VI
THE MAN ON THE BOX
At eleven-thirty he locked up his book and took to his room themysterious bundle which he had purloined from the stables. It containedthe complete livery of a groom. The clothes fitted rather snugly,especially across the shoulders. He stood before the pier-glass, and acomplacent (not to say roguish) smile flitted across his face. Theblack half-boots, the white doeskin breeches, the brown brass-buttonedfrock, and the white hat with the brown cockade. ... Well, my word forit, he was the handsomest jehu Washington ever turned out. With a grinhe touched his hat to the reflection in the glass, and burst outlaughing. His face was as smooth as a baby's, for he had generouslysacrificed his beard.
I can hear him saying to himself: "Lord, but this is a lark! I'll haveto take another Scotch to screw up the edge of my nerve. Won't the boyslaugh when they hear how I stirred the girls' frizzes! We'll have alittle party here when they all get home. It's a good joke."
Mr. Robert did not prove much of a prophet. Many days were to pass erehe reentered his brother's house.
He stole quietly from the place. He hadn't proceeded more than a blockwhen he became aware of the fact that he hadn't a penny in his clothes.This discovery disquieted him, and he half turned about to go back. Hecouldn't go back. He had no key.
"Pshaw! I won't need any money;"--and he started off again towardConnecticut Avenue. He dared not hail a car, and he would not havedared had he possessed the fare. Some one might recognize him. Hewalked briskly for ten minutes. The humor of the escapade appealed tohim greatly, and he had all he could do to smother the frequent burstsof laughter which surged to his lips. He reached absently for hiscigar-case. No money, no cigars.
"That's bad. Without a cigar I'm likely to get nervous. Scraping offthat beard made me forgetful. Jove! with these fleshings I feel asself-conscious as an untried chorus girl. These togs can't be very warmin winter. Ha! that must be the embassy where all those lights are;carriages. _Allons!_"
To make positive, he stopped a pedestrian.
"Pardon me, sir," he said, touching his hat, "but will you be so kindas to inform me if yonder is the British embassy?"
"It is, my man," replied the gentleman.
"Thank you, sir."
And each passed on to his affairs.
"Now for William; we must find William, or the joke will be on Robert."
He manoeuvered his way through the congested thoroughfare, searchingthe faces of the grooms and footmen. He dodged hither and thither, andwas once brought to a halt by the mounted police.
"Here, you! What d'ye mean by runnin' around like this? Lost yercarriage, hey? I've a mind to run ye in. Y' know th' rules relatin' th'leavin' of yer box in times like these. Been takin' a sly nip,probably, an' they've sent yer hack down a peg. Get a gait on y', now."
Warburton laughed silently as he made for the sidewalk. The first manhe plumped into was William--a very much worried William, too. Robertcould have fallen on his neck for joy. All was plain sailing now.
"I'm very glad to see you, sir," said William. "I was afraid you couldnot get them clothes on, sir. I was getting a trifle worried, too.Here's the carriage number."
Warburton glanced hastily at it and stuffed it into a convenient pocket.
"It's sixteen carriages up, sir; a bay and a gray. You can't miss them.The bay, being a saddle-horse, is a bit restive in the harness; but allyou have to do is to touch him with the whip. And don't try to pushahead of your turn, or you will get into trouble with the police. Theyare very strict. And don't let them confuse you, sir. The numbers won'tbe in rotation. You'll hear one hundred and fifteen, and the nextmoment thirty-five, like as not. It's all according as to how theguests are leaving. Good luck to you, sir, and don't forget to explainit all thoroughly to Mr. Warburton, sir."
"Don't you worry, William; we'll come out of this with colors flying."
"Very well, sir. I shall hang around till you are safely off,"--andWilliam disappeared.
Warburton could occasionally hear the faint strains of music. From timeto time the carriage-caller bawled out a number, and the carriage wouldroll up under the porte-cochere. Warburton concluded that it would be agood plan to hunt up his rig. His search did not last long. The bay andthe gray stood only a little way from the gate. The box was vacant, andhe climbed up and gathered the reins. He sat there for some time,longing intensely for a cigar, a good cigar, such as gentlemen smoked.
"Seventeen!" came hoarsely along on the wings of the night. "Numberseventeen, and lively there!"
Warburton's pulse doubled its beat. His number!
"Skt!" The gray and the bay started forward, took the half-circle andstopped under the porte-cochere. Warburton recollected that afashionable groom never turned his head unless spoken to; so he leveledhis gaze at his horses' ears and waited. But from the very corner ofhis eye he caught the glimpse of two women, one of whom was envelopedin a crimson cloak. He thrilled with exultation. What a joke it was! Hefelt the carriage list as the women stepped in. The door slammed to,and the rare good joke was on the way.
"Off with you!" cried the pompous footman, with an imperious wave ofthe hand. "Number ninety-nine!"
"Ninety-nine! Ninety-nine!" bawled the carriage man.
Our jehu turned into the avenue, holding a tolerable rein. He cluckedand lightly touched the horses with the lash. _This_ was true sport;_this_ was humor, genuine, initiative, unforced. He could imagine thegirls and their fright when he finally slowed down, opened the door,and kissed them both. Wouldn't they let out a yell, though? His planwas to drive furiously for half a dozen blocks, zigzag from one side ofthe street to the other, taking the corners sharply, and then make forScott Circle.
Now, a lad of six can tell the difference between seventeen andseventy-one. But this astonishing jehu of mine had been conspicuous asthe worst mathematician and the best soldier in his class at WestPoint. No more did he remember that he was not in the wild West, andthat here in the East there were laws prohibiting reckless driving.
He drove decently enough till he struck Dupont Circle. From here heturned into New Hampshire, thinking it to be Rhode Island. Mistakenumber two. He had studied the city map, but he was conscious of notknowing it as well as he should have known it; but, true to his nature,he trusted to luck.
Aside from all this, he forgot that a woman might appreciate this jokeonly when she heard it recounted. To live through it was altogether adifferent matter. In an episode like this, a woman's imagination, giventhe darkness such as usually fills a carriage at night, becomes a roundof terrors. Every moment is freighted with death or disfigurement. Hernerves are like the taut strings of a harp in a wintry wind, ready tosnap at any moment; and then, hysteria. With man the play, and only theplay, is the thing.
Snap-crack! The surprised horses, sensitive and quick-tempered as allhighly organized beings are, nearly leaped out of the harness. Neverbefore had their flanks received a more unwarranted stroke of the lash.They reared and plunged, and broke into a mad gallop, which was exactlywhat the rascal on the box desired. An expert horseman, he gauged thestrength of the animals the moment they bolted, and he knew that theywere his. Once the rubber-tired vehicle slid sidewise on the wetasphalt, and he heard a stifled scream.
He laughed, and let forth a sounding "whoop," which nowise allayed thefright of the women inside the carriage. He wheeled into S Street,scraping the curb as he did so. Pedestrians stopped and stared afterhim. A policeman waved his club helplessly, even hopelessly. On, on: toWarburton's mind this ride was as wild as that which the Bishop ofVannes took from Belle-Isle to Paris in the useless effort to saveFouquet from the wrath of Louis XIV, and to anticipate the pregnantdiscoveries of one D'Artagnan. The screams were renewed. A hand beatagainst the forward window and a muffled but wrathful voice calledforth a command to stop. This voice was immediately drowned byanother's prolonged scream. Our jehu began to find all this veryinteresting, very exciting.
"I'll wager a dollar that Nan isn't doing that screaming. TheWarburton
s never cry out when they are frightened. Hang it!"--suddenly;"this street doesn't look familiar. I ought to have reached ScottCircle by this time. Ah! here's a broader street,"--going lickety-clipinto Vermont.
A glass went jingling to the pavement.
"Oho! Nancy will be jumping out the next thing. This will never do." Hebegan to draw in.
Hark! His trained trooper's ear heard other hoofs beating on theiron-like surface of the pavement. Worriedly he turned his head. Fiveblocks away there flashed under one of the arc-lights, only todisappear in the shadow again, two mounted policemen.
"By George! it looks as if the girls were going to have their fun,too!" He laughed, but there was a nervous catch in his voice. He hadn'tcounted on any policeman taking part in the comedy. "Where the devil_is_ Scott Circle, anyhow?"--fretfully. He tugged at the reins. "Bestdraw up at the next corner. I'll be hanged if _I_ know where I am."
He braced himself, sawed with the reins, and presently the frightenedand somewhat wearied horses slowed down into a trot. This he finallybrought to a walk. One more pull, and they came to a stand. It would behard to say which breathed the heaviest, the man or the horses.Warburton leaped from the box, opened the door and waited. Herecognized the necessity of finishing the play before the mountedpolice arrived on the scene.
There was a commotion inside the carriage, then a woman in a crimsoncloak stepped (no, jumped!) out. Mr. Robert threw his arms around herand kissed her cheek.
"You ... vile ... wretch!"
Warburton sprang back, his hands applied to his stinging face.
"You drunken wretch, how dare you!"
"Nan, it's only I--" he stammered.
"Nan!" exclaimed the young woman, as her companion joined her. Thelight from the corner disclosed the speaker's wrathful features,disdainful lips, palpitating nostrils, eyes darting terrible glances."Nan! Do you think, ruffian, that you are driving serving-maids?"
"Good Lord!" Warburton stepped back still farther; stepped backspeechless, benumbed, terror-struck. The woman he was gazing at wasanybody in the world but his sister Nancy!
The Man on the Box Page 6
