“That’s the way to live.” Courtlandt grinned, and tilted back his chair until it rested against the oak.
The morning was clear and mild. Fresh snow lay upon the mountain tops; later it would disappear. The fountain tinkled, and swallows darted hither and thither under the sparkling spray. The gardeners below in the vegetable patch were singing. By the door of the villa sat two old ladies, breakfasting in the sunshine. There was a hint of lavender in the lazy drifting air. A dozen yards away sat Abbott, two or three brushes between his teeth and one in his hand. A little behind was Celeste, sewing posies upon one of those squares of linen toward which all women in their idle moments are inclined, and which, on finishing, they immediately stow away in the bottom of some trunk against the day when they have a home of their own, or marry, or find some one ignorant enough to accept it as a gift.
“‘And when in doubt,’” continued Harrigan, “‘watch how other persons use their forks.’ Can you beat it? And say, honest, Molly bought that for me to read and study. And I never piped the subtitle until this morning. ‘Advice to young ladies upon going into society.’ Huh?” Harrigan slapped his knee with the book and roared out his keen enjoyment. Somehow he seemed to be more at ease with this young fellow than with any other man he had met in years. “But for the love of Mike, don’t say anything to Molly,” fearfully. “Oh, she means the best in the world,” contritely. “I’m always embarrassing her; shoe-strings that don’t match, a busted stud in my shirt-front, and there isn’t a pair of white-kids made that’ll stay whole more than five minutes on these paws. I suppose it’s because I don’t think. After all, I’m only a retired pug.” The old fellow’s eyes sparkled suspiciously. “The best two women in all the world, and I don’t want them to be ashamed of me.”
“Why, Mr. Harrigan,” said Courtlandt, letting his chair fall into place so that he could lay a hand affectionately upon the other’s knee, “neither of them would be worth their salt if they ever felt ashamed of you. What do you care what strangers think or say? You know. You’ve seen life. You’ve stepped off the stage and carried with you the recollection of decent living, of playing square, of doing the best you could. The worst scoundrels I ever met never made any mistake with their forks. Perhaps you don’t know it, but my father became rich because he could judge a man’s worth almost at sight. And he kept this fortune and added to it because he chose half a dozen friends and refused to enlarge the list. If you became his friend, he had good reason for making you such.”
“Well, we did have some good times together,” Harrigan admitted, with a glow in his heart. “And I guess after all that I’ll go to the ball with Molly. I don’t mind teas like we had at the colonel’s, but dinners and balls I have drawn the line at. I’ll take the plunge to-night. There’s always some place for a chap to smoke.”
“At the Villa Rosa? I’ll be there myself; and any time you are in doubt, don’t be afraid to question me.”
“You’re in class A,” heartily. “But there’s one thing that worries me,—Nora. She’s gone up so high, and she’s such a wonderful girl, that all the men in Christendom are hiking after her. And some of ’em.... Well, Molly says it isn’t good form to wallop a man over here. Why, she went on her lonesome to India and Japan, with nobody but her maid; and never put us hep until she landed in Bombay. The men out that way aren’t the best. East of Suez, you know. And that chap yesterday, Herr Rosen. Did you see the way he hiked by me when I let him in? He took me to be the round number before one. And he didn’t speak a dozen words to any but Nora. Not that I mind that; but it was something in the way he did it that scratched me the wrong way. The man who thinks he’s going to get Nora by walking over me, has got a guess coming. Of course, it’s meat and drink to Molly to have sons of grand dukes and kings trailing around. She says it gives tone.”
“Isn’t she afraid sometimes?”
“Afraid? I should say not! There’s only three things that Molly’s afraid of these days: a spool of thread, a needle, and a button.”
Courtlandt laughed frankly. “I really don’t think you need worry about Herr Rosen. He has gone, and he will not come back.”