THE ADVENT OF MR. "SHIFTY" SULLIVAN
I
"IT is positively dreadful!"
Even with the puckered brow and drooping lips, Mrs. Cathewe was a mostcharming young person.
Absently she breathed upon the chilled window-pane, and with the pinkhorn of her tapering forefinger drew letters and grotesque noses andmillions on millions of money.
Who has not, at one time or another, pursued art and riches in thisharmless fashion?
The outlook--from the window, not the millions--was not one to promoteany degree of cheerfulness, being of darkness, glistening pavements anda steady, blurring rain; and at this particular moment Mrs. Cathewe wasquite in sympathy with the outlook; that is to say, dismal.
"Only last week," she went on, "it was an actor out of employ, a manwith reversible cuffs and a celluloid collar; but even he knew thedifference between bouillon and tea. And now, Heaven have mercy, it is aprize-fighter!"
Mrs. Cathewe reopened the note which in her wrath she had crushed in herleft hand, and again read it aloud:
"DEAR NANCY--Am bringing home Sullivan, the boxer, to dinner. Now, ducky, don't get mad. I want to study him at close range. You know that I am to have a great boxing scene in my new book, and this study is absolutely necessary. In haste. JACK."
Mrs. Cathewe turned pathetically to her companion.
"Isn't it awful? A prize-fighter, in spite of all this reform movement!A pugilist!"
"A pug, as my brother would tersely but inelegantly express it," andCaroline Boderick lifted an exquisitely molded chin and laughed; arollicking laugh which, in spite of her endeavor to remain unmoved,twisted up the corners of Mrs. Cathewe's rebel mouth.
"Forgive me, Nan, if I laugh; but who in the world could help it? It isso droll. This is the greatest house! Imagine, I had the blues the worstkind of way to-day; and now I shall be laughing for a whole week. Youdear girl, what do you care? You'll be laughing, too, presently. When awoman marries a successful painter or a popular novelist, she will findthat she has wedded also a life full of surprises, full of amusingscenes; ennui is a word cast forth to wander among commonplace folk.Your husband must have his model, just the same as if he were an artist,which he undeniably is."
"Models!" scornfully. "I wish he were a romanticist. I declare, if thisrealism keeps on, I shall go and live in the country!"
"And have your husband's curios remain all night instead of simplydining." And Caroline pressed her hands against her sides.
"That is it; laugh, laugh! Carol, you have no more sympathy than aturtle."
"You are laughing yourself," said Caroline.
"It is because I'm looking at you. Why, I am positively raging!" Shetore her husband's letter into shreds and cast them at her feet. "Jackis always upsetting my choicest plans."
"And my sobriety. If I had a husband like _yours_ I should always be thehappiest and merriest woman in the world. What a happy woman you mustand ought to be!"
"I am, Carol, I am; but there are times when Jack is as terrible anduncertain as Mark Twain's New England weather. Supposing I had beengiving a big dinner to-night? It would have been just the same."
"Only more amusing. Fancy Mrs. Nottingham-Stuart taking inventory ofthis Mr. Sullivan through that pince-nez of hers!"
A thought suddenly sobered Mrs. Cathewe.
"But whatever shall I do, Carol? I have invited the rector to dine withus."
Mirth spread its sunny wings and flew away, leaving Caroline's beautifuleyes thoughtful and contemplative. "I understood that it was to be avery little dinner for the family."
"Carol, why don't you like the rector? He is almost handsome."
"I do like him, Nan."
"Oh, I don't mean in that way," impulsively.
"In what way?" asked Caroline, her voice losing some of its warmth.
"Passively."
The faint, perpendicular line above Caroline's nose was the only sign ofher displeasure.
"Has he proposed to you?"
"Gracious sakes! one would think that the rector was in love with me.Nan, you are very embarrassing when you look like that. Match-makingisn't your forte. Besides, the rector and I do not get on very well.Bifurcated riding skirts are not to his fancy; and I would not give upmy morning ride for the best man living. Oh, Nan, you ought to ride ahorse; there's nothing like it in the world."
"The rector has called upon you more than any other girl in town." WhenMrs. Cathewe had an idea, she was very persistent about it. "I have evenseen him watching you when delivering a sermon."
Caroline laughed.
"Calling doesn't signify. And you must remember, daddy is the banker ofSt. Paul's. No, Nan; I don't mean that; I am sure that the rector'scalls have nothing to do with the finances of the church. But, to tellthe truth, daddy calls him a mollycoddle; says he hasn't enoughgumption--whatever that may be--to stand up for himself at the trustees'meetings. All the trustees are opposed to him because he is not overthirty."
"And the best-looking rector the church ever had," supplemented Mrs.Cathewe.
"But a mollycoddle, Nan! You wouldn't have me marry a mollycoddle, wouldyou?" There was a covert plea in her tones which urged Mrs. Catheweemphatically to deny that the Reverend Richard Allen was a mollycoddle.
Mrs. Cathewe did deny it. "He is not a mollycoddle, and you very wellknow it. Jack says that his meekness and humility is all a sham."
"A hypocrite!" sitting up very straight.
"Mercy, no! His meekness is merely a sign of splendid self-control. Noman could be a mollycoddle and have eyes like his. True, they are mild,but of the mildness of the sea on a calm day. 'Ware of the hurricane!"
"Has Mr. Cathewe found out yet to what college he belonged before hebecame a divinity student?"
"No; and even I have never had the courage to ask him. But Jack thinksit is Harvard, because the rector let slip one day something aboutCambridge. Why don't you write to ask your brother about him?"
For reasons best known to herself, Caroline did not answer.
"Are you ever going to get married? You are twenty-four."
Caroline was laughing again; but it was not the same spirit of mirththat had been called into life by the possible and probable advent ofMr. "Shifty" Sullivan.
"You ought to get married," declared Mrs. Cathewe. "Think of the dinnersand teas I should give, following the announcement."
"It is almost worth the risk," mockingly. Caroline arose and walked overto the grate and sat down in the Morris chair. She took up the tongs andstirred the maple log. The spurt of flame discovered a face almost asbeautiful as it was interesting and amiable. Her principal claim tobeauty, however, lay in her eyes, which were large and brown, with aglister of gold in the rim of that part of the iris which immediatelysurrounded the pupil. With these eyes she was fascinating; even herdearest friends admitted this; and she was without caprices, which is arare trait in a beautiful woman. She was also as independent as theDeclaration which her mother's grandfather signed a hundred and some oddyears before. She came naturally into the spirit, her father being aretired army officer, now the financial mainstay of St. Paul's, of whichthe Reverend Richard Allen had recently been duly appointed rector.
It is propitious to observe at once that the general possessed anunreliable liver and a battered shin which always ached with rheumatismduring rainy weather. Only two persons dared to cross him on stormydays--his daughter and his son. The son was completing his final year atHarvard in the double capacity of so-and-so on the 'varsity crew andsome-place-or-other on the eleven, and felt the importance of the lusterwhich he was adding to the historic family name. But this story innowise concerns him; rather the adventures of Mr. Sullivan, thepugilist, and the rector of St. Paul.
"Mollycoddle," mused Caroline, replacing the tongs.
"Oh, your father's judgment is not infallible."
"It is where courage is concerned," retorted Caroline.
"Well
, what's a mollycoddle, anyway?" demanded Mrs. Cathewe, forgettingfor the time being her own imminent troubles.
"Does Webster define it? I do not recall. But at any rate the acceptedmeaning of the word is a person without a backbone, a human being withrubber vertebrae, as daddy expresses it."
"Oh, fudge! your father likes men who slam doors, talk loudly, and bangtheir fists in their palms."
"Not always," smiling; "at least on days like this."
"Yes, I understand," replied Mrs. Cathewe, laughing. "B-r-r-r! I can seehim. Jack says he eats them alive, whatever he means by that."
"Poor daddy!"
"I remember the late rector. Whenever he made a begging call he firstasked the servant at the door, 'How's the general's liver to-day?' 'Bad,bad, your worship.' I overheard this dialogue one day while waiting foryou. I had to bury my head in the sofa pillows."
"You are going to have Brussels sprouts for salad?"
"Yes. Why?" amused at this queer turn in the conversation.
"I was wondering if your Mr. Sullivan will call them amateur cabbages?"
"Why did you remind me of him? I had almost forgotten him."
"If only I can keep a sober face!" said Caroline, clasping her hands."If he wears a dress suit, it is sure to pucker across the shoulders, beshort in the sleeves, and generally wrinkled. He will wear a huge yellowstone, and his hair will be clipped close to the skull. It will becovered with as many white scars as a map with railroad tracks. 'Mr.Sullivan, permit me to introduce the Reverend Richard Allen.' 'Sure.'Oh, it is rich!" And the laughter which followed smothered the sound ofclosing doors. "Nan, it is a tonic. I wish I were a novelist's wife.'Mr. Sullivan, I am charmed to meet you.' I can imagine the rector'shorror."
"And what is going to horrify the rector?" asked a manly voice from thedoorway.
Both women turned guiltily, each uttering a little cry of surprise anddismay. They beheld a young man of thirty, of medium height, who lookedshorter than he really was because of the breadth of his shoulders. Hisface was clean-shaven and manly; the head was well developed, the chindecided, the blue-gray eyes alight with animation and expectancy. Theclerical frock was buttoned closely to the throat, giving emphasis tothe splendid breathing powers concealed beneath. The Reverend RichardAllen looked all things save the mollycoddle, as the flush on Caroline'scheeks conceded. And as she arose, she vaguely wondered how much he hadheard.
The rector, being above all things a gentleman, did not press hisquestion. He came forward and shook hands, and then spread his fingersover the crackling log.
"What do you suppose has happened to me this day?" he began, turning hisback to the blaze and looking first at Mrs. Cathewe because she was hishostess, and then at Caroline because she was the woman who lived firstin his thoughts.
"You have found a worthy mendicant?" suggested Caroline, taking up thehand-screen and shading her eyes.
"Cold, cold."
"You have been asked to make an address before some woman's club," Mrs.Cathewe offered.
"Still cold. No. The _Morning Post_ has asked me, in the interests ofreform, to write up the prize-fight to-morrow night between Sullivan andMcManus, setting forth the contest in all its brutality."
The two women looked at each other and laughed nervously. The samethought had occurred to each.
"Mr. Allen," said Mrs. Cathewe, deciding immediately to explain thecause of her merriment, "as you entered you must have overheard us speakof a Mr. Sullivan. You know how eccentric Mr. Cathewe is. Well, when Iinvited you to dine this evening I had no idea that this husband of minewas going to bring home Mr. Sullivan in order to study him at closerange, as a possible character in a new book he is writing."
The rector stroked his chin. Caroline, observing him shyly, was positivethat the luster in his eyes was due to suppressed laughter.
"That will be quite a diversion," he said, seating himself. What acharming profile this girl possessed! Heigh-ho! between riches andpoverty the chasm grew wide.
"And we have been amusing ourselves by dissecting Mr. Sullivan," addedthe woman with the charming profile. "I suggested that if he wore adress suit it would be either too large or too small."
"Mercy!" exclaimed Mrs. Cathewe, rising suddenly as the hall doorslammed, "I believe he has come already. Whatever shall I do, Carol,whatever shall I do?" in a loud whisper.
The rector got up and smiled at Caroline, who returned the smile. In thematter of appreciating humor, she and the rector stood upon commonground.
Presently the novelist and his guest entered. Both he and Mr. Sullivanappeared to be in the best of spirits, for their mouths were twisted ingrins.
"My dear," began Cathewe, "this is Mr. Sullivan; Mr. Sullivan, MissBoderick and the Reverend Richard Allen, of St. Paul's."
"I am delighted," said Mr. Sullivan, bowing.
There was not a wrinkle in Mr. Sullivan's dress suit; there were nodiamond studs in his shirt bosom, no watch-chain; just the rims of hiscuffs appeared, and these were of immaculate linen. His hair was blackand thick and soft as hair always is that is frequently subjected tosoap and water. In fact, there was only one sign which betrayed Mr.Sullivan's profitable but equivocal business in life, and this was anear which somewhat resembled a withered mushroom.
Caroline was disconcerted; she was even embarrassed. This pleasant-facedgentleman bowing to her was as far removed from her preconceived idea ofa pugilist as the earth is removed from the sun. She did not know--asthe wise writer knows--that it is only pugilists who can not fight whoare all scarred and battered. She saw the rector shake Mr. Sullivan'shand. From him her gaze roved to Mrs. Cathewe, and the look ofperplexity on that young matron's face caused her to smother the suddenwild desire to laugh.
"My dear, I shall leave you to entertain Mr. Sullivan while I change myclothes;" and Cathewe rushed from the room. He was a man who could nothold in laughter very successfully.
"Come over to the fire and warm yourself," said the rector pleasantly.The look of entreaty in Mrs. Cathewe's eyes could not possibly beignored.
Mr. Sullivan crossed the room, gazing about curiously.
"I haven't th' slightest idea, ma'am," said the famed pugilist,addressing his hostess, "what your husband's graft is; but I understandhe's a literary fellow that writes books, an' I suppose he knows why heast me here t' eat."
Caroline sighed with relief; his voice was very nearly what she expectedit would be.
"An' besides," continued Mr. Sullivan, "I'm kind o' curious myself t'see you swells get outside your feed. I ain't stuck on these togs,generally; a man's afraid t' breathe hearty."
Mrs. Cathewe shuddered slightly; Mr. Sullivan was rubbing the cold fromhis fungus-like ear. What should she do to entertain this man? shewondered. She glanced despairingly at Caroline; but Caroline was lookingat the rector, who in turn seemed absorbed in Mr. Sullivan. She waswithout help; telegraphic communication was cut off, as it were.
"Do you think it will snow to-night?" she asked.
"It looks like it would," answered Mr. Sullivan, with a polite butfurtive glance at the window. "Though there'll be a bigger push outto-morrer if it's clear. It's goin' t' be a good fight. D' you ever seea scrap, sir?" he asked, turning to the rector.
Caroline wondered if it was the fire or the rector's own blood whichdarkened his cheek.
"I belong to the clergy," said the rector softly; "it is our duty not towitness fights, but to prevent them."
"Now, I say!" remonstrated Mr. Sullivan, "you folks run around in yourautos, knock down people an' frighten horses, so's they run away; you goout an' kill thousands of birds an' deer an' fish, an' all that; an' yetyou're th' first t' holler when two healthy men pummel each other for alivin'. You ain't consistent. Why, th' hardest punch I ever got neverpained me more'n an hour, an' I took th' fat end of th' purse at that.When you're a kid, ain't you always quarrelin' an' scrappin'? Sure.Sometimes it was with reason an' cause, an' again jus' plain love offightin'. Well, that's me. I fight because I like it, an' because itpays. S
ure. It's on'y natural for some of us t' fight all th' time; an'honest, I'm dead weary of th' way th' papers yell about th' brutalprize-fight. If I want t' get my block punched off, that's my affair;an' I don't see what business some old fussies have in interferin'."
"It isn't really the fighting, Mr. Sullivan," replied the rector, whofelt compelled to defend his point of view; "it's the rough elementwhich is always brought to the surface during these engagements. Mendrink and use profane language and wager money."
"As t' that, I don't say;" and Mr. Sullivan moved his hands in a mannerwhich explained his inability to account for the transgressions of thecommon race.
"What's a block?" whispered Mrs. Cathewe into Caroline's ear.
Caroline raised her eyebrows; she had almost surrendered to the firstnatural impulse, that of raising her hands above her head, as she hadoften seen her brother do when faced by an unanswerable question.
The trend of conversation veered. Mr. Sullivan declared that he wouldnever go upon the stage, and all laughed. Occasionally the womenventured timidly to offer an observation which invariably caused Mr.Sullivan to loose an expansive grin. And when he learned that the rectorwas to witness the fight in the capacity of a reporter, he enjoyed theknowledge hugely.
Presently Cathewe appeared, and dinner was announced. Mr. Sullivan satbetween his host and hostess. No, he would not have a cocktail nor ahighball; he never drank. Mrs. Cathewe straightway marked him down as arank impostor. Didn't prize-fighters always drink and carouse and getlocked up by the police officers?
"Well, this is a new one on me," Mr. Sullivan admitted, as he tasted ofhis caviar and quietly dropped his fork. "May I ask what it is?"
"It's Russian caviar. It is like Russian literature; one has tocultivate a taste for it." The novelist glanced amusedly at the rector.
"It reminds me of what happened t' me at White Plains a couple of yearsago. I was in trainin' that fall at Mulligan's. You've heard ofMulligan; greatest man on th' mat in his time. Well, I bucked up againstFrench spinach. Says he: 'Eat it.' Says I, 'I don't like it.' Says he,'I don't care whether you like it or not. I don't like your mug, but Ihave t' put up with it. Eat that spinach.' Says I, 'I don't see how Ican eat it if I don't like it.' An' an hour after he gives me th' bill,an' I'd have had on'y thirty minutes t' get out but for th' housekeeper,who patched it up. Those were great times. Sure. Well, no spinach orcaviar in mine. Now say, what's th' game? Do you want my history, orjus' a scrap or two?"
"Describe how you won the championship from McGonegal," said Catheweeagerly, nodding to the butler to serve the oysters.
Mr. Sullivan toyed with the filigree butter-knife, mentally decidingthat its use was for cutting pie. He cast an oblique glance at theimmobile countenance of the English butler, and ahemmed.
"Well," he began, "it was like this...."
As Mr. Sullivan went on, a series of whispered questions and answers wasstarted between Caroline and the rector.
_Caroline_: What does he mean by "block"?
_The Rector_: His head, I believe.
_Caroline_: Oh!
_Mr. Sullivan_: There wasn't much doin' in th' third round. We fiddled awhile. On'y once did either of us get t' th' ropes ... an' th' bellrang. Th' fourth was a hot one; hammer an' tongs from th' start off. Hehooked me twice on th' wind, and I handed him out a jolt on th' jaw thatput him t' th' mat.... I had th' best of th' round.
_Caroline_: In mercy's sake, what does he mean by "slats"?
_The Rector_ (seized with a slight coughing): Possibly his ribs.
_Caroline_: Good gracious! (Whether this ejaculation was caused bysurprise or by the oyster on which she had put more horse-radish thanwas suited to her palate, will always remain a mystery.)
_Mr. Sullivan_: We were out for gore th' fift' round. He was gettin'strong on his hooks.
_Mrs. Cathewe_ (interrupting him with great timidity): What do you meanby "hooks"?
_Mr. Sullivan_: It's a blow like this. (Illustrates and knocks over thecenterpiece. Water and flowers spread over the table.) I say, now, lookat that. Ain't I a Mike now, t' knock over th' flower-pot like that?
_Cathewe_: Never mind that, Mr. Sullivan. Go on with the fight.
_Mr. Sullivan_: Where was I? Oh, yes; he put it all over me thatround.... They had counted eight when th' bell rang an' saved me.
_Caroline_: Hit him on the _phonograph_!
_The Rector_ (reddening): It is possible that he refers to Mr.McGonegal's mouth.
_Caroline_: Well, I never! And I've got a slangy brother, too, atHarvard.
(The rector looks gravely at his empty oyster-shells.)
_Mr. Sullivan_: Things went along about even till th' tenth, when Iblacked his lamps.
_Caroline_: Lamps?
_The Rector_: Eyes, doubtless.
_Caroline_: It's getting too deep for me.
_Mr. Sullivan_: The last round I saw that I had him goin' all right. Intwo seconds I had burgundy flowin' from his trombone.
(Cathewe leans back in his chair and laughs.)
_Mrs. Cathewe_ (bewilderingly): Burgundy?
_Mr. Sullivan_ (rather impatiently): A jolt on th' nose. Well, there wassome more waltzin', and then a hook an' a swing, an' him on th' mat,down an' out. I made six thousand, an' on'y got this tin ear t' show formy trouble.
* * * * *
It was fully ten o'clock when the coffee was served. Mr. Sullivan mayhave lost not a few "e's" and "g's" in the passing, but for all that heproved no small entertainment; and when he arose with the remark that hewas "for th' tall pines," both ladies experienced an amused regret.
"Which way do you go?" asked Mr. Sullivan, laying his hand on therector's arm.
"I pass your hotel. I shall be pleased to walk with you."
"I say," suddenly exclaimed Mr. Sullivan, pressing his pudgy fingersinto the rector's arm, "where did you get this arm? Why, it is as toughas a railroad tie."
"A course of physical culture," said the rector, visibly embarrassed.
"Physical culture? All right. But don't ever get mad at me," laughed Mr.Sullivan. "It's as big as a pile-driver."
The novelist told Mr. Sullivan that he was very much obliged for hiscompany.
"Don't mention it. Drop int' th' fight to-morrer night. You'll get moreideas there'n you will hearin' me shoot hot air."
Cathewe looked slyly at his wife. He was a man, and more than once hehad slipped away from the club and taken in the last few rounds, andthen had returned home to say what a dull night he had had at the club.
Mrs. Cathewe had her arm lovingly around Caroline's waist. All at onceshe felt Caroline start.
"What is it?" she whispered.
"Nothing, nothing!" Caroline declared quickly.
But on the way home in her carriage Caroline wondered where the ReverendRichard Allen, rector of St. Paul's, had acquired _his_ tin ear.