2.
"I say, Mason, old top," said Freddie, entering the sitting-room, "I
hope you don't mind my barging in like this but the fact is things
are a bit thick. I'm dashed worried and I didn't know another soul I
could talk it over with. As a matter of fact, I wasn't sure you were
in New York at all but I remembered hearing you say in London that
you went popping back almost at once, so I looked you up in the
telephone book and took a chance. I'm dashed glad you _are_ back.
When did you arrive?"
"This afternoon."
"I've been here two or three days. Well, it's a bit of luck catching
you. You see, what I want to ask your advice about . . ."
Wally looked at his watch. He was not surprised to find that Jill had
taken to flight. He understood her feelings perfectly, and was
anxious to get rid of the inopportune Freddie as soon as possible.
"You'll have to talk quick, I'm afraid," he said. "I've lent this
place to a man for the evening, and he's having some people to
dinner. What's the trouble?"
"It's about Jill."
"Jill?"
"Jill Mariner, you know. You remember Jill? You haven't forgotten my
telling you all that? About her losing her money and coming over to
America?"
"No. I remember you telling me that."
Freddie seemed to miss something in his companion's manner, some note
of excitement and perturbation.
"Of course," he said, as if endeavoring to explain this to himself,
"you hardly knew her, I suppose. Only met once since you were kids
and all that sort of thing. But I'm a pal of hers and I'm dashed
upset by the whole business, I can tell you. It worries me, I mean to
say. Poor girl, you know, landed on her uppers in a strange country.
Well, I mean, it worries me. So the first thing I did when I got here
was to try to find her. That's why I came over, really, to try to
find her. Apart from anything else, you see, poor old Derek is dashed
worried about her."
"Need we bring Underhill in?"
"Oh, I know you don't like him and think he behaved rather rummily
and so forth, but that's all right now."
"It is, is it?" said Wally drily.
"Oh, absolutely. It's all on again."
"What's all on again?"
"Why, I mean he wants to marry Jill. I came over to find her and tell
her so."
Wally's eyes glowed.
"If you have come over as an ambassador . . ."
"That's right. Jolly old ambassador. Very word I used myself."
"I say, if you have come over as an ambassador with the idea of
reopening negotiations with Jill on behalf of that infernal swine . . ."
"Old man!" protested Freddie, pained. "Pal of mine, you know."
"If he is, after what's happened, your mental processes are beyond me."
"My what, old son?"
"Your mental processes."
"Oh, ah!" said Freddie, learning for the first time that he had any.
Wally looked at him intently. There was a curious expression on his
rough-hewn face.
"I can't understand you, Freddie. If ever there was a fellow who
might have been expected to take the only possible view of
Underhill's behavior in this business, I should have said it was you.
You're a public-school man. You've mixed all the time with decent
people. You wouldn't do anything that wasn't straight yourself to
save your life, it seems to have made absolutely no difference in
your opinion of this man Underhill that he behaved like an utter cad
to a girl who was one of your best friends. You seem to worship him
just as much as ever. And you have travelled three thousand miles to
bring a message from him to Jill--Good God! _Jill!_--to the effect,
as far as I understand it, that he has thought it over and come to
the conclusion that after all she may possibly be good enough for
him!"
Freddie recovered the eye-glass which the raising of his eyebrows had
caused to fall, and polished it in a crushed sort of way. Rummy, he
reflected, how chappies stayed the same all their lives as they were
when they were kids. Nasty, tough sort of chap Wally Mason had been
as a boy, and here he was, apparently, not altered a bit. At least,
the only improvement he could detect was that, whereas in the old
days Wally, when in an ugly mood like this, would undoubtedly have
kicked him, he now seemed content with mere words. All the same, he
was being dashed unpleasant. And he was all wrong about poor old
Derek. This last fact he endeavored to make clear.
"You don't understand," he said. "You don't realize. You've never met
Lady Underhill, have you?"
"What has she got to do with it?"
"Everything, old bean, everything. If it hadn't been for her, there
wouldn't have been any trouble of any description, sort, or order.
But she barged in and savaged poor old Derek till she absolutely made
him break off the engagement."
"If you call him 'poor old Derek' again, Freddie," said Wally
viciously, "I'll drop you out of the window and throw your hat after
you! If he's such a gelatine-backboned worm that his mother can . . ."
"You don't know her, old thing! She's the original hellhound!"
"I don't care what . . ."
"Must be seen to be believed," mumbled Freddie.
"I don't care what she's like! Any man who could . . ."
"Once seen, never forgotten!"
"Damn you! Don't interrupt every time I try to get a word in!"
"Sorry, old man! Shan't occur again!"
Wally moved to the window, and stood looking out. He had had much
more to say on the subject of Derek Underhill, but Freddie's
interruptions had put it out of his head, and he felt irritated and
baffled.
"Well, all I can say is," he remarked savagely, "that, if you have
come over here as an ambassador to try and effect a reconciliation
between Jill and Underhill, I hope to God you'll never find her."
Freddie emitted a weak cough, like a very far-off asthmatic old
sheep. He was finding Wally more overpowering every moment. He had
rather forgotten the dear old days of his childhood, but this
conversation was beginning to refresh his memory: and he was
realizing more vividly with every moment that passed how very
Wallyish Wally was,--how extraordinarily like the Wally who had
dominated his growing intellect when they were both in Eton suits.
Freddie in those days had been all for peace, and he was all for
peace now. He made his next observation diffidently.
"I _have_ found her!"
Wally spun round.
"What!"
"When I say that, I don't absolutely mean. I've seen her. I mean I
know where she is. That's what I came round to see you about. Felt I
must talk it over, you know. The situation seems to me dashed rotten
and not a little thick. The fact is, old man, she's gone on the
stage. In the chorus, you know. And, I mean to say, well, if you
follow what I'm driving at, what, what?"
"In the chorus!"
"In the chorus!"
"How do you know?"
Freddie groped for his eye-glass, which had fallen again.
He regarded it a trifle sternly. He was fond of the little chap, but
it was always doing that sort of thing. The whole trouble was that,
if you wanted to keep it in its place, you simply couldn't register
any sort of emotion with the good old features: and, when you were
chatting with a fellow like Wally Mason, you had to be registering
something all the time.
"Well, that was a bit of luck, as a matter of fact. When I first got
here, you know, it seemed to me the only thing to do was to round up
a merry old detective and put the matter in his hands, like they do
in stories. You know! Ring at the bell. 'And this, if I mistake not,
Watson, is my client now.' And then in breezes client and spills the
plot. I found a sleuth in the classified telephone directory, and
toddled round. Rummy chaps, detectives! Ever met any? I always
thought they were lean, hatchet-faced Johnnies with inscrutable
smiles. This one looked just like my old Uncle Ted, the one who died
of apoplexy. Jovial, puffy-faced bird, who kept bobbing up behind a
fat cigar. Have you ever noticed what whacking big cigars these
fellows over here smoke? Rummy country, America. You ought to have
seen the way this blighter could shift his cigar right across his
face without moving his jaw-muscles. Like a flash! Most remarkable
thing you ever saw, I give you my honest word! He . . ."
"Couldn't you keep your Impressions of America for the book you're
going to write, and come to the point?" said Wally rudely.
"Sorry, old chap," said Freddie meekly. "Glad you reminded me. Well
. . . Oh, yes. We had got as far as the jovial old human bloodhound,
hadn't we? Well, I put the matter before this chappie. Told him I
wanted to find a girl, showed him a photograph, and so forth. I say,"
said Freddie, wandering off once more into speculation, "why is it
that coves like that always talk of a girl as 'the little lady'? This
chap kept saying 'We'll find the little lady for you!' Oh, well,
that's rather off the rails, isn't it? It just floated across my mind
and I thought I'd mention it. Well, this blighter presumably nosed
about and made enquiries for a couple of days, but didn't effect
anything that you might call substantial. I'm not blaming him, mind
you. I shouldn't care to have a job like that myself. I mean to say,
when you come to think of what a frightful number of girls there are
in this place, to have to . . . well, as I say, he did his best but
didn't click; and then this evening, just before I came here, I met a
girl I had known in England--she was in a show over there--a girl
called Nelly Bryant . . ."
"Nelly Bryant? I know her."
"Yes? Fancy that! She was in a thing called 'Follow the Girl' in
London. Did you see it by any chance? Topping show! There was one
scene where the . . ."
"Get on! Get on! I wrote it,"
"You wrote it?" Freddie beamed simple-hearted admiration. "My dear
old chap, I congratulate you! One of the ripest and most all-wool
musical comedies I've ever seen. I went twenty-four times. Rummy I
don't remember spotting that you wrote it. I suppose one never looks
at the names on the programme. Yes, I went twenty-four times. The
first time I went was with a couple of chappies from . . ."
"Listen, Freddie!" said Wally feverishly. "On some other occasion I
should dearly love to hear the story of your life, but just now . . ."
"Absolutely, old man. You're perfectly right. Well, to cut a long
story short, Nelly Bryant told me that she and Jill were rehearsing
with a piece called 'The Rose of America.'"
"'The Rose of America!'"
"I think that was the name of it."
"That's Ike Goble's show. He called me up on the phone about it half
an hour ago. I promised to go and see a rehearsal of it tomorrow or
the day after. And Jill's in that?"
"Yes. How about it? I mean, I don't know much about this sort of
thing, but do you think it's the sort of thing Jill ought to be
doing?"
Wally was moving restlessly about the room. Freddie's news had
disquieted him. Mr Goble had a reputation.
"I know a lot about it," he replied, "and it certainly isn't." He
scowled at the carpet. "Oh, damn everybody!"
Freddie paused to allow him to proceed, if such should be his wish,
but Wally had apparently said his say. Freddie went on to point out
an aspect of the matter which was troubling him greatly.
"I'm sure poor old Derek wouldn't like her being in the chorus!"
Wally started so violently that for a moment Freddie was uneasy.
"I mean Underhill," he corrected himself hastily.
"Freddie," said Wally, "you're an awfully good chap, but I wish you
would exit rapidly now! Thanks for coming and telling me, very good
of you. This way out!"
"But, old man . . . !"
"Now what?"
"I thought we were going to discuss this binge and decide what to do
and all that sort of thing."
"Some other time. I want to think about it."
"Oh, you will think about it?"
"Yes, I'll think about it."
"Topping! You see, you're a brainy sort of feller, and you'll
probably hit something."
"I probably shall, if you don't go."
"Eh? Oh, ah, yes!" Freddie struggled into his coat. More than ever
did the adult Wally remind him of the dangerous stripling of years
gone by. "Well, cheerio!"
"Same to you!"
"You'll let me know if you scare up some devilish fruity wheeze,
won't you? I'm at the Biltmore."
"Very good place to be. Go there now."
"Right ho! Well, toodle-oo!"
"The elevator is at the foot of the stairs," said Wally. "You press
the bell and up it comes. You hop in and down you go. It's a great
invention! Good night!"
"Oh, I say. One moment . . ."
"Good _night!_" said Wally.
He closed the door, and ran down the passage.
"Jill!" he called. He opened the bedroom window and stepped out.
"Jill!"
There was no reply.
"Jill!" called Wally once again, but again there was no answer.
Wally walked to the parapet, and looked over. Below him the vastness
of the city stretched itself in a great triangle, its apex the
harbor, its sides the dull silver of the East and Hudson rivers.
Directly before him, crowned with its white lantern, the Metropolitan
Tower reared its graceful height to the stars. And all around, in the
windows of the tall buildings that looked from this bastion on which
he stood almost squat, a million lights stared up at him, the
unsleeping eyes of New York. It was a scene of which Wally, always
sensitive to beauty, never tired: but tonight it had lost its appeal.
A pleasant breeze from the Jersey shore greeted him with a quickening
whisper of springtime and romance, but it did not lift the heaviness
of his heart. He felt depressed and apprehensive.
