In and Out

  CHAPTER VI

  Johnson Boller Proposes

  The whole head of brown hair had come free in his hand, and from David'scranium, billow upon billow of red-gold glory floated down about thebathrobed shoulders.

  David, in fine, with no warning at all, had turned into a decidedlypretty young woman!

  Through Anthony's astounded brain, impressions pursued one another sorapidly, those first few seconds, that the room danced crazily. Therewere two or three Davids and oceans of reddish-gold hair; there wereseveral pairs of somber, deep-blue eyes as well, whirling around andmocking him, regarding his quite steadily and all packed with newsignificance.

  Yet in the tumult several details, which had rather puzzled Anthony Fry,grew painfully clear. Very fully now did he understand that delicacy offeature--the small, beardless chin and the fine, regular little nose,which he had ascribed to good blood somewhere in David's family. Heunderstood also the slenderness of David's hands and the curious,high-pitched shrillness that had come into the voice once or twice inmoments of excitement.

  But these were minor, insignificant realizations; he understood them andpassed them, forcing his brain to some sort of calm; and now, with onlyone David in the room and the furniture quite steady again, he stoodface to face with what was really one of the most horrible facts of hiswhole life; a pretty young woman, of whose identity he was utterlyignorant, was in his guest chamber now, in pajamas and bathrobe--and shehad been there all night!

  Out of Anthony's limp fingers the wig dropped, landing on the floor witha soft thump. He sought to speak and found that words would not come asyet; he gripped at one of the little chairs and presently discoveredthat his weak knees had lowered him into it, so that he sat and stillstared at David and----

  "I wish you wouldn't kick that wig around," said his guest. "I onlyhired it for the night, you know."

  The owner of Fry's Imperial Liniment pulled at the loose collar of hispajamas.

  "You--er--you----" he said intelligently.

  "I wouldn't faint," the girl said coolly. "I'm not going to bite you,you know. And please don't make those silly faces, either, Mr. Fry.You've brought it on yourself. I'm not here by my own choosing. I'vedone my level best to get out and----"

  Anthony's voice returned explosively.

  "Why," he cried thickly, "_why_ didn't you tell me?"

  "That I was a girl?"

  "Yes!"

  The lovely little mystery had kicked off her slippers and was lookingpensively at her bare feet. They were pink and tiny; as feet, however,they belonged anywhere in the world but in Anthony Fry's bachelor home,and he turned suddenly from them and looked at their owner, who smiledfaintly.

  "You look a lot saner when you're scared," she mused.

  "Why didn't----"

  "I'm coming to that, just because you do look saner," the girlexplained. "I didn't tell you because I didn't dare. I thought you werecrazy."

  "What?"

  "Who wouldn't, when you were talking that way about opportunity andinsisting that I stay here and all that sort of thing?" the young womaninquired tartly. "It was plain enough that you were a crank, at the bestof it, and I didn't know--well, it seemed better to take a chance ofgetting out during the night."

  Second by second, normal cerebration was returning to Anthony, andalthough it caused him to grow colder and colder with plain apprehensionit also rendered his perspective more true, for he burst out with----

  "Why in Heaven's name did you, a girl, ever come here in the firstplace?"

  "What?" The girl smiled flittingly and ruefully. "Oh, there was a reasonfor that, too."

  "What was it?"

  She of the Titian hair eyed him thoughtfully and shook her head.

  "Perhaps I'll tell you some other time," she said.

  "Why not now?" Anthony snapped.

  "You wouldn't be any happier for knowing, just now," the girl saidmysteriously.

  Her pajamaed legs, swathed in the mighty bathrobe, crossed comfortablyTurkish fashion, and she considered Anthony with her calm, quizzicaleyes--and of a sudden an overwhelming helplessness surged throughAnthony Fry and he had more than a little difficulty in concealing theslight tremble of his limbs.

  For if the boy David had been a nervous, frightened creature, the ladywho had succeeded him was almost anything else! David had been timorousand given to shrinking; the girl was all quiet assurance. David's eyeshad been frightened and round; these eyes were just as round, but, asmuch as anything else, they seemed to express mild amusement atAnthony's discomfiture.

  And that was the way of the whole sex, Anthony reflected bitterly.Having enmeshed mere man and entangled him, hands, feet, and everythingelse, it was woman's habit to sit and stare calmly, just as this one wassitting and staring, wordlessly inquiring just what he meant to do aboutit.

  "Who are you?" he asked dizzily.

  "Um," said the girl meditatively. "Well, if you find it necessary tocall me anything, call me--er--Mary."

  "Mary what?"

  "Just Mary."

  "But your other name----"

  "You wouldn't be any happier for knowing that either," the girl assuredhim serenely.

  "What on earth does that mean?" Anthony demanded, with almost a returnof his old imperious manner.

  Mary gazed fixedly at him for a moment, deeply and inscrutably and withthat in her eyes which, although he could not name it, caused Anthony'schilly blood to drop several more degrees.

  "Don't ask me what it means, because I might tell you, and you wouldn'tbe any happier for knowing _that_!" the girl said quietly.

  "But the Frenchwoman?" Anthony essayed, lunging off in anotherdirection. "Who was she?"

  "Well, she was my personal maid--at least it won't hurt you to know thatmuch," Mary dimpled. "I sent for her and asked her to bring my bagand--there's the bag."

  One pink foot indicated it, and for many seconds Anthony's dumfoundedeyes stared at the thing. There was an intricate monogram on one end,which he could not decipher; otherwise, it impressed him. The bag was avery, very expensive bit of luggage and his failing heart thumped atrifle harder.

  No stray young woman owns a bag like that and a French maid to carry itaround; no adventurous female waif of the type one might expect to findwandering about in masculine raiment speaks in the unquestionablycultivated tone that Mary was using now. And no clear-eyed,clear-skinned young female friend of Mary's type ever belonged to thedemi-monde!

  Mary was a person of parts and position. How she had appeared at thefight, Anthony, if he had wonderful luck, might never learn; but thefact remained that he had detained her against her will in hisapartment, and possibilities loomed so swiftly and numerous before hismental vision that his throat tightened.

  "You--you're a respectable young woman!" he said hoarsely.

  "Thank you, unquestionably," Mary smiled dryly.

  "And--er--as such, the thing to do is to get you out of here as quicklyand as inconspicuously as possible."

  "I've been trying to get out inconspicuously myself," Mary suggested.

  Anthony rose and his sickly smile appeared again.

  "I can--can only apologize and assume all the blame," he saidunsteadily. "I will have Wilkins bring you your clothes, and as soon asyou are dressed we will----"

  "You mean those men's clothes?" Mary asked sharply.

  "Of course."

  "And go out in them in _daylight_?"

  "Certainly."

  "I wouldn't do that for an even million dollars!" Mary informed him.

  "But you'll have to do that!" said Anthony.

  "But I will not have to do it, because I won't do it!" the girl saidflatly and with considerable warmth. "Why, every man, woman, and childin the street would know, the very second they looked at me, and I--oh,no! I won't do that!"

  "There's nothing else to do!" Anthony cried desperately. "You--er--youdon't understand this hotel, young woman. A woman seen leaving one ofthese apartments and going out of the house, more especially at thist
ime of the day--er----"

  He flushed angrily.

  "Yes, I know," Mary said helpfully. "But I'm not going out in thoseclothes if I stay here and die of old age."

  And here, from the end of the corridor, Johnson Boller's deep, carryingvoice came:

  "Has he kicked the kid out yet, Wilkins?"

  "Not yet, sir," said Wilkins's grave tone.

  "What? Is he going to keep him here after all?"

  "I should judge so, sir. There's been no disturbance down that way."

  "Well, what," Johnson Boller muttered audibly, "do you know about that?"

  "It's most distressing, sir!" Wilkins replied.

  Anthony Fry's pupils dilated.

  "He's coming down here, I think!" he said. "Get on that wig again!"

  "Why?" Mary inquired, pausing in the process of knotting up herwonderful hair.

  "Because Boller--Boller----" Anthony stammered wildly. "There is no needof his knowing that you're a--a young woman, now or in future. I amspeaking for your own sake, you know. You may meet him a thousand timeselsewhere in years to come, and there's a mean streak in Bollerwhich----"

  "Is there?" Mary asked, with what was really her very first touch ofconcern since resuming her proper sex. "Give me the wig, then."

  Fortunately, at the living-room end of the corridor, Johnson Bollerdevoted a good five minutes to meditation. He had finished his usuallightning morning tub and resumed his bathrobe in a more cheerful frameof mind, quite confident that David Prentiss was no longer in theirmidst. He had even prepared a peppery line of chaffing for the breakfasttable, the same dealing with the visit of a pretty little French girl tothe irreproachable apartment and the various methods by which AnthonyFry could explain the matter to the management, should he be requestedto explain.

  Yet David was still with them and--if quiet down there meantanything--with them to stay. Anthony's trouble remained with him thismorning; even now, undoubtedly, he was sitting in there and hurlingopportunity again and again at David's invulnerable armor--and if theidiotic idea had taken as firm a grip as that the end might be daysaway, just as it had been in the case of the yeggmen.

  It gibed not at all with Boller's plans for his visit to Anthony. Hecaressed his chin and scowled for a little; later, he smiled grimly.After all, there are more ways of killing a cat than by drowning theanimal in champagne--and David was a tender shoot as yet.

  Johnson Boller flexed his muscles and examined his smile in the mirror.It was a broad, genial expression, all warm and friendly; and withoutpermitting one of its curves to slip from place he strode down thecorridor and threw open the door of David Prentiss's chamber.

  Hunched up in his big bathrobe, the boy was sitting on the edge of thebed, while Anthony stood across the room with his back wisely to thelight. It was entirely plain that the trouble had gone up in smoke andthat the presumably angry interview had flattened out to a love feast;David had not been and, so far as concerned Anthony, would not beejected--yet instead of protesting Johnson Boller said jovially:

  "Licked him into shape, eh?"

  "Ah--David has explained," Anthony managed.

  "Got the trouble all smoothed over, eh?"

  "Yes."

  Johnson Boller laughed mightily and winked at David. Further, he steppedover and slapped David's back--no mere friendly tap, but a whack thatnearly sent him from the bed.

  "Who was the squab, kid?" he cried. "Who----"

  "Don't hit him like that!" Anthony gasped.

  "What?"

  "The boy----"

  "Tap like that won't hurt him!" Johnson Boller chuckled as David,suppressing a shriek, managed to grip the bed and regain his balance."Who was the Gallic chicken, my lad?"

  "A--a friend of mine," David said weakly.

  "I betcher!" said Johnson Boller significantly. "I got a line on her thesecond I laid eyes on her, kid. Now, I want to tell you something.You're a young sport and these things look different to you now, but thelong and the short of a dizzy little----"

  "Johnson!" Anthony broke in.

  "What now?"

  "It--it is not necessary to advise David," said David's captor, quitethickly, for he was familiar with Johnson Boller's views on manysubjects and his manner of airing them. "The boy has--er--explainedthe--ah--young woman and----"

  He could get no farther. Johnson Boller eyed him with an amused andquizzical grin.

  "Going to keep this kid with you?"

  "For a time, yes."

  "You know, you're a funny character, Anthony," Boller mused. "If yourgreat-grandmother came to this joint to have a cup of tea with you,you'd want her to stop at the desk and show her pedigree and the familyBible, just so they'd be sure she was your great-grandmother, and yourlovely reputation wouldn't have a spot of suspicion on it as big as apinpoint. But you go and rake this kid off the streets and when his ladyfriends come in----Where did she come from, kid, and how did she get uphere?"

  His smile broadened happily as he observed that David had not yet ceasedwiggling his back in search of broken bones.

  "I explained all that to Mr. Fry," David said rather sulkily.

  "I know, Davy, but that doesn't count for anything," Mr. Bollerchuckled. "You see, Mr. Fry's a bachelor--has been all his life andexpects to be if he lives to be a hundred. What he doesn't know aboutfemales in general would fill a string of libraries from here to BatteryPark and half way across to Staten Island.

  "You've probably told him the squab was your sister and he fell and saidwhat a pretty sister she was. But as for _me_, Dave--you couldn't putthat stuff over if you tried a month. I'm the original specialist ineverything female; I've got a kind of sixth sense that tells me allabout them before I've even seen 'em and after I've looked at 'em once Ican tell you where they were three weeks ago last Saturday night. Youcan't fool me when it comes to women."

  "Well, now, suppose we drop the subject and----" Anthony beganagitatedly.

  "Let me slip this kid some real advice," said Mr. Boller. "Davy, I knowall sorts of women--good and bad and the kind you think are all right,but aren't! Get me? You're only a boy, and offhand I'd say that thisFrench damsel belonged in the latter class. At a guess, you met her----"

  "Stop!" cried Anthony Fry in pure terror.

  Johnson Boller gazed mildly at him.

  "If you're going to adopt this kid, Anthony, you might better let me puthim wise to some of his past mistakes and tell him how to avoid 'em inhis new life. I don't know what lie he put over on you, but you know aswell as I do that the just-right kind of boy isn't receiving mysteriouscalls before seven in the morning from a highly affectionate----"

  "_Stop!_" gasped Anthony. "Whatever--whatever advice David needs I shallgive him myself!"

  Johnson Boller sighed and shrugged his shoulders, as if casting aside aresponsibility he had assumed only because of a strong sense of duty. Itwas a little disappointing, because he had figured fully on rousingDavid--who must be a white-livered, spiritless little whelp, by theway--and having David rush to the defense of his mysterious lady. He hadcounted fully on David's voice rising and then upon raising his own, inspectacular anger, so that a real noisy rumpus would develop inAnthony's flat and send David's stock a little farther down.

  Instead, he had only roused Anthony; and Anthony certainly was a curiouscuss, when one came to think of it! He was standing over there now,almost dead white, not trembling but looking as if he would like totremble with rage.

  And for what?

  Because, ostensibly, his oldest friend had tried to advise the boy hehad snatched from a prize-fight. Johnson Boller shook his head. Thatopportunity business had been queer, but still it had been quite likeAnthony in his eccentric moments--but this continuation of the queernesswas bad! Before sixty, Anthony Fry would have settled down in some nice,comfortable sanitarium.

  These things, however, were not the moment's chief concern. It behoovedJohnson Boller to try the second section of his hasty little plan, ifDavid were to be ousted from the flat. Hence, he allowe
d his benevolent,genial grin to return; he flashed it upon Anthony and then upon the boy.

  "As you please," said he, "although I don't know how much good he'll getout of the kind of advice you're able to give him. However--that's yourlookout. Going to turn him into a man, eh?"

  "Yes," Anthony said thickly.

  Johnson Boller yawned, by way of demonstrating unconcern.

  "Well, kid, it's pretty soft for you, but since Mr. Fry's determined onthe job I'll be around for the first month to offer whatever assistancemay be within my power," said he. "Good meals--early hours--regularhabits--all that sort of thing. And then, of course, a proper amount ofathletic work to keep you fit."

  "Yes," David agreed.

  "Don't be so hellish surly about it," smiled Mr. Boller. "How are you,David--pretty athletic?"

  "Athletic enough," David submitted.

  "That means, I suppose, that you never raise a hand unless somebody paysyou to do it. That'll never do, boy. Regular, scientific training meanseverything to a man who wants to keep his health. Look at me! Ten yearsago I weighed fifty pounds more than I do now--sick half the time anddisgusted with life the other half. I got over it and to-day I feel likea two-year-old. What did it?"

  David was looking at Anthony.

  "Exercise did it!" stated Johnson Boller. "Stand up here?"

  "What for?" David asked quickly.

  "I'm going to teach the first principles of bounding health to you."

  "If David needs any training, it can be arranged for later," Anthony putin hastily. "You see, Johnson, although----"

  "Anthony," his friend interrupted firmly, "you'll have to pardon me, butthere are some things about which you know no more than an unborn kittenand one of them is physical training. I, on the other hand, have paidout about five thousand dollars to different specialists, and what Idon't know about keeping fit hasn't been discovered yet. You do yourshare for the kid and I'll do mine, and later on he'll thank me morethan he does you, Stand up, David."

  "But----"

  "Stand up and I'll show you the elementary ideas of boxing," smiledJohnson Boller. "Come! Don't be a mollycoddle!"

  He waited, fists clenched loosely, smiling artlessly--although it was abitter, cowardly thing that was in his heart.

  Johnson Boller, be it admitted, intended to beat up David Prentiss; withthe youngster's good as his shallow pretext, he meant to bruise David'syoung anatomy--and when this bruising was over to contrive anotheroccasion and bruise it further--and after that to discover additionalexcuses and continue the bruising--until David Prentiss should flee theflat in sheer terror.

  Hence, he smiled again and said:

  "Come, kid! Come! Stand up or I'll soak you right there!"

  "Johnson!" Anthony said sharply.

  "Like that!" said Johnson Boller, jabbing suddenly before the protestcould take form.

  And now Anthony cried aloud, for the boy had toppled over backward--andalmost immediately Anthony's teeth shut with a click. Because youngDavid, eyes flashing, had bounced up again and was on his feet. One ofhis small fists, tight shut, had whisked out and met Johnson Boller'scountenance with a loud crack.

  And Mr. Boller, expelling his breath with an amazed hiss, had lost hisbalance and was sitting on the floor!