CHAPTER XXIV

On his way to the Ritz-Carlton, Forbes stopped at his bank to draw some

money. He decided that he would better take along a hundred dollars. It

would look impressive when he paid the waiter. He realized that it would

drag his bank-account below the acceptable minimum. But he set his teeth

and determined to do the thing right if he bankrupted the government. He

would probably need most of the rest of the hundred before the week was

out. He could begin to save again when he was in his uniform again.

He drew the money, strolled to the hotel, asked for Fernand, and found

him at a glass screen in a superb room that ran from street to street. A

multitude of red chairs populated the floor, and the medallioned white

ceiling was a huge ellipse that looked as big as the earth's orbit.

Fernand was cautiously gracious till he learned that Miss Cabot had sent

Forbes to him; then he became quite paternal. Forbes slipped him a

ten-dollar bill, and he listened almost tenderly as Forbes explained:

"I want to give a little luncheon--nothing elaborate, but--well,

something rather nice, you know."

"Perfectly, M'sieur. And how many will there be?"

Fernand spoke English glibly, with hardly more accent than a sweetish

thickness.

"We are seven," said Forbes.

"Very good, sir. Will you select what you wish, or--"

He handed Forbes the card of the day. Forbes looked at the French. He

could read military memoirs and strategical works in French, but he was

floored by the technical food-terms. A glimpse at the prices unnerved

him further; but he asked: "What would you suggest--I'm just home from

Asia. I feel a little out of it."

"If Monsieur would permit me," said Fernand, with the eagerness of a

benevolent conspirator, an artist with a mission, "I will arrange it and

give you a pleasant surprise or two."

Forbes swallowed a small lump of embarrassment, and was careful to ask

carelessly:

"About how much would it be?"

He wanted to forestall at least one surprise.

"Oh, not a great deal," Fernand smiled, with the bedside manner of a

family doctor. "Miss Cabot hates heavy food. Zhoost a little cocktel,

and some _caviar d'Astrakhan_ to begin; and perhaps a little broth; ah,

better! she likes _puree St.-Germain_. And after, a little berd and some

salade, a sweet, perhaps, or a cheese, some coffee--nothing more! Very

simple is best."

This sounded so sane that Forbes began to pluck up hope. He asked:

"Does she--do they--will you give us wine of any kind?"

"Miss Cabot does not care for champagne; and Mr. Enslee--did you say he

would be of the party?"

Forbes had not said it, and he flushed to think that everybody, even a

head waiter, must be linking Persis' name with Enslee's. But more than

ever now he must make sure not to give a shabby meal. Meanwhile he

answered the question with a casual nod:

"Yes, Mr. Enslee will be here."

Fernand spoke with indulgent pity: "Mr. Enslee takes usually only a

highball of the Scotch. But I think you could tempt them both with a

little sherry--for the sake of the berd. I have a sherry that is

delicious."

"How much delicious?" Forbes asked, trying to be flippant at his own

funeral.

"Eight dollars the bottle. But very fine! They would all like it very

much."

At the mention of a concrete price Forbes grew uneasy, and asked

outright: "Could you tell me how much--about how much this luncheon is

going to cost me?"

Forbes felt ashamed of discussing prices, though many a richer man,

especially Enslee, would have fought all along the line and delivered an

oration on the extortions of restaurateurs. But Fernand began to

compute:

"Let me see; seven cocktels at twenty-five is one-seventy-five. Caviar

would be one-twenty-five per person; for seven would be

eight-seventy-five. The _puree St.-Germain_ we shall make it

special--say, about five dollars. I should recommend the _poulet de

grain aux cepes_; it is two-fifty per person. You do not really need any

_legumes_, except the asparagus. Oh, this morning what asparagus! I saw

it! Asparagus, yes?" Forbes nodded desperately. "That will be seven

dollars more; but then you will not wish _salade_--no, you will not wish

_salade_, though the endive is--no, we will not have endive. For the

sweet would you wish special favors? No, it is too much; the Nesselrode

pudding is nice. Miss Cabot adores the marrons--good! We might serve

cheese, though it is too much. But we will have it ready. Then the

coffee is special, and a liqueur, perhaps--yes? Miss Cabot likes the

white mint. There will be some cigars for the gentlemen, of course--and

the ladies will take their cigarettes with their coffee down the steps

here, I presume. Now, let me see." He mumbled his addition a moment,

then broke the news. "That makes--about fifty-four-seventy-five. Yes--ah

no! we have not added the sherry--one bottle, perhaps two. So you see,

Monsieur, it will come only to sixty--sixty-five dollars--roughly."

Forbes thought the word "roughly" appropriate. In his soul there was a

sound like the last sough of water in an emptying bathtub. He added

mentally the ten dollars he had given Fernand, and the ten dollars he

must give the waiter. He wondered if he looked as sick as he felt; as

sick as his hundred dollars would look. He had cherished a mad fancy for

inviting everybody to dinner, the theater, and a tango supper. If his

modest luncheon put him where it did, he wondered where such an evening

would have left him. From this point of view he was escaping cheaply.

Anyway, he had crossed the Rubicon. He was too poor to be able to afford

to skimp. If he had been an Enslee Estate, he could have offered his

guests toast and distilled water without being suspected of poverty.

And once committed to the course he had chosen, he would have beggared

his family rather than stint his hospitality. He was a gentleman; a

fool, perhaps, but a gentleman.

He gave Fernand the order to go ahead. Fernand was upset by the brevity

of the time allotted him, but promised to do his best. Forbes cast his

eye about for a good table. Fernand put up his hand:

"Miss Cabot has her favorite table. You shall have that, also her

captain and her waiter."

Forbes remembered Persis' warning.

"But this luncheon is really in honor of Mrs. Neff," he said.

"Ah, in that case you will want her table. She prefers the opposite

side, nearer the band."

Forbes, having a little while to kill, set out for a stroll round the

block. It came to him suddenly that the precious hundred dollars he had

drawn to make a good show would evaporate and leave almost nothing. He

went to his bank and wrote a check for fifty dollars more. As he stood

waiting at the paying-teller's grill he felt as if he were a forger

taking money he had no right to. But the teller expressed no surprise.

When Forbes returned to the Ritz-Carlton he found his guests already

gathering in the lounge. Willie Enslee came in late and surly. He

explained that his man had had the impudence to fall ill, and had left

him to dress himself.

They had their cocktails, and then Forbes led his little flock up to the

rich pasture. He had to beg pardon through a knot of people pleading

vainly for tables in the circle. They were being turned off into the

side rooms of mediocrity.

It gave Forbes a feeling of elation to be greeted with homage by name

and led at once to his table. It made a brave showing with silver,

glass, and napery already disposed, and a great bouquet of fresh lilacs

in the center.

Fernand whispered to Forbes that he had taken the liberty of changing

the bill of fare somewhat. The result was a surprise to those spoiled

palates, and Forbes' guests were like children in their expressions of

delight. Forbes was voted a gourmet, but he gave the credit to the

hovering Fernand. He was honest enough still for that, though he had not

the courage to admit how deep a gouge the luncheon made in his savings.

Still, he felt as he surveyed his triumph that wealth was a noble thing.

If only he could give such artistic banquets every day! If only he could

frequent such places and hold up his end among all these brilliant

crowds! So many, many people had so much money. Thousands of them were

banqueting here and in other restaurants, encouraging all the arts from

architecture to salad-dressing. Why should he be denied the status of

his tastes?

He attempted to grovel before Persis in apology for oversleeping. But

she refused to take the offense seriously, and she congratulated him for

having the courage and the honesty to confess the real excuse for

absence. He told her that he was sure, from her alert and lustrous eye,

that she too had overslept, but she vowed she had not, and he wondered

again that such delicate beauty should be conjoined to such unfailing

strength.

Save when it was interrupted by exclamations of applause for the choice

of the dishes, or childish yum-yums for the exquisiteness of their

preparation, the talk was all about the mayor's order closing the _thes

dansants_.

"They call this a free country," Mrs. Neff grumbled, "and yet they tell

us we may not dance with our tea!"

"A good thing, too!" said Enslee. "It was time somebody stepped in

before the whole country went absolutely nutty over this dance business.

A little more and they'd have had the waiters trotting in with soup."

"But what are we to do with our afternoons?" Winifred sighed.

"What did you do before?" said Willie.

"I don't know; but I'm sure it was stupid."

Ten Eyck, the consoler, came to the rescue. "Sigh no more, ladies!

There'll be turkey-trotting in this old town when we're all trotted out

to Woodlawn. Forbesy, were you ever in Yellowstone Park?"

"Yes."

"Did you see the Old Faithful geyser geyse?"

"Yes."

"Remember how she would lie quiet as a tub for an hour, and then blow

off her head and explode a stream of water to the clouds, make an awful

fuss for a few minutes, and then drop off to sleep again?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's reform in New York or any big town. There's wild

excitement now; there'll be editorials and sermons and police raids and

license-revoking for a few days. Then everything will quiet down, and in

a week all the old dancing-stands will be running away as before."

Willie changed the subject with his usual abruptness. All this time he

had been revealing an unexpected enthusiasm for the little purple forest

of lilacs in the centerpiece. He kept pulling the nearest sprays to him

and breathing their incense in.

"Do you know I simply adore lilacs," he smiled. "Up at my country place

they must be glorious. My gardener writes me they have never been so

good as this year. I wish I could see them."

Nobody paid much heed to his emotions until, a little later, he broke

out suddenly:

"By Jove, I believe I'll take a run up in the country and see my lilacs

and spend a night in real air."

"That's a fine idea," said Winifred; "we'll all go along."

"Oh no, you won't," said Willie. "The place isn't open yet. Nobody there

but the gardener and his helpers."

This checked Winifred only for a moment, then she returned to the

charge.

"All the more fun," she exclaimed. "Let's all go up and make a week-end

of it."

"But there are no servants there, I tell you," Willie insisted.

"That's where the fun comes in," said Winifred, in love with her

inspiration. "It would be a glorious lark. There's nothing to do here in

town."

"We have to eat, you know," Willie reminded her, coldly; "and nobody to

cook it."

"I'm a love of a cook," said Winifred. "And I've been through your

kitchen up there. It's a model--electric dingblats and all sorts of

things. I'll cook the meals if the rest of you will build the fires and

make the beds and wash the dishes."

"Oh, Winifred, behave!" Willie sniffed.

But Winifred would not behave. She drummed up her scheme until she

raised the others to a kind of amused interest in the venture. It would

be a novelty at least.

"We can always cut and run at a moment's notice," Winifred explained,

for a clincher. "A couple of hours in a car and we're back in town."

"But there are no servants there, I tell you," Willie reiterated. "You

don't seriously expect us to go up there and do our own work?"

"Why not?" said Winifred. "It's time you learned to use your lazy hands

before they drop off from neglect."

"No thank you!" Willie demurred. "If we've got to go, we'll take along

some deck-hands. What do you say, Persis?"

"The only thing I like about it," said Persis, "is the absence of the

servants. I can't remember a time when they haven't been standing round

staring or listening through the doors. Oh, Lord, how good it would be

to be out from under their thumbs for a few days!"

"We can't afford the scandal," said Willie. "Servants are the best

chaperons there are. If we went up without them there'd be a sensation

in the papers."

"You and your fear of the newspapers!" Winifred retorted. "They need

never know."

"You can't go up to my place without some chaperon!" Willie snapped,

with a pettish firmness. "I don't run a road-house, you know."

"If you've got to have a chaperon, maybe you'd take me," said Mrs. Neff.

"You!" Willie laughed cynically. "And who'll chaperon the chaperon?

You'll make more mischief than anybody. Your affair with Mr. Lord--er,

pardon me, Mr. Ward--is the talk of the town already."

Mrs. Neff's laugh was a mixture of ridicule at the possibility and

yearning that it might not be impossible. Her comment was in the spirit

of burlesque.

"But if I marry him afterward it will put a stop to the scandal."

"Mother, you are simply indecent!" her daughter piped up, with a kind of

militant innocence.

The luxury of such a reproof was too dear to Mrs. Neff's unwithered

heart to be neglected. She added her vote to those of Winifred and

Persis.

Forbes dared not speak, but he was aglow with the vision of a few days

with Persis in the country. As he crossed the continent he had seen the

traces of spring everywhere; everywhere the mad incendiary had been

kindling fires in tree and shrub and sward. From the train window he

had watched the splendors unroll like a moving film. He had wished to

leap from the car and wander with somebody--with a vague somebody. And

now he had found her, and the golden opportunity tapped on the window.

Willie fenced with Winifred till the luncheon was finished. Then they

retired to the lounge for coffee. Here women had the franchise for

public smoking, and they puffed like small boys. Winifred renewed the

battle for the picnic.

Ten Eyck had watched the contest with a grin. At last he spoke: "It's a

pretty little war. Reluctant host trying to convince guests that they

are not invited. Guests saying, 'We'll come anyway.' Better give in

peacefully, Willie, or they'll take possession and lock you outside."

Then Willie gave in, but on the ground that Persis wanted it. He

attempted a sheepish gallantry and a veiled romantic reference. He, too,

had a touch of April in his frosty little heart. Forbes winced at the

rivalry; but at any price he wanted to be with Persis where the spring

was.

Willie, yielding to the role of _hote malgre lui_, announced that since

they were determined to invade his respectable ancestral home, the

sooner they got it over with the better. Persis and the rest were

creatures of impulse, glad to have an impulse, and they agreed to the

flight as quickly as a flock of birds. What engagements they had they

dismissed. Their maids could send telegrams of "regret that, owing to

unexpected absence from town," etc.

Willie went to call up his gardener and have the house thrown open to

the air and fresh provisions ordered in.

He had just gone when a page came to Persis with the word that her

father wanted to speak to her on the telephone.

She gave a start and looked afraid as she rose. Forbes watched her go,

and his heart prayed that no bad news might await her. She was so

beautiful as she moved, and so plucky. He knew that she was frightened,

but she spoke to various people she passed with all the light-hearted

graciousness imaginable. She came back speedily with a look of anxiety

vainly resisted. She explained that her father was leaving for Chicago

on the Twentieth Century, and wanted to tell her good-by. She would

barely have time to reach the house before he left.

Forbes offered to accompany her home. She insisted that he should not

leave his guests. Winifred and Mrs. Neff rose at once, claiming that

they must also leave to make ready for the excursion.

Forbes bade them good-by rather awkwardly. He regretted the disorder of

his exit as a host, but he would not forfeit this chance to be alone

with Persis.

She was so distressed about her father that she forgot Willie's

existence, and left no message for him. When he had finished his tempest

in a telephone-booth, and conveyed his orders to his head gardener, he

found Mrs. Neff and Winifred waiting for their cars. They explained

Persis' flight and made arrangements for the hour and place of meeting

for the journey.