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Page 94
There followed a blurred and formal shaking of his hand by those
present, and the big sister whom he had not noticed before came up and
kissed him.
Then he was conscious of the flapper still at his side. He turned to her
and was amazed to discover that she was blinking tears from her eyes.
"There, _there_!" he muttered soothingly, and took her in his arms quite
as if they were alone. He held her closely a moment, with little mumbled
endearments, softly patting her cheek.
"There, there! No one ever going to hurt _you_. You're _dear_; yes, you
are!"
He was much embarrassed to discover those staring others still present.
But the flapper swiftly revived. It seemed to be perfectly over for the
flapper. She announced that every one must hurry.
Hurriedly, with every one, it seemed, babbling nonsense of remote
matters, they sat at a table, and ate of cold food from around a bed of
flowers. Bean ate frankly. He was hungry, but he took his part in the
talk as a gentleman should.
They were toasting the bride in champagne.
"Never drink," protested Bean to the proffered glass.
"Won't happen every day, old top," suggested the waster.
He drank. The sparkling stuff brought him new courage. He drained the
glass.
"I knew they were trying to keep me off that board of directors," he
confided to Breede, "specially that oldest one."
"That your first drink s'morning?" asked Breede in discreet tones.
"First drink I ever took. Had two eggs's morning."
"What board of directors?" asked Breede suspiciously.
"Fed'l Express. I wanted that stock for a technical purpose--so I could
get on board of directors."
Breede looked across the table to Grandma. There seemed to be alarm in
his face.
"Given it up, though," continued Bean. "Can't be robbing tired business
men. Rather be a baseball king if you come down to that. I'll own three
four major league clubs before year's out. See 'f I don't! 'S only kind
of king I want to be--wake me up any time in the night and ask me--old
George W. Baseball King. 'S my name. I been other kings enough. Nothing
in it. You wouldn't believe it if I told you I was a king of Egypt once,
'way back, thous'n's years before you were ever born. I had my day;
pomps and attentions and powers. But I was laid away in a mummy
case--did that in those days--thous'n's and thous'n's of years before
you were ever born--an' that time I was Napoleon ..."
He stopped suddenly, feeling that the room had grown still. He had been
hearing a voice, and the voice was his own. What had he said? Had he
told them he was nothing, after all? He gazed from face to face with
consternation. They looked at him so curiously. There was an
embarrassing pause.
The flapper, he saw, was patting his hand at the table's edge.
"No one ever hurt you while I'm around," he said, and then he glared
defiantly at the others. The old gentleman, whose young friend he was,
began an anecdote, saying that of course he couldn't render the Irish
dialect, also that if they had heard it before they were to be sure and
let him know. Apparently no one had heard it before, although Breede
left the table for the telephone.
Bean kept the flapper's hand in his. And when the anecdote was concluded
everybody arose under cover of the applause, and they were in that
drawing-room again where the thing had happened.
The waster chattered volubly to every one. Grandma and the bride's
mother were in earnest but subdued talk in a far corner. Breede came to
them.
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