Nothing But the Truth

“So I could.”

By this time they had forgotten about the river, or taking gas. The duke had already become a real person in their lives and they talked on, devising stunts for his Vivacious Greatness. By this time, too, the monocle-man seemed to them a real benefactor.

Meanwhile the “real benefactor” had been reading from that stenographic report to Dan and the others. The commodore nearly jumped out of his boots for joy.

“Read that again,” he said.

The monocle-man, reading: “‘This ain’t half bad enough. You think up something now, Gee-gee.’

“‘Doping a poor little thing is always good stuff to spring on a jury, Gid-up. And you could make yourself up young with your hair done up in a pigtail, with a cute little baby-blue bow on the end.’

“‘But that sounds old, Gee-gee. You can sure invent something new – ’” etc., etc.

The monocle-man finished reading and laid down the paper. “There you are, gentlemen,” he observed in a lively tone. “The stenographers will swear to that. They were dressed as house-maids, but at night and on certain occasions, they used one of the rooms Mrs. Ralston placed at my disposal as an office. When I came down here I didn’t expect to be involved in a domestic drama. It rather forced itself upon me. It came as part of the day’s work. I overheard your conversation with Miss Dolly that night.” Significantly to Bob. That young gentleman flushed.

“I have taken the liberty of destroying the report of that conversation, I may add. Miss Dolly is charming.” With a smile. “I, also, had a record of your conversation with these three gentlemen” – indicating Dan, Clarence and Dickie – “after they entered your room one night, via the trellis and the window. That conversation introduced me into the domestic drama. I became an actor in it whether I would or not. But for my whispered instructions to one of my assistants in the garden, you three gentlemen would have been arrested.” Dan stared at Clarence in momentary consternation. “You did not need the golf-club because my man removed the dog.”

“It seems,” said Dan effusively to the monocle-man, “you have been our good angel. If any remuneration – ?”

“No,” answered the monocle-man. “What I have done for you was only incidental and my reward was the enjoyment I got out of the affair – in watching how the threads crossed and recrossed, and how they tangled and untangled. It was better than going to a show. It made work a pleasure. Besides, I shall be well rewarded for what I have accomplished in another direction.” Looking toward the cell.

“I tried to get him in England and failed. In France, the story was the same. He is rather a remarkable personality. A born criminal and an actor, as well! Of good family, he wedged his way into society, through the all-round amateur athletic route. He was generally well liked.” Bob thought of Miss Gerald and looked down. He couldn’t help wondering if she would not greatly have preferred his (Bob’s) occupying that cell, instead of the other man who had seemed to interest her so much.

“Now for Mrs. Dan,” observed the commodore, jubilantly waving the stenographic report. “This will bring her to time.”

“And my wife, too!” said Clarence with equal joy.

“I thought I would save you gentlemen some trouble and so have already placed the report in the ladies’ hands,” said the monocle-man affably. “Indeed, they came to me afterward and told me they had been shamefully deceived. Mrs. Dan looked as if she had had a good cry – from joy, no doubt. Mrs. Clarence’s voice was tremulous. Same cause, I am sure. I think you will find them contrite and anxious to make up.”

“This is great,” said Dan.

“Glorious!” observed Clarence.

“Think of it! No public disgrace!”

“No being held up as monsters in the press!”

“It’s too good to be true.” The commodore threw out his arms and advanced toward the monocle-man.

But the latter waved him away. “Save your embraces for your wives,” he observed.

“I love all the world,” said Dan.

“Me, too!” from Clarence.

“I presume I am free to take my departure, gentlemen?” said Bob, rising.

“You are free as the birds of the air for all of me,” answered the monocle-man.

“Hold on one moment,” begged the commodore. “No; I’m not going to detain you forcibly. As a friend I ask you to wait.” Bob paused. “I’m a good fellow,” said Dan effusively, “and I don’t wish the world harm. I don’t want you to go wandering around any more as you are. Why, you’re a regular Frankenstein. You’re an iron automaton that goes about trampling on people. After all I’ve gone through, I have charity toward others. I won’t have you treading on people’s finer sensibilities and smashing connubial peace and comfort all to splinters.”

“But what can I do?” suggested Bob. He meant the three weeks weren’t yet up.

“Here’s what I propose to Clarence and Dickie. I see now you’ll win, anyhow. You’ve got the grit and the nerve. So as long as we have simply got to pay in the end, why not do so at once and so spare others? That’ll be the way I’ll pay him.” Alluding to the monocle-man. “It’s my way of showing my gratitude for what he’s done. And now I think of it, I can’t see that I ought to blame you so much, Bob, for all that has transpired.”

“Oh, you don’t?” With faint irony.

“No; you only did what you had to, and maybe we were a little rough. Forget it.” The commodore extended his hand.

The act melted Bob. He took it. “Good friends, once more!” chirped Dan, and extended an arm to include Clarence. “You’ve won. The money’s fairly yours, Bob. Only as a personal favor, I ask you to be, at once, as you were. Be your old natural self immediately.”

“I’ll pay my share to have him that way again,” said Clarence heartily. “I want to spare the world too. Besides, he’s won all right enough.”

“It’s three weeks or nothing from me,” said Dickie. “You chaps may want to spare the world, but I don’t want to spare him.”

“I’ll pay for Dickie,” replied good old Dan. “And gladly!”

Dickie shrugged. Dan wrote out a check. “Congratulations!” he said. “And for us, too!” Turning to Clarence. “Think of the thousands in alimony it might have cost us!”

“We’ve simply got to call a halt on old Bob,” said Clarence fervently. “Bet’s off! We lose.”

Bob took the check. “I believe I am entitled to it, for I certainly would have stuck it out now. I am sure I wouldn’t do it all over again, though, for ten times the amount. Nevertheless, I thank you.” He shook himself. “Free! Isn’t it great? Will you do something for me?” To the monocle-man.

“Gladly,” was the reply. “I was secretly informed of that wager of yours and I was immensely interested in your little social experiment. You see I make my living by prevarication and subterfuges. And that” – with a laugh – “is more than a man can make by telling the truth. It’s a wicked world. Fraud and humbug are trumps.”

“What I want you to do,” said Bob, ignoring this homily, “is to express my grip to New York. Also, tell Miss Gerald that I’ve gone and kindly thank Mrs Ralston and Miss Gerald for asking me down.”

“Why don’t you thank them yourself?”

“I think they would be more pleased if I complied with the formalities by proxy.”

“Shall I add you had a charming time?”

“You may use your own judgment.”

Bob walked to the door.

“I guess it’s I who am crazy,” said the maniac-doctor, again waking up.

CHAPTER XXIII – MAKING GOOD

Bob sent dad a modest-sized check the next day. “Result of hustling,” he wrote. “Spend freely. There’ll be more coming presently.” Then Bob went down on the narrow road that isn’t straight, but that has a crook in it. He stopped somewhere near the crook, and entering an office greeted a melancholy-looking man who had “bad business” and “country going to pot” written all over his face. The melancholy man was a club acquaintance.

“What’s the most abused and worst thing on the street that isn’t straight?” said Bob debonairly.

“That’s right. Call us names,” replied the melancholy man with a sigh. “Everybody’s doing it.”

“Have you got something so awful people turn their heads away when you speak of it?”