by Sewell Ford
CHAPTER XIV
CUTTING IN ON THE BLISS
We thought it was all over too. That's the way it is in plays andbooks, where they don't gen'rally take 'em beyond the final clinch,leavin' you to fill in the bliss _ad lib_. But here we'd seen 'emclear through the let-no-man-put-asunder stage, even watched 'em dodgethe rice and confetti in their dash to the limousine.
"Thank goodness that's through with!" remarks Mother, without makin'any bones of it.
Course, her reg'lar cue was to fall on Father's neck and weep; but,then, I expect Mrs. Cheyne Ballard's one of the kind you can't writeany form sheet for. She's a lively, bunchy little party, all jump andgo and jingle, who looks like she might have been married herself onlyday before yesterday.
"I hope Robbie knows where she put those trunk checks," says Father, atthe same time sighin' sort of relieved.
From where I stood, though, the guy who was pushin' overboard thebiggest chunk of worry was this I-wilt boy, Mr. Nicholas Talbot. He'dgot her at last! But, z-z-z-zingo! it had been some lively gettin'.Not that I was all through the campaign with him; but I'd had glimpseshere and there.
You see, Robbie's almost one of the fam'ly; for Mr. Robert's an oldfriend of the Ballards, and was bottle holder or something at thechristenin'. As a matter of fact, she was named Roberta after him.Then he'd watched her grow up, and always remembered her birthdays, andkept her latest picture on his desk. So why shouldn't he figure moreor less when so many others was tryin' to straighten out her loveaffairs? They was some tangled there for awhile too.
Robbie's one of the kind, you know, that would have Cupid cross-eyed inone season. A queen? Well, take it from me! Say, the way her cheekswas tinted up natural would have a gold medal rose lookin' like it comeoff a twenty-nine-cent roll of wall paper. Then them pansy-coloredeyes! Yes, Miss Roberta Ballard was more or less ornamental. Thatwa'n't all, of course. She could say more cute things, and cut loosewith more unexpected pranks, than a roomful of Billie Burkes. Ascunnin' as a kitten, she was.
No wonder Nick Talbot fell for her the first time he was exposed!Course, he was half engaged to that stunnin' Miss Marian Marlowe at thetime; but wa'n't Robbie waverin' between three young chaps that allseemed to be in the runnin' before Nick showed up?
Anyway, Miss Marlowe should have known better than to lug in her steadywhen she was visitin'. She'd been chummy with Robbie at boardin'school, and should have known how dangerous she was. But young Mr.Talbot had only two looks before he's as strong for Robbie as though ithad been comin' on for years back. Impetuous young gent that way hewas too; and, bein' handicapped by no job, and long on time and money,he does some spirited rushin'.
Seems Robbie Ballard didn't mind. Excitement was her middle name,novelty was her strong suit, and among Nick's other attractions he wasbrand new. Besides, wa'n't he a swell one-stepper, a shark at tennis,and couldn't he sing any ragtime song that she could drum out? Theninety-horse striped racin' car that he came callin' in helped alongsome; for one of Robbie's fads was for travelin' fast. Course, she'dbeen brought up in limousines; but the mile in fifty seconds gave her agenuine thrill.
When it come to holdin' out her finger for the big solitaire that Nickflashed on her about the third week, though, she hung back. The otherscarried about the same line of jew'lry around in their vest pockets,waitin' for a chance to decorate her third finger. One had theloveliest gray eyes too. Then there was another entry, with thedearest little mustache, who was a bear at doin' the fish-walk tangowith her; not to mention the young civil engineer she'd met last winterat Palm Beach. But he didn't actually count, not bein' on the scene.
Anyway, three was enough to keep guessin' at once. Robbie was realmodest that way. But she sure did have 'em all busy. If it was asixty-mile drive with Nick before luncheon, it was apt to be anafternoon romp in the surf with the gray-eyed one, and a toss up as towhich of the trio took her to the Casino dance in the evenin'. Motherused to laugh over it all with Mr. Robert, who remarked that those kidswere absurd. Nobody seemed to take it serious; for Robbie was only afew months over nineteen.
But young Mr. Talbot had it bad. Besides, he'd always got about whathe wanted before, and this time he was in dead earnest. So the firstthing Mother and Father knew they were bein' interviewed. Robbie hadhalf said she might if there was no kick from her dear parents, and hewanted to know how about it. Mr. Cheyne Ballard supplied theinformation prompt. He called Nick an impudent young puppy, at whichMother wept and took the young gent's part. Robbie blew in just thenand giggled through the rest of the act, until Father quit disgustedand put it square up to her. Then she pouted and locked herself in herroom. That's when Mr. Robert was sent for; but she wouldn't give himany decision, either.
So for a week there things was in a mess, with Robbie balkin', Motherhavin' a case of nerves, Father nursin' a grouch, and Nick Talbotmopin' around doleful. Then some girl friend suggested to Robbie thatif she did take Nick they could have a moonlight lawn weddin', with theflower gardens all lit up by electric bulbs, which would be too dearfor anything. Robbie perked up and asked for details. Inside of anhour she was plannin' what she would wear. Late in the afternoon Nickheard the glad news himself, through a third party.
First off the date was set for early next spring, when she'd be twenty.That was Father's dope; although Mother was willin' it should be pulledoff around Christmas time. Nick, he stuck out for the first ofOctober; but Robbie says:
"Oh, pshaw! There won't be any flowers then, and we'll be back intown. Why not week after next?"
So that's the compromise fin'lly agreed on. The moonlight stunt had tobe scratched; but the outdoor part was stuck to--and believe me it wassome classy hitchin' bee!
They'd been gone about two weeks, I guess, with everybody contentedexcept maybe the three losers, and all hands countin' the incidentclosed; when one forenoon Mother shows up at the general offices, has along talk with Mr. Robert, and goes away moppin' her eyes. Thenthere's a call for Mr. Cheyne Ballard's downtown number, and Mr. Roberthas a confab with him over the 'phone. Next comes three lively ringsfor me on the buzzer, and I chases into the private office. Mr. Robertis sittin' scowlin', makin' savage' jabs with a paper knife at theblotter pad.
"Torchy," says he, "I find myself in a deucedly awkward fix."
"Another lobbyist been squealin'?" says I.
"No, no!" says he. "This is a personal affair, and--well, it'sembarrassing, to say the least."
"Another lobbyist been squealin'?" says I.
"It's about Roberta," says he.
"What--again?" says I. "But I thought they was travelin' abroad?"
"I wish they were," says he; "but they're not. At the last moment, itseems, Robbie decided she didn't care for a foreign trip,--too late inthe season, and she didn't want to be going over just when everyone wascoming back, you know. So they went up to Thundercaps instead."
"Sounds stormy," says I.
"You're quite right," says he. "But it's a little gem of a place thatyoung Talbot's father built up in the Adirondacks. I was there once.It's right on top of a mountain. And that's where they are now, milesfrom anywhere or anybody."
"And spoony as two mush ladles, I expect," says I.
"Humph!" says he, tossin' the brass paper knife reckless onto thepolished mahogany desk top. "They ought to be, I will admit; but--oh,hang it all, if you're to be of any use in this beastly affair, Isuppose you must be told the humiliating, ugly truth! They are notspooning. Robbie is very unhappy. She--she's being abused."
"Well, what do you know!" says I. "You don't mean he's begun draggin'her around by the hair, or----"
"Don't!" says Mr. Robert, bunchin' his fists nervous. "I can't tell.Robbie hasn't gone into that. But she has written her mother that sheis utterly wretched, and that this precious Nick Talbot of hers isunbearable. The young whelp! If I could only get my hands on him forfive minutes! But, blast it all! that's just what I mustn't dountil--until I'm sure. I can
't trust myself to go. That is why I mustsend you, young man."
"Eh?" says I, starin'. "Me? Ah, say, Mr. Robert, I wouldn't stand anyshow at all mixin' it with a young husk like him. Why, after the firstpoke I'd be----"
"You misunderstand," says he. "That poke part I can attend to verywell myself. But I want to know the worst before I start in, and if Ishould go up there now, feeling as I do, I--well, I might not be a verypatient investigator. You see, don't you?"
"Might blow a gasket, eh?" says I. "And you want me to go up and scoutaround. But what if I'm caught at it--am I peddlin' soap, or what?"
"A plausible errand is just what I've been trying to invent," says he."Can you suggest anything?"
"Why," says I, "I might go disguised as a lone bandit who'd robbed atrain and was----"
"Too theatrical," objects Mr. Robert.
"Or a guy come to test the gas meter," I goes on.
"Nonsense!" says he. "No gas meters up there. Forget the disguise.They both know you, remember."
"Oh, well," says I, "if I can't wear a wig, then I expect I'll have togo as special messenger sent up with some nutty present or other,--afive-pound box of candy, or flowers, or----"
"That's it--orchids!" breaks in Mr. Robert. "Robbie expects a bunchfrom me about every so often. The very thing!"
So less'n an hour later I'm on my way, with fifty dollars' worth offreak posies in a box, and instructions to stick around Thundercaps aslong as I can, with my eyes wide open and my ears stretched. Mr.Robert figures I'll land there too late for the night train back,anyway, and after that I'm to use my bean. If I finds the casedesp'rate, I'm to beat it for the nearest telegraph office and wire in.
"Poor little girl!" is Mr. Robert's closin' remark. "Poor littleRobbie!"
Cheerful sort of an errand, wa'n't it, bein' sent to butt in on a Kenocurtain raiser? Easy enough workin' up sympathy for the abused bride.Why, she wa'n't much more'n a kid, and one who'd been coddled andpetted all her life, at that! And here she ups and marries offhandthis two-fisted young hick who turns out to be bad inside. Youwouldn't have guessed it, either; for, barrin' a kind of heavy jaw anddeep-set eyes, he had all the points of a perfectly nice young gent.Good fam'ly too. Mr. Robert knew two of his brothers well, and durin'the coo campaign he'd rooted for Nick. Then he had to show a streaklike this!
"But wait!" thinks I. "If I can get anything on him, he sure will haveit handed to him hot when Mr. Robert arrives. I want to see it donetoo."
You don't get to places like Thundercaps in a minute, though. It's themiddle of the afternoon before I jumps the way train at a littlemountain station, and then I has to hunt up a jay with a buckboard andtake a ten-mile drive over a course like a roller coaster. They oughtto smooth that Adirondack scenery down some. Crude stuff, I call it.
But, say, the minute we got inside Thundercaps' gates it'sdiff'rent--smooth green lawns, lots of flowerbeds, a goldfishpool,--almost like a chunk of Central Park. In the middle is awhite-sided, red-tiled shack, with pink and white awnings, and oddwindows, and wide, cozy verandas,--just the spot where you'd think aperfectly good honeymoon might be pulled off.
I'm just unloadin' my bag and the flowerbox when around a corner of thecottage trips a cerise-tinted vision in an all lace dress and abutterfly wrap. Course, it's Robbie. She's heard the sound of wheels,and has come a runnin'.
"Oh!" says she, stoppin' sudden and puckerin' her baby mouth into apout. "I thought someone was arriving, you know." Which was a sadjolt to give a rescuer, wa'n't it?
"Sorry," says I; "but I'm all there is."
"You're the boy from Uncle Robert's office--Torchy, isn't it?" says she.
"It is," says I. "Fired up with flowers and Mr. Robert's compliments."
"The old dear!" says she, grabbin' the box, slippin' off the string anddivin' into the tissue paper. "Orchids, too! Oh, goody! But theydon't go with my coat. Pooh! I don't need it, anyway." With thatshe, sheds the butterfly arrangement, chuckin' it casual on the steps,and jams the whole of that fifty dollars' worth under her sash."There, how does that look, Mr. Torchy?" says she, takin' a few fancysteps back and forth.
"All right, I guess," says I.
"Stupid!" says she, stampin' her double A-1 pump peevish. "Is that theprettiest you can say it? Come, now--aren't they nice on me?"
"Nice don't cover it," says I. "I was only wonderin' whether orchidswas invented for you, or you for orchids."
This brings out a frilly little laugh, like jinglin' a string of silverbells, and she shows both dimples. "That's better," says she. "Almostas good as some of the things Bud Chandler can say. Dear old Bud!He's such fun!"
"He was the gray-eyed one, wa'n't he?" says I.
"Why, yes," says she. "He was a dear. So was Oggie Holcomb. I wishNick would ask them both up."
"Eh?" says I. "The also rans? Here?"
"Pooh!" says she. "Why not? It's frightfully dull, being all alone.But Nick won't do it, the old bear!"
Which reminds me that I ought to be scoutin' for black eyes, or wristbruises, or finger marks on her neck. Nothin' of the kind shows up,though.
"Been kind of rough about it, has he?" says I.
"He's been perfectly awful!" says she. "Sulking around as though I'ddone something terrible! But I'll pay him up. Come, you're not goingback tonight, are you?"
"Can't," says I. "No train."
"Then you must play with me," says she, grabbin' my hand kittenish andstartin' to run me across the yard.
"But, see here," says I, followin' her on the jump. "Where's Hubby?"
"Oh, I don't know," says she. "Off tramping through the woods with hisdog, I suppose. He's sulking, as usual. And all because I insisted onwriting to Oggie! Then there was something about the servants. Idon't know, only things went wrong at breakfast, and some of them havethreatened to leave. Who cares? Yesterday it was about the tenniscourt. What if he did telegraph to have it laid out? I couldn't playwhen I found I hadn't brought any tennis shoes, could I? Besides,there's no fun playing against Nick, he's such a shark. He didn't likeit, either, because I wouldn't use the baby golf course. But I willwith you. Come on."
"I never did much putting," says I.
"Nor I," says she; "but we can try."
Three or four holes was enough for her, though, and then she has a newidea. "You rag, don't you?" says she.
"Only a few tango steps," says I. "My feet stutter."
"Then I'll show you how," says she. "We have some dandy records, andthe veranda's just right."
So what does she do but tow me back to the house, ring up a couple ofmaids to clear away all the rugs and chairs, and push the music machineup to the open window.
"Put on that 'Too Much Mustard,' Annette," says she, "and keep itgoing."
Must have surprised Annette some, as I hadn't been accounted for; but alittle thing like that don't bother Robbie. She gives me the propergrip for the onestep,--which is some close clinch, believe me!--cuddlesher fluffy head down on my necktie, and off we goes.
"No, don't try to trot," says she. "Just balance and keep time, andswing two or three times at the turn. Keep your feet apart, you know.Now back me. Swing! There, you're getting it. Keep on!"
Some spieler, Robbie; and whether or not that was just a josh aboutorchids bein' invented for her, there's no doubt but what ragtime was.Yes, yes, that's where she lives. And me? Well, I can't say I hatedit. With her coachin' me, and that snappy music goin', I caught theidea quick enough, and first I knew we was workin' in new variationsthat she'd suggest, doin' the slow toe pivot, the kitchen sink, and alot more.
We stopped long enough to have tea and cakes served, and then Robbieinsists on tryin' some new stunts. There's a sidewise dip, where youtwist your partner around like you was tryin' to break her back over achair, and we was right in the midst of practisin' that when who shouldshow up but the happy bridegroom. And someway I've seen 'em look morepleased.
We was right in the
midst of practisin' the sidewisedip, when who should show up but the happy bridegroom!]
"Oh, that you, old Grumpy?" says young Mrs. Talbot, stoppin' for aminute. "You remember Torchy, from Uncle Robert's office, don't you?He came up with some orchids. We're having such fun too."
"Looks so," says Nick. "Can't I cut in?"
"Oh, bother!" says Robbie. "No, I'm tired now."
"Just one dance!" pleads Nick.
"Oh, afterward, perhaps," says she. "There! Just look at those sillyorchids! Aren't they sights?" With that she snakes 'em out and tossesthe wilted bunch careless over the veranda rail. "And now," she adds,"I must dress for dinner."
"You've nearly two hours, Pet," protests Nick. "Come to the outlookwith me and watch the sunset."
"It's too lonesome," says Robbie, and off she goes.
It should have happened then, if ever. I was standin' by, waitin' forhim to cut loose with the cruel words, and maybe introduce a littlehair-draggin' scene. But Nick Talbot just stands there gazin' afterher kind of sad and mushy, not even grindin' his teeth. Next he sighs,drops his chin, and slumps into a chair. Honest, that got me; for itwas real woe showin' on his face, and he seems to be strugglin' with itman fashion. Somehow it seemed up to me to come across with a fewsoothin' remarks.
"Sorry I butted in," says I; "but Mr. Robert sent me up with theflowers."
"Oh, that's all right," says he. "Glad you came. I--I suppose sheneeded someone else to--to talk to."
"But you wouldn't stand for invite the leftovers on your honeymoon,eh?" I suggests.
"No, hang it all!" says he. "That was too much. She--she mentionedit, did she?"
"Just casual," says I. "I take it things ain't been goin' smoothgen'rally?"
He nods gloomy. "You were bound to notice it," says he. "Anyonewould. I haven't been able to humor all her whims. Of course, she'sbeen used to having so much going on around her that this must seemrather tame; but I thought, you know, that when we were married--well,she doesn't seem to realize. And I've offered to take heranywhere,--to Newport, to Lenox, to the White Mountains, or touring.Three times this week we've packed to go to different places, and thenshe's changed her mind. But I can't take her back to Long Island, toher mother's, so soon, or ask a lot of her friends up here. It wouldbe absurd. But things can't go on this way, either. It--it's awful!"
I leaves him with his chin propped up in his hands, starin' gloomy atthe floor, while I wanders out and pipes off the sun dodgin' behind thehills.
Later on Robbie insists on draggin' me in for dinner with 'em. She'ssome dream too, the way she's got herself up, and lighted up by thepink candleshades, with them big pansy eyes sparkling and the colorcomin' and goin' in her cheeks--say, it most made me dizzy to look.Then to hear her rattle on in her cute, kittenish way was better'n acabaret show. Mostly, though, it's aimed at me; while Nick Talbot isleft to play a thinkin' part. He sits watchin' her with sort of adumb, hungry look, like a big dog.
And it was a punk dinner in other ways. The soup was scorchedsomethin' fierce; but Robbie don't seem to notice it. The roast lambhadn't had the red cooked out of it; but Robbie only asks what kind ofmeat it is and remarks that it tastes queer. She has a reg'lar fit,though, because the dessert is peach ice-cream with fresh fruitflavorin'.
"And Cook ought to know that I like strawberry better," says she.
"But it's too late for strawberries," explains Nick.
"I don't care!" pouts Robbie. "I don't like this, and I'm going tosend it all back to the kitchen." She does it too, and the maid grinsimpudent as she lugs it out.
That was a sample of the way Robbie behaved for the rest of theevenin',--chatterin' and laughin' one minute, almost weepin' the next;until fin'lly she slams down the piano cover and flounces off to herroom. Nick Talbot sits bitin' his lips and lookin' desp'rate.
"I'm sure I don't know what to do," says he half to himself.
At that I can't hold it any longer. "Say, Talbot," says I, "before weget any further I got to own up that I'm a ringer."
"A--a what!" says he, starin' puzzled.
"I'm supposed to be here just as a special messenger," says I; "but, onthe level, I was sent up here to sleuth for brutal acts. Uh-huh!That's what the folks at home think, from the letters she's beenwritin'. Mr. Robert was dead sure of it. But I see now they had thewrong dope. I guess I've got the idea. What you're up against issimply a spoiled kid proposition, and if you don't mind my mixin' inI'd like to state what I think I'd do if it was me."
"Well, what?" says he.
"I'd whittle a handle on a good thick shingle," says I, "and use it."
He stiffens a little at that first off, and then looks at me curious.Next he chuckles. "By Jove, though!" says he after awhile.
Yes, we had a long talk, chummy and confidential, and before we turnsin Nick has plotted out a substitute for the shingle programme that hepromises to try on first thing next morning I didn't expect to be in onit; but we happens to be sittin' on the veranda waitin' for breakfast,when out comes Robbie in a pink mornin' gown with a cute boudoir cap onher head.
"Why haven't they sent up my coffee and rolls?" she demands.
"Did you order them, Robbie?" says Nick.
"Why no," says she. "Didn't you?"
"No," says Nick. "I'm not going to, either. You're mistress of thehouse, you know, Robbie, and from now on you are in full charge."
"But--but I thought Mrs. Parkins, the housekeeper, was to manage allthose things," says she.
"You said yesterday you couldn't bear Mrs. Parkins," says Nick; "so I'msending her back to town. She's packing her things now. There arefour servants left, though, which is enough. But they needstraightening out. They are squabbling over their work, and neglectingit. You will have to settle all that."
"But--but, Nick," protests Robbie, "I'm sure I know nothing at allabout it."
"As my wife you are supposed to," says Nick. "You must learn. Anyway,I've told them they needn't do another stroke until they get ordersfrom you. And I wish you'd begin. I'd rather like breakfast."
He's real calm and pleasant about it; but there's somethin' solid aboutthe way his jaw is set. Robbie eyes him a minute hesitatin' anddoubtful, like a schoolgirl that's bein' scolded. Then all of a suddenthere's a change. The pout comes off her lips, her chin stopstrembling and she squares her shoulders.
"I'm--I'm sorry, Nicholas," says she. "I--I'll do my best." And offshe marches to the kitchen.
And, say, half an hour later we were all sittin' down to as good a hamomelet as I ever tasted. When I left with Nick to catch the forenoonexpress, young Mrs. Talbot was chewin' the end of a lead pencil, withthem pansy eyes of hers glued on a pad where she was dopin' out herfirst dinner order. She would break away from it only long enough togive Hubby a little bird peck on the cheek; but he seems tickled todeath with that.
So it wa'n't any long report I has to hand in to Mr. Robert that night.
"All bunk!" says I. "Just a case of a honeymoon that rose a littlelate. It's shinin' steady now, though. But, say, I hope I'm neverbatty enough to fall for one of the butterfly kind. If I do--goodnight!"
