Bambi Part 43

"Well, nearer three times ten than three years, and I am still learning.

You writing fellows never want to learn your trade like other people.

You talk about inspiration and uplifting the public, and all that, and you want to do it in six months. You go to work on this new idea, and come back here when you've finished it. Then it will be time enough to talk about my end of it."

Jarvis rose.

"I am obliged to you, sir. I shall do it."

[Ill.u.s.tration: HE TAUGHT HIMSELF TO ABANDON HIS OLD INTROSPECTIVE HABITS DURING THESE DAYS ON THE BOX.]

Mr. Frohman held out his hand. "Good luck to you. I shall hope for rain."

"Thanks! Good morning, sir."

With the perfect ease of a lack of self-consciousness Jarvis made his exit, leaving Mr. Frohman with a twinkle in his eyes.

The rest of the day a certain blond cabman on the avenue drove to Franklin Simon's when he was ordered to Altman's, drew up in state at McCreery's when he was told Bonwit Teller's.

"You must be drunk, driver," said one pa.s.senger. She held up her dollar bill, indignantly, to dismiss him. He lifted his hat, perfunctorily, and swept a bow.

"I am, madam, intoxicated with my own thoughts." He rattled off down the street, leaving the woman rooted to the curb with astonishment.

He taught himself to abandon his old, introspective habits during these days on the box, and forced his attention to fix itself upon the crowds, his customers, the whole uptown panorama, so different from the night crowds he sought. He recalled Bambi's saying to him that until he learned not to exclude any of the picture he would never do big work.

Her words had a tantalizing way of coming back to him, things she had tossed off in the long ago of their visit to New York together. He longed for her vivid phrasing, her quick dart at the heart of the things they talked of. It seemed incredible now that he had ever taken her as a matter of course. As for the enigma of her marrying him, he never ceased to ponder it.

True to his promise, he went to call on the "Probation Lady," as he named her, and they became friends. He admired her enormously, and owed much to her wise philosophy. He asked her to go riding in his cab, and she accepted without hesitation. They rode from five to seven, one afternoon, conversing through the shutter in the top of the cab, laughing and enjoying themselves hugely, to the great amus.e.m.e.nt of pedestrians along the way.

At the end of two weeks he and Hicks divided the spoils, and Hicks resumed the box. It cemented a friends.h.i.+p which Jarvis enjoyed greatly, for the old Englishman was ripe with humour and experience. He, too, taught the teacher.

The day after he was free from cab duty Jarvis went to the Little Theatre to get a report from "The Vision." The secretary said Mr. Ames had asked to see him when he came in. He found him a lean student type of man, finished in manner, and pleasant of speech.

"I have been interested in this play of yours, Mr. Jocelyn. I couldn't do it, in my theatre, but I thought I would like to have a talk with you and ask you what else you've done."

"A woman-question play, called 'Success,' this one, and one on Universal Peace."

"All serious?"

"Certainly. Why do managers always ask that?"

"Because serious plays are so many, I suppose. Good comedies are so few."

"I thought you always gave serious things in the Little Theatre?"

"I am forced to, but I am always looking for good comedy. I would like to see your other plays."

They sat, discussing things of the theatre, tendencies in drama, fas.h.i.+ons and fads, Gordon Craig's book, the Rheinhardt idea. They spent a pleasant half hour, like an oasis in Jarvis's desert. He felt that Mr.

Ames had time for him, was sincere in his interest in him. He left the Little Theatre cheered in some inexplicable way.

When he returned to his lodgings that day he found a note from Strong, forwarded from the old address. It acknowledged Jarvis's apology gracefully, and suggested that they dine together the night of this very day, unless Jarvis was again engaged, in which case he might telephone, and they would make other plans. Jarvis frowned over it ten minutes.

"Might as well go and get it over," he remarked ungraciously. He telephoned Strong his acceptance, and asked if he might meet him at the restaurant. He did not wish Strong to know the new address. He would keep his struggle and his poverty to himself. That was certain.

The two men met at a roof garden, each determined to suppress his instinctive dislike of the other because of Bambi. They found a table, and after a short period of stiffness they fell into easy talk of books and plays and men.

"How do you like New York? I remember you confessed to hating cities when I saw you."

"I still hate cities, but I am getting a new point of view about it all."

"It's a great school."

"So it is."

"Is Mrs. Jocelyn well, and the Professor?"

"Yes, thank you."

"It is some time since you were home?"

"Yes."

"I had a note from Mrs. Jocelyn a few days ago."

"Did you?"

"I wonder if you would let me see your 'Songs of the Street,' she told me about?"

"She spoke of them to you?"

"In the highest terms. Said she had no idea of your plans in regard to them, but that the poems were strong and true."

"I am glad she liked them."

"Would you consider letting me have them for the magazine if they seemed to fit our needs?"

"You can look them over, if you like. They won't fit, though. They'll stick out like a sore thumb. The only editor I showed them to said they weren't prose, and they weren't poetry, and, besides, he didn't like them."

"Mail them to me to-night when you go home. Better still, bring them in."

Jarvis drew out an envelope that he pushed across the table to Strong.

"Look them over now," he said.

Strong lifted his brows slightly, but took the proffered pages and began to read. While his host was so busied, Jarvis smoked a good cigar, the first in months, and enjoyed it. He didn't care whether Strong liked them or not. Strong looked up suddenly.

"I'll take these, Jocelyn. What do you want for them?"

"Oh, I don't know. What are they worth to you?"

"I'll pay two hundred dollars for them. Is that satisfactory?"