Her Forbidden Knight

Chapter XVIII Westward Ho!

Eight gilt chairs with embroidered seats and backs surrounding a table covered with snowy linen and shining silver; four diminutive Swiss waiters with quick eyes and silent feet; roses everywhere — on the mantel, in vases on the table, clustered over the door, red and white; candles — hundreds of them — placed wherever there was an inch of space to hold them; such was the scene prepared by Bub Driscoll and his aids for the joy dinner in honor of Mr. and Mrs. John Knowlton, in that apartment on West Twenty-first Street which we have seen twice before.

Lila was escorted to the dining room on the arm of Lawyer Siegel, after an extended and heated controversy among the Erring Knights as to which of them should have that honor.

When it appeared that the matter was apt to be argued till the dinner was ruined, Siegel stepped in and settled the question by offering his services, which were gladly accepted.

Pierre Dumain, as host, sat at one end of the table; Knowlton at the other. On one side was Lila, between Dougherty and Driscoll; opposite them Booth, Jennings, and Siegel.

“What a shame!” said Lila. “I’m so excited I can’t eat.”

Driscoll observed:

“Now, that’s just like a woman. For two months you’ve been as cool and collected as a cake of ice, while you’ve had enough trouble to scare an army; and now that everything’s over, and you’re just at the beginning of a lifelong siege of matrimonial boredom, you’re so excited you can’t eat!”

“I never did a harder day’s work in my life,” declared Dougherty, “and I’m hungry like a bear. What do you call this, Driscoll? I’m no bridegroom — I can’t eat roses.”

But he was promptly squelched by the master of ceremonies, and everybody talked at once till the soup arrived.

Never was gayer company. Lila was at first a little embarrassed at finding herself the eighth at a table with seven men, but that did not last long; no longer, in fact, than when Dougherty, at the finish of the fish, arose to his feet to give an imitation of Miss Hughes chewing gum, powdering her face, and waiting on three customers at the same time.

“She never did,” declared Lila, when she could speak for laughing. “That’s a slander, Mr. Dougherty.”

“What?” exclaimed the ex-prizefighter. “I’ll admit it’s not true to life; it’s too delicate and refined. Not that I don’t like her; the Venus is a good sport. And if there’s any — What’s this?”

“Sweetbreads in tambo shell, m’sieu’,” murmured the waiter.

After which Dougherty was silent — and busy — for ten minutes.

Then Lawyer Siegel related some of his court experiences, both humorous and tragical, and Dumain described the mysteries and secrets of the gentle art of reading palms, and Jennings explained that his contract with Mr. Frohman would probably not be signed till the following day, and Dougherty described his first prizefight with an animation and picturesqueness of language that left the others in a condition bordering on hysteria.

“There’s one thing,” said Driscoll, turning to Lila, “for which I shall never forgive you — that you didn’t invite me to the wedding.”

“Here, too,” put in Jennings. “I call it snobbish.”

“Where was it, anyway?” Booth wanted to know. “How did you manage it?”

Dougherty explained:

“Easy. You know we got Knowlton out on bail for one day. Well, he got a license and I got a preacher, and Dumain let us use his French parlor, and stuff was all off in fifteen minutes, but you may get to see a wedding, after all.”

Dougherty glanced at Knowlton. Knowlton nodded. Then the ex-prizefighter continued:

“We all know that our friend Mr. Knowlton is traveling sort of incog. His real name is Norton, and that fact demands what you might call supplementary proceedings. The big show is on tomorrow, and if you treat Mrs. Knowlton right she’s very apt to give you a bid.”

“Hurrah!” shouted Driscoll. “In at the death is all I ask.”

“What an expression!” said Lila. “Mr. Driscoll, I’m offended.”

“I beg your pardon,” said the gentleman gallantly. “I didn’t mean it, I assure you. Waiter!”

“Yes, sir.”

“If I order another bottle of white wine—”

“Yes, sir.”

“I say, if I order more white wine—”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t bring it.”

“Yes, sir. No, sir.”

The table grinned, and made a concerted and valiant attack on the dessert, while Jennings and Booth accused each other with some heat of being the cause of Driscoll’s order.

Presently Driscoll rapped on the table for attention, and glared fiercely at the disputants till he got it.

“Lady and gentlemen,” said he, “I must ask your kind favor and indulgence. Unlike the rest of this proud assembly, Mr. Jennings and myself are workingmen. We earn our bread by toil.”

Cries of “Hear, hear!” came from Jennings, while the others jeered.

“Howbeit,” continued the speaker, silencing the interruptions with an imperious gesture, “we must be at our tasks by eight o’clock. It is now seven-twenty.

“I understand that Mr. Dumain has a surprise in store for us, and that Mr. Knowlton has kindly consented to make a speech. In the interests of equality and justice I demand that these ceremonies begin at once.”

Applause, continued and vociferous, from Jennings. Booth and Siegel each grasped one of his arms and held him quiet. Driscoll turned to Dumain and demanded an answer.

“All right,” said the little Frenchman, “I’m ready.”

“What about it?” Driscoll turned to the others.

They signified their approval. Knowlton, who had been silent throughout the dinner, nodded. Dumain rose to his feet, pushed back his chair, and cleared his throat.

“About zee surprise,” the little Frenchman began; “eet ees a pleasant surprise. We are here this evening—”

“Hear, hear!” murmured Jennings.

“Silence him!” ordered Driscoll. Booth and Siegel obeyed, and the speaker continued:

“I say we are here this evening because our hearts are glad for our friend Mr. Knowlton and our very dear lady — God bless her! — zee Lady Lila!”

“To her!” shouted Dougherty, springing to his feet and raising his glass on high.

“To Lady Lila!” came in a deafening chorus, while Lila rose to her feet, trembling and confused.

They drank the toast amid cheers and applause.

“And now,” continued Dumain, when they had reseated themselves, “for zee surprise. I must go back a leetle, and I do not speak zee Angleesh so well, so you must have zee patience.

“About Knowlton eet ees — only hees name ees Norton. I can only tell what I know. From what Sherman and our very dear lady have say to me I add zis to zat, and I know nearly all.

“I know he was officer in a bank in Warton, Ohio, and zat money was missing, and zat our friend was what you call eet suspicioned. And about zis Sherman tol’ me, and from what he look at me I theenk to myself, aha! Sherman know more zan he say.

“Well, I theenk very little about all zat — I nearly forget eet because we are all busy wiz trying to put Knowlton away from all. For many weeks I forget eet.”

Dumain paused, glanced at his audience with the assurance of a man who holds a high trump, and continued:

“All zis we all know. Well. Today I take Knowlton here to my rooms where ees hees trunk I brought. But he needs something — we go out. I stop in zee Lamartine to wait for heem — I go to zee telegraph desk, I go to zee cigar stand, I go to zee front desk, and Geebson call me and say, ‘Telegram here for a man named John Norton. Do you know heem, Dumain?’

“I say, ‘Yes, I will take eet to heem,’ and he give eet to me, and I open eet and read eet to make sure. What I theenk, eet ees for Knowlton. Right. Here eet ees.”

He took a yellow telegraph form from his pocket and waved it in the air. It was extra size — the telegram was a long one.

They shouted, “Read it!”

But Dumain tossed it to Knowlton, who, after reading it through, let it fall from his hands to the table and turned a white face to Lila.

“What is it?” Lila faltered.

Dougherty snatched up the telegram and read it aloud:

“Oh!” cried Lila. “And now... and now—”

In the confusion that followed, while the others applauded and shouted and clapped Knowlton on the back, Dougherty had to place his mouth close to her ear to make her hear:

“And now what?” he demanded.

“And now,” Lila answered, “he — he doesn’t need me, after all.”

The ex-prizefighter sprang to his feet.

“Ha!” he cried in a tone of thunder. “Silence! Shut up, you! Knowlton, do you know what your wife is saying? She says that now you won’t need her!”

Another moment and Knowlton was at her side, holding her in his arms.

“Lila! Dear little girl! We shall go home — home — together. Darling! Not need you? Look at me!”

For the next five minutes the Erring Knights and Lawyer Siegel were occupied in the next room, chased thereto by Dougherty, who commanded them to make as much noise as possible.

Presently Knowlton’s voice came:

“Come back here! What are you doing in there? I say, Dumain! Dougherty!”

They came through the door backward, in single file, and Lila was forced to laugh in spite of herself.

“That’s better,” said Dougherty approvingly. “This is an occasion of joy, Mrs. Knowlton. No tears allowed.”

Lila smiled at him.

“But say!” put in Driscoll, as he lit a cigarette — Lila had long since commanded them to smoke — “do you know what? That’s what they took Sherman for at the courtroom!”

“They didn’t waste any time,” Booth observed.

“Oh, I know how he knew that,” Lila was saying to Knowlton and Dumain, who had expressed their wonder at his father’s knowledge of his address. “It was Mr. Sherman who told him.”

“Sherman!” they exclaimed.

“Yes,” Lila asserted.

Then she told them of the telegram Sherman had sent to the president of the Warton National Bank concerning John Norton, and Dumain and Knowlton hastened to inform the others of the fact that they owed the receipt of the telegram to the enemy himself, thereby doubling their joyous hilarity.

Then they surrounded Knowlton and demanded a speech. He protested; they insisted. He appealed to Lila for assistance; she commanded him to do his duty.

There was no escape; he motioned them to be seated, and began:

“Boys, I know this is no time to be serious — for you. You’re having a good time. But you’ve asked me to talk, and to tell the truth, I’m glad of the chance to relieve my mind. If you don’t like what I say it’s your own fault. I know you’re good sports, but there are one or two things I have to speak about.

“First, money. You’ve spent about sixteen hundred dollars on my defense, and you’ve given me a thousand for a stake. There’s been nothing said about it — you’ve turned it over to me without a word — but I want you to know that the first thing I’ll do when I get home — when we get home — is to send you a check for the twenty-six hundred. Now, don’t think I’m refusing a favor; it isn’t that. The Lord knows I’ve accepted enough favors from you without your insisting on that one, too.”

“Oh, of course, if you’re rolling in wealth—” put in Driscoll.

“Then that’s settled. I’m not going to try to thank you; if I talked all night I couldn’t make it strong enough. Lila and I are going out West where they like to say you find nothing but good, clean Americans, and I’ve always thought the boast was justified; but wherever we go, and whoever we see, we’ll never meet as good men, or as straight sports, or as true friends as the Erring Knights.

“Here’s to you, boys! God bless you!” Knowlton’s voice was trembling so that he could scarcely speak, and his eyes shone with tears as he drained the glass and threw it on the floor, where it broke in a thousand fragments.

The following afternoon the bride and groom were escorted to Grand Central Station by the Erring Knights. And there they received their reward if they had felt they needed any. For after Knowlton had shaken hands with each of them and arranged for a grand reunion when he and his wife should next visit New York, as they stood lined up at the entrance to the trackway, Lila approached Dougherty, who happened to be first, with a farewell on her lips.

He held out his hand. She ignored it, and, stretching on tiptoe, placed a hearty uncompromising kiss on his either cheek! And before he could recover she had passed on to Dumain and repeated the operation, and then to the remaining three.

In another moment she was walking down the platform by the side of the train with her arm through that of her husband, preceded by two porters loaded with bags and suitcases and flowers and candy; and every now and then she turned to look back at the Erring Knights, who were waving their handkerchiefs frantically in unrestrained and triumphant glee. And then, throwing a last kiss from the car platform, while Knowlton waved his hat, they disappeared inside, and a minute later the train pulled out.

It happened, by a curious coincidence, that that train held two sets of passengers for the little town of Warton, Ohio.

In a day-coach, seated side by side, were two men. The face of one, dark and evil looking, wore lines of sleeplessness and despair and fear. The other, a small, heavy-set man with a ruddy countenance, was seated next the aisle, and had an appearance of watchfulness as he kept one eye on his companion while he scanned the columns of a newspaper with the other. William Sherman was going home to pay.

But a few feet away, in a Pullman, sat the man he had tried to ruin and the girl he had tried to wrong.

They were looking at each other, they felt, almost for the first time. Between them, on the seat, their hands were closely clasped together.

Thus they sat for many minutes, silent, while the train passed through the city, crossed to the west, and started on its journey northward along the banks of the glorious Hudson.

“Dearest,” said the man in a caressing tone.

The girl pressed his hand tighter and sighed happily.

“They’re good fellows,” the man continued, “every one of them. And to think what we owe them! Everything — everything.”

“Yes,” said the girl, “everything. We must never forget them.”

But the truth was, as was clearly apparent from the tone of her voice and the melting of her eyes into his, that she had forgotten them already!