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Yesterday I could not have imagined sending a letter like this to anybody. But it goes and to you. I ask you to answer it. I think you owe me that. It hasn't been exactly easy to write. One more thing don't trust letters to stand between you and the toy in the dressing-table drawer. Any barrier there, to be in the least effective, will have to be of your own building. GEOFFREY McBIRNEY.
"At any rate," pursued McBirney, "someone must have been having a wild time there, for they carried a girl out to the car. She seemed to be pretty far gone and even the air didn't revive her that is, assuming that she had been celebrating not wisely but too well. Of course, the whole thing is pure speculation yet, as far as Warrington's car is concerned. Maybe it wasn't his car, after all.
I'll write the young devil. He's been away all winter, but he should be back by now. I wonder just where he is." And with that, as cues are taken on the stage, there was a scurrying down the gravel and out of the sunshine a bare-headed, tall lad was leaping toward them. "By all that's uncanny!" gasped McBirney. "Yes, me," agreed the apparition. "I trailed you.
"Geoff, you've got some bizarre idea in your head about this episode, and I can't fathom it," spoke Dick Marston. "What do you think happened anyway?" he demanded. And stopped, horrified at the look on the other's face. "Dick, you mean to be kind, but you're being cruel as death," whispered Geoffrey McBirney. "I simply can't bear any conversation about that.
"When our people wanted to sleep at sea," said McBirney, "if there were two of them, though we never bothered to take along logs, one rested on the other's shoulder." One listened and marveled, and smiled to think that, had one stayed at home, one might never know these things.
Maybe all that; at the least it's the powers of good, fighting for me. Something of the sort I don't know," she finished lamely. With that she was deep in her letter and Robert Halarkenden had moved a few yards and was tending a shrub that seemed to need nursing. October the Sixth. MY DEAR MR. McBIRNEY
Everybody's going off in cars for an all-day drive, and I'll start, and pull out half-way on some excuse, and come back here, and you'll be packed, and we'll get out. I'll square it with Nanny Emory. She'll understand. I'll tell her you're crazy in the head, and won't be hero-worshipped." "Hero-worshipped!" McBirney laughed bitterly to himself when Dick was gone.
"How does this gang, as you call it, operate?" asked Garrick. "Most of the cars that are stolen," explained McBirney, "are taken from the automobile district, which embraces also not a small portion of the new Tenderloin and the theatre district. Actually, Garrick, more than nine out of ten cars have disappeared between Forty-second and Seventy-second Streets."
Through his civility there was an outcropping of savage honesty which made the house-party sit up straight, more than once. Emerson says, in a better-made sentence, that the world is at the feet of him who does not want it. Geoffrey McBirney had taken a long jump, years back, and cleared the childishness, lifelong in most of us, of wanting the world.
Why" he interrupted himself "didn't you get my telephones? Why, somebody took the message twice. Cost three dollars had to pawn stuff to pay it. Then I trailed you. The rector had your address. We're going to Scotland bang off and I had to see you. We're sailing from Boston. To-morrow." "Who's 'we'?" demanded McBirney. "My family and oh gosh, you don't know!"
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