Intrusion of Jimmy Page 15

  more heavily charged with restlessness and depression. The producer

  of the piece, especially if he be also the author of it, develops a

  sort of intermittent insanity. He plucks at his mustache, if he has

  one: at his hair, if he has not. He mutters to himself. He gives

  vent to occasional despairing cries. The soothing suavity that

  marked his demeanor in the earlier rehearsals disappears. He no

  longer says with a winning smile, "Splendid, old man, splendid.

  Couldn't be better. But I think we'll take that over just once more,

  if you don't mind." Instead, he rolls his eyes, and snaps out, "Once

  more, please. This'll never do. At this rate, we might just as well

  cut out the show altogether. What's that? No, it won't be all right

  on the night! Now, then, once more; and do pull yourselves together

  this time." After this, the scene is sulkily resumed; and

  conversation, when the parties concerned meet subsequently, is cold

  and strained.

  Matters had reached this stage at the castle. Everybody was

  thoroughly tired of the piece, and, but for the thought of the

  disappointment which (presumably) would rack the neighboring

  nobility and gentry if it were not to be produced, would have

  resigned their places without a twinge of regret. People who had

  schemed to get the best and longest parts were wishing now that they

  had been content with "First Footman," or "Giles, a villager."

  "I'll never run an amateur show again as long as I live," confided

  Charteris to Jimmy almost tearfully. "It's not good enough. Most of

  them aren't word-perfect yet."

  "It'll be all right--"

  "Oh, don't say it'll be all right on the night."

  "I wasn't going to," said Jimmy. "I was going to say it'll be all

  right after the night. People will soon forget how badly the thing

  went."

  "You're a nice, comforting sort of man, aren't you?" said Charteris.

  "Why worry?" said Jimmy. "If you go on like this, it'll be

  Westminster Abbey for you in your prime. You'll be getting brain-

  fever."

  Jimmy himself was one of the few who were feeling reasonably

  cheerful. He was deriving a keen amusement at present from the

  maneuvers of Mr. Samuel Galer, of New York. This lynx-eyed man;

  having been instructed by Mr. McEachern to watch Jimmy, was doing so

  with a thoroughness that would have roused the suspicions of a babe.

  If Jimmy went to the billiard-room after dinner, Mr. Galer was there

  to keep him company. If, during the course of the day, he had

  occasion to fetch a handkerchief or a cigarette-case from his

  bedroom, he was sure, on emerging, to stumble upon Mr. Galer in the

  corridor. The employees of Dodson's Private Inquiry Agency believed

  in earning their salaries.

  Occasionally, after these encounters, Jimmy would come upon Sir

  Thomas Blunt's valet, the other man in whom Spike's trained eye had

  discerned the distinguishing marks of the sleuth. He was usually

  somewhere round the corner at these moments, and, when collided

  with, apologized with great politeness. Jimmy decided that he must

  have come under suspicion in this case vicariously, through Spike.

  Spike in the servants' hall would, of course, stand out

  conspicuously enough to catch the eye of a detective on the look out

  for sin among the servants; and he himself, as Spike's employer, had

  been marked down as a possible confederate.

  It tickled him to think that both these giant brains should be so

  greatly exercised on his account.

  He had been watching Molly closely during these days. So far, no

  announcement of the engagement had been made. It struck him that

  possibly it was being reserved for public mention on the night of

  the theatricals. The whole county would be at the castle then. There

  could be no more fitting moment. He sounded Lord Dreever, and the

  latter said moodily that he was probably right.

  "There's going to be a dance of sorts after the show," he said, "and

  it'll be done then, I suppose. No getting out of it after that.

  It'll be all over the county. Trust my uncle for that. He'll get on

  a table, and shout it, shouldn't wonder. And it'll be in the Morning

  Post next day, and Katie'll see it! Only two days more, oh, lord!"

  Jimmy deduced that Katie was the Savoy girl, concerning whom his

  lordship had vouchsafed no particulars save that she was a ripper

  and hadn't a penny.

  Only two days! Like the battle of Waterloo, it was going to be a

  close-run affair. More than ever now, he realized how much Molly

  meant to him; and there were moments when it seemed to him that she,

  too, had begun to understand. That night on the terrace seemed

  somehow to have changed their relationship. He thought he had got

  closer to her. They were in touch. Before, she had been frank,

  cheerful, unembarrassed. Now, he noticed a constraint in her manner,

  a curious shyness. There was a barrier between them, but it was not

  the old barrier. He had ceased to be one of a crowd.

  But it was a race against time. The first day slipped by, a blank,

  and the second; till, now, it was but a matter of hours. The last

  afternoon had come.

  Not even Mr. Samuel Galer, of Dodson's Private Inquiry Agency, could

  have kept a more unflagging watch than did Jimmy during those hours.

  There was no rehearsal that afternoon, and the members of the

  company, in various stages of nervous collapse, strayed distractedly

  about the grounds. First one, then another, would seize upon Molly,

  while Jimmy, watching from afar, cursed their pertinacity.

  At last, she wondered off alone, and Jimmy, quitting his ambush,

  followed.

  She walked in the direction of the lake. It had been a terribly hot,

  oppressive afternoon. There was thunder in the air. Through the

  trees, the lake glittered invitingly.

  She was standing at the water's edge when Jimmy came up. Her back

  was turned. She was rocking with her foot a Canadian canoe that lay

  alongside the bank. She started as he spoke. His feet on the soft

  turf had made no sound.

  "Can I take you out on the lake?" he said.

  She did not answer for a moment. She was plainly confused.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "I--I'm waiting for lord Dreever."

  Jimmy saw that she was nervous. There was tension in the air. She

  was looking away from him, out across the lake, and her face was

  flushed.

  "Won't you?" he said.

  "I'm sorry," she said again.

  Jimmy looked over his shoulder. Down the lower terrace was

  approaching the long form of his lordship. He walked with pensive

  jerkiness, not as one hurrying to a welcome tryst. As Jimmy looked,

  he vanished behind the great clump of laurels that stood on the

  lowest terrace. In another minute, he would reappear round them.

  Gently, but with extreme dispatch, Jimmy placed a hand on either

  side of Molly's waist. The next moment, he had swung her off her

  feet, and lowered her carefully to the cushions in the bow of the

  canoe.

  Then, jumping in himself with a force that made the boat rock, he
<
br />   loosened the mooring-rope, seized the paddle, and pushed off.

  CHAPTER XIX

  ON THE LAKE

  In making love, as in every other branch of life, consistency is the

  quality most to be aimed at. To hedge is fatal. A man must choose

  the line of action that he judges to be best suited to his

  temperament, and hold to it without deviation. If Lochinvar snatches

  the maiden up on his saddle-bow, he must continue in that vein. He

  must not fancy that, having accomplished the feat, he can resume the

  episode on lines of devotional humility. Prehistoric man, who

  conducted his courtship with a club, never fell into the error of

  apologizing when his bride complained of headache.

  Jimmy did not apologize. The idea did not enter his mind. He was

  feeling prehistoric. His heart was beating fast, and his mind was in

  a whirl, but the one definite thought that came to him during the

  first few seconds of the journey was that he ought to have done this

  earlier. This was the right way. Pick her up and carry her off, and

  leave uncles and fathers and butter-haired peers of the realm to

  look after themselves. This was the way. Alone together in their own

  little world of water, with nobody to interrupt and nobody to

  overhear! He should have done it before. He had wasted precious,

  golden time, hanging about while futile men chattered to her of

  things that could not possibly be of interest. But he had done the

  right thing at last. He had got her. She must listen to him now. She

  could not help listening. They were the only inhabitants of this new

  world.

  He looked back over his shoulder at the world they had left. The

  last of the Dreevers had rounded the clump of laurels, and was

  standing at the edge of the water, gazing perplexedly after the

  retreating canoe.

  "These poets put a thing very neatly sometimes," said Jimmy

  reflectively, as he dug the paddle into the water. "The man who

  said, 'Distance lends enchantment to the view,' for instance.

  Dreever looks quite nice when you see him as far away as this, with

  a good strip of water in between."

  Molly, gazing over the side of the boat into the lake, abstained

  from feasting her eyes on the picturesque spectacle.

  "Why did you do it?" she said, in a low voice.

  Jimmy shipped the paddle, and allowed the canoe to drift. The ripple

  of the water against the prow sounded clear and thin in the

  stillness. The world seemed asleep. The sun blazed down, turning the

  water to flame. The air was hot, with the damp electrical heat that

  heralds a thunderstorm. Molly's face looked small and cool in the

  shade of her big hat. Jimmy, as he watched her, felt that he had

  done well. This was, indeed, the way.

  "Why did you do it?" she said again.

  "I had to."

  "Take me back."

  "No."

  He took up the paddle, and placed a broader strip of water between

  the two worlds; then paused once more.

  "I have something to say to you first," he said.

  She did not answer. He looked over his shoulder again. His lordship

  had disappeared.

  "Do you mind if I smoke?"

  She nodded. He filled his pipe carefully, and lighted it. The smoke

  moved sluggishly up through the still air. There was a long silence.

  A fish jumped close by, falling back in a shower of silver drops.

  Molly started at the sound, and half-turned.

  "That was a fish," she said, as a child might have done.

  Jimmy knocked the ashes out of his pipe.

  "What made you do it?" he asked abruptly, echoing her own question.

  She drew her fingers slowly through the water without speaking.

  "You know what I mean. Dreever told me."

  She looked up with a flash of spirit, which died away as she spoke.

  "What right?" She stopped, and looked away again.

  "None," said Jimmy. "But I wish you would tell me."

  She hung her head. Jimmy bent forward, and touched her hand.

  "Don't" he said; "for God's sake, don't! You mustn't."

  "I must," she said, miserably.

  "You sha'n't. It's wicked."

  "I must. It's no good talking about it. It's too late."

  "It's not. You must break it off to-day."

  She shook her head. Her fingers still dabbled mechanically in the

  water. The sun was hidden now behind a gray veil, which deepened

  into a sullen black over the hill behind the castle. The heat had

  grown more oppressive, with a threat of coming storm.

  "What made you do it?" he asked again.

  "Don't let's talk about it ... Please!"

  He had a momentary glimpse of her face. There were tears in her

  eyes. At the sight, his self-control snapped.

  "You sha'n't," he cried. "It's ghastly. I won't let you. You must

  understand now. You must know what you are to me. Do you think I

  shall let you--?"

  A low growl of thunder rumbled through the stillness, like the

  muttering of a sleepy giant. The black cloud that had hung over the

  hill had crept closer. The heat was stifling. In the middle of the

  lake, some fifty yards distant, lay the island, cool and mysterious

  in the gathering darkness.

  Jimmy broke off, and seized the paddle.

  On this side of the island was a boathouse, a little creek covered

  over with boards and capable of sheltering an ordinary rowboat. He

  ran the canoe in just as the storm began, and turned her broadside

  on, so that they could watch the rain, which was sweeping over the

  lake in sheets.

  He began to speak again, more slowly now.

  "I think I loved you from the first day I saw you on the ship. And,

  then, I lost you. I found you again by a miracle, and lost you

  again. I found you here by another miracle, but this time I am not

  going to lose you. Do you think I'm going to stand by and see you

  taken from me by--by--"

  He took her hand.

  "Molly, you can't love him. It isn't possible. If I thought you did,

  I wouldn't try to spoil your happiness. I'd go away. But you don't.

  You can't. He's nothing. Molly!"

  The canoe rocked as he leaned toward her.

  "Molly!"

  She said nothing; but, for the first time, her eyes met his, clear

  and unwavering. He could read fear in them, fear--not of himself, of

  something vague, something he could not guess at. But they shone

  with a light that conquered the fear as the sun conquers fire; and

  he drew her to him, and kissed her again and again, murmuring

  incoherently.

  Suddenly, she wrenched herself away, struggling like some wild

  thing. The boat plunged.

  "I can't," she cried in a choking voice. "I mustn't. Oh, I can't!"

  He stretched out a hand, and clutched at the rail than ran along the

  wall. The plunging ceased. He turned. She had hidden her face, and

  was sobbing, quietly, with the forlorn hopelessness of a lost child.

  He made a movement toward her, but drew back. He felt dazed.

  The rain thudded and splashed on the wooden roof. A few drops

  trickled through a crack in the boards. He took off his coat, and

  placed it gently over her shoulders.

  "Molly!"<
br />
  She looked up with wet eyes.

  "Molly, dear, what is it?"

  "I mustn't. It isn't right."

  "I don't understand."

  "I mustn't, Jimmy."

  He moved cautiously forward, holding the rail, till he was at her

  side, and took her in his arms.

  "What is it, dear? Tell me."

  She clung to him without speaking.

  "You aren't worrying about him, are you--about Dreever? There's

  nothing to worry about. It'll be quite easy and simple. I'll tell

  him, if you like. He knows you don't care for him; and, besides,

  there's a girl in London that he--"

  "No, no. It's not that."

  "What is it, dear? What's troubling you?"

  "Jimmy--" She stopped.

  He waited.

  "Yes?"

  "Jimmy, my father wouldn't--father--father--doesn't--"

  "Doesn't like me?"

  She nodded miserably.

  A great wave of relief swept over Jimmy. He had imagined--he hardly

  knew what he had imagined: some vast, insuperable obstacle; some

  tremendous catastrophe, whirling them asunder. He could have laughed

  aloud in his happiness. So, this was it, this was the cloud that

  brooded over them--that Mr. McEachern did not like him! The angel,

  guarding Eden with a fiery sword, had changed into a policeman with

  a truncheon.

  "He must learn to love me," he said, lightly.

  She looked at him hopelessly. He could not see; he could not

  understand. And how could she tell him? Her father's words rang in

  her brain. He was "crooked." He was "here on some game." He was

  being watched. But she loved him, she loved him! Oh, how could she

  make him understand?

  She clung tighter to him, trembling. He became serious again. "Dear,

  you mustn't worry," he said. "It can't be helped. He'll come round.

  Once we're married--"

  "No, no. Oh, can't you understand? I couldn't, I couldn't!"

  Jimmy's face whitened. He looked at her anxiously.

  "But, dear!" he said. "You can't--do you mean to say--will that--"

  he searched for a word-"stop you?" he concluded.

  "It must," she whispered.

  A cold hand clutched at his heart. His world was falling to pieces,

  crumbling under his eyes.

  "But--but you love me," he said, slowly. It was as if he were trying

  to find the key to a puzzle. "I--don't see."

  "You couldn't. You can't. You're a man. You don't know. It's so

  different for a man! He's brought up all his life with the idea of