48CHAPTER IV
It never occurred to Henry, when he came home in late July, to take his wife to the big brick house which had been his uncle’s. He didn’t know whether the house would go to Aunt Mirabelle or to himself, and for the time being, it was immaterial; Aunt Mirabelle was welcome to possession of it, undisturbed. Except for his uncle, there would have been open warfare between them long ago; now that the arbitrator was gone, war was inevitable, but Henry wouldn’t fight on sacred ground. He preferred to accept the hospitality of Judge Barklay. The Judge’s house was a third the size, and not the least prepossessing, and there really wasn’t room for the young Devereuxs in it, but as soon as you stepped inside the door, you knew that you were welcome.
He was sorry for his aunt, and he went to see her immediately, but even in this new situation, she let him know that she disapproved of him49thoroughly and permanently. She wasn’t reconciled to his marriage; she didn’t care to receive Anna; she implied that regardless of Mr. Starkweather’s express wishes, Henry was a stony-hearted ingrate for remaining so long abroad. To be sure, his presence at home would have served no purpose whatsoever, but Mirabelle was firm in her opinion. More than that, she succeeded in making Henry feel that by his conduct he had hurried his uncle into an untimely grave; she didn’t say this flatly, nor yet by innuendo, but she managed to convey it through the atmosphere.
“Of course,” she said, “you’ve been to call on Mr. Archer, haven’t you?”
Henry flushed indignantly. “I hadn’t even thought about it.”
“Well, when you do, you’ll hear some fine news.” Her lip curled. “Your friend Bob Standish’s bought the business. Some of it, anyway. Bought it on a shoestring’smyguess,––but he’s bought it.”
“I didn’t know it, Aunt Mirabelle.”
“Well, they only closed the deal a few days ago.”
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“Good for Bob!” He was thinking that if honest toil were demanded of him, nothing could be more pleasant than an alliance with this same Standish. His uncle had always offered up Standish, subtly, as an illustration of what Henry himself ought to be. And it was a tribute to the mutual affection of all three men that Henry had never been irritated at Mr. Starkweather, nor resentful towards his friend. On the contrary, he admitted that unless he were himself, he would rather be Standish than anyone else. He wondered if his uncle could have planned for him so delightful a penance as a year or two of happy servitude under Bob. He must see Bob and congratulate him. Only twenty-seven, and the head of the most important concern of its type in several counties.
Aunt Mirabelle sniffed. “Good fornothing. He’s most as scatter-brained as you are.”
Henry declined the combat, and after she sensed his intention, she went on, with increasing acridity.
“The rest of the whole estate’s tied up for a year in a trust, to see what you’re going to51do with some piece of property he deeded to you just before he died, but Mr. Archer wouldn’t tell me much about it ’till you came home. Isupposeit’s part of the business––some department of it. If you can make ten thousand dollars out of it, you’re to have everything. AllIget’s a few thousand outright, and what John gave me in a little separate fund, and a year’s income from the whole estate. I suppose you think that’s perfectly fair and right and just. Naturally, you would.”
In his present mood, Henry was immune to astonishment. “I don’t believe it’s up to me to criticize Uncle John, whatever he did.”
“Not under the circumstances, no. You’ve got some piece of property––Idon’t know what it is; he didn’t tell me;I’m only his sister––and he’s fixed things so it’s just a gamble for you. You’re going to do the gambling; and I sit back and fold my hands and wait a year to see whether you get everything, or I do. Even this house.”
“What’s that?”
She made a deprecating gesture. “Oh, yes, if you aren’t a good enough gambler, thenI52come into everything. It puts me in such a sweet position, doesn’t it? So comfortable for me.” Her smile was bitter; she was recalling what her brother had said to her at lunch, on that final day––that he wouldn’t listen to her, because already he had heard the worst that she had to say. Originally, as she knew, he had intended to bequeath Henry a fourth of his property, and herself the remainder; and she knew that by her too vigorous indictment of Henry she had egged her brother into a state of mind which, regardless of the cause of it, she still considered to be unfathomable. The memory galled her, and so did the possibility of Henry’s triumph. “Well,” she said, “I wish you every happiness and success, Henry. I suppose you feel in your conscience you deserve it, don’t you?”
When he left her, he was aware that the last tie had been severed.
His friend Bob Standish was a young man who in the past ten years had achieved many53different kinds of success by the reason that mere acquaintances, as well as strangers, invariably underestimated him. For one thing, his skin was so tender, his eyes so blue and innocent, his mouth so wide and sensitive, his forehead so white and high, that he gave the impression of almost childish simplicity and ingenuousness. For another thing, he dressed with such meticulous regard for the fashion, and he moved about with such indolent amiability, that his clothes and his manners distracted attention from what was underneath.
And so, at college, a full battalion of kindly sophomores had volunteered to teach him poker, and couldn’t understand why the profits went not to the teacher, but to the pupil. Immature professors, who liked to score off idlers and fat-brained sons of plutocrats, had selected him as the perfect target, and some of them had required several terms to realize that Standish, always baby-eyed, beau-attired and apparently dreaming of far distant things, was never lower in rank than the top twenty of his class. Out on the Field, visiting ends and tackles, meeting him for the first time, had54nearly laughed in his face, and prepared to slaughter him, only to discover, with alarm and horror which steadily increased from the first whistle to the last, that Standish could explode his muscles with such a burst of dynamic energy that his hundred and sixty pounds felt like two hundred and ten. It was equally discouraging to learn, from breathless experience, that when he was in his stride he was as unpursueable as a coyote; and that he could diagnose the other fellow’s tactics even before the other fellow had quite decided what to do next.
In commerce, he had merely continued the same species of career; and by virtue of being thoroughly depreciated, and even pitied, by his customers, he had risen in six years from the grade of city insurance solicitor to that of Mr. Starkweather’s principal assistant. And now, as casually as he had ever raked in a jack-pot from the bewildered sophomores, he had bought the Starkweather business, and not on a shoestring, either, as Mirabelle had suspected.
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He had roomed with Henry at college; he had been his inseparable companion, out of office hours, ever since; he knew him too well to proffer any trite condolence. But his sympathy was firm and warm in his fingers when he shook hands and Henry got the message.
“Thought probably you’d rather not have me at the train,” said Standish, “so I didn’t come. Right or wrong?”
“Right, Bob.... Allow smoking in your sanctum?”
“Don’t allow anybodynotto smoke. What are you doing––borrowing or offering?”
Henry glanced at Standish’s brand. “Neither one. Every man for himself––and you’ve got vile taste. Well, I hear you’re the big boss around here. Please, mister, gimme a job?”
“Nothing I’d like better,” said Standish. “I’ve got just the thing for you. Sit over on the window-sill and be a lily. Flowers brighten up an office so.”
“You basely misjudge me. Didn’t you know I’m going to work?”
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Standish’s eyes were round and guileless. “See any sea-serpents on your way over? I’ve heard therearesuch things.”
“Fact, though, I am. And you know it, too. I’m hoping it’s here.”
His friend shook his head. “Not here, Henry.”
“No?”
“No, and I’m sorry. I’d make you clean inkwells and say ‘sir,’ and you’d get to be almost as democratic as I am.... Haven’t you seen Archer?”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Oh, just squeamish, I suppose. You sort of hate to think of the––cash end of it.”
“That’s right, too. But as long as you’re in the building, you’d better drop in there. From all the talk there is, you’ve picked up a mystery.”
“Mystery? In what way?”
“Not for me to say. Go find out. And say––you and Anna come and dine with me tonight, will you? I just want to have you all to myself. Mind?”
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“Not noticeably.”
“Good. Seven o’clock. Now get out of here and see Archer. Come back afterwards, if you want to; but do that first.”
As if from pressure of business, he projected Henry into the corridor; and then, meditatively, he returned to his desk. Young Mr. Standish had watched his employer very closely, during those last few days, and in witnessing Mr. Starkweather’s will, he had sensed, intuitively, that it contained a stick of dynamite for Henry.
Mr. Archer, who had known Henry since the Fauntleroy days, greeted him with the proper mixture of repression and cordiality. “But I’m afraid,” owned Mr. Archer, “I’m afraid you’re going to be a little disappointed.”
Henry shook his head. “Then you’ve sized me up all wrong,” he said, much subdued. “Because no matter what I get, I’m going to be satisfied that Uncle John wanted me to have it. Besides, I’ve apparently got to hump myself, or I don’t get anything at all. Aunt Mirabelle58gave me some idea of it––I’d thought it was probably an interest in the business, but Bob Standish says it isn’t.”
“No, it’s a building. 361 Main Street. But it’s rather more than a mere building; itisa business. It’s leased until next Monday; after that it’s yours to operate. The deed’s recorded now. It’s yours outright. Did your aunt tell you what the conditions are?”
“All or nothing!”
“Yes. Oh, he made a separate provision for Miss Starkweather; she’ll never go hungry; but the bulk of the estate depends on what you do with the business in the next year. And strictly between ourselves, your uncle expected you to finish with a bit to spare.”
“I know this much; if it’s anythinghedoped out for me, it’s an even bet. It’s to make ten thousand dollars?”
“Yes, and without any outside help except straight commercial loans––if you can get ’em. No favours from anybody, and no free keep from your families.”
“What building is it, Mr. Archer?”
The lawyer paused to wipe his glasses.59“It’s one your uncle took over on a mortgage last winter.... You see, Henry, he’d figured out what he was going to do with you, and it would have been this same thing even if he’d lived. He picked out what he thought would do you the most good––get you in touch with different people––break down some of your (excuse me for being blunt) class prejudice––teach you how many dimes there are in a dollar. And for that reason he expressly stipulated that you’ve got to keep your own books. That’ll give you more of a respect for money than anything else would, I guess.”
“Keep my own books?”
“That’s the way Mr. Starkweather began––only in his case, he kept somebody else’s. But I warned you to expect something out of the ordinary.”
“Oh, yes,” said Henry. “I was all set forsomekind of a low-brow job. What is it––a garage?”
“I’m afraid you’ll think a garage is fashionable, compared with it.”
Henry looked serious. “361 Main? I don’t seem to––What on earthisit, Mr. Archer?”
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“Go down and look at it. Only don’t be shocked, Henry; because it’s exactly what he’d have given you to do, anyway. And then let me know what your plans are, will you? By the way––have you any money of your own?”
Henry looked pained. “I’m down to a couple of hundred. Why?”
“Then you’d better not waste any time. Go on down and look it over this morning, and let me know.”
“Why––let you knowwhat?”
“Whether you’re going to take the dare.”
Henry’s lips twitched. “Nobody ever beat me by default yet, Mr. Archer.”
“Just the same, I wish you’d let me know definitely––won’t you? Of course, if you shouldn’t feel inclined to go ahead on your uncle’s plan––and thatwoulddisappoint me––you could simply sell out. I hope you won’t, though. I hope very much indeed that you won’t. But––go look at it. And one last thing, Henry; your uncle put the thing in this shape so that too many people wouldn’t be gossiping about it. I mean, if you and your aunt61don’t tell––nobody will. That’s all––but let me know.”
Obediently, Henry proceeded down Main Street to the 300 block. His curiosity was active, but he was warning himself to be on guard, for his uncle’s sentences, although invariably fair and invariably appropriate, were also founded on a solid base of humour and surprise. Henry remembered what Mr. Starkweather had said about coming home to eat crow, and what Mr. Archer had said about the comparative aristocracy of a garage, and he prepared himself for a thunderstroke, and got a laugh ready. That book-keeping provision was really clever; Uncle John had palpably framed it up to keep Henry on the job. But Henry would outwit the provision. A few lessons in a commercial-school, a modern card-system, and he could handle the books of any small business in no time at all, as per the magazine advertisements. Of course, the crow and the garage were merely symbols; but whatever the business might be, and however distasteful, there was only a year of it, and after that (so62confident was Henry) there was a lifetime of luxury. He was rather glad that his penance came first; it would serve to make the enjoyment of his wealth so much more zestful. He should always feel as though he had worked for it, instead of having it handed out to him on a platter, regardless of his personal deserts. Yes, he would work faithfully, and because the task would be within his capabilities, (for Mr. Starkweather was sane and practical, and Mr. Archer had prophesied a finish with something to spare) he would end his probation in a blaze of glory, and Anna would be proud of him, Judge Barklay would approve of him, and Aunt Mirabelle would have to revise her estimate of him. Altogether, it was a fine arrangement, provided that his business, whatever it was, wouldn’t entirely prevent him from keeping up with the procession, socially, and playing enough golf to hold his present form.
He had passed 331 and 341 and 351 and his heart began to beat more rapidly. This was almost as exciting as a Christmas stocking in the Fauntleroy days. His eyes were searching63among the numbers; there was a four-story office building (335) and an automobile agency (339) ... and next to that––.... Henry halted, and the laugh dried up in his throat. He had been prepared for anything but the reality. The ark of his fortunes was a shabby little motion-picture theatre.
Gasping, he looked up again at the number, and when he realized that he had made no mistake, his knees turned to gelatine, and he stood staring, fascinated, numbed. His eyes wandered blankly from the crumbling ticket-booth to the unkempt lobby and back to the lurid billing––the current attraction was a seven-reel thriller entitled “What He Least Expected,” but Henry missed the parallel. With trembling fingers he produced a cigarette, but in his daze he blew out two matches in succession. He crushed the cigarette in his palm, and moved a few steps towards the lobby. Great Heaven, was it possible that John Starkweather had condemned Henry the fashionable, Henry the clubable, Henry the exclusive to a year ofthis? Wasthishis punishment for the past? Was64thisthe price of his future? This picayune sordidness, and vulgarity and decay? Evidently, it was so intended, and so ordered.
His power of reason was almost atrophied. He struggled to understand his uncle’s purpose; his uncle’s logic. To break down his class prejudice, and teach him the dimes in a dollar, and put him on the level of a workingman? All that could have been accomplished by far less drastic methods. It could have been accomplished by a tour of duty with Bob. To be sure, Mr. Starkweather had promised him the meanest job in the directory, but Henry had put it down as a figure of speech. Now, he was faced with the literal interpretation of it, and ahead of him there was a year of trial, and then all or nothing.
He succeeded in lighting a fresh cigarette, but he couldn’t taste it. Previously he had paid his forfeits with the best of good-nature, but his previous forfeits hadn’t obliged him to declass himself. They hadn’t involved his wife. He hadn’t married Anna to drag her down to this. It would stand them in a social pillory, targets for those who had either admired them65or envied them. It would make them the most conspicuous pair in the whole community: older people would point to them as an illustration of justice visited on blind youth, and would chuckle to observe Henry in the process of receiving his come-uppance: the younger set would quake with merriment and poor jokes and sly allusions to Henry’s ancient grandeur. Even Bob Standish would have to hide his amusement; why, Bob himself had made society and success his fetiches. And Anna––Anna who was so ambitious for him––how couldsheendure the status of a cheap showman’s wife?
And even if she had been willing to ally himself with such a business, how could he conceivably make ten thousand dollars out of it in a single year? Ten? It would take a genius to make five. An inexperienced man, with luck, might make two or three. He couldn’t afford to hire a trained man to manage it for him: the place was too small to support such a man, and still to net any appreciable profit. Mr. Starkweather had undoubtedly foreseen this very fact––foreseen that Henry couldn’t sit back as a magnate, and pile responsibility on a paid66employé. To reach his quota, Henry would have to get in all over, and act as his own manager, and take the resulting publicity and the social isolation. But the business was impossible, the quota was impossible, the entire project from first to last was unthinkable. His uncle, whether by accident or design, had virtually disowned him. There was no other answer.
His laugh came back to him, but there was no hilarity in it. It was merely an expression of his helplessness; it was tragedy turned inside out. Yet he felt no resentment towards his uncle, but rather an overwhelming pity. He felt no resentment towards his friend Standish, who had bought out the perfectly respectable business which Mr. Starkweather might so easily have left to Henry. Mr. Starkweather had schemed to bring about a certain reaction, and he had overplayed his hand. Instead of firing Henry with a new ardour for success, he had convinced him of the futility of endeavour. He had set a standard so high, and chosen a medium so low, that he had defeated his own object.
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The next step––why, it was to chart his life all over again. It was to dispose of this ridiculous property, and begin to make a living for Anna. And there was no time to lose, either, for Henry’s checking balance was about to slide past the vanishing point.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to meet the gravely sympathetic eyes of Mr. Theodore Mix.
Mr. Mix was fresh from an interview with Miss Mirabelle Starkweather. Her acquaintance with him was slight, but from a distance she had always esteemed him, partly for his mature good-looks, and partly for the distinguished manner which had always been a large fraction of his stock-in-trade, and was now to be listed among his principal assets. Her esteem, however, applied to him merely as an individual, and not as a debtor.
“I wanted to see you about a note,” she said, primly. “A five thousand dollar demand note you gave my brother four months ago. He68endorsed it over to me, and I wanted to see you about it.”
Mr. Mix allowed his mouth to widen in a smile which was disarmingly benevolent. The horse at Bowie had proved dark indeed,––so dark that it had still been merged with the background when the winner passed the judge’s stand––and this colour-test had cost Mr. Mix precisely two thousand dollars. Beyond that, he had paid off a few of his most pressing creditors, and he had spent a peculiarly carefree week in New York (where he had also taken a trifling flyer in cotton, and made a disastrous forced landing) so that there was practically nothing but his smile between himself and bankruptcy. Yet Mr. Mix beamed, with almost ecclesiastical poise, upon the holder of his demand note, and tried her with honey.
“Ordinarily, I’m embarrassed to talk business with a woman,” said Mr. Mix. “I’m so conscious of the––what shall I say?––of a woman’s disadvantage in a business interview. But in your case, Miss Starkweather, when your69executive ability is so well known and so universally praised––”
She nodded, and took it without discount, but she wasn’t distracted from her purpose. “I hope it’s convenient for you to pay it, Mr. Mix.”
“If it weren’t convenient,” said Mr. Mix, soothingly, “I shouldmakeit convenient. When the sister of my oldest friend––a man who once sat at the same desk with me, when we were young clerks together––when his sister is in need of funds, I––”
“’T isn’t that,” she said, quickly. “I want this money for some special reason.”
He inclined his head slightly. “One of your favourite charities, I have no doubt. But whatever the reason, the obligation is the same. Now, let’s see––I’ll have to sell some securities––when must you have it?”
“Next Tuesday.”
Inwardly, Mr. Mix was startled, but outwardly he looked grieved. “Tuesday? Now––thatis––wait a minute.” He created the impression that he was juggling vast affairs, in70order to gratify a whim of his old friend’s sister. As a matter of fact, he was wondering what plausible excuse he could give without revealing any hint of the truth. “Is Tuesday imperative?”
“Tuesday by ten o’clock in the morning.”
His face cleared, “You’ve shared a secret with me,” said Mr. Mix, and although he spoke aloud, his attitude was as though he were whispering. “Because I happen to know that every Tuesday at ten o’clock there’s a meeting of a––a certain organization of which you’re the illustrious president. Needless to say, I refer to the Ethical Reform League.” He lowered his voice. “I ask your pardon for the intrusion of anything of such a delicately personal nature, Miss Starkweather, but Imusttell you that when a person, such as yourself, even in the midst of inconsolable sorrow, can’t forget that great principles and great institutions can never perish, but are immortal, and go on forever––that’s true nobility of character, Miss Starkweather, and I honour you for it.”
She touched her eyes with her handkerchief.71“Thank you, Mr. Mix. Yes, I intend to make a contribution to our League––in memory of my brother. You’re––familiar with our League?”
He gestured effectively. “Familiar with it? You might as well ask me if I’m familiar with the Emancipation Proclamation––the Magna Charta.” And this was accurate; his knowledge of all three was based on hearsay evidence.
“And are you at all in sympathy with it?”
“My dear lady! I was one of the pioneer supporters of suffrage in this region. I––”
“Yes, I know that, and I know your work in the Associated Charities, and in your church, but––how did you vote on prohibition?”
He side-stepped with great agility. “How would any man of my calibre vote?”
“True, true.” She was becoming animated.
“But we’ve tremendous problems yet to solve.... Do you believe in enforcing the laws, Mr. Mix? The Sunday laws especially?”
Mr. Mix picked up his cue, and gave thanks for the diversion. “Dear lady, I am a citizen. As a citizen, I help tomakethe laws; they’re made by all of us for our own good. Show me72a man whodoesn’tbelieve in enforcing the laws, and I won’t argue with him––I couldn’t count on his sincerity.”
“It’s a pleasure to talk to a man like you,” she said. “I wonder if you agree with our other ideals. Er––what do you think about dancing?”
He had a good phrase which he had been saving up for six weeks. “Dancing,” he said, “is popular because it’s so conspicuously innocent, and so warmly satisfactory to the guilty.”
“Good!Good!How about tobacco?”
This, too, he side-stepped. “It’s a poison, so the doctors say. Who am I to put any opinion against theirs?”
She was regarding him earnestly, and a little perplexedly.
“How is it, when in spirit you’re one of us, you’ve never joined the League?”
“I-I’ve never been invited,” said Mr. Mix, somewhat taken aback.
“ThenIinvite you,” she said, promptly. “And I know you’ll accept. It’s men like you we need––men with some backbone; prominent, useful citizens. You sit right there. I’ve got73an application blank in my desk. Read it over when you get home, and sign it and mail it to me.”
“I appreciate the distinction of your asking me,” said Mr. Mix, with supreme deference. “And if you have time, I wish you’d tell me what your aims are. I am very deeply interested.”
He stayed another half hour, and the conversation never swerved from the entertaining subject of reform. Mr. Mix was insufferably bored, and cumulatively restless, but he was convinced that he was making headway, so that he kept his mind relentlessly on the topic, and dispensed honey by the shovelful. When he prepared to leave, he tested out his conviction, and reminded her gently: “Now, in regard to that note––”
Mirabelle was blinded by her own visionings, and deafened by her own eloquence. “Well, we’ll have to take that up again––But you come to the meeting Tuesday, anyhow. And here’s one of our pamphlets for you to look at in the meantime.”
As he went down the steps, she was watching74him, from the ambush of lace window-curtains, and she was saying to herself: “Such a nice man––so influential, too.... Now if I could gethimpersuaded over––”
Mr. Mix, strolling nonchalantly downtown, was also talking to himself, and his conclusions would have astonished her. “What I’ve got to do,” said Mr. Mix, thoughtfully, “is to string the old dame along until I can raise five thousand bucks. But where’s it coming from?”
Then, squarely in front of the Orpheum Theatre, he met Henry Devereux.
“Good-morning, Henry,” said Mr. Mix, soberly. “First time I’ve had a chance to speak to you since....” He coughed discreetly. “I don’t believe I need to say that if there’s anything I can do for you at any time, all you’ve got to do is to say so.”
Privately, Henry had always considered Mr. Mix as a genial poseur, but he knew that Mr. Mix belonged to the Citizens Club, which was75the local standard, and that for thirty years he had been on rather intimate business relations with Mr. Starkweather. This was sufficient recommendation for Henry, in the swirl of his agitation, to loose his tongue.
“All right,” he said. “Tell me how soon I can sell this overgrown magic-lantern outfit––and what I can get for it––and where I can put the money to bring in the biggest income––and where I can get a good job.”
Now all this was intended to be purely in the nature of a rhetorical question: for naturally, if Henry decided to sell, he would want Bob Standish to handle the transaction for him, and to get the commission: and also, if Henry had to find employment, he would go to his friend, and be sure of a cordial reception. But Mr. Mix took it literally.
Mr. Mix started, and his memory began to unfold. It was on the tip of his tongue to blurt out: “And lose your shot at the estate?” but he restrained himself. He wasn’t supposed to know the circumstances, and as a matter of fact, as he realized with a thrill of relish, he was probably the only outsider whodidknow the76circumstances. “Why,” said Mr. Mix. “Do you own the Orpheum? Well, I should say offhand it’s worth a good deal. Twenty thousand. The land, you know: the building’s no good.”
Henry nodded impatiently. “Yes, but who’d buy it?”
“Well, now, aboutthat––of course, I’m not a real estate man––but you could certainlytradeit.”
“What for?”
Mr. Mix caught the note of sincerity in Henry’s voice, and Mr. Mix thought rapidly. He appeared to deliberate, to waver, to burn his bridges. “Well––say for a third interest in Theodore Mix and Company.”
Henry stared. “Are you serious?”
Mr. Mix almost fell over backwards. “Why, yes. It’s sudden, but ... why, yes. I could use more capital, and I want a crack salesman. I’ll trade––if you’re quick on the trigger. I’ve got two or three people interested so far, but when it’syou––”
Henry took him by the arm. “Come on over to the Citizens Club, then, and we’ll talk about it.”
77CHAPTER V
When Henry went home to his wife and his father-in-law, he was confident that he had a very fine bargain; when he told them what he had heard from his aunt and Mr. Archer, what he had seen with his own eyes, and what he had done with Mr. Mix, he expected first, sympathy, and afterwards, unqualified approval. Within the next five minutes, however, Henry was sitting limp and baffled; and wishing that he had Bob Standish to support him. Bob, at least, would understand.
“Holy Smoke!” he said, weakly. “Ididn’t suppose you’d take it like that! Why, I––I feel as if I’d been run over by a steam-roller with Taft at the wheel!”
Judge Barklay had long since forgiven his daughter, but he hadn’t quite forgiven Henry. “Do you want my honest opinion? I should say you’re suffering from two extreme causes––exaggerated ego and cold feet.”
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Henry flushed. He had the most profound respect for Judge Barklay––a man who had preferred to be a city magistrate, and to be known throughout the whole state for his wisdom and humanity, instead of keeping up his law practice, at five times the income––and Henry, like every one else, valued the Judge’s opinions. “You don’t mean you think I’drunthe miserable little peanut-stand, do you? And keep books on it as if it had been the Federal Reserve Bank?”
“It strikes me,” said the Judge, “that both of us would rather have you run a peanut-stand than––I’m using your own analogy––than spend your whole life eating peanuts. Why, Henry, your unclewantedyou to be shocked––wanted you to be mad enough to stand up on your hind legs and fight.”
Henry looked at his wife. “What areyougoing to suggest? Hire a snake-charmer and a wild-man-from-Borneo and an infant pachyderm and a royal ring-tailed gyasticutus, and pull off a side-show after the main tent’s closed?”
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“Oh,Henry! Can’t youseewhat a lark it would be?”
“Lark?” he repeated, hazily. “Lark? You’ve got the wrong bird. It’s crow.”
“No, but Henry dear, you aren’t going to be a quitter, are you?”
“Wife of my bosom, do you realize what you’re talking about? It would cost a thousand dollars just to make the placeclean. It’ll cost three or four more to make it attractive enough to get anybody inside of it. And I haven’t got the price.”
“What’s the matter with a mortgage?” demanded the Judge. “And you’ve got a car, haven’t you? You’ve got a saddle-horse. You’ve got all kinds of junk you can turn into money.”
“On a wild gamble? Why, Anna, we couldn’t stay on here with the Judge––that would be getting help I’m not allowed to have––we’d have to go live in some cheap apartment; we couldn’t even have a maid for awhile; we couldn’t entertain anybody; we couldn’t have any outside pleasures; I’d have to work80like a dog; youknowwhat the crowd on the hill would say––and then I’m beaten before I start anyway. Quitter! You wouldn’t call a man a quitter if he stayed out of a hurdle race because he’d broken a leg, would you?”
“Well,” said Anna, “I’m willing to live in such a cheap apartment that the landlord calls it aflat. And you can’t get any servants these days; therearen’tany. And who cares about entertaining? And for outside pleasures, why couldn’t we go to the Orpheum?” They all laughed, but Anna was the first to stop. “I’ll work just as hard as you will, Henry. I’ll peel potatoes and wash the sink––” She glanced, ruefully, at her hands––“and if it’ll help you, I––I’d sell tickets or be an usher or play the piano. Why, Henry, it would be acircus––and we wouldn’t need any snake-charmers, either.”
“Andan education,” said Judge Barklay.
“And a gold-mine for us––in just one little year. We could do it; Iknowwe could.”
“And if the stupid fool who’s had it this last year could make money out of it,” added the Judge, “and you used any intelligence on it, you’d come out ahead. John made up his81figures very carefully. That’s the kind of man he was.”
Henry stared at them alternately. “But if Ididfall down––”
“Henry!” The Judge was using a professional gesture. “What do you suppose your time is worth, at its present market value? Don’t you think you can afford to risk a year of it against half a million dollars?”
“But when I’ve practically closed with Mix––”
“Sign any agreement?”
“No, he’s having one typed.”
The judge breathed in relief. “You’re lucky. You’d lose money if you took a third interest for a gift, and if you tookallof it as a gift you’d lose three times as much. Because you’d have to assume your share of his liabilities. People think he’s got money, but he hasn’t; he’s broke. He must have picked you for a life preserver.”
Henry’s jaw dropped. “What makes you think so?”
“I don’t think so; Iknowso. Oh, he’s pretty shifty on his feet, and he’s got a good many82people hoodwinked––your uncle always gave him too much credit, incidentally––but his New York correspondents happened to be clients of mine when I was practising law, and they’ve both asked me about him and told me about him, inside of the last six weeks.”
Henry sat unblinking “Is that––a fact!”
“And if you wanted to sell out,” continued the Judge, with a trifle of asperity, “why on earth didn’t you go to Bob Standish? Why didn’t you go to an expert? And why didn’t you have an audit made of Mix’s company––why didn’t you get a little information––why didn’t you know what you were buying? Oh, it isn’t too late, if you haven’t signed anything, but––Henry, it looks to me as if you need a guardian!”
At the sight of his face, Anna went over to him, and perched on the arm of his chair. “That’s enough, Dad....I’m his guardian; aren’t I, dear? And he’s just upset and dizzy and I don’t blame him a bit. We won’t say another word about it; we’ve told him what we think; and tonight he can have a long talk with83Bob. You’d want to do that, wouldn’t you, Henry? Of course you would. You wish you’d done it before. You’re feeling awfully ashamed of yourself for being so hasty.Andsnobbish. I know you.”
Henry looked across at the Judge. “Might as well have my brains where my hair is, mightn’t I? She sees it just as easy.... All right; we’ll let the whole thing ride ’till I’ve seen Bob.”
His friend Standish, gazing with childlike solemnity out of his big blue eyes, listened to both sides of the story, and to Henry’s miscalculation, at no time during the recital did he laugh uproariously, or exclaim compassionately, or indicate that he shared any of Henry’s conclusions:
“Oh, yes,” he said, “people might giggle a bit. But they always giggle at a man’s first shot at business, anyway. Like his first pair of long trousers. It’s done. But how many times will they do it? A thousand? Ten thousand? A hundred thousand? At maybe seven dollars a giggle? For less than that, I’d84be a comedian. I’d be a contortionist. I’d be a pie-thrower. Henry, old rubbish, you do what they tell you to.”
“Would you do it if you were in my place?”
“Would I lie down like a yellow dog, and let people say I hadn’t sand enough to stop a wristwatch?”
“I know, but Bob––the Orpheum!”
“I know, but Henry––don’t you sort of owe it to Mr. Starkweather? You wouldn’t have put on this milk-fed expression if he’d soaked it to you himself, would you?”
At this precise instant, Henry was required on the telephone. It was his Aunt Mirabelle; and even if he had been dining with royalty, she would still have called him––if she could have got the address.
“Henry,” she said acidly. “I’ve just found out what kind of a building it was your uncle deeded you. Theodore Mix told me.Ididn’t know your uncle was ever messed up in that kind of a thing. He never told me. Good reason he didn’t, too. I certainly hope you aren’t going to spread this news around town, Henry––it’s scandalous enough to have it in85the family, even. Of all the hellish influences we’ve got to contend with in this day and generation––”
“Well,” said Henry, “it isn’t any of itmyfault, is it?”
“That remains to be seen. Are you going torunthat––dive?”
“Why––I don’t know. If I didn’t––”
“Oh, yes, you’re probably thinking how selfish I am. You wouldn’t recognize a pure motive if you met one in the street. But to think of a Devereux––almost the same thing as a Starkweather––”
“What’s your idea? To have me be a jolly little martyr?”
“There’s this much to say, Henry––at least I’d put John’s money to a nobler use than you ever would.”
Henry grimaced. “Your League?”
“Yes, what else?”
He was an impulsive young man, and sometimes he made up his mind by contraries. “I wouldn’t count too much on it,” he said cheerfully. “I might astonish you.”
“You––Henry Devereux! Am I going to see86my own sister’s son in a polluted enterprise like––”
“You’re going to see your own grandfather’s great-grandson make P. T. Barnum look a Kickapoo medicine man––if necessary,” said Henry. “Only don’t you worry about any pollution. That’s where I draw the line. I’m not going to stage one single pollute.”
“Youaregoing to operate that place?”
“Why certainly,” said Henry. “And speaking of operations, I’ve got a hunch the patient’s going to recover. I’ve just been holding a clinic.... Well––good-bye, Aunt Mirabelle.” He turned back to his wife and his friend Standish. “Sothat’ssettled,” said Henry, and grinned, a trifle apprehensively. “We’re off in a cloud of dust.... Waiter, where’s those two portions of crow I ordered four months ago? The service in this place is getting something rotten.”
87CHAPTER VI
Mr. Theodore Mix, sprawled in his desk chair, gazed with funereal gloom at the typewritten agreement which lay before him, unsigned. It was barely twenty minutes ago that Mr. Mix had risen to welcome the man who was to save his credit and his reputation; but during those twenty minutes Mr. Mix, who had felt that he was sitting on top of the world, had been unceremoniously shot off into space.
His creditors surrounded him, (and because they were small creditors they were inclined to be nasty), he owed money to his New York correspondents, whose letters were becoming peremptory, and his brokerage business was pounding against the rocks. Quietly, overnight he had located a purchaser for the Orpheum, and as soon as Henry’s name had been safe on the dotted line, Mr. Mix would have been financed for many months ahead. And then came Henry––and Henry, who had88been cast for the part of the lamb, had suddenly become as obstinate as a donkey. Mr. Mix, gazing at that agreement, was swept by impotent rage at Henry, and he took the document and ripped it savagely across and across, and crumpled it in both his hands, and jammed it into his scrap-basket.
For the moment, he subordinated his personal problems to his wrath at Henry. He charged Henry with full responsibility for this present crisis; for if Henry had simply scribbled his signature, Mr. Mix would have made a good deal of money. It never occurred to him that in the same transaction, Henry would have changed places with Mr. Mix. That was Henry’s look-out. And damn him, he hadlooked!
“I’m going to get him for that,” said Mr. Mix, half-aloud. “I’m going to get him, and get him good. Jockeying me into a pocket! Conceited young ass! And I’d have been square with the world, and paid off that infernal note, and hadfour ... thousand ... dollarsleft over.” His lips made a straight line. “And he’d have brought fifty thousand89dollars’ worth of business into this office––he’d havehadto––he’d have had to hold up his friends––to protect his ante. Yes, sir, I’m going to get himgood.”
Mr. Mix sat up, and emitted a short, mirthless laugh. He frowned thoughtfully: and then, after a little search, he examined the pamphlet which Mirabelle had given him, and skimmed through the pages until he came to the paragraph he had in mind. Enforcement of the Sunday ordinances ... hm!... present ordinance seems to prohibit Sunday theatrical performances of all kinds, but city administrations have always been lax. Want the law on the books, don’t dare to repeal it, but don’t care to enforce it.
Mr. Mix sat back and pondered. He knew enough about the motion-picture business to realize that the Sunday performances made up the backbone of the week. He knew enough about the Orpheum to know that Henry’s quota, which under normal conditions would require only diligence, and initiative, and originality to reach, would be literally impossible if Sundays were taken from the schedule. The League’s90blue-law campaign, if it proved successful, would make Henry Devereux even bluer than Mr. Mix. “Three rousing cheers for reform!” said Mr. Mix, and grinned at the pamphlet.
Another brilliant thought infected him. He had long since passed the stage in which women were a mystery to him: he had long since realized that unless a man’s passions intervene, there is nothing more mysterious about women than about men. It was all humbug––all this mummery about intuitions and unerring perception and inscrutability. Women are all alike––all human––all susceptible to sheer, blatant flattery. The only difference in women is in the particular brand of flattery to which, as individuals, they react.
Take Miss Starkweather: he had seen that if he fed her vanity unsparingly––not her physical vanity, but her pride in her own soul, and in her League presidency––she blazed up into a flame which consumed even her purpose in causing the interview. Once already, by no remarkable effort, he had been able to divert her attention; and it was now imperative for him to keep it diverted until he had raised five thousand91dollars. And if she were so susceptible, why shouldn’t Mr. Mix venture a trifle further? He knew that she regarded him as an important man; why shouldn’t he let himself be won over, slowly and by her influence alone, to higher things? Stopping, of course, just short of actually becoming a League partisan? Why shouldn’t he feed her fat with ethics and adulation, until she were more anxious for his cooperation than for his money? If he couldn’t play hide-and-seek for six months,––if he couldn’t turn her head so far that she couldn’t bear to press him for payment––he wasn’t the strategist he believed himself to be. But in the meantime, where was he to get the money to live on? Still, Mirabelle came first.
On Sunday, he fortified himself from his meagre supply of contraband, ate two large cloves, and went formally to call on her. He remained an hour, and by exercise of the most finished diplomacy, he succeeded in building up the situation exactly as he had planned it. The note hadn’t been mentioned; the League hadn’t been given a breathing-space; and Mirabelle was pleading with him to see the light, and join the92crusade. Finally, she leaned forward and put her hand on his arm.
“Two weeks ago,” she said, “I told the League I was going to give it a real surprise this next Tuesday. What I meant was money. The money for that note. But I’d hate to have you sell any securities when they’re down so low. And besides,anybody can give money––just money. What we need most is men. Let me do something different. You’re one of the big men here. You count for a good deal. We want you. I said I’d give ’em a surprise––let me make the League a present ofyou.” She bestowed upon him a smile which was a startling combination of sharpness and appeal. “I’m certainly going to keep my promise, Mr. Mix. I’m going to give ’em one or the other––you or the five thousand. Only I tell you in all sincerity, I’d rather it would be you.”
Mr. Mix sat up with a jerk. The climax had been reached six months too soon. “Dear lady––”
“You can’t refuse,” she went on with an emphasis which sobered him. “We want you for an officer, and a director. I’ve taken it up with93the committee. And youcan’trefuse. You believe everything we believe. Mr. Mix, look me in the eye, and tell me––if you’re true to yourself, howcanyou refuse?”
“That isn’t it,” he said, truthfully enough. “I––I wouldn’t be as valuable to you as you think.”
“We’ll judge of that.”
He knew that he was in a corner, and he hunted desperately for an opening. “And––inanyevent, I couldn’t become an officer, or even a director. I––”
“Why not, pray?”
“I haven’t the time, for one thing, nor the experience in––”
She swept away his objections with a stiff gesture. “You’re modest, and it’s becoming. But either you’re with us or against us: there’s no half-way about morals. If you’re with us, you ought to show your colours. And if youarewith us, you’ll lead us, because you’re a born leader. You inspire. You instill. And for the sake of the common welfare––” She paused: he was staring at her as if hypnotized. “For the sake of the city and the state and the94nation––” His eyes were wide, and filled with a light which deceived her. “For the sake of civic honour and decency and self-respect––”
Mr. Mix cleared his throat. “Yes, but––”
Again, she leaned out and touched his arm. “Formysake?”
Mr. Mix recoiled slightly. “Foryoursake!” he muttered.
“Yes, for mine. The sister of your oldest friend.”
He owed her five thousand dollars, and if she demanded payment, he was a bankrupt. “Why does it mean so much to you?” he asked, sparring for time.
“It would be an epoch in the history of the League, Mr. Mix.”
“You spoke about leadership. No one can hope to replace yourself.”
“Thank you––I know you mean it. Butnowoman can lead a campaign such as the one we’re just starting. It takes a strong, dominant man who knows politics. Of course, when we go after dancing and cards and dress-reform, I guess I can do all right, but inthiscampaign––”