The Coming of Bill Part 55
How tragic is a man's fruitless fight on behalf of a friend! For one short instant Mrs. Porter allowed Mr. Penway to imagine that the victory was his, then she administered the _coup-de-grace_.
"Don't lie, you worthless creature," she said. "They stopped at my house on their way while the girl packed a suitcase."
Mr. Penway threw up his brief. There are moments when the stoutest-hearted, even under the influence of old Bourbon, realize that to fight on is merely to fight in vain.
He condensed his emotions into four words.
"Of all the chumps!" he remarked, and, pouring himself out a further instalment of the raw spirit, he sat down, a beaten man.
Mrs. Porter continued to harry him.
"Exactly," she said. "So you see that there is no need for any more subterfuge and concealment. I do not intend to leave this room until you have told me all you have to tell, so you had better be quick about it. Kindly tell me the truth in as few words as possible--if you know what is meant by telling the truth."
A belated tenderness for his dignity came to Mr. Penway.
"You are insulting," he remarked. "You are--you are--most insulting."
"I meant to be," said Mrs. Porter crisply. "Now. Tell me. Where has Mr.
Winfield gone?"
Mr. Penway preserved an offended silence. Mrs. Porter struck the table a blow with a book which caused him to leap in his seat.
"Where has Mr. Winfield gone?"
"How should I know?"
"How should you know? Because he told you, I should imagine.
Where--has--Mr.--Winfield--gone?"
"C'nnecticut," said Mr. Penway, finally capitulating.
"What part of Connecticut?"
"I don't know."
"What part of Connecticut?"
"I tell you I don't know. He said: 'I'm off to Connecticut,' and left."
It suddenly struck Mr. Penway that his defeat was not so overwhelming as he had imagined. "So you haven't got much out of me, you see, after all," he added.
Mrs. Porter rose.
"On the contrary," she said; "I have got out of you precisely the information which I required, and in considerably less time than I had supposed likely. If it interests you, I may tell you that Mr. Winfield has gone to a small house which he owns in the Connecticut woods."
"Then what," demanded Mr. Penway indignantly, "did you mean by keeping on saying 'What part of C'nnecticut? What part of C'nnecticut? What part----'"
"Because Mr. Winfield's destination has only just occurred to me." She looked at him closely. "You are a curious and not uninteresting object, Mr. Penway."
Mr. Penway started. "Eh?"
"Object lesson, I should have said. I should like to exhibit you as a warning to the youth of this country."
"What!"
"From the look of your frame I should imagine that you were once a man of some physique. Your shoulders are good. Even now a rigorous course of physical training might save you. I have known more helpless cases saved by firm treatment. You have allowed yourself to deteriorate much as did a man named Pennicut who used to be employed here by Mr.
Winfield. I saved him. I dare say I could make something of you. I can see at a glance that you eat, drink, and smoke too much. You could not hold out your hand now, at this minute, without it trembling."
"I could," said Mr. Penway indignantly.
He held it out, and it quivered like a tuning-fork.
"There!" said Mrs. Porter calmly. "What do you expect? You know your own business best, I suppose, but I should like to tell you that if you do not become a teetotaller instantly, and begin taking exercise, you will probably die suddenly within a very few years. Personally I shall bear the calamity with fort.i.tude. Good evening, Mr. Penway."
For some moments after she had gone Mr. Penway sat staring before him.
His eyes wore a gla.s.sy look. His mouth was still ajar.
"d.a.m.n woman!" he said at length.
He turned to his meditations.
"d.a.m.n impertinent woman!"
Another interval for reflection, and he spoke again.
"d.a.m.n impertinent, interfering woman that!"
He reached out for the bottle of Bourbon and filled his gla.s.s. He put it to his lips, then slowly withdrew it.
"d.a.m.n impertinent, inter--I wonder!"
There was a small mirror on the opposite wall. He walked unsteadily toward it and put out his tongue. He continued in this att.i.tude for a time, then, with increased dejection, turned away.
He placed a hand over his heart. This seemed to depress him still further. Finally he went to the table, took up the gla.s.s, poured its contents carefully back into the bottle, which he corked and replaced on the shelf.
On the floor against the wall was a pair of Indian clubs. He picked these up and examined them owlishly. He gave them little tentative jerks. Finally, with the air of a man carrying out a great resolution, he began to swing them. He swung them in slow, irregular sweeps, his eyes the while, still gla.s.sy, staring fixedly at the ceiling.
Chapter XII
Dolls with Souls
Ruth had not seen Bailey since the afternoon when he had called to warn her against Basil Milbank. Whether it was offended dignity that kept him away, or merely pressure of business, she did not know.
That pressure of business existed, she was aware. The papers were full, and had been full for several days, of wars and rumours of wars down in Wall Street; and, though she understood nothing of finance, she knew that Bailey was in the forefront of the battle. Her knowledge was based partly on occasional references in the papers to the firm of Bannister & Co. and partly on what she heard in society.
She did not hear all that was said in society about Bailey's financial operations--which, as Bailey had the control of her money, was unfortunate for her. The manipulation of money bored her, and she had left the investing of her legacy entirely to Bailey. Her father, she knew, had always had a high opinion of Bailey's business instincts, and that was good enough for her.