Hope of Happiness — 8
I
Two weeks later Bud Henderson sought Bruce at Freeman’s office.
Bruce looked up from his desk with a frown that cleared as he recognized his friend.
With his cap pushed back on his head and buttoned up in a long ulster, Henderson eyed him stolidly and demanded to know what he was doing.
“Going over some specifications; I might say I’m at work, if you knew what the word means.
” “Thanks for the compliment, but it’s time to quit,” Henderson replied, taking a cigarette from a package on Bruce’s desk.
“I happen to know your boss is playing handball this moment at the Athletic and he’ll never know you’ve skipped.
I haven’t liked a certain look in your eye lately.
You’re sticking too close to your job.
Bill is pleased to death with your work, so you haven’t a thing to worry about.
Get your bonnet and we’ll go out and see what we can stir up.
” “I’m in a frame of mind to be tempted.
But I ought to finish this stuff.
” “Don’t be silly,” replied Bud, who was prowling about the room viewing the framed plans and drawings on the walls, peering into cabinets, unrolling blue prints merely to fling them aside with a groan of disgust.
“My God!
It doesn’t seem possible that Bill Freeman would put his name to such things!
” “Don’t forget this is a _private_ office, Mr. Henderson.
What’s agitating your bean?
” “Thought I’d run you up to the art institute to look at some Finnish work they’re showing.
Perhaps it’s Hottentotish; or maybe it’s Eskimo art.
We’ve got to keep in touch with the world art movement.
” Henderson yawned.
“Try again; I pant for real excitement,” said Bruce, who was wondering whether his friend really had noticed signs of his recent worry.
Henderson, apparently intent upon a volume of prints of English country houses, swung round as Bruce, in putting on his overcoat, knocked over a chair.
He crossed the room and laid his hands on Bruce’s broad shoulders.
“I say, old top; this will never do!
You’re nervous; you’re damned nervous.
Knocking over chairs--and you with the finest body known in modern times!
I watched you the other day eating your lunch all alone at the club--you didn’t know I was looking at you.
Your expression couldn’t be accounted for even by that bum club lunch.
Now if it’s money----” “Nothing of the kind, Bud!
” Bruce protested.
“You’ll have me scared in a minute.
There’s nothing the matter with me.
I’m all right; I just have to get readjusted to a new way of living; that’s all.
” “Well, as you don’t thrill to the idea of viewing works of art, I’ll tell you what I’m really here for.
I’m luring you away to sip tea with a widow!
” “A widow!
Where do you get the idea that I’m a consoler of widows?
” “This one doesn’t need consoling!
Helen Torrence is the name; relict of the late James B. deceased.
She’s been away ever since you lit in our midst and just got home.
About our age and not painful to look at.
Jim Torrence was a good fifty when he met her, at White Sulphur or some such seat of opulence, and proudly brought her home for local inspection.
The gossips forcibly removed most of her moral character, just on suspicion, you understand--but James B. ’s money had a soothing effect and she got one foot inside our social door before he passed hence three years ago and left her the boodle he got from his first wife.
Helen’s a good scout.
It struck me all of a heap about an hour ago that she’s just the girl to cheer you up.
I was just kidding about the art stuff.
I telephoned Helen I was coming, so we’re all set.
” “Ah!
I see through the whole game!
You’re flirting with the woman and want me for a blind in case Maybelle finds you out.
” “Clever!
The boy’s clever!
But--listen--I never try to put anything over on Maybelle.
A grand jury hasn’t an all-seeinger eye than Mrs. Bud Henderson.
Let’s beat it!
” On the drive uptown Henderson devoted himself with his usual thoroughness to a recital of the history of Mrs. Torrence.
The lady’s social status lay somewhere between the old and the new element, Bud explained.
The president of the trust company that administered her affairs belonged to the old crowd--the paralytic or angina pectoris group, as Bud described it, and his wife and daughters just _had_ to be nice to Torrence’s wife or run a chance of offending her and losing control of the estate.
On the other hand her natural gaiety threw her toward the camps of the newer element who were too busy having a good time to indulge in ancestor worship.
Henderson concluded his illuminative exposition of Mrs. Torrence’s life history as they reached the house.
They were admitted by a colored butler who took their coats and flung open a door that revealed a spacious living-room.
“Helen!
” exclaimed Henderson dramatically.
It was possible that Mrs. Torrence had prepared for their entrance by posing in the middle of the room with a view to a first effect, an effect to which her quick little step as she came forward to meet them contributed.
Her blue tea gown, parted a little above the ankles, invited inspection of her remarkably small feet adorned with brilliant buckles.
She was short with a figure rounded to plumpness and with fluffy brown hair, caught up high as though to create an illusion as to her stature.
Her complexion was a clear brilliant pink; her alert small eyes were a greenish blue.
Her odd little staccato walk was in keeping with her general air of vivacity.
She was all alive, amusingly abrupt, spontaneous, decisive.
“Hello!
Bud, the old reliable!
Mr. Storrs!
Yes; I _had_ been hoping for this!
” She gave a hand to each and looked up at Bruce, who towered above her, and nodded as though approving of him.
“This is delightful!
A new man!
Marvelous!
” As she explained that she had been away since June and was only just home, Bruce became aware that Henderson had passed on and was standing by a tea table indulging in his usual style of raillery with a young woman whose voice even before he looked at her identified her as Constance Mills.
“You know Mrs. Mills?
Of course!
If you’d only arrived this morning you’d know Connie.
Not to know Connie is indeed to be unknown.
” Constance extended her hand from the divan on which she was seated behind the tea table--thrust it out lazily with a minimum of effort.
“Oh--the difficult Mr. Storrs!
I’m terribly mortified to be meeting you in a friend’s house and not in my own!
” “To meet you anywhere----” began Bruce, but she interrupted him, holding him with her eyes.
“----would be a pleasure!
Of course!
I know the formula, but I’m not a debutante.
You didn’t like me that night we met at Dale Freeman’s, and I was foolish enough to think I’d made an impression!
” “Let’s tell him the truth,” said Henderson, helping himself to a slice of cinnamon toast.
“Bruce, I bet a hundred cigarettes with Connie I could deliver you here and I win!
” “Not a word of truth in that!
” declared Constance.
“Bud’s such a liar!
” Mrs. Torrence said they must have tea, and Henderson protested that tea was not to be thought of.
Tea, he declared, was extremely distasteful to him; and Bruce always became ill at the sight of it.
“But when I told Connie you were bringing Mr. Storrs she said he was terribly proper and for me not to dare mention cocktails.
” “Now, Helen, I didn’t say just that!
What I meant, of course, was that I hoped that Mr. Storrs wasn’t too proper,” said Constance.
“Proper!
” Bruce caught her up.
“This is an enemy’s work.
Bud, I suspect you of this dastardly assault on my character!
” “Not guilty!
” Bud retorted.
“The main thing right now is that we’re all peevish and need martinis.
What’s the Volstead signal, Helen?
” “Three rings, Bud, with a pause between the first and second.
” The tea tray was removed and reappeared adorned with all the essentials for the concoction of cocktails.
When the glasses were filled and all had expressed their satisfaction at the result, Henderson detained the negro butler for a conference on dice throwing.
He seated himself on the floor the better to receive the man’s instructions.
The others taunted him for his inaptitude.
The butler retired finally with five dollars of Bud’s money, a result attained only after the spectators were limp with laughter.
“You’re a scream, Bud!
A perfect scream!
” and Mrs. Torrence refilled the glasses.
She took Bud to the dining-room to exhibit a rare Japanese screen acquired in her travels, and Bruce found himself alone with Constance.
She pointed to her glass, still brimming, and remarked: “Please admire my abstemiousness!
One is my limit.
” “Let me see; did I really have three?
” asked Bruce as he sat down beside her.
“I want to forget everything this afternoon,” she began.
“I feel that I’d like to climb the hills of the unattainable, be someone else for a while.
” “Oh, we all have those spells,” he replied.
“That’s why Prohibition’s a failure.
” “But life is a bore at times,” she insisted.
“Maybe you’re one of the lucky ones who never go clear down.
A man has his work--there’s always that----” “Hasn’t woman got herself everything--politics, business, philanthropy?
You don’t mean to tell me the new woman is already pining for her old slavery!
I supposed you led a complete and satisfactory existence!
” “A pretty delusion!
I just pretend, that’s all.
There are days when nothing seems of the slightest use.
I thought there might be something in politics, but after I’d gone to a few meetings and served on a committee or two it didn’t amuse me any more.
I played at being a radical for a while, but after you’ve scared all your friends a few times with your violence it ceases to be funny.
The only real joy I got out of flirting with socialism was in annoying my father-in-law.
And I had to give that up for fear he’d think I was infecting Shep with my ideas.
” II
A tinge of malice was perceptible in her last words, but she smiled instantly to relieve the embarrassment she detected in his face.
He was not sure just how she wanted him to take her.
The unhappiness she had spoken of he assumed to be only a pose with her--something to experiment with upon men she met on gray afternoons in comfortable houses over tea and cocktails.
Mrs. Shepherd Mills might be amusing, or she might easily become a bore.
The night he met her at the Freemans’ he had thought her probably guileless under her mask of sophistication.
She was proving more interesting than he had imagined, less obvious;
perhaps with an element of daring in her blood that might one day get the better of her.
She was quite as handsome as he remembered her from the meeting at the Freemans’ and she indubitably had mastered the art of dressing herself becomingly.
He was watching the play of the shadow of her picture hat on her face, seeking clues to her mood, vexed that he had permitted himself to be brought into her company, when she said: “I’m not amusing you!
Please forgive me.
I can’t help it if I’m a little _triste_.
Some little devilish imp is dancing through my silly head.
If I took a second glass----” Bruce answered her look of inquiry with a shake of the head.
“Are you asking my advice?
I positively refuse to give it; but if you command me, of course----” He rose, took the glass, and held it high for her inspection.
“The man tempts me----” she said pensively.
“The man doesn’t tempt you.
We’ll say it’s the little imp.
Mrs. Mills, do you want this cocktail or do you not?
” “It might cheer me up a little.
I don’t want you to think me stupid; I know I’m terribly dull!
” She drank half the cocktail and bade him finish it.
“Oh, certainly!
” he replied and drained the glass.
“Now, under the additional stimulus, we can proceed with the discussion.
What were we talking about, anyhow?
” “It doesn’t matter.
Life offers plenty of problems.
How many people do you really think are happy--really happy?
Now Bud’s always cheerful; he and Maybelle are happy--remarkably so, I think.
Helen Torrence--well, I hesitate to say whether she’s really happy or not; she always appears gay, just as you see her today; and it’s something to be able to give the impression, whether it’s false or not.
” “Yes; it’s well to make a front,” Bruce replied, determined to keep a frivolous tone with her.
“The Freemans enjoy themselves; they’re quite ideally mated, I’d say.
” “Yes, they’re making a success of their lives.
Dale and Bill are always cheerful.
Now there’s dear old Shep----” “Well, of course he’s happy.
How could he be otherwise?
” “You’re not taking me seriously at all!
I’m disappointed.
I was terribly blue today; that’s why I plotted with Bud to get you here--I shamelessly confess that I want to know you better.
” “Come now!
You’re just kidding!
” “You’re incorrigible.
I’m that rarest of beings--a frank woman.
You refuse to come to my house, presumably because you don’t like me, so I have to trap you here.
” “How you misjudge me!
I haven’t been around because I’ve been busy; I belong to the toiling masses!
” “You have time for Miss Harden; you two seemed ever so chummy on the golf course.
Of course, I can’t compete with Millie--she’s so beautiful and so artistic--so many accomplishments.
But you ought to be considerate of a poor thing like me.
I’m only sorry I have so little to offer.
I really thought you would be a nice playmate; but----” “A playmate?
Aren’t we playing now?
--at least you are playing with me!
” “Am I?
” she asked.
She bent toward him with a slight, an almost imperceptible movement of her shoulders, and her lips parted tremulously in a wistful smile of many connotations.
She was not without her charms; she was a very pretty woman; and there was nothing vulgar in her manner of exercising her charms.
Bruce touched her hand, gently clasped it--a slender, cool hand.
She made no attempt to release it; and it lay lingering and acquiescent in his clasp.
He raised it and kissed the finger tips.
“You really understand me; I knew you would,” she murmured.
“It’s terrible to be lonely.
And you are so big and strong; you can help me if you will----” “I have no right to help you,” he said.
“It’s part of the game in this funny world that we’ve got to help ourselves.
” “But if you knew I needed you----” “Ah, but you don’t!
” he replied.
Bud tiptoed in with a tray containing highball materials and placed it on the tea table.
He urged them in eloquent pantomime to drink themselves to death and tiptoed out again.
Bruce, wondering if he dared leave, hoped the interruption would serve to change the current of his talk with Constance, when she said: “Shep speaks of you often; he likes you and really Shep’s ever so interesting.
” “Yes,” Bruce answered, “he has ideas and ideals--really thinks about things in a fine way.
” He did not care to discuss Shepherd Mills with Shepherd’s wife, even when, presumably, she was merely making talk to create an atmosphere of intimacy.
“Shep isn’t a cut-up,” she went on, “and he doesn’t know how to be a good fellow with men of his own age.
And he’s so shy he’s afraid of the older men.
And his father--you’ve met Mr. Mills?
Well, Shep doesn’t seem able to get close to his father.
” “That happens, of course, between fathers and sons,” Bruce replied.
“Mr. Mills----” He paused, took a cigarette from his case and put it back.
He was by turns perplexed, annoyed, angry and afraid--afraid that he might in some way betray himself.
“Mr. Mills is a curious person,” Constance went on.
“He seems to me like a man who lives alone in a formal garden with high walls on four sides and has learned to ignore the roar of the world outside--a prisoner who carries the key of his prison-house but can’t find the lock!
” Bruce bent his head toward her, intent upon her words.
He hadn’t thought her capable of anything so imaginative.
Some reply was necessary; he would make another effort to get rid of a subject that both repelled and fascinated him.
“I suppose we’re all born free; if we find ourselves shut in it’s because we’ve built the walls ourselves.
” “How about my prison-house?
” she asked.
“Do you suppose I can ever escape?
” “Why should you?
Don’t you like your garden?
” “Not always; no!
It’s a little stifling sometimes!
” “Then push the walls back a little!
It’s a good sign, isn’t it, when we begin to feel cramped?
” “You’re doing a lot better!
I begin to feel more hopeful about you.
You really could be a great consolation to me if--if you weren’t so busy!
” “I really did appreciate your invitation.
I’ll be around very soon.
” After all, he decided, she was only flirting with him; her confidences were only a means of awakening his interest, stirring his sympathy.
She had probably never loved Shepherd, but she respected his high-mindedness and really wanted to help him.
The depression to which she confessed was only the common ennui of her class and type; she needed occupation, doubtless children would solve her problem to some extent.
Her life ran too smooth a course, and life was not meant to be like that....
He was impatient to leave, but Mrs. Torrence and Henderson had started a phonograph and were dancing in the hall.
Constance seemed unmindful of the noise they were making.
“Shall we join in that romp?
” asked Bruce.
“Thanks, no--if you don’t mind!
I suppose it’s really time to run along.
May I fix a drink for you?
It’s too bad to go away and leave all that whisky!
” The music stopped in the midst of a jazzy saxophone wail and Mrs. Torrence and Henderson were heard noisily greeting several persons who had just come in.
“It’s Leila,” said Constance, rising and glancing at the clock.
“She has no business being here at this time of day.
” “Hello, Connie!
Got a beau?
” Leila peered into the room, struck her hands together and called over her shoulder: “Come in, lads!
See what’s here!
Red liquor as I live and breathe!
Oh, Mr. What’s-your-name----” “Mr. Storrs,” Constance supplied.
“Oh, of course!
Mr. Storrs--Mr. Thomas and Mr. Whitford!
” Bruce had heard much of Whitford at the University Club, where he was one of the most popular members.
He had won fame as an athlete in college and was a polo player of repute.
A cosmopolitan by nature, he had traveled extensively and in the Great War had won honorable distinction.
Having inherited money he was able to follow his own bent.
It was whispered that he entertained literary ambitions.
He was one of the chief luminaries of the Dramatic Club, coached the players and had produced several one-act plays of his own that had the flavor of reality.
He was of medium height and looked the soldier and athlete.
Women had done much to spoil him, but in spite of his preoccupation with society, men continued to like George, who was a thoroughly good fellow and a clean sportsman.
Whitford entered at once into a colloquy with Constance.
Thomas, having expressed his pleasure at meeting Bruce, was explaining to Mrs. Torrence how he and Whitford had met Leila downtown.
“Liar!
” exclaimed Leila, who was pouring herself a drink.
“You did nothing of the kind.
We met at the Burtons’ and Nellie gave us a little drink--just a tweeney, stingy little drink.
” The drink she held up for purposes of illustration was not infinitesimal.
Mrs. Torrence said that everyone must have a highball and proceeded to prepare a drink for Thomas and Whitford.
“You and Connie are certainly the solemn owls,” she remarked to Bruce.
“Anyone would have thought you were holding a funeral in here.
Say when, Fred.
This is real Bourbon that Jim had for years.
You’ll never see anything like it.
” “Bruce,” cried Henderson, “has Connie filled you with gloom?
She gets that way sometimes, but it doesn’t mean anything.
A little of this stuff will set you up.
This bird, Storrs, always did have glass legs,” he explained to Thomas; “he can drink gallons and be ready to converse with bishops.
Never saw such a capacity!
If I get a few more Maybelle will certainly hand it to me when I get home.
” Constance walked round the table to Leila, who had drunk a glass of the Bourbon to sample it and, satisfied of its quality, was now preparing a highball.
“No more, Leila!
” said Constance, in a low tone.
The girl drew back defiantly.
“Go away, Connie!
I need just one more.
” “You had more than you needed at the Burtons’.
Please, Leila, be sensible.
Helen, send the tray away.
” “Leila’s all right!
