_ Since the days in which Aileen had been left more or less lonely
by Cowperwood, however, no two individuals had been more faithful
in their attentions than Taylor Lord and Kent McKibben. Both were
fond of her in a general way, finding her interesting physically
and temperamentally; but, being beholden to the magnate for many
favors, they were exceedingly circumspect in their attitude toward
her, particularly during those early years in which they knew that
Cowperwood was intensely devoted to her. Later they were not so
careful.
It was during this latter period that Aileen came gradually, through
the agency of these two men, to share in a form of mid-world life
that was not utterly dull. In every large city there is a kind
of social half world, where artists and the more adventurous of
the socially unconventional and restless meet for an exchange of
things which cannot be counted mere social form and civility. It
is the age-old world of Bohemia. Hither resort those "accidentals"
of fancy that make the stage, the drawing-room, and all the schools
of artistic endeavor interesting or peculiar. In a number of
studios in Chicago such as those of Lane Cross and Rhees Crier,
such little circles were to be found. Rhees Crier, for instance,
a purely parlor artist, with all the airs, conventions, and social
adaptability of the tribe, had quite a following. Here and to
several other places by turns Taylor Lord and Kent McKibben conducted
Aileen, both asking and obtaining permission to be civil to her
when Cowperwood was away.
Among the friends of these two at this time was a certain Polk
Lynde, an interesting society figure, whose father owned an immense
reaper works, and whose time was spent in idling, racing, gambling,
socializing--anything, in short, that it came into his head to do.
He was tall, dark, athletic, straight, muscular, with a small dark
mustache, dark, black-brown eyes, kinky black hair, and a fine,
almost military carriage--which he clothed always to the best
advantage. A clever philanderer, it was quite his pride that he
did not boast of his conquests. One look at him, however, by the
initiated, and the story was told. Aileen first saw him on a visit
to the studio of Rhees Grier. Being introduced to him very casually
on this occasion, she was nevertheless clearly conscious that she
was encountering a fascinating man, and that he was fixing her
with a warm, avid eye. For the moment she recoiled from him as
being a little too brazen in his stare, and yet she admired the
general appearance of him. He was of that smart world that she
admired so much, and from which now apparently she was hopelessly
debarred. That trig, bold air of his realized for her at last the
type of man, outside of Cowperwood, whom she would prefer within
limits to admire her. If she were going to be "bad," as she would
have phrased it to herself, she would be "bad" with a man such as
he. He would be winsome and coaxing, but at the same time strong,
direct, deliciously brutal, like her Frank. He had, too, what
Cowperwood could not have, a certain social air or swagger which
came with idleness, much loafing, a sense of social superiority
and security--a devil-may-care insouciance which recks little of
other people's will or whims.
When she next saw him, which was several weeks later at an affair
of the Courtney Tabors, friends of Lord's, he exclaimed:
"Oh yes. By George! You're the Mrs. Cowperwood I met several weeks
ago at Rhees Grier's studio. I've not forgotten you. I've seen
you in my eye all over Chicago. Taylor Lord introduced me to you.
Say, but you're a beautiful woman!"
He leaned ingratiatingly, whimsically, admiringly near.
Aileen realized that for so early in the afternoon, and considering
the crowd, he was curiously enthusiastic. The truth was that
because of some rounds he had made elsewhere he was verging toward
too much liquor. His eye was alight, his color coppery, his air
swagger, devil-may-care, bacchanal. This made her a little cautious;
but she rather liked his brown, hard face, handsome mouth, and crisp
Jovian curls. His compliment was not utterly improper; but she
nevertheless attempted coyly to avoid him.
"Come, Polk, here's an old friend of yours over here--Sadie Boutwell
--she wants to meet you again," some one observed, catching him
by the arm.
"No, you don't," he exclaimed, genially, and yet at the same time
a little resentfully--the kind of disjointed resentment a man who
has had the least bit too much is apt to feel on being interrupted.
"I'm not going to walk all over Chicago thinking of a woman I've
seen somewhere only to be carried away the first time I do meet
her. I'm going to talk to her first."
Aileen laughed. "It's charming of you, but we can meet again,
perhaps. Besides, there's some one here"--Lord was tactfully
directing her attention to another woman. Rhees Grier and McKibben,
who were present also, came to her assistance. In the hubbub that
ensued Aileen was temporarily extricated and Lynde tactfully steered
out of her way. But they had met again, and it was not to be the
last time. Subsequent to this second meeting, Lynde thought the
matter over quite calmly, and decided that he must make a definite
effort to become more intimate with Aileen. Though she was not
as young as some others, she suited his present mood exactly. She
was rich physically--voluptuous and sentient. She was not of his
world precisely, but what of it? She was the wife of an eminent
financier, who had been in society once, and she herself had a
dramatic record. He was sure of that. He could win her if he
wanted to. It would be easy, knowing her as he did, and knowing
what he did about her.
So not long after, Lynde ventured to invite her, with Lord, McKibben,
Mr. and Mrs. Rhees Grier, and a young girl friend of Mrs. Grier
who was rather attractive, a Miss Chrystobel Lanman, to a theater
and supper party. The programme was to hear a reigning farce at
Hooley's, then to sup at the Richelieu, and finally to visit a
certain exclusive gambling-parlor which then flourished on the
South Side--the resort of actors, society gamblers, and the like
--where roulette, trente-et-quarante, baccarat, and the honest
game of poker, to say nothing of various other games of chance,
could be played amid exceedingly recherche surroundings.
The party was gay, especially after the adjournment to the Richelieu,
where special dishes of chicken, lobster, and a bucket of champagne
were served. Later at the Alcott Club, as the gambling resort was
known, Aileen, according to Lynde, was to be taught to play baccarat,
poker, and any other game that she wished. "You follow my advice,
Mrs. Cowperwood," he observed, cheerfully, at dinner--being host,
he had put her between himself and McKibben--"and I'll show you
how to get your money back anyhow. That's more than some others
can do," he added, spiritedly, recalling by a look a recent occasion
when he and McKibben, being out with friends, the latter had advised
liberally and had seen his advice go wrong.
"Have you been gambling, Kent?" asked Aileen, archly, turning to
her long-time social mentor and friend.
"No, I can honestly say I haven't," replied McKibben, with a bland
smile. "I may have thought I was gambling, but I admit I don't
know how. Now Polk, here, wins all the time, don't you, Polk?
Just follow him."
A wry smile spread over Lynde's face at this, for it was on record
in certain circles that he had lost as much as ten and even fifteen
thousand in an evening. He also had a record of winning twenty-five
thousand once at baccarat at an all-night and all-day sitting, and
then losing it.
Lynde all through the evening had been casting hard, meaning glances
into Aileen's eyes. She could not avoid this, and she did not
feel that she wanted to. He was so charming. He was talking to
her half the time at the theater, without apparently addressing
or even seeing her. Aileen knew well enough what was in his mind.
At times, quite as in those days when she had first met Cowperwood,
she felt an unwilled titillation in her blood. Her eyes brightened.
It was just possible that she could come to love a man like this,
although it would be hard. It would serve Cowperwood right for
neglecting her. Yet even now the shadow of Cowperwood was over
her, but also the desire for love and a full sex life.
In the gambling-rooms was gathered an interested and fairly smart
throng--actors, actresses, clubmen, one or two very emancipated
women of the high local social world, and a number of more or less
gentlemanly young gamblers. Both Lord and McKibben began suggesting
column numbers for first plays to their proteges, while Lynde
leaned caressingly over Aileen's powdered shoulders. "Let me put
this on quatre premier for you," he suggested, throwing down a
twenty-dollar gold piece.
"Oh, but let it be my money," complained Aileen. "I want to play
with my money. I won't feel that it's mine if I don't."
"Very well, but you can't just now. You can't play with bills."
She was extracting a crisp roll from her purse. "I'll have to
exchange them later for you for gold. You can pay me then. He's
going to call now, anyhow. There you are. He's done it. Wait a
moment. You may win." And he paused to study the little ball as
it circled round and round above the receiving pockets.
"Let me see. How much do I get if I win quatre premier?" She was
trying to recall her experiences abroad.
"Ten for one," replied Lynde; "but you didn't get it. Let's try
it once more for luck. It comes up every so often--once in ten
or twelve. I've made it often on a first play. How long has it
been since the last quatre premier?" he asked of a neighbor whom
he recognized.
"Seven, I think, Polk. Six or seven. How's tricks?"
"Oh, so so." He turned again to Aileen. "It ought to come up now
soon. I always make it a rule to double my plays each time. It
gets you back all you've lost, some time or other." He put down
two twenties.
"Goodness," she exclaimed, "that will be two hundred! I had forgotten
that."
Just then the call came for all placements to cease, and Aileen
directed her attention to the ball. It circled and circled in its
dizzy way and then suddenly dropped.
"Lost again," commented Lynde. "Well, now we'll make it eighty,"
and he threw down four twenties. "Just for luck we'll put something
on thirty-six, and thirteen, and nine. With an easy air he laid
one hundred dollars in gold on each number.
Aileen liked his manner. This was like Frank. Lynde had the cool
spirit of a plunger. His father, recognizing his temperament, had
set over a large fixed sum to he paid to him annually. She
recognized, as in Cowperwood, the spirit of adventure, only working
out in another way. Lynde was perhaps destined to come to some
startlingly reckless end, but what of it? He was a gentleman. His
position in life was secure. That had always been Aileen's sad,
secret thought. Hers had not been and might never be now.
"Oh, I'm getting foozled already," she exclaimed, gaily reverting
to a girlhood habit of clapping her hands. "How much will I win
if I win?" The gesture attracted attention even as the ball fell.
"By George, you have it!" exclaimed Lynde, who was watching the
croupier. "Eight hundred, two hundred, two hundred"--he was
counting to himself--"but we lose thirteen. Very good, that makes
us nearly one thousand ahead, counting out what we put down.
Rather nice for a beginning, don't you think? Now, if you'll take
my advice you'll not play quatre premier any more for a while.
Suppose you double a thirteen--you lost on that--and play Bates's
formula. I'll show you what that is."
Already, because he was known to be a plunger, Lynde was gathering
a few spectators behind him, and Aileen, fascinated, and not knowing
these mysteries of chance, was content to watch him. At one stage
of the playing Lynde leaned over and, seeing her smile, whispered:
"What adorable hair and eyes you have! You glow like a great rose.
You have a radiance that is wonderful."
"Oh, Mr. Lynde! How you talk! Does gambling always affect you this
way?"
"No, you do. Always, apparently!" And he stared hard into her
upturned eyes. Still playing ostensibly for Aileen's benefit, he
now doubled the cash deposit on his system, laying down a thousand
in gold. Aileen urged him to play for himself and let her watch.
"I'll just put a little money on these odd numbers here and there,
and you play any system you want. How will that do?"
"No, not at all," he replied, feelingly. "You're my luck. I play
with you. You keep the gold for me. I'll make you a fine present
if I win. The losses are mine."
"Just as you like. I don't know really enough about it to play.
But I surely get the nice present if you win?"
"You do, win or lose," he murmured. "And now you put the money
on the numbers I call. Twenty on seven. Eighty on thirteen.
Eighty on thirty. Twenty on nine. Fifty on twenty-four." He was
following a system of his own, and in obedience Aileen's white,
plump arm reached here and there while the spectators paused,
realizing that heavier playing was being done by this pair than
by any one else. Lynde was plunging for effect. He lost a thousand
and fifty dollars at one clip.
"Oh, all that good money!" exclaimed Aileen, mock-pathetically,
as the croupier raked it in.
"Never mind, we'll get it back," exclaimed Lynde, throwing two
one-thousand-dollar bills to the cashier. "Give me gold for those."
The man gave him a double handful, which he put down between
Aileen's white arms.
"One hundred on two. One hundred on four. One hundred on six.
One hundred on eight."
The pieces were five-dollar gold pieces, and Aileen quickly built
up the little yellow stacks and shoved them in place. Again the
other players stopped and began to watch the odd pair. Aileen's
red-gold head, and pink cheeks, and swimming eyes, her body swathed
in silks and rich laces; and Lynde, erect, his shirt bosom snowy
white, his face dark, almost coppery, his eyes and hair black--they
were indeed a strikingly assorted pair.
"What's this? What's this?" asked Grier, coming up. "Who's plunging?
You, Mrs. Cowperwood?"
"Not plunging," replied Lynde, indifferently. "We're merely working
out a formula--Mrs. Cowperwood and I. We're doing it together."
Aileen smiled. She was in her element at last. She was beginning
to shine. She was attracting attention.
"One hundred on twelve. One hundred on eighteen. One hundred on
twenty-six."
"Good heavens, what are you up to, Lynde?" exclaimed Lord, leaving
Mrs. Rhees and coming over. She followed. Strangers also were
gathering. The business of the place was at its topmost toss--it
being two o'clock in the morning--and the rooms were full.
"How interesting!" observed Miss Lanman, at the other end of the
table, pausing in her playing and staring. McKibben, who was
beside her, also paused. "They're plunging. Do look at all the
money! Goodness, isn't she daring-looking--and he?" Aileen's shining
arm was moving deftly, showily about.
"Look at the bills he's breaking!" Lynde was taking out a thick
layer of fresh, yellow bills which he was exchanging for gold.
"They make a striking pair, don't they?"
The board was now practically covered with Lynde's gold in quaint
little stacks. He had followed a system called Mazarin, which
should give him five for one, and possibly break the bank. Quite
a crowd swarmed about the table, their faces glowing in the
artificial light. The exclamation "plunging!" "plunging!" was to
be heard whispered here and there. Lynde was delightfully cool
and straight. His lithe body was quite erect, his eyes reflective,
his teeth set over an unlighted cigarette. Aileen was excited as
a child, delighted to be once more the center of comment. Lord
looked at her with sympathetic eyes. He liked her. Well, let her
he amused. It was good for her now and then; but Lynde was a fool
to make a show of himself and risk so much money.
"Table closed!" called the croupier, and instantly the little ball
began to spin. All eyes followed it. Round and round it went
--Aileen as keen an observer as any. Her face was flushed, her
eyes bright.
"If we lose this," said Lynde, "we will make one more bet double,
and then if we don't win that we'll quit." He was already out
nearly three thousand dollars.
"Oh yes, indeed! Only I think we ought to quit now. Here goes two
thousand if we don't win. Don't you think that's quite enough? I
haven't brought you much luck, have I?"
"You are luck," he whispered. "All the luck I want. One more.
Stand by me for one more try, will you? If we win I'll quit."
The little ball clicked even as she nodded, and the croupier,
paying out on a few small stacks here and there, raked all the
rest solemnly into the receiving orifice, while murmurs of
sympathetic dissatisfaction went up here and there.
"How much did they have on the board?" asked Miss Lanman of McKibben,
in surprise. "It must have been a great deal, wasn't it?"
"Oh, two thousand dollars, perhaps. That isn't so high here,
though. People do plunge for as much as eight or ten thousand.
It all depends." McKibben was in a belittling, depreciating mood.
"Oh yes, but not often, surely."
"For the love of heavens, Polk!" exclaimed Rhees Grier, coming up
and plucking at his sleeve; "if you want to give your money away
give it to me. I can gather it in just as well as that croupier,
and I'll go get a truck and haul it home, where it will do some
good. It's perfectly terrible the way you are carrying on."
Lynde took his loss with equanimity. "Now to double it," he
observed, "and get all our losses back, or go downstairs and have
a rarebit and some champagne. What form of a present would please
you best?--but never mind. I know a souvenir for this occasion.
He smiled and bought more gold. Aileen stacked it up showily, if
a little repentantly. She did not quite approve of this--his
plunging--and yet she did; she could not help sympathizing with
the plunging spirit. In a few moments it was on the board--the
same combination, the same stacks, only doubled--four thousand all
told. The croupier called, the ball rolled and fell. Barring
three hundred dollars returned, the bank took it all.
"Well, now for a rarebit," exclaimed Lynde, easily, turning to
Lord, who stood behind him smiling. "You haven't a match, have
you? We've had a run of bad luck, that's sure."
Lynde was secretly the least bit disgruntled, for if he had won
he had intended to take a portion of the winnings and put it in a
necklace or some other gewgaw for Aileen. Now he must pay for it.
Yet there was some satisfaction in having made an impression as
a calm and indifferent, though heavy loser. He gave Aileen his
arm.
"Well, my lady," he observed, "we didn't win; but we had a little
fun out of it, I hope? That combination, if it had come out, would
have set us up handsomely. Better luck next time, eh?"
He smiled genially.
"Yes, but I was to have been your luck, and I wasn't," replied
Aileen.
"You are all the luck I want, if you're willing to be. Come to the
Richelieu to-morrow with me for lunch--will you?"
"Let me see," replied Aileen, who, observing his ready and somewhat
iron fervor, was doubtful. "I can't do that," she said, finally,
"I have another engagement."
"How about Tuesday, then?"
Aileen, realizing of a sudden that she was making much of a situation
that ought to be handled with a light hand, answered readily: "Very
well--Tuesday! Only call me up before. I may have to change my
mind or the time." And she smiled good-naturedly.
After this Lynde had no opportunity to talk to Aileen privately;
but in saying good night he ventured to press her arm suggestively.
She suffered a peculiar nervous thrill from this, but decided
curiously that she had brought it upon herself by her eagerness
for life and revenge, and must make up her mind. Did she or did
she not wish to go on with this? This was the question uppermost,
and she felt that she must decide. However, as in most such cases,
circumstances were to help decide for her, and, unquestionably, a
portion of this truth was in her mind as she was shown gallantly
to her door by Taylor Lord. _