CHAPTER IV

MR. VAN CAMP MAKES A CALL

Aleck Van Camp turned from the clerk’s desk, rather relieved to find that Hambleton had not yet made his appearance.  Aleck had an errand on his mind, and he reflected that Jim was apt to be impetuous and reluctant to await another man’s convenience; at least, Jim wouldn’t perceive that another man’s convenience needed to be waited for; and Aleck had no mind to announce this errand from the housetops.  It was not a business that pertained, directly, either to the Sea Gull or to the coming cruise.

He made an uncommonly careful toilet, discarding two neckties before the operation was finished.  When all was done the cravat presented a stuffed and warped appearance which was not at all satisfying, even to Aleck’s uncritical eye; but the tie was the last of his supply and was, perhaps, slightly better than none at all.

Dinner at the club was usually a dull affair, and to Mr. Van Camp, on this Monday night, it seemed more stupid than ever.  The club had been organized in the spirit of English clubs, with the unwritten by-law of absolute and inviolable privacy for the individual.  No wild or woolly manners ever entered those decorous precincts.  No slapping on the shoulder, no hail-fellow greetings, no chance dinner companionship ever dispelled the awful penumbra of privacy that surrounded even the humblest member.  A man’s eating and drinking, his coming or going, his living or dying, were matters only for club statistics, not for personal inquiry or notice.

The result of this habitual attitude on the part of the members of the club and its servants was an atmosphere in which a cataleptic fit would scarcely warrant unofficial interference; much less would merely mawkish or absent-minded behavior attract attention.  That was the function of the club—­to provide sanctuary for personal whims and idiosyncrasies; of course, always within the boundaries of the code.

On the evening in question Mr. Van Camp did not actually become silly, but his manner lacked the poise and seriousness which sophisticated men are wont to bring to the important event of the day.  He was as near being nervous as a Scotch-American Van Camp could be; and at the same time he felt an unwonted flow of life and warmth in his cool veins.  He went so far as to make a remark to the waiter which he meant for an affable joke, and then wanted to kick the fellow for taking it so solemnly.

“You mind yourself, George, or they’ll make you abbot of this monastery yet!” said Aleck, as George helped him on with his evening coat.

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” said George.