Don't Pick Me

CHAPTER VII

The week after the pageant proved far from the rest time Jerry had planned. Every day brought him invitations. All sorts of new demands were made upon his time. In his hurried calls upon Bobs he tried to explain that this was a part of his job. He was playing the fish now; when he had them hooked and landed, he would be free.

"If they don't pull the fisherman in after them, into the golden, dead sea," she gibed bitterly.

"They won't get me, Bobsie," he boasted.

Mrs. Abercrombie Brendon continued to act as his social sponsor. She wanted him in tow every minute. Jerry noticed that wherever she took him, by some strange chance, they came upon Althea Morton. He sat next her at dinner, at the opera; he danced with her, paid her compliments; but it began to dawn upon him that he was not doing the one thing Mrs. Brendon desired, making love to her.

Althea Morton was the most perfect type, physically, which American aristocracy produces. She came of good, old New York stock, somewhat emasculated from too much wealth, but still pure. She had been born into luxury. She grew up in it, without thinking about it. To have every taste in life gratified was as natural as breathing air.

She had the usual so-called education of girls of her class. Fashionable school was followed by a year abroad, for French and music. She was protected always from any contact with the rude world; she was always spared the necessity of thinking for herself. It was perhaps not her fault that her advantages were such a handicap. The two main tenants of her creed, were, naturally enough, making the best of her beauty, and acquiring a proper husband.

It was her second season when she met Jerry Paxton. His good looks and his charm attracted her, as they did all women, so that little by little he came to hold a very special place in her thoughts. His sudden success with the people of her world set the final seal of approval upon him.

To be sure he had no money; he boasted himself an impoverished artist, but that only added to his attractions. She had plenty of money for them both, and to do her justice, money was so much a matter of course with her, that it never occurred to her that Jerry could really be poor.

She, too, was not unaware of Mrs. Brendon's intentions in regard to Jerry and herself, but she supposed that their constant meetings were prompted by his desires, rather than by Mrs. Brendon's passion for vicarious romance. Althea was happy, and willing to let events shape themselves as they would. This period of focussing Jerry's attention upon herself was exciting.

It was the second week after the pageant that Mrs. Abercrombie Brendon had an inspiration. It flashed upon her at a dinner party in her own house, when Jerry, Althea, a Mr. and Mrs. Wally Bryce, and the Brendons were present.

"We're all tired to death from that pageant. Let's take the Empress off to Palm Beach, Crom, and have a few weeks' rest. Will you all come?" she asked.

"I'll come," said Mrs. Bryce promptly, "and so will Wally, if I have to drag him aboard in chains."

"Good enough, old girl, but what about the Stock Exchange?"

"It will be here when we get back."

"One of your partners said that Wally's week-ends began on Thursday and ended the following Tuesday. They'll never miss you, Wally," laughed Mr. Brendon.

"How about you, Althea?" his wife asked.

"I should love it."

"And you, Jerry Paxton?"

"I'm afraid you must count me out. You see——"

"I'll do nothing of the kind. You shall make studies for my portrait aboard the yacht and we'll stay out till you're ready to put on paint," the hostess remarked. "When can we start, Crom?"