Part 6 (2/2)
”By the power of suggestion, I dare say. Her public is looking for something devilish, and discovers whatever it chooses to imagine in what she says and does.”
Hannibal Wharton had changed his seat, and, regardless of the dancer, began a conversation with Merkle. After a time Lorelei heard him say:
”It cost me five thousand dollars to pay for the damage those boys did. They threatened to jail Bob, but of course I couldn't allow that.”
”I remember. That was five years ago, and Bob hasn't changed a whit. I think he's a menace to society.”
Wharton laughed, but his reply was lost in the clamorous demand for an encore by Mlle. Demorest.
”So he gets his devilment from you, eh?” Merkle inquired.
”It isn't devilment. Bob's all right. He's running with a fast crowd, and he has to keep up his end.”
”Bah! He hasn't been sober in a year.”
”You're a dyspeptic, John. You were born with a gray beard, and you're not growing younger. He wanted to come to this party, but-- I didn't care to have him for obvious reasons, so I told Hammon to refuse him even if he asked. He bet me a thousand dollars that he'd come anyhow, and I've been expecting him to overpower those doormen or creep up the fire-escape.”
The hand-clapping ceased as the dancer reappeared, smiling and bowing.
”I will dance again if you wish,” she announced, in perfect English, ”introducing my new partner, Mr.--” she glanced into the wings inquiringly--”Senor Roberto. It is his first public appearance in this country, and we will endeavor to execute a variation of the Argentine tango. Senor Roberto is a poor boy; he begs you to applaud him in order that he may secure an engagement and support his old father.” She stooped laughingly to confer with the orchestra leader, who had broken cover at her announcement.
Mr. Wharton was still talking. ”That's my way of raising a son. I taught Bob to drink when I drank, to smoke when I smoked, and all that. My father raised me that way.”
The opening strain of a Spanish dance floated out from the hidden musicians, Mlle. Demorest whirled into view in the arms of a young man in evening dress. She was still laughing, but her partner wore a grave face, and his eyes were lowered; he followed the intricate movements of the dance with some difficulty. To Lorelei he appeared disappointingly amateurish. Then a ripple of merriment, growing into a guffaw, advised her that something out of the ordinary was occurring.
”The--scoundrel!” Hannibal Wharton cried.
Merkle observed dryly: ”He's won your thousand. I withdraw what I said about him; it requires a gigantic intelligence to outwit you.” To Lorelei he added: ”This will be considered a great joke on Broadway.”
”That is Mr. Wharton's son?”
”It is--and the most dissipated lump of arrogance in New York.”
”Bob,” the father shouted, ”quit that foolishness and come down here!” But the junior Wharton, his eyes fixed upon the stage, merely danced the harder. When the exhibition ended he bowed, hand in hand with Miss Demorest, then leaped nimbly over the footlights and made his way toward Jarvis Hammon, nodding to the men as he pa.s.sed.
A moment later he sank into a chair near his father, saying: ”Well, dad, what d'you think of my educated legs? I learned that at night school.”
Wharton grumbled unintelligibly, but it was plain that he was not entirely displeased at his son's prank.
”You were superb,” said Merkle, warmly. ”It's the best thing I ever saw you do, Bob. You could almost make a living for yourself at it.”
The young man grinned, showing rows of firm, strong teeth.
Lorelei, who was watching him, decided that he must have at least twice the usual number; yet it was a good mouth--a good, big, generous mouth.
”Thanks for those glorious words of praise; that's more than we're doing on the Street nowadays. Miss Demorest said we'd 'execute'
the dance, and we did. We certainly killed Senor Thomas W. Tango, and I'll be shot at sunrise for stamping on Adoree's insteps. I looked before I leaped, but I couldn't decide where to put my feet. Whew! Got any grape-juice for a growing boy?” He helped himself to his father's wine-gla.s.s and drained it. ”You can settle now, dad--one thousand iron men. I owe it to Demorest.”
”What do you mean?”
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