“Come down out of the clouds,” said Harkavy. “Are you asleep, or something, on your feet?”
Nunez returned to his deck chair. His wife was in the window, resting her head on the sash.
“Do you go into a trance when the little woman is away?”
Harkavy’s companions laughed.
“Dan, how are you?” said Leventhal, descending. “Oh, Mrs Harkavy, so that’s you?”
“Julia, Julia, too.” Harkavy pointed at his sister with his cigarette holder.
“Julia, Mrs Harkavy, glad to see you both.”
“And my granddaughter Libbie,” said Mrs Harkavy.
“Oh, this is your girl, Julia?”
“Yes.”
Leventhal tried to make out the child’s features; he saw only the vivid pallor of her face and the reddish darkness of her hair.
“Very active, Libbie,” said Harkavy. “A little too energetic, at times.”
“Oh, she runs me ragged,” Julia said. “I can’t keep up with her.”
“It’s the food you give her. No child should have so much protein,” said Mrs Harkavy.
“Mother, she doesn’t get more than others do. It’s just her nature.”
“We came to call on you,” Harkavy said to Leventhal. “But it looks as if you’re stepping out.”
“I have a couple of errands,” said Leventhal. “I was going to send a wire.”
“We’ll walk you to Western Union, then. Are you wiring Mary? I suppose you want her back already.” Harkavy smiled.
“Daniel, it’s not a thing to joke about, if a couple is devoted,” his mother said. “It’s nothing to ridicule. These days when marriages are so flimsy it’s a real pleasure to see devotion. Couples go to City Hall like I might go to the five-and-dime to buy a hinge. Two boards on a hinge, and clap, clap, clap, that’s a marriage. Wire your wife, Asa, it’s the right thing and it’s sweet. Never mind.”
“It’s my brother I’ve got to send the wire to, not Mary.”
“Libbie, come here to me, here!” Julia furiously exclaimed, pulling the child’s arm. “I’ll tie you in the middle with strings!”
“Oh, your brother?” said Mrs Harkavy.
Leventhal flushed, inexplicably. “Yes, it was his boy I called Julia about. My nephew.”
“Did you get hold of the doctor?” Julia asked. “Doctor Denisart, mother.”
“Oh, he’s a fine doctor, Asa; his mother is a lodge sister of mine and I’ve known him since he was a boy. You can have confidence in him. They gave him the very best education. He studied in Holland.”
“Austria, mother.”
“Abroad, anyway. His uncle put him through. He was in jail afterwards, the uncle, for income taxes, but that wasn’t the Denisarts’ fault. They used to send him pheasant to Sing Sing and they say he was allowed to have card parties in his cell. But they really learn in Europe, you know. That’s because their slums are worse; they get complicated cases in their clinics. Our standard of living is so high, it’s bad for the education of our doctors.”
“Why, who says so?” said Harkavy, looking at his mother with interest.
“Everybody. Why, all the medical books Papa used to bring home from the salesroom were full of European cases — Frâulein J. and Fraulein K. and Mademoiselle so and so. The best medical education is foreign.”
“And how is your nephew?” Harkavy said.
“They took him to the hospital today.”
“Oh, very sick, does that mean? I’m sorry to hear it,” said Julia.
“Very.”
“But you can depend on Doctor Denisart. He’s a fine young man — brilliant. I’ll talk to his mother tomorrow. He’ll take more interest in the case.”
“I’m sure he’d do his best without being spoken to,” said Julia. They were walking, and she pressed her daughter’s head to her side.
“Influence is a good thing,” Mrs Harkavy said. “You mustn’t forget it. If you don’t use it, you’re left behind in the race of the swift. Everything depends on it. Of course, the doctor would do his best because of his ethics and so on, but if I talk to his mother he’ll pay special attention to the case and do his very best. People are bound not to take things too much to heart, for their own protection. You’ve got to use influence on them.”
“Take it up with Mrs Denisart, then. It can’t hurt,” said Harkavy.
“I will.”
“Dan,” said Leventhal, drawing his friend behind, “do you remember a fellow called Allbee?”
“Allbee? Who? What’s his last name?”
“Allbee is his last name. Kirby Allbee. We met him at Williston’s. A big man. Blond.”
“I suppose I could remember him if I put my mind to it. I have a pretty good memory.”
They had come to the telegraph office, and Leventhal, standing at the yellow pine counter, wrote out a message to his brother entirely forgetting the sharp words he had intended to use. When he came out, he took Harkavy aside.
“Dan, could we have a private conversation for a few minutes?” he said.
“Why, I should say so. What’s the matter, old fellow? Wait a minute. Let’s ditch the women.”
Mrs Harkavy, Julia, and Libbie were waiting at the corner.
“Ladies, excuse us,” said Harkavy with a pleased smile, fitting a cigarette into his holder. “Asa wants to talk over something with me.”
“I’ll see Mrs Denisart for you tomorrow. Don’t you worry,” Mrs Harkavy said.
Leventhal thanked her, and he and Harkavy crossed the street.
“Now what’s the trouble, did you get into a scrape?” asked Harkavy. “You know you can trust me. It’s safe to tell me anything. You can bank on it. Anything you confide in me will never come back to you through a third party, not any more than if you whispered it in the confession box. So let’s have it.”
“There’s no secret to keep. It’s nothing like that.” Glancing at his friend, he hesitated, dissatisfied. Would it be worthwhile to explain the whole matter to Harkavy? He was warmhearted and a sincere friend, but he frequently put emphasis on the wrong things. He was already on the wrong track, suspecting a scrape. He probably meant an intrigue, a scrape with a woman. “It’s this Allbee,” Leventhal said. “He’s been giving me a headache. You must remember him. He made fun of your singing one night at Williston’s. You and that girl. Sure you can recall him. He worked at Dill’s…”
“Oh, him. That bird.” It seemed to Leventhal that Harkavy listened more gravely, though perhaps it was his own wish to have something so troubling to him taken seriously that was behind this impression. He described his first meeting with Allbee in the park. When he told him how amazed he was at Allbee’s spying, Harkavy murmured, “Well, isn’t that the limit? Isn’t that disagreeable? Nervy. Disagreeable.”
“I thought you wouldn’t forget how he went for you over that song.”
“Oh, no, I have him definitely placed now. So that’s the man?” He drew his head back with a restrained rearing motion and, from the stretching of his clear eyes, Leventhal saw that a connection of the utmost importance had been established in his mind.
“Dan, do you know any facts about him that I don’t?”
“What do you call facts? It depends. I think so. I mean, I’ve heard. But was he around again? Let’s have the rest of it.”
“What have you heard?”
“You tell me first. Let’s see if it’s all one piece. Maybe it isn’t. It may not be worth bothering about — loony all of it, and we ought to tie a can to it?”
He would not speak, and Leventhal hurriedly set forth all that Allbee had done and said, and, despite his haste and his eagerness to find out what Harkavy knew, he interrupted himself from time to time to make scornful, almost laughing comments which in his heart he recognized to be appeals to Harkavy to confirm the absurdity, the madness of the accusations. Harkavy, however, did not respond to these appeals. He was sober. He continued to say, “Disagreeable, disagreeable,” but his manner did not give Leventhal much comfort.