He gave Palla a quick look, encountered her slightly amused eyes, and turned redder than ever.
“You dear boy,” she said, smiling, “I don’t think your very charming mother would be interested in knowing me. The informality of ultra-modern people could not appeal to her generation.”
“Did you — talk to her about — —”
“No. But it might happen. You know, Jim, I have nothing to conceal.”
The old troubled look had come back into his face. She noticed it and led the conversation to lighter themes.
“We danced last night after dinner,” she said. “There were some amusing people here for dinner. Then we went to see such a charming play — Tea for Three — and then we had supper at the Biltmore and danced.... Will you dine with me to-morrow?”
“Of course.”
“Do you think you’d enjoy it? — a lot of people who entertain the same shocking beliefs that I do?”
“All right!” he said with emphasis. “I’m through playing the rôle of death’s-head at the feast. I told you that I’m going to take you as you are and enjoy you and our friends — and quit making an ass of myself — —”
“Dear, you never did!”
“Oh, yes, I did. And maybe I’m a predestined ass. But every ass has a pair of heels and I’m going to flourish mine very gaily from now on!”
She protested laughingly at his self-characterisation, and bent toward him a little, caressing his sleeve in appeal, or shaking it in protest as he denounced himself and promised to take the world more gaily in the future.
“You’ll see,” he remarked, rising to take his leave: “I may even call the bluff of some of your fluffy ultra-modern friends and try a few trial marriages with each of ’em — —”
“Oh, Jim, you’re absolutely horrid! As if my friends believed in such disgusting ideas!”
“They do — some of ‘em.”
“They don’t!”
“Well, then, I do!” he announced so gravely that she had to look at him closely in the rather dim lamplight to see whether he was jesting.
She walked to the top of the staircase with him; let him take her into his arms; submitted to his kiss. Always a little confused by his demonstrations, nevertheless her hand retained his for a second longer, as though shyly reluctant to let him go.
“I am so glad you came,” she said. “Don’t neglect me any more.”
And so he went his way.
* * * * *
His mother discovered him in the library, dressed for dinner. Something, as he rose — his manner of looking at her, perhaps — warned her that they were not perfectly en rapport. Then the subtle, invisible antennæ, exploring caressingly what is so palpable in the heart of man, told her that once more she was to deal with the girl in black.
When his mother was seated, he said: “I didn’t know you had met Palla Dumont, mother.”
Helen hesitated: “Mrs. Vance’s friend? Oh, yes; she comes to the Red Cross with Leila Vance.”
“Do you like her?”
In her son’s eyes she was aware of that subtle and unconscious appeal which all mothers of boys are, some day, fated to see and understand.
Sometimes the appeal is disguised, sometimes it is so subtle that only mothers are able to perceive it.
But what to do about it is the perennial problem. For between lack of sympathy and response there are many nuances; and opposition is always to be avoided.
Helen said, pleasantly, that the girl appeared to be amiable and interesting.
“I know her merely in that way,” she continued. “We sit there sewing slings, pads, compresses, and bandages, and we gossip at random with our neighbours.”
“I like her very much,” said Jim.
“She does seem to be an attractive girl,” said his mother carelessly.... “Are you going to Yama Farms for the week end?”
“No.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. The Speedwells’ party is likely to be such a jolly affair, and I hear there’s lots of snow up there.”
“I haven’t met Mrs. Vance,” said her son. “Is she nice?”
“Leila Vance? Why, of course.”
“Who is she?”
“She married an embassy attaché, Captain Vance. He was in the old army — killed at Mons four years ago.”
“She and Palla are intimate?”
“I believe they are good friends,” remarked his mother, deciding not to attempt to turn the current of conversation for the moment.
“Mother?”
“Yes, dear.”
“I am quite sure I never met a girl I like as well.”
Helen laughed: “That is a trifle extravagant, isn’t it?”
“No.... I asked her to marry me.”
Helen’s heart stood still, then a bright flush stained her face.
“She refused me,” said the boy.
His mother said very quietly: “Of course this is news to us, Jim.”
“Yes, I didn’t tell you. I couldn’t, somehow. But I’ve told you now.”
“Dearest,” she said, dropping her hand over his, “don’t think me unsympathetic if I say that it really is better that she refused you.”
“I understand, mother.”
“I hope you do.”
“Oh, yes. But I don’t think you do. Because I am still in love with her.”
“You poor dear!”
“It’s rotten luck, isn’t it?”
“Time heals—” She checked herself, turned and kissed him.
“After all,” she said, “a soldier learns how to take things.”
And presently: “I do wish you’d go up to Yama Farms.”
“That,” he said, “would be the obvious thing to do. Anything to keep going and keep your mind ticking away until you’re safely wound up again.... But I’m not going, dear.”
Helen looked at him in silence, not wondering what he might be going to do with his week-end instead, because she already guessed.
Before she said anything more his father came in; and a moment later dinner was announced.
* * * * *
Jim slept soundly for the first night in a long time. His mother scarcely closed her eyes at all.
CHAPTER XIV
There had been a row at the Red Flag Club — a matter of differing opinions between members — nothing sufficient to attract the police, but enough to break several heads, benches and windows. And it was evident that some gentleman’s damaged nose had bled all over the linoleum in the lobby.
Elmer Skidder, arriving at the studio next morning in his brand new limousine, heard about the shindy and went into the club to inspect the wreckage. Then, mad all through, he started out to find Puma. But a Sister Art had got the best of Angelo Puma in a questionable cabaret the night before, and he had not yet arrived at the studio of the Super-Picture Corporation.
Skidder, thrifty by every instinct, and now smarting under his wrongs at the hands — and feet — of the Red Flag Club, went away in his gorgeous limousine to find Sondheim, who paid the rental and who lived in the Bronx.
It was a long way; every mile and every gallon of gasoline made Skidder madder; and when at length he arrived at the brand new, jerry-built apartment house inhabited by Max Sondheim, he had concluded that the Red Flag Club was an undesirable tenant and that it must be summarily kicked out.
Sondheim was still in bed, but a short-haired and pallid young woman, with assorted spots on her complexion, bade Skidder enter, and opened the chamber door for him.
The bedroom, which smelled of sour fish, was very cold, very dirty, and very blue with cigar smoke. The remains of a delicatessen breakfast stood on a table near the only window, which was tightly shut, and under the sill of which a radiator emitted explosive symptoms of steam to come.
Sondheim sprawled under the bed-covers, smoking; two other men sat on the edge of the bed — Karl Kastner and Nathan Bromberg. Both were smoking porcelain pipes. Three slopping quarts of beer decorated the wash stand.
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sp; Skidder, who had halted in the doorway as the full aroma of the place smote him, now entered at the curt suggestion of Sondheim, but refused a chair.
“Say, Sondheim,” he began, “I been to the club this morning, and I’ve seen what you’ve done to the place.”
“Well?” demanded Sondheim, in a growling voice, “what haf we done?”
“Oh, nothing; — smashed the furniture f’r instance. That’s all. But it don’t go with me. See?”
Kastner got up and gave him a sinister, near-sighted look: “If ve done damach ve pay,” he remarked.
“Sure you’ll pay!” blustered Skidder. “And that’s all right, too. But no more for yours truly. I’m through. Here’s where your bunch quits the hall for keeps. Get me?”
“Please?” inquired Kastner, turning a brick red.
“I say I’m through!” blustered Skidder. “You gotta get other quarters. It don’t pay us to keep on buying benches and mending windows, even if you cough up for ‘em. It don’t pay us to rent the hall to your club and get all this here notoriety, what with your red flags and the po-lice hanging around and nosin’ into everything — —”
“Ach wass!” snapped Kastner, “of vat are you speaking? Iss it for you to concern yourself mit our club und vat iss it ve do?”
“Say, who d’yeh think you’re talkin’ to?” retorted Skidder, his eyes snapping furiously. “Grab this from me, old scout? — I’m half owner of that hall and I’m telling you to get out! Is that plain?”
“So?” Kastner sneered at him and nudged Sondheim, who immediately sat up in bed and levelled an unwashed hand at Skidder.
“You think you fire us?” he shouted, his eyes inflamed and his dirty fingers crisping to a talon. “You go home and tell Puma what you say to us. Then you learn something maybe, what you don’t know already!”
“I’ll learn you something!” retorted Skidder. “Just wait till I show Puma the wreckage — —”
“Let him look at it and be damned!” roared Bromberg. “Go home and show it to him! And see if he talks about firing us!”
“Say,” demanded Skidder, astonished, “do you fellows think you got any drag with Angy Puma?”
“Go back and ask him!” growled Bromberg. “And don’t try to come around here and get fresh again. Listen! You go buy what benches you say we broke and send the bill to me, and keep your mouth shut and mind your fool business!”
“I’ll mind my own and yours too!” screamed Skidder, seized by an ungovernable access of fury. “Say, you poor nut! — you sick mink! — you stale hunk of cheese! — if you come down my way again I’ll kick your shirttail for you! Get that?” And he slammed the door and strode out in a flaming rage.
But when, still furiously excited, he arrived once more at the office, — and when Puma, who had just entered, had listened in sullen consternation to his story, he received another amazing and most unpleasant shock. For Puma told him flatly that the tenancy of the Red Flag Club suited him; that no lease could be broken, except by mutual consent of partners; and that he, Skidder, had had no business to go to Sondheim with any such threat of eviction unless he had first consulted his partner’s wishes.
“Well, what — what—” stammered Skidder— “what the hell drag have those guys got with you?”
“Why is it you talk foolish?” retorted Puma sharply. “Drag? Did Sondheim say — —”
“No! I say it. I ask you what have those crazy nuts got on you that you stand for all this rumpus?”
Puma’s lustrous eyes, battered but still magnificent, fixed themselves on Skidder.
“Go out,” he said briefly to his stenographer. Then, when the girl had gone, and the glass door closed behind her, he turned heavily and gazed at Skidder some more. And, after a few moments’ silence: “Go on,” he said. “What did Sondheim say about me?”
Skidder’s small, shifty eyes were blinking furiously and his essentially suspicious mind was also operating at full speed. When he had calculated what to say he took the chance, and said:
“Sondheim gave me to understand that he’s got such a hell of a pull with you that I can’t kick him out of my property. What do you know about that, Angelo?”
“Go on,” said Puma impatiently, “what else did he say about me?”
“Ain’t I telling you?”
“Tell more.”
Skidder had no more to tell, so he manufactured more.
“Well,” he continued craftily, “I didn’t exactly get what that kike said.” But his grin and his manner gave his words the lie, as he intended they should. “Something about your being in dutch—” He checked himself as Puma’s black eyes lighted with a momentary glare.
“What? He tells you I am in with Germans!”
“Naw; — in dutch!”
Puma’s sanguinary skin reddened; his puffy fingers fished for a cigar in the pocket of his fancy waistcoat; he found one and lighted it, not looking at his partner. Then he picked up the morning paper.
Skidder shrugged; stood up, pretending to yawn; started to open the door.
“Elmer?”
“Yeh? What y’want?”
“I want to know exactly what Max Sondheim said to you about me.”
“Well, you better go ask Sondheim.”
“No. I ask you — my friend — my associate in business — —”
“A fine associate! — when I can’t kick in when I want to kick out a bunch of nuts that’s wrecking the hall, just because they got a drag with you — —”
“Listen. I am frank like there never was a — —”
“Sure. Go on!”
“I say it! Yes! I am frank like hell. From my friend and partner I conceal nothing — —”
“Not even the books,” grinned Skidder.
“Elmer. You pain me. I who am all heart! Elmer, I ask it of you if you will so kindly tell me what it is that Sondheim has said to you about this ‘drag.’”
“He said,” replied the other viciously, “that he had you cinched. He said you’d hand me the ha-ha when I saw you. And you’ve done it.”
“Pardon. I did not say to you a ha-ha, Elmer. I was surprised when you have told me how you have gone to Sondheim so roughly, without one word to me — —”
“You was soused to the gills last night. I didn’t know when you’d show up at the studio — —”
“It was not just to me that you go to Sondheim in this so surprising manner, without informing me.” He looked at his cigar; the wrapper was broken and he licked the place with a fat tongue. “Elmer?”
“That’s me,” replied the other, who had been slyly watching him. “Spit it out, Angy. What’s on your mind?”
“I tell you, Elmer!”
Puma’s face became suddenly wreathed in guileless smiles: “Me, I am frank like there never — but no matter,” he added; “listen attentively to what I shall say to you secretly, that I also desire to be rid of this Red Flag Club.”
“Well, then — —”
“A moment! I am embarrass. Yes. You ask why? I shall tell you. It is this. Formerly I have reside in Mexico. My business has been in Mexico City. I have there a little cinema theatre. In 1913 I arrive in New York. You ask me why I came? And I am frank like—” his full smile burst on Skidder— “like a heaven angel! But it is God’s truth I came here to make of the cinema a monument to Art.”
“And make your little pile too, eh, Angy?”
“As you please. But this I affirm to you, Elmer; of politics I am innocent like there never was a cherubim! Yes! And yet your Government has question me. Why? you ask so naturally. My God! I know no one in New York. I arrive. I repair to a recommended hotel. I make acquaintance — unhappily — with people who are under a suspicion of German sympathy!”
“What the devil did you do that for?” demanded Skidder.
Puma spread his jewelled fingers helplessly.
“How am I to know? I encounter people. I seek capital for my art. Me, I am all heart: I suspect nobody. I say: ‘Gentlemen, my art is m
y life. Without it I cease to exist. I desire capital; I desire sympathy; I desire intelligent recognition and practical aid.’ Yes. In time some gentlemen evince confidence. I am offered funds. I produce, with joy, my first picture. Ha! The success is extravagant! But — alas!”
“What tripped you?”
“Alas,” repeated Puma, “your Government arrests some gentlemen who have lend to me much funds. Why? Imagine my grief, my mortification! They are suspect of German propaganda! Oh, my God!”
“How is it they didn’t pinch you?” asked Skidder coldly, and beginning to feel very uneasy.
“Me? No! They investigate. They discover only Art!”
Skidder squinted at him nervously. If he had heard anything of that sort in connection with Puma he never would have flirted with him financially.
“Well, then, what’s this drag they got with you? — Sondheim and the other nuts?”
“I tell you. Letters quite innocent but polite they have in possession — —”
“Blackmail, by heck!”
“I must be considerate of Sondheim.”
“Or he’ll squeal on you. Is that it?”
Puma’s black eyes were flaring up again; the heavy colour stained his face.
“Me, I am — —”
“All right. Sondheim’s got something on you, then. Has he?”
“It is nothing. Yet, it has embarrass me — —”
“That ratty kike! I get you, Angy. You were played. Or maybe you did some playing too. Aw! wait!” — as Puma protested— “I’m getting you, by gobs. Sure. And you’re rich, now, and business is pretty good, and you wish Sondheim would let you alone.”
“Yes, surely.”
“How much hush-cash d’yeh pay him?”
“I?”
“Yaas, you! Come on, now, Angy. What does he stick you up for per month?”
Puma’s face became empurpled: “He is a scoundrel,” he said thickly. “Me — I wish to God and Jesus Christ I saw the last of him!” He got up, and his step was lithe as a leopard’s as he paced the room, ranging the four walls as though caged. And, for the first time, then Skidder realised that this velvet-eyed, velvet-footed man might possibly be rather dangerous — dangerous to antagonise, dangerous to be associated with in business.
Works of Robert W Chambers Page 935
