Mary received the paper from Pete and examined it. For all she understood of its contents it might have been printed in Chinese. But nowhere did it mention Bill Marshall. It dealt with a defendant named "Henry Smith." She was being swindled!
"Give me a proper paper," she said, sharply. "This has nothing to do with Mr. Marshall."
The bondsman grinned and Pete made the explanation.
"That's the name he gave on the police blotter. It's all right, ma'am."
So Mary produced a fountain pen and signed, dimly aware that she was probably committing one of the varied degrees of forgery. When she had finished, it appeared nowhere that Mary Wayne was going to the rescue of one William Marshall, but rather that Nell Norcross had undertaken to guarantee a bond that would open the jail doors for Henry Smith.
"Now we'll go up to court," said the bondsman, and he led the way.
Mary had never been in a court before, much less a night court, which is peculiar to itself in atmosphere and characters. She slipped into a place on a rear bench, anxious now to lose something of that stature she had attained during her interview in the corridor. The bondsman and Pete went forward and stepped inside a railing.
Mary waited and watched. The judge who sat behind a high desk was yawning. Two persons whom she took to be clerks were fumbling over papers. There were several policemen in uniform. On the benches about her were numerous and, for the most part, unpleasant persons.
Two women were led through a side door, evidently to be "arranged," as the bondsman said. They seemed at ease. A policeman said something, the judge said something, the clerks did something, and they passed on, still in custody. Then came a man, who followed the same routine; then another woman.
And then out of the side door, which was constantly guarded by a policeman, came several men—and among them Bill Marshall, towering almost proudly, it seemed to Mary. She listened breathlessly, but could not hear a word; everybody was talking in low tones. All she knew was that Bill was standing in front ofthe judge, and evidently unashamed. Pete and the bondsman were there, too, and presently the group moved over to the clerk's desk.
This, it seemed to Mary, was a critical instant. She knew that they must be examining the bond; she felt as though she, too, ought to be standing there with Bill Marshall, a defendant at the bar. A sense of guilt was overwhelming her; if anybody had touched her on the shoulder she would have screamed. And then it was over, in a most perfunctory and undramatic manner. "Henry Smith" was not returning to the place beyond the side door, but was passing through the swinging gate that led to the space reserved for benches. His valet was at his heels. The bondsman showed no further interest in them. He stayed inside the rail, where he chatted with a policeman.
Up the center aisle came Bill, swinging along jauntily. As he neared the bench on which she sat, Mary became aware that a young man who had been occupying a place beside her was as much interested in Bill as herself. This person suddenly sprang into the aisle, gripped Bill's hand and then linked arms with him. Together they passed out of the court-room.
Mary, too, had risen, and now the valet was beckoning to her. She followed him out beyond the swinging doors. There in the corridor she observed Bill Marshall in one of his intimate and happy moments. He was laughing with a wholesome lack of restraint and was slapping on the shoulder one of the most ill-favored persons that Mary had ever seen. This was the young man who had joined Bill in the moment of his triumphal exit.
He was not over five feet six, but he was somewhat broader in the shoulders than most youths of that stature.His clothes seemed too tight for him, although they were not a misfit, but rather, the product of a tailor who must have received his inspiration from a brass band. His skin was swarthy; his dark eyes small and bright. His nose appeared to have undergone a flattening process, in addition to which, it displayed a marked tendency to point to the left. One of his ears Mary observed with particular attention; it had been twisted into a knotty lump and stood out from his head in an aggressive effort at self-advertisement. It was not within Mary's province to know that this was a singularly perfect specimen of cauliflower, or "tin," ear.
"Oh, it's all right now, Bill," the young man was saying, "only if you'd 'a' took my tip an' follored me you wouldn't 'a' been pinched at all. Gee! I had an easy getaway."
"You always did have speed, Kid," remarked Bill. "Oh, well, it's nothing in our young lives. Where do we go from here? Where's Pete?"
He glanced around and beheld not only Pete, but Mary Wayne.
Bill slowly flushed a fiery red and his eyes widened to almost twice their size. He faltered for an instant, then rushed forward.
"Miss Norcross! Why, what in thunder——"
"I had to bring her, sir," said Pete, hastily dropping into character. "They wouldn't accept me as additional security, sir."
Bill hesitated. The cool gaze of his secretary upset him far more than if she had flung scorn in her glance.
"Oh, I'm awfully sorry," he began. "I wouldn't have had you come here for all the world. It isn't right. It's a shame! Why—— Peter, how daredyou bring Miss Norcross to this place? No; don't try to make any excuses. You ought to be thrashed for it."
"Your valet was not to blame in the least degree," said Mary, in a frosty tone. "It appears that it was necessary for me to come."
"Yes, sir," echoed Pete.
"I don't care," stormed Bill. "It's no place for her. I won't have it. I'd sooner lose a leg than have Miss Norcross come here."
But in his soul he was really not so much disturbed over the fact that she visited a police court as he was over her discovery of Bill Marshall as a prisoner at the bar, although he was not at the time capable of analyzing his emotions very accurately. He was ashamed, confused, angry at the presence of Mary Wayne, whereas but a moment before he was enjoying the relish of an adventure and a joke.
"Shall I get a taxi, sir?" inquired Pete.
"I'll get it myself. Wait here, Miss Norcross."
Anything to escape even for a moment from the level gaze of those accusing eyes. He dashed down a staircase, followed by Pete, who had a word he wished to say in private.
Mary now observed that the young man with the tin ear whom she had heard addressed as "Kid" was watching her attentively. As her look settled upon him he stepped forward, swiftly tipped a derby, swiftly replaced it on his head and favored her with a confident and confidential smile.
"Friend of Bill's, it seems," he observed. "Well, we had a nice evenin' for it."
"I do not seem to know you," said Mary.
He stared in honest astonishment.
"Y' don't know me?" he echoed.
"I do not."
"Y' mean to say Bill never told y' about me?"
"He never did—and I do not think I am interested."
His small, black eyes blinked at the astounding news.
"Why, I'm Kid Whaley. Everybody knows me. Bill's my best friend. Wot? Y' never heard of Kid Whaley? Say, are y' kiddin' me? Why, it's only last week I put away Battlin' Schwartz. Knocked 'im dead in five rounds, over in Trenton. Say, don't y' read the papers? Aw, y' must've heard of me. Sure y' have. Why, I'm gonna be the next champ. Ev'ry-body knows that. An' take it from me, th' champ knows it, too. You ask Bill; he'll tell y' right."
During this outburst of sincere protestation Mary stood stiffly where Bill had left her. She would have preferred to walk away, but for the fear that this voluble young man would follow her.
"Aw, g'wan," he added, as he playfully poked a finger into her arm. "You're givin' me a josh. Any friend o' Bill's knows me. Why, he's crazy about me. I ain't been inside th' ropes once in a whole year that Bill didn't have a roll bet on me. Why, him an' me——"
He paused for an instant as he sighted the returning Bill, only to break forth:
"Hey, Bill; get this. Here's a dame never heard o' Kid Whaley. Whadda y' know about that? An' she's a friend o' yours."
"Shut up!" snarled Bill savagely.
Kid Whaley stared in bewilderment.
"Come, Miss Norcross; there's a taxi waiting."
He seized her by the arm and urged her rapidly toward the staircase. Mary went willingly; escape from the Kid was the immediate necessity.
"Hey, Bill; y' comin' back? Hey, Bill——"
They lost the remainder of the Kid's plea as they hurried toward the street.
Pete Stearns was standing guard over a taxi as they emerged from Jefferson Market and, as he sighted them, he flung the door open. Mary permitted herself to be propelled into the vehicle with more force than grace, and Bill followed. Pete was about to make a third member of the party when his benefactor placed a determined hand against his breast and pushed him half-way across the sidewalk. Then Bill leaned out, shouted a direction at the driver, slammed the door and settled back with a sigh, prepared to receive whatever his social secretary might decide was coming to him.
As minutes passed the silence became more than he could endure. Why didn't she say something? Why didn't she flay him alive and be done with it? He could stand that; it would not be pleasant, of course, yet it could be borne. But no; she sat staring straight in front of her, wordless, even oblivious.
"Oh, say—go to it!" he blurted.
"I beg your pardon."
"Have it out; hand it to me—mop me up."
She turned to look at him briefly as they passed a brightly lighted corner, then resumed her former pose.
"Well, aren't you going to?" he pleaded.
"I don't know that there is anything for me to say," she answered.
"Yes, there is; you're full of it," insisted Bill. "I can tell by the way you're acting. I'll stand for it. Go on."
"I'm not sure that I care to, Mr. Marshall."
Her voice was not frigid; rather, it merely conveyed an idea of remoteness. It was as if she were at the other end of a thousand miles of wire.
"Anyhow, I'm sorry," he said.
To Mary that seemed to require no answer.
"Mighty sorry, Miss Norcross. I wouldn't have put you in that position for anything. I—I apologize."
But it appeared that she had again retired into the silences.
"Oh, be reasonable about it," he said in a begging tone. "Bawl me out and let's have it over with. That's the way Aunt Caroline and I do it."
"I am not your Aunt Caroline, Mr. Marshall."
"I know. But you're thinking just what she would think, so it amounts to the same thing. Please bawl me out."
"I don't know that it is one of my duties to do so," observed Mary. "I think perhaps we had better not discuss it at all."
Bill squirmed for the twentieth time. The air within the taxi was oppressive; he opened the window on his side with violent hands.
"Well, I apologized," he reminded her. "You might at least say whether you accept it or reject it or what."
"Why, I accept it," she said. "What else is there to do?"
"You might have left off the last part," he grumbled. "You don't have to accept it unless you want to. I'd sooner you didn't."
"But I already have."
"Well, you needn't."
"It's done, if you please."
Bill felt peevish. This was not a fair way of punishing him.
"If you're going to act that way I'll withdraw the apology," he declared.
"It is already accepted, so it is too late to withdraw anything, Mr. Marshall."
He was uncertain as to the soundness of this position, but it baffled him, nevertheless.
"Oh, all right," he agreed lamely. "Have it any way you like. I—I suppose Aunt Caroline will raise the devil, so I'll get it good from somebody, anyhow."
"You will tell her about it, then?" she asked.
"Who? Me? Do I act crazy?"
"Then you will leave it to your valet, perhaps," suggested Mary.
Bill involuntarily tensed his shoulder muscles.
"Pete? He doesn't dare. I'd slaughter him."
"Then how is your aunt going to know, Mr. Marshall?"
Bill turned and stared down at her.
"Why—why, you'll tell her!" he exclaimed.
It was Mary's turn to look upward at Bill, which she did steadily for several seconds.
"Once again, Mr. Marshall, I ask you, whose secretary am I?"
"Miss Norcross! You mean——"
"I mean that I do not peddle gossip," she said sharply.
Bill had seized her hand and was crushing it; when she managed to withdraw it her fingers were aching.
"You're an ace," he said joyously. "I thought, of course——"
"I do not think you had any business to believe I would tell," said Mary. "If I have given you any cause to think so I'm not aware of it."
"You're a whole fist full of aces!" he declared fervently.
But Mary had no intention of relinquishing any advantage that she held.
"I think I have been quite frank with you, Mr. Marshall, ever since I entered your employ. And that is more than you have been with me."
"Huh? How's that?"
"Have you forgotten what you told me this afternoon? You—you said you were going to a very private affair—very exclusive, you said."
Bill managed to twist a smile.
"So it was, until the police butted in."
"I assumed, of course, it was social," said Mary coldly.
"But I didn't say it was. Now, did I?"
"You allowed me to infer it. And that is the worst way of deceiving people."
"Oh, well, I'll make an apology on that, too. But if I'd told you the truth you'd have tried to stop me. You'd have roasted me, anyhow."
"I should have tried to persuade you not to go," she conceded.
"Sure. I knew it." And Bill grinned.
The taxi stopped in front of the Marshall home. He helped her out, paid the driver and followed her up the steps. His night-key effected a noiseless entrance. Once inside, Bill beckoned her to the library.
"I want to thank you for doing all you did," he said humbly. "I feel awfully mean about it."
"About getting arrested?"
"No. That's nothing. About dragging you to court. It was a mighty square thing for you to do. I'm grateful—honestly."
"I simply did it for business reasons, Mr. Marshall."
"Business?" he repeated, with a frown of disappointment.
"Of course. Don't you see the point?"
He shook his head.
"It's quite plain," she said. "My business is to see that you enter society. That is the reason for my employment. Anything that would interfere with that is naturally also my concern. If you participate in a brutal prize-fight——"
"Oh, wait. I wasn't in the ring, Miss Norcross. I was only looking on."
"If you attend a brutal prize-fight," she corrected, "and are arrested, and the papers are full of it, and your aunt learns of it, what becomes of your chances to enter society?"
"I see what you're driving at," he said slowly.
"Your chances would be nothing, of course. And with your chances gone you would have no need for a social secretary. Therefore, I would lose my position. So you will understand that I had a purely business interest in the matter, Mr. Marshall."
Confound her! She did not need to be so emphatic about putting it on that basis, thought Bill. He was trying to make her see that she had done something generous and fine, but she stubbornly insisted on having it otherwise.
"Well, anyhow, I'm much obliged," he repeated. "Next time I won't bother to send for bail."
"Nexttime?"
"Certainly. I'll just stay in the lockup, let the newspapers fill up on it and then I won't be able to get into society if I try. That's not a bad idea, come to think of it. Much obliged."
If she insisted on being unpleasant about this, he would show her. For the moment, Bill was very much of a spoiled child.
"Well," retorted Mary, "there isn't much danger of your ruining your social career so long as you follow your—other—career under a false name."
Bill glared. "Oh, I guess you'd do the same thing if you got in a tight place."
Mary began to turn pale under the freckles. Bill had startled her without himself being aware of it. He didn't know; he didn't suspect; it was nothing but an offhand and ill-tempered retort. But it awakened in Mary something she had been studiously endeavoringto forget; it had been flung so suddenly at her that it sounded like an accusation.
"Take it from me," he added, "there's many a sanctimonious high-brow in this burg who sports an alias on the side. I've got plenty of company."
Mary was seized with a fit of choking that compelled her to turn her head. She was rapidly becoming confused; she did not dare trust herself to speech. Why, she might even forget her wrong name!
Bill watched her for a moment, then shrugged and yawned.
"Well, I guess I'll call it a day, Miss Norcross. You can give any reason you like for what you did, but I'm going to keep on being much obliged." His voice had taken a more generous tone. "You're all right. Good night."
Mary watched his exit from the library, a curious expression in her eyes. Then suddenly she sat down and began to laugh, very quietly, yet rocking back and forth with the intensity of the attack.
"Oh, what a job I've got!" was the burden of Mary's thought.
She was in no hurry to go up-stairs to her room and the reason for this was evident when she caught the faint sound of the latchkey turning in the front door, which brought her to her feet and sent her running softly into the hall. She intercepted the valet as he was about to make a stealthy ascent of the staircase and motioned him into the library.
"Where's the boss?" whispered Pete.
"He has gone up-stairs. I want to talk to you a moment."
"Yes, miss."
Mary looked at him sharply; whenever he addressedher in that manner she was filled with a sensation of being mocked.
"Does Mr. Marshall attend many prize-fights?" she inquired.
Pete clasped his hands and pursed his lips.
"Well, between you and me, miss," he said, after an instant of deliberation, "I'm afraid he attends about all there are."
"Has he ever been arrested before?"
"Not that I can recall, miss. I'm quite sure this is the first time since I have been in his employ."
"Is he in the habit of associating with pugilists?"
Pete sighed and hesitated.
"If it's just between us, miss, why I'll say that he has his friends among such people. It's a very shocking thing; I've done my best to keep it away from his aunt. So far I think I've succeeded. I've tried very hard to persuade him to change his ways. I've labored with him; I've tried to get his mind turned to different things."
"Theology?" suggested Mary.
"Exactly," answered the valet. "But it's not an easy matter, miss. Mr. William is very set in his ways."
"But I thought you had told his aunt that he was interested in higher things."
"To encourage her," said Pete, glibly. "It was not what you'd call a falsehood. There had been times when he seemed interested, but never for very long. Still, I've always had hopes. His aunt is good enough to believe that I have a desirable influence over him. I hope it's true; I hope so."
It always puzzled Mary when the valet pursued this strain, and it puzzled her now. Ninety-nine out of a hundred men who talked thus she would have classedas hypocrites, but Pete did not seem to her to be exactly that. She viewed all his excellent protestations askance, yet she was not satisfied that hypocrisy was the true explanation.
"It seems a shame," he continued, "that it was necessary to bring you into touch with such an affair as to-night's. I wouldn't have thought of it if there had been any other way. I knew that you would be very much shocked, miss; very much surprised, too."
He watched her so closely that Mary wondered if he really suspected the truth—that she was neither quite so much shocked nor surprised as both he and Bill seemed to believe. That was her own secret and she intended to guard it at all costs.
"This affair of to-night," she observed, "was it particularly brutal?"
"No; I wouldn't say that," replied Pete, reflectively.
"Had it been going on very long?"
"Not very long, miss."
Mary thought for a moment before she framed the next question.
"Just an ordinary vulgar brawl between two ruffians, I take it?"
Pete unclasped his hands and made a quick gesture of dissent.
"Not at all; not at all. Why, it was a pip——"
He pulled himself up short and coughed. There was a gleam in Mary's gray eyes.
"Fortunately, it had not progressed far enough to become actually brutal," said Pete, and he showed for the first time since she had known him a trace of confusion.
"What were you doing there?" she demanded.
Pete soothed out a wrinkle in the rug with the toe of his shoe before he decided to meet her glance.
"It happened this way: I knew where he was going and I was trying to persuade him to stay away. You see, his aunt expects a great deal of me, miss, and I didn't want to do anything less than my duty. I followed him; I argued with him. In fact, we argued all the way to the place where it was being held."
And Pete was telling the literal truth. He and Bill had argued, heatedly. Bill had stubbornly asserted that the Harlem Holocaust would not last four rounds with Jimmy Jenkins, the Tennessee Wildcat, while it had been the contention of Pete that in less time than that the Wildcat would be converted into a human mop for the purpose of removing the resin from the floor of the ring.
"Failing to convert him, I take it that you went inside with him," remarked Mary.
"Exactly. As a matter of loyalty, of course. So long as there seemed to be any chance I would not desert. I am not the kind, miss, who believes in faith without works."
Which was again true, for Pete had translated his faith in the Harlem Holocaust into a wager that would have left him flat had the contentions of Bill reached a confirmation. Unfortunately, the police had canceled the bet.
"And how is it that you were not arrested, as well as Mr. Marshall?"
"There was much confusion. We became separated. I found myself running; I was carried along in the rush of the crowd. Before I knew it I was in the street again. And besides"—Pete made a gesture of appeal "it was necessary for somebody to see about obtaining bail, Miss Norcross."
"I'm sure it was very fortunate you were there,"said Mary. "You seemed to understand exactly what to do."
But Pete declined to be further disconcerted. He was able to look at her without flinching this time.
"Just one more question," added Mary. "Is this Mr. Whaley whom I saw at court a particularly close friend of Mr. Marshall's?"
Pete drew a deep breath and launched upon another speech.
"It seems, miss, as nearly as I can learn, that for quite a long time the Whaley person has been known to Mr. William. I frequently took occasion——"
Mary interrupted him with a gesture.
"Never mind," she said. "I understand. You labored with him on that matter, also. I have no doubt that you prayed with him and preached at him. I am sure you did everything in your power. I won't embarrass you by asking for the details. Some day I feel certain your efforts to exert a good influence over Mr. Marshall will have better success."
"Thank you, miss," and Pete bowed.
"But meantime——" And as Mary leaned forward her knuckles were tapping firmly on the arm of the chair. "Meantime, if I may make a suggestion, it would be an excellent plan for you to remain away from prize-fights."
"Yes, miss."
"And it would be a very good thing for Mr. Marshall to do likewise—very good."
Pete bowed again and made a note of the fact that she had a significant way of tightly closing her lips.
"You're quite sure you understand?"
"Oh, quite—quite."
"Good night," said Mary.
Dismissal was so abrupt that there was nothing todo but accept it. And Pete was not in the least sorry to terminate the interview. In spots he had enjoyed it, but the spots had been infrequent. He was dissatisfied because he had never for an instant been master of it. Talking to Aunt Caroline was easier than talking to Bill's secretary, who did not seem to place a proper value on theology. Hang the business of being a valet, anyhow! Such were the reflections that crowded into his agile mind as he bowed himself out.
He paused on the staircase to consider the matter further. The more he thought about this interview with the social secretary the more it disturbed him. It had not been a matter of mere suggestions on her part; it was very like orders. He recognized a threat when he heard one, even though the threat might be veiled with ironical advice.
"Confound her!" muttered Pete. "That little bird is wise—too wise. I wouldn't object to her simply getting the deadwood on us, if she seemed willing to let it go at that. But she served notice on me that she might make use of it. And I believe she'd do it, if she once took it into her head. What Samson did to the pillars of the temple isn't a marker to the house-wrecking job she can do, once she decides to get busy at it."
Up-stairs, he opened the door to Bill's apartments and thrust his head inside.
"Bill!" he said, softly. "She's got the Indian sign on us."
"Come in and shut the door," growled a voice. "What did she say to you?"
Pete summarized the conversation that had taken place in the library.
"She's swinging a big stick," he said, in conclusion. "The worst of it is, she's got the goods. It isn't mealone who is supposed to stay away from prize fights. It's you."
"She can't dictate to me," declared Bill, sourly.
"Don't be too certain. She can always carry it up to the supreme court."
"Who? Aunt Caroline?" Bill considered the suggestion. "No; I don't believe it. I don't think she's mean, whatever else she may be. In fact, she told me——" He paused. It did not seem necessary to take Pete entirely into his confidence concerning conversations with his secretary. "No, Pete; I don't believe she'll say anything. That is—not this time."
"Maybe," assented Pete, pessimistically. "I don't expect she will, either. But how about the next time? Are you figuring to reform?"
Bill made a scornful gesture of denial.
"But she expects us to reform, Bill. That's where the danger comes in. And she'll be keeping her eye on us."
"Well, I guess we're as clever as she is, if it comes to that."
"That so?" remarked Pete. "Well, I'm not so sure. If you think it's going to be easy to pull wool over the eyes of this secretarial lady I want to go on record with a dissenting opinion. I'd just about as soon try to slip a fake passport over on St. Peter."
"Well, I'm not going to be threatened," declared Bill.
"Brave words, lord and master. Only it happens youarethreatened."
Mary sat for some time in the library, isolated with her thoughts. Occasionally she smiled. At other times she frowned. There were also brief periods when perplexity showed in her eyes. But at the last, as she went up-stairs to her room, she was smiling again.
Nell Norcross—the real one—was sitting up in bed, unmistakably convalescent. She had been listening to the adventures of Mary Wayne; not all of the adventures, for Mary did not believe it was wise to subject a patient to too much excitement, yet enough to convey the idea that the introduction of Bill Marshall into society was not an affair of mere toast and tea.
"I feel," said Mary, "that at last I'm in a position to accomplish something. I feel more established than I did at the beginning."
"More influential," suggested Nell.
"Exactly. You see, I have such strong moral support from Miss Marshall."
"And from this valet you speak about," Nell reminded her.
"I'm not so sure about him. He puzzles me." There was a calculating look in Mary's eyes. "He keeps telling me that he wants to help, but I'm always doubtful as to just what he is really driving at. But he won't block me, at any rate; I'm able to take care of that."
"Then everything looks quite simple, doesn't it?"
"No, Nell; everything doesn't. That's the trouble. I'm in a strategic position, if that's what you'd call it, but I don't know how to take advantage of it."
"Then wait for an opening," advised Nell. "One is bound to come."
Mary shook her head.
"I can't afford to wait," she said. "I could wait forever, as far as Mr. Marshall is concerned, but I can see that his aunt is becoming impatient. She thinks it is time that something really began."
"What does she suggest, my dear?"
"Nothing. That's the worst of it. She leaves it all to me. She is so confident that I know everything there is to know about such matters. She wants me to go right ahead with anything I decide upon. And if I ever express any doubt about what to do first, she begins talking about those wonderful references of mine—yours—and says that any young woman with such an experience is competent to take full charge without suggestions from anybody. And I don't know how to start, Nell, or what to do."
"She is really impressed by the references, is she?" mused Nell.
"Tremendously."
"Then it's certain you've got to make good."
"Oh, absolutely. So that's why I've come to bother you."
Nell was thoughtfully regarding a plate of white grapes that lay on her lap.
"So tell me how to start him off," said Mary.
"H-m; let's see now. I never launched a man in society," said Nell, wrinkling her nose. "I never was secretary to a man, you know. I imagine they may be more difficult than girls."
"This one is," affirmed Mary, with an emphatic nod. "He's so—so big, for one thing."
"Men are awfully awkward to handle," philosophized Nell.
"I didn't say he was awkward; you misunderstood me. I merely said he was big; he thinks he's too big for society. Of course, he isn't at all. He handles himself very well."
"Can he dance?"
"He says not. But I'm not sure."
"Why don't you try him out?"
"I'd rather not," said Mary hastily. "I don't think that's one of my duties."
"Anything is your duty that will get him into society, my dear."
"We-e-ell, possibly. But we're getting off the track, Nell. What am I to do with him?"
"Now, if he were a girl débutante, just being introduced, why—— There! It's the very thing for him! Give him a coming-out party."
"I'm afraid he wouldn't endure it," said Mary. "He's terribly afraid of being mistaken for what he calls Rollo boys. If I planned a coming out party he'd probably disappear for a month. The very name would make him explode."
"Don't call it by that name," said Nell. "Don't call it any name particularly. Just have a party; at the house, of course. Invite all the nice people you can get hold of. Let's see; there ought to be some particular reason for the party. I've got it! He's about to make a tour of the world, having finished his studies at college. This gives him an opportunity to meet and entertain his friends before he starts, and also furnishes something for everybody to talk about."
Mary nodded as she listened. The idea sounded promising. But——
"Who will we invite, Nell?"
"His friends, of course."
"I'm afraid his friends are not in society," sighedMary, as the vision of a tin ear flashed into her mind.
"Then his aunt's friends. She must know a lot of society people."
"I don't think she has kept up her acquaintances."
"That won't make a particle of difference, my dear. Miss Caroline Marshall bears a name that will get her anywhere she wants to go. And it will do as much for her nephew, too. It's a key that will open any society lock; don't worry about that. Why, you could invite people that Miss Marshall never met, and nine out of ten of them would jump at the chance. Give him a party and it can't fail."
"I really believe it can be done," said Mary thoughtfully.
"Easiest thing in the world."
"It will be a party, then. And now tell me all about the details."
But when it came to details, Nell was less satisfying. She pleaded that she was sleepy; the doctor had told her she must not talk too long. Besides, anybody could work out the details.
"The main thing is the idea," she said with a careless gesture. "I've given you that. All you have to do is to develop it. Make him help you; he'll probably have a lot of suggestions of his own."
"You haven't met him," declared Mary.
"I'd like to. He must be an extraordinary character."
"I never said so, did I?"
"No. But judging by the way you're all fussed up over this thing——"
"Bosh!" said Mary, rising. "I'm not a bit fussed. It's as easy as anything."
But all the way back to the Marshall home Marywas reflecting upon the difficulties, rather than the ease of the problem. The first thing to do was to obtain the consent of Bill Marshall. It would be no use to consult Aunt Caroline; that good lady would simply tell her to go right ahead and do exactly as she pleased. She might, of course, call upon Aunt Caroline to give Bill his orders in case he balked; but that would be a confession of her own weakness.
"I've got to persuade him myself," she decided, "even if it comes to being ruthless."
Just as she had foreseen, Bill objected strenuously and at once. He did not want a party; he was not going around the world. But if she insisted on having a lot of silly people at the house, he would start around the world before they arrived, and he would never come back. Mary argued with much patience. She even pointed out the danger that his aunt might be driven back upon the plan suggested by his valet, Peter. But Bill was in a particularly obdurate mood. Faced at last with a definite project, he quailed.
"We'll just let things drift a while," he told her.
"No," said Mary.
Bill grinned at her in an amiable way and said he thought he would go out for a ride.
"We're going to settle it," she declared. "You promised you'd let me start."
"But I never said when."
"Well, this is the time, Mr. Marshall. We'll start now."
Bill shook his head. Mary, who faced him across the table in the sun parlor, tapped a forefinger on the writing-pad and looked him in the eye.
"Mr. Marshall," she said, "if you do not consent I shall be compelled to go to your bondsman, withdrawfrom your bond and advise him to surrender you to the court."
Bill gasped. He swallowed. He stared.
"And I shall do it this very afternoon," said Mary.
"It isn't fair," he cried. "Why, you agreed——"
"I simply agreed not to say anything to your aunt," she reminded him, coldly. "And I shall not, of course. But I am entirely at liberty to go to your bondsman. If your aunt should happen to hear about it when they come to arrest you again, why that would be unfortunate. But it would be something that could not be helped."
Bill rose from his chair and leaned heavily on the table. He was red in the face and glaring, but his secretary did not even wince.
"You're threatening me!" he almost shouted.
Mary shrugged.
"It's blackmail, I tell you!"
"On the contrary, it will all be strictly according to law," said Mary with appalling calmness.
"Pete put you up to this!"
"I am not in the habit of discussing social affairs with your valet."
"Then it's Aunt Caroline."
"No. Your aunt left everything to me."
Bill began shaking a formidable finger, but the table was between them and Mary felt no immediate cause for apprehension.
"I'll never stand for it. I won't have a party. I won't be here when it happens. You're swinging a club on me. And last night I thought you were a good sport!"
"I merely intend to earn my salary," said Mary. "I make no pretensions to being a sport. I could neverhope to equal—— Well, we won't go into the sporting phase of it, if you please."
Bill was momentarily brought to halt. Then came another inspiration.
"Call this off and I'll double your salary," he announced.
Mary shook her head.
"That's offering me a bribe," she said. "Besides, I believe your aunt pays my salary."
"I'll make up the difference out of my allowance."
"No, thank you."
Bill had never learned the science of dealing with women. There are about 350,000,000 grown men in the world, all exactly like Bill. So, while he felt that he had been singled out as the sole victim of a Machiavellian female, in reality he had all mankind for a companion. The sheer hopelessness of his plight made him calm again.
"You admit that you're my secretary, don't you?" he asked.
Mary nodded.
"Then I'm entitled to your advice. Isn't that so?"
"Yes," answered Mary, cautiously. "I wouldn't volunteer advice, but if you ask it, that's different."
"All right; I ask it. Advise me how I can duck this party."
Mary laughed outright.
"I couldn't possibly. I can only advise you that there isn't any way in the world to duck it. And that's honest advice, Mr. Marshall."
He resumed his chair and began drawing diagrams on a sheet of paper. This occupation absorbed all his attention for several minutes. When he glanced up he was grinning helplessly.
"Some day I'll get even for this," he said, "but rightnow I'll admit you've got me. Go ahead, but don't rub it into me any more than you have to."
"Why, of course I won't," declared Mary heartily. "All along I've been trying to save you from getting into society another way."
Bill nodded an acknowledgment of the fact.
"What date shall it be?" she asked.
"The quicker the better. I never got warmed up standing on the edge of a swimming tank, wondering how cold the water was."
"We'll make it as early as possible, then. Do you think it ought to be a large party?"
"No!"
"Neither do I," agreed Mary. "But it ought to be exclusive—very exclusive."
"Are you reminding me of something?"
"No," laughed Mary. "I wasn't thinking of that. Now, about the invitations: do you think they should be engraved, or would it be a little better to write personal notes to everybody?"
"That's your end of the job. How do I know?"
"I think perhaps I'd better consult one or two of the fashionable stationers," said Mary. "I want to find out just what they're doing this season."
Bill looked at his watch.
"All right; let's go and see the stationers now."
"It's almost lunch-time, isn't it?"
"Almost. That's why I want to go and see the stationers."
"Oh," said Mary.
"Come along. You owe me something after what you've done."
She smiled at that, although she was not quite certain whether she ought to go. Still, he had really surrendered, and she felt rather grateful to him.
"All right; I'll get my hat," she said.
Five minutes later they were moving up Fifth Avenue in Bill's car.
"Would you honestly have turned me over to the bondsman?" he asked suddenly.
"Let's talk about stationery," she reminded him. "I suppose for a man it ought to be plain white."
Bill turned to study her and bumped fenders with a taxicab.
"Pink," he declared.
"Pink! For a man?"
"Pink, with little freckles on it," he said, taking another look.
Mary lifted her chin and watched the traffic. Presently he turned into a side street and ran on for half a block.
"Anyhow, here's where we take lunch," he announced.
Pete hitched the largest chair forward, lifted a foot to the top of Bill's writing-table, crossed the other upon it and glared sourly at the wall in front of him.
"You'll get to like it yet," he predicted.
"Bull!" observed Bill. "I'm a leopard. I can't change 'em."
"You can have 'em changed for you all right. Many a good leopard has been skinned, Bill."
"What are you beefing about? You're responsible for getting me in on this more than anybody else."
"Oh, go ahead; lay off on me. It's a grand joke because you see I'm down. Where do I come in?"
"Where does anybody's valet come in?" countered Bill, as he stropped a razor.
"You said it. That's just the point. You're copping all the cream. I'm a servant, that's all. It isn't neighborly, Bill. Gosh hang it, it isn't democracy! Do you call it a square deal, sneaking her off to a lunch?"
"That was business, Pete. We had to look at stationery. Beside, don't I give you my evenings?"
"Is it right that I eat in the servants' dining-room? Is it right that I sleep in the servants' quarters? Me—your guest! Is that a way to treat a guy who passed your college exams for you? Andshethinks I'm a servant, too. I'll leave it to you if it's right."
"But Aunt Caroline puts you in a class by yourself,"observed Bill. "Aunt Caroline doesn't misjudge you, Pete, even if you do claim to be a valet."
Pete allocated Aunt Caroline according to his idea of where she would do the most good.
"Butshetreats me as if I was somebody to take orders from her," he grumbled on. "She's losing her respect for me."
"Oh, forget Miss Norcross."
"What? Forget Gray Eyes? Forget little Nell? Why don't you try it yourself, Bill?"
"I don't have to. She's my secretary," said Bill maliciously.
"She's your dancing-teacher, you mean. I've seen you at it; the two of you. Getting ready for the party! Bill Marshall, you're losing your character and your self-respect."
Bill grinned complacently.
"It isn't as if you needed to learn to dance," added Pete, as he kicked a book off the table. "You can dance rings around her, if you want to. But you're deceitful, Bill. She's got you one-twoing and three-fouring all over the library, and you making believe it's all new stuff. It's a gol darned shame, and I'm going to tell her so."
"You're going to mind your own business or get busted," predicted Bill. "It doesn't make any difference what I used to know about dancing; I need practice. Besides, you can always go and talk theology to Aunt Caroline. She's never busy."
Pete groaned.
"I'm laying off it—when she'll let me," he said miserably. "She's getting interested in it, Bill. Yesterday I had to go and bone up some more in the encyclopedia; I was all run out of stuff."
"All right, son; only don't accuse me."
Pete subsided into silence and Bill shaved. The young man who would be a valet was not enjoying a happy morning. Part of it was because of the night before, but some of the unhappiness lay rooted in the fact that Bill's secretary persisted in taking him at face value. At the same time Pete was convinced that she knew better; that there was a mocking deliberation in the way that she held him to his bargain.
"Confound it, Bill! That girl's no fool."
"I said it first," Bill reminded him. "I said it days ago."
"She knows darn well I'm something more than a valet."
"She never said it to me, Pete; never even hinted at it. I don't believe she even suspects."
"Bill, that's an insult. If you say she doesn't even suspect, I'll poison you. Why, any girl with good sense would suspect. Do I look like a valet?"
"Sure."
Bill had finished shaving, so it was easy enough to dodge the book.
There had been a good deal of talk like that ever since the party became a fixed project. Pete Stearns was discovering that the business of flinging gibes had become less profitable; either Bill's hide was getting thicker or his perceptions were becoming dulled. It was no longer possible always to get a rise; sometimes it shocked him to find that he was rising himself. And then there was that secretary; she had annoying moments of superiority. She was in a fair way to become a snob, thought Pete, and just because she could not recognize the difference between a real social gulf and one that was self-imposed. Some day he was going to cross that gulf in a wild leap and make her feel silly.
"Where you going now?" he demanded, as Bill made for the door.
"Business, old dear. Cheer up."
Bill's business was in the office on the second floor. It, or she—or both—had been making a good many demands on his time. He bore them with a fortitude that made him proud of himself.
"Good morning," said Mary, looking up. "Any more names to suggest?"
"Haven't we dug up enough?"
"We should have a margin to allow for declinations. There are bound to be a few, you know. Even some of the people who accept don't come."
"I don't think of anybody else," said Bill. "You've got a whole lot of people now that I never saw or heard of."
"I'm quite proud of the list," she said. "Some of it is really distinguished. And—— Oh, by the way, Mr. Marshall. Your aunt gave me another name; you must know him, of course. Bishop Wrangell."
"What! That old dodo?"
"He's a bishop; a very old friend of your aunt's. And bishops are very exclusive. I think it's fine to have a bishop."
"He's a dodo," reaffirmed Bill. "He'll crab it all. Cut him off."
"But I've already invited him," said Mary. "It's in the mail."
"He'll talk everybody to death," groaned Bill. "I know him; he's been here to dinner. It's a curse to have a party, but bishops are damnation."
"You surprise me," observed Mary. (He did not.)
"But you don't know this bird and I do. He's so dry that the dust flies out of him when he talks."
"Well, I'm sorry, but it's done. I couldn't very well refuse your aunt."
"Oh, I suppose not. Just because he's a bishop Aunt Caroline thinks he's going to put her on the free-list when she hits heaven. A bishop! What are we going to have at this party? Prayers?"
Mary bent over her work until she was sure that she had command of herself.
"Say!" exclaimed Bill. "I know a stunt. Would it be all right to invite my valet?"
"No; I should think not," answered Mary. "You mean as a guest? Why in the world do you want him?"
"He could entertain the bishop. We could make that his special job. Come on; let's do it."
Mary smiled, but shook her head decisively.
"Your guests would never forgive you if they discovered that you had invited your valet. You see, such things are not done."
She had slipped into the employment of that little phrase until it came to her lips as a reason for almost any prohibition that dealt with the social code.
"But I want to do it as a special favor to Pete," urged Bill.
"Or as a special penance, perhaps," said Mary, with a wise look. "No; and besides, your valet will doubtless have his duties that evening. He'll be needed in the gentlemen's dressing-room."
Bill picked up a morning paper and turned to the sporting page. Suddenly he looked up.
"Say, if you can squeeze a bishop in at this stage of the game I ought to be entitled to invite somebody else, hadn't I?"
"Of course. I asked for suggestions."
"Well, I want to invite a very, very good friend of mine."
"Who?" asked Mary cautiously.
"He's an Italian."
She raised her eyebrows and wrinkled her forehead into an inquiry.
"An artist," added Bill.
"Oh! Now that sounds promising."
"A wop artist. His name is Valentino."
"Why, of course we've got room for him," she said. "I think it's a splendid idea, Mr. Marshall. I hadn't any notion that you had friends in the art world. I'm very much interested in art myself. What does he paint?"
"He's a sculptor," said Bill.
"Better yet. That's even more distinguished. He must have the true temperament."
"Oh, barrels of it."
"An impressionist or a realist."
Bill considered.
"I'd say he was a little of both. He's very strong on impressions, but he produces them in a realistic way, if you can get what I mean."
"His work has strength," commented Mary, with a nod of understanding.
"You've got it. That's exactly it, Miss Norcross. He's young, but he's already made a name for himself. He makes a specialty of working on heads and busts."
"His full name?" inquired Mary.
"Antonio Valentino."
"Oh, I like it," she exclaimed. "He's the only artist we'll have. Perhaps another time we can get him to bring his friends. What is the address, please?"
"He has a studio over on the East Side. Wait a second."
Bill searched a pocket and discovered a memorandum of the address.
"And when you write," he advised, "don't address it to 'Mister,' Make it 'Signor.' He's accustomed to that and it'll please him."
"Signor Antonio Valentino," said Mary, reading from her list. "Quite the most distinguished name at the party, Mr. Marshall. That's the best suggestion you've made yet."
Bill smiled as though he had done a full morning's work.
"And now, if you've nothing more for the present, I have errands to do," she announced. "Will you excuse me?"
"Don't I get another dancing lesson? I thought you said——"
Mary shook her head as she gathered up some papers.
"I've been thinking about your dancing," she said. "And I've come to the conclusion, Mr. Marshall, that there isn't anything more I can teach you. You've done so well that sometimes I suspect——"
That seemed a good place to end the sentence and she walked out of the room, leaving Bill to wonder whether Pete had not already played him false.
On her way out Mary remembered that she wanted to speak to Aunt Caroline about the florist, but at the threshold of the library she paused. Aunt Caroline was engaged.
"I wish you'd continue where you left off yesterday," she was saying.
"About what, madam?" It was the voice of the valet.
"Why, it was about theology."
"Ah, yes. But you see there are so many kinds. Do you remember just which we were discussing? Speculative, philosophical, practical or dogmatic?"
"Mercy, Peter; how should I know? But it was interesting, so please go on."
"Very good, madam. I think we might go into the catechetical school for a bit, and that will lead us up to the doctrine of penal substitution."
"Splendid!" said Aunt Caroline.
Mary tiptoed down the hall, holding a gloved hand tightly over her lips. When she reached the street she let the laugh have its way.
"Now what do you know about that?" she murmured. And Mary was not an adept in the use of slang.
Some hours later she was discussing final preparations with Nell Norcross, who had convalesced to the point where she was sitting up in a chair and taking a vivid interest in everything that concerned the social fortunes of Bill Marshall, débutant.
"And now I have a surprise for you," said Mary. "You're coming to the party yourself!"
"I?" exclaimed Nell.
"You're quite well enough, and I'll need your help, my dear. I'm counting on you."
"But, Mary—oh, I can't."
"Nonsense. I've spoken to Miss Marshall about it. I explained I had a friend who had also done secretarial work and who really knew a great deal more about it than I do, and she said by all means to bring you. There won't really be anything for you to do, but you'll just be there in case we need some expert advice."
"I don't believe I'm strong enough," demurred Nell.
"Yes, you are. I asked the doctor. He said it would do you good."
"But I haven't a dress, Mary."
"Yes, you have. I've ordered one—one for you and one for me. They're with the compliments of Miss Marshall, they're perfect dreams and we're the luckiest people alive."
"You're a conspirator," complained Nell. "Honestly, Mary, I don't think I ought to go. I'm sure I shouldn't."
One of those determined looks flashed into Mary's face.
"Nell Norcross, you've got to go. I won't let you stay away. It's time you did something. Here I've been skating along on thin ice, bluffing and pretending and telling fibs until I hardly know which is my real name—yours or mine. Now I've reached the very climax and you've got to see me through. I'm going to be adamant."
Nell sighed.
"You're a whole lot bossier than you were the day I met you in the Brain Workers' Exchange," she said petulantly.
"Don't ever mention that place," and Mary made a grimace. "It gives me crawly little chills."
"Will I have to bring any more references?"
"No, you silly thing. References, indeed! Why, Nell, you won't go to this party on references. You'll go on my reputation!"
"Mary Wayne, I'm in awe of you."
Mary laughed.
"You wouldn't be if you knew how much I feel like a charlatan. It's all on the outside, Nell. I am just hollow emptiness; the shell is the only thing that holds me together."
Nell made a gesture of reluctant assent.
"I'll go if you'll let me meet the Italian sculptor," she said. "I adore sculptors."
"You can meet the sculptor and the bishop both," promised Mary. "And if you're very good I'll let you meet the valet."
"But not, of course, Mr. Marshall."
"Pooh! That's nothing exciting. Anybody can meet him, my dear."
"Mary," said Nell, "inside of the Marshall house you may be a marvelous liar, but outside of it your work is really very poor."