Читать книгу The Death of a Celebrity - Footner Hulbert - Страница 6

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Though he was not a tall man and far from slender, Amos Lee Mappin stepped out with a good stride, and little Fanny Parran, clinging to his arm, was obliged almost to trot to keep up. Fanny’s littleness, her dimples, her blonde curls, and her lisp gave her the artless charm of a child, but a man who assumed to talk baby talk to her was apt to get a shock.

She said: “On the level, Pop, you didn’t wangle this invitation for me, did you? Was it Mr. Dordress’ very own idea to ask me?”

“Absolutely,” said Lee. “He said to me: ‘Lee, I’m short a female for Sunday night. Do you think that cheeky little secretary of yours would condescend to accept an invitation?’ ”

“Go on, Pop!” said Fanny. “Mr. Dordress never said that. He is too dignified.”

“You don’t know the half of it, my child. Of course I couldn’t swear to his exact words, but that was the sense of it.”

“Oh, dear!” said Fanny after a moment. “I suppose he does think I’m pretty fresh.”

“Well, he’s considered a good judge of human nature.”

“I didn’t tell you what happened that day he came to your office, Pop. I was ashamed.”

“Good God! Did you assault the man?”

“Don’t try to be funny! ... You see, the Police Commissioner was with you, and Mr. Dordress had to wait a few minutes in the outer room. He looked at me in such a friendly way, I mean as if I was a human being and not just a piece of office furniture, and we got to talking. I can’t tell you just how it came about. I was fussed, you see, at being noticed by the great man, and I heard myself saying, ‘Mr. Dordress, I think the women in your plays are terrible!’ ”

Lee chuckled. “Not a bad opening. And what did Gavin say?”

“He said, ‘I think so, too!’ ”

Lee laughed aloud. “It is undoubtedly to that that you owe your invitation to dinner. Gavin is fed up with women who throw fits over him. Strange as it may seem, he’s a modest man.”

“How kind of him to ask little me!” said Fanny. ... “Do I look all right, Pop? I won’t disgrace you?”

“You do, and you will not,” said Lee calmly. “You know that very well already, so stop insulting my intelligence.”

“Some men wouldn’t force me to fish for compliments,” said Fanny.

“I’m your boss, not your boy friend.”

“Who will be there besides us?”

“I gather it’s a kind of class reunion: Yale ‘13. Mack Townley and his new wife ...”

“That’s Beatrice Ellerman. She’s beautiful.”

“Hm!” said Lee.

“Don’t you like her, Pop?”

“A man never likes the young wives of his old friends. I think she’s taking Mack for a ride.”

“But surely with his experience he ought to know what he’s doing. After all the beautiful actresses he has hired and fired in his productions.”

“That’s just it. Over-confidence. Mack thinks he knows the sex. A man can’t have his guard up all the time. She watched him until he lowered it, and pinked him! No man is safe.”

“You have escaped.”

“That’s because I know my own weakness. I never try conclusions with a woman. I run away.”

“Have you never been in love?”

“Never! I would as soon toy with a cobra!”

“I think you’re lying! ... Who else will be there?”

“Emmett Gundy.”

“Who’s he?”

“Another one of our classmates. He writes novels. At least, I suppose he still does. I haven’t seen anything from his pen lately. In college Emmett was considered the brightest of the lot. But he seems to have flashed in the pan.”

“Who is asked for him?”

“I don’t know. Years ago Emmett had a girl called Louella Kip. Sweet little thing, and absolutely devoted to him. I have forgotten whether he married her. Gavin keeps up with him.”

“Were you all special friends in college?”

“Yes, pretty close. But in a little gang like that there are always fellows who pair off. Gavin and I were the closest. We had been to prep school together. Great days! Seems like yesterday. How well I remember when we discovered the Phœnician alphabet in an old book. For years we used to correspond in it.”

“Your class was quite a distinguished one,” said Fanny, “what with Gavin Dordress and Mr. Townley and this novelist, whoever he is.”

“Gavin Dordress is the only real star we produced.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Pop; you’re not so dusty. Of course you haven’t an immense popular following like Gavin Dordress, because you’re a specialist. But you’re known; your books sell. You’re at the head of your specialty.”

“Crime, eh?”

“I love it!” said Fanny. “How did you come to adopt crime, Pop?”

“I suppose it’s because I’m such a mild man.... And of course Gavin’s daughter and her young man will be there,” he went on.

“He’s cute,” said Fanny.

“Quite!” said Lee. “Six foot two of cuteness!”

“And what lady will Mr. Dordress ask for himself?”

“Oh, Gail Garrett, of course.”

“Why ‘of course’? Is that still going on?”

“I don’t understand you.”

“All right, Prune.... Gosh! Think of being asked to dinner with Gail Garrett! I shall be perfectly overwhelmed!”

“Then we will see a phenomenon!”

“That’s not very clever.... You don’t know me, Pop. I mean to be perfectly quiet tonight and take everything in.”

“Impossible!”

“What’s Gail Garrett like, close to?”

“How am I to answer that? A popular star for twenty-five years. She’s not like a mere woman; she’s a Broadway institution.”

“She must be human.”

“Oh, quite!” said Lee, dryly, “in the wrong way.... She won’t cotton to you.”

“Why not? Everybody likes me—or almost everybody.”

“Because you have twenty years’ advantage of her, that’s why.”

“I see. Well, I’ll try not to provoke her.”

As Lee and Fanny approached the steps of the apartment house where Gavin Dordress lived, a photographer said: “Are you going to Mr. Dordress’?”

“Such was our intention,” said Lee in his mild manner. “But if Dordress is unfair to labor we’ll eat elsewhere.”

The photographers grinned and set off their flashes.

“What name, please?”

“Amos Lee Mappin.”

“Oh, the detective!”

“Nothing of the sort,” said Lee. Fanny was delighted to see Pop getting a little of his own back. “If you must hang a label on me, make it ‘amateur criminologist.’ ”

“Amateur nothing,” said the young man, making a note; “famous criminologist.... And the young lady?”

“Miss Frances Parran.... You can add that I am the author of The Fine Art of Murder, on sale at all bookstores.”

“The heck with it!” said the young man. “You’re the guy that the police consulted in respect to the washtub murder. You solved it for them. That’s your news value.”

“Well, just as you like,” said Lee. He and Fanny entered the apartment house.