 | Tales of the jazz age |  |
III
The Howard Tates are, as every one who lives in Toledo
knows, the most formidable people in town. Mrs.
Howard Tate was a Chicago Todd before she became a
Toledo Tate, and the family generally affect that conscious
simplicity which has begun to be the earmark of
American aristocracy. The Tates have reached the
stage where they talk about pigs and farms and look at
you icy-eyed if you are not amused. They have begun
to prefer retainers rather than friends as dinner guests,
spend a lot of money in a quiet way, and, having lost
all sense of competition, are in process of growing quite
dull.
The dance this evening was for little Millicent
Tate, and though all ages were represented, the dancers
were mostly from school and college—the younger
married crowd was at the Townsends' circus ball
up at the Tallyho Club. Mrs. Tate was standing
just inside the ballroom, following Millicent round
with her eyes, and beaming whenever she caught her
eye. Beside her were two middle-aged sycophants,
who were saying what a perfectly exquisite child Millicent
was. It was at this moment that Mrs. Tate was
grasped firmly by the skirt and her youngest daughter,
Emily, aged eleven, hurled herself with an "Oof!" into
her mother's arms.
"Why, Emily, what's the trouble?"
"Mamma," said Emily, wild-eyed but voluble,
"there's something out on the stairs."
"What?"
"There's a thing out on the stairs, mamma. I think
it's a big dog, mamma, but it doesn't look like a dog."
"What do you mean, Emily?"
The sycophants waved their heads sympathetically.
"Mamma, it looks like a—like a camel."
Mrs. Tate laughed.
"You saw a mean old shadow, dear, that's all."
"No, I didn't. No, it was some kind of thing, mamma
—big. I was going down-stairs to see if there were any
more people, and this dog or something, he was coming
up-stairs. Kinda funny, mamma, like he was lame.
And then he saw me and gave a sort of growl, and then
he slipped at the top of the landing, and I ran."
Mrs. Tate's laugh faded.
"The child must have seen something," she said.
The sycophants agreed that the child must have seen
something—and suddenly all three women took an instinctive
step away from the door as the sounds of
muffled steps were audible just outside.
And then three startled gasps rang out as a dark
brown form rounded the corner, and they saw what
was apparently a huge beast looking down at them
hungrily.
"Oof!" cried Mrs. Tate.
"O-o-oh!" cried the ladies in a chorus.
The camel suddenly humped his back, and the gasps
turned to shrieks.
"Oh—look!"
"What is it?"
The dancing stopped, but the dancers hurrying
over got quite a different impression of the invader;
in fact, the young people immediately suspected that
the party. .The boys in long trousers looked at it
rather disdainfully, and sauntered over with their
hands in their pockets, feeling that their intelligence
was being insulted. But the girls uttered little shouts
of glee.
"It's a camel!"
"Well, if he isn't the funniest!"
The camel stood there uncertainly, swaying slightly
from side to side, and seeming to take in the room in a
careful, appraising glance; then as if he had come to an
abrupt decision he turned and ambled swiftly out the
door.
Mr. Howard Tate had just come out of the library on
the lower floor, and was standing chatting with a young
man in the hall. Suddenly they heard the noise of
shouting up-stairs, and almost immediately a succession
of bumping sounds, followed by the precipitous appearance
at the foot of the stairway of a large brown beast
that seemed to be going somewhere in a great hurry.
"Now what the devil!" said Mr. Tate, starting.
The beast picked itself up not without dignity and,
affecting an air of extreme nonchalance, as if he had
just remembered an important engagement, started at
a mixed gait toward the front door. In fact, his front
legs began casually to run.
"See here now," said Mr. Tate sternly. "Here!
Grab it, Butterfield! Grab it!"
The young man enveloped the rear of the camel
in a pair of compelling arms, and, realizing that
further locomotion was impossible, the front end submitted
to capture and stood resignedly in a state of
some agitation. By this time a flood of young people
was pouring down-stairs, and Mr. Tate, suspecting
lunatic, gave crisp directions to the young man:
"Hold him! Lead him in here; we'll soon see."
The camel consented to be led into the library, and Mr.
Tate, after locking the door, took a revolver from a table
drawer and instructed the young man to take the thing's
head off. Then he gasped and returned the revolver
to its hiding-place.
"Well, Perry Parkhurst!" he exclaimed in amazement.
"Got the wrong party, Mr. Tate," said Perry sheepishly.
"Hope I didn't scare you."
"Well—you gave us a thrill, Perry." Realization
dawned on him. "You're bound for the Townsends'
circus ball."
"That's the general idea."
"Let me introduce Mr. Butterfield, Mr. Parkhurst."
Then turning to Perry: "Butterfield is staying with us
for a few days."
"I got a little mixed up," mumbled Perry. "I'm
very sorry."
"Perfectly all right; most natural mistake in the
world. I've got a clown rig and I'm going down
there myself after a while." He turned to Butterfield.
"Better change your mind and come down with
us."
The young man demurred. He was going to bed.
"Have a drink, Perry?" suggested Mr. Tate.
"Thanks, I will."
"And, say," continued Tate quickly, "I'd forgotten all
about your—friend here." He indicated the rear part
of the camel. "I didn't mean to seem discourteous. Is
it any one I know? Bring him out."
"It's not a friend," explained Perry hurriedly. "I
just rented him."
"Does he drink?"
"Do you?" demanded Perry, twisting himself tortuously
round.
There was a faint sound of assent.
"Sure he does!" said Mr. Tate heartily. "A really
efficient camel ought to be able to drink enough so it'd
last him three days."
"Tell you," said Perry anxiously, "he isn't exactly
dressed up enough to come out. If you give me the
bottle I can hand it back to him and he can take his
inside."
From under the cloth was audible the enthusiastic
smacking sound inspired by this suggestion. When a
butler had appeared with bottles, glasses, and siphon
one of the bottles was handed back; thereafter the silent
partner could be heard imbibing long potations at
frequent intervals.
Thus passed a benign hour. At ten o'clock Mr. Tate
decided that they'd better be starting. He donned his
clown's costume; Perry replaced the camel's head, and
side by side they traversed on foot the single block between
the Tate house and the Tallyho Club.
The circus ball was in full swing. A great tent fly
had been put up inside the ballroom and round the walls
had been built rows of booths representing the various
attractions of a circus side show, but these were now
vacated and over the floor swarmed a shouting, laughing
medley of youth and color—clowns, bearded ladies,
acrobats, bareback riders, ringmasters, tattooed men,
and charioteers. The Townsends had determined to
assure their party of success, so a great quantity of
liquor had been surreptitiously brought over from
their house and was now flowing freely. A green
ribbon ran along the wall completely round the ballroom,
with pointing arrows alongside and signs which
The green line led down to the bar, where waited
pure punch and wicked punch and plain dark-green
bottles.
On the wall above the bar was another arrow, red
and very wavy, and under it the slogan: "Now follow
this!"
But even amid the luxury of costume and high spirits
represented there, the entrance of the camel created
something of a stir, and Perry was immediately surrounded
by a curious, laughing crowd attempting to
penetrate the identity of this beast that stood by the
wide doorway eying the dancers with his hungry, melancholy
gaze.
And then Perry saw Betty standing in front of a
booth, talking to a comic policeman. She was dressed
in the costume of an Egyptian snake-charmer: her
tawny hair was braided and drawn through brass
rings, the effect crowned with a glittering Oriental tiara.
Her fair face was stained to a warm olive glow and on
her arms and the half moon of her back writhed
painted serpents with single eyes of venomous green.
Her feet were in sandals and her skirt was slit to the
knees, so that when she walked one caught a glimpse
of other slim serpents painted just above her bare ankles.
Wound about her neck was a glittering cobra.
Altogether a charming costume—one that caused the
more nervous among the older women to shrink away
from her when she passed, and the more troublesome
ones to make great talk about "shouldn't be allowed"
and "perfectly disgraceful."
But Perry, peering through the uncertain eyes of
the camel, saw only her face, radiant, animated, and
glowing with excitement, and her arms and shoulders,
whose mobile, expressive gestures made her always the
outstanding figure in any group. He was fascinated
With a growing clarity the events of the day came back
—rage rose within him, and with a half-formed intention
of taking her away from the crowd he started toward
her—or rather he elongated slightly, for he had neglected
to issue the preparatory command necessary to locomotion.
But at this point fickle Kismet, who for a day had
played with him bitterly and sardonically, decided to
reward him in full for the amusement he had afforded
her. Kismet turned the tawny eyes of the snake-charmer
to the camel. Kismet led her to lean toward
the man beside her and say, "Who's that? That
camel?"
"Darned if I know."
But a little man named Warburton, who knew it all,
found it necessary to hazard an opinion:
"It came in with Mr. Tate. I think part of it's
probably Warren Butterfield, the architect from New
York, who's visiting the Tates."
Something stirred in Betty Medill—that age-old interest
of the provincial girl in the visiting man.
"Oh," she said casually after a slight pause.
At the end of the next dance Betty and her partner
finished up within a few feet of the camel. With
the informal audacity that was the key-note of the
evening she reached out and gently rubbed the camel's
nose.
"Hello, old camel."
The camel stirred uneasily.
"You 'fraid of me?" said Betty, lifting her eyebrows
in reproof. "Don't be. You see I'm a snake-charmer,
but I'm pretty good at camels too."
The camel bowed very low and some one made the
obvious remark about beauty and the beast.
Mrs. Townsend approached the group.
"Well, Mr. Butterfield," she said helpfully, "I wouldn't
have recognized you."
Perry bowed again and smiled gleefully behind his
mask.
"And who is this with you?" she inquired.
"Oh," said Perry, his voice muffled by the thick cloth
and quite unrecognizable, "he isn't a fellow, Mrs.
Townsend. He's just part of my costume."
Mrs. Townsend laughed and moved away. Perry
turned again to Betty.
"So," he thought, "this is how much she cares!
On the very day of our final rupture she starts a flirtation
with another man—an absolute stranger."
On an impulse he gave her a soft nudge with his
shoulder and waved his head suggestively toward the
hall, making it clear that he desired her to leave her
partner and accompany him.
"By-by, Rus," she called to her partner. "This old
camel's got me. Where we going, Prince of Beasts?"
The noble animal made no rejoinder, but stalked
gravely along in the direction of a secluded nook on the
side stairs.
There she seated herself, and the camel, after some
seconds of confusion which included gruff orders and
sounds of a heated dispute going on in his interior,
placed himself beside her—his hind legs stretching out
uncomfortably across two steps.
"Well, old egg," said Betty cheerfully, "how do you
like our happy party?"
The old egg indicated that he liked it by rolling his
head ecstatically and executing a gleeful kick with his
hoofs.
"This is the first time that I ever had a tête-à-tête
with a man's valet 'round"—she pointed to the hind
legs—"or whatever that is."
"Oh," mumbled Perry, "he's deaf and blind."
"I should think you'd feel rather handicapped—you
can't very well toddle, even if you want to."
The camel hung his head lugubriously.
"I wish you'd say something," continued Betty
sweetly. "Say you like me, camel. Say you think
I'm beautiful. Say you'd like to belong to a pretty
snake-charmer."
The camel would.
"Will you dance with me, camel?"
The camel would try.
Betty devoted half an hour to the camel. She devoted
at least half an hour to all visiting men. It was
usually sufficient. When she approached a new man
the current débutantes were accustomed to scatter
right and left like a close column deploying before a
machine-gun. And so to Perry Parkhurst was awarded
the unique privilege of seeing his love as others saw her.
He was flirted with violently!
| Tales of the jazz age | |