Bambi
pick flaws in it. Well, she could always go to dancing, if everything
else failed.
At lunch she casually remarked, "Richard Strong is coming to lunch on
Thursday. I hope you will both be here."
"Who may Richard Strong be?" inquired her father.
"He is the brother of an old classmate, Mary Strong."
"Does he live here?" Jarvis asked.
"No. He lives in New York."
"What brings him to Sunnyside?"
"He didn't say."
"I never heard of him before," Professor Parkhurst said.
"Oh, yes. I used to talk about him a great deal. He's a fine fellow."
"Was he a special friend?" Jarvis asked, roused to some interest.
Bambi hesitated. She was getting in deeper than she planned.
"Yes, rather special. Not intimate, but special."
"What is his business?" asked her father.
"I don't remember."
"Rich idler, I suppose," Jarvis scorned.
"He used to work when I knew him."
"Well, we shall be glad to see the young man. Would you like me to
change off my afternoon classes and remain at home?"
"Oh, no. Don't think of it!" Bambi cried, with unpremeditated warmth,
which focussed Jarvis's eyes upon her. "He'll be here only a little
while, and we will reminisce. He would bore you to death."
"I like to be cordial to your beaus."
"Professor Parkhurst, I am a married woman."
"Dear me, so you are. I am always forgetting Jarvis. If he is a bore,
I'll lunch at the club."
"Possibly you would prefer me to lunch out, too," said Jarvis,
pointedly.
"Not at all. I want you both here," said Bambi, with irritation, closing
the incident. She had a feeling that she had not handled the situation
as well as she had planned to do.
XII
Thursday, and Mr. Strong arrived with the inevitableness of dreaded
events. Bambi felt convinced that his coming meant the premature death
of her new-born career, so, naturally, she was prepared for grief. An
element of amusement was added, however, by Jarvis's astonishing
behaviour. Ever since the first mention of Mr. Strong's name he had
shown unmistakable signs of dislike for that gentleman. 'It was the most
remarkable revelation of his strange character. Having totally ignored
Bambi himself, it distressed him to think of any other man being
attracted by her. His references to Mr. Strong's coming were many and
satirical. This display of manly inconsistency was nuts and ale to
Bambi. She wondered how much Mr. Strong would play up, and she decided
to give Jarvis Jocelyn an uncomfortable hour. She herself was an adept
in amatory science, but she was a trifle unsure of Mr. Strong. However,
she remembered a certain twinkle in his eye that augured well.
Because it was necessary to enlighten him as to the situation in
advance, she arrayed herself most carefully to go and meet him. She
encountered Jarvis on the stairs. He inspected her charming self, in a
frock the colour of spring green leaves, topped by a crocus-coloured
hat, like a flower. She deliberately pranced before him.
"Aren't I a delight to the eye?"
He stared at her coldly.
"Such ardent admiration embarrasses me, Jarvis," she protested.
"You look very nice," he admitted.
"Nice! Nice! I look like a daffodil, or a crocus, or some other pleasant
spring beauty."
"I am glad you are so pleased with yourself. I trust Strong will be
equally appreciative."
"I hope so when I have gone to so much trouble for him," she tossed back
over her shoulder, in punishment.
As Mr. Strong stepped off the train and faced her, it would be hard to
say whether admiration or astonishment constituted the greater part of
his expression.
"Mrs. Jocelyn, why this is too kind of you!"
"Not at all. City people are so unused to our devious country ways that
I was afraid you would get lost."
Admiration was certainly on top now.
"If you don't mind, we will walk. It isn't far."
"The farther the better," he replied gallantly.
They set forth, down the shady village street, where the trees almost
met overhead. Strong drew in deep breaths of the fresh morning air. His
eyes kept returning to the little French figure at his side, so
metropolitan, and yet so much the dominant note in any setting in which
he had seen her. She chattered on, about the town, the university, and
the sights.
"I refrain from pointing out the town hall, and the Carnegie Library,"
she said.
"I am grateful," he bowed.
"Are you married?" she darted at him, out of their impersonality.
"No, alas!"
"That helps a little."
His surprise was evident.
"I'm afraid I've got you into rather a box."
"I don't mind, if you will play Pandora."
"Thanks. You remember that I told you that my--my career was to be a
secret from the 'Heavenly Twins'?"
"Yes."
"I suppose my career is about over, but I don't want them to know about
it."
"Excuse me. What's that--about your career being over?"
"That's why you've come, isn't it? You didn't like the last story?"
He stared at her, and then burst out laughing.
"You thought I would come way out here from New York to tell you I
didn't like it?"
"I have a high opinion of your kindness," she nodded.
"You nice little girl!" he added impetuously. "I came partly because I
wanted to talk to you again, partly because I wanted to see Jarvis and
the Professor."
She smiled and nodded encouragement.
"Then, too, we've had such a raft of letters about the 'Francesca' story
that I want to talk to you about making a novel of it, to run serially,
instead of the short stories we arranged for."
"A novel? You want me to write a novel?"
"We do."
"But I wonder if I could?" she said, in an awed voice.
"Of course you could. The second story was ripping."
"Was it? Was it?" She clapped her hands joyously.
"We can use it as Chapter Two, with very few changes, and from now on
you can build your story about the characters you have introduced, with
a spinal cord of plot to give it shape."
"It frightens me to death, to think of doing it. I have always thought
it took genius to write a novel."
"My dear young woman, not in this day, when publishing houses gush books
like so many geysers. Anybody with your gift of words and vivid
reactions ought to find writing the line of least resistance. Of course
you can do it."
"I'd adore trying if you'd help me."
"That's agreed."
He watched the concentration of her face with interest. She was wrapped
in the thought of the book. She was attacking it, on all sides, with the
lance of her mind. When she threw herself into every new interest with
such abandon, it was no wonder that she gave out impressions with the
same intensity.
"What about the box I'm in?" he reminded her. She came out of her trance
with a start.
"I'd forgotten all about you," she said frankly. "I had to explain you
to the 'Heavenly Twins,' somehow. If I said you were an editor, they
would naturally ask why you came to see me?"
"I never thought of that. I am afraid I've put you in an embarrassing
position."
"Oh, not at all. I've put you in one. I told them you were the brother
of an old classmate, stopping over in town for a day, and that you were
to look me up."
"Did I know you well when you were in college?", he smiled.
"I didn't intend to have you know me well, but Jarvis showed such
unexpected interest in you that you are suspected of having known me
rather well."
"Sort of an old affair?"
"Sort of," she laughed up at him.
"I get the idea. Have I your permission to play the rôle in my own way?"
"Yes, only don't betray me. The 'Twins' will only be around at
lunch-time. After that, we can talk book."
"Good! I'll play up with my best amateur theatrical manner," he
responded, as they entered the garden. "This is the arithmetical
garden," he said "It's true. Why, it's just like an 'Alice in
Wonderland' experience, coming into something I have known in some other
state of consciousness."
"Oh, yes, it's true. That's all I am, a sort of a camera."
"What a picture-book house!" he added. "It's just right for you."
As they went into the screened porch Jarvis arose, slowly, from the
hammock. Mr. Strong stopped, really amazed, as the splendid figure, with
its Apollo head, advanced. Bambi, too, was struck with some new alive
quality in Jarvis that was compelling.
"This is Mr. Strong, Jarvis." The two men measured each other swiftly.
"I am glad to meet you," said Jarvis, with determined politeness.
"Thank you. It's a pleasure to meet Mrs. Jocelyn's husband."
Bambi laughed.
"Mrs. Jocelyn's husband is a new rôle for Jarvis," said she.
"I understand you and Mrs. Jocelyn are old friends," said Jarvis,
perfunctorily.
"We are indeed old and dear friends."
"It has been some years since you met?"
"Yes, although I couldn't realize it this morning. There is a vivid
quality about Mrs. Jocelyn which makes it impossible to forget anything
about her. Don't you think so?"
Jarvis looked at Bambi, who grinned.
"Do you find me vivid, Jarvis?"
"You are certainly highly coloured."
"Ugh! That sounds like a Sunday supplement."
Conversation limped along like a tired cab horse. Even Bambi could not
prod it into a semblance of life. Besides, she was choked with laughter
at the picture of Jarvis sitting up, during his sacred work hours, full
of bromides and manners. A discussion of New York almost released him.
He thundered against modern cities with force. New York, discovered to
be the home of Strong, became anathema to his host. It was the Goliath
of Tyranny, Wealth, Degeneration, against which, David-like, he aimed
his sling. Strong led him on, interested in his personality.
"Mrs. Jocelyn does not share your opinion of New York?"
"There are many of my opinions in which Mrs. Jocelyn does not share."
"Fortunately. Same opinions ought to constitute grounds for divorce,"
said Bambi.
"I understand you write plays, Mr. Jocelyn?"
"I do."
"You will have to endure New York, now and again, I suppose, when you
begin to produce."
"We have formed a partnership," Bambi interpolated. "He writes and I
sell."
"You are a lucky man," Strong complimented him.
Jarvis ignored the remark. Strong wondered why on earth Bambi had
married him. He was wonderful to look at, but his manners were
impossible. If he was in love with her, he disguised it successfully.
The entrance of the Professor saved the situation.
"This is Mr. Strong, Professor. My father, Professor Parkhurst."
The Professor's hand-clasp and absent-minded smile seemed like a perfect
character make-up. It was the kind of thing David Warfield would have
played excellently. Strong had to shake himself to realize that these
were real people, they were so individualized, so emphasized, like
characters in a play.
"I am always glad to welcome my daughter's old friends," he said. "I
forget when it was you knew each other, my dear."
"At college."
"Ah, yes, I remember. In college. How is your sister?"
"My sister?" repeated Strong. Bambi gasped. She had forgotten to tell
him about Mary.
"I refer to your sister Mary," the Professor went on.
"Oh, sister Mary? Oh----" Strong recovered himself.
"You have other sisters?"
"Yes, oh, yes. Many."
"Many, indeed! How many, may I ask?"
"Thirteen," at a venture.
"Thirteen sisters! That is astonishing! And you are the only brother?"
"The only one."
"Are they all living?"
"No. All dead."
"Not Mary?" exclaimed Bambi.
"No, no, I meant to omit Mary. All but Mary are gone."
"That is very sad," sighed the Professor. "Thirteen sisters! How were
they named?"
"After the thirteen original states," replied Ananias Strong.
"Extraordinary, but Mary----"
"Short for Maryland," prompted Strong.
Bambi almost choked. The subject seemed to fascinate her father.
"Is Mary married?" he inquired.
"Yes, quite. Quite married."