Gurdy blazed up in a mixture of wrath and impatience, “Oh, it’s all such damned rot! Mark’s one of the best producers in the country and he shouldn’t do this!... He should tell her to go to hell. It’s blackmail! I’m going to tell him—”
After a moment Russell asked, “What?” and laughed kindly. Gurdy shrugged and flinched before the laughter. The man was right. Mark would go through with the beastly deal, wouldn’t consider risking Margot’s name. There was no use in argument. He snapped, “Chivalry!”
“And you wouldn’t do it?”
“No,” said Gurdy, “No! It’s too thick. It is ironical. And he can’t tell any one. Everyone’ll think he thinks this is a good play—worth doing. The critics’ll jump all over him. They’ll—”
“The other proposition being that Miss Walling will lose her reputation? She’s a young girl and not very clever or very sophisticated, to judge by her talk. She’s read the smart novels, of course. Quotes them a good deal.... You say you wouldn’t do this for her? The world being as it is? Tell it to the fish, Bernamer!” Gurdy felt weak before the cool, genial voice. Russell lit a pipe and went on, “I feel the way you do. Only the world’s full of shorn lambs and the wind’s damned cold.... Can you come to a show tonight?”
“Lord, no,” said Gurdy, “I’ve got to stay with Mark. He’s got to have some one with him. Needs taking care of—”
Russell said, “To be sure,” with another laugh and went away. He sent Gurdy the notices from the Baltimore papers after “Todgers Intrudes” began its week there and with them a note: “Miss Boyle came down for the opening. She is still sure this is a great play. Maternal feeling. Rand seems nervous and loses his lines a good deal. He is probably ashamed of himself. His English accent peels off now and then and he talks flat Middle West American,” but the same mail brought a letter from Olive Ilden, written at Denver, and this maddened Gurdy, as last proof of Margot’s inconsequence.
“Dear Gurdy, The reaction has started. She is now certain that Rand planned the whole filthy trick. She is so angry that there is nothing left unsaid. He is a cheap bounder and a slacker etc. An actor can not be anything else, she says. Everything is Mark’s fault or mine for leaving her alone in Philadelphia. Do try to pity her a little, old man. She has made a fearful fool of herself and knows it. The whole thing is still horrible to me. I wish Mark had more humour or more cold blood. Anything to help him through. I keep trying to remember a quotation from Webster I threw at his head once. ‘These be the fair rewards of those that love.’ It may be from Shakespeare. Did you try to argue him out of making the production in New York? That would be your logical attitude. But do take care of him.”
Gurdy tore the note up and went to pull on his riding clothes. The frost had melted. Mark wanted a ride in the warm park. The boy thought proudly that Mark hadn’t complained. He seemed quietly busy, arranging advertisements for “Captain Salvador” which toured New England after its week of Boston. Rumours of a triumph crept ahead of the play. Its success, its investiture of light and colour would soothe Mark while he still needed soothing. Gurdy rattled downstairs and Mark laughed at him, “You look mighty well in ridin’ things, son!”
“So do you,” said Gurdy, in all honesty, and watched Mark beam, settling his boots, the fit of his black coat. They rode into the empty Park. Mark talked about horses and then about Gurdy’s brothers. One of them wanted to be a soldier.