PAGE 9
The Pelican
by
“I think you told me this afternoon that you were an old friend of Mrs. Amyot’s?” he began awkwardly.
I assented.
“Will you come in and see her?”
“Now? I shall be very glad to, if–“
“She’s ready; she’s expecting you,” he interposed.
He offered no further explanation, and I followed him in silence. He led me down the long corridor, and pushed open the door of a sitting-room.
“Mother,” he said, closing the door after we had entered, “here’s the gentleman who says he used to know you.”
Mrs. Amyot, who sat in an easy-chair stirring a cup of bouillon, looked up with a start. She had evidently not seen me in the audience, and her son’s description had failed to convey my identity. I saw a frightened look in her eyes; then, like a frost flower on a window-pane, the dimple expanded on her wrinkled cheek, and she held out her hand.
“I’m so glad,” she said, “so glad!”
She turned to her son, who stood watching us. “You must have told Lancelot all about me–you’ve known me so long!”
“I haven’t had time to talk to your son–since I knew he was your son,” I explained.
Her brow cleared. “Then you haven’t had time to say anything very dreadful?” she said with a laugh.
“It is he who has been saying dreadful things,” I returned, trying to fall in with her tone.
I saw my mistake. “What things?” she faltered.
“Making me feel how old I am by telling me about his children.”
“My grandchildren!” she exclaimed with a blush.
“Well, if you choose to put it so.”
She laughed again, vaguely, and was silent. I hesitated a moment and then put out my hand.
“I see you are tired. I shouldn’t have ventured to come in at this hour if your son–“
The son stepped between us. “Yes, I asked him to come,” he said to his mother, in his clear self-assertive voice. “I haven’t told him anything yet; but you’ve got to–now. That’s what I brought him for.”
His mother straightened herself, but I saw her eye waver.
“Lancelot–” she began.
“Mr. Amyot,” I said, turning to the young man, “if your mother will let me come back to-morrow, I shall be very glad–“
He struck his hand hard against the table on which he was leaning.
“No, sir! It won’t take long, but it’s got to be said now.”
He moved nearer to his mother, and I saw his lip twitch under his beard. After all, he was younger and less sure of himself than I had fancied.
“See here, mother,” he went on, “there’s something here that’s got to be cleared up, and as you say this gentleman is an old friend of yours it had better be cleared up in his presence. Maybe he can help explain it–and if he can’t, it’s got to be explained to him.”
Mrs. Amyot’s lips moved, but she made no sound. She glanced at me helplessly and sat down. My early inclination to thrash Lancelot was beginning to reassert itself. I took up my hat and moved toward the door.
“Mrs. Amyot is under no obligation to explain anything whatever to me,” I said curtly.
“Well! She’s under an obligation to me, then–to explain something in your presence.” He turned to her again. “Do you know what the people in this hotel are saying? Do you know what he thinks–what they all think? That you’re doing this lecturing to support me–to pay for my education! They say you go round telling them so. That’s what they buy the tickets for– they do it out of charity. Ask him if it isn’t what they say–ask him if they weren’t joking about it on the piazza before dinner. The others think I’m a little boy, but he’s known you for years, and he must have known how old I was. He must have known it wasn’t to pay for my education!”
He stood before her with his hands clenched, the veins beating in his temples. She had grown very pale, and her cheeks looked hollow. When she spoke her voice had an odd click in it.