The two waited until his fit had spent itself, to see what new whim would seize him. “Whatcha wanta do?” he queried suddenly. “Wanta see the place, ole chappie? Wamme play the guv‘ner—show you roun’? State parlors—Looee Cans—Looee Sez—chairs cost three thousand apiece. Tea-room—Maryanntnet—picture of shepherds dancing—Ruysdael—twenty-three thousan‘! Ball-room—balc’ny pillars—hic—imported—special ship-sixty-eight thousan‘! Ceilin’ painted in Rome—whuzzat feller’s name, Hamilton—Mattatoni? Macaroni? Then this place—silver bowl—Benvenuto Cellini—rummy ole Dago! An’ the organ—thirty thousan’ dollars, sir—starter up, Hamilton, let Mr. Rednose hear it. No—never mind—clean forgot—says he’s hungry, Hamilton—less have some supper. Only—hic—don’t less have it here—come up to my place, ole sport—nice an’ cosy. This way—steady now, don’t slip on the floor. Hamilton, we’ll have a cole spread, an’ some fizz—don’t leave out the fizz, by Harry. We’ll have some of the eighteen-thirty Madeira. Hear me, sir?”
“Yes, sir,” said the butler, “but, Master Frederick, your father left orders—”
And Master Frederick drew himself up to a stately height. “My father’s orders were left to me—hic—an’ not to you,” he said. Then, clasping Jurgis tightly by the neck, he staggered out of the room; on the way another idea occurred to him, and he asked: “Any—hic—cable message for me, Hamilton?”
“No, sir,” said the butler.
“Guv‘ner must be travellin’. An’ how’s the twins, Hamilton?”
“They are doing well, sir.”
“Good!” said Master Freddie; and added fervently: “God bless ‘em, the little lambs!”
They went up the great staircase, one step at a time; at the top of it there gleamed at them out of the shadows the figure of a nymph crouching by a fountain, a figure ravishingly beautiful, the flesh warm and glowing with the hues of life. Above was a huge court, with domed roof, the various apartments opening into it. The butler had paused below but a few minutes to give orders, and then followed them; now he pressed a button, and the hall blazed with light. He opened a door before them, and then pressed another button, as they staggered into the apartment.
It was fitted up as a study. In the centre was a mahogany table, covered with books, and smokers’ implements; the walls were decorated with college trophies and colors,—flags, posters, photographs and knickknacks—tennis-rackets, canoe-paddles, golf-clubs, and polo-sticks. An enormous moose head, with horns six feet across, faced a buffalo head on the opposite wall, while bear and tiger skins covered the polished floor. There were lounging-chairs and sofas, window-seats covered with soft cushions of fantastic designs; there was one corner fitted in Persian fashion, with a huge canopy and a jewelled lamp beneath. Beyond, a door opened upon a bedroom, and beyond that was a swimming pool of the purest marble, that had cost about forty thousand dollars.
Master Freddie stood for a moment or two, gazing about him; then out of the next room a dog emerged, a monstrous bulldog, the most hideous object that Jurgis had ever laid eyes upon. He yawned, opening a mouth like a dragon’s; and he came toward the young man, wagging his tail. “Hello, Dewey!” cried his master. “Been havin’ a snooze, ole boy? Well, well—hello there, whuzzamatter?” (The dog was snarling at Jurgis.) “Why, Dewey—this’ my fren‘, Mr. Rednose—ole fren’ the guv’ner‘s! Mr. Rednose, Admiral Dewey; shake ban’s—hic. Ain’t he a daisy, though—blue ribbon at the New York show—eighty-five hundred at a clip! How’s that, hey?”
The speaker sank into one of the big arm-chairs, and Admiral Dewey crouched beneath it; he did not snarl again, but he never took his eyes off Jurgis. He was perfectly sober, was the Admiral.
The butler had closed the door, and he stood by it, watching Jurgis every second. Now there came footsteps outside, and, as he opened the door a man in livery entered, carrying a folding-table, and behind him two men with covered trays. They stood like statues while the first spread the table and set out the contents of the trays upon it. There were cold pates, and thin slices of meat, tiny bread and butter sandwiches with the crust cut off, a bowl of sliced peaches and cream (in January), little fancy cakes, pink and green and yellow and white, and half a dozen ice-cold bottles of wine.
“Thass the stuff for you!” cried Master Freddie, exultantly, as he spied them. “Come ‘long, ole chappie, move up.”
And he seated himself at the table; the waiter pulled a cork, and he took the bottle and poured three glasses of its contents in succession down his throat. Then he gave a long-drawn sigh, and cried again to Jurgis to seat himself.
The butler held the chair at the opposite side of the table, and Jurgis thought it was to keep him out of it; but finally he understood that it was the other’s intention to put it under him, and so he sat down, cautiously and mistrustingly. Master Freddie perceived that the attendants embarrassed him, and he remarked, with a nod to them, “You may go.”
They went, all save the butler.
“You may go too, Hamilton,” he said.
“Master Frederick—” the man began.
“Go!” cried the youngster, angrily. “Damn you, don’t you hear me?”
The man went out and closed the door; Jurgis, who was as sharp as he, observed that he took the key out of the lock, in order that he might peer through the keyhole.
Master Frederick turned to the table again. “Now,” he said, “go for it.”
Jurgis gazed at him doubtingly. “Eat!” cried the other. “Pile in, ole chappie!”
“Don’t you want anything?” Jurgis asked.
“Ain’t hungry,” was the reply—“only thirsty. Kitty and me had some candy—you go on.”
So Jurgis began, without further parley. He ate as with two shovels, his fork in one hand and his knife in the other; when he once got started his wolf-hunger got the better of him, and he did not stop for breath until he had cleared every plate. “Gee whiz!” said the other, who had been watching him in wonder.
Then he held Jurgis the bottle. “Lessee you drink now,” he said; and Jurgis took the bottle and turned it up to his mouth, and a wonderful unearthly liquid ecstasy poured down his throat, tickling every nerve of him, thrilling him with joy. He drank the very last drop of it, and then he gave vent to a long-drawn “Ah!”
“Good stuff, hey?” said Freddie, sympathetically; he had leaned back in the big chair, putting his arm behind his head and gazing at Jurgis.
And Jurgis gazed back at him. He was clad in spotless evening-dress, was Freddie, and looked very handsome—he was a beautiful boy, with light golden hair and the head of an Antinous.
22
He smiled at Jurgis confidingly, and then started talking again, with his blissful
insouciance.
This time he talked for ten minutes at a stretch, and in the course of the speech he told Jurgis all of his family history. His big brother Charlie was in love with the guileless maiden who played the part of “Little Bright-Eyes” in “The Kaliph of Kamskatka.” He had been on the verge of marrying her once, only “the guv‘ner” had sworn to disinherit him, and had presented him with a sum that would stagger the imagination, and that had staggered the virtue of “Little Bright-Eyes.” Now Charlie had got leave from college, and had gone away in his automobile on the next best thing to a honeymoon. “The guv’ner” had made threats to disinherit another of his children also, sister Gwendolen, who had married an Italian marquis with a string of titles and a duelling record. They lived in his chateau, or rather had, until he had taken to firing the breakfast-dishes at her; then she had cabled for help, and the old gentleman had gone over to find out what were his Grace’s terms. So they had left Freddie all alone, and he with less than two thousand dollars in his pocket. Freddie was up in arms and meant serious business, as they would find in the end—if there was no other way of bringing them to terms he would have his “Kittens” wire that she was about to marry him, and see what happened then.
So the cheerful youngster rattled on, until he was tired out. He smiled his sweetest smile at Jurgis, and then he closed his eyes, sleepily. Then he opened them again, and smiled once more, and finally closed them and forgot to open them.
For several minutes Jurgis sat perfectly motionless, watching him, and revelling in the strange sensations of the champagne. Once he stirred, and the dog growled; after that he sat almost holding his breath—until after a while the door of the room opened softly, and the butler came in.
He walked toward Jurgis upon tiptoe, scowling at him; and Jurgis rose up, and retreated, scowling back. So until he was against the wall, and then the butler came close, and pointed toward the door. “Get out of here!” he whispered.
Jurgis hesitated, giving a glance at Freddie, who was snoring softly. “If you do, you son of a—” hissed the butler, “I’ll mash in your face for you before you get out of here!”
And Jurgis wavered but an instant more. He saw “Admiral Dewey” coming up behind the man and growling softly, to back up his threats. Then he surrendered and started toward the door.
They went out without a sound, and down the great echoing staircase, and through the dark hall. At the front door he paused, and the butler strode close to him.
“Hold up your hands,” he snarled. Jurgis took a step back, clinching his one well fist.
“What for?” he cried; and then understanding that the fellow proposed to search him, he answered, “I’ll see you in hell first.”
“Do you want to go to jail?” demanded the butler, menacingly. “I’ll have the police—”
“Have ‘em!” roared Jurgis, with fierce passion. “But you won’t put your hands on me till you do! I haven’t touched anything in your damned house, and I’ll not have you touch me!”
So the butler, who was terrified lest his young master should waken, stepped suddenly to the door, and opened it. “Get out of here!” he said; and then as Jurgis passed through the opening, he gave him a ferocious kick that sent him down the great stone steps at a run, and landed him sprawling in the snow at the bottom.
TWENTY-FIVE
JURGIS GOT up, wild with rage; but the door was shut and the great castle was dark and impregnable. Then the icy teeth of the blast bit into him, and he turned and went away at a run.
When he stopped again it was because he was coming to frequented streets and did not wish to attract attention. In spite of that last humiliation, his heart was thumping fast with triumph. He had come out ahead on that deal! He put his hand into his trousers’ pocket every now and then, to make sure that the precious hundred-dollar bill was still there.
Yet he was in a plight—a curious and even dreadful plight, when he came to realize it. He had not a single cent but that one bill! And he had to find some shelter that night—he had to change it!
Jurgis spent half an hour walking and debating the problem. There was no one he could go to for help—he had to manage it all alone. To get it changed in a lodging-house would be to take his life in his hands—he would almost certainly be robbed, and perhaps murdered, before morning. He might go to some hotel or railroad-depot and ask to have it changed; but what would they think, seeing a “bum” like him with a hundred dollars? He would probably be arrested if he tried it; and what story could he tell? On the morrow Freddie Jones would discover his loss, and there would be a hunt for him, and he would lose his money. The only other plan he could think of was to try in a saloon. He might pay them to change it, if it could not be done otherwise.
He began peering into places as he walked; he passed several as being too crowded—then finally, chancing upon one where the bartender was all alone, he gripped his hands in sudden resolution and went in.
“Can you change me a hundred-dollar bill?” he demanded.
The bartender was a big, husky fellow, with the jaw of a prize fighter, and a three weeks’ stubble of hair upon it. He stared at Jurgis. “What’s that youse say?” he demanded.
“I said, could you change me a hundred-dollar bill?”
“Where’d youse get it?” he inquired incredulously.
“Never mind,” said Jurgis; “I’ve got it, and I want it changed. I’ll pay you if you’ll do it.”
The other stared at him hard. “Lemme see it,” he said.
“Will you change it?” Jurgis demanded, gripping it tightly in his pocket.
“How the hell can I know if it’s good or not?” retorted the bartender. “Whatcher take me for, hey?”
Then Jurgis slowly and warily approached him; he took out the bill, and fumbled it for a moment, while the man stared at him with hostile eyes across the counter. Then finally he handed it over.
The other took it, and began to examine it; he smoothed it between his fingers, and he held it up to the light; he turned it over, and upside down, and edgeways. It was new and rather stiff, and that made him dubious. Jurgis was watching him like a cat all the time.
“Humph,” he said, finally, and gazed at the stranger, sizing him up—a ragged, ill-smelling tramp, with no overcoat and one arm in a sling—and a hundred-dollar bill! “Want to buy anything?” he demanded.
“Yes,” said Jurgis, “I’ll take a glass of beer.”
“All right,” said the other, “I’ll change it.” And he put the bill in his pocket, and poured Jurgis out a glass of beer, and set it on the counter. Then he turned to the cash-register, and punched up five cents, and began to pull money out of the drawer. Finally, he faced Jurgis, counting it out—two dimes, a quarter, and fifty cents. “There,” he said.
For a second Jurgis waited, expecting to see him turn again. “My ninety-nine dollars,” he said.
“What ninety-nine dollars?” demanded the bartender.
“My change!” he cried—“the rest of my hundred!”
“Go on,” said the bartender, “you’re nutty!”
And Jurgis stared at him with wild eyes. For an instant horror reigned in him—black, paralyzing, awful horror, clutching him at the heart; and then came rage, in surging, blinding floods—he screamed aloud, and seized the glass and hurled it at the other’s head. The man ducked, and it missed him by half an inch; he rose again and faced Jurgis, who was vaulting over the bar with his one well arm, and dealt him a smashing blow in the face, hurling him backward upon the floor. Then, as Jurgis scrambled to his feet again and started round the counter after him, he shouted at the top of his voice, “Help! help!”