With a surprised grin, the chauffeur slowly slackened speed, reversed his power, and ponderously turned the big car about. The girl meantime protested vigorously. “No, no,” she cried, “why, Jack, we’re almost out there now; what do you care for him, anyway? You wouldn’t do a thing like that, Jack. You’ve got better manners than to leave me now. How shall I get home? Now, Jack—”
Carleton, with a most disconcerting lack of gallantry, obstinately shook his head. “This very important,” he said, “we’ll go back way of Birches; leave you there; this ’xceedingly important. You don’t understand. You never went college. Quincentennial—no, quinquecentennial, no, quinquen—oh, damn, five years out of college, that’s what it is. Special dinner. Oh, what a fool I was to forget. How could I?”
The girl sat with frowning brows. “Oh, very well,” she said, offended, “you needn’t ask me to go anywhere with you again; that’s all;” and then, this remark having no noticeable effect, she began softly to cry.
Instantly Carleton’s shifting mood had veered again, and in a moment his arm was once more around her waist, and he leaned protectingly over her.
“Come, come,” he cried, “don’ do that. Can’t stan’ that. We’ll go out there s’mother time, my dear. But not t’night, not t’night; special t’night; special; awful good fellows, both of ’em; better’n I am, damn sight. Both good fellows. Don’t cry.”
With a quick, sinuous movement she wrenched herself free, putting half the distance of the broad cushioned seat between them. “Don’t,” she cried, “I hate you!” and in constrained and moody silence the big motor whirred along upon its homeward way.
Nor was home to be gained without further misadventure. Presently, even before they had covered half the distance to The Birches, something went wrong with the machine, and the chauffeur, steering in close to the side of the road, dismounted and began to search for the trouble, spurred on by the accompaniment of Carleton’s speech, which seemed every moment to gain in picturesqueness and force. Suddenly out of the darkness appeared two broad white streaks of dazzling light, the wail of a horn sounded in their ears, and another automobile passed them, to draw up, just beyond, with a quick grinding and jarring of brakes. A friendly voice hailed them. “Anything wrong? Help you out?” Carleton started at the words. He leaned forward in the seat, and whispered hastily to the chauffeur. Instantly the latter answered, “No thank you, sir, nothing wrong,” and the second motor sped along upon its way. Carleton’s brow contracted. “Wonder if he saw,” he muttered, “light’s pretty bright; looked like Marjory, too; didn’t know the colonel drove much at night, anyway.” There was a moment’s pause; then all at once, he added, “Friday! Friday! Good God! that was the other thing. Damn the luck! Damn everything!” and mingling threats and entreaties, he renewed his urging to the worried chauffeur.
An hour later, at the Press Club, Vaughan’s cigar was well under way, and Helmar was helping himself to a second cup of coffee, when suddenly the door burst open, and there appeared before them the somewhat unsteady figure of their absent friend. Before either of them could speak, he had begun a rambling and incoherent apology, continuing it as he sank limply into the chair reserved for him.
“Must ’scuse me,” was the burden of his speech, “mem’ry comple’ly wen’ back on me; thoroughly ’shame myself—” and there was much more in the same vein; then, all at once reaching the sentimental stage of his orgy, he began to develop a vein of maudlin self-pity; “Helmar,” he cried despairingly, “you been good fren’ me always. I tell you, ’s no good. I try—I try ’s hard’s anyone—and oh, Helmar—” his voice broke, and with a mixture of the ridiculous and the pathetic that made both his hearers choke a little hysterically, even while their eyes were moist, he culminated despairingly, “’S no use, fellers; ’s no use; I’ll tell you where’m going; I’m going to hell in a hack; thash what I am,” and forthwith he laid his head upon the table, and began to weep.
It was long after midnight when Helmar and Vaughan finally deposited him, remonstrating and unwilling, in safety at the Mayflower, leaving him in skilful hands well versed in the treatment of his malady, and found themselves, flushed, weary, and not in the best of humors, again in the street.