CHAPTER XVI

DELAY

The second day of their stay in the Grant house found the Vagabonds up and about at an unusual hour for musicians. For the night they had disposed themselves about the house in varying attitudes of comfort; but as morning deepened, they appeared to question one another as to the approach of train time.

"The sooner we get out of here the better it will please yours truly," said Sam McMahon.

"Here, too," assented Al Monroe. "The things I could do to a real meal would be criminal."

Another haphazard meal had been assembled in the kitchen; but to judge from the number of complaints, Ted Grant's larder had not been stocked with an idea of entertaining ten young men.

Rudy moved about nervously, keeping his glance for the most part in the direction of the Whitehall home. When the others had divided the morning paper, or set themselves to a practice session with the instruments, he went out into the garden. He did not wish to miss a moment of Jean's company should she emerge from her home.

Evidently he had been observed strolling restlessly about, for it was not long before Jean appeared in her doorway.

"Don't you want to come over?" she called.

Obeying with an alacrity which brought a slight color to the girl's cheeks, Rudy passed through the hedge and swung up the steps.

"You're out early," she informed him.

"Well, you know what they say about the early bird," he returned.

Jean studied him with mock severity.

"Are you implying that I'm a worm, young man?"

"Hardly that," Rudy said hastily. "Some of those sayings sort of backfire."

As they went into the house, Jean asked: "Are you enjoying your stay?"

"It's been the happiest time of my life," Rudy said. "I wish I could explain--make you feel that it has."

Jean bent her head slightly.

"Maybe I understand. It's strange--but I feel, well, I feel that it's been better than all other days, too."

For a moment Rudy digested her meaning. It scarcely seemed possible that she could have spoken those words. Had they been phantoms, or mere figments of some extreme hope?

"It seems somehow that I've always known you, Jean."

And then Jean said a surprising thing:

"I wish we had always known one another. Are--are you a college man, Mr. Grant?"

As Rudy struggled for an answer, a strain of melody was carried across the soft morning air. The Vagabonds apparently were not wasting their time in idleness.

"Oh, what is that song?" Jean interrupted him.

Rudy smiled gratefully. "It's a song that was meant just for you." And because he could express himself better in song than in ordinary speech, he took up the words of the number softly.

"We'll be so happy, We'll always sing If we remember, one little thing, A little kiss each morning, a little kiss each night.

"Who cares if hard luck may be ahead, An empty cupboard, A crust of bread-- A little kiss each morning, a little kiss each night.

"Dreams may disappoint us, As they often do, Bring your tears to me, dear, I'll bring mine to you."

As he finished singing, Jean got nervously to her feet. She seemed in the grip of some emotion as powerful as it was puzzling.

"You have a marvelous voice," she said at length. "It sounds so--so sort of familiar to me. I could listen to it all day."

Rudy frowned. "Only until noon, I'm afraid. You see, we have to go into town for a rehearsal. I'm more sorry than I can tell you, but we've got to leave."

"Oh, I wish you didn't have to go," Jean exclaimed in a voice of genuine disappointment.

"I wish I didn't, too," Rudy answered. "You have made me forget all about my music."

"Flatterer! But it's nice to hear you say it, anyway. I've always wanted to meet a real musician--an artist with sincerity."

"Sincerity?"

"Yes," the girl returned. "That's what your music makes me feel about you. You just couldn't be anybody but yourself. When you sing like that, I wish you'd go on forever."

"Would you be willing to go on with me forever?" Rudy asked suddenly, bolder than he had dreamed of being.

"Why, I----"

Before Jean could complete the sentence, there was an interruption by the butler. He held a yellow envelope.

"Pardon me, is Mrs. Whitehall here?" he asked.

"No, Adams," Jean answered.

"I have a telegram for her."

"Just leave it on the table." As the man put down the telegram and left, Jean eyed it curiously.

"Now I wonder what that's about," she said.

"So do I," Rudy admitted.

"I wonder if anything has happened. It's funny that Auntie hasn't come home. She left the house early this morning, before I was up. Something must have detained her at her committee meeting."

As Jean noted that Rudy's mind was not upon her Aunt, she guessed the secret of his inattention.

"Will you be coming back to-morrow?" she asked.

"If I weren't, would you mind?" Rudy returned with the same light smile.

"What a silly question," Jean reproved him.

"Maybe not. I might have to stay in town, for instance."

"Then," Jean said decisively, "I'd come in to hear you play. From now on I'm going to be a Ted Grant fan."

For a minute Rudy was silent. Then he said:

"Well, supposing I weren't Ted Grant."

"If you weren't famous? Oh, I'd like you just the same, no matter who you were."

"Jean," Rudy said abruptly, "I've got to tell you something. Maybe I'll make you hate me--but I've got to tell you. I'm not what you think I am--I'm----"

"Oh, oh, Mr. Grant! What a relief to find you here!"

Rudy and Jean turned. In the doorway, her face reddened with excitement stood Mrs. Whitehall.

"Why, Auntie," Jean exclaimed. "What in the world is the matter?"

"I won," said Mrs. Whitehall with satisfaction.

"At what?" Rudy asked.

"At the committee meeting, of course. Your band plays to-night!"

"My band----!"

"Do you mean Mrs. Todhunter consented to let Mr. Grant head the program?" Jean asked.

"I should say she didn't!" Mrs. Whitehall exclaimed. "And what a piece of my mind I gave her! And the committee backed me up, especially when I told them how anxious Mr. Grant was to help us."

Rudy scratched his chin in bewilderment. The situation rapidly was getting beyond all attempt at salvage, he saw that. And yet something must be done to escape from it. But what?

"Of course, I did want to help," he said slowly, "but with the other artists on the program objecting, perhaps----"

"Oh, but they are not on the program any more! Oh, no, not at all! They have all motored back to New York."

"What!" cried Rudy and Jean in chorus.

Then Jean asked: "Do you mean that Mrs. Todhunter was responsible----"

"Exactly, my dear! She said they refused to appear on a program with a jazz band, no matter how famous, and as the committee insisted on having Mr. Grant, she withdrew their names. Oh, it was a complete triumph for me, I assure you!"

"But, Auntie," Jean said, "without the operatic stars, we can't make the benefit a success."

"The broadcasting people say that Mr. Grant is a far greater attraction," Mrs. Whitehall replied complacently. "Some of them have assisted in his broadcasts in New York, and they say that nobody on the air is as big a favorite."

"Do you mean that these men have been with Ted Grant--with me--personally?" Rudy asked.

"Why, yes," Mrs. Whitehall told him, "and I daresay that in the audience will be a number of your regular fans. They're sure to come when they learn you are to appear. Oh, with the debutante numbers, we'll have a great success!" she cried happily. She turned to Rudy. "And you will do your best to help us, won't you, Mr. Grant?"

Rudy shook his head doggedly, realizing that the break must be made at last.

"But Mrs. Whitehall, I've told you that it is impossible. We--we will have to secure our manager's permission."

"Oh, I've taken care of that," Mrs. Whitehall said with a bland smile. "I wired to your manager directly from the committee meeting."

"My manager?"

"Yes; I got his address from the broadcasting people in New York, told him you wanted to play for us, and offered to meet his terms."

"You said--said I was here, and wanted to play?" Rudy asked.

"Of course," she replied. "You and your whole band. That was right, wasn't it? The answer should be here by now," she added.

"Why," Jean began, "that must be----"

"Jean," Rudy said quickly, "please----"

"That must be what?" Mrs. Whitehall demanded.

As Jean looked at Rudy he shook his head; but with a slight frown she spoke again, having failed to grasp the meaning of his exclamation:

"Why that must have been why the butler was trying to find you!"

Rudy desperately took the girl's arm, drawing her toward the door. "What do you say to a little walk in the sunshine?" he asked nervously.

"Why was the butler trying to find me?" Mrs. Whitehall drove on. "Come, come, speak up!"

"Yes," said Rudy, and then in a whisper to Jean he pleaded, "Come, come outside!"

There was no mistaking his wish now, and Jean, although not understanding, was willing to assent to it.

"I--I--really have forgotten what Adams wanted," she told her aunt.

Mrs. Whitehall hurried toward the door.

"Well, I will see the butler. It must be the telegram. Excuse me."

When she had left them, Jean looked curiously at Rudy. "Why didn't you want Auntie to read that telegram?" she asked.

Rudy unhappily returned her gaze.

"Jean there was something I wanted to tell you," he said miserably. "But it's too late now."

"About the telegram?"

"Read it," he said simply, pointing to the table on which the yellow slip lay.

"But it's addressed to Auntie."

"It will concern you," he told her.

"Why," said Jean, "how strange you seem."

"Read it," Rudy repeated.

Jean picked up the envelope and ripped it open with quick fingers. Withdrawing the enclosure, she flipped open the paper and read aloud:

BAND OPERATING IN YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD A FAKE. HAVE WIRED POLICE TO ARREST ALL CONCERNED AND HOLD UNTIL I ARRIVE WITH MR. GRANT. IMPOSSIBLE TO PLAY YOUR BENEFIT AS CANNOT ARRIVE UNTIL LATE EVENING.

J. CONNORS, MANAGER.

There was a harsh silence. Rudy could not lift his eyes. His face red with shame, he stood with drooping shoulders, an effigy of contrite misery.

"I was going to tell you," he said. "I was trying to tell you."

"Then you're not Ted Grant?"

"No."

"You've been lying--imposing on us?"

"I didn't mean any harm," he protested. "It was just that we were--sort of caught up by a rolling snowball, and had to go along."

Jean turned stiffly away, her back uncompromising.

"You don't understand," Rudy pleaded. "Let me explain."

"I have no doubt but that you will be able to explain most glibly, Mr.-- Mr.----"

"Bronson--Rudy Bronson!" At the sound of his own name, and the knowledge that at last he was free of the hated masquerade, his heart lightened amazingly.

"You see," he hurried on, "I had seen you at the University."

"At the University?" It was Jean's turn to be amazed.

"I was a freshman there," exclaimed Rudy. "Oh, this wasn't planned, Miss Whitehall, I swear it! But after it got started, why--why I couldn't stop it. The boys were afraid. I couldn't tell you the truth without giving them away. And then--I--I wanted to know you, to be near you, at any cost." He turned away disconsolately. "And now I've ruined my chance to do that--forever!"

Jean gazed at him for long seconds. He was so utterly crushed, so thoroughly penitent, that she could not forestall a suspicious mistiness that clouded her eyes. But before Rudy was aware of it, there came a tremendous ringing of the doorbell and a call of:

"Rudy! Quick!"