XXII
This picture is not concerned with his destination. Or even whether heever got there.
But it is very directly concerned with George Z. Green, and thedirection he took when he parted from his old school friend.
As he walked up town he said to himself, "Bunk!" several times. After afew moments he fished out his watch.
"I know I'm an ass," he said to himself, "but I'll take a chance. I'llgive myself exactly ten minutes to continue making an ass of myself. Andif I see the faintest symptom of Romance--if I notice anything at allpeculiar and unusual in any person or any thing during the next tenminutes, I won't let it get away--believe _me_!"
He walked up Broadway instead of Fifth Avenue. After a block or two heturned west at hazard, crossed Sixth Avenue and continued.
He was walking in one of the upper Twenties--he had not particularlynoticed which. Commercial houses nearly filled the street, although afew old-time residences of brownstone still remained. Once well-to-doand comfortable homes, they had degenerated into chop sueys, boardinghouses, the abodes of music publishers, artificial flower makers, andmediums.
It was now a shabby, unkempt street, and Green already was consideringit a hopeless hunting ground, and had even turned to retrace his stepstoward Sixth Avenue, when the door of a neighbouring house opened anddown the shabby, brownstone stoop came hurrying an exceedingly prettygirl.
Now, the unusual part of the incident lay in the incongruity of thestreet and the girl. For the street and the house out of which sheemerged so hastily were mean and ignoble; but the girl herself fairlyradiated upper Fifth Avenue from the perfectly appointed and expensivesimplicity of hat and gown to the obviously aristocratic and daintyface and figure.
"Is _she_ a symptom?" thought Green to himself. "Is _she_ an element?That is sure a rotten looking joint she came out of."
Moved by a sudden and unusual impulse of intelligence, he ran up thebrownstone stoop and read the dirty white card pasted on the facadeabove the door bell.
THE PRINCESS ZIMBAMZIM TRANCE MEDIUM. FORTUNES.
Taken aback, he looked after the pretty girl who was now hurrying up thestreet as though the devil were at her dainty heels.
Could _she_ be the Princess Zimbamzim? Common sense rejected the idea,as did the sudden jerk of soiled lace curtains at the parlour window,and the apparition of a fat lady in a dingy, pink tea-gown. _That_ mustbe the Princess Zimbamzim and the pretty girl had ventured into thesepurlieus to consult her. Why?
"This _is_ certainly a symptom of romance!" thought the young manexcitedly. And he started after the pretty girl at a Fifth Avenue amble.
He overtook and passed her at Sixth Avenue, and managed to glance at herwithout being offensive. To his consternation, she was touching hertear-stained eyes with her handkerchief. She did not notice him.
What could be the matter? With what mystery was he already in touch?
Tremendously interested he fell back a few paces and lighted acigarette, allowing her to pass him; then he followed her. Never beforein his life had he done such a scandalous thing.
On Broadway she hailed a taxi, got into it, and sped uptown. There wasanother taxi available; Green took it and gave the driver a five dollartip to keep the first taxi in view.
Which was very easy, for it soon stopped at a handsome apartment houseon Park Avenue; the girl sprang out, and entered the building almostrunning.
For a moment George Z. Green thought that all was lost. But the taxi shehad taken remained, evidently waiting for her; and sure enough, in a fewminutes out she came, hurrying, enveloped in a rough tweed travellingcoat and carrying a little satchel. Slam! went the door of her taxi; andaway she sped, and Green after her in his taxi.
Again the chase proved to be very short. Her taxi stopped at thePennsylvania Station; out she sprang, paid the driver, and hurriedstraight for the station restaurant, Green following at a fashionablelope.
She took a small table by a window; Green took the next one. It was notbecause she noticed him and found his gaze offensive, but because shefelt a draught that she rose and took the table behind Green, exactlywhere he could not see her unless he twisted his neck into attitudesunseemly.
He wouldn't do such things, being really a rather nice young man; and itwas too late for him to change his table without attracting herattention, because the waiter already had brought him whatever he hadordered for tea--muffins, buns, crumpets--he neither knew nor cared.
So he ate them with jam, which he detested; and drank his tea andlistened with all his ears for the slightest movement behind him whichmight indicate that she was leaving.
Only once did he permit himself to turn around, under pretense oflooking for a waiter; and he saw two blue eyes still brilliant withunshed tears and a very lovely but unhappy mouth all ready to quiverover its toast and marmalade.
What on earth could be the matter with that girl? What terrible tragedycould it be that was still continuing to mar her eyes and twitch hersensitive, red lips?
Green, sipping his tea, trembled pleasantly all over as he realised thatat last he was setting his foot upon the very threshold of Romance. Andhe determined to cross that threshold if neither good manners, goodtaste, nor the police interfered.
And what a wonderful girl for his leading lady! What eyes! What hair!What lovely little hands, with the gloves hastily rolled up from thewrist! Why should she be unhappy? He'd like to knock the block off anyman who----
Green came to himself with a thrill of happiness: her pretty voice wassounding in exquisite modulations behind him as she asked the waiter form-more m-marmalade.
In a sort of trance, Green demolished bun after bun. Normally, heloathed the indigestible. After what had seemed to him an interminablelength of time, he ventured to turn around again in pretense of callinga waiter.
Her chair was empty!
At first he thought she had disappeared past all hope of recovery; butthe next instant he caught sight of her hastening out toward the ticketboxes.
Flinging a five-dollar bill on the table, he hastily invited the waiterto keep the change; sprang to his feet, and turned to seize hisovercoat. It was gone from the hook where he had hung it just behindhim.
Astonished, he glanced at the disappearing girl, and saw his overcoatover her arm. For a moment he supposed that she had mistaken it for herown ulster, but no! She was wearing her own coat, too.
A cold and sickening sensation assailed the pit of Green's stomach. Wasit not a mistake, after all? Was this lovely young girl a professionalcriminal? Had she or some of her band observed Green coming out of thebank and thrusting a fat wallet into the inside pocket of his overcoat?
He was walking now, as fast as he was thinking, keeping the girl in viewamid the throngs passing through the vast rotunda.
When she stopped at a ticket booth he entered the brass railed spacebehind her.
She did not appear to know exactly where she was going, for she seemedby turns distrait and agitated; and he heard her ask the ticket agentwhen the next train left for the extreme South.
Learning that it left in a few minutes, and finding that she couldsecure a stateroom, she took it, paid for it, and hastily left without aglance behind her at Green.
Meanwhile Green had very calmly slipped one hand into the breast pocketof his own overcoat, where it trailed loosely over her left arm, meaningto extract his wallet without anybody observing him. The wallet was notthere. He was greatly inclined to run after her, but he didn't. Hewatched her depart, then:
"Is there another stateroom left on the Verbena Special?" he inquired ofthe ticket agent, coolly enough.
"One. Do you wish it?"
"Yes."
The ticket agent made out the coupons and shoved the loose change underthe grille, saying:
"Better hurry, sir. You've less than a minute."
He ran for his train and managed to swing aboard just as the colouredporters were closing the vestibules and the train was in
motion.
A trifle bewildered at what he had done, and by the rapidity with whichhe had done it, he sank down in the vacant observation car to collecthis thoughts.
He was on board the Verbena Special--the southern train-de-luxe--boundfor Jacksonville, St. Augustine, Palm Beach, Verbena Inlet, or Miami--orfor Nassau, Cuba, and the remainder of the West Indies--just as hechose.
He had no other luggage than a walking-stick. Even his overcoat was inpossession of somebody else. That was the situation that now facedGeorge Z. Green.
But as the train emerged from the river tube, and he realised all this,he grew calmer; and the calmer he grew the happier he grew.
He was no longer on the threshold of Romance; he had crossed it, andalready he was being whirled away blindly into the Unusual and theUnknown!
Exultingly he gazed out of the windows upon the uninspiring scenery ofNew Jersey. A wonderful sense of physical lightness and mental freedomtook delightful possession of him. Opportunity had not beckoned him invain. Chance had glanced sideways at him, and he had recognised thepretty flirt. His was certainly some brain!
And now, still clinging to the skirts of Chance, he was being whiskedaway, pell mell, headlong toward Destiny, in the trail of a slender,strange young girl who had swiped his overcoat and who seemedcontinually inclined to tears.
The incident of the overcoat no longer troubled him. That garment of hiswas not unlike the rough travelling coat she herself wore. And it mighthave been natural to her, in her distress of mind and very evidentemotion, to have seized it by mistake and made off with it, forgettingthat she still wore her own.
Of course it was a mistake pure and simple. He had only to look at thegirl and understand that. One glance at her sweet, highbred features wassufficient to exonerate her as a purloiner of gentlemen's garments.
Green crossed his legs, folded his arms, and reflected. The overcoat wasanother and most important element in this nascent Romance.
The difficulty lay in knowing how to use the overcoat to advantage infurthering and further complicating a situation already delightful.
Of course he could do the obvious: he could approach her and take offhis hat and do the well-bred and civil and explain to her the mistake.
But suppose she merely said: "I'm sorry," handed over his coat, andcontinued to read her magazine. That would end it. And it mustn't enduntil he found out why she had emerged with tears in her beautiful eyesfrom the abode of the Princess Zimbamzim.
Besides, he was sure of getting his coat, his wallet, and its contents.His name and address were in the wallet; also both were sewed inside theinner pocket of the overcoat.
What would ultimately happen would be this: sooner or later she'd cometo, wake up, dry her pretty eyes, look about, and find that she had_two_ overcoats in her possession.
It would probably distress her dreadfully, particularly when shediscovered the wallet and the money. But, wherever she was going, assoon as she reached there she'd send overcoat and money back to hisaddress--doubtless with a pretty and contrite note of regret.
Yes, but that wouldn't do! What good would the overcoat and the money beto him, if he were South and she shipped them North? And yet he wasafraid to risk an abrupt ending to his Romance by explaining to her themistake.
No; he'd merely follow her for the present. He couldn't help it verywell, being aboard the same train. So it would not be difficult to keephis eye on her as well as his overcoat, and think out at his leisure howbest to tend, guard, cherish, and nourish the delicate and unopened budof Romance.
Meanwhile, there were other matters he must consider; so he wrote out atelegram to Washington ordering certain necessary articles to be broughtaboard the Verbena Special on its arrival there. The porter took chargeof it.
That night at dinner he looked for the girl in vain. She did not enterthe dining-car while he was there. Haunting the corridors afterward hesaw no sign of her anywhere until, having received his necessaries in abrand new travelling satchel, and on his way to his stateroom, he caughta glimpse of her, pale and agitated, in conversation with the porter ather partly opened door.
She did not even glance at him as he entered his stateroom, but he couldnot avoid hearing what she was saying because her enunciation was soexquisitely distinct.
"Porter," she said in her low, sweet voice, "I have, somehow, made avery dreadful mistake somewhere. I have a man's overcoat here which doesnot belong to me. The cloth is exactly like the cloth of my owntravelling ulster, and I must have forgotten that I had mine on when Itook this."
"Ain't de gemman abohd de Speshul, Miss?" inquired the porter.
"I'm afraid not. I'm certain that I must have taken it in the stationrestaurant and brought it aboard the train."
"Ain't nuff'n in de pockets, is dey?" asked the porter.
"Yes; there's a wallet strapped with a rubber band. I didn't feel atliberty to open it. But I suppose I ought to in order to find out theowner's name if possible."
"De gemman's name ain't sewed inside de pocket, is it, Miss?"
"I didn't look," she said.
So the porter took the coat, turned it inside out, explored the insidepocket, found the label, and read:
"Snipps Brothers: December, 1913. George Z. Green."
A stifled exclamation from the girl checked him. Green also protrudedhis head cautiously from his own doorway.
The girl, standing partly in the aisle, was now leaning limply againstthe door-sill, her hand pressed convulsively to her breast, her facewhite and frightened.
"Is you ill, Miss?" asked the porter anxiously.
"I--no. Z--what name was that you read?"
"George Z. Green, Miss----"
"It--it _can't_ be! Look again! It can't be!"
Her face was ashen to the lips; she closed her eyes for a second,swayed; then her hand clutched the door-sill; she straightened up withan effort and opened her eyes, which now seemed dilated by some powerfulemotion.
"Let me see that name!" she said, controlling her voice with an obviouseffort.
The porter turned the pocket inside out for her inspection. There itwas:
"George Z. Green: 1008-1/2 Fifth Avenue, New York."
"If you knows de gemman, Miss," suggested the porter, "you all kin takedishere garmint back yo'se'f when you comes No'th."
"Thank you.... Then--I won't trouble you.... I'll--I'll ta-t-take itback myself--when I go North."
"I kin ship it if you wishes, Miss."
She said excitedly: "If you ship it from somewhere South, he--Mr.Green--would see where it came from by the parcels postmark on theexpress tag--wouldn't he?"
"Yaas, Miss."
"Then I don't want you to ship it! I'll do it myself.... _How_ can Iship it without giving Mr. Green a clue--" she shuddered, "--a clue tomy whereabouts?"
"Does you know de gemman, Miss?"
"No!" she said, with another shudder,--"and I do not wish to. I--Iparticularly do not wish ever to know him--or even to see him. And aboveall I do not wish Mr. Green to come South and investigate thecircumstances concerning this overcoat. He might take it into his headto do such a thing. It--it's horrible enough that I have--that Iactually have in my possession the overcoat of the very man on whoseaccount I left New York at ten minutes' notice----"
Her pretty voice broke and her eyes filled.
"You--you don't understand, porter," she added, almost hysterically,"but my possession of this overcoat--of all the billions and billions ofovercoats in all the world--is a t-terrible and astounding b-blow tome!"
"Is--is you afeard o' dishere overcoat, Miss?" inquired the astonisheddarkey.
"Yes!" she said. "Yes, I am! I'm horribly afraid of that overcoat!I--I'd like to throw it from the train window, but I--I can't do that,of course! It would be stealing----"
Her voice broke again with nervous tears:
"I d-don't want the coat! And I can't throw it away! And if it's shippedto him from the South he may come down here and investigate. He's in NewYork n
ow. That's why I am on my way South! I--I want him to remain inNew York until--until all--d-danger is over. And by the first of Aprilit will be over. And then I'll come North--and bring him his coat----"
The bewildered darkey stared at her and at the coat which she hadunconsciously clutched to her breast.
"Do you think," she said, "that M-Mr. Green will _need_ the coat thiswinter? Do you suppose anything would happen to him if he doesn't haveit for a while--pneumonia or anything? Oh!" she exclaimed in a quiveringvoice, "I wish he and his overcoat were at the South Pole!"
Green withdrew his head and pressed both palms to his temples. Could hetrust his ears? Was he going mad? Holding his dizzy head in both handshe heard the girl say that she herself would attend to shipping thecoat; heard the perplexed darkey take his leave and go; heard herstateroom door close.
Seated in his stateroom he gazed vacantly at the couch opposite, socompletely bewildered with his first over-dose of Romance that his brainseemed to spin like a frantic squirrel in a wheel, and his thoughtsknocked and jumbled against each other until it truly seemed to him thatall his senses were fizzling out like wet firecrackers.
What on earth had he ever done to inspire such horror in the mind ofthis young girl?
What terrible injury had he committed against her or hers that the verysound of his name terrified her--the mere sight of his overcoat lefther almost hysterical?
Helplessly, half stupefied, he cast about in his wrecked mind todiscover any memory or record of any injury done to anybody during hisparticularly blameless career on earth.
In school he had punched the noses of several schoolmates, and had beensimilarly smitten in return. That was the extent of physical injury everdone to anybody.
Of grave moral wrong he knew he was guiltless. True, he had frequentlyskinned the assembly at convivial poker parties. But also he had oftenopened jacks only to be mercilessly deprived of them amid the unfeelingand brutal laughter of his companions. No, he was not guilty of criminalgambling.
Had he ever done a wrong to anybody in business? Never. His firm's namewas the symbol for probity.
He dashed his hands to his brow distractedly. What in Heaven's name_had_ he done to fill the very soul of this young girl with fear andloathing? What in the name of a merciful Providence had he, George Z.Green, banker and broker, ever done to drive this young and innocentgirl out of the City of New York!
To collect and marshal his disordered thoughts was difficult but heaccomplished it with the aid of cigarettes. To a commonplace intellectthere is no aid like a cigarette.
At first he was inclined to believe that the girl had merely mistakenhim for another man with a similar name. George Z. Green was not anunusual name.
But his address in town was also written inside his coat pocket; and shehad read it. Therefore, it was painfully evident to him that herdetestation and fear was for him.
What on earth had inspired such an attitude of mind toward himself in agirl he had seen for the first time that afternoon? He could notimagine. And another strange feature of the affair was that she had notparticularly noticed him. Therefore, if she entertained such a horror ofhim, why had she not exhibited some trace of it when he was in hervicinity?
Certainly she had not exhibited it by crying. He exonerated himself onthat score, for she had been on the verge of tears when he first beheldher hurrying out of the parlours of the Princess Zimbamzim.
It gradually became plain to him that, although there could be no doubtthat this girl was afraid of him, and cordially disliked him, yetstrangely enough, she did not know him by sight.
Consequently, her attitude must be inspired by something she had heardconcerning him. What?
He puffed his cigarette and groaned. As far as he could remember, he hadnever harmed a fly.
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