Mardi Gras Madness (Carnival of Love)

Chapter Eleven

Hattie looked up with a grim frown as Jim hesitated in the doorway.

“Oh! It’s you!” she snapped. “Where’s Robert?”

“Why he’s... he’s gone out to... to see if he...” Jim got no further with his stumbling explanation.

“He’s slipped out to chase after that slip of a Barbara, I’ll be bound. You’d think he’d have more pride, wouldn’t you? Robert Sutler! My own cousin! His head so turned by a good-for-nothing that he forgets everything else.” Cousin Hattie assumed a martyred expression. She did it quite well. Jim marveled at the facility she showed in settling her harsh features into injured lines. He didn’t know how much practice she had had in this respect.

“Goes right out at this outlandish time of the night without so much as a by-your-leave to me who came with him because it was my plain duty to see that he came to no harm.”

“But it’s really not so late,” Jim protested. “It’s just eleven now. The fun’s just beginning on the streets.”

“Fun? Humph!” Cousin Hattie’s tone expressed her idea of people who started their fun at eleven o’clock in the night.

Jim started to answer, but she pressed on relentlessly:

“Little he cares about me. His head’s so turned by that flittery-gibbet girl that he doesn’t know I’m living. A lot he cares about what becomes of me. Why, I could be kidnaped or... or attacked... and he’d never turn a hair.”

“That’s... that’s not quite fair to Robert,” Jim protested, choking back a chuckle as he envisioned Cousin Hattie being kidnaped... or attacked. “I’m here,” he added helplessly. “Robert asked me to do anything I could to make up for his rushing away like this.”

“Humph.” Cousin Hattie sniffed three times and softened visibly.

“Perhaps you’d like to go out and see the sights,” Jim offered desperately. “Though I don’t suppose you’d care for that so late at night.”

“Well, now maybe it’s my duty to go and get the sights of these scandalous carryings-on.” Cousin Hattie arose with alacrity. Her nose wriggled as she simpered before the mirror.

“I must say I’ll feel perfectly safe with you to protect me,” she went on. “I suppose I should change, though goodness knows I have on my very nicest dress right now. I insisted on wearing this on the train... not wanting Robert to be ashamed of me when we met his friends here in the city. And it is a right nice dress if I do say it myself as who shouldn’t. I made it especial from a pattern in the magazine for Rose’s funeral last fall. Rose Duncan, that was. Jacob Duncan’s second wife. Poor dear. She looked so sweet lying in her casket. So sweet and peaceful. Land sakes, I told them... it’s the first peace she’s known since she married that man. A terrible rounder, he was. Sporty. Up at all hours playing billiards and all those sinful card games. For money, too, mind you...”

“That’s terrible,” Jim said quickly as she paused for breath. “And I must say that your dress is very becoming.” He tried to keep his dismay from showing as he gazed at the heavy folds of black silk which enshrouded her gaunt frame. Long sleeves and high collar with a ruffle of black lace. A black hat with faded artificial cherries and a wide bow of clashing yellow completed the striking ensemble.

Jim thought desperately of fleeing, but he set his teeth grimly. He had promised Robert. And, after all, he would see no one he knew among the merrymakers.

Cousin Hattie patted the hat firmly atop her head, and inserted two gleaming hatpins. Jim waited grimly while she found black mittens to cover her roughened hands. She turned toward him with a severe smile. Her attitude said that she was determined to throw all sense of decorum to the winds.

“I declare, I feel skittish,” she said. “I wonder what the ladies of the Aid Society would say now?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Jim told her gravely as they passed out of her room into the corridor. “No doubt they’d all envy you tremendously.”

“I’ll never dare breathe a word of this at home,” Hattie said mournfully. “They’d never believe me if I did.”

Jim took her arm carefully and looked straight ahead as they marched through the lobby and into the throng outside. Hattie’s voice continued its ceaseless monotone, but Jim paid her no heed. The words seemed to flow about him without impinging upon his consciousness. This was a job which he had taken upon himself, and he manfully proceeded to discharge his duties as guide to Robert’s cousin.

They walked slowly toward Canal, and Hattie’s flow of personal reminiscences slowly faded away to sniffs of horror and gasps of astonishment. Her eyes jerked about madly as she sought to see everything of the fantastic spectacle. What a story she would have to tell at home!

Jim was more and more painfully conscious of curious glances following them as they made their way along the sidewalk. There were titters behind their backs, and amused side-glances as the carnivalists studied the grotesque appearance Hattie presented.

She was serenely unconscious of the stir her costume created. If she noticed that at all, it was with the satisfied belief that she was giving them an “eyeful.”

Jim plodded doggedly ahead. Dragging impatiently at Hattie when she would have stopped to stare erotically at the amorous gestures of a group of men and maids who had imbibed of something stronger than the festival spirit.

Her conversation had been reduced to a series of “ohs” and “ahs” when they were finally flung into the maelstrom of Canal. The time was nearing midnight, and the atmosphere of untrammeled carousal was replacing the lighter aspect of earlier evening.

Jim drew Hattie back to a store front where the fringe of the crowd surged past and gave them some respite from the breathless give and take encountered in moving through the surging mélange of participants.

Her eyes were glittering and she breathed heavily. Jim stole a guarded glance at Hattie’s face as they stood together, and surprised an expression of strained expectancy. It was as though, disbelieving, she sought frantically for belief. As though her mind told her this was but a mirage, while her warped soul found something splendid in the unreality of the moment. As though she realized the entire world had gone insane... and an inner consciousness welcomed and embraced the insanity.

“Oooh! Look, Buddie! See th’ lady in th’ costume! Ain’t she grand?”

Jim looked down to see a chubby lass in a sadly bedraggled fairy costume tugging at the arm of a smaller, and fatter, and dirtier edition of herself who wore what Jim supposed to be a cowboy costume. The little girl was not more than six... and she was pointing excitedly at Cousin Hattie.

Jim stole another quick glance at Hattie, and was relieved to see her thin nose was pointing in the opposite direction as she watched a couple who had cleared a space for a gyrating execution of the rhumba.

“She looks sorta like mammy,” the little boy responded sturdily.

“Oooh,” the little girl said. “But mammy wouldn’ come to Mwada Gwa an’ be costumed an’ all like her. You know she wouldn’,” she ended severely.

“Wheah’s daddy, Boots?” the little fellow asked impatiently.

“He’s comin’ fas’ as he kin. We left him when we runned back yonder. He wuz talkin’ to that lady an’ she wouldn’ lissen.”

“Oh yeh. I ’member. Th’ lady looked cross. I’m glad she didn’ talk tuh daddy. I wuz ’fraid he might pick her out fer our new mammy... an’ I didn’ like her. I like this’n better.” Buddie motioned toward Hattie, who remained unconscious of the fact that she was being discussed.

Jim listened with amusement. His mind was working at top speed as he revolved the question of what to do with Hattie. She seemed to have entirely forgotten the lateness of the hour. He shuddered as he looked forward to weary hours of following her about the streets. Half his conscious mind listened to the conversation of the children, while the other half toyed with the desperate thought of disappearing while Hattie was looking the other way.

“Shhh. She’ll hear you,” Boots warned her brother. “Daddy wouldn’ like you to say that.”

“But she is lots nicer,” Buddie insisted. “I betcha daddy’ll think so too. I betcha maybe he’ll ast her tuh be our new mammy.”

“Oooh! There comes daddy now!” Boots exclaimed. “Don’t he look funny? He’s huntin’ fer us. He looks turrible worrit.” She laughed merrily and pointed with a dirty forefinger.

Jim looked in the direction she pointed and saw a tall figure hurriedly approaching them through the throngs which buffeted and shoved him about. It was the Widower Simpson, his angular frame fantastically rigged out in an ill-fitting Gaucho costume.

A beaded vest hung loosely from his thin shoulders, over a flowing blouse of vivid yellow. A wide crimson sash was about his waist, and his thin shanks were encased in tight pants which clung to his flesh and made him walk stiff-legged. A wide sombrero with leather chin strap completed the costume and added a final touch of grotesquerie to his appearance.

Yet, there was something pathetic about the man which held back the laugh his fantastic garb merited. A haunting hopefulness in his eyes, a suggestion of wistful eagerness in his mien, an air of nervous expectancy which, somehow, changed one’s mirth to a choked dismay. It was evident that he was proud of his regalia, and totally unaware of the ludicrous figure he presented.

He was searching for Boots and Buddie when Jim first saw him; frowning anxiously and peering about uncertainly. He was close to them before he saw they were safe, and Jim saw him straighten and breathe a huge sigh of relief. Jim was still staring at the man, uncertain whether he should laugh or weep, when he heard Hattie’s sharp tone addressing the children:

“My goodness sake’s alive! What are your parents thinking of? You two babies out at this time of night?”

“We ain’t babies,” Boots responded sturdily. “I’m fi’-goin’-on-six, an’ Buddie’s four.”

“’Sides, daddy’s lookin’ after us,” Buddie chimed in. “He’s comin’ now. He stopped to talk to the lady not as purty as you, an’ we jes’ come on wivout him.”

“But you should have been in bed hours ago,” Hattie said hastily. But her severity relaxed and she almost hazarded a smile. “Your daddy needs a good talking to... that’s what he needs,” she ended.

It was at that moment that Jim was inspired. Ever afterward he looked back upon that instant and marveled at the strength and certainty he had shown in handling the situation. He saw the Widower Simpson gazing upon Hattie beseechingly. From the children’s conversation it had been a simple matter to gather that their father was searching for a new mother for them.

Simpson looked simple and naïve enough to grasp at any straw. Would he grasp at Hattie? Jim considered the plan desperately during the split second before he acted.

This was his opportunity to sidestep the incubus of Robert’s redoubtable Cousin Hattie. His one chance! For certainly in all the Mardi Gras throng he would not find another Widower Simpson.

But Hattie? How would she react to the impropriety of casually striking up a friendship with a total stranger? Jim was very positive the ladies in the Aid Society would frown upon any such loose conduct. If he only knew the man’s name!

He whirled upon Simpson and grasped his arm. “What’s your name?” he hissed in his ear.

“Simpson,” he replied automatically. Then he drew back in alarm as Jim dragged him forward.

“Just think of meeting you here! Of all men!” he cried heartily. “My old friend, Simpson!” He slapped him enthusiastically upon the back while Hattie looked up in surprise.

“I want you to meet a friend of mine,” Jim said to her while Simpson muttered futile protests under his breath. “Mr. Simpson, the father of these charming children. And this, Simp old pal, is... is... Cousin Hattie,” he caught himself — “Uh... that is, Robert’s Cousin Hattie. Robert Sutler, you know?”

“I’m so glad to meet you,” Hattie exclaimed, bowing perkily. Mr. Simpson looked from Jim to Hattie in open-mouthed astonishment. He was almost persuaded that he did recognize Jim, and he thought the name of Robert Sutler had a familiar sound. He didn’t want to be boorish before such a charming lady... and, after all, this was Mardi Gras.

“Pleased tuh meetcha,” he muttered.

“Hain’t she got uh purty costume, daddy?” Boots tugged at his sleeve. “I ain’t seen no other costume atall like hers.”

“Shhh,” Simpson muttered desperately to his small daughter. “That’s the lady’s dress... and it’s a swell un too.”

Cousin Hattie bridled at first because the child thought her black silk was a costume, but she unbent before Simpson’s evident admiration.

“That’s all right,” she said forgivingly. “The little girl is tired and sleepy. It’s just a shame to have them out on the streets at this time of night. What is their mother thinking of?”

“We ain’ got no mammy,” Buddie said quickly. “She went tuh stay wiv thuh angels.” His upturned face was positively cherubic as he supplied this information.

“Oh, you poor lambs!” Hattie exclaimed feelingly. She knelt quickly and sought to gather them in her arms, but they eluded her.

“Be nice to the lady,” Mr. Simpson told them firmly.

They sidled in closer and Hattie cooed over them. Jim turned to Mr. Simpson with a vague smile. “She loves children,” he muttered.

Mr. Simpson’s Adam’s apple leaped furiously as he sought to speak. Jim saw he was much affected by Hattie’s motherly demonstrativeness, and he struck while the iron was hot.

“Wouldn’t you like to show Miss Hattie some of the sights?” he offered delicately. “I have another engagement, and I’m sure you’d make a much better guide than I am.”

“Gosh, I’d be proud to,” Mr. Simpson mumbled feelingly. “Would she, d’you reckon?” He gazed at Hattie humbly.

“I’ll ask her,” Jim whispered. He stepped forward and touched Hattie on the shoulder. “Mr. Simpson wonders if you would care to walk about with him and see the sights,” he told her. “I... I have an engagement that I had forgotten all about.”

“Why...” Cousin Hattie stood up nervously. “I can’t see there’d be any harm since he’s an old friend of yours,” she said hesitantly. “But he must take these babies home and put them to bed at once! Why, the very idea!” She gazed at Mr. Simpson severely.

“Yes’m, yes’m. I reckon I oughtta,” he faltered. “I guess we... looks like we cain’t go ’bout together then...” his voice trailed off indecisively.

“Wait a minute.” Jim stepped valiantly into the breach. His plan was too good to be ruined in any such manner. “Suppose I take the kiddies home and put them to bed?” he offered desperately. “I’ll have time to do that before my engagement.”

“Why... I... I dunno,” Mr. Simpson said helplessly.

“That’s awfully sweet of you,” Hattie told him languishingly. The madness of Mardi Gras had crept into her veins. The instinct of the hunter who sights his prey after years of careful stalking was aroused in her flabby breast. Her drab eyes saw Mr. Simpson as a colorful and romantic figure.

“You can trust Mr. Marston,” she beamed at her newly found escort. “I’m sure he’ll put them right to bed.”

“Of course,” Jim interposed hastily. “I’ll call a cab and have them tucked in their beds in a jiffy. Just give me the address, and you two run along and have a glorious time. The kids will come with me all safe... won’t you?” He winked broadly at Boots and Buddie.

It was Boots who assumed command at this crucial moment. Perhaps she understood the situation better than any of the rest.

“Sure. O’ course,” she responded readily. “Buddie an’ me’ll be good as good can be, daddy. You go on with th’ purty lady. Mebbe... mebbe she’s the one.” The last words were uttered in a hoarse whisper.

“But I haven’t any costume,” Hattie simpered. “I wouldn’t feel right with you dyked out so grand.”

“I’ll fix that too,” Jim said wearily. He set his jaw. Damn it! He’d see this thing through if he had to buy a costume and cram her into it.

“Here’s a place open right next door,” he said eagerly. “They’ve got beautiful costumes that you can buy or rent. Come on.” He seized Hattie’s arm and dragged her to the door of the little shop in spite of her protestations.

“You wait out here,” he flung over his shoulder to Mr. Simpson. Then, to Hattie: “That’s all right. I’ll take care of everything. Think how tickled Robert will be to come back and find you enjoying yourself. He gave me some money to entertain you with... and I’ll pay for the costume out of it.”

They were inside the shop and a young girl came forward languidly. “This lady wants a costume and she wants to change in here,” he told the girl quickly. His pocket disgorged a twenty dollar bill which he forced into Hattie’s hand.

“Pick out anything you want,” he said urgently. “I’ll take the children and put them to bed.”

“But... but what about Robert?” Hattie faltered dazedly. “What’ll he think when he comes back and I’m not there?”

“I’ll fix that too,” Jim said doggedly. “You and Mr. Simpson go to the Dancing Dervish restaurant just up the street. I’ll show him where it is. I’ll leave a note for Robert at the hotel, telling him to meet you there.”

“Well, now... this seems terrible sudden,” Hattie protested.

But Jim was backing out the door and the salesgirl was plucking at her sleeve impatiently. Hattie looked frightened as she turned to gaze at the racks of costumes. She was frightened to feel the spirit of reckless gladness which pervaded her withered frame. A spot of color glowed high up in each cheek as she studied the raiment displayed.

Jim paused just long enough to point out the Dancing Dervish restaurant to Mr. Simpson, and to get from him the address of the house to which he was to take the children. Then he beckoned to a cruising cab, and heaved a deep sigh of relief as he bundled them inside and leaped in after them.

He settled back against the cushion contentedly, feeling as weary as though he had just finished a stint of stevedoring. A chuckle escaped his lips as he wondered what sort of costume Hattie would select, and he saw a mental picture of her sallying forth proudly on Mr. Simpson’s arm to the riotous tumult of the Dancing Dervish to learn the secret of Mardi Gras.

That had called for fast thinking, he congratulated himself, and for direct action. He wondered what Robert would say... but he refused to worry about Robert.

After all, why shouldn’t Hattie and Mr. Simpson see Mardi Gras together? If he could find a bow and arrow, he reflected, he might pose for a picture of Cupid.