The Avalanche - Gertrude Franklin Horn Atherton (free ebook reader for ipad .TXT) 📗
- Author: Gertrude Franklin Horn Atherton
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The Weak. Far Better The Bend Sinister In His Own Class Than A Legitimate
Parent Of The Type Of 'Gene Bisbee Or D.V. Bimmer. Ruyler Was A "Good
Mixer" When Business Required That Particular Form Of Diplomacy, And The
Familiarities Of Jake Spaulding Left His Nerves Unscathed, But In Bone
And Brain Cells He Was Of The Intensely Respectable Aristocracy Of
Manhattan Island And He Never Forgot It. He Had Surrendered To A Girl Of
No Position Without A Struggle, And Made Her His Wife, But It Is Doubtful
If He Would Even Have Fallen In Love With Her If She Had Been Underbred
In Appearance Or Manner. He Had Never Regretted His Marriage For A
Moment, Not Even Since This Avalanche Of Mystery And Portending Scandal
Had Descended Upon Him; If Possible He Loved His Troubled Young Wife More
Than Ever--With A Sudden Instinct That Worse Was To Come He Vowed That
Nothing Should Ever Make Him Love Her Less.
When He Arrived At His House He Found Two Notes On The Hall Table
Addressed To Himself. The First Was From Helene And Read:
"Polly Telephoned That She Would Send Her Car For Me To Go Down To The
Fairmont And Dance. I Cannot Sleep So I Am Going. _She Cannot Sleep
Either_! Forgive Me If I Was Cross, But I Am Terribly Worried For Her.
Don't Wait Up For Me. Helene."
He Read This Note With A Frown But Without Surprise. It Was To Be
Expected That She Would Seek Excitement Until Her Present Fears Were
Allayed And Her Persecutors Silenced.
He Determined To Order Spaulding To Have Her Shadowed Constantly For At
Least A Fortnight And Note Made Of Every Person In Whose Company She
Appeared To Be At All Uneasy, Whether They Were Of Her Own Set Or Not. It
Would Also Be Worth While To Have Madame Delano's Rooms Watched, For It
Was Possible That She Would Summon Helene There To Meet Bisbee Or Others
Of His Ilk.
Then He Picked Up The Other Note. It Was From Spaulding, And As He Read
It All His Finespun Theories Vanished And Once More He Was Adrift On An
Uncharted Sea Without A Landmark In Sight.
"Dear Sir," Began The Detective, Who Was Always Formal On Paper. "I've
Just Got The Information Required From Holbrook Centre. We Didn't Half
Believe There Was Such A Place, If You Remember? Well There Is, And
According To The Parish Register Marie Jeanne Perrin Was Married To James
Delano On July 25th, 1891. She Was There, Visiting Some French
Relations--They Went Back Soon After--And He Had Left There When He Was
About Sixteen And Had Only Come Back That Once To See His Mother, Who Was
Dying. Nothing Seems To Have Been Known About Him In His Home Town Except
A Sort Of Rumor That He Was A Bad Lot And Lived Somewheres In California.
Can You Beat It? But Don't Think I'm Stumped. I'm Working On A New Line
And I'm Not Going To Say Another Word Until I've Got Somewheres.
"Yours Truly,
"J. Spaulding."
"Delano's Father Was A Forty-Niner, And Lived In California Till 1860,
When He Went Home To H. C. And Died Soon After. There Were Wild Stories
About Him, Too."
Chapter 10
I
During The Next Few Days Ruyler Saw Little Of His Wife. He Was Obliged To
Take Two Business Trips Out Of Town And As He Could Not Return Until Ten
O'clock At Night He Advised Her To Have Company To Dinner And Take Her
Guests To The Play. But She Preferred To Dine With Polly Roberts And
Aileen Lawton, And She Spent Her Days For The Most Part At Burlingame,
Motoring Down With One Or More Of Her Friends, Or Sent For By Some
Enthusiastic Girl Admirer Already Established There For The Summer.
Ruyler Was Quite Willing To Forego Temporarily His Plan Of Personal
Guardianship, As The More She Roamed Abroad Unattended The Better Could
Spaulding Watch Her Associates. The Detective Had His Agents In Society,
As Well As In The Palace Hotel, And On The Third Day He Sent A Brief Note
To Ruyler Announcing That He Had "Lit On To Something" That Would Make
His Employer's "Hair Curl, But No More At Present From Yours Truly."
"This Time," He Added, "I'm On The Right Track And Know It. No More Fancy
Theories. But I Won't Say A Word Till I Can Deliver The Goods. Give Your
Wife All The Rope You Can."
Price And Helene Met Briefly And Amiably And She Did Not Again Broach The
Subject Of The Loan For Her Friend, Nor Did She Ask For Her Jewels. It
Was Apparent That She Was Proudly Determined To Conceal Whatever Terrors
Or Even Worries That Might Haunt Her, But The Effort Deprived Her Of All
Her Native Vivacity; She Was Almost Formal In Manner And Her White Face
Grew More Like A Classic Mask Daily.
On The Evening Before The Thornton Fete, However, Price Was Able To Dine
At Home. They Met At Table And He Saw At Once That She Either Had
Recovered Her Spirits Or Was Making A Deliberate Attempt To Create The
Impression Of A Carefree Young Woman Happy In A Tete-A-Tete Dinner With A
Busy Husband.
Her Talk For The Most Part Was Of The Great Entertainment At San Mateo.
The Weather Promised To Be Simply Magnificent. Wasn't That Exactly Like
Flora Thornton's Luck? The Immense Grounds Were Simply Swarming With
Workmen; Wagon-Loads Of All Sorts Of Things Went Through The Gates After
Every Train--Simply One Procession After Another; But No One Else Could
So Much As Get Her Nose Through Those Gates.
Helene, With All Her Old Childish Glee, Related How She And Aileen, Polly
(Who Apparently Had Forgotten Her Impending Doom), And Two Or Three Other
Girls, Had Called Up Mrs. Thornton On The Telephone Every Ten Minutes For
An Hour--Pretending It Was Long Distance To Make Sure Of A Personal
Response--And Begged To Be Allowed To Go Over And See The Preparations,
Until Finally, In A Towering Rage, Her Ladyship Had Replied That If They
Called Her Again She Would Withdraw Her Invitations.
"How We Did Long For An Airship. It Would Have Been Such Fun, For She
Does So Disapprove Of All Of Us; Thinks Us A Little Flock Of Silly Geese.
Well, We Are, I Guess, But Wasn't She One Herself Once? She Has A Pretty
Hard Time Even Now Making Life Interesting For Herself--Out Here, Anyhow.
"Yesterday We Motored Down To Menlo And Dropped In At The Maynards. There
Were A Lot Of The Props Of San Francisco Society, All As Rich As Croesus,
Sitting On The Veranda Crocheting Socks Or Sacks For A Crop Of New Babies
That Are Due. One Or Two Were Hemstitching Lawn, Or Embroidering A
Monogram, Or Something Else Equally Useless Or Virtuous. They Were
Talking Mild Gossip, And Didn't Even Have Powder On. It Was Ghastly--"
"Helene," Said Ruyler Abruptly, "What Do You Think Is The Secret Of
Happiness--I Mean, Of Course, The Enduring Sort--Perhaps Content Would Be
The Better Word. Happiness Is Too Dependent Upon Love, And Love Was Never
Meant For Daily Food. You Are Not By Nature Frivolous, And You Are
Capable Of Thought. Have You Ever Given Any To The Secret Of Content?"
"Yes, Work," She Answered Promptly. "Everybody Should Have His Daily Job,
Prescribed Either By The State Or By Necessity; But Something He Must Do
If Both He And Society Would Continue To Exist."
Ruyler Elevated His Eyebrows And Looked At Her Curiously. "Socialism. I
Didn't Know You Had Ever Heard Of It."
"Aileen And I Are Not Such Fools As We Look--As You Were Good Enough To
Intimate Just Now. We Went To A Series Of Lectures Early Last Winter Over
At The University, On Socialism--A Lot Of Us Formed A Class, But All
Except Aileen And I Dropped Out.
"We Continued To Read For A Time After The Lectures Were Over, But Of
Course That Didn't Last. One Drops Everything For Want Of Stimulus, And
When One Begins To Flutter Again One Is Lost.
"But I Heard And Read And Thought Enough To Deduce That The Only Vital
Interest In Life After One's Secret Happiness--Which One Would Not Dare
Spread Out Too Thin If One Could In This American Life--Is Necessary Work
Well Done. And That Is Quite Different From Those Fussy Interests And
Fads We Create Or Take Up For The Sake Of Thinking We Are Busy And
Interested.
"Polly's Mother Once Told Me She Never Was So Happy In Her Life As During
Those Weeks After The Earthquake And Fire When All The Servants Had Run
Away And She Had To Cook For The Family Out In The Street On A Stove They
Bought Down In A Little Shop In Polk Street And Set Up And Surrounded On
Three Sides By 'Inside Blinds.' She Happened To Have A Talent For
Cooking, And Without Her The Family Would Have Starved. Polly Tied A
Towel Round Her Head And Did The Housework, Or Stood In A Line And Got
The Daily Rations From The Government. She Never Thought Once Of--"
"Of What?"
"Oh, Of Doing Anything Rather Than Expire Of Boredom. She And Rex Had
Been Married A Year And Were Living At Home. Rex And Mr. Carter Helped
Excavate Down In The Business District, As The Working Class Wouldn't
Lift A Finger As Long As The Government Was Feeding Them."
"There You Are! Their Ideal Is Complete Leisure, And That Of Our Delicate
Products Of The Highest Civilization--Compulsory Jobs! What Does Progress
Mean But The Leisure To Enjoy The Arts And All The Finer Fruits Of
Progress? What Else Do We Men Really Work For?"
"Progress Has Gone Too Far And Defeated Its Own Ends. Every Healthy Human
Being Should Be Forced To Work Six Hours A Day.
"That Would Leave Eight For Sleep And Ten For Enjoyment Of The Arts And
Luxuries. Then We Really Should Enjoy Them, And If We Couldn't Have Them
Unless We Did Our Six Hours' Stint, Ennui And The Dissipations That It
Breeds Would Be Unknown.
"I Can Tell You It Is Demoralizing, Disintegrating, To Wake Up Morning
After Morning--About Ten O'clock!--And Know That You Have Nothing Worth
While To Do For Another Day--For All The Days!--That You Have No Place In
The World Except As An Ornament! Women Of Limited Incomes And A Family Of
Growing Children Have Enough, To Do, Of Course--Too Much--They Never Can
Feel Superfluous And Demoralized--Except By Envy--But As For Us! Why, I
Can Tell You, It Is A Marvel We Don't All Go Straight To The Devil."
They Were Alone With The Coffee, And She Was Pounding The Table With Her
Little Fist. Her Cheeks Were Deeply Flushed And Her Black Somber Eyes
Were Opening And Closing Rapidly, As If Alternately Magnetized By Some
Ugly Vision And Sweeping It Aside.
Price Watched Her With Deep Interest And Deeper Anxiety. "A Good Many
Women Go To The Devil," He Said. "But You Are Not That Sort."
"Oh, I Don't Know. I Never Could Get Up Enough Interest In Another Man To
Solve The Problem In The Usual Way--But There Are Other
Resources--I--Well--"
"What?" Price Sat Up Very Straight.
"Oh, Dance Ourselves Into Tuberculosis," She Said Lightly, And Dropping
Her Eyelashes. "And Tuberculosis Of The Mind, Certainly. On The Whole, I
Think I Prefer Physical To Spiritual Death....
"However--I Found Out One Thing To-Day. The Dancing Is To Be Out Of
Doors. There Will Be An Immense Arbor Or Something Of The Sort Erected
On The Lawn Above The Sunken Garden. My Gown Is A Dream And I Shall Wear
The Ruby."
"Yes," He Said Smiling. "You Shall Wear The Ruby. But You Must Expect Me
To Keep Very Close To You--"
"The Closer The Better." She Smiled Charmingly. "Have You Tried On
Your Costume?"
"I Haven't Even Looked At It. Who Am I?"
"Caesar Borgia. You Are Not Much Like Him Yourself, Darling, But I
Thought He Was Not So Very Unlike Modern American Business, As A Whole."
Ruyler Laughed. "Why Not Machiavelli? But As No Doubt It Is Black Velvet,
Much Puffed And Slashed, I May Hope It Will Be Becoming To My
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