Part 5 (1/2)
With a swift revulsion of feeling the girl knelt over a mallard duck and drake, the little brown mate by some trick of fate, with her dusky head lying across the neck of her bright-plumed lord. ”Oh, the poor darlings!” she cried pitifully. ”Oh, d.i.c.k, we can't wish them alive again.”
Gordon stood silent. The faint afterglow still hung in the fading west, but elsewhere all was dark. A star or two shone far up in the blue. The wind, erstwhile such a jolly companion, seemed graver now, as it moaned through the swaying tops of the dark pines. Suddenly the world became a solemn place, sad, unfriendly, vast. Gordon's face set hard as he looked at the kneeling girl and the two little dead wild ducks. ”No,” he said, with a world of meaning in his tone; ”no, we can't wish them alive again,” and together they turned toward home.
CHAPTER VI
COUNTRY COUSINS
The breakfast room, flooded with October suns.h.i.+ne, was such a pleasant place that Palmer, leisurely glancing through the columns of the morning paper, deliberately lingered as long as possible over his toast and eggs. Finally he laid the paper aside, slowly poured out a second cup of coffee, and with an expression of good-humored resignation glanced across the table at his secretary.
”Well, Morton,” he said pleasantly, ”let's have it. What have you got to bother me with to-day?”
The secretary smiled deferentially, as it behooves one to smile when one is earnestly desirous of keeping an easy, gentlemanly position, with little work and good pay.
”There's really very little this morning, Mr. Palmer,” he answered.
”There were the usual number of begging letters, which I answered in the usual form; a notice of the annual meeting of the polo club; one or two dinner invitations; a letter from Mr. Gordon asking you out to his shooting-box, and the check from the racing club for first money in the Ess.e.x.”
Palmer chuckled. The winning of the Ess.e.x had been one of the never-to-be-forgotten incidents of his life. ”Gad, Morton,” he cried, ”we hit it that time, didn't we? I can see the mare coming under the wire now. Traveling! I'll bet she was traveling! By rights I ought to make the check over to her. She deserves it, if any one ever did.
Well, there's nothing very exciting in that mail outside of the check, is there? Nothing immediate, anyway.”
Morton smiled faintly. The last three words embodied Palmer's whole philosophy of enjoying life to the best advantage. To live calmly, without haste; to know what was coming in time to enjoy it in antic.i.p.ation; to be able to put off unpleasant tasks until the latest possible moment--that was Palmer's creed. Some men, nervous and high strung, when the final moment of life itself has to be faced, pray for a sudden death. To Palmer, that would have appeared highly undesirable. Rather, he would infinitely have preferred to have the whole matter indefinitely postponed. So the secretary smiled.
”No,” he said, ”nothing really immediate, except Mr. Gordon's note.
Shall I read it?”
”If you please,” answered Palmer indolently, and the secretary read in his even, pleasant voice,
”My Dear Harry:
”Do you recall that you were going to put in a day's shooting with me this fall? I write to tell you that the ducks are just on their flight. I killed over forty in two hours' shooting one day last week, over half of them redheads. Can't you meet me at my office at three to-morrow, and run out for the night?
”Your sincere friend,
”Richard Gordon.”
Palmer set down his cup of coffee untasted. ”By Jove!” he exclaimed, ”that's really very decent of Gordon. I didn't know the ducks were flying like that. Yes, Morton, telephone him I'll go with pleasure.
And, Morton, get Smith to pack my shooting things, and look over my gun, and put in about two hundred sh.e.l.ls, number six shot. Yes, by gad, I'll go.”
Deep down in his heart, although he would not have admitted it, and indeed was perhaps hardly aware of it, Palmer had an immense admiration for Gordon, doubtless based on the fact that Gordon did those things best which Palmer himself would most have liked to do well. Palmer's game of bridge was mediocre. Gordon's was masterly.
Palmer played a pa.s.sable game of golf, sometimes brilliant, always dangerously erratic. Gordon's steadiness had won him a rating among the first dozen on the state handicap list. Palmer could always bring home a fair bag of ducks, shooting being perhaps his greatest enthusiasm, but Gordon's clean right and left kills were little short of wonderful in their precision. Of course, as regarded popularity, Palmer had by far the greater number of hangers-on, retainers, satellites,--friends, he chose to call them--for when a genuine multimillionaire turns out to be a lavish spender as well, the combination furnishes unusual opportunities to those wise in their generation, and yet somehow the men whose friends.h.i.+p Palmer would most have liked, while always civil to him, never seemed to treat him in just the same way they did Gordon.
Thus the prospect of a day at Gordon's shooting-box, sure of good shooting and a pleasant time generally, startled him a little out of his usual calm, and three o'clock found him at the door of Gordon's modest office. Gordon came forward to meet him, his face troubled, a telegram in his hand.
”Confound it, Harry,” he cried, as he shook hands, ”I'm afraid I've done an awfully stupid thing. About a month ago I got a letter from an old lady up country, one of my mother's oldest friends,--awfully good to me when I was a boy, and all that--saying that she and her daughter were going to run down here for a little trip some time this month. Of course I wrote back, as in duty bound, and told her that I should be out at the shooting-box then, and that she must surely let me entertain her there. I never gave the matter a second thought, and here I've just got a telegram--delayed, of course,--saying they're due in town about half-past two, and will come right over to the office. I suppose they'll be here any minute. I'm infernally sorry. I never meant to let you in for anything like this.”
Palmer made a not over successful attempt to conceal his disappointment. ”Well, never mind, Gordon,” he said reluctantly.
”Can't be helped, of course. Better luck another time.”