“My father is an English earl!”
The crowd fell back aghast-aghast at the sublimity of the young loafer’s
“cheek.” Then they burst into a laugh that made the windows rattle.
Tracy was too angry to realize that he had done a foolish thing. He
said:
“Stand aside, please. I–”
“Wait a minute, your lordship,” said Marsh, bowing low, “where is your
lordship going?”
“For the cablegram. Let me pass.”
“Excuse me, your lordship, you’ll stay right where you are.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that I didn’t begin to keep boarding-house yesterday. It means
that I am not the kind that can be taken in by every hack-driver’s son
that comes loafing over here because he can’t bum a living at home. It
means that you can’t skip out on any such–”
Tracy made a step toward the old man, but Mrs. Marsh sprang between, and
said:
“Don’t, Mr. Tracy, please.” She turned to her husband and said, “Do
bridle your tongue. What has he done to be treated so? Can’t you see he
has lost his mind, with trouble and distress? He’s not responsible.”
“Thank your kind heart, madam, but I’ve not lost my mind; and if I can
have the mere privilege of stepping to the telegraph office–”
“Well, you can’t,” cried Marsh.
“–or sending–”
“Sending! That beats everything. If there’s anybody that’s fool enough
to go on such a chuckle-headed errand–”
“Here comes Mr. Barrow–he will go for me. Barrow–”
A brisk fire of exclamations broke out–
“Say, Barrow, he’s expecting a cablegram!”
“Cablegram from his father, you know!”
“Yes–cablegram from the wax-figger!”
“And say, Barrow, this fellow’s an earl–take off your hat, pull down
your vest!”
“Yes, he’s come off and forgot his crown, that he wears Sundays. He’s
cabled over to his pappy to send it.”
“You step out and get that cablegram, Barrow; his majesty’s a little lame
to-day.”
“Oh stop,” cried Barrow; “give the man a chance.” He turned, and said
with some severity, “Tracy, what’s the matter with you? What kind of
foolishness is this you’ve been talking. You ought to have more sense.”
“I’ve not been talking foolishness; and if you’ll go to the telegraph
office–”
“Oh; don’t talk so. I’m your friend in trouble and out of it, before
your face and behind your back, for anything in reason; but you’ve lost
your head, you see, and this moonshine about a cablegram–”
“I’ll go there and ask for it!”
“Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Brady. Here, I’ll give you a
Written order for it. Fly, now, and fetch it. We’ll soon see!”
Brady flew. Immediately the sort of quiet began to steal over the crowd
which means dawning doubt, misgiving; and might be translated into the
words, “Maybe he is expecting a cablegram–maybe he has got a father
somewhere–maybe we’ve been just a little too fresh, just a shade too
‘previous’!”
Loud talk ceased; then the mutterings and low murmurings and whisperings
died out. The crowd began to crumble apart. By ones and twos the
fragments drifted to the breakfast table. Barrow tried to bring Tracy
in; but he said:
“Not yet, Barrow-presently.”
Mrs. Marsh and Hattie tried, offering gentle and kindly persuasions; but
he said;
“I would rather wait-till he comes.”
Even old Marsh began to have suspicions that maybe he had been a trifle
too “brash,” as he called it in the privacy of his soul, and he pulled
himself together and started toward Tracy with invitation in his eyes;
but Tracy warned him off with a gesture which was quite positive and
eloquent. Then followed the stillest quarter of an hour which had ever
been known in that house at that time of day. It was so still, and so
solemn withal, that when somebody’s cup slipped from his fingers and
landed in his plate the shock made people start, and the sharp sound
seemed as indecorous there and as out of place as if a coffin and
mourners were imminent and being waited for. And at last when Brady’s
feet came clattering down the stairs the sacrilege seemed unbearable.
Everybody rose softly and turned toward the door, where stood Tracy;
then with a common impulse, moved a step or two in that direction, and