II
When Cameron came in at midnight he found his wife and his old friend Willoughby Crane playing chess in the dining room.
"Hello, Joe, old man," murmured Crane. "That you?"
"Why, yes, I believe it is I," said Cameron.
"Almost forgot what you looked like," Crane rambled pleasantly.
"Dropped in for a reminder."
"I'm sorry to have missed you," muttered Cameron.
"Well, you haven't altogether missed me, you know: so cheer up, old man. If Nell's good for a rubber, you may have the joy of my presence for an hour or two longer. You're lucky, having a wife who can play chess!"
"Get yourself a drink, Joey," suggested Nellie. "The whisky's in the sideboard, down on he left."
"Don't you suppose I know where the whisky is?" demanded Cameron.
"Maybe there's not much left." Nellie looked on, all solicitude.
Cameron, his thought babbling over the good old days of the
ducking-stool, poured himself carefully a highball that was brown.
Silence reigned. The light fell upon the head and shoulders of
Crane and his long, quick-fingered hands.
"After a man has slaved his soul out," Cameron moaned, "these are the things a woman cares about!"
Crane won the rubber, and spent considerable gallantry upon Nellie in compensation. Cameron had yawned all through, but no one had noticed. Crane lighted a cigarette and perched upon the corner of the dining-table.
"I say, Joe, got anything on to-morrow night?"
"I have," said Cameron.
"Something you can't chuck?"
"Scarcely. A director's dinner."
Crane grew thoughtful.
"You certainly are a victim of the power-passion," he sighed, considering Cameron. "I don't know how you stand it. I'd have more money, no doubt, if I weren't so apathetic, but, by Jinks, it doesn't look worth it to me!"
"A question of taste," said Cameron briefly.
"Taste? If that were all!" He smoked, looking at Nellie through the haze. "I say, Nell, I've got tickets for Kreisler to-morrow night. Come with me, there's a good girl! Lend me your wife, will you, Joe?"
"Lend?" echoed Nellie. "I like that! Anybody'd take me for goods and chattels. Of course I'll come. I'd love to."
"You know, Joey," Crane went on simply, "Nellie's the only woman I know that it's real joy to hear music with. She knows what she's listening to. A fellow can sort of forget that he's got her along, an still be glad he has. As for you, you old money-hunting blunderbuss, the way you squirm in the presence of music ought to be a penitentiary offense. I'm almost glad you can't go." He gave a laugh that was dangerously genuine, and bolted for the hall to get his coat and hat.
"Poor old Joe is almost asleep," said Nellie, sweetly.
Joe did not look it, but Willoughby got out solicitously, and he sat upon a damp bench opposite Cameron's glowing windows, and he laughed and laughed till a policeman sternly ordered him to move on.
"Isn't Willoughby a dear!" Nellie commented as she moved about, putting things in their places for the night. Cameron yawned obviously. Nellie hummed a snatch of a tune.
All that long night Cameron lay stretched upon the edge of their bed, staring into the lumpy darkness. Nellie slept like a baby. But once, soon after the lights were turned off, Cameron's blood froze by inches from his head to his feet. It seemed to him that Nellie was laughing, was fairly biting her pillow to keep from laughing aloud! Gravely, of the darkness, he asked how all this had come about. He asked it of the familiar, shadowy heap of Nellie's clothes upon the chair by the window, asked if he had deserved it. Toward dawn he slept.