Part 14

He rose and walked again, began a circular tramp about the room. He passed through a whispering tunnel, completely black. He was marching in the dark and knew that Olive and Gurdy watched him, that Bernamer came into the room with his hat in a hand. Yet he walked in blackness. He would go mad of this! She had lied to him. She had thrown herself to a married man. Well, girls did that. Things were changing. People did queer things. He was jealous for Gurdy, that was the trouble. He had wanted her married to Gurdy. She had said such good things of Gurdy.--All this time she’d been lying. She was in love with this pink, married actor.--The talk would roll among the restaurants, in the offices. People would laugh. Awful names! All the other noises would slacken and fail in this whispering. They would sneer when the Walling opened.--She couldn’t care anything for him or she wouldn’t have lied. Gurdy didn’t lie. Mark tore himself out of the black whispering and went to take Gurdy’s sleeve.

“Don’t you mind, sonny. She--she’d ought to have told you she liked this--”

“Oh, Mark, I don’t care about her.”

“All right to say that--but don’t you mind.”

Bernamer came across the room and took Mark in his arms. He said, “Now, bud, don’t upset yourself. I got to go home. The fam’ly don’t know nothin’. I shan’t say a word.--What you do is this. Get hold of Cora Boyle and give her money to let this feller divorce her, see? That’ll save talk and trouble.”

“That’s right, Eddie. Yes, good idea.”

Bernamer hugged him and left the room. Mark’s head cleared. There was no black tunnel. Eddie was right. He must make the best of this. It could be hushed up. Women like Cora needed money for clothes. He nodded to Gurdy, “You’ll never be any smarter than your dad, son. Ain’t he a nice fellow, Olive?”

“Of course, dear.”

“And I’m bein’ a fool. I know it. Only there’s lots of men that feel like I do about these kind of things.--One o’clock.--You and Gurdy have some lunch.”

Olive said, “Mark, would you like to talk to her?”

He cried, “No!--I--might say something. You folks go have lunch.” They went away and at once he wanted them back, walked the floor with his hands clenched. He was afraid that Margot might come in, now. He dreaded seeing her. He wished her out of the house and away. The wish bit him. He had been fooled. He had to love her, help her. Couldn’t she go away? To the farm, where no one knew and--But they might find out. They would shrink from her as bad. They weren’t knowing and tolerant like Bernamer. He mustn’t stop loving her or let her see that he was hurt. Nothing eased him. The afternoon lagged along. Gurdy played the piano downstairs. Gurdy and Olive drifted in, out, consoling him. It was sunset. A van full of boxes went slowly past the house and the shadows on the pine were amethyst. Some friend of Gurdy’s came calling in a yellow, low car that turned ochre as the light failed. Its lamps made ovals on the street as it drove away.--He mustn’t let this sour the boy.--In the darker room the whispering began again. It might be the blood in his ears. Gurdy brought him up dinner and white wine. Olive came afterwards and tried to make him eat, lit all the soft lamps. He drank some wine and smoked a cigarette.

“Gurdy takes it well, doesn’t he?”

“Perhaps he didn’t care as much as you think, Mark.”

Mark laughed, “Awful cool outside. No, he’s bein’ brave to--cheer me up. And I feel better, honest.... My God, Olive, if that woman wants to make a scandal!”

“Don’t think of it, Mark.”

He was tired of thinking. He said, “I’ll try not to,” and smiled at Gurdy coming in. But he now thought of Cora Boyle.--Perhaps she liked Rand, wouldn’t give him up. He examined the rosy face, the trim grey suits. Yellow haired. Perhaps these dark women liked yellow haired men best. He was afraid of Cora. She could lie to her friends and make things worse. He stared at a lamp a long time and his mind fell dull again.

“Mark, it’s after ten. Go to bed,” said Olive, “Please, old man.”

“You folks go.--Not sleepy.”

They left him. He was lonely. He sat by the hearth and lit a cigarette. Above him there was a slow noise of Gurdy strolling about, getting undressed. The ripple of little sounds kept Mark company, then deserted him. Mark shuddered in the peace of the lit room. Something worse would happen. What? He must save Gurdy more pain. The boy was too young for this. Mark’s throat ached suddenly and he began to weep, spent in his chair. The lamps of the room swelled like luminous pearls melting and through the mist came Gurdy in white pyjamas that flapped.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Mark! Bed!”

“I’m scared,” said Mark, gulping, “Gurd, I’m scared of Cora. Suppose she likes him? Suppose she won’t let go of him? She’s bad tempered, sonny. You don’t know her.--It’s the talk--the talk. People ain’t as broad minded as you and Olive think. The women, especially.--And she’s a young girl.... It ain’t like she was one of these women that’ve been divorced three or four times.... If Cora makes a fuss--”

Gurdy pulled him up out of the chair and gently shook him. “You must come to bed.”

“All right.--Making a fool of myself.... Only, you’re in love with her. It’s hard on you.”

“I’m not in love with her, Mark!”

Mark thought this a splendid sort of lie but he shivered. “Somethin’ else might happen. I feel.... Come and get me in bed, son.”

He became limply ashamed of himself. Gurdy helped him to strip and he found the boy buttoning his jacket for him as he sat on the edge of his bed. He watched the long, wiry fingers at work on the buttons and the holes of the blue silk. The cold linen of the pillow caressed his neck. He smiled, wanting Gurdy to stay there until he fell asleep. The doorbell rang with a steady and ripping insistence.

“Damn,” said Gurdy and went into the hall where the cold air mounting from the opened door chilled his bare feet. The butler ascended like a shadow on the white wainscot.

“A Mr. Fuller, sir.”

“He can’t see Mr. Walling. He’s asleep.”

“He says he must see Mr. Walling, Mr. Gurdy.” The butler held out his salver. Gurdy read the card, Henry Fuller. Fuller and Marcovicz, Attorneys at Law. Under the engraving was pencilled, “For Miss Boyle.”

Gurdy walked down the stairs into the drawing room. A burly man in a furred coat was standing by the Siennese cabinet running a thumb over the smooth panel of its little door. The light made his grey hair glisten slickly. He turned a broad, pleasing face on Gurdy and nodded.

“Sorry to get ’round here so late at night. Pretty important I should see Mr. Walling right away.”

“That’s absolutely impossible. He’s ill and in bed. I’m--”

“Oh ... you’re his nephew, ain’t you? Mister--Bernamer?”

“Yes.”

The man nodded and undid his coat. He wore a dinner jacket with a fluted shirt. Gay stones were blue in the soft pleats of the bosom. He stated, “I’m from Miss Boyle--legal representative. You tell Mr. Walling that Miss Boyle’s willing to not bring an action against Miss Walling--Understand what I mean?”

“Yes.”

The lawyer continued his air of genial discretion, getting a paper from some pocket. “Miss Boyle’s willing to overlook this business in Philadelphia and not sue her husban’ or Miss Walling provided that this play’s brought into New York by New Year’s Day and Mr. Rand is featured--name in electric lights and so on. Soon as the play’s opened in New York she’ll live with her husban’ again. Condonation, see? And--”

“Blackmail,” said Gurdy.

The genial man went on, “I’ve got a memorandum, here. All Mr. Walling’s got to do is sign it. I’ll read it. N’York City, November eighteenth, nineteen hundred nineteen. My dear Miss Boyle, In pursuance of our agreement I promise you that ‘Todgers Intrudes’ will be presented in New York City before January first, nineteen twenty and that Mr. Rand will be featured in the usual manner. Yours very truly.--All he has to do is to put his name to that and there you are.”

Gurdy hated this fellow. He rubbed a foot on the carpet and sighed, then asked, “What’s the good of this? It’s a bad play. It’ll fail. Why does Miss Boyle want this?”

“Don’t ask me. Yes, I hear it’s a bum show. I guess she wants her husban’ featured. I don’t know.”

“If Mark--if Mr. Walling won’t sign this?”

“Then Miss Boyle’ll bring her action in the morning. There’s no defence, either, Mr. Bernamer. Miss Boyle’s got a written statement from Mr. Rand and testimony from his valet.”

Gurdy was sick, now. An unconquerable tremor made the muscles of his back rigid. It was a trap. Margot was caught in a trap. He said, “Blackmail.”

“No. Miss Boyle’s foregoin’ a legal right to bring her action. She ain’t askin’ a cent of money. There’s lots of ladies wouldn’t be so easy to settle with. Better see what Mr. Walling says, hadn’t you?”

For a second Gurdy stood hopeless. Then he said, “It’s a dirty trick,” and took the paper. But he should keep cool. He smiled and inquired, “You say you’ve got a written statement from Mr. Rand--”

“Got a copy with me. Like to read it?”

Gurdy glanced at the transparent typed sheet. He shook his head and walked up stairs. Mark picked up the note as Gurdy dropped it on the blue quilt, read it frowning. Then he flushed and his mouth contracted hideously. He whispered, “Old trick! Happens all the time. I ought to have known what’d happen.... Gimme a pen, sonny.” He signed his full name, Mark Henderson Walling. There couldn’t be any more pain, after this. He shut his eyes and fell through warm darkness. He could not sleep but he must rest. He slept.

When Gurdy came back into the bedroom, Mark was slowly breathing, sound asleep. The boy made the place dark and went up to his own room. In the upper black of the hall some one caught his arm. Olive followed him and shut the door. She had cast a black fur cloak over her night dress and her grey hair was loose. She looked at the boy without a word, leaning on the door.

“Blackmail. She sent her lawyer. She’s got a confession from Rand. Mark’s signed an agreement. He’ll bring that play into New York and she’ll live with Rand as soon as it opens.”

“Ah!... Oh, the cad!... Oh, Gurdy, take care of Mark!”

She walked down the hall. Gurdy followed her and heard her pity crash into miserable sobs behind her door. He stood listening for a while then raised his arm and pressed it against his mouth.

XI

The Walling

On Saturday afternoon, Olive and Margot started for Seattle. Gurdy drove with them to the station and Margot spoke to him for the first time since the journey from Philadelphia. She said, “What theatre will dad bring ‘Todgers’ into?”

“I don’t know. It’ll be hard to find one.”

She murmured, “It ought to be a great success,” and Gurdy admired her stubborn air. She sat stiffly in a suit of yellow cloth and walked stiffly down the great stairs of the station, gathering eyes, moved ahead of Olive and himself to the coach and stood in the vestibule, motionless, uninterested when Olive drew Gurdy away to the edge of the concrete and raised her veil.

“Mark need never see the child again unless--”

“Oh, he’ll be all right,” Gurdy decided, “but it’s been an awful jolt.”

The Englishwoman put a hand to her mouth which shivered.

“Awful.... Oh, I don’t know, Gurdy!”

“Don’t know what, Lady Ilden?”

“I don’t know that he’s right in sacrificing himself.... I don’t know that he’s wrong. Chivalry.... I can’t understand how two people can be such beasts as this woman and her husband.... Deliberate torture.... Isn’t it revenge?”

Gurdy didn’t answer but asked, “You’ll go on from Japan to--”

“South Africa. I’ve some friends at Capetown.... She’s that brutal age, when it doesn’t matter if we get what we want.... Oh, my dear boy, this is hideous! It’s revenge!”

“I don’t think so,” he said, “I saw Russell at the office this morning. ‘Todgers’ doesn’t open in Baltimore until Monday. He says that Rand talked to him in Philadelphia before this happened and wanted Russell to persuade Mark to risk bringing the play to New York and that was after Mark had told him he wouldn’t bring it in. Russell thinks she--Cora Boyle--is simply crazy over Rand. Russell’s seen a good deal of them. He says Rand talked to her by ’phone from Philadelphia on Tuesday. She may have put him up to this. I don’t think it’s revenge. She’s got nothing to revenge. Mark’s always been decent to her.”

Olive smiled and then whispered, “Do take care of Mark.” A porter came bawling, “All aboard,” and groups broke up along the train. Margot swung and vanished into the coach. Olive said, “She’s stunned. She won’t realize she’s been a beast to Mark for a while.” Gurdy mumbled something about points of view. The tired woman cut him short with, “Rot, old man! She didn’t play fair. She lied. Do take care of Mark. Good-bye.”

Gurdy walked away and a clerk from Mark’s office brushed by him with a papered load of yellow roses. The boy turned and saw Olive take these against her black furs. She stood graciously thanking the clerk for a moment, smiling. Then she stepped into the vestibule and the train stirred. Gurdy walked on. The colossal motion of the crowd in the brilliant station was a relief and a band hammered out some military march by a Red Cross booth. His spirit lifted; the strained waiting of three days was done; Margot was gone; Gurdy wouldn’t have to watch Mark’s piteous effort at normality. He found his uncle alone in the office at the 45th Street Theatre, studying a model for a scene and swiftly Mark asked, “I sent Jim with some--”

“He got there.”

Mark sighed and rubbed his hair. Everything confused him. He hoped Olive would forgive him for not coming to the station. That had been cowardly. He said, “Ought to have gone along, son.... Afraid I’d say something I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t have let you do it alone. This is worse on you than it is on me. I--”

“Mark, on my honour, I’m not in love with Margot!”

He lied so nobly that Mark wondered at him and brought out a thin chuckle. “You’re a card, son!... If I didn’t know better I’d almost believe you.... Well, take a look at this set. That left wall looks kind of dark to me. It’s ox blood and it might light up with spots on it. What d’you think?”

Callers interfered. Gurdy went down the stairs into the lobby packed with women who came out from the matinée. All these decorated bodies flowed left and right about a dull blue placard announcing, “Early in December The Walling Theatre will open with ‘Captain Salvador’ by Stephen O’Mara,” and some women paused, drawing on gloves, fussing with veils. A slim and black haired girl stared boldly at Gurdy, passing him. She wasn’t like Margot but he hated her for an instant and then stalked up Sixth Avenue where the lights of restaurants roused in the dusk and the crowd of Saturday evening brayed. In ten cool blocks Gurdy captured his philosophy, held it firmly; Mark was unreasonably hurt--in fact, Mark was an old-fashioned, unphilosophic fellow who hadn’t progressed, was still a country boy in essence, hadn’t even gained the inferior cynicism of his trade and friends. He was letting himself be bullied by Cora Boyle on an antique concept. Why should he let himself be laughed at and lose money for this immaterial thing? Gurdy succeeded in getting angry at Mark and tramped about the blue library preparing a lecture, saw a glove of Margot’s on a table and tossed it into a waste basket. He could imagine Mark shedding tears over that empty glove and its presence in the copper basket fretted Gurdy. He plucked it forth and flung it into the fire of cedar logs where it made a satisfactory hiss, blackening. It must have been perfumed. A scent floated out of the fire. Gurdy grinned over the symbol and poked the remnant which crumbled and was nothing. He stood reducing Margot’s importance to logical ash and so intently that he jumped when the butler told him that Russell was downstairs. The director strolled in and looked about the room before speaking.

“Nice walls,” he said, “Well, Gurdy, I’ve just seen Miss Boyle.”

“Where?”

“At her hotel.--I’m mixed up in this and I thought I might help Mr. Walling out. So I went to see her and had a talk. It didn’t come to anything.” He sat down in Mark’s fireside chair, stooped his head and brooded, “I’d a sneaking idea that this game was a sort of revenge. Walling’s been good to her--done things for her. That might rankle. Well, I pointed out that ‘Todgers’ is a waste of time. I did my best to make her see that. It was funny.... She sat on a lounge and rocked a cushion as if it were a baby--in her arms--Has she ever had a child?”

“I think not.”

“And she’s ten or eleven years older than Rand.... It’s no good. She thinks he’s great in this play and she thinks it’ll run all winter in New York. And there we are, Bernamer. She’s set on the thing. Mr. Walling had better get it over as soon as he can. If he doesn’t, she’ll be ugly. I’m mighty sorry.”

Gurdy blazed up in a mixture of wrath and impatience, “Oh, it’s all such damned rot! Mark’s one of the best producers in the country and he shouldn’t do this!... He should tell her to go to hell. It’s blackmail! I’m going to tell him--”

After a moment Russell asked, “What?” and laughed kindly. Gurdy shrugged and flinched before the laughter. The man was right. Mark would go through with the beastly deal, wouldn’t consider risking Margot’s name. There was no use in argument. He snapped, “Chivalry!”

“And you wouldn’t do it?”

“No,” said Gurdy, “No! It’s too thick. It is ironical. And he can’t tell any one. Everyone’ll think he thinks this is a good play--worth doing. The critics’ll jump all over him. They’ll--”

“The other proposition being that Miss Walling will lose her reputation? She’s a young girl and not very clever or very sophisticated, to judge by her talk. She’s read the smart novels, of course. Quotes them a good deal.... You say you wouldn’t do this for her? The world being as it is? Tell it to the fish, Bernamer!” Gurdy felt weak before the cool, genial voice. Russell lit a pipe and went on, “I feel the way you do. Only the world’s full of shorn lambs and the wind’s damned cold.... Can you come to a show tonight?”

“Lord, no,” said Gurdy, “I’ve got to stay with Mark. He’s got to have some one with him. Needs taking care of--”

Russell said, “To be sure,” with another laugh and went away. He sent Gurdy the notices from the Baltimore papers after “Todgers Intrudes” began its week there and with them a note: “Miss Boyle came down for the opening. She is still sure this is a great play. Maternal feeling. Rand seems nervous and loses his lines a good deal. He is probably ashamed of himself. His English accent peels off now and then and he talks flat Middle West American,” but the same mail brought a letter from Olive Ilden, written at Denver, and this maddened Gurdy, as last proof of Margot’s inconsequence.

“Dear Gurdy, The reaction has started. She is now certain that Rand planned the whole filthy trick. She is so angry that there is nothing left unsaid. He is a cheap bounder and a slacker etc. An actor can not be anything else, she says. Everything is Mark’s fault or mine for leaving her alone in Philadelphia. Do try to pity her a little, old man. She has made a fearful fool of herself and knows it. The whole thing is still horrible to me. I wish Mark had more humour or more cold blood. Anything to help him through. I keep trying to remember a quotation from Webster I threw at his head once. ‘These be the fair rewards of those that love.’ It may be from Shakespeare. Did you try to argue him out of making the production in New York? That would be your logical attitude. But do take care of him.”

Gurdy tore the note up and went to pull on his riding clothes. The frost had melted. Mark wanted a ride in the warm park. The boy thought proudly that Mark hadn’t complained. He seemed quietly busy, arranging advertisements for “Captain Salvador” which toured New England after its week of Boston. Rumours of a triumph crept ahead of the play. Its success, its investiture of light and colour would soothe Mark while he still needed soothing. Gurdy rattled downstairs and Mark laughed at him, “You look mighty well in ridin’ things, son!”

“So do you,” said Gurdy, in all honesty, and watched Mark beam, settling his boots, the fit of his black coat. They rode into the empty Park. Mark talked about horses and then about Gurdy’s brothers. One of them wanted to be a soldier.

“You did that with your scar and all,” Mark said.

“Funny how easy a kid gets an ambition. Only thirteen. He’ll get over it.”

“What did you want to be when you were thirteen, sonny?”

Gurdy strove to remember. He had probably wanted to be a theatrical manager. He said, “I wanted to be a barber when I was nine or ten, I remember that. And then I wanted to be an aviator--and now I want to write plays....”

“Hurry and write me a good one, brother.”

Then Mark was silent. They cantered along in the creamy sunlight. A great lady of artistic tastes reducing her weight bowed jerkily to Mark from her burdened gelding and called, “Can you bring Miss Walling to luncheon Sunday?” Gurdy saw Mark’s mouth twist. It needed courage to call so easily back, “She’s gone to Japan.” But a hundred yards afterward Mark reined in and stared at the sun, his face tormented.

“Sonny, I may have to open the Walling with ‘Todgers Intrudes’.”

“No!”

“Fact. I can’t take a chance with Cora gettin’ nasty. I can’t risk it. And I can’t get a house for love or money. I tried to buy the show out of the Princess last night. There ain’t a house empty.... I may have to use the Walling--open it with this--this--” He slashed his crop though the air, was ashamed of himself and sat chewing a lip. Gurdy could keep his emotions so well covered just as he now hid and nobly lied about his heartbreak over Margot. Mark’s sense of hurt swelled and broke out, “Oh, women are hell! If they want a thing they’ll do anything to get it! They--they scare me, Gurd! When they want a thing!... And look how she treated you!”

“Oh, Mark, honestly, I wasn’t in love with her!”

Mark knew better but Gurdy’s brave mendacity cheered him. He grinned and rode on. He must think of ways to make Gurdy forget the girl. When they reached the house he telephoned the gayest folk he could find and summoned them to a luncheon. He worked in a fever, keeping Gurdy busy with new plays, ritual lunches at the Algonquin and motor trips to country inns where they hadn’t been with Margot who somehow wavered in Mark’s mind. He began to lose an immediate, answering picture of her. It was hard to recall her phrases of later time. Things she had said and poses of her childhood rose more clearly. She merged in his perplexed hunt for a theatre. When he found, on the first of December, that he couldn’t rent or beg a playhouse for “Todgers Intrudes” he hated Margot for an hour and tramped his library in a sweat of loathing. He must defame the Walling with this nonsense, finish his bargain by dishonouring himself and his dream, for the Walling was not altogether real. He roamed the shell where workmen were covering the naked chairs with dull blue, in a haze. The smell of banana oil and turpentine made him dizzy. The silver and black boxes seemed vaporous like the mist of the ceiling when the lamps were tried on its surface. He had moments of sheer glory through which came burning the thought of Cora Boyle and Margot, in this queer alliance. His offices were transferred to broad rooms by the white landing of the wide stairs in the Walling. There was an alcove for Gurdy’s desk and here Mark told him suddenly, “Goin’ to bring ‘Todgers’ in here next week, son.”

Gurdy paled, leaned on the new desk and flexed his hands on his fair head. He said, “Oh, no!”

“Got to, son. I’ve tried all I know.”

The boy babbled, “Don’t do it!... Oh, damn it! You’ve been working for this place for years and--It’s not worth it! Look here, let me go talk to this damned woman!”