III
It was in June, two months after America's entrance into
the war, that the momentous event happened—the visit of
the great Percy Bresnahan, the millionaire president of the
Velvet Motor Car Company of Boston, the one native son
who was always to be mentioned to strangers.
For two weeks there were rumors. Sam Clark cried to
Kennicott, "Say, I hear Perce Bresnahan is coming! By
golly it'll be great to see the old scout, eh?" Finally the
Dauntless printed, on the front page with a No. 1 head, a letter
from Bresnahan to Jackson Elder:
DEAR JACK:
Well, Jack, I find I can make it. I'm to go to Washington as a
dollar a year man for the government, in the aviation motor section,
and tell them how much I don't know about carburetors. But before
I start in being a hero I want to shoot out and catch me a big black
bass and cuss out you and Sam Clark and Harry Haydock and Will
Kennicott and the rest of you pirates. I'll land in G.P. on June 7,
on No. 7 from Mpls. Shake a day-day. Tell Bert Tybee to save
me a glass of beer.
Sincerely yours,
PERCE.
All members of the social, financial, scientific, literary, and
sporting sets were at No. 7 to meet Bresnahan; Mrs. Lyman
Cass was beside Del Snafflin the barber, and Juanita Haydock
almost cordial to Miss Villets the librarian. Carol saw Bresnahan
laughing down at them from the train vestibule—big,
immaculate, overjawed, with the eye of an executive. In the
voice of the professional Good Fellow he bellowed, "Howdy,
folks!" As she was introduced to him (not he to her) Bresnahan
looked into her eyes, and his hand-shake was warm, unhurried.
He declined the offers of motors; he walked off, his arm
about the shoulder of Nat Hicks the sporting tailor, with the
elegant Harry Haydock carrying one of his enormous pale
leather bags, Del Snafflin the other, Jack Elder bearing an
overcoat, and Julius Flickerbaugh the fishing-tackle. Carol
noted that though Bresnahan wore spats and a stick, no small
boy jeered. She decided, "I must have Will get a
double-breasted blue coat and a wing collar and a dotted bow-tie
like his."
That evening, when Kennicott was trimming the grass along
the walk with sheep-shears, Bresnahan rolled up, alone. He
was now in corduroy trousers, khaki shirt open at the throat,
a white boating hat, and marvelous canvas-and-leather shoes
"On the job there, old Will! Say, my Lord, this is living, to
come back and get into a regular man-sized pair of pants.
They can talk all they want to about the city, but my idea
of a good time is to loaf around and see you boys and catch
a gamey bass!"
He hustled up the walk and blared at Carol, "Where's that
little fellow? I hear you've got one fine big he-boy that you're
holding out on me!"
"He's gone to bed," rather briefly.
"I know. And rules are rules, these days. Kids get routed
through the shop like a motor. But look here, sister; I'm
one great hand at busting rules. Come on now, let Uncle
Perce have a look at him. Please now, sister?"
He put his arm about her waist; it was a large, strong,
sophisticated arm, and very agreeable; he grinned at her with
a devastating knowingness, while Kennicott glowed inanely.
She flushed; she was alarmed by the ease with which the
big-city man invaded her guarded personality. She was glad,
in retreat, to scamper ahead of the two men up-stairs to the
hall-room in which Hugh slept. All the way Kennicott
muttered, "Well, well, say, gee whittakers but it's good to have
you back, certainly is good to see you!"
Hugh lay on his stomach, making an earnest business of
sleeping. He burrowed his eyes in the dwarf blue pillow to
escape the electric light, then sat up abruptly, small and frail
in his woolly nightdrawers, his floss of brown hair wild, the
pillow clutched to his breast. He wailed. He stared at the
stranger, in a manner of patient dismissal. He explained
confidentially to Carol, "Daddy wouldn't let it be morning
yet. What does the pillow say?"
Bresnahan dropped his arm caressingly on Carol's shoulder;
he pronounced, "My Lord, you're a lucky girl to have a fine
young husk like that. I figure Will knew what he was doing
when he persuaded you to take a chance on an old bum like
him! They tell me you come from St. Paul. We're going to
get you to come to Boston some day." He leaned over the
bed. "Young man, you're the slickest sight I've seen this
side of Boston. With your permission, may we present you
with a slight token of our regard and appreciation of your
long service?"
He held out a red rubber Pierrot. Hugh remarked, "Gimme
it," hid it under the bedclothes, and stared at Bresnahan
as though he had never seen the man before.
For once Carol permitted herself the spiritual luxury of
not asking "Why, Hugh dear, what do you say when some
one gives you a present?" The great man was apparently
waiting. They stood in inane suspense till Bresnahan led
them out, rumbling, "How about planning a fishing-trip,
Will?"
He remained for half an hour. Always he told Carol what
a charming person she was; always he looked at her knowingly.
"Yes. He probably would make a woman fall in love with
him. But it wouldn't last a week. I'd get tired of his
confounded buoyancy. His hypocrisy. He's a spiritual bully.
He makes me rude to him in self-defense. Oh yes, he is glad
to be here. He does like us. He's so good an actor that he
convinces his own self. . . . I'd
hate him in
Boston.
He'd have all the obvious big-city things. Limousines.
Discreet evening-clothes. Order a clever dinner at a smart
restaurant. Drawing-room decorated by the best firm—but the
pictures giving him away. I'd rather talk to Guy Pollock in
his dusty office. . . . How I lie! His arm coaxed my
shoulder and his eyes dared me not to admire him. I'd be
afraid of him. I hate him! . . . Oh, the inconceivable
egotistic imagination of women! All this stew of analysss.
about a man, a good, decent, friendly, efficient man, because he
was kind to me, as Will's wife!"
