A LETTER FROM PARKER
As the days by and he settled at the Hotel Cosmopolis, Archie, looking about him and judgments, was to think that of all his circle he most Parker, the lean, of Mr. Daniel Brewster. Here was a man who, in the with one of the most difficult in New York, all the while to maintain an head, and, as as one from appearances, a disposition. A great man, judge him by what you pleased. Anxious as he was to earn an living, Archie would not have places with Parker for the salary of a movie-star.
It was Parker who Archie’s attention to the of Pongo. Archie had into his father-in-law’s one morning, as he sometimes did in the to more relations, and had it only by the valet, who was the and bric-a-brac with a in the of a man-servant at the of the of an old-fashioned farce. After a of greetings, Archie sat and a cigarette. Parker on dusting.
“The guv’nor,” said Parker, the silence, “has some little dar, sir.”
“Little what?”
“Objay dar, sir.”
Light upon Archie.
“Of course, yes. French for junk. I see what you now. Dare say you’re right, old friend. Don’t know much about these myself.”
Parker gave an at a on the mantelpiece.
“Very valuable, some of the guv’nor’s things.” He had up the small of the with the spear, and was it with the of one off a sleeping Venus. He this with a look of which to Archie uncalled-for. Archie’s taste in Art was not precious. To his the thing was only one less than his father-in-law’s Japanese prints, which he had always with loathing. “This one, now,” Parker. “Worth a of money. Oh, a of money.”
“What, Pongo?” said Archie incredulously.
“Sir?”
“I always call that rummy-looking what-not Pongo. Don’t know what else you call him, what!”
The to of this levity. He his and replaced the on the mantelpiece.
“Worth a of money,” he repeated. “Not by itself, no.”
“Oh, not by itself?”
“No, sir. Things like this come in pairs. Somewhere or other there’s the companion-piece to this here, and if the guv’nor of it, he’d have something having. Something that would give a of money for. But one’s no good without the other. You have to have both, if you my meaning, sir.”
“I see. Like a flush, what?”
“Precisely, sir.”
Archie at Pongo again, with the of not to the observer. But without success. Pongo left him cold—even chilly. He would not have taken Pongo as a gift, to a friend.
“How much would the pair be worth?” he asked. “Ten dollars?”
Parker a smile. “A more than that, sir. Several thousand dollars, more like it.”
“Do you to say,” said Archie, with amazement, “that there are going about loose—absolutely loose—who would pay that for a little object like Pongo?”
“Undoubtedly, sir. These are in great among collectors.”
Archie looked at Pongo once more, and his head.
“Well, well, well! It takes all to make a world, what!”
What might be called the of Pongo, the of Pongo to the ranks of the that matter, took place later, when Archie was making at the house which his father-in-law had taken for the at Brookport. The of the second act may be said to on Archie from the golf-links in the of an August evening. From time to time he sang slightly, and if Lucille would put the touch upon the all-rightness of by to meet him and his walk.
She came in view at this moment, a little in a white skirt and a sweater. She to Archie; and Archie, as always at the of her, was of that jumpy, about the heart, which, into words, would have the question, “What on earth have a girl like that in love with a like me?” It was a question which he was himself, and one which was in the mind also of Mr. Brewster, his father-in-law. The of Archie’s to be the husband of Lucille was the only one on which the two men saw to eye.
“Hallo—allo—allo!” said Archie. “Here we are, what! I was just you would over the horizon.”
Lucille him.
“You’re a darling,” she said. “And you look like a Greek god in that suit.”
“Glad you like it.” Archie with some his chest. “I always say it doesn’t what you pay for a suit, so long as it’s right. I your old father will that way when he settles up for it.”
“Where is father? Why didn’t he come with you?”
“Well, as a of fact, he didn’t any too on my company. I left him in the locker-room a cigar. Gave me the of having something on his mind.”
“Oh, Archie! You didn’t him again?”
Archie looked uncomfortable. He out to sea with something of embarrassment.
“Well, as a of fact, old thing, to be frank, I, as it were, did!”
“Not badly?”
“Well, yes! I I put it across him with some and not a little emphasis. To be perfectly accurate, I him by ten and eight.”
“But you promised me you would let him you to-day. You know how pleased it would have him.”
“I know. But, light of my soul, have you any idea how difficult it is to by your parent at golf?”
“Oh, well!” Lucille sighed. “It can’t be helped, I suppose.” She in the pocket of her sweater. “Oh, there’s a for you. I’ve just been to the mail. I don’t know who it can be from. The looks like a vampire’s. Kind of scrawly.”
Archie the envelope. It provided no solution.
“That’s rummy! Who be to me?”
“Open it and see.”
“Dashed scheme! I will, Herbert Parker. Who the is Herbert Parker?”
“Parker? Father’s valet’s name was Parker. The one he when he he was his shirts.”
“Do you to say any would wear the of your father—? I to say, there must have been some mistake.”
“Do read the letter. I he wants to use your with father to have him taken back.”
“My influence? With your father? Well, I’m dashed. Sanguine of Johnny, if he does. Well, here’s what he says. Of course, I old Parker now—great of mine.”
Dear Sir,—It is some time since the had the of with you, but I am that you may me to mind when I mention that until I Mr. Brewster, your father-in-law, in the of valet. Owing to an misunderstanding, I was from that position and am now out of a job. “How art from Heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning!” (Isaiah xiv. 12.)
“You know,” said Archie, admiringly, “this bird is stuff! I to say he well.”
It is not, however, with my own that I to trouble you, dear sir. I have little that all will be well with me and that I shall not like a to the ground. “I have been and now am old; yet have I not the forsaken, his bread” (Psalms xxxvii. 25). My object in to you is as follows. You may that I had the of meeting you one in Mr. Brewster’s suite, when we had an talk on the of Mr. B.’s d’art. You may being particularly in a small figure. To your memory, the to which I is the one which you to as Pongo. I you, if you remember, that, the be secured, the pair would be valuable.
I am to say, dear sir, that this has now transpired, and is on view at Beale’s Art Galleries on West Forty-Fifth Street, where it will be to-morrow at auction, the sale at two-thirty sharp. If Mr. Brewster to attend, he will, I fancy, have little trouble in it at a price. I that I had of from my late of this matter, but more Christian have prevailed. “If enemy hunger, him; if he thirst, give him drink; for in so doing of fire on his head” (Romans xii. 20). Nor, I must confess, am I by the that my action in this may lead to Mr. B. to the past and to me in my position. However, I am that I can this to his good feeling.
I remain, yours,
Herbert Parker.
Lucille her hands.
“How splendid! Father will be pleased!”
“Yes. Friend Parker has a way to make the old of him. Wish I could!”
“But you can, silly! He’ll be when you him that letter.”
“Yes, with Parker. Old Herb. Parker’s is the he’ll on—not mine.”
Lucille reflected.
“I wish—” she began. She stopped. Her up. “Oh, Archie, darling, I’ve got an idea!”
“Decant it.”
“Why don’t you up to New York to-morrow and the thing, and give it to father as a surprise?”
Archie her hand kindly. He to her day-dreams.
“Yes,” he said. “But reflect, queen of my heart! I have at the moment of going to press just two fifty in specie, which I took off your father this after-noon. We were playing twenty-five a hole. He it up without enthusiasm—in fact, with a sound—but I’ve got it. But that’s all I have got.”
“That’s all right. You can that ring and that of mine.”
“Oh, I say, what! Pop the family jewels?”
“Only for a day or two. Of course, once you’ve got the thing, father will pay us back. He would give you all the money we asked him for, if he what it was for. But I want to him. And if you were to go to him and ask him for a thousand without telling him what it was for, he might refuse.”
“He might!” said Archie. “He might!”
“It all out splendidly. To-morrow’s the Invitation Handicap, and father’s been looking to it for weeks. He’d to have to go up to town himself and not play in it. But you can up and without his anything about it.”
Archie pondered.
“It a scheme. Yes, it has all the ear-marks of a wheeze! By Jove, it is a wheeze! It’s an egg!”
“An egg?”
“Good egg, you know. Halloa, here’s a postscript. I didn’t see it.”
P.S.—I should be if you would my most respects to Mrs. Moffam. Will you also her that I to meet Mr. William this on Broadway, just off the boat. He me to send his and to say that he would be joining you at Brookport in the of a day or so. Mr. B. will be pleased to have him back. “A wise son a father” (Proverbs x. 1).
“Who’s Mr. William?” asked Archie.
“My Bill, of course. I’ve told you all about him.”
“Oh yes, of course. Your Bill. Rummy to think I’ve got a brother-in-law I’ve seen.”
“You see, we married so suddenly. When we married, Bill was in Yale.”
“Good God! What for?”
“Not jail, silly. Yale. The university.”
“Oh, ah, yes.”
“Then he over to Europe for a to his mind. You must look him up to-morrow when you to New York. He’s sure to be at his club.”
“I’ll make a point of it. Well, vote of thanks to good old Parker! This to look like the point in my career where I start to have your old parent out of my hand.”
“Yes, it’s an egg, isn’t it!”
“Queen of my soul,” said Archie enthusiastically, “it’s an omelette!”
The in with the and the ring Archie on his in New York to an which it for him to call on Brother Bill lunch. He to the meeting of brothers-in-law to a more season, and his way to his table at the Cosmopolis grill-room for a bite of to the of the sale. He Salvatore about as usual, and him to come to the with a minute steak.
Salvatore was the dark, sinister-looking waiter who attended, among other tables, to the one at the end of the grill-room at which Archie sat. For Archie’s with the other had with the bill of and its contents; but he had himself more personal. Even the and its influences, Archie had always that which many Britons; and since the he had looked on nearly he met as a brother. Long since, through the medium of a series of chats, he had all about Salvatore’s home in Italy, the little newspaper and tobacco shop which his mother owned on Seventh Avenue, and a hundred other personal details. Archie had an about his fellow-man.
“Well done,” said Archie.
“Sare?”
“The steak. Not too rare, you know.”
“Very good, sare.”
Archie looked at the waiter closely. His had been and sad. Of course, you don’t a waiter to all over his and give three you have asked him to you a minute steak, but still there was something about Salvatore’s manner that Archie. The man appeared to have the pip. Whether he was and on the of his sunny native land, or his trouble was more definite, only be by enquiry. So Archie enquired.
“What’s the matter, laddie?” he said sympathetically. “Something on your mind?”
“Sare?”
“I say, there to be something on your mind. What’s the trouble?”
The waiter his shoulders, as if an to his on one of the classes.
“Come on!” Archie encouragingly. “All here. Barge along, old thing, and let’s have it.”
Salvatore, thus admonished, in a undertone—with one on the headwaiter—to his soul. What he said was not very coherent, but Archie make out of it to that it was a sad of hours and pay. He awhile. The waiter’s hard case touched him.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said at last. “When old Brewster comes to town—he’s away just now—I’ll take you along to him and we’ll the old boy in his den. I’ll you, and you that from Italian off your which you’ve just been to me, and you’ll it’ll be all right. He isn’t what you might call one of my admirers, but says he’s a square of and he’ll see you aren’t snootered. And now, laddie, the of that steak.”
The waiter disappeared, cheered, and Archie, turning, that his friend Reggie Tuyl was entering the room. He to him to join his table. He liked Reggie, and it also to him that a man of the world like the of the Tuyls, who had been about New York for years, might be able to give him some much-needed on the at an sale, a on which he himself was ignorant.
