provided. His emotions at the sight of it were those of the shipwrecked
mariner who see a sail. He sprang at it and poured himself out a stiff
dose. Before Mrs. Porter's disgusted gaze he drained the glass and then
turned to her, a new man.
The noble spirit restored his own. For the first time since the
interview had begun he felt capable of sustaining his end of the
conversation with ease and dignity.
"How's that?" he said.
"There was a young woman with him?" repeated
Mrs. Porter.
Mr. Penway imagined that he had placed her by this time. Here, he told
himself in his own crude language, was the squab's mother camping on
Kirk's trail with an axe. Mr. Penway's moral code was of the easiest
description. His sympathies were entirely with Kirk. Fortified by the
Bourbon, he set himself resolutely to the task of lying whole-heartedly
on behalf of his absent friend.
"No," he said firmly.
"No!" exclaimed Mrs. Porter.
"No," repeated Mr. Penway with iron resolution. "No young woman. No
young woman whatsoever. I noticed it particularly, because I thought it
strange, don't you know, what I mean is, don't you know, strange there
shouldn't be!"
How tragic is a man's fruitless fight on behalf of a friend! For one
short instant Mrs. Porter allowed Mr. Penway to imagine that the
victory was his, then she administered the coup-de-grace.
"Don't lie, you worthless creature," she said. "They stopped at my
house on their way while the girl packed a suitcase."
Mr. Penway threw up his brief. There are moments when the stoutest-
hearted, even under the influence of old Bourbon, realize that to fight
on is merely to fight in vain.
He condensed his emotions into four words.
"Of all the chumps!" he remarked, and, pouring himself out a further
instalment of the raw spirit, he sat down, a beaten man.
Mrs. Porter continued to harry him.
"Exactly," she said. "So you see that there is no need for any more
subterfuge and concealment. I do not intend to leave this room until
you have told me all you have to tell, so you had better be quick about
it. Kindly tell me the truth in as few words as possible, if you know
what is meant by telling the truth."
A belated tenderness for his dignity came to Mr. Penway.
"You are insulting," he remarked. "You are, you are, most insulting."
"I meant to be," said Mrs. Porter crisply. "Now. Tell me. Where has Mr.
Winfield gone?"
Mr. Penway preserved an offended silence. Mrs. Porter struck the table
a blow with a book which caused him to leap in his seat.
"Where has Mr. Winfield gone?"
"How should I know?"
"How should you know? Because he told you, I should imagine.
Where...has...Mr....Winfield...gone?"
"C'nnecticut," said Mr. Penway, finally capitulating.
"What part of Connecticut?"
"I don't know."
"What part of Connecticut?"
"I tell you I don't know. He said: 'I'm off to Connecticut,' and left."
It suddenly struck Mr. Penway that his defeat was not so overwhelming
as he had imagined. "So you haven't got much out of me, you see, after
all," he added.
Mrs. Porter rose.
"On the contrary," she said; "I have got out of you precisely the
information which I required, and in considerably less time than I had
supposed likely. If it interests you, I may tell you that Mr. Winfield
has gone to a small house which he owns in the Connecticut woods."
"Then what," demanded Mr. Penway indignantly, "did you mean by keeping
on saying 'What part of C'nnecticut? What part of C'nnecticut? What
part......'"
"Because Mr. Winfield's destination has only just occurred to me." She
looked at him closely. "You are a curious and not uninteresting object,
Mr. Penway."
Mr. Penway started. "Eh?"
"Object lesson, I should have said. I should like to exhibit you as a
warning to the youth of this country."
"What!"
"From the look of your frame I should imagine that you were once a man
of some physique. Your shoulders are good. Even now a rigorous course
of physical training might save you. I have known more helpless cases
saved by firm treatment. You have allowed yourself to deteriorate much
as did a man named Pennicut who used to be employed here by Mr.
Winfield. I saved him. I dare say I could make something of you. I can
see at a glance that you eat, drink, and smoke too much. You could not
hold out your hand now, at this minute, without it trembling."
"I could," said Mr. Penway indignantly.
He held it out, and it quivered like a tuning-fork.
"There!" said Mrs. Porter calmly. "What do you expect? You know your
own business best, I suppose, but I should like to tell you that if you
do not become a teetotaller instantly, and begin taking exercise, you
will probably die suddenly within a very few years. Personally I shall
bear the calamity with fortitude. Good evening, Mr. Penway."
For some moments after she had gone Mr. Penway sat staring before him.
His eyes wore a glassy look. His mouth was still ajar.
"Damn woman!" he said at length.
He turned to his meditations.
"Damn impertinent woman!"
Another interval for reflection, and he spoke again.
"Damn impertinent, interfering woman that!"
He reached out for the bottle of Bourbon and filled his glass. He put
it to his lips, then slowly withdrew it.
"Damn impertinent, inter, I wonder!"
There was a small mirror on the opposite wall. He walked unsteadily
toward it and put out his tongue. He continued in this attitude for a
time, then, with increased dejection, turned away.
He placed a hand over his heart. This seemed to depress him still
further. Finally he went to the table, took up the glass, poured its
contents carefully back into the bottle, which he corked and replaced
on the shelf.
On the floor against the wall was a pair of Indian clubs. He picked
these up and examined them owlishly. He gave them little tentative
jerks. Finally, with the air of a man carrying out a great resolution,
he began to swing them. He swung them in slow, irregular sweeps, his
eyes the while, still glassy, staring fixedly at the ceiling.
Chapter XII Dolls with Souls
Ruth had not seen Bailey since the afternoon when he had called to
warn her against Basil Milbank. Whether it was offended dignity that
kept him away, or merely pressure of business, she did not know.
That pressure of business existed, she was aware. The papers were full,
and had been full for several days, of wars and rumours of wars down in
Wall Street; and, though she understood nothing of finance, she knew
that Bailey was in the forefront of the battle. Her knowledge was based
partly on occasional references in the papers to the firm of Bannister
& Co. and partly on what she heard in society.
She did not hear all that was said in society about Bailey's financial
operations, which, as Bailey had the control of her money, was
unfortunate for her. The manipulation of money bored her, and she had
left the investing of her legacy entirely to Bailey. Her father, she
knew, had always had a high opinion of Bailey's business instincts, and
that was good enough for her.
She could not know how completely revolutionized the latter's mind had
become since the old man's death, and how freedom had turned him from a
steady young man of business to a frenzied financier.
It was common report now that Bailey was taking big chances. Some went
so far as to say that he was "asking for it," "it" in his case being