Chapter 6

"I will, if you will let me, Jack o' Dreams."

"Don't let me give up! Don't let me lose heart!"

"No, I won't. I'll push, or haul you, to the top!"

"I came to scoff, and I stay to pray," said Jarvis, cryptically. "God bless you, Bambi!" he added, as he left her.

X

No letter from Mr. Strong arrived in the morning's mail, so Bambi induced Jarvis to go over to the Cubist show, by himself, on the plea that she had a headache. He went, most willingly, anywhere, except Broadway.

The minute he was out of the way her languid, headachey manner changed to one of brisk energy. She donned her smartest frock and hat. She was more earnest in her effort to allure the eye than she was on the day of her own conquest. "You must look your best, you little old Bambi, you, and see what you can do for big Jarvis!"

After the last nod of approval at her reflected self, she tucked Jarvis's manuscript under her arm, and started forth. She had made a close study of all the theatrical columns of the papers and magazines since their arrival in New York, so she was beginning to have a formal bowing acquaintance with the names of the leading managers.

In spite of her cheerful acceptance of Jarvis's mood of despair, the day before, she was really deeply touched by it, and appealed to by his helplessness to cope with the situation. She remembered her words to her father, "He cannot accommodate himself to the commercial standards of the times." It was so true. And was she right in submitting him to them so ruthlessly? Was she blunting something fine in him by this ugly picture she was holding up for him to see, of a thoroughly commercialized drama, the laws and restrictions of which he must know and conquer, or be silenced? All the mother in her hated to have him hurt, but the sensible helpmeet part of her knew that it must be done. Of course he could not be expected to know how to approach managers, all at once. He was probably very tactless. He admitted that he had called the enemy of yesterday a "pig." Naturally that was no way to help his cause. Perhaps, after this experience, and his new cognizance of conditions, it would be better for him to write in quiet and solitude, while she acted as salesman.

"I'm just plain adventuress enough to love the fight of it," she admitted to herself as she approached the office she had selected for her first try. She tripped in, confidently, and addressed the office boy.

"Mr. Claghorn in?" she asked.

"Nope."

"When do you expect him?"

"Oh, any time. He's in and out."

"I'll wait."

"Probably won't be back until after lunch."

A railing shut off the hall where she stood from the office proper, where the boy was on guard. Doors opened off this central room into the private offices. There were no chairs in this hall, and the boy made no move to open the railing.

"Is that large armchair in there rented for the day?" Bambi inquired.

"Not so far as I know," he grinned.

"Does this thing open, or do I have to jump it?" she smiled.

"Where are you goin'?"

"To the large armchair."

"Welcome to our city," said he, as he lifted the rail. "Nobody allowed in here except by appointment."

"That's all right. I understand that," she said nonchalantly, and sank into the haven of the chair.

All the details of the office, which bored Jarvis, or which he entirely failed to see, fascinated Bambi. She set herself to the subjection of the office boy, by a request for the baseball score.

"Say, are you a fan?" he asked.

"Can't you see it in my eye?"

He was launched. He gave her a minute biographical sketch of every player on the team, his past and future possibilities. He went over all the games of the past season, while Bambi turned an enraptured face upon him.

He was frequently interrupted by actors and actresses who came by appointment, or otherwise, and he gave her all the racy details concerning them at his disposal. By indirection she obtained a description of Claghorn, so that he might not escape her if he came in.

All the actors looked at her with interest, the actresses with disdain. One whispered to the boy, who shook his head.

"Say, what you wid?" he asked her later.

"I don't understand you."

His look became suspicious. "What show you with?"

"With 'Success,'" she answered hastily, patting the manuscript.

"Roadshow?"

"No."

"Playing New York?"

"Not yet."

"Gimme two pasteboards when you come to town. I'd like to see you."

"All right. What's your name?"

"Robert Mantell Moses. I'm going on, in comic opera, some day."

"So?" said Bambi.

"Song and dance. Are you a dancer?"

"I am."

"Toe or Tango?"

"I beg pardon."

"Toe dancer, or Tango artist?"

"Oh, I do them both."

"Do you do the Kitchen Sink? And the Wash Tub?"

Bambi thought fast. "Yes. And the One-legged Smelt. Also the Jabberwock Jig."

He inspected her suspiciously.

"Say, those are new ones on me." "Really?"

She was thoroughly enjoying herself when the brazen-mouthed clock twanged twelve.

"Goodness! Is it as late as that? Claghorn's ins are mostly outs."

"Give me that again."

"You said he was in and out."

"Nix on the rough stuff."

"What a lovely phrase! I must tell that to Jarvis."

"Who's Jarvis? Your steady?"

"No. He's a--relative by marriage."

"Nix on the 'in-laws' for me."

He suddenly straightened up to attention as a big, fierce-looking man plunged in, nearly demolished the railing in passage, and made for a door marked "Private."

"Any mail?" he shouted.

"No. Lady to see you, sir," the boy replied.

Bambi rose to meet the foe, who never glanced at her. He jerked open the door, but he was not quick enough for the originator of the Jabberwock Jig. Her small foot was slid into the space between the door and the threshold. It was at the risk of losing a valuable member, but she was so angry at being ignored that she never thought of it. When the gentleman found that the door would not close, he stuck his head out, and nearly kissed Bambi, whose smiling countenance happened to be in the way.

"Well?" he ejaculated.

"Quite well, thank you," she replied as she slid in the crack. He looked her over.

"Where did you come from?" he demanded.

"I was out there when you swept the horizon with your eye, but you must have missed me. I didn't run up a flag."

She was so little and so saucy that he had to smile.

"What do you want?" he asked directly.

"I want to talk with you, for about three minutes."

"I don't engage people for the shows."

"I don't want a job."

"Well, what do you want? Talk fast. My time is precious."

"I have here a very fine play, called 'Success,' which would be a good investment for you."

"Who wrote it?"

"My husband."

He glanced at her.

"I thought child marriage was prohibited in this state."

She dimpled back at him, deliciously.

"It is modern, dramatic."

"Comedy?"

"No."

"Nothing else has much chance. Leave it, and I will read it."

"When?"

"As soon as I can."

"But we have to go home next Thursday."

"You don't expect me to read it before then?"

"Couldn't you?"

"I wouldn't read Pinero's latest before then."

"How soon would you read it?"

"I've got nine productions to look after. I only read on trains. I'm going to Buffalo to-night."

"Then you could take it along to-night?" she cried happily.

"Say, who let you in here, anyhow?"

"You did."

"I've got no time to talk to anybody."

"I'm not anybody. I'm I. Just promise me you'll read it to-night and I'll go."

"Is this it? Name and address on it?"

She nodded.

"All right. To-night. Now get out!"

"Thanks. I've had such a nice call." As she reached the door he spoke.

"Tell your husband to put you in a play and I'll put it on."

"Much obliged. I'll tell him. Good morning."

She made her farewells to Robert Mantell Moses, went out and down the street. It was definitely settled in her mind that she was to market Jarvis's wares. She had a gift for it, a desperate courage in a crisis, that made her do anything to win her point and get what she came for. Jarvis would, no doubt, be sitting, still. He was waiting for her at the club.

"I was getting anxious about you. Did you go to a doctor?"

"Doctor?"

"For your head?"

"Oh, my head. I'd forgotten all about it. After you left, I felt so much better that I decided to go out."

"Looking for more adventures?"

"I never look for them. They--flock to my standard. No, I took the play and stormed a manager's office. I saw him, in spite of himself, and got him to promise to read the play to-night on the way to Buffalo."

"Who was he?"

"Claghorn."

"How did you get to him?"

"He ran through the big office into his private one, and was just about to pull up the drawbridge, when I sprang in after him."

"Just tell it to me in plain English, Bambi."

She described her entrance, with the subjection of the office boy, the ruse by which she got into the inner office, her interview with Claghorn, and his subsequent promise.

"You are a wonder!" he exclaimed. "I never could have thought of it."

"I should say you wouldn't. You'd have been sitting there yet."

"Did you tell him about the play?"

"In three minutes? I should say not! I had to cram my words in, like loading a rapid-fire gun. Pouf! Pouf! And out!"

"Did he seem intelligent?"

"Yes, rather. I have decided to see managers after this, Jarvis. It will be Jocelyn & Co. You do the work and I'll sell it. It's fun."

"It's wonderful how the gods look after me," he said.

"Gods nothing! It's wonderful how I look after you. You can burn incense to me."

"I do."

The play came back shortly, with a brief note from Claghorn. It had some good points, but it was too serious. Not dramatic enough. The third act was weak.

"All the silly asses want me to make them laugh," raged Jarvis.

"I am disappointed in my new friend, but the letter to Belasco is here now, so we'll have a talk with him. Will you go, or shall I?"

"I think I'd like to talk with him, and tell him my views," Jarvis said.

They sent in the letter, with a request for an interview. In the course of a few days a reply came saying that Mr. Belasco had gone West to see a new production, but if Mr. Jocelyn would send his play to the office it would receive the earliest possible attention. It was a blow to their hopes, but there was nothing else to do, so they dispatched it by messenger.

"I think, maybe, we had better plan to go back home to-morrow, and wait the decision there. The money is vanishing, and I am getting anxious about the Professor. He forgets to write anything of importance."

"All right. I'll be glad to go back."

"Let's go shop this afternoon, and take the morning train to-morrow."

"Good. Suits me."

"What shall I take the Professor? I've thought and thought. He's so hard to shop for."

"Get him an adding machine!"

Bambi withered him.

"He would disinherit me on the spot. That's like sending Paderewski a pianola."

"We must get something for Ardelia, too."

"I got her a red dress, a red hat, a salmon-pink waist, and handkerchiefs with a coloured border."

Once their thoughts turned toward the little house, and the arithmetical garden, they were anxious to get back. Their shopping tour was a gay affair, because it was their last outing.

"Don't you feel differently about New York?" she asked him as they walked back. "It seems to me like a fascinating new friend I have made. I am sorry to leave it."

"I'm not. I'm not made for cities. People interest me for a while, then I forget them, and they are always under foot, in places like this. I trip over them, and they interrupt my thoughts."

"I'm so glad you are true to type," she smiled up at him.

"I'm deeply grateful and appreciative of your bringing me here," he added awkwardly.

"That was out of character, Jarvis. A month ago you would have taken it as your right."

"I'm beginning to realize that others may have rights, that even you may have some, Miss Mite."

"Never fear. I'll protect mine," she boasted.

On the morrow they turned their faces toward home and the Professor.

XI

"It looks very out-of-the-worldly, doesn't it?" Bambi said as they came in sight of home.

"It looks like Paradise to me," sighed Jarvis, holding open the gate for her.

"Enter Eve, dragging the serpent," she laughed as she passed in. "Eve never played in an arithmetical garden," she added. "If she had, there would probably have been no immortal fall."

"The number eights look tired," Jarvis commented, ignoring her witticism.

She spied the Professor afar sitting at work on the piazza. She flew along the path and burst in upon him.

"Daddy!" she cried, and enveloped him. His astonishment was poignant.

"My dear," he said, "my dear. Why, I must have forgotten that you were coming. I would have been at the station."

"I knew you'd forget, so I didn't bother you with it. How are you? Have you been lonesome? Did you miss us? Where's Ardelia?" all in a breath. The Professor smiled.

"Question one, I am well. Two, I cannot say that I have been lonesome. Three, I did not miss you. Four, Ardelia is in the kitchen. How are you, Jarvis?" he added as his son-in-law appeared.

"I am well, sir. I trust you are the same."

"Thank you. I enjoy good health."

"Stop it! Sounds like the first aid to manners. Here's Ardelia. Well, how do you do?"

Ardelia's face was decorated with a most expansive grin.

"Howdy, Miss Bambi? Howdy, Massa Jarvis? I sho'r am glad to see you folks home again." She shook hands with both of them.

"How's everything, Ardelia?"

"All right, Miss. Eberything is all right. We got 'long fine together, the Perfessor and me. We des went about forgettin' eberyting and habin' a mighty comfortable time. Did you all have a good time on your honeymoon?"

"Fine," said Bambi. "We brought you some presents, that will make your eyes ache, and, 'Delia, we're famished."

"Dog's foot! Heah I stan' a-gassin' and a-talkin' and you all hungry as wolfses." She hurried off, muttering.

Jarvis and Bambi sat down.

"Isn't there something you want to tell me? I can't just remember what you went to New York for?"

"We went to sell my play," Jarvis prompted.

"To be sure. It had escaped me for a moment. Were you successful?"

"We were not."

"Oh, Jarvis, how can you say that? We don't know yet. Belasco is considering it."

"What is this Belasco?"

Bambi looked at Jarvis, and they both laughed.

"Isn't he refreshing?" she remarked. "I've thought for two weeks in terms of managers. They fill the universe. They are the gods. Their nod is life or death, and now my nearest relative says, 'What is Belasco?'"

"It's a sort of meat sauce, isn't it?"

Consternation on both their faces, then an outburst from Bambi.

"No, no! That's tabasco, you dear, blessed innocent."

"Belasco is one of the leading managers in New York, Professor," explained Jarvis, patiently. "He is as well known as Pierpont Morgan or Theodore Roosevelt."

"Indeed! Well, I am not surprised at my ignorance. I have no interest in present-day drama. It is degenerate mush."

"Have you seen anything, since 'Uncle Tom's Cabin'?" Jarvis inquired.

"I have seen 'The Second Mrs. Tanqueray,'" he replied conclusively.

"That was considered strong meat in its day, but now we have 'Damaged Goods,'" mused Jarvis.

"And what are 'Damaged Goods'?" inquired the Professor.

"What are Yonkers? Don't tell him, Jarvis--he's too young to know. It's an ugly modern play. We saw some things you might have enjoyed. Oh, I often wished for you."

"Thank you, my dear, but I have no desire to enter that cauldron of humanity."

"I agree with you, Professor Parkhurst."

"That is a rare occurrence, I may say," answered the Professor, with a twinkle.

"Thank goodness, you have me to prod you into life. You would both sit in your dens and figure and write until you blinked like owls in the night. I have stored up energy enough, from these two weeks in the cauldron, to run me for months. I didn't miss one thing, ugly or beautiful. I shall use it all."

"Use it? How use it, my dear?"

"In my thoughts, my opinions, my life."

"Dear me!" said her father, staring at her. "What odd things you say!"

"It's true, what she says," Jarvis ejaculated. "She rolled New York up on reels, like a moving-picture show, and I have no doubt she could give us a very good performance."

"I shall," quoth Bambi.

"It is rather a pity you waste your impressions, Bambi. Why don't you write them down?" Jarvis patronized.

"In a young lady's diary, I suppose. No, thanks."

"One author in a family is enough," commented the Professor, heartily.

"You ought to tell us your conclusion about your career. Did you settle it in your mind?"

"I did."

"A career?" anxiously, from Professor Parkhurst.

"Yes, wealth and fame are in my grasp."

"You haven't done anything rash, my dear?"

"Well, slightly rash, but not the rashest I could do."

"Is it dancing?" from Jarvis.

"Of a sort."

"Not public dancing?"

"No, private," she giggled.

"Will it take you away much?" Jarvis asked her.

"Oh, I'll go to New York occasionally."

"It is to be a secret, I take it?" the Professor said.

"It is, old Sherlock Holmes."

They slipped back into their routine of life as if it had never been broken. Jarvis, after two perturbed days of restlessness, went into a work fit over a new play. The Professor was busy with final examinations, so Bambi was left alone with plenty of leisure in which to do her next story.

She wisely decided to write herself--in other words, to dramatize her own experiences, to draw on her emotions, her own views of life. She must leave it to Jarvis to rouse and stir people. She would be content to amuse and charm them. So she boldly called her tale by her own name, "Francesca," and she shamelessly introduced the Professor and Jarvis, with a thin disguise, and chortled over their true likeness after she had dipped them in the solution of her imagination. She relied on the fact that neither of them ever looked between the covers of a magazine. Besides, even if they chanced upon the story, they would never recognize their own portraits.

A few days before the prize story was published, a special copy came to her from Mr. Strong. She hid it until the "Twins" were gone. Then she hurried out to the piazza and the hammock with it. It was a thrilling moment. "Prize Story by a Wonderful New Writer" stared up at her from the front page. Her tale had the place of honour in the makeup, and it was illustrated--double-page illustrations--by James Montgomery Flagg, the supreme desire of every young writer. She hugged the magazine. She scanned it over and over. She laid it on the table, picked it up casually, and turned to the first story indifferently, just to squeeze the full joy out of it. Then she pounded a pile of pillows into shape, drew her feet up under her, and began to read her own work. She smiled a good deal, she chuckled, finally she laughed outright, hugging herself. At this unfortunate moment Jarvis appeared. She looked as guilty as a detected criminal.

"What's the joke?"

"Oh, I was laughing at a story in here."

"How can you read that trash?"

"It isn't trash. It's perfectly delightful."

"What is it?" He came nearer to her, and she clutched the magazine tightly.

"Oh, just a prize story."

"A prize story? And funny enough to make you laugh? Not O. Henry?"

"Of course not. He's dead. A new writer, it says."

He held out his hands for it, and, perforce, she resigned it to him.

"Francesca!" he exclaimed.

"Odd, isn't it? That's what attracted me to it," Bambi lied.

"Well, I suppose there are other Francescas. I came to ask you to listen to a scenario."

"Good! I shall be delighted," she replied cordially, folding the magazine over her finger.

So the fatal moment came and passed. Her secret was safe. She kept the cherished magazine in her own room, read and reread it, patting its cover, as one would a curly head.

Upon the receipt of her second story came a telegram from Strong, "Can you see me on Thursday? New plan for stories. Arrive in Sunnyside ten in the morning." She wired him to come, then sat down to work up an explanation of him for the "Heavenly Twins." He would be there for lunch--he must be accounted for. She discarded several plans, and finally decided to introduce him as the brother of a college classmate, in town for the day. She would get rid of the family speedily, so that she and Mr. Strong might have time for the conference. What on earth did he want to see her about? It must be important, to bring him from New York. Maybe he was disappointed with the second story, and wanted to break the contract. It was his kind way to come and say it, instead of writing it, but it was a blow. She had felt that the second tale was so much better than the first. She went over it, in her mind, trying to pick flaws in it. Well, she could always go to dancing, if everything else failed.

At lunch she casually remarked, "Richard Strong is coming to lunch on Thursday. I hope you will both be here."

"Who may Richard Strong be?" inquired her father.

"He is the brother of an old classmate, Mary Strong."

"Does he live here?" Jarvis asked.

"No. He lives in New York."

"What brings him to Sunnyside?"

"He didn't say."

"I never heard of him before," Professor Parkhurst said.

"Oh, yes. I used to talk about him a great deal. He's a fine fellow."

"Was he a special friend?" Jarvis asked, roused to some interest.

Bambi hesitated. She was getting in deeper than she planned.

"Yes, rather special. Not intimate, but special."

"What is his business?" asked her father.

"I don't remember."

"Rich idler, I suppose," Jarvis scorned.

"He used to work when I knew him."

"Well, we shall be glad to see the young man. Would you like me to change off my afternoon classes and remain at home?"

"Oh, no. Don't think of it!" Bambi cried, with unpremeditated warmth, which focussed Jarvis's eyes upon her. "He'll be here only a little while, and we will reminisce. He would bore you to death."

"I like to be cordial to your beaus."

"Professor Parkhurst, I am a married woman."

"Dear me, so you are. I am always forgetting Jarvis. If he is a bore, I'll lunch at the club."

"Possibly you would prefer me to lunch out, too," said Jarvis, pointedly.

"Not at all. I want you both here," said Bambi, with irritation, closing the incident. She had a feeling that she had not handled the situation as well as she had planned to do.

XII

Thursday, and Mr. Strong arrived with the inevitableness of dreaded events. Bambi felt convinced that his coming meant the premature death of her new-born career, so, naturally, she was prepared for grief. An element of amusement was added, however, by Jarvis's astonishing behaviour. Ever since the first mention of Mr. Strong's name he had shown unmistakable signs of dislike for that gentleman. 'It was the most remarkable revelation of his strange character. Having totally ignored Bambi himself, it distressed him to think of any other man being attracted by her. His references to Mr. Strong's coming were many and satirical. This display of manly inconsistency was nuts and ale to Bambi. She wondered how much Mr. Strong would play up, and she decided to give Jarvis Jocelyn an uncomfortable hour. She herself was an adept in amatory science, but she was a trifle unsure of Mr. Strong. However, she remembered a certain twinkle in his eye that augured well.

Because it was necessary to enlighten him as to the situation in advance, she arrayed herself most carefully to go and meet him. She encountered Jarvis on the stairs. He inspected her charming self, in a frock the colour of spring green leaves, topped by a crocus-coloured hat, like a flower. She deliberately pranced before him.

"Aren't I a delight to the eye?"

He stared at her coldly.