XVII
DINNER IS SERVED
"Ha!"
Monsieur Pierre, having uttered this ejaculation, stepped back andrested his fat hands on his fat hips. As he surveyed the impromptubutler, a shade of perplexity spread over his oily face. He smoothedhis imperial and frowned. This groom certainly _looked_ right, butthere was something lacking in his make-up, that indefinable somethingwhich is always found in the true servant--servility. There was nohumility here, no hypocritical meekness, no suavity; there was nothingsmug or self-satisfied. In truth, there was something grimly earnest,which was not to be understood readily. Monsieur Pierre, having alwaysbusied himself with soups and curries and roasts and sauces, was not aprofound analyst; yet his instinctive shrewdness at once told him thatthis fellow was no servant, nor could he ever be made into one. Thoughvoluble enough in his kitchen, Monsieur Pierre lacked expression whenconfronted by any problem outside of it. Here was the regulationswallow-tail coat and trousers of green, the striped red vest, and thepolished brass buttons; but the man inside was too much for him.
"_Diable_! you _luke_ right. But, no, I can not explain. Eet ees on zeetongue, but eet rayfuse. Ha! I haf eet! You lack vot zay call zee real.You make me t'ink uf zee sairvant on zee stage, somet'ing bettair off;eh?" This was as near as monsieur ever got to the truth of things.
During this speculative inventory, Warburton's face was gravely set;indeed, it pictured his exact feelings. He _was_ grave. He even wantedPierre's approval. He was about to pass through a very trying ordeal;he might not even pass through it. There was no deceiving his colonel'seyes, hang him! Whatever had induced fate to force this old Argus-eyedsoldier upon the scene? He glanced into the kitchen mirror. Heinstantly saw the salient flaw in his dress. It was the cravat. Tie itas he would, it never approached the likeness of the conventionalcravat of the waiter. It still remained a polished cravat, a worldlycravat, the cravat seen in ball-rooms, drawing-rooms, in the theaterstalls and boxes, anywhere but in the servants' hall. Oh, for theready-made cravat that hitched to the collar-button! And then there wasthat servant's low turned-down collar, glossy as celluloid. He felt asdiffident in his bare throat as a debutante feels in her firstdecollete ball-gown, not very well covered up, as it were. And, heavenand earth, how appallingly large his hands had grown, how clumsy hisfeet! Would the colonel expose him? Would he keep silent? This remainedto be found out: wherein lay the terror of suspense.
"Remem_bair_," went on Monsieur Pierre, after a pause, feeling that hehad a duty to fulfil and a responsibility to shift to other shouldersthan his own, "remem_bair_, eef you spill zee soup, I keel you. Youcarry zee tureen in, zen you deesh out zee soup, and sairve. Zeeoystaires should be on zee table t'ree minutes before zee guests hafarrive'. Now, can you make zee American cocktail?"
"I can,"--with a ghost of a smile.
"Make heem,"--with a pompous wave of the hand toward the favoriteingredients.
"What kind?"
"Vot kind! Eez zare more cocktails, zen?"
"Only two that are proper, the manhattan and the martini."
"Make zee martini; I know heem."
"But cocktails ought not be mixed before serving."
"I say, make zee one cocktail,"--coldly and skeptically. "I test heem."
Warburton made one. Monsieur sipped it slowly, making a wry face, for,true Gaul that he was, only two kinds of stimulants appealed to hispalate, liqueurs and wines. He found it as good as any he had evertasted.
"Ver' good,"--softening. "Zare ees, zen, one t'ing zat all zeeAmericans can make, zee cocktail? I am educate'; I learn. Now leaf metill eight. Keep zee collect head;"--and Monsieur Pierre turned hisattention to his partridges.
James went out of doors to get a breath of fresh air and to collect histhoughts, which were wool-gathering, whatever that may mean. Theyneeded collecting, these thoughts of his, and labeling, for they wereat all points of the compass, and he was at a loss upon which to drawfor support. Here he was, in a devil of a fix, and no possible way ofescaping except by absolutely bolting; and he vowed that he wouldn'tbolt, not if he stood the chance of being exposed fifty times over. Hehad danced; he was going to pay the fiddler like a man. He had neverrun away from anything, and he wasn't going to begin now.
At the worst, they could only laugh at him; but his secret would be hisno longer. Ass that he had been! How to tell this girl that he lovedher? How to appear to her as his natural self? What a chance he hadwilfully thrown away! He might have been a guest to-night; he mighthave sat next to her, turned the pages of her music, and perhaps sighedlove in her ear, all of which would have been very proper andconventional. Ah, if he only knew what was going on behind thoseMediterranean eyes of hers, those heavenly sapphires. Had she anysuspicion? No, it could not be possible; she had humiliated him toooften, to suspect the imposture. Alackaday!
Had any one else applied the disreputable terms he applied to himselfthere would have been a battle royal. When he became out of breath, hereentered the house to have a final look at the table before the ordealbegan.
Covers had been laid for twelve; immaculate linen, beautiful silver,and sparkling cut-glass. He wondered how much the girl was worth, andthought of his own miserable forty-five hundred the year. True, hiscapital could at any time be converted into cash, some seventy-fivethousand, but it would be no longer the goose with the golden egg. Agreat bowl of roses stood on a glass center-piece. As he leaned towardthem to inhale their perfume he heard a sound. He turned.
She stood framed in a doorway, a picture such as artists conjure up tofit in sunlit corners of gloomy studios: beauty, youth, radiance,luster, happiness. To his ardent eyes she was supremely beautiful. Howwildly his heart beat! This was the first time he had seen her in allher glory. His emotion was so strong that he did not observe that shewas biting her nether lip.
"Is everything well, James?" she asked, meaning the possibilities ofservice and not the cardiac intranquillity of the servant.
"Very well, Miss Annesley,"--with a sudden bold scrutiny.
Whatever it was she saw in his eyes it had the effect of making hersturn aside. To bridge the awkwardness of the moment, he rearranged anapkin; and she remarked his hands. They were tanned, but they wereelegantly shaped and scrupulously well taken care of--the hands of agentleman born, of an aristocrat. He could feel her gaze penetrate likeacid. He grew visibly nervous.
"You haven't the hand of a servant, James,"--quietly.
He started, and knocked a fork to the floor.
"They are too clumsy," she went on maliciously.
"I am not a butler, Miss; I am a groom. I promise to do the very best Ican." Wrath mingled with the shame on his face.
"A man who can do what you did this morning ought not to be afraid of adinner-table."
"There is some difference between a dinner-table and a horse, Miss." Hestooped to recover the fork while she touched her lips with herhandkerchief. The situation was becoming unendurable. He knew that, forsome reason, she was quietly laughing at him.
"Never put back on the table a fork or piece of silver that has fallento the floor," she advised. "Procure a clean one."
"Yes, Miss." Why, in heaven's name, didn't she go and leave him inpeace?
"And be very careful not to spill a drop of the burgundy. It isseventy-eight, and a particular favorite of my father's."
Seventy-eight! As if he hadn't had many a bottle of that superb vintageduring the past ten months! The glands in his teeth opened at thememory of that taste.
"James, we have been in the habit of paying off the servants on thisday of the month. Payday comes especially happy this time. It will putgood feeling into all, and make the service vastly more expeditious."
She counted out four ten-dollar notes from a roll in her hand andsignified him to approach. He took the money, coolly counted it, andput it in his vest-pocket.
"Thank you, Miss."
I do not say that she looked disappointed, but I assert that she wasslightly disconcerted. She never knew the effo
rt he had put forth tosubdue the desire to tear the money into shreds, throw it at her feetand leave the house.
"When the gentlemen wish for cigars or cigarettes, you will find themin the usual place, the tower drawer in the sideboard." With a swishshe was gone.
He took the money out and studied it. No, he wouldn't tear it up;rather he would put it among his keepsakes.
I shall leave Mr. Robert, or M'sieu Zhames, to recover histranquillity, and describe to you the character and quality of theguests. There was the affable military attache of the British embassy,there was a celebrated American countess, a famous dramatist and hismusical wife, Warburton's late commanding colonel, Mrs. Chadwick, CountKarloff, one of the notable grand opera prima-donnas, who would notsing in opera till February, a cabinet officer and his wife, ColonelAnnesley and his daughter. You will note the cosmopolitan character ofthese distinguished persons. Perhaps in no other city in America couldthey be brought together at an informal dinner such as this one was.There was no question of precedence or any such nonsense. Everybodyknew everybody else, with one exception. Colonel Raleigh was acomparative stranger. But he was a likable old fellow, full of storiesof the wild, free West, an excellent listener besides, who alwaysstopped a goodly distance on the right side of what is known in politecircles as the bore's dead-line. Warburton held for him a deepaffection, martinet though he was, for he was singularly just andmerciful.
They had either drunk the cocktail or had set it aside untouched, andhad emptied the oyster shells, when the ordeal of the soup began. Veryfew of those seated gave any attention to my butler. The first thing hedid was to drop the silver ladle. Only the girl saw this mishap. Shelaughed; and Raleigh believed that he had told his story in anexceptionally taking manner. My butler quietly procured another ladle,and proceeded coolly enough. I must confess, however, that his coolnesswas the result of a physical effort. The soup quivered and trembledoutrageously, and more than once he felt the heat of the liquid on histhumb. This moment his face was pale, that moment it was red. But, as Iremarked, few observed him. Why should they? Everybody had something tosay to everybody else; and a butler was only a machine anyway. Yet,three persons occasionally looked in his direction: his late colonel,Mrs. Chadwick, and the girl; each from a different angle of vision.There was a scowl on the colonel's face, puzzlement on Mrs. Chadwick's,and I don't know what the girl's represented, not having been therewith my discerning eyes.
Once the American countess raised her lorgnette and murmured: "What ahandsome butler!"
Karloff, who sat next to her, twisted his mustache and shrugged. He hadseen handsome peasants before. They did not interest him. He glancedacross the table at the girl, and was much annoyed that she, too, wasgazing at the butler, who had successfully completed the distributionof the soup and who now stood with folded arms by the sideboard. (How Ishould have liked to see him!)
When the butler took away the soup-plates, Colonel Raleigh turned tohis host.
"George, where the deuce did you pick up that butler?"
Annesley looked vaguely across the table at his old comrade. He hadbeen far away in thought. He had eaten nothing.
"What?" he asked.
"I asked you where the deuce you got that butler of yours."
"Oh, Betty found him somewhere. Our own butler is away on a vacation. Ihad not noticed him. Why?"
"Well, if he doesn't look like a cub lieutenant of mine, I was bornwithout recollection of faces."
"An orderly of yours, a lieutenant, did you say?" asked Betty, withsmoldering fires in her eyes.
"Yes."
"That is strange," she mused.
"Yes; very strange. He was a daredevil, if there ever was one."
"Ah!"
"Yes; best bump of location in the regiment, and the steadiestnerve,"--dropping his voice.
The girl leaned on her lovely arms and observed him interestedly.
"A whole company got lost in a snowstorm one winter. You know that onthe prairie a snowstorm means that only a compass can tell you whereyou are; and there wasn't one in the troop,--a bad piece ofcarelessness on the captain's part. Well, this cub said _he'd_ find theway back, and the captain wisely let him take the boys in hand."
"Go on," said the girl.
"Interested, eh?"
"I am a soldier's daughter, and I love the recital of brave deeds."
"Well, he did it. Four hours later they were being thawed out in thebarracks kitchens. Another hour and not one of them would have lived totell the tale. The whisky they poured into my cub--"
"Did he drink?" she interrupted.
"Drink? Why, the next day he was going to lick the men who had pouredthe stuff down his throat. A toddy once in a while; that was all heever took. And how he loved a fight! He had the tenacity of a bulldog;once he set his mind on getting something, he never let up till he gotit."
The girl trifled thoughtfully with a rose.
"Was he ever in any Indian fights?" she asked, casually.
"Only scraps and the like. He went into the reservation alone one dayand arrested a chief who had murdered a sheep-herder. It was avolunteer job, and nine men out of ten would never have left thereservation alive. He was certainly a cool hand."
"I dare say,"--smiling. She wanted to ask him if he had ever been hurt,this daredevil of a lieutenant, but she could not bring the question toher lips. "What did you say his name was?"--innocently.
"Warburton, Robert Warburton."
Here the butler came in with the birds. The girl's eyes followed him,hither and thither, her lips hidden behind the rose.