The Gem Collector Read online

  CHAPTER VI.

  On his native asphalt there are few situations capable of throwing theNew York policeman off his balance. In that favored clime, _savoirfaire_ is represented by a shrewd left hook at the jaw, and a masterfulstroke of the truncheon amounts to a satisfactory repartee. Thus shallyou never take the policeman of Manhattan without his answer. In othersurroundings, Mr. Patrick McEachern would have known how to deal withhis young acquaintance, Mr. Jimmy Pitt. But another plan of action wasneeded here. First of all, the hints on etiquette with which Lady Janehad favored him, from time to time, and foremost came the mandate:"Never make a scene." Scenes, Lady Jane had explained--on the occasionof his knocking down an objectionable cabman during their honeymoontrip--were of all things what polite society most resolutely abhorred.The natural man in him must be bound in chains. The sturdy blow mustgive way to the honeyed word. A cold "Really!" was the most vigorousretort that the best circles would countenance.

  It had cost Mr. McEachern some pains to learn this lesson, but he haddone it; and he proceeded on the present occasion to conduct himselfhigh and disposedly, according to instructions from headquarters.

  The surprise of finding an old acquaintance in this company renderedhim dumb for a brief space, during which Jimmy looked after theconversation.

  "How do you do, Mr. McEachern?" inquired Jimmy genially. "Quite asurprise meeting you in England. A pleasant surprise. By the way, onegenerally shakes hands in the smartest circles. Yours seem to be downthere somewhere. Might I trouble you? Right. Got it? Thanks!"

  He bent forward, possessed himself of Mr. McEachern's right hand,which was hanging limply at its proprietor's side, shook it warmly,and replaced it.

  "'Wahye?" asked Mr. McEachern gruffly, giving a pleasing air ofnovelty to the hackneyed salutation by pronouncing it as one word. Hetook some little time getting into his stride when carrying on politeconversation.

  "Very well, thank you. You're looking as strong as ever, Mr.McEachern."

  The ex-policeman grunted. In a conversational sense, he was sparringfor wind.

  Molly had regained her composure by this time. Her father was takingthe thing better than she had expected.

  "It's Jimmy, father, dear," she said. "Jimmy Pitt."

  "Dear old James," murmured the visitor.

  "I know, me dear, I know. Wahye?"

  "Still well," replied Jimmy cheerfully. "Sitting up, you will notice,"he added, waving a hand in the direction of his teacup, "and takingnourishment. No further bulletins will be issued."

  "Jimmy is staying here, father. He is the friend Spennie wasbringing."

  "This is the friend that Spennie brought," said Jimmy in a rapidundertone. "This is the maiden all forlorn who crossed the seas, andlived in the house that sheltered the friend that Spennie brought."

  "I see, me dear," said Mr. McEachern slowly. "'Wah----"

  "No, I've guessed that one already," said Jimmy. "Ask me another."

  Molly looked reproachfully at him. His deplorable habit of chaffingher father had caused her trouble in the old days. It may be admittedthat this recreation of Jimmy's was not in the best taste; but it mustalso be remembered that the relations between the two had always beenout of the ordinary. Great as was his affection for Molly, Jimmy couldnot recollect a time when war had not been raging in a greater orlesser degree between the ex-policeman and himself.

  "It is very kind of you to invite me down here," said he. "We shall beable to have some cozy chats over old times when I was a wanderer onthe face of the earth, and you----"

  "Yis, yis," interrupted Mr. McEachern hastily, "somewhere ilse,aftherward."

  "You shall choose time and place, of course. I was only going to askyou how you liked leaving the----"

  "United States?" put in Mr. McEachern, with an eagerness whichbroadened his questioner's friendly smile, as the Honorable LouisWesson came toward them.

  "Well, I'm not after saying it was not a wrinch at firrst, but Iconsidered it best to lave Wall Street--Wall Street, ye understand,before----"

  "I see. Before you fell a victim to the feverish desire for recklessspeculation which is so marked a characteristic of the Americanbusiness man, what?"

  "That's it," said the other, relieved.

  "I, too, have been speculating," said Mr. Wesson, "as to whether youwould care to show me the rose garden, Miss McEachern, as you promisedyesterday. Of all flowers, I love roses best. You remember Bryant'slines, Miss McEachern? 'The rose that lives its little hour is prizedbeyond the sculptured flower.'"

  Jimmy interposed firmly. "I'm very sorry," he said, "but the fact isMiss McEachern has just promised to take me with her to feed thefowls.

  "I gamble on fowls," he thought. "There must be some in a high-classestablishment of this kind."

  "I'd quite forgotten," said Molly.

  "I thought you had. We'd better start at once. Nothing upsets a fowlmore than having to wait for dinner."

  "Nonsense, me dear Molly," said Mr. McEachern bluffly. "Run along andshow Mr. Wesson the roses. Nobody wants to waste time over a bunch ofhens."

  "Perhaps not," said Jimmy thoughtfully, "perhaps not. I might bebetter employed here, amusing the people by telling them all about ourold New York days and----"

  Mr. McEachern might have been observed, and was so observed by Jimmy,to swallow somewhat convulsively.

  "But as Molly promised ye----" said he.

  "Just so," said Jimmy. "My own sentiments, neatly expressed. Shall westart, Miss McEachern?"

  "That fellah," said Mr. Wesson solemnly to his immortal soul, "is adamn bounder. _And_ cad," he added after a moment's reflection.

  The fowls lived in a little world of noise and smells at the back ofthe stables. The first half of the journey thither was performed insilence. Molly's cheerful little face was set in what she probablyimagined to be a forbidding scowl. The tilt of her chin spoke ofdispleasure.

  "If a penny would be any use to you," said Jimmy, breaking thetension.

  "I'm not at all pleased with you," said Molly severely.

  "How _can_ you say such savage things! And me an orphan, too!What's the trouble? What have I done?"

  "You know perfectly well. Making fun of father like that."

  "My dear girl, he loved it. Brainy badinage of that sort is exchangedevery day in the best society. You should hear dukes and earls! Thewit! the _esprit_! The flow of soul! Mine is nothing to it. What's thisin the iron pot? Is this what you feed them? Queer birds, hens--Iwouldn't touch the stuff for a fortune. It looks perfectly poisonous.Flock around, you pullets. Come in your thousands. All bad nutsreturned, and a souvenir goes with every corpse. A little more of thisputrescent mixture for you, sir. Certainly, pick up your dead, pick upyour dead."

  An unwilling dimple appeared on Molly's chin, like a sunbeam throughclouds.

  "All the same," she said, "you ought to be ashamed of yourself,Jimmy."

  "I haven't time when I find myself stopping in the same house with agirl I've been looking for for three years."

  Molly looked away. There was silence for a moment.

  "Used you ever to think of me?" she said quietly.

  That curious constraint which had fallen upon Jimmy in the road cameto him again, now, as sobering as a blow. Something which he could notdefine had changed the atmosphere. Suddenly in an instant, like ashallow stream that runs babbling over the stones into some broad,still pool, the note of their talk had deepened.

  "Yes," he said simply. He could find no words for what he wished tosay.

  "I've thought of you--often," said Molly.

  He took a step toward her. But the moment had passed. Her mood hadchanged in a flash, or seemed to have changed. The stream babbled onover the stones again.

  "Be careful, Jimmy! You nearly touched me with the spoon. I don't wantto be covered with that horrible stuff. Look at that poor, littlechicken out there in the cold. It hasn't had a morsel."

  Jimmy responded to her lead. There was nothing else for him to do.

  "
It's in luck," he said.

  "Give it a spoonful."

  "It can have one if it likes. But it's taking big risks. Here you are,Hercules. Pitch in."

  He scraped the last spoonful out of the iron pot, and they began towalk back to the house.

  "You're very quiet, Jimmy," said Molly.

  "I was thinking."

  "What about?"

  "Lots of things."

  "New York?"

  "That among others."

  "Dear old New York," said Molly, with a little sigh. "I'm not sure itwasn't--I mean, I sometimes wish--oh, you know. I mean it's lovelyhere, but it _was_ nice in the old days, wasn't it, Jimmy? It's a pitythat things change, isn't it?"

  "It depends."

  "What do you mean?"

  "I don't mind things changing, if people don't."

  "Do you think I've changed? You said I hadn't when we met in theroad."

  "You haven't, as far as looks go."

  "Have I changed in other ways?"

  Jimmy looked at her.

  "I don't know," he said slowly.

  They were in the hall, now. Keggs had just left after beating thedressing gong. The echoes of it still lingered. Molly paused on thebottom step.

  "I haven't, Jimmy," she said; and ran on up the stairs.