“A lie that everybody is watching Griselda and me. I’ve been giving her a mild buzz, of course. Got to pass the time somehow. But nobody’s been talking about it.”
“I don’t know,” said Hector.
“Of course you don’t know. Nobody’s been talking and nobody cares. You’re lying, Cobbler.”
“Nobody says that with impunity to a Fellow of the Royal College of Organists,” said Humphrey. “Floreat Vox Humana!”
“And exactly what do you intend to do about it?”
“Nothing at present. But I’ll embarrass you some time in public, and make you sorry.”
“I never heard such nonsense in my life,” said Solly. “I couldn’t be less interested in Griselda Webster. I’ve known her, man and boy, for years. She has a heart like an artichoke; one man pulls off a leaf, dips it in melted butter, and consumes it with relish; another does the same. Anybody can have a leaf, but nobody gets them all, and nobody touches the core. I’ve had a leaf or two; why should I grudge Tasset his turn?”
“Perhaps that’s the way you talk about women in the universities,” said Roger. “In the Army we’re a little more particular.”
“In the great shrines of humanism we don’t need arbitrary rules to keep our manners in order,” said Solly, bowing rather drunkenly over his glass.
“Come, come, gentlemen,” said Cobbler. “Don’t go all grand on us. You must admit, whatever you say about Miss Webster’s character, that she is an unusually personable young woman.”
“Handsome is as handsome does,” said Solly owlishly. “Griselda is attractive—damnably attractive. But it’s all on the surface. If I may so express it, she is like a fraudulent bank which advertises a capital of several millions, and has perhaps five hundred dollars in actual cash. She is lovely; I repeat it, lovely. Because I am peculiarly sensitive to beauty I admit to a certain tenderness for her on that account; but her heart is cold and empty.”
“Horse feathers,” said Roger, with heat. “She’s just a kid—a damned nice kid. She has to be taught what life’s all about, and what love is; just because you couldn’t get to first base with her you say her heart is cold and empty. I know better.”
“Ah, I knew that we could rely upon you, Lieutenant,” said Cobbler. “Our host is a man of theory, you, a man of action. From your remarks I deduce that you have already bruised the teats of her virginity?”
This was greeted with a moment of silence. Then—
“What the hell do you mean by that?” demanded Roger.
“Three guesses,” said Humphrey, smiling. “It is a rather delicate phrase from the Prophet Ezekiel—one of the nicer-minded prophets. In my capacity as an organist I hear a lot of Scripture; it’s an education in itself.”
“Listen, Cobbler,” said Roger, “I’ve lived a rough life—a soldier’s life—but I have no use for raw language, particularly when applied to women. Just be careful, will you?”
“But I was careful,” said Humphrey, smiling; “I could have put it plainly, but I chose a Biblical phrase to suit the solemnity of the occasion. And from what I know of your past history, Lieutenant, your objection to raw language has never stood in the way of your fondness for what fussy people might consider raw conduct.”
“I’ve been around,” said Roger; “and I’ve known a lot of girls.”
“It was said of that great and good monarch Henry VIII,” said Cobbler, “that his eye lighted upon few women whom he did not desire, and he desired few whom he did not enjoy. Would you consider that a fair description of yourself?”
“I don’t say that I haven’t taken my pleasure where I found it,” said Roger, “but it was usually a fifty-fifty deal. Girls don’t get laid against their will. But don’t get any wrong ideas about Griselda. She’s different.”
“Aha, then you are in love!” cried Humphrey. “There is nothing men like so much as generalizing about women; all women are alike, except the one they love. She is the exception to all rules. And there is no lover so pure and holy in his adoration as a reformed voluptuary. You love her, Tasset!”
“Very well then, I love her. I’m man enough to admit it,” said Roger and was startled and somewhat alarmed to hear himself.
“Spoken like a man!” cried Humphrey.
“I don’t believe you,” said Solly, heatedly. “Just a few minutes ago you described your attentions to her as a mild buzz.”
“Well, did you expect me to blab out my private feelings?” said Roger.
“That’s what you’ve just pretended to do,” said Solly, “but I don’t believe you love her. How could you love her? You haven’t got it in you to love anybody. The only thing that a crass, ill-conditioned yahoo like you could want with a girl like Griselda is-is-is her body.” He finished weakly, for he had wanted a strong word, and could not immediately think of one which was not also too coarse for the occasion. “You just want to seduce her,” he said, and sat back in his chair looking hot and rumpled and somewhat wet about the eyes.
Roger stood up. “By God, Bridgetower, there are some things I won’t stand,” said he. “Get up on your feet.”
So it was to be a fight! Solly was no fighter, but he did not lack courage; he would let Tasset hammer him to a pulp before he would take back a word of what he had said. He stood up, throwing off his coat as he did so, and confronted Roger. Humphrey Cobbler skipped nimbly behind a table, and Hector, his heart in his mouth, followed him.
The ceiling was low, and dipped at the corners of the room, for it took the shape of the roof of the house; the light was bad, for it came from a single lamp which threw a patch of brilliance on the ceiling and a poor light everywhere else. There was a small rug on the slippery floor, and a good deal of furniture everywhere. It was not an ideal battleground.
Roger was in good condition, and knew how to box. But when he took a boxing posture he found that Solly had placed himself just out of reach, and was holding his fists at waist level, and clearly intended to do nothing. Who was to strike the first blow?
They might have stood glaring at one another until good sense took hold of them if Solly had not been so frightened. But he was convinced that Roger would do him desperate harm—might indeed kill him—and he was determined to make one gesture, one final Heine-like act of defiance, before the slaughter began. So he drew up his lip in a sneer, and laughed in Roger’s face.
This had the desired effect. Roger stepped lightly toward him, and hit him on the nose, twice in the ribs and once on the jaw, with such speed that it seemed to Solly that the blows all landed at once. But with a great effort he struck at Roger’s diaphragm, having some dim notion that a blow there would be very telling. The treacherous rug slipped, and as he fell he jerked up his head and struck his adversary under the chin with it, causing Roger to bite his tongue painfully. They fell to the ground with a crash, and lay there, moaning from their injuries.
As the noise subsided a sound from below made itself heard; it was not loud, but it was persistent; it was the tapping of a stick.
“Oh God,” said Solly, getting up; “it’s Mother.” He hurried to the door. “It’s all right, Mother,” he called; “something fell down; nothing wrong.” And then, foolishly inspired, he added, “I hope we didn’t wake you?”
His mother’s voice came tremulously up the stairs. “Oh, lovey, I’m so frightened. I thought the whole roof was coming down.”
“No, no, Mother; no trouble at all. You’d better go back to bed.”
Even more tremulously came the reply. “I can’t; I’m on the sofa in the hall. I feel so weak. I think I need one of my white tablets.”
“I’ll have to go to her,” said Solly.
“Better clean the blood off your face, first,” said Humphrey.
It was Hector who acted. He dipped his handkerchief in the cold water in the bottom of the bowl which held ice for the drinks, and cleaned away the jammy ooze which had gathered under Solly’s nostrils.