CHAPTER XV.
Tracy went to bed happy once more, at rest in his mind once more. He hadstarted out on a high emprise--that was to his credit, he argued; he hadfought the best fight he could, considering the odds against him--thatwas to his credit; he had been defeated--certainly there was nothingdiscreditable in that. Being defeated, he had a right to retire withthe honors of war and go back without prejudice to the position inthe world's society to which he had been born. Why not? even therabid republican chair-maker would do that. Yes, his conscience wascomfortable once more.
He woke refreshed, happy, and eager for his cablegram. He had beenborn an aristocrat, he had been a democrat for a time, he was now anaristocrat again. He marveled to find that this final change was notmerely intellectual, it had invaded his feeling; and he also marveledto note that this feeling seemed a good deal less artificial than any hehad entertained in his system for a long time. He could also have noted,if he had thought of it, that his bearing had stiffened, over night, andthat his chin had lifted itself a shade. Arrived in the basement, he wasabout to enter the breakfast room when he saw old Marsh in the dim lightof a corner of the hall, beckoning him with his finger to approach. Theblood welled slowly up in Tracy's cheek, and he said with a grade ofinjured dignity almost ducal:
"Is that for me?"
"Yes."
"What is the purpose of it?"
"I want to speak to you--in private."
"This spot is private enough for me."
Marsh was surprised; and not particularly pleased. He approached andsaid:
"Oh, in public, then, if you prefer. Though it hasn't been my way."
The boarders gathered to the spot, interested.
"Speak out," said Tracy. "What is it you want?"
"Well, haven't you--er--forgot something?"
"I? I'm not aware of it."
"Oh, you're not? Now you stop and think, a minute."
"I refuse to stop and think. It doesn't interest me. If it interestsyou, speak out."
"Well, then," said Marsh, raising his voice to a slightly angry pitch,"You forgot to pay your board yesterday--if you're bound to have itpublic."
Oh, yes, this heir to an annual million or so had been dreaming andsoaring, and had forgotten that pitiful three or four dollars. Forpenalty he must have it coarsely flung in his face in the presence ofthese people--people in whose countenances was already beginning to dawnan uncharitable enjoyment of the situation.
"Is that all! Take your money and give your terrors a rest."
Tracy's hand went down into his pocket with angry decision. But--itdidn't come out. The color began to ebb out of his face. Thecountenances about him showed a growing interest; and some of thema heightened satisfaction. There was an uncomfortable pause--then heforced out, with difficulty, the words:
"I've--been robbed!"
Old Marsh's eyes flamed up with Spanish fire, and he exclaimed:
"Robbed, is it? That's your tune? It's too old--been played in thishouse too often; everybody plays it that can't get work when he wantsit, and won't work when he can get it. Trot out Mr. Allen, somebody,and let him take a toot at it. It's his turn next, he forgot, too, lastnight. I'm laying for him."
One of the negro women came scrambling down stairs as pale as a sorrelhorse with consternation and excitement:
"Misto Marsh, Misto Allen's skipped out!"
"What!"
"Yes-sah, and cleaned out his room clean; tuck bofe towels en de soap!"
"You lie, you hussy!"
"It's jes' so, jes' as I tells you--en Misto Summer's socks is gone, enMisto Naylor's yuther shirt."
Mr. Marsh was at boiling point by this time. He turned upon Tracy:
"Answer up now--when are you going to settle?"
"To-day--since you seem to be in a hurry."
"To-day is it? Sunday--and you out of work? I like that. Come--where areyou going to get the money?"
Tracy's spirit was rising again. He proposed to impress these people:
"I am expecting a cablegram from home."
Old Marsh was caught out, with the surprise of it. The idea was soimmense, so extravagant, that he couldn't get his breath at first. Whenhe did get it, it came rancid with sarcasm.
"A cablegram--think of it, ladies and gents, he's expecting a cablegram!He's expecting a cablegram--this duffer, this scrub, this bilk! Fromhis father--eh? Yes--without a doubt. A dollar or two a word--oh, that'snothing--they don't mind a little thing like that--this kind's fathersdon't. Now his father is--er--well, I reckon his father--"
"My father is an English earl!"
The crowd fell back aghast-aghast at the sublimity of the young loafer's"cheek." Then they burst into a laugh that made the windows rattle.Tracy was too angry to realize that he had done a foolish thing. Hesaid:
"Stand aside, please. I--"
"Wait a minute, your lordship," said Marsh, bowing low, "where is yourlordship going?"
"For the cablegram. Let me pass."
"Excuse me, your lordship, you'll stay right where you are."
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean that I didn't begin to keep boarding-house yesterday. It meansthat I am not the kind that can be taken in by every hack-driver's sonthat comes loafing over here because he can't bum a living at home. Itmeans that you can't skip out on any such--"
Tracy made a step toward the old man, but Mrs. Marsh sprang between, andsaid:
"Don't, Mr. Tracy, please." She turned to her husband and said, "Dobridle your tongue. What has he done to be treated so? Can't you see hehas lost his mind, with trouble and distress? He's not responsible."
"Thank your kind heart, madam, but I've not lost my mind; and if I canhave the mere privilege of stepping to the telegraph office--"
"Well, you can't," cried Marsh.
"--or sending--"
"Sending! That beats everything. If there's anybody that's fool enoughto go on such a chuckle-headed errand--"
"Here comes Mr. Barrow--he will go for me. Barrow--"
A brisk fire of exclamations broke out--
"Say, Barrow, he's expecting a cablegram!"
"Cablegram from his father, you know!"
"Yes--cablegram from the wax-figger!"
"And say, Barrow, this fellow's an earl--take off your hat, pull downyour vest!"
"Yes, he's come off and forgot his crown, that he wears Sundays. He'scabled over to his pappy to send it."
"You step out and get that cablegram, Barrow; his majesty's a littlelame to-day."
"Oh stop," cried Barrow; "give the man a chance." He turned, and saidwith some severity, "Tracy, what's the matter with you? What kind offoolishness is this you've been talking. You ought to have more sense."
"I've not been talking foolishness; and if you'll go to the telegraphoffice--"
"Oh; don't talk so. I'm your friend in trouble and out of it, beforeyour face and behind your back, for anything in reason; but you've lostyour head, you see, and this moonshine about a cablegram--"
"I'll go there and ask for it!"
"Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Brady. Here, I'll give you aWritten order for it. Fly, now, and fetch it. We'll soon see!"
Brady flew. Immediately the sort of quiet began to steal over the crowdwhich means dawning doubt, misgiving; and might be translated into thewords, "Maybe he is expecting a cablegram--maybe he has got a fathersomewhere--maybe we've been just a little too fresh, just a shade too'previous'!"
Loud talk ceased; then the mutterings and low murmurings and whisperingsdied out. The crowd began to crumble apart. By ones and twos thefragments drifted to the breakfast table. Barrow tried to bring Tracyin; but he said:
"Not yet, Barrow--presently."
Mrs. Marsh and Hattie tried, offering gentle and kindly persuasions; buthe said;
"I would rather wait--till he comes."
Even old Marsh began to have suspicions that maybe he had been a trifletoo "brash," as he called it in the privacy of his soul, and he pulledhim
self together and started toward Tracy with invitation in his eyes;but Tracy warned him off with a gesture which was quite positive andeloquent. Then followed the stillest quarter of an hour which had everbeen known in that house at that time of day. It was so still, and sosolemn withal, that when somebody's cup slipped from his fingers andlanded in his plate the shock made people start, and the sharp soundseemed as indecorous there and as out of place as if a coffin andmourners were imminent and being waited for. And at last when Brady'sfeet came clattering down the stairs the sacrilege seemed unbearable.Everybody rose softly and turned toward the door, where stood Tracy;then with a common impulse, moved a step or two in that direction, andstopped. While they gazed, young Brady arrived, panting, and putinto Tracy's hand,--sure enough--an envelope. Tracy fastened a blandvictorious eye upon the gazers, and kept it there till one by one theydropped their eyes, vanquished and embarrassed. Then he tore open thetelegram and glanced at its message. The yellow paper fell from hisfingers and fluttered to the floor, and his face turned white. There wasnothing there but one word--
"Thanks."
The humorist of the house, the tall, raw-boned Billy Nash, caulker fromthe navy yard, was standing in the rear of the crowd. In the midst ofthe pathetic silence that was now brooding over the place and movingsome few hearts there toward compassion, he began to whimper, then heput his handkerchief to his eyes and buried his face in the neck of thebashfulest young fellow in the company, a navy-yard blacksmith, shrieked"Oh, pappy, how could you!" and began to bawl like a teething baby, ifone may imagine a baby with the energy and the devastating voice of ajackass.
So perfect was that imitation of a child's cry, and so vast the scale ofit and so ridiculous the aspect of the performer, that all gravity wasswept from the place as if by a hurricane, and almost everybody therejoined in the crash of laughter provoked by the exhibition. Then thesmall mob began to take its revenge--revenge for the discomfort andapprehension it had brought upon itself by its own too rash freshnessof a little while before. It guyed its poor victim, baited him, worriedhim, as dogs do with a cornered cat. The victim answered back withdefiances and challenges which included everybody, and which only gavethe sport new spirit and variety; but when he changed his tactics andbegan to single out individuals and invite them by name, the fun lostits funniness and the interest of the show died out, along with thenoise.
Finally Marsh was about to take an innings, but Barrow said:
"Never mind, now--leave him alone. You've no account with him but amoney account. I'll take care of that myself."
The distressed and worried landlady gave Barrow a fervently gratefullook for his championship of the abused stranger; and the pet of thehouse, a very prism in her cheap but ravishing Sunday rig, blew him akiss from the tips of her fingers and said, with the darlingest smileand a sweet little toss of her head:
"You're the only man here, and I'm going to set my cap for you, you dearold thing!"
"For shame, Puss! How you talk! I never saw such a child!"
It took a good deal of argument and persuasion--that is to say, petting,under these disguises--to get Tracy to entertain the idea of breakfast.He at first said he would never eat again in that house; and added thathe had enough firmness of character, he trusted, to enable him to starvelike a man when the alternative was to eat insult with his bread.
When he had finished his breakfast, Barrow took him to his room,furnished him a pipe, and said cheerily:
"Now, old fellow, take in your battle-flag out of the wet, you're not inthe hostile camp any more. You're a little upset by your troubles, andthat's natural enough, but don't let your mind run on them anymore thanyou can help; drag your thoughts away from your troubles by the ears, bythe heels, or any other way, so you manage it; it's the healthiest thinga body can do; dwelling on troubles is deadly, just deadly--and that'sthe softest name there is for it. You must keep your mind amused--youmust, indeed."
"Oh, miserable me!"
"Don't! There's just pure heart-break in that tone. It's just as I say;you've got to get right down to it and amuse your mind, as if it wassalvation."
"They're easy words to say, Barrow, but how am I going to amuse,entertain, divert a mind that finds itself suddenly assaulted andoverwhelmed by disasters of a sort not dreamed of and not provided for?No--no, the bare idea of amusement is repulsive to my feelings: Let ustalk of death and funerals."
"No--not yet. That would be giving up the ship. We'll not give up theship yet. I'm going to amuse you; I sent Brady out for the wherewithalbefore you finished breakfast."
"You did? What is it?"
"Come, this is a good sign--curiosity. Oh, there's hope for you yet."