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Page 61
"Couple of friends of mine took me out for a little spin," said Bean,
clutching his stick, his gloves and Nap's leash.
He seemed to be still spinning.
In his own place he went quickly to Its closet, pulled open the door and
shouted aloud:
"Well, what do you make of _that_?"
The sound of his own voice was startling as he caught the look of the
serene Ram-tah. He softly closed the door upon what his living self had
been. He was too violent.
But he could not be cool all at once. He tossed hat, stick, and gloves
aside and paced the room.
Engaged to be married! That was all any one could make of it. All the
agreeable iniquity had been extracted from the affair. It was fearsomely
respectable. And it was deadly serious. How had he got into it? And yet
he had always felt something ominous in that girl's look.
And there would be a row "back there." Julia would make the row. And
Jim. They might think Jim wouldn't help in the row, but he knew better.
Jim was old Jim Breede, who would of course take Bunker Bean's head off.
He had been a fool all the time. In the car he had strained himself to
the point of mentioning the Hollins boy. The flapper had laughed
unaffectedly. Tommy Hollins was a perfectly darling boy, a good sport
and all that, but he couldn't be anything important to the flapper if he
were the perfectly last man on earth. How any one could ever have
thought such an absurd thing was beyond the flapper, for one.
And she didn't want a large place: flowers and a tennis court, and she'd
do the marketing herself when she motored in for him. Moreover, he was
not to be brutally domineering. He was to curb that tendency in himself,
at least now and then, and let her have an opinion or two of her own.
She was nothing but a child, after all; he mustn't be harsh with her.
He was weak before it. Once more he opened the closet door, feeling the
need for new strength. A long time he looked into the still face. He was
a king. Was it strange that a woman had fallen before him?
He reduced the event to its rudiments. He was the affianced husband of
Breede's youngest daughter, who didn't believe in long engagements.
The thing was incredible, even as he faced Ram-tah.
How had he ever done it?
"Gee!" he muttered, "how'd I ever have the nerve to _do_ it!"
Ram-tah's sleeping face remained still. If the wise and good king knew
the answer he gave no sign.
X
"Where maint'nance f'r both roadway an' 'quipment is clearly
surcharged," Breede was exploding, "extent of excess of maintenance over
normal 'quirements cannot be taken as present earnin' power, an' this'll
haf t' be understood before nex' meetin' d'r'ectors--"
"No need of _you_ making any fuss," wrote Bean. "Let Julia do that. I'm
as good a man as anybody if you come right down to it."
"--these prior-lien bon's an' receiver's stiff-cuts mus' natchally come
ahead of firs'-mortgage bon's--" continued Breede.
"Wouldn't care if she told you right now over that telephone," wrote
Bean. "You wouldn't dare touch me, and you know it."
Later he wrote "Poor old Pops!" contemptuously, and put an evil sneer
upon Breede's removed cuffs.
At the same time he wished that the flapper and Grandma hadn't been so
set against long engagements. And how long had they meant? One day, a
week, a month? Would they have _it_ done the next time they took him out
in that car for tea and things? They were capable of it. Why couldn't
they be reasonable and let things stay quiet for a while?
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