Where There's a Will Part 20

I looked everywhere, but the basket was gone, and after a while I decided that Mr. d.i.c.k had had an attack of thoughtfulness (or hunger) and had carried it out himself.

And all the time I looked for the basket Mr. Pierce sat with the gun across his knees and stared at the rabbit.

"I'd thank you to take that messy thing out of here," I told him.

"Poor little chap!" he exclaimed. "He was playing in the snow, and I killed him--not because I wanted food or sport, Minnie, but--well, because I had to kill something."

"I hope you don't have those attacks often," I said. He looked at the rabbit and sighed.

"Never in my life!" he answered. "For food or sport, that's different, but--blood-l.u.s.t!" He got up and put the gun in the corner, and I saw he looked white and miserable.

"I don't like myself to-night, Minnie," he said, trying to smile, "and n.o.body likes me. I'm going into the garden to eat worms!"

I didn't like to scold him when he was feeling bad anyhow, but business is business. So I asked him how long he thought people would stay if he acted as he had that day. I said that a sanatorium was a place where the man who runs it can't afford to have likes and dislikes; that for my part I'd a good deal rather he'd get rid of his excitement by shooting off a gun, provided he pointed it away from the house, than to sit around and let his mind explode and kill all our prospects. I told him, too, to remember that he wasn't responsible for the morals or actions of his guests, only for their health.

"Health!" he echoed, and kicked a chair. "Health! Why, if I wanted to keep a good dog in condition, Minnie, I wouldn't bring him here."

"No," I retorted, "you'd shut him in an old out oven, and give him a shoe to chew, and he'd come out in three days frisking and happy. But you can't do that with people."

"Why not?" he asked. "Although, of course, the supply of out ovens and old shoes is limited here."

"As far as Mr. von Inwald goes," I went on, "that's not your affair or mine. If Miss Patty's own father can't prevent it, why should you worry about it?"

"Precisely," he agreed. "Why should I? But I do, Minnie--that's the devil of it."

"There are plenty of nice girls," I suggested, feeling rather sorry for him.

"Are there? Oh, I dare say." He stooped and picked up his rabbit.

"Straight through the head; not so bad for twilight. Poor little chap!"

He said good night and went out, taking the gun and the rabbit with him, and I went into the pantry to finish straightening things for the night.

In a few minutes I heard voices in the other room, one Mr. Pierce's, and one with a strong German accent.

"When was that?" Mr. von Inwald's voice.

"A year ago, in Vienna."

"Where?"

"At the Bal Tabarin. You were in a loge. The man I was with told me who the woman was. It was she, I think, who suggested that you lean over the rail--"

"Ah, so!" said Mr. von Inwald as if he just remembered. "Ah, yes, I recall--I was with--the lady was red-haired, is it not? And it was she who desired me--"

"You leaned over the rail and poured a gla.s.s of wine on my head. It was very funny. The lady was charmed."

"I recall it perfectly. I remember that I did it under protest--it was a very fine wine, and expensive."

"Then you also recall," said Mr. Pierce, very quietly, "that because you were with a--well, because you were with a woman, I could not return your compliment. But I demanded the privilege at some future date when you were alone."

"It is a pity," replied Mr. von Inwald, "that now, when I am alone, there is no wine!"

"No, there is no wine," Mr. Pierce agreed slowly, "but there is--"

I opened the door at that, and both of them started. Mr. von Inwald was standing with his arms folded, and Mr. Pierce had one arm raised holding up a gla.s.s of spring water. In another second it would have been in the other man's face.

I walked over to Mr. Pierce and took the gla.s.s out of his hand, and his expression was funny to see.

"I've been looking everywhere for that gla.s.s," I said. "It's got to be washed."

Mr. von Inwald laughed and picked up his soft hat from the table.

He turned around at the door and looked back at Mr. Pierce, still laughing.

"Accept my apologies!" he said. "It was such a fine wine, and so expensive."

Then he went out.

CHAPTER XVI

STOP, THIEF!

I was pretty nervous when I took charge of the news stand that evening.

Amanda King had an appointment with the dentist and had left everything topsyturvey. I was still straightening up when people began to come down to dinner.

Miss Cobb walked over to the news stand, and she'd cut the white yoke out of her purple silk. She looked very dressy, although somewhat thin.

"Everybody has dressed for dinner to-night, Minnie," she informed me.

"We didn't want Mr. von Inwald to have a wrong idea of American society, especially after Mr. Carter's ridiculous conduct this afternoon, and I wonder if you'll be sweet enough to start the phonograph in the orchestra gallery as we go in--something with dignity, you know--the wedding march, or the overture from Aida."

"Aida's cracked," I said shortly, "and as far as I'm concerned, Mr.

von Inwald can walk in to his meals without music, or starve to death waiting for the band."

But she got the phonograph, anyhow, and put the elevator boy in the gallery with it. She picked out some things by Caruso and Tetrazzini and piled them on a chair, but James had things to himself up there, and played The Spring Chicken through three times during dinner, with Miss Cobb glaring at the gallery until the back of her neck ached, and the dining-room girls waltzing in with the dishes and polka-ing out.

Mr. Moody came out when dinner was over in a fearful rage and made for the news stand.

"One of your ideas, I suppose," he a.s.serted. "What sort of a night am I going to have after chewing my food to rag-time, with my jaws doing a skirt-dance? Why in heaven's name couldn't you have had something slow, like Handel's Largo, if you've got to have music?"

But dinner was over fifteen minutes sooner than usual. James cake-walked everybody out to My Ann Elizer, and Miss Cobb was mortified to death.

Two or three things happened that night. For one, I got a good look at Miss Julia Summers. She was light-haired and well-fleshed, with an ugly face but a pleasant smile. She wore a low-necked dress that made Miss Cobb's with the yoke out look like a storm collar, and if she had a broken heart she didn't show it.

"h.e.l.lo," she cried, looking at my hair, "are you selling tobacco here or are you the cigar-lighter?"