Читать книгу 32 Caliber - Donald McGibeny - Страница 6

I was on my way back to Jim’s after having gone home to change my clothes. Jim had asked me to stay with him that evening and, to tell the truth, I was glad to do it, partly because of the threat Woods had made and partly because of the way Helen looked at Jim when she passed us in the hall on the way to her bedroom. Being a lawyer, I have naturally made a pretty close study of character, and if I ever saw vindictiveness on the face of any human, it was on Helen’s at that moment.

I said nothing about the affair to mother while I was home, for she has been very frail ever since my father’s death and I thought there was no use in needlessly upsetting her. There would be plenty of time to discuss the matter after Helen left Jim.

Again and again I recalled the struggle of the afternoon and again and again, Helen’s face, distorted with anger, reappeared. Finally I decided to drive the car over to Mary Pendleton’s and ask her to come spend the night with Helen. In her overwrought, hysterical condition, Helen was capable of doing almost anything.

Mary has been like a second sister to me. She really cares nothing for me, except in a sisterly way, but we have been together, so much so and so long that Eastbrook gossips have given up speculating whether we are engaged. I’d marry her in a minute, or even less, if she would have me, but Mary insists on treating me like a kid; calls my crude attempts at love-making “silly tosh and flub-dub,” which makes the going rather difficult. She was bridesmaid to Helen and is the one person, besides myself, who can influence her in the least, so I felt that her presence would add ballast to our wildly tossing domestic craft. Needless to say, my own lack of self-control during the afternoon had been as unexpected as it was disappointing, but when it comes to anything that concerns Jim, I’m not responsible.

I rang the bell and Mary, herself, came to the door, looking radiant as usual.

“Hello, Buppkins!” She greeted me with that detestable nick-name she has used since I wore rompers. “Aren’t you trying for a record or something? This is twice you’ve called on me this month.”

“Mary, I’m in trouble.”

“Is the poor ‘ittle boy in trouble and come to Auntie Mary to tell her all about it?” she sing-songed, making a little moue, as though she was talking to her pet cat.

“Cut it, Mary!” I said. “I’m really in trouble.”

“What is it, Bupps?”

“Helen ran off with Frank Woods to-day.”

“Heavens, Bupps!”—she was serious enough now.—“Where did they go?”

“They went, but they came back. Helen’s home with Jim. They tried to force him to give Helen a divorce. There was an awful fight and Woods swore that he would kill Jim unless he let Helen go. But put on your hat and coat and get your things. Helen needs you with her. I’ll tell you the rest on the way over.”

“I’ll be with you in a second,” she called, running up-stairs.

When Mary was snuggled down beside me in the car—and she does snuggle the best of any girl I ever knew—I told her everything, not forgetting the part where I wrenched the gun away from Woods.

“Goodness, Bupps! I bet you were scared,” she commented, her eyes twinkling.

“Frankly, I didn’t know what I was doing, or I would never have had the nerve,” I laughed. “But, lord! I feel sorry for Jim.”

Mary’s face clouded over.

“So do I, Bupps, but any one could have seen it coming. Jim was too good to her. As much as I like Helen, I will say that the only kind of husband she deserves is a brute who would beat her. That’s the only kind she can love. I was with her the night before her wedding, and she confessed then that if Jim were only cruel or indifferent to her, just once, she thought she could love him to death. The only reason Helen cares for you and me, was because we never paid any particular attention to her when she acted up and pouted. That is why she is mad about Frank Woods. When he came to Eastbrook, he treated her as though she didn’t exist.”

“And if Jim were cruel to her now, do you think she would go back to him?” I asked.

Mary shook her head. “No, it’s different now. If Jim were cruel to her, she would probably hate him all the more for it.”

“Proving the incomprehensibility of woman,” I jeered.

“Proving the flumdability of flapdoodle,” Mary responded. “If you men only put one little thought into giving a woman what she wants, instead of giving her what you think she ought to want; if you kept as up-to-date in your love-making as you do in your law practise, women wouldn’t be the incomprehensible riddle you always make them out to be.”

“Well, why don’t you tell us what you want?” I asked.

“Silly! That would spoil it all, don’t you see? Besides we aren’t sure just what we want ourselves.”

My spirits, which had risen considerably during our conversation, dropped with a slump when Jim’s big house loomed up ahead. Already, something of the unhappiness within seemed to have added a more somber touch to the outside. Have you noticed how you can tell from the face of a house what kind of life the inhabitants lead? Happiness or misery, health or sickness, riches or poverty all show as though the walls were saturated from the admixture of life within.

I sent Mary up-stairs to see Helen, while I went into the drawing-room in search of Jim, but there was no one there except Wicks, the butler, who was lighting a fire, for, though it was only the last of September, the nights were chilly. I snatched up the evening paper to see if by any chance a hint of the scandal had crept into print. I felt sure that, as matters stood, they would not dare to put in anything definite, but The Sun has a nasty way of writing all around a scandal, so that, while the persons involved are readily recognized, they are quite helpless as far as redress is concerned.

I noticed that Wicks had taken an infernally long time to start the fire. Although it was burning merrily, he still puttered about, brushing up the chips and rearranging the blower and tongs. When Wicks hangs about he usually has a question on his mind that he wants answered, and he takes that means of letting you know it. I decided not to notice him but to force him to come out in the open and ask, for once, a straightforward question. From the fire, he moved to the table and straightened the magazines and books, glancing now and then in my direction, trying to catch my eye, but I buried myself more deeply than ever in the paper. When he finally stepped back of my chair, human nature could stand his puttering no longer, so I laid down The Sun, and turned to him.

“Well, Wicks, what do you want?” I snapped.

Wicks looked at me with the expression of a small boy caught sticky-handed in the jam-closet.

“Nothing, sir!—that is—er—nothing.” He turned and started from the room.

“Come here, Wicks!” I called. “I know when you hang around a room unnecessarily, as you have been doing for the last ten minutes, that you have something on your mind. Now, out with it.”

“I was merely going to arsk, sir, hif I ‘ad better begin lookin’ arfter another place, sir?”

That was an extraordinary question. Wicks had been with the Feldersons ever since they were married.

“What put that idea into your head, Wicks?”

He was far more confused than I had ever seen him.

“Meanin’ no disrespect, sir, and I don’t mean to be hinquisitive about what doesn’t concern me, but I couldn’t ‘elp ‘earin’ a bit of what took place this arfternoon, sir.”

Good lord! I’d forgotten there might have been other witnesses to the scene of the afternoon besides myself.

“Do the other servants know about this, Wicks?”

“Hi think they do, sir, seein’ as ‘ow Mrs. Felderson ‘as been actin’ and talkin’ so queer.”

“What do you mean?” I demanded.

Wicks struggled for composure. The subject was evidently most distasteful to his conservative and conventional British nature.

“Hit was Annie, Mrs. Felderson’s maid, sir, that hupset the servants. W’en she came down from hup-stairs, she said as ‘ow Mrs. Felderson was a ragin’ and a rampagin’ around ‘er room, sayin’ that if Mr. Felderson didn’t give ‘er a divorce, she would do violence to ‘im, sir.”

“Did Annie hear her say that?” I questioned.

“She says so, sir.”

The whole thing was so monstrous that I gasped. For this awful dime-novel muck to be tumbled into the middle of my family was too sickening. My sister, running away from her husband with another man and now threatening, in the hearing of the servants, to kill him, unless he gave her a divorce, disgusted me with its cheap vulgarity. I hid, as best I could, the tempest that was brewing inside me.

“Wicks, Mrs. Felderson is not well. Tell the servants that she is greatly depressed over an accident that happened to a friend. At the present time, she is so upset over that, she really doesn’t know what she is saying. Quiet them in some way, Wicks! And tell Annie to stay with Mrs. Felderson!”

“Very good, sir.” He started to leave.

“And, Wicks—”

“Yes, sir.”

“There is no need of your looking for another place.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir!”

Wicks departed and I was left to my gloomy thoughts. Helen must be brought to her senses. Mary and I must work, either to bring her back to Jim, or, if that prove hopeless, to see that the divorce was hurried as much as possible. The very thought of having Mary along with me, with her inexhaustible fund of God-given humor and common sense, gave me a vast amount of comfort and confidence.

At this point, Jim came in. He had had a bath and a shave and had put on a dinner-coat, looking a lot more fit to grapple with his troubles than he had the last time I had seen him. Only in his eyes did he show the shock he’d received that day.

“Communing with yourself in the dark, Bupps?”—his voice was natural and easy.

“Yes,” I sighed, “I’ve been trying to see a way out of this mess.”

Jim lit a cigarette and threw himself into a chair. For a few moments he puffed in silence, taking deep inhalations and blowing the smoke against the lighted tip, so that it showed all the rugged, strength of his superb head.

“What would you say, Bupps, if I told you everything would come out all right?”

“And Helen stay with you?” I asked incredulously.

“And Helen stay with me,” he repeated calmly.

“Of her own free will?”

“Of her own free will,” he answered.

“I should say that the events of the day had addled your brain and that you are a damned inconsiderate brother-in-law to try to make a fool of me.”

“I mean it, Bupps,” he said quietly.

“What do you mean?” I demanded.

“That everything will come out all right,” he smiled.

“But how, man?” His complacency almost drove me wild.

“Bupps, have you noticed how much money Woods has been spending around here—his extravagant way of living? Where do you think that money comes from?”

“His contracts with the French Government,” I replied.

“But I happen to know he didn’t land those contracts. That’s the reason he beat it so suddenly when we got into the war.” He tossed his cigarette into the fire.

“His salary from the French, then. They must have paid him some kind of salary.”

“Have you never heard what ridiculously small salaries the French Government pays its officers?”

It was true that Woods could never have lived as he did on ten times the salary of a French captain.

“His own private fortune then,” I suggested.

“Ah! There’s the point! If he has a private fortune, then my whole case falls to pieces. That’s what I’ve got to find out. Woods has been playing for a big stake, and I think he has been playing with other people’s money. Did you notice how he flushed this afternoon when I suggested looking into his private affairs? It was the veriest accident—I was stalling for time—but when I saw him color up I knew I’d touched a sore spot. No, Bupps, I don’t think Woods has a private fortune.”

“But even if you show him up as worthless, will Helen come back to you, Jim?”

The color came to his face and he laughed with a queer twist to his mouth.

“Am I as horrible as all that, Bupps?”

His words brought a lump to my throat. I went over to him and almost hugged him.

“Jim, you’re such a peach—dammit all—”

I heard a light step behind me.

“Oh, Bupps!” laughed Mary, “if you’d only make love to me in that ardent fashion, I’d drag you to the altar by your few remaining hairs.”

I stood up, blushing in spite of myself. She can always make me feel that whatever I am doing is either stupid or foolish.

“Dinner is served, and I’m starving. Come on, people!” she announced, leading the way to the dining-room.

“Where’s Helen?” I asked.

“She’s not coming down. She has a slight headache,” Mary answered, giving me a warning look. “I am delegated to be lady of the manor this evening.” She looked so adorable as she curtsied to us that I felt an almost uncontrollable impulse to grab her in my arms and smother her with kisses, but remembering what she had done to me once when I yielded to impulse, I refrained.

When we sat down to the table, Helen’s empty place threatened to cast a gloom over the party, so Mary told Wicks to remove it.

“It’s too much like Banquo’s ghost,” she whispered, laughing merrily at Jim.

“Speaking of ghosts,” said Jim turning to me, “I hear the labor people are asking the governor to pardon Zalnitch.”

“A lot of good it will do them,” I responded. “If ever a man deserved hanging, he does.”

“I know, but labor is awfully strong now, and with the unsettled social conditions in the state, a bigger man than Governor Fallon might find it expedient to let Zalnitch off.”

“Who is Zalnitch? Don’t think I’ve met the gentleman,” Mary said.

“He’s the Russian who was supposed to be the ring-leader of the gang that blew up the Yellow Funnel steamship piers in 1915,” I explained.

“Do you mean to say he hasn’t been hanged yet?”

“Yes!” Jim answered. “And what’s more, I’m afraid he’s going to be pardoned.”

“Not really, Jim?” I queried.

“Yes! I’m almost sure of it. Fallon is a machine man before everything else, although he was elected on a pro-American ticket. They are threatening to do all kinds of things to him, just as they threatened me, unless Zalnitch goes free, and I think Fallon is afraid of them, not physically perhaps, but politically. He wants reelection.”

Jim had helped the prosecuting attorney convict Zalnitch; in fact it was Jim’s work more than anything else that had sent the Russian to prison. At the time, Jim had received a lot of threatening letters, just as every other American who denounced the Germans before we entered the war had received them. Nothing had come of it, of course, and after we went in, the whole matter dropped from public attention. Zalnitch had been sent to prison, but his friends had worked constantly for commutation of his sentence. With labor’s new power, due to the fear of Bolshevism, they were again bringing influence to bear on the governor.

Wicks had removed the soup plates and was bringing in the roast, when Annie appeared. The girl was both frightened and angry.

“Mr. Felderson?”

Jim looked up. “What is it, Annie?”

“Will you come up-stairs, please, sir?”

Mary pushed back her chair, “I’ll go, Jim.”

“It’s Mr. Felderson that’s wanted,” Annie said with just a touch of asperity.

“Yes, you two better stay here and amuse each other,” said Jim.

“Bupps, you carve!”

“If Bupps carves, I’m sure to be amused,” laughed Mary.

Jim left, and I went around to his place. If there is one thing I do more badly than another, it is carving. At home it’s done in the kitchen, but Jim takes great pride in the neatness and celerity with which he separates the component parts of a fowl and so insists on having the undissected whole brought to the table.

“What is it to-night?” Mary asked as I eyed my task with disfavor.

“Roast duck.” I tried to speak casually.

“Wait, Bupps, while Wicks lays the oilcloth and I get an umbrella.”

“Smarty!” I responded, grabbing my tools firmly, “you wait and see! I watched Jim the last time he carved one of these and I know just how it’s done.”

I speared for the duck’s back, but the fork skidded down the slippery side of the bird and spattered a drop of gravy in front of me.

“I’m waiting and seeing,” Mary chided.

“Well, you wanted some gravy, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but on my plate, please.”

This time I placed the tines of the fork carefully on the exact middle of the duck’s breast and gently pushed, giving some aid and comfort with my knife. The little beast eased over on the platter an inch or two.

“The thing’s still alive,” I exclaimed, getting mad.

“If you’ll let me have full control, I’ll carve it for you,” Mary spoke up.

“Come on, then,” I responded, gladly relinquishing my place. With a deftness and ease that could only be explained by the fact that the duck was ready and willing to be carved, she removed the legs and then demolished the bird altogether.

There was the sound of voices raised in altercation up-stairs, the slamming of a door and the patter of feet rapidly descending the steps. The next moment Helen burst into the room. She was fully dressed for going out and was pinning on her hat with spiteful little jabs.

“Will you take me home, Warren?”

Mary left me and went over to her.

“What has happened, Helen?”

“Oh, I can’t stay here another minute. It is bad enough to have to stay in the same house with a man you loathe, but when a husband bribes his wife’s servants to spy on her and watch over her as though she were a dangerous lunatic—”

Her eyes were blazing. Mary put her arm around her and tried to quiet her.

“Helen, dear, you don’t know how ridiculous that is. No one is spying on you.”

Helen tore herself away.

“That’s right, stand up for him! You’re all against me, I know. The only reason Warren brought you here, was to try to talk me into staying with him. Well, I won’t, you understand? I won’t! I hate him! I could kill him! If you won’t take me home, Warren, I’ll go alone.” She was almost hysterical.

“Have you thought what this would do to mother?” I asked. “She doesn’t know you’ve quarreled with Jim. If she found out you were contemplating a divorce, it would kill her. You know how weak she is.”

I heard Jim’s heavy tread coming downstairs.

“Can I stay with you, Mary?” Big tears stood in Helen’s eyes and she seemed on the verge of a complete breakdown.

“Of course, Honey-bunch!” Mary responded, kissing her and leading her into the drawing-room. “Just go in there and lie down while I get my things.”

As Helen walked from the room, Jim came in. Mary turned toward us, looked us over for the briefest moment and whispered, “You men are brutes!” As she ran up-stairs, Jim gazed after her. That same gray look had come back into his face.

“I guess we are,” he said, shaking his head, “but I don’t know how or why.”

I patted him on the shoulder and went for my coat. Whether he realized it or not, I knew Helen would never come back to him.

I went out to the car and turned on the lights. A white moon was sailing through a sky cluttered with puffy clouds, its soft radiance bathing the house and grounds in mellow loveliness. It all seemed so remote from the sordid quarrel inside that its beauty was enhanced by the contrast. Here was a night when the whole world should be in love. Nature herself conspired to that end. And yet, there were thousands of men and women who were so forgetful of everything except their own petty differences that they turned their backs to the beauty around them, in order to try to hurt each other.

As Helen and Mary came out of the door, I climbed into the car and said to myself, “Damn men, damn women, damn everything!”