A Fool There Was Part 8

Schuyler did not answer; for just then there entered the room a tall, clean-cut young fellow of thirty, dressed with quiet immaculacy. It was Parks, John Schuyler's secretary.

To him Schuyler turned.

"Is everything ready, Parks?" he asked.

"Everything," was the reply. "And the car is waiting."

"Mrs. Schuyler?"

"Is in the hall."

"You have the doc.u.ments that we selected?"

"Here, sir." Parks touched with the fingers of his right hand the little satchel of black seal that he carried beneath his left arm.

"How much time have we?"

"We should leave within a very few minutes now."

"Very well. We'll be right there."

As Parks left the room, Blake turned to his friend.

"Jack," he exclaimed, "it makes me sore every time I look at you. Why in thunder can't I get in once in a while? Nothing would suit me better than to go over and buy the king a gla.s.s of half and half and mix around with the diplomats and settle the affairs of nations. But they wouldn't let me send cuc.u.mber seeds to the mattress-faced const.i.tuency of Skaneateles county if I should offer to pay for the job. I've got everything I don't want--except the measles--and everything I do want, I can't get. I want a home. What have I? A box stall with n.o.body in it but a man to curry me; and he's curried me so often that he's lost all respect for me. I want to stop being merely ornamental and become useful; but when I say so, everyone hands me the jocose and jibing jeer and proceeds to lock up anything that seems to have any relation whatsoever to industry, commerce, or utility of any kind. And the best I can get is the festive roof garden, the broad speed-way, and the bounding wave. I wish I were running this universe. I ain't mentioning no names, but there's a certain svelte party on my left, whose initials are J. S., who wouldn't have a monopoly on all the good things in this world."

Schuyler, filling his cigar case from a silver humidor on the sideboard, laughed.

"There's nothing the matter with you, Tom," he said, a.s.suringly, "except that you have too much time and too much money. Stop your kicking."

Blake grinned.

"Let me rave if I want to," he requested. "Let me have a good time. You know as well as I do that I don't mean it, and you know that I'm more glad for your success and happiness and prosperity than I would be for my own; and that's being some glad." He crossed to where Schuyler stood and placed his arm about his shoulders, and continued, "good old Jack. Bully for you. You deserve everything that you have ever won. I'd say I loved you like a brother if it weren't for the fact that I never had a brother yet that I could sit through a meal with without wanting to hit him under the ear with the side-board."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "BYE, LITTLE SWEETHEART"]

The room had become suddenly dark. Came almost without the warning of preliminary rumble--almost without the precursor of sullen flashing--a great peal of heavy thunder. Schuyler turned. Blake sprang to his feet.

Through the bow window, the lawn lay dun and dark. Beyond, the Sound, flat and heavy, seemed as gray oil. The Long Island sh.o.r.e had been swallowed in the gloom. Above all was a great, black cloud, rimmed of silver and of gold, a low cloud, thick and threatening. And yet to one side and the other--in fact save right in its ominous path, one could see the sunlight on water and on land. Then came the rain, and the wind, and with them incessant flashings, incessant bellowings, wild protests of the outraged G.o.d of storms. Trees bent and groaned. Flowers, torn from their tender stalks, lay prostrate in puling puddles. And quick-born waves lashed themselves spitefully against the pier and breakwater down beyond the lawn, unseen in the swirling, screaming wildness of it all.

Upon one another Schuyler and Blake turned wondering, amazed eyes. In its suddenness, the storm was unbelievable. They stood, side by side, gazing out into the storm.

Suddenly, into the hand of Schuyler stole tiny, frightened fingers. It was Muriel.

"I'm frightened, daddy dear," she cried.

Schuyler gathered her into his arms.

"Don't be frightened, little sweetheart," he said, soothingly. "It's just a summer storm.... Where's mother?"

"Here, Jack." Her voice came from at his very side. "Isn't it terrible!

We can't go in this."

Holding his child close against his breast, her cheeks against his, her gold-brown hair mixing with the gray of his temples, he said:

"Not you and Muriel, of course. But I must. It won't last long; you and Tom can come on a later train. Parks can come with you. There'll be plenty of time. It's only that I have urgent business that I must attend to before sailing."

In a swirl of wind and rain, Parks stepped into the room, and addressing Schuyler, said:

"We should be starting, sir."

Schuyler nodded. The butler was holding his coat in readiness. He thrust his arms within the sleeves and, with a shrug of broad shoulders, stood prepared for departure.

Lifting the little girl that was his own, and of the woman he loved, he held her for a brief moment tight to his breast. In her little ear he whispered:

"Bye, little sweetheart."

She clung to him, little hands about his neck.... He set her down again upon the floor. She ran to Blake, waiting.

The deep lids of Kathryn were half veiling the violet eyes--eyes moist, and very soft. There was a little tremor of the sensitive lips. Schuyler drew her to him, so that she faced him, and whispered:

"Au revoir, big sweetheart.... Don't you dare to cry.... I know how it hurts; but be a brave little woman.... I'll make my stay just as short as possible."

"You'll cable?" she asked, tremulously.

"Cable?" he repeated. "I'll keep that wireless snapping all the way across.... Now let me see you smile."

She tried. It was a wan, sad little smile--a smile that was close of kin to a tear. She clung to him for a moment; then her fingers loosened their hold; she stepped back, white teeth holding nether lip. It was bitterly hard.

He looked; and with more understanding than many a man might have, turned swiftly.

Parks stepped forward.

"Shan't I go with you?" he asked.

Schuyler shook his head.

"No," he returned. "Come with Mrs. Schuyler--meet me at the boat. I'm going alone."

He thrust open the door. Came a wail of wind, a swirl of rain; and then, as he crossed the threshold, the very heaven itself seemed to be reft apart with a great, wild flash of lightning--the roar of the thunder was appalling.

Schuyler started back. He forced a laugh.

"Were I a superst.i.tious man," he remarked, "I might take that for an omen."

And then he was gone.