Ruggles of Red Gap Read online

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I must admit that at this inn they did things quite nicely, doubtlessbecause it seemed to be almost entirely staffed by foreigners. Onewould scarce have known within its walls that one had come out toNorth America, nor that savage wilderness surrounded one on everyhand. Indeed I was surprised to learn that we were quite at the edgeof the rough Western frontier, for in but one night's journey we wereto reach the American mountains to visit some people who inhabited acamp in their dense wilds.

  A bit of romantic thrill I felt in this adventure, for we shouldencounter, I inferred, people of the hardy pioneer stock that haspushed the American civilization, such as it is, ever westward. Ipictured the stalwart woodsman, axe in hand, braving the forest tofell trees for his rustic home, while at night the red savages prowledabout to scalp any who might stray from the blazing campfire. On theday of our landing I had read something of this--of depredationscommitted by their Indians at Arizona.

  From what would, I take it, be their Victoria station, we three beganour journey in one of the Pullman night coaches, the Senator of thisfamily having proceeded to their home settlement of Red Gap with wordthat he must "look after his fences," referring, doubtless, to thoseabout his cattle plantation.

  As our train moved out Mrs. Effie summoned me for a serious talkconcerning the significance of our present visit; not of thewilderness dangers to which we might be exposed, but of its socialaspects, which seemed to be of prime importance. We were to visit, Ilearned, one Charles Belknap-Jackson of Boston and Red Gap, he being aperson who mattered enormously, coming from one of the very oldestfamilies of Boston, a port on their east coast, and a place, Igathered, in which some decent attention is given to the matter of whohas been one's family. A bit of a shock it was to learn that in thisrough land they had their castes and precedences. I saw I had beenright to suspect that even a crude society could not exist without itsrules for separating one's superiors from the lower sorts. I began tofeel at once more at home and I attended the discourse of Mrs. Effiewith close attention.

  The Boston person, in one of those irresponsibly romantic moments thatsometimes trap the best of us, had married far beneath him, espousingthe simple daughter of one of the crude, old-settling families of RedGap. Further, so inattentive to details had he been, he had neglectedto secure an ante-nuptial settlement as our own men so wisely make ittheir rule to do, and was now suffering a painful embarrassment fromthis folly; for the mother-in-law, controlling the rather sizablefamily fortune, had harshly insisted that the pair reside in Red Gap,permitting no more than an occasional summer visit to his nativeBoston, whose inhabitants she affected not to admire.

  "Of course the poor fellow suffers frightfully," explained Mrs. Effie,"shut off there away from all he'd been brought up to, but good hascome of it, for his presence has simply done wonders for us. Before hecame our social life was too awful for words--oh, a _mixture_!Practically every one in town attended our dances; no one had evertold us any better. The Bohemian set mingled freely with the veryoldest families--oh, in a way that would never be tolerated in Londonsociety, I'm sure. And everything so crude! Why, I can remember whenno one thought of putting doilies under the finger-bowls. No tone toit at all. For years we had no country club, if you can believe that.And even now, in spite of the efforts of Charles and a few of us,there are still some of the older families that are simply sloppy intheir entertaining. And promiscuous. The trouble I've had with theSenator and Cousin Egbert!"

  "The Flouds are an old family?" I suggested, wishing to understandthese matters deeply.

  "The Flouds," she answered impressively, "were living in Red Gapbefore the spur track was ever run out to the canning factory--and Iguess you know what that means!"

  "Quite so, Madam," I suggested; and, indeed, though it puzzled me abit, it sounded rather tremendous, as meaning with us something likesince the battle of Hastings.

  "But, as I say, Charles at once gave us a glimpse of the betterthings. Thanks to him, the Bohemian set and the North Side set are nowfairly distinct. The scraps we've had with that Bohemian set! He has areal genius for leadership, Charles has, but I know he often finds itso discouraging, getting people to know their places. Even his ownmother-in-law, Mrs. Lysander John Pettengill--but you'll see to-morrowhow impossible she is, poor old soul! I shouldn't talk about her, Ireally shouldn't. Awfully good heart the poor old dear has, but--well,I don't see why I shouldn't tell you the exact truth in plainwords--you'd find it out soon enough. She is simply a confirmed_mixer_. The trial she's been and is to poor Charles! Almost norespect for any of the higher things he stands for--and temper? Well,I've heard her swear at him till you'd have thought it was Jeff Tuttlepacking a green cayuse for the first time. Words? Talk about words!And Cousin Egbert always standing in with her. He's been another awfultrial, refusing to play tennis at the country club, or to take upgolf, or do any of those smart things, though I got him a beautifullot of sticks. But no: when he isn't out in the hills, he'd rather sitdown in that back room at the Silver Dollar saloon, playing cribbageall day with a lot of drunken loafers. But I'm so hoping that will bechanged, now that I've made him see there are better things in life.Don't you really think he's another man?"

  "To an extent, Madam, I dare say," I replied cautiously.

  "It's chiefly what I got you for," she went on. "And then, in ageneral way you will give tone to our establishment. The moment I sawyou I knew you could be an influence for good among us. No one therehas ever had anything like you. Not even Charles. He's tried to haveAmerican valets, but you never can get them to understand their place.Charles finds them so offensively familiar. They don't seem torealize. But of course you realize."

  I inclined my head in sympathetic understanding.

  "I'm looking forward to Charles meeting you. I guess he'll be a littleput out at our having you, but there's no harm letting him see I'm tobe reckoned with. Naturally his wife, Millie, is more or lessmentioned as a social leader, but I never could see that she is reallyany more prominent than I am. In fact, last year after our Bazaar ofAll Nations our pictures in costume were in the Spokane paper as 'RedGap's Rival Society Queens,' and I suppose that's what we are, thoughwe work together pretty well as a rule. Still, I must say, having youputs me a couple of notches ahead of her. Only, for heaven's sake,keep your eye on Cousin Egbert!"

  "I shall do my duty, Madam," I returned, thinking it all rathermorbidly interesting, these weird details about their county families.

  "I'm sure you will," she said at parting. "I feel that we shall dothings right this year. Last year the Sunday Spokane paper used tohave nearly a column under the heading 'Social Doings of Red Gap'sSmart Set.' This year we'll have a good two columns, if I don't missmy guess."

  In the smoking-compartment I found Cousin Egbert staring gloomily intovacancy, as one might say, the reason I knew being that he had vainlypleaded with Mrs. Effie to be allowed to spend this time at theirConey Island, which is a sort of Brighton. He transferred his stare tome, but it lost none of its gloom.

  "Hell begins to pop!" said he.

  "Referring to what, sir?" I rejoined with some severity, for I havenever held with profanity.

  "Referring to Charles Belknap Hyphen Jackson of Boston, Mass.," saidhe, "the greatest little trouble-maker that ever crossed thehills--with a bracelet on one wrist and a watch on the other and aone-shot eyeglass and a gold cigareet case and key chains, rings,bangles, and jewellery till he'd sink like lead if he ever fell intothe crick with all that metal on."

  "You are speaking, sir, about a person who matters enormously," Irebuked him.

  "If I hadn't been afraid of getting arrested I'd have shot him longago."

  "It's not done, sir," I said, quite horrified by his rash words.

  "It's liable to be," he insisted. "I bet Ma Pettengill will go in withme on it any time I give her the word. Say, listen! there's one goodmixer."

  "The confirmed Mixer, sir?" For I remembered the term.

  "The best ever. Any one can se
t into her game that's got a stack ofchips." He uttered this with deep feeling, whatever it might exactlymean.

  "I can be pushed just so far," he insisted sullenly. It struck me thenthat he should perhaps have been kept longer in one of the Europeancapitals. I feared his brief contact with those refining influenceshad left him less polished than Mrs. Effie seemed to hope. I wondereduneasily if he might not cause her to miss her guess. Yet I saw he wasin no mood to be reasoned with, and I retired to my bed which theblackamoor guard had done out. Here I meditated profoundly for sometime before I slept.

  Morning found our coach shunted to a siding at a backwoods settlementon the borders of an inland sea. The scene was wild beyonddescription, where quite almost anything might be expected to happen,though I was a bit reassured by the presence of a number of persons ofboth sexes who appeared to make little of the dangers by which we weresurrounded. I mean to say since they thus took their women into thewilds so freely, I would still be a dead sportsman.

  After a brief wait at a rude quay we embarked on a launch and steamedout over the water. Mile after mile we passed wooded shores thatsloped up to mountains of prodigious height. Indeed the description ofthe Rocky Mountains, of which I take these to be a part, have not beenoverdrawn. From time to time, at the edge of the primeval forest, Icould make out the rude shelters of hunter and trapper who bravedthese perils for the sake of a scanty livelihood for their hardy wivesand little ones.

  Cousin Egbert, beside me, seemed unimpressed, making no outcry at thefearsome wildness of the scene, and when I spoke of the terrificheight of the mountains he merely admonished me to "quit my kidding."The sole interest he had thus far displayed was in the title of ourcraft--_Storm King_.

  "Think of the guy's imagination, naming this here chafing dish the_Storm King_!" said he; but I was impatient of levity at sosolemn a moment, and promptly rebuked him for having donned a cravatthat I had warned him was for town wear alone; whereat he subsided anddid not again intrude upon me.

  Far ahead, at length, I could descry an open glade at the forest edge,and above this I soon spied floating the North American flag, ornational emblem. It is, of course, known to us that the natives aregiven to making rather a silly noise over this flag of theirs, but inthis instance--the pioneer fighting his way into the wilderness andhoisting it above his frontier home--I felt strangely indisposed tocriticise. I understood that he could be greatly cheered by the flagof the country he had left behind.

  We now neared a small dock from which two ladies brandishedhandkerchiefs at us, and were presently welcomed by them. I had nodifficulty in identifying the Mrs. Charles Belknap-Jackson, a livelyfeatured brunette of neutral tints, rather stubby as to figure, butmodishly done out in white flannels. She surveyed us interestedlythrough a lorgnon, observing which Mrs. Effie was quick with her own.I surmised that neither of them was skilled with this form of glass(which must really be raised with an air or it's no good); also thateach was not a little chagrined to note that the other possessed one.

  Nor was it less evident that the other lady was the mother of Mrs.Belknap-Jackson; I mean to say, the confirmed Mixer--an elderly personof immense bulk in gray walking-skirt, heavy boots, and a floweredblouse that was overwhelming. Her face, under her grayish thatch ofhair, was broad and smiling, the eyes keen, the mouth wide, and thenose rather a bit blobby. Although at every point she was far fromvogue, she impressed me not unpleasantly. Even her voice, amagnificently hoarse rumble, was primed with a sort of uncouthgood-will which one might accept in the States. Of course it wouldnever do with us.

  I fancied I could at once detect why they had called her the "Mixer."She embraced Mrs. Effie with an air of being about to strangle thewoman; she affectionately wrung the hands of Cousin Egbert, and hadgrasped my own tightly before I could evade her, not having looked forthat sort of thing.

  "That's Cousin Egbert's man!" called Mrs. Effie. But even then thepowerful creature would not release me until her daughter had calledsharply, "Maw! Don't you hear? He's a _man_!" Nevertheless shegave my hand a parting shake before turning to the others.

  "Glad to see a human face at last!" she boomed. "Here I've been amonth in this dinky hole," which I thought strange, since we weresurrounded by league upon league of the primal wilderness. "Cooped uplike a hen in a barrel," she added in tones that must have carriedwell out over the lake.

  "Cousin Egbert's man," repeated Mrs. Effie, a little ostentatiously, Ithought. "Poor Egbert's so dependent on him--quite helpless withouthim."

  Cousin Egbert muttered sullenly to himself as he assisted me with thebags. Then he straightened himself to address them.

  "Won him in a game of freeze-out," he remarked quite viciously.

  "Does he doll Sour-dough up like that all the time?" demanded theMixer, "or has he just come from a masquerade? What's he represent,anyway?" And these words when I had taken especial pains and resortedto all manner of threats to turn him smartly out in the walking-suitof a pioneer!

  "Maw!" cried our hostess, "do try to forget that dreadful nickname ofEgbert's."

  "I sure will if he keeps his disguise on," she rumbled back. "The oldhorned toad is most as funny as Jackson."

  Really, I mean to say, they talked most amazingly. I was but too gladwhen they moved on and we could follow with the bags.

  "Calls her 'Maw' all right now," hissed Cousin Egbert in my ear, "butwhen that begoshed husband of hers is around the house she calls her'Mater.'"

  His tone was vastly bitter. He continued to mutter sullenly tohimself--a way he had--until we had disposed of the luggage and I waslaying out his afternoon and evening wear in one of the small detachedhouses to which we had been assigned. Nor did he sink his grievance onthe arrival of the Mixer a few moments later. He now addressed her as"Ma" and asked if she had "the makings," which puzzled me until shedrew from the pocket of her skirt a small cloth sack of tobacco andsome bits of brown paper, from which they both fashioned cigarettes.

  "The smart set of Red Gap is holding its first annual meeting for theelection of officers back there," she began after she had emitted twinjets of smoke from the widely separated corners of her set mouth.

  "I say, you know, where's Hyphen old top?" demanded Cousin Egbert in aquite vile imitation of one speaking in the correct manner.

  "Fishing," answered the Mixer with a grin. "In a thousand dollars'worth of clothes. These here Eastern trout won't notice you unless youdress right." I thought this strange indeed, but Cousin Egbert merelygrinned in his turn.

  "How'd he get you into this awfully horrid rough place?" he nextdemanded.

  "Made him. 'This or Red Gap for yours,' I says. The two weeks in NewYork wasn't so bad, what with Millie and me getting new clothes,though him and her both jumped on me that I'm getting too gay aboutclothes for a party of my age. 'What's age to me,' I says, 'when Ilike bright colours?' Then we tried his home-folks in Boston, but Iplayed that string out in a week.

  "Two old-maid sisters, thin noses and knitted shawls! Stick around inthe back parlour talking about families--whether it was Aunt Lucy'sAbigail or the Concord cousin's Hester that married an Adams in '78and moved out west to Buffalo. I thought first I could liven them upsome, _you_ know. Looked like it would help a lot for them to getout in a hack and get a few shots of hooch under their belts, stop ata few roadhouses, take in a good variety show; get 'em to feelinggood, understand? No use. Wouldn't start. Darn it! they held off fromme. Don't know why. I sure wore clothes for them. Yes, sir. I'd getdressed up like a broken arm every afternoon; and, say, I got onesheath skirt, black and white striped, that just has to be looked at.Never phased them, though.

  "I got to thinking mebbe it was because I made my own smokes insteadof using those vegetable cigarettes of Jackson's, or maybe because I'dget parched and demand a slug of booze before supper. Like a Sundayafternoon all the time, when you eat a big dinner and everybody'ssleepy and mad because they can't take a nap, and have to set aroundand play a few church tunes on the organ or look through the albumagain."


  "Ain't that right? Don't it fade you?" murmured Cousin Egbert withdeep feeling.

  "And little Lysander, my only grandson, poor kid, getting the fidgetsbecause they try to make him talk different, and raise hell every timehe knocks over a vase or busts a window. Say, would you believe it?they wanted to keep him there--yes, sir--make him refined. Not for me!'His father's about all he can survive in those respects,' I says.What do you think? Wanted to let his hair grow so he'd have curls.Some dames, yes? I bet they'd have give the kid lovely days. 'Bostonmay be all O.K. for grandfathers,' I says; 'not for grandsons,though.'

  "Then Jackson was set on Bar Harbor, and I had to be firm again. Darnit! that man is always making me be firm. So here we are. He said itwas a camp, and that sounded good. But my lands! he wears his fullevening dress suit for supper every night, and you had ought to heardhim go on one day when the patent ice-machine went bad."

  "My good gosh!" said Cousin Egbert quite simply.

  I had now finished laying out his things and was about to withdraw.

  "Is he always like that?" suddenly demanded the Mixer, pointing at me.

  "Oh, Bill's all right when you get him out with a crowd," explainedthe other. "Bill's really got the makings of one fine little mixer."

  They both regarded me genially. It was vastly puzzling. I mean to say,I was at a loss how to take it, for, of course, that sort of thingwould never do with us. And yet I felt a queer, confused sort ofpleasure in the talk. Absurd though it may seem, I felt there mightcome moments in which America would appear almost not impossible.

  As I went out Cousin Egbert was telling her of Paris. I lingered tohear him disclose that all Frenchmen have "M" for their firstinitial, and that the Louer family must be one of their wealthiest,the name "A. Louer" being conspicuous on millions of dollars' worth oftheir real estate. This family, he said, must be like the Rothschilds.Of course the poor soul was absurdly wrong. I mean to say, the letter"M" merely indicates "Monsieur," which is their foreign way ofspelling Mister, while "A Louer" signifies "to let." I resolved toexplain this to him at the first opportunity, not thinking it rightthat he should spread such gross error among a race still buthalf-enlightened.

  Having now a bit of time to myself, I observed the construction ofthis rude homestead, a dozen or more detached or semi-detachedstructures of the native log, yet with the interiors more smartly doneout than I had supposed was common even with the most prosperous oftheir scouts and trappers. I suspected a false idea of this rude lifehad been given by the cinema dramas. I mean to say, with pianos,ice-machines, telephones, objects of art, and servants, one saw thatthese woodsmen were not primitive in any true sense of the word.

  The butler proved to be a genuine blackamoor, a Mr. Waterman, heinformed me, his wife, also a black, being the cook. An elderlycreature of the utmost gravity of bearing, he brought to hisprofessional duties a finish, a dignity, a manner in short that I havescarce known excelled among our own serving people. And a creature hewas of the most eventful past, as he informed me at our firstencounter. As a slave he had commanded an immensely high price, sometwenty thousand dollars, as the American money is called, and twoprominent slaveholders had once fought a duel to the death over hispossession. Not many, he assured me, had been so eagerly sought after,they being for the most part held cheaper--"common black trash," heput it.

  Early tiring of the life of slavery, he had fled to the wilds and forsome years led a desperate band of outlaws whose crimes soon put aprice upon his head. He spoke frankly and with considerable regret ofthese lawless years. At the outbreak of the American war, however,with a reward of fifty thousand dollars offered for his body, he hadboldly surrendered to their Secretary of State for War, receiving afull pardon for his crimes on condition that he assist in directingthe military operations against the slaveholding aristocracy.Invaluable he had been in this service, I gathered, two generals,named respectively Grant and Sherman, having repeatedly assured himthat but for his aid they would more than once in sheer despair havelaid down their swords.

  I could readily imagine that after these years of strife he had beenglad to embrace the peaceful calling in which I found him engaged. Hewas, as I have intimated, a person of lofty demeanour, with a vein ofhigh seriousness. Yet he would unbend at moments as frankly as a childand play at a simple game of chance with a pair of dice. This he wasgood enough to teach to myself and gained from me quite a number ofshillings that I chanced to have. For his consort, a person oftremendous bulk named Clarice, he showed a most chivalricconsideration, and even what I might have mistaken for timidity in onenot a confessed desperado. In truth, he rather flinched when sheinterrupted our chat from the kitchen doorway by roundly calling him"an old black liar." I saw that his must indeed be a complex nature.

  From this encounter I chanced upon two lads who seemed to present themarks of the backwoods life as I had conceived it. Strolling up awoodland path, I discovered a tent pitched among the trees, before ita smouldering campfire, over which a cooking-pot hung. The two lads,of ten years or so, rushed from the tent to regard me, both attired inshirts and leggings of deerskin profusely fringed after the manner inwhich the red Indians decorate their outing or lounge-suits. They werearmed with sheath knives and revolvers, and the taller bore a rifle.

  "Howdy, stranger?" exclaimed this one, and the other repeated thesimple American phrase of greeting. Responding in kind, I was bade toseat myself on a fallen log, which I did. For some moments theyappeared to ignore me, excitedly discussing an adventure of the nightbefore, and addressing each other as Dead Shot and Hawk Eye. Fromtheir quaint backwoods speech I gathered that Dead Shot, the tallerlad, had the day before been captured by a band of hostile redskinswho would have burned him at the stake but for the happy chance thatthe chieftain's daughter had become enamoured of him and cut hisbonds.

  They now planned to return to the encampment at nightfall to fetchaway the daughter, whose name was White Fawn, and cleaned and oiledtheir weapons for the enterprise. Dead Shot was vindictive in theextreme, swearing to engage the chieftain in mortal combat and to cuthis heart out, the same chieftain in former years having led hissavage band against the forest home of Dead Shot while he was yet tooyoung to defend it, and scalped both of his parents. "I was a merestripling then, but now the coward will feel my steel!" he coldlydeclared.

  It had become absurdly evident as I listened that the whole thing wasbut spoofing of a silly sort that lads of this age will indulge in,for I had seen the younger one take his seat at the luncheon table.But now they spoke of a raid on the settlement to procure "grub," asthe American slang for food has it. Bidding me stop on there and toutter the cry of the great horned owl if danger threatened, theystealthily crept toward the buildings of the camp. Presently came ascream, followed by a hoarse shout of rage. A second later the twodashed by me into the dense woods, Hawk Eye bearing a plucked fowl.Soon Mr. Waterman panted up the path brandishing a barge pole anddemanding to know the whereabouts of the marauders. As he hadapparently for the moment reverted to his primal African savagery, Ideliberately misled him by indicating a false direction, upon which hewent off, muttering the most frightful threats.

  The two culprits returned, put their fowl in the pot to boil, andswore me eternal fidelity for having saved them. They declared Ishould thereafter be known as Keen Knife, and that, needing a service,I might call upon them freely.

  "Dead Shot never forgets a friend," affirmed the taller lad, whereuponI formally shook hands with the pair and left them to their childishdevices. They were plotting as I left to capture "that nigger," asthey called him, and put him to death by slow torture.

  But I was now shrewd enough to suspect that I might still be far fromthe western frontier of America. The evidence had been cumulative butwas no longer questionable. I mean to say, one might do here somewhatafter the way of our own people at a country house in the shires. Iresolved at the first opportunity to have a look at a good map of ourlate colonies.

  Late in the afternoon our party gathere
d upon the small dock and Iunderstood that our host now returned from his trouting. Along theshore of the lake he came, propelled in a native canoe by a hairybackwoods person quite wretchedly gotten up, even for a wilderness.Our host himself, I was quick to observe, was vogue to the lastdetail, with a sense of dress and equipment that can never beacquired, having to be born in one. As he stepped from his frail craftI saw that he was rather slight of stature, dark, with slendermoustaches, a finely sensitive nose, and eyes of an almost austererepose. That he had much of the real manner was at once apparent. Hegreeted the Flouds and his own family with just that faint touch ofeasy superiority which would stamp him to the trained eye as one thatreally mattered. Mrs. Effie beckoned me to the group.

  "Let Ruggles take your things--Cousin Egbert's man," she was saying.After a startled glance at Cousin Egbert, our host turned to regard mewith flattering interest for a moment, then transferred to me hisoddments of fishing machinery: his rod, his creel, his luncheonhamper, landing net, small scales, ointment for warding off midges, ajar of cold cream, a case containing smoked glasses, a rolled map, acamera, a book of flies. As I was stowing these he explained that hissport had been wretched; no fish had been hooked because his guide hadnot known where to find them. I here glanced at the backwoods personreferred to and at once did not like the look in his eyes. He winkedswiftly at Cousin Egbert, who coughed rather formally.

  "Let Ruggles help you to change," continued Mrs. Effie. "He's awfullyhandy. Poor Cousin Egbert is perfectly helpless now without him."

  So I followed our host to his own detached hut, though feeling a bitqueer at being passed about in this manner, I mean to say, as if Iwere a basket of fruit. Yet I found it a grateful change to be servingone who knew our respective places and what I should do for him. Hismanner of speech, also, was less barbarous than that of the others,suggesting that he might have lived among our own people a fortnightor so and have tried earnestly to correct his deficiencies. In fact heremarked to me after a bit: "I fancy I talk rather like one ofyourselves, what?" and was pleased as Punch when I assured him that Ihad observed this. He questioned me at length regarding my associationwith the Honourable George, and the houses at which we would havestayed, being immensely particular about names and titles.

  "You'll find us vastly different here," he said with a sigh, as I heldhis coat for him. "Crude, I may say. In truth, Red Gap, where myinterests largely confine me, is a town of impossible persons. You'llsee in no time what I mean."

  "I can already imagine it, sir," I said sympathetically.

  "It's not for want of example," he added. "Scores of times I show thembetter ways, but they're eaten up with commercialism--money-grubbing."

  I perceived him to be a person of profound and interesting views, andit was with regret I left him to bully Cousin Egbert into eveningdress. It is undoubtedly true that he will never wear this except ithave the look of having been forced upon him by several persons ofsuperior physical strength.

  The evening passed in a refined manner with cards and music, thelatter being emitted from a phonograph which I was asked to attend toand upon which I reproduced many of their quaint North Americanfolksongs, such as "Everybody Is Doing It," which has a rare nativerhythm. At ten o'clock, it being noticed by the three playing dummybridge that Cousin Egbert and the Mixer were absent, I accompanied ourhost in search of them. In Cousin Egbert's hut we found them, seatedat a bare table, playing at cards--a game called seven-upwards, Ilearned. Cousin Egbert had removed his coat, collar, and cravat, andhis sleeves were rolled to his elbows like a navvy's. Both smoked thebrown paper cigarettes.

  "You see?" murmured Mr. Belknap-Jackson as we looked in upon them.

  "Quite so, sir," I said discreetly.

  The Mixer regarded her son-in-law with some annoyance, I thought.

  "Run off to bed, Jackson!" she directed. "We're busy. I'm putting anick in Sour-dough's bank roll."

  Our host turned away with a contemptuous shrug that I dare say mighthave offended her had she observed it, but she was now speaking toCousin Egbert, who had stared at us brazenly.

  "Ring that bell for the coon, Sour-dough. I'll split a bottle ofScotch with you."

  It queerly occurred to me that she made this monstrous suggestion in aspirit of bravado to annoy Mr. Belknap-Jackson.