Bambi (Cooke)/Chapter 12
XII
THURSDAY, and Mr. Strong arrived with the inevitableness of dreaded events. Bambi felt convinced that his coming meant the premature death of her new-born career, so, naturally, she was prepared for grief. An element of amusement was added, however, by Jarvis’s astonishing behaviour. Ever since the first mention of Mr. Strong’s name he had shown unmistakable signs of dislike for that gentleman. It was the most remarkable revelation of his strange character. Having totally ignored Bambi himself, it distressed him to think of any other man being attracted by her. His references to Mr. Strong’s coming were many and satirical. This display of manly inconsistency was nuts and ale to Bambi. She wondered how much Mr. Strong would play up, and she decided to give Jarvis Jocelyn an uncomfortable hour. She herself was an adept in amatory science, but she was a trifle unsure of Mr. Strong. However, she remembered a certain twinkle in his eye that augured well.
Because it was necessary to enlighten him as to the situation in advance, she arrayed herself most carefully to go and meet him. She encountered Jarvis on the stairs. He inspected her charming self, in a frock the colour of spring green leaves, topped by a crocus-coloured hat, like a flower. She deliberately pranced before him.
“Aren’t I a delight to the eye?”
He stared at her coldly.
“Such ardent admiration embarrasses me, Jarvis,” she protested.
“You look very nice,” he admitted.
“Nice! Nice! I look like a daffodil, or a crocus, or some other pleasant spring beauty.”
“I am glad you are so pleased with yourself. I trust Strong will be equally appreciative.”
“I hope so when I have gone to so much trouble for him,” she tossed back over her shoulder, in punishment.
As Mr. Strong stepped off the train and faced her, it would be hard to say whether admiration or astonishment constituted the greater part of his expression.
“Mrs. Jocelyn, why this is too kind of you!”
“Not at all. City people are so unused to our devious country ways that I was afraid you would get lost.”
Admiration was certainly on top now.
“If you don’t mind, we will walk. It isn’t far.”
“The farther the better,” he replied gallantly.
They set forth, down the shady village street, where the trees almost met overhead. Strong drew in deep breaths of the fresh morning air. His eyes kept returning to the little French figure at his side, so metropolitan, and yet so much the dominant note in any setting in which he had seen her. She chattered on, about the town, the university, and the sights.
“I refrain from pointing out the town hall, and the Carnegie Library,” she said.
“I am grateful,” he bowed.
“Are you married?” she darted at him, out of their impersonality.
“No, alas!”
“That helps a little.”
His surprise was evident.
“I’m afraid I’ve got you into rather a box.”
“I don’t mind, if you will play Pandora.”
“Thanks. You remember that I told you that my—my career was to be a secret from the ‘Heavenly Twins’?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose my career is about over, but I don’t want them to know about it.”
“Excuse me. What’s that—about your career being over?”
“That’s why you’ve come, isn’t it? You didn’t like the last story?”
He stared at her, and then burst out laughing.
“You thought I would come way out here from New York to tell you I didn’t like it?”
“I have a high opinion of your kindness,” she nodded.
“You nice little girl!” he added impetuously. “I came partly because I wanted to talk to you again, partly because I wanted to see Jarvis and the Professor.”
She smiled and nodded encouragement.
“Then, too, we’ve had such a raft of letters about the ‘Francesca’ story that I want to talk to you about making a novel of it, to run serially, instead of the short stories we arranged for.”
“A novel? You want me to write a novel?”
“We do.”
“But I wonder if I could?” she said, in an awed voice.
“Of course you could. The second story was ripping.”
“Was it? Was it?” She clapped her hands joyously.
“We can use it as Chapter Two, with very few changes, and from now on you can build your story about the characters you have introduced, with a spinal cord of plot to give it shape.”
“It frightens me to death, to think of doing it. I have always thought it took genius to write a novel.”
“My dear young woman, not in this day, when publishing houses gush books like so many geysers. Anybody with your gift of words and vivid reactions ought to find writing the line of least resistance. Of course you can do it.”
“I’d adore trying if you’d help me.”
“That’s agreed.”
He watched the concentration of her face with interest. She was wrapped in the thought of the book. She was attacking it, on all sides, with the lance of her mind. When she threw herself into every new interest with such abandon, it was no wonder that she gave out impressions with the same intensity.
“What about the box I’m in?” he reminded her. She came out of her trance with a start.
“I’d forgotten all about you,” she said frankly. “I had to explain you to the ‘Heavenly Twins,’ somehow. If I said you were an editor, they would naturally ask why you came to see me?”
“I never thought of that. I am afraid I’ve put you in an embarrassing position.”
“Oh, not at all. I’ve put you in one. I told them you were the brother of an old classmate, stopping over in town for a day, and that you were to look me up.”
“Did I know you well when you were in college?”, he smiled.
“I didn’t intend to have you know me well, but Jarvis showed such unexpected interest in you that you are suspected of having known me rather well.”
“Sort of an old affair?”
“Sort of,” she laughed up at him.
“I get the idea. Have I your permission to play the rôle in my own way?”
“Yes, only don’t betray me. The ‘Twins’ will only be around at lunch-time. After that, we can talk book.”
“Good! I’ll play up with my best amateur theatrical manner,” he responded, as they entered the garden. “This is the arithmetical garden,” he said “It’s true. Why, it’s just like an ‘Alice in Wonderland’ experience, coming into something I have known in some other state of consciousness.”
“Oh, yes, it’s true. That’s all I am, a sort of a camera.”
“What a picture-book house!” he added. “It’s just right for you.”
As they went into the screened porch Jarvis arose, slowly, from the hammock. Mr. Strong stopped, really amazed, as the splendid figure, with its Apollo head, advanced. Bambi, too, was struck with some new alive quality in Jarvis that was compelling.
“This is Mr. Strong, Jarvis.” The two men measured each other swiftly.
“I am glad to meet you,” said Jarvis, with determined politeness.
“Thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet Mrs. Jocelyn’s husband.”
Bambi laughed.
“Mrs. Jocelyn’s husband is a new rôle for Jarvis,” said she.
“I understand you and Mrs. Jocelyn are old friends,” said Jarvis, perfunctorily.
“We are indeed old and dear friends.”
“It has been some years since you met?”
“Yes, although I couldn’t realize it this morning. There is a vivid quality about Mrs. Jocelyn which makes it impossible to forget anything about her. Don’t you think so?”
Jarvis looked at Bambi, who grinned.
“Do you find me vivid, Jarvis?”
“You are certainly highly coloured.”
“Ugh! That sounds like a Sunday supplement.”
Conversation limped along like a tired cab horse. Even Bambi could not prod it into a semblance of life. Besides, she was choked with laughter at the picture of Jarvis sitting up, during his sacred work hours, full of bromides and manners. A discussion of New York almost released him. He thundered against modern cities with force. New York, discovered to be the home of Strong, became anathema to his host. It was the Goliath of Tyranny, Wealth, Degeneration, against which, David-like, he aimed his sling. Strong led him on, interested in his personality.
“Mrs. Jocelyn does not share your opinion of New York?”
“There are many of my opinions in which Mrs. Jocelyn does not share.”
“Fortunately. Same opinions ought to constitute grounds for divorce,” said Bambi.
“I understand you write plays, Mr. Jocelyn?”
“I do.”
“You will have to endure New York, now and again, I suppose, when you begin to produce.”
“We have formed a partnership,” Bambi interpolated. “He writes and I sell.”
“You are a lucky man,” Strong complimented him.
Jarvis ignored the remark. Strong wondered why on earth Bambi had married him. He was wonderful to look at, but his manners were impossible. If he was in love with her, he disguised it successfully. The entrance of the Professor saved the situation.
“This is Mr. Strong, Professor. My father, Professor Parkhurst.”
The Professor’s hand-clasp and absent-minded smile seemed like a perfect character make-up. It was the kind of thing David Warfield would have played excellently. Strong had to shake himself to realize that these were real people, they were so individualized, so emphasized, like characters in a play.
“I am always glad to welcome my daughter’s old friends,” he said. “I forget when it was you knew each other, my dear.”
“At college.”
“Ah, yes, I remember. In college. How is your sister?”
“My sister?” repeated Strong. Bambi gasped. She had forgotten to tell him about Mary.
“I refer to your sister Mary,” the Professor went on.
“Oh, sister Mary? Oh—” Strong recovered himself.
“You have other sisters?”
“Yes, oh, yes. Many.”
“Many, indeed! How many, may I ask?”
“Thirteen,” at a venture.
“Thirteen sisters! That is astonishing! And you are the only brother?”
“The only one.”
“Are they all living?”
“No. All dead.”
“Not Mary?” exclaimed Bambi.
“No, no, I meant to omit Mary. All but Mary are gone.”
“That is very sad,” sighed the Professor. “Thirteen sisters! How were they named?”
“After the thirteen original states,” replied Ananias Strong.
“Extraordinary, but Mary—”
“Short for Maryland,” prompted Strong.
Bambi almost choked. The subject seemed to fascinate her father.
“Is Mary married?” he inquired.
“Yes, quite. Quite married.”
“I forget whether she visited us, my dear.”
“No, Mary never came to Sunnyside.”
“What a pity the friendships of our young days pass away, isn’t it?”
“Not at all. It’s a blessing,” snapped Jarvis. “When you think of all the donkeys you played with in your youth—”
“Mary was not a donkey,” giggled Bambi.
“I wasn’t speaking of Mary,” he remarked.
“I thought you said you were going to lunch in your room to-day, Jarvis,” the Professor remarked.
“That was yesterday,” Bambi said quickly.
“Oh, I can never remember details.”
“I thought that was what you did remember,” challenged Jarvis.
“You refer to figures. They, are not details. They are of enormous importance,” began Professor Parkhurst.
“Now, children, let us not trot out the family skeleton. The ‘Heavenly Twins’ can talk from now until doomsday tolls on the importance or non-importance of mathematics. It’s as thrilling as modern warfare when they get started, but I can’t afford to let them go, because they get so excited.”
“Luncheon am served, Miss Bambi,” announced Ardelia.
Bambi led the way, with a sigh of relief. If she could only get through with it, and get the happy family out of the way! Jarvis must be punished for bad behaviour, and she set herself to the task at once. She turned her attention wholly upon Mr. Strong. She laughed and shined her eyes at him, referring to the dear, old days in the most shameless manner. She fairly caressed him with her voice, and his devotion capped her own.
The Professor ate his lunch oblivious to the comedy, but Jarvis scarcely touched his. Some new, painful thing was at work in him. He resented it every time this man looked at Bambi. He wanted to knock him down, and order her off to her room. Most of all, he was furious with himself for caring. He had the same instinct which possessed him in New York when he rushed to the club to sweep her out of his life, and so save himself. He determined to leave the moment luncheon was over. She must never know what a bad hour she had given him. Poor, ostrich Jarvis, with his head in the sands!
The luncheon was one of the most amusing events in Richard Strong’s experience, and as for Bambi, she was at her best. She enjoyed herself utterly, until coffee put a period to Act Two.