Ewing's Lady Part 12

"Kinder than she knew--kindness is no word for her excess. Women lack fiber where their sympathies are involved. They'll not inflict pain within scope of their imaginations--beyond that rather narrow field of course they're merciless, bless them! But trust me to score your work if it deserves that, and trust me to praise if it merits praise. You shall exhibit to me. By the way"--he consulted a small enameled watch--"I've a bit of time to spare. If you're stepping along I'll not mind looking at your things this evening."

Ewing arose, glowing with pleasure. He felt drawn to this wonderful little man who knew everything, and who was visibly kind--just, at any rate--under that fantastic cloak of severity.

"You're very good," he said. "I'm staying close by, at the Stuyvesant."

"Drop in often, Ewing," urged Bartell as they shook hands. "And don't let Teevan put you down. I dare say you'll come on, you know, if you chuck worry."

As he parted from Mrs. Laithe he was aware of a new look in her eyes. He had learned to read them. They sought now to tell him ... what? There was a warning in them, and her glance seemed to enfold him almost protectingly. But her words were not more than those of formal parting, with a suggestion that he drop in for tea some afternoon soon.

CHAPTER X

THE WAY OF THE LITTLE MAN

They walked briskly to the Stuyvesant in silence, for Ewing could think of nothing to say, and his companion seemed preoccupied. He showed, indeed, the stress of some excitement, for Ewing once heard him mutter heatedly. Suspecting this to be meant for himself, he evoked by inquiry only an impatient "Not here--not here!" He believed that his distinguished companion must be engrossed for the moment with something profounder than the drawings of a novice.

At the hotel they ascended to Ewing's room. Indicating a chair to Teevan he went to the mantel for matches. When he had set the room to sudden light he stepped quickly back, for the little man, standing there, glared at him in a panic of fear and disgust.

In the shock of his embarra.s.sment Ewing fumbled at his overcoat and slowly drew it off. Teevan's eyes now blazed rage upon him. His small, withered, blue-veined hands were tightly clenched at his sides. His att.i.tude was almost a crouch. Ewing felt a furtive amus.e.m.e.nt above his dismay, at sight of the dapper little figure in this incongruous battle pose.

A moment they stood so, then the upper lip of Teevan lifted slowly to a snarl. Seeing that he was about to speak, there ran with Ewing's amazement an absurd apprehension of that break in the voice.

"What do you mean by it?" The swiftness, the intensity of the utterance held the voice level thus far, but the break came with the next words, and the speech ended in a wail.

"What do you think to gain by coming here--by hounding me--by hounding _me_?"

Ewing constrained himself to quiet, with an impulse to soothe this inexplicable fury.

"Please sit down, won't you? You were going to criticise my drawings, you know. You suggested it a moment ago, and I thought--" He took up a portfolio of sketches from one of the open trunks.

"Your tras.h.!.+ What's that to me? Do you think to pa.s.s this off? You've learned effrontery in a fine school. Come to the point. What can you make by this indecency--this----"

Ewing's look checked him--something genuine in his bewilderment.

"Come," began Teevan again, "is it possible you're no one, after all, instead of being less than no one? You know me, don't you?"

"Of course I know you; Mrs. Laithe introduced us."

"Oh, don't juggle. You can't swagger it off with me. You shall not hound me or mine."

"Hound?" Ewing sought for light, still trying to subdue this absurd a.s.sailant.

"Hound, I said, you smug brat! You know me--you've not forgotten my name so soon."

"Teevan, I believe. Really, Mr. Teevan--I----"

"Randall Gordon Teevan! The name meant something to you, didn't it?"

"No; it didn't mean anything to me."

"Ah! say that again!" He came toward the younger man to peer up into his face with a grinning, incredulous scowl. "Say it again!"

Ewing drew back from his scrutiny with a slight impatience.

"Why say it again? Isn't once enough? You hear well, don't you? What should your name mean to me?"

"You still try to carry _that_ off? Your game isn't ready to play?"

Ewing resumed his patient search.

"See here, Mr. Teevan, let's be very quiet and get at this. I never heard your name until an hour ago. Perhaps it ought to mean something to me, but it doesn't. I'm not well acquainted in New York; I only came here to-day. Now"--his voice became cajoling--"suppose you sit down there quietly and tell me all about yourself."

"Your name is Ewing, isn't it?"

"Of course!"

"What's your full name?"

"Gilbert Denham Ewing."

"d.a.m.n him!"

"d.a.m.n him? You are speaking of me?"

"Not you--you cub!"

"Another Ewing?"

"Another Gilbert Denham Ewing!"

"I never knew any other but my father. And you wouldn't be d.a.m.ning him."

He said this with a confident smile, and the peering little man at last read him accurately. An impalpable veil seemed to screen his scowling face. Erect from his peering stoop he pa.s.sed a small hand dazedly across his brow, and his face had become pleasantly ingenuous, alive with a half-comprehending regret. With a rueful laugh he put out a hand to Ewing, who took it, to say the least, doubtfully.

"A thousand pardons, my boy! I fear I've suffered an attack of nervous aberration to which I am unhappily subject. It's most distressing. I'm chagrined beyond measure by the annoyance I must have caused you, I give no end of worry to my specialist by these seizures. My speech wandered provokingly, I dare say. It always does. You'd not credit some of the things I've said to my dearest friends at such times. But you can fancy the mortification it is to me. You'll pardon me, I trust--youth's charity for the failings of age. The horrid truth is that I'm a bit oldish--not aged, not outworn, mind you--my years have come and gone lightly--but at times like these I'm obliged to admit the count. Come, you'll forget?"

Ewing delightedly pressed his hand. He could believe the little man's tale of his years. The hair that he had remarked for its young look had been uncannily twisted on the head of its wearer during the flurry of his transport. An area of luminous scalp now showed above one ear.

He stammered awkward but heartfelt words of a.s.surance.

"Doubtless it quite bowled you over," Teevan pursued--"though I never can recall what I've said; but let us forget, and, if you'd not mind, let us say nothing of it to anyone--to Mrs. Laithe, for example. If it came to the ears of my son--he's over-anxious about me already."

"Certainly, I'll not speak of it, and I'm sorry, very sorry. Lay your gloves on the mantel there and find a seat." He turned to his trunk, hoping the little man would sight his head in the mirror. When he again looked up the hair was in perfect adjustment, and Teevan beamed on him from an armchair.

"Your father," he began, "I seem to recall your saying it--was a painter. Doubtless he taught you much."