It was fortunate, considering the magnitude of the shock which she wasto receive, that circumstances had given Steve's Mamie unusual powersof resistance in the matter of shocks. For years before herintroduction into the home of the Winfield family her life had been onelong series of crises. She had never known what the morrow might bringforth, though experience had convinced her that it was pretty certainto bring forth something agitating which would call for all herwell-known ability to handle disaster.
The sole care of three small brothers and a weak-minded father gives agirl exceptional opportunities of cultivating poise under difficultconditions. It had become second nature with Mamie to keep her headthough the heavens fell.
Consequently, when she entered the nursery next morning and found itempty, she did not go into hysterics. She did not even scream. She readSteve's note twice very carefully, then sat down to think what was herbest plan of action.
Her ingrained habit of looking on the bright side of things, the resultof a life which, had pessimism been allowed to rule it, might haveended prematurely with what the papers are fond of calling a "rashact," led her to consider first those points in the situation which shelabelled in her meditations as "bits of luck."It was a bit of luck that Mrs. Porter happened to be away for themoment. It gave her time for reflection. It was another bit of luckthat, as she had learned from Keggs, whom she met on the stairs on herway to the nursery, a mysterious telephone-call had caused Ruth to risefrom her bed some three hours before her usual time and departhurriedly in a cab. This also helped.
Keggs had no information to give as to Ruth's destination or theprobable hour of her return. She had vanished without a word, excepta request to Keggs to tell the driver of her taxi to go to theThirty-Third Street subway.
"Must 'a' 'ad bad noos," Keggs thought, "because she were look'n' whiteas a sheet."Mamie was sorry that Ruth had had bad news, but her departure certainlyhelped to relieve the pressure of an appalling situation.
With the absence of Ruth and Mrs. Porter the bits of luck came to anend. Try as she would, Mamie could discover no other silver linings inthe cloud-bank. And even these ameliorations of the disaster were onlytemporary.
Ruth would return. Worse, Mrs. Porter would return. Like two MotherHubbards, they would go to the cupboard, and the cupboard would bebare. And to her, Mamie, would fall the task of explanation.
The only explanation that occurred to her was that Steve had gonesuddenly mad. He had given no hint of his altruistic motives in thehurried scrawl which she had found on the empty cot. He had merely saidthat he had taken away William Bannister, but that "it was all right."Why Steve should imagine that it was all right baffled Mamie. Anythingless all right she had never come across in a lifetime of disconcertingexperiences.
She was aware that things were not as they should be between Ruth andKirk, and the spectacle of the broken home had troubled her gentleheart; but she failed to establish a connection between Kirk'sdeparture and Steve's midnight raid.
After devoting some ten minutes to steady brainwork she permittedherself the indulgence of a few tears. She did not often behave in thisshockingly weak way, her role in life hitherto having been that of theone calm person in a disrupted world. When her father had lost his job,and the rent was due, and Brother Jim had fallen in the mud to thedetriment of his only suit of clothes, and Brothers Terence and Mikehad developed respectively a sore throat and a funny feeling in thechest, she had remained dry-eyed and capable. Her father had cried, herbrother Jim had cried, her brother Terence had cried, and her brotherMike had cried in a manner that made the weeping of the rest of thefamily seem like the uncanny stillness of a summer night; but she hadnot shed a tear.
Now, however, she gave way. She buried her little face on the pillowwhich so brief a while before had been pressed by the round head ofWilliam Bannister and mourned like a modern Niobe.
At the end of two minutes she rose, sniffing but courageous, herselfagain. In her misery an idea had come to her. It was quite a simple andobvious idea, but till now it had eluded her.
She would go round to the studio and see Kirk. After all, it was hisaffair as much as anybody else's, and she had a feeling that it wouldbe easier to break the news to him than to Ruth and Mrs. Porter.
She washed her eyes, put on her hat, and set out.
Luck, however, was not running her way that morning. Arriving at thestudio, she rang the bell, and rang and rang again without resultexcept a marked increase in her already substantial depression. When itbecame plain to her that the studio was empty she desisted.
It is an illustration of her remarkable force of character that at thispoint, refusing to be crushed by the bludgeoning of fate, she walked toBroadway and went into a moving-picture palace. There was nothing to beeffected by staying in the house and worrying, so she resolutelydeclined to worry.
From this point onward her day divided itself into a series of threemovements repeated at regular intervals. From the moving pictures shewent to the house on Fifth Avenue. Finding that neither Ruth nor Mrs.
Porter had returned, she went to the studio. Ringing the bell there andgetting no answer, she took in the movies once more.
Mamie was a philosopher.
The atmosphere of the great house was still untroubled on her secondvisit. The care of the White Hope had always been left exclusively inthe hands of the women, and the rest of the household had not yetdetected his absence. It was not their business to watch his comings inand his goings out. Besides, they had other things to occupy them.
The unique occasion of the double absence of Ruth and Mrs. Porter wasbeing celebrated by a sort of Saturnalia or slaves' holiday. It wastrue that either or both might return at any moment, but there was adisposition on the part of the domestic staff to take a chance on it.
Keggs, that sinful butler, had strolled round to an apparentlyuntenanted house on Forty-First Street, where those who knew their NewYork could, by giving the signal, obtain admittance and the privilegeof losing their money at the pleasing game of roulette with a doublezero.
George, the footman, in company with Henriette, the lady's-maid, andRollins, the chauffeur, who had butted in absolutely uninvited toGeorge's acute disgust, were taking the air in the park. The rest ofthe staff, with the exception of a house-maid, who had been bribed,with two dollars and an old dress which had once been Ruth's and wasnow the property of Henriette, to stand by the ship, were somewhere onthe island, amusing themselves in the way that seemed best to them. Forall practical purposes, it was a safe and sane Fourth provided out of ablue sky by the god of chance.
It was about five o'clock when Mamie, having, at a modest estimate,seen five hundred persecuted heroes, a thousand ill-used heroines,several regiments of cowboys, and perhaps two thousand comic menpursued by angry mobs, returned from her usual visit to the studio.
This time there were signs of hope in the shape of a large automobileopposite the door. She rang the bell, and there came from within thewelcome sound of footsteps. An elderly man of a somewhat dissipatedcountenance opened the door.
"I want to see Mr. Winfield," said Mamie.
Mr. Penway, for it was he, gave her the approving glance which your manof taste and discrimination does not fail to bestow upon youth andbeauty and bawled over his shoulder--"Kirk!"Kirk came down the passage. He was looking brown and healthy. He was inhis shirt-sleeves.
"Oh, Mr. Winfield. I'm in such trouble.""Why, Mamie! What's the matter? Come in."Mamie followed him into the studio, eluding Mr. Penway, whose arm washovering in the neighbourhood of her waist.
"Sit down," said Kirk. "What's the trouble? Have you been trying to getat me before? We've been down to Long Beach.""A delightful spot," observed Mr. Penway, who had followed. "Sandy, butreplete with squabs. Why didn't you come earlier? We could have takenyou.""May I talk privately with you, Mr. Winfield?""Sure."Kirk looked at Mr. Penway, who nodded agreeably.
"Outside for Robert?" he inquired amiably. "Very well. There isno Buttinsky blood in the Penway family. Let me just fix myself ahigh-ball and borrow one of your cigars and I'll go and sit in thecar and commune with nature. Take your time.""Just a moment, Mamie," said Kirk, when he had gone. He picked up atelegram which lay on the table. "I'll read this and see if it'simportant, and then we'll get right down to business. We only got backa moment before you arrived, so I'm a bit behind with mycorrespondence."As he read the telegram a look of astonishment came into his face. Hesat down and read the message a second time. Mamie waited patiently.
"Good Lord!" he muttered.
A sudden thought struck Mamie.
"Mr. Winfield, is it from Steve?" she said.
Kirk started, and looked at her incredulously.
"How on earth did you know? Good Heavens! Are you in this, Mamie, too?"Mamie handed him her note. He read it without a word. When he hadfinished he sat back in his chair, thinking.
"I thought Steve might have telegraphed to you," said Mamie.
Kirk roused himself from his thoughts.
"Was this what you came to see me about?""Yes.""What does Ruth--what do they think of it--up there?""They don't know anything about it. Mrs. Winfield went away early thismorning. Mr. Keggs said she had had a telephone call, Mrs. Porter is inBoston. She will be back to-day some time. What are we to do?""Do!" Kirk jumped up and began to pace the floor. "I'll tell you whatI'm going to do. Steve has taken the boy up to my shack in Connecticut.
I'm going there as fast as the auto can take me.""Steve's mad!""Is he? Steve's the best pal I've got. For two years I've been achingto get at this boy, and Steve has had the sense to show me the way."He went on as if talking to himself.
"Steve's a man. I'm just a fool who hangs round without the nerve toact. If I had had the pluck of a rabbit I'd have done this myself sixmonths ago. But I've hung round doing nothing while that damned Porterwoman played the fool with the boy. I'll be lucky now if he rememberswho I am."He turned abruptly to Mamie.
"Mamie, you can tell them whatever you please when you get home. Theycan't blame you. It's not your fault. Tell them that Steve was actingfor me with my complete approval. Tell them that the kid's going to bebrought up right from now on. I've got him, and I'm going to keep him."Mamie had risen and was facing him, a very determined midget, pink andresolute.
"I'm not going home, Mr. Winfield.""What?""If you are going to Bill, I am coming with you.""Nonsense.""That's my place--with him.""But you can't. It's impossible.""Not more impossible than what has happened already.""I won't take you.""Then I'll go by train. I know where your house is. Steve told me.""It's out of the question."Mamie's Irish temper got the better of her professional desire tomaintain the discreetly respectful attitude of employee towardemployer.
"Is it then? We'll see. Do you think I'm going to leave you and Steveto look after my Bill? What do men know about taking care of children?
You would choke the poor mite or let him kill himself a hundred ways."She glared at him defiantly. He glared back at her. Then his sense ofhumour came to his rescue. She looked so absurdly small standing therewith her chin up and her fists clenched. He laughed delightedly. Hewent up to her and placed a hand on each of her shoulders, looking downat her. He felt that he loved her for her championship of Bill.
"You're a brick, Mamie. Of course you shall come. We'll call at the houseand you can pack your grip. But, by George, if you put that infernalthermometer in I'll run the automobile up against a telegraph-pole, andthen Bill will lose us both.""Finished?" said a voice. "Oh, I beg your pardon. Sorry."Mr. Penway was gazing at them with affectionate interest from thedoorway. Kirk released Mamie and stepped back.
"I only looked in," explained Mr. Penway. "Didn't mean to intrude.
Thought you might have finished your chat, and it was a trifle lonelycommuning with nature.""Bob," said Kirk, "you'll have to get on without me for a day or two.
Make yourself at home. You know where everything is.""I can satisfy my simple needs. Thinking of going away?""I've got to go up to Connecticut. I don't know how long I shall beaway.""Take your time," said Mr. Penway affably. "Going in the auto?""Yes.""The weather is very pleasant for automobiling just now," remarked Mr.
Penway.
* * * * *Ten minutes later, having thrown a few things together into a bag, Kirktook his place at the wheel. Mamie sat beside him. The bag had the rearseat to itself.
"There seems to be plenty of room still," said Mr. Penway. "I have halfa mind to come with you."He looked at Mamie.
"But on reflection I fancy you can get along without me."He stood at the door, gazing after the motor as it moved down thestreet. When it had turned the corner he went back into the studio andmixed himself a high-ball.
"Kirk does manage to find them," he said enviously.
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