Loe raamatut: «Marjorie Dean at Hamilton Arms», lehekülg 11
“They’re not new men, Robin!” she exclaimed. “They are the same ones who went over to Leslie Cairns’s lot.”
“There certainly doesn’t appear to be any one left over at the garage.” As Marjorie called out her discovery Robin had directed her attention toward the garage foundation which had risen since Page and Dean’s workmen had gone over to the other enterprise. Only a few days before it had been humming with activity. Now the silence of a tomb hovered over it. Not a man was to be seen nearer to it than those who made up the crowd in front of the dormitory.
“If Signor Baretti doesn’t come back this minute we’ll simply have to join the crowd.” Marjorie’s voice was freighted with eagerness. “Something’s gone wrong over at the garage and these men have fallen back on Mr. Graham. It must be that. See how respectful they are. Ah-h, here he comes.”
“Oh, Miss Page; Miss Dean; you see there!” The inn keeper pointed joyously to the crowd. “They are the ones to leave Mr. Gra’m. Now it is good enough for them. They have no job atall. Come a man this morning early. Fire these Italianos, fire the Americans, fire these men, Thorne an’ Foster. Mebbe fire Miss Car-rins, too, she was here.” He vented a funny little chuckle on the last remark.
“That is the most amazing thing I ever heard.” Robin stared in a puzzled way at the deserted garage enterprise. “The only one I should imagine who could discharge the whole crowd of men would be Leslie Cairns herself. Perhaps she has sold the operation as it stands.”
“No; she don’t sell it.” A curiously triumphant expression sprang into the Italian’s face. “I don’t talk yet to Mr. Gra’m, for he is too busy. I talk a little to Tomaso. He tell me this man who fires everybody come to the lot with Thorne and Foster. They both looked scare. He look here, look there. He is verra smart, big tall man. He laugh verra mad. He say to Thorne and Foster: ‘You are the couple of skins. You done. Be glad I don’t put you in jail. Now you get out!’ Then Tomaso hear Foster say: ‘You don’t understan’, Mr. Car-rins.’ The big man say: ‘Yes; understan’ you two thieves.’ So, that is Mr. Car-rins who come here. He is the father Miss Car-rins. Then mebbe he can fire Miss Car-rins so she don’t come here more.”
CHAPTER XXIV
LESLIE TENDS TO BUSINESS
The arrival of the father of Leslie Cairns upon the scene of her business activities was, indeed, as Robin had declared, in the light of amazing. More, that he should have suddenly appeared like a devastating whirlwind and summarily discharged the working force engaged in the building of the garage seemed little short of incredible.
“Come on back to the car.” Marjorie caught Robin by an arm. “I know you would like to join Mr. Graham, Signor Baretti. Don’t think you must stay here with us. That’s a man’s meeting up there,” she nodded toward the crowd. “They wouldn’t feel at ease if we went up there. We might spoil the good effect upon them that Mr. Graham is trying for. We’ll sit in the car and wait for you two. You go, and help him. You understand the Italian workmen better even than he.”
“I go. That is what I want do, but I think I must stay by you.” Baretti grew radiant. “Pretty soon I come back with Mr. Gra’m. Then you will hear more that he know.” The inn keeper hustled toward the crowd of workmen. Page and Dean picked their way to the car over the rough frozen earth.
It was fifteen minutes later, and the amazement of the Italian’s report had not yet died out between the partners, when the throng around Peter Graham broke up and the workmen went their several ways. As a result of their unexpected discharge from their “fat” job they were a crestfallen set of men.
The Italians had led the movement of return to Peter Graham. With the stolidity of the foreign laborer, a job was a job. If they were thrown out of work in one place, they must find work in another. It mattered not at all to them that they had treacherously deserted Peter Graham. They waited on the scene of their disaster only long enough to learn from Conner, the foreman, that they would be able to collect their pay checks next day at the Hamilton office of Thorne and Foster. Their next move was straight to the dormitory. There they hung about in the cold until the arrival of Peter Graham, which had not been until shortly before Signor Baretti and the partners had arrived.
The builder had on that day been on an unfruitful and discouraging hunt for men. His surprise at finding a sheepish but anxious delegation of jobless men awaiting him had been mixed with grim amusement. He had seized the advantage which he had at once saw was his to lay down the law to them. Of the early morning episode which had brought him his old corps of workmen he had not yet a clear story. He was more interested just then in the effect rather than the cause. The men had asked to be allowed to take up their old work that day. The builder refused the request, and sent them home. “Don’t come back tomorrow unless you feel that you are going to stick to me until this job is done,” were his parting words to them.
A little later the builder and Signor Baretti were walking toward the roadster where the partners patiently waited to congratulate Peter Graham on the sudden silver lining that a very gray sky had turned out. The inn keeper insisted that his three friends should go to the inn for something hot to eat and drink. Peter Graham had been too busy to stop for luncheon. He hailed the invitation. Page and Dean found hot chocolate and marguerites appetizing after their stay out in the cold. Even Baretti broke his rule and drank a cup of very strong black coffee.
Around the table the four discussed the unexpected eclipse of the garage operation at length. They hoped to arrive at a logical conclusion regarding the reason for Peter Cairns’s high-handed procedure against his daughter’s business venture. Greater than the knowledge that their work could now go on, was the wonder of the partners at the summary defeat of Leslie Cairns’s dishonorable scheme. Peter Graham was more concerned with the return of the workmen than anything else. He had not passed through three trying years on the campus with Leslie Cairns always a menace. Guiseppe Baretti was filled with secret bliss over one lovely fact. Peter Car-rins had received his letter.
Meanwhile Baretti’s new roadster had hardly made port at the inn when Leslie Cairns turned her car into Hamilton Pike, bent on a visit to her garage site. Her special interest, however, was in viewing the dormitory and exulting in the “crimp” she had “handed the prigs and digs.” She was well pleased at having “put one over on that cotton-topped carpenter.”
With her affairs progressing so smoothly Leslie had not troubled herself to visit the garage site for several days. All that Anton Lavigne had promised to do he had done. She had seen him but once in Hamilton. Then he had visited the Italian quarter as Ravenzo. He had telephoned her to pick him up with her car at a rather lonely spot on Hamilton Pike. A small mustache, shell-rimmed glasses and rough tweed clothing so changed his appearance that she had hardly known him. He had talked with her only as long as it took to reach the railway station where he took the first train for New York. He had assured her of having done his work thoroughly. As the winter wore on toward March and the situation he had promoted remained unchanged she grew more and more pleased with herself. She was not specially pleased with Thorne and Stone. In spite of plenty of help they dragged the building of the garage. She quarreled with them about it whenever she saw either partner. She retained them because of their lack of principle.
Leslie spun her car along the pike with her usual disregard for speed laws. It was cold and she was not anxious to remain out long in the sharp wind. She resolved to give the “flivver” and the “success” the “once over,” then drive to the Colonial, telephone Doris and invite her to go back to town with her for the rest of the afternoon and evening.
The surprise which had met Robin and Marjorie on reaching the dormitory was a surprise. The situation which Leslie found herself facing was a shock. Her first glance of scowling consternation deepened as she went nearer the garage foundation and neither heard nor saw even a solitary workman. The stillness of the place depressed her. What had happened to her gang of men? Ah! She had it. Thorne and Foster had perhaps laid the men off for a day. She would be charged for the day’s work they had not done. The builders would collect it and keep it. Nothing doing! She would drive to their town office and have it out with them.
Leslie shivered as a blast of wind cut through even her fur coat. She ran back to her car and sprang into it. She heard the sound of a hammer tapping away in the dormitory. She grinned derisively as she glanced up at the half completed edifice. Thanks to Lavigne, Bean’s settlement house would go a long time without a roof.
CHAPTER XXV
THE LETTER
Following on the heels of her first shock came disappointment. She reached the three story building where Thorne and Foster had established temporary office to find the door of the office locked and a sign tacked to the outside door panel which bore the information: “Gone for the day.”
“Who told them they could go?” she sulkily muttered. “Wait till I see that pair. All they do is loaf and rob me. They’re slackers. That old cotton-top Bean has working for her is worth more than a dozen of these slackers.”
Leslie swung petulantly down the one flight of stairs to the street. The wind whistled in her face causing her to duck her head into her high fur collar.
“It’s too cold to drive back to the campus,” she concluded. “I’ll run the car into the garage and hunt for cover. The hotel for me tonight. I’ll go there and stay there.” She promised herself that next day she would make it a point to go to the garage site and see what was going on. She could pick up Doris then at the Colonial and take her back to town.
She drove to the garage, saw the car housed and battled her way against the wind the distance of one block to the hotel. At the desk the clerk handed her a letter. Leslie stared at the address in fascination. Her face turned as nearly white as its swarthiness would permit. Her lips moved as though she were trying to speak and could not. Her hands shook so violently she dropped the letter on the tessellated marble floor.
She bent to retrieve it, and nearly lost her balance. Sight of certain black, jagged handwriting all but drained her of strength. She walked to the door of the elevator steadily enough, but her knees weakened under her as she stood and waited for what seemed an age for the descending cage.
“Great Scott!” she breathed in a voice not quite steady as the door of her room closed behind her. She stumbled over to a chair and fell into it. “I never had such a wobbly time in all my life before,” she said aloud again. “I’m glad to see that writing.”
Leslie was so staggered at seeing again the characteristic handwriting of Peter Cairns she had only one idea. Her father had written her a letter. In the exultant glow she experienced as she tore open the envelope she lost her first panic of agitation.
Her hands began to tremble anew as she hastily tore the envelope across, in order to quickly get at the letter inside it. Two sheets of his club paper brought a sparkle to her eyes. She unfolded them and read with hungry concentration:
“Leslie:
“So long as you minded your own affairs and did not involve others in your ridiculous schemes I decided to let you go on and see if you had any common sense. You have shown so little of this necessary quality I have been compelled to interfere and undo, if possible, the mischief you have done.
“There are two ways of doing business; a wise way and a foolish way. Business enterprises are conducted in order to bring wealth to their promoters; not for the purpose of “getting even” with another, or others. I know precisely what you have been doing since you disgraced yourself and me at college. I have not once approved of you. Your purchase of a certain piece of property near the college was typical of your business idiocy. Some day you may learn why.
“When you were a youngster I had some hope of helping you to the career you fancied. You are very far away from that point of intelligence now. Prudence should have taught you never to buck against an institution of learning of the traditional worth and material wealth of Hamilton College.
“I have put a definite end to your silly, wasteful garage venture. You chose the last site suitable for a public garage. If you make an effort, no matter how small, or as you may believe, secret, to carry on this enterprise or to have another carry it on for you, I will wipe out your fortune and send you to business college. You have shown sufficient lack of gray matter to insure my closer guardianship over you, as your father. For the present Mrs. Gaylord will remain your chaperon. You thought no doubt in the beginning that you engaged her. I daresay you know differently now. Women seldom keep their secrets. You will arrange to be in New York not later than the fifteenth of this month. You are not to return to Hamilton. I have seen Lavigne and had matters out with him. You deceived him, but he should have known better than to bother with you. He has changed his address. You may be interested in this news.
“In New York you will select a suitable apartment for yourself and Mrs. Gaylord and resume your friendship with Natalie Weyman. She is a shallow creature, but at least has social pride. You are to devote yourself to society for a while. Perhaps in that way you may get over your business fallacy.
“Peter Cairns.”
With a kind of howl such as a mourning, solitary creature of the wild might utter, Leslie dropped her head on her arms. She had ever been careless of the feelings of others; always ready to sneer at even her friends. Now for the first time in her selfish life she had been cut to the heart by words.
CHAPTER XXVI
AT THE ARMS
A few days of work on the part of a steady and greatly chastened crew of men convinced Peter Graham that his return to good fortune was not a dream. At the garage site nothing stirred save the wind-swept branches of the trees and drifting dead leaves or swaying frozen weeds.
Leslie Cairns had not waited in Hamilton for the coming of the fifteenth of March. She and Mrs. Gaylord had gone to New York on the day following the receipt of her letter. She had not said good-bye to Doris. She intended to write the sophomore. Further she would go back to Hamilton later, if she chose. Her first grief at her father’s cutting letter had changed into a slow-kindling resentment. It promised presently to dominate her future acts. She had determined to learn for herself when she returned to New York if her father could wipe out her entire fortune. It consisted of several gilt-edged investments. She was confident she would find a way to secure at least a part of it from him. She would fight him through the courts, should he try to impoverish her. He had cast her out of his affections. She would stamp out her regard for him.
While she vengefully sulked and prepared for a hasty departure from Hamilton, Marjorie and Jerry Macy had joined the household at Hamilton Arms. Their first sensations had been those of strangeness of their roomy quarters after the closer confinement of Wayland Hall. They had a somberly beautiful suite of sitting room, immense sleeping room with twin carved mahogany beds and bathroom containing the luxury of a sunken bath.
They had made a triumphal entry into the Arms surrounded by their chums who had been invited to celebrate the arrival of the beloved guests. The Travelers had delivered Marjorie and Jerry into Miss Susanna’s keeping with an exuberance of joy resulting from their appreciation of the triumph of Page and Dean over Leslie Cairns. From Baretti’s, Robin and Marjorie had hurried to Wayland Hall, gathered their chums into Room 15, and joyfully told them the news. In consequence, the elation attending the disclosure served to banish the wrench of parting.
The Saturday afternoon following their move to the Arms Miss Susanna gave a reception in honor of the Travelers to the dormitory girls. The guests of honor assembled on Friday night, burdened with their reception finery. They stayed that night at the Arms and did their own decorating of the stately rooms the next morning. In honor of their senior “dorms” a flower scheme of daffodils and violets had been carried out in fragrant profusion in all the rooms and at the tables of the famous Chinese tea room where sweets, ices and tea were served. Purple and gold were the senior colors and the modest senior dorms were inclined to be somewhat abashed at this compliment to them. Anna Towne plaintively expressed their opinion when she said: “All this attention makes us believe we count. I hope we do!”
Marjorie had been at the Arms a week before Miss Susanna mentioned Brooke Hamilton in connection with the literary labor to be performed. She understood Miss Hamilton well enough to guess that the peculiar old lady was not yet ready to talk about the biography Marjorie was to write.
“I suppose you’ve been wondering, Marvelous Manager, why you haven’t been set to work as an author and biographer,” Miss Hamilton addressed Marjorie from the sunny bow window of the old-time sitting room where she had been watering a fragrant rosy mass of window box sweet peas. She picked half a dozen dainty clusters of them and trotted over to Marjorie with them. She tucked them into Marjorie’s thick curls, rolled up at the back of her shapely young head. “There, you look like the awakening of spring, child,” she declared. “Come, now, you and I will go up to the study.”
“Really, Miss Susanna?” Marjorie sprang up from her chair, radiant at the prospect.
“Yes, really. You’re not polite, or you’d take what I say for granted.”
“Always, in future,” promised Marjorie, holding up one hand. She wound her other arm about Miss Hamilton’s waist.
“Jerry has gone to the garage with Jonas for the car. While she is bringing it up I am going to do something for you which seems important to me. I am going to introduce you to Uncle Brooke. He will welcome you as a friend and make over to you all his papers.”
Miss Susanna paused, her eyes searching Marjorie’s face in the bright, bird-like way which meant accurate appraisal.
“Go on; please do,” Marjorie breathed, showing her utter fascination of the supernatural-sounding announcement. “It is such a beautiful thought, that of going with you to his study to be introduced to him as a friend. Afterward I will gradually come to the point where I can look over his papers and not feel – ” Marjorie studied an instant “ – like an old Paul Pry,” she added, smiling.
“Precisely my idea,” emphasized the mistress of the Arms. “Let’s be on our way.” She wound an arm around Marjorie’s waist. Wise youth and youthful age paraded out into the hall and up the broad staircase, clinging to each other in fond, school girl way.
The door of the study was a little ajar, as though someone within the room had anticipated the visit of Miss Susanna. The study door was generally closed. Marjorie knew Miss Susanna had set it to suit her fancy.
The two paused before the door. Miss Hamilton gently drew herself free from Marjorie’s arm. She lifted a hand and rapped lightly on a door panel. Then she stood in an attitude of alert listening. Marjorie knew she was re-acting a daily episode of the long ago. “He is there,” she said softly to Marjorie. “I will go first. Follow me.”
CHAPTER XXVII
THE INTRODUCTION
“Good morning, Uncle Brooke. I have brought my friend, Marjorie Dean to meet you. I hope you are feeling your splendid best today.”
Miss Susanna’s voice, gently modulated until nothing remained of its natural quick, brisk quality, filled Marjorie with an impulse to cry. It was not that gentle voice alone which awoke her emotion. She was looking straight toward a face, strong, proud, with an almost haughty set of noble dark head on broad but sloping shoulders. Eyes, startling in their blueness, a firm mouth, somehow suggesting humor and shaded by a close-clipped dark mustache.
Marjorie had seen portraits of Brooke Hamilton. She had never before seen this particular painting of him. She understood, instantly she beheld it, why Miss Susanna should take pleasure in regarding it as life-like enough to merit an introduction. It had been evidently painted when he was perhaps thirty and in the glory of his manhood. It was a life-size study of head and shoulders far finer than any other of him she had previously seen at the Arms.
A choking sensation rose in her throat. She fought it back, clenching her hands and resisting sturdily the impulse to cry. It seemed an age since Miss Susanna had spoken. In reality it was not more than two minutes.
“Uncle Brooke, let me introduce Marjorie Dean. You wrote the fourteenth maxim for her, though you did not then know it. Marjorie Dean, let me present you to my great uncle, Brooke Hamilton. He wishes to give you his confidence.” Again Miss Susanna’s voice rose and fell gently on the sunlit study.
“Good morning, my friend, Brooke Hamilton. I accept your confidence as sacred. I will never disturb the inner deeps.” Marjorie gazed at the handsome manly face through a mist.
“Because I have called you friend I will neither measure out friendship to you in quantity nor lay a restriction upon it.” It was Miss Susanna who followed Marjorie’s exalted promise with Brooke Hamilton’s own creed of friendship.
“I thank you, Mr. Brooke Hamilton.” Marjorie bowed sedately. Next instant her sedate air broke up in a winsome smile. She thought the man in the portrait looked as though he might have enjoyed fun and laughter as well as profound consciousness of responsibility.
“And now you’ve been introduced,” Miss Susanna said naively. “I had Jonas put this portrait away for awhile. It used to hang in my private sitting room. I was afraid you might see it before I was ready to have you. It was painted by a young Frenchman named Blaneau. He died at twenty-seven. He would have no doubt been ranked as the greatest portrait painter of his time had he lived. Such is the history of the most natural picture of my uncle I have. He claimed it to be such. If you like it, it is to stay here and be your inspiration. Truly, I think the presence of it in the room will help you.”
“I know it will.” Marjorie said fervently. “Oh, Miss Susanna, do you think I am great enough of spirit to do him justice?”
“I know you are.” Miss Hamilton’s tone was victoriously certain. “Would you be amazed if I were to say that you are like him in some respects? You are. Your ideals are in keeping with his. He believed most of all in the romance of deeds, rather than of love. He gloried in action; the kind that would most benefit the most people. Yet he found after all that love was love, that the romance of men and women – ”
Miss Susanna stopped. Came a tense hush. The idea of Brooke Hamilton as in love had never before presented itself to Marjorie. “The romance of men and women” repeated itself in Marjorie’s brain. There it was again. It was not for her. She would write the biography of Brooke Hamilton, promote the interests of the dormitory. She would continue to hug the romance of deeds to her heart.
She did not know that romance was still waiting patiently for her around a future corner.
She did not know that beauty and romance hate separation; that true love seeks true natures. She had yet to earn that true romance was the inner heart of love. Her bold sister, adventure, belonged to deeds. How she learned the lesson of love from one who had learned it too late for happiness will be told in “Marjorie Dean’s Romance.”
