V. V.s Eyes | Page 6

parted while the younger followed away the descending fortunes of his father, the inventor of a double-turbine which would never quite work. Their reestablished intimacy now was of the thorough-going sort: witness Sam's letting him trot along on factory inspection the other day, something he'd have done for no other amateur, not on your life. Yet old V.V. was kind of puzzling at times, as now; wild-talking, then kind of reserved all of a sudden, like pulling down a shade on you. Talked different at different times....
Business awaited the Commissioner at his office in the Capitol, as he now recalled. However, V.V. was opening his dingy old door.
Without, in the corridor, there was seen standing a scraggly-bearded individual in a ragged shirt, which offered glimpses of a hairy chest in need of soap. A stranger this chanced to be, but the genus was by no means unfamiliar in the environs of the Dabney House. The young doctor's speaking countenance, confronting him, appeared to fall a little. Doubtless he had learned by now the usual business of such as these.
"Good morning," he said, in rather a firm way. "What can I do for you?"
The caller, having turned a china-blue gaze upon his host, wore a confused air. He spoke in a furry, plaintive voice, professional in its way.
"Jes lookin' fer the Doc a minute, sir, that's all. You ain't him, are yer?"
"Why not?..."
And then it came over Vivian who this man must be: surely no other than the Dabney House prodigal, spouse of his own fellow-lodger, landlady, and blanchisseuse. Upon that thought he stepped out into the hall, closing the office door behind him upon Sam O'Neill.
"Yes, I'm the doctor--and you're Mr. Garland, aren't you? Your wife and daughter are friends of mine...."
Mr. Garland accepted the introduction with signs of abashment, but stated his business simply.
"Doc, could you he'p me out with a coat like?"
"Oh ... A coat, you say?"
"Rags to my skin, sir. I 'clare you can see my meat...."
The bearded one inspected himself downward with feeble cackles, hollow parodies of gay derision. And he added, with the same mock dash, that he didn't mind his situation for himself, being used to taking them as they come; 'twas his missus seemed sort of shamed fer him ...
The pleasant-faced young man stood stroking his chin.
"Yes--yes--I can fit you out, I dare say," said he. "I--ah--have a coat in here that I think'll do you. Very nicely.... S'pose you wait here a moment, and we'll see--what we shall see ..."
He disappeared through a door down the hall, and returned presently, carrying a black coat of the sort commonly known as a cutaway.
"There's the vest that goes with it, too," said he. "You might as well have that--though of course Mrs. Garland may have to let it out a little ..."
The man received the gifts in a somewhat awkward silence. Having eyed the proffered coat,--which in this dim light appeared to be quite a good one, newer-looking, indeed, than the one worn at present by the doctor,--his gaze wandered up and then stealthily away. His air of hesitancy was a little surprising.
"In the seams, you know," said V.V. "Make it bigger. She'll understand ..."
Then thanks came from the furry voice, effusive yet somehow rather sheepish: perhaps the man wasn't as experienced at this sort of thing as he looked. However, he shambled away with speed, appearing at least to know that when you had got what you wanted, that, and no other, was the moment to go.
Far down the corridor of the old hotel, he turned once, looking back furtively over his shoulder....
Vivian reappeared in his office, to be greeted with a grin by Sam O'Neill, who, having just thrown his cigar-end into the ruined fireplace, was ready to go.
"'Nother beggar, hey?"
"No--no ... Oh, no!" said the doctor, hastily. "Just a--ah--sort of a fellow wanted to see me ..."
He halted in the middle of the room; stood absently pushing back his hair; and his gaze, turned toward the window, became introspective, a little dreamy....
"What we were speaking of, Sam.... Just to show you I'm not so opinionated--so eccentric--as you seem to think. I read a great little thing the other day.... In a magazine article, it was, describing one of those so-called public balls--in Chicago, this one was. You know the sort of thing--an orgy: rounders and roues, young cheap sports, old rakes, all the demi-monde, rivers of alcohol.... Drunken women kicking men's hats off and lying where they fell.... Regular bacchanalia. Well, about one o'clock two men in evening clothes came into the gallery and stood looking down into that--maelstrom of infamous faces.... Then one of them said: '_John the Baptist would have 'em all grovelling in three minutes_' ..."
He had told his story with a certain youthful expectancy, the air of