 | Tales of the jazz age |  |
V
The scene that followed will go down forever in the
annals of the Tallyho Club. Stout matrons fainted, one
hundred per cent Americans swore, wild-eyed débutantes
babbled in lightning groups instantly formed and instantly
dissolved, and a great buzz of chatter, virulent yet
oddly subdued, hummed through the chaotic ballroom.
Feverish youths swore they would kill Perry or Jumbo
or themselves or some one, and the Baptis' preacheh
was besieged by a tempestuous covey of clamorous
amateur lawyers, asking questions, making threats, demanding
precedents, ordering the bonds annulled, and
especially trying to ferret out any hint of prearrangement
in what had occurred.
In the corner Mrs. Townsend was crying softly on
the shoulder of Mr. Howard Tate, who was trying
vainly to comfort her; they were exchanging "all my
fault's" volubly and voluminously. Outside on a snow-covered
walk Mr. Cyrus Medill, the Aluminum Man,
was being paced slowly up and down between two
brawny charioteers, giving vent now to a string of
unrepeatables, now to wild pleadings that they'd just
let him get at Jumbo. He was facetiously attired for
the evening as a wild man of Borneo, and the most
exacting stage-manager would have acknowledged any
improvement in casting the part to be quite impossible.
Meanwhile the two principals held the real centre of
the stage. Betty Medill—or was it Betty Parkhurst?—
storming furiously, was surrounded by the plainer girls
—the prettier ones were too busy talking about her to
of the hall stood the camel, still intact except for his
headpiece, which dangled pathetically on his chest.
Perry was earnestly engaged in making protestations of
his innocence to a ring of angry, puzzled men. Every
few minutes, just as he had apparently proved his case,
some one would mention the marriage certificate, and
the inquisition would begin again.
A girl named Marion Cloud, considered the second
best belle of Toledo, changed the gist of the situation
by a remark she made to Betty.
"Well," she said maliciously, "it'll all blow over,
dear. The courts will annul it without question."
Betty's angry tears dried miraculously in her eyes,
her lips shut tight together, and she looked stonily at
Marion. Then she rose and, scattering her sympathizers
right and left, walked directly across the room to Perry,
who stared at her in terror. Again silence crept down
upon the room.
"Will you have the decency to grant me five minutes"
conversation—or wasn't that included in your plans?"
He nodded, his mouth unable to form words.
Indicating coldly that he was to follow her she walked
out into the hall with her chin uptilted and headed for
the privacy of one of the little card-rooms.
Perry started after her, but was brought to a jerky
halt by the failure of his hind legs to function.
"You stay here!" he commanded savagely.
"I can't," whined a voice from the hump, "unless
you get out first and let me get out."
Perry hesitated, but unable any longer to tolerate
the eyes of the curious crowd he muttered a command
and the camel moved carefully from the room on its
four legs.
Betty was waiting for him.
"Well," she began furiously, "you see what you've
done! You and that crazy license! I told you you
shouldn't have gotten it!"
"My dear girl, I—"
"Don't say `dear girl' to me! Save that for your
real wife if you ever get one after this disgraceful performance.
And don't try to pretend it wasn't all arranged.
You know you gave that colored waiter money!
You know you did! Do you mean to say you didn't
try to marry me?"
"No—of course—"
"Yes, you'd better admit it! You tried it, and now
what are you going to do? Do you know my father's
nearly crazy? It'll serve you right if he tries to kill
you. He'll take his gun and put some cold steel in you.
Even if this wed—this thing can be annulled it'll hang
over me all the rest of my life!"
Perry could not resist quoting softly: " `Oh, camel,
wouldn't you like to belong to the pretty snake-charmer
for all your—' "
"Shut up!" cried Betty.
There was a pause.
"Betty," said Perry finally, "there's only one thing
to do that will really get us out clear. That's for you
to marry me."
"Marry you!"
"Yes. Really it's the only—"
"You shut up! I wouldn't marry you if—if—"
"I know. If I were the last man on earth. But if
you care anything about your reputation—"
"Reputation!" she cried. "You're a nice one to
think about my reputation now. Why didn't you think
about my reputation before you hired that horrible
Jumbo to—to—"
Perry tossed up his hands hopelessly.
"Very well. I'll do anything you want. Lord knows
I renounce all claims!"
"But," said a new voice, "I don't."
Perry and Betty started, and she put her hand to her
heart.
"For Heaven's sake, what was that?"
"It's me," said the camel's back.
In a minute Perry had whipped off the camel's skin,
and a lax, limp object, his clothes hanging on him
damply, his hand clenched tightly on an almost empty
bottle, stood defiantly before them.
"Oh," cried Betty, "you brought that object in here
to frighten me! You told me he was deaf—that awful
person!"
The camel's back sat down on a chair with a sigh of
satisfaction.
"Don't talk 'at way about me, lady. I ain't no person.
I'm your husband."
"Husband!"
The cry was wrung simultaneously from Betty and
Perry.
"Why, sure. I'm as much your husband as that gink
is. The smoke didn't marry you to the camel's front.
He married you to the whole camel. Why, that's my
ring you got on your finger!"
With a little yelp she snatched the ring from her finger
and flung it passionately at the floor.
"What's all this?" demanded Perry dazedly.
"Jes' that you better fix me an' fix me right. If you
don't I'm a-gonna have the same claim you got to bein'
married to her!"
"That's bigamy," said Perry, turning gravely to
Betty.
Then came the supreme moment of Perry's evening,
the ultimate chance on which he risked his fortunes. He
aghast at this new complication, and then at the individual
who swayed from side to side on his chair, uncertainly,
menacingly.
"Very well," said Perry slowly to the individual,
"you can have her. Betty, I'm going to prove to you
that as far as I'm concerned our marriage was entirely
accidental. I'm going to renounce utterly my rights to
have you as my wife, and give you to—to the man
whose ring you wear—your lawful husband."
There was a pause and four horror-stricken eyes
were turned on him.
"Good-by, Betty," he said brokenly. "Don't forget
me in your new-found happiness. I'm going to
leave for the Far West on the morning train. Think of
me kindly, Betty."
With a last glance at them he turned and his head
rested on his chest as his hand touched the door-knob.
"Good-by," he repeated. He turned the door-knob.
But at this sound the snakes and silk and tawny hair
precipitated themselves violently toward him.
"Oh, Perry, don't leave me! Perry, Perry, take me
with you!"
Her tears flowed damply on his neck. Calmly he
folded his arms about her.
"I don't care," she cried. "I love you and if you can
wake up a minister at this hour and have it done over
again I'll go West with you."
Over her shoulder the front part of the camel looked
at the back part of the camel—and they exchanged a
particularly subtle, esoteric sort of wink that only true
camels can understand.
| Tales of the jazz age | |