CHAPTER XXV. THE WIGMORE VENUS
The morning was so brilliantly fine; the populace popped to and froin so active and cheery a manner; and everybody appeared to be soabsolutely in the pink, that a casual observer of the city of New Yorkwould have said that it was one of those happy days. Yet Archie Moffam,as he turned out of the sun-bathed street into the ramshackle buildingon the third floor of which was the studio belonging to his artistfriend, James B. Wheeler, was faintly oppressed with a sort of a kindof feeling that something was wrong. He would not have gone so far as tosay that he had the pip--it was more a vague sense of discomfort. And,searching for first causes as he made his way upstairs, he came to theconclusion that the person responsible for this nebulous depression washis wife, Lucille. It seemed to Archie that at breakfast that morningLucille's manner had been subtly rummy. Nothing you could put yourfinger on, still--rummy.
Musing thus, he reached the studio, and found the door open and the roomempty. It had the air of a room whose owner has dashed in to fetchhis golf-clubs and biffed off, after the casual fashion of the artisttemperament, without bothering to close up behind him. And such, indeed,was the case. The studio had seen the last of J. B. Wheeler for thatday: but Archie, not realising this and feeling that a chat with Mr.Wheeler, who was a light-hearted bird, was what he needed this morning,sat down to wait. After a few moments, his gaze, straying over the room,encountered a handsomely framed picture, and he went across to take alook at it.
J. B. Wheeler was an artist who made a large annual income as anillustrator for the magazines, and it was a surprise to Archie to findthat he also went in for this kind of thing. For the picture, dashinglypainted in oils, represented a comfortably plump young woman who, fromher rather weak-minded simper and the fact that she wore absolutelynothing except a small dove on her left shoulder, was plainly intendedto be the goddess Venus. Archie was not much of a lad around thepicture-galleries, but he knew enough about Art to recognise Venus whenhe saw her; though once or twice, it is true, artists had double-crossedhim by ringing in some such title as "Day Dreams," or "When the Heart isYoung."
He inspected this picture for awhile, then, returning to his seat, lita cigarette and began to meditate on Lucille once more. "Yes, the deargirl had been rummy at breakfast. She had not exactly said anything ordone anything out of the ordinary; but--well, you know how it is. Wehusbands, we lads of the for-better-or-for-worse brigade, we learnto pierce the mask. There had been in Lucille's manner that curious,strained sweetness which comes to women whose husbands have failed tomatch the piece of silk or forgotten to post an important letter. If hisconscience had not been as clear as crystal, Archie would have saidthat that was what must have been the matter. But, when Lucille wroteletters, she just stepped out of the suite and dropped them in themail-chute attached to the elevator. It couldn't be that. And hecouldn't have forgotten anything else, because--"
"Oh my sainted aunt!"
Archie's cigarette smouldered, neglected, between his fingers. Hisjaw had fallen and his eyes were staring glassily before him. He wasappalled. His memory was weak, he knew; but never before had it let himdown, so scurvily as this. This was a record. It stood in a class byitself, printed in red ink and marked with a star, as the bloomer of alifetime. For a man may forget many things: he may forget his name, hisumbrella, his nationality, his spats, and the friends of hisyouth: but there is one thing which your married man, yourin-sickness-and-in-health lizard must not forget: and that is theanniversary of his wedding-day.
Remorse swept over Archie like a wave. His heart bled for Lucille. Nowonder the poor girl had been rummy at breakfast. What girl wouldn't berummy at breakfast, tied for life to a ghastly outsider like himself? Hegroaned hollowly, and sagged forlornly in his chair: and, as he did so,the Venus caught his eye. For it was an eye-catching picture. You mightlike it or dislike it, but you could not ignore it.
As a strong swimmer shoots to the surface after a high dive, Archie'ssoul rose suddenly from the depths to which it had descended. He did notoften get inspirations, but he got one now. Hope dawned with a jerk. Theone way out had presented itself to him. A rich present! That was thewheeze. If he returned to her bearing a rich present, he might, with thehelp of Heaven and a face of brass, succeed in making her believe thathe had merely pretended to forget the vital date in order to enhance thesurprise.
It was a scheme. Like some great general forming his plan of campaign onthe eve of battle, Archie had the whole binge neatly worked out inside aminute. He scribbled a note to Mr. Wheeler, explaining the situation andpromising reasonable payment on the instalment system; then, placing thenote in a conspicuous position on the easel, he leaped to the telephone:and presently found himself connected with Lucille's room at theCosmopolis.
"Hullo, darling," he cooed.
There was a slight pause at the other end of the wire.
"Oh, hullo, Archie!"
Lucille's voice was dull and listless, and Archie's experienced earcould detect that she had been crying. He raised his right foot, andkicked himself indignantly on the left ankle.
"Many happy returns of the day, old thing!"
A muffled sob floated over the wire.
"Have you only just remembered?" said Lucille in a small voice.
Archie, bracing himself up, cackled gleefully into the receiver.
"Did I take you in, light of my home? Do you mean to say you reallythought I had forgotten? For Heaven's sake!"
"You didn't say a word at breakfast."
"Ah, but that was all part of the devilish cunning. I hadn't got apresent for you then. At least, I didn't know whether it was ready."
"Oh, Archie, you darling!" Lucille's voice had lost its crushedmelancholy. She trilled like a thrush, or a linnet, or any bird thatgoes in largely for trilling. "Have you really got me a present?"
"It's here now. The dickens of a fruity picture. One of J. B. Wheeler'sthings. You'll like it."
"Oh, I know I shall. I love his work. You are an angel. We'll hang itover the piano."
"I'll be round with it in something under three ticks, star of my soul.I'll take a taxi."
"Yes, do hurry! I want to hug you!"
"Right-o!" said Archie. "I'll take two taxis."
It is not far from Washington Square to the Hotel Cosmopolis, and Archiemade the journey without mishap. There was a little unpleasantnesswith the cabman before starting--he, on the prudish plea that he was amarried man with a local reputation to keep up, declining at first to beseen in company with the masterpiece. But, on Archie giving a promise tokeep the front of the picture away from the public gaze, he consentedto take the job on; and, some ten minutes later, having made his wayblushfully through the hotel lobby and endured the frank curiosity ofthe boy who worked the elevator, Archie entered his suite, the pictureunder his arm.
He placed it carefully against the wall in order to leave himself morescope for embracing Lucille, and when the joyful reunion--or the sacredscene, if you prefer so to call it, was concluded, he stepped forward toturn it round and exhibit it.
"Why, it's enormous," said Lucille. "I didn't know Mr. Wheeler everpainted pictures that size. When you said it was one of his, I thoughtit must be the original of a magazine drawing or something like--Oh!"
Archie had moved back and given her an uninterrupted view of the work ofart, and she had started as if some unkindly disposed person had drivena bradawl into her.
"Pretty ripe, what?" said Archie enthusiastically.
Lucille did not speak for a moment. It may have been sudden joy thatkept her silent. Or, on the other hand, it may not. She stood looking atthe picture with wide eyes and parted lips.
"A bird, eh?" said Archie.
"Y--yes," said Lucille.
"I knew you'd like it," proceeded Archie with animation, "You see?you're by way of being a picture-hound--know all about the things,and what not--inherit it from the dear old dad, I shouldn't wonder.Personally, I can't tell one picture from another as a rule, but I'mbound to say, th
e moment I set eyes on this, I said to myself 'Whatho!' or words to that effect, I rather think this will add a touch ofdistinction to the home, yes, no? I'll hang it up, shall I? 'Phone downto the office, light of my soul, and tell them to send up a nail, a bitof string, and the hotel hammer."
"One moment, darling. I'm not quite sure."
"Eh?"
"Where it ought to hang, I mean. You see--"
"Over the piano, you said. The jolly old piano."
"Yes, but I hadn't seen it then."
A monstrous suspicion flitted for an instant into Archie's mind.
"I say, you do like it, don't you?" he said anxiously.
"Oh, Archie, darling! Of course I do!-And it was so sweet of you to giveit to me. But, what I was trying to say was that this picture is so--sostriking that I feel that we ought to wait a little while and decidewhere it would have the best effect. The light over the piano is ratherstrong."
"You think it ought to hang in a dimmish light, what?"
"Yes, yes. The dimmer the--I mean, yes, in a dim light. Suppose we leaveit in the corner for the moment--over there--behind the sofa, and--andI'll think it over. It wants a lot of thought, you know."
"Right-o! Here?"
"Yes, that will do splendidly. Oh, and, Archie."
"Hullo?"
"I think perhaps... Just turn its face to the wall, will you?" Lucillegave a little gulp. "It will prevent it getting dusty."
It perplexed Archie a little during the next few days to notice inLucille, whom he had always looked on as pre-eminently a girl who knewher own mind, a curious streak of vacillation. Quite half a dozen timeshe suggested various spots on the wall as suitable for the Venus, butLucille seemed unable to decide. Archie wished that she would settle onsomething definite, for he wanted to invite J. B. Wheeler to the suiteto see the thing. He had heard nothing from the artist since the day hehad removed the picture, and one morning, encountering him on Broadway,he expressed his appreciation of the very decent manner in which theother had taken the whole affair.
"Oh, that!" said J. B. Wheeler. "My dear fellow, you're welcome." Hepaused for a moment. "More than welcome," he added. "You aren't much ofan expert on pictures, are you?"
"Well," said Archie, "I don't know that you'd call me an absolute nib,don't you know, but of course I know enough to see that this particularexhibit is not a little fruity. Absolutely one of the best things you'veever done, laddie."
A slight purple tinge manifested itself in Mr. Wheeler's round and rosyface. His eyes bulged.
"What are you talking about, you Tishbite? You misguided son of Belial,are you under the impression that _I_ painted that thing?"
"Didn't you?"
Mr. Wheeler swallowed a little convulsively.
"My fiancee painted it," he said shortly.
"Your fiancee? My dear old lad, I didn't know you were engaged. Who isshe? Do I know her?"
"Her name is Alice Wigmore. You don't know her."
"And she painted that picture?" Archie was perturbed. "But, I say! Won'tshe be apt to wonder where the thing has got to?"
"I told her it had been stolen. She thought it a great compliment, andwas tickled to death. So that's all right."
"And, of course, she'll paint you another."
"Not while I have my strength she won't," said J. B. Wheeler firmly."She's given up painting since I taught her golf, thank goodness, andmy best efforts shall be employed in seeing that she doesn't have arelapse."
"But, laddie," said Archie, puzzled, "you talk as though there weresomething wrong with the picture. I thought it dashed hot stuff."
"God bless you!" said J. B. Wheeler.
Archie proceeded on his way, still mystified. Then he reflected thatartists as a class were all pretty weird and rummy and talked more orless consistently through their hats. You couldn't ever take an artist'sopinion on a picture. Nine out of ten of them had views on Art whichwould have admitted them to any looney-bin, and no questions asked. Hehad met several of the species who absolutely raved over things whichany reasonable chappie would decline to be found dead in a ditch with.His admiration for the Wigmore Venus, which had faltered for a momentduring his conversation with J. B. Wheeler, returned in all its pristinevigour. Absolute rot, he meant to say, to try to make out that it wasn'tone of the ones and just like mother used to make. Look how Lucille hadliked it!
At breakfast next morning, Archie once more brought up the question ofthe hanging of the picture. It was absurd to let a thing like that go onwasting its sweetness behind a sofa with its face to the wall.
"Touching the jolly old masterpiece," he said, "how about it? I thinkit's time we hoisted it up somewhere."
Lucille fiddled pensively with her coffee-spoon.
"Archie, dear," she said, "I've been thinking."
"And a very good thing to do," said Archie. "I've often meant to do itmyself when I got a bit of time."
"About that picture, I mean. Did you know it was father's birthdayto-morrow?"
"Why no, old thing, I didn't, to be absolutely honest. Your reveredparent doesn't confide in me much these days, as a matter of fact."
"Well, it is. And I think we ought to give him a present."
"Absolutely. But how? I'm all for spreading sweetness and light, andcheering up the jolly old pater's sorrowful existence, but I haven't abean. And, what is more, things have come to such a pass that I scan thehorizon without seeing a single soul I can touch. I suppose I could getinto Reggie van Tuyl's ribs for a bit, but--I don't know--touching poorold Reggie always seems to me rather like potting a sitting bird."
"Of course, I don't want you to do anything like that. I wasthinking--Archie, darling, would you be very hurt if I gave father thepicture?"
"Oh, I say!"
"Well, I can't think of anything else."
"But wouldn't you miss it most frightfully?"
"Oh, of course I should. But you see--father's birthday--"
Archie had always thought Lucille the dearest and most unselfish angelin the world, but never had the fact come home to him so forcibly asnow. He kissed her fondly.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed. "You really are, you know! This is the biggestthing since jolly old Sir Philip What's-his-name gave the drink of waterto the poor blighter whose need was greater than his, if you recall theincident. I had to sweat it up at school, I remember. Sir Philip, poorold bean, had a most ghastly thirst on, and he was just going tohave one on the house, so to speak, when... but it's all in thehistory-books. This is the sort of thing Boy Scouts do! Well, of course,it's up to you, queen of my soul. If you feel like making the sacrifice,right-o! Shall I bring the pater up here and show him the picture?"
"No, I shouldn't do that. Do you think you could get into his suiteto-morrow morning and hang it up somewhere? You see, if he had thechance of--what I mean is, if--yes, I think it would be best to hang itup and let him discover it there."
"It would give him a surprise, you mean, what?"
"Yes."
Lucille sighed inaudibly. She was a girl with a conscience, and thatconscience was troubling her a little. She agreed with Archie that thediscovery of the Wigmore Venus in his artistically furnished suitewould give Mr. Brewster a surprise. Surprise, indeed, was perhaps aninadequate word. She was sorry for her father, but the instinct ofself-preservation is stronger than any other emotion.
Archie whistled merrily on the following morning as, having driven anail into his father-in-law's wallpaper, he adjusted the cord from whichthe Wigmore Venus was suspended. He was a kind-hearted young man, and,though Mr. Daniel Brewster had on many occasions treated him with a gooddeal of austerity, his simple soul was pleased at the thought ofdoing him a good turn, He had just completed his work and wasstepping cautiously down, when a voice behind him nearly caused him tooverbalance.
"What the devil?"
Archie turned beamingly.
"Hullo, old thing! Many happy returns of the day!"
Mr. Brewster was standing in a frozen attitude. His strong fac
e wasslightly flushed.
"What--what--?" he gurgled.
Mr. Brewster was not in one of his sunniest moods that morning. Theproprietor of a large hotel has many things to disturb him, and to-daythings had been going wrong. He had come up to his suite with the ideaof restoring his shaken nerve system with a quiet cigar, and the sightof his son-in-law had, as so frequently happened, made him feel worsethan ever. But, when Archie had descended from the chair and moved asideto allow him an uninterrupted view of the picture, Mr. Brewster realisedthat a worse thing had befallen him than a mere visit from one whoalways made him feel that the world was a bleak place.
He stared at the Venus dumbly. Unlike most hotel-proprietors, DanielBrewster was a connoisseur of Art. Connoisseuring was, in fact, hishobby. Even the public rooms of the Cosmopolis were decorated withtaste, and his own private suite was a shrine of all that was best andmost artistic. His tastes were quiet and restrained, and it is not toomuch to say that the Wigmore Venus hit him behind the ear like a stuffedeel-skin.
So great was the shock that for some moments it kept him silent, andbefore he could recover speech Archie had explained.
"It's a birthday present from Lucille, don't you know."
Mr. Brewster crushed down the breezy speech he had intended to utter.
"Lucille gave me--that?" he muttered.
He swallowed pathetically. He was suffering, but the iron courage of theBrewsters stood him in good stead. This man was no weakling. Presentlythe rigidity of his face relaxed. He was himself again. Of all thingsin the world he loved his daughter most, and if, in whatever mood oftemporary insanity, she had brought herself to suppose that this beastlydaub was the sort of thing he would like for a birthday present, he mustaccept the situation like a man. He would on the whole have preferreddeath to a life lived in the society of the Wigmore Venus, but even thattorment must be endured if the alternative was the hurting of Lucille'sfeelings.
"I think I've chosen a pretty likely spot to hang the thing, what?" saidArchie cheerfully. "It looks well alongside those Japanese prints, don'tyou think? Sort of stands out."
Mr. Brewster licked his dry lips and grinned a ghastly grin.
"It does stand out!" he agreed.
Indiscretions of Archie Page 26
