§ 38
Presently the couple rose and strolled away to
the elevator, and Peter followed. He did not dare get into
the elevator with them, for he had suddenly become accutely aware of the
costume he was wearing in his role of proletarian anti-militarist! But
Peter was certain that Nell and her escort were not going out of the
building, for they had no hats or wraps; so he went downstairs and
hunted thru the lobby and the dining-room, and then thru the basement,
from which he heard strains of music. Here was another vast room, got up
in mystic oriental fashion, with electric lights hidden in bunches of
imitation flowers on each table. This room was called the "grill," and
part of it was bare for dancing, and on a little platform sat a band
playing music.
The strangest music that ever assailed human ears! If Peter had
heard it before seeing Nell, he would not have understood it, but now
its weird rhythms fitted exactly to the moods which were tormenting him.
This music would groan, it would rattle and squeak; it would make noises
like swiftly torn canvas, or like a steam siren in a hurry. It would
climb up to the heavens and come banging down to hell. And every thing
with queer, tormenting motions, gliding and writhing, wriggling,
jerking, jumping. Peter would never have known what to make of such
music, if he had not had it here made visible before his eyes, in the
behavior of the half-naked goddesses and the black-coated gods on this
dancing floor. These celestial ones came sliding across the floor like
skaters, they came writhing like serpents, they came strutting like
turkeys, jumping like rabbits, stalking solemnly like giraffes. They
came clamped in one another's arms like bears trying to hug each other
to death; they came contorting themselves as if they were
boa-constrictors trying to swallow each other. And Peter,
watching them and listening to their music, made a curious discovery
about himself. Deeply buried in Peter's soul were the ghosts of all
sorts of animals; Peter had once been a boa-constrictor, Peter had once
been a bear, Peter had once been a rabbit and a giraffe, a turkey and a
fox; and now under the spell of this weird music these dead creatures
came to life in his soul. So Peter discovered the meaning of "jazz," in
all its weirdly named and incredible varieties.
Also Peter discovered that he had once been a caveman, and had
hit his rival over the head with a stone axe and carried off his girl by
the hair. All this he discovered while he stood in the doorway of the
Hotel de Soto grill, and watched Nell, the ex-chambermaid of the Temple
of Jimjambo, doing the turkey-trot and the fox-trot and the grizzly-bear
and the bunny-hug in the arms of a young man with the face of a bulldog.
Peter stood for a long while in a daze. Nell and the young man
sat down at one of the tables to have a meal, but still Peter stood
watching and trying to figure out what to do. He knew that he must not
speak to her in his present costume; there would be no way to make her
understand that he was only playing a role — that he who looked like a
"dead one" was really a prosperous man of important affairs, a 100%
red-blooded patriot disguised as a proletarian pacifist. No, he must
wait, he must get into his best before he spoke to her. But meantime,
she might go away, and he might not be able to find her again in this
huge city!
After an hour or two he succeeded in figuring out a way, and
hurried upstairs to the writing-room and penned a note:
"Nell: This is your old friend Peter Gudge. I have
struck it rich and have important news for you. Be sure
to send word to me. Peter." To this he added his address,
and sealed it in an envelope to "Miss Nell Doolin."
Then he went out into the lobby, and signalled to one of the
brass-button imps who went about the place calling names in shrill
sing-song; he got this youngster off in a corner and pressed a dollar
bill into his hand. There was a young lady in the grill who was to have
this note at once. It was very important. Would the brass-button imp do
it?
The imp said sure, and Peter stood in the doorway and watched him
walk back and forth thru the aisles of the grill, calling in his shrill
sing-song, "Miss Nell Doolin! Miss Nell Doolin!" He walked right by the
table where Nell sat eating; he sang right into her face, it seemed to
Peter; but she never gave a sign.
Peter did not know what to make of it, but he was bound to get
that note to Nell. So when the imp returned, he pointed her out, and the
imp went again and handed the note to her. Peter saw her take it — then
he darted away; and remembering suddenly that he was supposed to be on
duty, be rushed back to the office and inquired for Mr. Lackman. To his
horror he learned that Mr. Lackman had returned, paid his bill, and
departed with his suitcase to a destination unknown!
