The Green Mouse Chapter 8: Part 8

and broke the hammer off short. "Did it 'it you in the 'ead, sir?" he asked, panting. "Exactly," replied the young man, grinding his teeth. Sparks 'oped as 'ow it didn't 'urt the gentleman. The gentleman stanched his wound in terrible silence. Presently Ferdinand came back to report upon the availability of the family plumber. It appeared that all plumbers, locksmiths, and similar indispensable and free-born artisans had closed shop at noon and would not reopen until after New Year's, subject to the Constitution of the United States. "But this gentleman cannot remain here until after New Year's," said Sacharissa. "He says he is in a hurry. Do you hear, Sparks?" The servants stood in a helpless row. "Ferdinand," she said, "Mr. Carr told you to have that elevator fixed before it was used again!" Ferdinand stared wildly at the grille and ran his thumb over the bars. "And Clark"--to her maid--"I am astonished that you permitted this gentleman to risk the elevator." "He was in a hurry--I thought he was a doctor." The maid dissolved into tears. "It is now," broke in the voice from the shaft, "an utter impossibility for me to catch any train in the United States." "I am dreadfully sorry," said Sacharissa. "Isn't there an ax in the house?" The butler mournfully denied it. "Then get the furnace bar." It was fetched; nerve-racking blows rained on the grille; puffing servants applied it as a lever, as a battering-ram, as a club. The house rang like a boiler factory. "I can't stand any more of that!" shouted the young man. "Stop it!" Sacharissa looked about her, hands closing both ears. "Send them away," said the young man, wearily. "If I've got to stay here I want a chance to think." After she had dismissed the servants Sacharissa drew up a chair and seated herself a few feet from the grille. She could see half the car and half the man--plainer, now that she had come nearer. He was a young and rather attractive looking fellow, cheek tied up in his handkerchief, where the head of the hammer had knocked off the skin. "Let me get some witch-hazel," said Sacharissa, rising. "I want to write a telegram first," he said. So she brought some blanks, passed them and a pencil down to him through the grille, and reseated herself. VII THE INVISIBLE WIRE _In Which the Telephone Continues Ringing_ When he had finished writing he sorted out some silver, and handed it and the yellow paper to Sacharissa. "It's dark in here. Would you mind reading it aloud to me to see if I've made it plain?" he asked. "Certainly," said Sacharissa; and she read: MRS. DELANCY COURLAND, Tuxedo. I'm stuck in an idiotic elevator at 1008-1/2 Fifth Avenue. If I don't appear by New Year's you'll know why. Be careful that no reporters get hold of this. KILLIAN VAN K. VANDERDYNK. Sacharissa flushed deeply. "I can't send this," she said. "Why not?" demanded the young man, irritably. "Because, Mr. Vanderdynk, my father, brother-in-law, married sister, and three younger sisters are expected at the Courlands'. Imagine what effect such a telegram would have on them!" "Then cross out the street and number," he said; "just say I'm stuck in a strange elevator." She did so, rang, and a servant took away the telegram. "Now," said the heir apparent to the Prince Regency of Manhattan, "there are two things still" possible. First, you might ring up police headquarters and ask for aid; next, request assistance from fire headquarters." "If I do," she said, "wouldn't the newspapers get hold of it?" "You are perfectly right," he said. She had now drawn her chair so close to the gilded grille that, hands resting upon it, she could look down into the car where sat the scion of the Vanderdynks on a flimsy Louis XV chair. "I can't express to you how sorry I am," she said. "Is there anything I can do to--to ameliorate your imprisonment?" He looked at her in a bewildered way. "You don't expect me to remain here until after New Year's, do you?" he inquired. "I don't see how you can avoid it. Nobody seems to want to work until after New Year's." "Stay in a cage--two days and a night!" "Perhaps I had better call up the police." "No, no! Wait. I'll tell you what to do. Start that man, Ferdinand, on a tour of the city. If he hunts hard enough and long enough he'll find some plumber or locksmith or somebody who'll come." She rang for Ferdinand; together they instructed him, and he went away, promising to bring salvation in some shape. Which promise made the young man more cheerful and smoothed out the worried pucker between Sacharissa's straight brows. "I suppose," she said, "that you will never forgive my maid for this--or me either." He laughed. "After all," he admitted, "it's rather funny." "I don't believe you think it's funny." "Yes, I do." "Didn't you want to go to Tuxedo?" "I!" He looked up at the pretty countenance of Sacharissa. "I _did_ want to--a few minutes ago." "And now that you can't your philosophy teaches you that you _don't_ want to?" They laughed at each other in friendly fashion. "Perhaps it's my philosophy," he said, "but" I really don't care very much.... I'm not sure that I care at all.... In fact, now that I think of it, why should I have wished to go to Tuxedo? It's stupid to want to go to Tuxedo when New York is so attractive." "Do you know," she said reflectively, "that I came to the same conclusion?" "When?" "This morning." "Be-before you--I----" "Oh, yes," she said rather hastily, "before you came----" She broke off, pink with consternation. What a ridiculous thing to say! What on earth was twisting her tongue to hint at such an absurdity? She said, gravely, with heightened color: "I was standing by the window this morning, thinking, and it occurred to me that I didn't care to go to Tuxedo.... When did you change _your_ mind?" "A few minutes a--that is--well, I never _really_ wanted to go. It's jollier in town. Don't you think so? Blue sky, snow--er--and all that?" "Yes," she said, "it is perfectly delightful in town to-day." He assented, then looked discouraged. "Perhaps you would like to go out?" he said. "I? Oh, no.... The sun on the snow is bad for one's eyes; don't you think so?" "Very.... I'm terribly sorry that I'm giving you so much trouble." "I don't mind--really. If only I could do something for you." "You are." "I?" "Yes; you are being exceedingly nice to me. I am afraid you feel under obligations to remain indoors and----" "Truly, I don't. I was not going out." She leaned nearer and looked through the bars: "Are you quite sure you feel comfortable?" "I feel like something in a zoo!" She laughed. "That reminds me," she said, "have you had any luncheon?" He had not, it appeared, after a little polite protestation, so she rang for Sparks. Her own appetite, too, had returned when the tray was brought; napkin and plate were passed through the grille to him, and, as they lunched, he in his cage, she close to the bars, they fell into conversation, exchanging information concerning mutual acquaintances whom they had expected to meet at the Delancy Courlands'. "So you see," she said, "that if I had not changed my mind about going to Tuxedo this morning you would not be here now. Nor I.... And we would never have--lunched together." "That didn't alter things," he said, smiling. "If you hadn't been ill you would have gone to Tuxedo, and I should have seen you there." "Then, whatever I did made no difference," she assented, thoughtfully, "for we were bound to meet, anyway." He remained standing close to the grille, which, as she was seated, brought his head on a level with hers. "It would seem," he said laughingly, "as though we were doomed to meet each other, anyway. It looks like a case of Destiny to me." She started slightly: "What did you say?" "I said that it looks as though Fate intended us to meet, anyhow. Don't you think so?" She remained silent. He added cheerfully: "I never was afraid of Fate." "Would you care for a--a book--or anything?" she asked, aware of a new constraint in her voice. "I don't believe I could see to read in here.... Are you--going?" "I--ought to." Vexed at the feeble senselessness of her reply she found herself walking down the landing, toward nowhere in particular. She turned abruptly and came back. "Do you want a book?" she repeated. "Oh, I forgot that you can't see to read. But perhaps you might care to smoke." "Are you going away?" "I--don't mind your smoking." He lighted a cigarette; she looked at him irresolutely. "You mustn't think of remaining," he said. Whereupon she seated herself. "I suppose I ought to try to amuse you--till Ferdinand returns with a plumber," she said. He protested: "I couldn't think of asking so much from you." "Anyway, it's my duty," she insisted. "I ought." "Why?" "Because you are under my roof--a guest." "Please don't think----" "But I really don't mind! If there is anything I can do to make your imprisonment easier----" "It is easy. I rather like being here." "It is very amiable of you to say so." "I really mean it." "How can you _really_ mean it?" "I don't know, but I do." In their earnestness they had come close to the bars; she stood with both hands resting on the grille, looking in; he in a similar position, looking out. He said: "I feel like an occupant of the Bronx, and it rather astonishes me that you haven't thrown me in a few peanuts." She laughed, fetched her box of chocolates, then began seriously: "If Ferdinand doesn't find anybody I'm afraid you might be obliged to remain to dinner." "That prospect," he said, "is not unpleasant. You know when one becomes accustomed to one's cage it's rather a bore to be let out." They sampled the chocolates, she sitting close to the cage, and as the box would not go through the bars she was obliged to hand them to him, one by one. "I wonder," she mused, "how soon Ferdinand will find a plumber?" He shrugged his shoulders. She bent her adorable head, chose a chocolate and offered it to him. [Illustration: "Are you not terribly impatient?" she inquired] "Are you not terribly impatient?" she inquired. "Not--terribly." Their glances encountered and she said hurriedly: "I am sure you must be perfectly furious with everybody in this house. I--I think it is most amiable of you to behave so