Ruggles of Red Gap

by Harry Leon Wilson

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Now once more it seemed that for a time I might lead a sanely orderedexistence. Not for long did I hope it. I think I had become resignedto the unending series of shocks that seemed to compose the daily lifein North America. Few had been my peaceful hours since that fatalevening in Paris. And the shocks had become increasingly violent. WhenI tried to picture what the next might be I found myself shuddering.For the present, like a stag that has eluded the hounds but hearstheir distant baying, I lay panting in momentary security, gatheringbreath for some new course. I mean to say, one couldn't tell whatmight happen next. Again and again I found myself coming all overfrightened.

  Wholly restored I was now in the esteem of Mr. Belknap-Jackson, whonever tired of discussing with me our own life and people. Indeed hewas quite the most intelligent foreigner I had encountered. I may seemto exaggerate in the American fashion, but I doubt if a single one ofthe others could have named the counties of England or the presentLord Mayor of London. Our host was not like that. Also he early gaveme to know that he felt quite as we do concerning the rebellion of ourAmerican colonies, holding it a matter for the deepest regret; andjustly proud he was of the circumstance that at the time of thatrebellion his own family had put all possible obstacles in the way ofthe traitorous Washington. To be sure, I dare say he may have boasteda bit in this.

  It was during the long journey across America which we now set outupon that I came to this sympathetic understanding of his characterand of the chagrin he constantly felt at being compelled to live amongpeople with whom he could have as little sympathy as I myself had.

  This journey began pleasantly enough, and through the farming countiesof Philadelphia, Ohio, and Chicago was not without interest. Beyondcame an incredibly large region, much like the steppes of Siberia, Ifancy: vast uninhabited stretches of heath and down, with but here andthere some rude settlement about which the poor peasants would eagerlyassemble as our train passed through. I could not wonder that our owntravellers have always spoken so disparagingly of the Americancivilization. It is a country that would never do with us.

  Although we lived in this train a matter of nearly four days, I fancynot a single person dressed for dinner as one would on shipboard. EvenBelknap-Jackson dined in a lounge-suit, though he wore glovesconstantly by day, which was more than I could get Cousin Egbert todo.

  As we went ever farther over these leagues of fen and fell and rollingveldt, I could but speculate unquietly as to what sort of place theRed Gap must be. A residential town for gentlemen and families, I hadunderstood, with a little colony of people that really mattered, as Ihad gathered from Mrs. Effie. And yet I was unable to divine theirobject in going so far away to live. One goes to distant places forthe winter sports or for big game shooting, but this seemed rathergrotesquely perverse.

  Little did I then dream of the spiritual agencies that were to insuremy gradual understanding of the town and its people. Unsuspectingly Ifronted a future so wildly improbable that no power could have made mecredit it had it then been foretold by the most rarely endowed gypsy.It is always now with a sort of terror that I look back to those lastmoments before my destiny had unfolded far enough to be actuallyalarming. I was as one floating in fancied security down the calmriver above their famous Niagara Falls--to be presently dashed withoutwarning over the horrible verge. I mean to say, I never suspected.

  Our last day of travel arrived. We were now in a roughened and mostuntidy welter of mountain and jungle and glen, with violent tarns andbleak bits of moorland that had all too evidently never known thecalming touch of the landscape gardener; a region, moreover, peopledby a much more lawless appearing peasantry than I had observed back inthe Chicago counties, people for the most part quite wretchedly gottenup and distinctly of the lower or working classes.

  Late in the afternoon our train wound out of a narrow cutting and intoa valley that broadened away on every hand to distant mountains.Beyond doubt this prospect could, in a loose way of speaking, becalled scenery, but of too violent a character it was for cultivatedtastes. Then, as my eye caught the vague outlines of a settlement orvillage in the midst of this valley, Cousin Egbert, who also lookedfrom, the coach window, amazed me by crying out:

  "There she is--little old Red Gap! The fastest growing town in theState, if any one should ask you."

  "Yes, sir; I'll try to remember, sir," I said, wondering why I shouldbe asked this.

  "Garden spot of the world," he added in a kind of ecstasy, to which Imade no response, for this was too preposterous. Nearing the place ourtrain passed an immense hoarding erected by the roadway, a score offeet high, I should say, and at least a dozen times as long, uponwhich was emblazoned in mammoth red letters on a black ground,"_Keep Your Eye on Red Gap!_" At either end of this lettering waspainted a gigantic staring human eye. Regarding this monstrosity withstartled interest, I heard myself addressed by Belknap-Jackson:

  "The sort of vulgarity I'm obliged to contend with," said he, with acontemptuous gesture toward the hoarding. Indeed the thing lackedrefinement in its diction, while the painted eyes were not Art in anytrue sense of the word. "The work of our precious Chamber ofCommerce," he added, "though I pleaded with them for days and days."

  "It's a sort of thing would never do with us, sir," I said.

  "It's what one has to expect from a commercialized bourgeoise," hereturned bitterly. "And even our association, 'The City Beautiful,' ofwhich I was president, helped to erect the thing. Of course I resignedat once."

  "Naturally, sir; the colours are atrocious."

  "And the words a mere blatant boast!" He groaned and left me, for wewere now well into a suburb of detached villas, many of them of asqualid character, and presently we had halted at the station. Aboutthis bleak affair was the usual gathering of peasantry and the commonpeople, villagers, agricultural labourers, and the like, and these atonce showed a tremendous interest in our party, many of them hailingvarious members of us with a quite offensive familiarity.

  Belknap-Jackson, of course, bore himself through this with a properaloofness, as did his wife and Mrs. Effie, but I heard the Mixerbooming salutations right and left. It was Cousin Egbert, however, whomost embarrassed me by the freedom of his manner with these persons.He shook hands warmly with at least a dozen of them and these hailedhim with rude shouts, dealt him smart blows on the back and, forming acircle about him, escorted him to a carriage where Mrs. Effie and Iawaited him. Here the driver, a loutish and familiar youth, alsoseized his hand and, with some crude effect of oratory, shouted to thecrowd.

  "What's the matter with Sour-dough?" To this, with a flourish of theirimpossible hats, they quickly responded in unison,

  "He's all right!" accenting the first word terrifically.

  Then, to the immense relief of Mrs. Effie and myself, he was releasedand we were driven quickly off from the raffish set. Through theirRegent and Bond streets we went, though I mean to say they were on anunbelievably small or village scale, to an outlying region of detachedvillas that doubtless would be their St. John's Wood, but my effortsto observe closely were distracted by the extraordinary freedom withwhich our driver essayed to chat with us, saying he "guessed" we wereglad to get back to God's country, and things of a similar intimatenature. This was even more embarrassing to Mrs. Effie than it was tome, since she more than once felt obliged to answer the fellow with afeigned cordiality.

  Relieved I was when we drew up before the town house of the Flouds.Set well back from the driveway in a faded stretch of common, it wasof rather a garbled architecture, with the Tudor, late Gothic, andFrench Renaissance so intermixed that one was puzzled to separate theperiods. Nor was the result so vast as this might sound. Hardly wouldthe thing have made a wing of the manor house at Chaynes-Wotten. Thecommon or small park before it was shielded from the main thoroughfareby a fence of iron palings, and back of this on either side of agravelled walk that led to the main entrance were two life-sized stagsnot badly sculptured from metal.

  Once inside I be
gan to suspect that my position was going to be morethan a bit dicky. I mean to say, it was not an establishment in oursense of the word, being staffed, apparently, by two China persons whoperformed the functions of cook, housemaids, footmen, butler, andhousekeeper. There was not even a billiard room.

  During the ensuing hour, marked by the arrival of our luggage and theunpacking of boxes, I meditated profoundly over the difficulties of mysituation. In a wilderness, beyond the confines of civilization, Iwould undoubtedly be compelled to endure the hardships of the pioneer;yet for the present I resolved to let no inkling of my dismay escape.

  The evening meal over--dinner in but the barest technical sense--I satalone in my own room, meditating thus darkly. Nor was I at all cheeredby the voice of Cousin Egbert, who sang in his own room adjoining. Ihad found this to be a habit of his, and his songs are always dolorousto the last degree. Now, for example, while life seemed all too blackto me, he sang a favourite of his, the pathetic ballad of two smallchildren evidently begging in a business thoroughfare:

  "Lone and weary through the streets we wander, For we have no place to lay our head; Not a friend is left on earth to shelter us, For both our parents now are dead."

  It was a fair crumpler in my then mood. It made me wish to be out ofNorth America--made me long for London; London with a yellow fog andits greasy pavements, where one knew what to apprehend. I wanted himto stop, but still he atrociously sang in his high, cracked voice:

  "Dear mother died when we were both young, And father built for us a home, But now he's killed by falling timbers, And we are left here all alone."

  I dare say I should have rushed madly into the night had there beenanother verse, but now he was still. A moment later, however, heentered my room with the suggestion that I stroll about the villagestreets with him, he having a mission to perform for Mrs. Effie. I hadalready heard her confide this to him. He was to proceed to the officeof their newspaper and there leave with the press chap a notice of ourarrival which from day to day she had been composing on the train.

  "I just got to leave this here piece for the _Recorder_," hesaid; "then we can sasshay up and down for a while and meet some ofthe boys."

  How profoundly may our whole destiny be affected by the mood of anidle moment; by some superficial indecision, mere fruit of a transientunrest. We lightly debate, we hesitate, we yawn, unconscious of thebrink. We half-heartedly decline a suggested course, then lightlyaccept from sheer ennui, and "life," as I have read in a quitemeritorious poem, "is never the same again." It was thus I now toyedthere with my fate in my hands, as might a child have toyed with abauble. I mean to say, I was looking for nothing thick.

  "She's wrote a very fancy piece for that newspaper," Cousin Egbertwent on, handing me the sheets of manuscript. Idly I glanced down thepages.

  "Yesterday saw the return to Red Gap of Mrs. Senator James Knox Floudand Egbert G. Floud from their extensive European tour," it began.Farther I caught vagrant lines, salient phrases: "--the well-knownsocial leader of our North Side set ... planning a series ofentertainments for the approaching social season that promise toeclipse all previous gayeties of Red Gap's smart set ... holding thereins of social leadership with a firm grasp ... distinguished for hersocial graces and tact as a hostess ... their palatial home on OphirAvenue, the scene of so much of the smart social life that hasdistinguished our beautiful city."

  It left me rather unmoved from my depression, even the concludingnote: "The Flouds are accompanied by their English manservant, securedthrough the kind offices of the brother of his lordship Earl ofBrinstead, the well-known English peer, who will no doubt do much toimpart to the coming functions that air of smartness whichdistinguishes the highest social circles of London, Paris, and othercapitals of the great world of fashion."

  "Some mess of words, that," observed Cousin Egbert, and it did indeedseem to be rather intimately phrased.

  "Better come along with me," he again urged. There was a moment'sfateful silence, then, quite mechanically, I arose and prepared toaccompany him. In the hall below I handed him his evening stick andgloves, which he absently took from me, and we presently traversedthat street of houses much in the fashion of the Floud house andnearly all boasting some sculptured bit of wild life on theirterraces.

  It was a calm night of late summer; all Nature seemed at peace. Ilooked aloft and reflected that the same stars were shining upon thecivilization I had left so far behind. As we walked I lost myself inmusing pensively upon this curious astronomical fact and upon thefurther vicissitudes to which I would surely be exposed. I comparedmyself whimsically to an explorer chap who has ventured among a tribeof natives and who must seem to adopt their weird manners and customsto save himself from their fanatic violence.

  From this I was aroused by Cousin Egbert, who, with sudden dismayregarding his stick and gloves, uttered a low cry of anguish andthrust them into my hands before I had divined his purpose.

  "You'll have to tote them there things," he swiftly explained. "Iforgot where I was." I demurred sharply, but he would not listen.

  "I didn't mind it so much in Paris and Europe, where I ain't so verywell known, but my good gosh! man, this is my home town. You'll haveto take them. People won't notice it in you so much, you being aforeigner, anyway."

  Without further objection I wearily took them, finding a desperatedrollery in being regarded as a foreigner, whereas I was simply aloneamong foreigners; but I knew that Cousin Egbert lacked the subtlety tograsp this point of view and made no effort to lay it before him. Itwas clear to me then, I think, that he would forever remain sociallyimpossible, though perhaps no bad sort from a mere human point ofview.

  We continued our stroll, turning presently from this residentialavenue to a street of small unlighted shops, and from this into awider and brilliantly lighted thoroughfare of larger shops, where mycompanion presently began to greet native acquaintances. And now oncemore he affected that fashion of presenting me to his friends that Ihad so deplored in Paris. His own greeting made, he would call outheartily: "Shake hands with my friend Colonel Ruggles!" Nor would heheed my protests at this, so that in sheer desperation I presentlyceased making them, reflecting that after all we were encountering thestreet classes of the town.

  At a score of such casual meetings I was thus presented, for he seemedto know quite almost every one and at times there would be a group ofnatives about us on the pavement. Twice we went into "saloons," asthey rather pretentiously style their public houses, where CousinEgbert would stand the drinks for all present, not omitting each timeto present me formally to the bar-man. In all these instances I was atonce asked what I thought of their town, which was at first ratherembarrassing, as I was confident that any frank disclosure of myopinion, being necessarily hurried, might easily be misunderstood. Iat length devised a conventional formula of praise which, althoughfeeling a frightful fool, I delivered each time thereafter.

  Thus we progressed the length of their commercial centre, theincidents varying but little.

  "Hello, Sour-dough, you old shellback! When did you come off thetrail?"

  "Just got in. My lands! but it's good to be back. Billy, shake handswith my friend Colonel Ruggles."

  I mean to say, the persons were not all named "Billy," that being usedonly by way of illustration. Sometimes they would be called "Doc" or"Hank" or "Al" or "Chris." Nor was my companion invariably called"shellback." "Horned-toad" and "Stinging-lizard" were also epithetsmuch in favour with his friends.

  At the end of this street we at length paused before the office, as Isaw, of "The Red Gap _Recorder_; Daily and Weekly." Cousin Egbertentered here, but came out almost at once.

  "Henshaw ain't there, and she said I got to be sure and give him thishere piece personally; so come on. He's up to a lawn-feet."

  "A social function, sir?" I asked.

  "No; just a lawn-feet up in Judge Ballard's front yard to raise moneyfor new uniforms for the band--that's what the boy said in there."

&
nbsp; "But would it not be highly improper for me to appear there, sir?" Iat once objected. "I fear it's not done, sir."

  "Shucks!" he insisted, "don't talk foolish that way. You're a peach ofa little mixer all right. Come on! Everybody goes. They'll even let mein. I can give this here piece to Henshaw and then we'll spend alittle money to help the band-boys along."

  My misgivings were by no means dispelled, yet as the affair seemed tobe public rather than smart, I allowed myself to be led on.

  Into another street of residences we turned, and after a brisk walk Iwas able to identify the "front yard" of which my companion hadspoken. The strains of an orchestra came to us and from the trees andshrubbery gleamed the lights of paper lanterns. I could discern tentsand marquees, a throng of people moving among them. Nearer, I observeda refreshment pavilion and a dancing platform.

  Reaching the gate, Cousin Egbert paid for us an entrance fee of twoshillings to a young lady in gypsy costume whom he greeted cordiallyas Beryl Mae, not omitting to present me to her as Colonel Ruggles.

  We moved into the thick of the crowd. There was much laughter andhearty speech, and it at once occurred to me that Cousin Egbert hadbeen right: it would not be an assemblage of people that mattered, butrather of small tradesmen, artisans, tenant-farmers and the like withwhom I could properly mingle.

  My companion was greeted by several of the throng, to whom he in turnpresented me, among them after a bit to a slight, reddish-beardedperson wearing thick nose-glasses whom I understood to be the pressmanwe were in search of. Nervous of manner he was and preoccupied with anotebook in which he frantically scribbled items from time to time.Yet no sooner was I presented to him than he began a quizzing sort ofconversation with me that lasted near a half-hour, I should say. Veryinterested he seemed to hear of my previous life, having in fullmeasure that naive curiosity about one which Americans take so littlepains to hide. Like the other natives I had met that evening, he wasespecially concerned to know what I thought of Red Gap. The chat wasnot at all unpleasant, as he seemed to be a well-informed person, andit was not without regret that I noted the approach of Cousin Egbertin company with a pleasant-faced, middle-aged lady in Oriental garb,carrying a tambourine.

  "Mrs. Ballard, allow me to make you acquainted with my friend ColonelRuggles!" Thus Cousin Egbert performed his ceremony. The lady graspedmy hand with great cordiality.

  "You men have monopolized the Colonel long enough," she began with alarge coquetry that I found not unpleasing, and firmly grasping my armshe led me off in the direction of the refreshment pavilion, where Iwas playfully let to know that I should purchase her bits ofrefreshment, coffee, plum-cake, an ice, things of that sort. Throughit all she kept up a running fire of banter, from time to timepresenting me to other women young and old who happened about us, allof whom betrayed an interest in my personality that was notunflattering, even from this commoner sort of the town's people.

  Nor would my new friend release me when she had refreshed herself, buthad it that I must dance with her. I had now to confess that I wasunskilled in the native American folk dances which I had observedbeing performed, whereupon she briskly chided me for my backwardness,but commanded a valse from the musicians, and this we danced together.

  I may here say that I am not without a certain finesse on thedancing-floor and I rather enjoyed the momentary abandon with thisvillage worthy. Indeed I had rather enjoyed the whole affair, though Ifelt that my manner was gradually marking me as one apart from thenatives; made conscious I was of a more finished, a suaver formalityin myself--the Mrs. Ballard I had met came at length to be by way oftapping me coquettishly with her tambourine in our lighter moments.Also my presence increasingly drew attention, more and more of thevillage belles and matrons demanding in their hearty way to bepresented to me. Indeed the society was vastly more enlivening, Ireflected, than I had found it in a similar walk of life at home.

  Rather regretfully I left with Cousin Egbert, who found me at last inone of the tents having my palm read by the gypsy young person who hadtaken our fees at the gate. Of course I am aware that she was probablywithout any real gifts for this science, as so few are who undertakeit at charity bazaars, yet she told me not a few things that weresignificant: that my somewhat cold exterior and air of sternness werebut a mask to shield a too-impulsive nature; that I possessed greatfirmness of character and was fond of Nature. She added peculiarly atthe last "I see trouble ahead, but you are not to be downcast--theskies will brighten."

  It was at this point that Cousin Egbert found me, and after he hadwarned the young woman that I was "some mixer" we departed. Not untilwe had reached the Floud home did he discover that he had quiteforgotten to hand the press-chap Mrs. Effie's manuscript.

  "Dog on the luck!" said he in his quaint tone of exasperation, "hereI've went and forgot to give Mrs. Effie's piece to the editor." Hesighed ruefully. "Well, to-morrow's another day."

  And so the die was cast. To-morrow was indeed another day!

  Yet I fell asleep on a memory of the evening that brought me a sort ofshamed pleasure--that I had falsely borne the stick and gloves ofCousin Egbert. I knew they had given me rather an air.