The City of Masks Part 49

"I am ashamed of myself for having taken so much from you, dear, and given so little in return," she said. "I haven't earned a tenth of what you've paid me."

The Marchioness looked up and smiled,--and said nothing.

"Isn't Lieutenant Aylesworth perfectly stunning?" Lady Jane inquired, long afterwards, as she obediently turned this way and that while the critical Deborah studied the effect of her latest creation in gowns.

"Raise your arm, my dear,--so! I believe it is a trifle tight--What were you saying?"

"Lieutenant Aylesworth,--isn't he adorable?"

"My dear," said the Marchioness, "it hasn't been your good fortune to come in contact with many of the _real_ American men. You have seen the imitations. Therefore you are tremendously impressed with the real article when it is set before you. Aylesworth is a splendid fellow. He is big and clean and gentle. There isn't a rotten spot in him. But you must not think of him as an exception. There are a million men like him in this wonderful country,--ay, more than a million, my dear. Give me an American every time. If I couldn't get along with him and be happy to the end of my days with him, it would be my fault and not his. They know how to treat a woman, and that is more than you can say for our own countrymen as a cla.s.s. All that a woman has to do to make an American husband happy is to let him think that he isn't doing quite enough for her. If I were twenty-five years younger than I am, I would get me an American husband and keep him on the jump from morning till night doing everything in his power to make himself perfectly happy over me. This Lieutenant Aylesworth is a fair example of what they turn out over here, my dear Jane. You will find his counterpart everywhere, and not always in the uniform of the U. S. Navy. They are a new breed of men, and they are full of the joy of living. They represent the revivified strength of a dozen run-down nations, our own Empire among them."

"He may be all you claim for him," said Jane, "but give me an English gentleman every time."

"That is because you happen to be very much in love with one, my dear,--and a rare one into the bargain. Eric Temple has lost nothing by being away from England for the past three years. He is as arrogant and as c.o.c.ksure of himself as any other Englishmen, but he has picked up virtues that most of his countrymen disdain. Never fear, my dear,--he will be a good husband to you. But he will not eat out of your hand as these jolly Americans do. And when he is sixty he will be running true to form. He will be a lordly old dear and you will have to listen to his criticism of the government, and the navy and the army and all the rest of creation from morning till night and you will have to agree with him or he won't understand what the devil has got into you. But, as that is precisely what all English wives love better than anything else in the world, you will be happy."

"I don't believe Eric will ever become crotchety or overbearing," said Jane stubbornly.

"That would be a pity, dear," said the Marchioness, rising; "for of such is the kingdom of Britain."

Shortly after eleven o'clock, Julia came hurrying upstairs in great agitation. She tried vainly for awhile to attract the attention of the pompous Cricklewick by a series of sibilant whispers directed from behind the curtains in the foyer.

The huge room was crowded. Everybody was there, including Count Andrew Drouillard, who rarely attended the functions; the Princess Mariana di Pavesi, young Baron Osterholz (who had but recently returned to New York after a tour of the West as a chorus-man in "The Merry Widow"); and Prince Waldemar de Bosky, excused for the night from Spangler's on account of a severe attack of ptomaine poisoning.

"What do you want?" whispered Cricklewick, angrily, pa.s.sing close to the curtains and c.o.c.king his ear without appearing to do so.

"Come out here," whispered Julia.

"Don't hiss like that! I can't come."

"You must. It's something dreadful."

"Is it McFaddan's wife?" whispered Cricklewick, in sudden dismay.

"Worse than that. The police."

"My Gawd!"

The butler looked wildly about. He caught McFaddan's eye, and signalled him to come at once. If it was the police, McFaddan was the man to handle them. All the princes and lords and counts in New York combined were not worth McFaddan's little finger in an emergency like this.

At the top of the steps Julia explained to the perspiring Cricklewick and the incredulous McFaddan.

"They're at the gate down there, two of 'em in full uniform,--awful looking things,--and a man in a silk hat and evening dress. He says if we don't let him up he'll have the joint pulled."

"We'll see about _that_," said McFaddan gruffly and not at all in the voice or manner of a well-trained footman. He led the way down the steps, followed by Cricklewick and the trembling Julia. At the last landing but one, he halted, and in a superlatively respectful whisper restored Cricklewick to his natural position as a superior.

"You go ahead and see what they want," he said.

"What's wrong with your going first?" demanded Cricklewick, holding back.

"I suddenly remembered that the cops wouldn't know what to think if they saw me in this rig," confessed McFaddan, ingratiatingly. "They might drop dead, you know."

"You can explain that you're attending a fancy dress party," said Cricklewick earnestly. "I am a respectable, dignified merchant and I--"

"Go on, man! If you need me I'll be waitin' at the top of the steps.

They don't know you from Adam, so what's there to be afraid of?"

Fortified by McFaddan's promise, Cricklewick descended to the barred and locked grating.

"What's goin' on here?" demanded the burliest policeman he had ever seen. The second bluecoat shook the gate till it rattled on its hinges.

Mr. Cricklewick was staring, open-mouthed but speechless, at the figure behind the policemen.

"Open up," commanded the second officer. "Get a move on."

"We got to see what kind of a joint this is, uncle. This gentleman says something's been goin' on here for the past month to his certain knowledge,--"

"Just a moment," broke in Cricklewick, hastily covering the lower part of his face with his hand,--that being the nearest he could come, under the circ.u.mstances, to emulating the maladroit ostrich. "I will call Mr.--"

"You'll open the gate right now, me man, or we'll bust it in and jug the whole gang of ye," observed the burlier one, scowling.

"Go ahead and bust," said Cricklewick, surprising himself quite as much as the officers. "Hey, Mack!" he called out. "Come down at once! Now, you'll see!" he rasped, turning to the policemen again. The light of victory was in his eye.

"What's that!" roared the cop.

"Break it down," ordered the young man in the rear. "I tell you there's a card game or--even worse--going on upstairs. I've had the place watched. All kinds of hoboes pa.s.s in and out of here on regular nights every week,--the rottenest lot of men and women I've--"

"Hurry up, Mack!" shouted Mr. Cricklewick. He was alone. Julia had fled to the top landing.

"Coming," boomed a voice from above. A gorgeous figure in full livery filled the vision of two policemen.

"For the love o' Mike," gasped the burly one, and burst into a roar of laughter. "What is it?"

"Well, of all the--" began the other.

McFaddan interrupted him just in time to avoid additional ignominy.

"What the h.e.l.l do you guys mean by b.u.t.tin' in here?" he roared, his face brick-red with anger.

"Cut that out," snarled the burly one. "You'll mighty soon see what we mean by--"

"Beat it. Clear out!" shouted McFaddan.

"Smash the door down," shouted the young man in full evening dress.

"Oh, my G.o.d!" gasped McFaddan, his eyes almost popping from his head. He had recognized the speaker.

By singular coincidence all three of the men outside the gate recognized Mr. Cornelius McFaddan at the same time.