Here and there were small tables ready to hold whatever might be deposited on them by the white-coated attendants, at the request of those made thirsty by the exercise and mental strain occasioned by the classic and subtle game of billiards.
The occupants were few. This was not the result of any lack of popularity for the Lamartine, being on the Madison Square section, in the Nineties, was at the height of its career. The fact is, it was only ten o’clock; an hour when any sensible man — according to the view of the Broadway sport — should be trying to decide whether to turn over for another snatch of sleep or to get up and give his serious consideration to the question of breakfast. Therefore was the billiard room by no means filled.
The game just begun by Harry Jennings and Billy Sherman was the only one in progress, and the spectators were few in number.
In the farthest corner the white-coated attendant was replacing some chairs that had been overturned during the late unpleasantness. Driscoll, observing this, smiled at some inward recollection and turned to Dougherty who was seated at his side.
“Really,” said Dougherty, “there’s nothing to it. We’re Miss Williams’s friends, and we don’t intend to let anyone annoy her. That’s all.”
“But it’s not enough,” declared Driscoll. “We’ve agreed to argue this out as man to man. Very well. Now, I’ll leave it to you: If, in my wanderings through the highways and byways of existence, I suddenly find a young woman who causes my heart to jump from side to side like the pendulum of an eight-day clock, what is there to keep me from telling her so? The mere fact that she possesses friends? Hardly.”
Dougherty observed him with a new interest.
“That was exactly how I felt,” he observed.
“How? What?”
“Like the pendulum of an eight-day clock.”
“Oh! Well?”
“Well” — Dougherty hesitated — “it’s like this: I suppose I must begin at the beginning. If I didn’t you wouldn’t understand how we feel. Anyway, there’s not much to tell.
“It was about two months ago that we first saw Miss Williams. We all hang out here in the Lamartine — that is, Dumain, Booth, Sherman, Jennings, myself, and one or two others. Well, one day, coming in the lobby, what do I see? I see what I call the Queen of Egypt sitting at the telegraph desk.
“ ‘Aha!’ says I, ‘a new one.’ Without loss of time I proceed to skirmish. The enemy ignores me. I advance right up to the fortifications. Still no sign. I prepare to turn loose with my artillery, and at that point am interrupted by Dumain and Jennings entering the lobby.
“As soon as they observe me they hasten up with reenforcements. ‘Who is it?’ says Jennings. ‘The Queen of Egypt,’ says I, ‘and no time to be lost.’ Then we begin in earnest.
“Dumain had a roll — some rich guy wanted to find out who to give it to (you know, Dumain’s a palmist) — and that day we must have sent something like five million telegrams, having found her silent on all other topics. It wasn’t easy. Did you ever try to write a telegram when you had nothing to say and nobody to say it to? And still we never got across the trenches. It went something like this:
“ ‘How much?’ says I, handing over for the ninth time a telegram to my brother in Trenton, telling him I was well and hoping he was the same.
“ ‘Sixty cents,’ says the Queen of Egypt.
“ ‘Now,’ says I, ‘that’s what I don’t like. I don’t mind paying out five for a dinner or tickets to a show, but I do hate to spend money on telegrams. But as I say, I’d just as soon buy tickets to a show as not — any show.’
“ ‘Sixty cents,’ says the Queen of Egypt.
“ ‘And so far as dinner is concerned — why, I hardly consider ten dollars too much for a good dinner,’ says I.
“ ‘Sixty cents, please,’ says she.
“And that was the way it went all day. Not a word could we get. It appeared to be hopeless. Jennings got disgusted.
“ ‘You’ve made a mistake, Dougherty,’ says he. ‘She belongs to Egypt all right, but she’s not the queen. She’s the Sphinx.’ I was inclined to agree with him.
“The time passed quicker than we thought. We were sitting over in the corner, trying to think up one more telegram, when we heard somebody stop right in front of us. It was the Queen of Egypt, with her hat and coat on, ready to go home. Before we could say a word she spoke.
“ ‘Gentlemen,’ she says, ‘you must pardon me for speaking to you. I do it because I believe you are gentlemen. I suppose you have been trying to joke with me today; and I am sure that when I tell you it disturbs me and makes me unhappy, you will promise not to do it any more. For if you continue, I must give up my position.’
“You can imagine — maybe — how we felt. Dumain stammered something, and I choked, and the next minute we saw the door close behind her. I guess she realized our condition.
“Well, the next day we had to catch Booth and train him. And the day after that, Sherman. He was the hardest of all. About every day it happens that some stranger suddenly finds himself de trop, though we don’t usually interfere unless he insists. And now you get us. She is no longer the Queen of Egypt. She is Miss Lila Williams — which is to say, she’s better than any queen.”
“But still,” persisted Driscoll, “by what right do you interfere with me?”
“Well,” Dougherty appeared to reflect, “perhaps none. But there’s one or two things we’ve found out that I haven’t told you. One is that she has no father or mother. She’s all alone.
“Very well. One thing a mother does is this: if some guy comes round with a meaning eye, she hauls him up short. She says to him: ‘Who are you, and what are you good for, and what are your intentions?’ Well, that’s us. As far as that part of it’s concerned, we’re mama.”
“But I have no intentions,” said Driscoll.
“That’s just the point. You have no intentions. Then hands off.”
Dougherty at this point glanced aside at a shout from the billiard players. When he turned back he found Driscoll standing before him with outstretched hand.
“You’re on,” said Driscoll briefly. “Shake.”
“You’re a gentleman,” said Dougherty, grasping the hand.
“And now — will you introduce me to Miss Williams?”
Dougherty looked somewhat taken aback.
“I want to apologize to her,” Driscoll explained.
“Why, sure,” said Dougherty. “Of course. I forgot. Come on.”
Halfway to the door they were intercepted by Dumain.
“Well?” said he.
“Oh, it’s all right,” said Dougherty. “Driscoll’s a gentleman.”
“Mon Dieu!” exclaimed the little Frenchman. “Eet ees not surprising. For zee little Miss Williams — she ees irresistible.”
He returned to the game, and Driscoll and Dougherty passed down the hall and thence into the lobby.
The lobby, more ornate and pretentious than the billiard room, was at the same time more typical. With Driscoll, we shall pause to observe it in detail.
There were two entrances: the main one on Broadway, and a side door leading to a crosstown street not far from Madison Square. On the right, entering, were the hotel desk and the cigar stand; beyond, the hall leading to the bar and billiard room. Further on came the telegraph desk and the elevators. Along the whole length of the opposite side was a line of leather-covered lounges and chairs, broken only by the side entrance.
At one time the Lamartine had been quiet, fashionable, and exclusive. Now it was noisy, sporty, and popular; for fashion had moved north.
The marble pillars stood in lofty indifference to the ever-changing aspect and character of the human creatures who moved about on the patterned floor; subtly time had imprinted the mark of his fingers on the carvings, frescoes, and furniture. From magnificent the lobby had become presentable; it was now all but dingy.