The Madness of May Part 8

Evening dress was becoming to Hood, enhancing the distinction which his rough corduroys never wholly obscured. He surveyed Deering critically, gave a twist to his tie, and said it was time to be off. As they drove slowly through the country he discussed the various houses they pa.s.sed, speculating as to the entertainment they offered. He finally ordered Ca.s.sowary to stop at the entrance to an imposing estate, where a large colonial mansion stood some distance from the highway.

"This strikes me as promising," he remarked, rising in the car and craning his neck to gain a view of the house through the shrubbery.

"Drive in, Ca.s.sowary, and stand by with the car till you see whether we have to run for it."

He gave the electric annunciator a prolonged push, and as a butler opened the door advanced into the hall with his most authoritative air.

"Mr. Hood and Mr. Tuck. I trust I correctly understood that we dine at seven." The man eyed them with surprise but took their coats and hats.

"We are expected. Please announce us immediately."

Deering followed him bewilderedly into the drawing-room and planted himself close to the door.

"a.s.surance, my dear boy, conquers all things," Hood declaimed. "This stuff looks like real Chippendale, and the rugs seem to be genuine." He sniffed contemptuously as he posed before a long mirror for a final inspection of his raiment. "It always pains me to detect the odor of boiled vegetables when I enter a strange house. Architects tell me that it is almost impossible to prevent----"

A woman's figure flashed in the mirror beside him, and he whirled round and bowed from the hips.

"I trust you are not so lacking in the sense of hospitality that you find yourself considering means of ejecting us. My comrade and I are weary from a long journey."

Turning quickly, her gaze fell upon Deering, who was stealing on tiptoe toward the door.

"Halt!" commanded Hood.

Deering paused and sheepishly faced his hostess.

She was a small, trim, graceful woman, of the type that greets middle life smilingly and with no fear of what may lie beyond. Her dark hair had whitened, but her rosy cheeks belied its insinuations. She viewed Deering with frank curiosity, but with no indication of alarm. She was not a woman one would consciously annoy, and Deering's face burned as he felt her eyes inspecting him from head to foot. He had never before been so heartily ashamed of himself; once out of this sc.r.a.pe, he meant to escape from Hood and lead a circ.u.mspect, orderly life.

"Which is Hood and which is Tuck?" the woman asked with a faint smile.

"The friar is the gentleman standing on one foot at your right," Hood answered. "Conscious of my unworthiness, I plead guilty to being Hood--Hood the hobo delectable, the tramp incomprehensible!"

"Incomprehensible," she repeated; "you strike me as altogether obvious."

"You never made a greater mistake," Hood returned with asperity. "But the question that now agitates us is simply this: do we eat or do we not?"

Deering looked longingly at a chair with which he felt strongly impelled to brain his suave, unruffled companion. Hood apparently was hardened to such encounters, and stood his ground unflinchingly. All Deering's instincts of chivalry were roused by the little woman, who had every reason for turning them out of doors. He resolved to make it easy for her to do so.

"I beg your pardon--" he faltered.

Hood signalled to him furiously behind her back to maintain silence.

"No apology would be adequate," she remarked with dignity. "We'd better drop that and consider your errand on its strict merits."

"Admirably said, madam," Hood rejoined readily. "We ask nothing of you but seats at your table and the favor of a little wholesome and stimulating conversation, which I refuse to believe you capable of denying us."

A clock somewhere began to boom seven. She waited for the last stroke to die away.

"I make it a rule never to deny food to any applicant, no matter how unworthy. You may remain."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "I make it a rule never to deny food to any applicant, no matter how unworthy. You may remain."]

Deering had hardly adjusted himself to this when an old gentleman entered the room, and with only the most casual glance at the two pilgrims walked to the grand piano, shook back his cuffs, and began playing Mendelssohn's "Spring Song," as though that particular melody were the one great pa.s.sion of his life. When he had concluded he rose and shook down his cuffs.

"If that isn't music," he demanded, walking up to the amazed Deering, who still clung to his post by the door, "what is it? Answer me that!"

"You played it perfectly," Deering stammered.

"And you," he demanded, whirling upon Hood, "what have you to say, sir?"

"The great master himself would have envied your touch," Hood replied.

The old gentleman glared. "Rot!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed; and then, turning to the mistress of the house, he asked: "Do these ruffians dine with us?"

"They seem about to do us that honor. My father, Mr. Hood, and--Mr. Tuck.

Shall we go out to dinner?"

The gentleman she had introduced as her father glared again--a separate glare for each--and, advancing with a ridiculous strut, gave the lady his arm.

In the hall Hood intercepted Deering in the act of effecting egress by way of the front door. His fingers dug deeply into his nervous companion's arm as he dragged him along, talking in his characteristic vein:

"My dear Tuck, it's a pleasure to find ourselves at last in a home whose appointments speak for breeding and taste. The portrait on our right bears all the marks of a genuine Copley. Madam, may I inquire whether I correctly attribute that portrait to our great American master?"

"You are quite right," she answered over her shoulder. "The subject of the portrait is my great-great-grandfather."

"My dear Tuck!" cried Hood jubilantly, still clutching Deering's arm, "fate has again been kind to us; we are among folk of quality, as I had already guessed."

The dining-room was in dark oak; the glow from concealed burners shed a soft light upon a round table.

"You will sit at my right, Mr. Hood, and Mr. Tuck by my father on the other side."

Deering pinched himself to make sure he was awake. The next instant the room whirled, and he clutched the back of his chair for support. A girl came into the room and walked quickly to the seat beside him.

"Mr Hood and Mr. Tuck, my daughter----"

She hesitated, and the girl laughingly e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed: "Pierrette!"

"Sit down, won't you, please," said the little lady; but Deering stood staring open-mouthed at the girl.

Beyond question, she was the girl of the Little Dipper; there was no mistaking her. At this point the old gentleman afforded diversion by rising and bowing first to Hood and then to Deering.

"I am Pantaloon," he said. "My daughter is Columbine, as you may have guessed."

"It's very nice to see you again," Pierrette remarked to Deering; "but, of course, I didn't know you would be here. How goes the burgling?"

"I--er--haven't got started yet. I find it a little difficult----"

"I'm afraid you're not getting much fun out of the adventurous life," she suggested, noting the wild look in his eyes.

"I don't understand things, that's all," he confessed, "but I think I'm going to like it."

"You find it a little too full of surprises? Oh, we all do at first! You see grandfather is seventy, and he never grew up, and mamma is just like him. And I--" She shrugged her shoulders and flashed a smile at her grandparent.