This last matter puzzled him greatly. If she were so angered at him as she had declared, if she so distrusted him, why had she not given him up when she had had him at her mercy? Could it be that, despite her words, she had an unacknowledged liking9 for him? He did not dare let himself believe this.
Again and again he thought of this adventure in whose very middle Maggie now was, and of whose successful issue she had proudly boasted to him. It was indeed something big, as she had said; that establishment at the Grantham was proof of this. Larry could now perceive the adventure's general outlines. There was nothing original in what he perceived; and the plan, so far as he could see it, would not have interested him in the least as a novel creation of the brain were not Maggie its central figure, and were not Barney and Old Jimmie her directing agents. A pretty woman was being used as a lure10 to some rich man, and his infatuation for her was to cause him to part with a great deal of money: some variation of this ancient idea, which has a thousand variations—that was the plan.
Obviously the enterprise was not directed at some gross victim whose palate might permit his swallowing anything. If any one item essentially11 proved this, it was the item of the overwhelmingly respectable chaperon. Maggie was being presented as an innocent, respectable, young girl; and the victim, whoever he was, was the type of man for whom only such a type of girl would have a compelling appeal.
And this man—who was he? Ever and again he tried to place the man's voice, with its faintly familiar quality, but it kept dodging12 away like a dream one cannot quite recall.
The whole business made Larry rage within himself. Maggie to be used in such a way! He did not blame Maggie, for he understood her. Also he loved her. She was young, proud, willful, had been trained to regard such adventures as colorful and legitimate13; and had not lived long enough for experience to teach her otherwise. No, Maggie was not to blame. But Old Jimmie! He would like to twist Old Jimmie's neck! But then Old Jimmie was Maggie's father; and the mere14 fact of Old Jimmie being Maggie's father would, he knew, safeguard the old man from his wrath15 even were he at liberty to go forth16 and act.
He cursed his enforced seclusion17. If only he were free to go out and do his best in the open! But then, even if he were, his best endeavors would have little influence upon Maggie—with her despising and distrusting him as she did, and with her so determined18 to go ahead in her own way.
Once during the morning, he slipped from the library into his room and gazed at the portrait of Maggie that Hunt had given him the night before: Maggie, self-confident, willful, a beautiful nobody who was staring the world out of countenance19; a Maggie that was a thousand possible Maggies. And as he gazed he thought of the wager20 he had made with Hunt, and of his own rather scatter-brained plannings concerning it. He removed Maggie's portrait from the fellowship of the picture of the Italian mother, and hid it in his chiffonier. Whatever he might do in his endeavor to make good his boast to Hunt, for the present he would regard Maggie's portrait as his private property. To use the painting as he had vaguely planned, before he had been surprised to find it Maggie's portrait, would be to pass it on into other possession where it might become public—where, through some chance, the Maggie of the working-girl's cheap shirt-waist might be identified with the rich Miss Cameron of the Grantham, to Maggie's great discomfiture21, and possibly to her entanglement22 with the police.
When Miss Sherwood came into the library a little later, Larry tried to put Maggie and all matters pertaining23 to his previous night's adventure out of his mind. He had enough other affairs which he was trying adroitly24 to handle—for instance, Miss Sherwood and Hunt; and when his business talk with her was ended, he remarked:
“I saw Mr. Hunt last evening.”
He watched her closely, but he could detect no flash of interest at Hunt's name.
“You went down to your grandmother's?”
“Yes.”
“That was a very great risk for you to take,” she reproved him. “I'm glad you got back safely.”
Despite the disturbance25 Maggie had been to his thoughts, part of his brain had been trying to make plans to forward this other aim; so he now told Miss Sherwood of his wager with Hunt and his bringing away a picture—he said “one picture.” He wanted to awaken26 the suppressed interest each had in the other; to help bridge or close the chasm27 which he sensed had opened between them. So he brought the picture of the Italian mother from his room. She regarded it critically, but with no sign of approval or disapproval28.
“What do you think of it?” she asked.
“It's a most remarkable29 piece of work!” he said emphatically—wishing he could bring in that picture of Maggie as additional evidence supporting his opinion.
She made no further comment, and it was up to Larry to keep the conversation alive. “What is the most Mr. Hunt ever was paid for a painting? I mean one of what he swears at as his `pretty pictures'?”
“I believe about two thousand dollars.”
That was part of the information necessary to Larry's plan.
“Miss Sherwood, I'm going to ask another favor of you. In connection with a bet I made with Mr. Hunt. I want to talk with a picture dealer30—the best one there is. I can't very well go to him. Can you manage to have him come here?”
“Easily. I know the man best for your purpose. I'll telephone, and if he's in New York he'll come to see you this afternoon.”
“Thank you.”
She started out, then turned. “Better finish your business with him to-day if you can. We go to the country to-morrow or the day after. I've just had word that the workmen are finally out of the house; though the grounds, of course, are in bad shape, and will probably remain so. With this labor5 situation, it's practically impossible to get men.”
Larry remembered something else. “Miss Sherwood, you recall my once speaking about a man I got to be friends with in prison—Joe Ellison?”
“Yes.”
“I've written him, under an assumed name, of course, and have had an answer. He'll be out in a very few days now. He's through with his old ways. I know he'd like nothing better than a quiet place to work, off to himself somewhere. I'm sure you can trust him.”
“We'll arrange to have him come out to Cedar31 Crest32. Oh, don't think I'm being generous or sentimental,” she interrupted smilingly as he started to thank her. “I'd be glad to put two or three more ex-convicts to work on our place if I could get them. And so would my friends; they can't get workmen of any kind.”
That afternoon the picture dealer came. Miss Sherwood introduced Larry to him as Mr. Brandon, her cousin, and then left the two men together. Larry appraised33 Mr. Graham as a shrewd man who knew his business and who would like to score a triumph in his own particular field. He decided34 that the dealer had to be handled with a great deal of frankness, and with some stiff bluffing35 which must appear equally frank. The secret of Larry's earlier success had been to establish confidence and even enthusiasm in something which had little or no value. In selling an honest thing at an honest price, the first and fundamental procedure was the same, to establish confidence and, if possible, enthusiasm.
From the moment of introduction Larry quietly assumed the manner of an art collector who was very sure of himself; which manner was abetted36 by the setting of the Sherwood library. He felt something of the old zest37 when wits had been matched against wits, even though this was to be a strictly honorable enterprise.
“You know the work of Mr. Jerome Hunt?” he asked.
“I have handled practically all his work since he began to sell,” replied Mr. Graham.
“I was referring to work in his recent manner.”
“He has not been doing any work recently,” corrected Mr. Graham.
“No?” Larry picked up the Italian mother which for this occasion he had mounted with thumb-tacks upon a drawing-board, and stood it upon a chair in the most advantageous38 light. “There is a little thing in Mr. Hunt's recent manner which I lately purchased.”
Mr. Graham regarded the painting long and critically.
Finally he remarked:
“At least it is different.”
“Different and better,” said Larry with his quiet positiveness. “So much better that I paid him three thousand dollars for it.”
“Three thousand!” The dealer regarded Larry sharply. “Three thousand for that?”
“Yes. And I consider that I got a bargain.”
Mr. Graham was silent for several moments. Then he said “For what reason have I been asked here?”
“I want you to undertake to sell this picture.”
“For how much?”
“Five thousand dollars.”
“Five thousand dollars!”
“It is easily worth five thousand,” Larry said quietly.
“If you value it so highly, why do you want to sell?”
“I am pressed by the present money shortage. Also I secured a second picture when I got this one. That second picture I shall not sell. You should have no difficulty in selling this,” Larry continued, “if you handle the matter right. Think of how people have started again to talk about Gaugin: about his starting to paint in a new manner down there in the Marquesas Islands, of his trading a picture for a stick of furniture or selling it for a few hundred francs—which same paintings are now each worth a small fortune. Capitalize this Gaugin talk; also the talk about poor mad Blakeslie. You've got a new sensation. One all your own.”
“You can't start a sensation with one painting,” Mr. Graham remarked dryly.
This had been the very remark Larry had adroitly been trying to draw from the dealer.
“Why, that's so!” he exclaimed. And then as if the thought had only that moment come to him: “Why not have an exhibition of paintings done in his new manner? He's got a studio full of things just as characteristic as this one.”
Larry caught the gleam which came into the dealer's eyes. It was instantly masked.
“Too late in the spring for a picture show. Couldn't put on an exhibition before next season.”
“But why not have a private pre-exhibition showing?” Larry argued—“with special invitations sent to a small, carefully chosen list, putting it over strong to them that you were offering them the chance of a first and exclusive view of something very remarkable. Most of them will feel flattered and will come. And that will start talk and stir up interest in your public exhibition in the fall. That's the idea!”
Again there was the gleam, quickly masked, in the dealer's eyes. But Larry got it.
“How do I know this picture here isn't just an accident?—the only one of the sort Mr. Hunt has ever painted, or ever will paint?” cautiously inquired Mr. Graham. “You said you had a second picture. May I see it?”
Larry hesitated. But he believed he had the dealer almost “sold”; a little more and Mr. Graham would be convinced. So he brought in Maggie's portrait. The dealer looked it over with a face which he tried to keep expressionless.
“How much is this one?” he asked at length.
“It is not for sale.”
“It will bring more money than the other. It's a more interesting subject.”
“That's why I'm keeping it,” said Larry. “I think you'll admit, Mr. Graham, that this proves that Mr. Hunt is not now painting accidents.”
“You're right.” The mask suddenly dropped from Mr. Graham's face; he was no longer merely an art merchant; he was also an art enthusiast39. “Hunt has struck something bold and fresh, and I think I can put him over. I'll try that scheme you mentioned. Tell me where I can find him and I'll see him at once.”
“That picture has got to be sold before I give you his address. No use seeing him until then; he'd laugh at you, and not listen to anything. He's sore at the world; thinks it doesn't understand him. An actual sale would be the only argument that would have weight with him.”
“All right—I'll buy the picture myself. Hunt and I have had a falling out, and I'd like him to have proof that I believe in him.” Again Mr. Graham was the art merchant. “Though, of course, I can't pay the five thousand you ask. Hunt's new manner may catch on, and it may not. It's a big gamble.”
“What will you pay?”
“What you paid for it—three thousand.”
“That's an awful drop from what I expected. When can you pay it?”
“I'll send you my check by an assistant as soon as I get back to my place.”
“I told you I was squeezed financially—so the picture is yours. I'll send you Mr. Hunt's present address when I receive your check. Make it payable40 to 'cash.'”
When Mr. Graham had gone with the Italian mother—it was then the very end of the afternoon—Larry wondered if his plan to draw Hunt out of his hermitage was going to succeed; and wondered what would be the result, if any, upon the relationship between Hunt and Miss Sherwood if Hunt should come openly back into his world an acclaimed41 success, and come with the changed attitude toward every one and every thing that recognition bestows42.
But something was to make Larry wonder even more a few minutes later. Dick, that habitual43 late riser, had had to hurry away that morning without speaking to him. Now, when he came home toward six o'clock, Dick shouted cheerily from the hallway:
“Ahoy! Where you anchored, Captain Nemo?”
Larry did not answer. He sat over his papers as one frozen. He knew now whose had been the elusively44 familiar voice he had heard outside Maggie's door. It was Dick Sherwood's.
Dick paused without to take some messages from Judkins, and Larry's mind raced feverishly45. Dick Sherwood was the victim Maggie and Barney and Old Jimmie were so cautiously and elaborately trying to trim! It seemed an impossible coincidence. But no, not impossible, after all. Their net had been spread for just such game: a young man, impressionable, pleasure-loving, with plenty of money, and with no strings46 tied to his spending of it. That Barney should have made his acquaintance was easily explained; to establish acquaintance with such persons as Dick was Barney's specialty47. What more natural than that the high-spirited, irresponsible Dick should fall into this trap?—or indeed that he should have been picked out in advance as the ideal victim and have been drawn48 into it?
“Hello, there!” grumbled49 Dick, entering. “Why didn't you answer a shipmate's hail?”
“I heard you; but just then I was adding a column of figures, and I knew you'd look in.”
At that moment Larry noted50 the portrait of Maggie, looking up from the chair beside him. With a swiftness which he tried to disguise into a mechanical action, he seized the painting and rolled it up, face inside.
“What's that you've got?” demanded Dick.
“Just a little daub of my own.”
“So you paint, too. What else can you do? Let's have a look.”
“It's too rotten. I'd rather let you see something else—though all my stuff is bad.”
“You wouldn't do any little thing, would you, to brighten this tiredest hour in the day of a tired business man,” complained Dick. “I've really been a business man to-day, Captain. Worked like the devil—or an angel—whichever works the harder.”
He lit a cigarette and settled with a sigh on the corner of Larry's desk. Larry regarded him with a stranger and more contradicting mixture of feelings than he had ever thought to contain: solicitude51 for Dick—jealousy of him—and the instinct to protect Maggie. This last seemed to Larry grotesquely52 absurd the instant it seethed53 up in him, but there the instinct was: was Dick treating Maggie right?
“How was the show last night, Dick?”
“Punk!”
“I thought you said you were to see 'The Jest.' I've heard it's one of the best things for years.”
“Oh, I guess the show's all right. But the company was poor. My company, I mean. The person I wanted to see couldn't come.”
“Hope you had a supper party that made up for the disappointment,” pursued Larry, adroitly trying to lead him on.
“I sure had that, Captain!”
Dick slid to a chair beside Larry, dropped a hand on Larry's knee, and said in a lowered tone:
“Captain, I've recently met a new girl—and believe me, she's a knock-out!”
“Better keep clear of those show girls, Dick.”
“Never again! The last one cured me for life. Miss Cameron—Maggie Cameron, how's that for a name?—is no Broadway girl, Captain. She's not even a New York girl.”
“No?”
“She's from some place out West. Father owned several big ranches54. She says that explains her crudeness. Her crude? I should say not! They don't grow better manners right here in New York. And she's pretty, and clever, and utterly55 naive56 about everything in New York. Though I must say,” Dick added, “that I'm not so keen about her cousin and her uncle. I'd met the cousin a few times the last year or two around town; he belongs here. The two are the sort of poor stock that crops out in every good family. They've got one merit, though: they don't try to impose on her too much.”
“What is your Miss Cameron doing in New York?”
“Having her first look at the town before going to some resort for the summer; perhaps taking a cottage somewhere. I say, Captain”—leaning closer—“I wish you didn't feel you had to stick around this apartment so tight. I'd like to take you out and introduce you to her.”
Larry could imagine the resulting scene if ever this innocently proposed introduction were given.
“I guess that for the present I'll have to depend upon your reports, Dick.”
“Well, you can take it from me that she's just about all right!”
It was Larry's strange instinct to protect Maggie that prompted his next remark:
“You're not just out joy-riding, are you, Dick?”
Dick flushed. “Nothing of that sort. She's not that kind of girl. Besides—I think it's the real thing, Captain.”
The honest look in Dick's eyes, even more than his words, quieted Larry's fear for Maggie. Presently Dick walked out leaving Larry yet another problem added to his life. He could not let anything happen to Maggie. He could not let anything happen to Dick. He had to protect each; he had to do something. Yet what could he do?
Yes, this certainly was a problem! He paced the room, another victim of the ancient predicament of divided and antagonistic57 duty.
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strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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provocative
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| adj.挑衅的，煽动的，刺激的，挑逗的 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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frenzied
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| a.激怒的；疯狂的 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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essentially
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dodging
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legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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mere
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wrath
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forth
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seclusion
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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entanglement
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pertaining
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| 与…有关系的，附属…的，为…固有的(to) | |
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adroitly
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disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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awaken
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chasm
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disapproval
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remarkable
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dealer
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cedar
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crest
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appraised
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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bluffing
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abetted
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zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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advantageous
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| adj.有利的；有帮助的 | |
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enthusiast
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| n.热心人，热衷者 | |
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payable
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| adj.可付的，应付的，有利益的 | |
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acclaimed
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| adj.受人欢迎的 | |
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bestows
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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elusively
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feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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strings
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specialty
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| n.(speciality)特性，特质；专业，专长 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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grotesquely
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| adv. 奇异地,荒诞地 | |
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seethed
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| （液体）沸腾( seethe的过去式和过去分词 )； 激动，大怒； 强压怒火； 生闷气(~with sth|~ at sth) | |
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ranches
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| 大农场， （兼种果树，养鸡等的）大牧场( ranch的名词复数 ) | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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naive
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| adj.幼稚的，轻信的；天真的 | |
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antagonistic
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| adj.敌对的 | |
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