# The Ring in the Box

Extracted from Smart Set, Apr 1902, pp. 117-120.
The Ring In The Box
By Ralph Henry Barbour
ALBERT took my hat and cane with an air of suppressed suffering. He was pale and wide-eyed, and I feared the stupendous.
"Is he up?" I asked.
"I don't know, sir. I think not."
"H'm'm; you are looking for another place?"
"Yes, sir." Albert glanced nervously across the little reception-hall at a tightly closed door, and continued, hurriedly, "I've given notice, sir; me that's been with him more than seven years! It's more than I can stand, Mr. 'Arris." Albert would ride superbly all day over six-barred aspirates only to come a cropper in the end over my unhappy name. "You know, sir, that I ain't the complaining kind. I don't mind when he swears at me, if he does it as a gentleman should; and I've put up with boots and golf-balls, and even inkstands now and then, sir, and said nothing; but—" Albert drew himself up to the heroic stature of five feet five inches—"but, sir, when he calls me a blundering ass, sir, and says as how I 'ought to be valet in a livery stable,' sir, I rebels, sir; the insult is too deep, Mr. 'Arris."
"I see. What seems to be the trouble with him?"
Albert shook his head despairingly. "I don't know, sir. He was all right till I took in the letters and the papers. Then he rings sudden like, and when I goes in he yells, 'Albert, pack my suit-case for a week's trip! Put in everything!' And when I tells him, very respectful, that I can't get everything in the suit-case, he—he calls me—me—that, sir, and tells me——"
"Never mind; it'll work out. By the way, did you tell him that you were going to leave his service?"
"Yes, sir, I did."
"Indeed?" I paused with my hand on the knob. "And what did he say, Albert?"
Albert hesitated, glanced again timidly at the chamber door, and tiptoed across to me. "Begging your pardon, Mr. 'Arris, for the expression," he whispered, hoarsely, "his words were—" and with his lips to my ear he breathed something exceedingly characteristic of my volcanic friend.
Suppressing a smile for the sake of Albert's wounded feelings, I opened the door and went in. John was sitting Turkish fashion in the middle of the floor, attired in a suit of pink and yellow pajamas. His expression was one of unnatural gloom, slightly mitigated by a trace of interest in my advent. About him lay the contents of the drawers and closets—trousers, coats, waistcoats, boots, underwear, ties, linen, stockings, leather cases, smoking articles and a general litter of books, magazines, letters, newspapers and bills. A dead cigarette dangled despondently from the right-hand corner of his mouth, and he held suspended in mid-air a pair of riding-breeches and a pink négligée shirt. At his knees lay one solitary suit-case, a veritable atom in that wilderness of apparel.
I dropped into the big arm-chair, that was shoved tightly against the wall, and nodded. John growled, and slammed the breeches and shirt into the case. There was a perceptible atmosphere of Scotch in the room. The mystery was quickly solved. On the table, beside an apparently untouched breakfast, stood a bottle of whiskey in friendly communion with a siphon. The case was evidently desperate.
"Going away?" I queried.
Another growl. A pair of riding-boots was jammed on top of the pink shirt.
"Where?" I asked.
John paused, looked up and blinked at me. Evidently his destination had not troubled him. He threw the dead cigarette across the room and seized a box of golf-balls. Then, with his finger pointing toward the cellar, he snarled—well, an expression that Albert would have whispered!
"Play golf there, do they?"
He scowled across, and finally discarded the box. The nearest thing was a pair of Summer trousers. He seized these, rolled them into a tight bunch, and jammed them against the riding-boots.
"I fancy they'll be very comfortable where you're going," I observed, genially.
He threw them after the cigarette, and substituted a couple of thick undershirts. Then he viewed me, belligerently. "Say, what do you want, anyhow?"
The tone was not hospitable, but when you have fought and drunk with a chap for twenty-odd years you don't mind tones. I grinned kindly down on him, and lighted a cigar.
"Well, to tell the truth, Johnnie, I want most of all to know what, in the name of everything that's idiotic, you're going to do."
"I'm going away."
"Any special place? 'Away' is a bit indefinite."
"Haven't decided—Jamaica; Palm Beach; Los Angeles; Asheville—any old place."
"What for?"
"None of your business." This remark was duly spiced in a way that would have made Albert's hair bristle.
"H'm'm; Flitterbat lost the handicap, perhaps?"
"Don't be a fool; you know I've stopped betting." He paused, suddenly looked wild, swore under his breath, and added, "That is, I had stopped——"
"Oh!"
John scowled darkly. "What do you mean?" he demanded, savagely.
"Only that two and two make five."
"Huh! You're a chump, if you only knew it. Get out of here, will you? I want to finish packing."
"Finish what?"
"Packing, I said."
"Oh, that's what you're doing, is it? I thought from the looks of things that you were going to have an auction. I don't mind bidding a couple of dollars for that yellow flannel waistcoat yonder. You know you won't want it where you're going. You'll need a fan and a——"
I dodged the box of golf-balls; the contents rolled briskly over the apartment. This seemed to cheer John up, for he crawled across two yards of débris and found his cigarette-case.
"Have a Scotch?" he growled. I shook my head. I never drink before luncheon. John lighted up and sat glowering for several minutes at a portrait on the mantel. Then he examined his cigarette with strange interest. Finally, he spoke.
"It's all off," he said.
"The engagement?"
He nodded, gloomily.
"What! again?"
"There's no 'again' about it," he answered, with asperity.
"Isn't there? I beg pardon. It seemed to me that I had recollections of three other similar crises in the three months that have intervened since Miss Hayward agreed to make you supremely miserable."
"Shut up."
"Very well. But what's the nature of the present misunderstanding, old man? What have you gone and done?"
"Nothing. Why the deuce do you always suppose I'm the one to blame? She did it herself."
"Did what, Johnnie?"
"Broke it off."
"Why?"
"Because I asked her not to give every dance to that idiot, Curlis."
"Anson Curlis?"
"Yes"
"But, great heavens, man! he's only a babe-in-arms!"
"Don't care; he's a—a—" Albert would have died.
"She rebelled?"
"She told me I was—was—something; what the deuce was it?"
"Domineering?" I hazarded. John looked surprised.
"Yes; how'd you guess? That's the word she used."
"Very unkind. I suppose you used your customary diplomacy and tact?"
John stared at me suspiciously. "What in thunder does it matter what I did? I dare say I made a mess of it, Phil; I always do." He glowered for a moment. "Well, it's all over for good this time." He sighed heavily, and kicked over a pile of evening shirts.
"I wouldn't drink any more," I observed.
"I would." He poured out a stiff dose and ran a few drops of soda into it. "Better have one," he said, dejectedly.
I shook my head. "What makes you think it's final this time, Johnnie? If I recollect correctly, the former disagreements were extremely short-lived. The first time—the time when you were going abroad to do the Continent, you know—the tiff lasted just six hours. The next time—let me see, you were going to Colorado, weren't you? And just as you had your trunk packed the note came, didn't it? I thought so. The last time—couldn't have been more than a month ago, eh?—the last time you were going to—to—where was it?"
"New Mexico."
"Exactly; you were going to New Mexico to help Bob Shephard drink himself to death. And you might have gone if you hadn't walked past her house by chance and seen her weeping her eyes out at the drawing-room window——"
"She wasn't weeping; don't be an imbecile."
"I won't. Well, any complications that make the present case exceptional?"
"Yes, there are." John went to the dresser and fumbled over the litter of brushes, collars, ties and cigarette stumps. Then he tossed something over to me, something small and pink, which, when caught, proved to be a jeweler's ring-case. I whistled. Things looked black for Johnnie.
"What's this?" I asked, just as though I didn't know.
"What in thunder do you think it is?" growled John. "It's my ring."
He turned suddenly from the window, tied his pajama cords more tightly about him, and set desperately to work filling the suit-case with whatever came to hand.
Poor Johnnie! He looked very wretched, and I was sorry for him.
"Don't you think, if you saw her now—?"
He shook his head, decidedly. "No use, old man; I'm a goner this time. She'll never forgive me for what I said."
"Specially beastly, were you?"
"Yes, I was a brute! I don't know what got into me, on my word I don't. I—I suppose she'll marry Watkins."
"Not likely. What time are you going?"
"To-day, I suppose; this afternoon, likely."
'All right. I can be ready at—" I looked at my watch—"at two o'clock."
John stopped what he called packing, and looked at me for an instant; while a smile dispelled some of the overlaying gloom.
"You're an idiot," he said, affectionately.
"I dare say. Let's try Asheville. We know what it's like; and we don't know Jamaica—at least I don't. If we're going to be miserable, let's do it where the rations are fit."
"All right. Look up the trains, will you? I say, are you going to take a trunk?"
"Of course I am. Good heavens, man! you can't begin to get what you want into that thing. Call Albert and tell him to pack a steamer-trunk. And don't forget your golf things."
"Albert's given notice again," said John, doubtfully.
"Of course he has," said I. "He always does when the engagement's off; it's part of the performance. But don't pay any attention to him. Only," I added, "you might just say that you've altered your mind about the livery-stable, you know; Albert's so touchy."
I had been toying with the little velvet case, and had unwittingly snapped it open. I gave a gasp, and stared at the contents.
"I say, old man," I asked, casually, "have you looked at this ring since it came back?"
"No; why?"
"Nothing much. Only, I must say you're an original chap to give an engagement ring of this sort."
"What's the matter with it?" he sneered.
"It seems to be all right," I answered, "viewed simply as a ring; but for an engagement token—well, I'd have selected something different, I fancy."
John struggled to his feet and fell over a pair of golf-boots. "What do you mean? What's wrong with the ring, Phil?"
"Why, it's a ruby seal, with your crest, and here's a bit of paper with some writing on——"
John is very abrupt at times. He snatched the box and ring out of my hand, and strode with them to the window. There was a long period of silence. I puffed vigorously at my cigar and stared at the wall. Presently I felt John's gaze on me, and turned to see him beaming over the littered apartment, like a Cheshire cat. His face, naturally generous of expanse, was too small to hold all the smiles that struggled to find room there.
"It's—it's all right," he said, huskily.
"Is it?"
"Yes. She—she— Here, read it yourself."
I joined him and took the little square of paper. Then I read aloud:
Jack dear, here it is. I hope you'll like it. I was going to give it to you last night, but you were so jealous that you spoiled it all. I know I was to blame, dear, and I ask your pardon very humbly.
Here I heard something like a gulp from John.
If you do forgive me please send word by the messenger who brings this.
John rushed frantically to the door and shouted, "Albert!"
I hope you will like the ring as much as I like the one I am wearing. Ever your Bessie.
P. S.—I am not going out this afternoon.
I handed the note back just as Albert appeared.
"Here," clamored John, "get a messenger, quick! Don't stand there grinning, you idiot! Do you hear?"
Albert stared stolidly back.
"Beg pardon, sir; but in regard to the 'blundering ass,' sir?"
John stared.
"The what?"
"The 'blundering ass,' sir, and the 'livery-stable,' sir."
"Oh, did I say that, Albert?"
"Yes, sir; you did, sir."
"Well, I didn't mean it. The fact is, I was a bit upset. I—I don't think I could do without you, Albert."
"Thank you, sir. You said a messenger?"
When the door had closed I grinned from John to the suit-case. "I fancy there's a train at about four o'clock," I said.
"Train? What train?" asked John, blankly.
"Why, to Asheville."
"Asheville! Don't be a fool, Phil! The only train I want is a hansom."
"Well, it's very disappointing for me, Johnnie," I said, sadly. "I had my mind made up for Asheville. However, better luck next time, eh?"
John's reply was a well-delivered shoe; which, had I not dodged it nicely, would have kept me out of society for a week.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1944, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 79 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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