Tracy went to bed happy once more, at rest in his mind once more.He had started out on a high emprise--that was to his credit, he argued; he had fought the best fight he could, considering the odds against him--that was to his credit; he had been defeated--certainly there was nothing discreditable in that.Being defeated, he had a right to retire with the honors of war and go back without prejudice to the position in the world's society to which he had been born.Why not? even the rabid republican chair-maker would do that.Yes, his conscience was comfortable once more.
He woke refreshed, happy, and eager for his cablegram.He had been born an aristocrat, he had been a democrat for a time, he was now an aristocrat again.He marveled to find that this final change was not merely intellectual, it had invaded his feeling; and he also marveled to note that this feeling seemed a good deal less artificial than any he had entertained in his system for a long time.He could also have noted, if he had thought of it, that his bearing had stiffened, over night, and that his chin had lifted itself a shade.Arrived in the basement, he was about to enter the breakfast room when he saw old Marsh in the dim light of a corner of the hall, beckoning him with his finger to approach.
The blood welled slowly up in Tracy's cheek, and he said with a grade of injured dignity almost ducal:
"Is that for me?"
"Yes."
"What is the purpose of it?"
"I want to speak to you-in private."
"This spot is private enough for me."
Marsh was surprised; and not particularly pleased.He approached and said:
"Oh, in public, then, if you prefer.Though it hasn't been my way."The boarders gathered to the spot, interested.
"Speak out," said Tracy."What is it you want?""Well, haven't you--er--forgot something?""I? I'm not aware of it."
"Oh, you're not? Now you stop and think, a minute.""I refuse to stop and think.It doesn't interest me.If it interests you, speak out.""Well, then," said Marsh, raising his voice to a slightly angry pitch,"You forgot to pay your board yesterday--if you're bound to have it public."Oh, yes, this heir to an annual million or so had been dreaming and soaring, and had forgotten that pitiful three or four dollars.For penalty he must have it coarsely flung in his face in the presence of these people--people in whose countenances was already beginning to dawn an uncharitable enjoyment of the situation.
"Is that all! Take your money and give your terrors a rest."Tracy's hand went down into his pocket with angry decision.But-it didn't come out.The color began to ebb out of his face.The countenances about him showed a growing interest; and some of them a heightened satisfaction.There was an uncomfortable pause--then he forced out, with difficulty, the words:
"I've--been robbed!"
Old Marsh's eyes flamed up with Spanish fire, and he exclaimed:
"Robbed, is it? That's your tune? It's too old--been played in this house too often; everybody plays it that can't get work when he wants it, and won't work when he can get it.Trot out Mr.Allen, somebody, and let him take a toot at it.It's his turn next, he forgot, too, last night.
I'm laying for him."
One of the negro women came scrambling down stairs as pale as a sorrel horse with consternation and excitement:
"Misto Marsh, Misto Allen's skipped out!""What!"
"Yes-sah, and cleaned out his room clean; tuck bofe towels en de soap!""You lie, you hussy!"
"It's jes' so, jes' as I tells you--en Misto Summer's socks is gone, en Misto Naylor's yuther shirt."Mr.Marsh was at boiling point by this time.He turned upon Tracy:
"Answer up now-when are you going to settle?""To-day-since you seem to be in a hurry.""To-day is it? Sunday--and you out of work? I like that.Come--where are you going to get the money?"Tracy's spirit was rising again.He proposed to impress these people:
"I am expecting a cablegram from home."
Old Marsh was caught out, with the surprise of it.The idea was so immense, so extravagant, that he couldn't get his breath at first.When he did get it, it came rancid with sarca**.
"A cablegram--think of it, ladies and gents, he's expecting a cablegram!
He's expecting a cablegram--this duffer, this scrub, this bilk! From his father--eh? Yes--without a doubt.A dollar or two a word--oh, that's nothing--they don't mind a little thing like that--this kind's fathers don't.Now his father is--er--well, I reckon his father--""My father is an English earl!"
The crowd fell back aghast-aghast at the sublimity of the young loafer's "cheek." Then they burst into a laugh that made the windows rattle.
Tracy was too angry to realize that he had done a foolish thing.He said:
"Stand aside, please.I--"
"Wait a minute, your lordship," said Marsh, bowing low, "where is your lordship going?""For the cablegram.Let me pass."
"Excuse me, your lordship, you'll stay right where you are.""What do you mean by that?"
"I mean that I didn't begin to keep boarding-house yesterday.It means that I am not the kind that can be taken in by every hack-driver's son that comes loafing over here because he can't bum a living at home.It means that you can't skip out on any such--"Tracy made a step toward the old man, but Mrs.Marsh sprang between, and said:
"Don't, Mr.Tracy, please." She turned to her husband and said, "Do bridle your tongue.What has he done to be treated so? Can't you see he has lost his mind, with trouble and distress? He's not responsible.""Thank your kind heart, madam, but I've not lost my mind; and if I can have the mere privilege of stepping to the telegraph office--""Well, you can't," cried Marsh.
"--or sending--"
"Sending! That beats everything.If there's anybody that's fool enough to go on such a chuckle-headed errand--""Here comes Mr.Barrow--he will go for me.Barrow--"A brisk fire of exclamations broke out--
"Say, Barrow, he's expecting a cablegram!""Cablegram from his father, you know!"
"Yes--cablegram from the wax-figger!"
