Tutors' Lane Page 6

  VI

  Downstairs the Dean and Mrs. Norris had begun receiving their guests,most of the receiving being done by the Dean. His wife, whose trail waslike that of a runaway astral body, was here, there, and everywhere,calling, ordering, laughing.

  The Misses Forbes, invariably the first comers, had taken possession offront-row seats. This year Miss Edith had the Burnham lace--an heirloomwhose glory could on no account be dimmed by a tri-partite division--andMiss Annie had the Burnham pearls. They were a modest string, perhaps,but they lived on after more spectacular ones became gummy. As for MissJennie, the youngest, aged sixty-five, she was something of aphilosopher, being the community's sole theosophist, and she regardedher sisters' pleasure in their baubles with amusement. Nor could she bedrawn into a discussion of their ultimate disposition, a nice problem,for other Burnhams and Forbeses were there none. "Why not give them tothe museum?" she had once suggested, to the sorrow of her sisters, whohated to see her cynical side. Worse than that, she was a radical andhad boldly come out for the open shop, or the closed shop, whichever wasthe radical one, and she talked very wildly indeed of Unions andCompensation Bills.

  Miss Elfrida Balch had arrived, and likewise her brother, the artist.Miss Balch was a lady of almost crystalline refinement. She was tall andfair, with a delicacy of complexion that stood in no need of retailedbloom. She might have passed for the daughter of a kindly old Saxonchieftain--it was, indeed, generally known that she sprang from the seedof Saxon kings--who, firm in the belief that no young man was her equalin birth or behaviour, had insisted upon her declining into aspinsterhood which increased in refinement as it did in service.Sentimental persons held that she came by that manner from associationwith Art in her brother's studio. Others, of a more sardonic turn, saidthat her manner was that of one who continually smelled a bad smell, andthat if she got it by looking at her brother's pictures they didn'twonder.

  Leofwin Balch was not a personable gentleman. The early Saxon strain inhim had taken the form of obesity, a tendency not confined, if we maytrust the evidence of scholars, to descendants of Saxon kings. To thosewho had little sympathy with genius in its more alarming shapes, hisfair chin whisker seemed an absurdity. The more discriminating, however,welcomed it. Anything might be expected of a man with a chin whiskerwhich some one, with more imagination than restraint, had described asan "attenuated shredded wheat biscuit seen through a glass darkly."Leofwin's work had of late years suffered on account of a rheumatismwhich defied medicine. He had sacrificed his tonsils and nine teeth uponthe altar of Art with little or no relief, and it was now feared bythose closest to him, his sister and himself, that he would never againapproach the promise given in his "Willows." "Willows" had received anhonourable mention at the Exhibition--just which Exhibition, was asubject of controversy among the uninitiated--and had been purchased bya rich baronet in Suffolk. The Balches had seen it in his gallery, andit had become an open secret that hanging in the same room were aConstable and a John Opie.

  Mrs. Robert Lee-Satterlee had arrived and was already with a group ofthe great around her chair. She was wearing the famous Lee-Satterlee dogcollar, and her hair had been carefully dressed for the occasion. Suchitems alone would have borne witness to the importance of the Vernal,had she not in addition chosen to carry the Court fan. This fan, whichwas known as the "Court fan" to distinguish it from all other fans inthe world, had been given her by the Court ladies when she and herhusband, the late Ambassador, had departed upon the arrival of the newAdministration's appointee. Its sticks were mother-of-pearl, encrustedwith diamonds, and on its silk was the cruel story of Pyramus and Thisbeset forth in brilliant colours, but in what wondrous manner no one quiteknew. For it was true that Mrs. Robert Lee-Satterlee had walked withkings, danced with dukes, and played croquet with counts, and it wastherefore inevitable that she should be regarded as the Empress ofWoodbridge. She would have been considered so quite apart from the factthat she had great possessions--in addition to the Court fan and the dogcollar--possessions which were commonly supposed to be destined for thecollege, the Lee-Satterlees having no issue. Accordingly, Mrs. RobertLee-Satterlee was allowed liberties unthinkable in another; but, be itsaid to her credit, she never abused them. Since she, or at least herproperty, was to take such an active part in Woodbridge affairs when shepassed into the next world, it was only reasonable that she should takean active part while she was still in this; and it is safe to say thatno one knew more about college affairs than she. Still, no one everthought of calling her a nuisance. When, occasionally, she did quietlysuggest that possibly such-and-such a course might be a wise one or thatsuch-and-such a man might be the one to appoint to such-and-such avacancy, it would be discovered that, with singular insight, she hadmade a perfect suggestion. Whereas, therefore, it might be said that shewas a despot, it was universally agreed that she was a benevolent oneand an enlightened one, and many even went so far as to fear that herdeath might actually prove a loss.

  The library was filling fast. Mrs. Norris, casting a rather wild eyeinto it occasionally, would perhaps signal out an individual for amission that somehow in the general run of things could not conceivablybe completed. For example, her eye, on one of these expeditions,happened to alight on a gentleman of the Physics Department, a gentlemanwith a gold tooth and a loud laugh, who represented a somewhat largergroup of instructors than the best Tutors' Lane families cared toacknowledge. The gentleman responded with an alacrity that did himcredit, nor did he quail before the steady gaze of Mrs. Norris, whichseemed to wonder if she hadn't been a little unwise in placing suchtrust in so uninteresting a vessel. She asked him, however, to see ifthe musicians had found a good place to put their hats and coats, and asthere were several musicians, some of whom had not arrived, he was notrestored to his nervous and too friendly mate until the charades wereover.

  And now there was a suggestive flutter in the Dean's study, behind whoselarge folding doors the charades were to be acted. Gentlemen who werestanding urbanely about moved into corners, with smiles calculated toimpress all with their self-possession in even the first houses. Thedoors rolled open and a buzz of admiration greeted the _distraite_ LadyAngela, whose return from California had been acknowledged by but few ofthe audience. She went through her scene with the little maid, and whenthe doors were bumped together, Mr. Grimes of the Romance Languages, anoted success at anagrams, acrostics, and charades, announced, "Dray."After a few minutes the second act was done, in which it appeared thatMr. Merriam the detective had fallen madly in love with Lady Angela. Inthe midst of the scene the little maid was heard purring loudlyoff-stage, a purring which was explained by both lovers as the purringof the lost Persian. Mr. Grimes guessed "Purr" loudly at the close, andthe final syllable, in which Mr. Merriam appeared disguised as a draper,was thus rendered stale and perfunctory. Mary's charade eluded Mr.Grimes's wit no more successfully, and the music was received with evenmore enthusiasm than usual.

  The Lady Angela, as a matter of fact, had been considerably flustered bythe ardour of Merriam the detective's wooing. The rehearsal had notprepared her for anything so realistic, and she was annoyed. Art wasart, of course, but she was no Duse, and she didn't care to be theobject of such public passion. The fact that she was obliged toreciprocate his sentiments instead of slapping his face was also trying.Well, there was no reason to conceal her displeasure now; and when shefound herself again in his arms--they were rather strong arms,incidentally, and he did dance well--she had little to say to him.

  It was not, fortunately, necessary for her to do a great deal ofdancing, because of the visiting she naturally owed to her elderlyfriends, and once when Tom cut in she left him, excusing herself on theground of having to see the Dean and Mrs. Robert Lee-Satterlee, histime-honoured bridge partner. The Dean took his bridge seriously andwith extreme deliberation. Henry Whitman, on the other hand, who was oneof his opponents, played with a rapidity amounting at times to frenzy,and he was fidgeted by anyone of more sober pace. His partner, old Mrs.Conover, in a c
ap with violet insertion, had some little difficulty intelling kings from jacks and hearts from spades and was inclined,furthermore, to be forgetful of the trump. Accordingly, Nancy remarkedbeneath her brother's rather terrible calm all these symptoms of awhistling bee when they were again at home.

  The Dean was halfway through a hand and was trying to choose a card fromthe dummy. He at length carefully lifted the king of spades from it asif it weighed a ton, and then, after looking at it soberly, put it backand scowled at his own hand. Henry, who had his card ready to throw downupon the table, slid it back into his hand with the look of resignationthat has tranquillized our memories of the Early Christian Martyrs. TheDean rested his eye on the tempting king in the dummy and pursed hislips. He _would do_ it. Then he leaned over and played it with the airof a man who lays all in the lap of the gods. Mrs. Conover, who had beenshuffling her cards around in ill-suppressed excitement, popped out atrump with a cry of triumph just as Henry's Ace of Spades covered theking. A dreadful scene followed. The Dean was all gallantry, Mrs.Conover all self-reproach, Mrs. Robert Lee-Satterlee all charm, andHenry all exasperation; and when, later in the same hand, his mind tornwith the memory of his lost ace, he made a revoke and was quietlybrought to account by the Dean, Nancy discreetly withdrew.

  Tom, who had seen her at the table with three people whom she metconstantly and upon whom she hardly needed to make a call, feltdecidedly snubbed. Was she, after all, so much a Whitman that she feltno need to obey the ordinary rules of decency? It seemed too bad, forhis impression of her earlier in the evening had been decidedlydifferent.

  Tom had sometimes wondered about love at first sight. What was itanyway? How did one feel? Was it like a blow between the eyes, a ball inthe breast? Did one stagger and have to lie down, with a pulse coursingup to one hundred and five? What was it? When Tom first looked at Nancyin the costume closet he wondered if he were to be brought face to facewith the answer. Certainly, little hints by the Norrises and Old Mrs.Conover would have put the idea into his head, had it not in the naturalcourse of events found its way there unaided.

  And now Nancy had made it clear that she did not care to have anythingto do with him. It was, he guessed, because of the too tender passage inthe charade. He pictured himself arguing with her. "It is ridiculous toobject to me because I played the part well. Would you have had me astick and make the thing even more of a bore?" "No," coldly, "but youdidn't have to have that part in it." "Well, it made it moreinteresting, and, besides, if you think that I put it in just for anexcuse to put my arm around you, you're entirely mistaken and not thegirl I thought you." This last thrust, which, in less skilful handsmight have become mere petulance, was delivered with a rollingdeliberation that would have wrung a Jezebel. Tom always did well inthese conversations, but unfortunately, the present situation was notsolved so easily. Nancy, he had found, was even more attractive than shehad been when he was in college. They would, of course, see something ofeach other from time to time, and it would be tiresome not to befriendly. Besides, he guessed that she would be helpful in discussinghis various problems. Mrs. Norris was splendid, of course, and he lovedher dearly, but he found himself occasionally wishing for a somewhatyounger listener and one not given over to quite so many nonsequiturs.Nancy seemed excellent material, but if she were going to besuperior--Possibly it was because of Ephesus and the Reynolds Dry GoodsStore. He turned away with a slightly bilious feeling. If it shouldprove that she was affected by that, then indeed would he bedisappointed in her.

  He crossed the hall into the drawing-room, where a dozen or so coupleswere dancing in various stages of aesthetic intoxication. The saxophoneand the violin were engaging in a pantomime calculated to add gaiety tothe waning enthusiasm of the party, and he gazed at them in disgust. Ayoung lady with hair newly hennaed and face suggestive of an over-ripepear ogled him over her partner's elbow as they jazzed by. Let her danceon until she got so sick of him she was ready to scream, was Tom'sthought.

  In one corner, obviously having a poor time, was Leofwin Balch. Tom satdown beside him.

  "It's too hot in here, don't you think?" he asked.

  "Much," replied Leofwin. "I think these parties get worse every year."These were soothing words. "Particularly those damned charades," he wenton. "Now, my dear fellow, you know perfectly well that yours was amiserable failure."

  Tom found this a little trying. It was true that no one could be moredeprecating of his effort than he, but, privately, he had a somewhatbetter opinion of it. As charades went, he thought it decidedly abovethe average; and the way he had examined the room, after the manner ofMr. William Gillette, and come upon the match box was proved amusing bythe laugh it had brought.

  "Granted," he replied, with a shade of sarcasm, "it was a miserablefailure."

  "Why, the way you made love to Miss Whitman was disgusting."

  Tom flushed. Had he really been as bad as that? Had he really justmissed being put out of the house like that clown Stebbins? Were theyall now, all these people sitting around so innocently in groups, werethey all blasting his name as a cheap cad? "What do you mean?" he asked.

  "Why, you went at it like a puling babe. Why didn't you put some fireinto it--kiss her feet or bite her neck? Then you would have made us situp and take notice. You college people are a lot of old women, anyway."

  Tom, with bounding relief, started to confess the apparent inability ofmost college people to bite ladies in the neck, when he observed astartling change in his companion. From the passionate leprecaune of themoment before he had become even as a little child. His hand, which wasresting elegantly on the arm chair, stole up into his chin whisker, amidwhich it wistfully strayed. There crept into his Saxon eyes that lightof resigned suffering which inspires such exquisite anguish in thefriends of Black Beauty and Beautiful Joe. In short, his entire beingproclaimed to all who would but look, a great quiet man in love. Tom'seyes followed his and rested upon--Nancy! He rose in disgust and,walking away, suddenly came face to face with her. Then, withoutthinking of his resolve to let her severely alone, he reached out hishand and cut in.

  What a fool he was! Obviously she didn't want to dance with him, andhere he was forcing himself upon her. It made him look so common, sopushing, so like an Ephesus drygoods clerk. Some one barged into him,surged into him, from the rear, causing him to stumble. "Sorry," hemuttered. They started on, just out of step. He tried to get into stepby speeding up, and their knees bumped together. Would no one ever cutin? Then the music stopped, and it appeared that the musicians weregoing to rest for a few minutes.

  "Let's sit down, shall we?" said Nancy. They settled themselves upon twogilt chairs with spindly legs. "Do you like your work here?" she askedpleasantly.

  What a very dull question! An expletive exploded inside Tom's head. "Oh,yes," he said. Then after a heavy pause, "How are you getting on withthe stars?"

  "Oh, I learned the diagrams in that nice little book you sent me, butI'm afraid I've forgotten most of them now. I feel rather superior aboutBetelgeuse, though."

  "So do I. We might start a Betelguese Club."

  "What would we do at it?"

  "Oh, read papers. With Betelguese's power behind us we might do allsorts of things--have picnics and read tracts to the poor. When you seeonly college people, after a while you crave being illiterate, and I'vethought recently that I'd like to enlist in the Navy or move to Alaska,or go over and work in the Mills. I'd buy a black shirt to work in anduse a bandana--when I used anything--and take the nice extra room mylaundress has in Whitmanville. She says her clothesline goes out fiftyfeet, and they have a phonograph. Don't you think that would be moreattractive than trying to teach a lot of Freshmen Carlyle andHawthorne?"

  "Lots, and there would be ever so much more money in it."

  "It would be a kind of social service work, wouldn't it? 'WoodbridgeProfessor Slaves in Mill to Earn Bread.' That would go big, all overthe country."

  "Do you know, I've thought a little of doing some social work,seriously. I don't know a
nything about it, of course, but it hasoccurred to me that if I could get a group of people together we mighthave one of the Physiologist instructors give us some lectures. You see,the first thing in social work must be the health of the people, and Ishould think a good grounding in the fundamentals would be essential. Assoon as we have their interest in their personal welfare we can get themto playing basketball, brushing their teeth, putting screens in theirwindows, and--so on. Naturally I don't know much about it, but it wouldseem as though there were a great opportunity for somebody."

  "Conditions in the town, on the west side, aren't too good."

  "Of course they're not. I have let my mind run on at a great rate aboutit, but I don't see why, if the right person got hold of it, the wholetown couldn't be improved, made into a model mill town, you know--withplaygrounds, and creches, and--" Again other model features failed her.

  "Well, why aren't you the proper person? I should think you could do itif anyone could. Your uncle would have to listen to you, and he probablywould be all for it."

  "Oh, Uncle Rob is just as nice as he can be--but I couldn't do it allalone."

  "Well, now of course we have got into this thing pretty quickly, but Iassure you I should like nothing better than to do something about itwith you. After all, what is education in the finest sense, but theuplifting of the masses? You probably will want to think it over alittle more before going ahead, but, really, I hope you will, and I hopeyou will let me join you."

  "There is no time like the present. Why dilly-dally? We both realizethat this is a crying need. Then why not do something about it? If youwill find out who is the best man for us, I'll provide the rest."

  At this point the musicians swung into Home Sweet Home, and Mrs. Norrishurried up to the embryonic workers. "The party is over now, my dears,and please help by going and getting your things. It's this awfulstanding around saying good-bye that is so trying," and with an emphaticpush of her back comb she began hauling tables and chairs back intotheir normal places.

  Tom had only just time to assure Nancy that he would do his part whenMrs. Norris called to him again to help her with the dining-room rug;and with a quick handshake and a pleasanter nod than he would havethought could possibly have come to him half an hour before, NancyWhitman was gone.