It is an illustration of her remarkable force of character that at this point, refusing to be crushed by the bludgeoning of fate, she walked to Broadway and went into a moving-picture palace. There was nothing to be effected by staying in the house and worrying, so she resolutely declined to worry.
From this point onward her day divided itself into a series of three movements repeated at regular intervals. From the moving pictures she went to the house on Fifth Avenue. Finding that neither Ruth nor Mrs. Porter had returned, she went to the studio. Ringing the bell there and getting no answer, she took in the movies once more.
Mamie was a philosopher.
The atmosphere of the great house was still untroubled on her second visit. The care of the White Hope had always been left exclusively in the hands of the women, and the rest of the household had not yet detected his absence. It was not their business to watch his comings in and his goings out. Besides, they had other things to occupy them.
The unique occasion of the double absence of Ruth and Mrs. Porter was being celebrated by a sort of Saturnalia or slaves’ holiday. It was true that either or both might return at any moment, but there was a disposition on the part of the domestic staff to take a chance on it.
Keggs, that sinful butler, had strolled round to an apparently untenanted house on Forty-First Street, where those who knew their New York could, by giving the signal, obtain admittance and the privilege of losing their money at the pleasing game of roulette with a double zero.
George, the footman, in company with Henriette, the lady’s-maid, and Rollins, the chauffeur, who had butted in absolutely uninvited to George’s acute disgust, were taking the air in the park. The rest of the staff, with the exception of a housemaid, who had been bribed, with two dollars and an old dress which had once been Ruth’s and was now the property of Henriette, to stand by the ship, were somewhere on the island, amusing themselves in the way that seemed best to them. For all practical purposes, it was a safe and sane Fourth provided out of a blue sky by the god of chance.
It was about five o’clock when Mamie, having, at a modest estimate, seen five hundred persecuted heroes, a thousand ill-used heroines, several regiments of cowboys, and perhaps two thousand comic men pursued by angry mobs, returned from her usual visit to the studio.
This time there were signs of hope in the shape of a large automobile opposite the door. She rang the bell, and there came from within the welcome sound of footsteps. An elderly man of a somewhat dissipated countenance opened the door.
“I want to see Mr. Winfield,” said Mamie.
Mr. Penway, for it was he, gave her the approving glance which your man of taste and discrimination does not fail to bestow upon youth and beauty and bawled over his shoulder—
“Kirk!”
Kirk came down the passage. He was looking brown and healthy. He was in his shirtsleeves.
“Oh, Mr. Winfield. I’m in such trouble.”
“Why, Mamie! What’s the matter? Come in.”
Mamie followed him into the studio, eluding Mr. Penway, whose arm was hovering in the neighbourhood of her waist.
“Sit down,” said Kirk. “What’s the trouble? Have you been trying to get at me before? We’ve been down to Long Beach.”
“A delightful spot,” observed Mr. Penway, who had followed. “Sandy, but replete with squabs. Why didn’t you come earlier? We could have taken you.”
“May I talk privately with you, Mr. Winfield?”
“Sure.”
Kirk looked at Mr. Penway, who nodded agreeably.
“Outside for Robert?” he inquired amiably. “Very well. There is no Buttinsky blood in the Penway family. Let me just fix myself a highball and borrow one of your cigars and I’ll go and sit in the car and commune with nature. Take your time.”
“Just a moment, Mamie,” said Kirk, when he had gone. He picked up a telegram which lay on the table. “I’ll read this and see if it’s important, and then we’ll get right down to business. We only got back a moment before you arrived, so I’m a bit behind with my correspondence.”
As he read the telegram a look of astonishment came into his face. He sat down and read the message a second time. Mamie waited patiently.
“Good Lord!” he muttered.
A sudden thought struck Mamie.
“Mr. Winfield, is it from Steve?” she said.
Kirk started, and looked at her incredulously.
“How on earth did you know? Good Heavens! Are you in this, Mamie, too?”
Mamie handed him her note. He read it without a word. When he had finished he sat back in his chair, thinking.
“I thought Steve might have telegraphed to you,” said Mamie.
Kirk roused himself from his thoughts.
“Was this what you came to see me about?”
“Yes.”
“What does Ruth—what do they think of it—up there?”
“They don’t know anything about it. Mrs. Winfield went away early this morning. Mr. Keggs said she had had a telephone call, Mrs. Porter is in Boston. She will be back today some time. What are we to do?”
“Do!” Kirk jumped up and began to pace the floor. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. Steve has taken the boy up to my shack in Connecticut. I’m going there as fast as the auto can take me.”
“Steve’s mad!”
“Is he? Steve’s the best pal I’ve got. For two years I’ve been aching to get at this boy, and Steve has had the sense to show me the way.”
He went on as if talking to himself.
“Steve’s a man. I’m just a fool who hangs round without the nerve to act. If I had had the pluck of a rabbit I’d have done this myself six months ago. But I’ve hung round doing nothing while that damned Porter woman played the fool with the boy. I’ll be lucky now
