by Edna Ferber
Her quick ear caught the Texan’s words as she came toward them. From his vantage, perched on the driver’s seat, he had seen her approach. Van Steed’s back was toward her.
“. . . Texas is a young state run by young men. You Easterners take no account of Texas. That’s where you make a mistake.”
“Oh, Mr. Maroon! I do hope I haven’t kept you waiting!” Van Steed spun on his heel. His pink cheeks flushed pinker, “What a glorious coach! And four—Oh, Mr. Van Steed. Oh, dear! You haven’t repeated my indiscreet conversation!” She put her palm prettily to her cheek as though she, too, were blushing, which she wasn’t.
His girlish skin now took on a definite rose tint as he handed her up to the seat beside Maroon and Cupide proffered her the crimson parasol. There was something anguished in the amber eyes of young Van Steed as from his position at the curb he looked up at these two resplendent figures, young, seemingly carefree, certainly beautiful. Clio’s crimson sunshade cast a roseate glow over them both. It was as if these two dwelt aloft in a glowing world of their own.
She leaned a little toward him over the wheel, her lovely ardent eyes meeting his. “I didn’t thank you for the roses. That Mrs. Crockery was with you . . . no, that’s not right . . . Porcelain . . . Porcelain, that’s it ... so stupid of me . . . she’s really charming . . . may I, an utter stranger, offer you my congratulations ... I hear you are to be married . . . Mrs. Porcelain . . . really enchanting ...”
“Married!” His voice was a shout. Then he remembered the piazza and repeated, “Married!” in a voice that rose to a squeak vibrant with outrage. “Mrs. De Chanfret, whoever told you that is a liar!”
Clint Maroon’s drawl cast its cooling shadow upon the heated words. “Why, Mrs. De Chanfret, Ma’am, you-all certainly are putting your pretty little foot in it today. First you tell this gentleman here that I’m out to get his railroad off him—”
“Oh, then he did tell you that! How naughty of you, Mr. Van Steed. Especially as I said that Colonel Maroon admired—”
“Shucks, he didn’t rightly say that, no. It was this way. I told this litde runt of yours to go fetch you my message I was waiting. He says you’ve moved to the cottages. It’s natural I’d be surprised, being as I’d given up my rooms—not that that matters, Ma’am, I’m glad to be of service—but when I remarked how come you went and did that, why, friend Van Steed here speaks up and says it’s because I and my friends raised such a holler up there last night talking railroads. Seems he got the idea I was fixing to skin him out of his millions, or some such sorry trick.”
Her lips quivered. There were tears in her eyes. She looked at Maroon, she turned her stricken glance down upon Van Steed’s upturned face.
“How dreadful! How really frightful. How could I be so clumsy. Dear Mr. Maroon! Dear Mr. Van Steed! After you’ve both been so kind, so helpful to a weary stranger. To have made trouble between you! How can I make amends!”
“Married!” Van Steed was still quivering. “I must ask you, Mrs. De Chanfret, to tell me who gave you that piece of complete misinformation.” So that’s stabbed him deepest, Clio thought. Poor little man.
“I don’t know. Really! I’ve talked to so many people. I’m all confused and oh, so unhappy. It may have been Mr. Gould, it may have been the chambermaid—or Mrs. Coventry Bellop—or the hotel manager—or perhaps Cupide picked it up from the bellboys—yes, now that I recall it, I seem to remember it was you, wasn’t it, Cupide?”
The dwarf poured out his protest in a flood of colloquial French that was, fortunately, completely unintelligible to all but Clio. Much of it was highly uncomplimentary to Mr. Van Steed, to Saratoga, and to the human race in general.
“En voilà assez!” She was all concern as she bent toward the injured Van Steed. “He swears it wasn’t he. But I’m quite certain now. Please forgive me.” She turned to Maroon. “And you, too. How could I be so tiresome!”
Maroon laughed an easy laugh, his warm gaze upon her. “Why, Ma’am, just to know you’ve had my name on your lips gives me pleasure. And I’m not denying I’m interested in railroads. And if I didn’t feel the way I do about Mr. Van Steed here, and his road we were talking about, why I’d say leave him roar. But I’m for you, Mr. Van Steed. Not against you. There ain’t any call for you to be wrathy. I happen to know something of the fix you’re in. Down in Texas we’d know what to do, but maybe we’re too rough for you Eastern folks. Leastways, for folks like you.” He gathered up the reins. The horses were stamping restlessly, the silver harness jingled, the piazza by now resembled a group of statuary frozen into vain attitudes of strained attention. “But I know what I’d do in your place.”
Bart Van Steed did not take his foot off the carriage step.
“Just what would you do, Colonel Maroon! I’d be interested to know.”
“I’ll bet you would. Well, sir, that’s something to talk about sometime, friendly, over a cigar. It might be worth nothing to you; it might be worth a million.” He leaned over so that his shoulder pressed against Clio, he lowered his voice confidentially. “I might as well tell you I’d go the whole hog to put my brand on a certain crowd—and a certain man in that crowd. If I ever aim to get tangled with that bunch, look out! I been studying railroads a good many years now—” He broke off suddenly. “Shucks! This here’s no place to talk business. With this little lady looking like a thoroughbred rarin’ for the races. Well, we’ll be easin’ along.”
It was plain the conversation was ended. Curious that Van Steed had been the suppliant, there at the curb, and Clint Maroon a splendid figure with his lady beside him high up on the glittering coach. Van Steed’s face, upturned, was almost wistful. Reluctantiy he took his foot from the step. The reins became taut in Maroon’s gloved hands.
“Ma’m’selle!” came Cupide’s voice from the curb. “Ma’m’selle Clio! You’re not going without me! Ma’m’selle!” His voice rose to a squeal of anguish. He held up his two little arms like a child.
“Let him come, Clint,” she said, very low.
Maroon beckoned with a jerk of his head. Like a fly blown by the wind the dwarf soared up the side of the coach, perched on the edge of the rear seat.
“Ne bougez pas de là,” Clio commanded. But she could have saved her breath. His arms folded across his chest, his head held high, he was the footman in livery, a statue in little. Only the fine eyes danced as he watched the movements of the splendid horses and heard the music of their fleet hoofs accompanied by the clink of the silver-mounted harness. The coach and four dashed down Broadway on its way to the races.
Clio gave a little childish bounce of delight. “Clint, I am so happy. Forgive me for behaving so badly the day I came.” He did not reply. She turned to look into his face. It was stern and unsmiling. “Clint! Chérir
Still he said nothing. They whirled among the sun-dappled streets. His eyes were on the horses. She put a hand on his arm. She shook it a little, pettishly. The off lead horse broke a trifle in his stride, regained it immediately.
“Take your hand off my arm,” Maroon said between his teeth. “What d’you reckon I’m driving—catde!”
“How can you talk to me like that? No one has ever talked to me like that!”
“Time they did, then. You’ve been high-tailing it about long enough.”
“What is that?”
“Back in Texas the menfolks run things. You’ve been living with a bunch of women so long it’s like a herd of mares think they can run a stallion right off”the range. I’ve got every reverence for womenkind. There’ll never be anybody like Ma. And there’s others back home—”
“Like the finest litde woman in the world,” she put in, mischievously.
“That’s so. My way of thinking, women should have minds of their own and plenty of spirit. But back in Texas it’s the men who wear the pants. Looks like you listened to so much poison talk back there in Paris on account of your ma and your aunty, they figured they’d been done wrong by, why, you’ve taken on a kind of snee
ry feeling about menfolks. You got ‘em all scaled down to about the size of that poor little fellow perched up back there. Well, you’re dead wrong.”
“What have I done! What have I said?”
“I’m aimin’ to tell you. I’m crazy about you, honey, but I reckon you’d best know that if you try to run me I’ll leave you, pronto. I don’t mean your pretty litde ways, and thinking of things that are smart as all get-out, and trying ‘em to see if they work. That’s all fair enough.”
“But Clint, we said this was to be a partnership.”
“That’s right. But that don’t say you can put words in my mouth I never said. I’m just naturally ornery enough not to want to be stampeded into doing something I didn’t aim to do. I can be nagged by women and I can be fooled by women and I can be coaxed by women, but no woman’s going to run me, by God! Now you pin back those pretty litde ears of yours and take heed of what I’m saying. I’m boss of this outfit or I’ll drag it out of here and drag it quick. You heard me.”
If he had anticipated tears and protestations he was happily disappointed. Like all domineering women she wanted, more than anything in the world, to be dominated by someone stronger than she. Now, at her silence, he turned his gaze from the road ahead to steal a glance at her. She was regarding him with such shining adoration as to cause him to forget road, coach, four-in-hand. “Chéri,”she said in her most melting tones; and then, in English, as though the French word could not convey her emotion, “Darling! Darling! Darling!”
“Attention!” screamed Cupide from the back seat. “Nom d’un—”
Almost automatically Maroon swerved the animals to the right, missing by a fraction of an inch a smart dogcart whose occupants’ faces were two white discs of fright as the coach swept by.
“Hell’s bells!” yelled Maroon. But the danger seemed to restore his customary good humor. “See what you do to me, honey? Good thing you coaxed me to let Cupide come along. Don’t look at me like that when I’ve got a parcel of horses on my hands or we’re liable to end in the ditch,”
“With you I’m never afraid.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Tell me, Clint, have you really a plan, as you said to Van Steed? I mean, really?”
“Well, not to say righdy a plan. Anyway, nothing he’d hear to. I don’t want to get mixed in with that crowd. Look, Clio. I came up here to Saratoga to get myself a little honest money—cards, roulette, horses and so forth. I figured we’d have a high old time, clean up and get out. New York, maybe, September, though it’s not my meat. But here you are, starting trouble, cutting up didoes, acting downright locoed.”
“What have I done! I arrived only a day—two days—”
“And then what! Screeching out of hotel windows, champagne and peaches in the middle of the day, sleeping like drugged straight through for better than thirty hours, sashaying over to the cottages after all that hocus-pocus about the rooms, and now telling the dog-gonedest mess of lies—excuse me, honey, I didn’t go for to sound mean-tempered, but you going to keep this up?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve thought of the most wonderful things. It’s going to be better and better all the time.”
He regarded with great concentration the glistening haunches of the four fine horses speeding so fleetly under his expert guidance. But it was plain that his horse-loving mind was not really on them. “Well—uh—now countesses, they don’t carry on thataway, do they? I mean, for a girl that’s up to the tricks you are, why, you sure are getting yourself noticed.”
“That’s my Paris background, I suppose. It’s the Aunt Belle in me. We never went out in Paris that people didn’t stare and even follow us. I’m used to it.”
“It don’t make good sense to me.”
Out of her murky past she waxed sententious beyond her years. “The only people who can afford to go unnoticed and quiet are the very very rich and secure and the really wicked. No one would know I was here if I didn’t make a great furore. Faire le diable à quatre. It was a success in New Orleans, wasn’t it? My little technique?”
He laughed tolerantly at the memory of her recent triumph. “Yes, those sure were cute didoes you cut down there. But this is different. I didn’t mind—much. But you don’t figure on catching a husband any such way, do you? Leastways, not Van Steed. He was brought up prim and proper.”
Into her voice there came a hard determination. “He was brought up by a woman who was stronger and harder and more possessive than he. His mother. Well, I’ll be stronger and harder and more possessive than she. And cleverer. You wait. You’ll see.”
“Uh-huh,” he said again.
Pleased with herself she smoothed the shining folds of her silken gown, she looked down at the glittering coach, at the four superb horses, at the silver harness. She just touched his knee with one gloved forefinger. “This is rather wonderful. I feel like Cinderella. You haven’t told me how you came by this splendid coach and four. How Aunt Belle and Mama would have adored it!”
“Right nice little poker game at the Club House night before last,” he explained, laconically. “I was kind of put out when you went off into the Sleeping Beauty act of yours, so I figured I might as well get me a little extra change. Nothing better to do with my time. Ever since then I’ve been real worried about your friend Bart Van Steed.”
“You have! Why?”
“You know that old saying. And he sure is unlucky at cards.”
Now she looked at the coach and four with fresh appreciation and with a kind of proprietary approval, as though she had earned it. They were passing the stables now. With his whip he pointed to one. “Alamo’s in there. We’ll go down to the stables tomorrow morning and see him.”
“And breakfast at the stables?”
“I don’t know about that. Women don’t do that. Men go down there and eat, early mornings, six seven o’clock. But no women.”
“I’m going. I don’t care what other women do. I’m different.”
“You are. You sure are. That’s what—” He stopped.
“What’s what?” she asked mischievously. But he did not go on, and they swept dramatically into the race-track enclosure, the most spectacular coach among all the glittering vehicles gathered there. Down jumped Cupide and scurried round and stood at the near lead horse’s head, his hand on the bridle rein; and at sight of this diminutive figure pitted against the huge equipage and the four fiery horses, the staring crowd burst into laughter; a voice shouted, “Hold ‘em, Goliath!” Another yelled, “Look out they don’t eat you for a fly.” But Cupidon spat between his teeth, taking careful aim, and his deriders were seen to wipe their faces hastily.
“We can watch the races from up here,” Maroon said. “Only I reckoned maybe you’d like to stroll around some. Cupide can’t hold these critters, though.”
“He’s got the strength of an orang-utan in his arms. All his life he has been around horses.”
Maroon looked dubious as he stepped down. “I don’t know about that. Up on that box.” He walked over to Cupide and stared down on him. “You sitting up there I’m afraid if they took a notion to pull a little, why, you’d be over the dashboard and landed on one of their ears.”
The impish face peered up at him wickedly. “If I wanted to I could lift you off your feet where you stand, and carry you.”
Maroon backed away, hastily. “God A’mighty, don’t do that! All right, get up there on the seat. Anybody starts monkeying with the horses, scaring ‘em, give him a cut with the whip. We’ll be back, anyway, in two shakes.”
There they all were—the Rhinelanders, the Forosinis, the Vanderbilts, the Lorillards, the Chisholms, Mrs. Porcelain. Mrs. Coventry Bellop, looking more than ever like a cook, was squired by three young dandies who seemed to find her conversation vastiy edifying, judging by their bursts of laughter. No sign anywhere of that meager figure, those burning eyes.
“They’re all here except Mr. Gould. Doesn’t he care for races?”
“Gould, he doesn’t care for anythin
g that’s fixed as easy as a horse race. He’s been playing with millions and whole railroads and telegraph companies and hundreds of thousands of human beings and foreign empires so long he wouldn’t get any feeling about whether a horse came in first or not. Do you know what he does for a pasdme? Grows orchids out at his place in the country. Nope, you can’t figure him out the way you can other people. Or get the best of him.”
“There is a way,” Clio persisted; “a very simple way. We will find it. No big thing. Something childish.”
“I just like to hear you talk, honey. I don’t care what you say.”
“You will listen, though, won’t you? And if we have a plan you will help? You promised.”
“Why, sure thing. Fact is, I have got an idea, like I said to Van Steed. Don’t know’s it’s any good, though. It came to me while I was talking to him. I was so riled at the way you’d gone and mixed me up with him that it came into my head, just like that.”
“Listen, chéri, we won’t stay here long at the races. There are other things to talk about much more excidng than this. Are you going to enter Alamo sometime soon?”
“He hasn’t got much of a chance in this field. He’s a little too young, anyway. And I haven’t got a jockey I just like.”
“Cupide will ride him.”
“You’re crazy.”
“I say he can. He can ride anything. In France he used to be always around the stables; they called him their mascot at Longchamp and Auteuil; they let him exercise the horses at the tracks. He used to run off and be gone for days. Mama was always threatening to send him back to America. It would be chic to enter your horse; it would look successful and solid. Cupide knows a hundred ways, if Alamo is good and has a chance. Cupide would get something from Kaka; he would give the other horse something; no one would suspect it.”
“Holy snakes!” Maroon glanced quickly around in horror. “If anybody hears you say a thing like that! We’d be run out of town on a rail.”
