Flowing Gold Page 14

  CHAPTER XIV

  One accomplishment that Allegheny mastered with gratifying ease wasdancing. It came naturally to her, for both she and Buddy were full ofmusic. At first she had been extremely self-conscious; ProfessorDelamater had found her to be as heavy as stone and as awkward as abear; but later, as her embarrassment became less painful, she relaxed.She regained her power of speech, also, and in time she voiced an eagerdesire to learn all there was to learn.

  Having quickly schooled her in the simpler forms of ballroom dancing,Delamater suggested a course in the deeper intricacies of fancy dancing.

  "You're getting on," he told her, one day. "That last was splendid--tophole, absolutely."

  Delamater, who was quite thoroughly American, affected at times anEnglish turn to his conversation, believing that it gave him an air. Itwent particularly well, he thought, with light trousers, spats, and anafternoon coat cut close at the waist.

  "Don't fool me," panted the red-faced Juno. "You must have iron feet."

  "My word! Spoof you, indeed! Not for worlds, if you know what I mean? Ishall expect to see you in the ballroom every evening."

  But Allie's confidence forsook her at this. "I'd--be scared stiff.Folks would laugh. They haven't got--haven't anything to do but laughat other folks, and I don't like to be laughed at."

  "Laugh at you! Fancy that! You're too modest." Delamater adopted thecooing note of a dove. "'Pon my word, you're too modest. If you couldhear the things I hear--" He paused, not knowing exactly what to say hehad heard, but his vagueness, the very eloquence of his hesitation,caused Allie's face to light up. This was the second compliment paidher since her arrival at the Notch, therefore when the phonographresumed its melodious measures she yielded herself with abandon to thearms of her partner, and her red lips were parted, her somber eyes wereshining. That day she began a course of exhibition dancing.

  It was on that afternoon that Delamater had told the clerk ofdiscovering Ma Briskow alone in the woods. There was an open golftournament at the Notch, prominent amateurs and professionals werecompeting, and the hotel was crowded to its capacity with players,fashionable followers of the game and a small army of society reportersand sport writers. This being the height of the season, social doingsat the resort were featured in all the large Eastern papers, for famousnames were on the register and the hotel switch was jammed with privatecars.

  Allie Briskow was in one of her trying moods to-day, for theout-of-doors called to her. Sounds of laughter and gayety, strains ofmusic, had distracted her from her studies, her monotonous routine hadbecome hopelessly unbearable all at once. From her window she could seeyoung people, hear young voices, and envy flamed in her soul. Thosegirls were her age; those men, easy, immaculate, different fromanything she had ever seen--except Calvin Gray--they, too, were youngand they courted those girls. Contemplation of the chattering throngsshowed Allie more clearly than ever the chasm separating her from thesepeople, and reawakened in her that black resentment which at times madeher so difficult to manage. She was thankful that her mother haddisappeared and that her father was at the livery stable; she hopedthey would stay away all day. At least, they were safe from ridicule.She wondered if she might not induce them to dine in their rooms thatevening, and thus spare herself the embarrassment she always sufferedwhen she accompanied them into the public dining room.

  It seemed to her that whenever they went to dinner--Gus in his baggypepper-and-salt sack suit, his loose, lay-down collar, and hiswide-toed shoes, Ma in one of her giddy, gaudy dinner dresses--itseemed as if the entire assemblage was stricken dumb and as if everyeye was turned upon them in mockery and amusement. Even the waiters,Allie felt sure, noted the difference between the Briskows and theother guests, and only with difficulty concealed their contempt.

  The occasional presence of Mrs. Ring, handsome, dignified, unruffled,intensified that contrast and fairly shouted the humiliatingannouncement that here were three nobodies who wanted to be somebodies,but never could.

  Invariably when they went out in public together Mrs. Ring made Alliefeel as if she belonged to a lower, cruder order of animal life; as ifshe were an inhabitant of another sphere. And yet, Mrs. Ring was poor;she worked for wages! Allie could not understand this phenomenon;thought of it now caused her resentment to kindle.

  Of course it was the lot of the hapless tutoress to select such amoment as this in which to sweetly chide the girl for some lapse ofform. Allie exploded. She reduced the elder woman to tears, then,ashamed of herself, she flung blindly out of the room, crashing thedoor to behind her. She decided to dance her anger away. It was someconsolation to know that she could dance as well, or better, than thoseslim and pampered beauties outside her window. Some consolation, eventhough she never expected to have a chance of proving it.

  Delamater was especially agreeable to-day, more than usually nattering.Not for some time did his scholar become conscious of the subtle changein his demeanor, and even then its significance awoke only a shadowycontentment. Allie hated herself too thoroughly to-day to believe thatanybody could really approve of her. As for him, he entirelymisconstrued the meaning of her silent acceptance of his flattery.

  They had become well acquainted by now and were on a basis of easyfamiliarity, nevertheless it came as a shock to Allie to be called byher first name-such a shock that she missed a step and trod onDelamater's foot. They came to a pause.

  The dancing master was tall and slim, his face was on a level withhers, and now he smiled into it, saying, "My mistake, my dear."

  "I--reckon it was." The girl's eyes were glowing queerly, and the manwas amused at her evident agitation. His first word had thrown the poorthing into a flurry.

  They began to dance again, and, after a moment, with a gently risinginflection, Delamater murmured, "You heard what I called you?" Heapproved of the sachet that Allie used, and he became acutely consciousof the jewels resting in the palm of his left hand. The girl was richand she was--different, unusual. Ever since she had learned to yieldherself to his embrace, he had been conscious of her strong physicalattraction, and now it got the better of him. "You don't care?" hesaid, with his lips close to her ear.

  "Humph! I'm not caring for anything or anybody to-day."

  "Somebody has hurt my little girl."

  Allie threw back her head and stared at him with quick suspicion. "Yourlittle girl?" she repeated.

  It is the lot of any man in the heat of his desire to make mistakes,and Delamater erred gravely at this moment. He kissed Allie. Withoutwarning he kissed her full and fair upon her red, half-open lips.

  For the briefest instant of amazement the two stood motionless in themiddle of the polished floor while the phonograph brayed on; then Allieshook herself free of her partner, and in the same movement she smotehim a mighty slap that sent him reeling. Delamater saw stars. Theconstellation of Orion gleamed in dazzling splendor within his tightlyshut lids; he collided with a chair and went sprawling.

  With a cry he scrambled to his feet. "What the hell--?" he growled,savagely.

  Allie's face was chalky. Breathlessly, curiously she inquired, "Wha'dyou do that for?"

  "What did I _do_ it for? Say! You ought to be complimented--tickled todeath." Delamater rubbed his cheek and glared at her. "By God! I wishyou were a man. Oh, don't worry, I won't touch you again! Who the hellwould, after that?" Allie opened her lips to speak, but he ran on moreangrily as the pain bit into him. "Thought I meant it, eh? Why, youlumbering ox--"

  "Then you ain't--in love with me or--or anything?"

  "_Love_?" The speaker uttered an unpleasant sound indicative of scorn."Wake up, sister! What d'you take me for? Why, your mother talks birdtalk, and your dad lives in a box stall and eats oats with his knife!Here I kid you along a little bit--slip you a little kiss, as I wouldany girl, and you--you--" Delamater stuttered impotently. "_Love_? Iguess I'm the first regular fellow that ever gave you a chance."

  Delamater was surprised when his pupil turned her back upon him, strodeto the nearest window,
and flung it open as if for air; his surprisedeepened when she faced him again and moved in his direction. Herexpression caused him to utter a profane warning, but she continued tobear down upon him, and when she reached out to seize him he struck ather as he would have struck at a man.

  To those who are familiar with Burlington Notch, it will be rememberedthat the hotel is pitched upon a slope and that the rooms on the firstfloor of the east wing are raised a considerable distance above thelawn. The windows of these east rooms overlook the eighteenth green,and during tournaments they are favorite vantage points of golf widowsand enthusiasts who are too old to follow the competitors around thecourse. To-day they were filled, for an international title was atissue and Herring, prince of amateurs, was playing off the final roundof his match with the dour Scotch professional, McLeod.

  A highly enthusiastic "gallery" accompanied the pair, a crowd composednot only of spectators, but also of officials, defeated players,newspaper writers, camera men, caddies, and the like. They streamed upthe final fairway behind the gladiators and for the moment they wereenveloped in gloom, for Herring had sliced off the seventeenth tee anda marvelous recovery, together with a good approach, had still left hisball on the edge of the green, while McLeod, man of iron, had laid histhird shot within three feet of the flag. It meant a sure four for thelatter, with not less than a five for Herring. One of those golfingmiracles, a forty-foot putt, would halve the match, to be sure, but intournament golf miracles have a way of occurring on any except thedeciding hole.

  Sympathy usually follows the amateur, therefore it was a silent throngthat ranged itself about the gently undulating expanse of velvet sod inthe shadow of the east wing. Herring had played a wonderful match; hestood for all that is clean and fine in golf. The end of the balconywas jammed; nearly every window framed eager faces; amid a breathlessintensity of interest the youthful contender tested the turf with thehead of his club and studied the run of the green. A moment, then hetook his stance and swung his putter smoothly. The ball sped away,taking a curving course, and followed by five hundred pairs of eyes. Itran too swiftly! Herring, in desperation, had overplayed! But no--itlost momentum as it topped a rise, then gathered speed, all but died atthe edge of the cup and--toppled in amid a salvo of handclaps and roarof "Bravo!"

  That was nerve, courage, skill! That was golf! The miracle hadhappened! Another hole to decide the match.

  Quickly the crowd became still again as McLeod, his teeth set upon thestem of his pipe, his stony face masking a murderous disappointment,stepped forward to run down his four.

  The silence was broken by a cry. Out of the air overhead came the soundof a disturbance, and every face turned. A most amazing thing was inthe way of happening, a phenomenon unique in the history oftournaments, for a man was being thrust forth from one of the hotelwindows, perhaps twenty-five feet above the ground--a writhing,struggling, kicking man with fawn-colored spats. He was being ejectedpainlessly but firmly, and by a girl--a grim-faced young woman ofsplendid proportions. For a moment she allowed him to dangle; then shedropped him into a handsome Dorothy Perkins rosebush. He landed with ashriek. Briefly the amazon remained framed in the casement, staringwith dark defiance down into the upturned faces; her deep bosom washeaving, her smoky hair was slightly disarranged; she allowed her eyesto rest upon the figure entangled among the thorns beneath her, thenshe closed the window.

  Nothing like this had ever occurred in Scotland. The mighty McLeodmissed his putt and took a five.

  As Allie Briskow passed through the lobby with her head erect and herfists clenched, she heard the sound of a great shouting outside and shebelieved it was directed at her. She fled into her room and flungherself upon her bed, sobbing hoarsely.

  Mrs. Ring was waiting on the veranda for Gus Briskow when he returnedto the hotel about dark. He had learned to dread the sight of her onthat veranda, for it was her favorite resigning place--what Gus calledher "quitting spot," and it was evident to-night that she was in aquitting mood, a mood more hysterical than ever before. It was sometime before he could get at the facts, and even then he could not fullyappreciate the enormity of the disgrace that had overwhelmed Allie'sinstructress.

  "She chucked the dancin' teacher out of a winder?" he repeated,blankly. "What for?"

  "Goodness knows, Mr. Briskow! Something he said, or did--I couldn'tmake out precisely. I found her in a dreadful state, and I tried tocomfort her, I did really, but--oh! If you could have _heard_ her!Where she learned such language I don't know. My ears _burn_! But thatisn't the worst; you should hear what--"

  "He must of said something pretty low down." Briskow spoke quietly; hisbright blue eyes were hard. "I reckon she'll tell me."

  "You don't understand," chattered the woman. "She flung the man bodilyout of the window and into a bed of thorns. It nearly killed him; hewas painfully lacerated and bruised and--Right in the middle of a golfgame! It did something dreadful--I don't know what--just as the world'schampion caught the ball, or something."

  "If he's crippled I'll get him that much easier," said Briskow, and atthe purposeful expression upon his weather-beaten face Mrs. Ringuttered a faint bleat of terror. She pawed at him as he undertook topass her.

  "Oh, my heavens! What are you going to do?"

  "Depends on what he said to Allie."

  The woman wrung her hands. "What people! What--_savages_! You're--goingto shoot him, I suppose, just because--"

  "Yes'm!" the father nodded. "You got it right, motif an' all. 'Justbecause'!"

  "You _can't_. I sha'n't permit it. I--I'll call the police."

  "Don't do that, ma'am. I've stood a lot from you, in one way oranother."

  "But it's _murder_! You--you can't mean it." Moans issued from thespeaker. "What _ever_ possessed me to accept this position? It'sunendurable, and I'll be involved--"

  "I've saw your last raise, Miz' Ring."

  "Do you think I'd stay, after this? It's bad enough to be maderidiculous--the whole hotel is in laughter; laughter at me, I dare say,as much as at her. Imagine! Hurling a full-grown man from a window--"

  "I don't hear nobody laughing." Briskow swung his head slowly from sideto side.

  "But to contemplate murder--"

  "What's more, I don't intend to hear nobody laugh. By God! Now I cometo think about it, there ain't a-goin' to be no laughing at all aroundhere." Gus continued slowly to swing his head, like a bear. "She's mykid!" He pushed past Mrs. Ring, still muttering, "My kid--there ain'ta-goin' to be no laughing at all."

  Going directly to the desk, he asked for the manager, then stood aside,hat in hand, until the latter made his appearance. The manager began ahasty and rather mixed apology on behalf of the hotel for what hadoccurred in the dancing room, but his tone of annoyance was anaccusation in itself. It was plain that, to his mind, the catastropheon the eighteenth green outweighed in importance whatever may have ledup to it. That was something actually tragic, something frightful,appalling; it involved the good name of the hotel and affected theworld's golf title.

  "Very--unfortunate," he lamented. "We haven't heard the last of it, byany means. McLeod may file a protest. And there is something to be saidon both sides; rather a nice question, in fact."

  "Prob'ly so," the father agreed. "An' I got something to say about it,too. Get that dancin' perfessor off the place quick or I'll kill him."

  The manager recoiled; his startled eyes searched Briskow's faceincredulously. "I--beg pardon?"

  "I 'ain't heard my kid's side of the story yet, but I'm goin' to seeher now, so you better get word to that jumpin' jack in a hurry. Thatis, if you want to save him."

  "He is discharged, of course, for we tolerate no rudeness on the partof our employees--or our guests, for that matter; but I believe he issuffering some effects from the shock. I couldn't well ask him to gobefore--"

  "It'll take me prob'ly twenty minutes, talkin' to my girl. That'll givehim time, if he moves fast. But I may get through in fifteen."

  At the door to his suite Gus Briskow pau
sed to wipe his countenanceclean of the expression it had worn for the last few minutes, and whenhe entered it was with his usual friendly smile. Allie and her motherwere waiting; they were white and silent. Gus kissed his daughterbefore saying:

  "Don't worry, honey; he won't bother you no more."

  Allie averted her face. Mrs. Briskow inquired, "Did you see the skunk?"

  "No. I give him a few minutes to clear out."

  "Hadn't we better leave, too?" ventured Allie.

  "Oh-h!" In Ma's eyes was such bleak dismay, such a piteous appeal, thatGus shook his head.

  "What fer? We got nice quarters and your ma likes it here--"

  "They're laughing at me. I heard 'em hollering."

  "They won't laugh long. No, you're learnin' fast, and we're all havin'a nice time. Only one thing--I'm kinda tired of that Miz' Ring. I lether go, but I'll get you another--"

  "She quit, eh?"

  "Um-m, not exactly. I--"

  "I don't blame her. I've been mighty mean. But I couldn't help it, pa.When you put a wild horse in a pen, it don't do to prod him and throwthings and--That's what they've done to me. I bite and kick like anybronc. When you're hurt, constant, you get spells when you've got tohurt back. I've been rotten to her, and now this coming on top of it--"

  "Wha'd that dancin' dude do, anyhow?"

  Allie related her experience with Professor Delamater; she told it allup to the burst of shouting that followed her through the lobby. "Youshould of heard 'em yelling, clapping their hands--! I"--she choked,her voice failed her, miserably she concluded--"I wish to God we'dnever struck oil!"

  "You're just wore out, dearie," her mother said, comfortingly, andBriskow agreed. He assured her that all would be well.

  All was not well, however. The next morning when Gus Briskow was aboutto leave the hotel as usual--Professor Delamater having departedhurriedly the evening before with fully four minutes of his twenty tospare--he was stopped by the manager, who requested him to give up hisrooms. The Texan was bewildered; he could not understand the reason forsuch a request.

  "'Ain't I paid my bills?" he queried.

  The manager assured him that he had; he was profoundly regretful, as amatter of fact; but it so happened that the Briskow suite had beenreserved early in the season, and the party who had made thereservation had just wired that he was arriving that day. He was agentleman of importance--it was indeed unfortunate--the managementappreciated Mr. Briskow's patronage--they hoped he and his family wouldreturn to the Notch sometime.

  "Mebbe you got some other rooms that would do us," Gus ventured.

  It was too bad, but the hotel was overcrowded. Later, perhaps--Now atthat very moment the lobby was filled with tournament golfers who wereleaving on the morning train, and Briskow knew it. He studied thespeaker with an expression that caused the latter extreme discomfort;it was much the same expression he had worn the night before when hehad served warning upon Delamater.

  "Lemme get this right," he said. "You can talk straight to me. Bein'ignerunt, I 'ain't got the same feelin's as these other folks got. Igot a shell like a land turtle."

  "It is quite customary, I assure you. No offense, my dear sir."

  "That's how I figgered! Just bouncin' a low-down var mint ain't offenseenough to be throwed out about, when you pay your bills--"

  "You quite misapprehend--"

  "Fired, eh? It 'll go hard with Ma. She's gainin' here, and she likesit. That's why I never told her you was chargin' us about double whatyou charge these rich folks."

  The manager stiffened. "I regret exceedingly, sir, that you take itthis way. But there is nothing more to be said, is there?"

  It was with a heavy heart and a heavy tread that Briskow returned tohis room. Ma took the announcement like a death blow, for it meant theend of all her dreams, all her joyous games of "pretend." Hermountains--those clean, green, friendly mountains that she loved with apassion so intense that she fairly ached--those and her caves, herwaterfalls, her gypsy band, were to be taken from her. She was to bebanished, exiled.

  She did not weep a great deal, but she seemed suddenly to grow olderand more bent. Listlessly, laboriously she began to pack, and herhusband noticed with a pang that her hands shook wretchedly.

  As for Allie, she told herself that this was the end. She had tried tomake something of herself and had failed. She had crucified herself;she had bled her body and scourged her soul only to gain ridicule anddisgrace. There was no use of trying further; Gray had been mistaken inher, and her misery, her shame at the realization was intolerable.There was no facing him, after this.

  Allie decided to do away with herself.