Love in a Cloud: A Comedy in Filigree

"Perhaps I'd better go," he said, and turned toward the door.

"Oh, by the way, Mr. Barnstable," Jack observed as the visitor laid his hand on the door-knob, "does it seem to you that it would be in good form to apologize before you go? If it doesn't, don't let me detain you."

The strange creature turned on the rug by the door, an abject expression of misery from head to feet.

"Of course I'd apologize," he said, "if it was any use. When my temper's up I don't seem to have any control of what I do, and what I do is always awful foolish. This thing's got hold of me so I don't sleep, and that's made me worse. Of course you think I'm a lunatic, gentlemen; and I suppose I am; but my wife – "

The redness of his face gave signs that he was not far from choking, and out of his fishy eyes there rolled genuine tears. Jack stepped forward swiftly, and took him by the hand.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Barnstable," he said. "Of course I'd no idea what you were driving at. Will you believe me when I tell you something? I had nothing to do with writing 'Love in a Cloud,' but I do know who wrote it. I can give you my word that the author didn't have your story in mind at all."

"Are you sure?" stammered Barnstable.

"Of course I'm sure."

"Then there is nothing I can do," Barnstable said, shaking his head plaintively. "I've just made a fool of myself, and done nothing for her."

The door closed behind Barnstable, and the two young men looked at each other a moment. Neither laughed, the foolish tragedy of the visitor's last words not being mirth-provoking.

"Well, of all the fools I've seen in my life," Jack commented slowly, "this is the most unique specimen."

"I'm afraid I can't blame the divorced Mrs. Barnstable," responded Dick; "but there's something pathetic about the ass."

It seemed the fate of Barnstable that day to afford amusement for Jack Neligage. In the latter part of the afternoon Jack sauntered into the Calif Club to see if there were anything in the evening papers or any fresh gossip afloat, and there he encountered the irascible gentleman once more. Scarcely had he nodded to him than Tom Harbinger and Harry Bradish came up to them.

"Hallo, Jack," the lawyer said cordially. "Anything new?"

"Not that I know of," was the response. "How are you, Bradish?"

"How are you?" replied Bradish. "Mr. Barnstable, I've called twice to-day at your rooms."

"I am sorry that I was out," Barnstable answered with awkward politeness. "I have been here since luncheon."

"I'm half sorry to find you now," Bradish proceeded, while Harbinger and Jack looked on with some surprise at the gravity of his manner. "I've got to do an errand to you that I'm afraid you'll laugh at."

"An errand to me?" Barnstable returned.

Bradish drew out his pocket-book, and with deliberation produced a note. He examined it closely, as if to assure himself that there was no mistake about what he was doing, and then held out the missive to Barnstable.

"Yes," he said, "I have the honor to be the bearer of a challenge from the Count Shimbowski, who claims that you have grossly insulted him. Will you kindly name a friend? There," he concluded, looking at Harbinger and Neligage with a grin, "I think I did that right, didn't I?"

"Gad!" cried Jack. "Has the Count challenged him? What a lark!"

"Nonsense!" Harbinger said. "You can't be serious, Bradish?"

"No, I'm not very serious about it, but I assure you the Count is."

"Challenged me?" demanded Barnstable, tearing open the epistle. "What does the dago mean? He says – what's that word? – he says his honor ex – expostulates my blood. Of course I shan't fight."

Bradish shook his head, although he could not banish the laughter from his face.

"Blood is what he wants. He says he shall have to run you through in the street if you won't fight."

"Oh, you'll have to fight!" put in Jack.

"The Count's a regular fire-eater," declared Tom. "You wouldn't like to be run through in the street, Barnstable."

Barnstable looked from one to another as if he were unable to understand what was going on around him.

"Curse it!" he broke out, his face assuming its apoplectic redness. "Curse those fellows that write novels! Here I've got to be assassinated just because some confounded scribbler couldn't keep from putting my private affairs in his infernal book! It's downright murder!"

"And the comic papers afterward," murmured Jack.

"But what are you going to do about it?" asked Tom.

"You might have the Count arrested and bound over to keep the peace," suggested Bradish.

"That's a nice speech for the Count's second!" cried Jack with a roar.

"What am I going to do?" repeated Barnstable. "I'll fight him!"

He struck himself on the chest, and glared around him, while they all stood in astonished silence.

"My wife has been insulted," he went on with fresh vehemence, "and I had a right to call the man that did it a villain or anything else! I owe it to her to fight him if he won't take it back!"

"Gad!" said Jack, advancing and holding out his hand, "that's melodrama and no mistake; but I like your pluck! I'll back you up, Barnstable!"

"Does that mean that you'll be his second, Jack?" asked Harbinger, laughing.

"There, Tom," was the retort, "don't run a joke into the ground. When a man shows the genuine stuff, he isn't to be fooled any longer."

Bradish followed suit, and shook hands with Barnstable, and Harbinger after him.

"You're all right, Barnstable," Bradish observed; "but what are we to do with the Count?"

"Oh, that ass!" Jack responded. "I'd like to help duck him in a horse-pond; but of course as he didn't write the book, Mr. Barnstable won't mind apologizing for a hasty word said by mistake. Any gentleman would do that."

"Of course if you think it's all right," Barnstable said, "I'd rather apologize; but I'd rather fight than have any doubt about the way I feel toward the whelp that libelized my wife."

Jack took him by the shoulder, and spoke to him with a certain slow distinctness such as one might use in addressing a child.

"Do have some common sense about this, Barnstable," he said. "Do get it out of your head that the man who wrote that book knew anything about your affairs. I've told you that already."

"I told him too," put in Harbinger.

"I suppose you know," Barnstable replied, shaking his head; "but it is strange how near it fits!"

Bradish took Barnstable off to the writing room to pen a suitable apology to the Count, and Jack and Harbinger remained behind.