The American Claimant
CHAPTER XX.
Tracy made slow progress with his work, for his mind wandered a gooddeal. Many things were puzzling him. Finally a light burst upon him allof a sudden--seemed to, at any rate--and he said to himself, "I've gotthe clew at last--this man's mind is off its balance; I don't know howmuch, but it's off a point or two, sure; off enough to explain this messof perplexities, anyway. These dreadful chromos which he takes for oldmasters; these villainous portraits--which to his frantic mind representRossmores; the hatchments; the pompous name of this ramshackle oldcrib--Rossmore Towers; and that odd assertion of his, that I wasexpected. How could I be expected? that is, Lord Berkeley. He knows bythe papers that that person was burned up in the New Gadsby. Why, hangit, he really doesn't know who he was expecting; for his talk showedthat he was not expecting an Englishman, or yet an artist, yet I answerhis requirements notwithstanding. He seems sufficiently satisfied withme. Yes, he is a little off; in fact I am afraid he is a good dealoff, poor old gentleman. But he's interesting--all people in about hiscondition are, I suppose. I hope he'll like my work; I would like tocome every day and study him. And when I write my father--ah, thathurts! I mustn't get on that subject; it isn't good for my spirits.Somebody coming--I must get to work. It's the old gentleman again. Helooks bothered. Maybe my clothes are suspicious; and they are--for anartist. If my conscience would allow me to make a change, but that isout of the question. I wonder what he's making those passes in the airfor, with his hands. I seem to be the object of them. Can he be tryingto mesmerize me? I don't quite like it. There's something uncanny aboutit."
The colonel muttered to himself, "It has an effect on him, I can see itmyself. That's enough for one time, I reckon. He's not very solid, yet,I suppose, and I might disintegrate him. I'll just put a sly questionor two at him, now, and see if I can find out what his condition is, andwhere he's from."
He approached and said affably:
"Don't let me disturb you, Mr. Tracy; I only want to take a littleglimpse of your work. Ah, that's fine--that's very fine indeed. You aredoing it elegantly. My daughter will be charmed with this. May I sitdown by you?"
"Oh, do; I shall be glad."
"It won't disturb you? I mean, won't dissipate your inspirations?"
Tracy laughed and said they were not ethereal enough to be very easilydiscommoded.
The colonel asked a number of cautious and well-consideredquestions--questions which seemed pretty odd and flighty to Tracy--butthe answers conveyed the information desired, apparently, for thecolonel said to himself, with mixed pride and gratification:
"It's a good job as far as I've got with it. He's solid. Solid and goingto last, solid as the real thing."
"It's wonderful--wonderful. I believe I could--petrify him." After alittle he asked, warily "Do you prefer being here, or--or there?"
"There? Where?"
"Why--er--where you've been?"
Tracy's thought flew to his boarding-house, and he answered withdecision.
"Oh, here, much!"
The colonel was startled, and said to himself, "There's no uncertainring about that. It indicates where he's been to, poor fellow. Well, Iam satisfied, now. I'm glad I got him out."
He sat thinking, and thinking, and watching the brush go. At length hesaid to himself, "Yes, it certainly seems to account for the failure ofmy endeavors in poor Berkeley's case. He went in the other direction.Well, it's all right. He's better off."
Sally Sellers entered from the street, now, looking her divinest, andthe artist was introduced to her. It was a violent case of mutual loveat first sight, though neither party was entirely aware of the fact,perhaps. The Englishman made this irrelevant remark to himself, "Perhapshe is not insane, after all." Sally sat down, and showed an interest inTracy's work which greatly pleased him, and a benevolent forgiveness ofit which convinced him that the girl's nature was cast in a large mould.Sellers was anxious to report his discoveries to Hawkins; so he tookhis leave, saying that if the two "young devotees of the colored Muse"thought they could manage without him, he would go and look after hisaffairs. The artist said to himself, "I think he is a little eccentric,perhaps, but that is all." He reproached himself for having injuriouslyjudged a man without giving him any fair chance to show what he reallywas.
Of course the stranger was very soon at his ease and chatting alongcomfortably. The average American girl possesses the valuable qualitiesof naturalness, honesty, and inoffensive straightforwardness; sheis nearly barren of troublesome conventions and artificialities,consequently her presence and her ways are unembarrassing, and one isacquainted with her and on the pleasantest terms with her beforehe knows how it came about. This new acquaintanceship--friendship,indeed--progressed swiftly; and the unusual swiftness of it, and thethoroughness of it are sufficiently evidenced and established by onenoteworthy fact--that within the first half hour both parties hadceased to be conscious of Tracy's clothes. Later this consciousnesswas re-awakened; it was then apparent to Gwendolen that she was almostreconciled to them, and it was apparent to Tracy that he wasn't. There-awakening was brought about by Gwendolen's inviting the artist tostay to dinner. He had to decline, because he wanted to live, now--thatis, now that there was something to live for--and he could not survivein those clothes at a gentleman's table. He thought he knew that. But hewent away happy, for he saw that Gwendolen was disappointed.
And whither did he go? He went straight to a slopshop and bought as neatand reasonably well-fitting a suit of clothes as an Englishman could bepersuaded to wear. He said--to himself, but at his conscience--"I knowit's wrong; but it would be wrong not to do it; and two wrongs do notmake a right."
This satisfied him, and made his heart light. Perhaps it will alsosatisfy the reader--if he can make out what it means.
The old people were troubled about Gwendolen at dinner, because she wasso distraught and silent. If they had noticed, they would have foundthat she was sufficiently alert and interested whenever the talkstumbled upon the artist and his work; but they didn't notice, and sothe chat would swap around to some other subject, and then somebodywould presently be privately worrying about Gwendolen again, andwondering if she were not well, or if something had gone wrong inthe millinery line. Her mother offered her various reputable patentmedicines, and tonics with iron and other hardware in them, and herfather even proposed to send out for wine, relentless prohibitionistand head of the order in the District of Columbia as he was, but thesekindnesses were all declined--thankfully, but with decision. At bedtime,when the family were breaking up for the night, she privately looted oneof the brushes, saying to herself, "It's the one he has used, the most."
The next morning Tracy went forth wearing his new suit, and equippedwith a pink in his button-hole--a daily attention from Puss. Hiswhole soul was full of Gwendolen Sellers, and this condition was aninspiration, art-wise. All the morning his brush pawed nimbly away atthe canvases, almost without his awarity--awarity, in this sense beingthe sense of being aware, though disputed by some authorities--turningout marvel upon marvel, in the way of decorative accessories to theportraits, with a felicity and celerity which amazed the veterans of thefirm and fetched out of them continuous explosions of applause.
Meantime Gwendolen was losing her morning, and many dollars. Shesupposed Tracy was coming in the forenoon--a conclusion which she hadjumped to without outside help. So she tripped down stairs every littlewhile from her work-parlor to arrange the brushes and things over again,and see if he had arrived. And when she was in her work-parlor it wasnot profitable, but just the other way--as she found out to her sorrow.
She had put in her idle moments during the last little while back, indesigning a particularly rare and capable gown for herself, and thismorning she set about making it up; but she was absent minded, and madean irremediable botch of it. When she saw what she had done, she knewthe reason of it and the meaning of it; and she put her work away fromher and said she would accept the sign. And from that time forth shecame no more away from the Audience Ch
amber, but remained there andwaited. After luncheon she waited again. A whole hour. Then a greatjoy welled up in her heart, for she saw him coming. So she flew backup stairs thankful, and could hardly wait for him to miss the principalbrush, which she had mislaid down there, but knew where she had mislaidit. However, all in good time the others were called in and couldn'tfind the brush, and then she was sent for, and she couldn't find itherself for some little time; but then she found it when the others hadgone away to hunt in the kitchen and down cellar and in the woodshed,and all those other places where people look for things whose ways theyare not familiar with. So she gave him the brush, and remarked thatshe ought to have seen that everything was ready for him, but it hadn'tseemed necessary, because it was so early that she wasn't expecting--butshe stopped there, surprised at herself for what she was saying; andhe felt caught and ashamed, and said to himself, "I knew my impatiencewould drag me here before I was expected, and betray me, and that isjust what it has done; she sees straight through me--and is laughing atme, inside, of course."
Gwendolen was very much pleased, on one account, and a little the otherway in another; pleased with the new clothes and the improvementwhich they had achieved; less pleased by the pink in the buttonhole.Yesterday's pink had hardly interested her; this one was just like it,but somehow it had got her immediate attention, and kept it. She wishedshe could think of some way of getting at its history in a properlycolorless and indifferent way. Presently she made a venture. She said:
"Whatever a man's age may be, he can reduce it several years by puttinga bright-colored flower in his button-hole. I have often noticed that.Is that your sex's reason for wearing a boutonniere?"
"I fancy not, but certainly that reason would be a sufficient one. I'venever heard of the idea before."
"You seem to prefer pinks. Is it on account of the color, or the form?"
"Oh no," he said, simply, "they are given to me. I don't think I haveany preference."
"They are given to him," she said to herself, and she felt a coldnesstoward that pink. "I wonder who it is, and what she is like." The flowerbegan to take up a good deal of room; it obtruded itself everywhere,it intercepted all views, and marred them; it was becoming exceedinglyannoying and conspicuous for a little thing. "I wonder if he cares forher." That thought gave her a quite definite pain.