Felix O'Day Part 16

"What, that little devil of a dog? Yes, he can come, if he promises to behave himself," and he shook his head at the culprit. "And all the chippies can come. Lots of 'em, and perhaps a couple of robins, if they haven't gone away south. And there's a big Newfoundland dog, or was before he was stolen, that could have swallowed this gentleman down at one gulp, but he won't now. HE 'belonged' and always has. And, of course, you 'belong' and so does Sam and so do I. We go out every other week and sit under these very same trees. Sam paints the branches wiggling down in the water, and I do leaky boats. When I get the picture home, I put Jane Hoggson fishin' in the stern."

Masie rolled her eyes.

"And you don't take her with you?"

"No."

"Why?"

"'Cause she don't 'belong.' Great difference whether you belong or not.

Jane Hoggson couldn't 'belong' if she was to be born all over again."

O'Day now joined in. He had been watching Masie, noting the lights and shadows which swept over her face as the old painter chattered away.

He always welcomed any plan for giving her pleasure, and was blessing Ganger in his heart for providing the diversion.

"And where is all this to take place, Mr. Ganger?" Felix asked at last.

"Up on the Bronx. A place you know nothing of and wouldn't believe a word about if I should tell you--not 'til you see it yourself. It's as full of birds and b.u.t.terflies as England along the Thames, or one of those ducky little streams out of Paris. And it only costs five cents to get there and five cents to get back. And you won't be more than a few hours away from your shop. Fine, I tell you, you'll never forget it."

Again Felix broke in.

"I have not a doubt of it, but when is all this to take place?"

Ganger gave a little start and grew suddenly grave.

"Well, as to that, you see the day is not yet fixed, not precisely. In a week maybe, or it may be two weeks. This is Sam's party, you know, and he hasn't completed all his arrangements--that is, he hadn't completed them when I left him this morning. And, of course, a lot has to be done to make everything ready"--here he nodded at Masie--"for little princesses and great ladies in plumes and satins. But it is certainly coming off. Old Sam told me so, and he means every word of it. And he was to let you know when. That's it, he was to LET YOU KNOW. That's another thing he told me to tell you."

The child's name was now called from the top of the stairs, and the Gossburger's head craned itself over the hand-rail. Fudge opened with a sharp bark, and Masie, with an air kiss to Ganger, raced up the steps, the dog at her heels, shouting as she ran: "Tell Mr. Dogger I send him a kiss, and I thank him ever so much, and won't he please come and see me very soon."

When she had disappeared, the old fellow leaned forward, gazed knowingly at Felix, and in soft-pedal tones said:

"You see, Sam couldn't say EXACTLY when the party was to take place because--well, because he hasn't heard a word about it, and won't until I get back. It is my party, not Sam's, and I've got to break it to him gently. And I've got to fool him about the party, make him think it's his party, or he'll think I'm holding it over him because I've got a little more money than he has, just as I intend to fool him about the picture. I couldn't say, when you asked me, when the day was to be fixed, because I've told lies enough to that dear child. But I know just what Sam will do when I tell him about his party; he'll stand on his head he'll be so happy. You see if, when I unwrapped the picture, you had talked ten dollars right out, why then I was going to make it next Sat.u.r.day; that is, to-morrow. But you hemmed and hawed so, I had to make it 'some day soon.' Of course, I never expected the fifty; ten will be enough for car-fare all around and some beer and sandwiches, that's all we ever have. That's why I chucked in Augustus to make sure. Well, see what you can do, and don't forget to write the note and I'll do the rest of the lying." And chuckling to himself he hurried away.

As the door swung wide, a slim man bustled past him, and, spying Felix, moved briskly to where he stood. He had just ten minutes to spare, he announced, and was looking for a present for his wife; "something in the way of fans, old ones, and not over five dollars."

Felix, who had raised the lid of the case and was stowing Dogger's masterpiece inside to keep it out of harm's way, his mind wholly occupied with the two old painters and their tenderness toward each other, roused himself to answer:

"Yes, half a dozen. Not at your price, though, not old ones. Here are two fairly good specimens," and he handed them out and laid them on the gla.s.s before him.

The man leaned forward and peered into the case.

"That's a picture of the Palisades, isn't it?" He had ignored the fans.

"Yes, so I understand."

"Oh, I knew it first time I put my eyes on it. I'm in the real-estate business. I've got a lot of cottage sites along that top edge. Is it for sale?"

"It will be when it's cleaned and varnished and I have it framed."

"Belong to you?"

"No; it belongs to a man who has left it for sale. He went out as you came in."

"What does he want for it?"

"He would be satisfied with ten dollars, even less, because he needs the money. I want fifty."

"You want to make the rest?"

"No, it all goes to him."

"Well, what do you stick it on for?"

"Because if it isn't worth that, it isn't worth anything."

"Take it out and let me have a look at it. Yes, just the spot. That whitish streak and that little puff of steam is where they're breaking stone. Make a good advertis.e.m.e.nt, wouldn't it, hanging up in your office? You can show the owners just where the land lies, and you can show a customer just what he's going to own."

A brisk bargaining then followed, he determined to buy, and Felix to maintain his price. Before the ten minutes were out, the bustling man had forgotten all about the fan he was in search of for his wife and, having a.s.sured himself that it was all oil-paint, every square inch of it, had propped it up against an ancient clock, standing back to see the effect, had haggled on five, then ten, then twenty-five, and had finally surrendered by laying five ten-dollar bills on the gla.s.s case. After which he tucked the picture under his arm, and without a word of any kind disappeared through the street-door.

And that is why the note which Felix had promised to write Dogger was sent by messenger instead of by mail within five minutes after the picture and the buyer had disappeared. And that is why, too, all the preliminary subterfuges were omitted, and the subst.i.tute contained the announcement which follows:

"Dear Mr. Dogger:

"I have just sold your Palisade picture for fifty dollars. The amount is at your service whenever you call.

"Yours truly,

"Felix O'Day."

That, too, is why Dogger was so overjoyed that he beat the messenger back to Kling's, skipping over the flag-stones most of the way till he reached the Dutchman's door, where, as befitted a painter whose genius had at last been recognized, he slowed down, entering the store with a steady gait, a little restrained in his manner, saying, as he tried to cram down his joy, that it was a mere sketch, you know, something that he had knocked off out-of-doors; that Nat had liked it and had, so he said, taken it up to have it framed. That, of course, he could not afford ever to repeat the sale price--not for a ten by fourteen of that quality, but that most of his rich patrons were still out of town, and so it came in very well.

And, oh, yes, he had almost forgotten! He and Nat were going up to Laguerre's, on the Bronx, to an old French cafe, where they often lunched and painted; that Nat had suggested just as he left the studio that it would be a good thing if Felix and that dear child Masie would go with them, and that they would go Sat.u.r.day, which was to-morrow, if that would suit O'Day and Masie. And if that wouldn't suit, why then they'd go the very first day that did, say Sunday or Monday, the sooner the better.

To all of which Felix, reading every thought that lurked behind the moist eyes of the tender-hearted old fraud, had replied that, if he had the choosing, to-morrow, of all the days in the year, would be the very day he would select, and that he and Masie would be ready any hour that he and Mr. Ganger would be good enough to call for them.

At which the old painter took himself off in high glee.

And an altogether delightful and a very happy party it was. Sam, as host-in-chief, sparing no expense, his first act being to pre-empt a summer-house covered with vines, already tinged by the touches of autumn's fingers; and his second to insist in a loud voice on chairs and table-cloths, instead of a sandwich spread out on a bench, as had been their custom, followed by a demand for olives and a small bottle of red wine, to say nothing of a double brace of chops, and all with the air of a multimillionaire ordering a cold bottle and a hot bird at Delmonico's.

And Nat, grown ten years younger--a mere boy in fact--showed Masie how to throw little leaden weights down the throat of a small cast-iron frog, and Felix mixed the salad and served it, Masie changing the dishes and running back to the house for fresh ones, while Fudge, in frenzied glee, scurried over the soft earth as if he had suddenly been seized with St. Vitus's dance. And then, when there was not a crumb of anything left even for the chippies, they all stretched themselves flat on the gra.s.s in the warm Indian summer weather, the two old fellows entertaining the child with all the stories they could think of, Felix looking on, replenishing his pipe from time to time, his own spirit soothed and comforted by the happiness around him.

Even Kitty noticed the new light in his eyes when they all came back, for Felix brought the two old painters into her sitting-room so that they might renew an acquaintance they had made on the night of the ball and "become better known to a woman of distinction," as he laughingly put it, which so delighted the dear soul that that night she said to her husband:

"He'll stop trampin' pretty soon, I think, John. Somethin's soaked into him in the last day or two. It's them old painters, I think, that's helpin' him. He come in a while ago with that child clingin' to him and them two mossbacks followin' behin', and his face was all ironed out, and I could see a song trembling on his lips all ready to burst out.

Pray G.o.d it'll last!"