CHAPTER III : I HEAR SOME NEWS

The Varney residence proved to be one of those modern country housesrnof the rich that needs no describing. It was less ambitious thanrnsome of its neighbors, and sat well in from the road in a good sweeprnof well-kept ground. The garage was commodious and well appointed,rnhaving a repair pit and accommodation for three cars, these includingrnthe one I drove, and my old acquaintance, de luxe, with the maroonrnupholstering. The other was a touring six.rnrnIt being the dining hour in the servants' hall when I arrived, Irnproceeded to make the acquaintance of the domestic staff, thisrncomprising an aged and irreproachable butler called Horace--but to mernand other inferiors "Mr. Brandon"--the housekeeper, cook, and upper andrnlower housemaids. The gardener came from a neighboring florist.rnrnThe meal was presided over by Mr. Horace Brandon with more pomp andrndignity than attended many dinners I had known in my own circle, and,rnbeing familiar in some degree with backstairs etiquette, I producedrna favorable impression. I sought after no local information, and wasrnoffered none. Contrary to popular superstition, there was at thisrntable no scandal, no gossip, no picking of their master and mistress tornpieces.rnrnThe meal over, I washed down the car and retired to my quarters in therngarage, armed with the New York evening paper kindly given me by thernbutler, who approved of the interest I had shown in his remarks on thernbaseball question. Alone in my room, I sat down to think seriously forrnthe first time of this adventure on which I had entered so lightlyrnand irresponsibly. Surely it was high time I made explanations andrnapologies to Miss Gelette. On the other hand, there was my wager withrnBob Hewitt. Also the incomprehensible action of Joyce, which interestedrnme.rnrnAt this point I remembered the letter, undoubtedly the recommendationrnfrom Mr. Fremstad, which, returned by Miss Gelette, I had had nornopportunity of reading. Joyce, the original owner, must have thrownrnaway or lost the envelope; for had there been one, Taylor would notrnhave opened it. I felt sure of that; he might be only a poor farmer,rnyet he was one of nature's gentlemen. I now brought the paper from myrnpocket and read the following:rnrn    DEAR MR. VARNEY: This is introducing the bearer, Henry Joyce, whomrn    I mentioned as about to leave my employment owing to my giving uprn    motoring. You will find him thoroughly honest, obliging, efficient,    and sober. I have never had a better chauffeur. Yours sincerely,rnrn                                                     AUGUSTUS FREMSTAD.rnrnAnd I had told Miss Gelette my name was Peter! However, that wasrna small error to what I might have committed. Assuredly Joyce hadrnegregiously deceived his late employer as to the true nature of hisrncharacter. Toward me he had certainly acted efficiently enough, butrnhardly with honesty.rnrnAnd now my eyes fell upon the evening paper, whose pages I had beenrnturning over aimlessly; and I sat up with a jerk, arrested by thernfollowing headlines:rnrn    Motoring fatality. Peter Lawton, wealthy young clubman, killed byrn    Jersey train. Tragic climax of mad joy ride.rnrnIt is not often we have the chance of reading our own obituaries,rnand my first emotion was that of amusement at the joke played on myrnfriends, coupled with a fleeting compassion for the poor devil, Joyce,rnwho had not profited long by his action. He had been killed that samernnight at a grade crossing near Camden; my five-thousand-dollar carrnhad been reduced to scrap, while he was so horribly mutilated thatrnidentification was only possible by the car license, the clothes hernwore, and the papers found in his pocket.rnrnBob Hewitt identified the latter and other personal belongings ofrnmine, and he told of my leaving Princeton without Jensen; in short,rnthere was no shadow of doubt that I was dead, and had met a fate whichrnpointed its own moral.rnrnI knew Hewitt had done his best to cast a decent veil over that ride ofrnmine, but others had not, and the whole shameful story had come out,rnas it was bound to do. This particular paper set out the details withrnmuch gusto, and that it was nothing but the truth did not make it morernpalatable. Here was its opinion of me in black and white, and I can dornno better than quote from it.rnrn    This tragedy lays another victim at the feet of King Alcohol andrn    Too Much Money. It will be remembered that "Pete" Lawton was thern    sensational football find at Princeton some half dozen years ago,    and held an undisputed place on the all-American team. He graduatedrn    with high honors, and promised to attain great distinction in thern    engineering profession when the death of his uncle brought him intorn    the Lawton fortune. That ended his ambitions, and this last memberrn    of an ill-starred family proceeded to go the way of all the others.    Of late his mad escapades have been common talk among the knowing,    and this catastrophe is the inevitable end.rnrnYes, we were an ill-starred family, as the paper said, with KingrnAlcohol and Too Much Money our inherited enemies. The combination hadrnkilled out every male member, until only my Uncle Peter and I hadrnremained.rnrnMy father dissipated his fortune and died young, while my mother gavernher life in giving me mine; thus I was brought up in comparativernpoverty by distant relatives, and that was what had saved me for therntime being. I never expected to inherit a penny of my uncle's fortune.rnThat fortune he also would have scattered to the winds, only he wasrnunable. It was too large for him, and I really believe he left thernremainder to me as a parting curse, for my father and he had quarreled,rnas only our family could quarrel, and he hated me cordially.rnrnOn the few occasions when I saw him, while I was working my way throughrnschool and college, he made sneering remarks about the benefits ofrnpoverty. He appeared to resent the fact that I was in a fair way ofrnmaking a success of life, instead of following his example and all thernrest. He seemed to consider it an insult to the family.rnrn"There never was a male Lawton yet that didn't drink," I remember himrnsaying when he learned I never touched it. "What's the matter withrnyou? It's in your blood, you fool, and you may as well make up yourrnmind it's bound to come out. No use trying to reverse nature. The truernLawton coat of arms is a demijohn rampant on a bar sinister, and thernmotto: 'Here's looking at you.' Wait till you've got some money tornspend, and you'll see the end of your precious virtue. With all yourrnhonest-plowman life and this attempt to dodge your destiny, you'll endrnyour days in a psychopathic ward, as your lamented ancestors endedrntheirs, as your dear father ended his, and as I shall end mine."rnrnThe last part of his prophecy was unfulfilled, however, for he brokernhis neck by falling out of the ambulance before ever they got himrnto the hospital. As for the rest, it seemed in a fair way of beingrnrealized, something I had once thought utterly impossible.rnrnWhen I came into Uncle Peter's money--it was six months ago--I votedrnmyself the first real holiday I had ever known. Of course, I meantrnit to have reasonable limits. I was going to do an awful lot of goodrnwith that money, make it a blessing instead of a curse, and I talkedrnover all my plans with old Mr. Hannay, the Lawton lawyer, who had solerncharge of my affairs.rnrnI was going to build and superintend an engineering school for poorrnyoung men, irrespective of race, creed, or color, and in a generalrnway I meant to help suffering humanity up hill and down dale, and allrnaround the block.rnrnAnd then, amid new surroundings and in with an entirely new crowd,rnI took my first drink. I took it to be a "good fellow," and becausernI honestly believed I had strength enough to defy all the familyrntraditions going. I would show the world that alcohol could never makern_me_ its slave, that it was simply a question of will power, and thatrna whole lot of nonsense had been talked and written about heredity."Heredity" and "environment" were simply the excuses of the weak, therncowardly, the vicious.rnrnIt was Arnold Frean who brought up the matter and pushed it home."You're afraid of the stuff," he said. "It shows you're afraid of it,rnthat you know it's your master, when you won't take even one drink.rnI'll bet you can't take one drink, like any normal man, and then quit.rnI dare you to try."rnrn"I've worked my way through college," I said, "and into the businessrnworld over obstacles you've never known. There's nothing in this worldrnI'm afraid of."rnrn"Tripe!" he retorted. "Talk's cheap. You're a Lawton and that's enoughrnsaid. You know you daren't."rnrnAnd so, like a fool, I had my first taste of the stuff. It's a wisernman who knows his own limitations and weaknesses. There isn't one in arnthousand who likes whisky for its taste; it's the effect most peoplernare after, and it goes without saying that the man who craves the tasternof it, as a girl craves candy or ice cream, is naturally the mostrnhopeless case--and I found myself in that class.rnrnI was like a tiger that had sampled human flesh; nothing else would dornme. That one drink was enough. I had inherited a sleeping demon, and,rnin a moment of stupid vanity, had awakened it. Too late I recognizedrnthat I belonged to that class whose only salvation is to leave alcoholrnstrictly alone. Arnold Frean was right; it was my master, and Irncouldn't take one drink and then stop like any normal person.rnrnAs I now thought over the past six months' events, culminating in whatrnhad happened last night, I saw that I had come to the parting of thernways, that I had taken half measures too long with my enemy, and ifrnI was to be saved at all, a fight to the finish must begin here andrnnow. Otherwise, far better would it be for me if I had been killed inrnJoyce's place. And what had saved me? How had I escaped killing somerninnocent person during that mad ride, even though I had miraculouslyrnescaped injury myself? It was through no virtue of mine. Joyce, sober,rnhad been killed, while I, drunk, had escaped. Through some juggling ofrnthe gods, I had been given another chance. A tremendous lesson had beenrnbrought home to me. Would I have the strength to profit by it?rnrnI realized fully the terrific battle that confronted me; previousrnskirmishes had shown me that. I would have to throw everything into thernscale, for it was John Barleycorn's life or mine.rnrnWith the exception of Bob Hewitt and Tommy Ashton, former classmates,rntogether with old Mr. Hannay, none had thought it worth while torndissuade me from the road I was traveling; and I had not taken kindlyrnto the advice of these three. Mr. Hannay gave it up early, contentingrnhimself with shaking his head. He knew the history of my family, andrnbelieved nothing could save me. Hewitt and Ashton, however, hung on.rnMore than once they had urged me to cut the circle I had formed, to gornaway somewhere and spend only what I earned. But I laughed at them, andrnthen, when they persisted, grew irritable.rnrnI would never confess my secret fears regarding John Barleycorn, neverrnadmit he ever got the best of me. For all my "mad escapades," spokenrnof by the paper, I had never been so helpless as I was last night. Irnhad done many idiotic, reckless things when absolutely sober. It wasrnmerely misdirected energy, energy stored up through idleness, and whichrnI had formerly worked off on the gridiron, the classroom, and in thernengineering works of Cable & Co., where I was employed when my unclerndied.rnrnIt was clear that my agreement with Hewitt wasn't so freakish asrnit might appear; it was simply another effort on his part for myrnreformation, and circumstances had lent it added force. I realized therntruth of his frequent contention that I had got in with a bad crowd."Half of them are grafters," he said, "and the rest nothing but moneyrnloafers. You're one of these men, Lawton, whose good-fellowship makesrnthem take up with all sorts, and treat them as bosom friends. You'llrnnever make any headway against this enemy of yours until you get rid ofrnhis allies--that bunch and too much money. Chuck the whole lot and getrnto work."rnrnGetting rid of the "bunch" was easier said than done--but what if theyrnbelieved me dead? Why not remain "dead" and fight out my battle here,rnunknown, without the handicap of money and influence. Joyce had beenrnkilled, and therefore there was no fear of him turning up and exposingrnme.rnrnThe accident had happened near Camden, and none would suspect thernsubstitution that had taken place near Sea Bright, miles away. As forrnthis Mr. Fremstad, it was unlikely that I would ever meet him; but thatrnsmall risk, together with the chance of being recognized by those whornknew me, I must accept.rnrnNo one could have been better situated for playing dead; nobody wasrndependent on me. I had no business, no weighty affairs to attend to;rnnothing would go to wreck and ruin through my absence. No doubt at thisrnmoment Mr. Hannay was shaking his head over my demise and preparing torndispose of the estate according to the terms of my will. But before thernslow-moving machinery of the law could come into full effect I wouldrneither have resurrected myself, an undisputed victor over my enemy, orrngone down to utter defeat and merited oblivion, for there would be nornhalf measures this time.rnrnIn this manner I came to decide upon keeping the name Joyce and thernposition I had obtained as chauffeur to Mr. Theodore Varney. I havernset out my reasons fully for so doing, and to me, at the time, theyrnseemed logical and necessary. Yet if, underneath all, the situation hadrnnot appealed to my peculiar sense of humor, if a certain risk had notrnbeen attached to it, if Miss Gelette had been aged, ugly, and infirm,rnperhaps those logical reasons would have appeared less convincing.rnrnI met Mr. Varney that same evening on receipt of a telephonernmessage from the house. He received me in the study, his niece alsornbeing present, and at the first glance I realized that for all myrnhelplessness the previous night, I had made some accurate observations;rnfor this was the little, dried-up gentleman whose color was greenishrnbronze, the like of which I had never seen before.rnrnHe was seated in a great armchair before a chessboard, on which wasrnarrayed a problem, a very slippery "twoer" by Loyd, which I recognizedrnas an old friend. Evidently he had spent some considerable time tryingrnto find the key move, with the help of his niece, for as I appeared atrnthe door he said irascibly: "Nonsense, Brenda! Can't you see if thernbishop moves your king is checked? You don't seem able to grasp thernfirst principles of the game, and the longer you play, the worse yournget."rnrn"I know I'm very stupid," she answered meekly. "But I only thought thatrneven if the king was checked----"rnrn"You only thought! As if your sex was capable of thinking!"rnrnAnd then they saw me standing in the doorway.rnrn"Come in, my man," snapped old Varney, and he looked me over at leisurernwith a pair of eyes which, for all the girl's assurances, struck me asrnbeing remarkably bright and shrewd.rnrnFor a moment I thought all was lost, that surely he had recognized me,rnbut he only grunted as if satisfied with his inspection, and demanded:"Where is the letter from Mr. Fremstad?"rnrnI was afraid there might have been more than one letter, but, putting arnbold face on it, I handed him the only one I had.rnrn"H'm," he said, reading it through, and instantly detecting the error Irnhad fallen into. "I understood from my niece that your name was Peter?"rnrn"Peter Henry Joyce is my full name, sir. Mr. Fremstad preferred to callrnme Henry."rnrn"Well, Peter Henry, the first thing you have to do is remove thatrnmustache of yours," he said, with a certain malicious pleasure. "Irnpermit no one in my employment to carry around such microbe breedersrnand germ disseminators. If you've no thought for your own health, Irnassure you I have for mine. What are you staring at? Can it be possiblernyou know the classic game of chess?" This with elaborate irony.rnrn"Well, a little, sir. I used to play a bit at the Y. M. C. A. ofrnnights."rnrn"He knows the game of chess, my dear," said Mr. Varney, turning to hisrnniece. "Truly, servants are progressing these days. I shouldn't bernsurprised if Horace could teach Esperanto and Mrs. Stower"--this wasrnthe housekeeper--"give tango lessons. This is an accomplishment, PeterrnHenry, that Mr. Fremstad forgot to mention. Perhaps you are also anrnadept at problems and can do me the inestimable service of solving thisrntwo-mover?"rnrn"Why, yes, sir," I said, as if unaware of his sarcasm. "It's the movernMiss Gelette mentioned--bishop to rook's fourth."rnrn"Oh, no, it isn't," he replied sweetly and maliciously. "I'm afraidrnthe Y. M. C. A. isn't much of a school, Peter Henry. It isn't, becausernof the very elementary truth that if the bishop moves your king isrnchecked----"rnrn"Quite so, sir. But, if I may point out, you interpose with thernknight----"rnrn"And Black takes it, you dolt!"rnrn"But it can't sir, for, of course, you see that it exposes check fromrnthe queen--double check and mate."rnrn"Eh?" he cried, staring at the board, his face slowly purpling. Then,rnwith one sweep and the single exclamation, "Damn!" he sent the menrnflying, knocked over the table, and ordered me from the room.rnrnAs I went down the stairs I could hear him angrily declaring to hisrnniece that bishop to rook's fourth was the move he had pointed out fromrnthe first, but that she said it was wrong.rnrnThat night I shaved my mustache, thankful that Mr. Varney's obsessionrnabout microbes thus enabled me to disguise myself, for its removalrncaused a remarkable change in my appearance, more than I had thoughtrnpossible. It was none of these Charlie Chaplin affairs, but a goodrnbrush, and when I saw myself in the glass, minus it, I doubted if myrnworst enemy would have known me.rnrnFrom my interview I realized that Jules might not have been far wrongrnwhen he predicted that my troubles were only beginning--though I neverrnguessed the nature and extent of them. Theodore Varney was evidently arnhard master to serve, and for all his years and infirmity I had felt arngreat desire to kick him. He seemed like one of these malicious littlernbronze devils fashioned by the heathen, and he spoke to his niece asrnif she were a feeble-minded nonentity. I knew her to be high-spiritedrnand with a temper of her own, but she had taken it all without a showrnof protest, though she had colored faintly when she saw I was anrnobserver.