Briefly3, his plan was so to manage as to have Maggie received in the Sherwood household as a guest, to have her receive the frank, unquestioning hospitality (and perhaps friendship) of such a gracious, highly placed, unpretentious woman as Miss Sherwood, so distinctly a native of, and not an immigrant to, the great world. To be received as a friend by those against whom she plotted, to have the generous, unsuspecting friendship of Miss Sherwood—if anything just then had a chance to open the blinded Maggie's eyes to the evil and error of what she was engaged upon, if anything had a chance to appeal to the finer things he believed to exist unrecognized or suppressed in Maggie, this was that thing.
And best part of this plan, its effect would be only within Maggie's self. No one need know that anything had happened. There would be no exposure, no humiliation4.
Of course there was the great question of how to get Miss Sherwood to invite Maggie; and whether indeed Miss Sherwood would invite her at all. And there was the further question, the invitation being sent, of whether Maggie would accept.
Larry decided5 to manipulate his design through Dick Sherwood. Late that afternoon, when Dick, just returned from the city, dropped into, as was his before-dinner custom, the office-study which had been set aside for Larry's use, Larry, after an adroit6 approach to his subject, continued:
“And since I've been wished on you as a sort of step-uncle, there's something I'd like to suggest—if I don't seem to be fairly jimmying my way into your affairs.”
“Door's unlocked and wide open, Captain,” said Dick. “Walk right in and take the best chair.”
“Thanks. Remember telling me about a young woman you recently met? A Miss Maggie—Maggie—”
“Miss Cameron,” Dick prompted. “Of course I remember.”
“And remember your telling me that this time it's the real thing?”
“And it IS the real thing!”
“You haven't—excuse me—asked her to marry you yet?”
“No. I've been trying to get up my nerve.”
“Here's where you've got to excuse me once more, Dick—it's not my business to tell you what should be your relations with your family—but have you told your sister?”
“No.” Dick hesitated. “I suppose I should. But I hadn't thought of it—yet. You see—” Again Dick hesitated.
“Yes?” prompted Larry.
“There are her relatives—that cousin and uncle. I guess it must have been my thinking of them that prevented my thinking of what you suggest.”
“But you told me they hadn't interfered7 much, and never would interfere8.” Larry gently pressed his point: “And look at it from Miss Cameron's angle of view. If it's the real thing, and you're behaving that way toward her, hasn't she good grounds for thinking it strange that you haven't introduced her to your family?”
“By George, you're right, Captain! I'll see to that at once.”
“Of course, Dick,” Larry went on, carefully feeling his way, “you know much better than I the proper way to do such things—but don't you think it would be rather nice, when you tell your sister, that you suggest to her that she invite Miss Cameron out here for a little visit? If they are to meet, I know Miss Cameron, or any girl, would take it as more of a tribute to be received in your own home than merely to meet in a big commonplace hotel.”
“Right again, Captain! I'd tell Isabel to-night, and ask her to send the invitation—only I'm booked to scoot right back to the city for a little party as soon as I get some things together, and I'll stay overnight in the apartment. But I'll attend to the thing to-morrow night, sure.”
“May I ask just one favor in the meantime?”
“One favor? A dozen, Captain!”
“I'll take the other eleven later. Just now I only ask, since you haven't proposed, that you won't—er—commit yourself any further, in any way, with Miss Cameron until after you've told your sister and until after Miss Cameron has been out here.”
“Oh, I say now!” protested Dick.
“I am merely suggesting that affairs remain in statu quo until after Miss Cameron's visit with your sister. That's not asking much of you, Dick—nor asking it for a very long time.”
“Oh, of course I'll do it, Captain,” grumbled10 Dick affectionately. “You've got me where I'll do almost anything you want me to do.”
But Dick did not speak to his sister the following evening. The next morning news came to Miss Sherwood of a friend's illness, and she and her novel-reading aunt hurried off at once on what was to prove to be a week's absence. But this delay in his plan did not worry Larry greatly as it otherwise would have done, for Dick repeated his promise to hold a stiff rein11 upon himself until after he should have spoken to his sister. And Larry believed he could rely upon Dick's pledged word.
During this week of waiting and necessary inactivity Larry concentrated upon another phase of his many-sided plan—to make of himself a business success. As has been said, he saw his chance of this in the handling of Miss Sherwood's affairs; and saw it particularly in an idea that had begun to grow upon him since he became aware, through statements and letters from the agents turned over to him, of the extent of the Sherwood real-estate holdings and since he had got some glimmering13 of their condition. His previous venturings about the city had engendered14 in him a sense of moderate security; so he now began to make flying trips into New York in the smart roadster Miss Sherwood had placed at his disposal.
On each trip Larry made swift visits to several of the properties, until finally he had covered the entire list Miss Sherwood had furnished him through the agents. His survey corroborated15 his surmise16. The property, mostly neglected apartment and tenement17 houses, was in an almost equally bad way whether one regarded it from the standpoint of sanitation18, comfort, or cold financial returns. The fault for this was due to the fact that the Sherwoods had left the property entirely19 in the care of the agents, and the agents, being old, old-fashioned, and weary of business to the point of being almost ready to retire, had left the property to itself.
Prompted by these bad conditions, and to some degree by the then critical housing famine, with its records of some thousands of families having no place at all to go and some thousands of families being compelled for the sake of mere9 shelter to pay two and three times what they could afford for a few poor rooms, and with its records of profiteering landlords, Larry began to make notes for a plan which he intended later to elaborate—a plan which he tentatively entitled: “Suggestions for the Development of Sherwood Real-Estate Holdings.” Larry, knowing from the stubs of Miss Sherwood's checkbook what would be likely to please her, gave as much consideration to Service as to Profit. The basis of his growing plan was good apartments at fair rentals20. That he saw as the greatest of public services in the present crisis. But the return upon the investment had to be a reasonable one. Larry did not believe in Charity, except for extreme cases. He believed, and his belief had grown out of a wide experience with many kinds of people, that Charity, of course to a smaller extent, was as definitely a source of social evil as the then much-talked-of Profiteering.
In the meantime he was seeing his old friend, Joe Ellison, every day; perhaps smoking with Ellison in his cottage after he had finished his day's work among the roses, perhaps walking along the bluff21 which hung above the Sound, whose cool, clear waters splashed with vacation laziness upon the shingle22. The two men rarely spoke12, and never of the past. Larry was well acquainted with, and understood, the older man's deep-rooted wish to avoid all talk bearing upon deeds and associates of other days; that was a part of his life and a phase of existence that Joe Ellison was trying to forget, and Larry by his silence deferred23 to his friend's desire.
On the day after Joe Ellison's visit to the Duchess, Larry had received a note from his grandmother, addressed, of course, to “Mr. Brandon.” There was no danger in her writing Larry if she took adequate precautions: mail addressed to Cedar24 Crest25 was not bothered by postal26 and police officials; it was only mail which came to the house of the Duchess which received the attention of these gentlemen.
The note was one which the Duchess, after that night of thought which had so shaken her old heart, had decided to be a necessity if her plan of never telling of her discovery of Maggie's real paternity were to be a success. The major portion of her note dwelt upon a generality with which Larry already was acquainted: Joe's desire to keep clear of all talk touching27 upon the deeds and the people of his past. And then in a careless-seeming last sentence the Duchess packed the carefully calculated substance of her entire note:
“It may not be very important—but particularly avoid ever mentioning the mere name of Jimmie Carlisle. They used to know each other, and their acquaintance is about the bitterest thing Joe Ellison has to remember.”
Of course he'd never mention Old Jimmie Carlisle, Larry said to himself as he destroyed the note—never guessing, in making this natural response to what seemed a most natural request, that he had become an unconscious partner in the plan of the warm-hearted, scheming Duchess.
There was one detail of Joe Ellison's behavior which aroused Larry's mild curiosity. Directly beneath one of Joe's gardens, hardly a hundred yards away, was a bit of beach and a pavilion which were used in common by the families from the surrounding estates. The girls and younger women were just home from schools and colleges, and at high tide were always on the beach. At this period, whenever he was at Cedar Crest, Larry saw Joe, his work apparently28 forgotten, gazing fixedly30 down upon the young figures splashing about the water in their bright bathing-suits or lounging about the pavilion in their smart summer frocks.
This interest made Larry wonder, though to be sure not very seriously. For he had never a guess of how deep Joe's interest was. He did not know, could not know, that that tall, fixed29 figure, with its one absorbing idea, was thinking of his daughter. He could not know that Joe Ellison, emotionally elated and with a hungry, self-denying affection that reached out toward them all, was seeing his daughter as just such a girl as one of these—simple, wholesome31, well-brought-up. He could not know that Joe, in a way, perceived his daughter in every nice young woman he saw.
Toward evening of the seventh day of her visit, Miss Sherwood returned. Larry was on the piazza32 when the car bearing her swept into the white-graveled curve of the drive. The car was a handsome, powerful roadster. Larry had started out to be of such assistance as he could, when the figure at the wheel, a man, sprang from the car and helped Miss Sherwood alight. Larry saw that the man was Hunt—such a different Hunt!—and he had begun a quick retreat when Hunt's voice called after him:
“You there—wait a minute! I want a little chin-chin with you.”
Larry halted. He could not help overhearing the few words that passed between Hunt and Miss Sherwood.
“Thank you ever so much,” she said in her even voice. “Then you're coming?”
“I promised, didn't I?”
“Then good-bye.”
“Good-bye.”
They shook hands friendly enough, but rather formally, and Miss Sherwood turned to the house. Hunt called to Larry:
“Come here, son.”
Larry crossed to the big painter who was standing33 beside the power-bulged hood34 of his low-swung car.
“Happened to drop in where she was—brought her home—aunt following in that hearse with its five-foot cushions she always rides in,” Hunt explained. And then: “Well, I suppose you've got to give me the once-over. Hurry up, and get it done with.”
Larry obeyed. Hunt's wild hair had been smartly barbered, he had on a swagger dust-coat, and beneath it flannels35 of the smartest cut. Further, he bore himself as if smart clothes and smart cars had always been items of his equipment.
“Well, young fellow, spill it,” he commanded. “What do I look like?”
“Like Solomon in all his glory. No, more like the he-dressmaker of the Queen of Sheba.”
“I'm going to run you up every telephone post we come to for that insult! Hop36 in, son, and we'll take a little voyage around the earth in eighty seconds.”
Larry got in. Once out of the drive the car leaped away as though intent upon keeping to Hunt's time-table. But after a mile or two Hunt quieted the roaring monster to a conversational37 pace.
“Get one of the invitations to my show?” he asked.
“Yes. Several days ago. That dealer38 certainly got it up in great shape.”
“You must have hypnotized Graham. That old paint pirate is giving the engine all the gas she'll stand—and believe me, he's sure getting up a lot of speed.” Hunt grinned. “That private pre-exhibition show you suggested is proving the best publicity39 idea Graham ever had in his musty old shop. Everywhere I go, people are talking about the darned thing. Every man, woman and child, also unmarried females of both sexes, who got invitations are coming—and those who didn't get 'em are trying to bribe40 the traffic cop at Forty-Second Street to let 'em in.”
Hunt paused for a chuckle41. “And I'm having the time of my young life with the people who always thought I couldn't paint, and who are now trying to sidle up to me on the suspicion that possibly after all I can paint. What's got that bunch buffaloed is the fact that Graham has let it leak out that I'm likely to make bales of money from my painting. The idea of any one making money out of painting, that's too much for their heads. Oh, this is the life, Larry!”
Larry started to congratulate him, but was instantly interrupted with:
“I admit I'm a painter, and always will admit it. But this present thing is all your doing. We'll try to square things sometime. But I didn't ask you to come along to hear verbostical acrobatics42 about myself. I asked you to learn if you'd worked out your plan yet regarding Maggie?”
“Yes.” And Larry proceeded to give the details of his design.
“Regular psychological stuff!” exclaimed Hunt. And then: “Say, you're some stage-manager! Or rather same playwright43! Playwrights44 that know tell me it's one of their most difficult tricks—to get all their leading characters on the stage at the same time. And here you've got it all fixed to bring on Miss Sherwood, Dick, Maggie, yourself, and the all-important me—for don't forget I shall be slipping out to Cedar Crest occasionally.”
“As for myself,” remarked Larry, “I shall remain very much behind the scenes. Maggie'll never see me.”
“Well, here's hoping you're good enough playwright to manage your characters so they won't run away from you and mix up an ending you never dreamed of!”
The car paused again in the drive and Larry got out.
“I say, Larry,” Hunt whispered eagerly, “who's that tall, white-haired man working over there among the roses?”
“Joe Ellison. He's that man I told you about my getting to know in Sing Sing. Remember?”
“Oh, yes! The crook45 who was having his baby brought up to be a real person. Say, he's a sure-enough character! Lordy, but I'd love to paint that face!... So-long, son.”
The car swung around the drive and roared away. Larry mounted to the piazza. Dick was waiting for him, and excitedly drew him down to one corner that crimson46 ramblers had woven into a nook for confidences.
“Captain, old scout,” he said in a low, happy voice, “I've just told sis. Put the whole proposition up to her, just as you told me. She took it like a regular fellow. Your whole idea was one hundred per cent right. Sis is inside now getting off that invitation to Miss Cameron, asking her to come out day after to-morrow.”
Larry involuntarily caught the veranda47 railing. “I hope it works out—for the best,” he said.
“Oh, it will—no doubt of it!” cried the exultant48 Dick. “And, Captain, if it does, it'll be all your doing!”
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1
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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awakening
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| n.觉醒，醒悟 adj.觉醒中的；唤醒的 | |
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3
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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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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adroit
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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7
interfered
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| v.干预( interfere的过去式和过去分词 )；调停；妨碍；干涉 | |
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8
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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9
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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10
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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rein
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| n.疆绳，统治，支配；vt.以僵绳控制，统治 | |
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12
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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13
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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14
engendered
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| v.产生（某形势或状况），造成，引起( engender的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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15
corroborated
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| v.证实，支持（某种说法、信仰、理论等）( corroborate的过去式 ) | |
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surmise
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| v./n.猜想，推测 | |
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17
tenement
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| n.公寓；房屋 | |
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sanitation
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| n.公共卫生，环境卫生，卫生设备 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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rentals
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| n.租费，租金额( rental的名词复数 ) | |
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bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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shingle
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| n.木瓦板；小招牌(尤指医生或律师挂的营业招牌)；v.用木瓦板盖（屋顶）；把（女子头发）剪短 | |
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deferred
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| adj.延期的，缓召的v.拖延，延缓，推迟( defer的过去式和过去分词 )；服从某人的意愿，遵从 | |
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cedar
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| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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postal
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| adj.邮政的，邮局的 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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28
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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29
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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31
wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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flannels
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| 法兰绒男裤； 法兰绒( flannel的名词复数 ) | |
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36
hop
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| n.单脚跳，跳跃；vi.单脚跳，跳跃；着手做某事；vt.跳跃，跃过 | |
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conversational
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| adj.对话的，会话的 | |
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38
dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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39
publicity
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| n.众所周知，闻名；宣传，广告 | |
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40
bribe
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| n.贿赂；v.向…行贿，买通 | |
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41
chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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42
acrobatics
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| n.杂技 | |
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43
playwright
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| n.剧作家，编写剧本的人 | |
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playwrights
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| n.剧作家( playwright的名词复数 ) | |
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45
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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46
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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47
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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48
exultant
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| adj.欢腾的，狂欢的，大喜的 | |
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