"So you paint, too. What else can you do? Let's have a look."
"It's too rotten. I'd rather let you see something else--though all my stuff is bad."
"You wouldn't do any little thing, would you, to brighten this tiredest hour in the day of a tired business man," complained Dick.
"I've really been a business man to-day, Captain. Worked like the devil--or an angel--whichever works the harder."
He lit a cigarette and settled with a sigh on the corner of Larry's desk. Larry regarded him with a stranger and more contradicting mixture of feelings than he had ever thought to contain: solicitude for Dick--jealousy of him--and the instinct to protect Maggie. This last seemed to Larry grotesquely absurd the instant it seethed up in him, but there the instinct was: was Dick treating Maggie right?
"How was the show last night, Dick?"
"Punk!"
"I thought you said you were to see 'The Jest.' I've heard it's one of the best things for years."
"Oh, I guess the show's all right. But the company was poor. My company, I mean. The person I wanted to see couldn't come."
"Hope you had a supper party that made up for the disappointment," pursued Larry, adroitly trying to lead him on.
"I sure had that, Captain!"
Dick slid to a chair beside Larry, dropped a hand on Larry's knee, and said in a lowered tone:
"Captain, I've recently met a new girl--and believe me, she's a knock-out!"
"Better keep clear of those show girls, Dick."
"Never again! The last one cured me for life. Miss Cameron--Maggie Cameron, how's that for a name?--is no Broadway girl, Captain. She's not even a New York girl."
"No?"
"She's from some place out West. Father owned several big ranches. She says that explains her crudeness. Her crude? I should say not! They don't grow better manners right here in New York. And she's pretty, and clever, and utterly naive about everything in New York. Though I must say," Dick added, "that I'm not so keen about her cousin and her uncle. I'd met the cousin a few times the last year or two around town; he belongs here. The two are the sort of poor stock that crops out in every good family. They've got one merit, though: they don't try to impose on her too much."
"What is your Miss Cameron doing in New York?"
"Having her first look at the town before going to some resort for the summer; perhaps taking a cottage somewhere. I say, Captain"--leaning closer--"I wish you didn't feel you had to stick around this apartment so tight. I'd like to take you out and introduce you to her."
Larry could imagine the resulting scene if ever this innocently proposed introduction were given.
"I guess that for the present I'll have to depend upon your reports, Dick."
"Well, you can take it from me that she's just about all right!"
It was Larry's strange instinct to protect Maggie that prompted his next remark:
"You're not just out joy-riding, are you, Dick?"
Dick flushed. "Nothing of that sort. She's not that kind of girl.
Besides--I think it's the real thing, Captain."
The honest look in Dick's eyes, even more than his words, quieted Larry's fear for Maggie. Presently Dick walked out leaving Larry yet another problem added to his life. He could not let anything happen to Maggie. He could not let anything happen to Dick. He had to protect each; he had to do something. Yet what could he do?
Yes, this certainly was a problem! He paced the room, another victim of the ancient predicament of divided and antagonistic duty.
