Part 18 (2/2)
”But Theodore, if we lift one finger to stop the raising of money for the poor starving children in foreign countries, we'd lose every sc.r.a.p of influence we've gained.”
”But this means that _all_ the theatres can open again!”
”Well, maybe you'd better get to work and frame the amendment to Ordinance 147 we've been talking about, then. And the new statute, too. We've wasted too much time. But under the old one, we can't go flirting with trouble. And if all they do is show pictures like Ben-Hur, and The Swordmaker's Son, why ... don't you see? We just won't notice this thing of Henry's. We can't afford to act too narrow.... And I'm not cross with you any more. You _were_ all worked up, weren't you? I'll excuse you. And I could just _hug_ you for being so worked up in the interests of the League. I didn't understand....
When are you coming up to see me? I've been awfully lonesome--since yesterday.”
Mr. Mix hung up, and sat staring into vacancy. Out of the wild tumult of his thoughts, there arose one picture, clear and distinct--the picture of his five thousand dollar note. Whatever else happened, he couldn't financially afford, now or in the immediate future, to break with Mirabelle. She would impale him with bankruptcy as ruthlessly as she would swat a fly; she would pursue him, in outraged pride, until he slept in his grave. And on the other hand, if certain things _did_ happen--at the Orpheum--how could he spiritually afford to pa.s.s the remainder of his life with a militant reformer who wouldn't even have money to sweeten her disposition--and Mr. Mix's. He wished that he had put off until tomorrow what he had done, with such conscious foresight, only yesterday.
CHAPTER XII
Now although Mr. Mix had shaken with consternation when he saw the advertis.e.m.e.nt of the Orpheum, Henry shook with far different sentiments when he saw the announcement in eulogy of Mr. Mix. It was clear in his mind, now, that Mr. Mix wasn't the sort of man to marry on speculation; Henry guessed that Mirabelle had confided to him the terms of the trust agreement, and that Mr. Mix (who had shaken his head, negatively, when Henry estimated his profits) had decided that Henry was out of the running, and that Mirabelle had a walkover. The guess itself was wrong, but the deduction from it was correct; and Henry was convulsed to think that Mr. Mix had shown his hand so early.
And instead of gritting his teeth, and d.a.m.ning Mr. Mix for a conscienceless scoundrel, Henry put back his head and laughed until the tears came.
He hurried to show the paragraph to Anna, but Anna wouldn't even smile. She was a woman, and therefore she compressed her lips, sorrowfully, and said: ”Oh--_poor_ Miss Starkweather!” To which Henry responded with a much more vigorous compression of his own lips, and the apt correction: ”Oh, no--poor Mr. Mix!”
He carried his congratulations to his aunt in person; she received them characteristically. ”Humph!... Pretty flowery language.... Well, you don't need to send me any present, Henry; I didn't send _you_ one.”
”When's the happy event to be?” he inquired, politely.
”June. Fourth of June.”
”And do you know where you're going for your honeymoon?”
”I don't like that word,” said Mirabelle. ”It sounds mus.h.i.+er than a corn-starch pudding. And besides, it's n.o.body's business but his and mine, and I haven't even told _him_ yet. I'm keeping it for a surprise.”
”Oh!” said Henry. ”That's rather a novel idea, isn't it?”
”Humph!” said Mirabelle, dryly. ”The whole thing's novel, isn't it?
But I'm obliged for your coming up here, Henry. I didn't suppose you had enough interest in family matters to be so nosey, even.”
Later in the week, Henry encountered Mr. Mix, and repeated his congratulations with such honeyed emphasis that Mr. Mix began to stammer. ”I appreciate all you say, Henry--but--come here a minute.”
He drew Henry into a convenient doorway. ”I'm sort of afraid, from the way you act, there's something in the back of your mind. I've thought, sometimes, you must have lost sight of the big, broad principles behind the work I'm doing. I've been afraid you've taken my work as if it was directed personally against _you_. Not that I've ever heard you _say_ anything like that, but your manner's been ... well, anyway, you're too big a man for that, Henry. Now about this new scheme of yours. It's my feeling that you're dodging the law by sliding in the back door. It's my official duty to look into it. Only if we _do_ have to put a stop to it, I want you to realize that I sympathize with any personal loss you may have to suffer. Personally, I'm grieved to have to take this stand against John Starkweather's nephew. You understand that, don't you?”
Henry nodded a.s.sent. ”Why, certainly. Your motives are purer than the thoughts of childhood. The only thing I _don't_ understand is what all this has to do with my congratulating you?”
”Oh, nothing whatever. Nothing at all. It was just your manner.”
”Let's come out in the open, then. How do you think you _could_ put a stop to it? Because if you could, why, I'll save you the trouble.”
Mr. Mix hesitated. ”You were always an original young man, Henry. But if it's my duty to stop your show, why should I give away my plans? So you could antic.i.p.ate 'em?”
”No, I've done that already.”
”Now, Henry, that sounds too conceited to be like _you_.”
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