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Page 56
There was the rattle of a receiver being hung up. But he stood there not
believing it--tea and car and be there--The receiver rattled again.
"You knew who I was, _didn't_ you?"
"Yes, right away," muttered Bean. Then he brightened. "I knew your voice
the moment I heard it." The madness was upon him and he soared. "You're
Chubbins!" He waited.
"Cut out the Chubbins stuff, Bill, and get off there!" directed a coarse
masculine voice from the unseen wire-world.
He got off there with all possible quickness. His first thought was that
she probably had not heard the magnificent piece of daring. It was too
bad. Probably he never could do it again. Then he turned and discovered
that he had left the door of the telephone booth ajar. Chubbins might
not have heard him, but Bulger assuredly had.
"Well, well, well!" declaimed Bulger in his best manner. "Look whom we
have with us here to-night! Old Mr. George W. Fox Bean, keeping it all
under his hat. Chubbins, eh? Some name, that! Don't tell me you thought
it up all by yourself, you word-painter! Miss Chubbsy Chubbins! Where's
she work?"
Bean saw release.
"Little manicure party," he confessed; "certain shop not far from here.
Think I'm going to put _you_ wise?"
Bulger was pleased at the implication.
"Ain't got a friend, has she?"
"No," said Bean. "Never did have one. Some class, too," he added with a
leer that won Bulger's complete respect. He breathed freely again and
was humming, "Love Me and the World Is Mine," as they separated.
But when he was alone the song died. The thing was getting serious. And
she was so assured. Telling him to be there as if she were Breede
himself. How did she know he had time for all that tea and Grandma
nonsense? Suppose he had had another engagement. She hadn't given him
time to say. Hadn't asked him; just _told_ him. Well, it showed one
thing. It showed that Bunker Bean could bring women to his feet.
His afternoon recreation, there being no baseball, was to lead Nap
triumphantly through Central Park to be seen of an envious throng. He
affected a lordly unconsciousness of the homage Nap received. He left
adoring women in his wake and covetous men; and children demanded
bluntly if he would sell that dog; or if he wouldn't sell him would he
give him away, because they wanted him.
Surfeited with this easily won attention, he sat by the driveway to
watch the endless parade of carriage folk. His eye was for the women in
those shining equipages. Young or old, they were to him newly exciting.
His attitude was the rather scornful one of a conqueror whose victories
have cost him too little. They had been mysteries to him, but now, all
in a day, he understood women. They were vulnerable things, and men were
their masters. Votes, indeed!
His own power over them was abundantly proved. Any of them passing
heedlessly there would, under the right conditions, confess it. Let him
be called to their notice and they'd be following him around, forgetting
plighted vows, getting him into places screened with vines and letting
themselves be led on; telephoning him to give them and Grandma tea and
things of a Sunday in some nice place--hanging on his words. Of course
it had always been that way, only he had never known it. Looking back
over his barren past he surveyed minor incidents with new eyes. There
was that girl with the pretty hair in the business college, who always
smiled in the quick, confidential way at him. Maybe she wouldn't have
been a talker!
And how far was this present affair going? Pretty far already:
clandestine meetings and that sort of thing. Still, he couldn't help
being a man, could he? And Tommy Hollins, poor dupe!
In the steam-heated apartment It had been locked in a closet, which in
an upright position It fitted nicely. He did not open the door that
night. He felt that he was venturing into ways that the wise and good
king would not approve. He could not face the thing while guilt was in
his heart. A woman had come between them.
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