Part 11 (1/2)
The colour heredity of the Andalusian fowl was too much for Bailey.
”I decline to discuss any such drivel,” he said, rising. ”I came here to see Ruth, and--”
”And here she is,” said Mrs. Porter.
The door opened, and Ruth appeared. She looked, to Bailey, insufferably radiant and pleased with herself.
”Bailey!” she cried. ”Whatever brings my little Bailey here, when he ought to be working like a good boy in Wall Street?”
”I will tell you,” Bailey's demeanour was portentous.
”He's frowning,” said Ruth. ”You have been stirring his hidden depths, Aunt Lora!”
Bailey coughed.
”Ruth!”
”Bailey, _don't_! You don't know how terrible you look when you're roused.”
”Ruth, kindly answer me one question. Aunt Lora informs me that you are going to marry this man Winfield. Is it or is it not true?”
”Of course it's true.”
Bailey drew in his breath. He gazed coldly at Ruth, bowed to Mrs.
Porter, and smoothed the nap of his hat.
”Very good,” he said stonily. ”I shall now call upon this Mr. Winfield and thrash him.” With that he walked out of the room.
He directed his cab to the nearest hotel, looked up Kirk's address in the telephone-book, and ten minutes later was ringing the studio bell.
A look of relief came into George Pennicut's eyes as he opened the door. To George, nowadays, every ring at the bell meant a possible visit from Lora Delane Porter.
”Is Mr. Kirk Winfield at home?” inquired Bailey.
”Yes, sir. Who shall I say, sir?”
”Kindly tell Mr. Winfield that Mr. Bannister wishes to speak to him.”
”Yes, sir. Will you step this way, sir?”
Bailey stepped that way.
While Bailey was driving to the studio in his taxicab, Kirk, in boxing trunks and a sleeveless vest, was engaged on his daily sparring exercise with Steve Dingle.
This morning Steve seemed to be amused at something. As they rested, at the conclusion of their fifth and final round, Kirk perceived that he was chuckling, and asked the reason.
”Why, say,” explained Steve, ”I was only thinking that it takes all kinds of ivory domes to make a nuttery. I ran across a new brand of simp this morning. Just before I came to you I'm scheduled to show up at one of these As...o...b..lt homes t'other side of the park. First I mix it with the old man, then son and heir blows in and I attend to him.
”Well, this morning, son acts like he's all worked up. He's one of these half-portion Willie-boys with Chippendale legs, but he throws out a line of talk that would make you wonder if it's safe to let him run around loose. Says his mind's made up; he's going to thrash a gink within an inch of his life; going to muss up his features so bad he'll have to have 'em replanted.
”'Why?' I says. 'Never you mind,' says he. 'Well, who is he?' I asks.