Bambi (Cooke)/Chapter 4
IV
THE marriage of Jarvis and Bambi furnished the town with a ten days’ topic of conversation, a fact to which they were perfectly indifferent. Then it was accepted, as any other wonder, such as a comet passing, or an airship disaster.
In the meantime the strangely assorted trio fell into a more or less comfortable relationship. Jarvis and the Professor almost came to blows, but for the most part the diplomatic Bambi kept peace. Both men appealed to her for everything and she took care of them like babies. She called them the “Heavenly Twins” and found endless amusement in their dependence on her. Sometimes she did not see Jarvis for days. His study and bedroom were on the top floor, and when he was in a work fit he forgot to come to meals. She let him alone, only seeing that he ate what she sent up to him. Sometimes his light burned all night. She would go to the foot of the stairs and listen to him reading scenes aloud in the early dawn, but she never interfered with him in any way. He plunged into the remaking of “Success” with characteristic abandon. He destroyed the old version entirely, and began on a new one. When he had the framework completed, he summoned Bambi for a private view. She condemned certain parts, praised others, flashed new thoughts upon him, forced him to new viewpoints. He raved at her, defended his ideas, refuted her arguments, and invariably accepted every contribution. When he came to an impasse, he howled through the house for her, like a lost child wailing for its mother.
These daily councils of war, his incessant need of her, interfered with her plan of a career as a danseuse. She found that her days were resolving themselves into two portions—times when Jarvis needed her, and times when he did not. The hours they devoted together to his work constituted the core of her day, her happy time. She considered Jarvis as impersonally as she did the typewriter. It was the sense of being needed, of helping in his work, that filled her with such new zest. But the hours hung heavy between the third-floor summons, and one day, as she lay in the hammock, a book in her hand, it came to her that she might try it herself. She might put down her thoughts, her dreams, her ambitions, and make a story of them. Thought and action were one with Bambi. In five minutes’ time she had pencil and paper, and had set forth on her new adventure.
For the next few days she was so absorbed in her experiment that she almost neglected the “Heavenly Twins.” The Professor commented on her abstraction, and Ardelia complained that “everybody in dis heah house is crazy, all of them studyin’ and writin’; yo’ cain’t even sing a hallelujah but somebody is a shoutin’, ‘Sh!’”
Only Jarvis failed to note any change. It was too much to expect that the great Jocelyn could concentrate on any but his own mental attitudes.
Like most facile people, Bambi was bored with her masterpiece at the end of a week, and abandoned it without a sigh. She decided that literature was not to be enriched by her. In fact, she never gave a thought to her first-born child until a month after its birth, when a New York magazine fell into her hands offering a prize of $500 for a short story. She took out her manuscript and read it over with a sense of surprise. She marched off to a stenographer, had it typed, and sent it to the contest, using a pen name as a signature, and then she promptly forgot about it.
Six weeks more of hard labour brought “Success” almost to completion. Bambi was absorbed in the play. It was undoubtedly much better; her hopes were high that it would get a production. If only Jarvis could get to New York with it and show it to the managers; but that meant money, and they had none. Her busy brain spent hours scheming, but no light came.
Then out of the blue fell a shining bolt! A long envelope, with a magazine imprint on it, came with her morning’s mail and nearly ended a young and useful life. The editor begged to inform her that the committee of judges had awarded her the short-story prize, that her tale would be published in the forth-coming issue, and she would please find check enclosed. Had she any other manuscript that they might see? Would she honour them with a visit the next time she came to New York? They would like to talk over a series of stories similar to the prize winner.
The Professor and Jarvis had both departed to their lairs, or they would have witnessed the best pas seul of Bambi’s life. She fluttered the joy-bringing letter above her head, and circled the breakfast room in a whirl of happiness. Ardelia entered as she reached her climax. ,_p.67.jpg)
BAMBI FLUTTERED THE JOY-BRINGING LETTER ABOVE HER HEAD AND CIRCLED THE BREAKFAST-ROOM IN A WHIRL OF HAPPINESS.
“Ardelia, the gods do provide!” cried Bambi. “Such unutterably crazy good luck—to think of my getting it!”
“Did yo’ get a lottery prize, Miss Bambi?”
“That’s just what I got—a lottery prize.”
“Foh the Lud’s sake! What you gwine to do with it?”
“I am going to take Jarvis Jocelyn to New York, and between us we are going to harness Fame and drive her home.”
“Well, I don’ know who Fame is, but if she’s a hoss, wher’ yo’ goin’ to keep her when yo’ get her? We ain’t got no barn for her.”
Bambi laughed.
“We’ll stable her all right, Ardelia, if we can catch her. This is a secret between you and me. Don’t you breathe it to a soul that I have won anything.”
“No, ma'am; yo’ kin trust me to the death.”
“I’ll bring you a present from New York if you won’t tell.”
She rushed off to her own room, to look over her clothes and plan. Having married Jarvis out of hand, she would now take him on a moneymoon; they would seek their fortune instead of love. He would peddle his play; she would honour the publisher with a visit. She hugged herself with joy over the prospect. She worked out various schemes by which she could break it to Jarvis and the Professor that she had money enough for a trip to New York, without saying how she got it. Fortunately, they were not of an inquiring mind, so she hoped that she could convince them without much difficulty. She tried out a scene or two just to prove how she would do it. At luncheon she paved the way.
“How much more work is there on the play, Jarvis?”
“I ought to finish it this week,” he answered. “It is good, too. It is a first-rate play.”
“You ought to go to New York with it, and see the managers,” she said.
“Ugh!”
“Well, it’s got to be done. You can’t teach school unless you have pupils.”
“I am not a pedant,” he protested.
“You’re a reformer, and you’ve got to get something to reform.”
“The work itself satisfies me.”
“It doesn’t satisfy me. You have got to produce and learn before you will grow.”
“You’re a wise body for such a small package.”
“That’s the way wisdom comes.”
“Perhaps, O sibyl, you will read the future and tell me how I am to finance a trip to New York.”
“Oh, the money will be provided,” airily.
“Yes, I suppose it will. It always is when actual need demands it, but how?”
“Never mind how. Just rest in the assurance that it will.”
He looked at her, smiling.
“Do you know I sometimes suspect that Fate had a hand in bringing us together? We are so alike.”
“We are so alike we’re different,” she amended, laughing.
She waited until next day to explode her bomb.
“I think if you finish up the play this week, Jarvis, we can have it typed early next week, and get off to New York on Friday or Saturday.”
He stared at her.
“On foot?” he inquired.
“Oh, no. I find I have the money.”
“You find you have it! You had that much and didn’t know it?” he exploded so loudly that the Professor came to, and paid attention.
“I am careless about these things,” Bambi murmured.
“What’s all this?” queried the Professor.
“What I can’t see is that if you had money enough to pay up my board bill, why you married me,” continued Jarvis.
“Just one of my whims. I am so whimsical,” retorted Bambi.
“Would you mind telling me?” begged the Professor.
“She’s got money enough to take us to New York,” repeated Jarvis.
“Thank you. I don’t wish to go to that terrible place. Of all the distressing, improbable places, New York is the worst,” replied Professor Parkhurst.
“Be calm, Professor. I was not planning to take you,” soothed his daughter.
“But what is to be done with me?” he inquired, anxiously.
“You are to be left the one sole duty of Ardelia, to be overfed and pampered until you aren’t fit to live with.”
“But you can’t go off alone with Jarvis.”
“Why not? I am married to him.”
“Yes, I suppose you are, but you seem so unmarried,” he objected.
“We will have to practise up a few married poses, Jarvis. You must not act so interested in me. Father says we don’t act married.”
“I am not in the least interested in you,” Jarvis defended himself, valiantly.
“There, father, could anything be more husband-like?”
“Where did you get the money, Jarvis?” the Professor asked.
“I didn’t get it. She got it.”
“Why, my dear,” protested her father, “where did you get any money?”
“I have turned lady burglar.”
“What?”
“Cheer up. It’s butter-'n’-eggs money.”
“Butter-'n’-eggs money?” repeated Jarvis.
“Certainly. The downtrodden farmer’s wife always gives up her butter-'n’-eggs money to save the family fortunes, or build a new barn.”
“What are you talking about?” interrupted the Professor.
“I don’t know why the fact that I have a little money saved up should start a riot in this family. I have to go to New York on business, and as Jarvis has to go to see managers about ‘Success,’ I merely proposed that we go together.”
“What business have you in New York, my dear?”
“My own, Professor darling.”
“Excuse me,” he hastened to add.
“Certainly,” she replied, blithely.
“I hate New York,” said Jarvis. “How long do you suppose we will have to stay?”
“I adore New York, and we will stay as long as the money holds out.”
“Would you mind stating, in round figures, how much you have?” the Professor remarked.
“I would. I detest figures, round or oblong. I have enough.”
“I hope you won’t get there, and then call on me for a supply, as you usually do, my dear. I am a little short this spring.”
“You two have no confidence in me. If you will just put your trust in Bambi, I’ll mend the fortunes of this family so you will never be able to find the patch.”
The two men laughed in spite of themselves, and the matter was dropped, but Bambi herself took the manuscript of “Success” to the stenographer, with strict orders as to a time limit; she led Jarvis, protesting, to a tailor’s, to order a suit of clothes; she restocked him in collars, shirts, and ties. In fact, she handled the situation like a diplomat, buying the railroad tickets with a thrill of anticipation.
Jarvis made no protest at all, until the night before they were to start. He came to her and offered her a little black notebook.
“What is this?”
“I want you to put down every cent we spend. This is a loan, you understand.”
“It’s a gift from the gods. Go offer libations. I don’t want your old debit and credit book.”
He laid his hand on her shoulder, and looked into her shining eyes.
“Good little fairy,” he said, “I want to put some gold dust in the pot, too.”
“Wait until we get to the end of the rainbow.”
“Just keep a record for me. My mind is such a sieve,” he said, offering the spurned black book.
“All right. Give me the Black Maria. I will ride your figures in it.”
“That was a pun. You ought to be spanked.”
“Oh, Jarvis, isn’t it fun?” she cried to him.
“Is it? I feel that turning salesman and approaching a manager is like marching to the block.”
“Poor old dreamer! Suppose you stay home, and let me peddle the play.”
“Not much. I will shoulder my own pack.”
“I feel like a Crusader myself. I’d rather be me than anybody on earth.”
“The most extraordinary thing about you is your rapture,” he commented, seriously.
She ran away, singing “Then Longen folke to go on Pilgrimauges.”
The next day they set forth on their journey. Bambi left lists all over the house as reminders for the Professor. Ardelia had orders enough to manœuvre an army. The Professor went to the station with them, and absent-mindedly kissed Jarvis good-bye, which infuriated his victim and nearly sent Bambi into hysterics. As the train pulled out, she leaned from the window and called, “Go home, now, Professor!” and with a mechanical jerk he turned and started off in the direction indicated.
“I never leave him with any comfort,” she admitted to Jarvis. “He is so apt to mislay himself.”
“He always makes me think of a mechanical toy, ever since he told me that he always counted what ever he did. I am sure that you wind him up, like a watch, every night.”
“Poor old dear! Funny I should have chosen him for a father, isn’t it?”
“I think your choice of relations is distinctly queer.”
“My queer relations! That’s a good title. Everybody would understand it at once.”
“Thank heaven, I haven’t any, queer, or otherwise.”
“Didn’t you ever have any?”
“No.”
“Just growed?”
He nodded.
“I remember a funny old man you lived with, when I first knew you. Wasn’t he a relative?”
“No, he found me some place. What’s the difference? Do you care?”
“No, I’m glad. I am sure I couldn’t abide ‘in-laws.'"
Over the luncheon table he suddenly looked at her, as if for the first time. He noticed that all the eyes in the crowded diner were upon her.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, intercepting his glance.
“Do people always stare at you?” he inquired.
She swept the car with an indifferent glance.
“I don’t know. I never noticed.”
“It’s queer for us to be going off like this,” he said, in a startled tone.
“It seems perfectly natural to me. Are you embarrassed?” she asked, suddenly aware of a new quality in him.
“No, certainly not,” he defended himself.
It was five o’clock when they drew into Grand Central Station, a time when the whole duty of man seems to be to get out of New York and into the suburbs. An army of ants ran through the great blue-vaulted rotunda, streaming into the narrow tunnels, where the steel horses were puffing and steaming. The sense of rushing waters was upon Jarvis. He halted, stunned and helpless.
“Isn’t it great? All the tribes of Shem, Ham, and Japhet,” cried Bambi, at his elbow. She piloted him through—big, powerful, bewildered Jarvis. Many a hurrying suburbanite slowed up enough to look after them, the tall, blond giant, and a little girl with shining eyes.
“Where are we going?” Jarvis asked, with child-like confidence that she would know. ,_p.79.jpg)
“GOOD EVENING, MRS. NEW YORK, AND ALL YOU PEOPLE OUT THERE! WE’RE HERE, JARVIS AND I”
She ordered the driver to go down the avenue slowly, and as he jolted around the crowded corner of Forty-second Street, on to the smooth asphalt, Bambi leaned forward eagerly.
“Good evening, home of the books,” she nodded to the Library. “Good evening, Mrs. New York, and all you people there! We’re here, Jarvis and I.”
She turned and caught his rare smile.
“You’re happy, aren’t you?” he remarked.
“Perfectly. I feel as if I were breathing electricity. Don’t you like all these people?”
“No, I feel that there are too many of them. There should be half as many, and better done. Until we learn not to breed like rabbits, we will never accomplish a creditable race.”
“Such good-looking rabbits though, Jarvis.”
“Yes. Sleek and empty-headed.”
“All hopping uptown, to nibble something,” she chuckled.
“Life is such foolishness,” he said, in disgust.
“Oh, no. Life is such ecstasy,” she threw back at him, as the cab drew up to the clubhouse door.