"Now," said David, "if you'll just put away a few of those ancient pipes
and puddle your papers a bit in your own cozy corner we can call these
quarters ready to receive the ladies, God bless 'em! Does it look kinder
bare to you? We might borrow a few drapes from the madam, or would you
trust to the flowers? I'll send them up for you to fix around tasty.
A blasted poet ought to know how to bunch spinach to look well."
As he spoke David Kildare stood in the middle of the living-room in his
bachelor quarters, which were in the Colonial, a tall pillared, wide
windowed, white brick apartment-house that stood across the street from
the home of Major Buchanan, and surveyed the long rooms upon which he and
his man Eph had been expending their energies for more than an hour.
Andrew Sevier sank down upon the arm of a chair and lighted a long and
villainous pipe. "Trust to the flowers," he answered. "I think Phoebe
doesn't care for the drapes of this life so much as some women do and as
this is for her birthday let's have the flowers, sturdy ones with stiff
stems and good head pieces."
"That's right, Phoebe's nobody's clinging vine," answered David moodily.
"She doesn't want any trellis either--wish something would wilt her! Look
here, Andrew, on the square, what's the matter that I can't get Phoebe?
You're a regular love pilot on paper, point me another course; this one
is no good; I've run into a sand bank." The dark red forelock on David's
brow was ruffled and his keen eyes were troubled, while his large sweet
mouth was set in a straight firm line. He looked very strong, forceful
and determined as he stopped in front of his friend and squared himself
as if for a blow.
Andrew Sevier looked at him thoughtfully for a few seconds straight
between the eyes, then his mouth widened into an affectionate smile as he
laid his hand on the sturdy shoulder and said: "Not a thing on God's green earth the matter with you, Davie; it's the
modernism of the situation that you seem unable to handle. May I use your
flower simile? Once they grew in gardens and were drooping and sweet and
overran trellises, to say nothing of clinging to oak trees, but we've
developed the American Beauty, old man! It stands stiff and glossy and
holds its head up on its own stem, the pride of the nation! We can get
them, though they come high. Ah, but they are sweet! Phoebe is one of the
most gorgeous to be found--it will be a price to pay, but you'll pay it,
David, you'll pay."
"God knows I'm paying it all day long every day and have been paying it
for ten years. Never at peace about her for an instant. Protection at
long distance is no joke. I can't sleep at night until she telephones me
she is at home from the office on her duty nights and then I have to beg
like a dog for the wire, just the word or two. She _will_ overwork and
undereat and--"