Part 5 (1/2)

”Won't you pull your chair up?” Joe invited.

Mr. Claybrook decided he would. He was a big man, a grave man, a man of considerable poise, and possessed of whimsical crow's-feet in the corners of his eyes. Mary Louise's apathy seemed to retire a little at his approach.

”Glad to see you survived last night,” he said to her with a faint smile.

She flushed, and Joe felt a little roughness under his collar.

”How's the tea room coming? Roused out any hard drinkers yet?”

”Oh, we're not looking for that. We hope to make a few steady friends, but we're depending on the ebb and flow.” Her colour was mounting, and had not Joe been so uncomfortable he would have seen how pretty she was. But he sank deeper and deeper into a sullen and unreasoning discomfort. The two had evidently had considerable in common before.

He felt awkward--knew of nothing to say. Claybrook, on the other hand, was enjoying himself.

And apparently sensing the tension in Joe's mind, and seeking to lighten it a bit, she volunteered:

”Captain Claybrook is going to help us put the tea room across. He was one of our best little patrons in Camp Taylor.”

Claybrook looked self-conscious; Joe even more embarra.s.sed. And suddenly a strange look crossed her face and she broke off her explanation. Joe turned and looked in the direction toward which she was staring wide-eyed.

And across the room, weaving through the labyrinth of tables and bearing straight down upon them, came a strange apparition. With unsteady gait, his hand stretched out in caution before him and a watery smile upon his lips, came Uncle Buzz. An incongruously picturesque figure amidst smartness and glitter. His head was as sleek as ever and he had waxed the tips of his moustaches so that they stuck out jauntily as did the tips of his black bow tie. But his jacket was short and rusty and in need of pressing, of which fact he seemed blissfully unaware. For, having sighted them, he was coming on steadfastly, past pitfalls that yawned, with a smile upon his face.

Joe felt a peculiar exulting glow pa.s.s over him, whether at the sight of a familiar, friendly face or for some less creditable reason.

Distress was plainly written on the face of Mary Louise. Claybrook talked on, unconscious of what was coming.

And then Mr. Mosby drew up alongside and favoured them with an elaborate bow from the centre of the aisle. A hurrying waiter, being thus perilously presented with an unexpected hazard, made a desperate swerve in mid-flight and menaced an adjoining table with the contents of his tray. A gla.s.s crashed, a woman shrieked, and Uncle Buzz serenely proceeded.

”Don't get up. Pray, don't get up,” he said to Joe and Claybrook. ”Saw you from the door and merely came to pay my respects. Miss Mary Louise, we miss you in the old town.” He turned to her gracefully, and Joe could catch the faint aroma of Bourbon, thus immediately accounting to his own satisfaction for the easy poise and manner. Mary Louise was lost. She watched Claybrook, who seemed amused, and Uncle Buzz went on, turning his attention to Joe. ”And by the way, Joseph, if you can arrange to, your Aunt Loraine and I would like for you to spend Sat.u.r.day and Sunday with us.”

Joe knew how much his Aunt Loraine would subscribe to this courtesy.

It meant work to do, that was all. But he was amused, felt singularly light-hearted instead of embarra.s.sed. Who can say he was depraved? His voice was kind and cajoling as he replied:

”What are you doing in town, Uncle Buzz? Isn't the store open to-day?

Mr. Claybrook! Mr. Mosby!”

Uncle Buzz acknowledged the honour and then he turned on Joe a dignified but hurt surprise. ”I come to town quite frequently,” he said, clipping his words. ”A Mr. Forbes of Boston wrote me to meet him here about some saddle horses.” This was said quietly but with proper emphasis. Joe wondered how far it strayed from the truth. There were only two saddlers left, he knew. Uncle Buzz was swaying slightly to and fro and the little table was rapidly becoming the cynosure of all eyes. Mary Louise looked about her desperately. Uncle Buzz, smiling sweetly in the aisle, and threatening at any moment to shatter the illusion by falling prostrate, was entirely ignorant of her distress.

The tables were reversed. Claybrook was silent; Joe held the centre of the conversational stage.

Suddenly Mary Louise arose. ”We must be going,” she said. She paused, gave them all an uncertain smile, and then she started rapidly for the door. Old Mr. Mosby looked mildly surprised, then accepted the situation as one too complex for his muddled brain. And Joe, after a first flare of anger, followed her in silence, leaving Claybrook and Uncle Buzz to contest the honours after him.

They parted in the lobby; Mary Louise with a bright spot on either cheek and her lips set in their tightest line; Claybrook suave and genial; Uncle Buzz bewildered and in some way wistfully regretful.

His watery blue eyes held in them an unanswered question that seemed too ponderous for utterance. Joe was silent.

He took her home, along the deserted streets as quickly as possible.

For a long time neither spoke. Then it was some trivial amenity that she uttered to which he made even shorter reply. Up in the elevator they went, silently watching the floor. At the door of her apartment he inclined his head. ”Good-night,” he said, without offering to shake hands.

”What's the matter, Joe?” she asked, suddenly coming to herself and realizing the oversight.

”Not a thing,” he said. ”It's perfectly all right with me.” He turned to go.