Mischief

Mischief  (1921) 
by E. Phillips Oppenheim

[A Joseph P. Cray story] Extracted from Red Book magazine, January 1921, pp. 35-38; (bits of) 115-118. Accompanying illustrations by Raeburn van Buren omitted.


MISCHIEF

Another Adventure of Mr. Cray
of the U. S. A.

By E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM


THE meeting between Mr. Cray and Mr. Edward P. Wallin of Seattle was a touching and wonderful thing. It took place on the pavement of the Strand, about fifty yards from the entrance to the Hotel Milan, the occasion being a leisurely stroll on the part of Mr. Cray toward one of the reopened hotels in Northumberland Avenue, which was reputed to possess a wizard in the art of cocktail mixing. They recognized each other about ten yards off, and their greetings were vociferous and idiomatic.

“If it isn’t Ed!” Mr. Cray exclaimed. “Welcome to our city!”

“Joe, old sport, if this isn’t bully!” was the prompt and hearty response. “Put it there, my son of the Stars and Stripes. Why, I thought you were handing doughnuts to the boys out in Coblenz.”

“Demobbed,” was the cheerful reply. “I had twelve months of it steady.”

“Gee, but you’re a wonder! I guess the Milan’s the nearest.”

Arm in arm, the two men swung along the pavement, Mr. Wallin a somewhat smaller and plumper edition of his old friend. Their faces exuded good humor and good will. Each was filled with the joy of meeting a friend and fellow countryman in a strange city.

“Ed,” Mr. Cray observed, “they’ve hit us pretty hard on the other side.”

“They sure have!” the other groaned. “You have to have a pain in your stomach and call at the drug-store with a prescription to get a drop, and even then you feel like hiding behind the show-case. And I tell you, Joe, to see the boys lapping up nut sundaes and getting gloomier all the time is just one over the limit. We’re not used to it yet; we still go about kind of dazed.”

Mr. Cray glanced at his watch as they reached the Milan bar. He led the way to two easy-chairs and beckoned to a waiter.

“Two scotch-and-sodas, Tim,” he ordered, “and in a quarter of an hour see that Coley shakes us up two dry Martinis. Afterward we’ll have a bite of luncheon in the grill-room.”

The program was approved and carried out. About halfway through the meal Mr. Cray asked a momentous question:

“Say, what’s brought you over, Ed?”

Mr. Wallin laid down his knife and fork and groaned. His eyes were fixed with an indescribable expression upon the figure of a woman a short distance away.

“That,” he replied, “—her!”

Mr. Cray turned in his chair. A smartly attired young woman, who had paused upon the threshold looking around the room as though in search of some one, was now approaching their table.

“Why, Mr. Wallin,” she exclaimed as she shook hands, “I had no idea that you were staying here!”

“I’m not,” he replied. “I’m just having a bite with a friend. I’d like you to know Mr. Joseph P. Cray—Miss Nora Medlicott.”

Mr. Cray rose at once and shook hands with Miss Medlicott. She was very good-looking; her expression was pleasing and her manner friendly.

“I’m glad to know you, Mr. Cray,” she said. “Are you by any chance related to Mrs. Georgina Cray, vice president of the Women’s Kill-the-Drink League?”

“My wife,” Mr. Cray faltered.

Miss Medlicott shook hands with him again.

“I am proud to know you, sir,” she declared. “Your wife did a great work in Oregon.”

“Sure!” Mr. Cray murmured, his tone singularly lacking in conviction. “I’ve been kind of out of things for the last two years.”

“Mr. Cray has been over in France, doing relief work,” his friend explained.

“Exactly what I should have expected from Mrs. Cray’s husband,” the young lady declared approvingly.

“You’ll sit down and have some lunch with us, Miss Medlicott?” Mr. Wallin begged in the hope of detaining the fair one a while.

The young lady appeared to hesitate. She glanced once more around the room.

“I promised to lunch with some of the crowd,” she said, “but—”

Her eyes suddenly fell upon the bottle of Scotch which Mr. Wallin had vainly tried to conceal behind a newspaper. Her manner stiffened.

“We’ll send this right away,” the offender promised eagerly. “I’m not accustomed to it in the middle of the day, but Mr. Cray here has a touch of rheumatism.”

“Touch of what?” Mr. Cray asked blankly, and received a kick on the shins for his obtuseness.

Miss Medlicott smiled gravely at him.

“You mustn’t think I’m overprejudiced, Mr. Cray,” she said, “but I am a great believer in total abstinence. I have many friends, however, who do not share my views, among them Mr. Wallin, here. I do not, however, sit down at a table, if I can help it, where alcoholic liquors are being consumed.”

“We’ll soon make that all right if you’ll join us,” Mr. Cray promised, pushing the bottle heroically away.

“In any case,” Miss Medlicott replied, smiling, “there are my friends. Good-by, Mr. Cray! You will come and call, wont you, Mr. Wallin?”

“Sure!” that gentleman assented eagerly. “I’ll be round to-morrow afternoon.”

The young lady departed. Mr. Cray looked after her regretfully.

“That’s a pity, Ed!” he said. “A real stunner too, if ever I spoke to one.”

Mr. Wallin groaned.

“And I love her, Joe,” he confided. “Six times I’ve asked her to marry me, and I’ve come over here because I couldn’t bear to think of her in London and these foreign places and me back in Seattle. Sometimes I think I’ll have to take the pledge.”

Mr. Cray coughed. He found advice difficult. “It’s a serious step, Ed. At our time of life men ought to be careful how they trifle with their constitutions.”

Mr. Wallin helped himself.

“You’re right, Joe,” he agreed, “but I do sure love that girl.”

“How do you stand with her?” his friend inquired.

“All right, I guess, except for this idea of hers,” was the doleful reply. “I can’t see that it’s her fault. Her father and mother are the same. She’s been brought up in the atmosphere.”

“She seems a nice girl, too,” Mr. Cray sighed.

“If she’d only leave off trying to convert me,” Mr. Wallin murmured.

Mr. Cray finished his whisky and soda, and displayed an interest in the waiter’s suggestion as to liqueurs. The matter having been satisfactorily dealt with, he proceeded to the reconsideration of his friend’s dilemma.

“Ed,” he said, “have you ever tried to convert the young lady?”

“Will you tell me how to start about it?" Mr. Wallin asked drearily. “The poor girl doesn’t know the taste of wine or liquor. Nothing of the sort has ever been allowed in the house since she was born. I’d as soon think of offering her a cocktail as of handing her poisoned chocolates, and I guess she’d feel the same about it.”

“What sort of a crowd is she with over here?” Mr. Cray inquired.

“Why, there’s her father and mother, a reverend gentleman, two elderly men, and Hiram Crofts, the senator. I guess he’s in the same boat I am.”

“A rival, eh?” Mr. Cray observed.

His friend assented dolefully.

“And looks like a winner. There they all are—over at the round table.”

Mr. Cray studied the group thoughtfully. “Dead ones!” he declared. “Why, Miss Medlicott is the only live one in the bunch. She doesn’t belong, Ed.”

“That water drinking,” Mr. Wallin remarked, “seems to link them together, though.”

“You mean to tell me that sandy-haired, melancholy-looking dyspeptic is your rival?” his host went on. “Gee, Ed, you ought to put it over on him!”

“He’s the big noise when he’s on the platform.”

“Sure, but the girl isn’t going to live with him on a platform! What are they all doing over here, Ed?”

“They’re collecting recipes of temperance drinks,” Mr. Wallin replied. “The idea is, when they find one that goes, to form a company to manufacture it. Something that’s cool and thirst quenching in summer, and warm and vitalizing in winter—”

“A new soft drink, eh?” Mr. Cray said thoughtfully.

“That’s the idea. They’re going round the English manufactories, and if they can’t find anything they’re going on the Continent.”

"A new soft drink, eh?” Mr. Cray repeated. “There’s money in that, Ed.”

“Sure,” Mr. Wallin assented, “or Hiram Crofts wouldn’t be in it. He cuts out the hard stuff all right, but his nose follows the dollars all the time. Pa and Ma Medlicott know that, too. My little pile isn’t much by the side of his,” he added with a touch of sadness.

“Ed,” his friend said firmly, “if you let a whimple-faced, anaemic-looking weed like that rob you of a fine girl like Miss Medlicott, I’m through with you.”

“Do you think I want him to have her?” Mr. Wallin asked almost indignantly. “Do you think I’ve followed her over here for nothing? Say, you always were a slick sort of chap, Joe; do you think you could help me?”

Mr. Cray stretched a thin but muscular hand across the table.

“I do think so and I will, Ed,” he declared. “Put it there.”

{[dhr]} THE Hiram Croft-cum- Medlicott party occupied a large round table in a corner of the restaurant. Mr. Wallin and his companion paused before it on their way out.

“I want you all to know my friend. Mr. Joseph P. Cray,” the former said, with his hand on Hiram Croft’s shoulder. “Mr. Cray has just returned from two years of relief work with the Army of Occupation.”

Mr. Hiram Croft shook hands. The introduction was made general.

“Any relation, may I ask?” Mrs. Medlicott began, adjusting her pince-nez.

“My friend Mr. Cray,” Mr. Wallin interrupted proudly, “is the husband of Mrs. Cray, the Vice President of the Kill-the-Drink League.”

Mr. Hiram Croft shook hands with him again.

“This is a privilege, Mr. Cray,” he said.

Every one seemed pleased and happy. A chair was brought for Mr. Cray, who looked round at the table with its four goblets of ice-water with an inward shiver. There was a good deal of general conversation, which Mr. Cray dexterously brought up to a certain point.

“Mr. Croft,” he said, “I am one of those men who, before the war, had used liquor in moderation.”

Mr. Cray in the eyes of everybody became a very black sheep indeed. Everybody’s manner stiffened perceptibly. It was hard to connect an even moderate use of strong drink with the husband of such an inspired dry prophetess as Mrs. Cray.

“When I took up my work ‘over there’,” Mr. Cray continued, “I cut it right out. Not a drop of liquor of any sort passed my lips. Being naturally of a somewhat thirsty disposition, I developed a strong interest in—ah—temperance drinks.”

“Sure!” Mr. Croft murmured with returning tolerance.

“The subject of temperance drinks,” Mr. Medlicott announced, “is one which is at the present time engaging a large share of our attention.”

“So I understood from my friend Mr. Wallin here,” Mr. Cray said. “I gathered that you were over here looking out for a thoroughly satisfactory recipe for a non-alcoholic beverage.”

“Do you know of one, Mr. Cray?” Mrs. Medlicott asked.

“Madam,” the gentleman addressed replied solemnly, “I do.”

“This is becoming very interesting,” the Senator remarked. “Can we be introduced to it, sir?”

Mr. Cray drew his chair a little closer to the table.

“Mrs. Medlicott and gentlemen,” he said, “it is, in a sense, a most extraordinary thing that I should have come into touch with you. I claim to have discovered the most wonderful, refreshing, thirst-quenching and exhilarating beverage the world has ever known. I hold the recipe of it, and I value that recipe at a good many dollars.”

Mr. Croft murmured and nodded.

“If the beverage,” Mr. Cray proceeded solemnly, “were put on the market according to my directions and sold at even a moderate profit, its sales throughout the world would be colossal. But,” he went on, “all this is talk. I am prepared to prove my words. I ask you, Mrs. Medlicott and gentlemen, have you yet discovered a satisfactory non-alcoholic beverage?”

“We have not,” Mrs. Medlicott admitted.

“We were inclined to favor a certain brand of dry ginger ale,” Mr. Croft observed, “but we have come to the decision that its after-effects are deleterious.”

“A sense of inflation,” one of the old gentlemen murmured.

“A tendency towards pains in the lower regions,” Mr. Medlicott admitted frankly.

“In short,” Mr. Cray summed up, “you have not yet found what you are looking for. Now I have brought my recipe back from France, and although I have not yet sold a single bottle, been near the trade or mentioned it to a soul, I have a plant near London and I shall be starting out shortly to manufacture on a very small scale. I invite you, ladies and gentlemen, to dine with me at the restaurant of this hotel at eight o’clock next Wednesday night, when my daughter, Lady Sittingbourne, will be proud to be your hostess. You shall then test my beverage, and if you find it what you are looking for, there shall be no question of dollars between us. I will give you the recipe.”

Mr. Hiram Croft shook hands with Mr. Cray for the third time.

“Sir,” he said, “if you are not led away by the enthusiasm of the discoverer, you are one of the world's benefactors.”

“You have spoken, sir,” Mrs. Medlicott declared, “as the husband of Mrs. Cray should speak.”

“In short,” Mr. Medlicott declared, “we accept your invitation.”

MR. CRAY received his guests on the appointed day, in the sitting-room of his suite. He presented them to his daughter, and as soon as they were all assembled he stood by his little sideboard and addressed them.

“Mrs. and Miss Medlicott and gentlemen,” he said, “I can assure you that I feel it a very great honor to entertain you tonight, but I do not want you for a moment to lose sight of the fact that in a sense this is an educational, and I trust you will find it a deeply interesting, exposition. I am going to disprove everything that has ever been written about alcohol.”

“Hear, hear!” Mr. Hiram Croft murmured.

“Now,” Mr. Cray continued, smiling, “you are all doubtless aware of a long-established habit in America of taking a cocktail before dinner. However one looks upon it, the habit itself is without doubt a pernicious one.”

“Deplorable!” Mrs. Medlicott murmured.

“Unhygienic,” one of the old gentlemen echoed.

Mr. Cray signified his unqualified assent.

“Still,” he continued, “one function of this cocktail is, on the surface, worthy. A little party of friends such as the present one meets, a little tired with the day’s toil, shy, perhaps, from an imperfect acquaintance with one another, depressed with business worries, physically and, perhaps, mentally weary. A cocktail has its function upon such an occasion. We have heard the hearty laugh, we have seen the lightning change, the smile of relief, a spirit, perhaps, of good-fellowship, incited by this evil means. Now, my friends, I propose to show you how something of the same sort can be incited without recourse to this bane of our days—alcohol.”

{[dhr]} MR, CRAY lifted a napkin from the top of a dozen or so of glasses which stood on a silver salver upon the side board. The glasses were filled with a pale amber liquid, on the top of which floated a small twist of lemon-peel. Very proudly indeed Mr. Cray handed a glass to each of the little company. They all accepted it with a smile of pleased interest.

“Now this,” Mr. Cray announced, “is the subject of my first recipe. It is, I claim, pleasant to the taste, stimulating and refreshing. If you share my enthusiasm for the beverage of which you will presently partake, the recipe for it shall also be yours. Mrs. Medlicott. Miss Medlicott—gentlemen!”

They all tasted critically, tasted again, and set down their glasses empty. Then they all looked at one another. Mr. Wallin was the only unenthusiastic person.

“I’m afraid it’ll never do, Joseph,” he regretted, “although I must admit that it is pleasant enough so far as a soft drink could go.”

“Your taste, sir,” Mr. Hiram Croft said severely, “is vitiated. The beverage of which we have just partaken, Mr. Cray,” he added, looking hard at the sideboard to see if there were any more, “represents, I consider, a remarkable discovery. I find it exceedingly pleasant, and, if I may say so, stimulating without the usual noxious aftertaste.”

“I think it is perfectly delicious,” Miss Medlicott pronounced.

“Most soothing,” Mrs. Medlicott agreed.

"Mr. Wallin’s criticism,” Mr. Medlicott said, looking hard at him, “only proves how a taste for the really good and pure beverages of life may be destroyed by reckless indulgence in alcohol. I consider this beverage which you have offered us, Mr. Cray, a most marvelous discovery. I offer you my congratulations. I am impatient to become acquainted with your other and main discovery.”

“I am most gratified,” Mr. Cray declared beaming. “If you will follow me, then, we will now get along to the restaurant.”

The little party made their way down the corridor to the lift and thence to the restaurant. There was not the slightest doubt that the truth of Mr. Cray’s contentions was already becoming evident. The two old gentlemen, who brought up the rear arm in arm, looked a great deal less like college professors, and surveyed the gay scene in the foyer with appreciative eyes. Mr. Hiram Croft talked the whole of the way. He was even genial to his rival. Mr. Wallin.

“It is my belief, sir,” he said, “that your very interesting friend Mr. Cray has made a marvelous discovery. I have suffered from dyspepsia all my life. Meals have been a trouble to me instead of a pleasure. I have seldom anticipated the partaking of food except with dread. To-night I have quite a new feeling. I am hungry.

MR. WALLIN listened with respect to his companion's eulogy. Mrs. Medlicott, who walked at Mr. Cray's right, talked to him all the time with marked graciousness. She did not once raise her pince-nez to gaze with disapproval at the somewhat exotic evening dresses of the other guests in the foyer. Her mouth had lost its severe curve, and she too seemed full of pleasurable anticipation. Miss Medlicott, on his other side, was inclined to be st little thoughtful. She, too, however, was in the best of spirits, and a little cry of admiration escaped her when, escorted by many bowing waiters, they were ushered to a private room opening off the main restaurant in the center of which was a large table, beautifully decorated with great clusters of red roses, and with a little American flag rising from a fancy edifice in the middle. There was a general murmur of interest when, as they sat down, gold-foiled bottles, one to every two persons, were discovered around the table.

"So this is the great discovery?" Mrs. Medlicott said, smiling. "The bottle presents a most attractive appearance."

"I am glad that it meets with your approval." Mr. Cray replied. "I have instructed the waiter not to open any of it until after the soup, as the contents are slightly serated."

Mr. Hiram Croft looked a little disappointed. He ate his oysters and swallowed his soup with almost tumultuous eagerness. A little murmur of deep interest escaped from every one when, with the serving of the fish, a dark-visaged potentate dexterously opened one or two of the bottles and glasses were filled.

"Ladies and gentlemen." Mr. Cray said, "this may be an epoch-making dinner. If you approve of this beverage, as I trust you will do, there may soon come a time when it will become a familiar feature upon every sideboard and dinner-table. My best wishes to all of you!"

Glasses were clinked ’round the table. Mr. Cray drank with Mrs. Medlicott and Miss Medlicott, Mr. Wallin drank with Mr. Medlicott the two old gentlemen drank with each other, Mr. Hiram Croft drank with everybody. When he set down his glass, it was empty. His words reflected the expression of pleasure on everyone‘s face.

"Mr. Cray," he pronounced, "there can be no manner of doubt about the qualities of this remarkable beverage. I hail you, sir, as one of the greatest discoverers of the age, one of the greatest friends the American stomach has ever had."

"Let us drink," Mrs. Medlicott purred, "to Mrs. Cray. What would she not give to be with us tonight!"

"To Mrs. Cray," the Senator assented, waving his refilled glass. "Vice President of the Kill-the-Drink League. Also to her worthy husband, Mr. Joseph P. Cray," he added, bowing to his host.

THE toast was duly honored, and the conversation continued along cheerful and optimistic lines. After his first glass. Mr. Cray turned tn Mrs. Medlicott.

"Madam," he said, "I trust that it will not offend your susceptibilities in any way if Mr. Wallin and I, who you know are not abstainers, take a glass of champagne?”

Mrs. Medlicott shook her head at him, but her expression as well as her tone was kind and genial.

“Why, you must please yourself, Mr. Cray,” she replied. “I am thankful to say that I am not a prejudiced woman.”

Mr. Cray bowed, and the waiter filled his glass and Mr. Wallin’s with champagne of a well-known vintage. Mrs. Medlicott sighed.

“Every one to his taste,” she said, “but it does astonish me, Mr. Cray, that when you have a beverage of such marvelous properties as the one which we are now drinking, that you should prefer to drink wine and face the consequences.”

“Wine doesn’t disagree with me, Madam,” Mr. Cray declared mildly.

Mrs. Medlicott squeezed his arm in friendly fashion.

“Joseph Cray.” she said, “I take an interest in you because I know your wife.”

Mr. Cray sighed.

“I suppose Amelia has to be in it,” he murmured.

Mrs. Medlicott shook her head playfully.

“Why, Mr. Cray,” she exclaimed, “you are getting me all confused! Now listen to me, there’s a dear man. Statistics—”

Mr. Hiram Croft's sonorous utterance suddenly descended upon them like a mill stream, sweeping away the froth of lighter conversation.

“Statistics,” he interrupted, “have proved to the conviction of every thinking man, the evil and the horror of indulgence in alcoholic beverages of any sort. Mr. Joseph P. Cray here has swept away the last excuse of the wine drinker. This beverage.” he continued, looking earnestly at the bubbles in his glass, “has none of the thin acidity of most temperance drinks. It hash none ofsh—I beg your pardon,” he said holding his hand before his mouth and correcting himself with prenatural gravity. “It has none of the thin limpidity of the aërated waters in ge-general use. If I were to search through my vocabulary for a single adjective. or rather epithet to apply to this wonderful refreshment. I should call it—inspired.”

“Bravo!” exclaimed the two old gentlemen from the other end of the table.

“How eloquent you are, Mr. Croft!” Miss Medlicott murmured.

MR. CROFT dived for her hand under the table and very nearly lost his balance. The young lady drew a little farther away.

“What I should like to know,” Mr. Medlicott demanded, “is what can alcohol give us that we do not find in this simple beverage?”

“What indeed?” Mr. Cray murmured, under his breath.

The Senator straightened his tie, which he was surprised to find had slipped round under his ear.

“Mr. Cray,” he declared, “is the world’s greatest benefactor. You agree with me, gentlemen?” he asked, leaning over and addressing the two gentlemen with strained politeness.

“Sure!” they exclaimed with one breath.

“I am glad to hear that,” Mr. Croft said severely. “For a moment I fancied that you were not in sympathy with our enthusiasm.”

“That’s where you were dead wrong, then, Croft,” one of them replied.

Mr. Croft looked round the table.

“If any one has anything to say against this beverage,” he continued, with the air of one spoiling for a fight,—

“I thought it a little insipid,” Mr. Wallin commented. “I was glad to get a glass of champagne afterwards.”

“Inshipid?” Mr. Croft repeated severely. "Mr. Wallin, you surprise me.”

“Not nearly so much as you’re surprising me,” that gentleman replied. “I haven’t seen you look so well or talk so well for ages.”

Mr. Croft smiled. He looked steadily at Miss Medlicott’s hand, as though meditating another dive. She promptly withdrew it, and moved her chair a little nearer to Mr. Wallin’s.

“It was a pleasing custom in my younger days.” Mr. Croft said presently, as the wonderful repast drew to a finish, "to—er—shing shongs.... I beg your pardon, to sing songs at the conclusion of a feast of this description—college songs generally. Can any one oblige?”

EVERYONE seemed willing to oblige at once. Mr. Cray struck the table with his fist, however, and demanded silence for Mrs. Medlicott, and Mrs. Medlicott interrupted with little bursts of laughter which necessitated her stopping sometimes to wipe the tears from her eyes, warbled a strange ditty in which the moonlight, a colored gentleman of acquisitive propensities, and a chicken, seemed inextricably mixed. Mr. Cray roared a buccaneering ditty, and Mr. Croft, in a reedy falsetto, essayed a well-known Dixie melody. Presently Mrs. and Miss Medlicott retired into the little withdrawing room opening out from the suite, Mr. Croft, supporting himself by the back of the chair. His eyes returned to the sideboard, and rested there with marked satisfaction.

“Two more bottles,” he declared. “We’ll give this beverage a thorough tesht, Mr. Cray.”

Mr. Cray signed to the waiter. Then he rose to his feet. Miss Medlicott was standing on the threshold of the withdrawing room, beckoning imperatively to him.

“If you will excuse me for one moment, gentlemen,” he begged.

"For one moment but never a lifetime,” warbled Mr. Croft. “Come back soon, old dear.”

Mr. Cray approached Miss Medlicott with some apprehension. She drew him inside the little room. Mrs. Medlicott was lying on the couch with her eyes closed.

“Dear host,” Miss Medlicott began.

Mr. Cray saw that the young lady’s eyes were dancing and he felt greatly relieved.

“Will you give me the recipe of your beverage, please?” she said.

"I will if you promise to marry Mr. Wallin,” he replied.

She laughed softly.

"He hasn’t asked me—lately,” she replied.

“If he asks you tonight?” Mr. Cray persisted.

She looked back into the room. The two old gentlemen were sitting arm in arm, telling each other stories. Mr. Medlicott, with a cigar in the comer of his mouth and a beatific expression upon his face, was leaning forward in his chair, listening to Mr. Hiram Croft telling a story in an undertone. Mr. Wallin, pink and white and wholesome, was looking a little bored.

"I agree,” she whispered.

Mr. Cray drew a paper from his pocket.

"You take four bottles of old champagne, one pint of brandy,” he began—

“No more,” she interrupted. "Take my advice and tear it up. Fetch Mr. Wallin.”

“Ed,” Mr. Cray called out softly, “will you step this way?”

Mr. Wallin stepped.

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1926.


The author died in 1946, so this work is also in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 70 years or less. This work may also 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.