Ainslee's Magazine, February 1913 — page 156: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

146 “My dear Mawlyn!” he cried. “Stay where you are until I can help you.” As the colonel leaped nimbly up the car- peted stairs, followed by the archduke, the invalid waved a protesting free hand, and, in a voice that faltered from pain, said: “Don’t trouble—any of you—I am— getting along famously to-night.” In spite of his continued protest, the colonel and the archduke thrust sup- porting hands beneath his armpits, until they gained the floor, and, with a sharp sigh of relief, and a grateful smile, Mawlyn slipped into the easiest chair among us. “My wife—is—is playing bridge, I— believe ” he managed to say, while he regained his breath. “Yes,” grunted out the archduke and I in unison, the colonel tactfully soften- ing the blunt effect by reaching for the decanter with: “IT say, Mawlyn—do have a drop. It'll buck you up.” “Tf I dared,” hesitated the invalid. “Poof!” exclaimed his excellency. “Dot is vot you need—a goot, big drink.”’ Mawlyn nodded, and the colonel poured a stiff drink of golden Scotch into a high glass. Mawlyn grasped it, drank deep, and set it down with a hand that trembled slightly—evidently from weakness. “You won’t mind my telling you, but there’s a bit of cork in your drink,” said the colonel. “Here—have a _ clean spoon.” And he passed him one on a saucer that none of us had touched. A brilliant silver spoon, fresh from being rubbed with a chamois skin. “Thanks awfully,” said Mawlyn, and began fishing for the bit of cork, which played hide and seek with a sliver of ice, and was no easy matter to capture. Finally, by the aid of a visiting card and the archduke’s gold pencil, Mawlyn fished out the elusive fragment amid our bravos. Half an hour later the admiral bade us good night. Mawlyn glanced at his watch. “T dare say I must be getting to bed, too,” said he. “I mustn’t overdo it. I AINSLEE’S say, if you happen to see Mrs. Maw- lyn, please don’t mention my being downstairs—or the whisky—it might only worry her.” I expected another snorting “Poof!” from the archduke, but he tactfully held his breath, and, with his usual charm of manner, half rose to bid Mawlyn good night, the colonel and myself helping Mawlyn to the elevator. When we turned back to our corner, I noticed that Mawlyn’s glass and spoon had dis- appeared, and that his excellency was half dozing in his chair, his chin sunk deep in the bosom of his dress shirt. As I touched the bell for three fresh whiskies and sodas, he opened his blue eyes with a start. “Dot long valk in de sun to-day,” he murmured sleepily, and half nodded again. “Why the devil can’t you leave a table in peace until we’ve finished,” I called to the boy in livery who had served us, my mind rankling under the fact of the missing glass and spoon, for I confess I am superstitious about the drained glass of a departed guest being always left untouched among the rest, as long as the company remains at table. This superstition, strange as it may seem, iS as strong within me as my dread of passing under a ladder. “T have not touched monsieur’s ta- ble,’ declared the boy. “It must have been one of the other waiters.” He was an honest, willing boy, and I felt sorry for my outburst. “T beg your pardon, my lad,” said I. “Thank you, monsieur,” said the boy. Again I turned to the archduke, but he was snoring. To-morrow night would occur the great ball of the sea- son, and though it was not yet eleven, most of the guests had wisely retired. The rapid dramatic events of the fol- lowing day—that of the ball—still leave me wondering as I look back on them. Strange things happen in life that we little dream of, until the bare, blinding truth is flashed before our eyes, and we are left dazed, with our confidence in human nature again shaken. The very day itself was atrocious, for CONMUC DOO) KK