LIII
ELMER came and saw London, England. And the ancient burg gave him a real good time. He went here, there and everywhere; his photograph was in all the papers; columns were written about his book. There was a brilliant luncheon at the Savoy. Lady Violet kept her promise. Big-wigs attended it, including her father’s old friend the Prime Minister, who seized the occasion to deliver a most significant address on the Value, Etc., which was cabled verbatim all over the English-speaking world.
No young author, since the art of writing was invented, ever had a more generous reception in the great metropolis. A modest, rather shy, young man, he was inclined at first to be overwhelmed by it. But the undefeated Mame, who met him at Euston, who took him to his hotel, who gave him continual advice, saw to it that he wasn’t. For the honour of Cowbarn, Iowa, he must stand right up to his job. It was her task to see that he did so without flinching and she duly performed it. She mothered him through receptions and tea parties; she toted him around; and the bewildered and breathless Elmer hardly knew whether to be more impressed by the storm his coming had aroused or by the manner in which Mame rode it.
Nothing in the whole of London astonished him quite so much as Mame’s transformation from her chrysalis Cowbarn period. Her clothes, her style, her English accent fairly tickled him to death. Then the friends she had made! She appeared to hob-nob with half the swells in Britain and to have them feeding from the hand.
Elmer had many surprises in these crowded and glorious days. But, shrewd and cool American citizen that he was, he managed to keep a perfectly level head. For the life of him he couldn’t imagine what all the fuss was about; or at least if he had an inkling of the reason for it, he could not understand how Mame had contrived it all. She had evidently had the luck to strike some very powerful backers.
Even before landing in England, he had surmised that such was the case. The mysterious Celimene, of the weekly news-letter, had proved to be so highly informed in social matters that her value had been clearly demonstrated in New York. Her name had been given him in confidence before he came over; and he was mighty keen to meet her.
They might be said to challenge each other’s curiosity. But their meeting not only fulfilled their hopes of one another; it was the beginning of a friendship. One could not help liking the author ofPrairie City. He was a well-set-up young man; and behind the dry shrewdness and the determination to get there, qualities characteristic of Mame herself, were genuine kindliness and modesty. His rise to fame had been lesssudden than it seemed. It had been prepared for and earned. He owned to thirty-one years of life. They had not been easy years, but they had made him the man he was.
Lady Violet was glad that Elmer answered fully to Mame’s description of him as “a regular fellow.” There was something about him that inspired confidence. Whether it was a certain slowness of speech which implied depth of mind, a vein of real grit, or the charming air of diffidence with which he wore the fame that so deservedly was his, she instinctively felt that here was what Mame called a he-man.
This was well. She had a plan in that sagacious mind of hers. But the carrying out of it depended upon Elmer P. himself. Unless he could pass the test, and a pretty severe one, that a thorough woman of the world felt bound to impose, the fine scheme was doomed from the outset. His bearing, however, in those crowded days in which they saw a good deal of each other, convinced this friend that rumour had not over-painted him. Undoubtedly the young man deserved the position his talents had won. Beneath a surface a little stiff and formal at first, and, the critic thought, none the worse for that, was a warmth of heart and a balance of nature which enabled him to pass his examination with flying colours.
As much time as Elmer could spare from his exceedingly numerous engagements was devoted to Half Moon Street. From the first afternoon he went there to drink tea, with reviewers and people of influence inthe world of letters, he took a great liking to the place. For one thing he was made to feel so much at home. The presence of Mame guaranteed that. She was quite unspoiled in spite of the English accent, which to Elmer’s secret delight was apt to wear a little thin in places. He was no end of an observer, the author ofPrairie City. Back in the Cowbarn days there was something in Mame that had appealed to him; and in this new orientation she was still the Mame he had liked, smiled at just a little, and yet admired. Wonderful how she had been able to get away with it; yet he was not really surprised. He had always known that his little stenographer had a lot in her.
Everybody was so friendly in Half Moon Street. They seemed to take quite a personal pride in his success; they seemed to treat it almost as a part of their own. During the hours he spent there Mame and her friend Lady Violet were always devising fresh schemes forPrairie City. The boom was growing daily. But it must get bigger and bigger. Had he been their own brother they could not have done more.
One afternoon, when Elmer had been in London a week, he came rather early and happened to catch Lady Violet alone. Mame had gone, at the call of duty, to the première of a new play. In this rather providential absence, which yet did not owe quite so much to providence as appeared on the surface, Lady Violet seized the chance to have a private talk.
“So you are leaving us a week to-day?”
Elmer confessed that was his intention.
“If you find us all as complacent as our perfectly absurd newspapers you won’t be sorry.”
Elmer had the tact to ignore the vexed question of the British newspaper. “I’ll be sorry enough,” he said with simple sincerity. “You are just giving me the time of my life.”
“Your book is so delightful. Every fresh reader is one friend more for the man who has written it.” Lady Violet yielded to none in point of tact. Over that course few could live with her. “But I do hope you realise,” she went laughingly on, “that, although you are your own best asset, as of course every true author has to be, you have also had a very clever and enthusiastic friend to pull the strings over here.”
Elmer realised that.
“One doesn’t say your success might not have been as great without her; but it could hardly have come so soon.”
Yes, Elmer was sure.
“The way that dear child has worked for you has simply been splendid. Had she written the book herself, I don’t think she could have been prouder of it. She literally bullied your publishers into boosting you—you know what even the best publishers are!—she bullied me into corralling the Prime Minister—it was a rare bit of luck getting him to come and make that speech—and it was her idea, wasn’t it, that you should come over here and let us see you?”
Elmer felt all this was true. But gallantly he wantedto include Lady Violet herself in the big bill of his gratitude.
“Please keep it all for Mame. That good child deserves every bit. She has worked for you like a demon. As good as gold, as true as steel. And she is quite cast down that you are leaving us next week.”
Unluckily there was no help for it. But Elmer P., like most people of true genius, was simple at heart. He responded to the piping. Mame Durrance—in the mouth of her former employer the accent fell upon the first syllable of her surname rather than upon the second—deserved all the luck there was in the world. She was as real as they made them; and she was able to think of others.
Lady Violet drove that right home. “I, of all people, have reason to know it. She is capable of big things, that dear child. Some day, when you come and see us again, as of course you will, I may tell you a little story about her.”
Elmer could not help a feeling of subtle flattery. It is difficult for rising young men to resist such a feeling when they find themselves tête-à-tête with an accomplished woman of the world. Lady Violet was quite as intriguing as any of the Fifth Avenue queens, with one or two of whom he was beginning to get acquainted. Mame had had amazing luck to put herself in so solid with this fascinating woman. It was true that Elmer personally owed a lot to Mame, a peerless little go-getter, but it was also true that Mame for her part owed much to this brilliant daughter of a famous statesmanwho in his day had done a great deal for the English-speaking world.
The clock ticked pleasantly on to five o’clock and then quite as pleasantly to 5:15. But no Mame. Lady Violet feigned surprise. Then she glanced at an imposing array of cards on the chimneypiece. Oh, yes, she remembered! This was the at-home day of the wife of an influential editor. Mame had evidently kept it in mind even if Lady Violet herself had forgotten. “She’s gone there to boostPrairie City,” said her friend with a smile. “Wherever she goes now she boostsPrairie City; and at night she boosts it in her dreams.”
A quarter past five already! Elmer Pell Dobree rose with a start. At 5:30—Lady Violet must really excuse him—he was due in Aldwych to orate to the Journalists’ Circle on the Coming of the American Novel. He was sorry to go, but Mame had fixed that on him at about twelve hours’ notice, and as his good fairy declared it would mean another edition, he supposed he must stand up, a hero, and face it.
“You must.” Lady Violet had what Elmer privately described as a Gioconda smile. Here was guile, here was subtlety or the author ofPrairie Citywas not a judge of such matters. How intriguing she was. Gee! she had a power of making your blood course quicker.
“I’ve one favour to ask, Lady Violet.” Elmer was moving to the door. “Can you and Mame spare to-morrow evening to dine with me quietly at the Savoy?”
Lady Violet took up a little red book from the writing table. A glance revealed that by the courtesy ofprovidence to-morrow night was free. She could not answer for Mame, but to the best of her recollection there was reason to think the little go-getter would not be in action that evening.
So then it was arranged, a little dinner, just the three of them, for the next evening, which was so providentially free, at the convenient hour of eight. Unless, of course, Mame, which somehow Lady Violet felt was hardly likely, telephoned him to the contrary.