Part 33 (2/2)
What's the use? Some fellows on board asked me to dine with them this evening at Delmonico's, and I d.a.m.ned them up and down. Sat for eight mortal days at the dining-table on the s.h.i.+p, with an infernal female on each side of me; they'd quarrel as to which of them would cut my meat for me. It's enough for a fellow to go dotty. Sometimes I wouldn't go and had things served in my cabin so the steward would do the cutting.
Understand, I'm not kicking. Hang it all, man, I'm not even sorry I went! The chaps I helped out were probably worth it. Great old experience trying to make fifty miles an hour with a fellow inside bleeding to death, I can tell you. I've seen enough of it to have learned that a man's life doesn't amount to much. Any old thing will do for me now.”
I was appalled. All this had but one meaning. He was eating his heart out, try as he might to conceal it. To him, his art had been chiefly a means to an end; he had made it the servant of his desires. And now it was getting back at him, it was revenging itself, appearing infinitely desirable for its own sake. He would miss it as a man misses the dead woman, who has held his heart in the hollow of her hand; he was raging at the helplessness that had come upon him. And all this he translated into his usual cynicism. I would have given anything to have seen him break down and weep, so that I might have put my arm around his shoulders and sought to comfort him with love and affection.
We got out at the big building, and he nodded to the colored boy who stood at the door of the elevator, as if he had been gone but a day. On the landing he sought again to pull out his keys, but I touched the electric b.u.t.ton and the old woman's steps hurried to the door.
”How are you?” he said, and brushed past her, paying no heed to her salutations. ”Glad everything's open. I was afraid it would be all closed up like a beastly morgue. h.e.l.lo!”
He stopped before the easel. Upon it I had placed a rough study he had made for Miss Van Rossum's picture. It was a thing of a few effective and masterly strokes.
”Good Lord, Dave, but I was a painter for fair, once upon a time! How did I ever do it?”
He sat there, very still, for a long time, while I watched him. I think he had forgotten all about me, for, after a time, he rose and pulled out of a closet some unframed canva.s.ses, which he scattered against the legs of furniture and contemplated.
”Think I'll make a bonfire of them,” he suddenly said. ”Won't be such an idiot as to keep on staring at those things and looking at my stump, I'll warrant,” and he pushed the handless wrist towards me, tied up in a bit of black silk.
Then the telephone rang.
”Wonder who's the infernal idiot calling up now?” he said. ”Go and answer, Dave. No, I'll go myself and tell him to go to the devil!”
Then came one of those fragmentary conversations. I could not help hearing it, of course. It surprised me that he spoke quietly, with a civility of tone and accent I had not expected.
”Yes, came back a few minutes ago----No, Dave ran up here with me, Dave Cole, you know----Oh! Nothing much----Well, I've lost my hand, the one I painted with----Yes, I shall be glad to have you do so----Right away?
Yes, if you want to, I mean if you will be so kind. Thank you ever so much!”
He hung up the receiver and turned to me, his eyes looking rather haggard.
”It's--it's Sophia Van Rossum. How did she know I was coming?”
”I let her know, of course,” I answered rather shortly.
”You think I've treated her pretty badly, don't you?”
”Rottenly, Gordon!”
”I daresay I did. It was a sort of madness that came over me, but--but there's no excuse. She'll be here in a few minutes. I don't know what I can say to her. Stay here, Dave, and help me out. I used to tell you that she was just a society doll, and that sort of thing. Well, she's pretty strong on society, but she was brought up in it, belonged to it.
But she's a great deal more of a woman than I gave her credit for being; I've realized it a thousand times since I've been gone. I call it mighty decent of her to ring me up and offer to come around and see me, after the way I've behaved to her.”
”So do I, Gordon,” I approved. ”She's got a great big heart, the sort it's a sorry thing for a man to play with.”
He made no answer, looking out from his window into the Park and its yellowing foliage. Then he lifted his maimed arm and stared at it.
CHAPTER XXIII
THE REPAIR OF A BROKEN STRAND
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