The City in the Clouds. Thorne Guy
expect to see you again. Anything special?"
Preston was putting his tray of sandwiches and deviled biscuits on the table, so we could not say much, but directly he had left the room old Pat got up from his chair. He held out his hand, pointing at me with a trembling finger. His face was purple.
"You, you danced twice with her," he said.
So that was it! I grew ice-cold in a moment.
"I won't pretend to misunderstand to what you refer," I said, "but what the devil is that to you?"
"Pat, don't be a fool!" Arthur whipped out, though the look he gave me, which he tried to disguise, was not a friendly one.
"Fool is hardly the word," I said. "Kindly explain yourself, Moore, and forget that you are my guest if you like—I don't mind."
The huge man trembled. Then he turned away with a sort of snarl, snatched his handkerchief from his cuff and mopped his face.
I sat down and lit a cigarette.
"Can you explain this, Arthur?" I asked.
He sat down too, and began to tap with his shoe upon the carpet.
"Oh, I don't know," he said sullenly. "You were the only man in the room, Kirby, to whom she gave more than one dance."
"That's as may be. I suppose you don't propose to expostulate with the lady herself? And, by the way, I always thought that it wasn't exactly form to discuss these things in the way you appear to have been doing."
That got Arthur on the mark. His face grew very white and he sat perfectly still.
Then Pat heaved himself round.
"She's not for you, at any rate," he said. "They will marry her to a duke or one of the Princes."
Suddenly the humor of all this struck me forcibly and I lay back in my chair and burst into a peal of laughter.
"That's quite likely," I said, "though I don't think, what I have seen of Mr. Morse, that he is likely to have ambitions that way, and I am quite certain that Miss Morse will marry the man she wants to marry and no one else, whether he is a thoroughbred or hairy at the heels. I think all this talk on your part—remember you began it, Pat—is perfectly disgraceful, to say nothing of its utter childishness. As for your saying that a young lady whom I have met for the first time to-night and danced with twice, is not for me, it's a damnable piece of impertinence that you should dare to insinuate that I look upon her in the way you suggest."
I jumped up from my seat and knew that I was dominating them all right.
"Supposing what you say is true, I admit that my chance isn't worth two penn'orth o' cold gin, though it's every bit as good, and probably better, than yours, all things considered. You are certainly a fine figure of a man."
I was furious, mad, keen to provoke him to an outburst. The calculated insult was patent enough.
I thought he was about to go for me, and I stood ready, when "What about me?" came in a dry crackling voice from Arthur.
"Oh, I should put you and me about level," I said, "with the courtesy title as a little extra weight. It is a pity you should be the second son."
"Damn you, Kirby!" he burst out, blazing with anger.
I lifted up my hand and looked at both of them.
"I came in here," I said, "to my own house and find my two best friends, that I thought, waiting for me. A few hours ago I should have thought such a scene as this utterly impossible. I will ask you both to remember that it has not been provoked by me in any way, and that directly I came in you turned on me in the most atrocious and ill-bred way. Of your idea of the value of friendship I say nothing at all—it is obvious I must say nothing about that. Now you have forced the pace I will say this. To marry that young lady—I don't like to speak her name even—is about as difficult as to dive in a cork jacket or keep a smelt in a net. But I mean to try. I mean to use every ounce of weight I've got. I shall almost certainly fail, but now you know."
"Since you have said that," Pat broke in, "handicaps be damned! I'm a starter for the same stakes, and it's hell for leather I'll ride, and it's meself that says it, Tom."
Arthur Winstanley spoke last.
"I'm a fellow of a good many ambitions," he said quietly, "though I've never bothered you chaps with them. Now they are all consolidated into one."
Then we all stood and looked at each other, the cards on the table, and in the faces of the other two at least there was uneasiness and shame.
Just at that moment a funny thing happened. Preston had brought in an ice pail full of bottles of soda water. The heat of the night, or something, caused one of the corks to break its confining wire and go off with a startling report, while a fountain of foam drenched the sandwiches.
"Me kingdom for a drink!" said Pat. "Oh, the sweet, blessed, gurgling sound!" and striding to the table he mixed a gargantuan peg.
Arthur and I met behind Pat's back and he held out his hand to me, biting his lower lip.
"We've behaved abominably, old soul," he said.
The big guardsman turned round and raised his glass on high.
"Here's to the sweetest and most lovely lady in the world, bedad!" he shouted, accentuating his Irish brogue. "May the best man win her, fair fight, and no favors, and may the Queen of Heaven and all the saints watch over the little darlint and guide her choice aright!"
So all our midnight madness passed like a fleeting cloud. An extraordinary accession of high spirits came to us as we pledged the dark-haired maiden from Brazil. And it was Pat, dear old Pat, who welded us together in a league of chivalry against which nothing was ever to prevail.
"Tom," he said, "Arthur—we are all like brothers, we always have been. Let there be no change in that, now or ever. I have something to propose."
"Go on, Pat," said Arthur.
"Sure then, since we all love the same lady, that ought to bind us more together than anything else has ever done. But since we cannot all marry her, let us agree, in the first place, that no outsider ever shall."
"Hurrah!" said Arthur—I could see that he was fearfully excited—throwing his glass into the fireplace with a crash.
"I am with you, Pat!" I cried. "It's to be one of us three, and we are in league against all the other men in London. And now the question is—"
"Hear my plan. This very night we'll draw lots as to which of us shall have the first chance. The man who wins shall have the entire support of the other two in every possible way. If she accepts him, then the fates have spoken. If she doesn't, then the next man in the draw shall have his chance, and the rejected suitor and the poor third man shall help him to the utmost of their ability. Is that clear?"
He stopped and looked down at us from his great height with a smiling and anxious face.
Dear old Pat, I shall always love to think that the proposal came from him, straight, clean and true, as he always was.
"So be it," Arthur echoed solemnly. "The league shall begin this very night. Do either of you chaps know any Spanish, by the way?"
We shook our heads.
"Well, I do," he continued, "and we'll form ourselves into a Santa Hermandad—'The Holy Brotherhood'—it was the name of an old Spanish Society of chivalry ever so many years ago."
"Santa Hermandad!" Pat shouted, "and now to shake hands on it. I think we'll not be needing to take an oath."
Our three hands were clasped together in an instant and we knew that, come what might, each would be true to that bond.
"And now," I said, "to draw lots as to who shall be the first to try his chance. How shall we settle it?"
"There's no fairer way," said Arthur,