The Fighting Shepherdess Part 32

"It says that the stock, and the sheep in particular, have died like flies on the range, and scores of herders have been frozen."

"There's more herders where they came from." Toomey brushed the ashes from his cigarette into the excavated grapefruit, and yawned and stretched like a cat on its cus.h.i.+on.

"Think of something pleasant--what are we going to do this evening?"

"We mustn't do anything," Mrs. Toomey protested quickly. "If we spend any more we will have to get a check cashed, and that might be awkward, since we know no one; besides, we can't afford it. Let's have a quiet evening."

"A quiet evening!" Toomey snorted. "That's my idea of h.e.l.l. I'll tell you about me, Old Dear--I'm going to have one more whirl if I have to walk back to Prouty, and you might as well go with me."

Since he was determined, Mrs. Toomey arrived at the same conclusion also, for not only did she too shudder at the thought of a quiet evening, but her presence was more or less of a restraint upon his extravagant impulses. She endeavored to soothe her uneasiness by telling herself that they could make up for it by some economy in traveling. And just one more good play--what, after all, did it really matter?

The theater was only four blocks from the hotel, but, as a matter of course, Toomey called a taxicab. These modern conveniences were an innovation that had come during his absence from "civilization" and his delight in them was not unlike the ecstasy of a child riding the flying horses. It availed Mrs. Toomey nothing to declare that she preferred exercise and they arrived at the theater in a taxi. At sight of the box office Toomey forgot his promise to buy inexpensive seats, but asked for the best obtainable.

Carefree and debonair, between acts Mr. Toomey strolled in the lobby smoking and looking so very much in his element that Mrs. Toomey temporarily forgot her disquietude in being proud of him. His dinner jacket was not the latest cut, but after giving it much consideration they had decided that it was not far enough off to be noticeable, and how very handsome and a.s.sured he looked as he sauntered with the confident air of a man who had only to entertain a whim to gratify it.

Such is the psychology of clothes and the effect of environment upon some temperaments that that was the way Mr. Toomey felt about it. Prouty and importunate creditors did not exist for him. This condition of mental intoxication continued when the play was over and, fearful, Mrs.

Toomey spoke hastily of going home immediately.

"I'm hungry," he a.s.serted. "We'll go somewhere first and eat something."

"Let's have sandwiches sent up to the room," she pleaded.

"Why not a bow-wow from the night-lunch cart I noticed in the alley? I like the feeling of the mustard running between my fingers," derisively.

"Oh, j.a.p, we oughtn't to--we really ought not!"

But he might have been deaf, for all the attention he paid to her earnest protests as he turned into one of the brilliantly lighted restaurants which he had previously patronized and that he liked particularly. There was a glitter in his eyes which increased her uneasiness, and a recklessness in his manner that was not rea.s.suring.

"I may go to my grave without ever seeing another lobster," he said as he ordered sh.e.l.lfish. "What will you have to drink?" while the waiter hovered.

"Nothing to-night," she replied, startled.

"Different here, Old Dear, I'm thirsty. The wine list, waiter."

That was the beginning. From the time the champagne and oysters arrived until long past midnight Mrs. Toomey experienced all the sensations that come to the woman who must sit pa.s.sive and watch her husband pa.s.s through the several stages of intoxication. And in addition, she had the knowledge that he could less afford the money he was spending than the waiter who served him.

In high spirits at first, with his natural drollness, stimulated to brilliancy, his sallies brought smiles from those at adjoining tables.

Then he became in turn boastful, arrogant, argumentative, thick of speech, finally, and slow of comprehension, but obstinate always.

"Goin' back jail 'morra, Ol' Dear--goin' finish out my life sentence,"

when she reminded him of the lateness of the hour and her weariness, and he resented her interference so fiercely when she countermanded an order that she dared not repeat it.

"You lis'en me, waiter, thish my party. Might think I was town drunkard--village sot way my wife tryin' flag me." Mrs. Toomey colored painfully at the attention he attracted.

He turned to a late comer who had seated himself at a small table across the narrow aisle from them. "My wife's a great disappointment to me--no sport--never was, never will be. 'Morra," addressing himself to the stranger exclusively, "goin' back to hear the prairie dogs chatter--goin' listen to the sagebrush tick--back one thousan' miles from an oyster--"

"j.a.p!" Mrs. Toomey interrupted desperately, "we must be going.

Everyone's leaving."

"We'll be closing shortly," the waiter hinted.

Toomey blinked at the check he placed before him.

"Can't see whether tha's twenty dollars, or two hundred dollars or two thousand dollars."

The waiter murmured the amount, but not so softly but that Mrs. Toomey paled when she heard it. He had not enough to pay it, she was sure of it, for while he had brought from the room an amount that would have been ample for any ordinary theater supper, wine had not been in his calculations.

Mrs. Toomey looked on anxiously while he produced the contents of his pocket.

"Sorry, sir, but it isn't enough," said the waiter, after counting the notes he tossed upon the plate.

Toomey found the discovery amusing.

"You s'prise me," he chuckled.

"Sorry, sir, but--" the waiter persisted.

With a swift transition of mood Toomey demanded haughtily:

"Gue'sh you don' know who I am?"

"No, sir."

Toomey tapped the lapel of his jacket impressively with his forefinger.

"I'm Jasper Toomey of Prouty, Wyoming."

The waiter received the information without flinching.

"Call up the Blackstone and they'll tell you I'll be in to-morra an'

shettle." He wafted the waiter away grandly, that person shrugging a dubious shoulder as he vanished. "They'll tell 'im the f'ancial standin'

of Jasper Toomey--s.h.i.+rtingly."

The waiter returned almost immediately.

"The hotel knows you only as a guest, sir."

"Thish is insult--d'lib'rate insult." Mr. Toomey rose to his feet and stood unsteadily. "Send manager to me immedially--immedially!"

"He's busy, sir," replied the waiter with a touch of impatience, "but he said you'd have to settle before leaving."

Mrs. Toomey, crimson with mortification and panic-stricken as visions of a patrol wagon and station house rose before her, interrupted when Toomey would have continued to argue.

"j.a.p, stay here while I go to the hotel--I can take a taxi and be back in a few minutes."

Toomey refused indignantly. He declared that not only would this be a reflection upon his honesty, but equivalent to p.a.w.ning him.

"How'd I know," he demanded shrewdly, "that you'd ever come back to redeem me?"