“I don’t ask you to promise me anything, dear,” she continued feebly. “I’m not asking anything—am I?—only—” again her voice faltered—“only I’m thinking of girlie. Have you spoken to her about it?”
He wheeled around sharply and faced her.
“Spoken to her! No, I ain’t spoken to her, and I ain’t a-goin’ to. She’s got idees about things that ain’t mine. She’s all dreams and music and singin’. She’s got her own line of business and I got mine.”
“Ebner!”
“Well, what—ain’t I right? If I had to confine myself to song for a livin’ I’d go and hang myself. Ever see anybody get rich on art?” he sneered. “I ain’t. It’s noble, but there ain’t nothin’ in it. Never will be, an’ never was.”
She sat listening to him—the fresh tears starting to her eyes, but she had ceased to protest. What was the use? He was like that at times, and she had learned to let him have his say, to the end, like a barking dog. But in the end she felt convinced that for her sake he would spare her feelings in regard to Lamont. She even ventured that it would be better in any event to wait until he became an older friend, and that he finally agreed to, adding:
“Well, Em, you’ll have your way, I suppose, as usual; you generally do.”
He had been more right than wrong. Lamont would have accepted the five per cent gladly, providing the little transaction was kept in secret, like that amiable agreement which existed between himself and his tailor in appreciation of the clients he sent him. Practically half his clothes were given him free of charge, and the other half for the wholesale price of the cloth alone. The customers he sent paid the difference. If it was a question of wines, he always recommended a certain brut champagne from Rheims. In the matter of cotillons and caterers, he also had a marked preference. Indeed, very few among those of his women friends who entertained lavishly would think of deciding the details of a cotillon or a large dinner without coming to “Pierre” for advice. There was nothing he would not do for a woman. He was kindness itself, organizing, arranging, and all with so much good taste in everything, so much originality, too, that the affair was bound to be a success. Was it not he who thought of the live little rabbits for favors at the Jimmy Joneses’—a huge success. Some even took them home, where they died from fright and rich food, or were given to the grocer to be cared for and forgotten. Delicious idea!
That which had not yet reached Enoch’s ears was imparted to him the next morning by Mrs. Ford when he called for Sue, with all the effusiveness that her mother was capable of. Save for a sudden hard expression that crossed his face for an instant, and which Sue noticed, he received the news without a word of protest or remark. At the mention of Lamont’s name and the fact that he had called, his square jaw stiffened. He had set his heart on taking Sue to Joe. He did not wish to spoil her morning’s pleasure, but in that brief moment his disgust and bitterness toward Lamont reached a point which it took all his self-possession to control, but control it he did. Mrs. Ford had never seen him more gracious or more genial, and so they started off together, Sue insisting on walking.