Edgar Saltus: The Man Part 18

"No white woman should have married you," I exploded, "and I have only myself to blame with two sad examples to warn me. Good-night."

It was no rare treat to appear at a dinner of celebrities after the guests were seated, minus the star who was my sole reason for being included, and take it as if I were lapping up cream. To be casual was no joke. I entered with the remark, that, being an a.s.semblage of egos answering to the cla.s.sification genius, they alone could appreciate the temperamental spells of unknown origin afflicting the species--and be tolerant to a fellow in crime. To sit down and pretend to enjoy it topped the treat.

A fortnight later saw us at the Granville Hotel, Ramsgate, for the week end. As he had been there less frequently than myself, and knew fewer people, some one referred to Mr. Saltus as "Mrs. Saltus' husband." That amused him enormously.

"They have me in my proper place here," he exclaimed. "They know I am a subordinate ent.i.ty."

A greater surprise was, however, awaiting him when a child on the sand called out:--

"Look,--there is Toto's Papa!"

That sent Mr. Saltus into a fit of laughter. He always enjoyed a joke on himself so much. The sea air which is supposed to induce sleep was our reason for going to Ramsgate, but even sea air handicapped by the noise of slamming doors and loud talking in the halls, seemed useless. I complained of this before going to my room, and Mr. Saltus said that he would speak to the manager of the hotel and see what could be done about it.

The following morning, upon going out with the dog, I almost fell over Mr.

Saltus. He had sat on a chair with his back against my door all night in order to urge those who pa.s.sed to be quiet. That offset the incident of the burglar and the dinner with interest, yet he did not feel that he had done anything exceptional. He was himself,--that was all. The latent sweetness and unselfishness in his character developed along lines uniquely his own.

He was an ent.i.ty who could not be taken apart and a.n.a.lyzed. He had to be accepted as a whole or not at all. He had his weaknesses,--they were near the surface and but imperfectly concealed. He had also a n.o.bility, a fineness and a greatness of soul I have never seen equalled by any human, at any time, anywhere.

A day or two later the world was shaken by the word _WAR_. Rumours of it had been in the air for some time,--not a world war to be sure, but a civil one in Ireland. Leading Home Rule members of Parliament had been in nightly conference with the Prime Minister, and from what our friend "Tay Pay" had let drop, we antic.i.p.ated anything but what eventuated. No one in unprepared England dreamed of war. The idea was too bizarre, too theatrical to be true. Everyone was talking about it, but no one really believed it possible, except perhaps those few who, having an extension of consciousness, could penetrate the veil of the seeming of things.

Mr. Saltus with myself was in a cinema, when, during an interval between pictures, there was flashed upon the screen the message, "Great Britain sends ultimatum to Germany." The audience, spell-bound at first and silent, let out an enthusiastic "Hurrah!" Mr. Saltus gripped me by the arm and whispered:--

"If this is true it means not only a world war but the breaking up of our home here, and my return to the States, for it may last for years, and no one knows how the stock market may jump and whether ruin camps on the door-step." (What little Mr. Saltus had was in stocks and bonds.)

British as he was in sympathy and inclination--wis.h.i.+ng, as he had said many times, that karma would bring him back next life as an English country gentleman,--Mr. Saltus threw himself into the spirit of what followed, in a way that no one could have foreseen. Countermanding the orders given the maid never go to his room unless the house was on fire, he told her to bring the morning papers at whatever hour they were delivered, which was usually before seven, and thereafter during the day to take up all the extras she could secure. "Floraline Schopenhauer" was put aside, and a sonnet, "Caligula Germanicus," was the immediate result.

The summer advanced, and so did the march toward Paris. Then, in common with all Americans in England, he began to rage against the United States and its apparent apathy. His inability to do anything was irksome. To stand on the balcony giving off of our drawing-room and watch the first raw recruits march past, made it difficult for him to restrain himself. With a Union Jack fastened to Toto's collar he would go out for his usual walk in Kensington Gardens, and come back raging at his uselessness. Backed by a wife proud of her British ancestry and growing more and more indignant each day at the United States Government, Mr. Saltus finally decided to become a naturalized British subject. Incidentally, this was what Henry James did a little later on. That he did not take out these papers (which, had it been done, would have saved me a series of unpleasant incidents) was owing to the fact that such small possessions as he had were in the United States, and that, writing for the magazines and newspapers published in New York, he was dependent on the good-will of the American public. It was taking a chance to swap countries during a war. A blacklisting of his work was within the possibilities.

At the beginning of the war people were seen in restaurants and theatres a great deal. The slogan "Business as usual" meant the keeping alive of their morale. That phase of it pa.s.sed Mr. Saltus unnoticed. Not half a dozen times during his life in London did he go out of an evening. They were all alike, prefaced by a short walk to give our dog some exercise, followed by an hour or two of studying the Quabala. Such a life would have been not only deadly to the normal woman, but would have sent her rus.h.i.+ng to Reno.

So seldom was Mr. Saltus asked by me to go anywhere, and so certain was he that if asked it would be worth while, that he never questioned where I was taking him. Like the little boy who when he was good was very good indeed and when he was bad was horrid, Mr. Saltus took the hurdle from one to the other at intervals. It was about seven to five, the balance, however, being in his favour.

Among his mental twists was a very p.r.o.nounced one. Willing enough to entertain now and again provided the people were interesting, he was unalterably opposed to having anyone, no matter who, sleep under our roof for even a single night. Strangers irritated him, and friends if they remained too long did so as well. One incident shows how embarra.s.sing it could become at times.

Among my friends was a beautiful and talented girl, Miss H----, who lived in the country, and for whom Mr. Saltus had expressed much admiration. She came up to London one afternoon. It was in the early days of the war, when hotels and boarding-houses were packed with Americans waiting to sail for home. In these circ.u.mstances she could find no place to stop; and, knowing we had a maisonette of some size, she called me on the telephone and asked if I could put her up for the night, suggesting very considerately that she would occupy the chesterfield in the drawing-room on the floor below our sleeping rooms. Well acquainted with Mr. Saltus' peculiarities, I would have invented an excuse, but his admiration for her had been so often expressed that I believed she would prove the exception, so, deciding to chance it, I told her to come. Upon his return from a walk I told him what had occurred. The clouds gathered. Didn't I know that no one, princess or queen, would be welcome to stay over a night? His house was his castle. To everyone else he had to be Edgar Saltus, the author. With me only could he be Snippsy and take his comfort. Argument sent him into a rage. Told at last that she positively must come, he ran upstairs and packed his suitcases.

"If she comes I go to a hotel."

"That is impossible," I told him. "She would have gone to one herself if she could have secured a room anywhere. The poor girl only asks to sleep down stairs in the drawing-room."

"If I can't get a room I'll sleep on a park bench or the ground. It's summer and it won't kill me. The men at the front have much worse."

There was no bluff about it.

"Call her up," he urged, "and tell her I am a lunatic whose worst mania is killing people in their sleep."

"It's likely that she would believe a tale that wagged like that, and she would hate you forever afterward."

"What the devil do I care?" he screamed. "Let her hate all she likes provided she stays away."

"Call her yourself," I said, "and tell her so. It's your funeral, not mine."

Straight to the telephone he went and did so, not in the language he had used to me. It was apologetic and diplomatic in the extreme, but it let her know very definitely that she could not come. She did not come, and she never darkened our door again; and there is very little doubt in my mind but that she regarded me as the culprit and Mr. Saltus as the scapegoat forced to do an unpardonable act. She probably concluded upon thinking it over that I looked upon her as more dangerous than the woman with the sack she had heard us joke about, and that I was afraid she might carry him off more effectually.

I had let Mr. Saltus turn himself out of the house when we were in Los Angeles because a principle was involved and the life of a defenceless animal jeopardized. There was no question of that in this case, for humans speak or shriek their need; besides, Miss H---- was a very charming girl and had other acquaintances in London.

So Mr. Saltus slept in peace under his own roof and the chapter was closed.

CHAPTER XIV

On the heels of this episode was one of another character. Among Mr.

Saltus' many charming qualities was an especially endearing one. With persons he loved, the pa.s.sing of years seemed to leave no trace whatever, and he could see no difference in their personal appearance. In his eyes, until the hour of his death, I remained the fragile and impertinent child to whom he had stretched out his hand on the sands of Narragansett Pier,--a helpless and impractical creature in a world of scheming scoundrels.

In his eyes I had not a fault. It was not that he was in ignorance of my limitations and undesirable qualities; these he saw with clarity, but he believed that every virtue had its negative aspect as well,--the defects of its qualities, as he expressed it,--and to divert or eliminate these was to impair the desirable attributes behind them. In consequence any shortcomings of mine were regarded as indications only of the most superlative virtues, and not to be tampered with. No woman could ask more of a man than to accept her limitations and incapacities as evidences of her extraordinary worth. This hallucination was a pleasing one, but it had its negative side as well. Nothing could convince Mr. Saltus that every male creature was not laying plans to entice me away from him. The fact that for long periods at a time I was not only ill, but looked too frail to attract anything more than sympathy, counted for nothing. The fact that the majority of men could not run fast enough from a woman possessing my defects was unconvincing to him. Over and over he was told that the qualities which attracted him would antagonize the average man from the start. He was still convinced that I was a fragile and unsuspecting child in a world of vultures and demons. It must be said, however, that Mr.

Saltus was too much of a philosopher ever to ask me to do or to omit anything. My freedom of action was limitless and his trust absolute, and he never questioned any of my actions except as a joke.

Among our acquaintances was a Turkish diplomat, T---- Bey. Occasionally, as is the custom in England, I had tea with him or he with us, and now and again I went with him for a walk in the Gardens. The fact that he looked enough like Mr. Saltus to be a twin brother had first called him to my attention. He was perhaps ten years younger, but they looked about of an age.

Besides the fat woman and the elemental, there was another joke we had rehea.r.s.ed for years. It was as follows, and leads directly to the incident concerning T---- Bey.

"If you had not been such a black devil I would not have fancied you," I used to tell him.

"I'm not a black devil. I'm a good little slavey."

"No,--you're a little dark E" (making a pun on his name), "and your complexion is your stock in trade."

"I thought it was my wheedling ways?"

"No, indeed! And if I ever disappear, look about for a man a shade or two darker than yourself and miaw around the neighborhood."

"Any man darker than I will have a touch of the tar brush."

"Perhaps you have a bit yourself. Remember, an ancestress of yours came from Port Royal, Jamaica. I have often suspected the worst."

This joking always amused him so much that when en route to Africa the year before I had written him saying that it was with delightful antic.i.p.ations I neared the home of his ancestors. That letter brought the query, "Which, monkeys or blacks?" To which I replied that they would be "high monkey-monks of some kind."

Much as he enjoyed this chaffing with me, T---- Bey stuck somewhat in his throat when I joked about him. Accustomed to his habit of non-interference--for, as he remarked, "Dogs can be trained, but cats have to have their own way in everything"--I was amazed when he said:--

"If you don't mind, and can see your way to it, I would rather you did not go alone to restaurants with T---- Bey."

"Of course not if you prefer," was my immediate reply. It was a trivial matter, too unimportant for discussion. An hour later, however, when going into the Ritz for tea with some friends from the country, I found T---- Bey was included. That was quite all right. What was not so was the fact, that while tea was being served an urgent telephone call made it necessary for my friends to leave at once. T---- Bey and I were left alone having our tea together. To get up and go, no matter what the excuse, would have been an insult. There was nothing to do but to remain and explain the circ.u.mstances afterward to Mr. Saltus. That explanation was never given or asked. As we were finis.h.i.+ng our tea Mr. Saltus walked into the room, saw us, and coming forward smiling with outstretched hand asked if he might join us. This he did, chatting all the time as delightfully as he could. Being asked by T---- Bey if he knew I was in the Ritz, he answered lightly, but with an underlying meaning:--

"My _intuitions_ about Mrs. Saltus are uncanny. If she has as much as a headache I know it. If she is perplexed I feel it, and if she is vexed with me without giving a sign of it, her vibrations tear me to pieces and I cannot endure it."

On the way home I started to tell him how it had all come about, but he stopped me short.