Simpson looked simple and naïve enough to grasp at any straw. Would he grasp at Hattie? Jim considered the plan desperately during the split second before he acted.
This was his opportunity to sidestep the incubus of Robert’s redoubtable Cousin Hattie. His one chance! For certainly in all the Mardi Gras throng he would not find another Widower Simpson.
But Hattie? How would she react to the impropriety of casually striking up a friendship with a total stranger? Jim was very positive the ladies in the Aid Society would frown upon any such loose conduct. If he only knew the man’s name!
He whirled upon Simpson and grasped his arm. “What’s your name?” he hissed in his ear.
“Simpson,” he replied automatically. Then he drew back in alarm as Jim dragged him forward.
“Just think of meeting you here! Of all men!” he cried heartily. “My old friend, Simpson!” He slapped him enthusiastically upon the back while Hattie looked up in surprise.
“I want you to meet a friend of mine,” Jim said to her while Simpson muttered futile protests under his breath. “Mr. Simpson, the father of these charming children. And this, Simp old pal, is... is... Cousin Hattie,” he caught himself — “Uh... that is, Robert’s Cousin Hattie. Robert Sutler, you know?”
“I’m so glad to meet you,” Hattie exclaimed, bowing perkily. Mr. Simpson looked from Jim to Hattie in open-mouthed astonishment. He was almost persuaded that he did recognize Jim, and he thought the name of Robert Sutler had a familiar sound. He didn’t want to be boorish before such a charming lady... and, after all, this was Mardi Gras.
“Pleased tuh meetcha,” he muttered.
“Hain’t she got uh purty costume, daddy?” Boots tugged at his sleeve. “I ain’t seen no other costume atall like hers.”
“Shhh,” Simpson muttered desperately to his small daughter. “That’s the lady’s dress... and it’s a swell un too.”
Cousin Hattie bridled at first because the child thought her black silk was a costume, but she unbent before Simpson’s evident admiration.
“That’s all right,” she said forgivingly. “The little girl is tired and sleepy. It’s just a shame to have them out on the streets at this time of night. What is their mother thinking of?”
“We ain’ got no mammy,” Buddie said quickly. “She went tuh stay wiv thuh angels.” His upturned face was positively cherubic as he supplied this information.
“Oh, you poor lambs!” Hattie exclaimed feelingly. She knelt quickly and sought to gather them in her arms, but they eluded her.
“Be nice to the lady,” Mr. Simpson told them firmly.
They sidled in closer and Hattie cooed over them. Jim turned to Mr. Simpson with a vague smile. “She loves children,” he muttered.
Mr. Simpson’s Adam’s apple leaped furiously as he sought to speak. Jim saw he was much affected by Hattie’s motherly demonstrativeness, and he struck while the iron was hot.
“Wouldn’t you like to show Miss Hattie some of the sights?” he offered delicately. “I have another engagement, and I’m sure you’d make a much better guide than I am.”
“Gosh, I’d be proud to,” Mr. Simpson mumbled feelingly. “Would she, d’you reckon?” He gazed at Hattie humbly.
“I’ll ask her,” Jim whispered. He stepped forward and touched Hattie on the shoulder. “Mr. Simpson wonders if you would care to walk about with him and see the sights,” he told her. “I... I have an engagement that I had forgotten all about.”
“Why...” Cousin Hattie stood up nervously. “I can’t see there’d be any harm since he’s an old friend of yours,” she said hesitantly. “But he must take these babies home and put them to bed at once! Why, the very idea!” She gazed at Mr. Simpson severely.
“Yes’m, yes’m. I reckon I oughtta,” he faltered. “I guess we... looks like we cain’t go ’bout together then...” his voice trailed off indecisively.
“Wait a minute.” Jim stepped valiantly into the breach. His plan was too good to be ruined in any such manner. “Suppose I take the kiddies home and put them to bed?” he offered desperately. “I’ll have time to do that before my engagement.”
“Why... I... I dunno,” Mr. Simpson said helplessly.
“That’s awfully sweet of you,” Hattie told him languishingly. The madness of Mardi Gras had crept into her veins. The instinct of the hunter who sights his prey after years of careful stalking was aroused in her flabby breast. Her drab eyes saw Mr. Simpson as a colorful and romantic figure.
“You can trust Mr. Marston,” she beamed at her newly found escort. “I’m sure he’ll put them right to bed.”
“Of course,” Jim interposed hastily. “I’ll call a cab and have them tucked in their beds in a jiffy. Just give me the address, and you two run along and have a glorious time. The kids will come with me all safe... won’t you?” He winked broadly at Boots and Buddie.
It was Boots who assumed command at this crucial moment. Perhaps she understood the situation better than any of the rest.
“Sure. O’ course,” she responded readily. “Buddie an’ me’ll be good as good can be, daddy. You go on with th’ purty lady. Mebbe... mebbe she’s the one.” The last words were uttered in a hoarse whisper.
“But I haven’t any costume,” Hattie simpered. “I wouldn’t feel right with you dyked out so grand.”
“I’ll fix that too,” Jim said wearily. He set his jaw. Damn it! He’d see this thing through if he had to buy a costume and cram her into it.
“Here’s a place open right next door,” he said eagerly. “They’ve got beautiful costumes that you can buy or rent. Come on.” He seized Hattie’s arm and dragged her to the door of the little shop in spite of her protestations.
“You wait out here,” he flung over his shoulder to Mr. Simpson. Then, to Hattie: “That’s all right. I’ll take care of everything. Think how tickled Robert will be to come back and find you enjoying yourself. He gave me some money to entertain you with... and I’ll pay for the costume out of it.”
They were inside the shop and a young girl came forward languidly. “This lady wants a costume and she wants to change in here,” he told the girl quickly. His pocket disgorged a twenty dollar bill which he forced into Hattie’s hand.
“Pick out anything you want,” he said urgently. “I’ll take the children and put them to bed.”
“But... but what about Robert?” Hattie faltered dazedly. “What’ll he think when he comes back and I’m not there?”
“I’ll fix that too,” Jim said doggedly. “You and Mr. Simpson go to the Dancing Dervish restaurant just up the street. I’ll show him where it is. I’ll leave a note for Robert at the hotel, telling him to meet you there.”
“Well, now... this seems terrible sudden,” Hattie protested.
But Jim was backing out the door and the salesgirl was plucking at her sleeve impatiently. Hattie looked frightened as she turned to gaze at the racks of costumes. She was frightened to feel the spirit of reckless gladness which pervaded her withered frame. A spot of color glowed high up in each cheek as she studied the raiment displayed.
Jim paused just long enough to point out the Dancing Dervish restaurant to Mr. Simpson, and to get from him the address of the house to which he was to take the children. Then he beckoned to a cruising cab, and heaved a deep sigh of relief as he bundled them inside and leaped in after them.
He settled back against the cushion contentedly, feeling as weary as though he had just finished a stint of stevedoring. A chuckle escaped his lips as he wondered what sort of costume Hattie would select, and he saw a mental picture of her sallying forth proudly on Mr. Simpson’s arm to the riotous tumult of the Dancing Dervish to learn the secret of Mardi Gras.