Isham Frederic Stewart - Nothing But the Truth стр 8.

And then you went to still some other places? went on the lady in that same light, unoffended tone.

Ye-es, Bob had to admit.

One of those roof gardens, perhaps, where they have entertainments? she suggested brightly.

Bob acknowledged they had gone to a roof garden. And again, and more suggestively, he eyed the little white ball. But Mrs. Dan seemed to have forgotten all about it.

Roof gardens, she said. I adore roof gardens. They are such a boon to the people. I told dear Dan to be sure not to miss them. So nice to think of him enjoying himself instead of moping away in a stuffy old office.

Bob gazed at her suspiciously. But she had such an open face! One of those faces one cant help trusting. Mrs. Dan was just the homely, plain old-fashioned type. At least, so she seemed. Anyhow, it didnt much matter so far as Bob was concerned. He had to tell the truth. He hadnt sought this conversation. It was forced on him. He was only going the even tenor of his way. He was, however, rather pleased that Mrs. Dan did seem in some respects different from others of her sex. Bob didnt, of course, really know much about the sex.

So you went to the roof garden just you and Dan, purred Mrs. Dan.

Bob didnt answer. He hoped she hadnt really put that as a question.

Or were you and Dan alone? She made it a question now.

No-a.

Who else were along?

Dickie

And ?

Clarence.

She gazed toward Mrs. Clarence, while a shade of anxiety appeared on Bobs face. In the distance Mrs. Clarence had paused to contemplate the result of an unusually satisfactory display of skill. Mrs. Dan next glanced sidewise at her caddy, but that young man seemed to have relapsed into a condition of innocuous vacancy. He looked capable of falling asleep standing. Certainly he wasnt trying to overhear.

Just you four men! Mrs. Dan resumed her purring. Or were you all alone? No ladies along?

While expecting, of course, the negative direct, she was studying Bob and gleaning what she could, surreptitiously, or by inference. He had an eloquent face which might tell her something his lips refused to reveal. His answer almost took her breath away.

Ye-es.

He was sorry, but he had to say it. No way out of it! Mrs. Dans jaw fell. What she might have said can only be conjectured, for at this moment, luckily for Bob, there came an interruption.

Tête-à-têting, instead of teeing! broke in a jocular voice. The speaker wore ecclesiastical garments; his imposing calves were encased in episcopal gaiters. Mrs. Ralston always liked to dignify her house-parties with a religious touch, and this particular bishop was very popular with her. Bob inwardly blessed the good man for his opportune appearance. He was a ponderous wag.

Forgive interruption, he went on, just as if Mrs. Dan who was non-amatory had been engaged in a furious flirtation. Ill be hurrying on.

Do, said Mrs. Dan, matching his tone, and concealing any inward exasperation that she might have felt.

Its I who will be hurrying on, interposed Bob quickly. You see, Im expected to arrive at the house, he laughed.

Looked as if you were having an interesting conversation, persisted the bishop waggishly.

And so we were, assented Mrs. Dan. She could have stamped with vexation, but instead, she forced a smile. The dear tiresome bishop had to be borne.

Confess you find me de trop? he went on, shaking a finger at Bob.

On the contrary, said Bob.

Has to say that, laughed the good man. He did love to poke fun (or what he conceived fun) at fair, fat and forty. I suppose you were positively dee-lighted to be interrupted?

I was, returned Bob truthfully.

Ha! ha! laughed the bishop.

Bob looked at him. The bishop thought he was joking, just as the hackman had. Of course, no one could say such a thing as that seriously and in the presence of the lady herself. People always didnt believe truth when they heard it. They thought telling the truth a form of crude humor, and a spark of hope-a very small one shot through Bobs brain. Perhaps they would continue to look upon him in the light of a joker. He would be the little joker in the pack of cards and he might yet pull off that three weeks without pulling down the house. Only would Miss Gerald look upon him as a joker? Intuition promptly told him she would not. His thoughts reverted to that last meeting. Think of having told her he didnt want His offense grew more awful unto himself every moment. He ceased to remember Mrs. Dan, and saying something, he hardly knew what, Bob walked on.

Miss Gwendoline Gerald was on the big veranda when he reached the house. He would have thanked her humbly and with immense contrition for having transferred his bag and clubs hither, but as he went by, that gracious, stately young lady seemed not to see him. It was as if he had suddenly become invisible. Her face didnt even change; the proud contour expressed neither contempt nor disdain; the perfectly formed lips didnt take a more pronounced curve or grow hard.

Bob felt himself shrink. He was like that man in the story book who becomes invisible at times. The fiction man, however, attained this convenient consummation through his own volition. Bob didnt. She was the magician and he wasnt even a joker.

He managed to reach the front door without stumbling. A wild desire to attract her attention by asking her if his luggage had arrived safely, he dismissed quickly. It wouldnt do at all. It might imply a fear she had dumped it out, en route. And if she hadnt, such an inquiry would only emphasize the fact that she had acted as expressman or woman and for him!

He would go to his room at once, he told the footman. He didnt mind a few moments solitude. If so much could happen before his house-party had begun before he even got into the house what might he not expect later? In one of the upper halls he encountered the man with the monocle.

I say! said this person. What a jolly coincidence!

Think so? said Bob. He didnt find anything jolly about it. On another occasion, he might have noticed that the eye behind the window-pane was rather twinkling, but his perceptions were not particularly keen at the present time.

In the room to which he had been assigned, Bob cast off a few garments. Then he stopped with his shirt partly off. He wondered how Miss Gerald would look the next time he saw her? Like a frozen Hebe, perhaps! Bob removed the shirt and cast it viciously somewhere. Then he selected another shirt the first that came along, for why should he exercise care to select? It matters little what an invisible man wears. She wouldnt see the extra stripe or the bigger dot. Stripes couldnt rescue him from insubstantiability. Colors, too, would make no difference. Pea-green, yellow, or lavender it was all one. Any old shirt would do. And any old tie!

When he had finished dressing, he didnt find any further excuse for remaining in his room. He couldnt consult his desires as to that. He wasnt asked there to be a hermit. He couldnt imitate Timon of Athens, Diogenes or any other of those wise old fellows who did the glorious solitude act. Diogenes told the truth, mostly, but he could live in a tub. He didnt have to participate in house-parties. Whoever invented house-parties, anyhow? They were such uncomfortable social functions they must have been invented by the English. Why do people want to get together? Bob could sympathize with Diogenes. Also, he could envy Timon his howling wilderness! But personally he couldnt even be a Robinson Crusoe. Would there were no other company than clawless crabs and a goat and a parrot! He would not be afraid to tell them the truth.