Chapter 1

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"CHARGE IT"

OR

KEEPING UP WITH HARRY

A story of fashionable extravagance and of the successful efforts to restrain it made by The Honorable Socrates Potter the genial friend of Lizzie

BY

IRVING BACHELLER

ILLUSTRATED

HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS

NEW YORK AND LONDON

MCMXII

Books by

IRVING BACHELLER

Charge It. Ill'd. 12mo net $1.00 Keeping Up With Lizzie. Ill'd. Post 8vo net 1.00 Eben Holden. Ill'd. Post 8vo 1.50 Edition de Luxe 2.00 Eben Holden's Last Day A-Fishing. 16mo .50 Dri and I. Ill'd. Post 8vo 1.50 Darrell of the Blessed Isles. Ill'd. Post 8vo 1.50 Vergilius. Post 8vo 1.35 Silas Strong. Post 8vo 1.50 The Hand-Made Gentleman. Post 8vo 1.50 In Various Moods. Poems. Post 8vo net 1.00

HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK

COPYRIGHT, 1912. BY HARPER & BROTHERS

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

PUBLISHED SEPTEMBER, 1912

K-M

TO MY DEAR FRIEND

LEDYARD PARK HALE

ANOTHER HONEST LAWYER

CONTENTS

CHAP. PAGE I. In Which Harry Swiftly Passes from One Stage of His Career to Another 1 II. Which Begins the Story of the Bishop's Head 11 III. Which Is the Story of the Pimpled Queen and the Black Spot 33 IV. In Which Socrates Encounters "New Thought" and Psychological Hair 45 V. In Which Socrates Discusses the Over-Production of Talk 55 VI. In Which Betsey Commits an Indiscretion 69 VII. In Which Socrates Attacks the Worst Doers and Best Sellers 75 VIII. In Which Socrates Attacks the Helmet and the Battle-Ax 84 IX. In Which Socrates Increases the Supply of Splendor 91 X. In Which Socrates Breaks the Drag and Tandem Monopoly in Pointview 99 XI. In Which Sundry People Make Great Discoveries 106 XII. In Which Harry Is Forced to Abandon Swamp Fiction and Like Follies and to Study the Geography and Natives of a Land Unknown to Our Heiristocracy 118 XIII. In Which the Minister Gets Into Love and Trouble 127 XIV. In Which Socrates Discovers a New Folly 139 XV. In Which Harry Returns to Pointview and Goes to Work 148 XVI. Which Presents an Incident in Our Campaign Against New New England 171 XVII. Which Presents a Decisive Incident in Our Campaign Against Old New England 176

ILLUSTRATIONS

"SHE WISHED ME TO SUGGEST SOMETHING FOR HER TO DO" Frontispiece "WHAT DIDN'T THEY SAY? THEY FLEW AT ME LIKE WILDCATS." 60 "'IT'S THE VAN ALSTYNE CREST,' I SAID. 'IT'S A PROOF OF RESPECTABILITY.'" 86 "RADIANT IN SILK, LACE, DIAMONDS, PEARLS, AND RUBIES" 94 "HARRY'S PET COLLIE HAD COME UP TO THE BACK DOOR WITH A HUMAN SKULL IN HIS MOUTH" 148 "HE LOOKED LIKE A MAN WITH A WOODEN LEG" 188

FOREWORD

It may interest, if it does not comfort, the reader to know that this little story is built upon facts. The ride of Harry, the hundred-dollar pimple, the psychological hair, the downfall of Roger, all happened, while the Bishop's Head is one of the possessions of a New England family.

I. B.

"CHARGE IT"

I

IN WHICH HARRY SWIFTLY PASSES FROM ONE STAGE OF HIS CAREER TO ANOTHER

"Harry and I were waiting for his motor-car," said the Honorable Socrates Potter. "He couldn't stand and wait--that would be losing time--so we kept busy. Went into the stores and bought things--violets, candy, golf-balls, tennis-shoes, new gloves, and neckties. Harry didn't need 'em, but he couldn't waste any time and--

"'There's the car!'

"In each store Harry had used the magic words, 'Charge it,' and passed on.

"We were going over to Chesterville to settle with the contractor who had built his father's house. We had an hour and four minutes in which to do it all, and then--the 6.03 express for New York. Harry had to get it to be in time for a bridge party.

"We climbed in. Harry grabbed the wheel. The gas-lever purred, the gears clicked, the car jumped into motion and rushed, screeching, up the hill ahead of us, shot between a trolley-car and a wagon, swung around a noisy runabout, scared a team into the siding, and sped away.

"The town behind us! Country-houses on either side! A bulldog in the near perspective! He set himself, made a rush at us, as if trying to grab a wheel off the car, and the wheel got him. We flushed a lot of chickens. The air seemed to be full of them. Harry waved an apology to the farmer, as if to say:

"'Never mind, sir, I'm in a hurry now. Take my number and charge it.'

"'He struck a fowl, and, turning, I saw a whirl of feathers in the air behind us and the farmer's fist waving above the dust.

"Harry would have paid for the dog and the fowl in money but not in time--not even in a second of time! Harry had an engagement for a bridge party and must catch the 6.03 express.

"A man on a bicycle followed by a big greyhound was just ahead. We screeched. The man went into the ditch and took a header. The greyhound didn't have time to turn out then. He bent to the oars until he had gained lead enough to save himself with a sidelong jump into the buttercups.

"'Charge it!'

"The needle on the speedometer wavered from fifty to fifty-five, then struck at sixty, held a second there, and passed it. Gnats and flies hit my face and stung like flying shot. The top of the road went up in a swirl of dust behind us. I hung on, with my life in my trembling hands. We zipped past teams and motor-cars.

"We filled every eye with dust and every ear with screeches and every heart with a swift pang of terror.

"'Charge it!'

"A rider with a frightened horse raced on ahead of us to the next corner. We sped across the track into Chesterville and--

"'Hold up! There's the office ahead.'

"The levers move, down goes the brake, and we're there.

"'Eleven miles in fourteen minutes!' Harry exclaims, as I spring out and hurry to the door. It was really sixteen minutes, but I always allow Harry a slight discount.

"'Not in!' I shout, in a second.

"'Not in--heart of Allah!--where is he?'

"'At the Wilton job on the point.'

"'We'll go get him.'

"'You go; I'll wait here.'

"Away he rushes--I thank God for the brief respite. This high power encourages great familiarity with the higher powers. But the Creator's name is used here in no light or profane spirit, let me say. In each case it is only a brief prayer or, rather, the beginning of a prayer which one has not time to finish. It is cut short by a new adventure.

"I say to myself that I shall not ride back with Harry. No, life is still dear to me. I will take the trolley. And yet--what thrilling, Jove-like, superhuman deviltry it was! I light a cigar and sit down. Harry and Wilton arrive. Fifteen minutes gone!

"I get down to business.

"Harry says: 'Please cut it short.'

"I could have saved five hundred dollars if I had had time to present our side of the case with proper deliberation. But Harry keeps shouting:

"'Do cut it short. I _must_ get there--don't you know?'

"Wilton must have his pay, too--he needs every cent of it to-morrow.

"'You go on. I'll stay here and settle this matter and go home by the trolley.'

"'Let's stick together,' my young friend entreats. 'Please hurry it through and come on with me. I need you.'

"Harry must have company. His time is wasted unless he has a spectator--an audience--a witness--a historian. Without that, all his hair-breadth escapes would be thrown away. His stories would hang by a thread.

"'We've only twenty-one minutes,' he calls.

"I say to myself: 'Damn the man whose money is like water and whose time is more precious than the last hour of Mahomet.' Well, of course, there was plenty of money, but the supply of time was limited. To waste a second was to lose an opportunity for self-indulgence.

"I draw a check and take a hurried receipt and jump in.

"Away we go. 'Look out!'

"The brakes grind, and we rise in the air a little as a small boy crosses our bows. We just missed him--thank God!

"'Don't be reckless, old man--go a bit slower.'

"'It's all right. We've a clear road now.'

"What a wind in our faces! There's the track ahead.

"'_Look out! The train! God Almighty!_'

"I spoke too late. We were almost up to the rails when I saw it. We couldn't stop. Cleared the track in time. Felt the wind of the engine in my back hair, and then my scalp moved. Just ahead was a light buggy in the middle of the road and a bull, frightened by the cars, galloping beside it.

"In the excitement Harry hadn't time to blow, and the roar of the train had covered our noise. The bull turned into the ditch and speeded up. We swerved between bull and buggy and grazed the side of the latter.

"I jumped and landed on the bull, and that saved me. It's the first time that I ever knocked a bull down. He got to his feet swiftly beside me, bellowed, and took the fence. He was a fat, well-fed bull with a big, round, soft side on him. I never knew that a bull was so mellow. My feet sank deep, and he gave way, and I hit him again with another part of my person. I didn't mean it, and felt for him, although it is likely that his feelings needed no further help from me. Of course I bounded off him at last and the earth hit me a hard upper-cut, but the bull had been a highly successful shock absorber. In a second or so I was able to get up and look around. The buggy had gone over, and the horse was on his hind legs trying to climb out of the dust-cloud.

"Harry stopped his car and began to back up.

"'That'll do for me,' I said. 'I don't sit in your padded cell any longer.'

"I had lived a whole three-volume novel in the last forty minutes. The Panama Canal had been finished and England had become a republic. It was too much.

"We found two men--one at the head of the frightened horse, the other lying beside the wrecked buggy with a broken leg.

"And Harry had an engagement to play bridge!

"I took the horse's head. The well man pulled a stake off the fence and chased Harry around the motor-car. He didn't intend to 'charge it.' Wanted cash down. I got hold of his arm and succeeded in calming him.

"Harry apologized and assured them that he was willing to pay the damage. We picked up the injured man and took him to his home. On the way Harry explained that they should keep track of all expenses and:

"'Charge it.'

"In a few minutes Harry roared off in the direction of Pointview to get a doctor and the 6.03 express.

"'It might be a little late,' he said, as he left us.

"The next day Harry was arrested as a public enemy for criminal carelessness. He had injured three men on the highways of Connecticut, to say nothing of dogs and poultry. Almost everybody had something charged against Harry. He was highly unpopular, but a good fellow at heart.

"I got the judge to release him on his promise to abandon motoring for three years.

"Thus he rushed out of the motor-car stage of his career into that of the drag and tandem.

"He had had more narrow escapes and suffered greater perils than Rob Roy.

"Yes, bulls are a good thing--a comparatively soft thing. I recommend them to every motorist who may have to look for a place to land. Don't ever throw yourself on the real estate of New England. It can hit harder than you can."

II

WHICH BEGINS THE STORY OF THE BISHOP'S HEAD

"Harry is the most modern character in my little museum," said the Honorable Socrates Potter, as I sat with him in his cozy office. "I was really introduced to Harry by the Bishop of St. Clare, who died in 1712. I didn't know his heart until the Bishop made us acquainted. Strange! Well, that depends on the point of view. You see, the Bishop was acquired and imported as an ancestor by one of the best families, and that's how I happened to meet him. They would have got William the Conqueror--of England and Fifth Avenue--if he hadn't been well hidden.

"I am inclined to converse long and loudly on the reconstruction of Pointview. Of course I shall talk too much, but I am a licensed liar, and the number of my machine is 4227643720, so if I smash a dog here and there, make a note of the number and charge it. I'm going fast and shall not have time to stop for apologies.

"In Pointview even Time has quickened his pace. Last year is ancient history. Lizzie has been succeeded by Miss Elizabeth, who needs a maid, a chauffeur, a footman, and a house-party to maintain her spirits. Harry and his drag have taken the place of Dan and his runabout.

"The enemy has arrived in force. We are surrounded by country-houses and city abdomens of appalling size and arrogance. Mansions crown the slopes and line the water-front. The dialect of the lazy Yankee and his industrious hens are heard no more in the hills of Pointview. Where the hoe and the sickle were stirred by the fear of hunger, the golf-club and the tennis-racket are moved by the fear of fat. The sweat of toil is now the perspiration of exercise. The chatter of society has succeeded that of the goose and the polliwog. Land has gone up. Rocks have become real estate even while they belonged to Christian Scientists. Ledges, smitten by the modern Moses, have gushed a stream of gold. Once the land supported its owner. Now wealth supports land and landlord and the fullness thereof. The Fifth Avenue farmer has begun to raise his own vegetables at a dollar apiece and a crop of criminals second to none. In his hands farming becomes agriculture and the farm a swarming nest of parasites.

"We are in the midst of a new migration from the cities back to the land, and all are happy save the philosophers. It is a remote reaction of former migrations to the mines and the oil-fields. The descendants of these very pioneers now seek to exchange a part of their gold for the ancient sod in which are the roots of their family trees and delusions.

"With these rich men came Henry Delance, who grew up with me here and went to Pittsburg in his early twenties and made a fortune in the coal and iron business. His grandfather was old Nick Delance, a blacksmith; and his father owned a farm on the hills and made a bare living for himself and a large family. They had been simple, hard-working, honest people. I helped Henry to buy the old place, and, as we stood together on the hilltop, he said to me:

"'I often think of the old days that were full of hard labor. What a woman my mother was! Did all the work of the house and raised seven boys and two girls, and every one of them has had some success in the world--except me. One built a big railroad, one was governor of a State, one a member of Congress, one a noted physician, two have made millions, and both of the girls married well. Now, my boy has had every advantage--'

"'But poverty,' I suggested.

"'But poverty,' he repeated, 'and I'm unable to give him that. It's probably the one thing that would make a man of him, and I wouldn't wonder if he succeeded in achieving it.'

"'A rather large undertaking,' I said.

"'Yes, but he's well qualified,' Henry answered, with a smile.

"'What's the matter with your boy?' I asked.

"'So busy with tomfoolery--no time for anything else. I've had so much to do that I've rather neglected Harry, and now he's too much for me. He knows that he's got me beat on education, but that's only the beginning of what he knows. Good fellow, you understand, but he's young and thinks me old-fashioned. I wish you'd help me to make a man of him.'

"'What can I do?'

"'Get him interested in some kind of work. He doesn't like my business. He hates Wall Street, and, knowing it as I do, how can I blame the boy? He doesn't take to the law--'

"'And, knowing it as I do, how can _I_ blame him?' I interrupted.

"'But, somehow, he hasn't the spring in his bow that I had--the get-up-and-get--the disposition to move all hell if necessary.'

"'You can't expect it,' I said. 'His mainspring is broken.'

"'What would you call his mainspring?' he asked.

"'The desire to win money and its power. Mind you, I wouldn't call that a high motive, but in a young man it's a kind of a mainspring that sets him a-going and keeps the works busy until he can get better motive power. In Harry it's broken.'

"'You're right--it was busted long ago,' said Henry Delance.

"'Some one has got to contrive a new mainspring for the sons of millionaires--they're so plenty these days.'

"'There's the desire to be respectable,' he suggested.

"'But it is not nearly so universal as the love of money. If it were possible to have millionaire carpenters and shoemakers there'd be more hope! But I'll try to invent a mainspring for Harry. If he doesn't marry some fool woman there's a chance for the boy--a good chance. Tell me all about him.'

"In his own way, which amused me a little, the old man sketched the character of his son, or rather confessed it.

"'A kind of Alexander the Great,' he said. 'We shall have to be careful or lose our heads. Surfeited with power, you know. When he wants anything he goes to a store and says, "Charge it." That has ruined him. He's no scale of values in his mind.'

"He told me, then, with some evidence of alarm, that Harry had become interested in a fool woman, older than he, noted for her beauty and equestrian skill--by name Mrs. Revere-Chalmers, of a well-known Southern family. I knew the woman--divorced from a rich old gentleman of great generosity, who had taken all the blame for her sake. But I happened to know that the circumstances on her side were not creditable. The truth, however, had been well concealed.

"In her youth Frances Revere had two beautiful parents. In fact, they were all that any girl could desire--obedient and respectful to their youngers. She was always kind to them and kept them looking neatly and helped them in their lessons and brought them up in the fear of Tiffany and the hope of future happiness. They played most of the time, but never chased each other in and out of the bedrooms or made any noise about the house when she lay sleeping in the forenoon. Their sense of chivalry would not have permitted it. When she arose she called them to her and patted their heads and said: 'What dear parents I have!' It might be thought that the fair Frances led an aimless and idle life. Not so. The young lady was very busy and never forgot her aim. She was preparing herself to be a marryer of men and the leading marryer in the proud city of her birth. Every member of the household became her assistant in this noble industry. Many storekeepers had unconsciously joined her staff and 'charged it' until they were weary. All her papa's money had been invested in the business, and he began to borrow for a rainy day. Then there came a long spell of wet weather. At last something had to be done. Frances began to use her talents. No prince or noble duke had come for her, so she married an old man worth ten million dollars and sent her parents to an orphan asylum with a fair allowance of spending-money. They are her only heirs, and now, at thirty, but with ample capital, she has set up again in the marrying business.

"She lives in a big country-house, and has a lot of cats and dogs that are shampooed every day. Her life is pretty much devoted to the regulation of hair. Her own requires the exclusive attention of a hired girl. Its tint, luster, and general effect show excellent taste and close application. Considering its area, her scalp is the most remarkable field of industry in Connecticut. Has herself made into a kind of life-sized portrait every day and carefully framed and lighted and hung. It is a beautiful portrait, but it is not a portrait of her.

"Her life is arduous. I have some reason to think that it wearies her. She rings for the masseuse at 10.30 A.M. and breakfasts in bed at twelve o'clock. Soon after that the chiropodist and the manicure and the hair-dresser begin to saw wood; then the grooms and second footmen. At two o'clock she goes out to pat the head of the ten-thousand-dollar bull and give some sugar to the horses, all of whom have been prepared for this ordeal by bathing and massage.

"It's great to be able to pat the head of a ten-thousand-dollar bull. It's a pretty vanity. All the Fifth Avenue farmers indulge in it. Some slap them on the back and some poke them in the ribs with the point of a parasol, but the correct thing is to pat them on the head and say: Dear old Romeo!

"After a turn in the saddle Mrs. Revere-Chalmers led society until midnight. With her a new spirit had arrived in the ancient stronghold of the Yankee.

"I began to learn things about Harry--a big, blond, handsome youth who had traveled much. He had been to school in New York, London, Florence, and Paris, and had graduated from Harvard. For a time he called it Hahvud, but passed that trouble without serious injury and put it behind him. In the European stage of his career he had been attacked by lions, griffins, and battle-axes and had lost some of his red blood. There he had acquired a full line of Fifth Avenue dialect and conversation with trills and grace notes from France and Italy. He had been slowly recovering from that trouble for a year or so when I met him. Now and then a good, strong, native idiom burst out in his conversation.

"Harry was a man without a country, having never had a fair chance to acquire one. He had touched many high and low places--from the top of the Eiffel Tower to the lowest depths of the underworld. Also, he knew the best hotels in Europe and eastern America, and the Duke of Sutherland and the Lord Mayor of London, and Jack Johnson, the pugilist. Harry knew only the upper and lower ends of life.

"He was an extremist. Also, he was a prolific and generous liar. He lied not to deceive, but to entertain. There was a kind of noble charity in his lying. He would gladly perjure his soul to speed an hour for any good friend. His was the fictional imagination largely exercised in the cause of human happiness. Now and then he became the hero of his own lies, but he was generally willing to divide the honors. His friends knew not when to believe him, and he often deceived them when he was telling the truth.

"Early in April, Henry Delance came to me and said: 'Soc, you've been working hard for years, and you need a rest. Let's get aboard the next steamer and spend a fortnight in England.'

"I had little taste for foreign travel, but Betsey urged me to go, and I went with Henry and his wife, their daughter Ruth and the boy Harry, and sundry maids and valets. We had been a week in London, when Henry and the Mrs. came into my room one day, aglow with excitement. Mrs. Delance was first to address me.

"'Mr. Potter, congratulate us,' said she. 'We find that Henry is a lineal descendant of William the Conqueror.'

"'Henry, it is possible that William could prove an alibi, or maybe you could,' I suggested.

"'I'd make an effort,' said he, with a trace of embarrassment, 'but my wife thinks that we had better plead guilty and let it go. That kind of thing doesn't interest me so much as it does her.'