Bambi
"Yes, rather. I have decided to see managers after this, Jarvis. It will
be Jocelyn & Co. You do the work and I'll sell it. It's fun."
"It's wonderful how the gods look after me," he said.
"Gods nothing! It's wonderful how I look after you. You can burn incense
to me."
"I do."
The play came back shortly, with a brief note from Claghorn. It had some
good points, but it was too serious. Not dramatic enough. The third
act was weak.
"All the silly asses want me to make them laugh," raged Jarvis.
"I am disappointed in my new friend, but the letter to Belasco is here
now, so we'll have a talk with him. Will you go, or shall I?"
"I think I'd like to talk with him, and tell him my views," Jarvis said.
They sent in the letter, with a request for an interview. In the course
of a few days a reply came saying that Mr. Belasco had gone West to see
a new production, but if Mr. Jocelyn would send his play to the office
it would receive the earliest possible attention. It was a blow to their
hopes, but there was nothing else to do, so they dispatched it by
messenger.
"I think, maybe, we had better plan to go back home to-morrow, and wait
the decision there. The money is vanishing, and I am getting anxious
about the Professor. He forgets to write anything of importance."
"All right. I'll be glad to go back."
"Let's go shop this afternoon, and take the morning train to-morrow."
"Good. Suits me."
"What shall I take the Professor? I've thought and thought. He's so hard
to shop for."
"Get him an adding machine!"
Bambi withered him.
"He would disinherit me on the spot. That's like sending Paderewski a
pianola."
"We must get something for Ardelia, too."
"I got her a red dress, a red hat, a salmon-pink waist, and
handkerchiefs with a coloured border."
Once their thoughts turned toward the little house, and the arithmetical
garden, they were anxious to get back. Their shopping tour was a gay
affair, because it was their last outing.
"Don't you feel differently about New York?" she asked him as they
walked back. "It seems to me like a fascinating new friend I have made.
I am sorry to leave it."
"I'm not. I'm not made for cities. People interest me for a while, then
I forget them, and they are always under foot, in places like this. I
trip over them, and they interrupt my thoughts."
"I'm so glad you are true to type," she smiled up at him.
"I'm deeply grateful and appreciative of your bringing me here," he
added awkwardly.
"That was out of character, Jarvis. A month ago you would have taken it
as your right."
"I'm beginning to realize that others may have rights, that even you may
have some, Miss Mite."
"Never fear. I'll protect mine," she boasted.
On the morrow they turned their faces toward home and the Professor.
XI
"It looks very out-of-the-worldly, doesn't it?" Bambi said as they came
in sight of home.
"It looks like Paradise to me," sighed Jarvis, holding open the gate for
her.
"Enter Eve, dragging the serpent," she laughed as she passed in. "Eve
never played in an arithmetical garden," she added. "If she had, there
would probably have been no immortal fall."
"The number eights look tired," Jarvis commented, ignoring her
witticism.
She spied the Professor afar sitting at work on the piazza. She flew
along the path and burst in upon him.
"Daddy!" she cried, and enveloped him. His astonishment was poignant.
"My dear," he said, "my dear. Why, I must have forgotten that you were
coming. I would have been at the station."
"I knew you'd forget, so I didn't bother you with it. How are you? Have
you been lonesome? Did you miss us? Where's Ardelia?" all in a breath.
The Professor smiled.
"Question one, I am well. Two, I cannot say that I have been lonesome.
Three, I did not miss you. Four, Ardelia is in the kitchen. How are you,
Jarvis?" he added as his son-in-law appeared.
"I am well, sir. I trust you are the same."
"Thank you. I enjoy good health."
"Stop it! Sounds like the first aid to manners. Here's Ardelia. Well,
how do you do?"
Ardelia's face was decorated with a most expansive grin.
"Howdy, Miss Bambi? Howdy, Massa Jarvis? I sho'r am glad to see you
folks home again." She shook hands with both of them.
"How's everything, Ardelia?"
"All right, Miss. Eberything is all right. We got 'long fine together,
the Perfessor and me. We des went about forgettin' eberyting and habin'
a mighty comfortable time. Did you all have a good time on your
honeymoon?"
"Fine," said Bambi. "We brought you some presents, that will make your
eyes ache, and, 'Delia, we're famished."
"Dog's foot! Heah I stan' a-gassin' and a-talkin' and you all hungry as
wolfses." She hurried off, muttering.
Jarvis and Bambi sat down.
"Isn't there something you want to tell me? I can't just remember what
you went to New York for?"
"We went to sell my play," Jarvis prompted.
"To be sure. It had escaped me for a moment. Were you successful?"
"We were not."
"Oh, Jarvis, how can you say that? We don't know yet. Belasco is
considering it."
"What is this Belasco?"
Bambi looked at Jarvis, and they both laughed.
"Isn't he refreshing?" she remarked. "I've thought for two weeks in
terms of managers. They fill the universe. They are the gods. Their nod
is life or death, and now my nearest relative says, 'What is Belasco?'"
"It's a sort of meat sauce, isn't it?"
Consternation on both their faces, then an outburst from Bambi.
"No, no! That's tabasco, you dear, blessed innocent."
"Belasco is one of the leading managers in New York, Professor,"
explained Jarvis, patiently. "He is as well known as Pierpont Morgan or
Theodore Roosevelt."
"Indeed! Well, I am not surprised at my ignorance. I have no interest in
present-day drama. It is degenerate mush."
"Have you seen anything, since 'Uncle Tom's Cabin'?" Jarvis inquired.
"I have seen 'The Second Mrs. Tanqueray,'" he replied conclusively.
"That was considered strong meat in its day, but now we have 'Damaged
Goods,'" mused Jarvis.
"And what are 'Damaged Goods'?" inquired the Professor.
"What are Yonkers? Don't tell him, Jarvis--he's too young to know. It's
an ugly modern play. We saw some things you might have enjoyed. Oh, I
often wished for you."
"Thank you, my dear, but I have no desire to enter that cauldron of
humanity."
"I agree with you, Professor Parkhurst."
"That is a rare occurrence, I may say," answered the Professor, with a
twinkle.
"Thank goodness, you have me to prod you into life. You would both sit
in your dens and figure and write until you blinked like owls in the
night. I have stored up energy enough, from these two weeks in the
cauldron, to run me for months. I didn't miss one thing, ugly or
beautiful. I shall use it all."
"Use it? How use it, my dear?"
"In my thoughts, my opinions, my life."
"Dear me!" said her father, staring at her. "What odd things you say!"
"It's true, what she says," Jarvis ejaculated. "She rolled New York up
on reels, like a moving-picture show, and I have no doubt she could give
us a very good performance."
"I shall," quoth Bambi.
"It is rather a pity you waste your impressions, Bambi. Why don't you
write them down?" Jarvis patronized.
"In a young lady's diary, I suppose. No, thanks."
"One author in a family is enough," commented the Professor, heartily.
"You ought to tell us your conclusion about your career. Did you settle
it in your mind?"
"I did."
"A career?" anxiously, from Professor Parkhurst.
"Yes, wealth and fame are in my grasp."
"You haven't done anything rash, my dear?"
"Well, slightly rash, but not the rashest I could do."
"Is it dancing?" from Jarvis.
"Of a sort."
"Not public dancing?"
"No, private," she giggled.
"Will it take you away much?" Jarvis asked her.
"Oh, I'll go to New York occasionally."
"It is to be a secret, I take it?" the Professor said.
"It is, old Sherlock Holmes."
They slipped back into their routine of life as if it had never been
broken. Jarvis, after two perturbed days of restlessness, went into a
work fit over a new play. The Professor was busy with final
examinations, so Bambi was left alone with plenty of leisure in which to
do her next story.
She wisely decided to write herself--in other words, to dramatize her
own experiences, to draw on her emotions, her own views of life. She
must leave it to Jarvis to rouse and stir people. She would be content
to amuse and charm them. So she boldly called her tale by her own name,
"Francesca," and she shamelessly introduced the Professor and Jarvis,
with a thin disguise, and chortled over their true likeness after she
had dipped them in the solution of her imagination. She relied on the
fact that neither of them ever looked between the covers of a magazine.
Besides, even if they chanced upon the story, they would never recognize
their own portraits.
A few days before the prize story was published, a special copy came to
her from Mr. Strong. She hid it until the "Twins" were gone. Then she
hurried out to the piazza and the hammock with it. It was a thrilling
moment. "Prize Story by a Wonderful New Writer" stared up at her from
the front page. Her tale had the place of honour in the makeup, and it
was illustrated--double-page illustrations--by James Montgomery Flagg,
the supreme desire of every young writer. She hugged the magazine. She
scanned it over and over. She laid it on the table, picked it up
casually, and turned to the first story indifferently, just to squeeze
the full joy out of it. Then she pounded a pile of pillows into shape,
drew her feet up under her, and began to read her own work. She smiled a
good deal, she chuckled, finally she laughed outright, hugging herself.
At this unfortunate moment Jarvis appeared. She looked as guilty as a
detected criminal.
"What's the joke?"
"Oh, I was laughing at a story in here."
"How can you read that trash?"
"It isn't trash. It's perfectly delightful."
"What is it?" He came nearer to her, and she clutched the magazine
tightly.
"Oh, just a prize story."
"A prize story? And funny enough to make you laugh? Not O. Henry?"
"Of course not. He's dead. A new writer, it says."
He held out his hands for it, and, perforce, she resigned it to him.
"Francesca!" he exclaimed.
"Odd, isn't it? That's what attracted me to it," Bambi lied.
"Well, I suppose there are other Francescas. I came to ask you to listen
to a scenario."
"Good! I shall be delighted," she replied cordially, folding the
magazine over her finger.
So the fatal moment came and passed. Her secret was safe. She kept the
cherished magazine in her own room, read and reread it, patting its
cover, as one would a curly head.
Upon the receipt of her second story came a telegram from Strong, "Can
you see me on Thursday? New plan for stories. Arrive in Sunnyside ten in
the morning." She wired him to come, then sat down to work up an
explanation of him for the "Heavenly Twins." He would be there for
lunch--he must be accounted for. She discarded several plans, and
finally decided to introduce him as the brother of a college classmate,
in town for the day. She would get rid of the family speedily, so that
she and Mr. Strong might have time for the conference. What on earth did
he want to see her about? It must be important, to bring him from New
York. Maybe he was disappointed with the second story, and wanted to
break the contract. It was his kind way to come and say it, instead of
writing it, but it was a blow. She had felt that the second tale was so
much better than the first. She went over it, in her mind, trying to