“Let me,” he urged. “I’ll take it for you.”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” Hattie said emphatically. “I’ll carry my own bag.” She tugged at the handle, her thin body curved in a bow which impeded the progress of the throng of disembarking travelers.
“No, no,” Jim insisted. “I wouldn’t think of letting you carry it. Why it’s terribly heavy.” His sallow face was flushed as he pulled insistently at the opposite handle.
“Better let her take it, Jim,” Robert counseled. “She’s afraid it might not be quite proper for a young man to carry the intimate articles of apparel she has lurking in the depths of the antique.”
“Nonsense!” Hattie snapped. “Take it then.” She straightened suddenly and loosed her hold. The entire weight of the bag fell upon the twine which was fastened to the handle Jim held. The strain was too great.
There was a sullen plop as the string broke. The lock had been useless for many years.
Hattie uttered a shrill cry as the valise sagged open and spilled its contents on the platform. Jim held onto the handle stupidly. A pair of long knitted drawers were prominently displayed as they hung half out of the bag.
A great snicker went up from those about as Hattie dropped to her thin knees and feverishly gathered the mysterious articles disgorged by the gaping bag.
“Set it down, dummy!” she said screechingly. “Set it down before you spill the rest out.”
Jim set the valise down and dropped to his knees beside her to assist in retrieving the contents. Hattie slapped his hand away as he reached for a stiffly flounced petticoat.
“I’ll attend to this,” she said acridly. “You’ve done enough harm for one time.”
Jim’s face was very red as he arose and watched her in dismay as she fluttered about the platform, picking up articles from under the feet of strangers and thrusting them in the valise willy-nilly.
“You take my bag,” Robert grated. “I told her that damned old thing would never stand another trip. It’s the one Noah used on the Ark.” He put his suitcase in Jim’s hand and gathered Hattie’s valise awkwardly in his arms. The knitted drawers were left on the floor as he stood up.
Hattie grabbed them and bundled them up in a small ball which she held in her bony hands.
“I don’t know what all these smart alecks are laughing about,” she said as she arose. She sniffed and tilted her nose at a forty-five degree angle to indicate how utterly beneath her contempt were those who enjoyed her discomfiture.
“For God’s sake, let’s get out of here,” Robert said hastily.
Jim led the way with Robert following and Hattie sniffingly bringing up the rear.
“We’d better take a cab,” Jim said over his shoulder. “I haven’t a car, and it takes hours to get any place on a street car with the streets so crowded.”
Hattie sniffed with machine-like regularity as they inspected the two rooms Jim had reserved for them. “I daresay they’ll do,” she admitted. Her face assumed an expression of martyr-like patience. “It’s no worse than I expected to put up with.”
Robert excused himself and went down to the lobby to telephone while Hattie fussed about her room, finding dust in unexpected places, and searching the mattress for any signs of bedbugs.
Robert’s hands trembled as he turned the pages of the telephone directory in search of the Brinkleys’ number. What would Babs say when she learned he had followed her to the city? His heart pounded as he called the number. A moment more and he would hear her beloved voice. He would beg her forgiveness. She would have to listen to him.
He waited what seemed to him a terribly long interval. Then a heavy, masculine voice said “hello.”
“Oh hello!” Robert gripped the receiver tightly. “Uh... is this... is this Mr. Brinkley?” he stammered.
“Yes. Who is it?”
“Ah... uh... this is Robert Sutler. An... a friend of Babs!.. of... of Barbara’s... Miss Dorn.” Robert gulped miserably. “May I speak to her? That is... if she... if she hasn’t gone to bed.”
“She’s not gone to bed, I’m afraid,” the voice said sarcastically. “She’s not here at present. Shall I tell her you called?”
“Uh... when do you expect her in?” Robert asked desperately.
“I fear I can’t make any prediction about a maid and Mardi Gras,” the heavy voice chuckled. Robert thought the chuckle was demoniacal. “She and my daughter are together, and it may be hours before they return. And they may return at any moment. Do you wish to leave any message?”
“No, thank you,” Robert said faintly. He carefully hung the receiver on the hook and sank into the nearest chair. The lobby whirled about him madly, and there were dark specks interspersed with the mental mélange.
Babs was out!
“It may be hours before they return.”
The words beat through his brain maddeningly. Babs had failed him. He had not thought of this eventuality. He had been so sure that she would sense his coming. So sure that everything would right itself as soon as he reached the city.
Now? What now?
He slumped in the chair and fought back nausea. With terrible clarity he saw a vision of Babs on the gay streets with other men.
With another man!
Of course. He had been an utter fool to expect to find her sitting at home at ten-thirty of Mardi Gras eve. Why should he expect her to sit quietly and twiddle her thumbs?
He groaned miserably. It was he who had sent her here alone. His own damnable stubbornness and egotism. He had been so sure of her. So sure of himself. So sure that their love was stronger than this other force which had driven her on.
Now he was sure of nothing.
A happily singing throng swept by on the sidewalk outside and mocked at him. Half a million souls had thrown discretion to the winds and were drinking deep of freedom... while he sat miserably in a hotel lobby and cursed fate.
He shuddered and put his hands over his face. Half a million people! And Babs was among them. He must find her. Somehow he must find her and regain what he had thrown away. Babs among half a million. A third of them in masks and costume.
He groaned aloud.
A hideous image confronted him. Babs’ dear face beneath a domino. Laughing and singing and...
“God help me,” he muttered. What had he done? It was too late now. Of course Babs had found someone else. She had been so determined to seize life in her hands and wring its secret from the pulp. He saw her as she had faced him that afternoon in the hammock. She had pleaded with him to go with her. Her lips had trembled and tears had stood in her eyes.
He bowed his head and rocked back and forth miserably. What could he do now? Was it too late? It was sheer absurdity to go out on the streets to seek her.
But he must find her. Must explain to her that he realized his mistake. Must win her back. Must prove to her that his love was stronger than all else.
He jumped to his feet and strode to the phone book. His fingers were steady as he copied down the street address of the Brinkleys. Then he approached the clerk at the desk and thrust the address before him.
“Where is that?” he asked harshly. “And how’s the best way to get there?”
“To-night?” The clerk studied the address languidly.
“Hell, yes!” Robert said fiercely.
“Take a cab if you’re in a hurry,” the clerk advised. “It’s not more than a twenty or thirty minutes’ walk if you want to go that way.”
“How would I start out to walk there?” Robert demanded.