 CHAPTER IX Mrs. Pett is shocked. At five o'clock in the afternoon, some ten days after her return to America, Mrs. Pett was at home to her friends in the house on Riverside Drive. The proceedings were on a scale that amounted to a reception, for they were not only a sort of official notification to New York that one of its most prominent hostesses was once more in its midst, but were also designed to entertain and impress Mr. Hammond Chester, Anne's father, who had been spending a couple of days in the metropolis preparatory to departing for South America on one of his frequent trips. He was very fond of Anne in his curious detached way, though he never ceased in his private heart to consider it injudicious of her not to have been born a boy, and he always took in New York for a day or two on his way from one wild and lonely spot to another if he could manage it. The large drawing-room overlooking the Hudson was filled almost to capacity with that strange mixture of humanity which Mrs. Pett chiefly affected. She prided herself on the Bohemian element in her parties, and had become during the past two years a human dragnet, scooping genius from its hiding place and bringing it into the open. At different spots in the room stood the six resonant geniuses to whose presence in the home Mr. Pett had such strong objections, and in addition to these she had collected so many more of a like-breed from the environs of Washington Square that the air was clamorous with the hoarse cries of futurist painters, esoteric Buddhists, verse Libre poets, interior decorators and stage reformers, sifted in among the more conventional members of society who had come to listen to them. Men with new religions drank tea with women with new hats. Apostles of free love expounded their doctrines to persons who had been practicing them for years without realizing it. All over the room, throats were being strained and minds broadened. Mr. Chester, standing near the door with Anne, eyed the assemblage with the genial contempt of a large dog for a valuable pack of small ones. He was a massive, weather-beaten man, who looked very like Anne in some ways, and would have looked more like her but for the misfortune of having had some of his face clawed away by an ear-dibble jaguar with whom he had had had a difference some years back in the jungles of Peru. "'Do you like this sort of thing?' he asked. "'I don't mind it,' said Anne. "'Well, I shall be very sorry to leave you, Anne, but I'm glad I'm pulling out of here this evening. Who are all these people?' Anne surveyed the gathering. "'That's Ernest Wisden, the playwright over there, talking to Laura Delaine Porter, the feminist writer. That's Clara, what's her name, the sculptor, with the bobbed hair. Next to her!' Mr. Chester cut short the catalogue with a stifled yawn. "'Where's old Pete? Doesn't he come to these jamborees?' Anne laughed. "'Poor Uncle Peter. If he gets back from the office before these people leave, he will sneak up to his room and stay there till it's safe to come out. The last time I made him come to one of these parties, he was pounced on by a woman who talked to him for nearly an hour about the morality of finance, and seemed to think that millionaires were the scum of the earth. He never would stand up for himself. Mr. Chester's gaze hovered about the room and paused. "'Who's that fellow? I believe I've seen him before somewhere.' A constant eddying swirl was animating the multitude. Whenever the mass tended to congeal, something always seemed to stir it up again. This was due to the restless activity of Mrs. Pet, who held it to be the duty of a good hostess to keep her guests moving. From the moment when the room began to fill till the moment when it began to empty, she did not cease to plow her way to and fro, in a manner equally reminiscent of a hawk swooping on chickens and an earnest collegion bucking the line. Her guests were, as a result, perpetually forming new entities and combinations, finding themselves bumped about like those little moving figures which one sees in shop windows on Broadway, which revolve on a metal disc until, urged by impact with another little figure, they scattered to regroup themselves elsewhere. It was a fascinating feature of Mrs. Pet's at-homes, and one which assisted that mental broadening process already alluded to, that one never knew, when listening to a discussion on the sincerity of Oscar Wilde, whether it would not suddenly change in the middle of a sentence to an argument on the inner meaning of the Russian ballet. Plunging now into a group dominated for the moment by an angular woman who was saying loud and penetrating things about the suffrage, Mrs. Pet had seized and removed a tall blond young man with a mild, vacuous face. For the past few minutes this young man had been sitting bolt upright on a chair with his hands on his knees, so exactly in the manner of an end man at a minstrel show that one would hardly have been surprised had he burst into song or asked a conundrum. And followed her father's gaze. Do you mean the man talking to Aunt Nesta? There they have gone over to speak to Willie Partridge. Do you mean that one? Yes. Who is he? Well, I like that, said Anne, considering that you introduced him to us. That's Lord Wisbeach, who came to Uncle Peter with a letter of introduction from you. You met him in Canada. I remember now. I ran across him in British Columbia. We camped together one night. I'd never seen him before and I didn't see him again. He said he wanted a letter to Old Pete for some reason, so I scribbled him one in pencil in the back of an envelope. I've never met anyone who played a better game of draw poker. He cleaned me out. There's a lot in that fellow, in spite of his looking like a musical comedy dude. He's clever. And looked at him meditatively. It's odd that you should be discovering hidden virtues in Lord Wisbeach, Father. I've been trying to make him my mind about him. He wants me to marry him. He does. I suppose a good many of these young fellows here want the same thing, don't they, Anne? Mr. Chester looked at his daughter with interest. Her growing up and becoming a beauty had always been a perplexity to him. He could never rid himself of the impression of her as a long-legged child in short skirts. I suppose you're refusing them all the time? Every day from ten to four with an hour off for lunch. I keep regular office hours. Admission on presentation, a visiting card. And how do you feel about this Lord Wisbeach? I don't know, said Anne frankly. He's very nice, and, what is more important, he's different. Most of the men I know are all turned out of the same mold. Lord Wisbeach and one other man are the only two I've met who might not be the brothers of all the rest. Who's the other? A man I hardly know. I met him on board ship. Mr. Chester looked at his watch. It's up to you, Anne, he said. There's one comfort in being your father. I don't mean that exactly. I mean that it is a comfort to me as your father to know that I need to feel no paternal anxiety about you. I don't have to give you advice. You've not only got three times the sense that I have, but you're not the sort of girl who would take advice. You've always known just what you wanted ever since you were a kid. Well, if you're going to take me down to the boat, we'd better be starting. Where's the car? Waiting outside. Aren't you going to say goodbye to Aunt Nesta? Good God, no! exclaimed Mr. Chester in honest concern. What? Plunge into that pack of coyotes and fight my way through door? I'd be torn to pieces by wild poets. Besides, it seems silly to make a fuss saying goodbye when I'm only going to be away a short time. I shan't go any further than Columbia this trip. You'll be able to run back for weekends, said Anne. She paused at the door to cast a fleeting glance over her shoulder at the fair-haired Lord Whizbeach, who was now in animated conversation with her aunt and Willie Partridge. Then she followed her father down the stairs. She was a little thoughtful as she took her place at the wheel of her automobile. It was not often that her independent nature craved outside support, but she was half-conscious of wishing at the present juncture that she possessed a somewhat less casual father. She would have liked to ask him to help her decide a problem which had been vexing her for nearly three weeks now, ever since Lord Whizbeach had asked her to marry him, and she had promised to give him his answer on her return from England. She had been back in New York several days now, but she had not been able to make up her mind. This annoyed her, for she was a girl who liked swift decisiveness of thought and action both in others and in herself. She was fond of Mr. Chester in much the same, unemotional, detached way that he was fond of her, but she was perfectly well aware of the futility of expecting counsel from him. She said good-bye to him at the boat, fussed over his comfort for a while in a motherly way, and then drove slowly back. For the first time in her life she was feeling uncertain of herself. When she had left for England she had practically made up her mind to accept Lord Whizbeach, and had only deferred actual acceptance of him because, in her cool way, she wished to re-examine the position at her leisure. Second thoughts had brought no revulsion of feeling. She had not wavered until her arrival in New York. Then for some reason, which baffled her, the idea of marrying Lord Whizbeach had become vaguely distasteful. And now she found herself fluctuating between this mood and her former one. She reached the house on Riverside Drive, but did not slacken the speed of the machine. She knew that Lord Whizbeach would be waiting for her there, and she did not wish to meet him just yet. She wanted to be alone. She was feeling depressed. She wondered if this was because she had just departed from her father and decided that it was. His swift entrances into and exits from her life always left her temporarily restless. She drove on up the river. She meant to decide her problem one way or the other before she returned home. Lord Whizbeach, meanwhile, was talking to Mrs. Pett and Willie, its inventor, about Partridgeite. Willie, on hearing himself addressed, had turned slowly with an air of absent self-importance, the air of a great thinker disturbed in mid-thought. He always looked like that when spoken to. And there were those, Mr. Pett belonged to this school of thought, who held that there was nothing to him beyond that look, and that he had built up his reputation as a budding mastermind on a foundation that consisted entirely of a vacant eye, a mop of hair through which he could run his fingers, and the theme of his late father. Willie Partridge was the son of the great inventor Dwight Partridge, and it was generally understood that the explosive, Partridgeite, was to be the result of a continuation of experiments which his father had been working upon at the time of his death. That Dwight Partridge had been trying experiments in the direction of a new and powerful explosive during the last year of his life was common knowledge in those circles which are interested in such things. Foreign governments were understood to have made tentative overtures to him, but a sudden illness, ending fatally, had finished the budding career of Partridgeite abruptly, and the world had thought no more of it until an interview in the Sunday Chronicle, that storehouse of information about interesting people, announced that Willie was carrying on his father's experiments at the point where he had left off. Since then there had been vague rumors of possible sensational developments which Willie had neither denied nor confirmed. He preserved the mysterious silence which went so well with his appearance. Having turned slowly so that his eyes rested on Lord Whizbeach's ingenuous countenance Willie paused, and his face assumed the expression of his photograph in the Chronicle. Ah, Whizbeach, he said. Lord Whizbeach did not appear to resent the patronage of his manner. He plunged cheerly into talk. He had a pleasant, simple way of comporting himself which made people like him. I was just telling Mrs. Pat, he said, that I shouldn't be surprised if you were to get an offer for your stuff from our fellows at home before long. I saw a lot of our war-office men when I was in England, don't you know? Several of them mentioned the stuff. He resented partridgeite as being referred to as the stuff, but he made allowance. All Englishmen talked that way, he supposed. Indeed, he said. Of course, said Mrs. Pat, Willie is a patriot and would have to give our own authorities the first chance. Rather. But you know what officials are all over the world. They are so skeptical and they move so slowly. I know. Our men at home are just the same as a rule. I've got a pal who invented something or other, I forget what, but it was a most decent little contrivance and very useful and all that. And he simply can't get them to say yes or no about it. But all the same, I wonder you didn't have some of them trying to put out feeders to you when you were in London. Oh, we were only in London a few hours. By the way, Lord Wisbeach, my sister. Mrs. Pat paused. She disliked to have to mention her sister or to refer to this subject at all, but curiosity impelled her. My sister said that you are a great friend of her stepson, James Crocker. I didn't know that you knew him. Lord Wisbeach seemed to hesitate for a moment. He's not coming over, is he? Pity, it would have done him a world of good. Yes, Jimmy Crocker and I have always been great pals. He's a bit of a nut, of course. I beg your pardon. I mean... He broke off confusedly and turned to Willie again to cover himself. How are you getting on with the jolly old stuff? He asked. If Willie had objected to partridgeite being called the stuff, he was still less in favour of its being termed the jolly old stuff. He replied coldly. I have ceased to get along with the jolly old stuff. Struck a snag, inquired Lord Wisbeach sympathetically. On the contrary, my experiments have been entirely successful. I have enough partridgeite in my laboratory to blow New York to bits. Willie exclaimed Mrs. Pet, why didn't you tell me before? You know I am so interested. I only completed my work last night. He moved off with an important nod. He was tired of Lord Wisbeach's society. There was something about the young man which he did not like. He went to find more congenial company in a group by the window. Lord Wisbeach turned to his hostess. The facuous expression had dropped from his face like a mask. A pair of keen and intelligent eyes met Mrs. Pet's. Mrs. Pet, may I speak to you seriously? Mrs. Pet surprised at the alteration in the man prevented her from replying. Much as she liked Lord Wisbeach, she had never given him credit for brains, and it was a man with brains and keen ones who was looking at her now. She nodded. If your nephew has really succeeded in his experiments, you should be awfully careful. That stuff ought not to lie about in his laboratory, though no doubt he is hidden as carefully as possible. It ought to be in a safe somewhere. In that safe in your library. News of this kind moves like lightning. At this very moment there may be people watching for a chance of getting out the stuff. Every nerve in Mrs. Pet's body, every cell of a brain which had for years been absorbing and giving out sensational fiction, quivered irrepressibly at these words, spoken in a low, tense voice which gave them additional emphasis. Never have she misjudged a man as she had misjudged Lord Wisbeach. Spies! They wouldn't call themselves that, said Lord Wisbeach. Secret service agents. Every country has its men whose only duty is to handle this sort of work. They would try to steal Willys. Mrs. Pet's voice failed. They would not look on it as stealing. Their motives would be patriotic. I tell you, Mrs. Pet, I have heard stories from friends of mine in the English Secret Service that would amaze you. Perfectly straight men in private life, but absolutely unscrupulous when at work. They stick at nothing, nothing. If I were you, I would suspect everyone, especially every stranger. He smiled engagingly. You are thinking that that is odd advice from one who is practically a stranger like myself. Never mind. Suspect me, too, if you like. Be on the safe side. I would not dream of doing such a thing, Lord Wisbeach, said Mrs. Pet, horrified. I trust you implicitly. Even supposing such a thing were possible, would you have warned me like this if you had been? That's true, said Lord Wisbeach. I never thought of that. Well, let me say, suspect everybody but me. He stopped abruptly. Mrs. Pet, he whispered, don't look round for a moment. Wait. The words were almost inaudible. Who is that man behind you? He has been listening to us. Turn slowly. With elaborate carelessness Mrs. Pet turned her head. At first she thought her companion must have alluded to one of a small group of young men who, very improperly in such surroundings, were discussing with raised voices the prospects of the clubs competing for the National League Baseball Penet. Then, extending the sweep of her gaze, she saw that she had been mistaken. Midway between her and this group stood a single figure, the figure of a stout man in a swaddled tail suit, who bore before him a tray with cups on it. As she turned, this man caught her eye, gave a guilty start, and hurried across the room. You saw? said Lord Wisbeach. He was listening. Who is that man? Your butler, apparently. What do you know of him? He is my new butler. His name is Skinner. Ah! Your new butler? He hasn't been with you long then? He only arrived from England three days ago. From England? How did he get in here? I mean, on whose recommendation? Mr. Pett offered him the place when we met him at my sisters in London. We went over there to see my sister Eugenia, Mrs. Crocker. This man was the butler who admitted us. He asked Mr. Pett something about baseball, and Mr. Pett was so pleased that he offered him a place here if he wanted to come over. The man did not give any definite answer then, but apparently he sailed on the next boat and came to the house a few days after we had returned. Lord Wisbeach laughed softly. Very smart! Of course they had him planted there for the purpose. What ought I to do? asked Mrs. Pett agitatedly. Do nothing. There is nothing you can do for the present except keep your eyes open. Watch this man's Skinner. See if he has any accomplices. It is hardly likely that he is working alone. Suspect everybody. Believe me. At this moment, apparently from some upper region, there burst forth an uproar so sudden and overwhelming that it might well have been taken for a premature testing of a large sample of partridgeite. Until a moment later it began to resemble more nearly the shrieks of some partially destroyed victim of that death-dealing invention. It was a bellow of anguish, and it poured through the house in a cascade of sound, advertising to all beneath the roof the twin facts that some person unknown was suffering and that whoever the sufferer might be he had excellent lungs. The effect on the gathering in the drawing-room was immediate and impressive. Conversations ceased as if it had been turned off with a tap. Twelve separate and distinct discussions on twelve highly intellectual topics died instantaneously. It was as if the last trump had sounded. Futurist painters stared pallidly adverse Libre poets, speech smitten from their lips, and stage performers looked at esoteric Buddhists with a wild surmise. The sudden silence had the effect of emphasizing the strange noise and rendering it more distinct, thus enabling it to carry its message to one at least of the listeners. Mrs. Pett, after a moment of strained attention in which time seemed to her to stand still, uttered a wailing cry and leaped for the door. Uggden! she shrilled, and passed up the stairs two at a time, gathering speed as she went. A boy's best friend is his mother. CHAPTER X INSTRUCTION IN DEPORTMENT While the feast of reason and flow of soul had been in progress in the drawing-room, in the gymnasium on the top floor, Jerry Mitchell, awaiting the coming of Mr. Pett, had been passing the time in improving with strenuous exercise, he is already impressive physique. If Mrs. Pett's guests had been less noisily concentrated on their conversation, they might have heard the muffled tap-tap-tap that proclaimed that Jerry Mitchell was punching the bag upstairs. It was not until he had punched it for perhaps five minutes that, dissisting from his labors, he perceived that he had the pleasure of the company of little Uggden Ford. The stout boy was standing in the doorway, observing him with an attentive eye. What are you doing? inquired Uggden. Jerry passed a gloved fist over his damp brow. Pudged the bag. He began to remove his gloves, eyeing Uggden the while with a disapproval which he made no attempt to conceal. An extremist on the subject of keeping in condition, the spectacle of the bulbous stripling was a constant offence to him. Uggden, in pursuance of his invariable custom on the days when Mrs. Pett entertained, had been lurking on the stairs outside the drawing-room for the past hour, levying toll on the foodstuffs that passed his way. He wore a congested look and there was jamb about his mouth. Why, he said, retrieving a morsel of jam from his right cheek with the tip of his tongue. To keep in condition? Why do you want to keep in condition? Jerry flung the gloves into their locker. Fade, he said, wearily. Fade! Huh? Beat it! Huh? Much pastry seemed to have clouded the boy's mind. Run away! Don't want to run away! The annoyed pugilist sat down and scrutinized his visitor critically. You'd never do anything you don't want to, I guess. No, said Uggden simply. You've got a funny nose, he added dispassionately. What did you do to make it like that? Mr. Mitchell shifted restlessly on his chair. He was not a vain man, but he was a little sensitive about that particular item in his make-up. Lizzie says it's the funniest nose she ever saw. She says it's something out of a comic supplement. A dull flush, such as five minutes with the bag had been unable to produce, appeared on Jerry Mitchell's peculiar countenance. It was not that he looked on Lizzie Murphy, herself no Lily and Russell, as an accepted authority on the subject of facial beauty, but he was aware that in this instance she spoke not without reason, and he was vexed moreover as many another had been before him by the note of indulgent patronage in Uggden's voice. His fingers twitched a little eagerly, and he looked sullenly at his tactless junior. Get out! Huh! Get out of here! Don't want to get out of here! said Uggden with finality. He put his hand in his trouser pocket and pulled out a sticky mass which looked as if it might once have been a cream puff or a meringue. He swallowed it contentedly. I'd forgotten I had that, he explained. Mary gave it to me on the stairs. Mary thinks you've a funny nose, too. He proceeded, as one relating agreeable gossip. Can it! Can it! exclaimed the exasperated pugilist. I'm only telling you what I heard her say. Mr. Mitchell rose convulsively and took a step towards his persecutor, breathing noisily through the criticised organ. He was a chivalrous man, a warm admirer of the sex, but he was conscious of a wish that it was in his power to give Mary what he would have described as hers. She was one of the parlour-maids, a homely woman with a hard eye, and it was part of his grievance against her that his Maggie, Julius Celestine, Mrs. Petz made, had formed an enthusiastic friendship with her. He had no evidence to go on, but he suspected Mary of using her influence with Celestine to urge the suit of his leading rival for the latter's hand, Biggs the chauffeur. He disliked Mary intensely, even on general grounds. Ogden's revelation added fuel to his aversion. For a moment he toyed with the fascinating thought of relieving his feelings by spanking the boy, but restrained himself reluctantly at the thought of the inevitable ruin which would ensue. He had been an inmate of the house long enough to know, with a completeness which would have embarrassed that gentleman, what a cipher Mr. Petz was in the home, and how little his championship would avail in the event of a clash with Mrs. Petz. And to give Ogden that physical treatment which should long since have formed the main plank in the platform of his education would be to invite her wrath as nothing else could. He checked himself and reached out for the skipping rope, hoping to ease his mind by further exercise. Ogden, chewing the remains of the cream puff, eyed him with languid curiosity. What are you doing that for? Mr. Mitchell skipped grimly on. What are you doing that for? I thought only girls skipped. Mr. Mitchell paid no heed. Ogden, after a moment's silent contemplation, returned to his original train of thought. I saw an advertisement in a magazine the other day of a sort of machine for altering the shape of noses. You strap it on when you go to bed. You ought to get popped to blow you to one. Jerry Mitchell breathed in a labored way. You want to look nice about the place, don't you? Well then, there's no sense in going around looking like that if you don't have to, is there? I heard Mary talking about your nose to Biggs and Celestine. She said she had to laugh every time she saw it. The skipping rope faltered in its sweep, caught in the skipper's legs and sent him staggering across the room. Ogden threw back his head and laughed merrily. He liked free entertainments and this struck him as a particularly enjoyable one. There are moments in the life of every man when the impulse attacks him to sacrifice his future to the alluring gratification of the present. The strong man resists such impulses. Jerry Mitchell was not a weak man, but he had been sorely tried. The annoyance of Ogden's presence and conversation had sapped his self-restraint, as dripping water will wear away a rock. A short while before he had fought down the urge and temptation to massacre this exasperating child. But now, despised love adding its sting to that of injured vanity, he forgot the consequences. Bounding across the room he seized Ogden in a powerful grip. And the next instant the latter's education, in the true sense of the word, so long postponed, had begun. And with it that avalanche of sound which, rolling down into the drawing-room, hurled Mrs. Pett so violently and with such abruptness from the society of her guests. Disposing of the last flight of stairs with the agility of the chamois which leaps from crag to crag of the snow-topped alps, Mrs. Pett finished with a fine burst of speed along the passage on the top floor, and rushed into the gymnasium just as Jerry's avenging hand was descending for the eleventh time. CHAPTER 11 Jimmy decides to be himself. It was less than a quarter of an hour later, such was the speed with which Nemesis, usually slow, had overtaken him, that Jerry Mitchell, carrying a grip and walking dejectedly, emerged from the back premises of the Pett home and started down Riverside Drive, in the direction of his boarding-house, a cheap, clean and respectable establishment situated on 97th Street between the Drive and Broadway. His usually placid nervous system was ruffled and a quiver from the events of the afternoon, and his cauliflower ears still burned reminiscently at the recollection of the uncomplementary words shot at them by Mrs. Pett before she expelled him from the house. Moreover, he was in a mild panic at the thought of having to see Anne later on and try to explain the disaster to her. He knew how the news would affect her. She had set her heart on removing Ogden to more disciplinary surroundings, and she could not possibly do it now that her ally was no longer an inmate of the house. He was an essential factor in the scheme, and now, to gratify the desire of the moment, he had eliminated himself. Before he reached the Brownstone House, which looked exactly like all the other Brownstone Houses and all the other side streets of uptown New York, the first fine, careless rapture of his mad outbreak had passed from Jerry Mitchell, leaving nervous apprehension in its place. Anne was a girl whom he worshipped respectfully, but he feared her in her wrath. Having entered the boarding-house, Jerry, seeking company in his hour of sorrow, climbed the stairs till he reached a door on the second floor. Sniffing and detecting the odor of tobacco, he knocked and was bidden to enter. "'Hello, Bayless,' he said sadly, having obeyed the call. He sat down on the end of the bed and heaved a deep sigh. The room which he had entered was airy but small, so small indeed that the presence of any furniture in it at all was almost miraculous. For at first sight it seemed incredible that the bed did not fill it from side to side. There were, however, a few vacant spots, and in these have been placed a wash stand, a chest of drawers, and a midget rocking chair. The window, which the thoughtful architect had designed at least three sizes too large for the room and which admitted the evening air in pleasing profusion, looked out onto a series of forlorn backyards. In boarding-houses it is only the windows of the rich and haughty that face the street. On the bed, a corncob pipe between his teeth, lay Jimmy Crocker. He was shoeless and in his shirt sleeves. There was a crumpled evening paper on the floor beside the bed. He seemed to be taking his rest after the labors of a trying day. At the sound of Jerry's sigh he raised his head, but finding the attitude too severe a strain on the muscles of the neck restored it to the pillow. "'What's the matter, Jerry? You seem perturbed. You have the aspect of one who fate has smitten and the spiritual solar plexus, or of one who has been searching for the leak in life's gas pipe with a lighted candle. What's wrong?' "'Curtains.'" Jimmy, through long absence from his native land, was not always able to follow Jerry's thoughts when concealed in the wrappings of the peculiar dialect which he affected. "'I get you not, friend. Supply a few footnotes.' "'I've been fired.'" Jimmy sat up. This was no imaginary trouble, no mere malaise of the temperament. It was concrete and called for sympathy. "'I'm awfully sorry,' he said. "'No wonder you aren't rollicking. How did it happen?' "'That half-portioned Bill Taft came joshing me about my visa till it got something fierce,' explained Jerry. William J. Bryan couldn't have stood for it.' Once again Jimmy lost the thread. The wealth of political illusion baffled him. "'What's Taft been doing to you?' "'It wasn't Taft. He only looks like him. It was that kid Ogden up where I work. He came budding into the gym, joshing me about, making personal remarks till I kind of lost my goat, and the next thing I knew, I was giving him his.'" A faint gleam of pleasure lightened the gloom of his face. "'I certainly gave him his.'" The gleam faded. "'And after that, well, here I am.'" Jimmy understood now. He had come to the boarding-house the night of his meeting with Jerry Mitchell on Broadway, and had been there ever since, and frequent conversations with the pugilist had put him abreast of affairs at the pet home. He was familiar with the personnel of the establishment on Riverside Drive, and knew precisely how great was the crime of administering correction to Ogden Ford, no matter what the cause. Nor did he require explanation of the phenomenon of Mrs. Pette dismissing one who was in her husband's private employment. Jerry had his sympathy freely. "'You appear,' he said, to have acted in a thoroughly capable and praiseworthy manner. The only point in your conduct which I would permit myself to criticize is your omission to slay the kid. That, however, was due, I take it to the fact that you were interrupted. We will now proceed to examine the future. I cannot see that it is altogether murky. You have lost a good job, but there are others, eagerly good, for a man of your caliber." New York has crammed with dispeptic millionaires who need an efficient physical instructor to look after them. Drop Cuthbert, for the sun is still shining. Jerry Mitchell shook his head. He refused to be comforted. "'It's Miss Anne,' he said. "'What am I going to say to her?' "'What has she got to do with it?' asked Jimmy, interested. For a moment Jerry hesitated, but the desire for sympathy and advice was too strong for him. And after all, there was no harm in confiding in a good comrade like me.' "'It's like this,' he said. Miss Anne and me had got it all fixed up to kidnap the kid.' "'What?' "'Say, I don't mean ordinary kidnapping. It's this way.' "'Miss Anne, come to me, and we agree that the kids of Pest, that ought to have some strong arm, keep him in order. So we decide to get him away to a friend of mine who keeps a dog's hospital down on Long Island. God Smithers is the guy to handle that kid. You ought to see him take hold of a dog that's all grouch and ugliness and make it over into a dog that's a pleasure to have around. I thought a few weeks with Bud was what the doctor ordered for Ogden, a Miss Anne guest I was right, so we had it all framed. And now this happens and balls everything up. She can't do nothing with a husky kid like that without me to help her. And how am I to help her if I'm not allowed in the house?' Jeremy was conscious of a renewed admiration for a girl whom he had always considered a queen among women. How rarely in this world did one find a girl who combined every feminine charm of mind and body with a resolute determination to raise cane at the slightest provocation. "'What an absolutely corking idea!' Jerry smirked modestly at the approbation, but returned instantly to his gloom. "'You get me now? What am I going to say to her? She'll be sore!' "'The problem,' Jimmy had begun, is one which, as you suggest, presents certain—' When there was a knock at the door and the head of the boarding houses made of all work popped in. "'Mr. Bailess, is Mr. Mitchell—' Oh, say, Mr. Mitchell, there's a lady down below wants to see you, says her name's Chester.' Jerry looked at Jimmy appealingly. "'What'll I do?' "'Do nothing,' said Jimmy, rising and reaching for his shoes. "'I'll go down and see her. I can explain for you.' "'It's mighty good of you. It will be a pleasure. Rely on me.' Anne, who had returned from her drive shortly after the Ogden disaster and had instantly proceeded to the boarding house, had been shown into the parlor. She found her staring in a wrapped way at a statuette of the infant Samuel which stood near a bowl of wax fruit on the mantelpiece. She was feeling aggrieved with fate and extremely angry with Jerry Mitchell, and she turned at the sound of the opening door with a militant expression in her eyes, which changed to one of astonishment on perceiving who it was that had come in. "'Mr. Bailess!' "'Good evening, Miss Chester. We, so to speak, meet again. I have come as an intermediary. To be brief, Jerry Mitchell daren't face you, so I offered to come down instead.' "'But how? But why are you here?' "'I live here.' He followed her gaze. It rested on a picture of cows in a field. "'Late American school,' he said, attributed to the landlady's niece, a graduate of the Whisaick and Pennsylvania Correspondent School of Pictorial Art. Said to be genuine.' "'You live here?' Repeated Anne.' She had been brought up all her life among the carefully thawed-out effects of eminent interior decorators, and the room seemed more dreadful to her than it actually was. "'What an awful room!' "'Awful! You must be overlooking the piano. Can't you see the handsome plush cover from where you're sitting? Move a little to the southeast and shade your eyes. We get music here of an evening when we don't see it coming and sidestep.' "'Why, in the name of goodness, do you live here, Mr. Balus?' "'Because, Miss Chester, I am infernally hard up, because the Balus bankroll has been stricken with a wasting sickness.' Anne was looking at him incredulously. But—but—then did you really mean all that at lunch the other day? I thought you were joking. I took it for granted that you could get work whenever you wanted to, or you wouldn't have made fun of it like that. Can't you really find anything to do?' "'Plenty to do, but I'm not paid for it. I walk a great number of blocks and jump into a great number of cars and dive into elevators and dive out again and open doors and say, Good morning, when people tell me they haven't a job for me. My days are quite full, but my pocket-book isn't.' Anne had forgotten all about her errand and her sympathy. "'I'm so sorry. Why, it's terrible. I should have thought you could have found something.' I thought the same till the employers of New York in a body told me I couldn't. Men have widely differing views on religion, politics, and a hundred other points. They were unanimous on that. The nearest I came to, being a financial titan, was when I landed a job in a store on Broadway, demonstrating a patent color clip at ten dollars a week. For a while all nature seemed to be shouting, Ten per, ten per, that which there are a few sweeter words in the language. But I was fired halfway through the second day, and nature changed her act. But why?' It wasn't my fault, just fate. This contrivance was called Clipstone's Cute Color Clip, and it was supposed to make it easy for you to fasten your tie. My job was to stand in the window in my shirt sleeves, gnashing my teeth and registering baffled rage when I tried the old obsolete method and beaming on the multitude when I used the clip. Unfortunately I got the cards mixed. I beamed when I tried the old obsolete method and nearly burst myself with baffled fury just after I had exhibited the card bearing the words, I will now try Clipstone's Cute Clip. I couldn't think what the vast crowd outside the window was laughing at, till the boss, who chanced to pause on the outskirts of the gathering on his way back from lunch, was good enough to tell me. Nothing that I could say would convince him that I was not being intentionally humorous. I was sorry to lose the job, though it did make me feel like a goldfish. The talking of being fired brings us back to Jerry Mitchell. Oh, never mind Jerry Mitchell now. On the contrary, let us discuss his case and the points arising from it with care and concentration. Jerry Mitchell has told me all. And was startled. What do you mean? The word all, said Jimmy, is slang for everything. You see in me a confidant, in a word, I am hep. You know? Everything. A colloquialism, explained Jimmy, for all. About Ogden, you know, the scheme, the plot, the enterprise. And found nothing to say. I am thoroughly in favor of the plan, so much so that I propose to assist you in taking Jerry's place. I don't understand. Do you remember at lunch that day, after that remarkable person had mistaken me for Jimmy Crocker, you suggested in a light, casual way that if I were to walk into your uncle's office and claim to be Jimmy Crocker, I should be welcomed without a question? I'm going to do it. Then once aboard the Lugger, once in the house, I am at your orders. Use me exactly as you would have, use Jerry Mitchell. But... But... Jerry, said Jimmy scornfully. Did I do everything that he could have done? And more. A bonehead like Jerry would have been certain to have bungled the thing somehow. I know him well. A good fellow, but in matters requiring intellect and swift thought, dead from the neck up. It's a very lucky thing he is out of the running. I love him like a brother, but his dome is a vivary. This job requires a man of tact, sense, shrewness, initiative, esprit and verve. He paused. Me! He concluded. But it's ridiculous, it's out of the question. Not at all. I must be extraordinarily like Jimmy Crocker, or that fellow at the restaurant wouldn't have taken me for him. Leave this in my hands. I can get away with it. I shat dream of allowing you. At nine o'clock tomorrow morning, said Jimmy firmly, I present myself at Mr. Pett's office. It's all settled. Anne was silent. She was endeavouring to adjust her mind to the idea. Her first startled revulsion from it had begun to wane. It was an idea peculiarly suited to her temperament, an idea that she might have suggested herself if she had thought of it. Soon, from being disapproving, she found herself glowing with admiration for its author. He was a young man of her own sort. You asked me on the boat, if you remember, said Jimmy, if I had an adventurous soul. I am now submitting my proofs. You also spoke highly of America as a land where there were adventures to be had. I now see that you were right. Anne thought for a moment. If I consent to your doing this insane thing, Mr. Bayless, will you promise me something? Anything. Well, in the first place, I absolutely refused to let you risk all sorts of frightful things by coming into this kidnapping plot. She waved him down and went on. But I see where you can help me very much. As I told you at lunch, my aunt would do anything for Jimmy Crocker if he were to appear in New York now. I want you to promise that you will confine your activities to asking her to let Jerry Mitchell come back. Never. You said you would promise me anything. Anything but that. Then it is all off. Jimmy pondered. It's terribly tame that way. Never mind. It's the only way I will consider. Very well. I protest, though. Anne sat down. I think you're splendid, Mr. Bayless. I much obliged. Not at all. It will be a splendid thing for Ogden, won't it? Admirable. Now, the only thing to do is just to see that we have got everything straight. How about this, for instance? They will ask you when you arrived in New York. How are you going to account for your delay in coming to see them? I've thought of that. There's a boat that docks to-morrow, the Caroni, I think. I've got a paper upstairs. I'll look it up. I can say I came by her. That seems all right. It's lucky you and Uncle Peter never met on the Atlantic. And now as to my demeanor on entering the home? How should I behave? Should I be jaunty or humble? What would a long-lost nephew naturally do? A long-lost nephew with a record like Jimmy Crocker's would crawl in with a white flag, I should think. A bell clanged in the hall. Supper, said Jimmy, to go into painful details, New England boil dinner or my senses deceive me and prunes. I must be going. We shall meet at Philippi. He saw her to the door and stood at the top of the steps watching her trim figure vanish into the dusk. She passed from his sight. Jimmy drew a deep breath and, thinking hard, went down the passage to fortify himself with Supper. End of Chapter 11, Chapter 12 of Piccadilly Gym, by P. G. Woodhouse. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Piccadilly Gym. Chapter 12. Jimmy catches the boss's eye. When Jimmy arrived at Mr. Pett's office on Pine Street at 10.30 the next morning, his expressed intention of getting up early enough to be there by nine having proved an empty boast, he was in a high state of preparedness. He had made ready for what might be a trying interview by substituting a combination of well-chosen dishes at an expensive hotel, for the less imaginative boarding-house breakfast with which he had of late been insulting his interior. His suit was pressed, his shoes gleamed brightly, and his chin was smoothly shaven. These things, combined with the perfection of the morning and that vague exhilaration which a fine day in downtown New York brings to the man who has not got to work, increased his natural optimism. Something seemed to tell him that all would be well. He would have been the last person to deny that his position was a little complicated. He had to use a pencil and a sheet of paper to show himself just where he stood, but what of that? A few complications in life are an excellent tonic for the brain. It was with a sunny geniality which startled that unaccustomed stripling considerably, and indeed caused him to swallow his chewing gum that he handed his car to Mr. Pett's watchfully waiting office boy. This to the boss, my open-faced lad, he said, gets swiftly off the mark. The boy departed dumbly. From where he stood, outside the barrier which separated visitors to the office from the workers within, Jimmy could see a vista of efficient-looking young men with paper protectors round their cuffs, working away at mysterious jobs which seemed to involve the use of a great deal of paper. One in particular was so surrounded by it that he had the appearance of a bather in surf. Jimmy eyed these toilers with a comfortable and kindly eye. All this industry made him feel happy. He liked to think of this sort of thing going on all round him. The office boy returned. This way, please. The respectfulness of the lad's manner had increased noticeably. Mr. Pett's reception of the visitor's name had impressed him. It was an odd fact that the financier, a cipher in his own home, could impress all sorts of people at the office. To Mr. Pett, the announcement that Mr. James Crocker was waiting to see him had come like the announcement of a miracle. Not a day had passed since their return to America without lamentations from Mrs. Pett on the subject of their failure to secure the young man's person. The occasion of Mrs. Pett's reading of the article in the Sunday Chronicle descriptive of the Lord Percy Whipple affair had been unique in the little man's domestic history. For the first time since he had known her, the indomitable woman had completely broken down. Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, it might have been, and the thought that, if she had only happened to know it, she had had in her hands during that interview with her sister in London a weapon which would have turned defeat into triumph was more than even Mrs. Pett's strong spirit could endure. When she looked back on that scene and recalled the airy way in which Mrs. Crocker had spoken of her stepson's best friend, Lord Percy Whipple, and realized that at that very moment Lord Percy had been recovering in bed from the effects of his first meeting with Jimmy Crocker, the iron entered into her soul and she refused to be comforted. In the first instant of realization she thought of six separate and distinct things she could have said to her sister, each more crushing than the last, things which now she would never be able to say. And now, suddenly and unaccountably, the means was at hand for restoring her to her tranquil self-esteem. Jimmy Crocker, despite what his stepmother had said, probably in active defiance of her commands, had come to America after all. Mr. Pett's first thought was that his wife would, as he expressed it to himself, be tickled to death about this. Scarcely waiting for the office boy to retire, he leaped towards Jimmy like a gambling lamb and slapped him on the back with every evidence of joy and friendliness. "'My dear boy,' he cried, "'my dear boy, I'm delighted to see you.'" Jimmy was surprised, relieved, and pleased. He had not expected this warmth. A civil coldness had been the best he had looked for. He had been given to understand that in the pet home he was regarded as the black sheep. And, while one may admit a black sheep into the fold, it does not follow that one must of necessity fawn upon him. "'You're very kind,' he said, rather startled. They inspected each other for a brief moment. Mr. Pett was thinking that Jimmy was a great improvement on the picture his imagination had drawn of him. He had looked for something tougher, something flashy and bloated. Jimmy, for his part, had taken an instant liking to the financier. Jimmy too had been misled by imagination. He had always supposed that these millionaires down Wall Street way were keen, aggressive fellows, with gimlet eyes and sharp tongues. On the boat he had only seen Mr. Pett from afar, and had had no means of estimating his character. He found him an agreeable little man. "'We had given all hope of your coming,' said Mr. Pett. "'A little manly penitent seemed to Jimmy to be in order. I never expected you would receive me like this. I thought I must have made myself rather unpopular.' Mr. Pett buried the past with a gesture. "'When did you land?' he asked. "'This morning, on the Caronia. Good passage. Excellent!' There was a silence. It seemed to Jimmy that Mr. Pett was looking at him rather more closely than was necessary for the actual enjoyment of his style of beauty. He was about to throw out some light remark about the health of Mrs. Pett, or something about porpoises on the voyage, to add local color and verisimilitude, when his heart missed a beat, as he perceived that he had made a blunder. Like many other amateur plotters, Anne and he had made the mistake of being too elaborate. It had struck them as an ingenious idea for Jimmy to pretend that he had arrived that morning, and superficially it was a good idea. But he now remembered for the first time that, if he had seen Mr. Pett on the Atlantic, the probability was that Mr. Pett had seen him. The next moment the other had confirmed the suspicion. "'I've an idea I've seen you before. Can't fake where?' "'Everybody well at home,' said Jimmy. I'm sure of it. "'I'm looking forward to seeing them all.' "'I've seen you some place. I'm often there.' "'Eh?' Mr. Pett seemed to be turning this remark over in his mind at trifle suspiciously. Jimmy changed the subject. "'To a young man like myself,' he said, with life opening out before him, there is something singularly stimulating in the sight of a modern office. How busy those fellows seem!' "'Yes,' said Mr. Pett. "'Yes.'" He was glad that this conversational tone had been struck. He was anxious to discuss the future with this young man. "'Everybody works, but father,' said Jimmy. Mr. Pett started. Eh? Nothing. Mr. Pett was vaguely ruffled. He suspected insult, but could not pin it down. He abandoned his cheeriness, however, and became the man of business. "'I hope you intend to settle down now that you are here and work hard,' he said, in the voice which he vainly tried to use on Ogden at home. "'Work,' said Jimmy blankly. "'I shall be able to make a place for you in my office. That was my promise to your stepmother, and I shall fulfil it. "'But wait a minute. I don't get this. Do you mean to put me to work?' "'Of course. I take it that that was why you came over here, because you realised how you were wasting your life and wanted a chance of making good in my office.' A hot denial trembled on Jimmy's tongue. Never had he been so misjudged. And then the thought of Anne checked him. He must do nothing that would interfere with Anne's plans. Whatever the cost, he must conciliate this little man. For a moment he muse sentimentally on Anne. He hoped she would understand what he was going through for her sake. To a man with his ingrained distaste for work in any shape, the sight of those waved slaves outside there in the outer office had, as he had told Mr. Pett, been stimulating. But only because it filled him with a sort of spiritual uplift to think that he had not got to do that sort of thing. Consider them in the light of fellow workers, and the spectacle ceased to stimulate and became nauseating. And for her sake he was about to become one of them. Had any night of old ever done anything so big as that for his lady, he very much doubted it. All right, he said, count me in. I take it that I shall have a job like one of those out there. Yes. Not presuming to dictate, I suggest that you give me something that will take some of the work off that fellow who's swimming in paper. Only the tip of his nose was above the surface as I passed through. I never saw so many fellows working so hard at the same time in my life. All trying to catch the boss's eye, too, I suppose. It must make you feel like a snipe. Mr. Pett replied stiffly. He disliked this levity on the sacred subject of office work. He considered that Jimmy was not approaching his new life in the proper spirit. Many young men had discussed with him in that room the subject of working in his employment, but none in quite the same manner. You are at a serious point in your career, he said. You will have every opportunity of rising. Yes, at seven in the morning, I suppose. A spirit of levity, began Mr. Pett. I laugh that I may not weep, explained Jimmy. Try to think what this means to a bright young man who loathe's work. Be kind to me. Instruct your floorwalkers to speak gently to me at first. It may be a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever done, but don't ask me to enjoy it. It's all right for you. You're the boss. Any time you want to call it a day and go off and watch a ball game, all you have to do is leave word that you have an urgent date to see Mr. Rockefeller. Whereas I shall have to submerge myself in paper and only come up for air when the danger of suffocation becomes too great. It may have been the mention of his favorite game that softened Mr. Pett, the frostiness which had crept into his manner thawed. It beats me, he said, why you ever came over at all if you feel like that. Duty, said Jimmy, duty! There comes a time in the life of every man when he must choose between what is pleasant and what is right. And that last fool game of yours that Lord Percy Whipple business must have made London pretty hot for you, suggested Mr. Pett. Your explanation is less romantic than mine, but there is something in what you say. Had it occurred to you, young men, that I am taking a chance putting a fellow like you to work in my office? Have no fear. The little bit of work I shall do won't make any difference. I have a mind to send you straight back to London. Couldn't we compromise? How? Well, haven't you some snug secretarial job you could put me into? I have an idea that I should make an ideal secretary. My secretary's work. I get you, cancel the suggestion. Mr. Pett rubbed his chin thoughtfully. You puzzle me, and that's the truth. All we speak the truth, said Jimmy approvingly. I'm darned if I know what to do with you. Well, you'd better come home with me now anyway and meet your aunt, and then we can talk things over. After all, the main thing is to keep you out of mischief. You put things crudely, but no doubt you are right. You live with us, of course. Thank you very much. This is the right spirit. I'll have to talk to Nesta about you. There may be something you can do. I shouldn't mind being a partner, suggested Jimmy, hopefully. Why don't you get work on a paper again? You used to do that well. I don't think my old paper would welcome me now. They regard me rather as an entertaining news item than a worker. That's true. Say, why on earth did you make such a fool of yourself over on the other side? That breach of promise case with the barmaid, said Mr. Pett reproachfully. Let bygones be bygones, said Jimmy. I was more sinned against than sinning. You know how it is, Uncle Pete. Mr. Pett started violently, but said nothing. You try out of pure goodness of heart to scatter light and sweetness and protect the poor working girl, like heaven, and brighten up her lot and so on, and she turns right round and soaks it to you good. And anyway, she wasn't a barmaid. She worked in a florist's shop. I don't see that that makes any difference. All the difference in the world! All the difference between the sordid and the poetical! I don't know if you have ever experienced the hypnotic intoxication of a florist's shop. Take it from me, Uncle Pete. Any girl can look like an angel as long as she is surrounded by choice blooms. I couldn't help myself. I wasn't responsible. I only woke up when I met her outside. But all that sort of thing is different now. I am another man. Sober, steady, serious-minded. Mr. Pett had taken the receiver from the telephone and was talking to someone. The buzzing of a feminine voice came to Jimmy's ears. Mr. Pett hung up the receiver. Your aunt says we're to come up at once. I'm ready. And it will be a good excuse for you to knock off work. I bet you're glad I came. Does the carriage await or shall we take the subway? I guess it will be quicker to take the subway. Your aunt's very surprised that you are here and very pleased. I'm making everybody happy today. Mr. Pett was looking at him in a meditative way. Jimmy caught his eye. You're registering something, Uncle Pete, and I don't know what it is. Why the glance? I was just thinking of something. Jimmy, prompted his nephew, eh? Add the word Jimmy to your remarks. It will help me to feel at home and enable me to overcome my shyness. Mr. Pett chuckled, shyness, if I had your nerve. He broke off with a sigh and looked at Jimmy affectionately. What I was thinking was that you're a good boy. At least you're not, but you're different from that gang of, of, that crowd up town. What crowd? Your aunt is literary, you know. She's filled the house with poets and all that sort of thing. It will be a treat having you around. You're human. I don't see that we're going to make much out of you now that you're here, but I'm darn glad you've come, Jimmy. Put it there, Uncle Pete, said Jimmy. You're all right. You're the finest captain of industry I ever met. CHAPTER XIII SLIGHT COMPLICATIONS They left the subway at 96th Street and walked up the drive. Jimmy, like everyone else who saw it for the first time, experienced a slight shock at the sight of the Pett mansion, but rallying, followed his uncle up the flagged path to the front door. Your aunt will be in the drawing-room, I guess, said Mr. Pett, opening the door with his key. Jimmy was looking round him appreciatively. Mr. Pett's house might be an eyesore from without, but inside it had had the benefit of the skill of the best interior decorator in New York. A man could be very happy in a house like this, if he didn't have to poison his days with work, said Jimmy. Mr. Pett looked alarmed. Don't go saying anything like that to your aunt, he urged. She thinks you have come to settle down. So I have. I'm going to settle down like a limpet. I hope I shall be living in luxury on you twenty years from now. Is this the room? Mr. Pett opened the drawing-room door, a small hairy object sprang from a basket and stood yapping in the middle of the room. This was Ida, Mrs. Pett's Pomeranian. Mr. Pett, avoiding the animal coldly, for he disliked it, ushered Jimmy into the room. Here's Jimmy Crocker, Nesta. Jimmy was aware of a handsome woman of middle age, so like his stepmother, that for an instant his self-possession left him and he stammered. How... how do you do? His demeanor made a favorable impression on Mrs. Pett. She took it for the decent confusion of remorse. I was very surprised when your uncle telephoned me, she said. I had not the slightest idea that you were coming over. I am very glad to see you. Thank you. This is your cousin, Ogden. Jimmy perceived a fat boy lying on a settee. He had not risen on Jimmy's entrance, and he did not rise now. He did not even lower the book he was reading. Oh, he said. Jimmy crossed over to the settee and looked down on him. He had got over his momentary embarrassment, and, as usual with him, the reaction led to a fatal breeziness. He prodded Ogden in his well- covered ribs, producing a yelp of protest from that astounded youth. So, this is Ogden. Well, well, well. You don't grow up, Ogden, but you do grow out. What are you, a perfect sixty-six? The favourable impression which Mrs. Pett had formed of her nephew waned. She was shocked by this disrespectful attitude towards the child she worshipped. Please do not disturb Ogden, James, she said stiffly. He is not feeling very well today. His stomach is weak. Been eating too much? said Jimmy cheerfully. I was just the same at his age. What he wants is half rations and plenty of exercise. Say, protested Ogden. Just look at this, proceeded Jimmy, grasping a handful of superfluous tissue around the boy's ribs. All that ought to come off. I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll buy a pair of flannel trousers and a sweater and some sneakers, and I'll take him for a run-up Riverside Drive this evening. Do him no end of good. And a good skipping rope, too. Nothing like it. In a couple of weeks I'll have him as fit as a— Ogden's case, said Mrs. Pett coldly, which is very complicated, is in the hands of Dr. Brighenshaw, in whom we have every confidence. There was a silence, the paralyzing effects of which Mr. Pett vainly tried to mitigate by shuffling his feet and coughing. Mrs. Pett spoke. I hope that, now that you are here, James, you intend to settle down and work hard. Indubitably, like a beaver, said Jimmy, mindful of Mr. Pett's recent warning. The only trouble is that there seems to be a little uncertainty as to what I am best fitted for. We talked it over in Uncle Pete's office and arrived at no conclusion. Can't you think of anything? said Mr. Pett. I looked right through the telephone-classified directory the other day. The other day? But you only landed this morning. I mean, this morning. When I was looking up your address so that I could go and see you, said Jimmy glibly. It seems a long time ago. I think the sight of all those fellows in your office has aged me. I think the best plan would be for me to settle down here and learn how to be an electrical engineer or something by mail. I was reading an advertisement in a magazine as we came up on the subway. I see they guarantee to teach you anything from sheet metal working to poultry raising. The thing began, you are standing still because you lack training. It seemed to me to apply to my case exactly. I had better drop them a line tonight asking for a few simple facts about chickens. Whatever comet Mrs. Pett might have made on this suggestion was checked by the entrance of Anne. From the window of her room Anne had observed the arrival of Jimmy and her uncle, and now, having allowed sufficient time to elapse for the former to make Mrs. Pett's acquaintance, she came down to see how things were going. She was well satisfied with what she saw. A slight strain which she perceived in the atmosphere she attributed to embarrassment natural to the situation. She had looked at Jimmy inquiringly. Mrs. Pett had not informed her of Mr. Pett's telephone call, so Jimmy, she realized, had to be explained to her. She waited for someone to say something. Mr. Pett undertook the introduction. Jimmy, this is my niece, Anne Chester. This is Jimmy Crocker, Anne. Jimmy could not admire sufficiently the start of surprise which she gave. It was artistic, Anne convincing. Jimmy Crocker. Mr. Pett was on the point of mentioning that this was not the first time Anne had met Jimmy, but refrained. After all, that interview had happened five years ago. Jimmy had almost certainly forgotten all about it. There was no use in making him feel unnecessarily awkward. It was up to Anne. If she wanted to disinter the ancient grievance letter, it was no business of his. I thought you weren't coming over, said Anne. I changed my mind. Mr. Pett, who had been gazing attentively at them, uttered an exclamation. I've got it. I've been trying all this time to think where it was that I saw you before. It was on the Atlantic. Anne caught Jimmy's eye. She was relieved to see that he was not disturbed by this sudden development. Did you come over on the Atlantic, Mr. Crocker? She said. Surely not. We crossed on her ourselves. We should have met. Don't call me Mr. Crocker, said Jimmy. Call me Jimmy. Your mother's, brother's, wife's, sister's, second husband is my father. Blood is thicker than water. No, I came over on the Caronia. We docked this morning. Well, there was a fellow just like you on the Atlantic, persisted Mr. Pett. Mrs. Pett said nothing. She was watching Jimmy with a keen and suspicious eye. I suppose I'm a common type, said Jimmy. You remember the man I mean, said Mr. Pett, innocently unconscious of the unfriendly thoughts he was encouraging in two of his hearers. He sat two tables away from us at meals. You remember him, Nesta? As I was too unwell to come to meals, I do not. Why, I thought I saw you once talking to him on deck, Anne. Really, said Anne. I don't remember anyone who looked at all like Jimmy. Well, said Mr. Pett, puzzled. It's very strange. I guess I'm wrong. He looked at his watch. Well, I'll have to be getting back to the office. I'll come with you part of the way, Uncle Pete, said Jimmy. I have to go and arrange for my things to be expressed here. Why not phone to the hotel? said Mr. Pett. It seemed to Jimmy and Anne that he was doing this sort of thing on purpose. Which hotel did you leave them at? No, I shall have to go there. I have some packing to do. You will be back to lunch, said Anne. Thanks, I shall be gone more than half an hour. For a moment after they had gone, Anne relaxed, happy and relieved. Everything had gone splendidly. Then a shock ran through her whole system as Mrs. Pett spoke. She spoke excitedly in a lowered voice leaning over to Anne. Anne, did you notice anything? Did you suspect anything? Anne mastered her emotion with an effort. Whatever do you mean, Aunt Nesta? About that young man who calls himself Jimmy Crocker. And clutch the side of the chair. Who calls himself Jimmy Crocker? I don't understand. And tried to laugh. It seemed to her an age before she produced any sound at all, and when it came it was quite unlike a laugh. What put that idea into your head? Surely if he says he is Jimmy Crocker, it's rather absurd to doubt him, isn't it? How could anybody except Jimmy Crocker know that you were anxious to get Jimmy Crocker over here? You didn't tell anyone, did you? This reasoning shook Mrs. Pett a little, but she did not intend to abandon a perfectly good suspicion merely because it began to seem unreasonable. They have their spies everywhere, she said doggedly. Who have? The secret service people from other countries. Lord Whizbeach was telling me about it yesterday. He said that I ought to suspect everybody. He said that an attempt might be made on Willy's invention at any moment now. He was joking. He was not. I have never seen anyone so serious. He said that I ought to regard every fresh person who came into the house as a possible criminal. Well that guy's fresh enough, muttered Ogden from the settee. Mrs. Pett started. Ogden, I had forgotten that you were there. She uttered a cry of horror as the fact of his presence started a new train of thought. Why, this man may have come to kidnap you. I never thought of that. And felt it time to intervene. Mrs. Pett was hovering much too near the truth for comfort. You mustn't imagine things at Nesta. I believe it comes from writing the sort of stories you do. Surely, it is impossible for this man to be an impostor. How would he dare take such a risk? He must know that you could detect him at any moment by cabling over to Mrs. Crocker to ask if her stepson was really in America. It was a bold stroke, for it suggested a plan of action which, if followed, would mean ruined for her schemes, but Anne could not refrain from chancing it. She wanted to know whether her aunt had any intention of asking Mrs. Crocker for information or whether the feud was too bitter for her pride to allow her to communicate with her sister in any way. She breathed again as Mrs. Pett stiffened grimly in her chair. I should not dream of cabling to Eugenia. I quite understand that, said Anne, but an impostor would not know that you felt like that, would he? I see what you mean. Anne relaxed again. The relief was, however, only momentary. I cannot understand, though, said Mrs. Pett, why your uncle should have been so positive that he saw this young man on the Atlantic. Just a chance resemblance, I suppose. Why, Uncle Peter said he saw the man whom he imagined was like Jimmy talking to me. If there had been any real resemblance, shouldn't I have seen it before, Uncle Peter? Assistance came from an unexpected quarter. I know that chap Uncle Peter meant, said Ogden, he wasn't like this guy at all. Anne was too grateful for the help to feel astonished at it. Her mind, dwelling for a mere instant on the matter, decided that Ogden must have seen her on deck with somebody else than Jimmy. She had certainly not lacked during the voyage for those who sought her society. Mrs. Pett seemed to be impressed. I may be letting my imagination run away with me, she said. Of course you are at Nesta, said Anne, thankfully. You don't realize what a vivid imagination you have got. When I was typing that last story of yours, I was simply astounded at the ideas you had thought of. I remember saying so to Uncle Peter. You can't expect to have a wonderful imagination like yours and not imagine things, can you? Mrs. Pett smiled demurely. She looked hopefully at her niece, waiting for more, but Anne had said her say. You are perfectly right, my dear child, she said, when she was quite sure the eulogy was not to be resumed. No doubt I have been foolish to suspect this young man. But Lord Whiz Beach's words naturally acted more strongly on a mind like mine than they would have done in the case of another woman. Of course, said Anne. She was feeling quite happy now. It had been tense while it had lasted, but everything was all right now. And fortunately, said Mrs. Pett, there is a way by which we can find out for certain if the young man is really James Crocker. Anne became rigid again. Away? What way? Why, don't you remember, my dear, that Skinner has known James Crocker for years? Skinner? The name sounded familiar, but in the stress of the moment Anne could not identify it. My new butler! He came to me straight from Eugenia. It was he who let us in when we called at her house. Nobody could know better than he whether this person is really James Crocker or not. Anne felt as if she had struggled to the limit of her endurance. She was not prepared to cope with this unexpected blow. She had not the strength to rally under it. Dully, she perceived that her schemes must be dismissed as a failure before they had had a chance of success. Her accomplice must not return to the house to be exposed. She saw that clearly enough. If he came back he would walk straight into a trap. She rose quickly. She must warn him. She must intercept him before he arrived, and he might arrive at any moment now. Of course, she said, steadying herself with an effort. I never thought of that. That makes it all simple. I hope lunch won't be late. I'm hungry. She sauntered to the door, but directly she had closed it behind her, ran to her room, snatched up a hat, and rushed downstairs and out into Riverside Drive. Just as he reached the street, Jimmy turned the corner. She ran towards him, holding up her hands. CHAPTER XIV LORD WISBEACH Jimmy halted in his tracks. The apparition had startled him. He had been thinking of Anne, but he had not expected her to bound out at him waving her arms. What's the matter, he inquired, and pulled him towards a side street. You mustn't go to the house. Everything has gone wrong. Everything gone wrong? I thought I had made a hit. I have with your uncle anyway. We parted on the friendliest terms. We have arranged to go to the ball game together tomorrow. He is going to tell him at the office that Carnegie wants to see him. It isn't Uncle Peter. It's Aunt Nesta. Ah, there you touched my conscience. I was a little tactless, I'm afraid, with Ogden. It happened before you came into the room. I suppose that is the trouble. It has nothing to do with that," said Anne impatiently. It's much worse. Aunt Nesta is suspicious. She has guessed that you aren't really Jimmy Crocker. Great Scott! How? I tried to calm her down, but she still suspects. So now she has decided to wait and see if Skinner, the butler, knows you. If he doesn't, she will know that she was right. Jimmy was frankly puzzled. I don't quite follow the reasoning. Surely it's a peculiar kind of test. Why should she think a man cannot be honest and true unless her butler knows him? There must be hundreds of worthy citizens whom he does not know. Skinner arrived from England a few days ago. Until then he was employed by Mrs. Crocker. Now do you understand? Jimmy stopped. She had spoken slowly and distinctly, and there could be no possibility that he had misunderstood her, yet he scarcely believed that he had heard her aright. How could a man named Skinner have been his stepmother's butler? Bayless had been with the family ever since they had arrived in London. Are you sure? Of course, of course I'm sure. Aunt Nesta told me herself. There can't possibly be a mistake because it was Skinner who let her in when she called on Mrs. Crocker. Uncle Peter told me about it. He had a talk with the man in the hall and found that he was a baseball enthusiast. A wild, impossible idea flashed upon Jimmy. It was so absurd that he felt ashamed of entertaining it even for a moment. But strange things were happening these times, and it might be. What sort of looking man is Skinner? Oh, stout, clean shaven. I like him. He's much more human than I thought butlers ever were. Why? Oh, nothing. Of course you can't go back to the house. You see that? He would say that you aren't Jimmy Crocker and then you would be arrested. I don't see that. If I'm sufficiently like Crocker for his friends to mistake me for him in restaurants, why shouldn't this butler mistake me too? But... And consider. In any case, there's no harm done. If he fails to recognize me when he opens the door to us, we shall know that the game is up, and I shall have plenty of time to disappear. If the likeness deceives him, all will be well. I propose that we go to the house, ring the bell, and when he appears I will say, ah, Skinner, honest fellow, or words to that effect. He will either stare blankly at me or fawn on me like a faithful watchdog. We will base our further actions on which way the butler jumps. The sound of the bell died away, footsteps were heard, and reached for Jimmy's arm and clutched it. Now she whispered. The door opened. Next moment Jimmy's suspicion was confirmed. Gaping at them from the open doorway, wonderfully respectable and butler-like in swallow-tails, stood his father. How he came to be there and why he was there Jimmy did not know. But there he was. Jimmy had little faith in his father's towns as a man of discretion. The Elder Crocker was one of those simple, straightforward people who, when surprised, do not conceal their surprise, and who, not understanding any situation in which they find themselves, demand explanation on the spot. Swift and immediate action was indicated on his part before his amazed parent, finding him on the steps of the one house in New York where he was least likely to be, should utter words that would undo everything. He could see the name Jimmy trembling on Mr. Crocker's lips. He waved his hand cheerily. Ah, Skinner, there you are! he said, breezily. Miss Chester was telling me that you had left my stepmother. I suppose you sailed on the boat before mine. I came over on the Caronia. I suppose you didn't expect to see me again so soon, eh? A spasm seemed to pass over Mr. Crocker's face, leaving it calm and serene. He had been thrown his cue, and like the old actor he was, he took it easily and without confusion. He smiled a respectful smile. No indeed, sir. He stepped aside to allow them to enter. Jimmy caught Anne's eye as she passed him. It shone with relief and admiration, and it exhilarated Jimmy like wine. As she moved towards the stairs, he gave expression to his satisfaction by slapping his father on the back with a report that rang out like a pistol shot. "'What was that?' said Anne, turning. "'Something out on the drive, I think,' said Jimmy. "'A car backfiring, eh, fancy Skinner?' "'Very probably, sir.' He followed Anne to the stairs. As he started to mount them, a faint whisper reached his ears. "'Atta boy!' It was Mr. Crocker's way of bestowing a father's blessing. Anne walked into the drawing-room, her head high, triumph in the glance which he cast upon her unconscious aunt. "'Quite an interesting little scene downstairs, Aunt Nesta,' she said. "'The meeting of the faithful old retainer and the young master. Skinner was almost overcome with surprise and joy when he saw Jimmy.' Mrs. Pat could not check an incautious exclamation. "'Did Skinner recognize?' She began, then stopped herself abruptly. Anne laughed. "'Did he recognize Jimmy?' "'Of course. He was hardly likely to have forgotten him, surely. It isn't much more than a week since he was waiting on him in London.' "'It was a very impressive meeting,' said Jimmy. "'Rather like the reunion of Ulysses and the hound Argos, of which this bright-eyed child here,' he patted Ogden on the head, a proceeding violently resented by that youth, has no doubt read in a course of his researches into the classics. I was Ulysses. Skinner enacted the role of the exuberant dog.' Mrs. Pat was not sure whether she was relieved or disappointed at this evidence that her suspicions had been without foundation. On the whole relief may be said to have preponderated. "'I have no doubt he was pleased to see you again. He must have been very much astonished. He was.' "'You will be meeting another old friend in a minute or two,' said Mrs. Pat. "'Jimmy had been sinking into a chair. This remark stopped him in mid-descent. "'Another?' Mrs. Pat glanced at the clock. "'Lord Whizbeach is coming to lunch.' "'Lord Whizbeach?' cried Anne. "'He doesn't know Jimmy.' "'Eugenia informed me in London that he was one of your best friends, James.' Anne looked helplessly at Jimmy. She was conscious again of that feeling of not being able to cope with fate's blows, of not having the strength to go on climbing over the barriers which fate placed in her path. Jimmy, for his part, was cursing the ill fortune that had brought Lord Whizbeach across his path. He saw clearly that it only needed recognition by one or two more intimates of Jimmy Crocker to make Anne suspect his real identity. The fact that she had seen him with Baylis in Paddington Station and had fallen into the error of supposing Baylis to be his father had kept her from suspecting until now, but this could not last forever. He remembered Lord Whizbeach well as a garrulous, irrepressible chatterer who would probably talk about old times to such an extent as to cause Anne to realize the truth in the first five minutes. The door opened. Lord Whizbeach announced Mr. Crocker. "'I'm afraid I'm late, Mrs. Pett,' said his lordship. "'No, you're quite punctual. Lord Whizbeach, here is an old friend of yours, James Crocker.' There was an almost imperceptible pause. Then Jimmy stepped forward and held out his hand. "'Hello, whizzy old man!' "'Hello, Jimmy!' Their eyes met. In his lordships there was an expression of unmistakable relief, mingled with astonishment. His face, which had turned as sickly white, flushed as the blood poured back into it. He had the appearance of a man who had had a bad shock and is just getting over it. Jimmy, eyeing him curiously, was not surprised at his emotion. What the man's game might be, he could not say. Out of one thing he was sure, which was that this was not Lord Whizbeach, but, on the contrary, someone he had never seen before in his life. "'Luncheon is served, madam,' said Mr. Crocker, sonorously from the doorway. End of Chapter 14. CHAPTER XV. OF PICCADILLI GYM. BY PG WHITHOUSE. THIS LIBERVOX ACCORDING IS IN THE PUBLIC DOMAIN. CHAPTER XV. A LITTLE BUSINESS CHAT. It was not often that Anne found occasion to rejoice at the presence in her uncle's house of the six geniuses whom Mrs. Pett had installed therein. As a rule, she disliked them individually and collectively. But today their company was extraordinarily welcome to her. They might have their faults, but at least their presence tended to keep the conversation general and prevent it becoming a dialogue between Lord Whizbeach and Jimmy on the subject of old times. She was still feeling weak from the reaction consequent upon the slackening of attention of her emotions on seeing Lord Whizbeach greet Jimmy as an old acquaintance. She had never hoped that that barrier would be surmounted. She had pictured Lord Whizbeach drawing back with a puzzled frown on his face and astonished, but this is not Jimmy Crocker. The strain had left her relieved, but in no mood for conversation, and she replied absently to the remarks of Howard Bemis, the poet, who sat on her left. She looked round the table. Willie Partridge was talking to Mrs. Pett about the difference between picric acid and trinitrotoluene, than which a pleasurer topic for the luncheon table could hardly be selected. And the voice of Clarence Renshaw rose above all other competing noises as he spoke of the functions of the trochaic spondy. There was nothing outwardly to distinguish this meal from any other which she had shared of late in that house. The only thing that prevented her relief being unmixed was the fact that she could see Lord Whizbeach casting furtive glances at Jimmy, who is eating with the quiet concentration of one who, after days of boarding-house fare, finds himself in the presence of the masterpieces of a chef. In the past few days Jimmy had consumed too much hash to worry now about anything like a furtive glance. He had perceived Lord Whizbeach's roving eye, and had no doubt that at the conclusion of the meal he would find occasion for a little chat. Meanwhile, however, his duty was towards his tissues and their restoration. He helped himself liberally from a dish which his father offered him. He became aware that Mrs. Pett was addressing him. I beg your pardon? Quite like old times, said Mrs. Pett genially. Her suspicions had vanished completely since Lord Whizbeach's recognition of the visitor, and remorse that she should have suspected him made her unwantedly amiable. Being with Skinner again, she explained, it must remind you of London. Jimmy caught his father's expressionless eye. Skinners, he said handsomely, is a character one cannot help but respect. His nature expands before one like some beautiful flower. The dish rocked in Mr. Crocker's hand, but his face remained impassive. There is no vice in Skinner, proceeded Jimmy. His heart is the heart of a little child. Mrs. Pett looked at this paragon of the virtues in rather a startled way. She had an uncomfortable feeling that she was being laughed at. She began to dislike Jimmy again. For many a years Skinner has been a father to me, said Jimmy. Who ran to help me when I fell, and would some pretty story tell, or kiss the place to make it well, Skinner. For all her suspense, Anne could not help warming towards an accomplice who carried off an unnerving situation with such a flourish. She had always regarded herself with a fair degree of complacency as possessed of no mean stock of courage and resource, but she could not have spoken then without betraying her anxiety. She thought highly of Jimmy, but all the same she could not help wishing that he would not make himself quite so conspicuous. Perhaps, a thought chilled her, perhaps he was creating quite a new Jimmy Crocker, a character which would cause Skinner and Lord Wisbeach to doubt the evidence of their eyes and begin to suspect the truth. She wished she could warn him to simmer down, but the table was a large one, and he and she were at opposite ends of it. Jimmy, meanwhile, was thoroughly enjoying himself. He felt that he was being a little ray of sunshine about the home and making a good impression. He was completely happy. He liked the food, he liked seeing his father buttle, and he liked these amazing freaks who were, it appeared, fellow inmates with him of this highly desirable residence. He wished that old Mr. Pett could have been present. He had conceived a great affection for Mr. Pett and registered a mental resolve to lose no time in weaning him from this distressing habit of allowing the office to interfere with his pleasures. He was planning a little trip to the polo grounds in which Mr. Pett, his father, and a number of pop bottles were to be his companions, when his reverie was interrupted by a sudden cessation of the buzz of talk. He looked up from his plate to find the entire company regarding Willie Partridge open-mouthed. Willie, with gleaming eyes, was gazing at a small test tube which he had produced from his pocket and placed beside his plate. "'I have enough in this test tube,' said Willie eerily, to blow half New York to bits." The silence was broken by a crash in the background. Mr. Crocker dropped a chafing-dish. "'If I were to drop this little tube like that,' said Willie, using the occurrence as a topical illustration, we shouldn't be here. "'Don't drop it,' advised Jimmy. What is it?' "'Partridgeite.'" Mrs. Pett had risen from the table with blanched face. "'Willy, how can you bring that stuff here? What are you thinking of?' Willie smiles a patronizing smile. There is not the slightest danger at Nesta. It cannot explode without concussion. I have been carrying it about with me all the morning.' He bestowed on the test tube the look a fond parent might give his favorite child. Mrs. Pett was not reassured. "'Go and put it in your uncle's safe at once. Put it away.' "'I haven't the combination. Call up your uncle at once at the office and ask him.' "'Very well, if you wish it at Nesta, but there is no danger.' "'Don't take that thing with you,' screamed Mrs. Pett as he rose. You might drop it. Come back for it.' "'Very well.'" Conversation flagged after Willie's departure. The presence of the test tube seemed to act on the spirits of the company after the fashion of the corpse at the Egyptian banquet. Howard Bemis, who was sitting next to it, edged away imperceptibly till he nearly crowded Anne off her chair. Presently Willie returned. He picked up the test tube, put it in his pocket with a certain jauniness, and left the room again. "'Now, if you hear a sudden bang and find yourself disappearing through the roof,' said Jimmy, "'that will be it.'" Willie returned and took his place at the table again, but the spirit had gone out of the gathering. The voice of Clarence Renshaw was hushed, and Howard Bemis spoke no more of the influence of Edgar Lee Masters on modern literature. Mrs. Pett left the room, followed by Anne. The geniuses drifted away one by one. Jimmy, having lighted a cigarette and finished his coffee, perceived that he was alone with his old friend Lord Whizbeach, and that his old friend Lord Whizbeach was about to become confidential. The fair-haired young man opened the proceedings by going to the door and looking out. This done, he returned to his seat and gazed fixedly at Jimmy. "'What's your game?' he asked. Jimmy returned his gaze blandly. "'My game?' he said. "'What do you mean?' "'Can the coy stuff!' urged his lordship brusquely. "'Talk sense and talk it quick. We may be interrupted at any moment. What's your game? What are you here for?' Jimmy raised his eyebrows. "'I am a prodigal nephew. Return to the fold. Oh, quit your kidding. Are you one of Potter's lot?' "'Who is Potter? You know who Potter is.' On the contrary, my life has never been brightened by so much as a sight of Potter. Is that true?' "'Absolutely.' "'Are you working on your own, then?' "'I am not working at all at present. There is some talk of my learning to be an asparagus adjuster by male later on.' "'You make me sick,' said Lord Whizbeach. "'Where's the sense of trying to pull this line of talk? Why not put your cards on the table? We've both got in here on the same lay, and there's no use fighting and bawling the thing up.' "'Do you wish me to understand,' said Jimmy, that you are not my old friend, Lord Whizbeach?' "'No, and you're not my old friend, Jimmy Crocker.' "'What makes you think that?' "'If you had been, would you have pretended to recognize me upstairs just now? I tell you, pal, I was all in for a second till you gave me the high sign.' Jimmy laughed. "'It would have been awkward for you if I really had been, Jimmy Crocker, wouldn't it? And it would have been awkward for you if I had really been, Lord Whizbeach.' "'Who are you, by the way?' The boys called me Gentleman Jack. "'Why?' asked Jimmy, surprised. Lord Whizbeach ignored the question. I'm working with Burke's lot just now. Say, let's be sensible about this. I'll be straight with you, straight as a string. Did you say string or spring? And I'll expect you to be straight with me. Are we to breathe confidences into each other's ears?' Lord Whizbeach went to the door again and submitted the passage to a second examination. "'You seem nervous,' said Jimmy. I don't like that butler. He's up to something. Do you think he's one of Potter's lot?' Shouldn't wonder. He isn't on the level anyway, or why did he pretend to recognize you as Jimmy Crocker. Recognition of me as Jimmy Crocker seems to be the acid test of honesty. "'He was in a tight place, same as I was,' said Lord Whizbeach. He couldn't know that you weren't really Jimmy Crocker until you put him wise, same as you did me, by pretending to know him.' You looked at Jimmy with grudging admiration. You've got your nerve with your pal coming in here like this. You were taking big chances. You couldn't have known you wouldn't run up against someone who really knew Jimmy Crocker. What would you have done if this butler guy had been really on the level?' "'The risks of the profession.' "'When I think of the work I had to put in,' said Lord Whizbeach, it makes me tired to think of someone else just walking in here as you did. What made you choose Lord Whizbeach as your alias?' I knew that I could get away with it. I came over with him on the boat, and I knew he was travelling round the world and wasn't going to stay more than a day in New York. Even then I had to go some to get into this place. Burke told me to get hold of Old Chester and get a letter of introduction from him. And here you come along and just stroll in and tell them you have come to stay.' He brooded for a moment on the injustice of things. "'Well, what are you going to do about it, pal?' "'About what?' "'About us both being here. Are you going to be sensible and work in with me and divvy up later on, or are you going to risk spoiling everything by trying to hog the whole thing?' "'I'll be square with you. It isn't as if there was any use in trying to bluff each other. We're both here for the same thing. You want to get hold of that powder stuff, that partridgeite, and so do I.' "'You believe in partridgeite, then?' "'Oh, can it,' said Lord Wisbeach, disgustedly. "'What's the use? Of course I believe in it. Burke's had his eye on the thing for a year. You've heard of Dwight Partridge, haven't you? Well, this guy's his son. Everyone knows that Dwight Partridge was working on an explosive when he died, and here's his son comes along with a test tube full of stuff which he says could blow this city to bits. What's the answer? The boy's been working on the old man's dope. From what I've seen of him, I guess there wasn't much more to be done on it, or he wouldn't have done it. He's pretty well dead from the neck up as far as I can see. But that doesn't alter the fact that he's got the stuff and that you and I have got to get together and make a deal. If we don't, I'm not saying you mightn't gum my game, just as I might gum yours, but where's the sense in that? It only means taking extra chances, whereas if we sit in together there's enough in it for both of us. You know as well as I do that there's a dozen markets which are bid against each other for stuff like that Partridgeite. If you're worrying about Burke giving you a square deal, forget it. I'll fix Burke. He'll treat you nice, all right? Jimmy ground the butt of his cigarette against his plate. I'm no orator as Brutus is, but as you know me all, a plain blunt man. And speaking in the capacity of a plain blunt man, I rise to reply. Nothing doing. What? You won't come in? Jimmy shook his head. I'm sorry to disappoint you, whizzy, if I may still call you that, but your offer fails to attract. I will not get together or sit in or anything else. On the contrary, I am about to go to Mrs. Pett and inform her that there is a snake in her Eden. You're not going to squeal on me? At the top of my voice. Lord Whizbeach laughed unpleasantly. Yes, you will, he said. How are you going to explain why you recognize me as an old pal before lunch if I'm a crook after lunch? You can't give me away without giving yourself away. If I'm not Lord Whizbeach, then you're not Jimmy Crocker. Jimmy sighed. I get you, life is very complex, isn't it? Lord Whizbeach rose. You'd better think it over, son, he said. You aren't going to get anywhere by acting like a fool. You can't stop me from going after this stuff, and if he won't come in and go fifty-fifty, you'll find yourself left. I'll beat you to it. He left the room, and Jimmy, lighting a fresh cigarette, addressed himself to the contemplation of this new complication in his affairs. It was quite true what gentlemen Jack or Joe or whatever the boys called him had said. To denounce him meant denouncing himself. Jimmy smoked thoughtfully. Not for the first time he wished that his record during the past few years had been of a snowier character. He began to appreciate what must have been the feelings of Dr. Jekyll under the handicap of his disreputable second self, Mr. Hyde. End of Chapter 15