The Girl From His Town Part 6

"Your wife"-Ruggles held up one finger and Galorey interrupted him to murmur:

"I'll take care of Edith."

"The d.u.c.h.ess of Breakwater you think won't talk of money?"

"No, don't count on it. She is aiming at ten million pounds."

Ruggles was holding up the second finger.

"Well, I guess Dan has gone out to take care of _her_ to-day."

Dan and Ruggles had seen _Mandalay_ from a box, from the pit and from the stalls. On the table lay a book of the opera. While talking with Galorey, Ruggles had unconsciously arranged the checks on top of the libretto of _Mandalay_.

"_I'll_ take care of Miss Lane," Ruggles said at length.

His lordship echoed, "Miss Lane?" and looked up in surprise. "What Miss Lane, for G.o.d's sake?"

"Miss Letty Lane at the Gaiety," Ruggles answered.

"Why, she isn't in the question, my dear man."

"You put her there just now yourself."

"Bosh!" Galorey exclaimed impatiently, "I spoke of her as being the limit, the last thing on the line."

"No," corrected the other, "you put the d.u.c.h.ess of Breakwater as the limit."

Galorey smiled frankly. "You are right, my dear chap," he accepted, "and I stand by it."

A page boy knocked at the door and came in holding out on a salver a card for Mr. Ruggles, and at the interruption Galorey rose and invited Ruggles to go out with him that night to Osdene. "Lady Galorey will be delighted."

But Ruggles shook his head. "The boy is coming back here to-night," and Galorey laughed.

"Don't you believe it! You don't know how deep in he is. You don't know the d.u.c.h.ess of Breakwater. Once he is with her-"

At the same time that the page boy handed Mr. Ruggles the card of the caller, he gave him as well a small envelope, which contained box tickets for the Gaiety. Ruggles examined it.

"I have got some writing to do," he told Galorey, "and I'm going to see a show to-night, and I think I'll just stay here and watch my hole."

As soon as Galorey had left the Carlton, Mr. Ruggles despatched his letters and his visitor, made a very careful toilet, and after waiting until past eight o'clock for Dan to return to dinner, dined alone on roast beef and a tart, and with perfect digestion, if somewhat thoughtful mind, left the hotel and walked down the dim street to the brilliant Strand, and on foot to the Gaiety.

CHAPTER VII-AT THE STAGE ENTRANCE

Ruggles, from his stall, for the fourth time saw the curtain go up on _Mandalay_ and heard the temple bells ring. One of the stage boxes was not occupied until after the first act and then the son of his friend came in alone and sat far back out of sight of any eyes but the keenest, and those eyes were Ruggles'. Letty Lane, delicious, fantastic, languishing, sang to Dan; that was evident to Ruggles. He was a large man and filled his stall comfortably. He sat through the performance peacefully, his hands in his pockets, his big face thoughtful, his shirt front ruffled. To look at him, one must have wondered why he had come to _Mandalay_. He scarcely lost any of the threads of his own reflections, though when Miss Lane, in response to a call from the house, sang her cradle song three times, he seemed moved. The tones of her pure voice, the cradling in her arms of an imaginary child, her apparent dovelike purity, her grace and sweetness, and her cooing, gentle tone, to judge by the softening of the Westerner's face, touched very much the big fellow who listened like a child. At the end he drew his handkerchief slowly across his eyes, but the tears, or rather moisture, that rose there was not all due to Miss Lane's song, for Ruggles was extremely warm.

He could see that in his box the boy sat transfixed and absorbed. Dan went out in the second entr'acte and was absent when the curtain went down. Ruggles, as well, left before the performance was over, to make his way outside the theater to the stage exit, where there was already gathered a little group, looked after by a couple of policemen. Close to the curb a gleaming motor waited, the footman at its door. Ruggles b.u.t.toned his coat up to his chin and took his place close to the door, over which the electric light showed the words "Stage Entrance." A poor woman elbowed him, her shabby hat adorned by a scraggly plume, a gray shawl wrapped round her shoulders. A girl or two, who might have been flower sellers in Piccadilly in the daytime, a couple of toughs, a handful of other vagrants smelling of gin, a decent man in working clothes, a child in his arms, formed the human hedge Letty Lane was to pa.s.s between-a singular group of people to spend an hour hanging about the streets at the exit of a theater well toward midnight. So the nave Ruggles thought, and better understood the appearance of the young fellows in evening clothes who hovered on the extreme edge of the little crowd. Dan, however, was not of these.

"Look sharp, Cissy," the workingman spoke to his child, holding her well up. "When she comes hout she'll pa.s.s close to yer, and you sing hout, 'G.o.d bless yer.'"

"Yes, Dad, I will," shrilled the child.

The woman in the gray shawl drew it close about her. "Aw she's a true lidy, all right, ain't she? I expect you've had some kindness off her as well?"

The man nodded over the child's shoulder. "Used to be a scene shifter, and Miss Lane found out about my little girl last year-not this la.s.s, not Cissy, Cissy's sister-and she sent 'er to a place where it costs the eyes out of yer head. She's gettin' well fast, and we, none of us, has seen her or spoken to Miss Lane. She doesn't know our names."

And the woman answered: "She does a lot like that. She's got a heart bigger'n her little body."

And a big boy in the front row said back to the others: "Well, she makes a mint of money."

And the woman who had spoken before said: "She gives it nearly all to the poor."

Ruggles was evidently on the poor side of the waiting crowd; the handful of riffraff around him with its stench of dirt and gin. A better looking set collected opposite and there was the gleam of white shirt fronts.

"Now, there she comes," the father saw her first. "Sing out, Cissy."

The door opened and a figure quickly floated from it, like a white rose blown out into the foggy darkness. It floated down the few steps to the street between the double row of spectators. A white cloak entirely covered the actress. Her head was hidden by a white scarf, and she almost ran the short gantlet to her motor, between the cries of "G.o.d bless you!"-"Three cheers for Letty Lane"-"G.o.d bless you, lady!" She didn't speak or heed, however, or turn her head, but held her scarf against her face, and the man who slowly lounged behind her to the car, and put her in and got in after her, was not the man Joshua Ruggles had waited there to see. He hung about until the footman had sprung up and the car moved softly away, the stage entrance door shut, then he followed along with the crowd, with the few faithful ones who had waited an hour in the cold mist to cry out their applause, not to a singer in _Mandalay_ but to a woman's heart.

CHAPTER VIII-DAN'S SIMPLICITY

The d.u.c.h.ess of Breakwater was not sure how close Dan Blair's thoughts were to marriage, but the boy from Montana was the easiest prey that had come across the beautiful and unscrupulous woman's range. He had told her that he stayed on up in London to see a man from home, and when after four days he still lingered in town, she found his absence unbearable, and sent him a wire so worded that if he had a spark of interest in her he must immediately return to the Park. She had never been more lovely than when Dan found her waiting for him.

She had ordered tea in her sitting-room. She told him that he looked frightfully seedy, asked him what he had been doing and why he had stopped so long away, and Blair told her that old Ruggles, his father's friend, had run over to see him with a lot of papers for Dan to read and sign and closed with a smile, telling her that he guessed she "didn't know much about business."

"I only know the horrid things of business-debts, and loans, and bills, and fussing."

"Those things are not business," Dan answered wisely; "they are just common or garden carelessness."

She asked him why he had not brought Ruggles out to Osdene, and he told her he couldn't have done a stroke of work with the old boy down here at the Park.

Stirring his tea, he appreciated the d.u.c.h.ess. The agreeable picture she made impressed him mightily.

"Do you know," he asked suddenly, "what you make me think of?"

And she responded softly: "No, dear."

"A box of candy. This room with its stuffed walls, and you in it are good enough-"

"To eat?" she laughed aloud. "Oh, you perfectly killing creature, what an idea!"

And as he met her eyes with his clear ones, with a simplicity she could never hope to reach, he put his tea-cup down; and as he did so the d.u.c.h.ess observed his strong hands, their vigor, well-kept and muscular, but not the dandified hands of the man who goes often to the manicure.