Author: George Randolph Chester
Category: Humorous
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Constance, in the summer-house, laughed again, although less happily than before, and dropped her portfolio as loudly as possible, while Johnny Gamble merely grinned.
"That's what I wondered about," persisted the grizzled financier, as oblivious to the noises from within the jessamine bower as his wife had been. "I should have thought that on Constance's account you would have dropped Gresham."
"How absurd!" laughed Mrs. Courtney. "Why, she is to marry him!"
"I don't believe it!" indignantly denied Courtney. "She got him in a will with a million dollars, and it isn't enough!"
Constance's foot, twitching nervously, rustled a dry leaf, and her heart popped into her throat lest the noise should be heard. The time had passed for wishing to be discovered.
Johnny Gamble had ceased to grin and was looking scared.
"Mr. Gresham is of a very old family," Mr. Courtney's wife reminded him.
"Age is no recommendation for an egg," her husband kindly informed her. "Gresham is second cousin to Lord Yawpingham, and if they had any sense of shame they'd murder each other for the relationship."
"Oh, Ben, I'm sure you're harsh," protested the optimistic Mrs. Courtney.
"I'm so charitable as to be almost weak," he insisted with a grin. "Seriously; though, Lucy, Gresham's not square. He tried to destroy Johnny Gamble's credit with me two or three weeks ago in a most underhanded manner."
There was a moment of silence, during which the pair in the bower gazed straight up at nothing.
"You seem to like Mr. Gamble," mused Mrs. Courtney. "Everybody does, however. Where is he from?"
"Some little town up the state," returned Courtney indifferently. "He's a fine young fellow, square as a die and a hustler! He's going to marry Constance Joy."
Johnny Gamble, turning the color of a tomato, dropped his sailor straw hat, and its edge hit the tiled floor with a noise like the blow of an ax. Constance could have murdered him for it. They missed a lot of conversation just about then.
Courtney and his wife rounded the corner of the bower and paused a moment before turning into it.
"Really, Ben," defended Mrs. Courtney, returning to the criticism that her husband by now wished he had not made, "except for the epidemic of Wobbleses this would have been a delightful week-end party: Constance, Polly, fluffy little Winnie, Mrs. Follison and our own two girls; Mr. Loring, Val Russel, Bruce Townley, Sammy Chirp, Mr. Gamble and Mr. Gresham. For your entertainment you'll have Mr. Washer, Mr. Close and Colonel Bouncer, with whom you will play poker from the time they reach here this afternoon until they go away Monday morning."
"It was a good party!" agreed Courtney, "By the way, I owe my poker guests to Johnny Gamble. He asked if they would be here, and seemed to want them. He's a live member! Did I ever tell you how he helped me skin old Mort Washer?" And, changing his mind about entering the jessamine bower, Mr. Courtney, explaining with great glee the skinning of his friend Mort Washer, took the other path and the two strolled away without having seen or heard the luckless eavesdroppers.
The miserable pair in the bower, exhibiting various shades of red, looked steadfastly out into the blue, blue sky for some minutes in stupefied silence. Johnny presently picked up his sailor straw hat and surveyed the nick in its brim with ingenuous interest.
"I bought that hat in Baltimore," he inanely observed.
Constance suddenly rose and walked straight out of there—alone!
CHAPTER XVIII. IN WHICH THE ENTIRE WOBBLES FAMILY FOR ONCE GET TOGETHER
Mr. Eugene Wobbles, who tried to live down his American ancestry in London clubs and was, consequently, more British than any Englishman, came to Mr. Courtney lazily apologetic.
"I fancy I'm going to give you a lot of bother, my dear Courtney," he observed, lounging feebly against the porch rail.
"I prefer bother to almost anything," returned his host pleasantly; "it gives me something to do."
"Rather clever that," laughed Eugene, swinging his monocle with one hand and stroking his drooping yellow mustache with the other. "Really I never thought of bother in that way before. Keeps one bothered, I think you said," and he gazed out over the broad lawn where the young people were noisily congregating, in pleasant contemplation of Courtney's wonderful new philosophy.
"What is this particular bother?" gently suggested Courtney after a pause.
"Oh, yes," responded Eugene, "we were discussing that, weren't we? I've a rotten memory; but my oldest brother, Tommy, can't even remember his middle initial. Pretty good that, don't you think; Tommy is a perfect ass in every respect." And idly considering Tommy's perfection as an ass, he turned and gazed down into the ravine where Courtney had built some attractive little waterfalls and cave paths. "About how deep should you say it was down there, Courtney?"
"Three hundred and fifty feet," answered Courtney. "I think you were speaking about a little bother."
"Oh, yes, so I was," agreed Eugene. "Very good of you to remind me of it. You know, Courtney, Mr. Gamble—who wants to buy some land of ours—has made the remarkable discovery that we're all here together. First time in years, I assure you. No matter how necessary it may be for us to hold a complete family council, one of my brothers—most unreliable people in the world, I think—is always missing."
"And when they're all together I suppose you are somewhere else," suggested Courtney.
That proposition was so unique that Eugene was forced to spend profound thought on it.
"Curious, isn't it?" he finally admitted. "A chap becomes so in the habit of thinking that he is himself always present, wherever he happens to be, that it's no end starting to reflect that sometimes he isn't."
"I see," said Courtney, grasping eagerly at the light. "You merely happen to be all here at the same time, and you think it advisable to hold a family business meeting because the accident may never occur again. Sensible idea, Eugene. The east loggia off the second- floor hall is just the place. Assemble there and I'll send you any weapons you want."
"Perfectly stunning how you Americans grasp things!" commented Eugene, agape with admiration. "But I say, old chap, that's a joke about the weapons. Really, we shan't need them."
"You're quite right; I was joking," returned Courtney gravely. "I'll go right up and have some chairs and tables put out on the loggia."
"I knew it would be a deuced lot of bother for you," regretted Eugene apologetically. "It's a lot of face in us to ask it. So crude, you know. By the way, should you say that this Mr. Gamble chap was all sorts reliable?"
"Absolutely," Courtney emphatically assured him.
"Ow," returned Eugene reflectively. "And his solicitor fellow, Loring?"
"Perfectly trustworthy."
"Ow," commented Eugene, and fell into a study so deep that Courtney was able to escape without being missed.
In the library, where he went to ring for a servant, he found Constance Joy looking gloomily out of a window, with a magazine upside down in her hands. She immediately rose.
"Don't let me disturb you," begged Courtney as he rang the bell. "Do you know where I can find Johnny Gamble?"
"I really couldn't say," replied Constance sweetly. "I left him out in the gardens a few minutes ago." And she made for the door, confident that she had not spoken with apparent haste, embarrassment or coldness.
"Won't you please tell him that Joe Close and Morton Washer and Colonel Bouncer are coming out on the next train?" requested Courtney. "You're sure to see him by and by, I know."
"With pleasure," lied Constance miserably, and hurried to finish her escape. At the door, however, she suddenly turned and came back, walking nonchalantly but hastily out through the windows upon the side porch. A second later Paul Gresham and Billy Wobbles, the latter walking with temperamental knees, passed through the hall.
Courtney looked after Constance in perplexity, but, a servant entering, he gave orders for the furnishing of the loggia and went up to make sure of the arrangements. He found Johnny Gamble in moody solitude, studying wi
th deep intensity the braiding of his sailor straw hat.
"Hello, Johnny!" hailed Courtney cordially. "I was just asking Miss Joy about you."
Johnny looked at him with reproachful eyes. Courtney was to blame for his present gloom.
"Thanks," he returned. "What did she say?"
"Not much," replied Courtney, smiling slyly. "She didn't know where you were, but she's looking for you."
"Where is she?" asked Johnny, jumping up with alacrity.
"She just went out on the side porch of the library," announced Courtney. "Her message is from me, however. Washer and Close and the colonel are coming out this noon."
"Thanks," replied Johnny starting away. "Did I understand you to say the side porch of the library?"
A thin-legged figure stopped in the door and twitched.
"Mornin'," it observed. "I knew Eugene's intellect was woozing again. Always announcing some plan for us to bore each other, don't you know, and never having it come off."
"This is the place and the hour, Reggie," declared Mr. Courtney. "If you'll just stay here I'll send you out a brandy and soda and some cigars."
"Thanks awfully, old man," returned Reggie, looking dubiously out at the loggia. It was enticing enough, with its broad, cool, tiled flooring and its vine-hung arches and its vistas of the tree-clad hills across the ravine; but it was empty. "I think I'll return when the rest of them are together.", And Reggie, stumbling against the door-jamb on his way out, wandered away, choosing the right-hand passage because his body had happened to lurch in that direction.
"Johnny, if you say anything I'll be peevish," protested Courtney in advance. "Please remember that the gentleman is a guest of mine."
"I was grinning at something else," Johnny soothed him, still grinning, however.
"I apologize," observed Courtney. "Do you think the Wobbles family will hold their conclave if each of them waits until all the others are together?"
"I hope so," replied Johnny. "I'll make some money if they do."
"How rude!" expostulated Courtney with a laugh. "Business at a week- end house-party!"
"Business is right," confessed Johnny. "They admit that you run the best private exchange in America out here."
Courtney, enjoying that remark, laughed heartily.
"I'm glad they give me credit," he acknowledged. "Well, help yourself to all the facilities. Where are you going?"
"Library porch," answered Johnny promptly. "Excuse me, I'm in a hurry."
Constance Joy was not on the library porch. Instead, Johnny found there Polly Parsons and her adopted sister Winnie, Ashley Loring and Sammy Chirp. This being almost a family party for Johnny, he had no hesitation in asking bluntly for Constance.
"This is her morning for Wobbling," returned Polly disdainfully. "A while ago she was dodging the perfectly careless compliments of old Tommy and trying not to see that his toupee was on crooked; and now she's down toward the ravine some place, watching young Cecil stumble. You could make yourself a very solid Johnny by trotting right down there and breaking up the party."
"I think I'd rather have a messenger for that," calculated Johnny. "His brothers wish to see Cecil up in the east loggia."
"Sammy will go," offered Winnie confidently; whereat Sammy, smiling affably, promptly rose.
"Go with him, Winnie," ordered Polly. "Trot on now, both of you. I want to talk sense."
Quite cheerfully Winnie gave Sammy her fan, her parasol, her vanity box, her novel, her box of chocolates and her hat, stuffed a handkerchief in his pocket and said: "Come on, Sammy; I'm ready."
"Constance showed me that schedule last night, Johnny," rattled Polly. "You ought to see it, Loring. On Wednesday, at four o'clock, he was exactly even with it; five hundred thousand dollars to the good."
"I know," laughed Loring, "and he'll beat his schedule if the Wobbleses will only hold steady for ten minutes."
"You don't mean to say that a Wobbles could be useful!" protested Polly.
"Half a million dollars' worth," Loring informed her; then he drew his chair closer and lowered his voice. "It's a funny story, Polly. Two weeks ago Johnny took Courtney and Close and Washer and Colonel Bouncer up to the Bronx in my machine and arranged to sell them a subdivision for three and a half million dollars."
"Help!" gasped Polly. "Burglar!"
"They'll double their money," asserted Johnny indignantly. "Fanciest neglected opportunity within a gallon of gasolene from Forty-second Street."
"Trouble is, Johnny didn't own it and doesn't yet," laughed Loring. "He's been trying to buy it from the Wobbleses ever since he arranged to sell it."
"He'll get it," decided Polly confidently.
"Will they agree when they get together?" Loring worried. "Individually each one needs the money, and each one is satisfied with Johnny's offer of three million cash."
"Don't say another word," ordered Polly. "I have to figure this out. Why, Johnny, if you carry this through it will finish your million, and this is only the thirteenth of May. That's going some! You weren't supposed to have it till the thirty-first. Polly's proud of you!"
"I don't think you get the joke of this yet, though, Polly," Loring went on. "The Wobbleses don't know that Johnny had already arranged to sell their land, and the subdivision company doesn't know that the beautiful Bronx tract is the Wobbles estate. In the meantime both parties are here, and I'm lurking behind the scenery with all the necessary papers ready to sign, seal and deliver."
"Hush!" commanded Polly; "I'm getting excited. It sounds like the finish of the third act. Oh, lookee! Who's the graceful party with Gresham?"
Both Johnny and Loring glanced up at a tall, suave, easy-moving gentleman, whose clothing fitted him like a matinee idol's, whose closely trimmed beard would have served as a model for the nobility anywhere, and whose smile was sickening sweet.
"Eugene Wobbles' friend, Birchard," stated Johnny, who kept himself well posted on Wobbles affairs. "He's always either with Gresham or a Wobbles, and he travels for a living, I believe." And Johnny suddenly rose.
Coming from the direction of the ravine were Constance and Cecil, Winnie and Sammy, and passing Gresham and Birchard with the nod of compulsion Johnny walked carelessly on to meet the quartet.
"Good morning, Cecil," he observed. "Your brothers are about to hold a meeting in the east loggia, and I think they're looking for you."
"No doubt," admitted Cecil wearily. "It's barely possible that one or two of them are already believing that they will go up. Do you know, I think I shall establish a record for family promptness, if I may be excused. Most annoying to be torn away from such a jolly talk, I'm sure." And receiving the full and free permission of the company to depart he did so, changing his mind twice about whether to go through the rose arbor or round by the sun-dial.
Johnny swung in by the side of Constance.
"Some one told me you had a message for me," he blundered.
"Who said so?" she was cruel enough to ask.
Johnny turned pink, but he was brave and replied with the truth.
"Mr. Courtney," he admitted.
"So I imagined," she answered icily. "Mr. Washer and Mr. Close and Colonel Bouncer are to arrive on the noon train. You'll excuse me, won't you, please?" And she hurried on to the house by herself to dress for luncheon.
Johnny Gamble tried to say "Certainly", but he dropped his sailor straw hat. Constance heard it and every muscle in her body jumped and stiffened. Johnny turned to business as a disappointed lover turns to drink.
There seemed a conspicuous dearth of Wobbleses on the east loggia that morning. Loring, pathetically faithful to his post, entertained them in relays as Johnny brought them up: sometimes one, sometimes two, and once or twice as many as three of them at one time; but they all lost their feeble mooring and drifted away.
Luncheon-time passed; Washer and Bouncer and Close and Courtney went into executive session; two o'clock came, three o'clock, four o'clock, and still no meeting. At the latter hour Johnny, ma
king his tireless rounds but afflicted with despair, located Billy Wobbles, the one with the jerky eyelids and impulsive knees, on the loggia with Loring; Eugene was in the poker room trying numbly to discover the difference between a four-flush and a deuce-high hand; Tommy, his toupee well down toward his scanty white eyebrows, was boring the Courtney girls to the verge of tears; Cecil, stumbling almost rhythmically over his own calves, was playing tennis with Winnie and Sammy and Mrs. Follison; and Reggie, the twitcher, was entertaining Val Russel and Bruce Townley with a story he had started at nine o'clock in the morning.
Suddenly Johnny was visited with a long-sought inspiration and hurried down to the kennels, remembering with much self-scorn that he had dragged each of the Wobbleses away from there at least once.
The master of the dogs was Irish and young, with eyes the color of a six-o'clock sky on a sunny day, and he greeted Johnny with a white- toothed smile that would have melted honey.
"I locked Beauty up, sir," he said with a touch of his cap, referring to the gentle collie that had poked its nose confidingly into Johnny's hand at every visit. "There was too much excitement for her with all the strangers round, but she'll be glad to see you, sir."
"Give Beauty my card and tell her I'll be back," directed Johnny with a friendly glance in the direction of Beauty's summer residence. "Didn't you say something this morning about a crowd of setter puppies?"
"Yes, sir," replied the dog expert proudly. "Several of the gentlemen have been down to see them, but the day has been so hot I didn't care to bring them out. It's cool enough now, sir, if you'd like to see them."
"I'll be back, in five minutes," returned Johnny hastily. "I'll say hello to Beauty first."
Beauty barked and capered when she was let out, and expressed her entire approval of Johnny in fluent dog language, looking after him reproachfully when he hurried away.
Johnny first begged a puppy of Courtney, then he brought Eugene Wobbles and Tommy Wobbles and Billy and Cecil and Reggie Wobbles down in turns to pick it out for him. Each of the Wobbleses was still there, deciding, when he brought another. When the last Wobbles, including their friend Birchard, was in the inclosure Johnny locked the gate and sent Loring on a brisk errand. That energetic commercial attorney returned in a very few minutes, laden with some papers and writing materials, and followed by a servant carrying a wicker table.