The hand-clapping ceased as the dancer reappeared, smiling and bowing.
"I will dance again if you wish," she announced, in perfect English, "introducing my new partner, Mr.—" she glanced into the wings inquiringly—"Senor Roberto. It is his first public appearance in this country, and we will endeavor to execute a variation of the Argentine tango. Senor Roberto is a poor boy; he begs you to applaud him in order that he may secure an engagement and support his old father." She stooped laughingly to confer with the orchestra leader, who had broken cover at her announcement.
Mr. Wharton was still talking. "That's my way of raising a son. I taught Bob to drink when I drank, to smoke when I smoked, and all that. My father raised me that way."
The opening strain of a Spanish dance floated out from the hidden musicians, Mlle. Demorest whirled into view in the arms of a young man in evening dress. She was still laughing, but her partner wore a grave face, and his eyes were lowered; he followed the intricate movements of the dance with some difficulty. To Lorelei he appeared disappointingly amateurish. Then a ripple of merriment, growing into a guffaw, advised her that something out of the ordinary was occurring.
"The—scoundrel!" Hannibal Wharton cried.
Merkle observed dryly: "He's won your thousand. I withdraw what I said about him; it requires a gigantic intelligence to outwit you." To Lorelei he added: "This will be considered a great joke on Broadway."
"That is Mr. Wharton's son?"
"It is—and the most dissipated lump of arrogance in New York."
"Bob," the father shouted, "quit that foolishness and come down here!" But the junior Wharton, his eyes fixed upon the stage, merely danced the harder. When the exhibition ended he bowed, hand in hand with Miss Demorest, then leaped nimbly over the footlights and made his way toward Jarvis Hammon, nodding to the men as he passed.
A moment later he sank into a chair near his father, saying: "Well, dad, what d'you think of my educated legs? I learned that at night school."
Wharton grumbled unintelligibly, but it was plain that he was not entirely displeased at his son's prank.
"You were superb," said Merkle, warmly. "It's the best thing I ever saw you do, Bob. You could almost make a living for yourself at it."
The young man grinned, showing rows of firm, strong teeth. Lorelei, who was watching him, decided that he must have at least twice the usual number; yet it was a good mouth—a good, big, generous mouth.
"Thanks for those glorious words of praise; that's more than we're doing on the Street nowadays. Miss Demorest said we'd 'execute' the dance, and we did. We certainly killed Senor Thomas W. Tango, and I'll be shot at sunrise for stamping on Adoree's insteps. I looked before I leaped, but I couldn't decide where to put my feet. Whew! Got any grape-juice for a growing boy?" He helped himself to his father's wine-glass and drained it. "You can settle now, dad—one thousand iron men. I owe it to Demorest."
"What do you mean?"
"Debt of honor. I heard she was due here with some kind of an electric thrill, so I offered her my share of the sweepstakes to further disgrace herself by dancing with me. She's an expensive doll; she needs that thousand—mortgage on the old family opera-house, no shoes for little sister, and mother selling papers to square the landlord." He caught Lorelei's eye and stared boldly. "Hello! I believe in fairies, too, dad. Introduce me to the Princess."
Merkle volunteered this service, and Bob promptly hitched his chair closer. Lorelei saw that he was very drunk, and marveled at his control during the recent exhibition.
"Tell me more about the 'Parti-color Petticoat' and 'Dentol Chewing-Gum,' Miss Knight. Your face is a household word in every street-car," he began.
She replied promptly, quoting haphazard from the various advertisements in which she figured. "It never shrinks; it holds its shape; it must be seen to be appreciated; is cool, refreshing, and prevents decay."
"How did you meet that French dancer?" Hannibal Wharton queried, sourly, of his son.
"I stormed the stage door, bullied the door-man, and waylaid her in the wings. She thought I was you, dad. Wharton is a grand old name." He chuckled at his father's exclamation. "She's a good fellow, though, and I don't blame the King of What's-its-name. Kings have to spend their money somewhere. Maybe I can induce her to invest some of the royal dough in stocks and bonds. The prospect dizzies me."
"The crowd in your office would give you a banquet if you sold something," Merkle told him.
Wharton, Senior, pressed for further information. "Where did you learn those Argentine wiggles?"
"Hard times are to blame, dad. The old men on the Exchange play golf all day, and the young ones turkey-trot all night. I stay up late in the hope that I may find a quarter that some suburbanite has dropped. It's dangerous to drive an automobile through a dark street these days; one's liable to run down a starving banker or an indigent broker with a piece of lead pipe and a mask. You find it so, don't you, Miss Knight?"
"I have no automobile," said the girl.
"Strange. Show business on the blink, too, eh?" The elder men rose and sauntered away in the direction of their host, whereupon Bob winked.
"They've left us flat. Why? Because the wicked Mlle. Demorest has finally made her appearance as a guest. My dad is a splendid shock-absorber. Naughty, naughty papa!"
"It's probably well that you came with her; fathers are so indiscreet."
Young Wharton signaled to a waiter who was passing with a wine-bottle in a napkin.
"Tarry!" he cried. "Remove the shroud, please, and let me look at poor old Roderer. Thanks. How natural he tastes." Then to Lorelei: "The governor is a woman-hater; but, just the same, I'm glad you drew Merkle instead of him to-night, or there'd surely be a scandal in the Wharton family. No man is safe in range of your liquid orbs, Miss Knight, unless he has his marriage license sewed into his clothes. Mother keeps hers framed. Wouldn't she enjoy reading the list of Hammon's guests at this party? 'Among those present were Mr. Hannibal C. Wharton, the well-known rolling-mill man; Miss Lorelei Knight, Principal First-Act Fairy of the Bergman Revue; and Mlle. Adoree Demorest, the friend of a king. A good time was had by all, and the diners enjoyed themselves very nice.'" He laughed loudly, and the girl stirred.
"She'd be pleased to read also that you came late, but highly intoxicated."
"Ah! Salvation Nell." Bob took no offense. "If the hour was late she'd know that my intoxication followed as a matter of course. It always does, just as the dew succeeds the sunset, as the track follows the wheelbarrow, as the cracker pursues the cheese. I am a derivative of alcohol, the one and infallible argument against temperance, Miss Knight. In me you behold the shining example of all that puts the reformer to rout and gladdens the heart of the cafe-keeper."
"You talk as if you were always drunk."
"Oh—not always. By day I am frequently sober, but at such times I am fit company for neither man nor beast; I am harsh and unsympathetic; I scheme and I connive. With nightfall, however, there comes a metamorphosis. Ah! Believe ME! When the Clover Club is strained and descends like the gentle dew of heaven, when the Bronx is mixed and the Martini shimmers in the first rays of the electric light, then I humanize and harmonize, For me gin is a tonic, rum a restorative, vermuth a balm. Once I am stocked up with ales, wines, liquors, and cigars, I become attuned to the nobler sentiments of life. I aspire. I make friends with lonely derelicts whose digestions have foundered on seas of vichy and buttermilk, and I show them the joys of alcoholism—without cost. We share each other's pleasures and perplexities, at my expense. They are my brothers. I am optimistic; I laugh; I play cards for money; I turkey-trot. I become a living, palpitating influence for good, spreading happiness and prosperity in my wake."
"Do you consider yourself in such a condition now?" queried Lorelei, who had been vaguely amused at this Rubaiyat.
"I am, and, since it is long past the closing hour of one and the tango parlors are dark, suppose we blow this 'Who's Who in Pittsburg' and taxi-cab it out to a roadhouse where the bass fiddle is still inhabited and the second generation is trotting to the 'Robert E. Lee'?"
Lorelei shook her head with a smile.
"Don't you dance?"
"Doesn't everybody dance?"
"Then how did you break your leg?"
"I don't care to go."
"Strange!" Mr. Wharton helped himself to a goblet of wine, appearing to heap the liquor above the edge of the glass. "Now, if I were sober I could understand how you might prefer these 'pappy guys' to me, for nobody likes me then, but I'm agreeably pickled. I'm just like everybody you'll be likely to meet at this time of night. Merkle won't take you anywhere, for he's full of distilled water and has a directors' meeting at ten. I overflow with spirits and have a noontide engagement with an Ostermoor."
"Why don't you ask Miss Demorest? She came with you?"
Wharton sighed hopelessly. "Something queer about that Jane. D'you know what made us so late? She went to mass on the way down."
"Mass? At that hour?"
"It was a special midnight service conducted for actors. I sat in the taxi and waited. It did me a lot of good."
Some time later Merkle returned to find Bob still animatedly talking; catching Lorelei's eye, he signified a desire to speak with her, but she found it difficult to escape from the intoxicated young man at her side. At last, however, she succeeded, and joined her supper companion at the farther edge of the fountain, where the tireless cupids still poured water from the cornucopias.
Merkle was watching his friend's son with a frown.
"You have just left the personification of everything I detest," he volunteered. "You heard what his father said about raising him—how he taught Bob to drink when he drank and follow in his footsteps? Well, sometimes the theory works and a boy grows up with open eyes, but more often it turns out as it has in this case. Bob's an alcoholic, a common drunkard, and he'll end in an institution, sure. He'd be there now if it wasn't for Hannibal's money. He's run the gamut of extravagance; he's done everything freakish that there is to do. But that isn't what I want to say to you. Help me feed these foolish goldfish while I talk."
"Do you think anybody would understand if they overheard you? I fancied you and I were the only sober ones left."
"Some of the girls are all right." Merkle eyed his companion closely."Don't you drink?"
"I daren't, even if I cared to."
"Daren't?"
"You'll notice that most of the pretty girls are sober."
"Right."
"I have nothing but my looks. Wouldn't I be a fool to sacrifice them?"
"You seem to be sensible, Miss Knight. Something tells me you're very much the right sort. I know you're trying to get ahead, and—I can help you if you'll help me."
"Help you 'get ahead'?"
He smiled. "Hardly. I need an agent, and I'll pay a good price to the right person."
"How mysterious!"
"I'll be plain. That affair yonder"—he nodded toward Jarvis Hammon and Lilas Lynn—"strikes you as a—well, as a flirtation of the ordinary sort. In one way it is; in another way it is something very different, for he's in earnest. He thinks he is injuring no one but himself with this business, and he is willing to pay the price; but the fact is he is putting other people in peril—me among the rest. I'm not arguing for his wife nor the two Misses Hammon. I don't go much on the ordinary kinds of morality, and nobody outside of a man's family has the right to question his private life so long as it is private in its consequences. But when his secret conduct affects his business affairs, when it endangers vast interests in which others are concerned, then his associates are entitled to take a hand. Do I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly. But you don't want me; you want a detective."
"My dear child, we have them by the score. We hire them by the year, and they have told us all they can. We need inside information."
The girl's answer was made with her habitual self-possession.
"I've heard about such things. I've heard about men prying into each other's private affairs, pretending to be friends when they were enemies, and using scandal for business ends. Lilas Lynn is my friend—at least in a way—and Mr. Hammon is my host, just as he is yours. Oh, I know; this isn't a conventional party, and I'm not here as a conventional guest—inside the little coin-purse he gave me is a hundred-dollar bill—but, just the same, I don't care to act as your spy."
Merkle's grave attention arrested Lorelei's burst of indignation.
"Will you believe me," he asked, "when I tell you that Jarvis Hammon and Hannibal Wharton are the two best friends I have in the world? There is such a thing as loyalty and friendship even in big business; in fact, high finance is founded on confidence and personal honor. This is more than a business matter, Miss Knight."
"I can hardly believe that."
"It's true, however; I mean to serve Hammon. At the same time I must serve myself and those who trust me. My honor is concerned in this as well as his, and there is a rigid code in money matters. If what I suspect is true, Hammon's infatuation promises to do harm to innocent people. I fear—in fact, I'm sure—that he is being used. I've learned things about Miss Lynn that you may not know. What you have told me to-night adds to my anxiety, and I must know more."
"What, for instance?"
"Her real feeling for him—her intentions—her relations with a man named Melcher—"
"Maxey Melcher?"
"The same. You know his business?"
"No."
"He is a gambler, a political power; a crafty, unscrupulous fellow who represents—big people. By helping me you can serve many innocent persons and, most of all, perhaps, Hammon himself."
Lorelei was silent for a moment. "This is very unusual," she said, at length. "I don't know whether to believe you or not."
"Suppose, then, you let the matter rest and keep your eyes open. When you convince yourself who means best to Jarvis—Miss Lynn and Melcher and their crowd, or I and mine—make your decision. You may name your own price."
"There wouldn't be any price," she told him, impatiently. "I'll wait."
Merkle bowed. "I can trust your discretion. Thank you for listening to me, and thank you for being agreeable to an irascible old dyspeptic. Will you permit me to drive you home when you're ready?"
"I'm ready now."
But as Lorelei made her way unobtrusively toward the cloak-room she encountered Robert Wharton, who barred her path.
"Fairy Princess, you ran away," he declared, accusingly.
"I'm leaving." She saw that his intoxication had reached a more advanced stage. His cheeks were flushed; his eyes were wild and unsteady.
"Good news! The night is young; we'll watch it grow up."
"Thank you, no. I'm going home."
"A common mistake. Others have tried and failed." With extreme gravity he focused his gaze upon her, saying, "Home is the one place that our mayor can't close."
She extended her hand. "Good night."
"I don't understand. Speak English."
"Goodnight."
Wharton's countenance darkened unpleasantly, and his voice was rough. "Where'd you learn that line? It's country stuff. We'll leave when I'm ready. Now we'll have a trot."
The music was playing; other couples were dancing, and he seized her in his arms, whirling her away. In and out among the chairs he piloted a dizzy course, while she yielded reluctantly, conscious, meanwhile, that Adoree Demorest was watching them with interest.
For an interval Wharton said nothing; then, with a change of tone, he murmured in her ear: "D'you think I'd let you spoil the whole night? Can't you see I'm crazy about you?"
Lorelei endeavored to free herself from his embrace, but he clutched her the tighter and laughed insolently.
"Nothing like a good 'turkey' to get acquainted, is there? We're going to dance till we're old folks."
She continued to struggle; they were out of step and out of time, but he held her away from himself easily, bending a hot glance upon her upturned face. She saw that he was panting and doubly drunk with her nearness. "Don't fight. I've got you."
She was smiling faintly, out of habit, but, mistaking her expression, he drew her close once more, then buried his face in her neck and kissed her just at the turn of her bare shoulder.
Then she tore herself away, and his triumphant laugh was cut short as she slapped him resoundingly, her stinging fingers leaving their imprint on his cheek.
Her eyes were flaming and her lips were white with fury, though she continued to smile.
"Here! What d'you mean by that?" he cried.
She silenced him sharply: "Hush! Remember you broke in here. I'd like to see you in that fountain."
There was a swish of garments, a musical laugh, and Adoree Demorest was between them.
"I'm madly jealous, Senor Roberto," she exclaimed. "Come, you must dance once more with me. We'll finish this. What?" She swayed toward him in sympathy with the music, snapping her fingers and humming the words of the song.
"She—walloped me—like a sailor," the young man stammered, incoherently. "She—wants to see me in the fountain."
"Then jump in like a gentleman," laughed the danseuse. "But dance with me first." She entwined her arms about him and forced him into motion. As she danced away she signaled over her shoulder to Lorelei, who made haste to seek the cloak-room.
When she emerged John Merkle was waiting in the hall. A shout of laughter echoed from the banquet-hall, and she started.
"That's nothing," Merkle told her. "Bob Wharton is in the fountain. He says he's a goldfish."
One of the minor readjustments forced upon the Knight family by the nature of Lorelei's work was that of meal-hours. Peter, from long custom of early rising in the country, insisted upon his breakfast at seven, and in spite of his inaction demanded dinner at noon and supper at six. Jim, being erratic in habit, exacted his meals at any hour that suited his appetite, while Mrs. Knight, now that she had a housemaid, ate with first one, then another. But no matter how chaotic the general household schedule, Lorelei was always assured of ten hours' sleep, a dainty breakfast upon rising, and a substantial meal before theater-time. Her mother saw to it that this program was religiously adhered to. At whatever hour of the night Lorelei might come in, no sound was ever allowed to disturb her until she arose. Irrespective also of her careless disregard of social appointments, she was never permitted to miss one with the hair-dresser, the manicure, the masseuse, or the dozen and one other beauty specialists who form as important an adjunct to the stage-woman's career as to that of the woman of fashion. All this was a vital part of that plan to which the mother had devoted herself. She attended the girl's health and good looks with a devout singleness of purpose that would have been admirable in a better cause. No race-horse on the eve of a Derby was groomed more carefully than this budding woman. In preparing her for masculine conquest the entire family took a hand. Her prospects, her actions, her triumphs, were the main topic of conversation; all other interests were subordinated to the matrimonial quest upon which she had embarked. The men she met were investigated, discussed, speculated upon until their every characteristic was worn threadbare. The domestic arrangements that resulted were of necessity unhappy, for the housework was allowed to take care of itself. The male members shifted as best they could, and the home was forever in slovenly confusion. Nevertheless, the existing condition of affairs met the approval of all; and the three conspirators lived in a constant state of eager expectation over Lorelei's fortunes.
Mother and daughter were loitering over a midday breakfast, and Lorelei, according to custom, was recounting the incidents of the previous evening.
"It's too bad you quarreled with Mr. Wharton," Mrs. Knight commented, when she heard the full story of Hammon's party. "He'll dislike you now."
The girl shrugged daintily. "He was drunk and fresh. I can't bear a man in such a condition."
"But—he's terribly rich, and he's an only son. He'll inherit everything. Is he nice-looking?"
"Um-m—yes."
"You shouldn't antagonize a man like him, my dear. He's single, at least; and naturally he's impulsive, like all those young millionaires. They have so many girls to choose from, you know. Young Powell, who married Norma Gale, was the same sort. She was twice his age, but he married her just the same, and his people made a fine settlement to get rid of her. She was—tough, too. Mrs. Wharton is a great club—woman and the head of a thousand charities."
"That's no sign she's charitable."
"You can't tell. She might take you right into the family."
"Bob is an alcoholic. He's no good, so Mr. Merkle said."
Jim, who was immersed in the morning paper, spoke from his chair near the window.
"Why don't you go after Merkle himself, Sis? Easy picking, these bankers."
Jim also had come home in the still hours of the night before, and had but lately made his breakfast on a cup of coffee, three cigarettes, and the racing sheet of the Morning Telegraph. He wore his pajama jacket over a silk undershirt, and was now resting preparatory to his daily battle with the world. Just how the struggle went or where it was waged the others knew not at all.
His mother shook her head. "Those old men are all alike. Mr. Hammon will never marry Lilas."
"Is that so?" James abandoned his reading. "The older they are, the softer they get. Take it from me, on the word of a volunteer fireman, Lilas will cash in on him quicker than you think. I know."
"How do you know?" inquired his sister.
"Never mind how. Maybe I've got second sight. Anyhow, the info is right; Hammon's in the game-bag."
"Who told you?"
"Maybe I got it in the dog-eared dope," mocked the brother. "Maybe Max Melcher told me. Anyhow, you could land Merkle just as easy if you'd declare Max in."
"Now, Jim," protested Mrs. Knight, "I won't let you put such ideas into her head. You and—that gang of yours—are full of tricks, but Lorelei's decent, and she's going to stay decent. You'd get everybody in jail or in the newspapers."
"Has Maxey ever been in jail? Has Tony the Barber? No, you bet they haven't, and they never will be. This jail talk is funny. Just wait and see how easy Lilas gets hers. Of course, if Lorelei could marry Wharton, that would be different, but he's no sucker."
"How is Lilas going to get hers?" insisted Lorelei.
"Wait and see." James returned to his paper.
"She'll never marry him. She hates him."
Jim laughed, and his sister broke out irritably:
"Why be so mysterious? Anybody would think you'd robbed a bank."
Jim looked up again, and this time with a scowl. "Well, every time I come through with a suggestion ma crabs it. What's the use of talking to a pair of haymakers like you, anyhow? I could grab a lot of coin for us if you'd let me. Why, Maxey has been after me a dozen times about you, but I knew you wouldn't stand for it."
"Blackmail, eh?"
Jim was highly disgusted. "What's the difference how you pronounce it? It spells k-a-l-e, and it takes a good-looking girl to pull off a deal in this town. When Lilas lands Hammon she'll be through with the show business for good. The Kaiser suite on the Imperator for hers."
Lorelei flung aside her napkin with an exclamation.
"What's wrong now?" demanded Jim. "Sore again because I offer to make a few pennies for you? All right—play for Bob Wharton. I'd like to meet him, though; he can do me a lot of good."
"How?"
"Well, he dropped eighty-four hundred in Hebling's Sixth Avenue joint the other night. Maxey owns a place on Forty-sixth Street where the sky is the limit."
His sister was staring at him curiously. She had voiced misgivings concerning his activities of late, but Jim had never satisfied her inquiries. Now she asked: "What is your share?"
The young man laughed a little uncomfortably. "Forty per cent. That's usual. If he's going to gamble somewhere I might as well be in on it."
Lorelei turned to her mother, but Mrs. Knight seemed puzzled at this turn of the conversation. The girl's next words, however, left no doubt as to her feelings.
"You're a fine specimen, aren't you?" Her lip curled; mother and son started at the bitterness of the tone. "You're in a fine business, too, blackmailing with Tony the Barber's crowd, and capping for a jinny."
"Who said anything about a jinny?"
"Ugh! What a mess you've made of things. Two years ago we were decent, and now—" Lorelei's voice broke; her eyes filmed over with tears. "I'd give anything in the world if we were all back in Vale. It took only two years of the city to spoil us."
"Never mind the dramatics," Jim growled. "What's your kick? You're onBroadway, ain't you?"
"Yes, with a six-room flat on Amsterdam Avenue. Pa is a cripple, you're a crook, and I'm—"
The mother broke in sharply. "Jim is no crook. You've no right to talk like this, after all we've done for you."
"Sure. Why did we come to New York, anyhow?" echoed the young man. "What brought us here? Ain't you having the time of your young life—parties, presents, joy-rides, every day? Gee! I wish I made the coin you do."
"I hate it."
"Ha! Better try Vale again. You'd end in a straight-jacket if you did. You think you could go back, but you couldn't—nobody can after they've had a taste of the city."
"It's all wrong. The whole thing is—rotten. Sometimes I hate myself."Lorelei choked.
Mrs. Knight spoke reprovingly. "Don't be silly, dear. You know we did it all for you. Peter didn't want to leave home, and Jim had a good job, but we gave up everything to let you have a chance. Yes, and we've all worked for you every minute since. Do you think I like this stuffy flat, after that other house with the yard and the trees and the sunshine? Peter lies in his room here, day in and day out, and never has a moment's comfort or pleasure. I don't know a soul; I haven't a friend or a neighbor. But we're not complaining." Mrs. Knight put added feeling into her words. "We don't want you to live the way we've had to live; we want you to be rich and to have things. After all we've done; after all poor Peter has suffered—"
"Don't!" cried the girl, falteringly. "I think of him every hour."
"He isn't the sort that complains. I consider it very thoughtless of you to behave as you do and make it harder for us." Mrs. Knight sniffed and wiped her eyes, whereupon Lorelei went to her and hid her face upon her mother's shoulder.
"I don't want to be unkind," she murmured, "but sometimes I'm sick with disgust, and then again I'm frightened. Where are we heading? What's going to become of us?—of me? That man, last night—there was something in his face, something in the way he held me—just as if I were his for the taking. It isn't the first time I've seen it, either. All the men I meet are beasts. That whole party was sordid and mean—old men drinking with girls and pawing them over. Mr. Merkle was the only nice one there." The mother was dismayed to feel her daughter shiver.
"Good Lord! You people make me sick," cried Jim, rising and making for his room. "Anybody'd think you'd been insulted."
When he had gone Mrs. Knight asked, accusingly.
"Lorelei, are you IN LOVE?"
"No. Why?"
"You've said some queer things lately. You've worried me. I hope you'll never be tempted to do anything so—to be foolish. Just look at the girls who have made silly matches; they all go back to work. You can't be too careful with the men you meet, for you're so beautiful that they'll promise you anything or pretend to be everything they aren't. I don't intend to let you make a mess of things by marrying some chorus-man. When the right person comes along you'll accept him, then you'll never have to worry again. But you MUST be careful."
"Do you think I'd be happy with a man like Mr. Wharton?"
"Why not? You'd at least be rich, and if rich people can't be happy, who can? If you accepted some poor boy he'd probably turn out to be a drunkard and a loafer, just like Wharton is now." She sighed. "I'd like to see you settled; we could take Peter to a specialist, and maybe he could be cured. The doctor says there is a chance. But it would take a world of money."
"I'll get the money."
"How?"
"Somehow. If you'd let me economize on clothes, and if Jim would help a little, we could save enough."
"Jim has all he can do to take care of himself—I'm sure I don't know how he manages—and you've got to keep up appearances. No; Peter will have to wait till you're married—only I did hope, when you told me about Robert Wharton, that he might be the one. We could go abroad and get the help of those German surgeons. I've always wanted to travel."
When Lorelei reached the theater that evening she found Lilas Lynn entertaining a caller who had been more than once in her thoughts during the day. Jim's reference to Max Melcher had recalled Mr. Merkle's earnest words of the previous night, and, although her brother had implied that Melcher was engineering the affair between Lilas and the steel man, Lorelei could not bring herself to take the statement seriously. It was too absurd. She could not imagine how such a thing could be managed by a third person, or how he could profit by it. Her stage experience had acquainted her with several intrigues in which the men's names were nearly as prominent as Hammon's; but in no case had anything more serious than gossip eventuated. A number of such attachments had resulted in happy marriages, although at the price of an occasional divorce. She remembered, now that she thought of it, that Merkle had mentioned the probability of that very thing in this instance. She began to doubt the banker's unselfishness and to question his motives, arguing, as she had done at first, that even if Hammon were really in danger it was no business of hers.
This lesson of non-interference in the affairs of others she had learned during her recent life, spent in an atmosphere not so much immoral as unmoral. For two years she had moved in a world where matters the mere mention of which would not have been tolerated in Vale were openly discussed. These topics were treated frankly, moreover, and with a wise cynicism which, in Lorelei's case, had proven protective. Gratuitous advice, however, was seldom welcomed, and a policy of "Hands off" prevailed.
Miss Lynn's visitor was a well-tailored man who gave a first impression of extreme physical neatness. He was immaculate in attire, his skin was fine, his color fresh; a pair of small, imperturbable eyes were set in a smiling face beneath a prematurely gray head. Max Melcher was a figure on Broadway; he had the entree to all the stage-doors; he frequented the popular cafes, where he surrounded himself with men. Always affable, usually at leisure, invariably obliging, he had many friends.
At Lorelei's entrance he smiled and nodded without rising, then continued his earnest conversation with Miss Lynn. None of their words were audible to the last comer until Melcher rose to leave; then Lilas halted him with a nervous laugh, saying:
"Remember, if it doesn't go, it's a joke, and I run to cover."
"It will go," he told her, quietly, as he strolled out.
"What are you two planning?" inquired Lorelei.
"Nothing. Max drops in regularly; he used to be sweet on me." Lilas completed her make-up, then fidgeted nervously. "Gee!" she presently exclaimed, "I'm tired of this business. We're fools to stay in it. Think of Atlantic City on a night like this, or the mountains. This heat has completely unstrung me." She rummaged through the confusion on her table, then inquired of the dresser, "Croft, where are my white gloves?"
"They haven't come back from the cleaner's," Mrs. Croft answered.
"Not back? Then you didn't send them when I told you. You're getting altogether too shiftless, Croft. When I tell you to do a thing I want it done."
"I sent all six pairs—"
"You did nothing of the sort."
"Oh, Miss Lynn; I hope I drop dead if—"
"Don't talk back to me. You always have an excuse, haven't you?" Lilas's voice was strident; her face was dark with sudden anger. "I've a notion to box your ears—"
Lorelei broke in reprovingly. "Lilas! Croft is old enough to be your mother."
"Yes, and she's old enough to have some sense, but she hasn't got it."
"I hope I drop dead if—"
"I hope you do," snapped the indignant girl. "I told you to attend to them; now I've nothing but soiled ones."
The dresser began to weep silently. She was a small, timid old woman, upon whose manifest need of employment Lorelei had taken pity some time before. Her forgetfulness had long been a trial to both her employers.
"That's right; turn on the flood-gates," mocked Lilas, "You stop that sniveling or I'll give you something to cry for. I'm nervous enough to-night without having you in hysterics. Remember, if it ever happens again you'll go—and you'll take something with you to think about." Seizing the cleanest pair of gloves at hand, she flung out of the room in a fine fury.
"You won't let her—fire me? I need work, I do," quavered Mrs. Croft.
"Now, now. Don't mind her temper. But you really ought to see to her gloves when—"
"I hope I drop dead this minute if I didn't send 'em out the very day she told me."
"Croft, you're fibbing. You know Lilas is excitable."
"Excitable?" Croft wiped her eyes with a corner of her apron. "Is that what you call it? How ever you can bear her I don't see, and you a nice girl. She won't do you no good, Miss Knight."
"Oh, pshaw! She was nervous."
"I should think she would be. I'll be glad if her millionaire takes her out of the business, like she thinks he will. Poor man! He's laying up trouble for himself, that he is. She'll land him in the divorce court—with her flesh-light photographs."
Lorelei swung around from her mirror. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, I heard her and that Jew—I beg pardon, Miss Knight. You ain't aJew, are you?"
"What about the flash-lights?"
"There's so many Hebrew girls in the profession—Not that I don't like 'em, you understand—"
"Go on."
"Well, I heard enough to know that she's up to some deviltry—her and that Maxey Melcher. They've got a photographer and witnesses. Your brother is one of 'em."
"Jim? What—"
"It's true. It's a bad crowd Mister Jim's in with. And there's something big in the air. Millions it is. And her saying she'll box my ears. The hussy! I've heard 'em talking before to-night."
"Tell me everything, Croft—quickly."
"I have. Only you better warn your brother—"
The assistant stage-manager thrust his head through the curtains, shouting: "Your cue, Miss Knight. What the devil—"
With a gasp Lorelei leaped to her feet and fled from the room.
Mrs. Croft shook her head mournfully, snuffled a few times, then scowled at the disarray Lilas had left behind. She breathed a feeble malediction upon the cause of it, seized a hat-pin, and, holding it like a dagger, thrust it viciously into first one, then another of the gowns hanging on their hooks.
"I wish you was in 'em," the little old woman exclaimed. She replaced the pin, then surreptitiously removed some expensive cologne from a large bottle, transferring the perfume to a smaller bottle which she took from her pocket, dabbed her nose with Lilas's powder-puff, and began laying out her enemy's next change of costume.
Lorelei had left a handful of silver carelessly exposed, and, discovering this, Mrs. Croft counted it. The pile was sufficiently large to reassure her, so she abstracted two quarters; then, in an excess of caution, returned one coin and took a dime in its place.
Lorelei did not secure another word alone with the dresser until the middle of the second act, by which time Mrs. Croft was her own colorless, work-worn self once more.
"I don't know no more than I told you," she informed Lorelei. "Mr. Melcher has been coming here for a long time, and he always talks about Mr. Hammon. I've heard enough to know that him and her is after his money—millions of it. Mister Jim can tell you everything, for he's talked about it, too, when you were on the stage. Lilas mentioned him to-night when her and him was talking over the flesh-light photographs. She said—Oh, Gawd!—" Mrs. Croft broke off her narrative suddenly, and, falling to her knees in a prayerful attitude, began nervously arranging the long row of foot-gear under Miss Lynn's table. The next instant the owner herself burst into the room, panting from a swift run up the stairs.
"Quick, Croft! Don't be all thumbs, now." She tossed a sealed letter upon her table, rapidly unhooked her dress, and stepped out of it, then into a flame-colored velvet gown which the old woman held for her. She set a tremendous plumed hat upon her head, impaled it deftly, patted her hair into more becoming shape, and then seated herself, extending her feet for a change of slippers. She took the moment to open and read her note.
Lorelei looked up from her sewing at a little cry of rage from Lilas. Miss Lynn had torn the message into bits and flung it from her; her eyes were blazing.
"Damn him!" she cried, furiously, rising so abruptly as almost to upsetMrs. Croft. "The idiot!"
"What is it?"
"I—must telephone—quick." Half-way to the door she halted atLorelei's warning:
"Wait; you haven't time."
"Damn!" repeated the elder girl. "I must; or—Lorelei, dear, will you do me a favor? Run down to the door and telephone for me? I won't be off again till the curtain, and that will be too late." Lorelei rose obediently. "That's a dear. Call Tony the Barber's place—I—I've forgotten the number—anyhow, you can find it, and ask for Max. Tell him it's off; he can't come."
"Who can't come? Max?" "No. Just say, 'Lilas sends word that it's off; he can't come.' He'll understand. Run quick, or you won't catch him, and—He'll kill me if I let him go. I'll call him later, to-night—There's my cue now. Just ask for Max, and don't use his last name. Thanks. I'll do as much for you." Lilas was off with a rush, and Lorelei hastened after her, speculating vaguely as to the cause of all this anxiety.
The telephone at the back of the Circuit Theater was located inside the stage-door and occupied one end of the shelf which separated Mr. Regan's hole in the wall from the entrance-hall. It was no place in which to conduct a private conversation, since any one coming or going could hear, but stage telephones are not installed for the convenience of performers.
As Lorelei hurried down the passageway a man in evening dress turned, and she recognized Robert Wharton.
"You are sent from heaven!" he cried, at sight of her. "I enter out of the night and unburden my heart to this argus-eyed watchman, and, lo! you come flying in answer to my wish. Quick service, Judge. In appreciation of your telepathy I present you with some lumbago cure." He tossed a bank-note to Regan, who snatched it eagerly on the fly.
Lorelei forestalled further words. "Please—I must telephone. I go on in a minute."
"Fairy Princess, last night I was a goldfish; to-night I am an enchanted lover—"
"Wait; I'm in a hurry." She thumbed the telephone-book swiftly in search of her number, but young Wharton was not to be silenced.
"Tell him it's all off," he commanded. "You can't go; I won't let you.Promise." He laid a hand upon the telephone and eyed her gravely."Don't thwart me—I'm a dangerous man. You can't use our little 'phoneunless—"
"Don't be silly. I'm telephoning for some one else."
"That's exactly what we can't permit. The 'some one else' is here—I'm it."
"No, no!"
He closed one eye and wagged his head, grasping the instrument more firmly.
"Promise to tell him—It IS a 'him,' isn't it? Aha' My intelligence is sublime. Promise."
"I slapped you last night; I promise to do it again," Lorelei told him, sharply.
"Something whispered that you did, and all day long I have been angry; but to-night—now that I'm in my natural condition—I pass the insult. I offer you my hand and my other cheek in case you want to try a left hook. But I come with another purpose. Outside is a chariot with ninety horses—French rating—champing at the throttle. We are going away from here."
"You're drunk again, Mr. Wharton?"
He glanced at the clock over Regan's head and shook his head in negation. "It's only ten-twenty. In two hours from now—"
"Give me that 'phone."
"Promise to tell him it's all off."
She smiled. "All right. I'll use those very words."
Wharton hesitated. "I trust you."
"I'm going to tell him he can't come," she said, holding out her hand.
Once the instrument was hers she oscillated the hook with nervous finger, staring doubtfully at the cause of her delay. Wharton, as on the evening before, carried his intoxication with an air. He was steady on his feet, immaculate in dress, punctilious in demeanor; only his roving, reckless eye betrayed his unnatural exhilaration.
The Judge had enjoyed the scene. He chuckled; he clicked his loose false teeth like castanets. Bob turned at the sound and regarded him with benignant interest, his attention riveted upon the old man's dental infirmity.
"You're quite a comedian," Regan wheezed.
"Click 'em again," said Bob, pleasantly. "Wonderful! Age has its compensations. Play 'Home, Sweet Home' when you get 'em tuned up. Or perhaps they are for sale?"
Lorelei secured her number and was surprised to recognize her brother's voice. She made herself known, to Jim's equal amazement, and then inquired:
"Is Max there?"
"Sure. He's outside in the automobile."
"Call him, please."
"What do you want of him? How'd you know I was here?"
"Never mind. Call him quickly."
During the wait Wharton ejaculated: "Ha! 'Jim,' 'Max.' Men's names! Mr. Regan, kindly grind your teeth for me. No? Will you grind them for a dollar? Jealousy business. Thanks."
At last Melcher's voice came over the wire, and Lorelei recited her message. There was a moment of silence, then she explained how she came to be talking instead of Lilas.
He thanked her and she heard him muttering as he hung up. She turned to find her annoyer nodding with satisfaction.
"Splendid! I thank you; my father thanks you; my family thanks you. Now where would you like to dine?"
"How can a person get rid of you?" she inquired, stiffly.
"I'm sure I don't know—it isn't being done. But I'll try to think. Wear your prettiest gown, won't you? for I intend to enrage all the other fellows."
"This is an invitation, eh?"
"The first of a nightly series. Life is opening out for you in a wonderful manner, Miss Knight. Don't refuse; my legs have petrified, and a gang of safe-movers couldn't budge me."
She turned with a shrug of mingled annoyance and amusement, and he called after her:
"The Judge's teeth will entertain me till you come. I'll be waiting."
Miss Lynn, as she dressed after the performance, was still in an evil temper; but she thanked her room-mate for aiding her; then, as if some explanation were due, she added, "That note was from Jarvis."
"You puzzle me, Lilas," Lorelei told her, slowly. "I don't think you care for him at all."
Lilas laughed. "Why do you think that? I adore him, but we had an engagement and he broke it. Men are all selfish: the bigger they are the more selfish they become. They never do anything you don't make them."
"He can't sacrifice his business for you."
"Sacrifice! It's women who sacrifice themselves. D'you suppose any of those men we met last night would sacrifice himself for anything or anybody? Not much. They are the strong and the mighty. They got rich through robbery, and they're in the habit of taking whatever they want. They made their money out of the blood and suffering of thousands of poor people, so why—"
"Poor people don't buy steel."
"No; but they make it. I knew Mr. Wharton and the rest of them years ago, for I was born and raised in a furnace town. My father worked in a Bessemer plant—until he was killed. What I saw there made me an anarchist."
Through the open window overlooking the alley came a sound of singing; two voices raised in doubtful harmony, one loud and strong, the other rasping, hoarse, and uncertain.
Of all the girls that I adore,There's none so sweet as Sa-a-a-hall-ee.
"Ouch! Who's that?" queried Lilas.
"Bob Wharton and the Judge. Wharton's waiting to take me to supper."
"Drunk, as usual, of course. Think of a fool like that with millions behind him—millions that his father wrung out of sweating, suffering foreigners like my father. He's squandering blood-money. That's what it is—blood-money."
"You ARE bitter to-night. Is Mr. Hammon living on blood-money, too?"
"Yes; he is."
"Is that why you're planning to blackmail it out of him?"
Lilas paused in her dressing and turned slowly, brows lifted. Her dark eyes met the blue ones unwaveringly.
"Blackmail? What are you talking about?" Mrs. Croft went pale, and retired swiftly but noiselessly into the lavatory, closing the door behind her. "What did Max tell you over the 'phone?" asked Lilas, sharply.
"Nothing."
"Then where did you get—that? From Jim?"
"Jim's pretty bad, I imagine, but he keeps his badness to himself. No.I've overheard you and Max talking."
"Nonsense. We've never mentioned such a thing. The idea is absurd. I get mad at Jarvis—he's enough to madden anybody—perhaps I'm jealous, but blackmail! Why, you're out of your head."
The girls had nearly finished dressing when a commotion sounded in the hall outside and Mrs. Croft, after investigation, reported that Robert Wharton had been forcibly expelled from a dressing-room. He could be heard gently apologizing and explaining that he was in quest of a Fairy Princess, whereupon Lorelei hastily locked her door.
"That's the worst of these swells," observed Lilas, as she left. "They pay high and go anywhere they please. Bergman caters to them."
Lorelei delayed her toilet purposely, and finally dismissed Croft; then she wrote a note to John Merkle, in care of his bank. By this time the cavernous regions at the rear of the theater were nearly deserted. She listened; but, hearing Wharton still in conversation with the watchman, she locked her door once more and sat down to wait. As she fingered the note a doubt formed in her mind—a doubt as to the advisability under any circumstances of leaving written evidence in another's hands. Finally she destroyed the missive, determining to make use of the telephone on the following day. As to just what to do after that she was undecided.
When quiet had finally descended she opened her door cautiously and peered out. Robert Wharton sat on the top step of the stairway near at hand, but his head rested against the wall, and he slept. Beside him were his high hat, his gloves, and his stick. As Lorelei, with skirts carefully gathered, tiptoed past him she saw suspended upon his gleaming white shirt-bosom what at first glance resembled a foreign decoration of some sort, but proved to be Mr. Regan's false teeth. They were suspended by a ribbon that had once done duty in the costume of a coryphee; they rose and fell to the young man's gentle breathing.
Lorelei carried out her intention of telephoning on the following day, and about the close of the show that night Merkle's card was brought up to her dressing-room. A moment later Robert Wharton's followed, together with a tremendous box of long-stemmed roses. She went down a trifle apprehensively, for by this time the current tales of Bob's drunken freaks had given her cause to think somewhat seriously, and she feared an unpleasant encounter. More than once she had witnessed quarrels in the alleyway behind the Circuit, where pestiferous youths of Wharton's caliber were frequent visitors.
But Mr. Merkle relieved her mind by saying, "I sent Bob away on a pretext, although he swore you had an engagement with him."
"I'm glad you did. I left him asleep outside my dressing-room last night, and I almost hoped he'd caught pneumonia."
Beside the curb a heavy touring-car was purring, and into this Merkle helped his companion. "I'm not up on the etiquette of this sort of thing," he explained, "but I presume the proper procedure is supper. Where shall it be—Sherry's?"
Lorelei laughed. "You ARE inexperienced. The Johns never eat on FifthAvenue, the lights are too dim. But why supper? You can't eat."
"A Welsh rarebit would be the death of me; lobsters are poison," he confessed; "but I've read that chorus-girls are carnivorous animals and seek their prey at midnight."
"Most of them would prefer bread and milk; anyhow, I would. But I'm not hungry, so let's ride—we can talk better, and you're not the sort of man to be seen in public with one of Bergman's show-girls."
The banker acquiesced with alacrity. To his driver he said, "Take theLong Island road."
As the machine glided into noiseless motion Lorelei noted a limousine waiting near by, and saw a dim figure within. The dome-light had been turned off, and she could detect only a white shirt-front, the blurred outline of a face, and the glowing point of a cigar.
"You can follow that man's example if you wish," said she, "and hide until we're away from the bright lights."
Merkle answered shortly, "Your reputation may suffer, not mine." He leaned forward and inquired of the chauffeur, "Who's car is that?"
"Mr. Hammon's, sir. He's going our way, so his man said."
"I thought so. We'll have company."
"Why do you choose the Long Island road?" asked Lorelei.
"It's pleasant," responded Merkle. "I ride nearly every night, and I like the country. You see, I can't sleep unless I'm in motion. I get most of my rest in a car; there's something about the movement that soothes me."
"How funny!"
"Peculiar, perhaps, but scarcely humorous. I'd be dead or insane without an automobile. You see, I'm nothing but a rack of bones strung together with quivering nerves—always been so, and I'm getting worse. I keep four French cars in my garage, all specially built as to spring-suspension and upholstery, and I spend nearly every night in one or the other of them. It's seldom I do less than a hundred miles between midnight and morning; sometimes, when I'm bad, I do twice that. So long as I'm moving fast I manage to snatch a miserable sort of repose, but the instant we go slow I wake up. It's the sensation of flight, the music of a swift-running motor, the wind blowing in my face, that lulls me; but it's getting harder all the time. I used to sleep at twenty miles an hour; now I can't relax under thirty. Forty is fine—sixty means dreamless peace."
"It does, indeed, if one happens to have a blowout," laughed the girl.
"I have trouble keeping chauffeurs. The darkness breaks their nerve, and they play out in two or three months. I've known them to crack under the strain in a week, and yet all the time I want to go faster—faster. Some night, when a bolt breaks, or my driver's eye and hand fail to co-ordinate, it will all end, I suppose, in a twinkling, and—I'll get a good rest at last. Meanwhile I thank Heaven and Mr. Vanderbilt for the Motor Parkway."
The car had threaded the after-theater congestion of traffic with a swiftness that testified to the practised hand on the wheel, and was now darting through unfrequented side-streets where the asphalt lay in the shadows like dark pools. Up the approach to the Queensborough Bridge it swept, and took the long incline like a soaring bird. Overhead, the massive towers pierced the night sky; the steel-ribbed skeleton-tunnel rushed past the riders; far beneath, the river itself lay like a sheet of metal, glittering here and there with the yellow lights of ships. Blackwell's Island slipped under them, an inky bottomless pit of despair, out of which points of fire gleamed upward—like faint, steady-burning sparks of hope in the hearts of miserable men. The breath of the overheated city changed as by magic, and the thin-faced sufferer at Lorelei's side drank it in eagerly. Even in the dim flash of the passing illuminations she noted how tired and worn he was, and a sudden pity smote her.
"Won't you pretend I'm not here, and drive just as you always do? I won't mind," she said.
"My dear, it's late. You'll need to get home."
"No, no."
"Really?" His eagerness was genuine. "Won't your people worry?"
Her answer was a short, mirthless laugh that made him glance at her curiously. "They know I'm perfectly safe. It's the other way round: a man of your standing takes chances by being alone with a woman of—mine."
"Which reminds me of Miss Lynn and Mr. Hammon. You've decided to accept my offer?"
"No. I can't be a hired spy."
"You said over the 'phone that you had learned something."
"I have. I believe there is an effort on foot to get some of Mr.Hammon's money dishonestly. I have a reason for wishing to prevent it."
"I knew I wasn't mistaken in you," smiled Merkle.
"Oh, don't attribute my actions to any high moral motives! I'm getting a little rusty on right and wrong. Personally, I have no sympathy with Mr. Hammon, and I don't imagine he acquired all of his tremendous fortune in a perfectly honorable way. Besides, he's a married man."
"It isn't alone Jarvis or his family or their money that is concerned," Merkle said, gravely. "Great financial institutions sometimes rest on foundations as slight as one man's personality—one man's reputation for moral integrity. A breath of suspicion of any sort at the wrong time may bring on a crash involving innocent people.
"Hammon at this moment carries a tremendous top-heavy burden of responsibilities; his death would be no more disastrous than a scandal that would tend to destroy public confidence in him as a man."
"Doesn't he know that himself?"
"Perhaps. But his infatuation overtook him at an age when a man is a fool. Young men are always objects of suspicion in the financial world, for their emotions are unruly; but when old men fall in love they are superbly heedless of consequences. I promised to tell you something about Jarvis, and I will, since you spoke of his married life. To begin with, his father and his father's father were steel-workers. They came from Cornwall before he was born, and Jarvis grew up in the glare of the Pennsylvania furnaces. From the time he could walk he never knew anything, never heard anything except steel. He inherited all the driving strength of his father and developed such a remarkable business ability that he became a rolling-mill superintendent almost before he was of age. They say he never did less than two men's work and often more; but he could make others work, too, and there lay the secret of his success. He was indefatigable; he was a machine; he never rested, nor played, nor relaxed, as other men do. He just worked; and his mill held the tonnage record for years.
"When the Corporation was formed he played a big part in the deal and got a big slice of the profits. He had been successful, noted: at one turn of the wheel he became enormously wealthy. The story of Alladin is nothing to the story of the men who took part in that combination. Hammon went into other things than steel, and he prospered. He never failed at anything. Now, here comes the part of the story that interests me most of all and will interest you if you can understand the workings of a man's mind. Jarvis had no vices and but one hobby—at least his vices were neutral, for he had never taken time to acquire the positive kind. His hobby was Napoleon Bonaparte. He read everything there was to read about Napoleon; he studied his life and patterned his own on similar lines. His collection of Napoleona is the finest in this country; he is an authority on French history of that period—in fact, he's as nearly hipped on the subject as a man of his powers can be considered hipped on anything. Do I bore you, Miss Knight?"
"No; go on. I'm tremendously interested."
"Well, naturally, Hammon began to consider himself another Napoleon, and his accomplishments were in a way quite as wonderful; his strategy was quite as brilliant, and his victories quite as complete. He even confided to me once that his idol surpassed him in only one respect—namely, the power to relax—a pardonable conceit, under the circumstances. Jarvis had never taken time for relaxation, and he was beginning to wear out; and so—he deliberately set about learning to play. The Emperor of France, so history tells us, took his greatest pleasure in the company of women; therefore Hammon sought women, just as he had sought and gained financial conquest. He doesn't know the taste of defeat; so the result was fore-ordained."
"But surely he thought something of his family," protested Lorelei."Didn't he consider them?"
"I fancy he wasn't well acquainted with his family. I'm sure he never enjoyed any home life, as we understand it. He lived with a rich old woman who bore his name but scarcely knew him; his daughters were grown women whom he saw on rare occasions and whose extravagant whims he gratified without question. But there was little real intimacy, little sympathy. Remember, Jarvis had been a boy, but he had never been young, and this was his first taste of youth, But—he was not Napoleon. As you've noticed, he's quite mad on the Lynn woman. He's no longer himself. He has been drugged by her charms, and—now he's paying the price. I wanted you to know the story before we went any further. Now tell me what you have learned."