Defenders of Democracy Part 47

Nellie broke into sudden mirth.

"You were, Joey dear; that is just what you were. You were d.a.m.ned all the way there and back again."

Cameron strangled.

"Have I the honor to typify the--new creature?"

"You're the very image of him, Joey dear." And she smiled upon him as if he were some new moth, in at their window, to buzz round their lamp.

"And--this person--?"

Nellie became eagerly communicative.

"I do wonder if I can make you see him? Tall and dark, and with good-looking, thinnish hands and almost amusing way of playing with his eye-gla.s.ses. You know, Joey: the sort of distinguished talk-it-all-out sort of man that just makes men rage. Of course,"

she went on, largely wise, "he's the sort of socialist to make a real socialist rage, but he's just the thing for clubs."

"You often have them?"

"Of course," she laughed. "You see, we don't see much of men at home any more. It keeps us from forgetting how you look, and how amusing you may be."

Cameron gazed before him into a chaos without words.

Nellie was oblivious.

"He finished off with a perfect bomb, Joey. It was funny! Of course the new man's a city product, and he drew him to the life: rushed and tortured by ambition, tired out at the end of the day, too tired to be possibly amusing, his nerves excited till anything quieter than lower Broadway hurts his ears, all pa.s.sion and brilliance spent on business, dinners here and there, with people who all have their ax to grind, too, and are keyed up to it by rows and rows of c.o.c.ktails. He drew him without mercy, and he had every wife there either wincing or laughing, with the truth of what he said. He was quite eloquent." She paused, she laughed softly, she turned her eyes upon him. "Then, Joey, guess--just guess!--what he said!"

"Far be it from me!"

"He said that any intelligent modern woman would require at least one husband and three lovers to arrive at the standards and companionship of one wholesome old-fashioned man!"

Cameron got to his feet and held to the top shelf of the bookcase.

"Do you mean to tell me that respectable women sit and listen to such talk?"

"But, Joey dear, you see so little of us respectable women now, you don't really know us--"

"It's not decent--"

Nelly was all patience.

"But, you know, Joey dear, I think maybe it is true. Don't you think so?"

Cameron swallowed two or three retorts; then with a laugh that seemed to break to pieces in the air, he went into he hall, got into his hat and coat, and left the house.

Nellie listened gravely.

"Poor dear old land-lubber!" she sighed. "But it had to come sooner or later!" Then she went to the telephone.

"57900 Bryant, please. May I speak to Mr. Crane?"

II

When Cameron came in at midnight he found his wife and his old friend Willoughby Crane playing chess in the dining room.

"h.e.l.lo, Joe, old man," murmured Crane. "That you?"

"Why, yes, I believe it is I," said Cameron.

"Almost forgot what you looked like," Crane rambled pleasantly.

"Dropped in for a reminder."

"I'm sorry to have missed you," muttered Cameron.

"Well, you haven't altogether missed me, you know: so cheer up, old man. If Nell's good for a rubber, you may have the joy of my presence for an hour or two longer. You're lucky, having a wife who can play chess!"

"Get yourself a drink, Joey," suggested Nellie. "The whisky's in the sideboard, down on he left."

"Don't you suppose I know where the whisky is?" demanded Cameron.

"Maybe there's not much left." Nellie looked on, all solicitude.

Cameron, his thought babbling over the good old days of the ducking-stool, poured himself carefully a highball that was brown.

Silence reigned. The light fell upon the head and shoulders of Crane and his long, quick-fingered hands.

"After a man has slaved his soul out," Cameron moaned, "these are the things a woman cares about!"

Crane won the rubber, and spent considerable gallantry upon Nellie in compensation. Cameron had yawned all through, but no one had noticed. Crane lighted a cigarette and perched upon the corner of the dining-table.

"I say, Joe, got anything on to-morrow night?"

"I have," said Cameron.

"Something you can't chuck?"

"Scarcely. A director's dinner."

Crane grew thoughtful.

"You certainly are a victim of the power-pa.s.sion," he sighed, considering Cameron. "I don't know how you stand it. I'd have more money, no doubt, if I weren't so apathetic, but, by Jinks, it doesn't look worth it to me!"

"A question of taste," said Cameron briefly.

"Taste? If that were all!" He smoked, looking at Nellie through the haze. "I say, Nell, I've got tickets for Kreisler to-morrow night. Come with me, there's a good girl! Lend me your wife, will you, Joe?"

"Lend?" echoed Nellie. "I like that! Anybody'd take me for goods and chattels. Of course I'll come. I'd love to."

"You know, Joey," Crane went on simply, "Nellie's the only woman I know that it's real joy to hear music with. She knows what she's listening to. A fellow can sort of forget that he's got her along, an still be glad he has. As for you, you old money-hunting blunderbuss, the way you squirm in the presence of music ought to be a penitentiary offense. I'm almost glad you can't go." He gave a laugh that was dangerously genuine, and bolted for the hall to get his coat and hat.