The Beautiful and Damned

epub:type="z3998:persona">Paramore Receding delicately from the subject. Didn’t I hear the sounds of music as I approached the house? Tana With a spasmodic giggle. Yes, I play. Paramore One of the Japanese instruments. He is quite obviously a subscriber to the National Geographic Magazine. Tana I play flu‑u‑ute, Japanese flu‑u‑ute. Paramore What song were you playing? One of your Japanese melodies? Tana His brow undergoing preposterous contraction. I play train song. How you call?⁠—railroad song. So call in my countree. Like train. It go so‑o‑o; that mean whistle; train start. Then go so‑o‑o; that mean train go. Go like that. Vera nice song in my countree. Children song. Paramore It sounded very nice. It is apparent at this point that only a gigantic effort at control restrains Tana from rushing upstairs for his post cards, including the six made in America. Tana I fix highball for gentleman? Paramore No, thanks. I don’t use it. He smiles.

Tana withdraws into the kitchen, leaving the intervening door slightly ajar. From the crevice there suddenly issues again the melody of the Japanese train song⁠—this time not a practice, surely, but a performance, a lusty, spirited performance.

The phone rings. Tana, absorbed in his harmonics, gives no heed, so Paramore takes up the receiver.

Paramore Hello.⁠ ⁠… Yes.⁠ ⁠… No, he’s not here now, but he’ll be back any moment.⁠ ⁠… Butterworth? Hello, I didn’t quite catch the name.⁠ ⁠… Hello, hello, hello. Hello!⁠ ⁠… Huh!

The phone obstinately refuses to yield up any more sound. Paramore replaces the receiver.

At this point the taxi motif re-enters, wafting with it a second young man; he carries a suitcase and opens the front door without ringing the bell.

Maury In the hall. Oh, Anthony! Yoho! He comes into the large room and sees Paramore. How do? Paramore Gazing at him with gathering intensity. Is this⁠—is this Maury Noble? Maury That’s it. He advances, smiling, and holding out his hand. How are you, old boy? Haven’t seen you for years. He has vaguely associated the face with Harvard, but is not even positive about that. The name, if he ever knew it, he has long since forgotten. However, with a fine sensitiveness and an equally commendable charity Paramore recognizes the fact and tactfully relieves the situation. Paramore You’ve forgotten Fred Paramore? We were both in old Unc Robert’s history class. Maury No, I haven’t, Unc⁠—I mean Fred. Fred was⁠—I mean Unc was a great old fellow, wasn’t he? Paramore Nodding his head humorously several times. Great old character. Great old character. Maury After a short pause. Yes⁠—he was. Where’s Anthony? Paramore The Japanese servant told me he was at some inn. Having dinner, I suppose. Maury Looking at his watch. Gone long? Paramore I guess so. The Japanese told me they’d be back shortly. Maury Suppose we have a drink. Paramore No, thanks. I don’t use it. He smiles. Maury Mind if I do? Yawning as he helps himself from a bottle. What have you been doing since you left college? Paramore Oh, many things. I’ve led a very active life. Knocked about here and there. His tone implies anything from lion-stalking to organized crime. Maury Oh, been over to Europe? Paramore No, I haven’t⁠—unfortunately. Maury I guess we’ll all go over before long. Paramore Do you really think so? Maury Sure! Country’s been fed on sensationalism for more than two years. Everybody getting restless. Want to have some fun. Paramore Then you don’t believe any ideals are at stake? Maury Nothing of much importance. People want excitement every so often. Paramore Intently. It’s very interesting to hear you say that. Now I was talking to a man who’d been over there⁠— During the ensuing testament, left to be filled in by the reader with such phrases as “Saw with his own eyes,” “Splendid spirit of France,” and “Salvation of civilization,” Maury sits with lowered eyelids, dispassionately bored. Maury At the first available opportunity. By the way, do you happen to know that there’s a German agent in this very house? Paramore Smiling cautiously. Are you serious? Maury Absolutely. Feel it my duty to warn you. Paramore Convinced. A governess? Maury In a whisper, indicating the kitchen with his thumb. Tana! That’s not his real name. I understand he constantly gets mail addressed to Lieutenant Emile Tannenbaum. Paramore Laughing with hearty tolerance. You were kidding me. Maury I may be accusing him falsely. But, you haven’t told me what you’ve been doing. Paramore For one thing⁠—writing. Maury Fiction? Paramore No. Nonfiction. Maury What’s that? A sort of literature that’s half fiction and half fact? Paramore Oh, I’ve confined myself to fact. I’ve been doing a good deal of social-service work. Maury Oh! An immediate glow of suspicion leaps into his eyes. It is as though Paramore had announced himself as an amateur pickpocket. Paramore At present I’m doing service work in Stamford. Only last week someone told me that Anthony Patch lived so near. They are interrupted by a clamor outside, unmistakable as that of two sexes in conversation and laughter. Then there enter the room in a body Anthony, Gloria, Richard Caramel, Muriel Kane, Rachael Barnes and Rodman Barnes, her husband. They surge about Maury, illogically replying “Fine!” to his general “Hello.”⁠ ⁠… Anthony, meanwhile, approaches his other guest. Anthony Well, I’ll be darned. How are you? Mighty glad to see you. Paramore It’s good to see you, Anthony. I’m stationed in Stamford, so I thought I’d run over. Roguishly. We have to work to beat the devil most of the time, so we’re entitled to a few hours’ vacation. In an agony of concentration Anthony tries to recall the name. After a struggle of parturition his memory gives up the fragment “Fred,” around which he hastily builds the sentence “Glad you did, Fred!” Meanwhile the slight hush prefatory to an introduction has fallen upon the company. Maury, who could help, prefers to look on in malicious enjoyment. Anthony In desperation. Ladies and gentlemen, this is⁠—this is Fred. Muriel With obliging levity. Hello, Fred!

Richard Caramel and Paramore greet