Chapter 4

"You are no gentleman, Mr. Riley, to speak to a lady like that," she said, severely. "You may go now."

"Will ye be th' good gurl if I lave ye by yersel'?"

"How do I know if it's all out of me?"

"Shure, it oughter be," he declared, in despair. "Will ye thry?"

"Certainly, _I'll_ try." Patricia was demureness itself. "If anything happens, it will be the 'divvle's' fault, so you mustn't hold me responsible."

"It's ye'er own divvle, ain't it?--ye can make it do what ye want."

"_I_ don't know," protested Patricia. "I didn't even know I had a 'divvle.' It was you who discovered it; and people who discover things have to be responsible for them, don't they?"

Riley shook his head in desperation. His arguments were exhausted, and all that was left to him was retreat.

"I wuddent be that child's gov'ness f'r all th' money in th' world," he muttered, as he shuffled through the hall. "An' ter think they lift her home fr'm ch'ice. 'Twas th' lucky day f'r Miss Mary--but I wish her here."

Finding the coast clear, Patricia moved the scene of her activity to the reception-room. Here she undertook to put into execution the latest idea which had struck her fancy, which was nothing less than a medieval tournament on as elaborate a scale as the properties at hand would permit. The hotel had not been furnished with an eye to contests of chivalry, but chairs, turned wrong-side up and covered with table-cloths, made richly caparisoned steeds; and Patricia's imagination easily supplied the riders.

At first the Knights and their horses were ranged together at one end of the room.

"You are Front-de-B[oe]uf," the child announced, laying her hand upon the first overturned chair; "and you are Bois-Guilbert, and you Malvoisin. We ought to have some others, but there aren't any more table-covers."

Then she moved Front-de-B[oe]uf into the centre of the arena.

"You stay there 'til I get my shield and lance," she said, and the war-like Knight made no protest.

Patricia next appeared with an open umbrella dexterously held in front of her, and a heavy cane belonging to her father in her hand. Front-de-B[oe]uf may have been intimidated by the militant figure which approached him, but he stood his ground bravely.

"I'm the Disinherited Knight," Patricia announced to the assembled multitude, pausing a moment to receive their enthusiastic plaudits.

"Largesse, largesse, gallant Knights!" she cried, boldly. "That means that I'm bigger than any one else," she explained. "Love of the Ladies--Glory to the Brave!"

With this ample notice of her intentions, the Disinherited Knight charged Front-de-B[oe]uf with a frenzy which resulted in his utter disgrace. The trappings were torn from his steed by the fury of the onslaught, the horse itself was overthrown, and Patricia surveyed the carnage with the utmost satisfaction.

"We shall meet again, I trust, where there is none to separate us," she said, solemnly.

A truce was declared while she dragged Bois-Guilbert into the lists.

"To all brave English hearts and to the confusion of foreign tyrants," was the war-cry, and in a moment more Bois-Guilbert had shared the fate of his predecessor. This time, however, the Disinherited Knight did not escape unscathed, as the front foot of the adversary's steed made a dismal rent in her umbrella shield.

Malvoisin alone remained, and he in turn took his stand against the redoubtable champion. But Malvoisin, contrary to history as Patricia knew it, proved the most stubborn adversary of the three. The heralds had not properly cleared away the débris from the tilting-field, so when the Disinherited Knight forced Malvoisin back, Bois-Guilbert supported him from behind. Patricia had found the other two so yielding that she was unprepared for this unexpected defence, and the result of her attack was the complete demolition of the umbrella and a bad fall for herself, in the course of which her lance struck the glass door of a bookcase standing near.

The noise of the fall, together with the crash of glass, brought Riley rushing to the room. Patricia recognized his indignation without need of explanation. Forgetful of her bump, she again seized the cane, and repeating her cry, "To the confusion of foreign tyrants," she charged the old man with such vigor that he stepped aside with astonishing agility, allowing her to pass him into the hall. This was all that the now thoroughly frightened Patricia desired to accomplish. Dropping the cane, she rushed into the bedroom, and retreated underneath the bed, whither she well knew Riley's infirmities would not permit him to follow.

"Come out o' there," the old man commanded, close behind her.

"It's lovely under here," the child answered; "I'd rather stay."

"Phwat in th' name o' Hiven have ye been doin'?"

"Playing tournament, Riley," came back the voice from under the bed. "It's a splendid game. Do you want to learn it some time?"

"'Tis mesel' has sumthin' to learn ye," he retorted. "Come out o' there, I say."

"I couldn't think of it. I'm tired."

"Well, ye oughter be--smashin' up th' furnichure, an' makin' a noise like a wake. Wait 'til I gits hold iv ye."

"You are a foreign tyrant, Riley--I shall never yield to you."

"Furrin fiddlesticks--I'll lave th' whole mess f'r ye'er mother ter see when she gits home, d'ye mind."

"All right, Riley; I'll wait for her here."

Again the old man retreated, his indignation increasing as he waited for the return of the motor-party. Mrs. Gorham was given no opportunity even to remove her wraps before she was solemnly led to the scene of the disaster. Allen and Alice followed close behind, ignorant of the nature of the calamity, but feeling certain by Riley's manner that it was a serious one. They gazed for a moment at the wreck before them.

"What has happened, Riley?" Eleanor cried, anxiously.

"It looks as if a vacuum-cleaner had been at work," volunteered Allen.

The old man's emotions were so strong that he could scarcely speak.

"What has happened?" again demanded Eleanor.

"Miss Pat," was all that Riley could articulate.

"But where is she--has she been hurt?"

"No, ma'am; but she done it. She's under th' bed in ye'er room."

The entire party rushed to the bedroom, not knowing what they might find. Mrs. Gorham knelt on the floor and raised the counterpane. There lay the Disinherited Knight, fast asleep, exhausted from her first jousting victories.

"Pat!" cried Eleanor, "are you all right?"

"Hello, mamma Eleanor," she answered, sweetly; "is Riley after you, too?"

VI

Mr. Gorham studied Allen carefully during dinner. What Eleanor had told him of the boy interested him, and his intimate knowledge of Stephen Sanford's personality made him a more sympathetic adviser than might otherwise have been the case. Allen, too, was distinctly attracted by Gorham, though his eyes rested more often on the girl facing him across the small table, who seemed even more lovely to him now, in a soft, clinging gown of exquisite texture. His memory of Gorham had been indistinct, but he had heard so much of him through his father and others during these intervening years that he was prepared to see a man who would intimidate him by his severity and awe him by the manifestation of his greatness. In fact, associating business success with his father's manners and methods, Allen had come to believe that force meant noise and bluster, and that firmness stood for an intolerance of discussion. But here, in the midst of his family, Robert Gorham displayed a side of his nature which Stephen Sanford had never seen; yet Allen was no less conscious of the man's power. The boy was more quick to sense than he was to analyze, and it was not until he had left the Gorhams, some hours later, that he was able to satisfy his silent query as to what was reminiscent in the strength behind Gorham's genial face and cordial bearing. The thought took him back to his college days, and the course in ancient history which, strange to say, he had enjoyed most of all--to the old-time Roman emperors, born to command, and indifferent to the criticism or the commendation of the world in which they labored, made up of the lesser men they dominated.

The conversation at the dinner-table soon turned to Allen's experiences in Europe, and his naive manner of telling about them afforded no little amusement.

"I like everything in London except the telephone," he explained. "It's easy enough to blow in the hot air, but it takes a whole lot of experience on the flute to make the proper connections with your fingers. And to get a number--well, it's a joke, that's what it is."

"Is it really worse than our service?" asked Alice.

"Worse? Why, ours is a direct line without a switchboard compared with theirs. I gave it up altogether after my experience trying to get Crecy & Brown--you know them, Mr. Gorham. I dropped into the office of one of the pater's correspondents and asked to use their telephone. One of the clerks offered to help me out, and I let him.

"'I say, miss,' began the clerk, 'put me through to Crecy & Brown, will you?' Then a few moments went by. 'Oh! thank you very much,' was his reply, and he restored the receiver noisily to its position on the rack. 'They have no telephone,' he said.

"I looked at him a moment, then I said as calmly as I could, 'and yet they say the English are slow.'

"'Do they?' he replied, good-naturedly. 'I don't think I quite follow you.'

"'Why, they have taken that telephone out since four o'clock yesterday afternoon. In America it would have required several days.'

"'Oh, you're joking,' he laughed; 'they couldn't have taken it out since then, you know.'

"'But they have,' I said, boldly, making a noise like the pater. 'I called them up myself at that time yesterday.'

"Then he rang the central office again. 'I say, miss, the gentleman is really positive that Crecy & Brown have a telephone, you know.'

"Some more minutes passed by, and again the clerk said, 'Oh, thank you very kindly,' and he put the receiver back.

"'They have no telephone,' he said.

"'There you are,' I cried, 'it has been taken out since four o'clock yesterday afternoon. It's simply wonderful!'

"'You Americans are such bally jokers,' the clerk said. 'They really couldn't have done that, you know.'

"'But they have! I still insist.'

"Then the Englishman went into a trance for a moment. 'I believe you think they have a telephone, after all,' he declared.

"'I really do,' I admitted.

"'Well, we'll soon find out,' the clerk cried, with an awful burst of speed, striking a bell upon his desk.

"'George,' he said to the boy, 'run around to Crecy & Brown's, will you, and see if they have a telephone.'

"I sat there for twenty minutes, discussing the weather, the Derby winner, and all the other favorite English subjects before the boy came back.

"'Yes, sir,' the boy reported, 'Crecy & Brown have a telephone, sir. Their number is 485 Gerard, sir.'

"The clerk got me the number this time, and I did fairly well. Then I sat down.

"'Did you want to call another number?' he asked me.

"'No, not two in the same day,' I said; 'but over in America we always pass out something to the operator when she gives us wrong information like that--just for the good of the service.'

"'I suppose I ought to reprimand her,' the clerk admitted--'call her down, as you would say.'

"'If you don't, I will,' I told him.

"'Oh, I had much better do it,' he replied, hastily, taking the receiver in his hand.

"'I say, miss,' he chirped, 'that number you just gave me, 485 Gerard, _is_ Crecy & Brown, you know, the one you said had no telephone. Rather a good joke on you, isn't it, miss?' Then he slammed the receiver on its hook.

"'There!' he said, 'I think that will hold her for a while, as you say in your country!'

"Wouldn't you think that would have just mortified her to death?"

Alice laughed. "If you were ambassador to England, Allen, you could change all that. Perhaps that's the niche for you, after all."

"What's a 'niche'?" demanded Patricia, taking advantage of the first opportunity to join in the conversation.

"What do you think it is, dear?" Mrs. Gorham asked, smiling.

"I think an itch is an awful feeling; why do you want him to have that?" Patricia replied, sinking into obscurity at the laugh which her definition evoked.

Her father, who had been an interested listener thus far, came to her rescue, and took advantage of Alice's remark to turn the conversation in the direction he had previously determined upon.

"You haven't heard from your father recently, I judge?" he said.

"I have an idea that the pater has overlooked me," Allen replied; "he's been so busy with other things."

"Why don't you fall in with his ambition to make a diplomat of you?"

"Well--I suppose the strongest reasons are those which I can't put into words, Mr. Gorham, but one that seems pretty good to me is that I don't think I'm fitted for it."

"Why not?"

"I'm too optimistic, I think, to make a good diplomat. If a man's a gentleman, and treats me square, I'm apt to think he's all right--and, from what I hear, in diplomacy the one who fools the others the most times is the best fellow. Isn't that right?"

"Some people would tell you that the same thing holds true in business."

"I know; but in business there seems to be something more tangible to work on. Of course I don't know anything about it, but I think I could make a better show selling bonds or cotton than _ententes cordiales_."

"Have you made any effort to secure a position?"

"Not yet, Mr. Gorham. The pater would be more than peeved if I didn't wait for him and his diplomatic expectations. But if he doesn't get busy pretty soon, I think I'll hike it over to New York, and see what's doing."

Gorham smiled in spite of the boy's earnestness. "Surely your father would realize how much in earnest you are if you talked to him as you're talking to me now."

"Father always looks upon me as a joke," Allen continued. "He made his own way, you see, and then, because he was rich, he didn't want me to endure the hardships which really made him what he is. He gave me plenty of money all the way through Harvard, and ever since, in fact; yet he is always wondering why I lack 'initiative.' He's been mighty generous, and I appreciate it all, but don't you think it's one thing to build your own character and economize because you have to, and another to economize when you know you don't have to? I guess that's my complaint."

"He was very proud of what you did at college," Gorham said. "I never used to meet him without hearing about some of your athletic triumphs."

"I suspect it is you who call them triumphs," Allen replied; "that doesn't sound like the pater to me. Of course, some of the things I did in college seemed worth while at the time; I tried for the football team, and I made it--by hard work, with a hundred other fellows doing their best to push me back on the side lines; I tried for the crew, and I made it; I rowed two years at New London, and there was some work about that. I'm afraid I made athletics my vocation and studies my avocation, but I tried to do what I undertook as well as I knew how, and some of the boys still think I'm pretty good in certain lines."

"Life is scarcely a football-field, my boy," Gorham remarked, sententiously. "The world of business admits of no vacuum. It is the survival of the fittest, and work is the great secret of success."

"I know what a 'vacuum' is, anyway," Patricia was recovering from her temporary chagrin.

"Now is your chance to square yourself," said her father, turning to her, kindly.

"I learned that at school last winter," the child continued, proudly: "a 'vacuum' is the place where the Pope lives when it is vacant."

"There, Allen," laughed Gorham, "you have no excuse for not understanding my statement."

"Not in the least. Lady Pat has explained my whole difficulty! But, after all, Mr. Gorham, don't you think there are some things about business and football which are the same?" pleaded Allen, when Patricia was again quieted, his attitude with Mr. Gorham being quite different from the one he had affected with Alice. "I've often tried to think what I'd do if I ever got started, and I've said to myself that when I came up against the other fellow I'd just grit my teeth and say, 'That confounded Eli shan't get through'; and I'm pretty certain that he'd find something in his way before he got the contract I was after."

Gorham was distinctly interested in the boy's intensity. "Suppose I write a line to your father and suggest that he take active steps to get you started somewhere."

"Please don't," Allen said, quickly. "I'll write him myself at once. If you do it, he'll think I haven't got the spunk. Perhaps I can put it strong enough so he will realize that I'm tired of killing time running about in my motor-car."

"I thought your father told me you had lost your license, for speeding."

The boy grinned guiltily. "'Allen Sanford, owner,' lost his license, but 'A. Sanford, chauffeur,' is still allowed to run a car." Then turning to Mrs. Gorham: "You didn't realize you were riding with a chauffeur to-day, did you?"

"You had two licenses?"

"I couldn't possibly get along without them here in Washington. I guess you don't know how wise these police guys are."

Gorham looked at the boy steadily for a moment with an amused expression in his eye.

"I have half a mind to try it," he said, aloud.

"Taking out two licenses?" Allen asked, innocently.

"No," Gorham answered; "I was thinking of something else. Your father will be here some day this week, Allen, and you will have a chance to discuss the whole matter. Perhaps you can get him to agree to some compromise. Whatever you go into, remember what one of our great captains of industry once said--and it's as applicable to diplomacy as it is to business--'The man who starts first gets the oyster; the second man gets the shell.'"

"I'll settle it definitely when I see the pater," Allen said, with determination, "and if I live through the interview I'll go for that oyster with a flying start. Oh, I expect I'll find plenty of good interference against me, but I can stand that. What's that story in mythology about the hydra or something--every time they cut off its head two more grew? That's what I'm going to be--a hydra. Every time I get turned down I'm going to bob up twice again, and, the first thing you know, somebody will give me a job just to get rid of me."

VII

After the theatre Mr. Gorham devoted himself to some late despatches which required immediate attention, so Alice and Eleanor found themselves in the apartment alone. The latter wore a more serious expression than her face had shown earlier in the evening, and the girl was quick to notice it.

"You are not feeling well," she said, more in the form of a statement than as a question, looking at her anxiously. "What can I do for you?"

Mrs. Gorham smiled quietly as she impulsively drew Alice to her and kissed her.

"There's nothing the matter, dear," she answered, pleased with the intuition which prompted the anxiety; "there was something about the play which brought back old memories and they hurt me--that is all."

"Dear heart," was all the girl replied, yet the words brought grateful tears to Eleanor's eyes.

"Are you tired?" she asked, suddenly, with an appeal which caused Alice to look at her inquiringly, but she did not wait for the unnecessary negative. "Then come into my room and let us have a little talk before we go to bed."

As Eleanor sat down Alice threw herself on the floor at her feet, and resting her elbows upon the convenient knees, with her face upon her hands, she looked up expectantly.

"I love these cozy talks," she said. "There is something about this particular hour of the night which makes anything which happens in it of the greatest importance. How beautiful you are! I love just to look at you--no wonder father worships you!"

"You are a sweet child, Alice," Eleanor said, stroking the soft hair affectionately, while unfastening the loose coils until they fell over her shoulders in masses of rippling gold. "You have no idea how much you have done to make my life as happy as it is now. What has your father ever told you about me?"

"Nothing, dear, except that you had suffered much before he met you, and that it was our privilege to try to make you forget the past."

"Was that all?"

"All about you. He told me how happy you had made him, so of course I loved you at once."

"And you never asked any questions?"

Alice looked surprised. "Why, no; if father had wished to tell me any more he would have done so without my asking."

"I am glad," Eleanor said, simply. "It is better for me to tell you myself."

Mrs. Gorham paused, and Alice realized that this was not the time to interrupt. Eleanor seemed to be bracing herself as for an ordeal, yet when she spoke the words came with perfect calmness.

"You were ten years old when your mother died," she said.

The girl's face saddened. "Yes, just Pat's age now; and the next four years were so lonely until you came. I try never to think of them. Pat was too young to give me any companionship, so I was virtually alone with my governess. Father never realized my unhappiness. He was so busy with his own matters that, young as I was, I knew that he must not have mine to worry about."

"Those were the years in which I suffered, too," Eleanor replied, quietly. "Perhaps that is what drew us so closely together from the first. Four years of torture!" she continued, more to herself than to the girl before her.

"Why do you speak of them?" Alice begged. "Why not forget them, as I have tried to do?"

"I do try, dear, but the play to-night brought everything back to me. How strange that we should happen on that particular one so soon after your father and I had spoken of those years! The 'Great Divide'--God only knows the human agony and truth those words contain!"

Eleanor controlled herself before she continued.

"It is a story which I have told only once before, and I had not thought to take any one except your father into its sad confidences; but you should know it, dear. My father's health broke down after mother died, and he was ordered West in the hope of prolonging his life. I was sixteen then, two years younger than you are now. We went to Colorado, on a ranch which father had bought upon the recommendation of a friend. How well I remember the first impressions I received of that glorious country: the exhilaration of that wonderful air, the inspiration of those towering mountains, the novelty of the strange new conditions! I rejoiced in the largeness of everything, and it seemed to me, those first few days, as though life amid these surroundings could but reflect the richness with which nature itself overflowed."

Alice's eyes were fixed upon Eleanor's face with intense interest. The girl sensed even in these preliminary words the importance of what was to follow, and was unwilling to lose a single syllable. Eleanor caught the interest and sympathy of the girl's face as she paused for a moment, and it gave her strength.

"Were you quite alone there?" Alice asked.