A Fool and His Money Part 25

Finding Mr. p.o.o.pend.y.k.e at work over some typing one day, Mr. Pless peremptorily ordered him out of the study and subsequently complained to me about the infernal racket the fellow made with his typewriter.

Just as I was on the point of telling him to go to the devil, he smilingly called my attention to a complete plan for the restoration of the two great halls as he had worked it out on paper. He had also written a personal letter, commanding the Munich firm to send their most competent expert to Schloss Rothhoefen without delay, to go over the plans with him. As I recall it, he merely referred to me as a rich American who needed advice.

They cursed my servants, drank my wines, complained of the food, and had everybody about the place doing errands for them. My butler and footman threatened to leave if they were compelled to continue to serve drinks until four in the morning; but were somewhat appeased when I raised their wages. Britton surrept.i.tiously thrashed the French valet, and then had to serve Mr. Pless (to my despair) for two days while Francois took his time recovering.

The motor boat was operated as a ferry after the third day, hustling detectives, lawyers, messengers and newspaper correspondents back and forth across the much be-sung Danube. Time and again I shivered in my boots when these sly-faced detectives appeared and made their reports behind closed doors. When would they strike the trail?

To my surprise the Hazzards and the Smiths were as much in the dark as I concerning development in the great kidnapping case. The wily Mr.

Pless suddenly ceased delivering his confidences to outsiders. Evidently he had been cautioned by those in charge of his affairs. He became as uncommunicative as the Sphinx.

I had the somewhat valueless satisfaction of knowing a blessed sight more about the matter than he and all of his bloodhounds put together.

I could well afford to laugh, but under the extremely hara.s.sing conditions it was far from possible for me to get fat. As a matter of fact, it seemed to me that I was growing thinner. Mrs. Betty Billy Smith, toward the end of her visit, dolefully--almost tearfully--remarked upon my haggard appearance. She was very nice about it, too. I liked her immensely.

It did not require half an eye to see that she was thoroughly sick of the baron and Mr. Pless. She was really quite uncivil to them toward the end.

At last there came a day of deliverance. The guests were departing and I can truthfully say that I was speeding them.

Elsie Hazzard took me off to a remote corner, where a little later on Betty Billy and the two husbands found us.

"John, will you ever forgive me?" she said very soberly. "I swear to you I hadn't the faintest idea what it--"

"Please, please, Elsie," I broke in warmly; "don't abuse yourself in my presence. I fully understand everything. At least, _nearly_ everything. What I can't understand, for the life of me, is this: how did you happen to pick up two such consummate bounders as these fellows are?"

"Alas, John," said she, shaking her head, "a woman never knows much about a man until she has lived a week in the same house with him. Now _you_ are a perfect angel."

"You've always said that," said I. "You did not have to live in the same house with me to find it out, did you?"

She ignored the question. "I shall never, never forgive myself for this awful week, John. We've talked it all over among ourselves. We are ashamed--oh, so terribly ashamed. If you can ever like us again after--"

"Like you!" I cried, taking her by the shoulders. "Why, Elsie Hazzard, I have never liked you and George half so much as I like you now. You two and the Smiths stand out like Gibraltars in my esteem. I adore all of you. I sha'n't be happy again until I know that you four--and no more--are coming back to Schloss Rothhoefen for an indefinite stay.

Good Lord, how happy we shall be!"

I said it with a great deal of feeling. The tears rushed into her eyes.

"You _are_ a dear, John," she sighed.

"You'll come?"

"In a minute," said she with vehemence, a genuine American girl once more.

"Just as soon as these pesky workmen are out of the place, I'll drop you a line," said I, immeasurably exalted. "But I draw the line at n.o.blemen."

"Don't worry," she said, setting her nice little white teeth. "I draw it too. Never again! _Never_!"

It occurred to me that here was an excellent opening for a bit of missionary work. Very pointedly I said to her: "I fancy you are willing to admit now that she wasn't such a simpleton for leaving him."

She went so far as to shudder, all the time regarding me with dilated eyes. "I can't imagine anything more dreadful than being that man's wife, John."

"Then why won't you admit that you are sorry for her? Why won't you be a little just to her?"

She looked at me sharply. "Do you know her?"

"Not by a long shot," I replied hastily, and with considerable truthfulness.

"Why are you so keen to have me take sides with her?"

"Because I did, the instant I saw that infernal cad."

She pursed her lips. It was hard for her to surrender.

"Out with it, Elsie," I commanded. "You know you've been wrong about that poor little girl. I can tell by the look in your eyes that you have switched over completely in the last four days, and so has Betty Billy."

"I can't forgive her for marrying him in the first place," she said stubbornly. "But I think she was justified in leaving him. As I know him now, I don't see how she endured it as long as she did. Yes, I am sorry for her. She is a dear girl and she has had a--a--"

"I'll say it, my dear: a h.e.l.l of a time."

"Thank you." "And I daresay you now think she did right in taking the child, too," I persisted.

"I--I hope she gets safely away with little Rosemary, back to G.o.d's country as we are p.r.o.ne to call it. Oh, by the way, John, I don't see why I should feel bound to keep that wretch's secret any longer. He has treated us like dogs. He doesn't deserve--"

"Hold on! You're not thinking of telling me his name, are you?"

"Don't you want to know it? Don't you care to hear that you've been entertaining the most talked of, the most interesting--"

"No, I don't!"

"Don't you care to hear who it was that he married and how many millions he got from--"

"No, I don't."

"And why not?"

"Well," said I, judicially, "in the first place I like the mystery of it all. In the second place, I don't want to know anything more about this fellow than I already know. He is enough of a horror to me, as it is, G.o.d knows, without giving a name to him. I prefer to think of him as Mr. Pless. If you don't mind, Elsie, I'll try to eradicate him thoroughly from my system as Pless before I take him on in any other form of evil. No, I don't want to know his name at present, nor do I care a hang who it was he married. Silly notion, I suppose, but I mean what I say."

She looked at me in wonder for a moment and then shook her head as if considering me quite hopeless. "You are an odd thing, John. G.o.d left something out when He fashioned you. I'm just dying to tell you all about them, and you won't let me."

"Is she pretty?" I asked, yielding a little.

"She is lovely. We've been really quite hateful about her, Betty and I. Down in our hearts we like her. She was a spoiled child, of course, and all that sort of thing, but heaven knows she's been pretty thoroughly made over in a new crucible. We used to feel terribly sorry for her, even while we were deriding her for the fool she had made of herself in marrying him. I've seen her hundreds of times driving about alone in Vienna, where they spent two winters, a really pathetic figure, scorned not only by her husband but by every one else. He never was to be seen in public with her. He made it clear to his world that she was not to be inflicted upon it by any unnecessary act of his. She came to see Betty and me occasionally; always bright and proud and full of spirit, but we could see the wounds in her poor little heart no matter how hard she tried to hide them. I tell you, John, they like us as women but they despise us as wives. It will always be the same with them. They won't let us into their charmed circle. Thank G.o.d, I am married to an American. He _must_ respect me whether he wants to or not."

"Poor little beggar," said I, without thinking of how it would sound to her; "she has had her fling, and she has paid well for it."

"If her stingy old father, who permitted her to get into the sc.r.a.pe, would come up like a man and pay what he ought to pay, there would be no more pother about this business. He hasn't lived up to his bargain.

The--Mr. Pless has squandered the first million and now he wants the balance due him. A trade's a trade, John. The old man ought to pay up.

He went into it with his eyes open, and I haven't an atom of sympathy for him. You have read that book of Mrs. O'Burnett's, haven't you?--'The Shuttle'? Well, there you are. This is but another example of what fools American parents can be when they get bees in their bonnets."

She seemed to be accusing me!

"I hope she gets away safely with the kiddie," said I, non-committally.