Book 1, Chapter 1 of Their Mutual Child by P. G. Woodhouse Book 1, Chapter 1, A Pawn of Fate Mrs. Laura Delaine Porter dismissed the hireling who had brought her automobile round from the garage and seated herself at the wheel. It was her habit to refresh her mind and improve her health by a daily drive between the hours of two and four in the afternoon. The world knows little of its greatest women, and it is possible that Mrs. Porter's name is not familiar to you. If this is the case, I am pained, but not surprised. It happens only too often that the uplifter of the public mind is balked by a disinclination on the part of the public mind to meet him or her halfway. The uplifter does his share. He produces the uplifting book. But the public, instead of standing still to be uplifted, wanders off to browse on coloured supplements and magazine stories.  Perhaps you are more to be pitted than censured. Nature probably gave you the wrong shape of forehead. Mrs. Porter herself would have put it down to some atavistic tendency or prenatal influence. She put most things down to that. She blamed nearly all the defects of the modern world, from weak intellects to ingrained toenails. One long-dead ladies and gentlemen who, safe in the family vault, imagined that they had established their alibi. She subpoenaed grandfathers and even great-grandfathers to give evidence to show that the reason 20th-century Willie squinted or had spent his winters in Arizona was their own shocking health way back in the days beyond recall. Mrs. Porter's mind worked backward and forward. She had one eye on the past and the other on the future. If she was strong on her edity, she was stronger on the future of the race. Most of her published works dealt with this subject. A careful peruse love them would have enabled the rising generation to select its ideal wife or husband with perfect ease. And in the event of heaven blessing the union, a little volume entitled The Hygienic Care of the Baby, which was all about germs and how to avoid them, would have ensured the continuance of the direct succession. Unfortunately, the rising generation did not seem disposed to a careful peruse love anything except the baseball scores and the beauty hints and the Sunday papers, and Mrs. Porter's public was small. In fact, her only real disciple, as she sometimes told herself in her rare moods of discouragement, was her niece, Ruth Bannister, daughter of John Bannister the millionaire. It was not so long ago, she reflected with pride, that she had induced Ruth to refuse to marry Basil Milbank, a considerable feat he being a young man of remarkable personal attractions, and a great match in every way. Mrs. Porter's objection to him was that his father had died, believing to the last that he was a teapot. There is nothing evil or degrading in believing oneself a teapot. But it argues a certain inaccuracy of the thought processes, and Mrs. Porter had used all her influence with Ruth to make her reject Basil. It was her success that first showed her how great that influence was. She had come now to look on Ruth's destiny as something for which she was personally responsible. A fact which was noted and resented by others, in particular Ruth's brother Bailey, who regarded his aunt with a dislike and suspicion, a kind that which a stray dog feels towards the boy, who saunters towards him with a tin can in his hand. To Bailey, his strong-minded relative was a perpetual menace, a sort of perambulating yellow peril, and the fact that she often alluded to him as a worm, consolidated his distaste for her. Mrs. Porter released the clutch and set out on her drive. She rarely had a settled route for these outings of hers, preferring to zig-zag about New York, livening up the great city at random. She always drove herself and, having like a good suffragist, a contempt for male prohibitions, took an honest pleasure in exceeding a man-made speed limit. One hesitates to apply the term joy-rider, two so eminent a leader of contemporary thought and the authoress of The Dawn of Better Things, Principles of Selection and What of Tomorrow, but candor compels the admission that she was a somewhat reckless driver. Perhaps it was due to some atavistic tendency. One of her ancestors may have been a Roman charioteer or a coach-racing maniac of the regency days. At any rate, after a hard morning's work on her new book, she felt that her mind needed cooling and found that the rush of air against her face affected this satisfactorily. The greater the rush, the quicker the cooling. However, as the alert inhabitants of Manhattan Island, a hardy race trained from infancy to dodge taxi cabs and ambulance wagons, had always removed themselves from her path with their usual agility, she had never yet had an accident. But then she had never yet met George Penicott, and George, pawn of fate, was even now waiting round the corner to upset her record. George, man of work to Kirk Winfield, one of the youngest and least efficient of New York's artist colony, was English. He had been in America for some little time, but not long enough to accustom his rather unreceptive mind to the fact that, whereas in his native land, vehicles kept to the left, in the country of his adoption, they kept to the right. And it was still his bone-headed practice when stepping off the sidewalk to keep a wary look out in precisely the wrong direction. The only problem with regard to such a man is who will get him first. Fate had decided that it should be Laura Delaine Porter. Today Mrs. Porter, having circled the park in rapid time, turned her car down Central Park West. She was feeling much refreshed by the pleasant air. She was conscious of a glow of benevolence towards her species, not excluding even the young couple she had almost reduced to mincemeat in the neighbourhood of 97th Street. They had annoyed her extremely by the time of their meeting by occupying to the last possible moment a part of the road which she wanted herself. On reaching 61st Street, she found her way blocked by a lumbering delivery wagon. She followed it slowly for a while, then growing tired of being merely a unit in the procession, tugged at the steering wheel and turned to the right. George Penicott, his anxious eyes raking the middle distance, as usual in the wrong direction, had just stepped off the curb. He received the automobile in the small of the back, uttering a yell of surprise and dismay, performed a few improvised Texas tommy steps and fell in a heap. In a situation which might have stimulated another to fervid speech, George Penicott contented himself with saying, Go! He was a man of few words. Mrs. Porter stopped the car. From all points of the compass, citizens began to assemble, many swallowing their chewing gum in their excitement. One, a devout believer in the inscrutable ways of providence, told her a friend as he ran that only two minutes before he had almost robbed himself of this spectacle by going to a moving picture palace. Mrs. Porter was annoyed. She had never run over anything before except a few chickens, and she regarded the incident as a blot on her escutcheon.  She bent over George and passed experienced hands over his portly form. For this remarkable woman was as competent at first aid as at anything else. The citizens gathered silently round in a circle. It was your fault, she said to her victim severely. I accept no liability whatever. I did not run into you, you ran into me. I have a jolly good mind to have you arrested for attempted suicide. This aspect of the affair had not struck Mr. Penicott. Presented to him in these simple words, it checked the recriminatory speech which, his mind having recovered to some extent from the first shock of the meeting, he had intended to deliver. He swallowed his words, awed. He felt dazed and helpless. Mrs. Porter had that effect upon men. Some more citizens arrived. No bones broken, reported Mrs. Porter concluding her examination. You are exceedingly fortunate. You have a few bruises and one knee is slightly wrenched. Nothing to signify. More frightened than hurt, where do you live? There, said George Meekly. Where? To them studios. Number ninety? Yes, ma'am. George's voice was that of a crushed worm. Are you an artist? No, ma'am. I'm Mr. Winfield's man. Who's Mr. Winfield's ma'am? Is he in? Yes, ma'am. I'll fetch him. And if the policeman comes along and wants to know why you're lying there, mind you tell him the truth, that you ran into me. Yes, ma'am. Very well, don't forget. No, ma'am. She crossed the street and rang the bell, over which was a card bearing the name Kirk Winfield. Mr. Penicott watched her in silence. Mrs. Porter pressed the button a second time. Somebody came at a leisurely pace down the passage, whistling cheerfully. The door opened. It did not often happen to Laura Delaine Porter to feel insignificant, least of all in the presence of the opposite sex. She had well-defined views upon man. Yet, in the interval which elapsed between the opening of the door and her first words, a certain sensation of smallness overcame her. The man who had opened the door was not, judged by any standard of regularity of features, handsome. He had a rather boyish face, pleasant eyes set wide apart and a friendly mouth. He was rather an outsize in young men. And as he stood there, he seemed to fill the doorway. It was this sense of bigness that he conveyed, his cleanness, his magnificent fitness, that for the moment overcame Mrs. Porter. Physical fitness was her gospel. She stared at him in silent appreciation. To the young man, however, her forceful gaze did not convey this quality. She seemed to him to be looking as if she had caught him in the act of endeavoring to snatch her purse. He had been thrown a little off his balance by the encounter. Resource in moments of crisis is largely a matter of preparedness. And a man, who, having opened his door, in the expectation of seeing a ginger-haired, blue-legged, grinning George Penicott, is confronted by a masterful woman with eyes like gimlets. Maybe excused for not guessing that her piercing stare is an expression of admiration and respect. Mrs. Porter broke the silence. It was ever her way to come swiftly to the matter in hand. Mr. Kirk Winfield? Yes.  The man I refer to is a short, stout Englishman, clean-shaven, dressed in black. That sounds like George Penicott. I have no doubt that that is his name I did not inquire. It did not interest me. My name is Mrs. Laura Delaine Porter. This man of yours has just run into my automobile. I beg your pardon. I cannot put it more lucidly. I was driving along the street when this weak-minded person flung himself in front of my car. He is out there now. We come and help him in. Is he hurt? Or frightened and hurt, I have examined him. His left knee appears to be slightly wrenched. Kirk Winfield passed a hand over his left forehead and followed her. Like George, he found Mrs. Porter a trifle overwhelming. Out in the street, George Penicott, now the centre of a quite substantial section of the four million, was causing a granite-faced policeman to think that the Age of Miracles had returned informing him that the accident had been his fault and no others. He greeted the Relief Party with a wand grin. Just broke my leg, sir, he announced to Kirk. You have done nothing of the sort, said Mrs. Porter. You have wrenched your knee very slightly. Have you explained to the policeman that it was entirely your fault? Yes, ma'am. That's right. Always speak the truth. Yes, ma'am. Mr. Winfield will help you indoors. Thank you, ma'am. Now, Mr. Winfield. Kirk bent over the victim, gripped him, and lifted him like a baby. He's got his, observed one interested spectator. I should worry, agreed another. All broken up. Nothing of the kind, said Mrs. Porter severely. The man is hardly hurt at all. Be more accurate in your remarks. She eyed the speaker sternly. He wilted. Yes, ma'am. He mumbled sheepishly. The policeman, with that lion-like courage, which makes the New York constabulary what it is, endeavored to assert himself at this point. Hey! he boomed. Mrs. Porter turned her gaze upon him. Her cold, steely gaze. I beg your pardon. This won't do, ma'am. I have a report to make. How did this happen? You have already been informed. The man ran into my automobile. But I shall not charge him. She turned and followed Kirk. But, say, the policeman's voice was now almost plaintive. Mrs. Porter ignored him and disappeared into the house. The policeman, having gulped several times in a disconsolate way, relieved his feelings by dispersing the crowd with well-directed prods of his locust stick. A small boy who lingered, squeezing the automobile's hooter, in a sort of trance, he kicked. The boy vanished. The crowd melted. The policeman walked slowly toward Ninth Avenue. The police reigned in the street. Put him to bed, said Mrs. Porter, as Kirk laid his burden on a couch in the studio. You seem exceedingly muscular, Mr. Winfield. I notice that you carried him without an effort. He is a stout man, too. Grossly at a condition like ninety-nine percent of men today. I'm not so young as I was, ma'am, protested George. When I was in the army, I was a fine figure of a man. I'm more ashamed to you that you have allowed yourself to deteriorate, commented Mrs. Porter. Beer? A great full smile irradiated George's face. Thank you, ma'am. It's very kind of you, ma'am. I don't mind if I do. The man appears to be a perfect imbecile, said Mrs. Porter, turning abruptly to Kirk. I asked him if he attributes his physical decay to beer, and he babbles. I think he thought you were offering him a drink, suggested Kirk. As a matter of fact, I'll treat him after the shock he has had.  This isn't your lucky day, George, said Kirk. Well, I guess I'll phone to the doctor. Quite unnecessary, I beg your pardon. Entirely unnecessary, I have made an examination. There is practically nothing to matter with the man. Put him to bed and let him sponge his knee with warm water. Are you a doctor, Mrs. Porter? I have studied first aid. Well, I think if you don't mind, I should like to have your opinion confirmed. This was rank mutiny. Mrs. Porter stared haughtily at Kirk. He met her gaze with determination. As you please, she snapped. Thank you, said Kirk. I don't want to take any risks with George. I couldn't afford to lose him. There aren't any more like him. They've mislaid the pattern. He went to the telephone. Mrs. Porter watched him narrowly. He was never impressed by the perfection of his physique. She appraised his voice as he spoke to the doctor. It gave evidence of excellent lungs. He was a wonderfully perfect physical specimen. An idea concerning this young man came into her mind. Stuttling as all great ideas are at birth, the older it grew, the more she approved of it. She decided to put a few questions to him. She had a habit of questioning people, and it never occurred to her that they might resent it. Had it occurred to her, she would have done it just the same. She was like that. Mr. Winfield, yes, I should like to ask you a few questions. This woman delighted Kirk. Please do, he said. Mrs. Porter scanned him closely.  Have you ever suffered from bad health? Measles. Immaterial. Very unpleasant, though. Nothing else? Mumps? Unimportant. Not to me. I look like a watermelon. Nothing besides those serious illnesses? None. What is your age? Twenty-five. Are your parents living? No. Were they healthy? Fiddles.  Perfect bearcats. I remember my grandfather. At the age of about a hundred or something like that, spanking me for breaking his pipe. I thought it was a steam hammer. He was a wonderfully muscular old gentleman. Excellent. By the way, said Kirk casually, my life is insured. Very sensible. There has been no serious illness in your family at all then, as far as you know. I could hunt up the records if you like, but I don't think so. Consumption? No. Cancer? No. As far as you're aware, nothing very satisfactory. I'm glad you're pleased. Are you married? Good Lord, no.  With your magnificent physique and remarkable record of health, it is your duty to the future of the race to marry. I'm not sure I've been worrying much about the future of the race. No man does. It's the crying evil of the day. Men's selfish absorption in the present. There's us a lack of a sense of duty with regard to the future. Have you read my dawn of better things? I'm afraid I read very few novels. It is not a novel. It is a treatise on the need for implanting a sense of personal duty to the future of the race in the modern young man. It sounds a crackerjack, I must get it. I will send you a copy. At the same time I will send you my principles of selection and what of tomorrow. They will make you think. I bet they will. Thank you very much. And now, said Mrs. Porter, switching the conversation to the gaping George, you had better put this man to bed. George Pennycutt's opinion of Mrs. Porter, to which he was destined to adhere on closer acquaintance, maybe recorded. What a awful woman, sir. He whispered as Kirk bore him off. Nonsense George, said Kirk.  Already I love her like a son. But how she escaped from Bloomingdale beats me. There's been carelessness somewhere. The bedrooms attached to the studio opened off the galley that ran the length of the east wall. Looking over the edge of the galley before coming downstairs, Kirk perceived his visitor engaged in a tour of the studio. At that moment she was examining his masterpiece, Ariadne in Naxos. He had called it that, because that was what it had turned into. At the beginning he had had no definite opinion as to its identity. It was rather a habit with his pictures to start out in a vague spirit of adventure and receive their label on completion. He had an airy and dashing way in his dealings with the goddess Art. Nonetheless, he had sufficient of the artist's soul to resent the fact that Mrs. Porter was standing a great deal too close to the masterpiece to get its full value. You want to stand back a little, he suggested over the rail. Mrs. Porter looked up. Oh, there you are, she said. Yes, here I am, agreed Kirk affably. Is this yours? It is. You painted it, I did. It is poor. It shows a certain feeling for colour, but the drawing is weak. Said Mrs. Porter. For this wonderful woman was as competent at art criticism as at automobile driving and first aid. Where did you study? In Paris, if you could call it studying, I'm afraid I was not the model pupil. Kind of come down, you're giving me a crick in the neck. Kirk descended. He found Mrs. Porter still regarding the masterpiece with an unfavourable eye. Yes, she said, the drawing is decidedly weak. I shouldn't wonder, ascended Kirk. The dealers to whom I've tried to sell it have not said that in so many words, but they've all begged me with tears in their eyes to take the darn thing away. So I guess you're right. Do you depend for a living on the sale of your pictures? I thank heaven, no. I'm the only artist in captivity with a private income. A large income? It is not so deep as a well nor so wide as a church door, but is enough to serve, all told about 5,000 iron men per annum. Iron men? Bones. Bones? I should have said dollars. You should, I detest slang. Sorry, said Kirk. Mrs. Porter resumed her tour of the studio. She was interrupted by the arrival of the doctor, a cheerful little old man with the bearing of one sure of his welcome. He was an old friend of Kirk's. Well, what's the trouble? I couldn't come sooner. I was visiting a case. I work. There is no trouble, said Mrs. Porter. The doctor spun round startled. In the dimness of the studio he had not perceived her. Mr. Winfield's servant has injured his knee very superficially. There is practically nothing wrong with him. I have made a thorough examination. The doctor looked from one to the other. Is there a case in other hands? He asked. You bet it isn't, said Kirk. Mrs. Porter just looked in for a family chat and a glimpse of my pictures. You'll find George in bed, first door on the left upstairs, and a very remarkable sight he is. He is wearing red hair with purple pajamas. Why go abroad when you have not yet seen the wonders of your native land? That night, Laura Delaine Porter wrote in the diary which with that magnificent freedom from human weakness that marked every aspect of her life, she kept all the year round instead of only during the first week in January. This is what she wrote. What steadily on my book? It progresses. In the afternoon, had an annoying occurrence.  Though the sudden application of the break cannot be good for the tires. Out of evil, however, came good. For I made the acquaintance of his employer a Mr. Winfield, an artist. Mr. Winfield is a man of remarkable physique. I questioned him narrowly and he appears thoroughly sound. As to his mental attainments, he looks so highly, but all men are fools. And Mr. Winfield is no more so than most. I have decided that he shall marry my dear Ruth. They will make a magnificent pair. End of Chapter 1 A Pawn of Fate Read by Tim Bulkeley of BigBible.org Book 1, Chapter 2 of Their Mutual Child by P. G. Woodhouse This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Tim Bulkeley of BigBible.org Their Mutual Child by P. G. Woodhouse Book 1, Chapter 2 Ruth States Her Intentions At about the time when Laura the Lane Porter was cross-examining Kirk Winfield, Bailey Bannister left his club hurriedly. Inside the club, a sad rabbit-faced man who had been unburdening his soul to Bailey was seeking further consolation in an amber drink with a cherry at the bottom of it. For this young man was one of nature's cherry chasers. It was the only thing he did really well. His name was Grayling. His height 5 feet 3. His socks pink. And his income enormous. There's so much for Grayling. He is of absolutely no importance either to the world or to this narrative. Except in so far as that painful story he had been unfolding to Bailey Bannister has so wrought upon that exquisite as to send him galloping up Fifth Avenue at five miles an hour in search of his sister Ruth. Let us now examine Bailey. He is a faultlessly dressed young man of about twenty-seven who takes it as a compliment when people think him older. His mouth, at present gaping with agitation and the unwanted exercise is as a rule primely closed. His eyes, peering through gold-rimmed glasses protrude slightly, giving him something of the dumb pathos of a codfish. His hair is pale and scanty. His nose sharp and narrow. He is a junior partner in the firm of Bannister and Son. And it is his unalterable conviction that if his father would only give him a chance he could show Wall Street some high finance that would astonish it. The afternoon was warm. The sun beat down on the avenue. Bailey had not gone two blocks before it occurred to him that swifter and more comfortable progress could be made in a taxi cab than on his admirably trousered legs. No more significant proof of the magnitude of his agitation could be brought forward than the fact that he had so far forgotten himself as to walk at all. He held a cab and gave the address to a house on the upper avenue. He leaned back against the cushions trying to achieve a coolness of mind and body but the heat of the day kept him unpleasantly soluble and dismay that perspiration of the soul refused to be absorbed by the pocket-handkerchief of philosophy. Bailey Bannister was a young man who considered the minding of other people's business a duty not to be shirked. Life is a rocky road for such. His motto was let me do it. He fussed about the affairs of Bannister and son. He fussed about the welfare of his friends at the club. Especially he fussed about his only sister Ruth. He looked on himself as a sort of guardian to Ruth. Their mother had died when they were children and old Mr. Bannister was indifferently equipped with the paternal instinct. He was absorbed body and soul in the business of the firm. He lived back to hermit life in the great house on Fifth Avenue. And if it had not been for Bailey, so Bailey considered, Ruth would have been allowed to do just whenever she pleased. There were those who said that this was precisely what she did, despite brother Bailey. It is a hard world for a conscientious young man of twenty-seven. Bailey paid the cab and went into the house. It was deliciously cool in the hall and for a moment peace descended on him. But the distant sound of a piano in the upper regions ejected it again by reminding him of his mission. He bounded up the stairs and knocked at the door of his sister's private den. The piano stopped as he entered. And the girl on the music stool glanced over her shoulder. Well, Bailey, she said, you look warm. I am warm. Said Bailey in an aggrieved tone. He sat down solemnly. I want to speak to you, Ruth. Ruth shut the piano and caused the music stool to revolve till she faced him. Well, she said, Ruth Bannister was an extraordinarily beautiful girl. A daughter of the gods, divinely tall and most divinely fair. From her mother she had inherited the dark eyes and ivory complexion which went so well with her mass of dark hair. From her father a chin of peculiar determination and perfect teeth. Her body was strong and supple. She radiated health. To her friends, Ruth was a source of perplexity. It was difficult to understand her. In the setting which she moved girls married young. Yet season followed season and Ruth remained single. And this so obviously of her own free will that the usual explanation of such a state of things broke down as soon as it was tested. In shoals during her first two seasons and lately with less unanimity men of every condition from a prince some were battered but still a prince to the Bannisters English Butler a good man, but at the moment under the influence of Tawny Port had laid their hearts at her feet. One and all they had been compelled to pick them up and take them elsewhere. She was generally kind on these occasions but always very firm. The determined chin gave no hope that she might yield to importunity. The eyes that backed up the message of the chin were pleasant but inflexible. Generally it was with a feeling akin to relief that they rejected. When time had begun to heal the wound contemplated their position. There was something about this girl they decided which no fellow could understand. She frightened them. She made them feel that their hands were large and red and their minds weak and empty. She was waiting for something. What it was they did not know. But it was plain that they were not it. But it was plain that they were not it. And off they went to live happily ever after with girls who ate candy and red best sellers. Ruth went on her way. Cool and watchful and mysterious. Waiting, the room which Ruth had taken for her own gave like all rooms when intelligently considered a clue to the character of its owner. It was the only room in the house finished with any taste or simplicity. The furniture was exceedingly expensive but it did not look so. The keynote of the colour scheme was green and white. All round the walls were books except for a few prints there were no pictures and the only photograph visible stood in a silver frame on a little table. It was the portrait of a woman of about fifty. Square-jawed, tight-lipped who stared almost threateningly out of the frame exceedingly handsome but to the ordinary male formidable to be attractive. On this was written in a bold hand bristling with emphatic downstrokes and wholly free from feminine flourish to my dear Ruth from her aunt Laura and below the signature in what printers call quotes a line that was evidently an extract from somebody's published works. Bear the torch and do not falter. Bailey inspected this photograph with disfavour. It always irritated him. The information conveyed to him by amused friends that his aunt Laura had once described Ruth as a duel and a dustbin seemed to him to carry an offensive innuendo directed at himself and the rest of the dwellers in the banister home. Also she had called him a worm. Also again his actual encounters with the lady though few, had been memorably unpleasant. Furthermore he considered that she had far too great an influence on Ruth. And lastly that infernal sentence about the torch which he found perfectly meaningless had a habit of running in his head like a catchphrase causing him the keenest annoyance. He pursed his lips disapprovingly and averted his eyes. Don't sniff at aunt Laura Bailey said Ruth I've had to speak to you about that before. What's the matter? What sent you flying up here? I have had a shock said Bailey. I have been greatly disturbed. I have just been speaking to Clarence Grayling. He eyed her accusingly through his gold-grimmed glasses. She remained tranquil and what had Clarence to say? A great many things. I gather he told you I had refused him. If it were only that Ruth wrapped the piano sharply. Bailey, she said, wake up. Either get to the point or go and read a book or do some tatting or talk about something else.  I believe when people ask you the time you look pained and important to make a mystery of it. What's troubling you? I should have thought Clarence would have kept quiet about insulting me. But apparently he has no sense of shame. Bailey gaped. Bailey was shocked and alarmed. Insulting you? What do you mean? Clarence is a gentleman. He is incapable of insulting a woman. Is he? He told me I was a suitable wife for a wretched dwarf with the miserably inadequate intelligence which nature gave him reduced to practically a minus quantity by alcohol. At least he implied it. He asked me to marry him. I've just left him at the club. He's very upset. I should imagine so. A soft smile played over Ruth's face. I spoke to Clarence. I explained things to him.  Bailey rose. Tremulous with just wroth. You spoke to him in a way that I can only call outrageous and improper and outrageous. He paced the room with agitated strides. Ruth watched him calmly. If the overflowing emotion of a giant soul in torment makes you knock over a table or smash a chair, she said, I shall send the bill for repairs to you. You had far better sit down and talk quietly. What is worrying you, Bailey? Is it nothing, demanded her brother, that my sister should have spoken to a man as you spoke to Clarence Grayling? With an impassioned gesture he sent a flower vase crashing to the floor. I told you so, said Ruth. Pick up the bits and don't let the water spoil the carpet. Use your handkerchief. I should say that would cost you about six dollars, dear. Why will you let yourself be so temperamental? Now, let me try and think what it was I said to Clarence. As far as I can remember it was the mere ABC of eugenics. Bailey on his knees picking up broken glass raised a flushed and accusing face. Ah, eugenics, you admit it. I think, went on Ruth placidly. I asked him what sort of children he thought we were likely to have if we married. A nice girl ought not to think about such things. I don't think about anything else much. A woman can't do a great deal even nowadays, but she can have a conscience and feel that she owes something to this. She can feel that it is her duty to bring fine children into the world. As Aunt Laura says, she can carry the torch and not fault her. Bailey shied like a startled horse at the hated phrase. He pointed furiously photograph over the great thinker.  Bailey precious. You mustn't use such wicked, wicked words. Bailey Rose pink and wrothful. You're going to break another vase, said Ruth. You really will have to go. Ever since that that, cried Bailey. Ever since Aunt Laura Ruth smiled indulgently. That's more like my little man, she said. He knows as well as I do how wrong it is to swear. Be quiet. Ever since Aunt Laura got hold of you, I say, you have become a sort of gramophone spouting her opinions. But what sensible opinions? It's got to stop. Aunt Laura, by God. Who is she? Just look at her record. She disgraces the family by marrying a grubby newspaper fellow called Porter. He has a sense to die, I will say that for him. She thrusts herself into public notice by a series of books and speeches on subjects of which a decent woman ought to know nothing.  Gives you absurd ideas, poisons your mind, and, uh, uh... Bailey, this is positive eloquence. It's got to stop. It's bad enough in her. But everyone knows she is crazy and makes allowances. But in a young girl like you he choked. In a young girl like me prompted Ruth in a low tragic voice. It... It's not right. It's not proper. He drew a long breath. It's all wrong. It's got to stop. He's perfectly wonderful, murmured Ruth. He just opens his mouth and the words come out. But I knew he was somebody directly I saw him by his forehead. Like a dome. Bailey mopped the dome. Perhaps you don't know it, he said. But you're getting yourself talked about.  You've refused nearly every friend I have. Ruth shuddered. Your friends are awful, Bailey. They're all turned out in a pattern like a flock of sheep. They bleed.  Ugh! None of them good enough for you. Is that it? Not nearly. Emotion rendered Bailey for him, almost vulgar. Again, as you hate yourself, he snapped. No, sir! I think I'm perfectly beautiful. Bailey grunted. Ruth came to him and gave him a sisterly kiss. She was very fond of Bailey, though she declined to reference him. Cheer up, Bailey boy, she said.  There's a method in my madness. I'll find him sooner or later and then you'll be glad I waited. Him, what do you mean? Why, him, of course. The ideal young man. That's who or is it whom I'm waiting for? Bailey, shall I tell you something?  You ought not to rush around in this hot weather. That it won't make you blush? It's this. I'm ambitious. I mean to marry the finest man in the world and have the greatest little baby you ever dreamed of. By the way, now I remember. I told Clarence that. Bailey uttered a strangled exclamation. It has made you blush. You turned purple. Well, now you know.  He's going to be strong and straight and clever and handsome and, oh, everything else you can think of. That's why I'm waiting for the ideal young man. If I don't find him, I shall die and old maid. But I shall find him. We may pass each other on Fifth Avenue. We may sit next to each other at a theatre. Wherever it is, I shall just reach right out and grab him and whisk him away. And if he's married already, he'll have to get a divorce. And I shan't care who he is. He may be anyone. I don't mind if he's a ribbon clerk or a prize fighter or a policeman or a cab driver, as long as he's the right man. Bailey is a man who's a little bit of a grudge if on his streaming forehead. The heat of the day and the horror of this conversation were reducing his weight at a rate of ounces a minute. In his most jaundiced mood he had never imagined these frightful sentiments to be lurking in Ruth's mind. You can't mean that! He cried. I mean every word of it, said Ruth. I hope for your sake he doesn't turn out to be a waiter or a prize fighter. But he won't make any difference to me. Just now you said Aunt Laura was. If she is, I am. I knew it. I said she'd been putting these ghastly ideas into your head. I'd like to strangle that woman. Don't you try. Have you ever felt Aunt Laura's biceps? They're like a man's. She does dumbbells every morning. I've got a good mind to speak to Father. Somebody's got to make you stop this insanity. Just as you please. But you know how Father hates to be worried about things that don't concern business. Bailey did. His father, of whom he stood in the greatest all, was very little interested in any subject except the financial affairs of the firm Bannister and Son. It required greater courage than Bailey possessed to place this matter before him. He had an uneasy feeling that Ruth knew it. I would, if it were necessary, he said. But I don't believe you're serious. Stick to that idea as long as you can, Bailey dear, said Ruth. It will comfort you. End of Chapter 2. Ruth states her intentions. Read by Tim Bulkley of BigBible.org. Book 1 Chapter 3 of Their Mutual Child by P.G. Woodhouse. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information on how to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Their Mutual Child Chapter 3 of BigBible.org. Book 1 Chapter 3 of Their Mutual Child Chapter 3 The Mate's Meat. Kirk Winfield was an amiable, though rather weak young man with whom life for 25 years had dealt kindly. He had perfect health, an income more than sufficient for his needs, a profession which interested without monopolizing him, a thoroughly contented disposition, and the happy knack of surrounding himself with friends. After the support of the majority of these friends, might have seemed to draw back to some men. Kirk did not object to it in the least. He had enough money to meet their needs, and, being a sociable person who enjoyed mixing with all sorts and conditions of men, he found the Liberty Hall regime pleasant. He liked to be a magnet, attracting New York's bohemian population. If he had his preferences among the impecunious crowd to use the studio as a chapel of ease, rolling him when it pleased them, drinking his whiskey, smoking his cigarettes, borrowing his money, and, on occasion, his spare bedrooms and his pajamas, he never showed it. He was fully as pleasant to Percy Shanklin, an elegant, perpetually resting English actor, whom he disliked as far as he was capable of disliking anyone, as he was to Hank Jardine, the prospector and Hank's prize fighter friend, Steve Dingle, both of whom he liked enormously. It seemed to him sometimes that he had drifted into the absolutely ideal life. He lived entirely in the present. The passage of time left him untouched. Day followed day, week followed week, and nothing seemed to change. He was never unhappy, never ill, never bored. He would get up in the morning with the comfortable knowledge that the day held no definite duties. George Pennycutt would produce one of his excellent breakfasts. The next milestone would be the other day when he would get up in the morning and he would get up in the morning with his friends. The next milestone would be the arrival of Steve Dingle. Five risked rounds with Steve, a cold bath, and a rub down took him pleasantly on to lunch, after which he'd amused him to play at painting. There was always something to do when he wearied of that until, almost before the day had properly begun, up came George with one of his celebrated dinners. And then began the incursion of his friends. One by one they would drop in to help their host through till bedtime, and another day would slip into the past. It never occurred to Kirk that he was wasting his life. He had no ambitions. Ambition is born of woman, and no woman that he had ever met had ever stirred him deeply. He'd never been in love, and he had come to imagine that he was incapable of anything except a mild liking for women. He considered himself immune to his go-as-you-please existence too much, to want to have it upset. He belonged, in fact, to the type which, when the moment arrives, falls in love very suddenly, very violently, and for all time. Nothing could have convinced him of this. He was like a child lighting matches in a powder magazine. When the idea of marriage crossed his mind, he thrusted from him with a kind of shuddering horror. He could not picture to himself a woman who could compensate him for the loss of his freedom, and still less of his friends. His friends were men's men. He could not see them fitting into a scheme of life that involved the perpetual presence of a hostess. Hank Jardine, for instance. To Kirk, the great point about Hank was that he had been everywhere, seen everything, and was, when properly stimulated with tobacco and drink, a fountain of reminiscence. But he could not talk unless he had his coat off and his feet up on the back of a chair. No hostess could be expected to relish that. Hank was a bachelor's friend. He did not belong in a married household. The abstract wife could not be reconciled to him, and Kirk, loving Hank like a brother, firmly dismissed the abstract wife. He came to look upon himself as a confirmed bachelor. He had thought out the question of marriage in all its aspects and decided against it. He was the strong man who knew his own mind and could not be shaken. Yet, on the afternoon of the day following Mrs. Laura Delaney Porter's entry into his life, Kirk sat in the studio feeling, for the first time in recent years, a vague discontent. He was uneasy, almost afraid. The slight dislocation in the smooth working machinery of his existence, caused by the compulsory retirement of George Penicott, was thoroughly uncomfortable. With discomfort had come introspection, and with introspection this uneasiness that was almost fear. A man living alone without money troubles to worry him sinks inevitably into a routine. Fatted ease is good for no one. It sucks the soul out of a man. Kirk, as he sat smoking in the cool dusk of the studio, was wondering almost in a panic whether all was well with himself. This mild domestic calamity had upset him so infernally. It could not be right that so slight a change in his habits could have such an effect upon him. George had been so little hurt the doctor gave him a couple of days before complete recovery that it had not seemed worthwhile to Kirk to engage a substitute. It was simpler to go out for his meals and make his own bed. But it was the realisation that this alteration in his habits had settled him that was making Kirk subject himself now to an examination of quite unusual severity. He hated softness. Physically he kept himself always in perfect condition. Had he become spiritually flabby? Certainly this unexpected call on his energies would appear to have found him unprepared. It spoiled his whole day, knowing when he got out of bed in the morning that he must hunt about and find his food instead of sitting still and having it brought to him. He frightened him to think how set he had become. Forty-eight hours ago he would have scorned the suggestion that he coddled himself. He would have produced as evidence to the contrary his cold baths, his exercises, his bouts with Steve Dingle. Today he felt less confidence. For all his baths and boxing the fact remained that he had become at the age of twenty-six such a slave to Abbot that a very trifling deviation from settled routine was enough for him. Bachelors have these black moments and it is then that the abstract wife comes into her own. To Kirk, brooding in the dusk the figure of the abstract wife seemed to grow less formidable. The fact that she might not get on with Hank Jardine of less importance. Revolutionary thought that life was rather a bore and would become more and more of a bore as the years went on unless he had someone to share it with crept into his mind and stayed there. He shivered. These were unpleasant thoughts. And in his hour of clear vision he knew whence they came. They were entirely due to the knowledge that instead of sitting comfortably at home he would be compelled in a few short hours to go out and get dinner at some restaurant.  Once the gods have marked a bachelor down they give him few chances to escape. It was when Kirk's mood was at its blackest and the figure of the abstract wife had ceased to be a menace and become a shining angel of salvation. That Laura Delaine Porter with Ruth Bannister at her side rang the studio bell. Kirk went to the door. He hoped it was a tradesman. He feared it was a friend. In his present state of mind he had no use for friends. When he found himself confronting Mrs. Porter he became momentarily incapable of speech. It had not entered his mind that she would pay him a second visit. Possibly it was joy that rendered him dumb. Good afternoon, Mr. Winfield, said Mrs. Porter. I have come to inquire after the man Pennycut. Ruth, this is Mr. Winfield. Mr. Winfield, my niece, Miss Bannister. And Kirk perceived for the first time that his visitor was not alone. The man behind her, a girl, was standing. He still decided to let Mrs. Porter pass. And Ruth came into the light. If there are degrees in speechlessness, Kirk's aphasia became doubled and trebled at the sight of her. It seemed to him that he went all the pieces as if he had received a violent blow. Curious physical changes were taking place in him. His legs, which only that morning he had looked upon as eminently muscular, he now discovered to be composed of some curiously unstable jelly. He also perceived a fact which he had never before suspected that he had heart disease. His lungs, too, were in poor condition. He found it practically impossible to breathe. The violent trembling fit which assailed him, he attributed to general organic weakness. He gaped at Ruth. Ruth, outwardly, remained unaffected by the meeting. But inwardly she was feeling the same sensation of smallness which had come to Mrs. Porter on her first meeting with Kirk. If this sensation had been novel to Mrs. Porter it was even stranger to Ruth. To think humbly of herself was an experience that seldom happened to her. She was perfectly aware that her beauty was remarkable even in a city of beautiful women and it was rarely that she permitted her knowledge of that fact to escape her. Her beauty to her was a natural phenomenon impossible to overlook. The realization of it did not obtrude itself into her mind it simply existed subconsciously. Yet, for an instant, it ceased to exist. She was staggered by a sense of inferiority. It lasted but a pinpoint of time this riotous upheaval of her nature. She recovered herself so swiftly that Kirk, busy with his own emotions had no suspicion of it. A moment later he too was himself again. He was conscious of feeling curiously uplifted and thrilled as if the world had suddenly become charged with ozone and electricity and for some reason he felt capable of great feats of muscle and energy. But the aphasia had left him and he addressed himself with a clear brain to the task of entertaining his visitors. George is better today, he reported. He never was bad, said Mrs. Porter succinctly. He doesn't think so. Possibly not. He is hopelessly weak-minded. Ruth laughed. Kirk thrilled at the sound. Poor George, she observed. Don't waste your sympathy, my dear, said Mrs. Porter. That he has injured, at all, is his own fault. For years he has allowed himself to become gross and flabby with the result that the collision did damage which he would not have done You, Mr. Winfield, she added, turning abruptly to Kirk, would scarcely have felt it. But then you, went on Mrs. Porter, are in good condition. Cold baths, I beg your pardon. Do you take cold baths? I do. Do you do Swedish exercises? I go through a series of evolutions every morning with the utmost loathing. I started them as a boy and they have become a habit like a dram drinking. I would leave them off if I could but I can't. Do nothing of the kind. They are invaluable. But undignified. Let me feel your biceps, Mr. Winfield, said Mrs. Porter. She nodded approvingly, like iron. She poised a finger and ran a meditative glance over his form. Kirk eyed her apprehensively. The finger darted forward and struck her in the region of the third waistcoat button. Wonderful, she exclaimed. Ruth! Yes, Aunt? Proud, Mr. Winfield, where my finger is pointing, he is extraordinarily muscular. I say, really, protested Kirk. He was a modest young man and this exploration of his more intimate anatomy by the fingertips of the girl he loved was not to be contemplated. Just as you please, said Mrs. Porter, if I were a man of your physique I should be proud of it. Wouldn't you like to go up and see George? asked Kirk. It was hard on George, but he moved somehow. Very well. I have brought him a little book to read which will do him good. It is called elementary rules for the preservation of the body. He's learned one of them all right since yesterday, said Kirk.  The rules I refer to are mainly concerned with diet and wholesome exercise, explained Mrs. Porter. Careful attention to them may yet save him. His case is not hopeless. Let Mr. Winfield show you his pictures. They are poor in many respects, but not entirely without merit. Ruth, meanwhile, had been sitting on the couch, listening to the conversation without really hearing it. She was in a dreamy, contented mood. She found herself curiously soothed by the atmosphere of the studio with its shaded lights and its atmosphere of peace. The app was the keynote of the place. Peace. From outside came the rumble of an elevated train, soothed and softened like faintly heard thunder. Somebody passed the window, whistling. A barrier seemed to separate her from these noises of the city. New York was very far away. I believe I could be wonderfully happy in a place like this, she thought. She became suddenly aware in the midst of her meditations of eyes watching her intently. She looked up and met Kirk's. She could read the message in them as clearly as if he had spoken it, with a little thrill of annoyance at the thought of all the tiresome formalities which must be gone through before he could speak it. They seemed absurd. It was all so simple. He wanted her, she wanted him. She had known it from the moment of their meeting. The man had found his woman, the woman her man. Nature had settled the whole affair in an instant, and now civilization and propriety etiquette, whatever one cared to call it, must need step in with the rules and regulations and precedents. The goal was there, clear in sight, but it must be reached by the winding road appointed. She, being a woman and by virtue of her sex, primeval, scorned the road, and would have ignored it. But she knew men, and especially at that moment as their eyes met, she knew Kirk, and she understood that to him the road was a thing that could not be ignored. The mere idea of doing so would seem grotesque and impossible, possibly even shocking to him. Men were odd, formal creatures, slaves to precedent. He must have time. It was the prerogative of the male, time to reveal himself to her, distraught before her, to go through the solemn comedy of proving to her by the exhibition of his virtues and the careful suppression of his defects, what had been clear to her from the first instant, that here was her mate. The man Nature had set apart for her. He would begin by putting on a new suit of clothes, and having his hair cut. She smiled. It was silly and tiresome, but it was funny. Would you show me your pictures, Mr. Winfield? She asked. If you really care to see them, I'm afraid they're pretty bad. Exhibit A. Modesty, thought Ruth. The journey had begun. End of Chapter 3. The Mate's Meat Read by Tim Bulkley of BigBible.org Chapter 4. Of Their Mutual Child by P. G. Woodhouse This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information on a volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Tim Bulkley of BigBible.org Chapter 4. Troubled Waters It is not easy in this world to take any definite step without annoying somebody. And Kirk, in embarking on his wooing of Ruth Bannister, signally failed to do so. Laura Elaine Porter beamed graciously upon him like a pleased Providence. But the rest of his circle of acquaintances were ill at ease. The statement does not include Hank Jardine, for Hank was out of New York, but the others, Shanklin the actor, Bryce Johnson, Willis Appleton and the rest, sensed impending change in the air, and were uneasy, like cattle before a thunderstorm. The fact that the visits of Mrs. Porter and Ruth to inquire after George, now of daily occurrence, took place in the afternoon, while they, Kirk's dependence, seldom or never appeared in the studio till drawn there by the scent of the evening meal. It being understood that during the daytime, Kirk liked to work undisturbed. Kept them ignorant of the new development. All they knew was that during the last two weeks, a subtle change had taken place in Kirk. He was less genial, more prone to irritability than of old. He had developed fits of absent-mindedness, and was frequently to be found staring pensively at nothing. To slap him on the back at such moments as Wren had ventured to do on one occasion, Wren belonging to the Jovial School of Thought, which holds that nature gave us hands in order to slap backs, was to bring forth a new and unexpected Kirk, a Kirk who scowled and snarled, and was hardly to be appeased with apology. Stranger still, this new Kirk could be summoned into existence by precisely the type of story at which, a few weeks back, he would have been the first to laugh. Percy Shanklin, whose conversation consisted of equal parts of autobiography and of stories of the type alluded to, was the one to discover this. His latest, which he had counted on to set the table in a row, produced from Kirk, criticism so adverse and so crisply delivered, that he refrained from telling his latest but one, and spent the rest of the evening wondering, like his fellow visitors, what had happened to Kirk, and whether he was sickening for something. Not one of them had the faintest suspicion that the symptoms indicated that Kirk, for the first time in his easygoing life, was in love. They had never contemplated such a prospect. It was not till his conscientious and laborious courtship had been in progress for over two weeks, and was nearing the stage when he felt the possibility of revealing his state of mind to Ruth, was not so remote as it had been, that a chance visit of Percy Shanklin to the studio during the afternoon solved the mystery. One calls it a chance visit because Percy had not been meaning to borrow $20 from Kirk that day at all. The man slated for the loan was one borrows, a kindly member of the Lambs Club. But fate, and the telegram from a manager removed borrows to Chicago, while Percy was actually circling preparatory to the swoop. And the only other man in New York who seemed to Percy good for the necessary sum, at that precise moment, was Kirk. He flew to Kirk and found him with Ruth. Kirk's utter absence of any enthusiasm at the sight of him, the reluctance with which he made the introduction, the glumness with which he bore his share of the three-cornered conversation, all these things convinced Percy that this was no ordinary visitor. Many years of living by his wits had developed in Percy highly sensitive powers of observation. If, as his visit was, he came away as certain that Kirk was in love with this girl and that the girl was in love with Kirk as he had ever been of anything in his life. As he walked slowly downtown, he was thinking hard. The subject occupying his mind was the problem of how this thing was to be stopped.  The comedy had been what its enthusiastic backer had described in the newspaper advertisements as a rousing, live-wire success. That is to say, it had staggered along for six weeks on Broadway to extremely poor houses, and, after three weeks on the road, had perished for all time, leaving Percy out of work.  Living in the mysterious way in which out-of-work actors do live. He had a number of acquaintances such as the amiable burrows who were good for occasional loans. But Kirk Winfield was the king of them all. There was something princely about the careless open-handedness of Kirk's methods and Percy's whole soul rose in revolt against the prospect of being deprived of this source of revenue. As something, possibly Ruth's determined chin told him that he would be should Kirk marry this girl. He had placed Ruth at once directly he had heard her name. He remembered having seen her photograph in the society section of the Sunday paper, which he borrowed each week. This was the daughter of old John Bannister. There was no doubt about that. How she had found her way to Kirk's studio, he could not understand. But there she certainly was, and Percy was willing to bet the twenty dollars which, despite the excitement of the moment, he had not forgotten to extract from Kirk in a hurried conversation at the door that her presence there was not known and approved by her father. The only reasonable explanation that Kirk was painting her portrait he dismissed. There had been no signs of any portrait and Kirk's embarrassment had been so obvious that if there had been any such explanation he would certainly have given it. Now, Ruth has more reasons than those of art. Unchaperone too, by Jove! thought Percy virtuously. Ignorant of Mrs. Laura Delane Porter who at the time of his call had been busily occupied in a back room instilling into George Penicott the Gospel of the Fit Body. For George, now restored to health, had ceased to be a mere student of elementary rules for the preservation of the body and had become an active though unwilling practiser of its precepts. Every morning Mrs. Porter called and having shepherded him into the back room put him relentlessly through his exercises. George's groans as he moved his stout limbs along the dotted lines indicated in the books illustrated plates might have stirred a faint heart to pity. But Laura Delane Porter was made of sterner stuff. If George so much has bent his knees while touching his toes he heard of it instantly with a little uncertain voice. Thus in her decisive way did Mrs. Porter spread light and sweetness with both hands achieving the bodily salvation of George while at the same time furthering the loves of Ruth and Kirk by leaving them alone together to make each other's better acquaintance in the romantic dimness of the studio. Percy proceeded downtown pondering. His first impulse I regret to say was to send Ruth's father a letter. This plan he abandoned from motives of fear rather than self-respect. Anonymous letters are too frequently traced to their writers and the prospect of facing Kirk in such an event did not appeal to him. As he could think of no other way of affecting his object he had begun to taste the bitterness of futile effort when fortune, always his friend put him in a position to do what he wanted in the easiest possible way with the minimum of unpleasantness. Bailey Bannister, that strong, keen Napoleon of finance was not above a little relaxation of an evening when his father happened to be out of town. That giant mind, weary with the strain of business, needed refreshment. And so, at eleven thirty that night his father being in Albany and not expected home till next day Bailey might have been observed beautifully arrayed and discreetly jovial partaking of lobster at one of those broadway palaces where this fish is in brisk demand. He was in company of his rapid-faced friend Clarence Grayling and two members of the chorus of a neighbouring musical comedy. One of the two with whom Clarence was conversing in a lively manner that showed his heart had not been irreparably broken as a result of his recent interview with Ruth we made a smearce. Like Clarence she is of no importance to the story. The other, who not finding Bailey's measured remarks very gripping was allowing her gaze to wander idly round the room has this claim to a place in the scheme of things that she had a wordless part in the comedy in which Percy Shanklin had appeared as the English dude and was on terms of friendship with him. Consequently seeing him enter the room as he did at that moment she signalled him to approach. It's a little fellow who was with me and out west she explained to Bailey as Percy made his way toward them at which Bailey's prim mouth closed with an air of disapproval. The feminine element of the stage he found congenial to his business harassed brain but with the little fellas who helped them to keep the national drama sizzling he felt less in sympathy and he resented extremely his companions tactlessness in inciting this infernal mama to intrude upon his privacy. He prepared to be cold and distant with Percy and when Bailey never a ray of sunshine deliberately tried to be chilly those with him at the time generally had the sensation that winter was once more in their midst. Percy meanwhile threaded his way among the tables little knowing that fate had already solved the problem which had worried him the greater part of the day. He had come to the restaurant as a relief from his thoughts if you could find some kind friend who would invite him to supper well and good if not he was feeling so tired and depressed that he was ready to take the bull by the horns and pay for his meal himself. He obeyed Miss Friedo Reese's signal because it was impossible to avoid doing so but one glance at Bailey's face had convinced him that not there was his kind host. Why Pierce said Miss Reese I ain't saw you in years where you've been hiding yourself Percy gave a language gesture indicative of the man of affairs whose time is not his own Percy continued Miss Reese shake hands with my friend Mr. Bannister I've been telling him about how you made such a hit as the pin in Pinafore the name galvanized Percy like a bugle blast Mr. Bannister he exclaimed any relation to Mr. John Bannister the millionaire he really favored him with a scrutiny through the gold rim glasses which would have frozen his very spine my father's name is John and he is a millionaire Percy met the scrutiny with a suave smile by Jove he said I know your sister quite well Mr. Bannister I meet her frequently at the studio of my friend Kirk Winfield very frequently she's there nearly every day well I must be moving on gotta date with the man goodbye Frida glad you're going strong good night Mr. Bannister delighted to have made your acquaintance you must come round to the studio one of these days good night he moved softly away Miss Reese watched him go with regret he's a good little fella Percy she said and say no to your sister well ain't that nice Bailey did not reply the feast of reason and flow of soul that went on at the table during the rest of the meal he contributed so little that Miss Reese, in conversation that night with her friend alluded to him, not without justice first as that stiff and later as a dead one if Percy Shanklin could have seen Bailey in the small hours of that night he would have been satisfied that his words had borne fruit like a modern Prometheus Bailey writhed sleepless on his bed till daylight appeared the discovery that Ruth was in the habit of paying clandestine visits to artist studios where she met men like the little bounder who had been thrust upon him at supper rent his haughty soul like a bomb he knew no artists but he had read novels of bohemian life in Paris and he had gathered a general impression that they were as a class shock-headed unwashed persons of no social standing whatever extremely short of money and much addicted to orgies and his sister had lowered herself by association with one of these he rose early his appearance in the mirror shocked him he looked positively haggard dressing with unwanted haste he inquired for Ruth and was told that a telephone message had come from her late the previous evening to say she was spending the night at the apartment of Mrs. Laura Delaney Porter the hated name increased Bailey's indignation he held Mrs. Porter responsible for the whole trouble but for her pernicious influence Ruth would have been an ordinary sweet American girl running as Bailey held a girl should in a decent groove it increased his troubles that his father was away from New York Bailey who enjoyed the dignity of being temporary head of the firm of banister and son had approved of his departure but now he would have even much to have him on the spot he did not doubt his inability to handle this matter but he felt that his father ought to know what was going on his wrath against this upstart artist who secretly entertained his sister in his studio grew with the minutes it would be his privilege very shortly to read that scrubby doorber a lesson in deportment which he would remember in the interests of the family welfare he decided to stay away from the office that day the affairs of banister and son would be safe for the time being in the hands of the head clerk having telephoned to wall street to announce his decision he made a moody breakfast and then proceeded as was his custom of a morning to the gymnasium for his daily exercise the gymnasium was a recent addition to the banister home it had been established as the result of a heart to heart talk between old John banister and his doctor the doctor spoke earnestly of nervous frustration and stated without preamble the exact number of months which would elapse before mr. banister living his present life would make first hand acquaintance with it he insisted on a regular routine of exercise the gymnasium came into being and mr. steve dingle physical instructor at the new york athletic club took up a position in the banister household which he was want to describe to his numerous friends as a soft snap certainly his hours were not long 30 minutes with old mr. banister and 30 minutes with mr. Bailey between 8 and 9 in the morning and his duties were over for the day but steve was conscientious and checked any disposition on the part of his two clients to shirk work with a firmness which laurid lane porter might have envied there were moments when he positively bullied old mr. banister it would have amazed the clerks in his wall street office to see the meekness with which orders but john banister was a man who liked to get his money's worth and he knew that steve was giving it to the last send steve at that time was 28 years old he had abandoned active connection with the ring which had just begun after his 17th birthday 12 months before his entry into the banister home leaving behind him a record of which any boxer might have been proud he personally was exceedingly proud of it and made no secret of the fact it was a man in private life of astonishingly even temper the only thing that appeared to have the power to ruffle him to the slightest extent was the contemplation of what he described as the bunch of cheeses who pretended to fight nowadays he would have considered it a privilege it seemed to be allowed to encounter all the middleweights in the country in one ring in a single night without training might it appeared he had promised his mother to quit and he had quit steve's mother was an old lady who in her day had been the best washerwoman on cherry hill she was moreover completely lacking in all the qualities which go to make up the patroness of sport steve had been injudicious enough to pay her a visit the day after his celebrated unpleasantness with that rugged warrior pato flatti nay smith and though he had knocked pat out midway around he bore away from the arena a black eye of such startling richness that old mrs. dingle had refused to be comforted until he had promised never to enter a ring again which as steve said had come pretty hard he being a man who would rather be a water bucket and a ring than a president outside it but he had given the promise and kept it leaving the field the above mentioned bunch of cheeses there were times when the temptation of the head off battling dick this and fighting jack that became almost agony but he never yielded to it all of which suggests that steve was a man of character as indeed he was bailey entering the gymnasium found steve already there punching the bag with a force and precision which showed that the bunch of cheeses ought to have been highly grateful to mrs. dingle for her antipugilistic prejudices good morning dingle said bailey nicely steve nodded bailey began to don his gymnasium costume steve gave the ball a final punch and turned to him he was a young man who gave the impression of being in a literal sense perfectly square this was due to the breadth of his shoulders which were quite out of proportion to his height his chest was extraordinarily deep and his stomach and waist small so that to the observer seeing him for the first time in boxing trunks he seemed to begin as a big man and halfway down changed his mind and become a small one his arms which were unusually long and thick hung down nearly to his knees and were decorated throughout with knobs and ridges of muscle that popped up and down and in and out as he moved in a manner both fascinating and frightening his face increased the illusion of squareness for he had thick straight eyebrows a straight mouth and a chin of almost the minimum degree of roundness he inspected bailey with a pair of brilliant brown eyes which no detail of his appearance could escape and bailey that morning as has been said was not looking his best you're looking kind of sick bow was steve's comment I guess he was hidden it up with a gang last night in one of them lobster parlours bailey objected to being addressed as bow and he was annoyed that steve should have guessed the truth respecting his overnight movements still more was he annoyed that steve's material mind should attribute to a surfeit of lobster a pallor which was super induced by a tortured soul I did take supper last night it is true he said but if I'm a little pale today that is not the cause things have occurred to annoy me intensely you should worry advise steve catch the heavy medicine ball struck bailey in the chest before he could bring up his hands and send him staggering back damn it dingle he gasped kindly give me warning before you do that sort of thing steve was delighted it amused his simple honest soul to catch bailey napping and the incident gave him a text on which to hang a lecture and next to fighting he loved best the sound of his own voice warning nix he said ain't it just what I've been telling you every day for weeks you've got to be ready always you've seen me holding the pellet you should also have been saying to yourself I gotta keep an eye on that gink so you don't soak me one with that thing when I ain't looking then you should have caught it and whizzed it back at me and maybe if I hadn't been ready for it you might have knocked the breeze out of me I should have derived no pleasure why say suppose a pug ugly sachet's up to you on the street to take a crack at your pearl stickpin do you reckon he's gonna drop your postal card first? you've got to be ready for him see what I mean let us spar said bailey austerely he had begun to despair of ever making steve show him that deference and respect which he considered due to the son of the house the more frigid he was the more genial and friendly did steve become the thing was hopeless it was a pleasing sight to see bailey spar he brought to the task the measured dignity which characterised all his actions a left jab from him had all the majesty of a formal declaration of war if he was a trifle slow in his movements for a pastime which demands a certain agility from its devotees he at least got plenty of exercise and did himself a great deal of good he was perspiring freely as he took off the gloves a shower bath followed by a brisk massage at the energetic hands of steve made him feel better than he had imagined he could feel after that night of spiritual storm and stress he was glowing as he put on his clothes and a certain high resolve which had come to him in the night watches now returned with doubled force dingle he said how did I seem today fine answered steve courteously you're getting to be a regular terror you think I shape well sure I am glad this morning I am going to thrash a man with an inch of his life what steve spun round bailey's face was set and determined you are said steve feebly I am what's he been doing to you I'm afraid I cannot tell you that but he richly deserves what he will get steve eyed him with affectionate interest well ain't you the wild cat he said who'd have thought it I always had you sized up as a kind of placid guy I can be roused gee I can't see it but say what sort of a gook is this gink anyway in what respect well I mean is he a heavy or a middle or a welter or what makes kind of a difference you know I cannot say I have not seen him what not seen him then how's there this fuss between you that is a matter into which I cannot go well what's his name then maybe I know him I know a few good people in this I have no objection to telling you that he is an artist and his name is his name is wrinkles appeared in bailey's forehead his eyes bulged anxiously behind their glasses I've forgotten he said blankly for the love of mike no where he lives I am afraid not steve patted him kindly on the shoulder take my advice bow let the poor fella off this time and so it came about that bailey instead of falling upon Kirk Winfield hailed a taxi cab and drove to the apartment of Mrs. Laura Delain Porter end of chapter four read by tim bulkley of big bible dot org chapter five of their mutual child this is a LibriVox recording or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information on a volunteer please visit LibriVox dot org recording by tim bulkley of big bible dot org their mutual child by pg woodhouse chapter five where in opposites agree the maid who opened the door showed a reluctance to let bailey in she said that mrs. Porter was busy with her writing and had given orders that she was not to be disturbed nothing could have infuriated bailey more he bailey banister was to be refused admittance because this preposterous woman wished to write it was the duty of all decent citizens to write if it had not been for her and her absurd books ruth would never have made it necessary for him to pay this visit at all kindly take my card to mrs. Porter and tell her that I must see her at once on a matter of the utmost urgency he directed the domestic workers of america had not been trained to stand up against bailey's grand manner the maid vanished amicably with the card and presently returned and requested him to step in bailey found himself in a comfortable room more like a man's study than a woman's boudoir books lined the walls the furniture was strong and plain at the window on a swivel chair before a roll-top desk mrs. Porter sat writing her back to the door the gentleman ma'am announced the maid sit down without looking round or ceasing to write the maid went out bailey sat down the week of the quill-pen continued bailey coughed I have called this morning the left hand of the writer rose and waggled itself irritably above her left shoulder Aunt Laura spoke bailey sternly shh said the authoress only that nothing more bailey outraged relapsed into silence the pen squeaked on after what seemed to bailey a considerable time the writing ceased it was succeeded by the sound of paper vigorously blotted then with startling suddenness mrs. Porter world-round on the swivel chair tilted it back and faced him well bailey she said she looked at bailey bailey looked at her her eyes had the curious effect of driving out of his head what he had intended to say well she said again the excellent opening speech which she had prepared in the cab good gracious bailey cried mrs. Porter you have not come here and ruined my morning's work for the pleasure of looking at me surely say something bailey found his voice I have called to see Ruth who I am informed is with you she is in her room I made her breakfast in bed is there any message I can give her bailey suddenly remembered the speech he had framed in the cab Aunt Laura he said I am sorry to have to intrude upon you at so early an hour but it is imperative that I see Ruth and ask her to explain the meaning of a most disturbing piece of news that has come to my ears mrs. Porter did not appear to have heard him a man of your height should weigh more she said what is your weight my weight beside the point your weight is under 140 pounds and it ought to be over 160 eat more avoid alcohol keep regular hours Aunt Laura well I wish to see my sister you will have to wait what do you wish to see her about that is a matter that concerns no I will tell you for I believe you to be responsible for the whole affair well last night quite by chance I found out that Ruth has for some time to the studio an artist mrs. Porter nodded quite right mrs. Kirkwindfield she is going to marry him Bailey's hat fell to the floor his stick followed his mouth opened widely his glasses shot from his nose and danced madly at the end of their string what it will be a most suitable match in every way said mrs. Porter Bailey bounded to his feet it's incredible he shouted it's ridiculous it's abominable it's it's incredible mrs. Porter gazed upon his transports with about the same amount of interest which he would have bestowed upon a welling dervish at Coney Island you have not seen mr. windfield I gather when I do he'll have reason to regret it I sit down Bailey sat down Ruth and mr. windfield are both perfect types mr. windfield is really a splendid specimen of a man as to his intelligence I say nothing I have ceased to expect intelligence in man and I'm grateful for the smallest grain but physically he is magnificent I could not wish dear Ruth a better husband Bailey had pulled himself together with a supreme effort and had achieved a frozen calm such a marriage is of course out of the question he said why? my sister cannot marry a nobody an outsider mr. windfield is not a nobody he is an extraordinarily healthy young man are you aware that Ruth if she had wished could have married a prince she told me a little rat of a man I understand she had far too much sense to any such thing she has a conscience she knows what she owes to the future of the bah! cried Bailey rudely I suppose said mrs. porter that like most men you care nothing for the future of the race you are not interested in eugenics Bailey quivered with fury at the word but said nothing if you have ever studied even so elementary a subject as the color hereditary of the Andalusian fowl the color heredity of the Andalusian fowl was too much for Bailey I declined to discuss any such drivel he said rising I came here to see Ruth and here she is said mrs. porter the door opened and Ruth appeared she looked to Bailey insufferably radiant and pleased with herself Bailey she cried whatever brings my little Bailey here when he ought to be working like a good boy in Wall Street I will tell you Bailey's demeanor was potentious he's frowning said Ruth you have been stirring his hidden depths aren't Laura Bailey coughed Ruth Bailey don't you know how terrible you look when you're roused Ruth kindly answer me one question aren't Laura informs me that you are going to marry this man Winfield is it or is it not true of course it's true Bailey drew in his breath he gazed coldly at Ruth bowed to mrs. porter and smoothed the nap of his hat very good he said stonely I shall now call upon this mr. Winfield to brush him with that he walked out of the room he directed his cab to the newest hotel looked up Kirk's address in the telephone book and ten minutes later was ringing the studio bell a look of relief came into George Pennycutt's eyes as he opened the door to George nowadays every ring of the bell meant a possible visit from Laura Delaney Porter is mr. Kirk Winfield at home inquired Bailey sir kindly tell mr. Winfield that mr. Bannister wishes to speak to him yes sir will you step this way sir Bailey stepped that way while Bailey was driving to the studio in his taxi cab Kirk in boxing trunks and a sleepless vest was engaged on his daily sparring exercise with Steve Dingle this morning Steve seemed to be amused at something as they rested at the conclusion of their fifth and final round Kirk perceived that he was chuckling and asked the reason why say I was only thinking it takes all kinds of ivory domes to make a nuttery I ran across a brand new simp this morning just before I came to you I'm scheduled to show up at one of these Aster built homes to the side of the park first I mix it with the old man then suddenly air blows in and I attend to him well this morning son acts like he's all worked up he's one of these half portion Willy boys who sell legs but he throws out a line of talk that will make you wonder if it's safe to let him run around loose he says his mind's made up he's going to thrash a gink within an inch of his life gonna muster his features so bad he'll have to have them replanted why I says never you mind says he well who is he I asks what do you think happens then he thinks hard for a spell rolls his eyes and says search me I've forgotten no way he lives I ask him nope he says can you beat it seems to me if I had a kink on my coco that big I'd phone to an alienist and have myself measured for a straight jacket gee you'd beat all kinds going around the way I do Kirk laughed into the cigarette if you want to use the shower Steve he said you better get up there now I shan't be ready yet a while then if this is one of your energetic mornings care to give me a rub down sure said Steve obligingly he picked up his clothes and went upstairs to the bathroom which like the bedrooms opened onto the gallery Kirk threw himself on the couch fixed his eyes on the ceiling and began to think of Ruth Mr. Bannister announced George Pennycutt at the door Kirk was on his feet in one bound the difference to a man whose mind is far away between Mr. Bannister and Miss Bannister is not great and his first impression was that it was Ruth who had arrived he was acutely conscious of his costume and was quite relieved when he saw not Ruth but a severe looking young man who advanced upon him in a tight-lipped pop-eyed manner that suggested dislike and hostility the visitor was a complete stranger to him but his wandering wits returning to their duties he deduced that this must be one of Ruth's relatives it is a curious fact that the possibility of Ruth having other relatives there, Mrs. Porter had not occurred to him until now she herself filled his mind to such an extent that he had never speculated upon any possible family that might be attached to her to him, Ruth was Ruth he accepted the fact that she was Mrs. Porter's niece that she might also be somebody's daughter or sister had not struck him the look on Bailey's face and now brought it home to him that the world was about to step in and complicate the idyllic simplicity of his wooing Bailey meanwhile as Kirk's 180 pounds of bone and muscle detached themselves from the couch and loomed up massively before him was conscious of a weakening of his determination to inflict bodily chastisement the truth of Steve's remark that it made a difference whether one's intended victim is a heavyweight a middle or a welter came upon him with some force Kirk in a sleeveless vest that showed up his chest and shoulders was not an inviting spectacle for a man intending assault and battery Bailey decided to confine himself to words there was nothing to be gained by a vulgar brawl a dignified man of the world avoided violence Mr. Winfield Mr. Bannister it was at this point that Steve having bathed and dressed on the gallery the voices below halted him and the sound of Bailey's decided him to remain where he was Steve was not above human curiosity and he was anxious to know the reason for Bailey's sudden appearance that is my name it is familiar to you my sister said Bailey bitterly has made it so won't you sit down said Kirk will you have a cigarette no thank you Kirk was puzzled by his visitors manner so unseen in the shadows of the gallery was Steve I can say what I wish to say in two words Mr. Winfield said Bailey this marriage is out of the question my father would naturally never consent to it as soon as he hears of what has happened he will forbid it absolutely kindly dismiss from your mind that my sister will ever be permitted to marry you Mr. Winfield Steve in the gallery with difficulty surprised a whoop of surprise Kirk laughed ruefully aren't you a little premature Mr. Bannister aren't you taking a good deal for granted in what way well that Miss Bannister cares the slightest bit for me for instance that I have one chance in a million of ever getting her to care the slightest bit for me Bailey but this futile attempt to hide the known fact to the case from him you need not trouble to try and fool me Mr. Winfield he said tartly I know everything I have just seen my sister and she told me herself in so many words that she intended to marry you to his amazement he found his hand violently shaken my dear old man Kirk was stammering in his light my dear old sport you don't know what a weight you've taken off my mind you know how it is a fellow falls in love and instantly starts thinking he hasn't a chance on earth I hadn't a notion that she felt that way about me I'm not fit to shine her shoes my dear old man if you hadn't come and told me this I never should have had the nerve to say a word to her you're a corker you've changed everything you'll have to excuse me I must go to her I can't wait a minute I must rush and dress make yourself at home here have you breakfasted George George I say George I've got to rush away see that Mr. Bannister has everything he wants get him some breakfast goodbye old man he gripped Bailey's hand once more you're all right goodbye he sprang for the staircase George Penicud turned to the speechless Bailey how would it be if I made you a nice cup of hot tea and a rasher of ham sir he inquired with a kindly smile Bailey eyed him glassily then found speech go to hell he strode to the door and shot into the street a seething volcano George for his part was startled but polite yes sir he said very good sir and withdrew Kirk having reached the top of the stairs had to check the wild rush he was making for the bathroom in order not to collide with Steve whom he found waiting for him with outstretched hand and sympathetic excitement writ large upon his face excuse me squire said Steve I've been playing the part of Rubberneck Ruppert in the little drama you've just been starring in I just couldn't help listening say this mitts for you shake it so you're gonna marry Bailey's sister Ruth are you you're the lucky guy she's a queen do you know her Steve do I know her didn't I tell you I was the tame physical instructor in that palace I wish I had a dollar for every time I've thrown the medicine ball at her why I'm the guy that gave her that figure of hers she don't come to me regular like Bailey and the old man but do I know her I should say I did know her Kirk shook his hand you're alright Steve he said huskily and vanished into the bathroom a sound as of a tropical deluge came from within Steve hammered upon the door the downpour ceased say called Steve hello I don't want to discourage you squire but the door opened and Kirk's head appeared what's the matter well you heard what Bailey said about his father sure it goes Kirk came into the gallery telling himself vigorously who is her father he said seating himself on the rail he's a son of a gun said Steve with emphasis as rich as Johnny D pretty nearly and about as chummy as a rattlesnake were you thinking of calling and asking him for a father's blessing something of a sort I suppose forget it he'd give you the hook before you got through asking if you might call him daddy you're comforting Steve they call you little sumbim at home don't they hell said Steve warmly I'm not shooting this at you to make you feel bad I've got a reason I want to make you see this ain't going to be no society walk over with the 400 looking on from the pews and proper signing checks in the background say did I ever tell you how I beat Kid Mitchell does it apply to the case in hand does it what to the witch had it any bearing on my painful position I only ask because that's what's interesting me most just now and if you're going to change the subject there's a chance that my attention may wander sure it does it's a what do you call it when you pull something that's got another meaning tucked up its sleeve a parable that's right oh what you said well this kid Mitchell was looking on as a coming champ in those days he cleaned up some good boys while I had only gotten a rep about as big as a nickel with a hole in it I guess I look pie to him he took it right up to me for the first round and stopped in front of me as if he was wondering what blown in and whether the Jerry society would stand for his hitting it I could see him thinking this is too easy as plain as if he'd said it and then he took another peek at me as much as say well let's get it over where should I soak him first and while he's doing this I get in range and I put my left pretty smart into his lunch wagon and I pick up my right off the carpet and hand it to him and down he goes and when he gets up again it's pretty nearly tomorrow morning and I've drawn the winner's end and the moral why don't spar punch don't wait for the wallop give it you mean why when old man banister says nix you shall never marry my child come back at him by saying thanks very much but I've just done it good heaven steve you'll never win out else you don't know old man banister I do but the doorbell rang I said Kirk it can't be Bailey back again good morning Bennycutt said the clear voice of Mrs. Laura Delain Porter I wish to see Mr. Winfield yes ma'am he's upstairs in his bath I will wait in the studio good lord cried Kirk bounding from his seat on the rail for heaven's sake steve go and talk to her while I dress I'll be down in a minute sure what's her name Mrs. Porter you'll like her tell her all about yourself watch you are around the chest what's your favourite breakfast food that's what she likes to chat about and tell her I'll be down in a second steve reaching the studio found Mrs. Porter examining the boxing gloves which had been thrown on a chair hey down ma'am he said genially by way of introduction Kirk will be lining up in a moment he's getting into his rags Mrs. Porter looked at him with the gimlet stare which made her so intensely disliked by practically every man she knew are you a friend of Mr. Winfield she said sure we've just been speeling together up above he sent me down to tell you he won't be long Mrs. Porter concluded her inspection what is your name dingle man you are extraordinarily well developed you have unusually long arms for a man of your height yep I got a pretty good reach are you an artist a witch an artist a painter steve smiled broadly I've been called a good many things but no one's ever handed me that no ma'am I'm a has been I beg your pardon granted what did you say you were asked Mrs. Porter after a pause a has been I used to be a middle but mother kicked and I quit all through taking a blue eye home wouldn't that jar you I have no doubt you intend to be explicit on your life protested Steve I may be a rough neck but I've got me manners I wouldn't get explicit with a lady Mrs. Porter sat down we appear to be talking across purposes she said I still do not gather what your profession is or was why ain't I telling you I used to be a middle what is a middle why it's in between the light heavies and the welters I was a welter when I broke into the fighting game but now I understand you are a pugilist used to be but mother kicked kicked whom you don't get me ma'am when I say she kicked I mean my blue I threw a scare into her and she put a crimp in my career maybe quit when I should have been champ in another couple of fights I'm afraid I don't follow these domestic troubles of yours and why do you speak of your blue eye your eyes are brown this one wasn't it was the fattest blue eye you ever seen I ran up against a short right hook I put him out on the next round ma'am mind you but that didn't help me any with my mother directly she seen me blue eye she said that'll be all from you Steve you stop it this minute so I quit but gee it's tough on a fellow to have to sit out of the game and watch a bunch of cheeses like this new crop of middle weights swelling around and calling themselves fighters when they couldn't lick a postage stamp not if it was properly trained hell I beg your pardon ma'am I find you an interesting study Mr. Dingle said Mrs. Porter thoughtfully I have never met a pugilist before do you box with Mr. Winfield sure Kirk Amigo is five round every morning you have been boxing with him today then perhaps you can tell me if an absurd young man in eyeglasses has called here yet he is wearing a grey do you mean Bailey ma'am you know my nephew Mr. Dingle sure I box with him every morning I never expected to hear that my nephew Bailey did anything so sensible as to take regular exercise he doesn't look as if he did he certainly is a half a portion ma'am but say if he's your nephew Ms. Ruth your niece perfectly correct then you know all about this business which business Mr. Dingle why Kirk and Ms. Ruth Mrs. Porter raised her eyebrows really Mr. Dingle has Mr. Winfield made you his confident how's that has Mr. Winfield told you about my niece and himself hell no you don't find a real person like Kirk shooting his head about that kind of thing I had it from Bailey from Bailey sure thing you know he blew in here and shouted it all out at the top of his voice indeed I was wondering if he had arrived yet he left my apartment and he was going to thrash Mr. Winfield I came here to save him from getting hurt was there any trouble not so as you could notice it I guess when he'd taken a slant at Kirk he thought he wouldn't bother to swat him say ma'am well whose corner are you in for this scrap I don't understand you well are you rooting for Kirk or are you holding a towel for old man banister do you mean do I wish Mr. Winfield to marry my niece most certainly I do it was I who brought them together bully for you well say I'd just been shooting the dope into Kirk upstairs I've been you didn't happen to read the report of a scrap I once had with a gazook called give Mitchell did you ma'am I seldom I may say never I'll read the sporting section of the daily papers Steve looked at her in honest wonder full of love of people what else do you find to read in them he said well I was telling Kirk about it he came at me to soak me but I soaked him first and put him out it's the only thing to do ma'am when you're up against it get in the first wallet before the other guy can get himself set for his punch Kirk I says don't you wait for old man banister to tell you you can't marry Miss Ruth marry her before he can say it I wish you'd tell him the same thing ma'am you know the old man as well as I do better I guess and you know that Kirk ain't got a chance in a million with him if you don't rush him ain't that right said Mrs. Porter I should like to shake you by the hand it is amazing to me to find such sound sense in a man you have expressed my view exactly if I have any influence with Mr. Winfield he shall marry my niece today you're a man of really exceptional intelligence Mr. Dingle oh check it with your hat ma'am moment Steve modestly Nick's on the bouquets I'm only a roughneck but I fall for Miss Ruth and there ain't many like Kirk so I'd like to see them happy it sure would get my goat the worst way to have the old man gum the game for them I cannot understand a word you say said Mrs. Porter but I fancy we mean the same thing here comes Mr. Winfield at last I will speak to him at once Spill away ma'am said Steve the floor is yours Kirk entered the studio end of chapter 5 wherein opposites agree read by Tim Bulkley of bigbible.org