But this Christmas--he surprised himself and Nelly suddenly by hotly thrusting out his hand and touching her sleeve with the searching finger-tips of a child comforted from night fears.
During the sermon he had an idea. What was it Nelly had told him about "Peter Pan"? Oh yes; somebody in it had said "Do you believe in fairies?" _Say_, why wouldn"t it be great to have the millionaire"s daughter say to her father, "Do you believe in love?"
"Gee, _I_ believe in love!" he yearned to himself, as he felt Nelly"s arm unconsciously touch his.
Tom Poppins had Horatio Hood Teddem in that afternoon for a hot toddy. Horatio looked very boyish, very confiding, and borrowed five dollars from Mr. Wrenn almost painlessly, so absorbed was Mr. Wrenn in learning from Horatio how to sell a play. To know the address of the firm of Wendelbaum & Schirtz, play-brokers, located in a Broadway theater building, seemed next door to knowing a Broadway manager.
When Horatio had gone Tom presented an idea which he had ponderously conceived during his Sunday noon-hour at the cigar-store.
"Why not have three of us--say me and you and Mrs. Arty--talk the play, just like we was acting it?"
He enthusiastically forced the plan on Mr. Wrenn. He pounded down-stairs and brought up Mrs. Arty. He dashed about the room, shouting directions. He dragged out his bureau for the railroad-president"s desk, and a table for the secretary, and, after some consideration and much rubbing of his chin, with two slams and a bang he converted his hard green Morris-chair into an office safe.
The play was on. Mr. T. Poppins, in the role of the president, entered, with a stern high expression on his face, threw a "Good morning, Thorne," at Wrenn, his secretary, and peeled off his gloves.
(Mr. Wrenn noted the gloves; they were a Touch.)
Mr. Wrenn approached diffidently, his face expressionless, lest Mrs. Arty laugh at him. "Here--
"Say, what do you think would be a good way for the secretary to tell the crowd that the other guy is the president? Say, how about this: "The vice-president of the railway would like to have you sign these, sir, as president"?"
"That"s fine!" exclaimed Mrs. Arty, whose satin dress was carefully spread over her swelling knees, as she sat in the oak rocker, like a cheerful bronze monument to Sunday propriety.
"But don"t you think he"d say, "when it"s convenient to you, sir"?"
"Gee, that"s dandy!"
The play was on.
It ended at seven. Mr. Wrenn took but fifteen minutes for Sunday supper, and wrote till one of the morning, finishing the first draft of his ma.n.u.script.
Revision was delightful, for it demanded many conferences with Nelly, sitting at the parlor table, with shoulders confidentially touching. They were the more intimate because Tom had invited Mr. Wrenn, Nelly, and Mrs. Arty to the Grand Christmas Eve Ball of the Cigar-Makers" Union at Melpomene Hall.
Nelly asked of Mr. Wrenn, almost as urgently as of Mrs. Arty, whether she should wear her new white mull or her older rose-colored China silk.
Two days before Christmas he timidly turned over the play for typing to a haughty public stenographer who looked like Lee Theresa Zapp. She yawned at him when he begged her to be careful of the ma.n.u.script. The gloriously pink-bound and red-underlined typed ma.n.u.script of the play was mailed to Messrs. Wendelbaum & Schirtz, play-brokers, at 6.15 P.M., Christmas Eve.
The four walked down Sixth Avenue to the Cigar-Makers" Ball.
They made an Indian file through the Christmas shopping crowds, and stopped frequently and noisily before the street-booths"
glamour of tinsel and teddy-bears. They shrieked all with one rotund mad laughter as Tom Poppins capered over and bought for seven cents a pink bisque doll, which he pinned to the lapel of his plaid overcoat. They drank hot chocolate at the Olympic Confectionery Store, pretending to each other that they were shivering with cold.
It was here that Nelly reached up and patted Mr. Wrenn"s pale-blue tie into better lines. In her hair was the scent which he had come to identify as hers. Her white furs brushed against his overcoat.
The cigar-makers, with seven of them in full evening-dress and two in dinner-coats, were already dancing on the waxy floor of Melpomene Hall when they arrived. A full orchestra was pounding and sc.r.a.ping itself into an hysteria of merriment on the platform under the red stucco-fronted balcony, and at the bar behind the balcony there was a spirit of beer and revelry by night.
Mr. Wrenn embarra.s.sedly pa.s.sed large groups of pretty girls.
He felt very light and insecure in his new gun-metal-finish pumps now that he had taken off his rubbers and essayed the slippery floor. He tried desperately not to use his handkerchief too conspicuously, though he had a cold.
It was not till the choosing of partners for the next dance, when Tom Poppins stood up beside Nelly, their arms swaying a little, their feet tapping, that Mr. Wrenn quite got the fact that he could not dance.
He had casually said to the others, a week before, that he knew only the square dances which, as a boy, he had learned at parties at Parthenon. But they had rea.s.sured him: "Oh, come on--we"ll teach you how to dance at the ball--it won"t be formal.
Besides, we"ll give you some lessons before we go."
Playwriting and playing Five Hundred had prevented their giving him the lessons. So he now sat terrified as a two-step began and he saw what seemed to be thousands of glittering youths and maidens whirling deftly in a most involved course, getting themselves past each other in a way which he was sure he could never imitate. The orchestra yearned over music as rich and smooth as milk chocolate, which made him intensely lonely for Nelly, though she was only across the room from him.
Tom Poppins immediately introduced Nelly to a facetious cigar salesman, who introduced her to three of the beaux in evening clothes, while Tom led out Mrs. Arty. Mr. Wrenn, sitting in a row of persons who were not at all interested in his sorrows, glowered out across the hall, and wished, oh! so bitterly, to flee home. Nelly came up, glowing, laughing, with black-mustached and pearl-waistcoated men, and introduced him to them, but he glanced at them disapprovingly; and always she was carried off to dance again.
She found and hopefully introduced to Mr. Wrenn a wallflower who came from Yonkers and had never heard of Tom Poppins or aeroplanes or Oxford or any other topic upon which Mr. Wrenn uneasily tried to discourse as he watched Nelly waltz and smile up at her partners. Presently the two sat silent. The wallflower excused herself and went back to her mama from Yonkers.
Mr. Wrenn sat sulking, hating his friends for having brought him, hating the sweetness of Nelly Croubel, and saying to himself, "Oh--_sure_--she dances with all those other men--me, I"m only the poor fool that talks to her when she"s tired and tries to cheer her up."
He did not answer when Tom came and told him a new story he had just heard in the barroom.
Once Nelly landed beside him and bubblingly insisted on his coming out and trying to learn to dance. He brightened, but shyly remarked, "Oh no, I don"t think I"d better." Just then the blackest-mustached and pearl-waistcoatedest of all the cigar salesmen came begging for a dance, and she was gone, with only: "Now get up your courage. I"m going to _make_ you dance."
At the intermission he watched her cross the floor with the hateful cigar salesman, slender in her tight crisp new white mull, flourishing her fan and talking with happy rapidity.
She sat down beside him. He said nothing; he still stared out across the gla.s.sy floor. She peeped at him curiously several times, and made a low tapping with her fan on the side of her chair.
She sighed a little. Cautiously, but very casually, she said, "Aren"t you going to take me out for some refreshments, Mr. Wrenn?"
"Oh sure--I"m good enough to buy refreshments for her!" he said to himself.
Poor Mr. Wrenn; he had not gone to enough parties in Parthenon, and he hadn"t gone to any in New York. At nearly forty he was just learning the drab sulkiness and churlishness and black jealousy of the lover.... To her: "Why didn"t you go out with that guy with the black mustache?" He still stared straight ahead.
She was big-eyed, a tear showing. "Why, Billy--" was all she answered.
He clenched his hands to keep from bursting out with all the pitiful tears which were surging in his eyes. But he said nothing.
"Billy, what--"
He turned shyly around to her; his hand touched hers softly.
"Oh, I"m a beast," he said, rapidly, low, his undertone trembling to her ears through the laughter of a group next to them. "I didn"t mean that, but I was--I felt like such a mutt--not being able to dance. Oh, Nelly, I"m awfully sorry.
You know I didn"t mean--_Come on!_ Let"s go get something to eat!"
As they consumed ice-cream, fudge, doughnuts, and chicken sandwiches at the refreshment counter they were very intimate, resenting the presence of others. Tom and Mrs. Arty joined them. Tom made Nelly light her first cigarette. Mr. Wrenn admired the shy way in which, taking the tiniest of puffs, she kept drawing out her cigarette with little pouts and nose wriggles and pretended sneezes, but he felt a lofty gladness when she threw it away after a minute, declaring that she"d never smoke again, and that she was going to make all three of her companions stop smoking, "now that she knew how horrid and sneezy it was, so there!"
With what he intended to be deep subtlety Mr. Wrenn drew her away to the barroom, and these two children, over two gla.s.ses of ginger-ale, looked their innocent and rustic love so plainly that Mrs. Arty and Tom sneaked away. Nelly cut out a dance, which she had promised to a cigar-maker, and started homeward with Mr. Wrenn.
"Let"s not take a car--I want some fresh air after that smoky place," she said. "But it _was_ grand.... Let"s walk up Fifth Avenue."
"Fine.... Tired, Nelly?"
"A little."
He thought her voice somewhat chilly.
"Nelly--I"m so sorry--I didn"t really have the chance to tell you in there how sorry I was for the way I spoke to you.
Gee! it was fierce of me--but I felt--I couldn"t dance, and--oh--"
No answer.