Kitabı oku: «The Haunted Pajamas», sayfa 12

CHAPTER XXVI
FLORA

In the doorway stood the butler, looking rather pale. With him was a woman – one of the angular sort, you know, and whom I judged to be the housekeeper.

She wasn't pale! No, by Jove, she was fiery red, even to her hair; and red, too, the anvil sparks that were snapping from her eyes. She marched right in, followed by Wilkes, who carefully closed the door – then stood discreetly aloof. Pantingly, she faced the judge, who was staring at her in amazement.

"Why, Miss Warfield," he began, "what – "

"Judge Billings!" she exploded. And, by Jove, it was like the blast from a mighty bellows! "It's about Mr. Jack!"

The judge's face flushed apprehensively.

"Jack – about Jack?" he repeated. "Is he – er – worse?"

"Worse?" The bellows inflated sharply. "Worse is just it – it's the shock of finding out things I never even suspected!" She whirled upon the butler.

"You tell him!" she snapped sharply.

Wilkes shivered as under a sudden cold what's-its-name. He looked at her protestingly, his eye cutting a suggestive hint of my presence.

"Oh, go on!" – the judge nodded to him with some impatience. "It's all right – Mr. Lightnut is like one of us. Out with it, whatever it is!"

"Yes, sir." Wilkes coughed acquiescence, but shot a glance, half-reproachful, half-apprehensive, at the housekeeper.

She straightened, bristlingly.

"Are you going to tell him or not – and you a man? – or will you put it on me?" And she began to inflate again.

The poor devil took the plunge:

"The fact is, sir, Mr. Jack – h'm!" – he fidgeted through an instant's misery, then let it come: "It's about him and one of the maids, sir!"

"Wh-a-a-t?"

In the jaw-twisting roar, the judge all but lost his plate – his hand came up just in time to save it. As for Wilkes, his portly figure seemed to lift, balloon-like, from the floor for an instant, then settled back.

"It's Flora, sir," he uttered faintly.

"Flora?"

"Yes, sir." And Wilkes quailed before the judge's brows.

Miss Warfield sniffed.

The judge scowled at her. "Are you both crazy?" he demanded. "What is all this – what is it you have to tell? Say it all in a word – one or the other of you – and have done!" His jaw settled with a snap.

The housekeeper assumed an injured air. "Well, sir," she said with a toss, "it just means this: either I or Flora go at the end of this week – I give notice now!"

"All right," said the judge with a sort of bland ugliness, "then that's settled —you go! That is, unless you can get right down to brass tacks this instant and say what you've got to say."

And, black as thunder, the old boy laid his hand upon the knob. By Jove, it did me good to see her crinkle up!

"I'm sure I beg your pardon, Judge," she said, her voice modifying to a snuffling twang, "but this has so upset my nerves – Mr. Jack, of all men!" She fumbled for her handkerchief before she found it – Pugsley says they always do! "Such talk, sir! I never– " With a kind of gurgle, she suddenly flopped into the nearest chair and lay there, wriggling like a jolly auto freshly cranked, and snorting like its horn.

The judge, with head down, glared at her through his glasses.

"Talk? That's nothing!" – he uttered a snort. "Why, hang it, madam, he's drunk! Can't you have a little Christian charity and put yourself in his place? The poor boy doesn't know what he's saying!"

She looked up with a head jerk. "That's it– that's just what makes it so awful," she sniveled; "the revelations, you know!"

"Revelations, fiddlesticks!" champed the judge, and he jerked his head to the butler. "Go on, Wilkes! What has Mr. Billings said that's queerer than – er – usual?"

Wilkes rubbed his neck. "Well, sir, to my thinking, it ain't so much what he's said that's queer – leastwise, it wasn't at first – as what he did. First off, there was his stalling about taking his bath, which was on-usual, for Perkins says, generally speaking, he's right keen for it – more 'specially when he's rather well soused – " Wilkes coughed. "H'm! I beg your pardon, sir! Anyhow, this time he wouldn't have it at all; no, sir! He was very excited about it – kinder out of his head, I may say – and buttonholed me and Perkins and went on a whole lot about only the under man being – no, let me see, lower man was what he said – the lower man being an – an" – Wilkes' brows contracted as he strained for it – "an am – h'm – funny I can't remember that word – a amfibby something – Well, anyhow, he said he never used water ex-ternally."

A penetrating moan from the handkerchief startled us.

"Then – then he never uses it at —at all!" came in a muffled wail.

The judge's teeth glittered at her in one united row; then he jerked a nod to Wilkes. "Go on!" he commanded shortly.

But the butler was glooming sullenly at the fiery head that topped the bundle of black.

"He does, too!" he protested. "'Cause Perkins asked him if he wouldn't like some ice-water and he said he would if he might drink it his own way."

"His own way – um – well?"

"And when Perkins brought it, he poured it down his neck – yes, sir, every drop – "

The master cut in irritably: "His neck – confound it, man, tell your story without slang – or leave off! You know I detest – "

"Not slang, sir" – hastily – "his neck – outside, I mean – "

"Oh, stuff!" – incredulously – "mean to tell me – "

"He did, sir – I'll swear it!" The butler was respectful, but firm as the rock of what's-its-name. "Perkins tried to stop him and says: 'Wait a minute, Mr. Jack – you're making a mistake – it ain't 'round there; it's in front, you know!' And he turned on Perkins with a scowl something awful, and his langwige – well, it wasn't langwige at all! Perkins thought – " He paused.

"Um!" The judge had drawn me aside. "The alienation is unusual – what do you think, Lightnut?" – he looked grave – "it doesn't seem the ordinary hiatus – the passing alcoholic dementia, you know – there seems in it something hydrophobic – eh?"

"Oh, dash it, yes —that's all!" I said offhand – just took a chance, don't you know!

"Um!" He blinked at me; then faced square about. "I guess I'd better go up; perhaps when he sees me – "

He halted, leveling a stern glance at Wilkes.

"What the dev – what are you grinning about?" he rasped.

"I'm not, sir!" And the butler's hand came down, revealing a sobered countenance. "I was just a-wondering if he would try to get you to put on the pajamas – he did all the rest of us, even – " His eye angled cautiously at the housekeeper, then batted at us significantly as her red head wriggled deeper. "Fact is, I think he's kinder gone off about pajamas – just as I told you, sir." His glance appealed to me. "Yes, sir, when I took you his message – you know – and brought back yours, it was even more so then."

I felt myself get devilish red, then pale, for the judge's eyes were on me.

"Yes," he muttered, still looking at me, "he was telling me something the other day about some silk pajamas."

And then I knew he knew!

"Yes, sir," continued Wilkes, "when I got back with your message, Mr. Lightnut, he seemed to get more excited about them – about pajamas, I mean. He talked to me and Perkins through the door crack and wanted one of us to put 'em on – 'in the interests of science,' he called it – and offered to pass 'em out."

"Poor fellow —poor fellow!" – and the judge looked pitiful – "well, why didn't you humor him?"

"I – I don't know, sir!" The butler looked embarrassed. "And, anyhow, it was just then Mrs. Warfield came, and he tried to get – "

"Oo-o-o-o!" from the black bundle.

"And then – " Wilkes hesitated, looking uneasy.

"Go on, man!"

The butler coughed faintly. "Well, sir, when she – h'm – refused – it was then he asked for Flora. 'All right, then you bring me my Flora,' was what he said, and he sounded irritated like. 'Beg pardon, sir?' says Perkins, putting his head to the crack kinder inquiringly. 'My Flora, man!' he comes back sharp; 'just find and bring my Flora – and some pins;' – he seemed particular about the pins – 'if I've got to stay alone, I want something to divert me – I want my Flora!'" And the butler mopped his forehead.

The bundle erected itself. "His 'wild Flora,' was what he said," Miss Warfield corrected sharply; "he said he wanted to embrace – "

"Press," Wilkes corrected in turn.

She inflated with one drive of the piston. "If there's any difference, I don't know it!" came in a blow-out. And, dash me, if I believe she did. She looked it, by Jove!

She faced the judge, who was leaning back against the table, looking kind of punctured, don't you know. By Jove, it seemed to me he had grown five years older in as many minutes!

This seemed to brighten her. "Wanted to press his 'wild Flora' – his very words!" her voice rasped.

My, but that woman looked vicious! She blew her nose, crossed her hands, and propped herself on one foot with an air of ladylike resignation.

"I was so shocked you might have knocked me over with a feather, but I managed to speak to him – I don't know how I ever did it! – and I said: 'You don't mean Flora, sir —you can't treat Flora that way!' And if you could have seen the way he flew to pieces! 'Why can't I?' he yelled at me. 'Do you think I haven't done it before?' Exactly what he said and I could hardly believe my ears; and then" – here she began to wabble and the handkerchief came up – "then he – he called me a wo-woman!"

And, by Jove, she was off the road!

But it seemed to give the judge new interest in life! He just needed some jolly thing, you know; and now he flared up sudden and went up in the air like a freshly touched-off what's-its-name:

"A woman?" His cheeks blew out like little red balloons. "Well, dammit, madam, what are you —aren't you a woman?" – hands on hips he just howled it at her – "what do you think you are?"

For an instant she quailed before him like the stricken what-you-call-it – but only for an instant! Then her long neck coiled back and her eyes glittered beady and snake-like; I heard a sort of rattle in her throat, and then, of course, I knew she was going to strike – and she did!

"Very good, Judge!" She sniffed it. "Still it's my duty to tell you – or any one that asks me, for that matter – exactly what Mr. Jack said!" She moistened her lips with the end of a red tongue, and clucked in a sad, pitying sort of way. "Your son looked straight at me through the door-crack and laughed in the most contemptuous way, and he said: 'You just leave my Flora to me, woman! This time you're talking of something you know nothing about and never did know – why, I've pressed Flora a thousand times!' – yes, sir, just what he said!" – she whirled on Wilkes – "you heard him say it, too!"

The butler's sullen eye-droop admitted it.

"Huh!" And she tossed her head back with a nasty smile.

By Jove, she had got the judge full and square – you could see it as he stood there looking down, his face jolly gray and drawn and his under-lip kind of dragging through his teeth. He was a gamey old boy, but he had had a devilish hard knock where he lived you know – Jack!

"George!" – just a deep breath, you know – then he faced me. "You will excuse me, Lightnut? I must see to this." And he walked out, followed by Wilkes.

Somehow, dash it, it just bowled me over to see his gray hairs humbled in this way to the what-you-call-it – he had such a devilish few of 'em left, too, you know! So, before I knew it, I had walked right up to the old mountain cat and took a hand myself.

"I say, you know!" I said, screwing my monocle down on her. "Too devilish bad you've got yourself in such a pickle – "

"Me in a pickle?" she snorted. "Huh!" – and her ropy neck went up again, but I struck first:

"You've played smash, don't you know," I went on, tightening my glass. "Awfully sorry – just wanted to give you a hint. You know this sort of thing's against the law – something or other criminal – malicious libel or malfeasance or – er – felonious assault or some dashed thing of that sort" – her eyes began to widen – "Oh, yes," I drawled, "you're in for the very deuce of a scrape unless you keep quiet!"

"Who says so?" she tried to bridle.

"I do!" I said, boring her steadily. "Witness, you know! So is Wilkes – both of us – to whatever dashed thing it is the judge decides you've done —I don't know, you know!" – I shrugged carelessly. "But he knows – he's a lawyer – and of course he'll explain it to Wilkes and me as witnesses. That's what witnesses are for, don't you know! Better go to your room and await arrest quietly."

"Oh!" She kind of caught her breath, turning green and dropping her skinny hand upon a chair-back. And I was going on explaining to her, when I looked up and there was Jenkins.

"Pardon, sir," he said, looking at me oddly, "but there's a caller waiting, and he was so urgent and particular, I came – "

"Card!" I suggested, extending a couple of fingers.

Jenkins looked shocked and his arms remained rigidly down.

"Oh," I said, polishing my glass, "the gentleman – is he one of my – "

"It ain't a gentleman, sir," – Jenkins got it out with difficulty; "it's only just – er – a person!"

"Eh? Oh, I say, now, Jenkins!" I protested.

"A person from the – " Jenkins blinked. "In fact, a police person – " his chin went up and he so far forgot himself as to indulge in a sniff – "come to see you about – " his eyebrows angled a lofty protest at the housekeeper's strained poise – "h'm – to see you about —you know!"

I was dashed if I knew – but not so Miss Warfield! She gave a sudden gasp and whirled herself in front of me, hands up and clasped like the other woman in a jolly play you know.

"Oh, sir!" she tremuloed, "Please —please– "

"Eh?" I said in alarm and stepping back, for, dash it, I didn't know what she wanted; and for a moment I had an awful thought she wanted me to —you know! But the next second, I had her right.

"Um!" I said, tightening my lips. "Well, I'll see!" And she looked so white – white as the driven what's-its-name, you know – that I felt my devilish heart go out to her a bit. "All right," I added soothingly, "you just go on about your duties and sit tight, you know, and I'll see if I can – er – fix things!"

And, by Jove, I got past just in time to keep her from catching my hand and wringing herself over it.

"What the deuce – " I began outside, as Jenkins steered me toward the porte-cochère.

He looked warily at the footman waiting to serve us at the door – dashed if he didn't almost lay his hand on my arm!

Then, behind his hand: "It's about the pajamas, sir!"

"Eh?" I gasped, falling back.

He stooped after me and his breath tickled my ear:

"Hers, sir! You know, that night – h'm!"

"Oh!" I said faintly. And this time he did catch my arm, and I was devilish glad, by Jove!

CHAPTER XXVII
I RECOVER THE PAJAMAS

Outside, swinging his club and kicking his heel in the macadam, I found a fat policeman – from New York, I knew by his helmet.

He turned and I saw – O'Keefe!

"Oh, there you are, sir!" And with a careless duck and a wave, he ambled forward and placed in my hands a parcel.

"It's them, all right!" he said with a fat wink. "The black silk pajamas – we got 'em, you see!"

"Jove!" I ejaculated, staring. Then suddenly I got the jolly idea full and strong, you know, and I was just so dashed relieved and delighted, I shook hands with him – fact!

"Oh, I say, Jenkins," I remarked, twisting my glass at him, "by Jove, you know – eh?"

"Certainly, sir!" Jenkins admitted calmly. "I knew in a minute soon as he told me!"

And, by Jove, I believed him! Had to, you know; it was only just one instance of the devilish clever, intuitive way Jenkins had of boring into things!

"Yes, sir," – O'Keefe thoughtfully transferred a big wad to the other cheek – "the captain gave me a little lay off so's I could bring 'em up," – he studied with interest the top of one of the pillars of the porte-cochère and shrugged lightly – "of course it wasn't just because of the reward, though of course five hundred bucks is five hundred bucks, but we thought you might like to have 'em —thank you, sir!" For out of my folder I peeled five crisp centuries and laid them in his palm.

This done, Jenkins glanced at me and turned suggestively toward the entrance, but O'Keefe didn't make a move to go and no more did I. Fact was, I had a devilish keen notion that the old cat up-stairs would be watching for the policeman's departure through the grounds, and it came to me that to play him a little longer wouldn't do any harm, but might seal her jolly mouth the tighter.

O'Keefe thanked me again. "You're sure solid with the force, sir," he assured, nodding earnestly. "Just remember my number and the name of Captain Clutchem if any time in town you get rounded up in any of our little – er, you know!" – he dropped a cheerful wink at me and glanced again at the bills. "Expect maybe you're anxious to know if Tim gets a divy outer this," he proceeded; and I murmured some jolly something. Of course, I wasn't anxious, you know; fact is, I didn't care a dash – didn't even remember who Tim was. "Yes, siree, he'll get ten of this!" he finished impressively.

Meantime, he had been hunching himself up until now he succeeded in wrenching from somewhere behind, a ragged and shiny old wallet, bulging with worn and greasy papers. Within this, with a flourish, he laid the bills.

Then he faced us with an air of increased cheerfulness.

"So much all for the velvet!" he remarked with another wink.

Of course it was of no importance to set him right about the material; as for that, I didn't care a jolly hang if he thought they were made of linoleum! But it gave me the idea of just peeking into a corner of the parcel to satisfy myself that its contents were of filmy black silk – and they were! I went no further; not for all the gold of what's-its-name would I have profaned the package with further investigation.

"Why, sir, I don't think you need be worrying but what they're all right," and the big policeman nodded confidently; "in fact there don't seem to be no damage at all." He added meditatively: "Which is some wonder, considering how we had to roughhouse Foxy Grandpa before we softened him down in his cell th' other night." Here his cheeks swelled and he sent a long sheaf of brown liquid at a grasshopper on the freshly whitened door-stones – and got it, too, neatly missing the polished toe of Jenkins' boot. "No, sir!" – emphatically – "I don't think you'll be hearing any holler from your lady friend when she goes to —eh, what?" – he stared at Jenkins blankly, for Jenkins had coughed – "Oh, excuse me!" – and his big hand lifted apologetically to his mouth, while his eyes rolled upward – "What I just meant was that I know they're all to the good; I went all over 'em!"

"Oh!" I muttered, turning rather faint. I dropped the parcel and Jenkins picked it up. By Jove, for a moment, he came jolly near having to pick me up, too, I was that shocked and prostrated!

"The only thing – the only thing 'tall – " I had to wait through an agonizing moment while his tongue gathered his wad and peremptorily expelled it, this time enlivening the cold, dead monotony of the silver-gray macadam – "was her – I mean, was the pants."

"Ah-h!" I put my hand to my side and looked at Jenkins appealingly, but he was looking upward, his eyes kind of cast over like a bird's; the lines of his mouth tightened to an arch – and I knew he was suffering too! But we must try to stand it a little longer – just a little!

Through one instant's respite, Mr. O'Keefe's thick tongue was occupied in striving to glutenize the entire wrapper of a much crushed and awfully yellow cigar. Then he separated a mouthful from the end and proceeded:

"I did notice with the legs, that one of 'em was just a bit longer than th' other, and down at the station we was a wondering if – " the brown head of a crackling match drew a long, curving what-you-call-it on the smooth, creamy masonry, and he paused to pump madly, striving to coax a draft of smoke – "we wondered if 'twas —intentional." His eyes sought mine inquiringly.

By Jove, I was so frozen with horror, I couldn't even look away; just stood there, helpless, you know, and my jolly monocle hanging limp – couldn't have lifted it to have saved my life! Felt my senses just growing numb all the while with the tragedy of the thing, the thought of this coarse monster's touch defiling the dainty, gossamer garment that had shrouded her sacred what-you-call-'ems – Oh, it was awful!

I wondered if the housekeeper could be looking still from her tower, like Sister Anne in the story of what's-his-name! Perhaps, if I could, I would better hold out just —

"Um —ah, I see! It was, then!" – he was nodding with an air of understanding, pausing in the struggle with the refractory cigar. His strained and reddened face shaped sympathetically. "Just what I thought and told 'em!" he bobbed with satisfaction. "I understand! You ain't got no need to make no explanations to me!" and he lifted his fat hand to restrain them. "Why, my wife's own grandmother had a club foot, and to her last day if she got outer bed on the wrong side, the old lady went a header sure – oh, I know!"

A moment before, I had thought that so far as the mere matter of jolly misery was concerned, I had sounded the what-you-call-'ems; but now my dashed brain was reeling before this new horror! To think that she was – but oh, it couldn't be! And yet I recalled ominously that most of the time I had known her, I had only seen her sitting!

Mr. O'Keefe exerted another vain pull at his cigar and poised it critically between his fingers. "I don't seem to make this piece of rope go," he remarked superfluously, and I thought his eye cut me with a mild reproach. There was nothing to do but take the hint and produce my case – just refilled in my room with Paloma perfectos. Oh, I was glad to do it, by Jove! – glad to be able to do it – devilish glad to find I wasn't paralyzed, I mean!

"Why, thanks!" His fingers only removed three cigars, but I just made him take them all! Oh, yes, for the case would have to be refilled now, anyhow, dash it!

"By-y-y the way, sir!" He closed one eye at me as he carved from the brown beauty a half inch of its waxy bud, using for the maltreatment a perfectly brutal knife. "That was a neat try-on you made to copper the thief yourself – a leetle irregular, you know," he shook his head at me, "but, as the captain said, we ain't making no point about that with a gent like you– sure not!" – another imperishable line of beauty upon the receptive stone, and he puffed inhalations of joy. "But I knew you never could get him to the station – I could have told you."

"Oh!" I remarked, puzzled. By Jove, I had a dashed awful thought for a moment that I must be losing my intelligence! I looked at Jenkins again, but he had not yet come back to the ground.

"Oh, I'm on, sir!" Another one of those awful winks as his club scratched his helmet sideways. "You know I saw everything – I was right there at the Kahoka, you know!"

"Oh, that!" I said, understanding. For I knew then that he was talking about Foxy Grandpa in my rooms. I had almost forgotten the jolly old vagabond, but it occurred to me that perhaps I ought to show some interest as they must have recaptured him along with the pajamas. "I say!" I chirped up, "did you have much trouble about it – getting him again, you know?"

"Trouble?" O'Keefe's lip doubled contemptuously. "It was easy as butter!" His hand spread, palm downward, in an expressive gesture. "Why, he doubled right back to the Kahoka!"

"By Jove, you know!" I exclaimed, startled.

"Surest thing you know! I collared him right in front and with the goods!" Mr. O'Keefe expectorated eloquently. "My, but he did put up an awful holler – said the pajamas were his own and he had just had 'em made. And bluff —well!" – he fanned the air for a moment in the effort to find an appropriate gesture – "I'm used to these swell con men, but that gun was the limit – pulled out a card case, mind you, and letters, and wanted me to go with him to his club – his club– " the big fellow doubled over in a spasm of mirth that all but choked him. "I told him I'd give him the club if he didn't go quietly – for you see I recognized him in a minute; you can't lose them freak kind! Besides, he give himself away: told me he'd overlook my conduct on this occasion and the other, if I would release him. Well, that was enough! I beckoned Jimmy Dwyer across and we run him down the line to the station. Oh, we got him there, but it wasn't easy – for him! And there he'll stay a while!"

He had to pause and pump air, he was so winded.

"Jove!" I said absently. Fact is, I was getting jolly tired standing so long – never had stood so long that I could remember. Wondered if the housekeeper wasn't getting tired, too, wherever she was watching from! Better give her a few minutes more, though; so I shifted to the other leg, but yawned comfortably and openly. As for Jenkins, he had just frozen up like a jolly image, his eyes getting filmier and duller as O'Keefe proceeded, his chin gradually working higher and his mouth corners lower, until now they almost pointed to the ground. He was impressive and devilish correct, but somehow the whole dashed thing seemed lost on O'Keefe.

He even asked Jenkins for a match – but of course received no attention. "Gone off in a trance!" he said to me, with a vulgar jerk of his fat thumb. And then he touched Jenkins with his stick – fact; touched him! – and winked!

"But it woulder tickled you," he resumed, using one of the vestas I extended and puffing the cigar until it almost flamed, "if you coulder seen the grand-stand play this guy put up before the sergeant! But the old man just let him blow it all off; just sat there calm behind the desk, chewing away and jabbing a pen through the blotter, while this stiff fumed and spouted – oh, something scandalous – bringing in the names of mighty near all the important people in New York; his friends, he said! Oh, yes, he mentioned you in particular, sir!" – and his face expanded in a relishing grin.

"Dashed impudence!" I murmured feebly.

"Oh, yes," carelessly, "but the sarge quieted him – just purty near soothed him to sleep before he got through, you know – it's one of his ways!" – his glance lifted solemnly.

"Fine, you know!" I murmured admiringly. I reflected approvingly upon what a dashed good thing it was to have a man in that position – whatever it was – who was of such a devilish mild and gentle temperament: the quiet word – the soft answer – the kindly remonstrance – all that sort of thing, you know.

"We're a leetle crowded now," the big cop pursued, reflectively gouging into the mortar with the long blade of his knife, "and we had to put him in the cell with a gorilla what's always wandering back to the jungle for too much strong-arm work – maybe you read about him? He scragged a whole family th' other night and threw 'em down the fire-escape."

"Oh!" I said uneasily. "But isn't he – er – rather dangerous?"

"Naw!" A careless but vigorous head shake. "Only in his sleep, you know – it's his dreams leads him off —or unless some one touches or crowds him; then he gets peevish and – oh, well he might, of course – " Mr. O'Keefe's expressive shrug finished out the idea. But I wouldn't have heard it anyhow, I was in such a yawn.

By Jove, I was sure the housekeeper would have chucked it by now, or else worked herself up into a swoon! Why, my jolly foot was asleep! It was safe to let him go. I looked at my watch and coughed, and Jenkins came to and backed up to the door, sidling for me to pass within. The policeman straightened his helmet and murmured words of adieu.

"But, if no offense, there's just one question I'd like to ask you, sir." He swung his club with a smiling, genial air.

"Oh, dash it, no!" I responded absently.

My eye had been suddenly attracted by a feathery gleam of white through the trees. It was slowly moving up the slope to a pavilion overlooking the Tappan Zee.

He drew nearer with a confidential air. "Just a little argument I had with the old woman, you know, about them pajamas. Would you mind telling me —as man to man, y'understand – if them garments is" – his voice dropped – "is like her real shape – figger, I mean – h'm?" And he tapped the parcel lightly with his stick.

Jenkins cleared his throat loudly and shifted the pajamas to his other side. As for myself, I just winced as under the stroke of a what-you-call-it, but one end of my dashed brain was being pulled by the flashing play of the dappling sunlight there upon —

"By Jove, her figure exactly!" I ejaculated, staring.

For it was her – no, dash it, she, I mean! I had a perfectly clear view of her now as she paused on a little point and hung there looking out over the Hudson. In her hand was a full-blown, ripened rose, and her lips were shaping in ravishing little pouts as musingly she blew the petals from her. But go they would not, but hugged back in the arms of the light breeze, circling and fluttering about her glorious sunny head like a swarm of rosy butterflies. It made a pretty picture!

"And what's more, they're just her color, too!" I murmured tenderly, forgetful of everything but her, unmindful that I was not alone. For under my hand I could feel my jolly heart quivering like a champagne cork, freshly unfettered and thrilling eagerly under the impulse of the mad, dancing, joyous spirit within.

"The one lovely woman in all the world!" I breathed aloud, and I felt my eyes grow oddly moist.

And for a minute I went off in a jolly trance.

"Good-by, sir!"

It was O'Keefe's voice – oddly constrained.

"Eh?" I ejaculated, blinking at him as I came back. Then I remembered – but what was it he had been asking? Something —

"Just, good-by!" he repeated with elaborated gentleness. Then, straightening: "No offense, I hope, if we let it go at that – I mean, I guess you won't miss it if we don't shake hands?"

I glanced at the gloves he was drawing on.

"Oh, dash it, no!" I responded absently, and my eyes coasted up the slope again – then dropped back disappointedly, for she had disappeared within the pavilion.