Last night I took a notion to read over my diary before turning in, and what a host of delightful memories it brought, or memories which should be delightful if it were not for the feeling of sadness and regret which seems to tinge everything in these latter days. I realized, in reading over this record of my Washington life, that Caroline has always had a warm place in my heart, even when I was utterly unconscious of it. The events of each day, after I had been a week or two in this house, are sown thickly with references to her, and few dates lack completely any mention of her. I remarked, too, a little thing of which I was quite unconscious at the time of writing. It will interest you, I think, though maybe it is purely accidental. In the earliest references to her, I always entered her as “C. R.,” later further abbreviated to “C.” About the first of December, I note that all the references are to “Caroline,” written out in full, and that from that time to this, her name is no longer abbreviated. Are you psychologist enough to interpret that?
I was almost appalled when this evening I began to collect and assort, for further preservation, or for consignment to the wastebasket, as the case might be, all the programs, cards, invitations, and mementos of various kinds which I have accumulated in my five months’ stay in this town, to see how many had to do with Caroline. Though not conscious—I can swear to that—of collecting them as such, I don’t believe I threw away a single thing, not even a scrap of paper, which referred to her. Among these keepsakes, I note the following: several handkerchiefs, all of them embroidered daintily with “C.R.,” and having the faintest trace of the Fleurs d’Amour sachet; a ring; five dance cards; a paper napkin with the autographs of Caroline, Tommie, Lillian Barton, Mary Hale, Don, and several other folks; another napkin with a note from Caroline scribbled in one corner; the faded remains of a red rose which she wore in her hair at the fancy-dress ball the Saturday night after Thanksgiving; a bunch of violets she put in a little vase on my table about the same time; a gold automatic pencil which she gave me; and about ten personal notes.
I experienced a curious sort of painful pleasure in reading the latter over, and noting their almost affectionate familiarity—I think I do not exaggerate when I use this phrase to characterize them.
One is as follows:
Very dear old Godfather:
Just a little scribble to say that the Merry Coterie is going to have a “shout” at Sophie Burts Thursday evening, and you are expected by
Votre affectueuse filleule,
Caroline
Another reads:
Dear Old Grouchy:
What is the matter with you anyway? Tommie says you don’t seem to understand that we are looking for you at the dinner party tonight. Such a formal gentleman you are! What did you expect—an engraved invitation handed in on a silver tray? Did you think that Tommie and I discussed all the details of an affair of that kind before you, unless we expected to invite you? How do you get that way? Of course it would not be a party without you, Old Bear!
Having used up all my question marks and exclamation points, I must stop. I hope, however, that I have made myself clear.
Your devoted godchild,
Caroline
P. S. I agree with Tommie. In some things most men are blind, and those that are not blind are feebleminded.
A third, which accompanied a gift of a copy of Dorland’s Age of Mental Virility, reads:
Godfather Dear:
I had to go to Lowdermilk’s today to get a French text, and happened to see this little book on a bargain table. It seemed so exactly the kind of thing you would like that I ventured to get it for you. It has one advantage over your beloved Westermarck—it is shorter. At any rate, I trust that it will contribute something to the cultivation of your massive intellect, which I properly admire as a dutiful godchild should. A very pretty friend of yours says, however, that she thinks you would be lots more fun if you would cultivate your heart. A word to the wise!
Your affectionate ward,
Caroline
It has just occurred to me that you are not as interested as I am in the tenor of these notes, and I shall spare you any further renderings. Most of the others are much in the same vein. When I contrast their natural and unstudied warmth and friendliness with the lady’s present attitude toward me, I could tear my hair. Then, apparently, I was indifferent. Now, when I would give a little bit of my immortal soul for a smile or a kind word, I get nothing but cold words and averted looks. Isn’t life just like that?
You suggest in your last letter that it is inexplicable that a woman could change so completely in a such a short time. Inexplicable or not, she has so changed, and it would be a little consolation if I could persuade myself that the change had taken place following my very outrageous conduct of the other evening. But it began sometime before that, as you yourself must admit, for you will recall at least two instances during the Christmas holidays in which the lady showed temper toward me. I must say that I don’t understand it at all. What I have done that could have offended her, or changed her opinion of me, prior to the one overt act of the other night, is a complete mystery.
But I won’t burden you any further with my troubles, at any rate not in this letter. Let me charge you once more, in all seriousness, not to communicate anything I have told you to Tommie. I realize you will be under a special temptation to do so, but I ask your forbearance and patience for a little longer. Something must happen soon, but the whole affair is at such a critical stage that I have a really maudlin fear of a possible bad result from the intervention of some wrell-meaning friend. That’s why I have not let out a syllable to anyone but you, much as I trust Tommie and Mary Hale and Don Verney, and friendly as they are to me.
Let me close with something pleasant. It is a beautiful ring, Bob, and it is well in place on Thomasine Dawson’s hand. If ever a girl was genuine, honest, high-minded, “true blue,” it is Tommie, and she has mental and physical charms far beyond most women. Next to my mother and Caroline, she stands before all women in my heart, and before all men but you, and I had accorded that place before I knew that you cared so much for her. Can I say more? I repeat—you are the luckiest of the lucky dogs! I wish for you both all the best things that life can give to mortals here below, and my wish is not mere words, as you well know. I feel that I am guilty of no indelicacy when I say that Thomasine loves you very dearly, and is always glad to talk about you, indeed that is about the only subject which seems to interest her very deeply these days. Oh, fortunate mortal!
I forgot to tell you what happened when I asked Mrs. Rhodes to keep my room for me for two months after my departure. Well, the dear lady did not want to hear of letting me pay.
“But,” said I, “it is just as if I were occupying it. I am preempting it just as surely. You could let it to no one else.”
“I am not planning to rent it to anyone else,” said she. “It is yours whenever you want it.”
Exactly what that last sentence might imply, I cannot see, but the upshot of the whole matter was that Mrs. Rhodes finally compromised the matter with me by letting me pay for half the usual rental for the two months in question. When I stood up to leave the room—we were in the back parlor—she came over and joined her hands about my arm.
“Davy,” she said, and it was the first time she had ever called me anything but Mr. Carr. “Davy, we have enjoyed having you, and you are welcome in this household whenever or however you choose to come.”
I thanked her in some embarrassment, and went up to my room, reflecting somewhat sadly on the fact that in this mortal life it is so often the case that we can have warm good wishes and kind words from all but the one from whom we most desire them.
I guess I might stop here and turn in. I am not getting any too much sleep these days, and I am beginning to feel it. I hope I may have more cheerful news next time. At any rate I hope to have something more interesting to record than this dead level of monotonous misery. Almost any change would be desirable. If you suffer in reading this let
ter, console yourself with the kind thought that it has relieved me somewhat to write it.
Davy
Our old friend Jeffreys in the spotlight once more.
Caroline to the rescue. Last hours.
Wednesday, February 14
Dear Bob:
For a few minutes last night, I really thought I was going to have some pleasing news to tell you, but Fate was only playing a practical joke on me to see how I should take it. My news then, while interesting, is not especially pleasing.
There was a little dance given at Carroll’s by the Merry Coterie, and the usual crowd was present. It was lively, as their affairs always are, and one of the noisiest and most frivolous of that noisy and frivolous bunch proposed going to a newly discovered cabaret which was touted as being especially obnoxious. Most of us did not want to go, but one or two of the women raised so much “sand” about it that the rest finally caved in, and so we went. There were more than a dozen of us including the Dills, the Burts, Caroline and Tommie, Billie Riddick, Reese, Dr. King, Verney, Scott Green, your humble servant, and three or four others. Our party took up four tables. I need not describe the place, for it was like most of the others, except perhaps to say that it was decidedly second-rate. It was pretty well filled, and there was a plenty of bootleg liquor in evidence. However, it was orderly enough, on the surface at least, when we entered.
We had not long been seated when Verney stepped on my foot to attract my attention, and, following the direction of his eyes, whom should I see seated over in the corner, with his old familiar pair of Baltimore cronies, but Jeffreys, he of the faultless tailoring and the golden smile! By a curious coincidence, his two friends saw me just as I looked, and so did two other persons seated at an adjoining table. These last seemed familiar, but I could not place them, and I have since come to the conclusion that they were at the party in Baltimore the night Jeffreys and I fell out so hard. I did not like to stare, so, after one look, I dropped my eyes, but Verney, who had not the same reason for being cautious, kept his eyes on the party, and, in a low tone told me from moment to moment what was going on.
According to him, they were all drinking heavily, and two or three of them were already pretty far gone. Soon the rest of our party noticed the group which so interested us, and one or two, to my regret, were at some pains to turn about in their seats to get a good look.
Personally, I am not easily intimidated by a crowd of sober men, even if they are hostile, but any man who is filled with this modern moonshine is a source of danger wherever he may be, for he is a trifle less responsible than a maniac for what he does. He is filled with a wild spirit of recklessness unrestrained by any feeling of responsibility whatever. As Jeff and his friends drank, it was apparent from their glances that they were discussing our party. Several of us became aware of it. Tommie, usually so calm, was noticeably nervous. Caroline was at another table, and as her back was turned to me, I could not tell how the situation affected her. After a bit Jeff’s party grew noisy, and certain remarks made in a loud tone were plainly intended for our group. At Don’s instigation, the word was passed around that on a given signal, we should withdraw, leaving Don and Dr. Dill to pay the check. I wanted to stay with them, but the others would not hear of it.
“You are the one against whom Jeff’s malevolence is directed, and it would be inviting trouble for you to stay,” said Don in his quiet, insistent tone. “They won’t make any trouble for the doctor and me.”
So, as was sensible, I agreed, and we all arose at about the same moment. I think we should have gotten out without any trouble, if Fate had not decreed that Sophie Burt should lose her handbag, one of those gold mesh arrangements which are tolerably costly, and which their owners are likely to cherish accordingly. Besides the bag itself, there were the contents thereof, a matter of fifty-odd dollars and several valuable trinkets. So Sophie, who is excitable anyhow, made quite a fuss, and in a few seconds our quiet, undemonstrative exit, as planned by the wily Don, was converted into an excited jamboree of persons looking hastily under chairs and tables, and each one in the way of all the others. While we were in the midst of this, with Don and Dr. Dill looking on with evident impatience, our wild search was interrupted by a harsh voice, and the calling of my name followed by a string of abuse, all of which I did not hear, I am glad to say, and which I would have no occasion to repeat if I had heard it. After a second everybody stopped and turned toward the speaker. We were all more or less startled, because there were outcries from patrons seated near at hand, many of whom jumped up and ran for the door, knocking over tables and chairs in their hasty exit. In a moment I had taken in the cause of the general consternation.
Jeffreys was standing a few feet from me, with eyes inflamed and wild, face flushed, and features contorted into a wicked grimace. This sight did not worry me especially, but my pulse dropped a beat or two when I saw in his right hand the dull blue steel of a long army automatic. To you, who have looked down the barrel of one of those devilish things in time of war, I have no need to say that it was not a happy moment, for well I knew that if once he locked his finger on that trigger, somebody in the crowded room was going to be badly hurt, unless, indeed, a miracle should happen.
The women screamed, and scattered right and left. After the first shock, my wits commenced to work fast, and I figured that my best move would be to throw one of the small chairs at him, and follow it up fast. Of course I have taken much longer in the telling of this than it took in the happening. I had just placed my hand on the back of a chair when there was a cry and a scuffle behind me, something flashed between me and the chair knocking it out of my hand, a sturdy little figure planted itself squarely in front of me, and I was aware of a glossy black head against my chin and the faint odor of Fleurs d’Amour in my nostrils.
“Drop that gun, you coward! Are you afraid to fight like a man?” Caroline panted, her breath coming quickly and with evident effort.
The menacing blue steel barrel now pointing straight at Caroline galvanized me into life, and grasping her by the shoulders, I swung her about, aware as I did so that if Jeffreys would only fire at that moment, he would have a point-blank target. What he would have done in another second I have no means of knowing, for as I braced myself to feel the tearing of a bullet through my vitals, something hit Jeffreys from the side like a catapult, and he went down with a crash, while the pistol fell far from him. My good friend Scott Green had executed a flank movement with the happiest results. The proprietor of the cabaret took possession of the automatic and threatened to telephone the police if Jeffreys and his friends did not leave. Jeffreys himself was a bit groggy from Green’s vicious tackle, and suffered himself to be led away unprotestingly.
Order being restored somewhat, we resumed the search for Sophie Burt’s bag, and had about concluded either that she had lost it outside or that someone had taken advantage of the confusion to pocket it, when suddenly she exclaimed, “Here it is in my pocket!” and fished it out from some mysterious recess in her fur coat. There was some low murmuring from the men, and a laugh from the women, and then suddenly Caroline dropped into a chair, pale as a ghost, with everyone looking on more or less startled.
“It’s nothing—just a normal reaction,” said Dr. Dill, coolly, and he whipped out a little pocket flask and held a spoonful of something to her lips. In a few moments the color flooded her face as she realized that we were all standing watching her. She laughed unsteadily, rubbed her eyes, and finally rose to her feet.
“Too much excitement for one of my tender upbringing,” she said, with a saucy laugh. “Come on, folks, let’s go home! And, Sophie, the next time you bring that bag, please let Will carry it.”
This sounded natural, and we all started for the door, laughing. The trip home was uneventful. I escorted Tommie, and she was very silent. At the door she merely gave me her usual friendly handshake, and went in with no more than a “Good night, Davy.” In fact, she acted all the time as if her mind were busy elsewhere.
When I reached home, the house was dark, and a light showed through the transom over Caroline’s door. I was determined that she should not prevent me from thanking her for what she had done, or tried to do, to protect me in the dangerous emergency of the evening, so I sat down at my table and expressed my feelings as well as I could, and added a line to voice the hope that she would let me thank her face-to-face, and also let me say what was on my mind with regard to our misunderstanding. I wanted to add more, and it required all my resolution to keep from putting down all that was in my heart. But I refrained, and I feel now that the event shows my wisdom in so doing. I wrote and destroyed three letters before I finally succeeded in satisfying myself reasonably well. Then I went to bed with a happier heart than I had had for many, many days.
But, alas, my comparative happiness was destined to be of short duration. I left the note on the hall table this morning when I went out. Tonight when I returned, I found this brutally curt little note in its place:
Dear Mr. Carr:
There is nothing for which to thank me. We are quits now, that’s all, and I am so glad, for I dislike intensely being under obligation to—anyone. As to the “misunderstanding” to which you refer, you must be laboring under a delusion. The misunderstanding is all yours, for I am sure that on my part there is none. I understand you perfectly.
Sincerely yours,
Caroline Rhodes
P.S. I almost forgot to say that Miss Riddick telephoned this afternoon, and I asked that you call her as soon as possible after you came in. I promised to give you the message.
When Washington Was In Vogue Page 25
