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Shan't I feel a fearful chump? How much do I give her?" "Five bucks. You'd better write and make a date." "All right," said Duggie. "But I know I shall look a frightful fool." About a week later I ran into him between the acts at the Knickerbocker. The old boy was beaming. "Reggie," he said, "you did me the best turn anyone's ever done me, sending me to Mrs. Darrell." "Mrs. Darrell?" "You know.
"But doesn't it strike you that he may think it pretty bad gall-impertinence, don't you know, for a comparative stranger like me to be tackling a delicate family affair like this?" "You will explain that you are acting for me." "It wouldn't be better if old Duggie went along instead?" "I wish you to go, Reginald."
Darrell bore up all right. She avoided Duggie, of course, and put in most of the time talking to Edwin. He evidently appreciated it, for I had never seen him look so nearly happy before. I went back to New York directly afterward, and I hadn't been there much more than a week when a most remarkably queer thing happened.
"But I'm not sure Roderick's going to be there this time." It was a problem, and I didn't wonder poor old Dug had looked pale and tired at dinner. Then I had the idea which really started all the trouble. "Why don't you consult a palmist?" I said. "That sounds a good idea," said Duggie. "Go and see Dorothea in Forty-second Street. She's a wonder. She'll settle it for you in a second.
She is about ten years older than Duggie's brother Edwin, who is six years older than Duggie. "Good afternoon," she said. "Sit down." I poured myself into a chair. "Reginald," she said, "what is this I hear about Douglas?" I said I didn't know. "He says that you introduced him." "Eh?" "To this woman this Mrs. Darrell." "Mrs. Darrell?" My memory's pretty rocky, and the name conveyed nothing to me.
And on her own ground I shouldn't wonder if she might not have made a fight for it. But now she hadn't a chance. Poor old Duggie was just like so much putty in Florence's hands when he couldn't get away from her. You could see the sawdust trickling out of Love's Young Dream in a steady flow. I took Mrs.
To a woman like Florence, who had trained herself as tough as whalebone by years of scrapping with her father and occasional by-battles with aunts, it was as easy as killing rats with a stick. I was sorry for Mrs. Darrell. She was a really good sort and, as a matter of fact, just the kind of wife who would have done old Duggie a bit of good.
The little man stood his ground with the imperturbable assurance of the Cockney. "We thought of calling it Victory 'Aig. Victory, because our London lads seem likely to finish off the war in double-quick time, and 'Aig after our commander, good old Duggie 'Aig, whose name is every bit good enough for my baby. What do you think? Don't get your 'air off, guv'nor," Mr.
A little more tea, sir?" Doesn't some poet or philosopher fellow say that it's when our intentions are best that we always make the worst breaks? I can't put my hand on the passage, but you'll find it in Shakespeare or somewhere, I'm pretty certain. At any rate, it's always that way with me. And the affair of Douglas Craye is a case in point. "Are you, Duggie, old pal?" I said.
Look at the way they treat yer like bleed'n' pigs. There ain't no justice anywhere. There's strong an' 'ealthy fellers at the Base just enjoyin' theirselves. Then there's the 'eads what 'as servants to wait on 'em d'yer think French or Duggie 'Aig ever 'as shells burstin' round 'em?
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