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Page 5
"Nevertheless," interposed Garry, "they and a number of other things
you pawned were Brian's."
Moreover, reverting to the fishing rods and golf clubs, Kenny would
like to have them both remember that it had been winter and one can
redeem most anything by summer. He'd meant to. He honestly had.
"But you didn't," said Garry.
"Great God," thundered Kenny, "you're like a parrot." Fuming he
searched afield for cigarettes and found them at his elbow. A noise at
the open window behind him brought him to his feet with a nervous start.
"What's that? What's over there?" he demanded petulantly.
"Oh, it's only H-B," said Garry. "He's come down the fire-escape.
Mac's likely forgotten to chain him."
The honey-bear, kept secretly in a studio upstairs and christened "H-B"
to cloak his identity--for the club rules denied him hospitality--came
in with a jaunty air of confidence. At the sight of the three men he
turned tail and fled. Kenny speeded his departure with a bouillon cup
and felt better.
As for clothes, Kenny began with new dignity, he must remind them both
that he had more than Brian, if now and again he did forget a minor
essential and have to forage for it. He added with an air of rebuke
that Brian was welcome to anything he had, anything--to borrow, to wear
and to lose if he chose.
Brian received the offer with a glance of blank dismay and Garry with
difficulty repressed a smile. Kenny's fashionable wardrobe, portentous
in all truth, had an unmistakable air of originality about it at once
foreign and striking. There were times when he looked irresistibly
theatric and ducal.
Kenny repeated his willingness to lend his wardrobe.
"Of course you would," said Garry. "Though it's hardly the point and
difficult to remember when Brian is in a hurry and has to send out a
boy to buy him a collar."
In the matter of money, to take up another point, Kenny felt that his
son had a peculiar genius for always having money somewhere. Brian had
of necessity been saved considerable inconvenience by a tendency to
economy and resource. As usual, if anybody suffered it was Kenny.
"For 'tis myself, dear lad," he finished, "that runs the scale a bit.
Faith, I'm that impecunious at times I'm beside myself with fret and
worry."
Brian steeled himself against the disarming gentleness of the change of
mood. It was inevitably strategic. Wily and magnetic Kenny always had
his way. It was plain he thought to have it now with every instinct up
in arms at the thought of Brian's going.
"I've less genius, less debt and less money," conceded Brian, "but I've
a lot more capacity for worry and I'm tired of always being on my
guard. I'm tired of bookkeeping--"
"Bookkeeping!"
"Bookkeeping lies!" said Brian bluntly. "I've lied myself sometimes,
Kenny, to keep from denying a lie of yours."
The nature of the thrust was unexpected. Kenny changed color and
resented the hyper-critical word. To his mind it was neither filial
nor aesthetic.
"Lies!" he repeated indignantly, regarding his son with a look of
paralyzed inquiry. "Lies!"
"Lies!" insisted Brian. "You know precisely what I mean."
"I suppose, Kenny," said Garry fairly, "that a certain amount of
romancing is for you the wine of existence. Your wit's insistent and
if a thing presents itself, tempting and warmly colored, you can't
refuse it expression simply because it isn't true. You must make a
good story. I've sometimes thought you'd have a qualm or two of
conscience if you didn't, as if it's an artistic obligation you've
ignored--to delight somebody's ears, even for a moment. Perhaps you
don't realize how far afield you travel. But it's pretty hard on
Brian."
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