After I passed twenty-four he began meeting them at the gatewith a box of cigars in one hand and a shaker full of cocktails in theother."
Pa Adams joins in the laugh. "It's quite true," says he. "For the lasttwo or three years Mother and I have been doing our best to marry heroff. We gave up the United States as hopeless, and carted her all overEurope. No use. Even younger sons wouldn't have her. Now we're backagain, trying the dodge of staying longer in one place. But I fail tosee any encouraging signs."
"I'm sure I've tried to do my part too," says Veronica, smilin' gay. "Ireally shouldn't mind being married. My tastes are wholly domestic. But,dear me, one must find somewhere near the right sort of man, you know!And so far----" She ends with a shrug of her white shoulders and apuckerin' of her rosy lips.
"Poor Baron!" sighs Sadie, teasin'.
"I know," says Veronica. "And what a big, handsome creature he is too!But I fear I'm not equal to carrying on a lifelong monologue."
"Surely that wouldn't be the case with Beverley Duer," suggests Sadie.
"Isn't he entertaining!" says Veronica enthusiastic. "But wouldn't it bea bit selfish, appropriating all that brilliance just for oneself? Andcould it be done? I'm afraid not. About once a month, I imagine,Beverley would need a new audience. Besides--well, I'm sure I don'tknow; only I don't seem thrilled in the way I ought to be."
With chat like that bein' batted back and forth, I expect I wa'n'ttakin' much notice of Dudley Byron, who's sittin' quiet between me andAunty; but all of a sudden he leans over and whispers eager:
"Isn't she perfectly splendid, though?"
"Eh?" says I, tearin' myself away from what's still goin' on at theother end of the table. "Oh! Miss Adams? Sure, she's a star."
"I--I would like to know her better," says Dudley, sort of plaintive.
"Crash in, then," says I. "No opposition here."
I thought I was bein' humorous; for Dudley's about as much of a lady'sman as he is a heavy shot putter. I never knew of his lookin' twice at agirl before; but to-night he seems to be makin' up for lost time. Alldurin' the rest of the meal he does the steady, admirin' gaze atVeronica. He don't try to hide it, either, but fixes them gray eyes ofhis her way and neglects to eat five perfectly good courses. When weadjourns to the livin' room for coffee he keeps it up too. Couldn't havebeen much suddener if he'd been struck by lightnin'.
I don't know how many others noticed it, but it was as plain as day tome that Dudley Byron is on the point of makin' a chump of himself. Ibegun to feel kind of sorry for him too; for he's a decent, well meanin'young chap. So I edges around where I can get a word with him on theside.
"Come out of the trance, Dudley," says I.
"I--I beg pardon?" says he, startin' guilty.
"You'll only get your wings singed," says I. "Forget Veronica whilethere's a chance."
"But I don't wish to forget her," says he. "She--she's beautiful."
"Ah, what's the use?" says I. "She's mighty particular too."
"She has every right to be," says Dudley. "What delicious coloring! Whata carriage! She has the bearing of a Queen."
"Maybe," says I. "But wouldn't you rattle around some on a throne? Keepthat in mind, Dudley."
"Yes, yes," says he. "I suppose I must remember how unimpressive I am."
He's an easy forgetter that evenin', though. When Sadie suggests thatMiss Adams favor us, blessed if it ain't Dudley who's right there doin'the music turnin' act. I wonder how many others has struck that samepose, and lost good sleep thinkin' it over afterwards? But never a one,I'll bet, that looked like such a hopeless starter.
He seemed to be enjoyin' it as much as any, though. And afterwards,when the other four set
tles themselves around the card table for theusual three rubbers, blamed if Dudley don't have the nerve to towVeronica into the next room, stretchin' on tiptoe to talk earnest in herear.
I could guess what it was all about. Veronica had a nice way of soundin'people for their pet hobbies, and she must have got Dudley started onhis; for it's the only subject I ever knew him to get real gabby over.And you'd never guess from his looks what it was. Farmin'!
Course he ain't doin' the reg'lar Rube kind,--hay and hogs, hogs andhay. He goes at it scientific,--one of these book farmers, youunderstand. Establishin' model farms is his fad. Dudley told me allabout it once,--intensive cultivation, soil doctorin', harvestin'efficiency, all such dope, with a cost-bearin' side line to fall back onin the winter.
Not that he needs the money, but he says he wants to keep busy and makehimself useful. So his scheme is to buy up farms here and there, takeeach one in turn, put it on a payin' basis by studyin' the best stuff toraise and gettin' wise to the market, and then showin' his neighbors howto turn the trick too. No rollin' out at four A.M. to milk the cows forDudley! He hires a good crew at topnotch wages, and puts in his timeplannin' irrigatin' ditches, experimentin' with fertilizers, doin' theseed testin', and readin' government reports; even has a farmbookkeeper.
Blamed if Dudley don't have the nerve to tow Veronicainto the next room, stretchin' on tiptoe to talk in her ear.]
Then when cold weather comes, instead of turnin' off his help, hesprings his side line,--maybe workin' up the wood lot into shippin'crates, or developin' a stone quarry. Last I heard he was settin' outwillows he'd imported from Holland, and was growin' and makin' fancyveranda furniture. He's rung in a whole town on the deal, and they wasall gettin' a good thing out of it. Establishing community industries,is the way Dudley puts it. Says every jay burg ought to have one of itsown.
Most likely this was what he was so busy explainin' to Veronica. He's agood talker when he gets started too, and for such a quiet appearin'chap he can liven up a lot. Must have been goin' into the details deepwith her; for they don't come back--and they don't come back. I'd readthe evenin' papers, and poked up the log fire half a dozen times, andstood around watchin' the bridge game until I nearly yawned my head off;but they're still missin'.
I'd just strolled around into the front hall, kind of scoutin' to see ifhe'd talked her to sleep, or whether she'd come back at him with somebrainy fad of her own and was givin' him the chilly spine, when outthrough the door dashes Dudley Byron, runnin' his fingers through hishair desperate and glarin' around wild.
"Aha!" says I. "So you got it too, did you?"
"McCabe," says he, hoarse and husky, "I--I've done a dreadful thing!"
"Why, Dudley!" says I. "I can't believe it."
"But I have," says he, clawin' me on the shoulder. "Oh, I--I'vedisgraced myself!"
"How?" says I. "Called some German composer out of his right name, orwhat?"
"No, no!" says he. "I--I can't tell you."
"Eh?" says I, starin' puzzled. "Well, you'd better."
"True, I'm your guest," says he. "But--but I forgot myself."
"Ah, cheer up," says I. "Veronica's a good sport. She wouldn't mind ifyou let slip a cussword."
"Oh, you don't understand," says Dudley, wringin' his hands. "Really, Ihave done something awful!"
"Come, come!" says I. "Let's have it, then."
"Believe me," says he, "I was carried away, quite intoxicated."
"Gwan!" says I. "Where'd you get the stuff?"
"I mean," says he, "by her wonderful beauty. And then, McCabe, in onemoment I--I kissed her!"
"Great guns!" says I. "Didn't plant a reg'lar smack, did you?"
He bows his head solemn. "Right on the lips," says he. "You see, we weretalking, her lovely face was very close, her glorious eyes were shininginto mine, when suddenly--well, it seemed as if I became dizzy, and thenext moment I seized her brutally in my arms and--and----"
"Good night!" says I, gaspin'. "What did she hit you with?"
"I--I can't say exactly what happened next," says Dudley. "I think Idropped her and ran out here."
"Of all the boob plays!" says I. "To take a Brodie plunge like that, andthen do the fade-away!"
"But what must I do now?" groans Dudley. "Oh, what can I do?"
"Is she still in there?" says I.
"I--I suppose so," says he.
"Well, so far as I can see," says I, "you got to go back and apologize."
"What! Now?" says he.
"Before she has time to sick the old man on you with a gun," says I.
"Yes, yes!" says he. "Not that I am afraid of that. I wish he wouldshoot me! I hope someone does! But I suppose I ought to beg her pardon."
"In with you, then!" says I, leadin' him towards the door.
With his hand on the knob he balks. "Oh, I can't!" says he. "I simplycannot trust myself. If I should try, if I should find myself close toher once more. McCabe, I--I might do it all over again."
"Say, look here, Dudley!" says I. "This ain't a habit you're breakin'yourself of, you know: it's just a single slip you've got to apologizefor."
"I know," says he; "but you cannot imagine how madly in love with her Iam."
"I'm glad I can't," says I.
And, say, he sticks to it. No, Sir, I can't push him in there withVeronica again. I had him out on the front steps for fifteen minutes,tryin' to argue some sense into him; but all he wants to do is go jumpoff the rocks into the Sound and have me tell Aunty he died disgracedbut happy. Fin'ly, though, he agrees to wait while I go sleuthin' in andfind whether Veronica has rushed in tears to Daddy, or is still curledup on the davenport bitin' the cushions in rage.
I slips into the livin' room, where I find 'em addin' up the scores andtalkin' over the last hand, but otherwise calm and peaceful. Then Iopens the door soft into the next room, steps in, and shuts the doorbehind me. No wild sobs. No broken furniture. There's Veronica, rockin'back and forth under the readin' light, with a book in her lap.
"Well?" says I, waitin' breathless for the storm to break.
She gives a little jump, glances up quick, and pinks up like a poppy."Oh!" says she, "It's you?"
"Uh-huh," says I. "I--er--I've just been talkin' with Dudley."
"Ye-e-es?" says she, rollin' a leaf of the book over her finger nervousand droopin' her long lashes.
"You see," says I, fidgetin' some on my own account, "he--he's goin'home in a minute or two."
"Oh, is he?" says she. "There! And I meant to ask him if he wouldn'tcall to-morrow. Won't you do it for me, Mr. McCabe?"
How about that for a reverse jolt, eh? I backs out of the room lookin'foolish. And Dudley he near collapses when I brings him the glad news.
As for Sadie, she couldn't believe me at all when I tells her Dudleylooks like a sure winner. She had to wait until a few days later whenshe catches 'em just breakin' a clinch, before she'll admit I ain'tstringin' her.
"But a shy, diffident fellow like Dudley!" says she. "I don't see how hedid it."
"Neither does Dudley," says I. "Guess it must have been a case of a guywith the goods comin' across with the swift tackle. Maybe that's whatshe'd been waitin' for all along."