CHAPTER II--A TRY-OUT
To tell the truth--to blurt out nothing but the truth to every one, andon every occasion, for three whole weeks--that's what Bob had contractedto do. From the point of view of the commodore and the others, the manwho tried to fill this contract would certainly be shot, orelectrocuted, or ridden out of town on a rail, or receive a coat of tarand feathers. And Bob had such a wide circle of friends, too, whichwould make his task the harder; the handsome dog was popular. He wasasked everywhere that was anywhere and he went, too. He would certainly"get his." The jovial commodore was delighted. He would have a whole lotof fun at Bob's expense. Wasn't the latter the big boob, though? Andwouldn't he be put through his paces? Really it promised to bedelicious. The commodore and the others went along with Bob just for alittle try-out.
At first nothing especially interesting happened. They walked withoutmeeting any one they were acquainted with. Transients! transients! wheredid they all come from? Once on their progress down the avenue the hopesof Bob's friends rose high. A car they knew got held up on a side streetnot far away from them. It was a gorgeous car and it had a gorgeousoccupant, but a grocery wagon was between them and it. The commodorewarbled blithely.
"Come on, Bob. Time for a word or two!"
But handsome Bob shook his head. "The 'even tenor of his way,'" hequoted. "I don't ordinarily go popping in and out between wheels like arabbit. I'm not looking to commit suicide."
"Oh, I only wanted to say: 'How do you do,'" retorted the commodorerather sulkily. "Or 'May I tango with you at tea this afternoon, Mrs.Ralston?'"
"Or observe: 'How young she looks to-day, eh, Bob?'" murmured that younggentleman suspiciously.
"Artful! Artful!" Clarence poked the commodore in the ribs. "Sly oldsea-dog!"
"Well, let's move on," yawned Dickie. "Nothing doing here."
"Wait!" The commodore had an idea. "Hi, you young grocery lad, back up alittle, will you?"
"Wha' for?" said the boy, aggressive at once. Babes are born in New Yorkwith chips on their shoulders.
"As a matter of trifling accommodation, that is all," answered thecommodore sweetly. "On the other side of you is a stately car and wewould hold conversation with--"
"Aw, gwan! Guess I got as much right to the street as it has." And as adisplay of his "rights," he even touched up his horse a few inches, tointervene more thoroughly.
"Perhaps now for half a dollar--" began the commodore, moreinsinuatingly. Then he groaned: "Too late!" The policeman had lifted theban. The stately car turned into the avenue and was swallowed up amid amyriad of more or less imposing vehicles. They had, however, received abow from the occupant. That was all there had been opportunity for.Incidentally, the small boy had bestowed upon them his partingcompliments:
"Smart old guy! You think youse--" The rest was jumbled up or lost inthe usual cacophony of the thoroughfare.
"Too bad!" murmured the commodore. "But still these three weeks areyoung."
"'Three weeks!'" observed Dickie. "Sounds like plagiarism!"
"Oh, Bob won't have that kind of a 'three weeks,'" snickered Clarence.
"Bob's will be an expurgated edition," from the commodore, recoveringhis spirits.
"Maybe we ought to make it four?"
"Three will do," said Bob, who wasn't enjoying this chaffing. Every onethey approached he now eyed apprehensively.
But he was a joy-giver, if not receiver, for his tall handsome figureattracted many admiring glances. His striking head with its blondcurls--they weren't exactly curls, only his hair wasn't straight, butclung rather wavy-like to the bold contour of his head--his carelessstride, and that general effect of young masculinity--all this causedsundry humble feminine hearts to go pit-a-pat. Bob's progress, however,was generally followed by pit-a-pats from shop-girls and bonnet-bearers.Especially at the noon hour! Then Bob seemed to these humble toilers,like dessert, after hard-boiled eggs, stale sandwiches and pickles.
But Bob was quite unaware of any approving glances cast after him. Hewas thinking, and thinking hard. He wasn't so sanguine now as he hadbeen when he had left the club. What might have happened at that streetcorner appealed to him with sudden poignant force. Mrs. Ralston was ofthe _creme de la creme_. She was determined to stay young. She pretendedto be thirty years or so younger than she was. In fact, she was rather aridiculous old lady who found it hard to conceal her age. Now what ifthe commodore had found opportunity to ask that awful question? Bobcould have made only one reply and told the truth. The largeness of hiscontract was becoming more apparent to him. He began to see himself nowfrom Dan's standpoint. Incidentally, he was beginning to develop a greatdislike for that genial land-mariner.
"How about the Waldorf?" They had paused at the corner of Thirty-fourthStreet. "May find some one there," suggested Clarence.
"In Peek-a-Boo Alley?" scornfully from Dickie.
"Oh, I heard there was a concert, or something upstairs," said Clarence."In that you've-got-to-be-introduced room! And some of the real peoplehave to walk through to get to it."
Accordingly they entered the Waldorf and the commodore hustled them upand down and around, without, however, their encountering a single"real" person. There were only people present--loads of them, not fromsomewhere but from everywhere. They did the circuit several times, stillwithout catching sight of a real person.
"Whew! This _is_ a lonesome place!" breathed the commodore at last.
"Let's depart!" disgustedly from Clarence. "Apologize for steering youinto these barren wastes!"
"What's your hurry?" said Bob, with a little more bravado. Then suddenlyhe forgot about those other three. His entranced gaze became focused onone. He saw only her.
"Ha!" The commodore's quick glance, following Bob's, caught sight, too,of that wonderful face in the distance--the stunning, glowing youngfigure--that regal dream of just-budded girlhood--that superb vision ina lovely afternoon gown! She was followed by one or two others. Onecould only imagine her leading. There would, of course, always beseveral at her either side and quite a number dangling behind. Her lipswere like the red rosebuds that swung negligently from her hand as shefloated through the crowd. Her eyes suggested veiled dreams amid theconfusion and hubbub of a topsyturvy world. She was like somethingrhythmical precipitated amid chaos. A far-away impression of a smileplayed around the corners of her proud lips.
The commodore precipitated himself in her direction. Bob put out a handas if to grasp him by the coat tails, but the other was already beyondreach and Bob's hand fell to his side. He stood passive. That was hispart. Only he wasn't passive inwardly. His heart was beating wildly. Hecould imagine himself with her and them--those others in her train--andthe conversation that would ensue, for he had no doubt of thecommodore's intentions. Dan was an adept at rounding up people. Bobcould see himself at a table participating in the conversation--preparedconversation, some of it! He could imagine the commodore leading littlerivulets of talk into certain channels for his benefit. Dan would see toit that they would ask him (Bob) questions, embarrassing ones. That"advice" dad had given him weighed on Bob like a nightmare.Suppose--ghastly thought!--truth compelled him ever to speak of that?And to her! A shiver ran down Bob's backbone. Nearer shedrew--nearer--while Bob gazed as if fascinated, full of rapturous,paradoxical dread. Now the commodore was almost upon her when--
Ah, what was that? An open elevator?--people going in?--She, too,--thosewith her--Yes--click! a closed door! The radiant vision had vanished,was going upward; Bob breathed again. Think of being even paradoxicallyglad at witnessing _her_ disappear! Bob ceased now to think; stood as ina trance.
"Why _do_ people go to concerts?" said the commodore in aggrieved tones."Some queen, that!"
"And got the rocks--or stocks!" from Dickie. "Owns about three of thoserailroads that are going a-begging nowadays."
"Wake up, Bobbie!" some one now addressed that abstracted individual.
Bob shook himself.
"Old friend of yours, Miss Gwendoli
ne Gerald, I believe?" said thecommodore significantly.
"Yes; I've known Miss Gerald for some time," said Bob coldly.
"'Known for some time'--" mimicked the commodore. "Phlegmatic dog! Well,what shall we do now?"
"Hang around until the concert's over?" suggested Dickie.
"Hang around nothing!" said the commodore. "It's one of those classicalhigh-jinks." Disgustedly. "Lasts so late the sufferers haven't time foranything after it's over. Just enough energy left to stagger to theircars and fall over in a comatose condition."
"Suppose we _could_ go to the bar?"
"Naughty! Naughty!" A sprightly voice interrupted.
The commodore wheeled. "Mrs. Ralston!" he exclaimed gladly.
It was the gorgeous lady of the gorgeous car.
"Just finished my shopping and thought I'd have a look in here," shesaid vivaciously.
"Concert, I suppose?" from the commodore, jubilantly.
"Yes. Dubussy. Don't you adore Dubussy?" with schoolgirlish enthusiasm.Though almost sixty, she had the manners of a "just-come-out."
"Nothing like it," lied the commodore.
"Ah, then you, too, are a modern?" gushed the lady.
"I'm so advanced," said the commodore, "I can't keep up with myself."
They laughed. "Ah, silly man!" said the lady's eyes. Bob gazed at herand the commodore enviously. Oh, to be able once more to prevaricatelike that! The commodore had never heard Dubussy in his life. Ragtimeand merry hornpipes were his limits. And Mrs. Ralston was going to theconcert, it is true, but to hear the music? Ah, no! Her box was afashionable rendezvous, and from it she could study modernity in hats.Therein, at least, she was a modern of the moderns. She was so advanced,the styles had fairly to trot, or turkey-trot, to keep up with her.
"Well," she said, with that approving glance women usually bestowed uponBob, "I suppose I mustn't detain you busy people after that remark Ioverheard."
"Oh, don't hurry," said the commodore hastily. "Between old friends--But I say-- By jove, you _are_ looking well. Never saw you looking soyoung and charming. Never!" It was rather crudely done, but thecommodore could say things more bluntly than other people and "get awaywith them." He was rather a privileged character. Bob began to breathehard, having a foretaste of what was to follow. And Mrs. "Willie"Ralston was Miss Gwendoline Gerald's aunt! No doubt that young lady wasup in her aunt's box at this moment.
"Never!" repeated the commodore. "Eh, Bob? Doesn't look a day overthirty," with a jovial, freehearted sailor laugh. "Does she now?"
It had come. That first test! And the question had to be answered. Thelady was looking at Bob. They were all waiting. A fraction of a second,or so, which seemed like a geological epoch, Bob hesitated. He had toreply and yet being a gentleman, how could he? No matter what it costhim, he would simply have to "lie like a gentleman." He--
Suddenly an idea shot through his befuddled brain. Maybe Mrs. Ralstonwouldn't know what he said, if he--? She had been numerous times toFrance, of course, but she was not mentally a heavy-weight. Languagesmight not be her forte. Presumably she had all she could do to chatterin English. Bob didn't know much French himself. He would take a chanceon her, however. He made a bow which was Chesterfieldian andincidentally made answer, rattling it off with the swiftness of aboulevardier.
"_Il me faut dire que, vraiment, Madame Ralston parait aussi ageequ'elle l'est!_" ("I am obliged to say that Mrs. Ralston appears as oldas she is!")
Then he straightened as if he had just delivered a stunning compliment.
"_Merci!_" The lady smiled. She also beamed. "How well you speak French,Mr. Bennett!"
The commodore nearly exploded. _He_ understood French.
Bob expanded, beginning to breathe freely once more. "Language ofcourtiers and diplomats!" he mumbled.
Mrs. Ralston shook an admonishing finger at him. "Flatterer!" she said,and departed.
Whereupon the commodore leaned weakly against Dickie while Clarence sankinto a chair. First round for Bob!
* * * * *
The commodore was the first to recover. His voice was reproachful. "Was_that_ quite fair?--that parleyvoo business? I don't know about it'sbeing allowed."
"Why not?" calmly from Bob. "Is truth confined to one tongue?"
"But what about that 'even tenor of your way'?" fenced the commodore."You don't, as a usual thing, go around parleyvooing--"
"What about the even tenor of your own ways?" retorted Bob.
"Nothing said about _that_ when we--"
"No, but--how can _I_ go the even tenor, if _you_ don't go yours?"
"Hum?" said the commodore.
"Don't you see it's not the even tenor?" persisted Bob. "But it's yourfault if it isn't."
"Some logic in that," observed Clarence.
"Maybe, we _have_ been a bit too previous," conceded the commodore.
"That isn't precisely the adjective I would use," returned Bob. He foundhimself thinking more clearly now. They had all, perhaps, been steppingrather lightly when they had left the club. He should have thought ofthis before. But Bob's brain moved rather slowly sometimes and theothers had been too bent on having a good time to consider all theethics of the case. They showed themselves fair-minded enough now,however.
"Bob's right," said the commodore sorrowfully. "Suppose we've got toeliminate ourselves from his agreeable company for the next three weeks,unless we just naturally happen to meet. We'll miss a lot of fun, but Iguess it's just got to be. What about that parleyvooing business though,Bob?"
"That's got to be eliminated, too!" from Dickie. "Why, he might tell thetruth in Chinese."
"All right, fellows," said Bob shortly. "You quit tagging and I'll talkUnited States."
"Good. I'm off," said the commodore. And he went. The others followed.Bob was left alone. He found the solitude blessed and began to havehopes once more. Why, he might even be permitted to enjoy a real lonelythree weeks, now that he had got rid of that trio. He drew out a cigarand began to tell himself he _was_ enjoying himself when--
"Mr. Robert Bennett!" The voice of a page smote the air. It broke intohis reflections like a shock.
"Mr. Bennett!" again bawled the voice.
For the moment Bob was tempted to let him slip by, but consciencewouldn't let him. He lifted a finger.
"Message for Mr. Bennett," said the urchin.
Bob took it. He experienced forebodings as he saw the dainty card andinscription. He read it. Then he groaned. Would Mr. Robert Bennett joinMrs. Ralston's house-party at Tonkton? There were a few more words inthat impulsive lady's characteristic, vivacious style. And then therewere two words in another handwriting that he knew. "Will you?" That"Will you?" wasn't signed. Bob stared at it. Would he? He had to. He wasin honor bound, because ordinarily he would have accepted with alacrity.But a house-party for him, under present circumstances! He would be amerry guest. Ye gods and little fishes! And then some! He gave a hollowlaugh, while the urchin gazed at him sympathetically. Evidently thegentleman had received bad news.