“Now this,” said the jeweller, “I could do at eight hundred and fifty dollars.”
“Grab it!” murmured Mr. van Tuyl.
The jeweller eyed him approvingly, a man after his own heart; but Archie looked doubtful. It was all very well for Reggie to tell him to grab it in that careless way. Reggie was a dashed millionaire, and no doubt bought bracelets by the pound or the gross or what not; but he himself was in an entirely different position.
“Eight hundred and fifty dollars!” he said, hesitating.
“Worth it,” mumbled Reggie van Tuyl.
“More than worth it,” amended the jeweller. “I can assure you that it is better value than you could get anywhere on Fifth Avenue.”
“Yes?” said Archie. He took the bracelet and twiddled it thoughtfully. “Well, my dear old jeweller, one can’t say fairer than that, can one–or two, as the case may be!” He frowned. “Oh, well, all right! But it’s rummy that women are so fearfully keen on these little thingummies, isn’t it? I mean to say, can’t see what they see in them. Stones, and all that. Still, there, it is, of course!”
“There,” said the jeweller, “as you say, it is, sir.”
“Yes, there it is!”
“Yes, there it is,” said the jeweller, “fortunately for people in my line of business. Will you take it with you, sir?”
Archie reflected.
“No. No, not take it with me. The fact is, you know, my wife’s coming back from the country to-night, and it’s her birthday to- morrow, and the thing’s for her, and, if it was popping about the place to-night, she might see it, and it would sort of spoil the surprise. I mean to say, she doesn’t know I’m giving it her, and all that!”
“Besides,” said Reggie, achieving a certain animation now that the tedious business interview was concluded, “going to the ball-game this afternoon–might get pocket picked–yes, better have it sent.”
“Where shall I send it, sir?”
“Eh? Oh, shoot it along to Mrs. Archibald Moffam, at the Cosmopolis. Not to-day, you know. Buzz it in first thing to-morrow.”
Having completed the satisfactory deal, the jeweller threw off the business manner and became chatty.
“So you are going to the ball-game? It should be an interesting contest.”
Reggie van Tuyl, now–by his own standards–completely awake, took exception to this remark.
“Not a bit of it!” he said, decidedly. “No contest! Can’t call it a contest! Walkover for the Pirates!”
Archie was stung to the quick. There is that about baseball which arouses enthusiasm and the partisan spirit in the unlikeliest bosoms. It is almost impossible for a man to live in America and not become gripped by the game; and Archie had long been one of its warmest adherents. He was a whole-hearted supporter of the Giants, and his only grievance against Reggie, in other respects an estimable young man, was that the latter, whose money had been inherited from steel-mills in that city, had an absurd regard for the Pirates of Pittsburg.
“What absolute bally rot!” he exclaimed. “Look what the Giants did to them yesterday!”
“Yesterday isn’t to-day,” said Reggie.
“No, it’ll be a jolly sight worse,” said Archie. “Looney Biddle’ll be pitching for the Giants to-day.”
“That’s just what I mean. The Pirates have got him rattled. Look what happened last time.”
Archie understood, and his generous nature chafed at the innuendo. Looney Biddle–so-called by an affectionately admiring public as the result of certain marked eccentricities–was beyond dispute the greatest left-handed pitcher New York had possessed in the last decade. But there was one blot on Mr. Biddle’s otherwise stainless scutcheon. Five weeks before, on the occasion of the Giants’ invasion of Pittsburg, he had gone mysteriously to pieces. Few native-born partisans, brought up to baseball from the cradle, had been plunged into a profounder gloom on that occasion than Archie; but his soul revolted at the thought that that sort of thing could ever happen again.
“I’m not saying,” continued Reggie, “that Biddle isn’t a very fair pitcher, but it’s cruel to send him against the Pirates, and somebody ought to stop it. His best friends should interfere. Once a team gets a pitcher rattled, he’s never any good against them again. He loses his nerve.”