Jane was ill and did not leave her room during the two days followingthe visit to the penitentiary. She was haunted by the face of JamesBansemer, the convict. It was beyond her powers of imaginationto recall him as the well-groomed, distinguished man she once hadknown. Graydon was deeply distressed over the pain and humiliationhe had subjected her to through Droom's unfortunate efforts. Thefact that she could not or would not see him for two days hurt himmore than he could express, even to himself. The day before he leftfor New York, however, she saw him in their parlour. She was paleand very quiet.
Neither mentioned the visit to the prison; there was nothing tosay.
"You will be in New York next week?" he asked as he arose to leave.His spirit was sore. She again had told him that he must not hope.With an hysterical attempt to lead him on to other topics, sherepeated her conversations with Teresa Valesquez, urging him witha hopeless attempt at bravado, to seek out the Spanish girl andmarry her. He laughed lifelessly at the jest.
"We will leave Chicago on Monday. Father will have his businessaffairs arranged by that time. I would not let him resign thepresidency. It would seem as if I were taking it away from him. Weexpect to be in Europe for six or eight months. Then, I am comingback to New York, where I was born, Graydon--to work!"
He went away with the feeling in his heart that he was not to seeher again. A single atom of determination lingered in his soul,however, and he tried to build upon it for the future. Rigby's weddinginvitation had come to him that morning--almost as a mockery. Hetore it to pieces with a scowl of recollection.
Droom's effects were on the way to New York. He hung back, humblywaiting for Graydon to suggest that they should travel East on thesame train. His grim, friendless old heart gave a bound of purejoy--the first he had known--when the young man made the suggestionthat night.
Together they travelled eastward and homeward, leaving behind themthe grey man in stripes.
Jane's six months in Europe grew into a year--and longer. It wasa long but a profitable year for Graydon Bansemer; he had beenenriched not only in wealth but in the hope of ultimate happiness.Not that Jane encouraged him. Far from it, she was more obduratethan ever with an ocean between them. But his atom of determinationhad grown to a purpose. His face was thinner and his eyes were ofa deeper, more wistful grey; they were full of longing for the girlacross the sea, and of pity and yearning for the man back there inthe West.
He had toiled hard and well; he had won. The shadow of '99 wasstill over him, but the year and a new ambition had lessened itsblackness. Friends were legion in the great metropolis; he won hisway into the hearts and confidence of new associates and renewedfellowship with the old. Invitations came thickly upon him, but heresolutely turned his back upon most of them. He was not sociallyhungry in these days.
Once a week he wrote to his father, but there never was a reply.He did not expect one, for James Bansemer, in asking him to write,had vowed that his son should never hear from him again until hecould speak as a free man and a chastened one. True to his promise,Graydon instituted no movement to secure a pardon. He did, bya strong personal appeal, persuade Denis Harbert to drop furtherprosecution. There were enough indictments against his father tohave kept him behind the bars for life.
Elias Droom had rooms in Eighth Avenue not a great distance fromHerald Square. He was quite proud of his new quarters. They hadmany of the unpleasant features of the old ones in Wells Street,but they were less garish in their affront to an aesthetic eye.The incongruous pictures were there and the oddly assorted books,but the new geraniums had a chance for life in the broader windows;the cook stove was in the rear and there was a venerable Chinamanin charge of it; the bedroom was kept so neat and clean that Droomquite feared to upset it with his person. But, most strange of all,was the change in Droom himself.
"I've retired from active work," he informed Graydon one day, whenthat young man stared in astonishment at him. "What's the use, myboy, in Elias Droom dressing like a dog of a workingman, when heis a gentleman of leisure and affluence? It surprises you to seeme in an evening suit, eh? Well, by Jove, my boy, I've got a dinnerjacket, a Prince Albert and a silk hat. There are four new suitsof clothes hanging up in that closet," he said, adding, witha sarcastic laugh. "That ought to make a perfect gentleman of me,oughtn't it? What are you laughing at?"
"I can't help it, Elias. Who would have dreamed that you'd go infor good clothes!"
"I used to dream about it, long ago. I swore if I ever got back toNew York I'd dress as New Yorkers dress--even if I was a hundredyears old. I've got a servant, too. What d'ye think of that? Hecan't understand a word I say, nor can I understand him. That'swhy he stays on with me. He doesn't know when I'm discharging him,and I don't know when he's threatening to leave. What do you thinkof my rooms?"
It was Graydon's first visit to the place, weeks after their return toNew York. He had not felt friendly to Droom since the day at theprison; but now he was forgetting his resentment, in the determinationto wrest from him the names of Jane's father and mother. He wasconfident that the old man knew.
"Better than Wells Street, eh? Well, you see, I was in trade then.Different now. I'm getting to be quite a fop. Do you notice that Isay 'By Jove' occasionally?" He gave his raucous laugh of derision."Dined at Sherry's the other night, old chap," he went on with rawmimicry. "They thought I was a Christian and let me in. I used tolook like the devil, you know."
"By the Lord Harry, Elias," cried Graydon, "you look like the devilnow."
"I've got these carpet slippers on because my shoes hurt my feet,"explained Droom sourly. "My collar rubbed my neck, so I took itoff. Otherwise, I'm just as I was when I got in at Sherry's. Funnywhat a difference a little thing like a collar makes, isn't it?"
"I should say so. I never gave it a thought until now. But, Elias,I want to ask a great favour of you. You can--"
"My boy, if your father wouldn't tell you who her parents are,don't expect me to do so. He knows; I only suspect."
"You must be a mind reader," gasped Graydon.
"It isn't hard to read your mind these days. What do you hear fromher?" Graydon went back to the subject after a few moments. "I ammorally certain that I know who her father and mother were, butit won't do any good to tell her. It didn't make me any better tolearn who my father was. It made me wiser, that's all. How's yourfather?"
After this night Graydon saw the old man often. They dined togetheroccasionally in the small cafes on the West Side. Droom could not,for some reason known only to himself, be induced to go to Sherry'sagain.
"When Jane comes back, I'll give you both a quiet little supperthere after the play maybe. It'll be my treat, my boy."
The old man worked patiently and fruitlessly over his "inventions."They came to naught, but they lightened his otherwise barrenexistence. There was not a day or night in which his mind was whollyfree from thoughts of James Bansemer.
He counted the weeks and days until the man would be free, and hiseyes narrowed with these furtive glances into the future. He feltin his heart that James Bansemer would come to him at once, andthat the reckoning for his single hour of triumph would be a heavyone to pay. Sometimes he would sit for hours with his eyes staringat the Napoleon above the bookcase, something like dread in theirdepths. Then again he would laugh with glee, pound the table withhis bony hand--much to the consternation of Chang--and exclaim asif addressing a multitude:
"I hope I'll be dead when he gets out of there! I hope I won't liveto see him, free again. That would spoil everything. Let me see,I'm seventy-one now; I surely can't live much longer. I want todie seeing him as I saw him that day. The last thing I think of onearth must be James Bansemer's face behind the bars. Ha, ha, ha!It was worth all the years, that one hour! It was even worth whilebeing his slave. I'm not afraid of him! No! That's ridiculous. Ofcourse, I'm not afraid of him. I only want to know he's lying ina cell when I die out here in the great, free world! By my soul,he'll know that a handsome face isn't always the best. He laughedat my face,
curse him. His face won her--his good looks! Well,well, well, I only hope she's where she can see his face now!"
He would work himself into a frenzy of torment and glee combined,usually collapsing at the end of his harangue. It disgusted himto think that his health was so good that he might be expected tolive beyond the limit of James Bansemer's imprisonment.
At the end of eighteen months, Jane was coming home. She had writtento Graydon from London, and the newspapers announced the sailingof the Cables on one of the White Star steamers.
"I am coming home to end all of this idleness," she wrote to him."I mean to find pleasure in toil, in doing good, in lifting theburdens of those who are helpless. You will see how I can work,Graydon. You will love me more than ever when you see how I can doso much good for my fellow creatures. I want you to love me moreand more, because I shall love you to the end of my life."
The night before the ship was to arrive Graydon was dining withthe Jack Percivals. There were a dozen in the party--a blase, boredcollection of human beings who had dined out so incessantly thateating was a punishment. They had come to look upon food as a foeto comfort and a grievous obstacle in the path of pleasure. Bridgewas just beginning to take hold of them; its grip was tighteningwith new coils as each night went by. Nobody thought of dinner; thethought was of the delay in getting at the game; an instinct thatwas not even a thought urged them to abhor the food that had comeinto their lives so abundantly.
Night after night they dined out; night after night they toyed withtheir forks, ate nothing, drank to hide their yawns, took blackcoffee and said they enjoyed the food tremendously.
Graydon Bansemer was new to this attitude. He was vigorous and hewas not surfeited with food; he had an appetite. Just before sixo'clock his host called him up by 'phone, and, in a most genialway, advised him to eat a hearty meal before coming up to dinner.Graydon made the mistake of not following this surprising bit ofadvice.
He sat next to Mrs. Percival. She appeared agitated and uncertain.Servants came in with the dishes and almost immediately took themaway again. No one touched a mouthful of the food; no one exceptGraydon noticed the celerity with which the plates and their contentswere removed; no one felt that he was expected to eat. Graydon,after his first attempt to really eat of the third course, subsidedwith a look of amazement at his hostess. She smiled and whisperedsomething into his ear. He grew very red and choked with--was itconfusion or mirth?
Everybody gulped black coffee and everybody puffed violently atcigars and cigarettes and then everybody bolted for the card tables.
Jack Percival grasped Graydon's arm and drew him back into thedining-room. He was grinning like an ape.
"It worked, by George--worked like a charm. Great Scott, what amoney and time saver! I was a little worried about you, Bansemer,but I knew the others wouldn't catch on. Great, wasn't it?"
"What the dickens does it mean?" demanded Graydon. "Mean! Why, goodLord, man, nobody ever eats at these damned dinners. They CAN'Teat. They're sick of dinners. That crowd out there takes tea andthings at five or six o'clock. They wouldn't any more think ofeating anything at a dinner after the caviar and oysters than you'dthink of flying. It's a waste of time and money to give 'em realfood. This is the second time I've tried my scheme and it's workedboth times. I can serve this same dinner twenty times. Everything'smade of wax and papier mache. See what I mean? And I'll leave itto you that there isn't a soul out there who is any the wiser. ByGeorge, it's a great invention. I'm going to patent it. Come on;let's get in there. They're howling for us to begin."
Graydon, his mind full of Jane, played at a table with ColonelSedgwick, a blase old Knickerbocker whose sole occupation in life wassaying rude things about other people. To-night he was particularlyattentive to his profession. He kept Graydon and the two womensitting straight and uncomfortable in their chairs between handsand positively chilled while the game went on.
Graydon's game was a poor one at best, but he was playing abominablyon this occasion. He could not tear his thoughts from the shipthat was drawing nearer and nearer to New York harbour with eachsucceeding minute. In his mind's eye he could look far out overthe black waters and see the lonely vessel as it rushed on throughthe night. He wondered if Jane were asleep or awake and thinkingof him.
The Colonel's irascibility finally drove him from the game.He apologised for his wretched playing, but the Colonel did notapologise for the disagreeable things he had said.
It was one o'clock when Graydon reached his rooms. There he founda note from Elias Droom.
"I have an especial reason," he wrote, "for asking you and MissCable to dine with me on Monday night. We will go to Sherry's. Letme know as soon as you have seen her."
CHAPTER XXXII
ELIAS DROOM'S DINNER PARTY