What Will People Say? - The Original Classic Edition. Hughes Rupert

a stare of innocence sadly overdone.

       "He--who?" Mrs. Neff mocked. "He-haw! Oh, but you're a putrid lot of actors. So he has been here. Well, I mention no names, but if a certain young person whose initials are Stowe Webb wants to meet a little old lady named Trouble, let him come out from under the table."

       "Mother dear, how you do run on," Alice protested. "I don't think you really need another highball."

       "Another! Listen to that. Dutiful child trying to save erring mother from a drunkard's grave! And me choking with thirst since luncheon! Do you know where I've been? Yes? Then I will tell you. I've been at a committee meeting of the Vacation Savings Fund."

       The waiter brought a tiny flask, a tall glass, and a siphon, and offered to mix her a potion; but she motioned him aside and arranged it to her own taste. The band struck up, and she sipped hastily as she talked:

       "That's the most insulting music I ever heard, and I'm just mad enough to dance well. If nobody has any prior claim on this young soldier man, he's mine. Mr. Forbes, would you mind supporting your grandmother around the room once or twice?"

       Forbes had counted on having this dance with Persis. He had wasted one important tango while Alice poured out her woes. To squander this dance on her mother was a grievous loss. There was nothing for him to do, however, but yield.

       He bowed low and smiled. "Nothing would give me more pleasure."[Pg 83]

       Mrs. Neff returned his bow with an old-fashioned courtesy, as she beamed:

       "Very prettily said! Old fashioned and nice. My first husband would have answered like that. Did Murray tell you that I had offered

       you the job of being my third husband?"

       "Mother!" Alice gasped.

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       Forbes was exquisitely ill at ease. It is hard to parry banter of that sort from a woman. He bowed again and answered with an am-biguous smile:

       "Nothing would give me more pleasure."

       "Fine! Then we may as well announce our engagement. Kind friends, permit me to introduce my next husband, Mr.--Mr.--what is your first name, darling?"

       "Mother!" Alice implored.

       "Oh, I'm sure his first name can't be Mother. But we're missing the dance. Come along, hero mine!"

       Forbes cast a farewell look of longing at Persis, who was regarding him with an amused bewilderment.

       The blare of the band was as effectual as a Gabriel's trumpet opening graves. From the tables the dead came to life and took on stilts if not wings.

       Big Bob Fielding and Winifred Mather set out at once in close embrace.

       "Look at 'em! Look at 'em!" Ten Eyck chortled. "They're grappled like two old-time battleships on a heavy sea." Ten Eyck was the great-great-grandson of one of the first commissioned officers in the American navy, a rival even of Paul Jones. So now his comment was nautical. "Bob and Winifred remind me of the Bonhomme Richard and the Serapis. And Winifred is like old John Paul Jones: when everybody else is dead her motto is: 'I've just begun to fight.'"

       But Alice could not smile. She folded her hands and sighed. "It's awful to be a widow when they play that tango."[Pg 84] Persis provided for her at once. "Murray, you take Alice out and dance with her."

       Ten Eyck saluted. "Come on, Alice, we'll go in for the consolation stakes."

       Alice protested: "But we can't leave you alone."

       Persis beckoned to a lonesome-looking acquaintance at another table, and he came to her with wings outstretched. She locked pin-

       ions with him, and they were away.

       Ten Eyck put his arms up like racks; Alice hung herself across them, and they romped away. As they performed it, the dance was as harmless as a game of tag.

       As Persis was twirled past Forbes now and again, her eyes would meet his with a gaze of deep inquiry.

       And he was thinking so earnestly of her that at some indefinitely later period he was almost surprised to find that Mrs. Neff was in his arms, and that they were footing it intricately through a restless maze. He realized, also, that he had not spoken to her yet. He cast about in his mind for a topic of conversation, as one whips a dark trout-pool, and brought up a question:

       "That Vacation Savings Fund--may I ask what it is?"

       "You may, indeed, young man," she answered, and talked glibly as she danced, occasionally imitating a strain of music with mocking sounds. "It's an attempt a lot of us old women have been making to teach the poor woiking goil what we can't learn ourselves; namely, to save up money--la-de-de-da-de-da! The poor things slave like mules and they're paid like slaves--te-dum-te-dum!--yet most of them never think of putting a penny by for a rainy day, or what's more important--ta-ra-rum!--a sunny day.

       "So Willie Enslee's mother, and Mrs. Clifton Ranger, and the Atterby girls, and a gang of other busybodies got ourselves together and cooked up a scheme--la-de-de-da-de-da!--to encourage the girls to stay home--ta-ra-rum![Pg 85]--from a few moving-picture fetes and cut down their ice-cream-soda orgies a little, and put the pennies into a fund to be used in giving each of them--te-dum-

       te-dum--a little holiday when her chance came--te-di-do-dee!"

       "Splendid!" said Forbes. "Did it work out?"

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       "Rather. We started with forty girls, and now we've got--how many do you suppose?"

       "A hundred and fifty."

       "Eight thousand! And they've saved fifty thousand dollars!"

       "That's wonderful!" Forbes exclaimed, stopping short with amazement. Instantly they were as battered and trodden by the other

       dancers as a planet would be that paused in its orbit.

       "Come on, or we'll be murdered!" cried Mrs. Neff, and dragged him into the current again.

       Forbes looked down at her with a different feeling. This typical gadabout, light-minded, cynical little old woman with the girlish ways, was after all a big-hearted toiler in the vineyard. She did not dress as a Sister of Charity, and she did not pull a long and philanthropic face, but she was industrious in good works.

       He was to learn much more of this phase of New York wealth, its enormous organizations for the relief of wretchedness, and its instant response to the human cry once it makes itself heard above the noise of the cars or the music of the band.

       City people have always made a pretense of concealing their sympathetic expressions under a cynical mask. It is this mask that offends so many of the praters against cruelty, irritates them to denunciations more merciless than the lack of mercy they berate, and blinds their nearsighted eyes to the village heart that beats in every city--a huge heart made up of countless village hearts.

       So Mrs. Neff, having betrayed an artless Samaritanism, made haste to resume the red domino of burlesque to hide her blushes, as

       children caught in a pretty[Pg 86] action fall to capering. Her motive was not lost on Forbes when she said:

       "We've got to do something to get into heaven, you know. That line about the camel and the needle's eye is always with us poor rich, though the Lord knows I'm not rich. I hope you have a lot of money, or we'll starve--unless we loot the Savings Fund."

       He hardly knew what to say to this, so he danced a little harder and swept her off her feet, till she was gasping for breath and pleading:

       "Stop, stop! I'm afraid I'm only an old woman after all. And I didn't want you to know."

       He led her to a chair, where she sank exhausted and panting hard. By the time the dance was over and the rest had returned, she was herself again.

       "My new husband is the love of a tangoist," she babbled across her highball. "If that infernal committee meeting hadn't kept me so

       late, I could have had more. Are you all going to the Tuesday to-night?"

       They all were.

       "I was to have taken Alice, but I'm going to put her to bed without any supper. I'll take