Free Air/Chapter 30

THE VIRTUOUS PLOTTERS

R. GEOFFERY SEXTON, in Alaskan tan and New York evening clothes and Piccadilly poise, was talking to the Eugene Gilsons while Claire finished dressing for the theater.

Mrs. Gilson observed, "She's the dearest thing. We've become awfully fond of her.  But I don't think she knows what she wants to do with life.  She's rather at loose ends.  Who is this Daggett boy--some university student--whom she seems to like?"

"Well, since you speak of him I hadn't meant to, unless you did. I want to be fair to him.  What did she tell you about him?" Jeff asked confidentially.

"Nothing, except that he's a young engineer, and frightfully brave and all those uncomfortable virtues, and she met him in Yellowstone Park or somewhere, and he saved her from a bear--or was it a tramp?--from something unnecessary, at any rate."

"Eva, I don't want to be supercilious, but the truth is that this young Daggett is a rather dreadful person. He's been here at the house, hasn't he?  How did he strike you?"

"Not at all. He's silent, and as dull as lukewarm tea, but perfectly inoffensive."

"Then he's cleverer than I thought! Daggett is anything but dull and inoffensive, and if he can play that estimable role!  It seems that he is the son of some common workman in the Middlewest; he isn't an engineer at all; he's really a chauffeur or a taxi-driver or something; and he ran into Claire and Henry B. on the road, and somehow insinuated himself into their graces--far from being silent and commonplace, he appears to have some strange kind of charm which," Jeff sighed, "I don't understand at all.  I simply don't understand it!

"I met him in Montana with the most gorgeously atrocious person I've ever encountered--one Pinky Westlake, or some such a name--positively, a crook! He tried to get Boltwood and myself interested in the commonest kind of a mining swindle--hinted that we were to join him in cheating the public.  And this Daggett was his partner--they actually traveled together.  But I do want to be just.  I'm not sure that Daggett was aware of his partner's dishonesty.  That isn't what worries me about the lad.  It's his utter impossibility.  He's as crude as iron-ore.  When he's being careful, he may manage to be inconspicuous, but give him the chance

"Really, I'm not exaggerating when I say that at thirty-five he'll be dining in his shirt-sleeves, and sitting down to read the paper with his shoes off and feet up on the table. But Claire--you know what a dear Quixotic soul she is--she fancies that because this fellow repaired a puncture or something of the sort for her on the road, she's indebted to him, and the worse he is, the more she feels that she must help him. And affairs of that kind Oh, it's quite too horrible, but there have been cases, you know, where girls as splendid and fine and well-bred as Claire herself have been trapped into low marriages by their loyalty to cadging adventurers!"

"Oh!" groaned Mrs. Gilson; and "Good Lord!" lamented Mr. Gilson, delighted by the possibility of tragedy; and "Really, I'm not exaggerating," said Jeff enthusiastically.

"What are we going to do?" demanded Mrs. Gilson; while Mr. Gilson, being of a ready and inventive mind, exclaimed, "By Jove, you ought to kidnap her and marry her yourself, Jeff!"

"I'd like to. But I'm too old."

They beautifully assured him that he was a blithe young thing with milk teeth; and with a certain satisfaction Jeff suggested, "I tell you what we might do. Of course it's an ancient stunt, but it's good.  I judge that Daggett hasn't been here at the house much.  Why not have him here so often that Claire will awaken to his crudity, and get sick of him?"

"We'll do it," thrilled Mrs. Gilson. "We'll have him for everything from nine-course dinners with Grandmother Eaton's napkins on view, to milk and cold ham out of the ice-box. When Claire doesn't invite him, I will!"