CHAPTER X.
A GLIMPSE AT THE PARASITES.
The Longmeadow Country Club, on the Saturday afternoon followingArmstrong's abrupt dismissal, was a scene of gaiety and beauty withoutcompare. Set in broad acres of wood and lawn, the club-house proudlydominated far-flung golf-links and nearer tennis-courts. Shining motorsstood parked on the plaza before the club garage, each valued at severalyears' wages of a workingman. Men and women--exploiters all, orparasites--elegantly and coolly clad in white, smote the swift sphereupon the tennis-court, with jest and laughter. Others, attended bycaddies--mere proletarian scum, bent beneath the weight of cleeks andbrassies--moved across the smooth-cropped links, kept in condition bygrazing sheep and by steam-rollers. On putting-green and around bunkersthese idlers struggled with artificial difficulties, while in shops andmines and factories, on railways and in the blazing Hells ofstoke-holes, men of another class, a slave-class, labored and agonized,toiled and died that _these_ might wear fine linen and spend the longJune afternoon in play.
From the huge, cobble-stone chimney of the Country Club, upwafting smoketold of the viands now preparing for the idlers' dinner, aftersport--rich meats and dainties of the rarest. In the rathskeller some ofthe elder and more indolent men were absorbing alcohol while musicplayed and painted nymphs of abundant charms looked down from thewall-frescoes. Out on the broad piazzas, well sheltered by awnings fromthe rather ardent sun, men and women sat at spotless tables, dallyingwith drinks of rare hues and exalted prices. Cigarette-smoke wafted awayon the pure breeze from over the Catskills, far to northwest, defilingthe sweet breath of Nature, herself, with fumes of nicotine and dope. AHungarian orchestra was playing the latest Manhattan ragtime, at the farend of the piazza. It was, all in all, a scene of rare refinement,characteristic to a degree of the efflorescence of American capitalism.
At one of the tables, obviously bored, sat Catherine Flint, onlydaughter of the Billionaire. A rare girl, she, to lookupon--deep-bosomed and erect, dressed simply in a middy-blouse with ablue tie, a khaki skirt and low, rubber-soled shoes revealing asilk-stockinged ankle that would have attracted the enthusiasticattention of gentlemen in any city of the world. No hat disfigured thecoiled and braided masses of coppery hair that circled her shapely head.A healthy tan on face and arms and open throat bespoke her keen devotionto all outdoor life. Her fingers, lithe and strong, were graced by buttwo rings--a monogram, of gold, and the betrothal ring that MaximWaldron had put there, only three weeks before.
Impatience dominated her. One could see that, in the nervous tapping ofher fingers on the cloth; the slight swing of her right foot as she satthere, one knee crossed over the other; the glance of her keen, grayeyes down the broad drive-way that led from the huge stone gates up tothe club-house.
Beside her sat a nonentity in impeccable dress, dangling a monocle andtrying to make small-talk, the while he dallied with a Bronx cocktail,costing more than a day's wage for a childish flower-making slave of thetenements, and inhaled a Rotten Row cigarette, the "last word" fromLondon in the tobacco line. To the sallies of this elegant, the girlreplied by only monosyllables. Her glass was empty, nor would she haveit filled, despite the exquisite's entreaties. From time to time sheglanced impatiently at the long bag of golf-sticks leaning against theporch rail; and, now and then, her eyes sought the little Cervine watchset in a leather wristlet on her arm.
"Inconsiderate of him, I'm sure--ah--to keep so magnificent a Dianawaiting," drawled her companion, blowing a lungful of thin blue smokeathwart the breeze. "Especially when you're so deuced keen on doing thecourse before dinner. Now if _I_ were the favored swain, wild horseswouldn't keep me away."
She made no answer, but turned a look of indifference on the shrimpbeside her. Had he possessed the soul of a real man, he would haveshriveled; but, being oblivious to all things save the pride of wealthand monstrous self-conceit, he merely snickered and reached for hiscocktail--which, by the way, he was absorbing through a straw.
"I say, Miss Flint?" he presently began again, stirring the ice in thecocktail.
"Well?" she answered, curtly.
"If you--er--are really very, _very_ impatient to have a go at thelinks, why wait for Wally? I--I should be only too glad to volunteer myservices as your knight-errant, and all that sort of thing."
"Thanks, awfully," she answered, "but Mr. Waldron promised to go roundthe course with me, this afternoon, and I'll wait."
The impeccable one grinned fatuously, invited her again to have adrink--which she declined--and ordered another for himself, with profuseapologies for drinking alone; apologies which she hardly seemed tonotice.
"Deuced bad form of Wally, I must say," the gilded youth resumed, tryingto make capital for himself, "to leave you in the lurch, this way!"
Silence from Catherine. The would-be interloper, feeling that he was onthe wrong track, took counsel with himself and remained for a momentimmersed in what he imagined to be thought. At last, however, with anoblique glance at his indifferent companion, he remarked.
"Devilish hard time women have in this world, you know! Don't yousometimes wish you were a man?"
Her answer flashed back like a rapier:
"No! Do you wish _you_ were?"
Stunned by this "facer," Reginald Van Slyke gasped and stared. That he,a scion of the Philadelphia Van Slykes, in his own right worth twohundred million dollars--dollars ground out of the Kensingtoncarpet-mill slaves by his grandfather--should be thus flouted and putupon by the daughter of Flint, that parvenu, absolutely floored him. Fora moment he sat there speechless, unable even to reach for his drink;but presently some coherence returned. He was about to utter what heconceived to be a strong rejoinder, when the girl suddenly standing up,turned her back upon him and ignored him as completely as she might haveignored any of the menials of the club.
His irritated glance followed hers. There, far down the drive, justrounding the long turn by the artificial lake, a big blue motor car wasspeeding up the grade at a good clip. Van Slyke recognized it, and sworebelow his breath.
"Wally, at last, damn him!" he muttered. "Just when I was beginning tomake headway with Kate!"
Vexed beyond endurance, he drummed on the cloth with angry fingers; butCatherine was oblivious. Unmindful of the merry-makers at the othertables, the girl waved her handkerchief at the swiftly-approachingmotor. Waldron, from the back seat, raised an answering hand--thoughwithout enthusiasm. Above all things he hated demonstration, and thegirl's frank manner, free, unconventional and not yet broken to theharness of Mrs. Grundy, never failed to irritate him.
"Very incorrect for people in our set," he often thought. "But for thepresent I can do nothing. Once she is my wife, ah, then I shall findmeans to curb her. For the present, however, I must let her have herhead."
Such was now his frame of mind as the long car slid under theporte-cochere and came to a stand. He would have infinitely preferredthat the girl should wait his coming to her, on the piazza; but alreadyshe had slung her bag of sticks over her strong shoulder, and was downthe steps to meet him. Her leave-taking of the incensed Van Slyke hadbeen the merest nod.
"You're late, Wally," said she, smiling with her usual good humor, whichhad already quite dissipated her impatience. "Late, but I'll forgiveyou, this time. I'm afraid we won't have time to do all eighteen holesround. What kept you?"
"Business, business!" he answered, frowning. "Always the same oldgrind, Kate. You women don't understand. I tell you, this slaving inWall Street isn't what it's cracked up to be. I couldn't get away till11:30. Then, just had a quick bite of lunch, and broke every speed lawin New York getting here. Do you forgive me?"
He had descended from the car, in speaking. They shook hands, while thechauffeur stood at attention and all the gossips on the piazza, scentingthe possibility of a disagreement, craned discreetly eager necks andlistened intently.
"Forgive you? Of course--this time, but never again," the girl laughed."Now, run along and get into your flannels. I'll meet you on the drivinggree
n, in ten minutes. Not another second, mind, or--"
"I'll be on the dot," he answered. "Here, boy," beckoning a caddy, "takeMiss Flint's sticks. And have mine carried to the green. Look sharp,now!"
Then, with a nod at the girl, he ran up the steps and vanished in theclub-house, bound for the locker-room.
Fifteen minutes the girl waited on the green, watching others drive offfrom the little tees and inwardly chafing to be in action. Fifteen, andthen twenty, before Waldron finally appeared, immaculate in white,bare-armed and with a loose, checked cap shading his close-set eyes. Thefact was, in addition to having changed his clothes, he had felt obligedto linger in the bar for a little Scotch; and one drink had meantanother; and thus precious moments had sped.
But his smile was confident as he approached the green. Women, afterall, he reflected, were meant to be kept waiting. They never appreciateda man who kept appointments exactly. Not less fatuous at heart, intruth, was he, than the unfortunate Van Slyke. But his manner wasperfection as he saluted her and bade the caddy build their tees.
The girl, however, was now plainly vexed. Her mouth had drawn a trifletight and the tilt of her chin was determined. Her eyes were far fromsoft, as she surveyed this delinquent fiance.
"I don't like you a bit, today, Wally," said she, as he deliberatedover the club-bag, choosing a driver. "This makes twice you've kept mewaiting. I warn you don't let it happen again!"
Under the seeming banter of her tone lurked real resentment. But he,with a smile--partly due to a finger too much Scotch--only answered, ina low tone:
"You're adorable, today, Kate! The combination of fresh air andannoyance has painted the most wonderful roses on your cheeks!"
She shrugged her shoulders with a little motion she had inherited fromFrench ancestry, stooped, set her golf ball on the little mound of sand,exactly to suit her, and raised her driver on high.
"Nine holes," said she, "and I'm going to beat you, today!"
He frowned a little at the spirit of the threat, for any self-assertionin a woman crossed his grain; but soon forgot his pique in admiration ofthe drive.
Swishing, her club flashed down in a quick circle. _Crack_! It struckthe gutta-percha squarely. The little white sphere zipped away like arocket, rose in a far trajectory, up, up, toward the water-hazard at thefoot of the grassy slope, then down in a long curve.
Even while the girl's cry of "Fore!" was echoing across the green, theball struck earth, ricochetted and sped on, away, across the turf, tillit came to rest not twenty yards from the putting green of the firsthole.
"Wheeoo!" whistled Waldron. "Some drive. I guess you're going to makegood your threat, today, Kate of my heart!"
The smile she flashed at him showed that her resentment had, for themoment, been forgotten.
"Come on, Wally, now let's see what _you_ can do," said she, startingoff down the slope, while her meek caddy tagged at a respectfuldistance.
Waldron, thus adjured, teed up and swung at the ball. But the Scotch hadby no means steadied his aim. He foozled badly and broke his pet driver,into the bargain. The steel head of it flew farther even than the ball,which moved hardly ten yards.
"Damn!" he muttered, under his breath, choosing another stick andglancing with real irritation at Catherine's lithe, splendidly poisedfigure already some distance down the slope.
His second stroke was more successful, nearly equalling hers. But heradvantage, thus early won, was not destined to be lost again. And as thegame proceeded, Waldron's temper grew steadily worse and worse.
Thus began, for these two people, an hour destined to be fraught withsuch pregnant developments--an hour which, in its own way, vitally boreon the great loom now weaving warp and woof of world events.