The Old Adam: A Story of Adventure

by Arnold Bennett

  II.

  When Edward Henry stood by the side of Mr. Sachs in a doorway halfshielded by a portiere, and gazed unseen into the great studio of Mr.Rentoul Smiles, he comprehended that he was indeed under powerfulprotection in New York. At the entrance on Fifth Avenue he and Sachshad passed through a small crowd of assorted men, chiefly young, whomSachs had greeted in the mass with the smiling words, "Well, boys!"Other men were within. Still another went up with them in the elevator,but no further. They were reporters of the entire world's press, toeach of whom Isabel Joy had been specially "assigned." They werewaiting; they would wait. Mr. Rentoul Smiles, having been warned bytelephone of the visit of his beloved friend Seven Sachs and his Englishprotege had been received at Smile's outer door by a clerk who knewexactly what to do with them, and did it.

  "Is she here?" Mr. Sachs had murmured.

  "Yep," the clerk had negligently replied.

  And now Edward Henry beheld the objective of his pilgrimage, her whosepersonality, portrait, and adventures had been filling the newspapers oftwo hemispheres for three weeks. She was not realistically like herportraits. She was a little, thin, pale, obviously nervous woman, ofany age from thirty-five to fifty, with fair untidy hair, and palegrey-blue eyes that showed the dreamer, the idealist, and the harshfanatic. She looked as though a moderate breeze would have overthrownher, but she also looked, to the enlightened observer, as though shewould recoil before no cruelty and no suffering in pursuit of hervision. The blind dreaming force behind her apparent frailty wouldstrike terror into the heart of any man intelligent enough to understandit. Edward Henry had an inward shudder. "Great Scott!" he reflected."I shouldn't like to be ill and have Isabel for a nurse!"

  And his mind at once flew to Nellie, and then to Elsie April. "And soshe's going to marry Wrissell!" he reflected, and could scarcely believeit.

  Then he violently wrenched his mind back to the immediate objective. Hewondered why Isabel Joy should wear a bowler hat and mustard-colouredjacket that resembled a sporting man's overcoat; and why these garmentssuited her. With a whip in her hand she could have sat for a jockey.And yet she was a woman, and very feminine, and probably old enough tobe Elsie April's mother! A disconcerting world, he thought.

  The "man's photographer," as he was described in copper on Fifth Avenueand in gold on his own doors, was a big, loosely-articulated male, wholoured over the trifle Isabel like a cloud over a sheep in a greatfield. Edward Henry could only see his broad bending back as he posedin athletic attitudes behind the camera.

  Suddenly Rentoul Smiles dashed to a switch, and Isabel's wistful facewas transformed into that of a drowned corpse, into a dreadful harmonyof greens and purples.

  "Now," said Rentoul Smiles, in a deep voice that was like a richunguent. "We'll try again. We'll just play around that spot. Look intomy eyes. Not _at_ my eyes, my dear woman, _into_ them! Just a littlemore challenge--a little more! That's it. Don't wink, for the land'ssake! Now!"

  He seized a bulb at the end of a tube and slowly squeezed--squeezed ittragically and remorselessly, twisting himself as if suffering insympathy with the bulb, and then in a wide sweeping gesture he flung thebulb on to the top of the camera, and ejaculated:

  "Ha!"

  Edward Henry thought:

  "I would give ten pounds to see Rentoul Smiles photograph Sir JohnPilgrim." But the next instant the forgotten sensation of hurry wasupon him once more. Quick, quick, Rentoul Smiles! Edward Henry'sscorching desire was to get done and leave New York.

  "Now, Miss Isabel," Mr. Smiles proceeded, exasperatingly deliberate,"d'you know, I feel kind of guilty? I have got a little farm out inWestchester County and I'm making a little English pathway up the gardenwith a gate at the end. I woke up this morning and began to think aboutthe quaint English form of that gate, and just how I would have it." Heraised a finger. "But I ought to have been thinking about you. I oughtto have been saying to myself, 'To-day I have to photograph Isabel Joy,'and trying to understand in meditation the secrets of your personality.I'm sorry! Now, don't talk. Keep like that. Move your head round. Goon! Go on! Move it! Don't be afraid. This place belongs to you.It's yours. Whatever you do, we've got people here who'll straighten upafter you.... D'you know why I've made money? I've made money so thatI can take _you_ this afternoon, and tell a two-hundred-dollar client togo to the deuce. That's why I've made money. Put your back against thechair, like an Englishwoman. That's it. No, don't _talk_, I tell you.Now look joyful, hang it! Look joyful.... No, no! Joy isn't acontortion. It's something right deep down. There, there!"

  The lubricant voice rolled on while Rentoul Smiles manipulated thecamera. He clasped the bulb again, and again threw it dramaticallyaway.

  "I'm through!" he said. "Don't expect anything very grand, Miss Isabel.What I've been trying to do this afternoon is my interpretation of youas I've studied your personality in your speeches. If I believed whollyin your cause, or if I wholly disbelieved in it, my work would not havebeen good. Any value that it has will be due to the sympatheticimpartiality of my spiritual attitude. Although"--he menaced her withthe licenced familiarity of a philosopher--"Although, lady, I must saythat I felt you were working against me all the time.... This way!"

  (Edward Henry, recalling the comparative simplicity of the Londonphotographer at Wilkins's, thought: "How profoundly they understandphotography in America!")

  Isabel Joy rose and glanced at the watch in her bracelet; then followedthe direction of the male hand, and vanished.

  Rentoul Smiles turned instantly to the other doorway.

  "How do, Rent?" said Seven Sachs, coming forward.

  "How do, Seven?" Mr. Rentoul Smiles winked.

  "This is my good friend, Alderman Machin, the theatre-manager fromLondon."

  "Glad to meet you, sir."

  "She's not gone, has she?" asked Sachs hurriedly.

  "No, my housekeeper wanted to talk to her. Come along."

  And in the waiting room, full of permanent examples of the results ofMr. Rentoul Smiles's spiritual attitude toward his fellow men, EdwardHenry was presented to Isabel Joy. The next instant the two men and thehousekeeper had unobtrusively retired, and he was alone with hisobjective. In truth Seven Sachs was a notable organiser.