Part 18 (1/2)

And Molder answered, with the somewhat fatuous, self-conscious grin that no amount of intelligence can keep out of the face of a good-looking fellow who knows that he has made an impression:

”Well, I don't know--”

G.J. raised his eyebrows again, but with indulgence, and winked at Craive.

The Major shut his lips tight, then stood with his mouth open for a second or two in the att.i.tude of a man suddenly receiving the onset of a great and original idea.

”She's right, hang it all!” he exclaimed. ”She's right! Of course she is! Why, what's all this”--he waved an arm at the whole scene--”what's all this but s.e.x? Look at 'em! And look at their portraits! You aren't going to tell me! What's the good of pretending? Hang it all, when my own aunt comes down to breakfast in a low-cut blouse that would have given her fits even in the evening ten years ago!... And jolly fine too. I'm all for it. The more of it the merrier--that's what I say.

And don't any of you high-brows go trying to alter it. If you do I retire, and you can defend your own bally Front.”

”Craive,” said G.J. affectionately, ”until you and Queen came along Molder and I really thought we were at a picture exhibition, and we still think so, don't we, Molder?” The Lieutenant nodded. ”Now, as you're here, just let me show you one or two things.”

”Oh!” breathed the Major, ”have pity. It's not any canvas woman that I want--By Jove!” He caught sight of an invention of Felicien Rops, a pig on the end of a string, leading, or being driven by, a woman who wore nothing but stockings, boots and a hat. ”What do you call that?”

”My dear fellow, that's one of the most famous etchings in the world.”

”Is it?” the Major said. ”Well, I'm not surprised. There's more in this business than I imagined.” He set himself to examine all the exhibits by Rops, and when he had finished he turned to G.J.

”Listen here, G.J. We're going to make a night of it. I've decided on that.”

”Sorry, dear heart,” said G.J. ”I'm engaged with Molder to-night. We shall have some private chamber-music at my rooms--just for ourselves.

You ought to come. Much better for your health.”

”What time will the din be over?”

”About eleven.”

”Now I say again--listen here. Let's talk business. I'll come to your chamber-music. I've been before, and survived, and I'll come again.

But afterwards you'll come with me to the Guinea-Fowl.”

”But, my dear chap, I can't throw Molder out into Vigo Street at eleven o'clock,” G.J. protested, startled by the blunt mention of the notorious night-club in the young man's presence.

”Naturally you can't. He'll come along with us. Frankie and I have nearly fallen into the North Sea or German Ocean together, haven't we, Frankie? It'll be my show. And I'll turn up with the stuff--one, two or three pretty ladies according as your wors.h.i.+p wishes.”

G.J. was now more than startled; he was shocked; he felt his cheeks reddening. It was the presence of Molder that confused him. Never had he talked to Molder on any subjects but the arts, and if they had once or twice lighted on the topic of women it was only in connection with the arts. He was really interested in and admired Molder's unusual aesthetic intelligence, and he had done what he could to foster it, and he immensely appreciated Molder's youthful esteem for himself.

Moreover, he was easily old enough to be Molder's father. It seemed to him that though two generations might properly mingle in anything else, they ought not to mingle in licence. Craive's crudity was extraordinary.

”See here!” Craive went on, serious and determined. ”You know the sort of thing I've come from. I got four days unexpected. I had to run down to my uncle's. The old things would have died if I hadn't. To-morrow I go back. This is my last night. I haven't had a scratch up to now.

But my turn's coming, you bet. Next week I may be in heaven or h.e.l.l or anywhere, or blind for life or without my legs or any d.a.m.n thing you please. But I'm going to have to-night, and you're going to join in.”

G.J. saw the look of simple, half-wors.h.i.+pful appeal that sometimes came into Craive's rather ingenuous face. He well knew that look, and it always touched him. He remembered certain descriptive letters which he had received from Craive at the Front,--they corresponded faithfully. He could not have explained the intimacy of his relations with Craive. They had begun at a club, over cards. The two had little in common--Craive was a stockbroker when world-wars did not happen to be in progress--but G.J. greatly liked him because, with all his crudity, he was such a decent, natural fellow, so kind-hearted, so fresh and una.s.suming. And Craive on his part had developed an admiration for G.J. which G.J. was quite at a loss to account for. The one clue to the origin of the mysterious attachment between them had been a naive phrase which he had once overheard Craive utter to a mutual acquaintance: ”Old G.J.'s so subtle, isn't he?”

G.J. said to himself, reconsidering the proposal:

”And why on earth not?”

And then aloud, soothingly, to Craive: