Delphi complete works of.., p.1138
Delphi Complete Works of William Dean Howells, page 1138
Roberts, pulling himself together, with a gigantic effort: “No, no! You needn’t be afraid, my dear. But, oh! what wouldn’t I give for a chance to!”
Mrs. Roberts, who sinks into a chair and regards the unhappy man with a look of tender compassion: “You poor thing, I’ve almost a mind to let you!”
Roberts, heroically: “No, it wouldn’t do, Agnes. I must — ow, ugh, ow — go. Ugh, ow, ugh!” He abandons himself to a succession of abysmal yawns, in which the sequence of his ideas is altogether lost.
Mrs. Roberts: “Well, then, I shall have to trust you.” She gathers her train up for departure, and moves slowly towards the door. “I don’t think I’ve forgotten anything. Let me see: fan, handkerchief, both gloves; pins, because you’re never sure that they’ve put enough, and you don’t know where you’ll come apart; head scarf, yes, I’ve got that on; fur boots, I’ve got them on. I really believe I’m all here. But I shouldn’t be, Edward, if it were not for the system I put into everything; and I do wish, dear, that you’d try it once, just to please me!”
Roberts, very drowsily: “Try what, Agnes?”
Mrs. Roberts: “Why, getting what you have to do by heart, and repeating it over. If you could only bring yourself to say: Both girls out; me alone with the children; Willis at ten; mustn’t go to sleep; last half, anyway; Mrs. Miller awfully angry. There! If you could say that after me, I could go feeling so much easier! Won’t you do it, Edward? I know it has a ridiculous sound, but—”
Roberts, yawning: “How am I to dress?”
Mrs. Roberts: “Edward! Well, I always will say that you’re perfectly inspired! To think of my forgetting the most important thing, after all! Oh, I do believe there is an overruling Providence, I don’t care what the agnostics pretend. Why, it’s to be evening dress for the men, of course! Mrs. Miller would do it to be different from Mrs. Curwen, who let you come in your cutaways, even if it wasn’t the regular thing; and she’s gone around ever since saying it was the most rowdy, Bohemian thing she ever heard of, and she might as well have had beer, at once.”
Roberts: “Who?”
Mrs. Roberts: “Why, Mrs. Miller.”
Roberts: “Mrs. Miller going to have beer?”
Mrs. Roberts: “Oh, Edward, I don’t see how you can be so — But there! I won’t blame you, dearest. I know you’re just literally expiring for want of sleep, and it seems to me I must be the cruellest thing in the world to make you go. And if you’ll say the word, I’ll smash off a note now at the eleventh hour — though it’s two hours of eleven yet! — and just tell Mrs. Miller that you’ve got home down sick, and I’ve had to stay and take care of you. Will you?”
Roberts: “Oh no, Agnes. It wouldn’t be the truth.”
Mrs. Roberts, in a rapture of admiration and affection: “Oh, who cares for the truth in such a cause, you poor heroic angel, you? Well, if you insist upon going, I suppose we must; and now the only way is for you to keep everything clearly in mind. You’d better say it over backward, now, and begin with evening dress, because that’s the most important. Now! Evening dress; Mrs. Miller awfully angry; last half, anyway; mustn’t go to sleep; Willis at ten; me alone with the children; both girls out. Now, do you think — Ow — e — e — e!” A ring at the door extorts a shriek from Mrs. Roberts, who simultaneously gathers her robes about her, in order to fall with decency in the event of burglars or fire, while her husband rises and goes to open the apartment door. “Who can it be, at this hour? Oh! Amy!”
Mrs. Willis Campbell, in the doorway: “Oh, Amy, indeed! How d’ y’ do, Edward! Glad to see you back alive, and just in time for Agnes to kill you with Mrs. Miller’s musicale. May I ask, Agnes, how long you expected me to freeze to death down in that coupé before you came?”
Mrs. Roberts: “Oh, Amy, dear, you must forgive me! I was just staying to give Edward his charges — you know he’s so terribly forgetful — and I forgot all about you!”
Mrs. Campbell: “Then I wish, the next time, he’d give you some charges, my dear. But come, now, do! We shall be rather late, anyway, and that simpleton will be perfectly furious.”
Mrs. Roberts: “Yes, that’s just what I was saying to Edward. She’ll never forgive you. If it was anybody else, I shouldn’t think of dragging him out to-night.”
Mrs. Campbell: “The worst of a bore like her is that she’s sure to come to all your things, and you can’t get off from one of hers. Willis declares he’s going to strike, and I couldn’t have got him out to-night if I hadn’t told him you were going to make Edward go.”
Mrs. Roberts: “Oh, isn’t it perfectly wicked, Amy! I know he’s just going to have the grippe. See how drowsy he is! That’s one of the first symptoms.”
Mrs. Campbell: “It’s one of the symptoms of having passed the night on a sleeping-car, too.”
Mrs. Roberts: “That’s true, and thank you, Amy. I forgot all about that. But now, Edward, dear, you will remember, won’t you? If I could only stay with you — —”
Roberts, who has been drowsily drooping in his chair during the exchange of these ideas between the ladies: “Oh, I’m all right, Agnes. Or — ow, ugh, ow! — I should be if I had a cup of tea.”
Mrs. Roberts: “There! I knew it. If I had been worth anything at all as a wife I should have had you a cup of tea long ago. Oh, how heartless! And I’ve let both the girls go, and the fire’s all out in the range, anyway. But I’ll go and start it with my own hands—”
Mrs. Campbell: “In those gloves! You’re crazy, Agnes! Edward, I’ll tell you what Willis does, when he’s out of sorts a little: he takes a taste of whiskey-and-water. He says nothing freshens him up like it.”
Roberts: “That’s a good idea.”
Mrs. Roberts, bustling into the dining-room and reappearing with a tumbler and a decanter: “The very thing, Amy! And thank you so much. Trying to make Edward remember seems to put everything out of my head! I might have thought of whiskey, though! If it’s only loss of sleep, it will wake him up, and if it’s grippe, it’s the most nourishing thing in the world.”
Roberts: “I’m not going to have the grippe, Agnes.”
Mrs. Roberts: “Edward! Don’t boast! You may be stricken down in an instant. I heard of one person who was taken so suddenly she hadn’t time to get her things off, and tumbled right on the bed. You must put some water in it, of course; and hot water is very soothing. You can use some out of the pipes; it’s perfectly good.”
Mrs. Campbell: “Agnes, are you never coming?”
Roberts: “Yes, go along, Agnes, do! I shall get on quite well, now. You needn’t wait.”
Mrs. Roberts: “Oh, if I could only stay and think for you, dearest! But I can’t, and you must do the best you can. Do keep repeating it all over! It’s the only way—”
Mrs. Campbell, from the door: “Agnes!”
Mrs. Roberts: “Amy, I’m coming instantly.”
Mrs. Campbell: “I declare I shall go without you!”
Mrs. Roberts: “And I shouldn’t blame you a bit, Amy! And if it turns out to be the grippe, Edward, don’t lose an instant. Send for the doctor as fast as the district messenger can fly; give him his car fare, and let one come for me; and jump into bed and cover up warm, and keep up the nourishment with the whiskey; there’s another bottle in the sideboard; and perhaps you’d better break a raw egg in it. I heard of one person that they gave three dozen raw eggs a day to in typhoid fever, and even then he died; so you must nourish yourself all you can. And—”
Mrs. Campbell: “Agnes! I’m going!”
Mrs. Roberts: “I’m coming! Edward!”
Roberts: “Well?”
Mrs. Roberts: “There is something else, very important. And I can’t think of it!”
Roberts: “Liebig’s extract of beef?”
Mrs. Roberts, distractedly: “No, no! And it wasn’t oysters, either, though they’re very nourishing, too. Oh, dear! What—”
Mrs. Campbell: “Going, Agnes!”
Mrs. Roberts: “Coming, Amy! Try to think of something else that I ought to remember, Edward!”
Roberts: “Some word to the girls when they come in?”
Mrs. Roberts: “No!”
Roberts: “About the children, something?”
Mrs. Roberts: “No, no!”
Roberts: “Willis, then; what Amy wants him to do?”
Mrs. Roberts: “Oh, no, no! I shall surely die if I can’t think of it!”
Mrs. Campbell, at the door of the apartment: “Gone!”
Mrs. Roberts, flying after her, as the door closes with a bang: “Oh, Amy! how can you be so heartless? She’s driven it quite out of my head!”
II
Mr. Willis Campbell: “Hello, hello, hello! Oh, hello, hello, hello! Wake up, in there! Roberts, wake up! Sound the loud timbrel! Fire, murder, and sudden death! Wake up! Monday morning, you know; here’s Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, all gone and nothing done! Come, arouse thee, my merry Swiss boy! Take thy pail and to labor away! All aboard! Train for Newton, West Newton, Newtonville, Auburndale, Riverside, and Newton Lower Falls, on track No. 5. Express to Newton. Wake up, Roberts! Here’s McIlheny, out here, wants to know why you took his wife for a cook. Hurry up! he can’t wait. Wake up, you old seven-by-nine sleeper, you, or Mrs. Miller’s musicale will just simply expire on the spot. Come! It’s after ten o’clock now, or it will be in about five minutes. Hurry up! Hello, hello, hello!” Campbell accompanies his appeals with a tempest of knocks, thumps, and bangs on the outside of Roberts’s chamber door. Within, Roberts is discovered, at first stretched on his bed in profound repose, which becomes less and less perfect as Campbell’s blows and cries penetrate to his consciousness. He moves, groans, drops back into slumber, groans again, coughs, sits up on the bed, where he has thrown himself with all his clothes on, and listens. “I say, aren’t you going to Mrs. Miller’s? If you are, you’d better get out of bed some time before the last call for breakfast. Now ready in the dining-car!”
Roberts, leaping out of bed and flinging open the door: “Why, I’ve been to Mrs. Miller’s!”
Campbell, entering with his hat on, and his overcoat on his arm; “Oh no, you haven’t, you poor, suffering creature! That was a heavenly dream! Why, good gracious, man, you’re not dressed!” Campbell is himself in perfectly appointed evening-dress, and he stares in dismay at the travelling-suit which Roberts still wears. “You can’t go in that figure, you know. You might to Mrs. Curwen’s, but you’d give Mrs. Miller deadly offence; she’d think the Curwen had put you up to it. Didn’t Agnes tell you I’d be here at ten for you? What have you been doing with yourself? I supposed I should find you walking up and down here, fuming with impatience.”
Roberts: “I was dead tired, and after Agnes went, I just threw myself down here for a moment’s rest, and I was off before I knew it—”
Campbell: “Well, then, hustle! There’s no time to lose. We shall be late, but I guess we can get there in time to save Agnes’s life if we hump ourselves. Are you shaved?”
Roberts: “Yes, I thought I’d better shave before I lay down—”
Campbell: “Well, then, that’s half the battle, and you ought to be into your dress-suit in five minutes; but you’re an intellectual man, and your fingers are all thumbs, and so I’ll give you ten minutes. Hello! What’s this?” In speaking of shaving, Campbell has mechanically cast his eye towards the bureau, and has gradually become aware of the half-tumbler of water and the decanter of whiskey which Roberts has left standing there. He pounces upon the decanter, pulls out the stopple, and applies his nose to the mouth. “Ah, ha! This is the milk in the cocoanut, is it? No wonder you slept soundly, and had sweet dreams? Well, Roberts!”
Roberts: “No, no, Willis! I solemnly assure you I haven’t touched a drop of it!”
Campbell: “Oh yes! I know! That’s what they always say!”
Roberts: “But I tell you, Willis—”
Campbell: “Oh, all right, my boy! I don’t blame you! You have never fallen before, probably, but you’re down this time, old man. You have every appearance of being grossly intoxicated, as the reporters say, at this instant. Look how red your eyes are!”
Roberts: “It’s loss of sleep. I tell you I haven’t tasted the whiskey.”
Campbell: “But it’s half gone!” He lifts the decanter and shows. “Well, I hope Agnes may never know it, and your poor children, Roberts—”
Roberts: “Nonsense! Agnes knows all about it. She brought me the decanter herself. She and Amy thought it would freshen me up. But I distrusted it; I was afraid the effect would be soporific—”
Campbell: “And it seems you were perfectly right. Events have proved it. But come, now, don’t sit there all night, old fellow.” Roberts has sunk upon the edge of the bed. “We’ve got to be off to this scene of maddening gayety at Mrs. Miller’s. Want a wet towel round your head? Nothing like it, you know!”
Roberts, with dignity: “Thank you, I don’t need any wet towel, and I’ll be with you in a few moments, if you’ll kindly wait.” He moves towards the door of his dressing-room.
Campbell, cheerfully: “Oh, I’ll stay by, Roberts; you needn’t be afraid. There’s nothing mean about me, and you’ll want somebody to pull you together, now and then, and I know just what to do; I’ve been through this kind of thing with lots of fellows in California. I know the haughty and self-helpful stage. You’re all right, Roberts. But don’t lose time. What’s the matter now?” Roberts has come back from his dressing-room and is staring vacantly at Campbell.
Roberts: “I was trying to think where I’d put my dress-suit.”
Campbell, triumphantly: “Exactly! And now do you expect me to believe you haven’t been at that decanter? Where do you suppose you put it?”
Roberts: “Where I always do on a hook in my closet.”
Campbell: “You hang up your dress-suit? Why, it must look like a butler’s! You ought to fold your clothes and lay them in a bureau drawer. Don’t you know that? Very likely Agnes has got onto that while you’ve been away, and put them in here.” He looks towards the bureau, and Roberts tries to pull open one drawer after another.
Roberts: “This seems locked. I never lock my drawers.”
Campbell: “Then that’s proof positive that your dress-suit is in there. Agnes has put it in, and locked it up, so as to keep it nice and fresh for you. Where’s your key?”
Roberts: “I don’t know. I always leave it in the key-hole of one of the drawers. Haven’t you got a key-ring, Willis?”
Campbell: “I’ve got a key-ring, but I haven’t got it about me, as Artemus Ward said of his gift for public speaking. It’s in my other trousers pockets. Haven’t you got a collection of keys? Amy has a half-bushel, and she keeps them in a hand-bag in the bath-room closet. She says Agnes does.”
Roberts: “So she does! I’ll just look.” While he is gone, Campbell lays down his hat and overcoat, and tries the bureau drawers. Roberts returns to find him at this work. “No; she must have put them somewhere else. I know she always used to put them there.”
Campbell: “Well, then we’ve got to pick the locks. Have you got a boot-buttoner? There’s nothing like a boot-buttoner to pick locks. Or, hold on a minute! We’ve got to go about this thing systematically. Now, I don’t think you can tell in your condition whether your dress-coat’s in your closet or not, Roberts. We must bring your clothes all out here and lay them on the bed, and see. That dress-suit may turn up yet. You probably thought it was something like an ulster. I know how a man’s ideas get mixed, after a little too much freshening up.”
Roberts, unmindful of his joke: “You’re right, Willis. I may have overlooked it. I’ll bring out everything.” He disappears, and reappears with a business-suit of black diagonal, which he throws on the bed. “That isn’t it.”
Campbell, inspecting it: “No; but it isn’t so far off. Some of the young chaps have their dress-coats made of diagonal. Try again, Roberts: you’ll fetch it yet.” Roberts disappears, and reappears with a frock-coat of blue and checked trousers. “Oh, that won’t do, Roberts. Don’t give way like that. Who ever saw a man in evening-dress with check trousers on? Now, what have we next?” As Roberts goes and comes, Campbell receives his burdens and verifies them. “A velvet jacket won’t do, either, unless you’re a travelling Englishman. Three pairs of summer pantaloons are all very well in their way; but they’re out of season, and stripes are not the thing for evening wear any more. Beautiful bath gown, but more adapted for amateur dramatics than for a musicale. Two waistcoats and a Norfolk jacket mean well, but are not adapted to the purpose. Exemplary light overcoat, but still not quite the thing. Double-breasted reefer and Canada homespun trousers; admirably fitted for a sea-voyage and camping out. Armload of semi-detached waistcoats and pantaloons; very suggestive, but not instantly available. Pajamas not at all the thing. Elderly pair of doeskin trousers and low-cut waistcoat — Why, hello, Roberts! here’s part of your dress-suit now! Where’s the coat?”
