The Cup of Fury Part 23

John Henry got along. Even his _cloppety-clop_ did not waken Miss Webling.

The return of the rattletrap and the racket of filling the tank with the elixir finished her sleep, however. She woke in confusion, finding herself sitting up, dressed, in her little room, with three strange men at work outside.

When the tank was filled, Davidge entered her compartment with a cheery "Good morning," and slammed the door after him. The gasolene, like the breath of a G.o.d, gave life to the dead. The car snarled and jumped, and went roaring across the bridge, up the hill and down another, and down that and up another.

Here they caught, through a frame of leaves, a glimpse of Was.h.i.+ngton in the sunrise, a great congregation of marble temples and trees and sky-colored waters, the shaft of the Monument lighted with the milky radiance of a mountain peak on its upper half, the lower part still dusk with valley shadow, and across the plateau of roofs the solemn Capitol in as mythical a splendor as the stately dome that Kubla Khan decreed in Xanadu.

This sight of Canaan from Pisgah-height was no luxury to the taxi-driver, and he hustled his coffee-grinder till he reached Rosslyn once more, crossed the Potomac's many-tinted stream, and rattled through Georgetown and the shabby, sleeping little shops of M Street into the tree-tunnels of Was.h.i.+ngton.

He paused to say, "Where do we go from here?"

Davidge and Marie Louise looked their chagrin. They still had no place to go.

"To the Pennsylvania Station," said Davidge. "We can at least get breakfast there."

The streets of Was.h.i.+ngton are never so beautiful as at this still hour when nothing stirs but the wind in the trees and the gra.s.s on the lawns, and hardly anybody is abroad except the generals on their bronze horses fronting their old battles with heroic eyes. The station outside was something Olympic but unfrequented. Inside, it was a vast cathedral of untenanted pews.

Davidge paid the driver a duke's ransom. There was no porter about, and he carried Marie Louise's suit-cases to the parcel-room. Her baggage had had a long journey. She retreated to the women's room for what toilet she could make, and came forth with a very much washed face. Somnambulistic negroes took their orders at the lunch-counter.

Marie Louise had weakly decided to return to New York again, but the hot coffee was full of defiance, and she said that she would make another try at Mrs. Widdicombe as soon as a human hour arrived.

And she showed a tactfulness that won much respect from Davidge when she said:

"Do get your morning paper and read it. I'm sure I have nothing to say that I haven't said, and if I had, it could wait till you find out how the battle goes in Europe."

He bought her a paper, too, and they sat on a long bench, exchanging comments on the news that made almost every front page a chapter in world history.

She heard him groan with rage. When she looked up he pointed to the submarine record of that week.

"Last week the losses took a horrible jump--forty s.h.i.+ps of over sixteen hundred tons. This week it's almost as bad--thirty-eight s.h.i.+ps of over sixteen hundred, thirteen s.h.i.+ps under, and eight fis.h.i.+ng-vessels. Think of it--all of 'em merchant-s.h.i.+ps!

"Pretty soon I've got to send my s.h.i.+p out to run the gantlet. She's like Little Red Riding Hood going through the forest to take old Granny Britain some food. And the wolves are waiting for her. What a race of people, what a pack of beasts!"

Marie Louise had an idea. "I'll tell you a pretty name for your s.h.i.+p--_Little Red Riding Hood_. Why don't you give her that?"

He laughed. "The name would be heavier than the cargo. I wonder what the crew would make of it. No, this s.h.i.+p, my first one, is to be named after"--he lowered his voice as one does on entering a church--"after my mother."

"Oh, that's beautiful!" Marie Louise said. "And will she be there to christen-- Oh, I remember, you said--"

He nodded three or four times in wretchedness. But the grief was his own, and he must not exploit it. He a.s.sumed an abrupt cheer.

"I'll name the next s.h.i.+p after you, if you don't mind."

This was too glorious to be believed. What bouquet or jewel could equal it? She clapped her hands like a child hearing a Christmas promise.

"What is your first name, Miss Webling?"

She suddenly realized that they were not, after all, such old friends as the night had seemed to make them.

"My first two names," she said, "are Marie Louise."

"Oh! Well, then we'll call the s.h.i.+p _Marie Louise_."

She saw that he was a little disappointed in the name, so she said:

"When I was a girl they called me Mamise."

She was puzzled to see how this startled him.

He jumped audibly and fastened a searching gaze on her. Mamise! He had thought of Mamise when he saw her, and now she gave the name. Could she possibly be the Mamise he remembered? He started to ask her, but checked himself and blushed. A fine thing it would be to ask this splendid young princess, "Pardon me, Princess, but were you playing in cheap vaudeville a few years ago?" It was an improbable coincidence that he should meet her thus, but an almost impossible coincidence that she should wear both the name and the mien of Mamise and not be Mamise. But he dared not ask her.

She noted his blush and stammer, but she was afraid to ask their cause.

"_Mamise_ it shall be," he said.

And she answered, "I was never so honored in my life."

"Of course," he warned her, "the boat isn't built yet. In fact, the new yard isn't built yet. There's many a slip 'twixt the keel and the s.h.i.+p. She might never live to be launched. Some of these sneaking loafers on our side may blow her up before the submarines get a chance at her."

There he was, speaking of submarines once more! She s.h.i.+vered, and she looked at the clock and got up and said:

"I think I'll try Mrs. Widdicombe now."

"Let me go along," said Davidge.

But she shook her head. "I've taken enough of your life--for the present."

Trying to concoct a felicitous reply, he achieved only an eloquent silence. He put her and her luggage aboard a taxicab, and then she gave him her most cordial hand.

"I could never hope to thank you enough," she said, "and I won't begin to try. Send me your address when you have one, and I'll mail you Mrs.

Widdicombe's confidential telephone number. I do want to see you soon again, unless you've had enough of me for a lifetime."

He did very handsomely by the lead she gave him:

"I couldn't have enough--not in a lifetime."

The taxi-driver snipped the strands of their gaze as he whisked her away.

Marie Louise felt a forenoon elation in the cool air and the bright streets, thick with men and women in herds hurrying to their patriotic tasks, and a mult.i.tude of officers and enlisted men seeking their desks. She was here to join them, and she hoped that it would not be too hard to find some job with a little thrill of service in it.

As she went through Georgetown now M Street was different--full of marketers and of briskness. The old bridge was crowded. As her car swooped up the hills and skirted the curves to Polly Widdicombe's she began to be afraid again. But she was committed to the adventure and she was eager for the worst of it. She found the house without trouble and saw in the white grove of columns Polly herself, bidding good-by to her husband, whose car was waiting at the foot of the steps.

Polly hailed Marie Louise with cries of such delight that before the cab had made the circle and drawn up at the steps the hunted look was gone and youth come back to Marie Louise's anxious smile. Polly kissed her and presented her husband, pointing to the gold leaves on his shoulders with militaristic pride.

Widdicombe blushed and said: "Fearless desk-fighter has to hurry off to battle with ruthless stenographers. Such are the horrors of war!"

He insisted on paying Marie Louise's driver, though she said, "Women will never be free so long as men insist on paying all their bills."

Polly said: "Hush, or the brute will set me free!"