Chapter 42

CALLS.

Peter dressed himself the next evening with particular care, even for him. As Peter dressed, he was rather down on life. He had been kept from his ride that afternoon by taking evidence in a referee case. “I really needed the exercise badly,” he said. He had tried to work his dissatisfaction off on his clubs and dumb-bells, but whatever they had done for his blood and tissue, they had not eased his frame of mind. Dinner made him a little pleasanter, for few men can remain cross over a proper meal. Still, he did not look happy, when, on rising from his coffee, he glanced at his watch and found that it was but ten minutes past eight.

He vacillated for a moment, and then getting into his outside trappings, he went out and turned eastward, down the first side street. He walked four blocks, and then threw open the swing door of a brilliantly lighted place, stepping at once into a blaze of light and warmth which was most attractive after the keen March wind blowing outside.

He nodded to the three barkeepers. “Is Dennis inside?” he asked.

“Yes, Misther Stirling. The regulars are all there.”

Peter passed through the room, and went into another without knocking. In it were some twenty men, sitting for the most part in attitudes denoting ease. Two, at a small table in the corner, were playing dominoes. Three others, in another corner, were amusing themselves with “High, Low, Jack.” Two were reading papers. The rest were collected round the centre table, most of them smoking. Some beer mugs and tumblers were standing about, but not more than a third of the twenty were drinking anything. The moment Peter entered, one of the men jumped to his feet.

“B’ys,” he cried, “here’s Misther Stirling. Begobs, sir, it’s fine to see yez. It’s very scarce yez been lately.” He had shaken hands, and then put a chair in place for Peter.

The cards, papers, and dominoes had been abandoned the moment Dennis announced Peter’s advent, and when Peter had finished shaking the hands held out to him, and had seated himself, the men were all gathered round the big table.

Peter laid his hat on the table, threw back his Newcastle and lit a cigar. “I’ve been very short of time, Dennis. But I had my choice this evening before going uptown, of smoking a cigar in my own quarters, or here. So I came over to talk with you all about Denton.”

“An’ what’s he been doin’?” inquired Dennis.

“I saw him to-day about the Hummel franchise that comes up in the Board next Tuesday. He won’t vote for it, he says. I told him I thought it was in the interest of the city to multiply means of transit, and asked him why he refused. He replied that he thought the Hummel gang had been offering money, and that he would vote against bribers.”

“He didn’t have the face to say that?” shouted one of the listeners.

“Yes.”

“Oi never!” said Dennis. “An’ he workin’ night an’ day to get the Board to vote the rival road.”

“I don’t think there’s much doubt that money is being spent by both sides,” said Peter. “I fear no bill could ever pass without it. But the Hummel crowd are really responsible people, who offer the city a good percentage. The other men are merely trying to get the franchise, to sell it out at a profit to Hummel. I don’t like the methods of either, but there’s a road needed, and there’ll be a road voted, so it’s simply a choice between the two. I shouldn’t mind if Denton voted against both schemes, but to say he’ll vote against Hummel for that reason, and yet vote for the other franchise shows that he’s not square. I didn’t say so to him, because I wanted to talk it over with the ward a little first to see if they stood with me.”

“That we do, sir,” said Dennis, with a sureness which was cool, if nothing more. Fortunately for the boldness of the speaker, no one dissented, and two or three couples nodded heads or pipes at each other.

Peter looked at his watch. “Then I can put the screws on him safely, you think?”

“Yes,” cried several.

Peter rose. “Dennis, will you see Blunkers and Driscoll this evening, or some time to-morrow, and ask if they think so too? And if they don’t, tell them to drop in on me, when they have leisure.”

“Begobs, sir, Oi’ll see them inside av ten minutes. An’ if they don’t agree widus, shure, Oi’ll make them.”

“Thank you. Good-night.”

“Good-night, Mr. Stirling,” came a chorus, and Peter passed into the street by the much maligned side-door.

Dennis turned to the group with his face shining with enthusiasm. “Did yez see him, b’ys? There was style for yez. Isn’t he somethin’ for the ward to be proud av?”

Peter turned to Broadway, and fell into a long rapid stride. In spite of the cold he threw open his coat, and carried his outer covering on his arm. Peter had no intention of going into an up-town drawing-room with any suggestion of “sixt” ward tobacco. So he walked till he reached Madison Square, when, after a glance at his watch, he jumped into a cab.

It was a quarter-past nine when the footman opened the door of the Fifty-seventh Street house, in reply to Peter’s ring. Yet he was told that, “The ladies are still at dinner.”

Peter turned and went down the stoop. He walked to the Avenue, and stopped at a house not far off.

“Is Mrs. Pell at home?” he asked, and procured entrance for both his pasteboard and himself.

“Welcome, little stranger,” was his greeting. “And it is so nice that you came this evening. Here is Van, on from Washington for two days.”

“I was going to look you up, and see what ‘we, the people’ were talking about, so that I could enlighten our legislators when I go back,” said a man of forty.

“I wrote Pope a long letter to-day, which I asked him to show you,” said Peter. “Things are in a bad shape, and getting worse.”

“But, Peter,” queried the woman, “if you are the leader, why do you let them get so?”

“So as to remain the leader,” said Peter, smiling quietly.

“Now that’s what comes of ward politics,” cried Mrs. Pell, “You are beginning to make Irish bulls.”

“No,” replied Peter, “I am serious, and because people don’t understand what I mean, they don’t understand American politics.”

“But you say in effect that the way you retain your leadership, is by not leading. That’s absurd!”

“No. Contradiction though it may seem the way to lose authority, is to exercise it too much. Christ enunciated the great truth of democratic government, when he said, ‘He that would be the greatest among you, shall be the servant of all’”

“I hope you won’t carry your theory so far as to let them nominate Maguire?” said Mr. Pell, anxiously.

“Now, please don’t begin on politics,” said the woman. “Here is Van, whom I haven’t seen for nine weeks, and here is Peter whom I haven’t seen for time out of mind, and just as I think I have a red-letter evening before me, you begin your everlasting politics.”

“I merely stopped in to shake hands,” said Peter. “I have a call to make elsewhere, and can stay but twenty minutes. For that time we choose you speaker, and you can make us do as it pleases you.”

Twenty minutes later Peter passed into the D’Alloi drawing-room. He shook Mrs. D’Alloi’s hand steadily, which was more than she did with his. Then he was made happy for a moment, with that of Leonore. Then he was introduced to a Madame Mellerie, whom he placed at once as the half-governess, half-companion, who had charge of Leonore’s education; a Mr. Maxwell, and a Marquis de somebody. They were both good-looking young fellows; and greeted Peter in a friendly way. But Peter did not like them.

He liked them less when Mrs. D’Alloi told him to sit in a given place, and then put Madame Mellerie down by him. Peter had not called to see Madame Mellerie. But he made a virtue of necessity, and he was too instinctively courteous not to treat the Frenchwoman with the same touch of deference his manner towards women always had. After they had been chatting for a little on French literature, it occurred to Peter that her opinion of him might have some influence with Leonore, so he decided that he would try and please her. But this thought turned his mind to Leonore, and speaking of her to her governess, he at once became so interested in the facts she began to pour out to him, that he forgot entirely about his diplomatic scheme.

This arrangement continued half an hour, when a dislocation of the _statu quo_ was made by the departure of Mr. Maxwell. When the exit was completed, Mrs. D’Alloi turned to place her puppets properly again. But she found a decided bar to her intentions. Peter had formed his own conclusions as to why he had been set to entertain Madame Mellerie, not merely from the fact itself, but from the manner in which it had been done, and most of all, from the way Mrs. D’Alloi had managed to stand between Leonore and himself, as if protecting the former, till she had been able to force her arrangements. So with the first stir Peter had risen, and when the little bustle had ceased he was already standing by Leonore, talking to her. Mrs. D’Alloi did not look happy, but for the moment she was helpless.

Peter had had to skirt the group to get to Leonore, and so had stood behind her during the farewells. She apparently had not noticed his advent, but the moment she had done the daughter-of-the-house duty, she turned to him, and said: “I wondered if you would go away without seeing me. I was so afraid you were one of the men who just say, ‘How d’ye do’ and ‘Good-bye,’ and think they’ve paid a call.”

“I called to see you to-night, and I should not have gone till I had seen you. I’m rather a persistent man in some things.”

“Yes,” said Leonore, bobbing her head in a very knowing manner, “Miss De Voe told me.”

“Mr. Stirling,” said Mrs. D’Alloi, “can’t you tell us the meaning of the Latin motto on this seal?” Mrs. D’Alloi held a letter towards him, but did not stir from her position across the room.

Peter understood the device. He was to be drawn off, and made to sit by Mrs. D’Alloi, not because she wanted to see him, but because she did not want him to talk to Leonore. Peter had no intention of being dragooned. So he said: “Madame Mellerie has been telling me what a good Latin scholar Miss D’Alloi is. I certainly shan’t display my ignorance, till she has looked at it.” Then he carried the envelope over to Leonore, and in handing it to her, moved a chair for her, not neglecting one for himself. Mrs. D’Alloi looked discouraged, the more when Peter and Leonore put their heads close together, to examine the envelope.

“‘_In bonam partem_,’” read Leonore. “That’s easy, mamma. It’s—why, she isn’t listening!”

“You can tell her later. I have something to talk to you about.”

“What is that?”

“Your dinner in my quarters. Whom would you like to have there?”

“Will you really give me a dinner?”

“Yes.”

“And let me have just whom I want?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, lovely! Let me see. Mamma and papa, of course.”

“That’s four. Now you can have two more.”

“Peter. Would you mind—I mean——” Leonore hesitated a moment and then said in an apologetic tone—“Would you like to invite madame? I’ve been telling her about your rooms—and you—and I think it would please her so.”

“That makes five,” said Peter.

“Oh, goody!” said Leonore, “I mean,” she said, correcting herself, “that that is very kind of you.”

“And now the sixth?”

“That must be a man of course,” said Leonore, wrinkling up her forehead in the intensity of puzzlement. “And I know so few men.” She looked out into space, and Peter had a moment’s fear lest she should see the marquis, and name him. “There’s one friend of yours I’m very anxious to meet. I wonder if you would be willing to ask him?”

“Who is that?”

“Mr. Moriarty.”

“No, I can’t ask him, I don’t want to cheapen him by making a show of him.”

“Oh! I haven’t that feeling about him. I——”

“I think you would understand him and see the fine qualities. But do you think others would?” Peter mentioned no names, but Leonore understood.

“No,” she said. “You are quite right.”

“You shall meet him some day,” said Peter, “if you wish, but when we can have only people who won’t embarrass or laugh at him.”

“Really, I don’t know whom to select.”

“Perhaps you would like to meet Le Grand?”

“Very much. He is just the man.”

“Then we’ll consider that settled. Are you free for the ninth?”

“Yes. I’m not going out this spring, and mamma and papa haven’t really begun yet, and it’s so late in the season that I’m sure we are free.”

“Then I will ice the canvas-backs and champagne and dust off the Burgundy for that day, if your mamma accedes.”

“Peter, I wanted to ask you the other day about that. I thought you didn’t drink wine.”

“I don’t. But I give my friends a glass, when they are good enough to come to me. I live my own life, to please myself, but for that very reason, I want others to live their lives to please themselves. Trying to live other people’s lives for them, is a pretty dog-in-the-manger business.”

Just then Mrs. D’Alloi joined them. “Were you able to translate it?” she asked, sitting down by them.

“Yes, indeed,” said Leonore. “It means ‘Towards the right side,’ or as a motto it might be translated, ‘For the right side.’”

Mrs. D’Alloi had clearly, to use a western expression, come determined to “settle down and grow up with the country.” So Peter broached the subject of the dinner, and when she hesitated, Leonore called Watts into the group. He threw the casting ballot in favor of the dinner, and so it was agreed upon. Peter was asked to come to Leonore’s birthday festival, “If you don’t mind such short notice,” and he didn’t mind, apparently. Then the conversation wandered at will till Peter rose. In doing so, he turned to Leonore, and said:

“I looked the question of nationality up to-day, and found I was right. I’ve written out a legal opinion in my best hand, and will deliver it to you, on receiving my fee.”

“How much is that?” said Leonore, eagerly.

“That you come and get it.”