CHAPTER VI

When the final curtain came down like a guillotine on the play there was

a general uprising, a sort of slow panic to escape from this finished

place and move on to the next event--by street-car to a welsh rabbit in

a kitchenette, or by motor to a restaurant of pretense.

Everybody being in haste, everybody went slowly. Forbes retrieved his

hat and overcoat after a ferocious struggle. In the lazy ooze-out of the

crowd he was gradually shunted to the side of Persis, and willing enough

to be there, proud to be there. He walked a little more militarily than

he usually did in civilian's.

He heard people whispering with a shrillness that Persis had evidently

grown accustomed to, for she could not have helped hearing, yet showed

no sign. And now Forbes recaptured her last name, and it was familiar to

him, little as he knew of social chronicles.

"Look! That's Persis Cabot," said one. "There's the Cabot girl you read

so much about," said another. "She's got a sister who's a Countess or

Marquise, or something." Then Forbes learned by roundabout the last name

of Willie, and learned it with alarm from two of the sharpest

whisperers:

"That's Willie Enslee with her, I suppose."

"I guess so."

"Don't see why they call that big fellow Little Willie."

"Just a joke, I guess."

"They say he's worth twenty million dollars."

"He looks it."

At any other time it would have amused Forbes immensely to be called so

far out of his name and to receive twenty million dollars by

acclamation.

But now he could only busy himself with deductions: why did they assume

that any man who was with Persis Cabot was sure to be Willie Enslee?

Could it mean--what else could it mean?

He glanced around to take another look at Willie Enslee. Now that he

knew him for what he was, the situation was intolerable. Marry this

dream of beauty to that cartoon, that grotesque who came hardly to her

shoulder!

His glance had showed him that the men and women they had passed were

looking up and down Persis' back like appraising dry-goods merchants or

plagiarizing dressmakers. When he turned his head forward he saw that

the women in front were inspecting her with even more brazen curiosity.

It astounded Forbes to see such well-dressed people behaving so

peasantly. But Persis seemed as oblivious of their study as if they were

painted heads on a fresco. Forbes, however, flushed when their eyes

turned to him, because he felt that they were saying, "That must be

Willie Enslee," and "Why do they call that big thing Little Willie?"

Meanwhile Little Willie himself was handing the attendant at the

switchboard a punctured carriage check, with which to flash the number

on the sign outside.

There was a long wait for their own car, while motor after motor slid up

and slid away as soon as its number had been bawled and its cargo had

detached itself from the waiting huddle.

After the close, warm theater Forbes flinched at the edged night wind

coming from the river. With the caution of an athlete he turned up his

collar and buttoned his overcoat over his chest. But Persis stood with

throat and bosom naked to the wind, and to all those staring eyes, and

never thought to gather about her even the flimsy aureole of chiffon

that took the place of a scarf. And equally unafraid and unashamed

stood Winifred and Mrs. Neff. (He had collected her name, too, during

the conversation that flourished throughout the last act.)

At length the footman, who had howled out other people's numbers, held

up a timid finger and murmured, awesomely, "Mr. Enslee?"

The limousine, whose door he opened, was by no means the handsomest of

the line. Enslee was evidently rich enough to afford a shabby car. The

three women bent their heads and entered with difficulty, their tight

skirts sliding to their knees as they clambered in.

There was a great ado over the problem of room. Every man offered to

walk or take a taxi. Ten Eyck made sure that Forbes should not be

omitted. Ignoring his protests, he bundled him into one of the little

extra seats and crawled in after him. The huge third man (still

anonymous and taciturn) next inserted his bulk--a large cork in a small

bottle.

Willie put his head in to ask:

"Where d'you want to go, Persis?"

"Trotting, of course," came from the crowded depths.

"But I don't think--"

"Then take me home and go to the devil."

"We'll trot," sighed Willie. He spoke to the chauffeur dolefully, then

appeared at the door to wail helplessly:

"There seems to be no room for me."

"You're only the host," said Winifred. "Hop on behind."

"You can sit on my lap," said Ten Eyck.

And as that was the only vacant space, the big man lifted him up and set

him there. The footman, reassured by the tip in his hand, grinned at the

spectacle and laughed, as he closed the door: "Is you all in?"

Seven persons were packed where there was hardly space for five; but

Forbes noted that they were as informal and good-natured as yokels on a

hay-ride. All except Willie, and his distress was not because of the

crowd.

The car had no more than left the theater when Mrs. Neff was groaning:

"A cigarette, somebody, quick--before I faint!"

Winifred by a mighty twisting produced a concaved golden case and

snapped it open, only to gasp:

"Empty! My God, it's empty!"

Persis saved the day. "I have some. Give us a light, Willie. There's a

dear."

As usual, Willie had a counter-idea.

"But, Persis, don't you think you could wait till--"

Her only answer was, "Murray, give me a light."

Ten Eyck called out, "Right-o, milydy, if Bob will hold our little

hostlet half a mo." And he deposited Willie in the arms of the big man

while he fumbled in his waistcoat for a book of matches and passed it

back into the dark. "'Ere you are, your lydyship." He was forever

talking in some dialect or other.

But Persis gave him her cigarette and pleaded: "It's so conspicuous

holding a match to your face on Broadway. Light mine for me, Murray."

"It's highly unsanitary," said Ten Eyck; "but if you don't mind I don't.

I fancy these cigarettes of yours would choke any self-respecting

microbe to death."

Ten Eyck kindled her cigarette as delicately as he could and handed it

to her. The same service he performed for the other eager women, and the

three were soon puffing the close compartment so full of smoke that the

men felt no need of burning tobacco of their own.

When a particularly bright glare swept into the car from the street the

women made a pretense of hiding their cigarettes; but it was an

ostrich-like concealment, and Forbes could see other women in other cabs

similarly engaged. During his absence smoking had evidently become

almost as commonplace among the women as among the men.

Forbes, cramped of leg and choked of lung, was wondering at his presence

here. It was a far cry from Manila. He had never dreamed when he showed

an ordinary human interest in the melancholy Ten Eyck, fallen ill there

on a jaunt around the world, that his courtesy in the wilderness would

be repaid with usury in the metropolis. Nor had he learned from Ten

Eyck's unobtrusive manner that he was a familiar figure in the halls of

the mighty. Forbes had cast an idle crust on the waters, and lo, it

returned as a frosted birthday cake!

He had come to town at noon a lonely stranger, and before midnight he

was literally in the lap of beauty and chumming with wealth and

aristocracy in their most intimate mood.

The sidewalks outside were packed with theater crowds till they spilled

over at the curbs, and the streets were filled with all sorts of

vehicles till they threatened the sidewalks. Guiding a car there was

like shooting a rapids full of logs in a lumber-drive, but Enslee's man

was an expert charioteer.

Suddenly they whirled off Broadway, and, describing a short curve, came

to a stop. A footman opened the door, but nobody moved.

Ten Eyck said: "The problem now is how do we get out. I'm so mixed up

with somebody, I don't know my own legs." Like a wise man of Gotham, he

jabbed his thumb into the mixture, and asked, "Are those mine?"

"No, they are not!" said Winifred.

Willie was lowered ashore first. Bob What's-his-name bulged through

next, then Ten Eyck, then Forbes. Ten Eyck dropped into the gutter the

three lighted cigarettes that had been hastily pressed into his hand,

and turned to help the women out.

Forbes, wondering where they were, looked up and read with difficulty a

great sign in vertical electric letters, "Reisenweber's."

Willie told his chauffeur to wait, and the car drew down the street to

make room for a long queue of other cars. Ten Eyck led the flock into a

narrow hall, and filled the small elevator with as many as could get in.

He included Forbes with the three women, and remained behind with Willie

and Bob.

Crowded into the same space were two young girls, very pretty till they

spoke, and then so plebeian that their own beauty seemed to flee

affrighted. The blonde seraph was chanting amid her chewing-gum:

"He says to me, 'If you was a lady you wouldn't 'a' drank with a party

you never sor before,' and I come back at him, 'If you was a gempmum

you'd 'a' came across with the price of a pint when you seen I was dyin'

of thoist.'"

And the brunette answered: "You can't put no trust in them kind of

Johns. Besides, he tangoes like he had two left feet."

Forbes was uneasy till Persis whispered, "Don't you just love them?"

Then a door opened and they debarked into a crowded anteroom. While they

waited for the car to descend and rise again with the rest of the party

the women gave their wraps to a maid, and Forbes delivered his coat and

hat and stick across a counter to a hat-boy.

When Ten Eyck, Willie, and Bob appeared and had checked their things the

seven climbed a crowded staircase into an atmosphere riotous with

chatter and dance-music of a peculiarly rowdy rhythm.

But they could only hear and feel the throb of it. They could not see

the dancers, so thick a crowd was ahead of them.

A head waiter appeared, and, curt as he was with the rest of the mob, he

was pitifully regretful at losing Mr. Enslee, who had failed to reserve

a table and who would not wait.

It was disgusting to slink back down the stairs, regain the wraps and

coats and hats, and make two elevator-loads again. Willie alone was

cheerful.

"Now, maybe you'll go to the Plaza or some place and have a human

supper."

"I'm going to have a trot and a tango if I have to hunt the town over,"

said Persis.

Willie gnashed his teeth, but had the car recalled, and asked her where

she would go.

"Let's try the Beaux Arts," she said; and they huddled together once

more.

"It's too bad we were thrown out of Reisenweber's," Winifred pouted. "I

was dying to see Francois dance and have a dance with him."

Forbes felt well enough acquainted by now to ask: "Pardon my ignorance,

but who is Francois?"

"Oh, he's a love of a French lad," said Winifred. "Everybody's mad over

him. I used to see him in Paris dancing between the tables at the Cafe

de Paris or the Pre-Catalan with some girl or other. Then somebody

brought him over here for a musical comedy, and he's been on the crest

of the wave ever since."

"They say he's getting rich dancing in theaters and restaurants and

giving lessons at twenty-five per."

"Somebody was telling me he actually makes fifteen hundred to two

thousand dollars a week," said Mrs. Neff.

"If I had that much, would you marry me, Persis?" said Ten Eyck.

"In a minute," said Persis. "We might earn it ourselves. You dance as

well as he does, and you could practise whirling me round your neck."

"Then we're engaged," said Ten Eyck.

"It's outrageous!" said Willie. "That fellow with an income equal to

five per cent. on a couple of million dollars."

"What you kicking about, Willie?" said Winifred. "You get several times

as much, and you never lifted hand or foot in your life."

"But Willie's father did," said Mrs. Neff. "He killed himself working."

"Willie has it much better arranged," said Bob. "Instead of Willie

working for money he has the money working for him."

"It works while he sleeps," said Winifred.

Forbes was thinking gloomily in the gloom of the car. This dancer, this

mountebank, Francois, was earning as much in a week as the government

paid him in a year, after all his training, his campaigning, his

readiness to take up his residence or lay down his life wherever he was

told to.

Then he compared his income with Willie Enslee's. Enslee did not even

dance for his supper, yet into his banks gold rained where pennies

dribbled into Forbes' meager purse. And it was not a precarious salary

such as dancers and soldiers earned by their toil; it was the mere sweat

from great slumbering masses of treasure.

Forbes felt no longer an exultance at falling in with these people. He

felt ashamed of himself. He was no more a part of the company he kept

than a gnat on an ox or a flea caught up in the ermine of a king. The

air grew oppressive. He felt like a tenement waif patronized for a

moment on a whim, and likely to be tossed back to his poverty at any

moment. He wanted to get out before he was put out. The very luxuries

that enthralled him at first were intolerable now. The perfume of the

women and their flowers lost its savor. Their graces had gone. They were

all elbows and knees. He suffocated as in a black hole of Calcutta.

When a footman at the Cafe des Beaux Arts wrenched the door open and let

the cool air in, it was welcome. Forbes moved to escape. But he was kept

prisoner while Bob was sent as an avant courier. He returned with the

bad news that he was unable even to reach a head waiter.

The car nosed round, turned with difficulty, and went to Bustanoby's. It

was the same story here.

"New York's gone mad, I tell you!" Willie raved. "And nobody is as crazy

as we are. To think of us going about like a gang of beggars pleading

to be taken in and allowed to dance with a lot of hoodlums and muckers.

Even they won't have us."

"We'll try once more," said Persis. "The Cafe de Ninive."

After a brief voyage farther along Broadway the suppliant outcasts

entered a great hall imposingly decorated with winged bulls and other

Assyrian symbols. The huge space of the restaurant was a desert of

tables untenanted save by a few dejected waiters and a few couples

evidently in need of solitude.

An elevator took the determined Persis and her cohort up to another

thronged vestibule.

Persis had said to Willie in the car, "If you don't get us a table here

I'll never speak to you again."

With this threat as a spur Little Willie accosted a large captain of

waiters, who shrugged his shoulders and indicated the crowd inside and

the crowd outside. Willie fumbled in his pockets, and his hand slyly met

that of the captain, who glanced into his palm, then up to heaven in

gratitude, and laid aside all scruple.

Willie triumphantly beckoned Persis, who approached the captain with the

pouting appeal of a lady of the court to a relenting sovereign.

"Fritz," she said, "you've got to take care of us."

"How can I refuse Mees Cabot," said Fritz. "Do you weesh to seet and

watch the artists, or to seet weeth the dancers?"

"We want to dance," said Persis.

"There is one table resairve for a very great patron. You shall have it.

I shall lose me my poseetion, and he will tear down the beelding; but

that is better as to turn away Mees Cabot and Meester Enslee."

He whispered to a horrified captain on the other side of a silk rope.

The barrier was removed, and they were within the sacred inclosure,

while the baffled remnant gnashed its teeth outside.