LUNCHEON
For several days, he moped about the house, not even venturing upon the porch, his face a sight to behold. His spirits were lower than they had been in all his life. The unmerciful beating he had sustained at the hands of Fairfax was not the sole cause of his depression. As the consequences of that pummelling subsided, the conditions which led up to it forced themselves upon him with such horrifying immensity that he fairly staggered under them.
It slowly dawned on him that there was something very sinister in Fairfax’s visit, something terrible. Nellie’s protracted stay in town, her strange neglect of Phoebe, to say nothing of himself, the presence of Fairfax in her dressing-room that night, and a great many circumstances which came plainly to mind, now that he considered them worth while noticing, all went a long way toward justifying Fairfax in coming to him with the base proposition that had resulted so seriously to his countenance. 96
Nellie was tired of him! He did not belong to her world. That was the sum and substance of it. As he dropped out of her world, some one else quite naturally rose to fill the void. That person was Fairfax. The big man had said that she wanted a separation, she wanted to provide a safe haven for Phoebe. The inference was plain. She wanted to get rid of him in order to marry Fairfax. Fairfax had been honest enough to confess that he was acting on his own initiative in proposing the bribe, but there must have been something behind it all.
He had spoken of “charges.” What charge could Nellie bring against him? He was two days in arriving at the only one—failure to provide. Yes, that was it. “Failure to provide.” How he hated the words. How he despised men who did not provide for their wives. He had never thought of himself in that light before. But it was true, all true. And Nellie was slipping away from him as the result. Not only Nellie but Phoebe. She would be taken from him.
“I don’t drink,” he argued with himself, “and I’ve never treated her cruelly. Other 97 women don’t interest me. I never swear at her. I’ve never beaten her. I’ve always loved her. So it must be that I’m ‘no good,’ just as that scoundrel says. ‘No good!’ Why, she knows better than that. There never was a fellow who worked harder than I did for Mr. Davis. I drew trade to his store. Anybody in Blakeville will swear to that. Haven’t I tried my best to get a job in the same shows with her? Wasn’t I the best comedian they had in the dramatic club? I’ve never had the chance to show what I could do, and Nellie knows it. But I’ll show them all! I’ll make that big brute wish he’d never been born. I’ll—I’ll assert myself. He shan’t take her away from me.”
His resolutions soared to great heights, only to succumb to chilly blasts that sent them shrivelled back to the lowest depths. What could he do against a man who had all the money that Fairfax possessed? What could he offer for Nellie, now that some one else had put a stupendous price on her? He remembered reading about an oil painting that originally sold for five hundred francs and afterward brought forty thousand dollars. Somehow he likened Nellie to a picture, with the reservation that he 98 didn’t believe any painting on earth was worth forty thousand dollars. If there was such a thing, he had never seen it.
Then he began to think of poor Nellie cast helpless among the tempters. She was like a child among voracious beasts of prey. No wonder she felt hard toward him! He was to blame, terribly to blame. In the highest, most exalted state of remorse he wept, not once but often. His poor little Nellie!
In one of these strange ever-growing flights of combined self-reproach and self-exaltation he so vividly imagined himself as a rescuer, as an able-bodied defender against all the ills and evils that beset her, that the fancy took the shape of positive determination. He made up his mind to take her off the stage, back to Blakeville, and to an environment so sweet and pure that her life would be one long season of joy and happiness.
With the growth of this resolution he began to plan his own personal rehabilitation. First of all, he would let his face recover its natural shape; then he would cultivate muscle and brawn at the emporium of Professor Flaherty; moreover, he would devote considerable attention 99 to his own personal appearance and to the habits of the “men about town.” He would fight the tempters with their own weapons—the corkscrew, the lobster pick, the knife and fork, and the nut-splitter!