The Lightning Conductor Discovers America Part 12

In my opinion it was the other way round, but I didn't stop to argue. I took her into the ballroom, having previously found out that Mrs. Sam de Silverley hadn't arrived yet. I was counting on her being a bit late.

She generally is--for the sake of the effect.

When we were sitting down together, Patty and I (all the rest of our lot dancing, except the Winstons), I didn't waste a second in firing off my first gun. "I want to ask you frankly, Miss Moore," I began, "to tell me if you know whether Storm intends to be present at this dance to-night."

"But yes!" she answered in that funny French way she has, that would be difficult to put on paper if one wanted to. "He will come in a few minutes."

"Oh," said I. "That's a pity."

"Why a pity?" she wanted to know.

"Because he's not invited, and that is going to make it mighty awkward--worse than awkward."

"But, you invited us all," she insisted. "You are a member. You have the right----"

"I have the right, but I didn't exercise it for Storm's benefit. I shouldn't have thought of doing so. The rest of the party are gentlemen and ladies. The club can make no objection to them as guests. Storm is a chauffeur. I should have insulted the club by inviting him, and I certainly didn't do so."

Patty flushed up, and her eyes turned black. She can be a regular little _tiger_ cat, that girl! She must have been spoilt by the nuns in that blessed convent of hers! I believe she'd have liked to box my ears. But I knew I had the whip hand, and I was enjoying myself. "He's _not_ a chauffeur. You know that!" she snapped. "He kindly drives my car these few days, because we couldn't replace the man who went, and because I am not experienced. If it comes to that, _you're_ a chauffeur, too. You drove the Grayles-Grice to-day, and you would to-morrow, if I said yes."

"You are talking sophistry," said I, though I don't suppose she knew what I meant, as I believe she thinks in French. "Storm is a paid employe of Mrs. Shuster. He's been switched off one job on to another to accommodate. And he admits he's had former experience as a chauffeur, driving a Grayles-Grice. Anyhow, the fact remains that's the way his status will be regarded here, and if he comes in, claiming to be my guest, in self-defense I shall have to deny it, otherwise I might be asked to resign. When I've had to give him the lie, he will be kicked out of the place. That's a sure thing."

Patty began to look sick, and her green dress wasn't as becoming as it had been while she was just plain mad. "You said something about my saving him trouble," she reminded me. "What did you mean?"

"Well, you could do one of two things," I began to explain. "You could come out now with me in a hurry before he gets in, to head him off and tell him in your own words what I've just said."

"I would rather die than do such a very insulting thing!" she rapped out, rolling her r's as if she were beating a drum.

"All right then, there's one thing left--that gives you a little more time, but not much, because if the crash isn't to come the question has got to be decided in a few minutes, before the arrival of a certain lady--as a matter of fact, a lady who was on your s.h.i.+p and knows all about Mr. Peter Storm. When _she_ appears on the scene she'll enter a complaint, and the affair will be out of our hands. You will then be too late to save Mrs. Shuster's secretary and your friend the chauffeur from a nasty knock which may leave a black mark for the rest of his life--make it hard for him to get new situations and that sort of thing."

"Tell me quickly what to do and I will do it!" she said.

"Ask me as a favour to you to speak up for Storm. If you do I shall grant the favour, no matter what it may cost me. But as it will most likely cost me my members.h.i.+p when the story comes out later (which it will) why, I sort of feel as if you'd hate to have me give you that favour for nothing."

"I do not ask you to give it for nothing!" said she.

"But you do ask the favour. Is that what I'm to understand?"

"Yes. I do ask that."

"You don't think you'd better wait and hear what I want for my reward before you decide?"

"No. Because whatever you want I will do rather than have Mr. Storm hurt for life, when it was I who persuaded him to come." (I think she said "me," but that's a detail. I adore her little slips!) "He objected, because there were some good reasons he couldn't tell me for him _not_ to go to a big fas.h.i.+onable dance, but I thought that was just because he was modest. I wanted to show him how I felt--how Molly Winston and _all_ of us feel, except you, the _Socialist_"--(I wish you could have heard how she hissed that word at me!)--"so I begged him to come, to please _me_. Then he told me he would, and now it seems I bring him to humiliation. It is terrible! Yes, I will do anything to save him. And now what is it you want?"

Poor little tragedy queen, I was almost sorry for her, in spite of her tricks! But I was punis.h.i.+ng her for her own future good. Think of the difference for a girl between being Mrs. Edward Caspian and Mrs. Peter Storm!

"Can you guess?" I asked.

"Perhaps I can; perhaps I can't. You had better put it into words, and see how it sounds."

"Well, I only want you to say what your father wants you to say, and what you let me think you might be willing to say, if you weren't so young. I want you to be engaged to me. Once you've promised, I shall feel safe, and won't press you too much or too soon for the rest. We can talk the future over with Mr. Moore when we get back to Kidd's Pines."

"_Soit!_" said Patty, which sounded like slang for a slap, but I happened to remember it was French for something or other. (I asked Mrs.

Sam later, and she thought it meant "So be it.") "_Soit!_ Now go this instant and make everything perfectly right for Mr Storm, because here he comes, and if any one is rude, _nothing_ I have said counts."

I bounded away from her, as if she'd shot me out of a gun, and crossed the room to meet Storm. It was the first time I had ever been cordial, and he let me see he was surprised. Such was his manner that it was all I could do to keep up the show of friendliness, but I knew Patty was in a mood to come down on me like a thousand of brick if the least detail went wrong. My only fear was that Mrs. Sam might have said something to somebody prematurely; but apparently she hadn't. I explained to Storm I must definitely introduce him as my guest, because all the other names had been mentioned, and not his. You could have knocked me down with a feather when he said, "Oh, I'm not _your_ guest. I'm here on the invitation of Mr. James Strickland of New York, and Huntington, Long Island, who is one of the oldest members of this club, as I dare say you know. But he doesn't come to the dances."

For a minute I was weak in the knees. I saw all my work destroyed. But when I'd got my second wind I realized that nothing was changed. Patty would never tell Storm that she'd engaged herself to me to save him from being turned out of the Piping Rock Club. She'd be too proud for such a confession, and, besides, she'd hate to upset his feelings to that extent. When she's not in a temper she's almost absurdly kind, and when she _is_ in a temper, it generally seems to be with me. But I shall change that, later. There was still danger, however, from Mrs. Sam. I had warned her to pull Storm off his perch; now I must warn her to leave him on it, or Patty's promise wouldn't stand. I let Storm go, even though I knew he was going straight to _her_. She was engaged to marry me, and I could trust her--as far as I could see her anyhow!

Presently Mrs. Sam floated in with a suite consisting of one husband, one daughter, and several satellites of both s.e.xes. She had on the most expensive dress in the room, I should judge, and her hair was done in a way which n.o.body could help noticing on account of the diamond sign-posts; consequently she was in a good humour. I paid her compliments, and then pretended suddenly to remember our conversation of the afternoon. "Oh, by the by," said I, "that fellow I was telling you about turns out to be better than I thought. He's not a professional chauffeur, and apparently he's a gentleman by birth. Anyhow, he's a protege of James Strickland the New York lawyer, and is introduced here by him, not by me. He's got the countersign! We'd better consider him a friend and let him pa.s.s--what?"

"Oh, certainly, if he's under the protection of Strickland," said Mrs.

Sam. "James Strickland is the most successful of the decent lawyers in New York. One never knows when one may want his services, and he's merciless, positively _merciless_, if he gets down on anybody. We'll let sleeping dogs lie."

Whether she meant that Strickland or Storm was a sleeping dog, or that they'd both lain down together, I don't know, and don't care. I'd got what I wanted!

"I wonder why it is Miss Moore's green dress seemed so becoming the first part of the evening," said the oldest and shortest Miss Goodrich to me when we were sitting out an extra (I'd as soon try to dance with the Statue of Liberty as with her), "and now it doesn't suit her at all."

If she'd known it, that remark was less complimentary to me than to Patty herself; but she didn't know, for the engagement isn't out yet.

It won't be till after I arrive at Kidd's Pines with the ring (choosing it is part of my business in New York), and meanwhile I've gone into all these details in my letter to you, so that you'll be "on to" the situation. I've helped you, and if you see any need for a special effort before I get back (or afterward either for that matter) I shall rely on you. Besides, each one of us agreed to report progress to the other. If I hadn't seized upon this happy thought for the dance, I might have had my work cut out to get Patty, once you'd secured the father. I have a vague and not very self-flattering idea that she was keeping me up her sleeve, so to speak, for use in order to "save" her father. Well, she "saved" Storm instead, so her philanthropic instincts haven't been wasted. The question is--though you mayn't think me very gallant to ask it--is there any fear of its working the other way round? I, having permanently promoted the family fortunes, will our friend "Larry" jog on quietly with the bit in his mouth?

You have fair warning, anyhow, and I hope to see you day after to-morrow.

I am a different man from the one who wrote you last time.

Your sympathetic friend, E. CASPIAN.

XI

PETER STORM TO JAMES STRICKLAND

_Huntersford._

_My Simple Life Room. Unearthly Hour; but leading Hen has just laid my breakfast Egg._

HAIL, FATHER CONFESSOR!

When you read what I have to say, if you weren't a model of (several, if not) all the virtues, you'd say, "I told you so!" But you're a cynic at head, not at heart, and you allow yourself to be sarcastic only in the privacy of your own brain-pan as a rule.

I warn you I want to gush, and having stripped myself of all alleged friends and acquaintances (except you) as a tree strips itself of leaves in winter, I've no one else to gush to.

Perhaps it's but fair to myself, though, to explain that it doesn't feel like "gush" to me. I use the word only because I'm a coward and fear to have you think me a sentimental idiot. I'm trying to let myself down, you see, as easily as I can!

It's a queer thing (I don't know whether a punishment or an omen of blessing) that our talk when you prophesied my repentance took place on the same road I travelled last night in a car of the same make and same power. The same moon which gazed coldly on you and me, and maybe eavesdropped, beamed sympathetically on me and some one else a few hours ago, and if it had sense, witnessed your poetic justification.

Now I ask for your advice again, and this time--if it's anything like what I want--I'll take it.