Part 17 (2/2)

”Then I'll go with you, and talk to your sister--she doesn't play.”

He glanced at me in a way that made me pa.s.s my hand over my face. I learned at least part of the reason for my feeling at disadvantage before him. I had forgotten to shave; and as my beard is heavy and black, it has to be looked after twice a day. ”Oh, I can stop at my rooms and get my face into condition in a few minutes,” said I.

”And put on evening dress, too,” he suggested. ”You wouldn't want to go in a dinner jacket.”

I can't say why this was the ”last straw,” but it was.

”Bother!” said I, my common sense smas.h.i.+ng the spell of sn.o.bbishness that had begun to rea.s.sert itself as soon as I got into his unnatural, unhealthy atmosphere. ”I'll go as I am, beard and all. I only make myself ridiculous, trying to be a sheep. I'm a goat, and a goat I'll stay.”

That shut him into himself. When he re-emerged, it was to say: ”Something doing down town to-day, eh?”

A sharpness in his voice and in his eyes, too, made me put my mind on him more closely, and then I saw what I should have seen before--that he was moody and slightly distant.

”Seen Tom Langdon this afternoon?” I asked carelessly.

He colored. ”Yes--had lunch with him,” was his answer.

I smiled--for his benefit. ”Aha!” thought I. ”So Tom Langdon has been fool enough to take this paroquet into his confidence.” Then I said to him: ”Is Tom making the rounds, warning the rats to leave the sinking s.h.i.+p?”

”What do you mean, Matt?” he demanded, as if I had accused him.

I looked steadily at him, and I imagine my unshaven jaw did not make my aspect alluring.

”That I'm thinking of driving the rats overboard,” replied I. ”The s.h.i.+p's sound, but it would be sounder if there were fewer of them.”

”You don't imagine anything Tom could say would change my feelings toward you?” he pleaded.

”I don't know, and I don't care a d.a.m.n,” replied I coolly. ”But I do know, before the Langdons or anybody else can have Blacklock pie, they'll have first to catch their Blacklock.”

I saw Langdon had made him uneasy, despite his belief in my strength. And he was groping for confirmation or rea.s.surance. ”But,” thought I, ”if he thinks I may be going up the spout, why isn't he more upset? He probably hates me because I've befriended him, but no matter how much he hated me, wouldn't his fear of being cut off from supplies drive him almost crazy?” I studied him in vain for sign of deep anxiety. Either Tom didn't tell him much, I decided, or he didn't believe Tom knew what he was talking about.

”What did Tom say about me?” I inquired.

”Oh, almost nothing. We were talking chiefly of--of club matters,” he answered, in a fair imitation of his usual offhand manner.

”When does my name come up there?” said I.

He flushed and s.h.i.+fted. ”I was just about to tell you,” he stammered. ”But perhaps you know?”

”Know what?”

”That--Hasn't Tom told you? He has withdrawn--and--you'll have to get another second--if you think--that is--unless you--I suppose you'd have told me, if you'd changed your mind?”

Since I had become so deeply interested in Anita, my ambition--ambition!--to join the Travelers had all but dropped out of my mind.

”I had forgotten about it,” said I. ”But, now that you remind me, I want my name withdrawn. It was a pa.s.sing fancy. It was part and parcel of a lot of d.a.m.n foolishness I've been indulging in for the last few months. But I've come to my senses--and it's 'me to the wild,' where I belong, Sammy, from this time on.”

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