Delphi complete works of.., p.1139
Delphi Complete Works of William Dean Howells, page 1139
Roberts, dropping into a chair and wiping his forehead, while he surveys the tangled heap of garments on the bed: “Given away. Got too small for me, three years ago. Agnes kept the waistcoat and trousers for the sake of association, because I told her I wore them at the party where we first met. They won’t go half round me now.”
Campbell, scrutinizing them critically as he holds them: “Well, look here, Roberts, we may have to come to these yet. Stand up, old fellow.” Roberts mechanically stands up, and Campbell tries the top of the trousers against his waistband. “May need a little slitting down the back, so as to let them out a third, or two thirds, or so. But I guess we’ll try an ice-pick first.” He flings the clothes on the bed, and touches the electric bell.
Roberts: “Ice-pick?”
Campbell: “Yes; nothing like it for prying open bureau drawers.” To Bella, the maid, who appears at the door in answer to his ring: “The ice-pick, please.”
Bella: “Ice-pick, sir?”
Campbell: “Yes. The — ice — pick — here — quick.”
Bella, vanishing, with a gesture of wonder at the pile of clothing on the bed: “All right, sir.”
Roberts: “But, Willis! Won’t it bruise and deface the bureau? Agnes is very careful of this bu—”
Campbell: “Not at all. You just set the pick in here over the lock, and pry. I sha’n’t leave a scratch.” They stoop down together in front of the bureau, and Campbell shows him how. “But what are you going to do? You’ve got to have your clothes if you’re going to the musicale. Ah, here we are! Thanks,” as Bella comes with the ice-pick, which he pushes in over the lock of the lowest drawer. “We’ll begin with the lowest, because that’s where Amy keeps mine, and if Agnes has got onto it through her, she’ll be sure to do exactly the same. Now, then, I just scratch the bolt down with my knife, and Open, Sesame! What do you say to bruising your old bureau now?”
Roberts, as Campbell pulls out the drawer and sets it on a chair: “Perfect! Only” — he lifts the things from the drawer, and places them on another chair— “there don’t seem to be anything here but underclothes.”
Campbell: “Well, then, we must get the next out. No time to lose. Come! Keep shoving the pick in, and I’ll scratch the bolt down with my knife. See? It’s nothing.” They pull the drawer out and set it on the floor, and Roberts ruefully contemplates it.
Roberts: “Nothing but shirts, collars, cuffs and neckties.”
Campbell: “Ah, I don’t know that. It’s a deep drawer” — he begins taking the linen out, and laying it on the floor— “and the dress-suit may be at the bottom. No! Nothing here. You’re right, Roberts. Well, now for the top drawer and the last. If we’d taken that out first, we needn’t have taken out the second; we could have seen it in place. You ought to have thought of that, Roberts.”
Roberts, with injury: “You suggested taking out the lowest first, yourself, Willis. You said Agnes would be sure to have put them there.”
Campbell: “Did I? Well, I knew I must have a reason for it. But come along now, Roberts, and push the ice-pick in.” After a season of experiment with the pick and the penknife: “The bolt won’t scratch down. What are you going to do now, Roberts?”
Roberts: “I don’t know.”
Campbell: “But you’ve got to do something, you know. We can’t just give it up. Where are those dress-trousers and waistcoat?” He begins tumbling the things on the bed, laying some on chairs, letting others drop to the floor. “Ah, here they are! Now, I’ll tell you what, Roberts, you’ve got to wear these. Go into your dressing-room there and put them on, and then we can tell how much they have to be slit up the back.”
Roberts: “But where’s the coat, even if I could get the other things on?”
Campbell: “We’ll think about that later. We haven’t got any time to lose in talk. We can pin back the skirts of your frock-coat, as the travelling Americans used to do when they went to the opera in London. Hurry up!” He gives Roberts the garments, and pushes him into the door of his dressing-room, and walks impatiently up and down amidst the chaos of clothing till Roberts reappears. “Why, that isn’t bad!”
Roberts: “Bad? I can’t breathe; I feel as if I were being cut in two!”
Campbell: “Nonsense! That’s the way every woman feels when she’s laced. It gives you a beautiful waist, Roberts! Ah, ha, ha, ha! Ha, ha, ha! O Lord! Oh, mercy! Ah, ha, ha, ha!”
Roberts: “Now, look here, Willis—”
Campbell, turning him round, and surveying him from different points: “No, no! Don’t mind me! It’s just my way, you know. I don’t mean anything by it. I think these things look first-rate on you. There’s no mistake about their giving you a youthful figure; we can just let them out a few stitches, and you’ll be perfectly comfortable. The only thing now is the coat. I’m afraid that pinning back wouldn’t do. We’d better try something else. I’ll tell you! Send down and borrow Merrick’s coat! He’s still on the floor below you, I suppose?”
Roberts: “Yes, but he’s so thin—”
Campbell: “The very thing! Those thin fellows always have their things made roomy—”
Roberts: “But he’s tall.”
Campbell: “That’s all right. If you keep these things on you’ve got to give in some direction, and you’re probably going to stretch.” He rings the bell.
Roberts: “But it’s very late. He must be in bed.”
Campbell: “I’ll fix that.” To Bella, as she appears: “Bella, I want you to go down to the gentleman under here, and ask him if he won’t lend Mr. Roberts his dress-coat. Tell him Mrs. Roberts has gone off to a party, and Mr. Roberts doesn’t know where to find his coat.”
Roberts: “Oh, do you think she’d better tell him that, Willis?”
Campbell: “Why, certainly! You must account for the request in some way. It’ll appeal to his sympathy, and put him into a good-humor if he happens to have to get out of bed to oblige you.”
Bella: “They’re all up yet, sir. I saw their cook on the back stairs when I came in. They’ve been giving a dinner—”
Campbell: “Well, run then.” To Roberts, as Bella vanishes: “Merrick can take it right off his back. But whilst she’s gone we’ll just give this lock another chance.” They work jointly at the bureau drawer. “No, it won’t scrape down. It’s probably rusted in. You must get this lock oiled, Roberts.” As Bella returns with a dress-coat in her hand: “Ah, here we are! That’s very nice of Merrick. What did he say?”
Bella: “I didn’t see him, sir. The girl brought it.”
Campbell: “Well, that’s all, Bella.” He shakes out the coat as she goes, and looks down at it. “I suppose it amused Merrick. He’s got a good deal of humor, Merrick has. I hope he won’t give it to the press.”
Roberts: “Good heavens, Willis! You don’t—”
Campbell: “Oh, he wouldn’t give real names. Merrick’s too much of a gentleman for that. Come, try it on. We’ve got to hurry, now.” Roberts backs towards him with extended arms and Campbell slips the coat-sleeves on them. “Easy, easy! It may be a little narrow for you in the back — No, sir! It fits you like a glove.” He stands off and surveys Roberts, after smoothing the coat across the shoulders. “Yes, sir, like a glove — a glove that the pretty shop-girl has put on for you, after she’s peppered it full of that white stuff to make it go on, and told you that you could easily wear a size smaller.” He begins to laugh as he lifts each of Roberts’s limp arms, with the sleeves dangling below his hands, and touches the skirt, which descends to the calf of his leg. “The most youthful figure I ever saw! Looks like a boy in his father’s coat. Merrick is a tall fellow. I’d no idea—”
Roberts, looking ruefully over his shoulder: “You see it won’t do, Willis.”
Campbell: “No, no! I don’t say that, quite. But perhaps we’d better try something else. Who’s overhead now?”
Roberts, desperately: “Baker. And he’s short and fat—”
Campbell: “Short and fat isn’t at all bad.” Touching the annunciator. “He’s probably had his coat made rather long and snug. It’ll be the very thing for you. We mustn’t leave a stone unturned, or a coat untried.” To Bella, appearing at the door, and putting her apron up to control herself at sight of Mr. Roberts’s figure: “Do you know whether Mr. Baker’s people have gone to bed?”
Bella: “No, sir. I heard their second girl saying on the stairs that Mrs. Baker was up with a bad toothache.”
Campbell: “What a piece of luck! Run right up, will you, and borrow Mr. Baker’s dress-coat.” To Roberts, on Bella’s disappearance: “Baker’s coat will be all right; but still we’d better work away at this bureau drawer again. Drive the ice-pick in a little farther, now.” They struggle with lock as before, until Bella returns, Roberts absent-mindedly keeping Merrick’s coat on, and from time to time taking a turn about the room to rest his back.
Roberts: “Let’s give it up, Willis. We can’t get it open. It’s no use!”
Campbell, desisting: “Well, we’ll leave that to the last, then. But I’ve the liveliest confidence in Baker’s coat. Ah, here it is! Saved! Saved!” He takes the garment from Bella at the threshold. “Now, then, the great thing is to get Merrick’s coat off in one piece. I thought I heard a ripping sound in the back of it when you were straining at that drawer. But I guess it was merely fancy. Easy, easy!” He helps Roberts get the coat off, and examines it.
Roberts, anxiously: “Is it all right?”
Campbell: “Yes, it’s perfectly sound. You may have started the seams a little, but it’s nothing that Merrick will ever notice. Now for Baker! There! Goes on like an old shoe!” He retires a few steps and surveys Roberts’s back, which Roberts is craning his neck round to get a view of in the glass. “There’s space! Gives you a mighty fine, portly figure, Roberts; it looks grand on you, it does indeed! I call that the back of a leading citizen in very comfortable circumstances. Something magisterial about it. Perhaps it’s a little full; but that’s a good fault; it must set awfully easy. Sleeves are a trifle short, maybe, but not too much to show your cuff-buttons; I hate a coat that don’t do that. Yes, I should call that a very nice fit.”
Roberts, tearing off the coat, and flinging it on the bed: “You know it won’t do, Willis. And now I must give the whole thing up. You’d better hurry off and explain to Agnes why I could not come.”
Campbell: “Oh no, I can’t leave you in the lurch that way, my dear fellow. Besides it would break Agnes all up. We must do something. I think either one of those coats would go perfectly well; but if you’re so particular about your personal appearance, there’s only one thing left. We must get this drawer open. Look here. We’ll shove the ice-pick in a little farther, so’s to give the bolt the slightest possible catch, and then we’ll both pull, you on one handle, and I on the other. It won’t hurt the bureau. And besides, it’s the only chance left. I suppose these coats don’t look as if they were made for you. What do you say?”
“THE SLEEVES ARE A TRIFLE SHORT, MAYBE”
Roberts, disconsolately: “Oh, I suppose we’d better try. It can’t be much worse.” He casts a hopeless glance around the confused and tumbled room.
Campbell, absently: “Yes. Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, you know. Agnes won’t be able to express her feelings anyway when she sees this room. It looks as if a small cyclone had been joking round here; but she’ll like your devotion in doing your utmost.”
Roberts: “Do you think so? I’m not so sure. But we’ll try it.” He pushes the ice-pick in with all his strength.
Campbell: “That’s it! Now then!” They each grasp a handle of the drawer and pull. “One, two, three — pull! Once more — pull! Now the third time — pull! And out she comes!” The bolt suddenly gives and the drawer drops violently to the floor, scattering its contents in every direction, while the two men totter backward and cling to each other to keep their balance. At the same moment the voices of Mrs. Roberts and Mrs. Campbell make themselves heard without in vague cries of astonishment, question, and apprehension, mounting into a wild shriek as the drawer crashes to the floor.
III
Mrs. Roberts, without: “Oh, Edward, is it a burglar?”
Mrs. Campbell, without: “Is it a mouse, Willis?”
Mrs. Roberts: “Ring for the district telegraph — call for a policeman, Edward! Press the ratchet down three times!”
Mrs. Campbell: “Don’t kill him, Willis; don’t you dare to kill him. Take him up with the tongs and fling him out of the window!”
Mrs. Roberts: “Don’t trust him, Edward: get Willis to hold him, and press the ratchet quick!”
Mrs. Campbell: “Keep him from getting back into his hole, for then you never can tell whether he’s there or not!”
Mrs. Roberts: “Why don’t you answer, Edward? Oh, dear, perhaps he’s garroted Edward. I know he has!”
Mrs. Campbell: “Willis, if this is any of your tricks — if it’s one of your miserable practical jokes—”
Mrs. Roberts: “Oh, I wonder what they’re keeping so quiet for! Edward, are you safe? Do you need me? If you do, just speak, and I will — go for a policeman, myself!”
Mrs. Campbell: “If you don’t answer, Willis—” Whimpering: “Oh, he just wants to make me take my life in my hand! He wouldn’t like anything better.” The two men, during this rapid colloquy, remain silently aghast, staring at each other and at the scene of confusion around them.
Mrs. Roberts: “Well, then, do it, Amy! You have so much more courage than I have, and you have no children; and if you’ll only go to the door and peep in I’ll stay here, and keep screaming as loud as ever I can. I’ll begin now—”
Roberts: “No, no; don’t call out, Agnes. It’s all right. We’ve just had a little accident with one of the bureau drawers. It’s perfectly safe; but don’t come in till we—” He dashes madly about the room, trying to put it in shape. Both ladies instantly show themselves at the door.
Mrs. Roberts, in dismay at the spectacle: “Why, what in the world has happened, Edward?”
Mrs. Campbell: “It’s something Willis has put him up to. I knew it was from the way he kept so still. Where is he?”
Campbell, coming boldly forward out of Roberts’s dressing-room, where he had previously taken refuge: “I’ve saved Roberts’s life. If it hadn’t been for me he couldn’t have moved hand or foot. He was dead asleep when I came here, and I’ve been helping him look for his dress-suit.” At these words Mrs. Roberts abandons herself to despair in one of the chairs overflowing with clothes. “Hello! What’s the matter with Agnes?”
Mrs. Roberts: “I never can look any one in the face again! To think of my doing such a thing when I’ve always prided myself on being so thoughtful, and remembering things so perfectly! And here I’ve been reproaching Edward and poor Willis the whole evening for not coming to that horrid musicale, and accusing them of all kinds of things, and all the time I knew I’d forgotten something and couldn’t think what it was! Oh, dear! I shall simply never forgive myself! But it was all because I wanted him to look so nice in it, and I got it pressed while he was away, and I folded it up in the tissue-paper myself, and took the greatest care of it; and then to have it turn out the way it has!”
Campbell: “What in the world are you talking about?”
Mrs. Roberts: “Why, Edward’s dress-suit, of course!”
Mrs. Campbell: “Of course she is. But you always have to have things put in words of one syllable for you.”
Campbell: “No irrelevant insults, Mrs. Campbell, if you please! Now, Agnes, try to collect yourself. When you had folded his dress-suit in tissue-paper so nicely, what did you do with it?”
Mrs. Roberts: “Why, I wrapped it in my white Chuddah shawl, and put it away back on the top shelf in his closet, and I forgot to tell him where it was.” Visible sensation on all sides. “And if Edward were to say now that he couldn’t forgive me, I should just simply fall down and worship him.”
Campbell: “He can forgive you, probably, but he cannot forget; we must leave that to women. And here we were, searching every nook and corner of the house, and every hole and cranny, for that dress-suit, which you’d poked away in tissue-paper and Chuddah, while you were enjoying yourself at Mrs. Miller’s.”
Mrs. Campbell: “We weren’t enjoying ourselves. It was the deadliest thing that ever was, and you were very lucky to escape.”
Campbell: “That is all very well; but the credit of that belongs entirely to a merciful Providence. What I want to know is how Agnes is going to excuse herself for hiding her husband’s clothes, so that if this musicale had been the most delightful affair of the season he would have missed it just the same.”
Mrs. Roberts, regarding her husband’s strange figure in the youthful waistcoat and trousers: “Why, Edward, dear, what in the world have you got on?”
Campbell: “She doesn’t even remember the dress-suit in which poor Roberts first met her! Well, Agnes, you’re a pretty wife and mother! Look at that man!” He takes Roberts by the elbow and turns him round. “Did you ever see devotion like that? He’s buttoned in so tight that he can’t draw a full breath to save him, but he would have gone to the party, if he had expired to slow music after he got there; only he couldn’t find the coat. You’d given that away.”
Mrs. Campbell, fishing up a garment from the tempestuous sea of clothes: “Why, here’s a dress-coat, now!”
Campbell: “Yes, that’s Merrick’s. It was rather snug for Roberts.”
Mrs. Roberts: “And here’s another!”
Campbell: “Yes, that’s Baker’s. It was rather roomy for Roberts.”
Mrs. Roberts: “But how did you get them?”
