The Black Cat (magazine)/Volume 22/Number 2/The Skagpole Venus
THE SKAGPOLE VENUS
BY STANLEY SHAW
A connoiseur of old masters invokes the aid of Hymen in securing the famous "Skagpole Venus" for his art gallery.
ISS Anita Maloney was tripping down Fifth Avenue on her way to Belford's Big Department Store, where she would spend the day behind the jewelry counter selling "Guaranteed $90 Diamond Rings, this day only $49.98."
Anita was a sight for tired eyes, refreshment for frazzled nerves and relief for saw-edged dispositions. They certainly do not come prettier than Anita anywhere on the Avenue, and that is saying considerable for the young lady. One look at Anita should have been enough to start any sensible young man to studying the house-furnishing goods windows. Her hair was the color of rich burnt umber and abundant, her complexion cream and rose, and her lips presented that crimson cupid's bow effect, alike the pride of artists and the despair of femininity in the flesh.
There may not have been any tremendous excess of gray matter behind Miss Anita Maloney's transcendent pulchritude, yet it is on record that amazing undertakings are often attempted on limited assets, and beauty minus may not, after all, be such poor capital for a penniless young lady just turned nineteen, especially if she have as a silent partner one of the richest men in the country.
Leaving Miss Anita Maloney, we must step across to West 86th Street, the home of Mr. John Thomas Derrington, said to be worth some fifty million dollars. Permit that satisfying sum to sink into your soul, but don't jump at conclusions: John Thomas has a wife fully capable of keeping him out of the clutches of designing beauties; furthermore, the passion of John Thomas's life is old masters, not young misses.
Vast wealth is popularly supposed to breed inefficient digestive apparatuses, insomnia and sour dispositions. In furtherance of a more equitable distribution of this world's needful, it is to be hoped that such is sometimes the case; truth compels the statement, however, that, in spite of his money, J. T. owned the digestion of an ostrich, a chronic propensity for sleeping like a husky infant and a perpetually sunny disposition. Quite a jolly, chaffing old millionaire was John Thomas, very fond of his jokes. Yet he was not thoroughly happy; the worm of discontent did sometimes gnaw at his vitals.
The cause of John Thomas's repining was that he did not possess the famous Skagpole Venus, and, though he did own a goodly share of all the other old masters a millionaire might desire, they all became as dead sea fruit when his mind dwelt on the unattainable one.
David Belford, proprietor of Belford's Big Department Store, owned the Skagpole Venus, so called because it once hung in the ancestral halls of the sixth Lord Skagpole, now deceased, before being sold to Belford, in order that the seventh Lord Skagpole might raise the necessary wherewithal to marry Letty Allerby of the Gaiety Theatre.
The Skagpole Venus, though still a beauty, was certainly beginning to show her age, if cracked varnish may be taken as evidence, yet these little matters dimmed not the soul within to her present owner, David Belford, in whose vast gallery she occupied the place of honor, despite frequent bids for her favor by John Thomas Derrington, who, up to the present hour, had offered as high as $50,000 for the square of canvas whereon she reclined.
To return to Miss Anita Maloney, who, by this time, had arrived at Belford's Big Department Store, deposited her outer wraps in the basement locker, and stood behind a crystal jewelry counter, clothed in trim black, with snowy collar and cuffs, prepared to dispense those guaranteed $90 diamond rings, this day only at $49.98. Though the month was July and the temperature hovered about the nineties, Miss Anita, appearing as cool, comfortable and perfect as the proverbial cucumber, was arranging a stray lock of her perfect coiffure, when her fellow salesgirl, Miss Levy, spoke in a guarded undertone:
"Get onto your job, Maloney, here comes that old snuffer to look at them emeralds again."
A "snuffer," in behind-the-counter parlance, is a shopper who goes purseempty about from store to store, merely for the pure joy of looking—or perhaps in the interest of some rival concern—with no thought whatever of actual investment.
True, the gentleman coming had been in twice before to inspect an emerald necklace priced at $987.49, yet he was no snuffer, being none other than John Thomas Derrington, he of the fifty millions.
Next to priceless old masters, John Thomas loved perfect gems, and he had it in mind to present his only daughter, Alice, on her early arriving birthday, with an emerald necklace; but, being a very thrifty old gentleman—as you may gather from the fact of those fifty millions—he never invested until he had carefully weighed all matters pro and con.
Miss Anita Maloney assumed her very sweetest "charge customer" smile, while John Thomas coughed a sort of polite but perfunctory "Hem!" fumbled for his pince-nez, found the black ribbon, adjusted the lenses and spoke:
"I hesitate to trouble you again, young lady, but, if you do not mind, I should like to glance just once more at an emerald necklace you have, priced, I believe, at $887.49."
From pure force of habit, John Thomas subtracted a hundred dollars from what he well enough remembered to be the real price of the necklace. Miss Anita Maloney, rather taking to the thin, Punch-like face of this clean, courtly old gentleman, smiled and corrected him.
"Those are very fine gems, sir," she continued pleasantly, placing the desired piece of jewelry in its immaculate velvet-lined case on the counter pad for Derrington's inspection. "Every stone is guaranteed perfect; they would cost you at least a half more than our price at any specialty store. Being a departmental establishment, we sell jewelry at department store profits, exactly as we do dry goods and groceries." Miss Anita, having attended the Belford School of Salesmanship very assiduously, knew just what to say.
Albeit John Thomas Derrington had twice before been in to examine these emeralds, he had but perfunctorily glanced at the salesperson showing them. He seldom gathered a more comprehensive idea of any salesperson's individual appearance than of the laces of his servants. Salespeople and servants were a mere matter of course with Derrington, man of mighty millions. Should one chance to have eyes like an owl, or a nose like an elephant, he might have been startled into attention; otherwise, they faded into the general landscape. Now, however, he was suddenly aware of something pleasing in the sweet voice expatiating on the attractions of the necklace.
"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the slightly startled man, who was feeling the extreme heat himself. "How cool and comfortable you seem this morning, young lady."
John Thomas had no definite idea why it was so, yet as he sensed Miss Anita Maloney's fresh beauty, it started him thinking of the Skagpole Venus. Perhaps it was because, in his eyes, both represented perfection.
"I have a contented mind," answered Miss Anita off-handedly. "The heat never troubles me."
"It appears not," added John Thomas. "But I might hazard a guess regarding something that does trouble you."
Miss Anita, knowing perfectly well that this dry, jolly old gentleman was not attempting a flirtation, looked perfunctory interest.
"Yes?" she inquired.
"I'll wager you are troubled with more sweethearts than a body could shake a stick at," answered John T. with a sage nod. "Or else the present day lads are nothing like as appreciative as they were in my time."
"You'd lose," answered Anita. "I haven't a sweetheart to my name."
"Umm-m, well, maybe they have changed," hummed John Thomas.
As his eyes were travelling again toward the necklace, he caught sight of a stout person stepping his way. He began to chuckle, holding up four outspread fingers and a thumb so that the man approaching might see them. This latter gentleman was David Belford, who made it a settled habit to walk once through each aisle of his vast department store daily.
Belford was short, pursy, fussy and florid. A bristling white moustache half hid his mouth and his head was bare of hair, save for a fast disappearing white ring below his ears. He caught sight of Derrington's upheld hand and shook his head in denial, knowing that John Thomas's gesture signified an added bid of $5,000 for the Skagpole Venus.
This was a custom between the two whenever they met. John Thomas had but once made a verbal offer for the Venus, and that was $20,000. Since then his bids had mounted upward, by skips, of from one finger to five, representing thousands in real money, until it now stood at $50,000.
"You hard-hearted old reprobate," he squeaked, laughing as Belford approached. "Don't you ever mean to sell me that painting?"
"Well, now then, why should I sell it to you?" asked Belford, a controversial sort of chap, in a raspy, querulous voice. "I'm fond of it myself, and, really, you know, Derrington, you haven't offered me anything at all tempting yet."
"Bless my soul and body, man, tempting!" exclaimed John Thomas. "I daresay you'll make twenty-five thousand on the deal at my last offer. Is that what you call a decent department store profit? Eh, what, eh?" He turned and winked slyly at Miss Anita Maloney and at sight of her, beautifully placid features, seemed suddenly struck with an idea.
"Look here, Bel'," he exclaimed, tapping that gentleman on one fat shoulder. "Have you any sporting blood in you? I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll wager my 'Dance of the Hamadryades' against your 'Venus,' the winner to have the loser's picture at $20,000. What do you say?"
The department store man coughed throatily, and his florid features became a few shades brighter.
"Well, now then, Derrington, what is your idea of a fairish wager?" he asked interestedly.
"My 'Dance of the Hamadryades' against your 'Venus' I can tell you who your son marries," snapped John Thomas.
Belford jumped; the thing struck him almost in a heap. Freddie Belford, apple of his father's eye, had only just arrived at marriageable age, and the elder Belford had never yet thought of matrimony in connection with his only son.
"Now then, look here, Derrington, you're taking an unfair advantage," he finally sputtered. "Frederick isn't likely to marry anybody for some time. If you know about any clandestine love affair my boy has become entangled in you ought to tell me of it without putting a price on your information." His voice was a trifle wheedling as he concluded, for this had hit him in a very tender spot.
"Information is altogether too valuable to part with without making a decent department store profit," chuckled Derrington, winking again at Miss Maloney.
Belford studied the subject again. He was morally certain Frederick had no idea of marrying; yet, if so be it he had, Belford would almost be willing to part with the Skagpole Venus, merely to know the maiden's name, also, he had always coveted Derrington's "Dance of the Hamadryades," and $20,000 for that painting was a low figure.
"Well, now then, Derrington, I think I shall have to take you up there," he rasped. "Who is Frederick going to marry?"
"Wait, wait," protested canny John Thomas. "We must have this thing down in black and white. I'll write the young woman's name—not that I claim she is young, you understand—on a slip of paper, seal it in an envelope, and you may put the envelope in your office safe. If Frederick marries within six months, open the envelope. If I have named the girl, the Skagpole Venus is mine at $20,000. If I have failed to name her correctly, or Frederick doesn't marry within six months, 'The Dance of the Hamadryades' is yours at the same figure. That's more than fair, Bel'; you have two chances to my one; he may not marry, or, if he does, I may not call the name of the bride."
Belford yanked nervously at his white moustache, vexed to find he was not to hear the young woman's name at once. "Dammit, what does the old file know?" he thought. "That's a queer wager, but, at least, if Frederick doesn't marry in six months I'll know who Derrington is hinting at." "Aloud, he said, "Well, all right, Derrington. I'll take you up there."
Paper and envelope being secured from the stationery department, John Thomas, a letter sheet laid atop of the jewelry counter behind which Miss Anita Maloney still waited to serve his wishes, was about to write when Belford heard something that made him listen acutely.
"Young lady, what is your name?" asked John Thomas in guarded tones of Miss Maloney as he poised his pen.
Belford, having his back toward John T. was not aware of it, but Derrington, as he put his question to the salesgirl, covertly observed the department store owner through one corner of a very wise eye, carefully estimating the distance between that man and himself. Perhaps he imagined Belford might suddenly leap forward and wrest that bit of paper from his hands the instant the name was imposed thereon; then, again—but the pretty salesgirl was answering.
"Anita May Maloney," she replied sweetly.
John Thomas wrote down something, folded the paper painstakingly, slipped it inside the envelope, dated and memorandumed it and handed the sealed sheet to Belford, who accepted it with an obviously puzzled air and an unmistakably shaky hand. For the first time since she had been employed in his store, he looked at Miss Anita Maloney and was profoundly impressed with her compelling beauty.
"Good God!" he thought. "Can it be possible there is anything between my Frederick and this person? I'll have to look into matters with the boy, right away."
"Tuck that in your safe, Bel'," chuckled Derrington. "And, remember: not to be opened unless Frederick marries within six months."
As Belford walked away, so bewildered by this odd and unexpected turn of events that he could with difficulty realize whether he was walking on his hands or his feet, John Thomas gave his attention to Miss Anita Maloney and the emerald necklace. The salesgirl, formerly a mere shadow merging into the general landscape of John Thomas's life, had now become a personality.
"I think you may have that necklace wrapped up." he said, "and I will take it with me. Here is my card. I believe my family has an account here. And, let me add, if the good wish does not give offense, that a young lady as pretty as yourself deserves better fortune in the matter of sweethearts."
"But what can a poor girl do if the boys don't come and propose?" smiled Miss Maloney as she accepted John T.'s card and proceeded to make out a charge slip for the floorman's approval.
"Tut, tut," laughed Derrington. "As if you didn't know you have the whole thing in your own hands, what? Eh, what?"
Miss Maloney shook her handsome head doubtfully.
"I'll tell you what, young lady," declared John Thomas, "I'll make it an object for you, yourself, to prove I'm right. If you marry within six months I'll make you a present of the handsomest dinner ring in New York."
"I'm sure you're very generous," answered Miss Maloney in a rather noncommittal way, handing John T. his wrapped package. "I hope you won't forget it; but I'm afraid there is little chance for me."
Leaving John Thomas to journey homeward, and Miss Anita Maloney to go back to the business of selling guaranteed $90 diamond rings, this day only $49.98, we must proceed to the home of David Belford, where, as may be surmised, a most uncomfortable half hour awaited Mr. Frederick.
In the Belford library, a rather somber but ornate room, finished in carved mahogany and tooled Spanish leather with bronze lighting fixtures and wood-green draperies at windows and doors, David himself fidgeted nervously back and forth before the huge pyramid fireplace in expectation of the momentary entrance of his son, whom he had had summoned to the presence.
Frederick entered, a fine, well set up young fellow, broad of shoulder and blonde of head, yet a young man not yet completely over the embarrassing knowledge of possessing uncomfortable hands and feet; a knowledge further complicated by an alarming propensity of the face assuming the color of a fresh-cut beet at the slightest provocation, and of the tongue to suddenly feel so large that it seemed to completely fill the mouth, making coherent speech difficult. In a word, Frederick was diffident.
The failing of fathers, especially fathers with money, is common knowledge. David Belford already suspected the worst; yet, since he really loved this handsome lad, he began gently.
"Now then, Frederick, my boy, what's all this I hear about marriage?" he asked.
As has before been intimated, an easy flow of language was not one of Frederick's long suits, less so under stress of excitement than upon ordinary occasions. His face promptly assumed the rubicund appearance of a newly spanked infant and he could only stammer:
'"Ma-marriage, poppa; great heavens!"
Certainly this might be called a non-committal statement, however you interpret it; yet, in David Belford's mind, it became an almost complete confession of guilt. He began to rave and sputter like fat over a blazing fire.
"Now then, Frederick, I won't have it, that's all there is about it," he finally ended up, explosively. "Almost anybody but one of my salesgirls. I won't have it, Frederick,—Anita May Maloney! The name is enough. Sounds like a girl from the Follies."
"Anita May Maloney!" Frederick finally managed to stammer. "Why, poppa, I never saw her."
"What, what?" exclaimed Belford, his puffy-lidded eyes opening wide. Surely Derrington's inference was as plain as the nose on his face, he thought, yet the earnestness of his son's tone made him pause and produced a slight ray of hope. "Never saw her!" he repeated. "Frederick, are you lying to me?"
"Of course not. Why on earth should I lie about it?" answered the young man indignantly. "Poppa, I should think you'd gone crazy."
David studied the matter a moment. "Well, now then, Frederick," he finally said, speaking more mildly. "You come down to the shop tomorrow and see the girl; she's in the jewelry department. She really is handsome, and you may know her under some other name. If you assure me, after you see her tomorrow, that you've never known her, I'll believe you."
Thus did it happen that Frederick Belford entered his father's famous departmental establishment on the following morning and inquired of a floorman the direction to the jewelry section, blushing meanwhile as though he were about to face a battery of beauties, instead of but one. The floorman, not having the remotest idea who the young man was, guided him gently toward the ring counter, winked a facetious aside at the salesgirl there and said:
"Wedding rings, sir? Yes, sir, Miss Maloney will show them to you."
Frederick caught the name, caught the inference, gave one glance at the ravishing young woman before him and fled, his former blushes being as the palest of pink sunsets to the roseate flush that now suffused his burning face. But he had proceeded no farther than the stationery section when he stalked into the arms of the senior Belford himself.
"Well, now then, Frederick, did you see her?" inquired David of his son.
"Of course I saw her," was Frederick's indignant reply as his face assumed its normal hue. "And I give you my word, poppa, I never before set my eyes on the girl."
"Well, then, that's enough," declared Belford, tremendously relieved. "I must have misunderstood Derrington."
"Der—Dorrington!" stammered Frederick, falling into a new pit of embarrassment. "What has he got to do with it?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing," answered Belford. "The old file made a funny wager with me, that's all; said he knew who you would marry within six months, and I thought he hinted pretty strong at its being one of my salesgirls; but the matter's ended now; we won't say any more about it. It was probably one of those stupid jokes Derrington is so fond of cooking up."
So Freddie Belford motored home in a very mixed state of mind and Miss Anita Maloney thought what a fine, manly young fellow he was to show such extreme embarrassment at the mere mention of wedding rings.
That very evening, as it happened. Miss Anita Maloney was requested to work over-time by Brace, the jewelry buyer. She, knowing her rights, lodged a vigorous protest with the superintendent. The latter gentleman, never having paid much previous attention to Anita, but now realizing that such pretty salesgirls for the jewelry counter were not easy to obtain, perceived the force of her argument and promptly told Brace to back up. All of which may not, at first thought, appear as matter germane to this particular chronicle, but, as will appear later, really has a rather important bearing on subsequent developments.
A period of some two months must be permitted to elapse before we can again take up the thread of events.
It was early September. David Belford, making his usual morning tour through the aisles of his store, paused at the ring counter, aware of a strangely unfamiliar aspect there. For a moment, he stood pulling at his bristling white moustache, attempting to puzzle out what particular thing was not as it should be. Suddenly he hit upon it; Miss Anita Maloney, she of the big brown orbs and the Cupid's bow lips, was not present.
For a brief moment, David Belford appeared in imminent danger of apoplexy; but it was not wholly Miss Maloney's absence that took his breath up short and made his heart pound an extra beat to the second; it was the icy recollection that his son, Frederick, had also been most unaccountably absent from home on the day and night previous.
Came forward Brace, the jewelry buyer, and to him Belford put the question that was filling his soul with a half dozen different varieties of anguish.
"Now then, Brace, what has became of the "rather prettyish salesgirl you had on rings?" inquired Belford. "McGuffy—Mahoney—ah, umm—Maloney! Yes, Miss Maloney, that was her name."
Brace fixed his eyes on a given point midway between his chief and the ring counter and wondered what Belford was really driving at. Having been away on a foreign buying trip for several weeks, he did not know why Miss Maloney was not present; but, catching sight of Miss Julia Levy, he informed his chief that he would inquire. Thus answered Miss Levy:
"Gee, Mr. Brace, didn't you know? Maloney give in her notice more'n a week ago. She got hitched up last night."
Belford heard. "What!" he bellowed, and then fled with a speed that almost equalled that with which his own son had once quitted the same counter. Something assured him the worst had happened. He stumbled into his private office, gripped the desk telephone and called for two-three-six Riverside, his town house.
"Has Frederick arrived home yet?" was the question he hurled into the mouthpiece.
The silky voice of Fanning, his butler, answered from the other end of the wire. "I do not know, sir, but I will find out at once."
Belford dropped into a chair and began to drum impatiently with fat fingers on the mahogany desk. He was beginning to see a little more clearly. While he did not suspect his son of having lied in the matter, he did harbor a suspicion that wily old John Derrington had worked a rather clever scheme on him, using him as a medium to bring two young people together, calculating on human nature to do the rest.
"Dammit! Dammit!" he sputtered. "I'll get even with that old file if it takes me twenty years and half my fortune."
His volcanic meditations were interrupted by Fanning's voice on the wire, his tones now visibly perturbed and politely hesitating. "Mr. Belford? Ah, yes sir. I believe Mr. Frederick is not expected home today, sir," he said. "Yes sir, he has been heard from to that effect himself, sir, I believe."
"I knew it, I knew it," stuttered Belford, exasperated almost to the point of another apoplectic shock. "Now then, Fanning, don't beat about the bush. He's married, isn't he, run off with some young hussy?"
"Well sir, I believe that is what it amounts to, sir, though the madame is out, sir, and my information comes solely from her maid." answered the butler.
Belford waited to hear no more. Dropping the instrument, he stormed wildly back and forth beside his desk, calling the direst extremes of vengeance upon the defenseless head of John Thomas Derrington. In the midst of this tirade, John Thomas Derrington himself was announced.
"Show him in, Danvers, show him in," barked Belford, his blue eyes snapping fire, while he spread ten gripping fingers, as if Derrington's throat were already within his grasp.
It is difficult to beat up a man who meets you with the sunniest of smiles; nay, more; it is impossible, no matter how hot your anger, as David Belford discovered the instant John Thomas entered, his thin, Punch-like features contorted into the most roguish of grins as he poked Belford between two heavily upholstered ribs with a lean finger.
"So you've opened it, have you?" he said. "Well, what did I tell you? Eh, what, eh? Here's my check for $20,000, Bel'; you may send the Venus over to my gallery right away."
Having found he could not deliberately strike this cheery old man, Belford attempted to engulf him in denunciation.
"Derrington, you conscienceless old rascal," he raved. "You very well know Frederick had no idea of marriage until you deliberately caused me to put the idea into his head. It was a low-down trick. If you were a younger man, I'd—I'd—"
"What, eh, what?" interrupted John Thomas in astonishment. "I thought you'd like the idea. The boy is much better off married. To be sure, an elopement isn't just the proper thing; but why not let the young folks have their fun? Eh, why not, eh?"
Belford could only sputter; words adequate to the occasion he could not find.
"Oh, well, Bel', you'll get used to it," continued John Thomas. "I didn't think you'd take the loss of the 'Venus' so hard, or I'd never made the wager. But a bet's a bet. Come, shake hands, we ought to be friends."
His anger made Belford refuse, and John Thomas had to leave without the desired salutation, but there was a tremendously pleased twinkle in his eyes as he went out.
For almost an hour, Belford sat alone at his desk meditating on what a mess his son had got into and how best to extricate him. Finally, an idea occurred to him. He would have just one look into that envelope, to make certain everything was all right. In a moment, he had secured it from his office safe. Ripping open the folded sheet, Belford's eyes became almost as big as butter plates. He hurried to get 900 West 86th Street, Derrington's town house, on the telephone, and insisted on having Derrington himself at the wire.
"Now then, Derrington," he fairly roared, "this joke has gone far enough. What the devil did you mean by handing me that check for $20,000, when you had written your daughter Alice's name on the paper you left in my safe? Frederick hasn't married Alice; he eloped last night with a doll-faced salesgirl named Anita May Maloney."
For several seconds, all that Belford could hear over the wire was the rattling chuckle of some one who appeared to be either choking or to have heard what he considered a capital jest. Coherent words finally did reach Belford's ears.
"Oh, no, Bel'," came the thin voice of John Thomas Derrington, "Miss Maloney hasn't carried off your son; she has married your young superintendent. I happen to know because she just reminded me of a promise I made her some time ago. Frederick has married Alice; they'll be home a week from Saturday. Goodbye."
- For the Christmas number we have two stories that just radiate the spirit of the season.
- CAPTAIN HARDTACK AND THE VELVET PRINCE, by Mabel S. Merrill is a story which is remarkable for its characters. Few stories of the length of this one are so strong in this respect, not to mention the artistic blending of humor and pathos. You will love the Captain and "Rosyleen" and you will like the Prince, too, and "Brickdust" Macaulay and "Angel" McGrath.
- WIRELESS FROM CHEYENNE, by George Thomas Armitage is the other holliday story. A cowboy faces the problem of providing a Christmas present for his girl after losing his money by a disastrous investment in red, white and blue chips.