Children of the Whirlwind Page 22

  CHAPTER XXII

  After Larry's many days and nights of futile searching of his brain fora plan that would accord with his fundamental idea for awakening theunguessed other self of Maggie, the plan, which finally came to himcomplete in all its details in a single moment, was so simple andobvious that he marveled it could have been plainly before his eyes allthis while without his ever seeing it. Of course the plan was dangerousand of doubtful issue. It had to be so, because it involved thereactions of strong-tempered persons as yet unacquainted who wouldhave no foreknowledge of the design behind their new relationship; andbecause its success or failure, which might also mean his own completefailure, the complete loss of all he had thus far gained, dependedlargely upon the twist of events which he could not foresee andtherefore could not guide.

  Briefly, his plan was so to manage as to have Maggie received inthe Sherwood household as a guest, to have her receive the frank,unquestioning hospitality (and perhaps friendship) of such a gracious,highly placed, unpretentious woman as Miss Sherwood, so distinctly anative of, and not an immigrant to, the great world. To be received asa friend by those against whom she plotted, to have the generous,unsuspecting friendship of Miss Sherwood--if anything just then had achance to open the blinded Maggie's eyes to the evil and error of whatshe was engaged upon, if anything had a chance to appeal to the finerthings he believed to exist unrecognized or suppressed in Maggie, thiswas that thing.

  And best part of this plan, its effect would be only within Maggie'sself. No one need know that anything had happened. There would be noexposure, no humiliation.

  Of course there was the great question of how to get Miss Sherwood toinvite Maggie; and whether indeed Miss Sherwood would invite her atall. And there was the further question, the invitation being sent, ofwhether Maggie would accept.

  Larry decided to manipulate his design through Dick Sherwood. Late thatafternoon, when Dick, just returned from the city, dropped into, as washis before-dinner custom, the office-study which had been set aside forLarry's use, Larry, after an adroit approach to his subject, continued:

  "And since I've been wished on you as a sort of step-uncle, there'ssomething I'd like to suggest--if I don't seem to be fairly jimmying myway into your affairs."

  "Door's unlocked and wide open, Captain," said Dick. "Walk right in andtake the best chair."

  "Thanks. Remember telling me about a young woman you recently met? AMiss Maggie--Maggie--"

  "Miss Cameron," Dick prompted. "Of course I remember."

  "And remember your telling me that this time it's the real thing?"

  "And it IS the real thing!"

  "You haven't--excuse me--asked her to marry you yet?"

  "No. I've been trying to get up my nerve."

  "Here's where you've got to excuse me once more, Dick--it's not mybusiness to tell you what should be your relations with your family--buthave you told your sister?"

  "No." Dick hesitated. "I suppose I should. But I hadn't thought ofit--yet. You see--" Again Dick hesitated.

  "Yes?" prompted Larry.

  "There are her relatives--that cousin and uncle. I guess it musthave been my thinking of them that prevented my thinking of what yousuggest."

  "But you told me they hadn't interfered much, and never wouldinterfere." Larry gently pressed his point: "And look at it from MissCameron's angle of view. If it's the real thing, and you're behavingthat way toward her, hasn't she good grounds for thinking it strangethat you haven't introduced her to your family?"

  "By George, you're right, Captain! I'll see to that at once."

  "Of course, Dick," Larry went on, carefully feeling his way, "you knowmuch better than I the proper way to do such things--but don't you thinkit would be rather nice, when you tell your sister, that you suggest toher that she invite Miss Cameron out here for a little visit? If theyare to meet, I know Miss Cameron, or any girl, would take it as more ofa tribute to be received in your own home than merely to meet in a bigcommonplace hotel."

  "Right again, Captain! I'd tell Isabel to-night, and ask her to send theinvitation--only I'm booked to scoot right back to the city for a littleparty as soon as I get some things together, and I'll stay overnight inthe apartment. But I'll attend to the thing to-morrow night, sure."

  "May I ask just one favor in the meantime?"

  "One favor? A dozen, Captain!"

  "I'll take the other eleven later. Just now I only ask, since youhaven't proposed, that you won't--er--commit yourself any further, inany way, with Miss Cameron until after you've told your sister and untilafter Miss Cameron has been out here."

  "Oh, I say now!" protested Dick.

  "I am merely suggesting that affairs remain in statu quo until afterMiss Cameron's visit with your sister. That's not asking much of you,Dick--nor asking it for a very long time."

  "Oh, of course I'll do it, Captain," grumbled Dick affectionately."You've got me where I'll do almost anything you want me to do."

  But Dick did not speak to his sister the following evening. The nextmorning news came to Miss Sherwood of a friend's illness, and she andher novel-reading aunt hurried off at once on what was to prove to be aweek's absence. But this delay in his plan did not worry Larry greatlyas it otherwise would have done, for Dick repeated his promise to hold astiff rein upon himself until after he should have spoken to his sister.And Larry believed he could rely upon Dick's pledged word.

  During this week of waiting and necessary inactivity Larry concentratedupon another phase of his many-sided plan--to make of himself a businesssuccess. As has been said, he saw his chance of this in the handlingof Miss Sherwood's affairs; and saw it particularly in an idea that hadbegun to grow upon him since he became aware, through statementsand letters from the agents turned over to him, of the extent of theSherwood real-estate holdings and since he had got some glimmering oftheir condition. His previous venturings about the city had engenderedin him a sense of moderate security; so he now began to make flyingtrips into New York in the smart roadster Miss Sherwood had placed athis disposal.

  On each trip Larry made swift visits to several of the properties, untilfinally he had covered the entire list Miss Sherwood had furnished himthrough the agents. His survey corroborated his surmise. The property,mostly neglected apartment and tenement houses, was in an almost equallybad way whether one regarded it from the standpoint of sanitation,comfort, or cold financial returns. The fault for this was due to thefact that the Sherwoods had left the property entirely in the careof the agents, and the agents, being old, old-fashioned, and weary ofbusiness to the point of being almost ready to retire, had left theproperty to itself.

  Prompted by these bad conditions, and to some degree by the thencritical housing famine, with its records of some thousands of familieshaving no place at all to go and some thousands of families beingcompelled for the sake of mere shelter to pay two and three timeswhat they could afford for a few poor rooms, and with its records ofprofiteering landlords, Larry began to make notes for a plan whichhe intended later to elaborate--a plan which he tentatively entitled:"Suggestions for the Development of Sherwood Real-Estate Holdings."Larry, knowing from the stubs of Miss Sherwood's checkbook what wouldbe likely to please her, gave as much consideration to Service asto Profit. The basis of his growing plan was good apartments at fairrentals. That he saw as the greatest of public services in the presentcrisis. But the return upon the investment had to be a reasonable one.Larry did not believe in Charity, except for extreme cases. He believed,and his belief had grown out of a wide experience with many kinds ofpeople, that Charity, of course to a smaller extent, was as definitely asource of social evil as the then much-talked-of Profiteering.

  In the meantime he was seeing his old friend, Joe Ellison, every day;perhaps smoking with Ellison in his cottage after he had finished hisday's work among the roses, perhaps walking along the bluff whichhung above the Sound, whose cool, clear waters splashed with vacationlaziness upon the shingle. The two men rarely spoke, and never of thepast. Larry was well acqua
inted with, and understood, the older man'sdeep-rooted wish to avoid all talk bearing upon deeds and associates ofother days; that was a part of his life and a phase of existence thatJoe Ellison was trying to forget, and Larry by his silence deferred tohis friend's desire.

  On the day after Joe Ellison's visit to the Duchess, Larry had receiveda note from his grandmother, addressed, of course, to "Mr. Brandon."There was no danger in her writing Larry if she took adequateprecautions: mail addressed to Cedar Crest was not bothered by postaland police officials; it was only mail which came to the house of theDuchess which received the attention of these gentlemen.

  The note was one which the Duchess, after that night of thought whichhad so shaken her old heart, had decided to be a necessity if her planof never telling of her discovery of Maggie's real paternity were to bea success. The major portion of her note dwelt upon a generality withwhich Larry already was acquainted: Joe's desire to keep clear of alltalk touching upon the deeds and the people of his past. And then ina careless-seeming last sentence the Duchess packed the carefullycalculated substance of her entire note:

  "It may not be very important--but particularly avoid ever mentioningthe mere name of Jimmie Carlisle. They used to know each other, andtheir acquaintance is about the bitterest thing Joe Ellison has toremember."

  Of course he'd never mention Old Jimmie Carlisle, Larry said to himselfas he destroyed the note--never guessing, in making this naturalresponse to what seemed a most natural request, that he had become anunconscious partner in the plan of the warm-hearted, scheming Duchess.

  There was one detail of Joe Ellison's behavior which aroused Larry'smild curiosity. Directly beneath one of Joe's gardens, hardly a hundredyards away, was a bit of beach and a pavilion which were used in commonby the families from the surrounding estates. The girls and youngerwomen were just home from schools and colleges, and at high tide werealways on the beach. At this period, whenever he was at Cedar Crest,Larry saw Joe, his work apparently forgotten, gazing fixedly downupon the young figures splashing about the water in their brightbathing-suits or lounging about the pavilion in their smart summerfrocks.

  This interest made Larry wonder, though to be sure not very seriously.For he had never a guess of how deep Joe's interest was. He did notknow, could not know, that that tall, fixed figure, with its oneabsorbing idea, was thinking of his daughter. He could not know that JoeEllison, emotionally elated and with a hungry, self-denying affectionthat reached out toward them all, was seeing his daughter as just sucha girl as one of these--simple, wholesome, well-brought-up. He couldnot know that Joe, in a way, perceived his daughter in every nice youngwoman he saw.

  Toward evening of the seventh day of her visit, Miss Sherwood returned.Larry was on the piazza when the car bearing her swept into thewhite-graveled curve of the drive. The car was a handsome, powerfulroadster. Larry had started out to be of such assistance as he could,when the figure at the wheel, a man, sprang from the car and helpedMiss Sherwood alight. Larry saw that the man was Hunt--such a differentHunt!--and he had begun a quick retreat when Hunt's voice called afterhim:

  "You there--wait a minute! I want a little chin-chin with you."

  Larry halted. He could not help overhearing the few words that passedbetween Hunt and Miss Sherwood.

  "Thank you ever so much," she said in her even voice. "Then you'recoming?"

  "I promised, didn't I?"

  "Then good-bye."

  "Good-bye."

  They shook hands friendly enough, but rather formally, and Miss Sherwoodturned to the house. Hunt called to Larry:

  "Come here, son."

  Larry crossed to the big painter who was standing beside thepower-bulged hood of his low-swung car.

  "Happened to drop in where she was--brought her home--aunt followingin that hearse with its five-foot cushions she always rides in,"Hunt explained. And then: "Well, I suppose you've got to give me theonce-over. Hurry up, and get it done with."

  Larry obeyed. Hunt's wild hair had been smartly barbered, he had on aswagger dust-coat, and beneath it flannels of the smartest cut. Further,he bore himself as if smart clothes and smart cars had always been itemsof his equipment.

  "Well, young fellow, spill it," he commanded. "What do I look like?"

  "Like Solomon in all his glory. No, more like the he-dressmaker of theQueen of Sheba."

  "I'm going to run you up every telephone post we come to for thatinsult! Hop in, son, and we'll take a little voyage around the earth ineighty seconds."

  Larry got in. Once out of the drive the car leaped away as though intentupon keeping to Hunt's time-table. But after a mile or two Hunt quietedthe roaring monster to a conversational pace.

  "Get one of the invitations to my show?" he asked.

  "Yes. Several days ago. That dealer certainly got it up in great shape."

  "You must have hypnotized Graham. That old paint pirate is giving theengine all the gas she'll stand--and believe me, he's sure getting upa lot of speed." Hunt grinned. "That private pre-exhibition show yousuggested is proving the best publicity idea Graham ever had in hismusty old shop. Everywhere I go, people are talking about the darnedthing. Every man, woman and child, also unmarried females of both sexes,who got invitations are coming--and those who didn't get 'em are tryingto bribe the traffic cop at Forty-Second Street to let 'em in."

  Hunt paused for a chuckle. "And I'm having the time of my young lifewith the people who always thought I couldn't paint, and who are nowtrying to sidle up to me on the suspicion that possibly after all I canpaint. What's got that bunch buffaloed is the fact that Graham has letit leak out that I'm likely to make bales of money from my painting. Theidea of any one making money out of painting, that's too much for theirheads. Oh, this is the life, Larry!"

  Larry started to congratulate him, but was instantly interrupted with:

  "I admit I'm a painter, and always will admit it. But this present thingis all your doing. We'll try to square things sometime. But I didn't askyou to come along to hear verbostical acrobatics about myself. I askedyou to learn if you'd worked out your plan yet regarding Maggie?"

  "Yes." And Larry proceeded to give the details of his design.

  "Regular psychological stuff!" exclaimed Hunt. And then: "Say, you'resome stage-manager! Or rather same playwright! Playwrights that knowtell me it's one of their most difficult tricks--to get all theirleading characters on the stage at the same time. And here you've gotit all fixed to bring on Miss Sherwood, Dick, Maggie, yourself, andthe all-important me--for don't forget I shall be slipping out to CedarCrest occasionally."

  "As for myself," remarked Larry, "I shall remain very much behind thescenes. Maggie'll never see me."

  "Well, here's hoping you're good enough playwright to manage yourcharacters so they won't run away from you and mix up an ending younever dreamed of!"

  The car paused again in the drive and Larry got out.

  "I say, Larry," Hunt whispered eagerly, "who's that tall, white-hairedman working over there among the roses?"

  "Joe Ellison. He's that man I told you about my getting to know in SingSing. Remember?"

  "Oh, yes! The crook who was having his baby brought up to be a realperson. Say, he's a sure-enough character! Lordy, but I'd love to paintthat face!... So-long, son."

  The car swung around the drive and roared away. Larry mounted to thepiazza. Dick was waiting for him, and excitedly drew him down to onecorner that crimson ramblers had woven into a nook for confidences.

  "Captain, old scout," he said in a low, happy voice, "I've just toldsis. Put the whole proposition up to her, just as you told me. Shetook it like a regular fellow. Your whole idea was one hundred per centright. Sis is inside now getting off that invitation to Miss Cameron,asking her to come out day after to-morrow."

  Larry involuntarily caught the veranda railing. "I hope it worksout--for the best," he said.

  "Oh, it will--no doubt of it!" cried the exultant Dick. "And, Captain,if it does, it'll be all your doing!"