§ 21
Frank Shirley came to call that afternoon, and revealed the fact that the gossip had reached even him. “Sylvia, you witch,” he exclaimed, and pinched her ear—“what in the world have you been doing to Douglas van Tuiver?”
She caught his hand and held it in both hers. “What has happened, Frank?”
“A miracle, my dear—simply a miracle! Van Tuiver has been to call on Tom Firmin!”
“Oh, how interesting!” cried Sylvia. “How was he received?”
“Tell me first—did you suggest it to him?”
“I’m a woman—my curiosity is much less endurable than yours. Tell me instantly.”
“Oh, he came—very much subdued and ill at ease. Said he’d realized the split in the class, and how very unfortunate it was, and he wanted to help mend matters.”
“What did Mr. Firmin say?”
“He asked why van Tuiver had begun with him. ‘Because I’d heard you didn’t like me,’ said van Tuiver, ‘and I wanted to try to put matters on a better footing. I’d like to be a friend of yours if I might.’ Tom—you know him—said that friendship wasn’t to be had for the asking—he’d have to look van Tuiver over and see how he panned out. First of all, they must understand each other on one point—that he, Tom, wouldn’t be patronized, and that anybody who tried it would be ordered out.” Frank paused, and laughed his slow, good-natured laugh. “Poor van Tuiver!” he said. “I feel sorry for him. Imagine him having to say he’d be willing to take the risk! It’s about the funniest thing I ever heard of. What I want to know is, is it true that you did it?”
“Would you be very angry if I said ‘Yes’?”
“Why, no,” he answered—“only I suppose you know you’re getting a lot of publicity?”
Sylvia paused for a while. “I suppose it was a mistake all through,” she said, “but I was ignorant when I started, and since then I’ve been dragged along. Mr. van Tuiver has kept at me to tell him why I didn’t like him—and I’ve told him, that’s about all. I thought that your friend Mr. Firmin was one who’d do the same.”
“He’s that, all right,” laughed Frank.
There was a pause, then suddenly Sylvia exclaimed, “By the way, there’s something I meant to ask you. Is it true that Mr. Firmin’s father is a butler?”
“It is, Sylvia.”
“And did you know that when you introduced him to me?”
It was Frank’s turn to counter. “Would you be very angry if I said I did?”
“Why—not angry, Frank. But you must realize that it was a new experience.”
“Did you find him ill-bred?”
“Why, no—not that; but——”
“I thought you might as well see all sides of college life. I knew you’d meet the club-men. And there’s a particular reason why you’ll have to be nice to Tom—he wants to make me president of the class just now.”
“President of the class!”
“Yes. Politics, you see!”
“But,” she exclaimed, “why haven’t you told me about it?”
“I didn’t know until yesterday. Things have been shaping themselves. You see, the feeling in the ‘Yard’ has grown more bitter, and yesterday a committee came to me and asked if I’d stand against Shackleford, who’s been picked by the Auburn Street crowd, and was expected to go in without opposition. I said I’d have to think it over. I might accept the position if I was elected, but of course, I wouldn’t do any wire-pulling—wouldn’t seek any man’s vote. They said that was all they wanted. But I don’t know; it’s a difficult question for me.”
“But why?”
“Well, you see, they’ll rake up the story of my father.”
Sylvia gave a cry of horror. “Frank!”
“If there’s a contest, it’ll be war and no quarter.”
“But would they do such a thing as that?”
“They would do it,” said Frank, grimly. “So my first impulse was to refuse. But I rather thought you’d want me to run. For you see, I’ll have that old scandal all my life, whatever I try to do; and I suppose you won’t let me keep out of everything.”
“But, Frank, how will they know about your father?”
“Lord, Sylvia, don’t you suppose with all the social climbing there is in this place, they’ve had that morsel long ago? There are fellows here from the South—your cousin, for one. It doesn’t matter, as long as I’m a nobody; but if I set out to beat the ‘Gold Coast crowd’—then you’d see!”
It was amusing to Frank to see how her eyes blazed. “Oh, I ought to stay to help you!” she exclaimed. “If it only weren’t for father!”
“Don’t worry, Sylvia. I wouldn’t let you stay for anything. I don’t want you mixed up in such affairs.”
“But, Frank, think what it would mean! What a blow to the system you hate! And I could pull you through—you needn’t laugh, I really could! There are so many men I could manage!”
But Frank went on laughing. “Honey,” he said, “you’ve done quite enough—too much—already. How are you going to pay van Tuiver for what he’s done?”
“Pay him, Frank?”
“Of course. Do you imagine, dear, that van Tuiver’s a man to do anything without being paid? He’ll hand in his bill for services rendered, and he’ll put a high value on his services! And what will you do?”
She sat, deep in thought. “Frank,” she exclaimed, “you’ve been so good—not to worry about me and that man!”
He smiled. “Don’t I know what a proud lady you are?”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“Honey, if I had been afraid about van Tuiver, do you suppose I’d have dared let you know it?”
She looked at him, her eyes shining. “How nicely you put it!” she said. “You’re the dearest fellow in the world, a regular haven of refuge to fly to!” Then suddenly her mood became grave, and she said, “Let me tell you the truth; I’m glad I’m going away from the man and his money! It isn’t that it’s a temptation—I don’t know how to say it, but it’s a nightmare, a load on my mind. I think, ‘Oh, how much good I could do with that money!’ I think, ‘So much power, and he hasn’t an idea how to use it!’ It’s monstrous that a man should have so much, and no ideas to go with it. It’s all very well to turn your back on it, to say that you despise it—but still it’s there, it’s working all the time, day and night—and working for evil! Isn’t that true?”
He was watching her with a quizzical smile. “You’re talking just like Tom!” he said. “They’ll call you an Anarchist at home!”
She was interested in the idea of being an Anarchist, and would have got Frank started upon a lecture on economics. But there came an interruption in the form of a knock on the door and a boy with a card. Sylvia glanced at it, and then, without a word, passed it to Frank. He read it and they looked at each other.
“Well?” he asked. “Are you going to see him?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “What do you say?”
“I can stand it if you can,” laughed Frank; and so Sylvia ordered Mr. van Tuiver shown up.