Part 14

A member of the “Pot and Kettle” had the privilege of giving private entertainments to a select few, provided due notice was given in advance, and upon that occasion the Club was his own and all other members were warned to keep off the premises. This gave the “Pot and Kettle” affairs a privacy like that which the member enjoyed in his own home, for it was the unwritten law of the Club that whatever passed within its doors was not to be spoken of elsewhere.

Egerton Savage had long ago discovered that no preparation was necessary to make entertainments successful at the “Pot and Kettle.” The number of a party given, to the steward and his wife, all a host had to do was to put on his white apron and await the arrival of his guests. But to give an added zest to this occasion the fortunate ones had been advised that the party was “for children only.”

And as children they came. Ogden Spencer, Larry Kane and Coley Van Duyn in a motor direct from the Cosmos Club arrived first and hurried upstairs with their packages from the costumers to dress; the Perrines and Betty Tremaine followed; then Mrs. Pennington, the chaperon, and a limousine full of débutantes; Jane Loring with Honora Ledyard and Bibby Worthington; and Dirwell De Lancey with Clifford Benson, and Freddy Sackett. Nina Jaffray had driven out alone. Most of the girls had dressed at home and arrived ready for the fray, and after a few finishing touches in the ladies’ dressing-room upstairs were ready to greet their host, at the foot of the stairs. Egerton Savage, his thin legs emerging from velvet knee breeches, as _Little Boy Blue_, met _Little Miss Muffett_, _Old King Cole_, _Old Mother Hubbard_, _Peter Piper_, _Margery Daw_, _Bobby Shafto_, _Jack Spratt_, _Solomon Grundy_, and all of the rest of the nursery crew. Nellie Pennington’s débutantes scattered about the building like a pack of inquisitive terriers, investigating every nook and cranny, peering into cupboards and closets and punctuating the clatter of arrival with pleasant little yelps of delight.

As they all assembled at last in the kitchen, large white aprons, which covered their costumes from neck to foot, were handed out and the real business of the evening was begun. Egerton Savage, chief-cook and arbiter, with a shrewd knowledge of the capabilities of débutantes, handed each of the young ladies a loaf of bread and a long toasting fork, their mission being to provide the toast, as well as the toasts of the night; and presently an odor of scorching bread pervaded the place.

Jane rebelled.

“I simply _won’t_ be subjected to such an indignity, Mr. Savage,” she laughed. “I can cook--really I can.”

He eyed her askant and laughed.

“You must be _Mistress Mary, Quite Contrary_, aren’t you?”

“I am, and I _won’t_ cook toast.”

At last he commissioned her to poach the eggs.

Larry Kane, a club member, as the _Infant Bacchus_, in fleshlings and cheesecloth with a garland of grape-leaves on his head, had already begun the concoction known as the “Pot and Kettle punch,” an amber-colored fluid with a fragrant odor of spices, and a taste that was mildness itself, but in which there lurked the potent spell of the wassail of many lands. It was against this punch that Nellie Pennington had taken pains on the way out in the machine, to warn her small brood; and some of those young ladies who had already retired from the fire, stood beside the mixer of ingredients, sniffing at the uncorked bottles, making pretty faces and lisping in childish disapproval.

Coleman Van Duyn, as _Little Jack Horner_, his scarlet face rising like a winter sunset from his white apron, was superintending the broiling of the lobsters; Dirwell De Lancey, who proclaimed himself _Simple Simon_, was carving cold turkey, Freddy Sackett was making the salad-dressing; while Betty Tremaine, a very comely _Bo-Peep_, was drying the lettuce leaves and crushing them to the proper consistency between her slender pink fingers; Yates Rowland stewed the terrapin; Percy Endicott made the coffee; and Sam Purviance, with Nina Jaffray’s help, made the cocktails.

The festivities of supper were well under way before Phil Gallatin arrived. It had been late before he could leave the office, and so he had been obliged to come out by train. After getting into costume he sought the room eagerly for Jane and their eyes met in wireless telegraphy across the table. The chairs beside her were occupied by Worthington and Van Duyn, so he dropped into a chair Savage offered him between Mrs. Pennington and Miss Tremaine. His host thrust a cocktail in front of him on the table, and Phil thanked him over his shoulder, but when Savage had gone, he pushed it away. Nellie Pennington realized that he looked a little tired and serious, but made no comment. Gallatin had been working hard all day and until the present moment had forgotten that he had had no lunch. Food revived him and it was not long before he could enter into the gay spirit of the company. They were children, indeed. The cooking finished, their white aprons had been discarded and loud was the joy at the appearance of the men and eager the compliments for the ladies. The babel of baby rattles and tin whistles, discontinued for a time, arose again and the table rang from end to end with joke and laughter. Bibby Worthington’s wig of _Bobby Shafto_ got askew and at an unfortunate moment was jostled off into the salad-bowl, upon which his bald head received baptism in fizz at the hands of the _Infant Bacchus_. Freddy Perrine, who had had more than his share of punch, was shooting butter-balls from the prongs of a fork at Kent Beylard’s white shirt-front, for Beylard hadn’t had time to go to the costumer. Dirwell De Lancey insisted upon singing “The Low-Backed Car,” but was prevented from doing so by the vehemence of his chorus which advised him to get a limousine. Sam Purviance began telling a story which seemed to be leading toward Montmartre when Nellie Pennington rose from the table, and followed by her buds, adjourned to another room. Here the sound of a piano was immediately heard and the tireless feet of the younger set took up the Turkey Trot where they had left off at three o’clock the night before.

No word had passed between Phil Gallatin and Jane, and he had just gotten to his feet in pursuit of her when Nina Jaffray stood in his way.

“Hello, Phil,” she said. “I’ve been wanting to see you.”

“Me? I’m glad of that, Nina. You’re certainly a corker in that get-up. What are you?”

“I’m _Jill_. Won’t you help me fetch a pail of water?”

“And have my crown broken? No, thanks. Besides I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be in the part. You see I’m----

“‘Tommy Trot, the man of law, Who sold his bed to lay on straw.’”

“Are you? It isn’t true, is it, Phil? I heard you were going out of the firm.”

“Oh, no. I’ve been working, Nina. Sounds queer, doesn’t it? Fact, though.”

“There’s something I want to see you about, Phil. I’ve been on the point of looking you up at the office.”

“You! What is it?” he laughed. “Breach of promise or alienation of the affections?”

“Neither,” slowly. “Seriously--there’s something I want to say to you.” Gallatin looked at her and she met his eye fairly. “I’d like to talk to you here--now--if you don’t mind.”

“Oh--er--of course. But if it’s anything of a serious nature--perhaps----”

“I can speak here--will you follow me?”

Gallatin glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the room into which Jane had disappeared, but there was nothing left but to follow, so he helped the girl find a quiet spot on the back stairway where Nina settled herself and motioned to him to a place at her feet. Gallatin sat trying to conceal his impatience in the smoke of a cigarette, and wondering how soon Nina would let him go to Jane.

“Phil, you and I have known each other a good many years. We’ve always got along pretty well, haven’t we?”

“Of course,” he nodded.

“You’ve never cared much for girls and I’ve never thought much about men--sentimentally I mean--but we always understood each other and--well--we’re pretty good friends, aren’t we?”

“I’d be very sorry if I thought anything else,” he said politely.

She paused and examined his profile steadily.

“You know, Phil, I’m interested in you. I think I’ve always been interested--but I never told you so because--because it seemed unnecessary. I thought if you ever needed my friendship you’d come and ask me for it.”

“I would--I mean, I do,” he stammered.

“Something has been bothering me,” she went on slowly. “The other morning at Nellie Pennington’s, Jane Loring told us the truth about the Dryad story.”

“Yes.”

“And, of course, even though friendship doesn’t give me the privilege of your confidence unless you offer it voluntarily, I thought you might be willing to tell me something----”

“What, Nina?”

“You’re not in love with--you’re not going to marry Jane Loring, are you?”

Gallatin smiled.

“I’m hardly the sort of person any girl could afford to marry,” he said slowly.

“Does Jane Loring think so?” she persisted.

“She has every reason to think so,” he muttered.

“You’re not engaged?” she protested quickly.

“No,” he said promptly.

She gave a sigh of relief.

“Oh--that’s all I wanted to know.”

Something unfamiliar in the tones of her voice caused him to look at his companion.

“What did you want to know for, Nina?” he questioned.

“Because if you _were_ engaged--if you really were in love with Jane, I wouldn’t care--I wouldn’t have the right to speak to you in confidence.” She hesitated, looking straight at the bare wall before her, but she smiled her devil-may-care smile and went on with a touch of her old manner. “I doubt if you really know me very well after all. I don’t think anybody does. I’ve got a name for playing the game wide open and riding roughshod over all the dearest conventions of the dodos. But I’m straight as a string, Phil, and there isn’t a man or woman in the Cedarcroft or out that can deny it.”

Gallatin smiled.

“It wouldn’t be healthy for anybody to deny it.”

“I don’t care much whether they deny it or not. People who don’t like my creed are welcome to their own. I won’t bother them and they needn’t bother me. But I do care for my friends--and I’m true. You know that, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“And I’m not all hoyden, Phil.”

“Who said you were?”

“Nobody--but people think it.”

“I don’t.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. Inside of me I think I’m quite womanly at times----”

He smiled and looked at her curiously.

“But I’m tired of riding through life on a loose snaffle. I want to settle down and have a place of my own and--and all that.”

“I hadn’t an idea. Is that what you wanted to tell me? Who is it, Nina?”

“I’m not in love, you know, Phil,” she went on. “I’ve watched the married couples in our set--those who made love matches--or thought they did, those who married for money or convenience, and those who--well--who just married. There’s not a great deal of difference in the result. One kind of marriage is just about as successful or as unsuccessful as another. It’s time I married and I’ve tried to think the thing out in my own way. I’ve about decided that the successful marriage is entirely a matter of good management--a thing to be carefully planned from the very beginning.”

Gallatin listened with dull ears. The girl beside him was talking heresies. Happiness wasn’t to be built on such a scientific formula. Love was born in Arcadia. He knew. And Jane----

“You know, Phil,” he heard Nina Jaffray saying again, “I’m in the habit of speaking plainly, you may not like my frankness, but you can be pretty sure that I mean what I say. I’ve made up my mind to marry and I wanted you to know about it so that you could think it over.”

“Me! Nina!” Gallatin started forward suddenly aware of the personal note in her remarks. “You don’t mean that I----”

“I thought that you might like to marry me,” she repeated coolly.

“You can’t mean it,” he gasped. “That you--that I----”

“I mean nothing else. I’d like to marry you, Phil.”

Gallatin laughed.

“Really, Nina, I was almost on the point of taking you seriously. You and I--married! Wouldn’t we have a lark, though?”

“I’m quite serious,” she insisted. “I’d like to marry you, if you haven’t any other plans.”

“Plans!” He searched her eyes again. “Why, Nina, you silly child, you’ve never even--even flirted with me, at least, not for years.”

“That’s true. I couldn’t somehow. I couldn’t flirt with anybody I cared for.”

“Then you do--_care_ for--me?” he muttered in bewilderment.

“Don’t mistake me, Phil,” she put in. “I care for you, yes, but I’m not in the least sentimental. I abhor sentimentality. You’re simply the nearest approach I have found to my idea of masculine completeness. You’re not an ideal person by any means. Your vices are quite brutal, but they don’t terrify me--and you’re pretty well endowed with compensating virtues. It’s about time you gathered in your loose reins and took to the turnpike. I’d like to help you and I think I could.”

“I--I haven’t any doubt of it,” he stammered. “Only----”

“What?”

“I’m not a marrying man, that’s all,” he blundered on, still struggling with incomprehension.

She remained silent a moment.

“You say that, because you believe you oughtn’t to marry, don’t you, Phil?”

“I say it because I’m not going to marry--until I know just where I stand--just what I’m worth in a long game. Single, I haven’t hurt anybody but myself, but I’m not going to let any woman----”

He stopped suddenly. And then with an abrupt gesture rose.

“I can’t talk of this, Nina,” he said quickly. “You must see it’s--it’s impossible. You’re not in love with me--or likely to be----”

“Oh, I’m in no hurry. I might learn,” she said calmly.

There was no refuge from her quiet insistence but in laughter, and so, brutally, he took it.

“Really, Nina, if I hadn’t known you all my life, I could almost believe you serious.”

“Don’t laugh! I am,” she said immovably.

And now that it seemed to Gallatin there remained no doubt that she meant it, he sat down again beside her and took her hand in his, his face set in serious lines. He liked Nina, but like many other persons had always weighed her lightly. Even now he felt sure that, by to-morrow, she would probably have forgotten the entire conversation. But the situation was one that required a complete understanding.

“If I can believe you, you’ve succeeded in flattering me a great deal. I’ve always been used to expect amazing things of you, but I can’t say I’m quite prepared for the extraordinary point of view on married life which you ask me to share. I’ve always had another idea of marriage, the same one that you have deep down in your heart, for without it you wouldn’t be a woman. You’ll marry the man you love and no other.”

“And if the man I love won’t marry _me_?”

“It will be time to settle that when you meet him.”

“I’ve already met him.”

Gallatin searched her eyes for the truth and was again surprised when he found it in them. Her gaze fell before his and she turned her head away, as though the look he had seen in her eyes had shamed her.

“It isn’t true, Nina. It can’t be----”

“Yes,” she murmured. “It’s quite true. I think I’ve pitied you a little, but I’m quite sure that I--I’ve cared for you always.”

There was a silence and then she heard,

“God knows, I’m sorry.”

There was a note of finality in his tone which affected her strangely. It was not until then that she guessed the truth.

“You--you care for Jane Loring?”

“Yes,” he said almost inaudibly. “I do.”

He owed her that frankness.

“Thanks,” she said quietly. “It’s strange I shouldn’t have guessed. I--I didn’t think you cared for any one. You never have, you know. And it never entered my head that you could be really interested in--in a girl like Jane. Even when I learned that you had been together in the woods, I couldn’t believe--I don’t think I quite believe it yet. She’s hardly your style----”

She stopped and he remained silent, his head averted.

“Funny, isn’t it?” she went on. “Larry Kane wants to marry me, I want to marry you, and you want to marry Jane. Now if Jane would only fall in love with Larry!”

She laughed and drew away from him, for over his head she saw the figures of Jane Loring and Coleman Van Duyn who had just entered the kitchen. Jane had glanced just once in their direction and then had turned aside. Nina glanced at Phil. He was unconscious of the presence of the others--it almost seemed, unconscious of herself.

All the mischief in her bubbled suddenly to the surface. Jane Loring at least should see----

“I’m sorry, Phil,” she murmured. “I think I’ll survive. We can still be friends. I want one favor of you, though.”

He questioned.

“Kiss me, will you, Phil?” she whispered.

And Gallatin did; to turn in a moment and see Jane Loring’s skirts go fluttering past the dining-room door, through which, grinning broadly over his shoulder, Coleman Van Duyn quickly followed her.

XVIII

THE ENEMY AND A FRIEND

It was a moment before Gallatin realized the full significance of the incident, but when he turned to look at Nina, he found her leaning against the wall convulsed with silent laughter.

“You knew, Nina?” he said struggling for his self-control. “You saw them--there?”

“Oh, yes, I saw them,” she replied easily. “I couldn’t help it very well.”

“You asked me to--to kiss you!” he stammered, his color rising.

“Yes, I did. You never _had_ kissed me before, you know, Phil.”

“You--you wanted her to see,” he asserted.

“I didn’t mind her seeing--if that’s what you mean.”

“You had no right----”

She held up her hand with a mock gesture of command.

“Don’t speak! You’ll say something you’ll regret. It’s not often I ask a man to kiss me, and when I do I expect a display of softer emotions. But anger--dismay! I’m surprised at you. You’re really quite too rustic, or is it rusty? Besides, you know, I’ve done you the greatest of favors.”

“Favors!” he exclaimed.

“Precisely. In addition to accepting your--er--fraternal benediction, I’ve succeeded in creating a diversion in the ranks of the dear enemy. Jealousy is the vinegar of the salad of love, Phil. Jane is quite sure to love you madly now.”

“Come,” he said briefly, “let’s get out of this.”

“You mustn’t use that tone to me. It’s extremely annoying.”

“You’re mischievous,” he growled.

“Am I?” with derisive sweetness. “I hadn’t meant to be. Perhaps my infatuation has blinded me. I’m really very badly in love with you, Phil. And you must see that it’s extremely unpleasant for me to discover that you’re in love with somebody else. You know I can’t yield placidly. I’m not the placid kind. I may be in advance of my generation, but I’m sure if I had my way I’d abduct you to-night in the motor and fly to Hoboken.”

Gallatin laughed. He couldn’t help it. She was too absurd. And her mocking effrontery made it difficult for him to remember that a moment ago he had thought her serious.

“Fortunately, I am capable of moderating my emotions,” she went on. “My heart may be beating wildly, but behold me quietly submissive to your decision. All I ask is that you won’t offer to be a brother to me, Phil. I really couldn’t stand for that.”

“Nina, you’re the limit.”

“I know I am--I’m excited. It’s the outward and visible expression of inward and spiritual dissolution. What would you advise, Paris green or a leap from the Metropolitan Tower? One exit is plebeian, the other squashy; or had I better blow out the gas? Will you see that my headlines are not too sentimental? Not, ‘She Died for Love’; something like ‘Scorned--Social Success Suicides’ or ‘Her Last Cropper,’ are more in my line. Sorrowfully alliterative, if you like, but chastely simple. Aren’t you sorry for me, Phil?”

“Hardly. As the presentment of disappointed affection you’re not a success. Your martyrdom has all the aspects of a frolic at my expense. Don’t you think you’ve made a fool of me long enough?”

“Yes, I think so. I _have_ made a fool of you, haven’t I? I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to until I found that you had made a fool of me. I wanted company.”

Her humor changed as he turned away from her and she restrained him with a hand on his arm, her eyes seeking his.

“You’re my sort, Phil, not hers,” she whispered earnestly. “You’re a vagabond--a vagrant on life’s highway, as I am--a failure, as I am, only a worse one. You’ve tried to stem the tide against you, but you couldn’t. What have you to do with Jane Loring’s bourgeois respectability? Do you think you’ll be immune because of her? Do you think that she can cleanse you of the blood of your fathers and make you over on her own prim pattern? You’re run in a different mold. What Jane Loring wants is a stupid respectable Dodo, an impoverished patriarch with an exclusive visiting list. Let her buy one in the open market. The clubs are full of them.” She laughed aloud. “What does Jane Loring know of you? What chance have you----?”

“I think I’ve heard enough, Nina,” said Gallatin. He walked to the dining-room and stood, waiting for her to pass before him. She paused, shrugged her shoulders carelessly and, as she passed through the door, she leaned toward him and whispered.

“You’ll never marry her, Phil. Do you hear? Never!”

Gallatin inclined his head slightly and followed.

The dance was in full swing, and outside in the enclosed veranda a game of “Pussy Wants a Corner” had come to an end because Sam Purviance insisted upon standing in the middle of the floor and reciting tearfully the tale of “Old Mother Hubbard and Her Dog.” Then they tried charades which failed because the actors insisted on disappearing into the wings and couldn’t be made to appear, and because the audience found personal problems more interesting. A game of “Follow My Leader,” led by Larry Kane upstairs and down, developed such amazing feats of gymnastics that Nellie Pennington rebelled.

Phil Gallatin followed Jane with his eyes, but she refused even to glance in his direction and he was very unhappy. There seemed no chance of getting a word with her, for when at the end of the dance he approached her, she snubbed him very prettily and went out with Van Duyn to sit among the palms at the end of the veranda. Gallatin felt very much like the fool Nina had said he was and wandered around from group to group joining half-heartedly in their conversations, his uneasiness apparent to any who chose to perceive. Several times Nina Jaffray passed him smiling wickedly, and once she stopped and whispered.

“Hadn’t you better go home in my car, Phil? I don’t believe there will be room for you in Jane’s.”

He laughed with an air of unconcern he was very far from feeling.

“Thanks, I’m afraid you’d take me to Hoboken.”

She went on to the dance and Gallatin watched her until she disappeared. He was alone in the dining-room. Through the door by which she had gone came the sound of the piano and the chatter of gay voices. Through the other door he could see a jovial group of his familiars sitting around a table in the center of which was a tall bottle bearing a familiar label, his Enemy enthroned as usual in this company. He was like a vessel in the chop of two tides, one of which would bring him to a safe port and the other to sea.

He looked away, hesitated, then walked hastily to the Colonial sideboard where he drew a cup of hot coffee and drank it quickly. Then he followed Nina into the dancing-room.

He waited impatiently until the dance was finished, and then, when Jane Loring was left for a moment alone, with more valor than discretion, went up to her.

“Jane,” he whispered, “you’ve got to give me a moment alone.”

She turned away, but he stood in front of her again.

“It’s all a mistake, if you’ll let me explain----”

“Let me pass, please.”

“No, not until you promise to listen to me--to-night. I’ll go in your machine, and then----”

“I’m sorry. There’s no room for you, Mr. Gallatin.”

“I must see you to-night.”