Captains and The Kings (26 page)

graceful military officers in exquisitely tailored uniforms, and full of courtliness and gallantry, chattering like actors, their gilt buttons sparkling. They wore swords, and their legs were perfect in their tapered pantaloons and their pointed boots dazzled the eye, and their epaulets were brave on wide shoulders. They looked suddenly irritated when Mr. Montrose, with murmured apologies, glided through their ranks, but a glance at his face impelled them instinctively to allow him a passage. Joseph followed him deftly and he thought, That is authority. Yet, it was something else, also. It was intangible breeding; it was an absent hauteur as if those men and officers were inferiors. Many looked after him in curiosity, wonder, or resentment, and the ladies gazed on him with interest and whispered among themselves, "So distinguished! Who is he?" Some straightened bonnets or adjusted ribbons under soft round chins. "At least a diplomat, a person of consequence," one said. Joseph and Mr. Montrose heard and Mr. Montrose glanced at him with a silent laugh, as if at a ludicrous joke, and then he turned and bowed elaborately to the young lady, who blushed with pleasure and tittered, while her gallant scowled. For the first time, to his dismayed surprise, Joseph found himself liking Mr. Montrose, the man from nowhere, the chivalrous blackguard and gambler, the man without family or home or kindred, the man whom many would consider a criminal. They entered the lobby and Joseph felt himself immediately inundated by an enormous redness and at once the air, to his senses at least, was far hotter and more overwhelming than on the avenue. The walls were of dark mahogany and red satin damask under a domed ceiling of gilded wood. The carpet was scarlet, the great chairs of mahogany were cushioned in the same color. Those monster tables were surely created for giants and not men, and they overflowed with spring flowers and masses of ferns and vases; they were intricately carved with bowed legs and gilded clawed feet. All the huge portraits on the walls showed men or women dressed in various shades of red, with glowing backgrounds which suggested fire. Between them were sconces of polished and gilded bronze holding tall white candles. Here and there stood sofas fit for Goliath, covered in crimson silk. The eight mighty chandeliers, dripping crystals and faceted balls of glimmering light, dropped from the ceiling and each could have lighted a ballroom alone. Here they appeared of only ordinary size. At the end of the lobby moved three caged elevators of gilded bronze, and five men in ruffled shirts and the finest of black broadcloth and the most discreet of jewelry waited behind a desk with a dignified subservience to receive guests. Their mustaches were waxed to a glitter; their eyes saw everything and missed nothing. The lobby was one movement of men and women coming and going, laughing and talking, greeting and saying farewell. There was such an air of festival here that Joseph wondered if there was a holiday in progress peculiar to New York alone. Then he remembered that this was the joyful air of war prosperity, despite the shortages of goods and food, and the new income tax which Washington had desperately imposed to pay for the conflict. From behind some gilded screens came the soft singing of violins and a piano, unobtrusive but adding their own sweet comment to the happiness and gaiety here, the air of well-being and riches and importance and excitement. All the ladies were beautifully and expensively dressed, their silk hoops draped with contrasting colors, and beaded and embroidered, their mantles bordered with gold or silver ornamentations, their ears and necks jeweled, their parasols of many bright colors, and all were scented so that the lobby seemed to be one hot flower garden blowing in full sun. Young or not so young, every face was beautiful and ever)' woman, apparently, tried to resemble a soubrette. Their gestures were pretty and animated, their voices like birds. Their fans fluttered; embroidered reticules swayed on their gloved wrists. There was not a sad or anxious countenance among them. Their gentlemen were equally splendid and as marvelously arrayed and dashing, and when they were not speaking they were laughing or bowing to some lady or displaying a handsome leg in tight pantaloons. Joseph had never seen such vivacity and joyousness, and though he had read of these in connection with lavish balls he decided that the reality was far more vivid than any written word or painting. The florid hue of everything and the colors on the ladies made him feel dizzy and overheated, and the babble was too close and intrusive. As if the lobby were empty Mr. Montrose moved smoothly to the desk inhere at least two of the gentlemen recognized him at once, and bowed. 'fje said, "Mr. Francis, my associate, is with me, gentlemen, and I will Have the customary suite." One man produced a thick book and wrote in ft swiftly, nodding his head with respect at Joseph. Behind them stood two men in the yellow uniforms which Joseph had seen outside, holding their faggage. They entered one of the gilded caged and grilled elevators, and the operator pulled on his rope easily and they ascended. "How do you like jilt; Mr. Francis?" asked Mr. Montrose. Joseph considered. He looked down Ithrough the grill at the red falling lobby and its many-colored and milling I inhabitants. "I don't think I do," he said. "Mr. Healey holds it in high regard," said Mr. Montrose, and smiled a Uittle. "War time is no longer grim," said Joseph. "It never was and never is, except for those who fight the wars, pay for jithem, die in them, and lose all in them," Mr. Montrose remarked. "But they, certainly, are of no importance." General Grant's Army was entering Mississippi for the siege of Vicksturg, and every step was being bloodily contested. Thousands were being slaughtered in the scarlet lightning of cannon and in the deathly fog, and Ififles were obliterating young life and towns were burning and fields, jgreening and burgeoning just hours before, were black and trampled, and Irich forests were smoking under the smiling sky. But those below in the ^disappearing lobby, all red and crystal and carved wood and gilt, cared othing for this. In spite of himself Joseph felt cold bitterness and even hatred for those who joyfully profited from wars, and then he was derisive nth himself. These, at least, were sensible and pragmatic. The two men and their two escorts with the luggage left the elevator at the fourth floor, and they walked down a corridor paved with red Itarpeting and bounded by walls of polished mahogany. One carved door [was unlocked and flung open. Mr. Montrose was about to enter when an I Army officer, apparently in haste, suddenly left the room opposite and 1 Collided with the small caravan in his way. He was a short youngish man I with a full clean-shaven and pugnacious face and eyes of a darting and [ttstless intelligence, and of a peculiar sharp and piercing blue. He halted and bowed to Mr. Montrose. "My abject apologies, sir," he IlBid. "Accepted, sir," said Mr. Montrose with a responding bow. The officer looked swiftly at Joseph, inclined his head, then raced down corridor in the direction of the elevators. "These soldiers," said Mr. lontrose. "They move as though there is a battlefield around the corner."
His voice was indulgent. But Joseph remembered the searching and penetrating glance the man had given him, as if judging him. The expansive suite was mercifully decorated in dove gray and soft green silk and velvet, with not a single touch of red, for which Joseph was grateful. Three big windows, draped in Cluny lace, were partly opened to the steaming outside air, and the green velvet draperies were looped back in carved golden metal holders. The gilt chairs were gracefully formed, and so were the gilt tables and sofas, and the ornaments were costly and in good taste. A big round bowl of tulips and narcissi stood on the central table. Off this living room opened two bedrooms of a size that was astonishing to Joseph, and each bed had curtains and coverlets of Brussels lace and green satin. There was a marble bathroom between the two bedrooms, with faucets and appointments of gold plate, and it was the first bathroom Joseph had ever seen in a hotel or a house. The tub was encased in a frame of mahogany, the commode was marble with a chairlike seat made of gilded wicker, and the lavatory was marble. There was a stained-glass window for privacy and the hot increasing sun struck it and made small rainbows dance over all that white stone, that expensive luxury of towels and flowered rug. The uniformed attendants quickly and expertly unpacked the gentlemen's luggage, and put the contents in wardrobes and chests with gilt handles. Joseph went to the window and stared down at the welter of Fifth Avenue and its small front lawns and iridescent trees and its endlessly moving crowds on the walks and its fiercely congested traffic. As so many ladies had opened colored parasols against the sun it was like looking down on a clanging garden on a rampage. Suddenly Joseph felt that he was being suffocated. He closed the windows, and the noise was muted. He felt Mr. Montrose near him, and he turned and said in a stiff voice, "Mr. Healey does himself well." Mr. Montrose raised his yellow eyebrows. He had poured a glass of cool water from a decanter on one of the tables, and he sipped at it thoughtfully. Then he said, "And why should he not, Mr. Francis? Has he not earned it honestly-or even dishonestly-himself? To whom is he accountable? Is there some virtue in abstemiousness, some nice compliment in austerity? He is less-venal-than those who live in the mansions you see from that window, but venality is not the question, is it? It is a matter of taste. Mr. Healey likes opulence and why should he not indulge himself? If you and I have different tastes, does that make them superior?" Joseph was mortified. Mr. Montrose had spoken in the gentlest voice, like an older brother or a father, but his feline eyes were glinting with amusement and something else which Joseph could not interpret. "I am sorry," he said stiffly. Mr. Montrose shook his head. "Never apologize for your own opinions," he said. "That is akin to feeling remorse. Was it not Spinoza who said that a man who feels remorse is twice weak? As for opinions, yours may be more, or less, valid than the opinions of others, but they are still your own and you should respect them." Now he looked at Joseph directly, but with kindness. "There are times when I suspect you do not hold yourself in the highest esteem, and that is dangerous-for yourself-and sometimes for others. It is a fault you must correct." Joseph had now detected a note of warning in Mr. Montrose's voice. But he said, and the sharp stain so narrow and burning appeared on his cheekbones again, "I am not so egotistic that I think I am never capable of making a mistake." "That is not what I mean, Mr. Francis. If you do not have superb self- esteem others will have no esteem for you, and therefore they will doubt you and your word and your actions, and will hesitate when you give them orders or be mutinous. You must first convince yourself that you are above all others-even if you know it is not so-or you must act as if you are so convinced. Tolerant men are not to be trusted for they sometimes doubt themselves. I know that is a refutation of copybook headings, but it is quite true." He sat down negligently on the arm of a sofa and studied Joseph with a smile. "You may also think it is a paradox, or very subtle, but I suggest you consider it. It has intimations beyond just the mere words." Joseph considered. Then he said, "You imply that tolerant men are milksops?" Mr. Montrose lifted a thin forefinger with an expression of delight. "Exactly! Tolerance is the refuge of the fearful. You are tolerant of only those who can injure you, and so you placate them. It is on a par with altruism, and we know that altruism is self-serving and vainglorious, and also a gesture of fear." Now he opened his hand and consulted the merest scrap of white paper in it. "We shall have a visitor in exactly five minutes. Perhaps you would care for a glass of this water, and then a quick washing?" Joseph thought, But we were very late on the train and no one knew when we would arrive, and so there could have been no definite appointment, and no messages were asked for or delivered at the desk downstairs. Nor did I see a paper or an envelope in these rooms. Yet a visitor will be here in exactly five minutes! He went into the bathroom and washed himself. He went over the last hour or so in his mind. No one had given Mr. Montrose an envelope; he had spoken to no one except on the business of obtaining this suite. No one had discreetly passed him a paper, not even in passing- Joseph wiped his hands slowly. Except that one had collided with him and spoken to him in the corridor outside: the Army officer. One had apologized, one had accepted the apology, and then they had disentangled themselves. Joseph smiled. He went into the parlor again and looked at Mr. Montrose who was as fresh as if he had just arisen. Joseph hesitated. He wondered if Mr. Montrose was waiting for him to comment, and to approve the comment, or if he would be vexed if Joseph spoke, and would think the less of him. But Joseph was smarting from the older man's remarks, so he said, "Ah, yes, a visitor. The Army officer, I assume?" Mr. Montrose looked up alertly. He said, "Were we that clumsy or obvious?" But he seemed capriciously pleased. "No, not at all," said Joseph. "It is just my deduction from the events of this morning." "I always knew you were clever, Mr. Francis, and astute and shrewd and intelligent. I am glad that you confirm my opinion. And I must admit that you are far more intelligent than even I knew. Best of all, you are magnificently observant, and that is a rare gift and cannot be overvalued." He looked at Joseph with a curious pride, and this baffled the young man. "Colonel Braithwaite has been waiting for us since last night, and we were very late and our arrival uncertain. He had to let me know when we could have our meeting. Otherwise, I should not have known and wasted time waiting." When Joseph did not comment Mr. Montrose was pleased again. Someone knocked on the door and Mr. Montrose stood up and went to it.
Chapter 18
Colonel Elbert Braithwaite literally burst into the room when Mr. Montrose opened the door, and he threw a last blazing blue glance over his shoulder as he bounced over the threshold. The air in the suite was far cooler than on the avenue below, but the colonel was sweating profusely and his pugnacious face gleamed. He shook hands heartily with Mr. Montrose and bowed and grinned, showing a vast amount of large and glistening white teeth. His manner was boyish and happy and excited. "I waited all day yesterday and all night!" he exclaimed, and looked at Mr. Montrose with laughing reproach. "I assume, sir, that the train was very late due to the troop trains and such." He had the New Englander's sharp clear speech and brisk manner. Boston, thought Joseph. For a reason he did not know himself he took an instant aversion to the effervescent colonel, for he had never liked exuberant men or men with round short faces. He knew this was unreasonable and that it was only a matter of temperament; men, however, had murdered each other for far less. Too, the colonel seemed to be a merry man, not with the merriment of a Mr. Healey which was natural, but with a calculating merriment which Joseph suspected could change instantly into cold brutality and meanness. Though he was too short and broad to set off a uniform handsomely his own was so excellently tailored that it gave him a certain impression of height. He wore the usual sword with dash and his gray gloves were delicate. He pulled them off now, as daintily as a woman removing her gloves, and smoothed them and laid them carefully on a table. All this time he regarded Mr. Montrose with hearty affection, and this too Joseph felt was contrived and used for effect, and his whole manner was agreeable and expansive, and extremely soldierly. A patch on his arm proclaimed that he was a member of the Army of the United States, and not merely a member of the U. S. Army, and so he had been graduated from West Point and was a professional military man. His short broad nose had a way of expanding and contracting at the nostrils over his widely smiling mouth and his penetrating blue eyes sparkled with well-being and friendliness and extraordinary health-he was probably in his late thirties-and Joseph disliked him more and more. He had removed his wide blue felt hat and his hair was curling and bright. He had a way of chattering boyishly, and he complimented Mr. Montrose on his apparent good health and how happy he was to see him again, and Mr. Montrose listened with smiling courtesy and little comment. He towered over the colonel who continued to chatter, his hand on Mr. Mont- rose's arm. In all that chatter he was like a woman and said nothing of consequence at all, which Joseph again felt was design. A disastrous man, thought Joseph, and his men probably detest him. The colonel had ignored Joseph's presence, and Joseph waited. Finally Mr. Montrose detached himself from his friend and gestured towards Joseph. "Colonel Braithwaite," he said, "this is my new associate, Mr. Francis. He is also in my utmost confidence and so you can trust him. Mr. Healey, who never makes a mistake, as you know, chose him." The colonel swung at once to Joseph, bowed deeply, and held out his strong short hand in utmost fellowship and greeting. "My compliments, sir!" he exclaimed. "I am happy to make your acquaintance!" His teeth, like white porcelain, glowed. Joseph bowed also, touched the hand quickly and withdrew. He repeated, "I am happy to make your acquaintance." The colonel listened acutely. It was his theory that you could discover considerable by listening to a man's voice and not his words. His thick pink ears seemed to peak as he heard Joseph's lilting accent. Then a quick look of incredulity ran over his face. He had heard that accent tens of thousands of times in his native Boston. He heard it every day among his men. His nostrils twitched with distaste and the broad good humor of his countenance hardened. "You are from Boston, sir?" he asked. Joseph said, "No, from Titusville, Pennsylvania." He knew that expression only too well. He had seen it on the faces of British officers, who resembled this one, and he knew the reason. Mr. Montrose's ever-ready deviltry came to the surface and he said, "Mr. Francis also comes from Ireland, I believe." "I thought so," said the colonel, with mingled self-satisfaction and a contempt which was so obvious that Mr. Montrose's usually serene and aloof face became somewhat stern. "I can always pick them out." He then turned his back on Joseph and began his fast chattering again with Mr. Montrose, giving him news of the city and the war. Then he said more slowly and with loud emphasis, "You will be glad to know, sir, that we have finally put down the Irish Rebellion in this city. It was not clone, however, until we were given orders to shoot rioters on the spot. Excellent! They soon enough retired to their hovels and gutters and caves in Central Park with their rats' tails between their legs!" The insult was so palpable, and so intended, that Joseph's fists clenched and he started blindly towards the colonel, and the lust to kill he had felt in the past rose up in him and reddened his eyesight. The colonel had the soldier's instinct, and he turned immediately and said with the most open and happiest smile, "Present company excepted, of course, Mr. Francis!" Joseph stopped, shaking with his cold anger. He looked down into those mocking but contemptuous eyes and said, "Present company is not excepted, sir, when I say soldiers are brutes and not men, and that they are incapable of reason and have no capacity for thought and obey orders as mindlessly as a gun. They are never masters; they are slaves." "Come, come, gentlemen," said Mr. Montrose. "I am certain that no one intended to insult anyone else in this room. Are we not gentlemen here? Do we not have business to transact, and is not business transcendent over mere pique and misunderstandings?" He looked at the colonel straightly and there was an expression on his face which Joseph had never seen before, but the colonel's figure seemed to diminish. "I have told you, sir," said Mr. Montrose, "that Mr. Healey has chosen Mr. Francis, and he would be extremely-disturbed-if he heard that his choice has been deprecated. I am sure, Colonel, that that was not your intention?" "Not at all!" cried the colonel. "I was merely remarking on outlaws in this city, and if I implied that they were Irish my implication was quite true, unfortunately. Mr. Francis is too sensitive. My compliments and apologies, sir," and he bowed to Joseph again, a little too emphatically. "I am your servant." Joseph had lifted his head. His face had become sharply triangular as the muscles in it had tightened like cords. His nose was flaring, his deep-set eyes were hard glitters from under his dark-red brows, which had moved down almost over them, and his pale mouth was a slash of pent rage.