Chapter XX--Christmas Fun
Aunt Penelopewas right--the day before Christmas was an awful day for hurry. Everyone simply flew, and almost every six seconds Amy would come in to tell of someone she’d forgotten to remember, Ito would appear to say that someone was wanted by someone at the telephone, and Evelyn would say: “Another pot of poinsettias and ferns. WhereshallI tell Jane to put it?” There were lots of roses too, and they made the whole place fragrant and beautiful.
In the hall there were millions of packages, unopened cards on a tray, and messenger boys waiting for someone to sign their books. I loved it all, and having Uncle Frank there made it perfect. He kept wandering around saying “Ho hum” and hunting his spectacles, which had all gradually climbed up on his forehead. And he gave the touch of home that I had needed. It is curious, but I have found that you never realize how very much you have missed anyone until you have them near again anddon’tmiss them.
Lunch was a hurried affair, but at this meal Aunt Penelope became coherent long enough to suggest that I ask Mr. Kempwood up for the celebration and opening of presents, which was to be at eight o’clock, after an early dinner. I said I would love to, and I immediately telephoned him about it, and asked if he would take Uncle Frank that afternoon too. He said he would be charmed to do so, and at five we started for a drive.
Going was great fun, for there was so much excitement. All the shop windows were blazing, and people seemed happy. They always do at Christmas-time; I think even mean spirits warm up and stop refrigerating anything they touch after December twenty-third. But, unfortunately, they begin being mean again about January third or fourth. I have always had the feeling that perhaps the Christmas bills made their pessimism return, for bills are depressing to even a constitutionally happy individual.
But, to get on, we had tea, and I made mine a little heavy, because I really hadn’t had much lunch, and altogether enjoyed myself. Uncle Frank and S. K. got along beautifully and did most of the talking. Because I was hungry, I occupied myself with eating and listening.
“Doubtless that young person will take you to the Jumel Mansion,” said S. K., with a nod toward me and a smile for me.
Uncle Frank nodded.
“Audubon lived near here,” he said after he stood up and slipped out of his coat. “Wonderful man, ho hum.”
“Yes,” agreed S. K., and then slowly smiled, and as if he couldn’t help it. I do too, for Uncle Frank had a string of tinsel tied around his collar and under his chin in a great bow.
I pulled it off and showed it to him, and he explained. He had been helping Evelyn and Herbert trim the tree before we started out, and Amy had given him that four-in-hand. Then he put his hand in his pocket and brought out a bit of a broken glass ball, and then, very carefully, the rest.
“Dearest,” I said, “you will cut yourself!” But he didn’t.
“Must have slipped it in there, thinking it was my handkerchief,” he explained, “then hung my handkerchief on the tree!”
S. K. said it was easy to do those things, and then he smiled at me, and I answered it, for I could see that he liked Uncle Frank and understood him. After we finished eating, S. K. bought me a tiny Santa Claus about an inch long and pinned it on my lapel, and I bought him one and pinned it on his, and Uncle Frank stood looking on and blinking. Then we pushed through the crowd and started on. And being out was gorgeous. I hated going in, but of course we had to, for dinner was to be served very promptly at seven.
The attitude of suspense in the apartment was thrilling. The curtains that frame the living-room doors were drawn across them, and from behind them someone was tacking something up. Greens trailed over pictures, and holly bloomed in jardinières. Corners were lit by all sorts of flowers, and the air smelled like a hothouse.
Aunt Penelope, looking very tired, but happy, met me and told me to make haste about dressing, and I went toward my room. Here, I prepared to bathe, first getting out all the prettiest things I owned and laying them on the bed, for I did want to look very gay. I decided on my pink dress, for it is the most beautiful one I have, and because I thought it would look nice with a bouquet of tiny roses which I found waiting me on my return. S. K. had sent them and they were dear.
Then I began to slip from my clothes, and as I unclasped my bracelet I decided I had been silly about the whole affair and that I probably imagined a good deal of it. For nothing but the noise against the wall and the black form on S. K.’s balcony had occurred to disquiet me during that last week. I opened the drawer to put the bracelet away while I bathed, for I am careful of where I leave it, and when I opened its box I found a note. This was written on brown butcher’s paper, and it was a little hard to make out. It said:
“Natalie Page is ordered to leave her bracelet under a stone which lies beneath the first bush to the right of the side entrance of the Jumel Mansion. This must be done at five o’clock on December 28 without fail. If she comes alone and tells no one, no harm will come to her, but if she speaks of this misfortune will follow quickly and in the worst form. All will be well if instructions are absolutely obeyed, and if not, great suffering and unhappiness are bound to occur. Be wise! Take warning!”
“Natalie Page is ordered to leave her bracelet under a stone which lies beneath the first bush to the right of the side entrance of the Jumel Mansion. This must be done at five o’clock on December 28 without fail. If she comes alone and tells no one, no harm will come to her, but if she speaks of this misfortune will follow quickly and in the worst form. All will be well if instructions are absolutely obeyed, and if not, great suffering and unhappiness are bound to occur. Be wise! Take warning!”
After I read it I put it down. Then I read it again, as I sat on the edge of my bed (my knees shook), and then I wondered how the person who warned me had got it in my bracelet box without anyone’s knowing it? and then--I stood up, clasped the bracelet on, because I thought my arm was the safest place to leave it, and went to get my bath. I hurried because aunt doesn’t like people’s being late. I decided I would forget the affair for this one evening, if I could. And--begin to consider what I would do the next day.
When I was dressed, and I will acknowledge I looked as nice as I can, I hurried toward the hall, where I found S. K. (aunt had asked him to come up to dinner), Amy, who was fox-trotting with Herbert, Evelyn, who was sorting packages, and uncle, who was helping her take them to the living-room.
I sat down on a long chest which came from Holland and is beautifully carved, and S. K. sat down beside me. I told him I loved the baby roses, and he said that I looked very nice. Then he said he wished he could fox-trot with me, and I told him I liked sitting out with him better. I am very sorry that he feels badly about being lame. I think that if people who have deformities would realize that people like the deformities because ofthem, they would get on better. Just the sight of S. K.’s cane always makes me feel well, because it belongs to him. Awkwardly, I told him this, and he said I had made him a Christmas present of a new viewpoint which he liked and which would help him. Then he looked at me carefully and said: “Small girl, what’s worrying you?”
I replied that nothing was; he called me a cheerful prevaricator, and then Ito announced dinner, and we went in. It was positively the nicest meal I ever ate in Uncle Archie’s dining-room, and the food had nothing to do with its seeming so, but the little Santas which stood at each place and the verses on the place-cards and the laughter and talk did.
Then we got up. Uncle Archie disappeared to light the candles on the tree; we were signalled and filed in. It was a pretty tree, and opening things was the greatest fun, and we had jokes among the gifts too. Everyone gave Uncle Frank worsted spiders, papier-mâché bugs, or crêpe paper butterflies. Evelyn had got a doll’s coat for Amy made of fur, and they gave me a toy pistol and a trap. Uncle Archie’s joke was a bottle of “Seven Sutherland Sisters” hair tonic and a switch, because he has hardly any hair. There were lots of others too, and a great many beautiful things. Quite everyone talked at once, paper rustled and grew to great heaps on the floor, ribbons tangled around your ankles as you stepped, and it was--just the way Christmas always is.
I had some lovely things given me. Aunt gave me a tiny string of corals because I am dark and she thought they would look well on me, and Uncle Archie a book that he had selected himself, which made me very happy. Evelyn and Amy gave me charming things to wear--handkerchiefs, silk underthings, and so on--and Uncle Frank a book on the development of bills in the wild fowl of South Africa.
“Very interesting subject,” he said, peering at me over his glasses (one pair was actually on his nose!). “Plate seventy-two--ho hum--let me see it.” I passed it to him, and he went off in a corner near the victrola and read it all the evening. Amy ran that all the time and with a loud needle. I think it bothered Uncle Frank, although he didn’t seem to realize it, but every once and again he would shake his head, as you do when you get water in your ears while swimming.
S. K. grinned at this a good deal, and very tenderly at me. “You little peach!” he said, and I loved it, although I had to protest that I did enjoy having that book and that it would mean a lot to me. S. K. had heard me thank uncle, and I had been extremely exuberant, because Amy had drawn near, looked at it, and said, “Oh----” in a kind of an “Is-that-all” manner, and I was afraid Uncle Frank might be hurt.
“Of course you liked it,” said S. K.; “you would, Nat, I swear----” But he stopped, and I don’t know what he was going to swear. He only shook his head, covered my hand with his, and squeezed it.
“It’s all right for a pal to tell you he likes you, isn’t it?” he asked.
I said it was and that he’d better, then aunt brought up a tiny package, and it was marked from S. K., and I was surprised, for I had supposed the tiny roses were my present from him. I explained this as I unwrapped it, and when I did--well, I couldn’t speak; I just held it and looked until tears made things waver, and then I began to do my champion quick-swallowing trick.
Everyone stood around and asked to look at it, and I let them, but I didn’t let go of it, and Aunt Penelope frankly wiped her eyes. “Just like her, dear,” she said, “and your good friend ‘S. K.’ had it painted from a tiny photograph I had. Come here, Frank, and see this miniature of Nelly. . . . Mr. Kempwood had it made for Natalie. . . . It’s on ivory and is simply exquisite. . . .” Then aunt turned to me and said: “You haven’t thanked him, dear.” She did it very gently, for I think she saw how greatly I cared for it.
“Yes, she has!” said S. K.
But I hadn’t, and I didn’t know how ever to do it. Something--I suppose a very full heart--made me turn to S. K., slip my arm around his neck, pull his face down, and kiss him. “I hope,” I said, “that you won’t mind, for that is the only way I know how to show you. Ican’tsay it.” And then I asked aunt if that was all right, and she said it was, and blew her nose and cried a little more, and Evelyn put her arm around me, and I allowed Uncle Frank to take possession of the miniature, and he stood holding that in one hand and my book on duck bills in the other, and--blinking awfully hard.
“Come,” said Amy loudly, “thiswon’tdo; everyone is threatening weeps! And--it’s Christmas Eve!” So I put the miniature on the middle of a big table in its little case, and joined whatever went on. But I went back to the table very often to look at it.
Amy was right about it; everyone had been upset, even S. K., which was queer, for he didn’t know my mother. But when I looked at him, after I’d thanked him, I saw that his eyes, too, were full of tears. And he didn’t talk very much for the rest of the evening.
But he was so kind to me that I knew he knew I was grateful, even if I couldn’t say so properly, and that my lack of words was not what was making him quiet.
Chapter XXI--S. K. forces My Confidence
Itwas a lovely Christmas Eve, and a lovely Christmas. Everyone was so happy that it seemed like a new family. Even Uncle Archie talked! . . . The day after Christmas, S. K. made me tell him about the letter. I never knew he could be so firm, and for the first and last time I felt the difference in our ages.
“Something is worrying you,” he said, “and if you don’t tell me I shall go to your aunt and tell her to investigate. And if I know that lady, she can.”
“S. K.,” I begged, “please.”
But he was not softened. “Come on, Nat. No foolishness,” he said, and almost sternly. “Something worrying you about the bracelet?”
I nodded, and then, somehow, the story came out.
I gave him the letter, the little bit of cloth that had been left on my window-sill, and the notes that were signed E. J. He felt badly that I had borne it alone and called himself all sorts of names for taking it so lightly.
“Dear child,” he said, “why didn’t you show me these things before?”
“You said I was foolish, that there were no such things as ghosts,” I answered.
“There aren’t. Someone’s playing a joke on you. . . . And it will stop. I will see that it is stopped, and the person shall be punished.”
I told him his chin stuck out two inches farther when he was fierce, but he didn’t laugh at my joke.
“And you weren’t imagining when you told me that someone had felt for your bracelet when you fell from your horse on Riverside Drive?”
I said, “Of course not,” and quite indignantly. Then I began to see that they had all thought I was hysterical and silly and made up these tales from the creakings of floors and lost flashlights.
“I haven’t told them anything recently,” I said, “because they laughed. But the trap did catch someone, S. K. I did not mislay it afterward; I heard it snap, and that was the night this piece of cloth was torn from his or her clothes. And sometimes the bracelet comes back. It slides in----”
“How?” he asked.
I told him.
“Why didn’t you tell them, here?” he questioned.
I said it had annoyed aunt and that she had asked me not to think of it, since it was clearly impossible and a half-dream of mine, and not to mention it to Amy.
“And you didn’t believe me either,” I said. “Not that I blame you; it did sound crazy, but there simply wasn’t anyone to tell.”
“I shall never forgive myself for this,” he said, “never. . . . That I should fail you----” Then he shook his shoulders, frowned, and went on with: “There must be some explanation, and we will have it. That bracelet walking in by itself is clearly impossible, and its leaving the same way too----”
“But the ghost that Mademoiselle Nitschke heard?” I questioned.
“My dear,” he said, “there were three quarrelling families under one roof. Don’t you think it natural that one, if he could disturb the other, would try to do so? Why Will Chase, or the other one, could have thought of a thousand ways to make rappings and so frighten the Pérys out of their wits. And if he or the other one--frightened them so that they would leave the old place, so much to the good. One less family to disagree with, more room. Can’t you see it? . . . We’ll say that one of the Chase men went out at twelve and threw a ball against the wall of the Pérys’ room, then say he crept inside, took a heavy cane on which he tied a pad, so that the ceiling wouldn’t be marred, stepped up on a chair, and whanged that. . . . Then--Mr. Péry leaps from his chair in fright. Mr. Chase goes on pounding as a smile gradually widens on his face; someone above speaks, the Chase individual can hear the voice since the doors are open, and, although it was a mansion for that day, it is not a great house for to-day. The sounds easily carry, and especially since it is night and a ‘calm September one, in which hardly a leaf stirred.’ He pounds three times, and up above three quaking people think a question is answered and that a ghost walks and thumps. . . . Why, there would be countless ways for him to make noises that would frighten the Pérys into hysteria, and as for Madam Jumel clothed in white coming to anyone’s bedside--well, anyone can wear a long white robe, and faces cannot be seen in the dark.”
“Do you think that that was it?” I asked, a good deal relieved.
“I certainly do, Nat,” he replied. “Usually things of that sort have the most simple explanations. And this matter must have too. Now to-night you are going to bring that bracelet down to me.”
I said: “Ohno!”
“Or let me take it now,” he went on. “I have a wall safe, you know, and I imagine it won’t be bothered there.”
I protested for several minutes, but at length I had to give in.
“I’ll bring it down to you later,” I temporized.
“Honestly?” he said.
I said, “Honestly,” and I meant to, since S. K. wanted me to. Then, because he had come in for only a second after the matinée (Amy, Uncle Frank, and I had gone with him and had a beautiful time), he went, and we sat down before the living-room fire and talked.
At six the bell rang and Ito admitted that man to whom I had talked on the diner. He made a great deal of noise in the hall, and I heard him tell Ito that the “little lady” had told him to look her up. And then he asked Ito if I wasn’t “some looker” and added that the apartment was “a spiffy roost,” and I began to worry, because I knew aunt would not like him. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, and I didn’t want to annoy her.
Ito showed him in, and he settled before the fire. He talked a great deal and in a carrying tone, while Amy put her chin higher and higher in the air, and uncle looked over his glasses. Then aunt came in, talked to Mr. Bilkins, for such was his name, and told him that she was sorry I must be excused, but that I was going out, and so--she stood up after that, and he did too, and then Ito took possession of him and he was shunted out.
I felt sorry for him, sorry for myself; and for Aunt Penelope, for she felt that I had disgraced her. I knew that her standards were wrong when she thought that loud voices and too much slang made a person “impossible”--that is, that they would be wrong, if the person’s spirit was splendid and only the trimmings were off--but I did not know about this man’s spirit. I only knew that I had asked him to my aunt’s house before I knew much about the world’s ways of doing things, and that it was not wise or sensible to do. I said I was very sorry, but she couldn’t get over it, and Ito had to bring her smelling-salts, and a fan, although the room was not over warm.
“Some toney joint,” she kept muttering between sniffs of her salts, which was a quotation from Mr. Bilkins. Then she asked me never, never, never to do such a thing again, and I said I wouldn’t. After which I went to my room, for the atmosphere was not congenial. I noticed Uncle Frank as I left the room. He was deep in that book he had given me, and I envied him, and I wished I could forget myself through bugs, or anything. Someone--I don’t know who--said, “Collect something, it doesn’t matter what,” and I think that someone was thinking of the forgetting possibilities which come through a hobby. For the happiest person has moments when he needs something to make him forget unhappiness.
In my room I considered the bracelet affair and decided ICOULD NOTrisk S. K.’s being hurt. For, when aunt and the rest are put out with me, I realize how much I depend on him. I wondered what I would do if he were hurt, or killed; whom I would turn to if I had done something impossible and needed cheering.
I studied it a long time, and then I went down to S. K.
“My soul!” he said, “what a long face the bracelet leads us to wear!”
“Oh, S. K.,” I answered, “I don’t want to give it to you!”
Then he said: “What nonsense! . . .” Just at that moment his man told him that someone wanted to speak with him at the telephone; he excused himself, and I had a chance to think. It did not seem to me that Icouldlet him run that risk. I opened the case, looked down at the bracelet, and considered it. Then I heard S. K. coming back, quickly moved, snapped the case shut, tied it with the ribbon, and said: “Here.” My voice was not usual.
“So she thinks I am going to be killed, does she?” asked S. K.
“Don’t,” I begged, and then I stood up, for it was getting late, and I was still in day things, and Amy and I were to go to see a friend after dinner. I saw him put it in his wall safe, shook hands, asked him please not to bother to come up with me, and ran off.
I found Amy using my dressing-table because it has a better light than hers.
“Mother is frightfully shocked,” she said. “I think that man upset her fearfully, Natalie. I think it was thestrangestthing for you to do----” Her voice trailed off and she turned to see how her hair looked at the back.
“I didn’t know at that time,” I began, but she cut me short.
“She wonders how many more people you talked to,” she went on, “and shehopesthat this Mr. Stilkins, or whatever his name was, isn’t a sample of them all. How did you start it, anyway? . . . I knew that cooks did that sort of thing, but I never knew how they began it.”
I saw that she was feeling disagreeable, and attributed it to too much candy, but this reasoning did not diminish my wish to thump her. This was strong. But--I tried to hold my temper and explain.
“Don’t bother,” she said right in the middle of my words. “I’m not really interested.” And then she began to hum and, doing this, left the room. I did hate her. I think that is the meanest feminine trick of all, that humming after you’ve made the other person mad. If I had my way I’d make that a criminal offence.
I slammed things a little after she left, which is my way of showing temper, and then I forgot it all, for Uncle Frank asked if he might come in. He wanted to read aloud a few pages about how the aigrette makes her nest and takes care of her young.
After he finished he said: “And every time a woman wears them she leaves a mother bird dead and little ones starving. Ho hum--don’t--think--it’s--worth it.”
I said I didn’t either. I never had, and I have wondered how women could, but I think perhaps it is because they don’t imagine. A great many troubles are made that way, simply because someone fails to realize how the other person (or aigrette) will feel from something that they themselves say (or wear).
Amy was bad tempered all evening. She called me her “country cousin” in public, which wasn’t polite, and told how I had got tangled up in the silver at first. She brought it in nicely, and people laughed, but I did not think it was kind. Then she sulked all the way going home, and only spoke when we were a block from the door.
“Some people like admiration andworkfor it,” she said. “I, myself, don’t.” And then I realized that it was not too much candy, but jealousy, and that even the calling of this man who did not attract me had impressed Amy.
“I don’t care for it,” I answered shortly.
“Oh no!” she agreed, and too loudly. “Irealizeyou don’t!”
I gave up and resorted to silence. No one can do anything with Amy when she feels that way. And we parted with cool good-nights.
The next morning something happened that was funny. Another person came to ask for me. Amy heard Ito admit him and told Ito to let him wait in the hall.
“So manystrangepeople coming, Ito,” she said loudly (I heard this afterward); “I think it would be wisest to let him wait in the hall.”
Then I was called and I faced--Willy Jepson.
“Hello, Nat,” he said loudly. “I’m going to Columbia, starting this term. Wouldn’t let your uncle tell you. How are you?”
I said I was well.
“You’re looking it,” he asserted, and I could see that he was impressed with my clothes. Then we went into the library, and I could see that Amy liked Willy’s looks, but evidently he did not like hers.
“Have you met before?” I asked, for Amy was smiling so widely that I thought they had.
“No,” answered Willy, “your cousin told the Jap to let me wait in the hall--and so I heard her voice, but we have not met.” Willy was insulted by that. He told me so afterward.
“Nat,” he said, “all the instincts of a Southern gentleman were outraged in me by that order. I, the son of Colonel Jepson of Queensburg, Virginia, am notusedto waiting in halls!” Willy has quite a little dignity when he wants to use it, and, like all Southern men, puts out his chest a tiny bit when he speaks of the fact that heisa Southerner. To be just, Amy did not understand how frightful he thought it was, but in our town anyone but a nigger is asked in, and warmly welcomed. Even Mr. Bilkins would have stopped for supper with anyone of our first families. We are built that way and the North is not, that is all.
Amy smiled at Willy and asked him to come over and sit with her beside the fire. He complied rather stiffly.
“I’ve heard of you,” she said. “Natalie has told me so many things about how you two played around together----” And that seemed funny, because she never would listen when I started, but I didn’t correct her. Willy said: “Indeed, Miss James?” But you could tell it was just something to say.
Then the bell rang, and Ito appeared, to give me a message.
Mr. Kempwood, it seemed, asked if I would come down immediately? The matter was urgent. I excused myself and, wondering, hurried to S. K.’s rooms. I thought it was strange that he hadn’t gone to business, strange that he had sent for me instead of coming up.
He himself admitted me, and his face was worried. He did not smile.
“Nat,” he said, “I have bad news. The bracelet is gone. Come in. This is the way that things were found this morning----”
I followed him and looked. The door of the wall safe was open, and papers were strewn across the floor. Near a window was the box of yellowed satin, which had always held my bracelet. This was wide open, the lid torn from the back, and empty.
I could hardly speak, but I clutched S. K.’s arm and whispered: “You were not hurt?”
“No, my dear, but----” he answered. I could see that the bracelet loss bothered him.
“Sit down,” I said, “I want to talk.” He did, and I settled too. “S. K.,” I began, “I want to tell you something. I know where that bracelet is----”
He leaned forward, and I told him.
Chapter XXII--Detective Work
Itwas on my arm. When I rolled up my sleeve, S. K. gasped.
“I’ll give up,” he said. “Thereissomething supernatural about it!”
“No,” I replied, trying to quote from him, “there is always some logical and sane explanation of things of this sort. You see, I put it there.”
He said, “You little devil!” and then he smiled unwillingly. “Think you’re funny, don’t you?” he continued.
I said I hoped so, for I was trying to be, and then I told him why I had deceived him; about Mr. Bilkins, and how, if he were not around, there would be no one to smooth things if they were rough. And I added that I couldn’t possibly spare him, that anxiety would have kept me awake all that night, and that I was sorry I fibbed.
“You’re forgiven,” he answered. “I like the story--especially the last part. . . . But--what gets me is the fact that I put off seeing a detective until this morning, when last night might have got the chap.”
“S. K.,” I said loudly, “I beg you not to get one, because that note said that if I told I’d be hurt. If you have the slightest regard for my feelings, you will do nothing, and let events care for themselves. In fact, I forbid your doing so, and it is, after all, my matter.” I ended this coolly and as if I meant it. Then I stood up, rubbed my hand across my forehead, and said: “I’ve got to get out in the fresh air. Can’t we motor?”
He said we could, and he was very baffled and upset by my manner, which was not natural.
“You’re upset by this,” he said, as he buttoned my coat for me, “and I simply won’t have it. You shan’t be made nervous and jumpy, and I----”
“You will not do anything I ask younotto, I presume?” I questioned, turning to him.
“But Nat----” he protested.
“S. K.,” I said, “if you do, it will end our friendship--that is all.”
He said, “Well, I’ll bedarned!” and followed me out. S. K.’s man was in the hall dusting some old brasses that S. K. had picked up in the little hill towns of Italy, and I was not surprised. S. K. was annoyed, for he likes the work of his establishment to go on when no one is around.
In the outer hall I paused. I said I wanted a drink, and we went in again. Debson wasn’t in the hall, and I wouldn’t let S. K. ring. “I’ll go to the kitchen----” I said, and, as he protested, I ran out. Ito was there, talking to Debson. I was not surprised at that either.
Then I went back, and we went driving.
“I didn’t mean to speak that way, but I had to,” I explained after we started. “You see, your man was listening. I found Ito in the kitchen, and both Debson and Ito wear duds that come from Rogers Peet, and last week I went in there and matched the sample, and it came from one of their suits. . . . It was quite easy to match, for it has a purple cast and the weave is unusually tight.”
“Ito!” said S. K.
“Possibly,” I replied, “but I don’t believe it. . . . You engaged this man just after I was so annoyed and troubled by being followed, and when I saw the blind man so often. That ceased, and someone began to creep in my room--get in somehow--at night.”
“I will never forgive myself----” said S. K., through set teeth.
“Don’t worry; it’s over,” I answered. “All we have to do now is to arrange to bag him or them, and that ought to be simple. If I go in with you, when we return, and tell you where I am going to hide it to-night, we’ll catch him, she, or them; I know it!”
S. K. thought it was a good idea, but we stopped to see a man who is noted for solving crimes and finding who did them. In his office we made all plans, and then we started on.
“Better have lunch with me,” said S. K., and then, for the first time, I remembered Willy. S. K. was not pleased to hear that he had come. He acted quite peevish, and I was surprised.
“Why does he come here?” he asked. “Lots of good Southern colleges. All you people are always talking about the supremacy of the South, and then you lope off and leave it----”
“But if I hadn’t----” I put in.
“That,” he said sharply, “is quite different. Don’t be silly, Nat. . . . How old is this young pup?”
I told him.
“And I suppose very handsome?” he questioned further.
I admitted it.
“And has already asked you to marry him? . . . Should belocked up. . . . Like tothrashhim!”
“Why, S. K.,” I protested. “I don’t think you’re nice. I’m very fond of Willy!” And for two blocks we didn’t say a word.
“Can’t you see,” he explained after that long silence, “that no man has any right to bother a youngster, or ask her to marry him, no matter how much he wants to, until she’s past the doll’s stage? . . . Here you are, having tea in the nursery, and he butts in where angels would bare their heads, and says you can ‘havehim,’ if I recollect correctly. ‘Have him!’ My heavens!”
I was mad. I have not played dolls for years, and I never had tea in the nursery, because we hadn’t any; I always ate with Uncle Frank. I maintained a frigid silence. And then I made talk, deliberately manufactured the article on coldly impersonal lines, while S. K. glared ahead and answered in monosyllables.
“I believe that there is a tablet on the wall of one of the buildings of Columbia, which asserts that the Battle of Harlem Heights was enacted on that spot,” I said. “I’d like to see it.”
“No doubt,” said S. K.
I didn’t know what he meant by that, but he meant something, for his tone was full of implications.
“Perhaps Willy will take me down,” I went on.
“Possibly,” said S. K. dryly.
“He admires Hamilton,” I continued, “and I must take him to the Metropolitan to see that portrait that was painted by Trumbull. What made Burr challenge Hamilton?”
“Political jealousy.”
“Really?” I said.
“Um,” grunted S. K.
“What year did Burr kill Alexander Hamilton?” I questioned further.
“1804.”
“Why,” I exclaimed, “that was the year the Jumels were married. Wasn’t that strange--I mean, considering that she married Aaron Burr later?”
“Yes.”
“It was a terrible thing for Burr to do, wasn’t it?” I said, and then I added that I was glad duelling had gone out of style and wasn’t allowed any more.
“If some of to-day’s politicians would shoot each other,” said S. K., “it would be a great thing for the country, and I don’t see how theycouldhit the wrong man.”
That was the longest speech he made all the way home. Something had made him very cross and pessimistic. I gave up trying to make talk and absorbed and made use of the prevailing silence. That worried S. K., who, I think, didn’t want to share the silence that he was using for an umbrella to cover his grouch. He looked at me several times as we whirled upstairs, but I pretended I was completely absorbed in the little iron plack that says the elevator is inspected by inspectors every two weeks. But of course I was not deeply interested in it, having almost learned it by heart when riding in the elevator with people at whom I didn’t want to stare.
In S. K.’s apartment we began to disagree about getting a detective once more, for that was the plan. S. K. really did it well. He walked up and down, using his cane very heavily, and once and again almost thumping with it.
“But I tell you, Nat,” he shouted, “this hasgotto be stopped!”
“Let it go a day or so, S. K.,” I pleaded. “I ask only that--and then, if things don’t calm, you may do as you like. . . . But--because of that note Ibegthat you let it go for a couple of days, anyway.Please, S. K.!” I entreated, and really I made my voice shake.
After ten minutes of my nervous insistence he gave in. Then he sat down on the arm of a chair which faced me, and said: “Where are you going to put it to-night?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “But I’ll hide it somewhere. There are plenty of places, and I’m not afraid. I thought perhaps I’d slip out the bottom drawer of the tall high-boy and put it on the floor, under that.”
“Um,” mused S. K. “Not bad. No one would think of looking there!”
“I thought not,” I agreed complacently.
Then he rang for Debson, and he came in and told us what he had heard in the night. And he did it well. I wondered whether I was all wrong, as I looked at him and heard his explanations. Then I thought of Jane’s confusion and the extreme doubt about anyone’s icing beer. The whole thing was confusing.
After that, I went off. I asked S. K. not to bother to come up with me, and I did it coldly, for he had been unpleasant. But he came.
“What was the matter?” I asked, as we waited for the door to open. He didn’t fence. He is always honest.
“I’ve been fiendishly cross, haven’t I?” he questioned, instead of answering.
“Not fiendishly cross,” I said, “but sulky.” And I went on to say that I cared too much for him to ever purposely hurt him, and that if I had I was sorry.
“Will you forgive me, Nat?” he asked stiffly.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” I said, “but I hate having you not like me.”
“Notlikeyou?” he echoed. “Notlikeyou!” And then he laughed, but not very happily. But I didn’t know what had troubled him until later.
When I got in I found that Willy had gone and Amy was telling Aunt Penelope how nice he was. Evelyn was a little amused at Amy’s description, but that didn’t bother Amy. She raved on in the most elaborate way.
“He must have been adearlittle boy,” she said sentimentally.
“He wasn’t,” I responded truthfully. “He always had three teeth out and his pockets full of frogs’ legs and garter snakes.”
Evelyn shuddered, but Amy chose to dress this with romance.
“Howbrave,” she said, “how manly!”
Then I went to the door, closed it, asked them to be quiet and not to let out any surprised exclamations. After which I told them what had happened and what was to happen.
Aunt Penelope had been gluing numbers on records, and had kept a firm clutch on one of these. “Be calm, girls,” she warned, as I finished; “we must be calm!” And then she tried to blow her nose on the record and fan herself with the handkerchief which she held in her other hand. Amy kept looking back of her as if she expected someone to steal up and thump her at any moment, and Evelyn tried to darn the darning-egg, while the stocking which should have been over it lay at her feet.
“And the plan?” said Aunt Penelope, as she carefully put the paste-brush in the ink.
“The plan,” I said, “is to be worked out this evening. Two gentlemen, Mr. Grange and Mr. Thompson (business friends of Uncle Archie, for Ito’s benefit), are coming up to play cards. We will play in here--until something happens; an absorbing game will keep anyone up, you know, and I am to stuff a bolster for my bed.”
“Oh, isn’t thisthrilling?” said Amy. “And to think that all this has been going on and no one knew it. . . .What was that?”
“My darning-egg,” responded Evelyn with a glare toward Amy, “and if you can tell me why you have to shout and scare everyone out of their senses when anything drops---- Mother, do you realize that you are putting ‘The New Republic’ among the Galli Curci records? . . . I see you have it neatly numbered.”
“So I have,” said Aunt Penelope, “but be calm, Evelyn, be calm. We must all be calm! Here, dear,” and she handed Evelyn an incense-burner, under the impression that it was her darning-egg. They were excited.
Then I warned them about showing disquiet, after which I opened the door. Ito was on his knees, picking up rose petals from the floor. The table on which the vase of them had stood was by the library door. I wondered. Anything like that made speculation.
“What are you doing here, Ito?” asked aunt. He opened his hand and showed her the result of his labours.
“To be sure!” she said, looking nervously behind her, and then, lunch being on, we went out and pretended to eat. Amy said she had asked Willy to come back that evening. I was glad, for Uncle Frank was to go at seven something, and Willy, as a piece of home, would help over his leaving and the coming strain.
“Herbert will be here,” said Evelyn when Ito was in the kitchen and we were alone. Then she looked at the centre-piece with a sort of moony expression that made her look half-witted. You could see that it was true love.
“He always is,” said Amy. Then she spilled salt and had about ten thousand spasms. “Bad luck,” she said. “Oh,dear!”
“A nonsensical superstition!” said Aunt Penelope sharply, “but throw it over your shoulder. Amy,if you kick the table again you may go to your room!”
Then the telephone rang, and aunt pretended it was Uncle Archie. “Your father says some friends of his are coming up to play cards,” she announced as she returned. “He suggested that we ask Mr. Kempwood to make a fourth.”
“When?” Evelyn asked.
“After dinner,” replied Aunt Penelope, as she settled. Ito had heard, and after he left the room we heard voices from the kitchen. The door swung; I heard Jane’s voice very clearly, and it said: “To-night?”
Somehow we got through the afternoon, but not happily. Everyone jerked and jumped and said, “Did you hear that?Whatwasit?” if a hair as much as stirred. Amy said she would feel much better when Willy came in, and Evelyn said: “IwishHerbert would hurry!”
I dressed at seven, and after I’d got along to the hair-doing stage, ran up my shade and my window a little way, as if I felt that the room was close. Then, after looking around, I put my bracelet under the bottom drawer of the tall high-boy. And after I did so I heard the tiniest noise on the balcony.
Then I slipped from my kimono, put on my frock, hooked it, closed my window, and left. Dinner was a very exciting affair, but it didn’t compare with the developments of the later evening. Those--oh, my! Again I need that word that hasn’t yet been made--the one that means fear in all its various forms. Everyone was frightened, even the detectives; I know it.