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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/78046-0.txt b/78046-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8020bad --- /dev/null +++ b/78046-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11216 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78046 *** +Italic represented by underscores surrounding the _italic text_. +Bold represented by equals signs surrounding the =bold text=. +Small capitals have been converted to ALL CAPS. + + + + + JOAN & CO. + + + + + =Books by Frederick Orin Bartlett= + PUBLISHED BY + A HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY + + JOAN & CO. + ONE YEAR OF PIERROT. Illustrated. + THE TRIFLERS. Illustrated. + THE WALL STREET GIRL. Illustrated. + JOAN OF THE ALLEY. Illustrated. + + + + + JOAN & CO. + _By_ + + FREDERICK ORIN BARTLETT + + [Illustration: Company logo] + + BOSTON AND NEW YORK + HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY + _The Riverside Press Cambridge_ + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY FREDERICK ORIN BARTLETT + + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + + + + + TO + R. S. B. + + + + + CONTENTS + + + I. DICKY IS SERIOUS 1 + + II. JOAN IS BORED 12 + + III. CHANCE 22 + + IV. THE DRIVER AND FATE 35 + + V. BANDAGED 42 + + VI. WHOSE FAULT? 51 + + VII. A LETTER 64 + + VIII. DICKY CALLS 71 + + IX. THE FIGHTING THINGS 82 + + X. AT HOME 93 + + XI. THE SILENT PARTNER 104 + + XII. JOAN & CO. 118 + + XIII. A CHALLENGE 134 + + XIV. PUMPKIN PIE 142 + + XV. LIKE NAPOLEON 146 + + XVI. THE DEVONS MANUFACTURING COMPANY 152 + + XVII. UPTOWN AND DOWNTOWN 161 + + XVIII. BEEF TEA 173 + + XIX. PRINCESSES 183 + + XX. THE FASTER GAME 198 + + XXI. A CONFESSION 206 + + XXII. A SALE 212 + + XXIII. NO TIME TO WASTE 222 + + XXIV. A VACATION 228 + + XXV. DANGER 235 + + XXVI. A NEW STENOGRAPHER 245 + + XXVII. REAL NEWS 257 + + XXVIII. THE BIG HOUR 270 + + XXIX. A STRAIGHT TIP 281 + + XXX. BANKRUPT 295 + + XXXI. DISCHARGED 305 + + XXXII. GOLF 311 + + XXXIII. THE BIG CHANCE 317 + + XXXIV. A BUSY MAN 333 + + XXXV. LOVE 344 + + XXXVI. THE DAY COMES 351 + + XXXVII. BACK HOME 364 + +XXXVIII. THE LAST ACT 373 + + + + + JOAN & CO. + + + + + Joan & Co. + + + + + CHAPTER I + + DICKY IS SERIOUS + + +The New York social season in which Miss Joan Fairburne made her début +was not more than half finished before the quizzical smile in the dark +eyes, half closed above a slightly upturned, dainty nose, which gave +her an air of amused boredom at first so fascinating to Dicky Burnett, +became, instead of an occasional expression, rather more frequent than +befitted a young woman of twenty. Also it was rather too inclusive to +be complimentary. As long as it was directed merely in a general way +at the assembled company at _thé dansant_ or box party or cards or +dance, Dicky fell in with it, and, his long legs crossed before him and +his arms folded over his chest, he assumed an air of weary submission +which he was sure established between him and Miss Fairburne a bond of +common lack of interest. But when those same dark eyes with their long +lashes began to turn also in his direction, as he made his gay comments +intended to cause her to nod sympathetically, but which did nothing of +the sort, he grew uncomfortable. It was as if she brushed him into the +pile with the others. + +It was the more humiliating because he realized that the girl was +sincere. She was startlingly and delightfully sincere. He had known +her now for two years; first as one of twenty girls at Wellesley when +he was a junior at Harvard; then, when he was a senior, as one of a +half-dozen; then, in these last few months after graduation, when he +was not anything in particular, as one of two or three girls; and +finally, within a week, as _the_ girl. + +She did not know this yet, and every time he made up his mind to +tell her he hesitated. This was not because he lacked courage or +experience. He had never actually asked any one to marry him, but he +had come so near it once or twice on especial occasions—such as certain +moonlight nights on that yachting trip he had taken two summers before +with Haywood, and again on a week-end with Benton when he met the +fascinating widow—that he realized that only abstention from the easily +spoken words had saved him. And always by the next morning he was +congratulating himself. + +This time, however, it was different; the next morning he was blaming +himself. Reviewing the evening before in the luxurious quiet of the +suite of rooms which ever since he was seventeen had been set apart for +him in his father’s home, he thought of all the things he might have +said to her and had not said, and damned himself for one who had not +made the most of a rare opportunity. + +Last night the Devereaux ballroom had been close with the crush +that filled it—it was like a room overcrowded with flowers—and she +had begged for a breath of fresh air. It was January, but Burnett +remembered the way to the little courtyard, and, finding her wrap and +overshoes, had led her to the tiny snow-dusted inclosure beneath the +white stars. He had taken her arm, and they walked back and forth in +the frosty night with the music coming to them muffled. It was a pretty +scene—a niche from another world, bounded by a high wall, with the +subdued light from the big windows cutting yellow across the snow, and +above them the illimitable purple. He had seen her lift her face—her +earnest, eager face, her beautiful half girl, half woman face; her +tender yet haughty face with its keen black eyes and its fine mouth. +She had stood so for a moment very erect like a princess challenging +the stars themselves, and breathing deep of some clearer air above. He +should have seized her then in his arms. He should have made her listen +to his words of love. He should have told her how, with everything +else in the world a man could crave, not having her he had nothing. He +should have told her how now she stood out among all the women in the +world as _the_ woman. And yet he had said nothing. He had watched her +in awe and said nothing. His heart beating in his throat, he had been +as tongue-tied as any freshman. Ass that he was! + +Dicky Burnett continued, with variations, to libel himself in this +fashion all the while he dressed. To tell the truth, however, he +by no means looked the part he assigned to himself. He was rather +good-looking from either a man’s or a woman’s point of view. Tall, +lean, clean-cut, with an intelligent and good-humored face suggesting +in the nose and mouth elements of real strength, he was distinguished +in appearance above the average of his fellows. Offhand one would have +said he would make a good soldier. Men would not hesitate to follow him +because he would not hesitate to lead, given a goal he considered worth +reaching. Well, he had one now. Then why the devil— + +Burnett was shaving himself with a safety razor and yet he managed to +cut himself slightly just below the left temple. He touched the scratch +with a bit of caustic and enjoyed the smart of it. + +At half-past eight he went downstairs to breakfast, which he took +alone because his mother always joined his father, who left promptly +at eight for the offices of the Burnett Manufacturing Company. There +was no need of this early departure, as Dicky regularly informed him; +but the latter only affected to scorn this evident truth. He made a +sort of hobby of keeping to the old habits that had made his business +to-day what it was—the leader in the manufacture of a certain type of +patent-leather finish. His idea since he was forty had been, as he +informed his traveling men at the end of each fiscal year, “to make the +next twelve months the greatest in the history of the company.” + +“That’s all very well,” his son observed whenever he found the +opportunity; “but when are you going to get off?” + +“About the time I begin to smoke cigarettes,” Burnett senior answered +once, as he lighted a stogie. + +Dicky waved responsibility aside with a motion of the hand containing a +fresh cigarette. + +“Of course, if you’re going to be stubborn and not take advice—” + +“Advice from who?” the elder demanded, utterly disregarding the rule +governing prepositions. + +“From me. Hang it, you _are_ putting on weight.” + +“What of it?” + +“Mullen used to say—” + +“Who’s Mullen?” + +“Mullen is the ’varsity trainer,” Dicky replied imperturbably. “As I +was observing, when interrupted, Mullen said that any man who took on +weight after forty was running a chance.” + +“All right; I’ll take the chance,” Burnett answered grimly. + +It was a fact, however, that Dicky really was worried about his +father. He had a genuine love for him and an honest respect for his +opinion on every other subject except work and health. On the latter +subject Dicky actually was qualified to speak with some authority; for +although he had never distinguished himself in athletics he had been +under Mullen for three years as a member of the second baseball team. + +After finishing a breakfast of eggs and toast, Burnett enjoyed his +usual walk from his home on Sixty-first Street to the Harvard Club. +Here he dropped in to glance at the morning papers, and then took a +taxi for the factory, reaching there at about half-past ten. + +As second vice-president of the company, he had a desk in an office +with Forsythe, the actual vice-president. The latter, an aggressive +man of forty, with hair brushed back in a fashion that gave one the +weird impression that he was facing a strong wind, always glanced +up with an abrupt “Good-morning, Mr. Burnett,” and planned to find +business elsewhere the hour or so that Dicky remained. As a matter of +fact, there was not much for the latter to do. The smoothly running +organization had been built up of men who had learned the business from +factory, to road, to office. It was so that Burnett had wished his son +to learn it; but, as the latter observed, with some point: + +“What’s the use, Dad?” + +“The use?” snorted Burnett. “How else will you learn it?” + +“I don’t want to learn it.” + +“Eh?” + +“I’d rather let George do it.” + +“George?” + +“He being any one who is obliged to do it for the sake of earning +a living,” explained Dicky. “I _could_ do it, I could go into the +factory and wallow around in sticky black stuff, if it were necessary. +I could go out on the road and sell and sit round between times in +hotel offices. But thank the Lord it isn’t necessary. So what’s the +use? You did all those things yourself, I know. But that is just the +reason why no one else in the family should have to do them all over +again. Besides, there are plenty of men looking for that chance. Like +Forsythe; he ate up that kind of work for years, and enjoyed it. Now +he eats up all this office, and enjoys it. And you—you ought to be out +playing golf—that’s all.” + +It was a matter of family pride that led Burnett, in spite of this +attitude, to elect the boy a second vice-president; and it was merely +the obligation the boy felt he owed his father that made him accept +it. And Dicky let it go at that. He came down nearly every morning, +and sat around until lunch-time mostly for the sake of seeing that his +father did not duck into an alley somewhere and bolt a cup of coffee +and a doughnut. At twelve o’clock he broke in upon the sanctity of +Burnett’s private office, removed his hat and coat from the hat-rack, +and stood by the roll-top desk until his father rose with a scowl and +put his arms through the sleeves. Then Dicky led him round the block to +a decent hotel, where he made him eat slowly and deliberately a plate +of soup, an omelet, and whole wheat bread without butter. With equal +insistence he refused to allow him to eat apple pie, squash pie, mince +pie, cream pie, or crullers. Dicky generally postponed his own lunch +until later. + +“Then you’ll go and eat what you please,” his father hinted darkly as +he finished. + +“Yes, Dad.” + +“Why in thunder, then, can’t you let me alone?” + +“You aren’t as young as I am. Besides, if you’re going to work as hard +as you do, you must look after yourself.” + +Burnett senior bit off the end of his stogie with a vicious snap and, +lighting it, sat back. He was shorter and stockier than his son. +His features were less finely moulded. It was as though he had been +chiseled out of oak with coarse tools, while the boy had been carefully +carved with keen-bladed instruments. That was what the mother had done +for him. She was a Cleaves of Portland—a fine, gentle soul who in her +day had been considered a beauty. She had her days, even now. + +Burnett could not help being proud of the boy. When he came into a +place like this, he saw people glance at him approvingly. And nothing +gave him more satisfaction than to introduce him to some old friend or +new business acquaintance with a dignified: + +“My son.” + +But in the end he generally paid for this by being forced to listen to +some such remark as: + +“Ah, in business with you?” + +As a rule, Dicky himself furnished the reply: + +“I have the honor of being a vice-president of the company.” + +And the boy did not know a vici dressing from ordinary shoe blacking! + +“Look here,” his father said to him on this the 10th day of January, +“you’ve been out of college some six months now.” + +“Right.” + +“It seems as though you ought to be doing something more than just +hanging round.” + +“I’m thinking of doing something,” Dicky informed him. + +Burnett sat up straighter in his chair. + +“Now, that sounds better.” + +“I’m thinking of getting married,” went on Dicky. + +“Married?” exclaimed Burnett. + +“Married,” Dicky nodded seriously. + +Burnett frowned. + +“You haven’t got mixed up with—” + +“Nothing of that sort,” Dicky cut in. “You ought to know me better.” + +Burnett flushed. He did. He spoke more carefully: + +“Who is it, boy?” + +“I can’t tell you yet, Dad, because I haven’t asked her. I’m going to +ask her to-day.” + +“Any one I know?” + +“Some one you’d like.” + +Dicky leaned across the table and, with his arms folded, talked +straight into his father’s gray eyes. + +“She’s very beautiful, Dad, with a sort of beauty that—that makes +you hold your breath. She’s slight and not very tall; but sometimes +she looks so tall that I feel like a kid beside her. And she has +dead-honest black eyes that think a good deal. And she makes you feel +as though you ought to be a prince or a caliph to be worthy of her. +That’s the trouble.” + +Burnett had been studying his son. What he saw there now warmed his own +eyes. + +“What’s the trouble?” he demanded. + +“She’s one of the choice things of the world, and ought to be +surrounded by nothing but choice things.” + +Burnett’s face hardened a trifle. + +“You mean you want to buy her some jewels?” + +“I wasn’t thinking of that—though she could wear jewels. I don’t +remember, though, that I’ve ever seen her with many. You wouldn’t +notice them, anyway, if she had them on. I don’t know what you _would_ +get her that she hasn’t already.” + +Burnett threw away his stogie. He had never seen the boy so much in +earnest. It put something into the lad’s eyes and mouth that he was +glad to find there. He glanced around. There was no one near to observe +his weakness, so he reached over and placed his big hand on his son’s. + +“Dick,” he said slowly, “you know that what’s mine is yours.” + +Dicky Burnett felt something squeezing his Adam’s apple. + +“I wasn’t telling you this for—that,” he choked. + +“I know,” Burnett put in quickly. “I know. But go after her. Get her. +If she’s all you say she is, by God, I’ll make a prince of you, if +that’s what she wants.” + +Dicky smiled mistily. + +“If you were thirty years younger you’d get her yourself,” he said. + + + + + CHAPTER II + + JOAN IS BORED + + +Joan Fairburne sat before the long cheval mirror while Henriette did up +her rich black hair. If Dicky Burnett could have seen her expression +at this moment, he would have known—and felt relieved to know—that +whatever was the cause of her boredom, it was not he, because he was +not about. In fact, the only person she could see—with the exception of +Henriette, who did not count—was herself. The logical deduction, then, +was that she must have been bored with herself. Yet if this were true +it was some development of the last year. Up to six months before she +graduated she had been gay enough, and then—something had happened. +Perhaps several things had happened. + +First of all, she had a sense of being about to be graduated, and +somehow that set her to thinking—really thinking. Probably, too, it +was the culmination of the work she had been doing and the life she +had been leading; for both in her studies and her associates she had +been extremely democratic. At the end of the first year she had escaped +from the clique which naturally claimed her for their own and had +mingled with all sorts of interesting girls—girls from the West, and +girls from the country, and girls who were working their way through, +and girls who had just barely enough money to squeeze through and who +were looking forward to earning their own livelihood afterward. It was +for her like getting into a new world, for until then she had lived +as though surrounded by a high wall. It was a very ancient wall and a +very beautiful wall and a protecting wall, but it was so high no one +could see over it. As long, however, as she knew nothing of what lay +beyond—except vaguely that the country roundabout was very dangerous +land for young girls—she did not mind her seclusion. Indeed, she was +even grateful and followed where her elders led as meekly as a young +girl should. It was so her mother before her had done, although instead +of going to college—for young ladies did not then go to college—she had +married John Fairburne, one of the old New York Fairburnes. “And that, +my dear,” her mother explained, “has been quite the equivalent of a +liberal education.” + +But Joan was beginning to see that this sort of education had kept +her mother all these years behind the same old wall. The area bounded +had, to be sure, been considerably enlarged after her marriage and +especially after the birth of her only child, but the barrier remained. +The Fairburne world was like a little monarchy, or still more like one +of those ancient walled cities one reads of in Roman history. + +During her first year at Wellesley, Joan believed that the kingdom +extended even as far as there. Several girls of her social set entered +with her and they quickly found other girls of similar social sets from +Boston and Chicago and St. Louis and San Francisco who, except for +slight differences of speech, were alike as peas in a pod. + +That summer she returned to New York and Newport and the old crowd she +had left. But in her sophomore year Joan met Mildred Devons—a mouse +of a girl who had been brought up on a ranch in the West, and who had +taught school for three years and served as waitress in a summer hotel +in order to save enough to come East for this. There had never been any +wall around her life and she had seen many strange things. + +It was Joan who introduced herself as the two sat studying on the +shores of the lake one June afternoon. + +“Aren’t we classmates?” she asked. + +“Yes,” Miss Devons answered, with an expression of guarded surprise. + +“I think it must be because you study so hard that we’ve never met,” +Joan continued. + +“I study as hard as I know how,” Miss Devons answered seriously. “Don’t +you?” + +“I’m afraid not. I don’t think I like to study.” + +So the conversation began, and as the days went on, and next year as +the months went by, each girl revealed herself a little more fully +to the other. And though in all their past, their present, and their +future they differed so radically, a curious sort of friendship +developed that had its effect upon them both. Somewhere below the +surface of things they found a common bond. + +When, in her senior year, Miss Devons was taken ill as a result of +overstudy and undernourishment, it was Joan who stood by to the +end—Joan and a cousin of Mildred from Technology—one Mark Devons. He +was a slight, pale-faced young man with eager black eyes and thin lips +that came together in a straight line. Joan never met him outside of +the infirmary; but there, on either side of the bed, they both did +their best to encourage the fragile girl who faded before their eyes. + +Joan was with her alone when she died. One evening Mildred reached out +her thin hand and sought Joan’s. + +“I’m going,” she said quietly. “I haven’t let them tell the folks at +home. Will you make it—easy as you can? I guess they—they’ll sort of +miss me.” + +“Oh, I shall too,” Joan sobbed. “Please—please don’t go!” + +Mildred’s eyes brightened, and for a little while she rallied; but not +for long. + +When this Mark Devons came that night, it was Joan who met him and told +him. His face grew dark, as though in challenge of some mysterious +enemy. + +“It isn’t right!” he exclaimed. + +Joan did not understand. + +“There are plenty here who aren’t needed,” he broke out. “Why—” + +Joan drew back a little. For a second she felt guilty. Impulsively +Devons thrust forward his hand. + +“Good-bye,” he said simply. + +So he went out of her life almost as completely as did Mildred. Yet it +was not true that either of them had gone out of her life. + +It was her first intimate experience with death, and at the beginning +she had been impressed only with the abrupt finality of it. But when +she began to write the letters to those back at home—there was a mother +and a sister—she found herself writing, not as of one dead, but as of +one still living. And all through the rest of this her last year the +strongest vital friendship she had, remained still that of Mildred +Devons. When finally she graduated, it was as though Mildred graduated +with her. + +It was Mildred, with her fine ideals of the future, her eagerness to +make herself worth while, who whispered to her when on those long June +evenings Joan walked by herself at twilight with a sense of new things +stirring within. It was Mildred who whispered that a graduation was not +an ending but a beginning. Of what, she did not say; of what, Joan +herself did not know. But when one came to full womanhood surely it +must mean the beginning of something more than anything she then saw +ahead of her. + +With this idea she had come back home, and for a little while had +tried to make her mother understand and her father understand—looking +hopefully first to one and then to the other for a solution. The former +merely patted her upon the back and said: + +“You’re a Fairburne, my dear.” + +The latter had only smiled. + +“You’ll find plenty to do soon,” he assured her. + +She had passed that summer, as usual, in Newport; and no one there +helped to explain her to herself. When she came back in the fall, one +thing had followed another so inevitably that she had found little time +to think at all. But now she was beginning to steady herself a little +and so to think once more. + +The high wall was now like a prison wall. Wherever she went, whatever +she did, she could always reach out and touch the four sides of it. +That was true of her home; it was true of the limousine which took her +from place to place; it was true of each destination. Always the doors +were guarded and always some one with credentials stood ready to meet +her. She was shot from one to another like a cash box in a pneumatic +tube. Sometimes she peered through the plate glass of her car, as she +sat by her mother’s side or by Dicky’s side, at the crowds in the +street with an hysterical desire to open the door, jump out, and lose +herself among them. + +Yes, it was equally true when she was by Dicky’s side. She had thought +at first she was going to find a friend in Dicky. She had liked him as +a clean young boy while he was at college, and she had liked him last +summer as she had sailed the open sea with him now and then. At the +beginning of the teas and dances and bridge parties this fall she had +been glad to have him with her. But of late he had become a little bit +tiresome. There was no variety to Dicky. As she saw him one day, so +he was the next. That was inevitable, because he himself had nothing +from outside of interest to bring to her. His eyes saw only what her +eyes saw. They met the same people at the same places and did the +same things. It was worse for him than for her. Once or twice she had +searched for something deeper in him, but she was quite sure now there +_was_ nothing deeper. He was a little more wholesome than the others +and that was all. She did not particularly blame him for being so +negative, because to do that would have been to blame herself equally. +And he was very nice. Too nice. He treated her as though she were some +fragile thing to be kept in cotton wool. It was this which made her +smile even at the moment she was bored. If Dicky Burnett could have had +the privilege of reading her thoughts as she thought sometimes in her +white bed while staring at the ceiling, he would have been surprised. + +In the dark, with all the details of her room obliterated; in the dark, +with all the costumes for her silly part out of sight; in the dark, +with Henriette and even her mother and father in the background; in the +dark, with the world very quiet all about her—it was another Joan who +lived in the big stone house. Her room had always been a cloistered +place to her, and at night it seemed even more cloistered. With her +hair down and her body free, she felt like one released—like one +allowed to be for a little while just herself. It was then she broke +her bounds and wandered at large. Dicky might have found it significant +that never at these times was he in her thoughts. + +Henriette finished her hair and stepped back with an approving look. +Mademoiselle was very beautiful, but never as beautiful as she might be +were she gayer. It is a light heart that makes eyes bright and brings +color to the cheeks. Mon Dieu! if she herself had the opportunities +Mademoiselle Fairburne enjoyed— + +There was a gown to be donned next—a wonderful gown designed by an +artist. Yet Mademoiselle stood like a doll and showed as little +interest. It was so, too, of the hat—a dashing bit of daintiness. + +At three o’clock Dicky Burnett called for her, looking very spruce in +his English cut-away and top hat. It may have been her fancy, but he +appeared even a little more solicitous than usual about her comfort. It +was a blustering, stormy day, with the snow coming slantwise in gusts. +He suggested that perhaps it was too raw for her to venture out—when +venturing out meant only venturing from the door of the house to the +door of the limousine and then to the covered approach to Delmonico’s. +She recalled some of those descriptions Mildred had given her of +Western winters. + +“Dicky,” she said, “I wish we were going to walk.” + +“Walk!” exclaimed Dicky, with an unconscious glance at her short silk +skirt. + +“Don’t worry,” she smiled. “We won’t.” + +He had tried to hold an umbrella above her as she came down the steps; +but, in a spirit of rebellion, she strode ahead of him. And all the +rest of the afternoon some demon of perverseness possessed her. For a +wonder, she chose to dance, and danced not only with Dicky, who was a +good dancer, but with Hollister, whom she did not particularly like, +and with Diblee, whom Dicky did not particularly like. While the mood +to dance was upon her she danced with every one who offered himself +as a partner, and there were few who were not glad of the opportunity. +Then, when she had had enough, she refused to dance with any one, but +sat, with flushed cheeks, like a petulant princess, not deigning even +to talk with Dicky. + +Once again her mood changed, and she astonished him with her gayety; +but on the instant he tried to join her in it, she sat back in silence. + +He had never seen her like this. It was as though he were trying to +follow two or three Joans. And yet he had a feeling that always the +steady dark eyes of the real Joan dominated the others. Then, too, if +she stung him, she also roused him. + +Dicky’s mouth became firmer than usual before that afternoon was over. +If he were given half a chance— + + + + + CHAPTER III + + CHANCE + + +The wonder is not that Chance should seem to be the exception to the +orderly rule of life, but that except by Chance lives should ever +move in an orderly way. If it were possible to make, upon a piece of +white paper, a diagram of the goings and comings, the crossing and +criss-crossing of all those who move about New York in a single day, +the result would prove it to be little short of marvelous that the +paths do not cut across each other a thousand times an hour. + +In a corner of the city removed in space many blocks from Delmonico’s, +and separated in other ways by what might be considered an impassable +gulf from the lives of either Joan Fairburne or Dicky Burnett, Mark +Devons paced the floor of his attic room, stopping now and then to +frown at the whirling snowflakes, and then at the letter which he had +received in the noon mail. The letter was typewritten and read as +follows: + + _Offices of Carlow, Reed & Co. + New York, N.Y. Wall Street_ + + DEAR MR. DEVONS: + + We have delayed giving you a final answer on the proposition you + submitted to us to finance your patent No. 4782937 covering a new + process for the manufacture of an improved patent-leather dressing + at a reduced cost over the present type upon the market, because, to + speak frankly, the report of our chemists was so enthusiastic that + we felt you had something that really deserved success. We went over + the matter several times, but have, however reluctantly, come to the + conclusion that other considerations enter to such an extent into + the problem of establishing such an enterprise that, with our many + other interests, we do not feel justified at present in continuing + negotiations. The Burnett product is so firmly intrenched with the + trade, and is backed by such a perfect organization, that any attempt + to break through, even with a superior article, would involve more + capital and time than we are just now prepared to risk. There is a + possibility that at some later date, if you care to re-submit the + proposition, we might be willing to undertake it. + + Thanking you for your favor and wishing you all success, we beg to + remain, + + Sincerely yours, + CARLOW, REED & CO. + + MR. MARK DEVONS, + _Mullen Court, New York, N.Y._ + +In another envelope from the same office came a note from Ben Sawyer: + + DEAR MARK: + + I’ve just had a talk with Mr. Reed, and he tells me he has turned you + down. It’s a darned shame, because you have a good thing there. The + trouble seems to be that several years ago he had one set-to with the + Burnett crowd and got the worst of it. They say Burnett is a bear and + would fight to his last cent, and from all I hear there’re a good + many cents in between. I wish I had the money myself to back you! + + Why the deuce don’t you drop round and see a fellow? I’m at + Wellington Chambers still. + + Yours, + BEN. + + + Confidential; Reed says that offer Forsythe of Burnett’s made of two + thousand cash is robbery. Keep away. + + B. + +It was difficult, on the whole, to find very much humor in either +letter; and yet there was one line that brought a smile to Devons’s +lips every time he read it. “There is a possibility that at some later +date—” + +At some later date! To appreciate the humor of that jaunty phrase one +had to realize that he had already been waiting several months on a +capital of seventy-five dollars. This had been reduced on Monday to +ten cents. To-day was Wednesday and he was hungry—hungry as the devil. +Under the circumstances the airiness of that suggestion of waiting six +months or a year longer might, if one were temperamentally so inclined, +be considered in the nature of a jest. + +For two months he had subsisted chiefly on a diet of bread, black +coffee, and tobacco. That was well enough as long as he had his dreams +also. As long as he was able to go to bed at night with visions of a +fortune awaiting him on the morrow, bread, black coffee, and a smoke +were plenty for dinner. He had enough books with him so that he was +enabled to pass not only a pleasant but profitable evening with his +studies. If the after-breakfast mail did not bring him his letter, +there was another at eleven to look forward to, and more studying with +a little dreaming thrown in. So until lunch-time and the three o’clock +mail. So until dinner-time, and so through another evening. + +Dreams! Dreams! Dreams! A man does not put on weight with them. A man +may even lose color through them. And of course plug tobacco in a +corn-cob is not altogether wholesome, although it helps the dreaming. +But it is surprising how happy a man may keep as long as his plug +tobacco lasts. + +Devons had stumbled upon his discovery while doing research work on +leathers in preparation for the original paper which he offered for his +degree. He had hugged his secret close and worked on it all summer in +the Technology laboratories. When he came to New York he went direct +to Forsythe with it as soon as he had secured his patent papers; and +Forsythe, after looking him up, had made his offer to buy it outright. + +When Devons indignantly refused, Forsythe only smiled. + +“You’ll be back,” he said. + +“Why?” Devons demanded. + +“Because, my boy,” Forsythe assured him, “there is nowhere else to go.” + +It had looked that way until, quite by chance, Devons ran across his +classmate Sawyer, who was connected with a house making a specialty of +financing new enterprises. That was when the dreaming began. + +It had been glorious while it lasted, because dreams are largely a +matter of contrast, and Devons had, in the way of a somber background +to put them against, all that was necessary. One of ten children, who +had kept his mother lean and his father scrawny from the sheer effort +of getting together enough to clothe and feed them up to the age +when they were able to earn a pittance for themselves, he had fought +his way, as Mildred his cousin had hers, through school. And what he +remembered of it was not the hardship itself, but what it took away +from him. To do nothing but exist and study he had surrendered most of +those things that are the heritage of youth. It was work, nothing but +work, with laughter and bright eyes all about him, but beyond him—like +mocking fairy voices in the distance. It was work in winter and work +in summer for the dollars that came to him so grudgingly and came to +others so easily. He made Technology at eighteen as time is computed by +mathematics, but he was nearer twenty-five in body. + +It had been pleasanter there, because he felt himself to be just so +much nearer his goal; but though the authorities advised against work +outside of studies, he was at work half the time he should have been +sleeping. And he did not have as much to eat as he should have had. +Life for those four years had been a treadmill affair for him, and +twice he had been upon the point of dropping, but had held himself +together by his nerve. + +So when he made his discovery it was a good deal as though he had been +handed Aladdin’s lamp. For a week he wandered around in a sort of dazed +ecstasy. Then he buckled down again and pushed it through. + +He had borrowed enough from home to secure his patent papers and lived +upon what he had left. The folks had mortgaged the farm to raise it for +him. And one of the very finest of his dreams ran something like this: + +Mr. Reed, of Carlow, Reed & Co., came to him at the end of the first +fiscal year of the Devons Manufacturing Company and said: “Devons, this +thing is going better than we expected. You’ve worked hard, and now +you’d better take a vacation. Here’s ten thousand dollars on account. +Take it, and go off for a month.” + +Ten thousand dollars! It is necessary to know how big a single dollar +is before any one can realize how big ten thousand dollars is. A +single dollar can be, in size, as big as the moon, and that’s as big +as you care to make it; as big as a pie plate, a carriage wheel, a +circus ring, or the circumference of the globe. A single dollar can be +in value as much as an ordinary fortune, or as much as a Rockefeller +fortune, or anything in between. If you’re starving it may be just as +valuable as all the money in the world. + +To Devons a dollar meant the difference between being hungry and being +well fed. It meant the difference between walking with weak legs or +riding in a comfortable subway train. It meant the difference, almost, +between something and nothing—which is a big difference. Ten thousand +dollars, then, meant ten thousand times that. + +He had ten thousand dollars—not in a check, but, say, in dollar +bills—something he could see, and touch and count in separate units. He +had them in two dress-suit cases. The cases were packed tight so that +it was difficult to strap them. Green bits of them stuck out. Even +then he had enough left over to buy a new suit of clothes and hat and +overcoat and shoes and silk stockings and shirts and cravats, and a +pair of gold studs he saw in a window once. After this he had enough to +buy a new pipe and eat a square meal at Delmonico’s and take a taxi for +his parlor-car reservation. + +In the next picture he was stepping off at a little one-horse railroad +station in the West and shaking hands with his father who had driven up +with the big horses in a buckboard. + +“Strap those suit-cases on tight,” he said to his father; “I don’t want +to lose them.” + +So they jogged along for some ten miles, and he inquired after every +one and learned that they were all sick or dying or on their way to +the poorhouse. At the farmhouse door his mother came out to meet him, +looking, as always, thin and hollow-eyed. He took the suit-cases into +the sitting-room and handed one to his mother and one to his father, +remarking casually: + +“A little present.” + +Good Lord!—ten thousand dollars! If it meant what it did to him, what +did it mean to them? A real ranch with hired men to work it and ease +and comfort, and a Ford and— + +Now it was all over. The dream had vanished. “If, at some later date—” + +Devons scraped round in the bottom of his pocket and found enough +tobacco for one more pipeful. He filled his corn-cob and lighted it, +but the smoke tasted bitter. That was because he was hungry. + +And yet, there was one chance remaining which, if accepted, would at +least pay off the debt at home and leave enough to stake him to some +sort of job at which he could earn a living. He had only to go back to +Forsythe and sign his name to a paper and he would receive two thousand +dollars. That was only a fifth of ten and—it was the end. It would, +however, pull him out of his present hole and leave him free for a new +beginning. + +Once again Devons paced his room. If only he alone were involved he +would hold on, but he was not alone now. He knew what that mortgage +signified to his father. For twenty years the man had denied himself +everything except the bed-rock necessities of life to escape this +curse of the little farmer. Devons knew that to his father it was like +submitting to having a sword suspended above his head. If it fell—if +the interest money was not met promptly—it meant disaster. It meant, +with the foreclosed mortgage, not a single clean blow which a man might +endure, but a long-drawn-out type of torture. The only alternative open +to his father would be to give up his rights as a freeman and hire out. + +When Devons reached this point he stopped short and clenched his +fists. He could not allow such a thing as that to be. No matter what +the sacrifice, he must forestall that contingency. It was getting to +be late in the afternoon, but if he hurried he might possibly reach +Forsythe. + +Devons put on his coat, jammed his old soft hat down to his ears, and +started downstairs. On the second landing he caught the smell of coffee +from the room of Arkwright, the architect, and paused a moment to enjoy +it. The latter swung open the door and saw him. + +“Hello, Devons,” he called. “Thought I heard some one there. Come in a +minute, can’t you?” + +“I’m afraid I can’t.” + +“Oh, come on and have a cup of coffee before you go out, anyhow,” he +pleaded. “It’s a tough old day.” + +He was a big, insistent fellow, this Arkwright, and he stepped to +Devons’s side and took his arm. + +“Want to show you something.” + +Devons followed into the warm room, where over an alcohol lamp a +coffee-pot was sending out clouds of fragrant steam. A dark wooden +table in the center of the room was covered with drawings. Arkwright +poured a cup of black Java and shoved it toward Devons, with a box +of cigarettes. The latter hesitated. It seemed almost like accepting +charity to take it when he wanted it so much. His hand trembled as he +reached for the cup. + +Arkwright studied him a second—his brows contracting over sharp gray +eyes. + +“Look here, Devons, you’re sick!” he exclaimed. + +But by then Devons had swallowed his coffee, and it warmed him all the +way through—warmed and stimulated him. + +“No,” he answered steadily, as he lighted a cigarette. “It’s only a +case of nerves. What have you there?” He nodded toward the drawings. + +Arkwright’s attention was immediately diverted. + +“Come over and see,” he invited. “Here’s something good. When you make +your pile you may want it. It’s a gentleman’s country place—to cost, +say, around a hundred and fifty thousand; and it’s one peach.” + +Passing his pencil lightly over the angles and circles and semicircles +that stood for masonry,—it required only dollars to convert them +into masonry,—Arkwright elaborated on his plans. He showed the house +modeled after the fashion of an English gentleman’s estate, with its +big vaulted reception-room and dining-room, and the master’s rooms and +the servants’ rooms and the modern kitchen, and the grounds outside +with pond and tennis-court and rose-garden, and garage, and Lord knows +what. He made it all so vivid that Devons visualized it as though he +were actually looking at the finished mansion. As Arkwright rambled +on he used the possessive. It was always, “Here’s your dining-room +and here’s your library,” until Devons was back again in his old +day-dreaming. + +“It’s a corker,” nodded Devons as Arkwright finished. “If I had a +fortune I’d order it this afternoon.” + +Arkwright laughed. + +“That’s the trouble,” he answered. “The fellows that ought to have such +places can’t get ’em, and those that can get ’em don’t want ’em.” + +“Some of us will get ’em yet,” Devons declared grimly. + +He put on his coat; but when he went out again it was in a different +mood. Forsythe could go hang. Sawyer had spoken once of the possibility +of finding him a job—a small salaried job—with Carlow, Reed & Co. He +would walk up there and see him and take anything that was offered. + +The wind blew the snow into his face and whipped his coat about his +ankles as he stepped out. It came like a challenge, and he accepted it. +He made his way across Washington Square to the Avenue and pushed ahead +uptown. For the first half-dozen blocks it was easy, but as he went +on it became harder and harder to walk. He was weaker, on the whole, +than he realized. But he gripped his jaws and went on and on and on. +With his head low and his eyes on the ground, he centered every effort +on just making his feet go. He saw nothing and felt nothing. He was +moving now like an automaton. So he went on and on and on—farther, as a +matter of fact, than he should have gone. + +He paused once to stare through the snow at the number of a +cross-street. He was in the sixties and west of his destination. He +turned back dully. Then he staggered off the sidewalk and across the +Avenue. Like one in a dream, he heard the distant toot of a horn—then a +shout. He felt something strike him, and that was all he felt or knew. + + + + + CHAPTER IV + + THE DRIVER AND FATE + + +The afternoon at Delmonico’s was speeding, and with every passing +minute Dicky was becoming more impatient and Joan more willful. She +seemed to be taking almost the delight of a coquette in teasing him. +Dicky never remembered having seen her more beautiful. It was worth +the price of being annoyed occasionally to watch the sparkle in her +eyes, little gleams of mischievous laughter like stars struck from +steel; to enjoy the heightened color of her cheeks and the quick play +of her mobile lips. But back of it all Dicky felt as though there was +something serious. Perhaps because back of his own lightness there was +something very serious indeed. Before this day was out he meant to be +more serious than he had ever been in his life. Had he the opportunity +he would have begun right here among the gay couples who to the music +of the hidden orchestra hopped in fox-trots over the polished floor. +But every time he leaned forward with the words on his lips, either he +was interrupted or he found her attention diverted to something else. +He could have strangled Diblee, who strolled over and insisted on +sitting out the dance which she had refused him. The man talked like +an ass, but Dicky derived some satisfaction from the knowledge that the +fellow was heartily boring her. + +At half-past four she rose abruptly. + +“I think I’ll go home now,” she informed Dicky. + +“Good!” he exclaimed. + +She glanced up at him, somewhat surprised at his earnestness. + +“Why, Dicky,” she returned, “it can’t be you’re getting tired of +dancing.” + +“It isn’t that,” he interrupted. “But I have something to say to you. I +want to see you alone.” + +They had been skirting the dance floor on their way to the cloak-room, +nodding to this one and that; but she paused a moment at this before +going on. She looked at Dicky’s flushed cheeks and alert eyes and firm +mouth. Then she sat down again. + +“I’m not sure that it is best you should,” she said. “I’m tired. I was +going to ask you please not to come with me.” + +“Why?” he demanded. + +“Because,” she answered slowly,—“because I have a feeling I want to be +by myself.” + +“Why?” he persisted. + +“I don’t know. Perhaps it’s only a fancy.” + +“You’re going right home?” + +“Yes.” + +“Then—” + +The orchestra had swung into a _valse hésitation_—a slow, dreamy sort +of thing, a shadowy air on the border-land of reality. + +“Dicky,” she said, “something is going to happen to me to-day—somehow, +somewhere.” + +“Eh? You haven’t been talking with a fortune-teller!” + +She shook her head, remaining serious through her light smile. + +“They sound foolish when you put such thoughts into words,” she +admitted, “and I’m not much given to things of that sort. But all this +afternoon I’ve had a feeling that I was starting on some big adventure. +It’s as though I were going to sea on a long voyage.” + +“That’s queer!” exclaimed Dicky. + +She met his eyes. It was as though he understood; and she had not +expected him to understand. + +“That,” he said a little breathlessly,—“that is what I was going to +talk to you about.” + +“You?” + +“That is why I wished to see you alone.” + +“You?” she repeated again. + +“You’ll give me a chance, Joan?” + +She appeared startled. + +For a second she searched her soul. Then she answered slowly. + +“I’m quite sure it wasn’t with you—that adventure.” + +It was Dicky’s opportunity; and, if it were necessary to take it right +here in the crowd, he would take it. If every eye were turned upon him +and every ear listening, he would take it. + +“It’s because you don’t understand,” he rushed on. “You see, you—you +felt what I didn’t have the nerve to speak. I love you. Joan, I love +you.” + +With a little cry, she reached for his hand beneath the table before +which they were sitting. + +“Hush!” she pleaded. + +But he would not hush. + +“I’ve got to tell you now—here,” he persisted. “I’ve waited as long as +I can. I know I’m not big enough for you. I know you’re too fine for +me. But that would hold true of any man. And I’m ready to give my whole +life to making you happy. Joan, dear, I don’t know just what I can do +for you. You’re—you’re like a princess. Now I want to make you a queen +if I can. I—” + +“Dicky,” she whispered again, “you mustn’t talk like that!” + +“Maybe—that’s the big adventure you were thinking about,” he breathed. + + * * * * * + +For a heart-beat she was tempted to laugh—to laugh out loud. It was +a demoniacal impulse unworthy of her, because she knew Dicky was in +earnest. She knew he was speaking from the depths of him—such as those +depths were. So she choked back that devil and tried to think calmly of +what she could answer without hurting. But how little he knew her and +what she craved! He would make her a queen, he said. He would give his +life to making her happy with petting and baubles, and be her slave. +Yes, he would do that. He would do it to the best of his ability. He +would do it better than any one she knew. And he would call that the +great adventure! + +It was something from the swirling snow which struck her face when she +left the house that had stimulated her imagination this afternoon. The +sting had brought back those vivid pictures of bleak, stern hardships +that Mildred had painted for her. Out of sheer contrast they had +stirred in her a craving for something like that—a primitive craving +such as seizes men in the spring and drives them back to forest and +stream-side. She wanted to get out and away where life would bite. She +wanted, not more of those things she had now, but opportunity to do +without some of those things. She wanted a chance to be stripped to +herself—a chance to use herself. + +“Joan,” he choked, “Joan—you believe me?” + +“I do,” she said quickly. “That’s the trouble.” + +“Trouble?” + +“Oh, I wish you had not spoken!” + +“You mean you—this is not—the adventure?” + +How could it be? It was no more an adventure than getting into a +waiting limousine with him. + +“Dicky,” she said, “I told you I wanted to be by myself. I want it more +than ever now.” + +“Because of me?” + +“Because of everything.” + +“You don’t love me, then?” + +“You want me to tell you the truth, don’t you, Dicky?” + +“Yes.” + +“Then,” she said slowly and as gently as she could,—“then the truth is: +I don’t love you.” + +Dicky took it like a man. He neither refused to meet her eyes nor made +a long face about it. + +“That,” he said, “seems to settle it. Are you ready?” + +He escorted her to the cloak-room, and went back and called her machine +and found his own coat. Then he waited and helped her in. Uncovered, he +stood in the snow before the open door. + +“Dicky,” she said, giving her hand, “I’m sorry.” + +“I don’t want you to feel like that,” he said. “I’d rather you felt you +had some one—always ready—to call on.” + +“Oh, I do!” + +“For anything you may want within my power to give you!” + +“Yes.” + +As he stood, straight and slim with a brave face, she thought of him as +some story-book prince. For a second it was as though this were some +unreal world—a world of romance where princes of that sort could be. + +Then he closed the door upon her and the machine started through the +blinding snow. + +Charles, the driver, took his usual course. If any one had told him +that he was in the hands of Fate, he would probably have inquired, “Who +is Fate, sir?” + +He was a careful driver, who minded his own business and the traffic +regulations. This late afternoon he was more than usually careful, +because it was with difficulty that he saw three feet ahead. And +yet—when a half-dazed figure stumbled from the sidewalk into the road, +he could not stop his machine in time to avoid hitting it. He threw on +the emergency brake, but it was too late. + +Jumping from his seat, he picked up the unconscious man and looked +about for help. But the snow came down all around him like a screen. + +Joan threw open the door. She saw the limp figure. + +“Bring him here!” she commanded. + +Charles stumbled forward with his burden. + +“Put him on the seat,” she commanded. “Quick! Drive home!” + +As the car started on, she bent over the stranger. Then, with an amazed +cry, she uttered his name. + + + + + CHAPTER V + + BANDAGED + + +When Devons regained consciousness there were a great many things he +could not understand—a great many things, in fact, that, had he the +strength, he would have been ready to argue could not possibly be +so. Apparently he was in a big room similar to the one Arkwright had +visualized for him in that hundred and fifty thousand dollar house he +was to buy some day. Apparently he was in a broad, soft-mattressed +bed and covered with dainty white linen, such as one might expect to +find in such a home. Apparently all the other furnishings were in +keeping—though he did not see them in detail, but rather sensed them as +a whole. Apparently at the farther end of the room near a shaded light +there was a nurse in uniform, and near her a slight, bearded man, very +professional-looking. Neither of them was aware that he was studying +them. Apparently they were waiting for something. + +Now, manifestly, this was all a grotesque dream on Devons’s part. He +closed his eyes again and tried to get back to something real. The +first tangible fact in the past that he was able to get hold of was of +being in Arkwright’s room and drinking there a cup of coffee. Then +Arkwright had shown him those plans. + +After that he had gone out somewhere. He had started for Wellington +Chambers. Perhaps this was Wellington Chambers. He opened his eyes +again. No; Sawyer was not here. Besides, what were these other two? +When he tried to move, their presence seemed more plausible. He was +sore all over, as though he had been pummeled. This helped him to +recall that mysterious tooting of horns and the curious phenomenon +immediately following of an extra heavy gust of wind hitting him as +with a cudgel. And that was as far as he could go. + +Hearing a sound from the rear of the room, he opened his eyes once +more. The bearded man was coming toward him. He took Devons’s pulse and +examined the pupils of his eyes and asked him how he felt. + +“Sore,” replied Devons. “Where am I?” + +“In the home of Mr. Fairburne,” replied the doctor. + +“How did I get here?” + +“Never mind that. Save your strength to answer my questions.” + +So, with the nurse to assist him, the doctor felt Devons all over. +In some places it hurt and in other places it did not. The doctor’s +conclusion at the end of the examination was that he had a dislocated +shoulder, a fractured rib, and various odds and ends of bruises. + +“How did I get them?” inquired Devons. + +“You ran into an automobile,” was the politic way Dr. Nichols put it. + +“How did the—the auto come out?” inquired Devons, with a flickering +smile. + +“As usual, the machine got the better of it,” replied Nichols. + +Still, the machine could not be blamed for the shockingly ill-nourished +body that had withstood the blow so feebly. Because the young man +seemed of the more intelligent sort, he pursued his questioning a +little further, prompted by some curiosity. + +“What’s been your diet lately?” he inquired. + +“Bread and coffee mostly,” answered Devons. + +“Didn’t you know any better?” grunted Nichols. + +“Yes.” + +“Then—” + +He caught an amused expression in Devons’s sunken eyes. + +“Oh, I see,” he went on more gently. “Well, we’ll have to get some real +food into you as soon as possible.” + +“Is this a hospital?” asked Devons. + +“Hardly. Miss Joan Fairburne was in the machine when you stumbled in +front of it. She brought you here.” + +“Joan Fairburne,” muttered Devons, trying to place the name. + +“She says she knew you when she was in college.” + +He remembered then. She was with Mildred when she died. She had dark +hair and eyes. She was very beautiful—very beautiful and very rich. + +Nichols had removed his coat in businesslike fashion and was rolling up +his sleeves. + +“I’ve got to get that shoulder back,” he announced. “Then I’ll fix that +rib in place. Better save your strength. I’ll have to give you a whiff +of ether.” + +The subsequent half-hour was an exceedingly unpleasant one for Devons. +He was so weak that Nichols refrained from administering any more ether +than was absolutely necessary, and he was both judge and jury on the +question. Devons clenched his jaw and stood it, but he could not help +his lips from getting white. Whenever that happened, Nichols nodded to +the nurse, and she shoved a gauze sponge sprinkled with the pungent +stuff beneath his nose. This set his head to swimming and made the room +go round in circles. + +And all during this process Nichols wound him in bandages until he felt +as tied up as a mummy. Whenever they gave him a chance, he protested: + +“Look here. Can’t get round in—these things.” + +“I don’t intend to have you get round for some little time,” replied +Nichols. “Don’t talk.” + +Then how the deuce was he going to see Sawyer? How the deuce was he +going—? + +But it was not possible to keep a thought very long at a time. There +were two of them against him, and they did whatever they pleased. + +Even when they were all through, he was not any more comfortable than +before. He was in a strait-jacket, and the after-effects of the ether +were the usual after-effects. + +After a while Nichols went off. The nurse remained. He was glad of +that. She was the one sane thing in a world grown chaotic. + +He must have slept at intervals during the night, because all of a +sudden he was aware that it was morning. The shaded electric light had +gone out and the room was suffused with the white light of day. The +nurse was still there, and when he spoke to her she came over and asked +how he felt. + +“Punk,” he answered. + +He was all tied up, for one thing. He was faint, for another. And he +still tasted and smelled ether, for another. + +“I’d like a cup of coffee,” he said. + +“I’ll get you something better,” she answered. + +After an interval out of the room she returned with the something +better. Apparently their tastes differed, for it was not better. It +was a hot, flabby drink, like gruel. However, he swallowed it, and it +took away some of the faint feeling. Shortly he went to sleep again; +and this time when he awoke he found that the nurse had grown slighter +and taller and had changed the color of her hair. Or maybe it was a +different nurse. + +“What time is it?” he asked. + +“Eleven o’clock,” she replied. + +“You’re a new one?” + +“I’m the day nurse.” + +That was encouraging, because it proved that he was seeing things in a +clearer and more normal way. He felt emboldened now to examine his room +more in detail. It was an extremely satisfactory apartment. Everything +in it was quite perfect and fresh. The wall-paper had little roses in +it and looked as though it had been put on within a day. The bed was +of mahogany with a dull finish. The dresser in the corner was new, and +all the odds and ends of other things were new also. It looked like one +of those windows along Fifth Avenue where such articles are displayed +for sale. Only he had the feeling that on these there had never been +any price tag. If ever they were paid for it had been done quietly and +privately. + +The linen covering him was choice. He felt it. It gave him a sense of +clean luxury. It sank into him and made him wish he were shaved. If he +had his razor with him he would have shaved right then, if he could +manage it with his left hand. He put his fingers to his rough face to +see if it could be done. + +When Nichols came in, Devons asked him if he did not think it could be +managed. + +“I’ll have them send Jeffrey up to you,” nodded Nichols. + +“Jeffrey?” + +“Mr. Fairburne’s man.” + +“I don’t want to put the family to any more trouble than I have. I +could do it myself.” + +“I doubt it. Besides, it isn’t necessary.” + +“How long am I going to be here?” + +“A month. Perhaps longer?” + +Devons frowned. + +“That’s impossible,” he replied firmly. + +“Miss Fairburne is feeling very badly about you. Naturally, she wants +to do everything she can under the circumstances.” + +“It wasn’t her fault. You’ll tell her that and—thank her for me?” + +“Certainly.” + +After feeling his pulse and taking his temperature and asking a hundred +or so questions, Nichols declared his patient was doing very well. + +“Give him within reason all he wants to eat,” he ordered the nurse. + +Devons heard him say that, or he would not have believed it. He could +not remember ever having had all he wanted to eat—except in his +dreams. The time Reed gave him that ten thousand dollars he had gone +to Delmonico’s and ordered oysters on the half-shell, a soup, a bit +of fish, a big steak with hashed-brown potatoes, and asparagus, and +an ice, and concluded with coffee and cheese. Only something happened +before it got to him. Probably something would happen this time. + +Jeffrey came up with a “Good-morning, sir,” and several towels over his +arm and a pitcher of hot water. While Devons lay on his back without +moving and with his eyes closed, Jeffrey bent over him and lathered +his face and shaved him as he had never been shaved before. Then he +washed off the soap and applied hot towels—steaming hot towels that +made him catch his breath in the joy of the tingly feeling of them. +Then Jeffrey put on cold cream and rubbed it in, and after that dusted +his cheeks with a sweet-scented powder. Jeffrey even combed his hair. +Then quietly, softly, he stole out, leaving Devons with the hazy notion +that it had all been done by magic. Feeling so fine and having nothing +better to do, he went to sleep. + +It was one o’clock when he awoke, and he was hungry. Now was the time +to test if what Nichols had said about food was true, or not. He did +not even have a chance to tell the nurse he was ready, because at that +point she opened the door and came in with a tray. She placed this near +him. It contained eggs on toast, little triangle pieces of toast—and a +cup of cocoa with frothy whipped cream on the top of it. He tried for a +moment to serve himself with his left hand; but he made such a bungling +job of it that the nurse said: + +“You’d better let me help you.” + +So she did. He had nothing to do but open his mouth like an overgrown +robin. It was absurd. Also it was deliciously effortless. And he had +enough—all he wanted. + +When he was through she brought from somewhere a large vase of roses +and placed them on a little table by his head. + +“These are from Miss Fairburne with her compliments,” said the nurse. +“She hopes you are feeling comfortable.” + +“Oh, Lord!” gasped Devons. + + + + + CHAPTER VI + + WHOSE FAULT? + + +This went on for three or four days; and, with nothing to do but eat +and sleep and in between whiles to lie at languid ease, Devons grew +stronger and stronger, and all the minor sore spots vanished. He was +even able to sit up and read. All the magazines he ever heard of were +sent to him, and a brand-new book every day. Yet he did not read very +much. There was too much here to live. + +For the time being he was as well off personally—except for the +inconvenience of being half-swathed in bandages—as though all his +dreams had come true. It gave him an opportunity to compare the +actuality with the vision. He resolutely barred his thoughts from the +future. He refused for a little while to ask himself how this was going +to end, and what was to become of him as soon as he was able to leave. +After all, there was not much he could do about that, anyway. There was +not even any one whom it was necessary to inform as to his whereabouts. +The few at Mullen Court who were aware of his existence would presume +that he had gone away on a business trip. They did not worry much +there about where men came from or where they went. + +The sheer material comforts surrounding Devons were as balm to his +soul. There are those who seem able to find on a cot in a garret +everything they crave. Arkwright with his drawing set was more or +less of this sort, though he had more than some others. Prescott was +another—Prescott, the slight young fellow just back from Paris, who +lived at the top of the next house across the alley and who used to +call to him out of his window. Prescott painted wonderful things in +oil, and appeared content with doing that, whether he sold them or not. +He went over to see him one night, and in the course of the evening +several young ladies in queer, unconventional costumes came in, and by +the light of a single candle Prescott read to them from the plays of +Maeterlinck. It was a weird performance, with a great deal of smoke and +not much to eat. Yet every one but himself was satisfied. He returned +to his room with something of a headache and dreamed of blind children +all night. + +Frankly he liked where he was now much better. For years he had tried +to make dreams, tried to make the future take the place of reality and +the present. This, instead of growing easier with passing time, became +increasingly more difficult. At Technology he had seen men doing the +same work he was doing, and at the same time enjoying the comforts of +life to a reasonable degree while they were at it. He had no advantage +over them even in dreams. And, after all, clean linen was clean linen +and decent garments were decent garments, and good food was good food, +and money was a conjurer’s wand. + +Then there were the others—his father and mother and sisters. But here +they did not count. It disturbed him when he thought of them. If only +they could come on and be pummeled by an automobile— + +He forced himself back to the present. He must avoid even the past. He +informed the nurse that he was thirsty and she brought him a glass of +milk—rich milk in a glass that sparkled from its many cut facets. It +tasted like nectar. + +It was on the fifth day, in the afternoon, that the nurse informed him +that Miss Fairburne expressed a desire to visit him if he thought he +had the strength to see any one. + +“I’d like to see her,” answered Devons. + +And yet, he faced the prospect uneasily. It made him realize, for +one thing, how self-centered he had been. Except remotely, he had +not associated her either with the accident or with his present +surroundings. The mere fact that she had been in the car when he was +struck was an important detail, to be sure; but, not having seen her at +the time, it was as vague as hearsay evidence. That he was indebted to +her for all that he had recently been enjoying was also an undeniable +fact; but as long as she had been embodied to him no more concretely +than through the fragrance of the roses she sent him daily, she had not +played a vital part in his thoughts. Now he was a little afraid that +with her actual presence would come disillusionment. She would bring +him back to actual work-a-day conditions. + +The few times he had seen her with Mildred, it had been with a sort of +resentment. He had thought of her as having in excess all the choice +things of life that Mildred lacked—as completely as he himself did. +Even to her physical beauty. It seemed as though if justice had held +the balance true, Mildred should at least have been the one to possess +that abundant silken black hair, those dark eyes that set a man to +wondering, the fine nose and mouth that were so subtly distinctive. +In every line and feature she revealed her tender nurture. It was as +though she had taken on something from all the beautiful things for +which the four corners of the earth had been searched. Beside her, poor +Mildred’s blunt, irregular nose and mouth appeared plainer than ever. +Knowing as he did the woman beneath, he felt something to be unjust +there. + +But he must remember that Miss Fairburne herself had found the real +Mildred and clung to her and been faithful to her to the end. It was +Miss Fairburne who had held Mildred’s hand at the last—the thin, +pitiful little hand—and it was Miss Fairburne whom Mildred had trusted +to send home the bitter news. Those few moments when he had seen her in +the infirmary reception-room, her eyes moist, he remembered that she +had seemed to him like another Mildred. She had been almost like one of +the home folks—just an ordinary body who had lost a sister. + +Then she had gone out of his mind. His own affairs had preempted all +his thoughts. Besides, she vanished shortly into her own world, which +to him then was as though she had been whisked to some distant planet. + +Yet it could not have been so far that she had gone. Between a sleep +and an awakening which to him was no longer than a heart-beat, he had +without effort compassed the distance which lay between them. In the +old days such things had been done, he knew, with the aid of magic +carpets. But he had no such aid. Besides, these were not the old days. +He was living in very modern times and in the most modern of all modern +cities. + +Glancing up from the bed, he saw in the door, what at first looked to +be a framed picture. It might have been one of those old masterpieces +with the vague title “Portrait of a Young Lady,” which leaves one +eager to know a great deal more about the young lady than history +vouchsafes. So she stood for a moment, and then with some uncertainty +moved into the room. Devons tried to sit up. He was awkward about it, +and she hurried to his side. + +“Please don’t!” she exclaimed. “Oh, I’m so sorry for you!” + +The beautiful eyes endorsed the assertion. She appeared so genuinely +pained that he did not understand. + +“For me?” he replied. + +The sight of his bandaged shoulder and his helplessness so dramatized +the accident that for a second it was more vivid to her than it had +been at the moment it occurred. + +“I suppose the fact that you’re—you’re alive is something to be +thankful for,” she faltered on. + +“Well,” he said, “I’m glad to be alive, if that’s what you mean.” + +“You’ve suffered a great deal?” + +“None at all, to speak of,” he replied. + +“Then you’re not uncomfortable—now?” + +He smiled a little. + +“In most ways I’m more comfortable than I ever was in my life.” + +She looked skeptical. It was difficult for her to believe that, with +the evidence of her two eyes. + +“I’m afraid you’re just trying to take away the blame from me,” she +returned. + +“Blame—for what?” he demanded. + +“For—for the accident. After all, if it had not been for me you would +not have been injured.” + +“It’s just as true that if I hadn’t tried to cross the street without +looking, this wouldn’t have happened,” he declared. + +“But if Charles had been more careful!” + +“Or if I had been more careful! Or if I had taken a different street! +Or if I had delayed anywhere along the route thirty seconds! I wonder +if we know any more about such things than that either they happen or +they don’t.” + +“You feel like that?” she exclaimed, as though she found relief in the +notion. + +“I haven’t thought very much about it,” he admitted. “But when you +stop to figure out the blame you have to go back further than just +the second before. And if you do that, where are you going to stop? +If something had turned out a little differently for either of us ten +minutes before—” + +She started. It sent her thoughts back to Dicky. It was he who had +detained her at Delmonico’s. Perhaps, then, it was he who was to blame! + +“Or an hour before,” he went on. “Or a day or a month or a year. I was +born on Friday, but supposing I had not been born until Saturday?” + +It was her seriousness that urged him to follow his fancy through to +so grotesque a conclusion—her seriousness and a desire to make her +accept the situation more lightly. + +“That sounds like fatalism,” she said. + +“Does it?” + +He was unaware that he was unfolding any particular philosophy. He had +given little study and less thought to such abstract subjects. His work +had all been along distinctly more concrete and material lines. + +She had taken the chair by his bed, and her nearness stimulated him +like wine. + +“At any rate,” he went on, “we might as well call it that and let it +go. The major point seems to be that here I am.” + +And there she was. Here was another point which until this moment he +had not considered. All this while she had been in the house, and he +had never given that a thought. She would probably have visited him +yesterday had he asked for her. + +“Do you ever hear from Mildred’s folks?” he inquired. + +It was the expression about her mouth that recalled to him that brief +former association with her. + +“Yes,” she nodded. “But I have to write at least three letters to get +one back. I have a feeling that, merely because I was the one to—to +tell them, they blame me.” + +“That is possible,” he admitted. “But surely you don’t blame yourself?” + +“Sometimes I think I might have done something to prevent it.” + +Devons flushed. There had been times when he had thought as much +himself. He had wondered why, with all her wealth, she had not relieved +Mildred of part of the burden of her poverty. Yet he knew that it was +more than doubtful if Mildred would have allowed it—any more than +he himself would have allowed anything of the sort from one of his +classmates. It had always been said of the Devonses that they would +starve before accepting a favor. His father was like that. On his +little hundred-acre farm he was as cocky as a lord on country-wide +estates. + +“You could have done nothing,” he assured her, with a sense of pride. + +“But why should she be like that—when I wanted to help?” + +“It’s in her blood,” he replied. + +“It wasn’t quite fair,” she protested. “She was always eager to do what +she could for me. She helped me in my studies.” + +“Yes.” + +“And when I wanted—in the only way I could—” + +She checked herself. His eyes were meeting her eyes. + +“What you gave her at the end was what she wanted,” he finished for +her. “Your sympathy and friendship.” + +“But the other—” + +“Money?” he asked bluntly. + +“It sounds crude to put it that way,” she objected. “But it might have +prevented the end.” + +“Perhaps.” + +“So—why wouldn’t she let me?” + +“It would be difficult to make you understand,” he said. “And yet, if +you had been in her place I’m pretty sure you’d have felt exactly as +she felt.” + +She shook her head. + +“Every one ought to be allowed to help every one else in any way one +can,” she declared. “I—I don’t know what else we’re living for.” + +“I guess most of us don’t ask that. We just plug ahead,” he smiled. + +“Have you been in town since you graduated?” + +“Since fall,” he answered. + +He offered no further details. It was impossible for him to conceive +that his personal affairs could be of any interest to her. + +“Mildred told me how hard you work,” she went on. “This must have +seriously interfered with your business.” + +“It hasn’t,” he assured her. + +The naked truth was that, if anything, it had been a Godsend to him. +What would have become of him in another day? Sawyer might have +offered something; but even then there would have been an intervening +week before pay-day. The chances seemed to be that he would leave his +bed stronger and more fit than he had been in a decade. + +“If you have any business letters to write—won’t you let me write them +for you?” + +“I haven’t any.” + +“You’re—you’re going to be like Mildred?” + +There was a curiously pathetic note in her voice. It was almost +childlike in its plaintiveness. + +“I’m telling you the truth,” he answered quickly. “My plans were at a +standstill. They hadn’t worked out as I expected.” + +“Are you a fatalist about such things too?” she asked. + +He thought a moment. + +“I guess I might as well be,” he answered. + +Her eye caught the magazines on a table near the bed. + +“If I can’t write for you, I can read to you. Have you any reason to +offer why I shouldn’t do that much?” + +“No,” he replied frankly. “I’d like to have you.” + +“Would you like to hear anything in particular?” + +“Nothing in particular,” he answered. + +So she picked up a magazine and selected a story at random. She read +very well, but after all that was more or less beside the point. What +he was really interested in was her and the fact that she was sitting +here within arm’s length of him. It was quite the nearest he had ever +come in personal contact to any one as supremely beautiful as she. And +he realized that she was an integral part of all these surroundings he +was so enjoying. It was odd that Arkwright had neglected to include +something of the sort in the plans for his house. Something of the sort +was necessary in the plans of any house assuming to be more than a mere +shelter. If it took money to turn the blue-prints into masonry, after +that it took something like this to turn the masonry into a home. It +had been rather stupid of Arkwright to ignore so important a detail. He +must call his attention to it when he next saw him. + +Devons watched her eyes, and her moving lips, and the velvet softness +of her cheek, and her shell-like ear, and the curve of her neck, and +her tender hands. And all those things set him to dreaming along new +lines. And the dreams stiffened his lips. And the dreams made him fret +a little that he was so tied up. + +Suddenly she closed the magazine. + +“That was a very good story, wasn’t it?” she smiled. + +“A very good story, indeed,” answered Devons. “Thank you.” + +“You’d like me to read another to-morrow?” + +“I’d like nothing better,” replied Devons. + +“Then I’ll come up—about this time,” she promised him. + +From that moment he began to look forward to this time to-morrow. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + + A LETTER + + +Dicky Burnett called at the Fairburne house every afternoon following +the accident, and was informed daily by the functionary at the door, +whom up to now he had rather liked, that “Miss Fairburne begs to be +excused from seeing any one to-day, sir.” + +Of course there was nothing further he could do about it, although at +the moment he always conceived some such wild plan as knocking down the +innocent butler and making his way past him. But in the end he merely +left his card and meekly retired. + +Joan did not give him a chance. If it had only been a case of +scrimmaging his way to her side, or of scaling a wall or surmounting +any other kind of natural barrier, he would at least have had the +satisfaction of a struggle, even if he failed to reach her. But to +be foiled by nothing more tangible than the lady’s formal refusal, +made still more negative when voiced through a second party (an +inconsequential stick of a second party whom he felt perfectly sure he +could have thrown down the stone steps), was not to give him a show. + +He was willing to admit that she must have suffered a good deal of a +shock. It is unpleasant enough at best to run down any one, and to +a woman of her delicate sensibilities it must have been unnerving. +He understood, however, that it was wholly the fellow’s fault. He +understood further that the man was not seriously injured, and she +had certainly done everything in her power to offset the damage. If +the fellow had any sense of appreciation he ought to consider himself +fortunate in being established in the same house with her. He would get +run over himself for the opportunity. + +By the end of the fourth day Dicky felt that she, if not her victim, +should have fully recovered. In fact, he was certain of it. + +Yet she canceled all her social obligations, and persisted in refusing +to see him. That was not like her. And nothing that went before +explained it. + +He had, to be sure, asked her to marry him and she had refused. But +surely she did not think that he was cad enough to make a scene about +that. She knew him well enough to know that he was not the kind to wave +his arms in the air and make himself disagreeable just because she was +obliged to tell him she did not love him. He had hoped up to the last +moment. Good Lord, a man who loved her as he loved her could not be +blamed for that! When, that afternoon at Delmonico’s, he had told her +of his love he had told her true. With all there was in him, he loved +her. With a great deal more than he had ever suspected was in him, he +loved her. Because of this he had hoped to the end, though he knew the +odds were a thousand to one against him. They would be that against any +man who wanted to marry her. She was too good for them all, including +himself. + +Looking at the proposition calmly—which meant leaving out of the +question for the moment all such personal considerations as the fact +that he wanted her, reason or no reason, like the devil—he realized +that he could offer her no sufficient consideration that would justify +him in expecting that she should want to marry him. Neither his social +position nor his prospects held any advantage over her social position +and prospects. In fact they were identical. For all those things she +might just as well stay where she was. If he were a Rockefeller, or she +the daughter of poor but honest parents—but there is not much sense in +speculating about what is not. There was just as much chance of his +making himself a billionaire as there was of Fairburne going broke. + +A man to win her would have to bring her something she did not have +already. Offhand the only type he could think of was some foreign duke +or lord with a couple of million acres and a chest plastered over with +various orders, and a trunk full of crown jewels. But if ever he saw +anything of the kind snooping around he would nail him. He would pummel +him to within an inch of his life if he went to jail for it. He used to +find considerable relief in picturing himself about that task. + +Barring the nobility, what in thunder could a man bring her? There were +serious moments when Dicky Burnett searched his soul for an answer to +that question. With the need of her came the need of doing something +for her—the need of making himself of use to her. And the serious part +of it all was that he could find no way. That her love should call +back to his love—that it should be as simple as this—he never even +considered. He was not that worthy of her. She was too fine, too rare, +too wonderful to allow an ordinary man to conceive anything so rash. +He labored under no delusions about himself. He was decent and he was +honest and he loved her. That was all. There were a thousand men who, +if ever they had the chance to learn her as he had, could say the same. +He was neither better nor worse than these others who in their turn +might come along. Any man who did not love her after knowing her would +be an ass. + +These were some of the things that he wished to tell her. She must not +think it was necessary to avoid him; to hide from him like a hunted +rabbit. So when, on the sixth day, he called at the house and received +his stereotyped refusal, he went back to the Harvard Club, instead of +going on to keep his engagement for tea with the Henshaws, and in the +seclusion of the library sat down and wrote her a letter. He was not +especially skillful at that sort of thing. He wrote bluntly in a bold +hand, with his thoughts bent upon what he wished to say rather than any +grace of composition. + + Dear Joan [he began]: I want very much to see you. Won’t you please + let me in next time for just a few minutes? If you’re afraid because + you think I’m going to bother you with telling you some more that I + love you—why, I promise I won’t. I don’t mean by this I promise not + to love you. I couldn’t very well promise that, because I do. And + that goes on just the same whether I see you or not, so it needn’t + make any difference one way or the other, need it? + + I have been wandering round town all alone for pretty nearly a week + now, and I’m getting mighty homesick. That’s what Hollister says—it + is just plain homesickness. Ever have it? You feel like a cat in a + strange garret, and wander around without any stopping-places. Even + when I go home, the house has a foreign look, as though a whole lot + of things were missing, even though you can’t find anything gone. + + I guess it’s you that’s missing at home and everywhere I go. I didn’t + realize until now how much I must have carried you round with me in + my mind. Even dear old dad, who doesn’t pay much attention to my + affairs because he doesn’t think they amount to much, looked up at + dinner the other night and said, “Where’s Joan?” + + I’ve told him a little about you. I couldn’t help it. + + And every so often, wherever I am, I give a start myself and say, + “Where’s Joan?” + + I miss not _seeing_ you even though I know you’re all right. After + all, remembering any one isn’t like seeing her. I know perfectly well + your hair is black and just how it’s going to look when I do see it; + but that isn’t the same. Queer, but it isn’t. And that’s true of your + eyes and nose and mouth and all the rest of you. I want to look at + you again and, even if you don’t love me, there’s no harm, is there? + I won’t take any of you away by doing that. There’ll be just as much + of you left. + + I want to hear your voice too—even if you tell me things I won’t like + to hear. And I want—oh, I just want to see you, Joan. Won’t you tell + his nibs at the door to let me in? + + _Please._ + + Of all I told you last time, I want you to remember this most! that + I’m always within reach if you need me for anything. Lord knows, I + can’t think of much I could do. I wish I might. + + Good-bye, Joan. + + DICK. + + P.S. If you don’t see me to-morrow, I’ll believe it was you who was + run over. D. + +It helped some just to write to her. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + + DICKY CALLS + + +Joan had been staying a great deal in her room for the past week. It +was partly upon the advice of Dr. Nichols, and partly upon the advice +of her mother and father; but it is very doubtful if their superior +knowledge would have had quite as much weight as it did if Joan herself +had not welcomed the internment. To be sure, the shock had been +considerable; but after the first temporary and purely normal reaction +came a second reaction, which was not correctly diagnosed either by her +parents or the physician. Nichols, looking merely at her heightened +color and brighter eyes, feared hysteria. Mrs. Fairburne took it to +be disappointment at the many social engagements Joan was forced to +cancel. She tried hard not to blame any one for the situation; but upon +several occasions she observed darkly to her husband: + +“All I can say is that some one was stupid to allow such a +misfortune—at the height of the social season.” + +The first time he heard this, Fairburne squared his shoulders a trifle, +as though considering that he himself might be involved in the general +accusation. + +“Not you, of course, my dear,” she hastened to assure him; “but some +one.” + +Yet Charles was not discharged. Then apparently the fault lay between +Devons and Fate. Anyhow, it was more or less immaterial. + +Perhaps it was just as well for the peace of mind of all concerned +that it was not generally known that Joan really was enjoying one of +the most interesting experiences of her life there in the privacy of +her room. Certainly to have informed Dr. Nichols that she felt every +sense to be more alert than formerly would have contributed nothing to +science; to have explained to her parents that she was enjoying as a +luxury the privilege of calling her time her own would not have left +them any the wiser; to have confessed to Dicky that she felt even a +certain relief from him would not have done a particle of good in that +direction. Half the joy of her joy lay in the fact that it was a very +intimate and personal and secret joy. + +As soon as she learned, through Dr. Nichols, that there was not +the slightest element of danger in Devons’s condition; that in all +probability the man, with good care, would leave in better condition +than he came, it was as though she had found an opportunity. + +“As a matter of fact,” Nichols had told her, “you can credit yourself +with having saved his life.” + +“How?” she asked doubtfully. + +“The man hasn’t been getting enough to eat,” Nichols informed her. + +“Not enough to eat?” It sounded like an absurd statement. + +“He tells me he has been living on a diet of black coffee and tobacco.” + +“But why should one do that?” she inquired. + +“Because,” answered Nichols, “it is very inexpensive. Of course he +could have invested the same amount of money to better advantage in +some other type of food-stuff, but it’s doubtful if he would have got +as much comfort out of it.” + +“Then he must be very, very poor.” + +“I gather he is.” + +So here, in a way, was the case of Mildred all over again. With +a difference. The difference was that Devons—well, it did make a +difference that he was—he. At best, there is less opportunity for a +woman to be of assistance to another woman than to one of the opposite +sex, even in an impersonal way. The response is less keen. It does not +touch the same depths. + +Not that she was in the slightest sentimental about it. She was +absolutely normal. Even the excitement of the situation was normal. +Nichols to the contrary, her attitude was not even remotely associated +with hysteria, or with mawkish sentimentality. It had more to do +with what she had vaguely described to Dicky at that last meeting +as “the big adventure.” It was as though this man Devons had made a +breach in the high wall surrounding her and offered her opportunity to +venture a little way beyond into the quick life that men and women led +outside—the life that treated men and women like men and women and not +like daintily dressed dolls. + +Devons had gone hungry! There was nothing, perhaps, in that to make +any one envy him; and yet, it stood for something. At least, that had +intensified the hours to him. He had been like a harp with the strings +drawn too taut, drawn almost to the breaking point; but she had been +like a harp with the strings sagging. Of the two it would be easier to +play the taut strings. After all, it might be better to be hungry than +surfeited. The very hour that she had sat with listless interest before +the delicacies at Delmonico’s, he had been wandering, dazed and hungry, +through the snow. It was a question who was in the worse plight. + +That was only a detail, anyway. But how it dramatized the same safe, +uneventful streets through which she rode in her snug machine! And how +curious that, as though in response to her cry, this should be brought +to her in her own home. + +Was there some truth in that strange doctrine of fatalism—that our +lives are mapped out for us ahead and that, however remote the +possibility may seem, we must travel the foreordained road? + +Staring from her window at night, she wondered with quickened breath. +Looking back, her meeting with Mildred may have been significant. She +had come upon her quite by chance, and through her had met Devons. At +the time it had seemed the most trivial and commonplace of incidents; +yet, if that had not been, it is probable that Devons would have been +sent off out of her life to a hospital. She had brought him here and +insisted upon his remaining because of Mildred. It was significant, +too, that on that very afternoon she had not ridden back with +Dicky—that she was alone at the appointed moment. + +Poor Dicky! She was rather sorry that it had been necessary to involve +him. If only he had not said what he did say, she would have turned +to him now. She would have liked to discuss the whole question with +him. She supposed it was possible even now; only—well, she was afraid +he would not understand. She was afraid it might trouble him. And in +a sense she felt responsible for his peace of mind. She should have +foreseen what might come of their relations. Only, she had never +thought it possible for him to be as serious as he had seemed when he +spoke. Even if he imagined himself in love with her, she thought she +would recognize it as pure imagination. It was as natural for Dicky +to fall in love, in fancy, with any woman with whom he might be thrown +in contact any length of time as it was for him to breathe. He had +confessed several previous romances to her. + +It was probable, then, that this was just another. She should have held +to that. But somehow it was difficult. She had not laughed when he +told her of his love. If she had given way to her emotions the chances +are she would have cried. She had found some new quality in his eyes +and his voice. Then she liked the way he stood square-shouldered when +she told him the naked truth. And actually, she had felt a sense of +possessing something rare and wonderful in the loyalty that prompted +him to his offer. + +“I want you to feel you have some one always ready to call on.” So the +ladies of romance used to receive an oath of allegiance from their +knights. + +Then to-day a note from him had come which she had read with misty +eyes. It was so direct and uncomplaining that it tightened her throat. +There was a great deal about Dicky that was likable. She could be +with him more than with any other man she knew, if only he would not +talk about love; because love meant something entirely different +from anything Dicky dreamed. It had to do with life. It had to do +with—adventure. It had to do with big, earnest things, with real +things, with heart-breaking things, perhaps. All of which Dicky knew +nothing about. + +But, after reading his note twice, she sent down word to Sparrow that +she would be at home that day to Mr. Richard Burnett. If Sparrow felt +a certain sense of relief, it would be nothing surprising, because the +last time he had given his message to the man he had hesitated about +holding the door open as wide as usual. + +Dicky did not come until after four, which was unfortunate, because she +had a very important appointment at four-thirty, and told him so almost +at once. + +“You’re going out?” he inquired hopefully. + +“No,” she replied with some embarrassment. + +He concluded then that a milliner or something of the kind was +coming to the house; and that, if one looked far enough ahead, was +encouraging, because it suggested that she was preparing to go out +again. + +So he sat down and talked with her about this thing and that very +rationally and good-naturedly, as he might have done a week ago. In +many ways he seemed more himself than he had for several weeks, because +she realized now that for some time he had not been exactly normal. + +Then he gave a new turn to the conversation by observing: + +“It must be mighty dull for you to be shut up in the house, Joan.” + +And she answered, speaking the truth, “Only it isn’t, Dicky.” + +“But what do you do with yourself all day?” + +That was a difficult question to answer directly. From his point of +view she supposed she was not doing very much, because most of the +interest of these days came from within herself. And she could not very +well let him into the secret of her thoughts. So she answered: + +“I don’t think I could make you understand, Dicky. Only truly it isn’t +stupid.” + +He looked up with a frown. + +“You don’t give me credit for understanding much of anything, do you, +Joan?” + +“It isn’t that,” she tried to reassure him. “Only—supposing I don’t +understand myself very well?” + +“I don’t think you do.” + +“Then—” + +“Oh, we’ll only get mixed up again if we go on like that,” he +interrupted. “Tell me something about this fellow you ran over.” + +She looked frightened. + +“I didn’t run _over_ him.” She shuddered. “Don’t make it any worse than +it is.” + +“Well, you started to.” + +“There’s a big difference.” + +“I suppose there is,” he admitted. “Who is he?” + +“Oh, I hope some day you can meet him. You’d like him, Dicky.” + +“Perhaps.” + +“He’s a Technology man and—” + +“He’s what?” + +“Technology.” + +Dicky appeared concerned. + +“I didn’t know that. Some one told me he was a ’bus driver.” + +“Why, Dicky, he’s a wonderful fellow. He has invented something. Only +he’s very, very poor.” + +“Inventors always are,” he nodded. + +“And he has tried so hard to make his way. He—he was almost starving +when—” + +She did not like to fill in the ellipsis. + +“When you partly ran over him,” he suggested. + +“It’s nothing to make fun about,” she warned. + +“Go on.” + +“And I’d met him before. I knew a cousin of his at college.” + +“You did?” + +“She was wonderful, too.” + +“Runs in the family?” + +“They are from out West.” + +“Anywhere in particular out West?” + +“From Montana.” + +“Just Montana?” + +He was laughing at her now, and she resented it—resented it with more +genuine feeling than she would have thought possible. Her lips closed +firmly. + +“I shan’t tell you anything more about him,” she decided. + +“Now, look here—” he protested, making his feet in some alarm. + +“No, I mean it,” she replied. + +“I was only fooling, Joan. I didn’t know—” + +He was studying her face. She was in dead earnest. He knew that. He +always knew when she was in earnest. + +“Good Heavens, Joan—” he began. + +But she had risen too, and was holding out her hand. + +“You must excuse me now,” she said. “It is almost half-past four.” + +Dicky caught his breath. + +“You’re going—back to him?” he demanded. + +It was a foolish thing for him to say. He realized it the moment the +words were out of his mouth. He saw her toss up her head—saw her look +the princess. + +“Must I account for my movements to you?” she asked. + +“You know better, Joan,” he cut in quickly. “Only—” + +“Good-bye,” she insisted. + +He took her hand. + +“I don’t care where you’re going or who it is you’re going to see; but +you’ll let me call again?” + +“Do you think you’ve made yourself very agreeable?” + +In holding her hand he held an advantage. She could not very well leave +until he let go. + +“Next time—” he began. + +“Oh, all right, Dicky; I’ll try you once more. Please let me go.” + +So he let her go, and in an instant she had vanished—none too politely. + +Sparrow opened the door. Dicky wondered if it would not be well to +inform the man of her promise to admit him again, in case she herself +forgot. Then other thoughts crowded in upon him, and he went down the +steps in a kind of daze. + + + + + CHAPTER IX + + THE FIGHTING THINGS + + +When Joan came into Devons’s room, she found him propped up on the +pillows, staring at the brass clock on the mantel. + +“You’re five minutes late,” he informed her. + +It was so trivial a matter to mention that Nurse Ware, who sat in the +farther corner of the room knitting and trying to look both deaf and +dumb, involuntarily raised her eyes. + +“I was delayed by a caller,” Joan explained. + +Nurse Ware turned to face the window, and from that point on assumed +that she was somewhere else. As far as either Joan or Devons cared, she +might have been in Jericho. + +“It’s curious,” said Devons, “how the more time you have on your hands +the closer you watch the clock. This last five minutes has seemed like +an hour.” + +“You should have been reading,” she laughed. + +“I was waiting for you to read.” + +The color came to her cheeks. + +“I am ready,” she answered. + +But it seemed that, after all, neither had anything especial he wished +to hear; and so, when she had looked through the table of contents +of a magazine or two, Joan found herself, in spite of the original +urgency of her mission, sitting back and idly talking. Doubtless a +fair explanation of this was that she had discovered that he, as a +cross-section of real life, was more interesting to her than any +fiction, which at best is merely a reflection of reality. As for +him, his experience with at least a dozen heroines during the past +week proved positively that the most brilliant of the authors were +stupid and clumsy when the work of their pens was put in such close +juxtaposition with actuality as in the present case. Even a poet cannot +describe black hair like hers as well as a man can see it—or eyes or +nose or mouth. Then there were a thousand other details, and these +other details were changing from second to second—changing so subtly +that words were powerless to trace the shadings. Sometimes they were +scarcely visible, but were rather variations of moods as intangible as +his own moods. Superficially, for example, her eyes remained always +the same in color and size, and yet they were never the same a minute +at a time. Even she as a whole did not remain fixed, because, as with +each visit he came to know her better and came to realize how much more +there was to know, she developed like a portrait on canvas under the +hands of an artist. + +His attitude toward her at first had been one of challenge. He had +expected a certain class feeling to make itself manifest in her. He was +ready to resent any superiority she might express, even unconsciously, +as a result of her social position and wealth. He was for a little +while the elder Devons with all the latter’s pride in his few acres and +liberty. But as he found nothing to pit his aggressiveness against he +began to realize that after all it was he if any one who was playing +the cad. She was more natural and genuine than he. In not accepting her +for just what she was, he was unfair. + +He was especially conscious of that to-day. And so he allowed himself +to unfold to her something of his past. It was at her prompting. + +“I envy you and Mildred the chance you’ve had to travel and see +things,” she observed. + +“Haven’t you traveled?” he asked. + +“Only a little, abroad,” she answered. + +To him that was the only kind of real traveling there was. The few back +home who had been to London or Paris were looked upon with something +like reverence. + +“Then you’ve seen more than I,” he declared. + +“Of buildings and pictures, perhaps. But always I took my own little +world with me.” + +“You were lucky to have it.” + +“You think so?” + +He smiled. + +“All this,” he went on, with a wave of his hand about the room, +“means—I wonder if you realize how much it means?” + +“I wonder if you realize how little it means?” she ventured back. + +He glanced up in surprise. Then he smiled again. + +“I suppose facts, from a distance, get toned down,” he went on. “But +when you have to live them they stay pretty much as they are. You’ve +never been out West?” + +“No,” she answered. + +“It’s a wonderful country—to some,” he said. “To others—my father was +born out there. He grew up and married out there. He has worked like a +galley slave out there—all within ten miles of where he was born.” + +“Tell me about him,” she begged. + +“That’s about all there is to tell of him,” said Devons grimly. “I +suppose he had some ambition at first, but he stayed where he was. He +married early, and had ten children before he was forty. Then he _had_ +to stay. He just plugged along day after day without energy enough +left to look ahead to the next day. Most of his life it’s just been a +question of getting enough to eat for himself and the others.” + +Her eyes were sympathetic. + +“He was honest and decent and worked hard. It doesn’t seem fair, does +it?” + +“No.” + +“I don’t know how I happened to wake up. I guess it was the teacher I +had when I went to the district school. She urged me on to the high +school, though that meant leaving home. And there I did so well in +chemistry that a teacher from the East suggested Technology. I didn’t +think I could make it at first—but I did. I got my degree. Then—well, +here I am.” + +He stopped abruptly. + +“What about between Technology and—here?” she asked. + +“That’s the story of a dream that didn’t come true,” he answered. + +“You’ll tell me about it some day?” + +“I think you’d find the stories in the magazine pleasanter,” he +returned. “In those the dreams all come true.” + +“Perhaps that’s because they go through to the end.” + +He was thoughtful a moment, and then he nodded, his lips firm. + +“Yes,” he said. “There’s that difference.” + +“Why, you—you’ve just begun!” + +He met her eyes. He had a curious sense of looking deeply into them. +Then she turned away, half afraid of her impulsiveness. + +“Just begun,” he repeated. + +It was the echo of a new impulse that had been stirring him for the +last few days. With the long, restful nights and the nourishing food, +his physical strength had fast returned. With that had come a new +outlook—an outlook that carried him to such dizzy heights that he had +drawn back, suspicious of it. It made all his former dreams seem feeble +in comparison. + +After all, he had never looked very far ahead into the future +because—he faced the truth—because he had been so self-centered. Reed +and his ten thousand represented the climax. Even the return home was +to be in the nature of a personal triumph. Always he saw himself in +that picture as occupying the center of the stage. Then a slow curtain +with music. + +These new pictures, as yet but faintly sketched in,—the idle pencil +movements, of an artist feeling his way,—were different. As nearly +as he could make out, he did not, in these, preëmpt the foreground. +Another figure was there. He scarcely dared identify it, except in a +very general way. + +In a very general way it was evidently the figure of a woman—a very +beautiful woman with a hint of luxuriant hair. In the forehead and nose +and mouth he caught a general resemblance to some one he knew, though +he did not venture to call her by name. Besides, it was not this which +so greatly mattered. The fact which counted most was that she—whoever +she was—remained always in the foreground. + +Yet he himself was not entirely eliminated. Far from it. He was +present, but at some little distance, and struggling toward her like +a figure in an allegory. Just what the meaning of this was he was not +certain. It might be some very broad subject—Youth struggling with +Success—like those in Bunyan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress,” except that he was +a great deal too intimately identified with it for that. Whoever the +woman might be, there was no doubt at all but that he was the man. And +with all his might and main he was trying to fight his way closer to +her. He did not even know what for, but there seemed to be some acute +necessity. It was as though everything in life worth while depended +upon his reaching her side. To do that he must accomplish certain +things, and this took him back again to those first weeks in New York +and to the old hopes reborn. Like all new-born things,—like the day +at dawn, like the earth in spring, like a man in love,—these hopes +came to him fresher and keener than ever. But here again there was a +difference. They did not so much concern him—except as a medium—as Her. +They were a feature of the struggle toward Her. + +“You’ve just begun,” she said. + +It was more than that. He had just been born. The past leading to this +present had been merely a period of conception. He thought he had been +working hard through all those long years, but it was child’s play to +what he felt himself capable of now. If he had felt then as he felt +now, he never would have gone out desperately to find Sawyer as though +that were the end. He would have known it as another beginning. Every +day, every hour, no matter what it brought forth, would be a beginning. +It is not possible to kill a reborn man. He is immortal. You can’t +starve him or freeze him. You can’t even run him down. Perhaps that is +why he was here; because the rebirth was foreordained. + +Her words had brought these scattered thoughts which had for several +nights illumined his mind, like isolated rays of light, to a focus. +Instantaneously. Yet when he spoke again there was nothing in his words +to hint of the momentous truth they covered. + +“Perhaps you’re right,” he said. + +“Men like you—men out in the world—can always do that,” she ran on. + +“Yes,” he answered. + +“And women like Mildred,” she continued. “If she had lived, she would +have gone right on, beginning fresh every day.” + +“And you?” + +She hesitated a moment. To answer that involved the confession of +rather intimate details of her life. But if one talks of lives at all +it involves personalities. And that was what she was interested in. +It was just this side of him, that he was a live human being living a +quick life, that appealed to her. He was not merely some one like Dicky +Burnett, tagged and catalogued, circumscribed by his surroundings, and +acting his allotted part in a play. He was Devons. He was a man with +his story as yet unwritten. + +“And you?” he repeated. + +“Every day is so much like every other day,” she answered wearily. “It +must be so when most of the things worth doing have already been done +for you—years ago.” + +“What things?” + +“Oh—the fighting things!” she broke out. + +He smiled at that. He liked her spirit, but it was the spirit of +an imaginative child who wants to go out and hunt Indians. But it +whetted the desire in him. He, too, would have liked a few Indians to +fight—for her. Those men of the early days who had such opportunities +were to be envied. There is something tangible about an Indian, and +when confronted by them a man had something definite to do. His task +consisted simply of aiming his old blunderbuss and shooting, or, at +close quarters, swinging his good cutlass. + +“Grandfather Fairburne was a forty-niner,” she explained proudly. + +“And discovered much gold?” + +“I don’t know about that. He became a banker.” + +“Your father is a banker, then?” + +“No,” she replied. “Dad—he—he is only what is called retired.” + +She looked as though ashamed of the admission. + +“That is the trouble,” she went on. + +“The trouble with what?” + +“The trouble with the days,” she answered. “It’s why one day is just +like another.” + +The clock on the mantel struck five. It struck five times very firmly +and loudly. Nurse Ware rose and thereby announced her presence. Dr. +Nichols had given orders that all visitors should be limited to one +half-hour. Considering the fact that Devons had only the one visitor, +could not possibly have any other visitor, the regulation appeared to +be more personal than is generally the case. + +Devons scowled at the nurse. + +“Oh, you’re there, are you?” he growled. + +“Yes, Mr. Devons. It’s five o’clock.” + +“I can count,” answered Devons. + +Joan rose hurriedly. She knew what an autocrat Nichols was. + +“I’ll try to find something more interesting to read to-morrow,” she +promised. + +“Don’t,” he warned. “Besides, I’m going to get out of this bed before +long.” + +“You mustn’t.” + +“I must. I want to get to work.” + +“But Dr. Nichols says—” + +“Hang Dr. Nichols!” cut in Devons. “He doesn’t know what I have to do.” + +Nurse Ware rustled forward, her starched skirts sounding like a distant +Gatling gun. + +“Good-night,” said Joan. + + + + + CHAPTER X + + AT HOME + + +Burnett Senior, one evening early in February, sat in his library after +dinner, as was his custom, and, lighting a stogie, adjusted himself +comfortably in his big leather chair, picked up the evening paper, +and turned to the financial page. His wife sat just beyond him on the +other side of a fireplace filled with crackling wood. She was a quiet +body with graying hair, and wore a plain gown of black taffeta which +emphasized her age. She held in her lap the latest work of an English +novelist. In a week she had not succeeded in getting beyond the twelfth +chapter, chiefly because she had held it in her lap most of the time +that she thought she was reading. + +For the last twenty years she had joined her husband immediately after +dinner, and sat like this while he read the financial news. And most +of the time she spent this hour wondering about Dicky; first, as a +baby sound asleep upstairs in his cradle; then as a youngster in his +trundle-bed, tired out after his day of romping; then as a schoolboy; +then as a young man away at college; and now as a full-grown man at +home once again. She had looked forward for four years to the time when +he would be back home, as she knew her husband had; and yet, now that +he was back, she found herself going over and over again those earlier +years rather than the present. For, somehow, he seemed to be slipping +more and more out of her life. She blamed no one for that, Dicky +least of all, for she realized that his interests were with his own +generation. She realized that better than her husband did. The latter +was tempted at times to judge the boy harshly and this worried her a +good deal. + +Dicky, she knew, was in many ways a disappointment to his father—more +of a disappointment than the boy understood. Dicky failed to appreciate +how large a share of himself his father had put into the business—what +an acutely personal matter this business was with him. The boy did not +have the background she had. Her memory took her to the beginnings—to +those lean, hard years when Dicky was sleeping peacefully in his cradle +in other surroundings than these, while she watched her husband at work +over figures seemingly perverse. Burnett was putting in some sixteen +hours a day of himself then. Even after the figures began to be more +amenable to discipline, there were sudden reverses that made him pace +the floor until morning and kept her with her heart in her mouth. +It all came out right in the end, of course, but Burnett had left +something of himself behind—something in the business. All Dicky had +ever seen was the triumphant result. And he had never heard his father +talk, as she had heard him talk, of how he looked forward to the day +when he should be able to relinquish the reins to “my son” and watch +the business respond to the younger life. Perhaps she herself had been +more or less at fault for not having repeated these things to the boy, +but she had wanted him to have his youth—the youth of which Burnett +himself had been in a large measure deprived. So she had said nothing. + +Well, Dicky had his youth. He was having it now; and yet, for the last +month or so she had felt as though something was going wrong with it. +She had seen him getting serious. She had thought at first it was the +new responsibilities of the business. She had said as much to her +husband one evening. + +“Dicky is taking hold, isn’t he?” + +“Of what?” Burnett snapped. + +“Of the business?” + +“If he wasn’t a son of mine I’d fire him to-morrow. That’s how much +he’s taking hold,” he replied. + +“He—he will some day, Richard,” she ventured to declare in order to +pacify him. + +“That isn’t even a good gamble,” answered Burnett. + +Yet it was a fact that the boy was getting serious. In the last few +weeks she had seen him maturing, though she had little opportunity +of seeing him at all; often no more than a glimpse of him as he came +downstairs dressed to go out. But last night he had stopped and kissed +her. It brought the color to her cheeks. He was seldom as demonstrative +as that. + +To-night she had not seen him at all. As Burnett put down his paper to +relight his cigar, she asked: + +“Do you know where Dicky is going this evening?” + +“Eh?” + +“I haven’t seen him go out.” + +“I haven’t seen him since lunch. He wouldn’t let me have anything but +crackers and milk to-day.” + +Burnett picked up his paper again, and then put it down. + +“Anything strange about not seeing him?” he demanded. + +“No. Only—” + +“Well?” + +“I thought he had been looking kind of sober lately.” + +“It’s a girl,” grunted Burnett. + +“Not—” + +“Nothing but a plain fool girl. He asked her to marry him and she +refused. That proves she’s a fool, doesn’t it?” + +“You know her, then?” + +“That’s all I know, except that she’s a Fairburne—one of the four +hundred—and thinks she is too good for him.” + +“Why—why didn’t he tell me?” + +“There, Mother,” Burnett returned, with a note of tenderness one might +not have suspected was there, “it’s only because he’s feeling rather +bad about it. The worst of it is that _he_ is willing to admit she is +too good for him. That’s bad business. You can’t sell goods or get a +wife in any such spirit as that. If he’d had a little training on the +road he’d know it.” + +“You’ve seen her?” + +“No. But, according to him, she’s a sort of princess.” + +“I think, if he really cares, that’s the way he _would_ think of her,” +said the mother. + +“I told him—” + +But at that point Mrs. Burnett glanced up with a quick motion of her +hand to her lips in warning. For there at the door stood Dicky himself +in evening clothes, slowly removing his gloves. + +“You look so comfortable here, I think I’ll stay,” he announced. + +As Dicky drew a chair to the fire, Burnett tossed aside his paper and +his wife let the book in her lap slide to the floor. To them both the +situation was unusual enough to appear ominous. Burnett bit into his +stogie and waited. + +But, after all, there appeared to be nothing to wait for. Dicky merely +lighted a cigarette, crossed his legs, and stared into the flames quite +as unconcernedly as though this were an everyday habit of his. So they +sat a few moments in silence, until Mrs. Burnett broke the tension by +asking: + +“Is it cold out to-night, Dicky?” + +“No,” he answered. “Not very.” + +“Storming?” put in Burnett. + +“Don’t think so. Wasn’t when I came in at five o’clock.” + +“Have you had your dinner?” inquired his mother. + +Dicky smiled. + +“Now that you mention it, I haven’t,” he answered. + +Mrs. Burnett rose. + +“You should have told me,” she said. “I’ll see Mary about it at once.” + +“Don’t, please,” protested Dicky. “Just sit where you were. I don’t +want a bite now—honest.” + +“You aren’t going on one of those confounded diets yourself?” demanded +Burnett. + +Dicky shook his head. + +“No need of it yet. What’s the news?” + +“Steel is off again.” + +Burnett appeared a bit sulky about it. Dicky turned. + +“How does that interest you?” he asked. + +“Bought a block of it the other day,” replied Burnett uncomfortably. + +“How long since you’ve been fooling with the market?” asked Dicky. + +“I’m not fooling with it. I had a little spare cash and took a chance, +that’s all.” + +“On whose advice?” + +“Forsythe has a friend, and—” + +“Forsythe?” + +“What of it?” + +“I don’t like the fellow.” + +“You don’t know him. He’s been my right-hand man for the last three +years.” + +“What about his friend?” + +“I don’t know anything about his friend except that he’s on the inside.” + +“I’d let him stay there,” observed Dicky. + +Burnett senior bristled up aggressively—the readier because away down +deep in his heart he knew the advice was sound. At the same time he +resented being criticized by one thirty years his junior who had not +had as much business experience as the average newsboy. It was one +thing for Dicky to proffer suggestions on matters of diet, about which +presumably he did have some real knowledge, and another for the boy to +venture with the same assurance into the field of finance. Burnett was +taking a chance, and he knew it; but he did not relish being told about +it. That remark about Forsythe hit a particularly sore spot. Forsythe +was doing exactly the work that Dicky ought to have been doing. He was +instilling in the firm the snap that comes only of youth. + +Besides all this, Burnett, if he lost, could afford to lose. If he +won—it was not for himself that he was making the gamble. He had +enough—more than enough. He had put fifty thousand dollars into steel +for the sake of the boy who now had the nerve to sit there and take him +to task about it. + +“Look here,” returned Burnett; “just when and how did you acquire your +wide experience of the stock market?” + +“I don’t know a darned thing about it,” replied Dicky coolly. “That’s +why I know so much about it.” + +“Eh?” exclaimed Burnett, confused by such apparent nonsense. + +“I mean just that,” went on Dicky. “The people who get stung on Wall +Street are those who know all about it, or trust to some one else who +knows all about it. If you were going it alone, dad, I’d bet on you.” + +“Bah!” snorted Burnett. + +“I suppose you’ll have to learn your lesson,” concluded Dicky. “After +all, that’s what keeps things moving down there. What you reading, +Mother?” + +“I don’t know,” confessed Mrs. Burnett. “But it’s very good. It was +recommended to me.” + +With the conversation launched into safer channels, Dicky spent the +remainder of a very restful and pleasant evening with his family, and +at ten o’clock became sleepy with them. As they rose to retire, he +kissed his mother good-night, patted his father on the back, and went +off upstairs. But he had no more than removed his coat before he heard +a timid tap at his door. He opened it, and found his mother standing +there. + +“What’s the trouble?” he asked. + +“I—I wanted to talk a little with you, Dicky,” she faltered. + +“Fine!” he exclaimed. “Come in.” + +He found a chair for her, and, sitting on the edge of the bed, waited +with some curiosity to learn what had brought her here. She explained +at once. + +“It’s because I thought you seemed worried, Dicky,” she said. + +“Worried?” + +“Your father told me that you were caring for—some one. You didn’t tell +me.” + +“Oh—it’s that!” + +And instantly, before her eyes, she saw his face grow serious. It was +as though he grew five years older in as many seconds. + +“Don’t you want to tell me, Dicky?” + +He rose, walked across the room once, and sat down again. + +“There isn’t very much to tell, Mother,” he began quietly. “Her name is +Joan Fairburne, and she lives here in New York. You know of the family +and how prominent they are in a social way. But that hasn’t anything to +do with her. I met her when I was in college, and I’ve seen her more or +less ever since; but it wasn’t until this winter that I came to realize +what she is. We were together a good deal—until about two weeks ago. +Then, because I cared so much, I asked her to marry me. And she said +she did not care enough to do that. Since then I haven’t been able to +see her much. And—that’s about all there is to it.” + +“You feel very badly about it?” + +He looked up at his mother—then away. + +“Yes,” he admitted. + +She stole swiftly to his side and put her hand over his. + +“I’m—I’m so sorry.” + +“The deuce of it is,” he exclaimed, “there isn’t anything much you can +do about it.” + +“I don’t see why she doesn’t love you, Dicky,” said his mother. + +He laughed at that. + +“If you knew her you’d wonder I even dared hope she might,” he ran on. +“She is different. I don’t think she was meant to be born in New York. +She was meant to be born in the Arabian Nights, for a man wearing a +scarlet silk doublet and hose and an ostrich feather in his hat and +oodles of jewels and an army to do her bidding.” + +“Does she say that’s what she wants?” + +“Bless you, no. But she looks it. She makes you feel that’s what you’d +like to give her. And you can’t give her anything because she has +everything she wants. And there you are.” + +“I’d like to meet her, Dicky.” + +“I’d like to have her meet you,” he replied enthusiastically. “Somehow, +I think she’d like you, Mother.” + +“Perhaps, then, I could ask her to come here for tea—Thursday.” + +“You’re a brick. She hasn’t been going out any lately, but if you’ll +send the note I’ll see what I can do to back it up.” + +Mrs. Burnett rose to go. + +“Even if it doesn’t turn out right, Dicky—” she began anxiously. + +“That’s all there is to it,” he finished for her. + +He placed a hand upon her shoulder. + +“But I want her. You’ll understand how much when you see her.” + +Then Dicky gave her his arm and escorted her to her room. + + + + + CHAPTER XI + + THE SILENT PARTNER + + +As soon as Devons was out of bed and dressed and able to walk around +the house, Nichols found it quite impracticable to enforce hospital +rules of any sort. Give a man like Devons a pair of legs, and the only +thing to do, if you wish to keep him within certain bounds, is to put +him in chains. Nichols had neither the authority nor the chains. + +In reply to Mrs. Fairburne’s rather pointed question as to when he +thought it possible for the patient to leave, he answered: + +“Possible? To-day.” + +“Then—” + +Dr. Nichols shrugged his shoulders. + +“Of course he is better off here than he would be wherever he lives. +As I understand it, he would not be likely to receive much care in his +apartments, while here he receives, if anything, too much.” + +“I agree with you,” said Mrs. Fairburne. “Joan seems inclined to make +rather a hero of him.” + +“It is a characteristic of girls of her age,” suggested Nichols. + +“A dangerous characteristic,” snapped Mrs. Fairburne. + +“The most common cure is to allow the patient to see as much as +possible of her hero,” smiled Dr. Nichols. + +At any rate, there appeared to be no alternative. And, truth to tell, +neither Mrs. Fairburne nor Fairburne himself, after meeting the young +man on several occasions, could put a finger on anything objectionable +in him. Of course his past was decidedly hazy (one had only his word +for it), and he came absolutely unvouched for,—which was more or less +natural, considering the circumstances under which he arrived,—but +those details did not count for as much as they might in view of the +fact that he was by no means to be considered as a social guest, but +merely a sort of accident. In time he would depart, and that would be +the end of him. In the meanwhile it was a comforting thought that he +was not as unpleasant as he might have been. Considering how little +discrimination is generally exercised in running over people, he might +have been an extremely unpleasant character to have about. It was also +necessary to take into account the obvious truth that he served to +amuse Joan at a time when it appeared impossible for any one else to +amuse her. + +So Devons no longer had to wait until half-past four arrived to stand +a chance of seeing Joan. He sallied forth at all hours,—sometimes as +early as mid-forenoon,—and wandered around downstairs until he found +her. It was curious how often he found her. Generally it was in the +library off the reception-room. There was always an open fire here, and +if he sat down in front of it a few minutes she would often appear. She +was always just as surprised to see him as he was to see her. He was +always just as glad to see her as the day before—perhaps even a little +gladder. + +This would have been a natural development under ordinary +circumstances,—if one continued to meet her over a cup of tea in the +afternoon,—but coming upon her at the extraordinary hour of eleven in +the morning, and with no distraction even as simple as a cup of tea, +the result was to throw them back upon themselves for entertainment. +This led to a great deal of talk about themselves—just themselves +as they were; just two human beings who had started from different +corners of the nation and traversed different paths which had finally +intersected. The time of day had a great deal to do with it. A woman is +more herself and a man more himself and less a social creature before +noon. There are men and women who never get to know each other until +the opportunity arrives for them to meet after breakfast. Sometimes +this results one way; sometimes another. + +It was wonderful to Devons that any one should be interested in his +affairs. It was something new to have a confidante—some one who really +liked to hear the details of the days he had worked out alone. At +first he doubted just how sincere she was. But as he took her with him +through those plugging years at Tech, and saw her leaning forward with +quick eyes and heightened color, he doubted no more. So he reached, +one morning, that period of his life which marked the beginning of the +dream that did not come true. + +He had approached it before, but always he had stopped because it +seemed of too recent a date and of too intimate a nature for even her +ears. To tell her about it was in a way to involve her in it because it +extended into the present. The past, up to that point, was done with. +So it could be related like a tale that has been told. The other was +still of his life. More now than ever before because he was beginning +to dream anew and dream more steadily. + +Yet at length he found himself telling her even about that—telling her +quite simply and unconsciously. + +She had asked him what brought him to New York after he had mentioned +the fact that he had come knowing only one person—Sawyer, a classmate. + +“An accident,” he answered. “My life seems to hinge upon accidents.” + +“I hope the other was a happier one than this.” + +“I don’t know,” he mused. “After all, an accident may be nothing but a +quick and unexpected turn toward a new beginning. It all depends on +how it comes out.” + +Then he told her of his laboratory work on leather, and of the +different ways of preparing it for the market and finishing it for +shoes; and, finally, of his discovery of the process that was to make +his fortune. + +“I felt at the time,” he said, “a good deal as one of the lucky +forty-niners must have felt. I was down to my last grubstake and had +stumbled upon pay dirt. I knew the value of what I had. At least, I +thought I knew, so that the effect was the same. For a week afterward I +had a regular orgy of spending imaginary dollars. You see, money meant +a lot to me. It meant being able to do a lot of things I wanted to do. +It meant not having to wait another ten years of hard, plugging work. +And I thought all I had to do was to come here to New York with my +invention and show it.” + +He paused. + +“Go on,” she begged. + +“I worked all summer perfecting it and getting it patented. I had to +write to father for money in order to do that, and he mortgaged his +farm to get the cash for me. I’d have starved before I’d have allowed +him to take that risk if I hadn’t been sure. Then I came on. First +Forsythe turned me down, then I laid it before Sawyer, who was with an +investment house. He was just as enthusiastic over the possibilities as +I was. + +“After that came the waiting period. The firm had to test the process +and look up the patent papers and all that. I didn’t care how long they +were about it, because I was absolutely sure of the result. So I took +a room at Mullen Court, and spent my days studying and reading and +waiting for the mails. That was in October, and I waited all through +that month. Then I waited through November. Then I waited through +December. That was almost a whole lifetime in itself. Because—well, my +funds were running pretty low by then.” + +She looked up and met his eyes—her own brimming with sympathy and pity. + +“Don’t think I minded,” he hastened to assure her. “I didn’t. It was +the period of dreams.” + +“But—you didn’t have enough to eat!” she exclaimed. + +“Not any too much,” he smiled. “Still, I kept alive, and after all that +was the important thing. And I knew that whatever I did not have then +was going to make all the more welcome the things I was sure to have +later. Besides, it was exciting. Just to hear the postman’s steps every +time he came was enough to make a man breathe quicker. It was all a +sort of fight—to hang on.” + +She nodded as though she understood. + +“Then came the end of it. Sawyer’s firm wrote that they could not +handle the process because—they were afraid of the old process. It +seems that one man held this particular market—a man they were afraid +to compete with. I’d never considered any such development as that. I +thought that any new thing which was better than the old would just +naturally take the place of the latter. I hadn’t taken into account the +business side of it. But the firm would not risk its capital, and I had +none of my own—so that was the end.” + +“The end?” she exclaimed. + +“Almost. I had a vague scheme of going to work on a salary. Sawyer +had offered me a job once, and I thought that in time I might save +enough out of it to start in a small way. But that took me so far into +the future that the prospect was hazy—compared with what I _had_ been +dreaming. I was on my way to see Sawyer when—” + +“The accident happened,” she cut in, unwilling to be shielded from any +responsibility. + +“Considering the fact it has meant so much to me, I—I don’t like to +speak of that as an accident,” he said. + +“But you have paid so much for so little,” she protested. + +He met her eyes again. + +“It’s been worth the cost and more,” he answered. + +“Oh!” + +They were silent a few moments, but Devons roused himself. He felt +these silences to be dangerous. + +“I didn’t mean to go into all those sorry details,” he apologized. + +“But I asked you to,” she reminded him. “I wanted to hear. It makes me +feel as though I’d lived a little of that myself.” + +“You?” + +“I used to feel that way when I listened to Mildred. It’s something to +live a little, even at second hand.” + +“But surely—” + +“Let’s not talk about me,” she interrupted. “I want to hear more about +what you’re going to do next.” + +“I must see Sawyer next,” he said simply. “I must go on from where I +left off. And I must start soon now. I’m eager to get back.” + +“You see!” she exclaimed. + +“See?” + +“Even you—after just a few weeks here—find it stupid.” + +His lips came together. He had allowed her to persuade him into telling +of the old dreams, but he must be very careful not to be enticed to +tell the new. Besides, he was not very clear about them himself. They +were only vague. He must keep them so, even though when he sat near her +like this they tended to become concrete. That, however, was against +his will. He was not here as her social equal. Even Mrs. Fairburne +herself could not have seen that more clearly than he. But what Mrs. +Fairburne could not have seen was the possibility he saw that in time +these conditions might be changed. Give him a few years as he felt at +moments like this and there need be no gulf between them. He rose from +his easy-chair before the fire. + +“I ought to be back at work now!” he exclaimed. “I must write to Sawyer +to-day.” + +Only his right hand was still bandaged to his side, and he could not so +much as sign his name with his left. + +“You’ll let me write for you?” she asked quickly. + +He did not like to call upon her for even as slight a service as +this, but without giving him time to reply, she stepped to a little +writing-desk in the corner, picked up a pen, and held it poised above +the paper. + +“I’m ready,” she smiled. + + * * * * * + +It was not easy for him to dictate, because he was not accustomed to +it, and because every time he paused for the right word she met his +eyes—and then he thought of nothing else for a dizzy second but those +eyes. If, in trying to escape these, he turned his gaze to the letter +itself, he saw only her white hand. It was soft and tender; he could +think of nothing else then but that. When he turned away from her +altogether and stared out of the window, her presence so filled the +room that he thought of nothing but that. So it was rather a wobbly +letter. In it he said scarcely more than that he had been delayed from +coming up to see him, but hoped within a week to make it, and that if +in the meanwhile he saw any opening for him, he hoped he would write in +care of— + +He paused, because he did not know his present address. Joan filled it +in for him herself and in a very businesslike way read over the letter. +Then he told her how to address the envelope, and she did that and put +on a stamp. + +“It’s a chance, anyhow,” he concluded. + +“For what?” she asked directly. + +“To earn a living, at least.” + +“But what of your invention?” she exclaimed. + +“That must wait.” + +“Again?” + +“For some later date,” he smiled. + +“Until you can save enough—” + +“Or until Reed cares to furnish the capital,” he interrupted. + +He did not like to discuss this with her. He wanted to sweep it all +aside now and talk of other things. With that letter written, his stay +here seemed for the first time to be coming to a definite end. He +realized it with a shock. + +“If you could have that mailed, I—I could forget it for a little,” he +said. + +But her thoughts were centered on something else—something that quite +took away her breath. + +“Capital?” she repeated slowly. “That’s—just money?” + +“That’s all,” he answered. + +“Then if you had money—your invention would not have to wait?” + +“I’d start manufacturing myself,” he explained simply. + +“You need a great deal?” + +“Not very much to begin in a small way. In a year or two I might save +enough—” + +“But if you had the money now you could begin now!” + +“Yes.” + +“Oh,” she exclaimed impulsively, “if you’d only let me help!” + +She paused abruptly—her cheeks scarlet. Then, before he had time to +catch his breath, she ran on: + +“If you’d only let me get the money for you. I’m sure I could, and it +could be a loan.” + +She saw his jaws come together. She was afraid of that. + +“Or it could be just—a business arrangement. Isn’t there something +called a—a silent partner?” + +She had risen to her feet and was standing before him now. + +He saw nothing but her eyes again, and that made it difficult for him +to think. + +Yet it was necessary, as never before in his life, for Devons to think +clearly. The girl before him had made her offer in all sincerity. To +dismiss it with a smile, as one does the impulsive suggestion of a +child, though it partook of that nature, was impossible. It would hurt +her. But he had only to repeat to himself the proposal to realize its +essential absurdity. She was to raise for him the capital to start his +business and act as his silent partner. She, who knew nothing whatever +about business, was to assume the risk refused by experienced business +men. Considered in cold blood, the proposition answered itself. + +But here was the difficulty: it had not been made in that spirit, and +could not be handled in that spirit. In cold blood? Good Lord, no one +but a dead man could face Joan Fairburne so, as she stood within arm’s +reach, her face flushed with the excitement of the moment, every sense +alert. + +“You are wonderful!” exclaimed Devons. + +“No! No!” she protested, with a slight frown. “It isn’t—that. If +anything, I’m selfish about it. Don’t you see—it will give me a chance +to do something.” + +“You?” + +“It will give me an interest outside. My share in it would be small. +Money is such a little thing. All the work—all the fighting to make +the business a success—that would be yours. But it would be something +to know I’d helped that much. It would be something to be able to look +on with a personal interest in the outcome.” + +“But if it failed?” said Devons. + +“Failed?” she asked in astonishment. + +And Devons felt ashamed of himself for the suggestion. It was as though +Reed had spoken through him. Worse. He doubted if even Reed could have +conceived such a possibility standing in his place. With her as a +partner, a man could not fail: and Devons knew it. It was not merely +money she would put into the firm. In one of those fantastic pictures +that flash before one at moments of high tension he saw a prospectus: +“The Devons Manufacturing Company; capital, Joan Fairburne, fully paid +in and non-assessable.” That was worth a million dollars and more. Even +now, at this moment, he felt his strength multiplied a thousand times. + +“No; I would not fail!” he answered sharply. + +“Then it’s all settled?” she said in relief. + +“Only as dreams are settled,” he answered, getting a grip on himself. +“I wish I could make you understand—without hurting you. You don’t know +how much just the offer from you means to me. I can go back now with +all the enthusiasm of having a partner—even without having one.” + +He saw her wince. + +“Joan,” he broke out,—using the name unconsciously,—“Joan, all I can +say over and over again is that you’re wonderful. Even if you don’t +understand. But a man couldn’t do such a thing as you suggest. He’d be +a cad and worse. I’m here only by sufferance. You spoke once of the +cost. It’s been worth that many times over just to know you. I must +tell you that much. I’ll go back now able to do five years’ work in +one. If you’ll just keep on being—the sort of partner you are now, that +will be enough. Don’t you understand—a little?” + +“I want to help,” she said simply. “I want something to do.” + +“If you only knew—” + +Devons cut himself short. He must be careful. His thoughts were running +wild. He saw clearly now the face of the woman of his dreams; it was +she; it was Joan; it was this girl who wanted to be his silent partner. +And the reason she could not be that was because he wanted more of her +than that—many, many times more. + +He made for the door. He dared not stay longer with her. + + + + + CHAPTER XII + + JOAN & CO. + + +Left alone, Joan tried to review calmly the situation which had +developed so unexpectedly and dramatically. She had acted quite on the +spur of the moment. Indeed, looking back upon it she realized that it +would have been impossible to have done what she did in any other way. +Yet now that she had time to think it over, she regretted nothing. She +had done a bold thing and she was proud of having done it. It left her +with a sense of freedom. For once she had acted on her own initiative. + +Neither, in spite of his attitude, was she discouraged. Of course he +would look at it at first just as he had looked at it. That was due +partly to the Western pride of which he rather boasted—the pride that +made his father prefer to starve than accept a favor—and partly to +the fact that he could not appreciate her position. He considered her +only as an irresponsible young lady acting, perhaps, in a moment of +sentiment. That was natural enough, even though it was disappointing. +She had thought the last few weeks would have counted for more than +that. + +Still she placed a great deal of confidence in his gray eyes. Though +his lips had stiffened, she had seen the eyes respond. She had seen +them quicken at her suggestion in a way that startled her. Even as he +left the room so abruptly she had seen them alive—as alive as the glint +of sunlight on steel. It was as though they told the truth against his +will; as though they were willing to accept her offer, though the lips +refused. And the eyes were the soul, while the lips were merely the man. + +They had brought the color to her face—those eyes. She had felt her +cheeks burn. She could not quite explain that. Doubtless it was merely +the excitement of the moment. It was a big thing she was reaching +for—nothing less than a chance to get out of her prison. Leaning +forward toward the flames, elbow on knee and chin in hand, she allowed +her thoughts to take their own course for a moment. She saw the +business started in some little factory tucked away in a far corner of +the city. She was rather vague as to what the business was. That did +not matter. All business was vague. She saw Devons at work there with +his fine enthusiasm, and saw the little factory grow into a bigger one, +and then into a still bigger. But principally she saw the man back of +it, and felt the satisfaction of having herself a hand in his success. +Perhaps it might even be possible for her to help in some practical +way. She might be able to write letters for him. If she could do that— + +“Good-morning, Joan.” + +It was her mother who interrupted the pleasant reverie. She came in and +took the chair in which Devons had lately been sitting. + +“You are about early, my dear, are you not?” inquired Mrs. Fairburne. + +“Am I?” Joan answered uncomfortably. + +“It is only a little after eleven. However, I’m glad you are feeling so +much stronger. And this—Mr. Devons—is he not almost himself again?” + +Mrs. Fairburne arched her brows as she spoke. + +“Yes, Mother.” + +“Then?” + +“He is going, soon,” replied Joan. “I—I wish you had come to know him +better.” + +“I!” exclaimed Mrs. Fairburne. + +“He has had such a hard time of it all his life. And now—” + +Joan hesitated as she saw her mother’s face grow blank. If it had not +been for that she could have gone on quite naturally. She had grasped +at this opportunity to tell her the whole story. It was still necessary +because it was through her she must appeal to her father for funds, but +the difference was that she must do it awkwardly and self-consciously +now. + +“He—he has always been handicapped because he had no money,” explained +Joan. + +“Really?” + +It was surprising what effects Mrs. Fairburne managed to produce by the +simple use of monosyllabic interrogations. Just at present it placed +her on some distant pinnacle almost out of ear-shot. + +“You see I knew his cousin Mildred in college. I learned through her +what—it means to be like that. He has an invention—” + +“He?” + +“Mr. Devons,” explained Joan uneasily. “It has something to do with +leather, and just because he hasn’t any capital he can’t use it.” + +The girl paused a moment and looked to her mother’s eyes. Mrs. +Fairburne merely waited. Yet in spite of lack of encouragement Joan +tried to break through—tried because she felt so sincerely what she +wished to say. + +“So I told him I thought I could do something,” she ran on, quite out +of breath. “I told him I’d get some money for him. Mother—can’t you +help me?” + +“You offered to supply him with funds?” gasped Mrs. Fairburne. + +“So that he could get started.” + +“And he accepted your offer?” + +“No. He hasn’t accepted it. He said he couldn’t accept it.” + +“That much is in his favor,” observed Mrs. Fairburne coldly. + +“But if we made it easier for him—” + +“My dear,” cut in Mrs. Fairburne, “the whole idea is absurd. I trust +you will not go to your father with it. Let us keep it a secret between +ourselves.” + +“That means you’ll not help?” + +“Joan! You disturb me. Really you must put the whole matter out of your +head at once.” + +“Then you think it would do no good to see father?” + +“I am quite sure it would only shock him. He was quite against having +this Mr. Devons in the house from the first. It was only upon the +medical advice of Dr. Nichols that he consented at all. Now if he +should learn—but, Joan, surely you are not considering such a thing?” + +Joan rose. She shook her head wearily. + +“I’m afraid you are right; he wouldn’t understand.” + +“This affair has tired you, dear,” said Mrs. Fairburne. “I’m not at all +surprised. You’d better go to your room and lie down a little. And I +feel that the sooner Mr. Devons is able to leave—” + +Joan smiled. + +“You needn’t worry about his staying any longer than is necessary,” she +observed. “I’m sure he finds us all very stupid.” + +With that Joan retired to her room, but not to lie down. She had not +spoken in anger. She meant, however, exactly what she said. To a man +like Devons how other could her world appear but a stupid little +world filled with stupid people? He had been here a month now with an +opportunity to study her and her parents in the intimate setting of +their daily lives. He had watched them at the petty routine of their +complacent and guarded round of dining and card-playing, the opera or +the theater. He had seen the uneventful days follow the uneventful +hours with the assurance that this would continue indefinitely. In the +meanwhile the great live city all about them, the city where men and +women grew through struggle, scarcely reached their consciousness. Even +when they glanced over their morning and evening papers, they read as +at a play. If by any chance the city was brought closer to them—as in +the presence of Devons—they resented it as an intrusion. + +It was in this life they wished to fix her. They meant for the best. +She knew that. For them it spelled safety. But they did not take into +account her great need—the need born of Youth—which is not for the safe +things, but the venturesome things. It is only because of Youth that +the world dares go on. It is in Youth that men go to sea in boats; that +men go to war; that men search the far places. And some part in this is +given to women—if only the waiting part. + +Looking from her window, Joan felt the call—the call of the bold and +the blessed unwise. It flushed her cheeks and stiffened her muscles +and bred strange thoughts in her. Once again she was back in the +midst of life with Devons, helping him in the clash with reality. It +gave new meaning to the little side street in front of her which led +to the broad avenue, which in turn led to all the thousand and other +streets—big and little—which make New York. Though for the moment it +seemed as though she had been balked utterly in her desires, she felt a +sense of fresh courage. She had made her proposal to her mother quite +without result and knew that under those circumstances it was futile to +go to her father. That left her no one to whom to turn—but Dicky. + +No one but Dicky! She caught her breath at the inspired suggestion. +After all, Dicky was some one. In his way he was very much some one. +Whenever she wished to think of him at his best, as she did now, she +went back to that picture of him standing by her machine on that +eventful afternoon when she left Delmonico’s. He had bared his head and +said simply: + +“I’d rather you felt you had some one—always ready—to call on.” + +Though she was never sure in some things that Dicky meant what he said, +she had believed with her whole heart that he meant this. As she drove +off and left him there, she was very glad he had spoken so, though it +seemed scarcely probable then that ever it would be necessary for +her to call upon him. She had even wished that it might be necessary +because she thought it might please him, and she had desired then as +never before to please him in some way. + +Now here was her opportunity, and his opportunity, and Devons’s +opportunity. She knew little about Dicky’s business except that he +had an office downtown with his father, whom she had heard spoken of +vaguely as a manufacturer. She knew little because it concerned Dicky +little and her less. She could not have named the source of income of +a half-dozen of her many friends. Some of them went downtown in the +morning and some of them did not. It would have been difficult for her +to separate them into even this broad division. It was assumed they all +had ample means, and she gave no further thought than that to their +affairs. + +It was assumed Dicky had ample means. That meant he had sufficient to +do whatever he wished. So that to ask him for that mysterious symbol of +money termed “capital” was not to ask him for anything very much. It +involved no great sacrifice on his part and it need be nothing but in +the nature of a loan. + +She lunched in her room that day because she wished to avoid seeing +Devons again until she had something definite to tell him. Then she +dressed with a little more care than usual because she knew Dicky had +a weakness for such things, and if she was going to ask a favor of +him it was no more than right that she should do in her turn what she +could to please him. So she allowed Henriette to do as she pleased, +and whenever Henriette was given that privilege she produced extremely +charming results. This afternoon she chose a crêpe-de-chine of African +brown that had touches of orange in the waist and girdle. The skirt +of a panier effect went no lower than the top of Joan’s trim ankles, +affording a piquant contrast of grandmother’s time and to-day. + +Dicky came at three-thirty, and the moment he laid eyes on her he +was conscious of a change in her attitude, which to him was most +encouraging. It was as though she were really glad to see him again. +When she offered her hand, it was not merely a social convention, but +as a friend might offer her hand. He took into account, too, the fact +that she was dressed as though ready to go out once more. It gave him +the courage to present without delay his mother’s invitation. + +“Have you any engagement for Thursday afternoon?” he asked as soon as +they were seated. + +“No,” she answered hesitatingly. “I have not been making any +engagements at all.” + +“This is a very particular one,” he assured her. “It is from mother to +come to tea at the house.” + +“Your mother? It is sweet of her to ask me,” she replied. It brought +home to her, as a rather curious truth, the fact that she had never +happened to meet either Mr. or Mrs. Burnett. But in the younger set one +did not often meet the elders unless they entertained. And unless they +had daughters, they did not entertain much. + +“You will come?” he asked earnestly. + +“Why, yes, Dicky,” she agreed, as though searching for a meaning. + +“I told her a little something about you,” he explained. + +“There is so very little to tell about me,” she laughed uneasily. + +“There’s a great deal,” he contradicted. “More than a man could tell in +a book.” + +“On Thursday, then,” she concluded as though to check further parley +along this line. + +But he could not at that moment be checked so abruptly. + +“I told her how beautiful you were and—that you would not marry me.” + +“You told her that?” she gasped. + +Dicky nodded. + +“She came to my room and asked.” + +“I—I suppose she thinks me horrid, then.” + +“No,” he smiled. “Only she does not understand it. That’s why I want +her to meet you—so she will understand.” + +“Dicky!” she exclaimed with a choke in her voice. + +“As soon as she knows you, she will realize how much too good you are +for me,” he went on seriously. + +“It isn’t so!” + +“You will see. She is very wise in her quiet way—that mother of mine. +You will like her.” + +“I’m sure I shall like her,” she replied. + +Then for a few minutes the conversation turned to other things—to +trivial things as he tried to be entertaining. As she listened and +smiled, she kept wondering if after all it was going to be possible +for her to ask of him what she had planned to ask. At one moment it +did, and at the next it did not. Though she did not know it, this +abstraction was reflected in her eyes, and he, keenly alert to every +passing change in her, noted this. So in the end it was he who put the +question to her. He paused abruptly in his light talk and asked: + +“What are you worrying about, Joan?” + +She started. This was her opportunity, and yet she shied away from it. + +“I’m not worrying, Dicky,” she answered. + +“But there’s something on your mind.” + +“Yes,” she admitted. + +“Something you don’t want to tell me about?” + +“Something I do want to tell you about,” she returned. + +“Then—” + +“It’s something I want to ask you to do.” + +“Fine!” he exclaimed. + +“Only I don’t know how to ask.” + +“The way to ask is to ask,” he suggested. + +“But I’m afraid—oh, Dicky, if you think it queer of me, or if you don’t +want to do it, you’ll be frank?” + +She leaned forward impulsively with her hands clasped before her. + +“I can’t conceive myself as not doing anything you may ask,” he replied. + +“No matter how unusual it is?” + +“No matter what it is.” + +“You’ll promise to use your own judgment and not do it—just because of +me?” + +“I’ll promise beforehand to do it.” + +“Then, Dicky,” she said, blurting it out at once, because the longer +she talked about it the less courage she had,—“Then, Dicky, I—I want +you to loan me some money.” + +It took away his breath for a moment. + +“Money!” he gasped. + +It was as absurd a request on the face of it as though she asked for +bread. + +“And,” she went on, “it’s something mother doesn’t approve of.” + +Dicky gave a low whistle. + +“At least that sounds interesting,” he admitted. + +“It’s business,” she explained hastily. “I’m going to be a sort of +silent partner.” + +“Business?” he asked suspiciously. + +He thought of the market. He had heard of women who played stocks on a +margin—the easy victims of unscrupulous operators. It was not like Joan +to do a thing of that nature. + +“How much do you want?” he asked. + +“I don’t know. Maybe five thousand; maybe more,” she hurried on. + +“Right,” he nodded. “When do you want it?” + +“Perhaps within a week.” + +He nodded again. + +“I’ll get it for you.” + +“Of course it’s only a loan,” she said. + +And here Dicky thought a moment. He did not want to make it a loan. If +she borrowed the money and lost it—as at the moment it seemed to him +more than probable she would—he did not choose to have her left with +the worry. On the other hand, he saw no practical way of giving it to +her. This brought him to the question of just what her object was, +anyway, in wanting to try to make money. Still he did not like to ask +her. It was a delicate matter. + +“Look here,” he exclaimed, “why don’t you let me in on the deal?” + +“You?” + +“I don’t want to know the details,” he assured her. “I’d rather not +know them. You can act as the promoter and I’ll furnish the capital. +Then we can go divvies on the profits.” + +“You mean that, Dicky Burnett?” + +“Certainly. I’ll be just another silent partner.” + +“And you don’t even want to know what I’m going to do with the money?” +she asked, with warming eyes. + +“No,” he answered. “Then I won’t be tempted to give you good advice.” + +“Dicky,” she exclaimed, “you’re—you’re a peach!” + +Different people place, of course, different values upon money. But as +far as Dicky was concerned, he received right then and there adequate +return on his prospective investment. It may have been an expensive +luxury and one he could not afford every day, but that had nothing to +do with intrinsic values. It was worth the money just to see the honest +admiration in her eyes—to grasp the hot hand she impulsively extended +to him. + +“You’re so good, Dicky,” she added. “You kind of make me ache.” + +“It’s a bargain, then?” he asked, with his head swimming before her. + +“A bargain,” she agreed. + +“Joan & Co.,” he repeated to himself. “Sounds kind of nice, doesn’t it?” + +“It ought to be Dicky & Co.” + +“No, because it’s your proposition. I have a notion it’s rather going +to please Dad to learn I’ve gone into business for myself.” + +“He must know?” + +“In some ways it’s rather essential,” he admitted. “But he needn’t know +any more than that. You—you don’t need a bookkeeper or anything, do +you?” + +“No,” she answered. “There aren’t any books yet.” + +“You might keep me in mind for the position,” he suggested. + +“I’d be glad if there was something of the sort for me to do,” she said. + +He shook his head. + +“You mustn’t let this take all your time. You aren’t going downtown at +ten in the morning?” + +“I’m afraid it won’t be necessary.” + +“If it should be, I hope the company fails.” + +“No, no, you mustn’t say things like that.” + +She looked so genuinely concerned that he smiled. + +“There’ll have to be directors’ meetings every so often, anyway,” he +reminded her. + +“Yes?” + +“Once a week,” he suggested. “I think Delmonico’s would be a good +place.” + +“All right, Dicky,” she consented. + +So within five minutes he secured an extra dividend of at least one +hundred per cent. He was beginning to realize that this bade fair to be +one of the best investments of his life. + +She was still standing, and her eyes strayed often to the door. + +“I think we’d better adjourn now,” she said. + +“Very well,” he assented. “Until when?” + +“Until I tell you.” + +“But there’s Thursday.” + +“I won’t forget.” + +“That, however, is not a business meeting.” + +He took her hand again, though he had no particular warrant for it. + +“Here’s good luck to Joan & Co.,” he concluded, as he pressed it. + +“Especially the Co.,” she smiled. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + + A CHALLENGE + + +Devons had no business to be impatient because Joan remained below +with a visitor three quarters of an hour. Considering the fact that +only a few hours before he had rather ignominiously retreated from +her presence, it did not seem to be good judgment to begin, almost +immediately afterwards, to look forward to an opportunity to place +himself again in jeopardy of her eyes. Yet that was exactly what he did. + +He was not satisfied with the way he had handled that situation. In +the first place, he should have stood his ground and fought through to +a finish no matter what the outcome. He discovered this the moment he +found himself back in his room. Leaving as he did, nothing whatever had +been settled. Sooner or later he must have everything to do all over +again. + +What the deuce had been the matter with him? Pacing the floor, he tried +to review the proposition sensibly. She had offered to furnish him with +the capital to put his dressing on the market—to enter into a simple +business arrangement with him. She had done this because of a desire to +have an active interest outside the petty routine of her present life. +He had assumed that this was a risk he was not justified in allowing +her to take. But as a matter of fact, was it a risk? Had the offer +come from a man he would not have hesitated. He knew what he had—the +best and cheapest article of its kind in the world. Even Reed had +not disputed that. Reed had been frightened off by his unwillingness +to give battle to this man Burnett, whoever he was. And that did not +influence Devons in the slightest. It was like a challenge. That was +the West in him—the youth in him. Let the conflict narrow down to an +individual, and he was at his best. Give him the money to work with, +and he would put in the rest—himself. That was what Reed did not have. +He had only the money. + +Considered, then, purely as a business proposition, he stood unafraid. +If the money came from any other source, he would have accepted it. +Then what the deuce was the matter with him? + +He asked the question, but even as he asked it he knew the answer. Down +deep in his heart he knew the answer. It was only a matter of admitting +it. Now, suddenly, squaring his shoulders he faced the truth. He had +dared allow himself to love this woman. He, Mark Devons, a penniless +young adventurer from the West, had ventured to turn his eyes upwards +to the stars and stare overlong at the whitest-burning one of them all. +Thrust unwarrantedly into her life, he had absorbed so much of it that +his head had been turned. For hours after she left him he had permitted +himself to feel that he belonged where he was—that she was not +impossible. It was only when he saw the inevitable end of it that he +realized, and then it was too late. Not too late for her, but for him. +If he kept his head steady, it was not too late for her. Thank God, his +lips had remained sealed. Thank God, he had given her no inkling of +how he felt. He had looked into her eyes and grown dizzy, but he had +remained dumb. That covered the present, but what of the future? + +Here was where he had certain inalienable rights. Here was where it +was his privilege to fly as high and as wild as he chose. Let him get +back to his work, and he might hitch his wagon even to such a star +as this. Give him half an opportunity, and he would win for her the +place to which she was entitled. Starting with nothing, it might have +looked like a long path to one in any other mood than this. But in this +mood, worlds had been conquered in months. He had read all his life +of fortunes made in a few years in New York. It was being done every +day. The first thousand, some one had said, was the difficult thousand. +After that it was easy to make it into ten; then still easier to turn +that into a hundred thousand, and so swiftly to jump to a million. He +would need all that for her and more. + +If he had the capital to-day! That is what she offered him. And to her +it meant so little. Yet because this fight was his fight and his alone, +he must refuse it. He should have stood his ground before her and +settled that once for all. He must see her again as soon as possible +and settle that. Had he stood his ground before, it would be all +settled now. + +For a half-hour after he had reached this decision—a decision that left +him with his shoulders squared—he was forced to wait his opportunity to +see her. He had sent Jeffrey to find her and the latter had reported: + +“Miss Fairburne is at present with a guest in the drawing-room, sir.” + +“Will you let me know as soon as she is free?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +But Jeffrey’s services were not needed. As soon as Devons heard the +front door close, he immediately went downstairs only to find her +coming upstairs to meet him. + +“Oh, do come into the drawing-room!” she exclaimed. “Everything is all +settled.” + +He followed her below and into the big room with the open fire. And if +at this momentous conference he had spoken the words that first sprang +to his lips, he would have said only: + +“How beautiful you are.” + +“That was Dicky,” she announced. + +The name meant nothing to him. There was no particular reason why he +should have immediately disliked it. + +“I have known Dicky a great many years,” she went on to explain. Had +she been fifty or seventy-five that statement would have been a good +deal more reassuring than it was under the circumstances. + +“Hasn’t he any last name?” he inquired. + +“Yes,” she admitted. “But that’s a secret. You will understand in a +minute. Dicky is very, very nice.” + +That, from Devons’s point of view, was if anything against him. + +“So I told him what I wanted.” + +Devons frowned. This was altogether too personal a matter to confide in +any one else. + +“I told him I wanted to go into business, and somehow Dicky seemed to +understand,” she hurried on. “I didn’t even tell him what the business +was. He said he didn’t want to know. But what he did ask was if he +could not share it with me. He wanted—to be a silent partner himself.” + +“He did?” + +“So he offered to furnish the capital and let me do what I chose with +it.” + +“As a partner?” questioned Devons. + +“Yes,” she nodded. “Only he did not wish to have anything to do with +the business itself.” + +Devons appeared perplexed. + +“It sounds queer,” he answered. “Are you sure you understood him?” + +“It wouldn’t sound queer if you knew Dicky.” + +“He has a great deal of money?” + +“He—he seems to have all he needs,” she answered. + +“Then perhaps that explains it,” concluded Devons. + +“But I don’t see the need of an explanation of any sort,” she replied +with spirit. “And I’m sure if he had more business it would be better +for him. He is to bring me five thousand dollars at once.” + +“Five thousand dollars!” gasped Devons. + +That in itself was a fortune. + +“Then as much as we need,” she ran on. + +“As much as we need,” he said over after her. + +It sounded like one of those stories he used to dream. + +“It certainly is mighty decent of this Dicky,” he added thoughtfully. + +It was all that and a little something more. A man, no matter how much +money he had, was not apt to invest blindly five thousand dollars +unless he had a great deal of confidence in his agent—a great deal more +confidence than was common in the everyday business venture. In this +particular instance it was obvious that this generous trust was not +based upon the wide experience of the agent or any reputation acquired +by her from past successes. Clearly it was in the nature of a blind +faith not usually associated with financial deals. And yet, put himself +in the position of this Dicky, and he had a notion it was just the sort +of thing he would have done himself. He would have looked upon it as an +opportunity. Here was a fair explanation, but it brought him up with a +start. + +“You aren’t going to think up any more objections, are you?” she asked. + +“I seem to be in the minority now,” he answered. + +“Then,” she said, “can’t we call it all settled?” + +Devons drew a deep breath. He met her eyes a moment, and then as he +fought free of them it was as though standing behind her he met the +eyes of this man Dicky. And it was as though the latter were smiling a +challenge. It was as though the latter said to him this: “Well, will +you fight for her, or shall I take her?” + +There was just one way. He could not wait a decade now. He must seize +this opportunity, however distasteful on general grounds it was—however +unusual. Perhaps the man had made the offer in the assurance that he, +Devons, would fail, anyhow. The thought acted like a blow on the cheek. + +“We’ll call it settled,” answered Devons. + +“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I’m so glad!” + +“But we must work hard—partner.” + +Her cheeks grew scarlet. He saw her eyes spring alight. + +“As hard as ever we can,” she nodded. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV + + PUMPKIN PIE + + +There was pumpkin pie on the _carte de jour_ that Thursday. Offhand one +might have said that nothing was less likely to influence the lives +of half a dozen residents of New York City. It is very probable that +the proprietors of the hotel and the chef who put it there would have +denied vigorously having any ulterior design and would, before a court +of law, have disclaimed all responsibility. Doubtless they would have +been sustained by the judge. + +However, there was pumpkin pie on the _carte de jour_ that Thursday. As +Burnett picked up the card with indifferent interest, his eye fell upon +it. He glanced at his son sitting opposite him. + +“Your mother used to make the best pumpkin pie in the State of Maine,” +he observed. + +“So?” answered Dicky. + +The waiter was standing at Burnett’s shoulder with pad and pencil ready. + +“Give me some of that clear soup,” Burnett ordered. + +“And whole wheat bread, sir?” + +“Yes,” nodded Burnett. + +He hesitated after that. + +“The haddock is very good, sir, and not fattening, as you might say.” + +“I’ll try some.” + +“Very well, sir.” + +With that the waiter was for hurrying off. + +Burnett stopped him. “I’d like to try a piece of that pumpkin pie, +Dicky,” he faltered. “Just to see how it compares with your mother’s.” + +“Go ahead,” consented Dicky. + +“A piece of pumpkin pie, John,” Burnett ordered grandly. + +He actually rubbed his hands together in anticipation, and was +immediately in better humor with himself than for a week. That is what +counted. That is where the pumpkin pie played its part. + +“Forsythe handed me the January statement this morning,” he said to +Dicky. “Best month in the history of the company.” + +“Fine!” + +“Ought to beat it this month.” + +“Hope you do.” + +Decidedly this seemed to be the moment for which Dicky had been waiting. + +“By the way, Dad,” he began, “I have something I want to talk over with +you.” + +“The girl?” + +“Not exactly. It’s business.” + +“Eh?” + +“I have a chance to get into something good.” + +“Look here, my boy, you aren’t fooling with the Street?” + +Dicky smiled. + +“No, Dad. I’ll leave that game to you. This is something different.” + +“What is it?” + +“The devil of it is I can’t tell you. A friend of mine—” + +Burnett raised his brows. + +“Not the usual kind of friend,” Dicky hastened to explain. “This is a +friend I’d trust my life with. She—er—he wants me to go in as a silent +partner.” + +“In what?” + +“I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you. But it promises big. It promises to +be the biggest thing in my life.” + +“Sounds a bit queer,” exclaimed Burnett. + +“Yes,” admitted Dicky, “it does. But if I give you my word that it +isn’t—” + +“I don’t want your word. How much do you need?” + +“Five thousand.” + +“When?” + +“Now.” + +Burnett drew a check-book from his pocket and wrote the check. It was +done so unhesitatingly, so simply, that Dicky felt almost ashamed to +accept it. + +“That’s white of you, Dad,” he exclaimed. + +Burnett raised a portion of the pie to his mouth and tasted it +critically. + +“It isn’t as good as your mother’s,” he decided. “But it’s almighty +good.” + + + + + CHAPTER XV + + LIKE NAPOLEON + + +It was this same Thursday, too, that Joan came to the house to tea. +She came at four o’clock looking radiant. It was a proud moment for +Dicky when he introduced her to his mother because he knew Joan was +justifying in every detail the most enthusiastic description of her he +had ever given. It was difficult to understand how it was possible for +Joan to grow any younger than she always was, but she looked younger; +it was difficult to understand how she could look any fresher than +she always did, but this afternoon she accomplished in some way that +feat also. For one thing her eyes were wider open than they sometimes +were, and instead of merely listening in a half-amused, half-critical +fashion, she herself dominated the conversation. This, to be sure, +relegated him more or less to the background, but he was content to +have it so. + +It was quite evident that in some mysterious way the older woman and +the younger woman formed an instant liking one for the other. Dicky +had expected each to admire the other and, given time, had anticipated +a formal friendship, but it was as though in minutes they spanned +months. The moment their hands clasped and their eyes met, the two +seemed to have come to some sort of an agreement. It puzzled him. +Beyond the fact that they were two women and each in her way quite +perfect, they had no common bond between them. He had been rather +afraid that his mother, in her old-fashioned way, might not be able +at once to penetrate to the woman in Joan, and he had suspected that +Joan, in her turn, might be at first confused by his mother’s quaint +frankness. But before he knew it, here they were seated at their tea +in front of the fire, talking so directly one to the other that he was +more or less on the outside. + +This, because of the subject-matter, was more or less embarrassing. +There were moments when if possible he would have fled. Because in less +than five minutes his mother had revealed her one weakness and dragged +in him, Dicky, and the adventures of his infancy and early youth as the +major topic. How it happened, Lord knows. At the beginning he tried +to switch her off. It was entirely useless, because it was apparent +that she was being aided and abetted by Joan herself. The latter even +rebuked him openly. + +“Dicky,” she said, when once he endeavored to turn the subject to the +weather, “Dicky, it is not polite to interrupt like that.” + +“I know, but—” + +She turned her back upon him and gave his mother her cue. + +“So he came to the head of the stairs in his nighty—” + +His mother, thus encouraged, went on. Nothing could have been more +puerilely inane than that episode of how Dicky at the age of four came +downstairs one evening in that garb and entertained two of his father’s +business friends who had come to talk over very important matters. It +seems that his father did him up in an overcoat, put him in a chair, +and made him an _ex-officio_ director of the proposed company. + +Of course one such yarn inevitably led to another. Before the close of +the afternoon Joan was in possession of a first-hand report of most of +the fool things he had ever done up to the time he went to college. The +only feature upon which he could congratulate himself was that at this +point the narrative inevitably ended, although he could not say as much +about all the fool things. + +And yet, when it came time to go, Joan actually told his mother with +all evidence of sincerity that she had thoroughly enjoyed the afternoon. + +“And,” she added, “you’ll let me come again and hear more?” + +“There isn’t any more,” put in Dicky. + +“I’m sure there is,” she smiled. + +“If you keep on I’ll get your mother in a corner some day,” he +threatened. + +“I’m afraid anything she might tell of me would only bore you,” she +returned. + +“You don’t know how much she might make up.” + +Mrs. Burnett appeared disturbed. + +“Dicky,” she protested, “every one of those things was true.” + +“I know they were and he knows it too,” Joan sided with her, taking her +hand. “Some day soon I may run in quite informally, may I?” + +“You’ll always be welcome here,” answered Mrs. Burnett. + +There was something in her voice that made the girl look up, not at +her, but at Dicky. But he, inhospitably enough, was apparently only +anxious to help her leave. So, suddenly, she kissed Mrs. Burnett on the +cheek and went out with him. + +In the car she proceeded to scold. + +“I don’t think you treat your mother as nicely as you should,” she +declared. + +“You mean I shouldn’t throw her downstairs!” he exclaimed. + +“You know what I mean. She is very fond of you, Dicky.” + +“You speak as though there was something unnatural about that.” + +“And she is very proud of you. At times it was almost as though she +were talking about Napoleon.” + +“You oughtn’t to blame me for that,” he protested. + +“I’m not blaming you, only you might try—” + +“She wouldn’t at all approve of me if I were really like Napoleon,” he +broke in. + +“In some things, perhaps not,” she hastened to admit. “I shouldn’t +myself. But in some other things—” + +“I am,” he flattered himself. + +As though to prove it he drew from his pocket the check for five +thousand. He handed it to her with every evidence of satisfaction. She +merely rolled it into a little tube and placed it in her muff. + +“I shall send you a receipt for this,” she said. + +That was all—at a point when if encouraged in the slightest he would +have told her by what a nice bit of strategy—the strategy of the +pumpkin pie—he had secured this for her. He did not, however, volunteer +the story, and a few minutes later he was on the whole glad. He doubted +if it would have impressed her as humorous. He doubted next if it +really was humorous. After all he had meant what he said and his father +had meant what he said, and Joan had meant what she said. It had been a +serious transaction. + +At the house she did not ask him in as he hoped she might. Instead she +merely smiled an _au revoir_ to him as they stood in the open door with +Jeffrey near her at attention. He might not have thought much about +this, if at that moment, in glancing over her shoulder, he had not seen +coming down the broad stairs in the rear the figure of a young man with +his shoulder in bandages. The fellow met his eyes and paused. So for a +second they faced each other, questioning, wondering. + +Joan turned from Dicky at the door to Devons on the stair behind her +and then back to Dicky, with a feeling that the situation was tense out +of all proportion. For a moment she was confused and uncertain. She +did not know quite what to do. But Dicky did. His eyes came back to +hers and from them it would have been impossible to say if he had seen +Devons or not. + +“Let me know when you want me again,” he said. + +“Thank you, Dicky,” she exclaimed. + +With that he turned and went down the steps. With that, swinging his +stick lightly, he went down the street and around a corner. + + + + + CHAPTER XVI + + THE DEVONS MANUFACTURING COMPANY + + +Dr. Nichols relieved Devons from the burden of most of his bandages +on Sunday, and the latter, on Monday, after paying his respects to +Mrs. Fairburne, left the house in the same machine which had brought +him there. Mrs. Fairburne was with her daughter when Devons took his +departure and was forced to admit that Joan conducted herself in +every respect like a young lady of good sense and propriety. It was +quite apparent that in the end the Fairburne blood triumphed over all +sentimentality. Not that deep in her heart she had honestly feared +anything, but it was a relief to know that the unusual episode was now +ended so happily and definitely. She was sure that her bridge game +would immediately pick up. + +Charles, the driver, had considerable difficulty in locating Mullen +Court. So probably would any one who did not live there. The directions +are to go along lower Sixth Avenue until you come to a hole in a wall +and—there you are. The hole is not large enough to admit a machine. But +the trick is to find the hole. + +Charles passed it twice, and might have gone on passing it in both +directions all day if he had not stopped and roused Devons from his +reverie. The latter, sitting back in the corner of the soft-cushioned +tonneau, had been so busy with his thoughts that he did not even glance +from the window. When he heard the voice of Charles it was like being +suddenly awakened. + +“I beg your pardon, sir, but I see no street sign with Mullen Court on +it.” + +“I don’t believe there is one,” answered Devons. + +“Then, sir—” + +“We’re there now.” + +Charles looked about, bewildered. + +“Watch where I go and you’ll see. I shan’t need you any more to-day.” + +Charles saw him disappear through an opening in the wall which looked +as though it led into nothing but an alley. He made a note of this +information and it proved useful later on. + +As a matter of fact, however, the opening led into a little courtyard +and to a group of three or four houses facing it. Devons ascended a +short flight of steps bounded by an iron rail and hurried to the second +floor. He paused a moment to rap at Arkwright’s door. + +“Come in!” shouted Arkwright. + +Devons stepped in. Arkwright jumped to his feet. + +“For the love of Mike!” he exclaimed; “Devons or his ghost!” + +Devons backed away from the outstretched hand. + +“Careful of my shoulder,” he warned. “It’s just out of bandages.” + +“Eh? What the deuce has happened to you? Here.” + +Arkwright shoved forward a chair. + +“Sit down and tell us about it. I thought you must have gone West.” + +“I’ve been right here in New York all the time.” + +“You’re looking fine, man. A bit of luck?” + +“In a sense.” + +“Great. I’ve been putting in a lot of time on that house of yours. I’ll +show it to you later. Have you come back to join us again or to say +good-bye?” + +“I’ve come back to go to work,” answered Devons. + +“Well, you certainly look fit. I was rather worried about you when you +were here last. What’s your prescription?” + +Devons grinned. + +“I’m not sure it would suit every one,” he answered. “But what I did +was to go out and get run down by an automobile.” + +“What?” + +“You have to use some judgment in selecting your machine,” explained +Devons. “I picked out a good one.” + +“You’re kidding?” + +“Not a mite. I was knocked unconscious and I was pretty well bruised, +but as a result of it all I never felt better in my life.” + +“Rather heroic treatment!” exclaimed Arkwright. “Did they take you to a +hospital?” + +“They took me to a palace and treated me like a prince,” replied Devons. + +“Now, look here—” protested Arkwright. + +“I’m telling the bald truth,” insisted Devons. “I wish you could have +seen that house, Arkwright. It reminded me something of the one you’re +doing. Miss Fairburne—” + +“Miss?” interrupted Arkwright. + +“She’s the daughter,” explained Devons. He grew self-conscious beneath +Arkwright’s smiling eyes. “What’s queer about that?” he demanded. + +“Nothing,” Arkwright hastened to assure him. “In fact it makes the +whole story more plausible. She is—er—attractive?” + +“She’s wonderful, Arkwright!” declared Devons. “She’s one in ten +thousand. I want you to meet her some day.” + +“Thanks. I’d like to. Bring her in and let her see my blue-prints.” + +“I’ll do that—if things turn out right,” Devons promised. + +He rose abruptly. It reminded him of the thousand and one details that +lay ahead of him. + +“I have my work cut out for the next few months,” he observed. “I’ll +see you later.” + +Arkwright went to the door with him. He liked the spark in the man’s +eyes; he liked the way he held his shoulders. + +“Gad!” he exclaimed. “You tempt a fellow to try the same sort of +bracer.” + +Devons went on up to his room with the springy step of a boy of +eighteen and unlocked his door. He hesitated, however, before going in. +It was like returning to the past, and for a second he had an uncanny +fear that once within he might be held here by this past. Arkwright +had not more than half believed, and Arkwright knew only a fraction +of the truth. Here was the same narrow, bare hallway he had left some +six weeks before, and once inside he would be facing even more barren +surroundings. What if then the whole episode should turn out to be +nothing but a flighty dream? It had happened before when he had come +back here. + +Devons drew back and fumbled for his inside pocket. The proof of the +truth, if there were any truth, would be found there. He pulled out two +or three letters—an old letter from home and the letter from Reed and +the letter from Sawyer. That was all he found. The color went from his +face. With trembling fingers he felt in his waistcoat pockets. In the +first two he found nothing; in the third he discovered a folded bit of +paper. He breathed normally again. Unfolding it he read the mysterious +message addressed to a certain national bank. + +“Pay to the order of Mark Devons one hundred dollars and no cents.” It +was signed, “Joan Fairburne.” She had started an account for the firm +before he left and insisted upon advancing him that much for current +expenses. + +He opened the door without fear now and stepped into the little room. +On the table lay his corn-cob pipe where he had left it; on the couch +bed were scattered his books, one open at the very page where he +had quit reading. Except for a couple of wooden chairs and his old +dress-suit-case, that was all the room contained. He crossed to the +single window and threw it open and let in the stinging clear winter +air. + +In contrast to the luxuries he had just left, the place, even with the +slip of green paper in his hand, depressed him. For a moment he caught +his breath and shrank back from it. Then he smiled. After all, if he +would only let it, this would give edge to all that lay ahead. Because +of what was to be he could show her what had been with the greater +relish. It was in that spirit men revisited the early scenes of their +boyhood hardships. + +Besides, he had no time to waste on this or any other kind of dreaming. +That was the difference between to-day and yesterday. That was the +significance of the check. He was in a position now to act. He had +before him certain definite things to do. In the first place, he must +find some sort of loft-room which would serve him as a laboratory. +Then he must secure a permit to use the type of chemicals that were +necessary. Then there were the chemicals to buy and certain apparatus. +He had planned these details many times in his mind and now he was to +accomplish them. + +His scheme was simple. It was to begin manufacturing by himself as +soon as he could equip his laboratory, and then, as fast as he had +stock enough on hand, take it personally to the small users in town and +supply enough to enable them to give it a thorough trial. The small +manufacturer would be willing to experiment with anything that promised +a twenty per cent reduction in price, besides better results. He had +several letters from professors at Tech under whom he had worked which +would introduce him anywhere and vouch for his reliability. So there +remained nothing to do but to go ahead. + +Devons returned to Arkwright. + +“Have you an account with any bank near here?” he inquired. + +“Such as it is,” admitted Arkwright. “How much do you want?” + +“I don’t want to borrow,” Devons answered quickly; “I want to open a +little account of my own. I thought you might introduce me.” + +“Glad to do it,” nodded Arkwright with a trace of relief. “I’ll go up +there now. But say—that doesn’t come of getting run over?” + +“Indirectly,” admitted Devons. “Through Miss Fairburne I found a +partner willing to furnish me with capital.” + +“Believe me,” returned Arkwright, “you’ve certainly discovered a fresh +and original way of getting on in New York. Here’s hoping your luck +lasts.” + +The experience of being introduced to a real live cashier behind a +grilled fence was, in itself, thrilling enough. With a brand-new +check-book of his own in his pocket, Devons came out feeling as +important as though instead of one hundred dollars he had deposited one +hundred thousand. There was nothing about the blank leaves to indicate +it was not the latter sum. A check-book is the most indiscreet thing in +the world. It always politely assumes its possessor is a millionaire. + +Devons left Arkwright at the imposing structure which was now his bank +and went on to a real-estate office he had privately visited before on +one of those idle days when he was waiting to hear from Reed. He had +spoken then in rather larger figures than he used now. He wanted, to +start with, a small space, but one that offered room for expansion. +And he found it there waiting for him as though his coming had been +anticipated. + +At the very top of a building, off Third Avenue, Dr. Dent had begun the +manufacture of a Universal Remedy on a scale which, though justified on +paper, did not work out in practice. There being some hundred million +inhabitants in these, the United States of America, the company had +estimated that at least a thousand bottles a day would be necessary to +supply the annual demand. This was allowing about one bottle to every +three hundred people. As a matter of fact, however, the demand was +considerably less and so a policy of retrenchment became necessary. +The firm having rented the entire floor was now ardently desirous of +sub-letting a portion of its space with a fair possibility of becoming +equally desirous, within six months, of sub-letting more unless the +American public suddenly turned more appreciative than it now showed +promise of doing. + +Devons accompanied the agent up there at once and found it exactly what +he wanted. And the price was right! Under the circumstances it had to +be. In less than an hour he had signed a lease for a year and arranged +for certain partitions to be erected and for an inscription upon the +door to read: + + =DEVONS MANUFACTURING COMPANY= + +All this was accomplished on the first day. + + + + + CHAPTER XVII + + UPTOWN AND DOWNTOWN + + +From a purely business point of view the letters Joan received from +Devons, during the next few weeks, were wholly satisfactory. No +promoter could have asked in a new enterprise for better progress upon +which to base reports to his clients. The very next morning after he +left she received the following note: + + MY DEAR MISS FAIRBURNE: + + I opened yesterday an account with the —— National Bank and would + suggest that you make a deposit there at once of fifteen hundred + dollars, so that I may draw on it for payment of lease and for + chemicals which I must purchase at once. I have secured most + desirable manufacturing quarters at 43 Blank Street and have ordered + certain necessary changes to be made there as soon as possible. I + hope, within a very short time, to be able to report to you that + active manufacturing on a small scale has begun. + + Very sincerely yours + MARK DEVONS + + +Certainly a business woman had no right to quarrel with such progress +as this. She had supposed that it would take Devons a fortnight, at +least, to recuperate sufficiently to be able even to consider plans for +the future. It would seem, then, that instead of being more or less +vexed after reading the note which Henriette handed her, with coffee +and toast, before she was dressed, she should have been highly elated. +It began to look as though at this rate the firm, within six months, +would be paying dividends. + +Joan ran through the note again. She had never before in her life +had anything so impersonal addressed to her. Had it been printed it +could not have sounded any more frigidly distant. He had deliberately +put in all the details about which she cared nothing and with equal +deliberation left out all that would have been interesting. What she +wanted to know was how he had stood the ride and if his shoulder felt +as stiff as it did on Sunday after the bandages were removed. He had +told her about Arkwright and she wanted to hear what Arkwright had +said to him when he came back and what he had said to Arkwright. And +she wanted to know if he had found everything in his room all right. +Particularly if he found his books about which he had worried. And if +there was a letter from home waiting for him. Unconsciously and bit +by bit he had made his life in Mullen Court extremely vivid to her +in their rambling conversations. It sounded like an impossible place +to live in, but interesting. He had left off, inevitably enough, +in his narrative of his life there at the point where he had joined +Arkwright in a cup of coffee and gone out to see Sawyer. She had looked +forward to a description of his home-coming as to a new installment +of a serial. And he had not said a word about it. He had cut her off +abruptly from everything but the sordid details of the business itself. +It was as though in going back into the world he had left her behind. + +She sent her check to the bank that morning and waited for the second +letter. It was possible, after all, that in the press of business he +had not found time to write more fully. She waited three days and +received the following: + + MY DEAR MISS FAIRBURNE: + + Thanks for the deposit. I have been extremely fortunate in being able + to secure, without waiting, my raw materials and machinery. I expect + to have the latter delivered within ten days. I enclose an inventory + of what I have contracted for. + +Then followed a page of weird-sounding chemicals and parts of machinery +with all the costs itemized. Nothing could have been more stupid. It +was as stupid as his close. + + Very sincerely yours + MARK DEVONS + + +It was stupid even to Dicky when, in a general way, she tried to give +him an idea of what was being done. + +“We’re getting on,” he nodded indifferently. “It sounds as though we +were making patent medicine.” + +“It isn’t that,” she assured him. + +“Then bombs, perhaps.” + +“Nor bombs.” + +“Well, here’s hoping, whatever it is.” + +That apparently was as much as he cared about his new business. On the +whole it was probably better so. + +Joan was forced to admit, for one thing, that she missed—really +missed—not seeing Devons around the house. That was only natural. For +six weeks he had occupied the front room, which was now closed. And +for the last few weeks he had occupied a great deal of the rest of the +house. Whenever she had come from her own room it was with the prospect +of meeting him, either on the stairs or in the library. And always she +was glad to find him. Always, too, he appeared glad to see her. He gave +piquancy to her everyday life. + +Now she wandered all around the house with nothing to look forward +to. Her parents and the servants were still about, to be sure, but +they involved no expectancy. She met them as unemotionally as her own +reflection in the mirror. So she turned back to Dicky and for a week +made life for him worth living. She went wherever he asked her to +go, picking up her social obligations where she had dropped them, so +unceremoniously, many weeks before. + +Dicky could not understand the change. He did not try. He accepted it +as a miracle and let it go at that. He was coming to be firmly of the +opinion that it was not possible to explain Joan. One took her as she +was from day to day and played in luck or out of luck according as she +smiled or frowned. + +Of course, this called for most of his time that week, but it cannot be +truthfully said that he begrudged it. Neither for that matter did any +one else. For several days he never came near the office at all, but +when, toward the middle of the week, he did drop in one afternoon, his +father’s only comment was: + +“Busy these days?” + +“Very,” answered Dicky. + +“How’s the new business going?” + +“We’re getting on.” + +“Stick to it,” his father encouraged him. “When you start a thing, jump +in with both feet.” + +“You bet.” + +“If you need more money—” + +“Thanks, Dad, I’ll let you know.” + +His father seemed so much in earnest that the next time Dicky met Joan +he felt it his duty to introduce the subject himself with a view +to showing more real interest. So he did, between the numbers of a +concert the next afternoon, to which he accompanied her at some genuine +sacrifice. His personal taste in music did not run to the classics as +interpreted on the violin by long-haired prodigies. Neither did hers, +as far as one could judge by the lack of attention she gave to the +successive numbers. + +“How is everything downtown?” he inquired. + +She appeared at first rather confused by the question, because her +thoughts, at that moment, had been downtown, though not particularly in +the business world. + +“Everything getting on all right?” + +“Yes,” she answered with a trace of color. “The machinery arrived day +before yesterday. We’re—we’re setting it up.” + +“Good!” he exclaimed, trying his best to show enthusiasm. “Need any +help?” + +She shook her head. + +“I’m afraid not,” she answered. + +“Afraid?” + +“He won’t let any one help.” + +“He—being our partner?” + +“Yes, Dicky.” + +“Sort of an independent chap?” + +“Yes.” + +That was in his favor. On the whole, it was a virtue, Dicky was +convinced, which should be encouraged. + +“Nothing like doing a thing yourself if you want it well done,” he +declared. + +“Only sometimes it’s selfish, isn’t it?” she asked. + +“It’s business,” he insisted. + +Dicky thought a moment. + +“Maybe most every one is selfish,” he went on. + +“Except you,” she smiled. + +That was the end of the conference because the long-haired violinist +began again. When a little later Dicky attempted to pick up the +conversation where it was dropped, he found it difficult. + +But he treasured that little remark of hers, even though he was not +fully convinced it was justified—treasured it because it was the last +thing of the sort he had from her for some time. He took her back to +the house after the concert, expecting to call for her again that +evening for a dance given by the Devereauxs. He had particularly looked +forward to this because it was here the little courtyard was, and if +ever again she ventured out there with him looking as beautiful as she +had been looking lately— + +But there is not much use dealing with “ifs.” Before eight o’clock that +evening he received from her a telephone message at the house which +read simply: + +“Miss Fairburne is very sorry, indeed, but must ask to be excused from +her engagement of this evening.” + +It sounded ominous. When he tried to get her on the ’phone he received +from Jeffrey the curt reply: + +“Miss Fairburne is not in, sir.” + +It was literally true this time. Shortly before eight Joan had been +sitting in her room fully dressed for the evening, looking such a +perfect thing that Henriette, in her pride, had taken the great liberty +of hurrying below to Mrs. Fairburne, who, herself, was on her way out. + +“Madame—you should see. Never has Mam’selle looked more beautiful.” + +So Madame Fairburne mounted the stairs and stepped in, and, in her joy, +kissed her daughter on the forehead. + +“It is charming, my dear,” she said. “Mr. Burnett should be proud.” + +“Of the gown?” she had asked. + +“Only you could wear the gown.” + +Joan shrugged her white shoulders ever so slightly and went downstairs +to the library where she used to wait for Devons. Alone she sat before +the fire. She had heard nothing from him yesterday, nothing to-day, +and she was a bit worried. Considered in connection with machinery +this silence might mean almost anything. To her, machinery signified +a disordered medley of whirling wheels and noises, which, like some +inhuman monster, was ever seeking the limbs and lives of those around +it. + +Of course, in one way it could not be said that she was seriously +disturbed about the remote possibility of his having met with an +accident of this nature, but it served as an excuse for worrying about +him at all. In many ways not to have had some such concrete explanation +of her present frame of mind would have been to admit a fact that might +have turned out still more disturbing. + +Until now she had heard from Devons every day. The communications were +nothing she need be ashamed of. They could have been published in the +daily paper without compromising any one. Still they were always in his +own handwriting and to that extent were personal. It was only natural, +then, that a lapse of forty-eight hours should seem significant. She +rather clung to that word “natural.” When honestly used it may mean +a great deal by the process of elimination. It is only the unnatural +mental phenomena that need give any one cause for concern. + +Then to muse at some length over the possible causes that would lead +one’s business partner suddenly to cut all lines of communication was +perfectly legitimate—perfectly natural. This much being established +she felt free to stare into the flames and day-dream as much as she +liked. She dismissed the accident theory almost as soon as she became +fully at ease. He did not write because he was too busy and because he +refused to associate her with his work except in his idle moments. It +was not a flattering admission, but she was not seeking flattery. She +was trying to see straight and clear. He refused to take her seriously. +He saw her only as Henriette saw her—a dressmaker’s form upon which to +hang clothes. She could scarcely blame him for that. If he had walked +into the room at this moment, he would have had the evidence of his two +eyes. If he had followed her about during this past week, he would have +seen her living true to his conception. If—he had gone no deeper than +externals. If, on the other hand, he had shared her thoughts—she raised +her head quickly at the suggestion as though fearing he might by some +chance appear and demand that privilege. + +At that moment Jeffrey went by to answer a ring at the door. She +sprang to her feet. It was Dicky—earlier than he should have come. She +resented this as an intrusion. She was of half a mind to refuse to see +him for another hour. + +But it turned out not to be Dicky, after all, but a messenger with a +note for her. + +Jeffrey entered with it on a silver tray and she tore open the yellow +envelope. She read with shortened breath: + + _8 Mullen Court + New York City_ + + MY DEAR MISS FAIRBURNE: + + Not having seen Mark Devons for a couple of days, I just went + upstairs to learn what had become of him. He lives above me in the + same house. I found him in bed and, against his wishes, sent for + a doctor. He seemed to be worried because he had not been able to + report to you for a couple of days, so I’m taking a chance and am + doing it for him. I have a notion he may be in bed for some time + if he doesn’t take care, and so thought that perhaps for business + reasons you ought to know just how he is situated. + + If you wish, I could send you a postal now and then, informing you + how he is getting on. In the meanwhile if I can be of any other + service, I trust you will call on me. + + Very sincerely yours + HENRY ARKWRIGHT + +Joan summoned Jeffrey. + +“The machine,” she ordered. + +Then she hurried upstairs to Henriette. + +“Get ready to come out with me at once.” + +She picked up the telephone in her room and notified Dicky, slipped +into the wrap Henriette held for her, and went down to the car. To +Charles she gave the order: + +“Eight Mullen Court.” + +The information the latter had lately acquired was becoming useful +sooner than he had expected. + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII + + BEEF TEA + + +Joan sat back in the machine by the side of Henriette, with a feeling +of tenseness amounting almost to exhilaration. The thing she was +daring thrust, into the background, for a few moments, that for which +she dared. In coming at all she had acted impulsively—had obeyed her +emotions rather than her intellect. There was nothing in Arkwright’s +note to justify the belief that Devons was really in any immediate need +of her. Rather, if the truth were told, she had seized this opportunity +as an excuse for satisfying a certain need in herself. She looked +forward to the possibility of actually making herself of some use as a +hope—a vague and stimulating hope. + +As Charles left Washington Square and cut through to Sixth Avenue, +she leaned forward and, with eyes out of the window, stared at the +unfamiliar streets with all the sensations of a stranger in a foreign +city. She had only to turn a little way to the right or left off any +of the ordained avenues to find herself in a New York as new to her as +Cairo. Had she been put down alone here, it is doubtful if, without +much difficulty, she could have found her way home. + +So they crossed beneath the Elevated to the hole in the wall and +stopped, as Henriette, with some timidity, exclaimed: + +“But, Mam’selle—Charles, he has made a mistake, is it not?” + +“I do not know,” answered Joan. + +Yet Charles appeared confident enough as he opened the door. What lay +on the other side of that wall he did not know, but he could have taken +his oath it was here that, not long ago, he had landed Mr. Devons. + +He pointed to the opening. + +“It’s through there,” he said. + +“Thank you,” nodded Joan. “You may wait for us.” + +Joan herself led the way to the courtyard and she herself found the +number eight with her heart in her mouth. There was no bell, so she +rapped. Mrs. Roberts, on the first floor, came to the door and directed +her up the narrow stairs to Arkwright’s room, and, a moment later, +she found herself confronting the big fellow, somewhat at a loss to +explain intelligently her presence here, because as yet she had not +explained it intelligently to herself. But the moment she gave her +name, Arkwright seemed to understand. + +“He’ll be glad to see you,” he said quietly. + +“The doctor has been here?” + +“Yes,” answered Arkwright, “and he said—why, he said the man hasn’t +been getting enough to eat.” + +“But why not?” she exclaimed. + +“It’s his own fault—his own bull-headedness. If he had only come to me—” + +“There was no need for him to go to any one,” she broke in; “he had +money.” + +“He did?” + +“We—we are interested in the same business, so I know,” she explained. + +Arkwright shook his head. + +“I’ll give up trying to find a motive, then. Perhaps he just forgot +to eat. Anyway, he did not get enough, and then he caught cold, and +then—well, there he is. Want to see him?” + +She hesitated. Then she answered steadily: + +“Yes.” + +So with Henriette by her side she followed Arkwright up another flight +and into the little room lighted with a single gas-jet. She had never +seen anything like it in her life outside a few dimly remembered scenes +on the stage. Even now as she stood there she felt as though in some +mad moment she had wandered over the footlights. Then the figure on the +bed lifted himself to his elbow and she saw the haggard face and the +two burning eyes, which she recognized as Devons’s eyes. Quickly she +crossed to the man’s side and held out her hand. + +“You?” he gasped. + +“You should have told me,” she answered. + +“Told you what?” he demanded. + +Arkwright stepped forward a moment. + +“It’s all my fault,” he explained. “I sent her a note.” + +Devons frowned, and then sank back wearily. + +“You shouldn’t have done that, Arkwright,” he complained. + +“Yes, yes. It was all he could do,” put in Joan. “And it’s what you +should have done. I don’t understand why—you are like this.” + +“It’s only a cold. I’ll be up to-morrow.” + +Devons was glaring at Arkwright again. The latter retreated out of +range. + +“If you didn’t have enough money—” + +“I had money enough,” he cut in. + +“Then why didn’t you buy proper food?” + +“You don’t think I’d waste the firm’s money on myself?” + +“Oh, that was it!” she exclaimed, with a catch in her voice. + +“If Arkwright—” + +“Don’t blame him. There isn’t much use in blaming any one now. You must +get back your strength again. We—we must begin all over.” + +“I’ll be up to-morrow, I tell you. Why, that machinery is waiting for +me.” + +“Yes? Have you been obeying the doctor’s orders since he left?” + +“You aren’t Nurse Ware,” he objected. + +“I’m going to be even more strict.” + +She turned back to Arkwright. + +“What instructions did the doctor leave?” + +Arkwright glanced at his watch guiltily. + +“Jove, it _is_ time for his beef tea. I’ll go down and make it.” + +“I’ll make it—please.” + +“All you have to do is to boil some water and add a cube. I—” + +“Please show me the range and find the cubes,” she ordered. + +The range consisted of an alcohol stove and a tin dipper. Arkwright +lighted the wick for her and filled the dipper with water, and placed +the cubes convenient to her hand. Then it suddenly occurred to him that +he was no longer needed and he retreated somewhat awkwardly to the +door. He saw her slip off her wrap as she sat down before her work. The +sight of her slim neck and white arms took away his breath; then he met +her eyes. + +“Thank you so much,” she murmured, as though politely excusing him. + +“Only—only too happy,” he stammered. + +Devons in the meanwhile was closing his eyes for a moment, then opening +them again, then closing them again, because it was only so that he +could bring himself to believe that she was really here. If he looked +at her steadily for any length of time she grew hazy and he felt +there was danger of her disappearing altogether. Henriette, in the +rear, served in a way as a sort of anchor, but in the shadow he could +scarcely make her out. But Joan was beneath the gas-jet so that if he +did not look overlong he was sure of her. + +Her back was toward him and he was rather glad of that. Had she faced +him he would not have dared open his eyes at all. For she seemed to him +now even more radiantly beautiful then ever before, and before there +was nothing whatever beautiful enough with which to compare her. So +that though he continued to try to blame Arkwright for his colossal +nerve in being the direct means of getting her down here, it was a +difficult thing to do consistently, because he was so glad to have her +there. + +And yet she did not belong here. In the midst of his joy he told +himself that over and over again. The moment he removed his eyes from +her and looked about at her surroundings she made him feel ashamed. +Every sordid detail grew more sordid. The stark paper on the walls and +the wooden chairs taunted him. They forced him into a contrast with the +clean, good taste of what she had offered him in her home. His battered +old dress-suit-case in the corner thrust itself forward as though +trying to humiliate him. And remembering the dainty china upon which +his meals at her home had been served, he frowned at the tin dipper, +before which she sat watching, like a chemist, for some delicate +reaction. + +Then he saw her rise and remove the dipper of steaming water and put in +the cube and look about for a spoon. + +“You’ll have to use a pencil,” he said. + +She objected to so unprofessional a method, but if he had no spoon +there was nothing else to be done. To-morrow she would come prepared. +She stirred it carefully and brought it to his side. He rose on his +elbow and drank it—as bitter and unpalatable a beverage as a man could +well swallow. She had forgotten to add salt, for one thing. It tasted +of tin, for another. It was too hot, for a third. But had it been +hemlock and she had offered it, he would not have hesitated. + +“Now,” she said, “you ought to sleep.” + +“With you here!” + +“Then I’ll go.” + +“Not yet,” he pleaded. “Do you mind just—sitting there?” + +She brought the chair to his side and sat down. + +“I don’t want to scold you now,” she began, “but don’t you see how +foolish you’ve been?” + +“There was so much to be done, all at once,” he explained. + +“And you tried to do it all by yourself.” + +“There was no one else.” + +“There was I. Why, I—I’ve been doing nothing all this while.” + +“You did your share when you made everything possible.” + +She shook her head. + +“I can’t claim credit even for that. But please don’t talk. Please—just +listen.” + +So while he lay there flat on his back cursing to himself the weakness +that made it necessary, she told him of her preposterous plan. He would +need some one in the office as a sort of bookkeeper, and though she did +not know very much about bookkeeping she could learn and perhaps could +help in other ways. + +“For one thing, it seems to be necessary for some one to make sure that +you take care of yourself.” + +“If it hadn’t been for this cold—” he started to explain. + +“If you had eaten properly you wouldn’t have caught cold,” she cut him +off. “There is not the slightest use in the world to argue about it.” + +He was at a distinct disadvantage. In the first place, it is difficult +to hold your own in an argument when lying prone even if you have all +the right on your side. Again, though he was trying his level best +to appear normal there was between his eyes a pain so sharp that at +moments it made him blind. Finally, it seemed inevitable that, once she +made up her mind, she should have her way in whatever she desired. +If one were to direct her at all it must be in some earlier stage. +He tried to go back a little to find where he was at fault, but that +involved too much effort. + +Besides, the one big, white fact, that made every other fact appear +petty, was that now, at this moment, she was here. Yesterday, last +night, and all to-day, until Arkwright had come up, he had lain here +alone fretting over lost time in a fashion that threatened to double +and treble the toll of wasted hours. And he had thought if only he +could see her for a second—just catch a glimpse of her passing on the +street—that all the strength would come back into him. + +“I think I had better read to you,” she decided. “Perhaps it will help +you not to think.” + +The only thing she could find was a textbook on chemistry, so she +picked up that and began at page one. It was not very interesting, but +that was so much the better. She plunged ahead in a low monotone, and +mispronounced frightfully many of the words she met. But she kept on, +conscious that his eyes were upon her. She kept on and on paying no +attention to the meaning of the text—kept on and on, until she heard +him breathing slowly and naturally. As soon as his eyes closed, she +stopped and waited a moment, ready to begin again if they opened. + +Then she rose and moved on tiptoe to the table. She took the pencil and +scribbled a note upon a piece of blank paper she found. It read simply: + + I shall be here at ten to-morrow. + + JOAN FAIRBURNE + +She slipped this into the book and placed it on the chair near the bed. +Then moving toward the door she beckoned Henriette to follow. + +At Arkwright’s suite below, she paused and knocked again. + +“I must leave him with you now,” she announced as he appeared. “But +I shall be here in the morning. He is to have his beef tea every two +hours.” + +He nodded and escorted her to the machine. He watched it scoot away +beneath the Elevated toward Washington Square. + +“Good Lord!” he gasped, “if I thought anything like that would run over +me I’d take a chance.” + + + + + CHAPTER XIX + + PRINCESSES + + +Devons awoke at odd times during the night, and every time he did so +Arkwright got up from the chair where he was sleeping, lighted the +alcohol lamp and brewed a tin dipper of beef tea. Devons protested, but +Arkwright only answered, stubbornly: + +“That’s all right, old man. Only drink it. I was ordered to see that +you had this, so the least said the better.” + +Even after Devons consented to swallow the stuff, Arkwright refused to +talk, but sank back in his chair, stretched his long legs out in front +of him, and went to sleep. + +After this had occurred twice, Devons refused to let Arkwright know +when he woke up, but lay quietly staring into the dark at the chair, +where he could have sworn she had been sitting, in the early evening. +He found this such a pleasant thing to do that always he went to +sleep again. The last time he awoke it was seven and broad daylight. +Arkwright, too, was awake and saw him when he opened his eyes. So once +again he rose and made for the alcohol lamp. + +“If you give me another dipper of that—” began Devons. + +“It’s her orders.” + +“Whose orders?” + +“Miss Fairburne’s,” answered Arkwright as he lighted the lamp. + +Devons rose to his elbow. + +“Then she _was_ here!” + +“Of course, she was, man! Have you been as bad as that?” + +“No, only—look here, Arkwright, if you’ll cut out that stuff I’ll eat +an egg.” + +Arkwright hesitated. + +“I’ll eat two eggs,” Devons promised. + +“I don’t know.” + +“She won’t care. I know she won’t. I’m feeling great this morning.” + +His eye caught the note in the book. He reached for it and read it. +Then he threw back the covers and started out of bed. + +“What you going to do?” demanded Arkwright. + +“She’s coming back!” exclaimed Devons. “She’ll be here at ten.” + +“What of it?” + +“She mustn’t, that’s all. I—I can’t let her see this place in the +daylight.” + +Arkwright glanced about. + +“Does look kind of rowdy, now that you speak of it,” he admitted. + +“So I must get shaved and dressed and—and meet her downstairs. I’ll +take her to the office—anywhere but here.” + +“Steady,” warned Arkwright; “I’m not so sure she would like that. If we +dressed the place up a little—” + +“It can’t be done,” groaned Devons. “I’ve got to get out before she +comes, I tell you.” + +“Just a minute, old man. I could wash the windows, for one thing. I +have a rug or two and some pictures, and in my trunk some things in +the way of table-covers my good aunt sent me. If you’ll just sit tight +I have a hunch quite a bit could be done in three hours. When a lady +makes an appointment at a certain place, you have to keep it, that’s +all.” + +“I can telephone.” + +“I don’t think I would,” replied Arkwright thoughtfully. “I’d shave and +eat my two eggs and keep cool, and watch what your Uncle Dudley can +accomplish.” + +When Devons came to stand up he discovered that after all he had +no other choice. His legs were decidedly weak. By the time he had +shaved and dressed and swallowed the eggs, he was quite helpless. But +Arkwright took off his coat and went at his undertaking like a man. At +the end of an hour he had the place as clean as soap and water could +make it, and in another half-hour had stripped his own room of about +everything in the way of rugs and pictures and brought them up here. He +even included his best chair and an ottoman covering for the bed. Then +he stood back and surveyed his handiwork. + +“Eh?” he asked with considerable satisfaction. + +For the twentieth time Devons exclaimed: + +“It’s darned good of you!” + +“Not a mite of it,” answered Arkwright. “If fairy princesses _will_ +call on careless bachelors, the only decent way is to make things as +respectable as possible. And then,” he concluded, glancing at his +watch, “the next proper thing is to get out.” + +“Look here,” protested Devons, “there’s no need of that.” + +“Anyway, I want to smoke.” + +“Can’t you smoke here?” + +“Certainly not,” declared Arkwright. “You have to make your sacrifices +for princesses. Good luck.” + +With that he went out and left Devons alone, whereupon the latter +immediately began to believe that she would not come, anyway. He +took that stand, not because it was what he wished to believe, but, +perversely, because it was very much what he did _not_ wish to believe. +He sat in a chair with his eyes fixed on the door and felt his heart +jump like a startled rabbit at every sound he heard below. It was +disconcerting how much he wished her to come. It took him back to those +few moments before the open fire when he had been forced to run in +order not to speak the words that surged up hotly clamoring for speech. +He had been glad ever since that he had remained dumb. But he knew that +never again would it be as easy as it was then, though then it had +not been easy. He knew that every time he saw her it was going to be +harder. This is why he had kept away these last two weeks and confined +himself merely to business notes. He must keep in mind always the fact +that this was with her purely a business proposition. She and that +other, whoever he might be, were his silent partners, that was all. So +they must remain until he had won his success and repaid his debt and +stood free and clear with a bank account of his own big enough to be +worthy of her. When he was ready to take her to Arkwright and show her +those blue-prints—then, and not until then, would he have any right to +speak. + +“You have to make your sacrifices for princesses,” Arkwright had said +jokingly. + +But that was true in a larger way than Arkwright had meant. + +At five minutes of ten Devons heard steps coming up the stairs. He +sprang to his feet and tried to stand steady. The steps paused at the +landing below and then came on again. They came on to his very door. +Then it seemed an eternity before he heard the rap of a gloved hand. + +With his heart in his mouth he crossed the room. + +It was she, Joan, and behind her Henriette, and behind Henriette, +Charles with a large wicker basket. + +“You may put that down here,” she said to Charles, “and wait outside.” + +Then she turned and saw Devons where she had expected to see Arkwright. + +“Why are you up?” she demanded ominously. + +“Because—because I am feeling so much better,” he stammered. + +“That is the beef tea,” she decided. + +“It is in spite of the beef tea,” he replied. “Please to come in.” + +She turned to help Henriette with the basket, and he instinctively made +his way past her to take the burden himself. And he could not lift the +thing. Actually he could not. He was obliged to stand by and see the +two women stagger into the room with it. Humiliated, he was forced to +watch his princess do the thing he should have been strong enough to +do. It gave him further proof, if any were needed, that he must keep +his lips tight closed. + +He heard her exclamation of surprise as she passed over the threshold. + +“What have you been doing here?” she asked. + +“Nothing much,” he tried to answer carelessly; “Arkwright has been +fixing up a little.” + +“But it isn’t the same room!” she exclaimed, as though in +disappointment. “It isn’t your room!” + +“It doesn’t always look as badly as it did last night.” + +“I liked it as it was,” she insisted. “Except you _should_ have a +spoon, of course.” + +Now it was Arkwright’s room—anybody’s room. Half the dramatic contrast +was gone. Even Devons himself, now that he was shaved and up, no longer +made the urgent claim upon her sympathy that had so roused her as he +lay prone and unkempt in his bed. Not that she analyzed her emotions to +this extent, but she was aware of a certain disappointment. It was as +though she were no longer needed quite as much as she had been needed +last night. + +But that feeling passed when she saw the man totter a trifle as he +tried to keep his feet. She took his arm and led him to a chair. + +“I had Henriette pack a basket with some things I thought you might +need,” she explained. “You might take them out, Henriette.” + +Henriette brought forth from that basket a linen tablecloth with an +embroidered “F” in one corner; a collection of china with which Devons +was familiar; a monogrammed silver knife, fork, and spoon; a crystal +drinking-glass; several aluminum cooking-dishes which he was sure +the Fairburne chef would have to account for some day; and then a +cold chicken, some dainty biscuits, a box of fresh eggs, and several +different kinds of jellies and jams, and finally a bottle of milk. + +“I didn’t know whether you could get fresh milk here or not,” she +explained. “Dad has this sent in every day from the country.” + +“But why,” he exclaimed, “should you do this?” + +He saw her cheeks color. + +“Why shouldn’t I?” she challenged. + +“It has put you to so much trouble.” + +“It hasn’t done even that!” she exclaimed. “But if it had?” + +Then she should not have undertaken it, is what he had meant, but he +did not say it. Instead he said: + +“If Charles is still about he might take us down to the factory. The +machinery ought to be unpacked to-day.” + +“Are you strong enough to go?” + +“Certainly,” he answered steadily. “It’s only a matter of directing +the men. I arranged for two of them to come to-day. They are probably +waiting for me.” + +She hesitated. But he rose and reached for his hat. + +“I must go,” he said earnestly. “It will save a whole day. We—we could +come back here for lunch.” + +“I told mother I should need Charles until evening.” + +“Then come on,” he insisted, with something of his old-time spirit. + +If she had been thinking of him alone, it would have been against her +best judgment to permit this, but she was thinking also a little bit of +herself. To spend part of the day with him there would be a beginning. +At the moment his thoughts were less upon her than the business in +hand, so that he would be scarcely conscious of whether she was about +or not. + +So with a nod to Henriette to follow she went down the stairs with +him and to the machine. Five minutes later they were in the elevator +leading to the twelfth story and soon were standing before the +door to which he pointed proudly. She read the inscription “Devons +Manufacturing Company” with a glow of enthusiasm. + +“It sounds very important,” she smiled. + +But it looked decidedly more like a real business from the outside than +it did on the inside. Here she found herself in a large room containing +nothing but several large packing-cases and odds and ends of smaller +bundles. These, like the door, were all marked impressively, “Devons +Manufacturing Company.” + +The sight of them seemed to inspire Devons. They brought back the color +to his cheeks and strength to his legs. He offered her a seat upon +one of the smaller cases and stepped into the next office to telephone +to his men. When he came back he took a jack-knife from his pocket and +began to cut the strings on the bundles. Instantly she jumped up. + +“Please sit down and let me undo them,” she requested. + +“You may help,” he condescended, “but be careful of the ones marked +‘glass’.” + +Soon from the chaos of excelsior and brown paper, measuring-glasses +began to appear and large bottles containing mysterious liquids. Then, +when the men appeared, they attacked the big cases. Even Henriette +caught something of the enthusiasm and began to pick up the loose +papers and smooth them out and fold them. + +But the fact Joan noticed was that within half an hour—as soon as +the big mixing-kettles began to emerge—Devons forgot she was there. +There was not much then left for her to do. She stood around rather +helplessly, spending most of her time trying to keep from underfoot. +Often he stood by her side as he gave his orders, but if she ventured +to speak to him then he only answered vaguely, “Eh?” + +He was Devons of the Devons Manufacturing Company and none else. He +might almost have been stenciled like the boxes with that label. She +had planned not to allow him to do too much, but she found herself +powerless. He neither heard her nor saw her. + +So he worked for two hours, and so he might have gone on working until +night if left to himself. It was clear enough to her now why at the end +of ten days he had been forced to his bed. With a smile of satisfaction +it was clear enough to her now in just what way she might be useful. + +At twelve o’clock the men had stopped for lunch, but impatiently he had +urged them on. + +“I’ll pay you double to put this through,” he promised. + +At a little after one, one of the three big kettles was in place and +the men moved toward the second. It was then that Joan stepped forward +to Devons and insisted upon being heard. + +“Come,” she said. + +“Eh?” + +She put her hand upon his arm. + +“Come. We must go back to lunch now.” + +“You and Henriette run along,” he said; “I’ll have something sent up.” + +“No, you must come too.” + +“But I can’t!” he broke out nervously. “If I get this done to-day I can +begin work to-morrow.” + +She shook her head. + +“If you keep on like this you won’t begin work for a month.” + +“You don’t understand.” + +“I do understand. Come.” + +“I—” + +“Come.” + +She found his hat for him and placed it on his head, while he went on +giving instructions to cover the time he would be away. He glanced at +his watch. + +“I’ll be back in half an hour,” he told the men. + +“I doubt if that is quite accurate,” she contradicted. + +“But, Joan—” he began. + +He had used the name often enough to himself, but as it slipped from +his lips so unconsciously the sound of it checked him. He met her eyes. +She was smiling. + +“Yes?” she answered. + +“There is so much still to be done,” he finished. + +“I know, but there is to-morrow and after that another to-morrow and +after that—” + +His lips tightened. + +“It’s those to-morrows I want to do away with,” he replied. “I want to +get into the now.” + +“Come,” she repeated. + +Reluctantly he followed her into the elevator and to the machine and +let himself be whisked back to his room—back there in the middle of the +day. It was absurd. Yet the moment he was there he realized it was +well. He sank into a chair quite done up. + +Arkwright came up and offered his apartment to the ladies as a +dressing-room, and as soon as they went out turned to Devons. + +“You been at it again so soon?” he demanded. + +“Got a bully start,” nodded Devons. “Machinery all unpacked and some of +it set up.” + +“You’d better go slow.” Arkwright shrugged his shoulders. Then his eyes +caught the array upon the table. + +“Some style,” he observed. + +“She did it,” nodded Devons. “It’s an improvement on your darned old +beef cubes.” + +“Right! The doctor came, by the way, while you were gone. He allowed +you were crazy.” + +“Thank God, I was out. Tell him I’ll see him a month from now. Stay to +lunch with us?” + +“Thanks,” answered Arkwright thoughtfully. “I don’t think I will.” + +But he remained a few moments just to watch Joan as she helped to set +the table. Had it been possible for him to make himself invisible he +would have liked to stay longer, but as he weighed two hundred pounds +there seemed to be no practicable way for him to accomplish this, so he +backed out. + +He should have remained and seen how deftly Henriette mastered the same +problem. To be sure, she had some advantage in the matter of size, but +this was partly offset by the fact that she served as waitress, though +there was not very much for her to do, except to make a cup of tea for +her mistress. Everything was so compact and convenient here that really +it would have been possible to do away with servants altogether. + +It was no time before Devons forgot she was in the room. Only Joan was +here—opposite him. It might be said with equal truth that in no time +he forgot there was any one else in the world but Joan. Yet there were +quite a number of other persons in the world. In this city alone there +were some four million. One had only to refer to any book of statistics. + +He was aware of her eyes and her smile and the dainty curves of her +fingers as she lifted the teacup to her lips, and looking at these it +was almost as though the to-morrows had really gone and the Now was +here. It was rather a dangerous delusion to labor under. To enjoy it +fully he was forced to watch himself carefully. + +This was difficult because with her the temptation always was to speak +from within as one thought—to talk direct to the center of her big, +clear eyes. But if he had done that, there were moments when he would +have leaned across the table and said to her: + +“I love you.” + +He would have said no more. Just that—bluntly. + +But he had no right to say that. It took away his breath every time he +thought of it and left him white about the lips. It was at one of these +moments, after they had finished their lunch and Henriette had cleared +away all the things and they were just sitting on, that she suddenly +rose. + +“You must rest,” she said. “You look tired. I don’t think you had +better go back to the factory to-day.” + +“But—” + +“No,” she insisted firmly; “I will stop there with Henriette on my way +home and tell the men to go for the day. I shall lock the door and take +the key.” + +“Then,” he asked helplessly, “how shall I get in to-morrow?” + +“I will be there at nine and unlock the door for you,” she smiled. + +And before he fully recovered, she went out and left him sitting alone +like a blind man who has had his cane removed. + + + + + CHAPTER XX + + THE FASTER GAME + + +Burnett senior sat in his office leaning forward in his chair and +drumming nervously on the desk. Every now and then he glanced at his +watch, then uncertainly toward the hat-rack, and then with an effort +turned to the letters in front of him. But in the end he always found +himself again drumming nervously on his desk. + +It was eleven o’clock and the Stock Exchange had been open for an hour. +Already he had twice rung up the office of Toole & Co. and received the +report that the market was strong and the trading brisk. Apparently it +was going as yesterday Toole had predicted it would. Already several +issues in which he was interested had advanced from a quarter to a +half. Figuring roughly it made a difference of four hundred dollars to +him in that first hour. This was not much compared to the profit he +had taken last week on steel of five thousand, but one never knew what +the next ten minutes might bring forth. That was what made the game +interesting. There was no waiting for monthly statements or semi-annual +balances. There was no sitting around for the maturing of carefully +thought-out plans. It was possible to do a year’s business in a week; +sometimes in a day; sometimes in an hour. Even if a man invested only +in a small way, as he was doing, it added zest to life. + +Until a few weeks ago he had never been inside a broker’s office. +Forsythe had then introduced him to his friend Benton, and it was +through the latter that he had bought steel and through him had sold +it again—clearing up in a month the amount he had loaned Dicky. He +liked the idea. It left Dicky free to lose the money as soon as he +wished. A day or so later Benton had taken him down to the Street one +noon hour and introduced him to Toole. A very agreeable man Toole +was. He was a big fellow, physically, with pleasant manners. They had +lunched together not long after this—rather heartily. Toole had offices +overlooking the street—pleasant offices. Burnett had sat around there +for an hour watching the board and listening to the odds and ends +of gossip that circulated through the little gathering. He had gone +several times since then. In a good many ways he found it a relief from +the routine of his own office. There was an atmosphere of tension there +which was stimulating. + +If, at the beginning, he had felt the slightest bit uncomfortable, like +a man visiting for the first time a race-track, he had partly quieted +his conscience by the thought that after all he was playing with his +own hard-earned money, and that win or lose he was entitled at his +age to a little amusement. With his own business running as smoothly +as it now did under Forsythe, there was every day less and less need +of him in the office. If Dicky were about it might be different. Then +he would have had as his ambition the training of the boy. There were +certain plans for extension—the foreign field, for instance, was almost +untouched—which with Dicky’s help might have acted as a fresh spur to +effort. But if the lad had no taste for such schemes, why, that was the +end of the matter. Projects of that sort were for Youth—Youth with the +long years ahead. He himself, lately, craved a faster game. And in a +sense that desire went back to Dicky too. + +The day the boy had told him of his princess, Burnett had begun an +inventory of his estate. The result had left him thinking. As long as +he looked at it only from his own point of view, it was satisfactory +enough. He had his business which on the basis of its earning power +represented a value of two hundred thousand; he had his house worth +in the neighborhood of seventy-five thousand; and he had a surplus in +various sound securities worth around seventy-five thousand. Besides +this he kept an account of forty or fifty thousand in cash. Considering +the fact that he had started with nothing, this was a good deal to have +accomplished in thirty years. If at twenty-one he could have looked +forward to any such reward he would have felt fully satisfied. + +And yet, as Dicky talked, four hundred thousand seemed little enough. +It was, of course, all a matter of comparison, and Burnett knew that +most of the boy’s friends belonged to families who reckoned their +fortunes in millions. And he was proud that Dicky had been able to make +such friends. He was proud, too, that although his own fortune was so +much less, it had always been sufficient to allow the boy within reason +to hold his own among the others. In college he had always had the +best. Since then there had been enough so that he could still follow +his fancy. If at this point Burnett winced a trifle, it was when he was +alone. He must remember that it was only natural that circumstances +should make a big difference in the point of view. In fact that was +just what was happening to himself. + +Burnett had looked up these Fairburnes, and what he learned made +his own little fortune sink to insignificance. And it helped him to +understand what Dicky meant when he said, “I don’t know what you can +get her that she hasn’t already.” Burnett had four hundred thousand to +hand over to his son, and Fairburne could match every fifty thousand +with a million for his daughter. + +Even Toole, so he understood, could match him two for one and had made +this on the Street within ten years. And Toole told him of others. +At odd times and quite incidentally the talk had run to fortunes made +quickly. It was always an interesting topic and Toole had a fund of +such stories. + +“Why, I had an office boy,” he said one day, as he offered Burnett a +cigar, “a little chap by the name of Windsor. The rascal saved some +five hundred dollars from his wages and began to trade on margins. He +got a tip somehow on R and M, bought, and began to pyramid. He cleaned +up ten thousand on that deal and jumped into a curb oil stock. The +stuff advanced from five to forty in two months, and he came out of +that with a profit of seventy thousand. He quit me then, but I’m told +that to-day he is worth three million.” + +Three million in five years! And he, Burnett, had sweat blood to roll +up a paltry four hundred thousand in thirty years! It was merely a +matter of comparison. + +Yet Burnett did not lose his head altogether. That thirty years of +business experience counted for something. Once back in his office +again he was able to smile at many of those stories. But as a result of +them he worked out this scheme: he would take that fifty thousand and +fool with it—merely fool with it. If he lost, well and good. At least +he would have had some entertainment. He would pay for that and quit. +Certainly that amount would not break him. + +On the other hand, if he won! Here was where he let his imagination +loose. Windsor, a mere office boy, had made three million out of five +hundred. It was elementary arithmetic to figure what the youngster +might have done had he started with one hundred times that capital. +Discounting the story fifty per cent and admitting that such a case +was one in a thousand, a man was still left an ample margin for +day-dreaming. + +Supposing that when it came time for Dicky to marry the girl, Fairburne +should send for him and somewhat scornfully demand what prospects +he had to justify such a course. There was not much doubt but that +Fairburne would take the precaution to look up the Burnett rating in +Dun and Bradstreet, just as Burnett had looked up the Fairburne rating. +He would find him in the quarter-million class. Dicky probably would +be considerably disconcerted and doubtless indignant as well. He might +even consider the question beside the point, though he himself had +admitted that she deserved a fortune. At any rate, the boy would have +to come back for information, because he did not know any more about +the family finances than a stranger. He had never asked. He had never +shown the slightest interest. + +So some day he would stroll into the office and repeat the question. He +might quote Fairburne in some such statement as— + +“What is a paltry quarter-million for a Fairburne?” + +Then Burnett senior would smile. He would reach to one of the +cubby-holes in his desk and take out his account-book with Toole & Co. +He would hand it to Dicky. It might show one million, or two million, +or three million. It depended a good deal on his mood how much he made +it. At any rate, it was always enough to satisfy Fairburne. + +“Go back and tell Fairburne that Dun and Bradstreet don’t always know +everything,” he might say. + +And Dicky would get up and slap him on the shoulder, with his face +alight. Possibly he might in some good-natured way rebuke him. + +“You deserved to lose for taking any such fool chance. But it’s one on +Fairburne.” + +But the boy’s face would be alight. That was all the reward he wanted. + +Burnett senior stopped drumming on his desk and pressed a button, +summoning Forsythe. The latter responded instantly. He was as alert as +electricity. He came in with a pencil behind his ear and his hand full +of papers. + +“I’m going out for a little while, Forsythe,” explained Burnett, +without looking at the man. + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Anything you want to see me about?” + +“No, Mr. Burnett.” + +“I don’t know when I’ll get back, but if you want me, telephone Toole & +Co. I may drop in there a little while.” + +“Yes, sir,” answered Forsythe. + +“And if my son comes in—just say I’ll be back soon. You—er—you needn’t +say where I am.” + +“No, sir,” he answered. “But I’ll call you up if he seems too curious.” + +“Right, Forsythe.” + +Burnett waited until Forsythe left before he put on his hat and coat. +Then when he did go out, he appeared more or less apprehensive until he +was clear of the building. + + + + + CHAPTER XXI + + A CONFESSION + + +It was obvious to Joan that it was no more than fair and right that +her mother should know what she had undertaken, and yet, secure as she +was in her own mind, it was both a difficult and unpleasant thing to +talk about with her. The latter was sure to misunderstand—possibly to +misinterpret. In either case she would object and that meant acting +against her wishes. + +She did not want to do that. It was against her instincts. All her life +she had been so obedient that even to-day she felt in her mother’s +presence like the school-girl with braided hair. It was so, she was +convinced, her mother saw her. That was the trouble. That explained +the gulf that during these last few years had widened between them. +Her mother expected her still to think and act like a school-girl—like +a grown-up school-girl, to be sure, but nevertheless as one not yet +entitled to decide for herself. That privilege would not be granted +until after marriage, and then only to a limited degree. After being +a dutiful daughter she must be a dutiful wife. It seems that her duty +must always lie to some one else rather than herself. + +In the present instance, then, she was proposing to act from a purely +selfish motive. That was the logical deduction. In undertaking to +give her time and thought to the Devons Manufacturing Company she was +actuated, then, by no other desire than to develop her own soul by +enlarging her life through service? It was a fair question and she put +it to herself. But it turned out to be rather a confusing question. +Certainly her original idea had been nothing more than this. Here was +a fellow human being struggling alone, and she had stepped in and in +her limited way had done what she could to help him. That help was +still needed and the joy of the enterprise lay in that fact. Her joy +lay in that fact. To that extent she was selfish. But somehow that +did not account for all her emotions. The way she disposed of these, +however, was merely to hold her head a little higher and challenge +her conscience, or whatever it was, to explain why she was under any +obligation to account for them at all. She had some rights of her own. + +It was in this spirit that Joan went to her mother as soon as the +latter came in from an afternoon of bridge. Mrs. Fairburne furnished +her the opportunity by inquiring: + +“You lunched with Mr. Burnett to-day?” + +“No,” Joan replied without equivocation, “I lunched with Mr. Devons.” + +“Devons?” + +The eyebrows went up and the mouth became set. + +“Yes, Mother. He—he has been ill. I took Henriette and went down there +with some proper food for him.” + +“Down where?” + +“To Mullen Court.” + +“I am not familiar with Mullen Court,” answered Mrs. Fairburne in a +tone that suggested this was something to be thankful for. + +“No, Mother, dear,” Joan replied steadily. “It is not far from +Washington Square.” + +“One of those artist places?” she asked suspiciously. + +“I—I don’t know.” + +“Yet you—” + +“Please, Mother,” broke in Joan, “will you let me tell you in my own +way?” + +Mrs. Fairburne sank into a chair. + +“Go on,” she submitted resignedly. + +“A friend of his, Mr. Arkwright, wrote me he was ill, so I had Charles +drive us down. I found him in a little room—oh, a pitiful little room +at the top of the house. He was ill for lack of food. I had Pierre pack +a basket and I took it to him.” + +“But did that necessitate your stopping for lunch?” + +Joan crimsoned. + +“I stopped because I wished to.” + +“Joan!” + +“Because I had business with him.” + +Mrs. Fairburne started from her chair. + +“Please—just a minute, Mother. I want to tell you everything. It is +your right to know what I’ve done and what I’m going to do. I told you +once how he needed money to start in business.” + +Mrs. Fairburne admitted this with an expression of annoyance. + +“I asked you to help and you did not approve.” + +“Certainly not.” + +“So I told Dicky and he gave me the money.” + +“You asked Mr. Burnett for money?” + +“He was very nice,” nodded Joan. “He gave me five thousand dollars.” + +“Joan—are you losing your mind!” + +“I wanted to take it as a loan, but he would not consent to that. So +he came into the business with us as a silent partner. Now we are all +ready to start. And,” she concluded rather hurriedly, “I’m going to +keep the books.” + +Mrs. Fairburne had difficulty for a second or two in catching her +breath. It was while she was in this helpless condition that Joan moved +swiftly to her side and put an arm around her. + +“Mother, dear,” she pleaded. “I know how strange this all sounds to +you. But I’m in earnest. I want something to do and here is my chance. +I’ve wanted something to do ever since I came home from college. If +you had known Mildred and heard all she did—” + +The mother looked up. + +“You are such a child,” she murmured. + +Joan met her mother’s eyes. + +“Not any longer,” she answered. “That is the trouble, isn’t it? You +forget I have grown up.” + +There was something about the girl’s mouth that told her this was the +truth. But it frightened her. She roused herself. + +“Joan, dear, what you propose is impossible. It would break your +father’s heart if he heard. You must put the whole Quixotic plan out of +your head. We—we will take a little trip to the South or Bermuda—” + +“No, Mother,” she put in gently. “As for Dad—is there any reason why he +should know if it is going to disturb him?” + +“He would never forgive you—never forgive me.” + +“Why should he feel like that?” + +“The whole idea is so unusual.” + +“With thousands of girls working for their living?” + +“But they—they are not Fairburnes.” + +“No—they are not Fairburnes. But I don’t like to think they are better +than Fairburnes, Mother.” + +“Joan—I really think I should call Dr. Nichols!” + +“Nonsense. Now you come up to your room and get ready for dinner. I’m +sure that by to-morrow you will look at it differently.” + +“Will you call Louise?” + +“Let me help you—please.” + +Mrs. Fairburne took her daughter’s arm and allowed herself to be helped +to her room. And once there Joan was still reluctant to summon Louise. + +“Let me do your hair to-night,” she pleaded. + +So she unfastened her mother’s hair and let it down over her shoulders +and combed out the fine strands that were beginning to show silver. + +“It is beautiful!” exclaimed Joan. + + + + + CHAPTER XXII + + A SALE + + +The thing Devons had evolved was a patent-leather finish at least fifty +per cent less liable to crack than any on the market, produced at four +fifths the cost of the Burnett product. But it was one thing to claim +this and another to prove or even to get a chance to prove it. At the +end of a week he had enough to allow a manufacturer to give it a fair +trial. Armed with letters he had from his professors at Tech—letters +intended for the benefit of teaching staffs rather than business men—he +left Joan in charge of the office one day, looking very important with +this new responsibility, and crossed the city in search of the manager +of the Doggett Shoe Company. He waited two hours in an outer office +after filling out the slip giving his name and business, and when +finally ushered into the presence of A.E. Hartley found the man still +too busy even to glance up from his desk as he entered. It was not an +encouraging reception, and Devons had not had sufficient experience to +accept the situation calmly. He had ventured forth with an enthusiasm +which he expected to find reflected in every one he met, without +stopping to consider that this was rather an unreasonable presumption +in view of the fact that the world at large knew as yet nothing about +the Devons process, and probably if informed would care scarcely more. +The case of Hartley, however, was different. He should have been +immediately interested, though, perhaps, it was not fair to expect him +to get excited before he heard of it. + +Devons studied the man behind the desk—a man of fifty with a square, +non-committal face. He had a short, iron-gray mustache and a square +jaw, a sharp nose and well-set eyes. With his head on his hand he was +figuring rapidly. Finally he pressed a button, to which a boy responded +instantly. With a quick, nervous movement he handed the lad a sheet of +paper with the single word: + +“Henderson.” + +Then he looked up at Devons. + +“Well?” he inquired, as though resenting the interruption. + +Devons felt his heart leap to his mouth. He was as excited as he had +been when he stepped before the examiners for his oral examination. + +“I understand you use considerable patent leather in your factory.” + +“Yes.” + +“I have perfected a new process—” + +“Not interested!” snapped Hartley. + +Devons flushed. + +“You won’t even let me tell you about it?” + +Hartley, who had started about his work, looked up again. There was a +note of such deep disappointment in Devons’s voice that his attention +was attracted once more. It was quite evident that he was not dealing +with the professional salesman. + +“Who do you represent?” asked Hartley. + +“Myself.” + +“If your time is valuable, let me tell you this: we purchase our entire +supply of the Burnett people.” + +“Yes, sir. All I was going to ask was that you give my process a trial.” + +“We have no time to experiment.” + +“The experimenting has been all done. I have some letters—” + +Fumbling in his pocket Devons produced them. Hartley indifferently +unfolded the first. + +“Tech?” he asked. + +“Yes, sir.” + +Devons named his class. + +As it happened, Hartley had preceded him at the same institution +fifteen years before. He had been under this same professor who +testified as to Devons’s ability. + +“Bring up a chair and sit down,” Hartley invited him as he finished the +letter. + +Devons hastily complied. + +“Now, tell me about it.” + +Hartley sat back in his chair with the tips of the fingers of his right +hand matched against the tips of the fingers of his left hand. He +listened without comment of any kind as Devons began at the beginning +and sketched his early laboratory work leading him to his later task. + +“I saw that the older the oil the more perfect the result. It seemed +that some change took place in the maturing process. I experimented to +discover what that was and found out. Then I devised a way of maturing +the oil more rapidly and more completely. This allows the skin to +absorb more of it. That’s all.” + +“That’s enough,” smiled Hartley, “if you’ve done it.” + +“You mean you doubt it?” + +“I admit I’m skeptical. My boy, I’ve looked into at least fifty such +claims personally. I’ve spent at least twenty thousand dollars right +here trying to achieve that result. Burnett has spent five times as +much, and every manufacturer of patent leather in the country an +equal amount. An uncrackable patent leather has been the dream of +manufacturers from the first.” + +“I don’t claim it is absolutely uncrackable.” + +“Merely fifty per cent better,” nodded Hartley. “It is well to be +modest. If you could show me something only ten per cent more pliable I +should feel repaid.” + +“I can,” declared Devons. “Will you give it a trial?” + +Hartley considered a moment. + +“State just what your proposition is,” he said cautiously. + +“That you let me furnish enough of the dressing for your test.” + +“You are not asking for a contract of any sort?” + +“If the process makes good, that won’t be necessary, will it?” + +“No,” admitted Hartley, “if the price is right.” + +“I haven’t worked that out carefully yet, but I figure it should be +less than the present product.” + +“Good Lord!” exclaimed Hartley: “how do you get that result?” + +“Less oil,” answered Devons. + +Hartley shook his head skeptically. + +“Send it on,” he concluded; “but frankly I don’t believe it.” + +“Carlow, Reed & Co. tested it.” + +“Then why didn’t they buy it?” + +“They were afraid of Burnett,” Devons answered. + +He had the letter with him and handed it to Hartley. The latter read it +through carefully and returned it. + +“Well, I’m not afraid of Burnett,” was his comment. “Send the stuff +down to-morrow.” + +“I’ll have it here to-night,” answered Devons. “Good-day.” + +“Good luck, my boy,” answered Hartley. + +Not counting the wait the interview had not lasted ten minutes. When +Devons came out on the street again he drew a long breath. If he had +seen a taxi at that moment he would have been tempted to get in. Any +other way of getting back to Joan with such news as this seemed clumsy +and tedious. + +But if he had only known it, Joan herself had not been idle in the +meanwhile. She had done quite an unexpected and brilliant stroke of +business on her own account. Devons had not been gone from the office a +half-hour before the door opened and a middle-aged man entered, glanced +around, caught sight of her, and removed his hat. His hair was swept +back from his forehead as though he were facing a strong wind. + +“It said Devons Manufacturing Company upon the door,” he explained, as +though to account for having entered so unceremoniously. + +“This _is_ the Devons Manufacturing Company,” she assured him. + +The chemicals and kettles bore out the statement which, considering the +young woman herself, he would still have been inclined to doubt. Either +she was out of place here or the kettles were. + +“Is Mr. Devons in?” + +“No,” answered Joan. “He may be gone several hours.” + +Forsythe studied his watch a moment, and then raised his eyes and +studied the girl another moment. + +“I’m sorry,” he ventured as though feeling his way; “I wanted +particularly to see him this morning.” + +“Is there anything I can do?” inquired Joan. + +“I don’t know,” smiled Forsythe. “May I ask if you are associated with +the business?” + +“I’m the bookkeeper,” she announced. + +“I see. Then you are in charge of the plant?” + +“Until Mr. Devons returns,” she admitted with a trace of color. + +“Perhaps, then, you will do quite as well,” suggested Forsythe. “All I +wanted was to inquire a little more fully into his product. I wonder if +you yourself are posted enough to tell me.” + +“I’m afraid I don’t know much about it except that it is very +wonderful. If you could come back this afternoon, I’m sure he’ll be in +then.” + +Forsythe shook his head. + +“I only have an hour.” + +He turned eagerly once more toward the laboratory end of the office. + +“He makes it over there,” Joan informed him. + +“I see.” + +He stepped nearer, and Joan sensed his unspoken question. + +“If you’re interested, you might look about,” she suggested graciously. + +He took advantage of her offer instantly. + +“Thanks. I will.” + +He appeared to be very much interested in every detail, even to the +extent of investigating all the labeled bottles of chemicals and some +that were not labeled. He removed the corks from these and smelled the +contents, and once even poured some out into a graduating glass and +held it to the light. Occasionally he asked her a question, but without +any very satisfactory results. + +So he came to several jugs of the finished product, and this appeared +to interest him most of all. + +“I don’t suppose that as yet he is ready to put this on the market?” he +inquired. + +“Why, yes,” she answered quickly; “that is just exactly what he is +doing. He has gone to-day to try to sell the little he has ready.” + +“This?” inquired Forsythe. + +She nodded. + +“There isn’t very much of it. We have only just started.” + +Forsythe straightened. + +“Then if he had happened to be in I could have bought some myself,” he +said. “I only want enough to give it a trial.” + +“Can’t you come again?” + +“Possibly. But there is nothing like taking advantage of the present. +If you could let me have—say this much.” + +He held up a jug. + +“But I haven’t the slightest idea how much he asks for it.” + +“I’m in the business myself, so I can tell you roughly. Ten dollars +would be an extravagant price. But for safety’s sake I’ll double that.” + +She met the man’s eyes. She had no reason for doubting his word. + +“If you are quite sure, I don’t see why you shouldn’t have it,” she +replied. + +“I’m quite sure my price is right,” he answered. “If Mr. Devons can +sustain it his fortune is made.” + +“Oh, you think so?” + +“There is no doubt about it,” he nodded gravely. + +Then he took a wallet from his pocket and presented her with two +ten-dollar bills. + +“I pay cash,” he said. + +She accepted the bills eagerly. + +Then with a smile Forsythe picked up his jug and went out leaving her +staring a little breathlessly at the money. It was the first cash +transaction made by the Devons Manufacturing Company. + +She hurried to her desk in the corner and opened a brand-new ledger +book which she had bought only the day before. In her very best +handwriting she made this entry: + + “By one jug dressing $20.00” + +She wished there were some way she could reach Devons by telephone. It +was difficult to wait for him with such news as this. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIII + + NO TIME TO WASTE + + +Devons reached the office shortly after twelve and swung open the door +with the announcement: + +“I did it.” + +Thereby he beat Joan by at least ten seconds, which is a wide margin +when one stops to consider that races are often won by the fraction of +a second. She had sprung from her seat behind the ledger as she heard +his footsteps in the corridor, but he was so enthusiastically abrupt +that it took her a few seconds longer to recover her balance. In his +excitement he had seized her hand and that somehow or other only added +to her confusion. + +“Hartley was all against it at first,” he ran on. “But before I left he +agreed to give it a thorough trial. I’m to take down to him to-day what +I have in stock.” + +“What you have in stock,” she replied vaguely, with a sudden sinking of +the heart. + +“There’s just about enough for a preliminary trial,” he answered. “It’s +a great chance, Joan. This company is one of the largest users in the +city, and if I make good with them—well, I won’t have to sit in any +more outer offices.” + +“How much did you have?” she stammered. + +“About four gallons. But—what’s the matter?” + +“I—I sold some of it.” + +“Sold some?” + +She went back to her desk and returned with the two ten-dollar bills. +Her fingers were unsteady as she held them out to him. + +“What’s this?” he demanded. + +“It’s what he—he paid me.” + +“Who? For what?” + +“Oh!” she exclaimed, trembling back from the look in his eyes. “Did I +do wrong?” + +“I don’t understand yet just what you did do,” he answered with a swift +glance around the laboratory. + +He took her arm gently and led her to her chair behind the desk. + +“Sit down,” he said. “Now—you didn’t sell any of the enamel?” + +“All that was in the jug,” she nodded. + +She pointed to the ledger. He saw the entry in her firm handwriting. +Even then he was not fully convinced, but it was necessary for him to +pause a moment before he went on. He tried his best to hold himself +steady because she looked so frightened—so frightened and so adorable. +Even in the midst of the worst he feared he could have stooped and +kissed the top of her head and called it square—if in that way matters +could honestly have been squared. + +“Tell me from the beginning what happened,” he said. + +“He—he came in—” + +“Who came in?” + +“I don’t know who he was. He wanted to see you.” + +“Can you describe him?” + +Ordinarily she could, but she was finding it difficult to think. + +“He was a man about forty. His hair was brushed back.” + +“He was rather stout and smooth-shaven?” + +“Yes.” + +It was uncanny how from so vague a description the picture of Forsythe +stood out before him. + +“Go on,” he urged. + +“He—he wanted to look around, so I let him.” + +Devons leaned back against the desk and gripped the edge of it with his +fingers. + +“Go on,” he repeated. + +“He went over there and seemed very much interested. Then—then he +wanted to buy some—for a test. He offered me this.” + +She held out the bills again as though going back to them for +justification. + +“He—he went away with what you sold him?” + +She nodded. Then she leaned forward. + +“Oh! Did I make a mistake? Shouldn’t I have let him have it?” + +Devons was trying to think it out. If it had been any one else but +Forsythe, it would not have been so significant. But he had never liked +the man from his first interview with him. That, however, was not +important one way or the other, except as it might help explain the +present incident. Of course, no decent man would have taken advantage +of a woman like this to pry into laboratory secrets, so it seemed a +fair deduction that he intended nothing legitimate with the enamel he +had made off with. Yet, looking at it calmly, what was it possible for +the fellow to do? The process was amply protected by patents. Against +an unscrupulous man, however, patents sometimes do not count. + +She was looking up anxiously. + +“I made a mistake?” she trembled. + +Then Devons took hold of himself. He stepped free of the desk and, +looking down into her eyes, answered with a smile. + +“It makes it a bit awkward about Hartley, that’s all,” he said. “But +you couldn’t foresee that. And you sure charged a good stiff price.” + +“You think it was enough?” + +“Little woman,” he answered, “if we can get that price for all I make +we’ll pay dividends within a month.” + +The expression of relief that came into her eyes was worth something. + +“I was afraid. You—you frightened me,” she said. + +“I had no business to do that under any circumstances,” he answered. +“So let’s take our twenty dollars and go out to lunch and forget the +whole episode.” + +She shook her head. + +“You mustn’t lunch with your bookkeeper and you mustn’t be extravagant +with the first money the firm has made,” she objected. + +“But this is an especial occasion. Can’t we celebrate a little?” + +“No,” she answered firmly. + +“You aren’t a bookkeeper, anyway,” he objected. “You’re a partner.” + +“Not during office hours.” + +“Then I’ll give you an afternoon off. Will that make it right?” + +“Not for me to lunch with you, but if you don’t need me I—I think I’d +like to go home for the rest of the day.” + +“You’re tired?” he asked anxiously. + +“From all the business I’ve done?” she smiled. “No, it was rather +exciting, but that isn’t the reason. Mother telephoned. I don’t think +she is quite used to my new position yet.” + +“I don’t wonder,” he answered. “I’m not either.” + +“But I help a little?” she asked. + +“A lot,” he hastened to assure her. + +“You couldn’t go off and leave the office alone, could you?” + +“Impossible.” + +“Then—” + +“I couldn’t get along without you,” he broke in. + +“Oh!” she exclaimed. + +She turned quickly to put on her hat and coat. It was just as well. It +gave Devons time to think and so to check himself. + +“Is Charles coming down?” + +“At one,” she nodded. + +It was now five minutes of one, so he went downstairs with her to the +waiting limousine and helped her in. She turned before the door closed +to ask: + +“You’re going to lunch now?” + +“Soon,” he nodded. + +“I’ll be here at nine to-morrow,” she assured him. + +He stood on the walk until the machine disappeared from sight. Then, +turning quickly, he hurried back to the office. He locked the door +and threw off his coat. He had no time to waste on food. If he was +to deliver the proper quantity of enamel to Hartley by to-morrow, he +had his work cut out for him, not only for the rest of the day, but +the whole night. If everything went right he could do it in eighteen +hours. Everything _must_ go right. To a man like Hartley a promise was +a promise. + +Devons strode to the rear of the laboratory and turned on the electric +switch that heated the big kettles. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIV + + A VACATION + + +Dicky Burnett left about the middle of March for Palm Beach. It was his +father’s suggestion, and Dicky fell in with it principally because it +would give him a legitimate excuse for writing to Joan. If he could not +see her, he had much better be a thousand miles away than in the same +city. It would be less of a strain. Of late he had been doing nothing +but search the crowds for her like a private detective hunting for a +lost person. + +In the office he was impossible. He was in fact a good deal of a +nuisance both to Forsythe and his father. He particularly interfered +unconsciously with the latter’s freedom of movement. By degrees Burnett +senior had turned over to Forsythe practically all his own work because +of lack of time to attend to it himself. In many ways his habits +resembled a good deal those of his son. He still reached the office +early, but he was out again by ten and seldom returned until after +three. By then he was too tired to do much more than attend to the +routine matters requiring his signature. + +At Palm Beach Dicky did his best to enjoy himself, and every one, +including the hotel management, did his best to help him. He ran +across Diblee, who introduced him at the country club, and a group +of very agreeable people who were succeeding extraordinarily well in +forgetting that such a city as New York existed. As far as he could +judge, nothing in particular remained in their consciousness but blue +sky and palm trees and green grass and music and pleasant drinks and +laughing eyes. There was one especially nice girl whose name was +Constance—Constance Shirley. She was slight and young and seemed to +divine at once his unhappiness. She had big blue eyes and danced like +a bit of thistledown, and was always seeking the air after each dance. +And she had a way of tempting a man to talk of what was deep within +him at such times because she gave the impression that she would +understand. Not only understand but comfort a fellow. It was surprising +how often her soft hand accidentally brushed his and what opportunities +she offered him to talk of matters of sentiment. + +Yet always at the speaking point Dicky paused. It seemed like sacrilege +to discuss Joan, even indirectly, with any other woman. With her +always uppermost in his mind it seemed like sacrilege to discuss even +abstract problems of sentiment. So generally he lighted a cigarette and +drifted into silence by the side of this Constance, staring dreamily +and alone at the wonderful Southern night sky which is as fickle in +its sentiment as a rondeau of François Villon. It urges a youth to +love with the nearest. Love is love and a man but a man and woman but +a woman. If tender lips and warm hands are near, a man is a fool to +ignore them, for life at best is short and youth but a brief portion of +life. + +Yet Dicky always paused even when the nights were fairest. The girl by +his side was baffled and stung and made eager by those long silences. +Covertly she studied the sadness about his lips which came to her like +a challenge. + +One night she said to him boldly, “Mr. Burnett, I think you’re in love.” + +He was startled, but he answered only, “So?” + +“Are you?” she insisted. + +“I’ll leave you to guess,” he replied. + +“I guess you are.” + +“Why?” + +“Because you are sad.” + +“Does love make one sad?” he asked. + +“Either very happy or very sad.” + +“Perhaps both,” he suggested. + +“At the same time?” she laughed. + +“It does sound absurd,” he admitted. + +But that night, when in relief he found himself back alone in his +room, that seemed as fair an analysis of his present mood as any. As +miserable as he was he would not, as the price of happiness, have +surrendered his love for Joan. Hopeless as now he felt that passion +to be, he clung to it as the greatest joy in his life. So he felt he +always would. + +He had telephoned her before he left and asked to see her, but she had +answered that it was impossible that morning. + +“I may have some good news for you soon,” she said. + +When he pressed her for an explanation, it turned out to be nothing +but good news concerning that fool business scheme of hers. It only +emphasized how lightly she thought of him. + +She had written twice since then—the sort of letters one might expect +from a private secretary. He had written at least a dozen times—the +sort of letters that might be expected to make a private secretary’s +cheeks burn. Yet he doubted if they accomplished even that much. + +In this fashion, then, he frittered away a month without improving +either his physical condition, which did not need improving, or his +mental condition, which did. At this point he received a letter from +his mother which further disturbed him. She ran on for a couple of +pages about nothing in particular, like warning him again to be careful +not to get drowned if he went in bathing, and then said: + +“I’m a little bit worried about your father. He is not sleeping well +and is losing weight. He blames it on his diet and I wondered if +perhaps he was not carrying it too far. He is very apt to do that +unless some one watches him. If you wrote him that he might, under the +circumstances, eat a little pastry, I think it might help him. However, +use your own judgment. He won’t weigh himself, but I am sure he has +lost at least fifteen pounds since you went.” + +When Dicky read that he sent the following wire to his father: + + Don’t overdo the thing. Have some pumpkin pie. + +But in spite of this action he was not fully satisfied. All through the +rest of the day he kept thinking over that paragraph in his mother’s +letter. While diet might account for his father’s loss of weight, +which was good for him, it did not account for his sleeplessness. That +was more apt to be caused by worry. This helped him to recall several +peculiar incidents which had occurred preceding his departure, when he +had not found his father in the office and had received anything but a +satisfactory explanation from Forsythe. At the time he had not thought +much about these things, because at night he found his father so normal +that he always forgot to inquire further into them. But now that he was +in search of symptoms he went back to them. + +The upshot of the matter was that he said good-bye to Constance that +evening—a curiously easy thing to do—and took the train the next +morning for home. He reached New York at six o’clock in the afternoon +of the next day and went direct to the house, where he found his father +at dinner. He was startled by what a month had done for him. Offhand he +would have said the man had lost twenty-five pounds and taken on almost +as many years. His eyes looked heavy, and he sat listlessly at the +table as Dicky came in. He tried to rouse himself, however, but it was +manifestly an artificial attempt. + +“What the deuce you been doing to yourself?” demanded Dicky as he took +his hand. By the side of his lean, browned son he looked worse than +ever and was conscious of it. + +“I guess I ought to have gone with you,” he faltered. + +“I should say so,” nodded Dicky. “What’s he been up to, Mother?” + +“I’m afraid he’s been working too hard,” she ventured. + +“Hang it all, I thought you were old enough to be left alone,” +exclaimed Dicky. + +“Don’t you worry about me,” growled Burnett with a trace of his +old-time spirit. + +“We won’t,” answered Dicky, “but believe me, we’re going to do +something about it. You’ve got to get out of that office more. Golf is +what you need. I saw a lot of the old boys down there on the links and +it put new life into them.” + +“Golf be hanged.” + +Once or twice before Dicky had threatened golf, and everything +considered it appeared a worse punishment than whole wheat bread. + +“In the meanwhile, until the links are opened, we can get into +condition by walking home every day. We’ll begin to-morrow.” + +“Eh?” + +“To-morrow. What’s the earliest you can leave the office?” + +“Not until after three,” exclaimed Burnett nervously. + +“I’ll be there at half-past, then,” declared Dicky. + + + + + CHAPTER XXV + + DANGER + + +Forsythe found awaiting him one morning two letters which afforded him +anything but pleasant reading. One was from Hartley, brief and to the +point: + + _Doggett Shoe Company + New York, N.Y., April 3—_ + + BURNETT MANUFACTURING COMPANY + NEW YORK, N.Y. + + DEAR FORSYTHE: + + I beg, herewith, to cancel our order for all future deliveries of + enamel leather dressing. + + Sincerely yours + E.A. HARTLEY + +The other was from Craig, chief consulting chemist of the firm. It was +a detailed analysis of sample number 8472, forwarded on March 8th. The +most significant line was this: + +“The oil used appears to have undergone some process impossible to +analyze, which makes it particularly adaptable for this type of work.” + +It was a process of manufacture, then, rather than any concrete +formula. As such it lay beyond the scope of Craig’s keen eyes and +laboratory equipment. + +Forsythe leaned forward, opened a little drawer in his desk, and took +out a sample of enamel leather. He studied the smooth, glossy surface, +crushed it in his hand, and studied it again. He twisted it around his +finger and studied it further. It remained exactly as before. It was +the finest bit of enamel he had ever seen in his life. There was no +doubt about it. He had to face that fact—and many others. + +The best organization in the world could not buck any such superior +article as that in the open market. That is—by any ordinary method. But +an extraordinary situation called for extraordinary methods. Here is +where Forsythe sat back in his chair and squinted at the bit of leather +on his desk. + +The future of the Burnett Manufacturing Company was at stake, which was +not so important as the fact that this involved Forsythe’s own future. +He had put in here, not only the best end of his life, but his money. +Only last January Burnett had sold him a small portion of the capital +stock as a reward for his faithful services—stock that could not have +been bought in the open market at any price. And that had not been +the end of his plan. He had expected to buy more later—a great deal +more later. He was prepared, if at any time Burnett should need money +badly, to buy as much more as he wished to sell. + +If Burnett should need money badly—there was the nub of his far-sighted +scheme. It explained his motive in having introduced young Benton, +of Toole & Co., to Burnett—Benton, who had furnished the inside +information that had netted Burnett five thousand in steel on his +first venture in stocks. If Forsythe had observed Burnett correctly +for twenty years, that was the spark which would kindle the flame. The +man was disappointed in his son and craved, to offset this, some more +exciting game than the conduct of a business that was running itself. +So Forsythe had urged and so it appeared to be working out. He had +heard that Burnett had been plunging more and more heavily this last +month. The latter had hit it right once or twice, but give him time and +he was bound to lose. Now this young whipper-snapper of a Devons had +come along. + +Forsythe caught his breath. This new complication completely altered +the situation. If on top of Devons, Burnett went broke, he would drag +down with him the whole business and every one connected with it. The +only possible avenue of escape now was to buy out this new-comer. That +would take money. It might take a lot of money. Every day he waited it +would take more. This letter from Hartley was but the beginning. + +Again Forsythe squinted at the ceiling. Only two courses were open; +either he must buy out Devons, or break him. That was easier said than +done. So was everything for that matter. What the deuce had that girl +been doing in Devons’s office? She did not belong there. She had called +herself a bookkeeper, but she was no more a bookkeeper than she was an +office boy. Whoever she was she did not belong there, and when a woman +is where she doesn’t belong there are always interesting possibilities. +Forsythe had never seen her before, but she was of a type with which +the society columns of the Sunday papers had made him more or less +familiar. There was something about her nose and mouth and the poise of +her head which placed her there. + +But this Devons had come out of the West. Was he some modern Lochinvar? + +Forsythe turned to the telephone and called up his friend Moran, of the +“New York Journal.” + +“If you aren’t busy come down to the office,” he said. + +“What’s new?” questioned Moran. + +“Nothing much. I may be able to give you a line on a good story.” + +“Right,” replied Moran; “I’ll be there in half an hour.” + +He was acting on a slim chance, to be sure, but at least Moran would +find out for him who the girl was. If she turned out to be no one, +that at least would throw some further light on Devons. + +The next thing to do was to get hold of Burnett. Here was an even more +difficult problem. He must find some way of working him out of the very +danger he had led him into. Burnett’s danger was now his own danger. + +Moran came in with a cheerful expectancy that irritated Forsythe. He +selected a chair, lighted a cigarette, shoved back his hat a trifle, +and inquired: + +“What’s on your mind?” + +It produced on Forsythe the same effect as the solicitous inquiry of +an undertaker as to one’s health. This time, however, Moran had the +advantage. He had been sent for. + +“Nothing very much,” answered Forsythe cautiously,—“only—well, my +curiosity has been aroused, and I thought you might satisfy it and at +the same time get a lead you could use yourself.” + +“Let ’er go.” + +“I have a young friend who has just started in business. I drifted into +his office the other day and met his bookkeeper. I want to find out who +she is.” + +“Then what?” + +“That’s all,” admitted Forsythe. “She doesn’t belong there. Looks to +me as though she belonged somewhere along Fifth Avenue instead of in a +loft building.” + +“Society girl?” + +“Possibly.” + +“Pretty?” + +“All of that.” + +Moran nodded. + +“Sometimes they are all of that and live off Sixth Avenue.” + +“Sometimes, but I’ll bet a dollar to a doughnut this one doesn’t.” + +“What’s the address?” + +Forsythe supplied it. Then he leaned forward. + +“See here, Moran—if you dig up anything, I want you to come back to me +first.” + +“I get you.” + +“I’ll make it worth your while.” + +“I’ve no objection,” answered Moran, “but honest it doesn’t sound to me +like very hot stuff.” + +“I’m not saying it is. But—have a smoke?” + +Forsythe drew a cigar from his pocket and handed it to Moran. The +latter took it automatically and slipped it into his pocket. + +“I wish you could get after that to-day.” + +“I’ll drop around some time this morning,” agreed Moran. + +Forsythe saw young Burnett pass the door with his father and rose +abruptly. + +Dicky came in a few moments after Moran had left. + +“How’s everything?” he asked pleasantly. + +“I didn’t know you were back, Mr. Burnett,” replied Forsythe. + +“Blew in yesterday. Any mail?” + +“I don’t think so.” + +Forsythe glanced toward the private office of Burnett senior. The door +was closed. He had never considered Burnett junior as of being of any +possible use in this crisis, but suddenly an idea came to him. It might +be that the easiest way to reach the father was through the son. Dicky +had moved to his desk and was carelessly poking about among the various +trade circulars which Forsythe always tossed over there after he read +them. + +“Have you noticed any change in your father since you went away?” began +Forsythe. + +“He’s lost weight,” nodded Dicky. + +“It seemed so to me.” + +“Been working too hard.” + +“You think so?” + +Dicky glanced up. + +“What else?” + +“He hasn’t had as much as usual to do here,” answered Forsythe. + +“Eh?” + +“I’ve tried to take as much as possible off his hands, but he’s been +out of the office a good deal for the last month.” + +“Out of the office?” + +“Leaves here sometimes at ten and doesn’t get back until three.” + +Instead of looking surprised, as Forsythe expected, Dicky sat +down in the chair before his desk and appeared uninterested. The +reason for that was that he did not like the idea of discussing his +father’s affairs with his office manager. As a matter of fact, he was +considerably disturbed. + +“Those are stock-brokers’ hours,” suggested Forsythe. + +“So?” + +“I’ve been wondering—” + +Dicky looked up, and Forsythe paused. + +“Of course, in a way it isn’t any of my business,” Forsythe explained. + +Dicky nodded as though agreeing fully with that statement. Forsythe +flushed. + +“But in another way it is,” he went on. + +“How?” + +“Your father was good enough to allow me to buy a small block of +capital stock.” + +“I didn’t know that.” + +“So we’re partners in a sense.” + +Dicky frowned. + +“In this particular business. But what has that to do with my father’s +personal affairs outside of this business?” + +“This,” replied Forsythe with more spirit; “we’re up against a new kind +of competition that may call for a good deal of extra capital in the +next few months. If your father drops too much on the Street—” + +“You know that he _has_ been dropping a good deal on the Street?” +interrupted Dicky. + +“I know he has been putting in most of his time down there, and I know +he’s only a lamb at the game.” + +“This competition you speak of?” inquired Dicky. + +Forsythe reached into his desk drawer again and pulled out the sample +of enameled leather he had lately been examining. + +“Look at that!” + +Dicky took it in his hands and felt of it. “Well?” + +“It’s the best thing that has come on the market in ten years, that’s +all,” explained Forsythe. “We’ve got to meet it or go out of business.” + +“How do you propose to meet it?” + +“Buy the process if possible. If we can’t do that—” + +“Yes?” + +“We’ll have to think up some other way.” + +“What other way?” + +“I’m not sure yet,” answered Forsythe, “but we’ve got to do something +pretty soon. And it’s going to take money.” + +He handed Dicky the letter from the Doggett Shoe Company. Dicky read it +through. + +“He was one of our best customers,” explained Forsythe. + +“Has Mr. Burnett seen this yet?” + +“Not yet. I was going to talk it over with him this morning.” + +“Well, I wouldn’t,” said Dicky. + +“The sooner he understands the situation, the better,” declared +Forsythe. + +“I’m not so sure of that,” returned Dicky. “At any rate, I don’t want +him bothered with this for a day or two. In the meanwhile, can’t you +make some sort of a proposition to this crowd?” + +“I’ve got something started already.” + +“That’s the stuff. Let me know how it comes out.” + +He rose. + +“In the meanwhile,” he concluded, as he went toward his father’s +office, “keep your shirt on and don’t mention this to Mr. Burnett. I’ll +take over his share of this new responsibility.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXVI + + A NEW STENOGRAPHER + + +The plant of the Devons Manufacturing Company was running to capacity, +such as that was. Devons was working twelve hours a day trying to fill +his orders—orders that came in unsolicited. And Joan was trying her +best to keep up her end of the work, though, as the correspondence +increased, this was becoming more difficult. She had rented a +typewriter, and, though by exceeding care and close application, she +could in the course of an hour pick out with fair, if wobbly, success +whole practice sentences, she still found it considerably easier to +write her letters in long hand. The result in a way was effective, +because there were few men who did not instinctively select first from +their mail envelopes addressed in her bold, feminine handwriting. + +The bookkeeping, too, had become considerably more complicated since +she made her first entry, and not all the new customers were as eager +to pay cash as Forsythe had been. Then she had to keep another book +for the supplies purchased, and they developed daily into a longer and +longer list. Take it all in all, she had enough to do. + +From Devons’s point of view she had too much to do. Whenever he had +a minute to glance in her direction he found her scowling over the +ledgers like a worried school-girl. Sometimes he had to speak two or +three times to call her attention to the fact that it was the lunch +hour. Had he not kept track of it himself, there would have been days +when she would not have lunched at all. Neither would he, had he only +himself to consider. It was an effort to stop, but, hang it all, he was +responsible for having got her down here and the least he could do now +was to take care of her. + +Not that this was by any means an unpleasant duty. Rather was it a +disconcertingly agreeable task. When it is necessary to observe a +thermostat to the fraction of a degree, watch in hand, and keep in mind +at the same time sundry other details marking the difference between +success and failure, it may be pleasant enough to have in the rear +of the office quite the most beautiful and adorable and altogether +the most wonderful woman in the world; but not to be distracted by +that fact requires a degree of self-control that in time amounts to a +strain. Scientific laboratory processes are not supposed to be involved +with dark eyes and a pretty mouth unjustly disturbed by a set of books +concerned with figures. Whenever he saw her puzzling over a column, or +whenever he heard the timid click of the typewriter as she laboriously +strove to strike the right key, he kept saying to himself that she +did not belong there. She was not meant to be disturbed by anything. +Because she was, he felt guilty. + +Even when his thoughts took a pleasanter course and ran ahead to what +the future promised, to keep track of the temperature of a kettle of +linseed oil at the same time got on his nerves. Whether the stuff +became too hot or not hot enough appeared an indifferent matter as soon +as he indulged in the pastime of multiplying the profit per gallon by +the number of gallons he was manufacturing at present, and multiplying +that again by the number he could legitimately look forward to, based +on the increase of orders this last week. And that was not touching the +wide market beyond this single city. It was enough to make a man dizzy +in and of itself. Translate that income into terms of what it meant to +him for her—she being at that very moment within calling distance of +his voice—and the wonder is that he succeeded in doing anything at all. + +Yet he held himself amazingly steady. Day after day she came into the +office in the morning like some breath of spring, and though the man +within him leaped to meet her with eager, unsatisfied kisses,—there +were moments when he had to hold himself rigid not to venture after +not having seen her since the day before,—he merely nodded a curt +good-morning and went on with his work. It was not easy. Nor was it +easy, when at noon he went out to lunch with her, to remember that +after all she was only loaning herself to him for a little while. +Contingencies might arise at any time that would sweep her entirely +out of his life again. To be sure, he felt more and more secure as +the days went by, but he never allowed himself to be over-optimistic. +As his process bade fair to supersede the old, another process might +appear to supersede his. It was too soon to feel secure. But when that +time arrived, and he could look her fair in the eyes and bid her come +with him back into the world in which she belonged, then—it was a +heady dream. It sounded at times like an impossible dream. Yet if you +multiplied the profit per gallon with the number of gallons— + +He had been looking around for the last few days. The doctor in the +next office had spoken to him about a very good stenographer and +bookkeeper whom he was afraid he must soon let go. If Devons could use +her, he would find her an exceptionally efficient girl. It was not the +nine dollars a week that made Devons hesitate—he would take that much +out of his hide if necessary to relieve Joan,—but it was the fear that +if she did not have something to do here she would not stay at all. His +ideal would be to have her come in during the forenoon of every day and +just stay around for an hour or two. + +“Is the work getting too hard for you?” he asked her one day. + +“No,” she answered unhesitatingly. + +“I don’t want you to get all tired out,” he said solicitously. + +She laughed at that. “Do I look tired?” + +He was forced to admit that she did not. On the contrary, she seemed to +be vitalized by a new alertness. She entered the office in the morning +with a quicker step and a fresher glow in her cheeks. This was partly +explained by the fact that now she walked some of the way downtown, +generally leaving Charles at Third Avenue and Thirtieth Street, and +continuing the remainder of the distance on foot. This necessitated +arising a little earlier, but that was no hardship, because she found +herself waking at seven. With no evening engagements she retired +by ten, which gave her a longer rest than she had enjoyed for five +years—or at least a different sort of rest. She woke up refreshed in +body and soul. She sprang from bed with the zest of an athlete, and, +forgetting that such a person as Henriette existed, completed her own +toilet in half an hour. To be able to do this was in itself no small +luxury. It was good to be alone in the early morning with all the +world about her fresh and noiseless. It gave her a feeling of intimacy +with herself and her surroundings. This was her room and these were +her things in the daytime as before they had been only in the dark +at night. She felt herself a part of the day now—a part of the big, +stirring city which she knew was also awakening at this hour. She +was one of the hundred thousands that came to life like Nature with +the rising sun—that took their part in the day’s work, and so, in a +sense, became an integral part of the universe. It gave significance +to details which had been merely negative. Her little four-posted bed +became a positive factor in her life because it offered her rest after +the day’s work; the dimity curtains at the window, the paper on the +wall, the rugs on the floor, became associated with the personal side +of her because they were there when she came in with her mind still +active with the finished business of the day just gone, and greeted +her in the morning when she rose with all her thoughts of the work +which lay ahead. They did not mean anything when she came in listless +or merely physically tired. It is doubtful if before she could have +described minutely any of these exterior things. Now she could have +sketched with accuracy the pattern in the rugs. + +It was to a less extent so downstairs. She had her breakfast alone in +the big dining-room, and she came to know that room—to feel at home in +that room just because it was helping to make her ready for the tasks +ahead. Breakfast itself ceased to be merely a concession to nature. +She enjoyed her toast and coffee and eggs. She ate with a relish that +caused Jeffrey to temper in his own mind the verdict of madness with +which in the kitchen his mistress was being accused. To be sure, it +was most unusual for a young lady to rise at seven and dress herself +unassisted; it was most unusual for a young lady, not starting on a +journey, to leave the house shortly after half-past seven; it was most +unusual for a young lady to remain at home after dinner night after +night. But if such a strange procedure not only improved the young +lady’s appetite and color, but her spirits as well, it was going a +bit far to hint that she was losing her mind. Stranger methods than +this were resorted to in search of just such results. He had heard of +barefoot walking at dawn in the parks, to mention only one. + +It was when Joan left Charles at Third Avenue and hurried on alone, +that the color in her cheeks deepened. It was curious how, to so tiny +an adventure, she responded. But until these last few weeks it is +doubtful if ever she had walked alone three blocks in New York City, +and then only upon the one avenue. The other avenues were but numerical +facts lying either side of Fifth, made necessary by Fifth, as of course +one may not have five without one, two, three, and four, or, counting +backwards, one reaches fifth again through ten, nine, eight, seven, and +six. + +But this Third Avenue was now taking on an individuality of its own. +It seemed to have nothing whatever to do with Fifth. It was almost +like a street in another city. She was surprised by the number of +other girls she met and with whom she walked shoulder to shoulder in +silence—all hurrying into buildings similar to the building she now +called hers. Many were of her own age, and in time there were some +she felt as though she knew. They were in a way like Mildred—like +sisters of Mildred. She would have liked to speak to them if only to +say “Good-morning.” Sometimes she met their eyes and sometimes she +smiled back into them, but more often than not they turned away without +response, as though refusing to admit her as one of them. At first she +did not understand this. It was a trim, confident little body from the +next office, whom she met several times in the elevator, who gave her a +hint by staring one day overlong at the sables she wore. She never wore +those down here again because she noticed that none of the other girls +wore sables. After that—it may have been merely an illusion—she thought +the girls became more friendly. + +It was at about this time that the elevator boy began to call her by +name in the morning. It was always, “Good-morning, Miss Fairburne.” + +And she answered, “Good-morning, Jimmy.” + +She did not know how he learned her name or where she learned his name. +There seemed to be some vague bond of brotherhood among those who +met on their way to work in the morning. It was a little bit like on +shipboard, where somehow people come to know each other before the end +of the voyage even without formal introductions. + +All these things Joan appreciated. These new faces and interests +enlarged her world as, to a lesser degree, did all those unknown people +with whom she corresponded in the name of the Devons Manufacturing +Company. They all helped to take her out of herself. + +Just as Mark Devons did. She never thought of herself—her old self—in +connection with him. She did not associate him any longer with that +room he had occupied in her own home. Since the evening she had visited +him in Mullen Court he had always remained there in her thoughts—there +and in the office. It was much pleasanter to think of him in his own +surroundings. They were part of him and he a part of them. In their +simplicity and unconventionality they typified him. She liked the +directness of the life they stood for. They emphasized the man rather +than his trappings. In remembering the little attic room with its +refreshing bareness, it seemed as though he could not possibly live +anywhere else. + +Here in the office he wore the long olive-green laboratory coat he had +used at Tech. It buttoned to his chin and came to his feet, and was all +stained with oil and burned full of holes by acids. It neutralized all +of him but his hands and his face, so that one was never conscious of +his dress. She liked him so. And she liked to watch him at work when +he was not aware of her gaze. She had to be careful about this because +every now and then he looked suddenly. Once or twice he had caught +her, and then she was never able to control the rush of color to her +cheeks. After she turned back to her work, she was sometimes left quite +breathless for a full minute or two. + +Yet it was difficult not to admire the confident way in which he went +about his tasks. He was so sure of every movement of his steady hands. +He was so coolly accurate, so alert, so intense. This business was an +expression in him of his desire to do, to accomplish, to play his part +in the big, vibrant world of doers about him. + +And she in her little way was playing her part also. As yet she could +not do very much and that little clumsily, but she thought she saw +every day an improvement in her typewriting. Doubtless the girl in +the next office would have laughed could she have seen her stabbing +erratically with her forefingers at the keys, forgetting very often to +strike the space bar at all between words. Doubtless the girl in the +next office could have done the same work better in one half the time +and with half the effort. She was a very capable-looking young lady of +a sharp, precise type. Joan had overheard the doctor recommending her +highly to Devons. + +“She is quick and accurate,” he had said, “but if business doesn’t pick +up I may have to let her go. If I do, you’d better grab her.” + +“Thanks,” Devons had answered; “I’ll keep her in mind.” + +For a day or two Joan had felt more or less piqued by that +conversation. Devons had not replied as she expected him to reply. He +seemed to admit that in the future this other might be a possibility. +She applied herself more industriously than ever to the sentence, “Now +is the time for all good men to rally to the aid of their country,” +with the result that she cut down her slips from ten to six and in the +process almost forgot Miss Manning entirely. + +Then, coming in one morning a little later than usual, she found Miss +Manning sitting in her chair, behind her typewriter, busily opening the +early mail. Dazed she looked swiftly about the office for Devons. He +was not there. + +“This is Miss Fairburne?” inquired Miss Manning. + +Joan must have answered, though she was not conscious of it. + +“I am Miss Manning,” the girl informed her. “Mr. Devons asked me to +give you this note.” + +Joan took the note and for a moment held it in her hand. + +“Where is Mr. Devons?” she asked. + +“He has gone out.” + +“I don’t understand.” + +“Perhaps the note will explain,” suggested Miss Manning indifferently. + +Joan tore open the envelope. The note was brief. + +“Dear Joan,” it read, “please to go home. I will try to get in touch +with you there some time to-day.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXVII + + REAL NEWS + + +The story Moran had run into was bigger than he anticipated. As a rule +the layman’s conception of what makes good reading does not measure up +to professional standards, but in this case it was necessary to give +Forsythe credit for having the real news instinct. A daughter of the +Fairburnes working as a stenographer was essentially good stuff. Moran +had the word of the society editor that the Fairburnes were the real +thing and had been for a couple of generations. One had only to read a +list of Fairburne’s clubs if skeptical. + +But even so the story would have had considerably less value had not +the girl been so good-looking. To be sure, the story would have been +headed just the same, “Beautiful Society Girl, a stenographer,” even +if she had been red-headed, cross-eyed, and snub-nosed, but it added +a great deal to its worth to be able actually to come across with +photographs to justify such a statement. And an eye for the dramatic +value of pictures was Moran’s specialty. He did not bother Joan herself +because he did not care to run the risk of frightening her away. He +merely followed her to her home one afternoon, and thereby learned her +name and address. The society editor and the graveyard supplied certain +other details, and the elevator boy at the loft building unconsciously +revealed her business habits. + +“She gets down here about eight every morning,” he informed Moran. + +At half-past six the next morning Moran had Bill Somers, one of the +staff photographers, stationed opposite the Fairburne house to snap +her as she stepped into her waiting limousine to go to work. It would +be difficult to beat that for a picture. They then followed her to the +point where she stepped out and proceeded on foot. Another corker! +Finally they took her as she entered the building off Third Avenue. He +found in stock, to serve as an effective contrast, certain pictures +which had been taken of her at the time of her début in an exquisite +gown from Paris which revealed the beautiful curves of her neck and +arms. + +Armed with these and a half-column story which, though somewhat vague +in details, was still adequate to carry the pictures, Moran appeared +before Forsythe late one afternoon. + +“I want to run this Sunday after next,” he informed Forsythe. + +“Steady,” Forsythe warned. “Remember I have an option on these.” + +He looked them over with satisfaction. The job could not have been +better done had he done it himself—which was a good deal for a man like +Forsythe to admit. A little more might have been made of Devons, but he +could write that in himself. He rose. + +“Leave these to me.” + +“Eh?” + +“If I can use these as I think I can, I’ll pay you big.” + +Moran looked uncomfortable. + +“I’m risking my job.” + +“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” replied Forsythe sententiously. + +“I know, but—hang it all, you aren’t going to try to hold up the girl +or anything like that?” + +It was a strange speech for Moran to make. He had never spoken to the +lady in question and never seen her except at a distance, but somehow +she had made a hit with him. He liked the way she carried herself. She +was not only good-looking but something more—a whole lot more. She +looked like a good sport—the kind a man doesn’t like to hurt. Besides, +he might occasionally have done a thing or two in his life that was +not strictly professional, but he had never before been involved in +anything such as Forsythe’s eyes suggested. Had it been possible he +would have pulled out of the whole affair at that moment. + +Forsythe scented danger. He forced a smile. + +“It’s the man I’m after,” he explained. “It’s sort of one on him, +that’s all. Don’t worry.” + +“I’ll be back for those to-morrow morning,” said Moran uneasily. + +“Right,” nodded Forsythe. “Good-day.” + +Moran went out reluctantly. No sooner had the door closed behind him +than with a cautious glance toward Burnett’s office, Forsythe picked up +the telephone and called up the Devons Manufacturing Company. + +It was the girl whose picture he held in his hand who answered him. + +“Mr. Devons, please,” said Forsythe. + +After an interval Devons responded. + +“My name is Forsythe,” he announced. “Yes—of the Burnett Manufacturing +Company. I want to see you to-night on a very important matter. No, +I can’t tell you over the telephone. Yes, partly business and partly +personal. If you’ll come into the Waldorf lobby I’ll pick you up near +the desk. At eight. You understand this is really important? At eight, +then, to-night, near the clerk’s desk at the Waldorf. Good-bye.” + +Forsythe hung up the receiver. His forehead was moist. This was an +unusual piece of business even for him. He hoped it would not be +necessary to carry it through, but if it were—well, in a crisis it was +every man for himself. + +Forsythe entered the hotel at seven, and in the next hour drank +several cocktails. This in itself was enough to prove that the work +ahead of him was unusual because he had not drunk as much as that in +the last five years. But the effect was to give him considerably more +confidence of a certain swaggering kind. After all, a man who has +worked as hard as he had for ten years had certain rights. One of these +rights was to protect himself—by fair means if possible, but if that +were not possible, then by any other means he could find. Business in a +certain sense was war. He had seen worse things done than he proposed, +in both war and business. + +Yet if Devons had not come in fifteen minutes early, the chances are +that Forsythe would have needed another drink. The effect of the +stimulant did not last long. The sight of Devons almost undid the +efforts of the last hour. He extended his hand and Devons took it with +a trace of reluctance. Forsythe found a couple of vacant chairs in a +corner and led the young man over to them. + +“I wasn’t sure that you would remember me,” began Forsythe. “You came +to me last fall.” + +“I remember you perfectly,” replied Devons, “I think you’ve been to my +office since then.” + +Forsythe started. + +“That’s so,” answered Forsythe with an awkward laugh; “I guess I was +one of your first customers.” + +“I’m sorry I wasn’t in at the time.” + +“Your stenographer proved very capable. I take it she is your +stenographer.” + +“No,” answered Devons, “she isn’t.” + +“Really?” + +He waited as though for an explanation; waited as though an explanation +were necessary. + +“She’s my partner,” Devons informed him. + +Forsythe raised his brows. + +“She’s a mighty attractive partner if I may say so,” he replied. + +“I don’t see any occasion for your saying so,” Devons replied sharply. + +“Is there any harm in it?” + +“It’s beside the point. I don’t suppose you called me down here for +that.” + +Forsythe’s face hardened. He resented the impudence of the youngster. + +“Yes and no,” he replied. “Let’s go back a little. You came to me last +fall with a proposition to buy your new enamel.” + +“Which you turned down,” Devons reminded him. + +“Yes.” + +“With a warning that I’d come back.” + +“Did I? I’d forgotten. Perhaps you’ll come back yet.” + +“I doubt it.” + +“At any rate, I’m ready to make it worth your while. I’ve had time +since then to test it a bit. Frankly it has turned out better than I +thought it would.” + +“I’m glad you can recommend it.” + +Forsythe flushed. + +“Are you still in the market?” he demanded. + +“I can’t accept any more orders just at present,” replied Devons. + +“That isn’t what I mean. Are you still ready to sell the patent rights?” + +“No.” + +“I’m ready to make you a generous offer.” + +“I’m not ready to listen to any offer.” + +Forsythe leaned forward. + +“Look here, my boy,” he went on earnestly, “don’t lose your head. You +have a good enamel there, but I’ve been long enough in this business to +know that’s only half the game. A plant and organization back of your +product is the other half. You’ll find out that as you go on. Maybe you +can handle your orders now, but you’re only scratching the surface. +Why can’t we pull together on this new proposition—say on some royalty +basis? Believe me, you need us more than we need you.” + +“You’re coming to me: I’m not going to you,” Devons reminded him. + +“That only proves you’re not as experienced a business man as you might +be,” snapped Forsythe. + +“Perhaps.” + +“I’ll venture to say that on a ten per cent royalty we could make more +money for you in a month than you will be able to make in a year.” + +“So?” + +“Because we have the plant and organization to cover the market quickly +and thoroughly.” + +Devons nodded. + +“You’re right about your plant. You aren’t in the market with that, are +you?” + +“What?” gasped Forsythe. + +“I’ll have to have more room before long. If you’re in a position to +make a reasonable price—” + +Forsythe smiled—a wicked smile. + +“You certainly have your nerve with you,” he cut in. + +“How?” + +“Are you ready to pay a quarter of a million?” + +“Are you?” Devons parried instantly. + +“Is that your price?” + +“I might consider that much cash.” + +Forsythe was still smiling. “That’s too much,” he answered quietly; +“couldn’t you take off the matter of two hundred thousand or so?” + +“Not even a dollar. I’m not trying to sell.” + +“That’s quite clear. I think I could do better with your—partner.” + +“We’ll leave her out of the conversation.” + +Forsythe reached in his pocket. + +“That reminds me. I told you my business was partly personal.” + +He drew out a package of papers and photographs. + +“I have a friend in the newspaper game,” he explained as he held them +in his hand. “He came to me to make inquiries about you. He showed me +these and I asked him to hold up the story until I showed them to you. +You may find them interesting.” + +He handed them to Devons. + +“These are copies,” he observed as the man took them. + +Forsythe sat back in his chair where he could watch the young man’s +face. If it had been a question as to just how effective a weapon he +had, the moment Devons caught sight of the pictures it was no longer a +question. He saw Devons first flush and then grow pale. + +“What the devil are they?” Devons demanded. + +“They explain themselves, don’t they?” queried Forsythe. + +Devons went over the pictures and read the typewritten manuscript. He +read it with skin afire. Probably he had glanced through half a hundred +such stories about other people with indifferent interest before now. +But this—this was sacrilege. It was nothing short of that. It was +holding Joan up to the public gaze as shamelessly as though he were +parading her through the streets behind a brass band. It was something +that would maul her sensitive soul; something that she would shrink +back from with her arm over her eyes. And all through the narrative her +name had been linked with his in a way that by subtle innuendo left +those so inclined to read between the lines what they would. Then there +were the blatant pictures—including one of him which he recognized as +having appeared in his class album. Underneath it had been scrawled +“Mr. Mark Devons, manager of the Devons Manufacturing Company.” + +It was as though this were written in red ink. It was as though it were +an accusation of some sort. + +He turned upon Forsythe. He spoke slowly. His fists were clenched. + +“You damned yellow dog,” he breathed. + +“Easy, my boy,” returned Forsythe; “that doesn’t strike me as the kind +of language to use to a man who is trying to do a friendly act for you.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“I took the trouble to show you this before it was printed.” + +“Why?” + +Forsythe shrugged his shoulders. + +“Do you want it printed?” + +“You—you wouldn’t dare do a thing of that sort!” + +“It isn’t my affair.” + +“It must be stopped. It—it would kill her.” + +“Well?” inquired Forsythe. + +“Let me see the man who wrote it.” + +“These were given to me in confidence.” + +“Then you—Good Lord, Forsythe, you wouldn’t do this to a woman? She’d +take anything like this hard. It’s unfair to her. It would hurt her +unjustly.” + +“Why mix me up in it?” Forsythe broke out impatiently. “It’s the +business of a newspaper man to print a good story where he finds it. I +didn’t write it.” + +“You mean it can’t be stopped?” + +“I didn’t say that. Of course, I’m willing to do what I can. But under +the circumstances there is no particular reason why I should, is there?” + +Devons gripped his jaws. + +“Forsythe,” he said, “if we were out in the open I’d take a chance on +pounding you to a jelly.” + +Forsythe’s own jaws came together. + +“Besides the fact that it is not at all a certainty you’d succeed, it +wouldn’t do you any special good.” + +“It would do me a lot of good—a lot of good,” nodded Devons. + +“Admitting that, then, would it do the girl any good?” + +Devons winced. Obviously it would not. The story would go on just the +same. It would take its regular course until it shrieked itself forth +some Sunday morning to amuse a few hundred people for five minutes +after their breakfast. But the memory of it would last much longer. +They would point at her on the street. They would recognize her in the +theater. Her friends might shun her. + +It could not be, that was all. It began to dawn on him what Forsythe +was about. He turned once again to the man. + +“What’s your price?” he demanded. + +“Who said anything about price?” Forsythe answered cautiously. + +“What—what do you want me to do in order to interest you in stopping +this?” + +“Let’s separate the two things,” Forsythe suggested. “Let’s go back +to the subject of business. I came down here prepared to offer you +twenty-five thousand dollars in cash for your patent rights. I’ll make +the offer now.” + +“You mean that if I’ll accept that you’ll—” + +“Steady,” warned Forsythe, “don’t confuse the two propositions. My +offer to you is strictly business. Naturally I’d be willing to assist a +business friend in any personal way open to me. However, that is merely +incidental.” + +“The man who—who wrote this stuff would tear it up at your request?” + +“He is under certain obligations to me,” admitted Forsythe. + +“What assurance would I have?” + +“You could close your plant for one thing, dismiss your charming +employee—” + +“Damn you, Forsythe!” + +The latter rose. + +“So the little romance would be ended and the story would lack point. +But I’m not going to sit here and listen any longer to such language as +that.” + +Devons took him by the sleeve—with his thumb and forefinger as one +might handle something unclean. + +“Wait a minute, Forsythe. You’ll give me a little time to think this +over?” + +“I’ll give you until eleven o’clock to-morrow.” + +“Eleven to-morrow,” repeated Devons. + +“I’ll be at your office with a contract.” + +“At my office,” repeated Devons automatically. + +“I expect to decide the matter there in ten minutes. Good-night.” + +Forsythe started through the lobby, but until he was out on the street +he kept turning around as though in fear. + +Devons had settled down in his chair and was staring at the toes of his +boots. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVIII + + THE BIG HOUR + + +It being a fair, clear day with a touch of spring in the air, Dicky +took his father’s arm and escorted him on foot half the distance to the +office. As a consequence they did not come in until after nine, which, +while early enough under normal conditions, gave Forsythe as uneasy an +hour as he had ever spent in his life. He had been pacing the floor +since eight. Even then it was ten minutes before Dicky came to his desk +and Forsythe had a chance to speak to him. + +“You remember the matter I spoke to you of the other day?” he began +abruptly. + +“I’m not sure,” drawled Dicky. + +“Then you didn’t realize its seriousness,” snapped Forsythe. “I was +telling you about the new enamel process which has just been put on the +market.” + +“Right. I remember now.” + +“And I told you that if we were not able to corner it in some way, it +would come pretty close to putting us out of business.” + +“Yes.” + +“Well, I’ve—I’ve got an option on it.” + +“Good for you!” exclaimed Dicky. + +“It expires at eleven o’clock to-day.” + +“Snappy work!” + +“It calls for twenty-five thousand dollars in cash,” said Forsythe with +a little more emphasis; “I must have that within an hour.” + +“That’s a lot of money,” returned Dicky. + +“In one way. But if you’re getting something worth two hundred +thousand—” + +“Eh?” + +“To us,” put in Forsythe quickly. + +“But how in thunder did you do it?” questioned Dicky with interest. + +“That isn’t important,” returned Forsythe. “The important thing is to +have a certified check ready.” + +“That ought to be easy—if you’re sure of yourself.” + +“Do you think I’d go through what I’ve been through if I wasn’t sure?” + +“I don’t get you.” + +Forsythe took out his watch. + +“It’s now quarter of ten. Shall I see Mr. Burnett or leave it to you?” + +“Leave it to me,” answered Dicky. “I’ll go in now.” + +Forsythe handed him the sample and several letters. + +“Show him these,” he advised. + +Dicky took them, and feeling, on the whole, rather important with the +weight of business now on his shoulders, hurried into his father’s +office. Half a minute later he was back again to Forsythe. + +“That’s darned curious,” he said. “Dad isn’t there. His hat and coat +are gone too.” + +Forsythe sprang to his feet. + +“Call a taxi,” he ordered. “Get down to the offices of Toole as fast as +you can make it. ’Phone me from there.” + +Burnett senior had hardly swung his swivel chair up to his desk that +morning before he received a message from Toole. It was brief. + +“There’s going to be something doing in steel this morning. You’d +better be here.” + +“You mean—” + +“Come down and I’ll explain. It’s important.” + +So Burnett had put on his hat and coat again and tiptoed out with his +heart beating faster than it should. He was quite sure his physician +would have advised against any such excitement. But if all went well, +this would be the last time. It was to this end that he had taken on +yesterday a heavier load than he ever had intended. It was to this end +that he had broken his rule about margin trading. It was Toole who had +suggested this. He reminded him that the five thousand he had made +before on an outright purchase might just as easily have been fifty +thousand with the same amount of capital invested on a ten-point +margin. After all, this was not much different from the ordinary +real-estate transaction where one paid a per cent down and mortgaged +the property for the balance. The method, too, saved time. One was able +to condense a year’s transactions into a day. And time was important. + +Dicky had bothered him a good deal in the last few days. How much he +suspected and how much he knew it was difficult to say, but it was +certain that in the end Dicky would find out everything and put a +stop to it. He had been around the office more than usual, ever since +he came back from the South. Whatever was to be accomplished must be +accomplished soon. + +And in the last month he had dreamed larger and larger dreams for the +boy. At first he had been content to double his four hundred thousand, +but no sooner had the latter figures become established in his mind +than he wanted to double those. After all, when one was about it one +might as well. It appeared childishly easy. It only took a little +nerve. There was the tangible evidence of all his speculations so far. +He had made five thousand dollars which might just as well have been +fifty thousand. + +Dicky was troubled. He saw it in a dozen little ways. Once or twice he +had tried to draw him out, but without much success. The lad was not +the kind to whine over what could not be helped. There was no doubt, +however, but what it had to do with this girl—the girl he had spoken of +as a princess. If as the last big act of his life Burnett could make +her a real princess—that was worth a risk. Dicky himself did not know +how. He had had no training. That was not his fault. The father was +beginning to realize that now. He had made his son what he was—had led +him on to expect every wish to be gratified—up to this latest wish, the +biggest one of all. + +Perhaps this new reasoning was only born of the need of further +justification of the course he was pursuing. If so, he did not realize +it. He was honest with himself. + +And, after all, it was something to have one’s heart pounding a bit +faster. It took him back twenty years to the days when it pounded like +this naturally. He called a taxi and leaned back with his thoughts +racing off at all sorts of angles. + +His mood was a form of intoxication. All his senses were for the moment +sharpened. The sunlight appeared more golden; the sky bluer. He was +like a young man upon an adventure. Strictly speaking, it was Dicky’s +adventure and he was taking it for him. He was daring for him what he +would not dare for himself. By three o’clock it might be concluded and +the day won. + +So he speeded to the offices of Toole & Co.—magnificent offices +presided over by Toole the magnificent. He passed through the crowd +beginning to gather in the outer rooms and went direct to the sacred +inner room. Toole, big and optimistic, rose to greet him. + +“Good-morning, Mr. Burnett.” + +The first quotations were already coming over the private ticker and +Burnett picked up the tape. + +“How is she opening?” + +“Steel is off a fraction,” replied Toole. “If I were you I’d follow it +down.” + +“Eh? I’m in pretty heavy now.” + +“I know it, but—well, I’ve been informed the bears are going to raid +the stock to-day.” + +“Supposing I sit tight?” + +“You can do that, but—of course you have enough on hand to bolster up +your margin account?” + +The ticker reported a sale of six thousand shares—off a half. A second +sale of two thousand followed—off another eight. + +“What the deuce does that mean?” demanded Burnett. + +Toole shrugged his shoulders. + +“The big ones are up to something,” he answered. + +“I’ve a good mind to get out from under,” scowled Burnett. + +“Then you’d better be quick about it,” advised Toole. + +The next quotation was off a full point and the sales on that doubled. +If he sold now it meant a loss of five thousand—all he had made up to +date. It came like a challenge. + +“Buy five hundred at the market,” he ordered. + +Toole pressed a button on his desk and a boy jumped in. + +“Five hundred steel at the market,” he repeated. “Better come back here +and stand by, Mr. Burnett.” + +Burnett signed the order slip and the boy went out. + +That was the beginning of the Big Hour—the hour when Burnett condensed +into sixty minutes almost a lifetime. Steel continued down, and he +followed it while Toole studied him, making, casually, little figures +on a pad in front of him. At the end of half that time he called for +more margin, and Burnett signed a check and sent a messenger to the +bank with it. At the end of another ten minutes he called for still +more, and Burnett in a daze did what Toole asked of him. Steel went +down three points, six points, ten points. Still, it could not go down +forever. There must come soon a point where it would stop and start the +other way. Then— + +In the meanwhile a young man had stepped into the outer office of +Toole & Co. He wandered around the board room a few moments, looking +over the crowd as though seeking some one. These were all strange +faces. He stepped up to a clerk and asked if Mr. Burnett was here. + +“Don’t know him,” replied the clerk. + +He was very busy. Every one was very busy. There appeared to be a great +deal of excitement hereabouts. + +He finally stopped another clerk. + +“I’d like to see Mr. Toole,” he said. + +He handed him a card and the boy went off. He returned in a moment with +the report that Mr. Toole was very sorry, but he could not see him +to-day. + +Dicky considered a moment. There was something about the atmosphere of +this place he did not like. There was something about the name of Toole +and the fact that he was too busy to be seen that he did not like. +He drew from his pocket another card and scribbled across it this: +“I understand my father is here. I must see him on a very important +matter.” + +He called the clerk again and sent this in to Mr. Toole. He waited five +minutes. This time Mr. Toole himself appeared—Toole the magnificent. He +was smiling. + +“This is Mr. Burnett?” he inquired as he extended his hand. + +Dicky hesitated somehow about accepting the hand. It was large and soft +and white. + +“Yes. I came to see my father.” + +“Just so,” answered Toole; “don’t you find him?” + +He looked about the room as though joining in the search. + +“He isn’t here,” said Dicky, “but I suppose you have private offices?” + +“Why, yes, we have private offices, but—well, they are private.” + +“Is Mr. Burnett in one of them?” + +“He may be or he may not be,” replied Toole. “At any rate, it is the +policy of this firm not to interrupt our customers.” + +“You understand he is my father?” + +“I have your word for it,” smiled Toole. + +“You understand I want to see him on an important matter?” + +“I have your word for that, too.” + +“Then,” said Dicky, his face hardening, “take my word for it I’m going +to see him.” + +“That is assuming he is here.” + +“Is he here?” + +“I refuse to answer.” + +“Then—” + +Toole leaned closer to the young man’s ear. + +“I wouldn’t make a scene. This is a private, not a public office. If +your father is here, you may be sure he received your message and +exercised his right to see you or not.” + +Dicky glanced at his watch. It was half-past ten. After all, Forsythe +might have made a mistake. At any rate, the safe thing to do was to go +out and telephone and make sure. + +“Thanks,” replied Dicky; “I’ll see if Mr. Burnett has returned to his +office. If he hasn’t I’ll be back.” + +“I wouldn’t bother,” replied Toole. + +Dicky hurried to the nearest telephone and got Forsythe on the wire. +The man sounded excited. + +“I know he’s there. Insist on seeing him. Good God, you must see him!” + +“Right,” answered Dicky; “if you don’t hear from me in half an hour +ring up police headquarters because there may be a good-sized row +develop in the office of Toole & Co.” + +So Dicky went down with his face set this time and his eyes grown hard. +It was almost eleven! He called the clerk once again. This time he +scribbled on a card this message for Toole; “I’ve come back to see my +father. If I don’t get to him in five minutes, I’m going to start a +first-class rough house.” + +As the clerk went across the board room and toward the inner office, +Dicky followed him. He waited just outside for his reply. Once again +Toole came out smiling. + +“I’m sorry—” he began. + +Dicky lowered his head a little as for a line plunge and bolted past +him. His shoulder took Toole in the pit of his rotund stomach, which +was perhaps why the man made no immediate reply. He saw his father +slumped down in a chair near the ticker, his head in his hand. + +Burnett senior made his feet unsteadily. + +“Dicky,” he trembled, “Dicky, they’ve got me. They’ve cleaned me out.” + +“So?” answered Dicky. “Then take my arm. I guess it’s time to get out +of here.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXIX + + A STRAIGHT TIP + + +Joan obeyed the message she had received at the office from Devons to +the extent of going back home and waiting there two hours for him. +She spent most of this time in her room within arm’s reach of the +telephone, expecting every second the jangling bell to summon her. But +the thing remained silent—ominously silent. Then, unable to control +herself further, she ventured to ring up the office. It was Miss +Manning who answered with the businesslike announcement, “The Devons +Manufacturing Company.” + +“Has Mr. Devons come in yet?” + +“No,” was the curt reply. “Do you wish to leave any message?” + +“I think not,” replied Joan. + +She replaced the receiver on its hook with a snap. + +It was foolish of her to be irritated. For the last few days she had +struggled with a correspondence that had served her fair notice that +it was getting beyond her mediocre ability. Down deep in her heart +she had anticipated the necessity of turning over part of the work to +more experienced hands. But not the whole of it. An assistant was the +most she had contemplated. And now Devons had ordered her home like +a discharged clerk and without consultation had filled her place. She +was entitled, at least, to the customary two weeks’ notice. She felt +humiliated. She had been trying very, very hard to make good—harder +than Mark Devons suspected. As the first really serious undertaking of +her life, she had felt as though her success or failure were in the +nature of a test. + +Going back to the beginning she had some reason to feel proud. It +had all been new to her! He should remember that. Until she entered +the office of the Devons Manufacturing Company she had never been +inside a business office. The financial world had been as vague as the +Government world designated by the initials U.S.A. on mail pouches and +uniforms. It existed she knew, and she had once taken a course in civil +government so that she was not wholly ignorant, but it went on year +after year without in any way involving her. In the same way men and +women went downtown to their various tasks in the morning without in +any way interfering with her private life. + +Suddenly she had joined those who went downtown in the morning and +had done her level best to learn what they did and to fulfill her own +little function among them. She had done this joyously, proudly, and +little by little with more experience, and always with the feeling +that the man in the long linen duster spattered with acid holes was +fully appreciative of her efforts. + +To be sure, he did not say very much. That was not his way. He attended +to his business and left her to attend to hers. That was how he could +praise her best. He turned over to her absolutely the responsibility of +the books and the typewriting. And sometimes he glanced up and smiled +as though in encouragement. + +Here in her room she felt her cheeks crimson at the memory of his eyes +upon her. It was as though he said at such times, “Well done, partner.” + +Of course, there was nothing personal about their relations. That is, +she was quite sure there was nothing personal. She tried, at any rate, +to keep that quite strongly in mind. Perhaps at this moment it was +more necessary than ever. But she wondered if he was not going to miss +her out of the office as—well, as she had to admit she was missing +him. This subject of personal relationships was a broad one and, of +course, in their case it did differ somewhat from the usual employer +and employee type. He had been here in her house, for one thing, and +she had seen him as a man first rather than as an employer. He had been +just Mark Devons for several weeks before he became president of the +Devons Manufacturing Company. It was she who had helped him to the +latter position—she and Dicky. + +For a moment her thoughts switched off to Dicky. She had not heard from +him for a week or more—not since in her last letter to him in the South +she had informed him that she was too busy to reply at length to his +letters. She wished, almost, he were back in town. She would rather +like to see him. And yet if he learned of her discharge he might laugh. +Her brows came together and unceremoniously and altogether unjustly she +proceeded to thrust him out of her mind. + +After all, she was assuming too much about her present position and +Miss Manning, considering that she had not all the facts. It was as if +to emphasize this conclusion that at this instant the telephone rang. +Yet it was neither Miss Manning nor Mark Devons who called for her. It +was a strange voice. + +“This is Miss Fairburne?” he inquired. + +She answered almost as curtly as Miss Manning herself might have done. + +“Yes.” + +“I rang up the office for you and was told I would find you at home.” + +“Yes?” + +“I won’t give you my name because it wouldn’t mean anything to you. But +I’m a newspaper man.” + +She waited. She associated newspaper men with scandals and tragedies. + +“I just wanted to tell you that if any one tries to use unfairly a +story I wrote about you—” + +“A what?” she gasped. + +“Something I wrote for the Sunday paper. If any one tries to put +anything over with it, just tell ’em you’ve talked with me and that it +won’t go.” + +“But I don’t understand.” + +“You needn’t understand anything more than that. How long you been away +from the office?” + +“All the morning,” she answered. + +“Then if I were you I’d get back there. And, remember, just say the man +who wrote the yarn is going to kill it.” + +“Please,” she trembled, “can’t you tell me more?” + +“That’s enough. Get back. You’re too good a sport to hurt.” + +“But—” + +“Good luck.” + +With that the receiver was hung up. + + * * * * * + +When Joan swung open the office door and stepped in, it was like a +scene from a melodrama. Devons and Forsythe, both pale and evidently +very much excited, were facing each other. They were as tense and +alert as two wild animals about to spring at each other’s throats. +Unconsciously Joan looked about for Miss Manning, as though seeking +support. She was not there. The two men were alone. They both swung +toward the door in challenge of the intruder. Then quickly Devons +strode forward. + +“Joan!” he exclaimed, “what brought you down here?” + +“You were to telephone me and you didn’t,” she answered. + +“I know, but—in an hour. You’ll go back to the house now?” + +“I think I’d rather wait here,” she decided. + +“You mustn’t. This man”—he spoke as though he meant “this thing”—“I +must see him alone.” + +“Why alone?” + +“He has some business—some very confidential business with me.” He took +her arm as though to escort her out. + +But she resisted. + +“If it’s business, haven’t I a right to be consulted?” she asked. She +turned to Forsythe. “Mr. Devons and I are partners,” she explained. + +“So I understand,” he nodded. + +“So you see what concerns him also concerns me.” + +She closed the door behind her and moved to the center of the room. In +a silent appeal Devons lifted his eyes to Forsythe. What the latter saw +gave him a sense of advantage. If he, too, had at first resented the +interruption, he now saw it in a different light. Speaking directly to +Devons he said: + +“We had nearly finished, had we not? There was some unfortunate delay +about the check, but surely you will trust me until to-morrow. In the +meanwhile, if you will sign the contract it will enable me to leave at +once.” + +The last few words were what Devons snatched at. Forsythe would leave +at once if the contract was signed. At the moment any price seemed +small if it would clear the room of the man. Standing there with his +eyes upon Joan, he magnified a hundredfold the hideousness of what +Forsythe had just threatened. It was as though the latter in his own +person represented that American public who would feast with ghoulish +eyes upon those pictures of her in the Sunday paper. The evil smile +about the man’s coarse lips would, if he did not act now, be multiplied +soon into a hundred thousand such smiles. He would have struck Forsythe +down at this moment would it have done any good. But if he killed +him he would be extinguishing only one of those smiles—only one out +of thousands. Worse—it would only add further point to the story. It +would seem to justify it and give it an importance that would send it +speeding over the whole wide world. He must keep himself very steady. + +“Let me have the paper,” said Devons. + +Eagerly Forsythe drew it from an inside pocket and handed it over. At +the same moment he produced a fountain pen and unscrewed the cap. + +“Miss Fairburne will serve as witness,” he suggested. + +“Certainly,” she agreed. “Of course I may read the paper first.” + +Before Devons was aware of her intention she took it from his nervous +fingers and stepped a little away. He followed with an exclamation: + +“It isn’t necessary for you to read it.” + +She held it behind her back, meeting his eyes steadily. + +“I’m quite sure it is. Dad has often told me never to sign a paper +without first reading it.” + +“But you are to be only a witness.” + +“To what?” + +Devons turned back again to Forsythe. + +“It’s merely a contract for a sale of the business,” he tried to assure +her. “Mr. Devons appreciates the fact that a larger organization is in +a better position to handle—” + +But without listening further she broke in: + +“Sale? You are selling the business, Mark Devons?” + +“It—it seemed the best thing to do.” + +“You are selling—our business?” she repeated. + +“If you understood!” he exclaimed. + +“I think I’m beginning to understand,” she returned. “But it doesn’t +seem fair to make me fumble around in the dark.” + +“It’s a simple business proposition,” broke in Forsythe. + +“I wonder,” she replied. She turned away from him. “You said nothing of +this yesterday, Mark.” + +“No.” + +“Then your decision came suddenly?” + +It was Forsythe, whose mind seemed to be working more nimbly than +Devons’s, who supplied the answer. + +“Only because the offer came suddenly,” he said. “It’s one of those +things where quick action is necessary.” + +But she in her reply ignored Forsythe entirely. + +“Tell me a little more about it,” she pleaded. + +“He—he made me a cash offer and I accepted it,” he answered. “That’s +all there is to it except that the sooner I sign the contract, the +sooner we are rid of him.” + +“How much was his offer?” she asked. + +Devons hesitated, but there was no escaping from her eyes. + +“Twenty-five thousand,” he answered slowly. + +“But that’s absurd!” she exclaimed. + +“There were other considerations,” put in Forsythe hurriedly. + +Devons started. He turned toward Forsythe with clenched fists. + +“And these were?” inquired Joan. + +“I find myself in a position to do him a certain service.” + +“It must be a very valuable service, indeed.” + +“I think he will agree with me that it is,” returned Forsythe. + +“You will tell me what that is, Mark?” she asked. + +“No, no—I can’t.” + +“Then you will, Mr. Forsythe.” + +“If you do,” breathed Devons, “so help me God—” + +Joan placed her hand upon Devons’s arm. + +“Steady,” she warned. “I think I know already a good deal about it. You +are both referring to a newspaper article—” + +“Then he _has_ told you?” demanded Devons. + +“Mr. Forsythe? No. I learned about it—quite by chance. But now I demand +to be allowed to see it.” + +“Impossible!” gasped Devons. + +“I demand it as my right,” she repeated steadily. + +Forsythe smiled again—viciously, cynically. + +“It might save us from further delay, Devons,” he said. + +“Joan,” pleaded Devons, “don’t ask to see it.” + +“It is my right.” + +She was magnificent. More than ever now she looked like a princess. Her +head was up and her clear eyes challenged the world. Her lips, like +those of a child, were firm like those of a woman. But just because of +this it was necessary for him to stand firm by her side and save her +from hurt. + +“If you will let me sign,” he urged, “then I can tear up the other. So +it will be as though it had never been.” + +“It will never be like that until I have seen it,” she answered. She +held her hand toward Devons. “Let us have it over with,” she said. + +It was like an order. It was like an order from the throne. It was as +though he were deprived of all further choice in the matter. It was her +affair now—not his. She demanded as her right and he dared not refuse. +The moment she learned of the existence of this manuscript it became +hers—like a letter that has been mailed. And yet he would have gone +back to the day when he had stumbled out of Arkwright’s room hungry and +alone, to have warded off the blow. He would have wiped her out of his +life as though she had never been, to have saved her from this. As much +as she meant to him now—as much as the future meant to him—he would +have done that. + +“I am waiting.” + +It was her voice again. He drew the photographs and typewritten +manuscript from his pocket. + +“Some day,” he said,—“some day I’ll make the men who did this suffer.” + +She took the packet from him and opened it. Forsythe, his eyes +squinting, watched her. He saw the color spring to the girl’s cheeks; +saw her breath come faster; saw her, as he thought, cringe. And yet her +fingers remained steady. He did not like that. When she finished, she +raised her eyes first to him—then to Devons who had half turned away +from her. + +“This is all of it?” she asked. + +“Good Lord! Isn’t that enough?” choked Devons. + +“It’s sort of a silly thing,” she said. + +Devons snatched it from her fingers. He tore it across and then into +little bits. + +“Now let me have the contract,” he ordered. “I want to get this done +with.” + +“That was only a copy,” Forsythe reminded him. + +“I have your word that the original will be destroyed, too?” + +“I will do my best.” + +“Then—” began Devons, reaching again for the contract she still held in +her hand. + +She moved a little back and, as he had torn the manuscript, tore the +contract—once across and then into little bits. She did it quite +unemotionally and facing the two men. Forsythe was the first to +recover. He stepped toward her. + +“You did that in ignorance—just plain fool ignorance,” he growled. “It +will cost you big.” + +“I doubt it,” she answered. “But if it’s necessary to pay, I will pay, +Mr. Forsythe.” + +“You mustn’t listen to her,” cut in Devons. “She—she doesn’t know. This +is between you and me, Forsythe. You will make out another contract and +I’ll sign it.” + +“If you do I shall consult my father’s lawyer,” she answered. “Surely +I must have some interest in the business. If so my signature is +necessary, too. Remember we are partners, Mark.” + +“You have partnership papers?” demanded Forsythe, paling a little. + +“That is our affair,” she replied. + +“If true, it would add interest to the news story,” suggested Forsythe. + +The phrase served its purpose in arousing Devons once more. + +“We have no agreement in writing,” he answered. + +“Then,” smiled Forsythe, recovering some of his former assurance,—“then +I don’t see why we can’t finish our business without the help of Miss +Fairburne. I can write out a little memorandum that will serve until we +replace the formal contract which the young lady destroyed.” + +He stepped to the desk in the corner—her desk. Devons followed. + +“Mark,” she called. + +He turned. + +“You are letting him make a great deal out of nothing,” she said. “I do +not see that any great harm would be done if the story were printed. I +don’t like to allow him to think I stand in fear of any such trifle. +But—it won’t be printed.” + +“What!” exclaimed Devons. + +“Before I came down here I had a telephone from the man who wrote the +article. He promised that if any attempt were made to use it unjustly +he would tear it up himself.” + +Forsythe struggled to his feet. “I don’t believe you,” he choked. + +Devons made for him with a lunging blow. But before he could follow it +with a second, Joan had reached him. + +“He isn’t worth it,” she pleaded. + +Devons held himself with difficulty. Joan turned to Forsythe. “Perhaps +you had better leave at once,” she suggested. + +“It isn’t true,” repeated Forsythe. “You’ll make a mistake if you +believe her, Devons.” + +But at the same moment he began to edge toward the door. As he reached +it he paused. + +“It’s your last chance,” he trembled. + +“Not his but yours,” she answered. “I—I can’t hold him much longer.” + +Then Devons made for him once again and Forsythe disappeared. + + + + + CHAPTER XXX + + BANKRUPT + + +Dicky led his father through the outer office of Toole & Co. and out +to the street. The man bore heavily on his arm. In spite of that Dicky +said, “I guess we’d better walk a little.” So he led him for the matter +of a block or so in the noonday sunshine before calling a taxi. + +“It’s a good day for golf,” said Dicky. “If it’s like this to-morrow I +guess we’ll have to take our first lesson.” + +Burnett senior lifted his heavy head a moment. “Son,” he said, “did you +understand what I told you?” + +“Sure,” answered Dicky. “You said they had done you up.” + +“I’ve lost everything—everything and more.” + +“Well, forget it,” replied Dicky cheerfully. “It was only a question +of time, anyway. Just as well to have it done quickly and over with. +I’ll bet Toole has a sore spot in the neighborhood of the pit of his +stomach.” + +“But, Dicky—you don’t understand yet,” faltered Burnett. + +“You played and lost—isn’t that all there is to it?” + +“I drew all I had from the bank, I tell you. And I’m short two hundred +thousand.” + +“Just so. We’ll have to raise that on the house and business. I’ll +attend to that later. The thing for you to do now is to come home and +see mother. You’ve done enough for one day.” + +Burnett cringed. + +“What can I say to her!” he exclaimed. + +“Tell her the truth, that’s all,” answered Dicky. “You don’t need to +worry about her.” + +Burnett stumbled. + +“Put your weight on my arm,” said Dicky. But at the same time he raised +his finger to a passing taxi, and as it drew up to the walk helped his +father in. The man slumped into the corner like some lifeless thing. + +“Come,” warned Dicky, “this won’t do. We can’t let mother see us like +this. She’ll think something really serious has happened.” + +Burnett groaned. + +“It—it will kill her.” + +“What will kill her?” demanded Dicky. + +“Good Lord!” snapped Burnett, “don’t you understand yet? I’m bankrupt, +I tell you.” + +Dicky placed his hand gently on his father’s shoulder. + +“That’s the stuff,” he encouraged. “You got some of the old ring in +your voice that time. Buck up and keep it there. There’s a good old +sport down deep in you and that’s the man we’ve got to show mother. +I’ll miss my guess if she cares two straws whether you’ve lost your +money or not, but if she finds you’ve lost your nerve—she’ll take that +hard. She’s come sort of to depend on that.” + +Burnett pulled himself together and sat up. He met his son’s eyes. + +“Forty years of labor gone in a forenoon. It’s a whole lot lost, son.” + +“A whole lot of money,” nodded Dicky. “They certainly trimmed you good. +But after all, they didn’t get the best part of that forty years. Even +Toole couldn’t reach that. It’s up to you to save the rest.” + +“The rest?” + +“The fun you had piling it up—even the fun you had gambling with it.” + +“Eh?” + +“You had your hour,” grinned Dicky. + +“It pulled the heart out of me.” + +“I don’t believe it. Just now you’re feeling the reaction. But you’ll +get over that in a day or two, and it may be the making of you. You’ve +been working too hard for a year. The business has been taking out of +you little by little all that makes life worth living. It has been +eating into your health and your time. Now old Dr. Toole has remedied +all that. Sort of heroic treatment, but maybe that’s what you needed. +You wouldn’t listen to anything I said.” + +“You—you mean about the pumpkin pie?” + +“That’s one thing,” admitted Dicky. “Then about golf—” + +“Damn golf!” growled Burnett. + +“Steady there,” warned Dicky. “You’re going to have time now for +that—you and mother. I have a notion it would do her good too.” + +“How do you figure I’m going to have time?” demanded Burnett. + +“With no business to attend to—” + +“Eh?” choked Burnett. + +“If you’re in as bad as you say you are, you’ll have to cash in all +your assets, won’t you?” + +“The business?” Burnett’s fists clenched. For a second his old fighting +face came back. “We’ll have to pull that out somehow,” he said, as +though to himself. “Good Lord! Why, Dicky, what would become of you? I +built that up for you. I—I tried to double what I had for you—for you +and for her.” + +Dicky turned swiftly. + +“You what?” + +“It was for you and the princess,” said Burnett. “I—I wanted to make +you worth while for her.” + +Dicky caught his breath. + +“For me and the princess,” he repeated. Then in the cab he felt for +his father’s hand. “You took that chance for me and her?” + +“You said you weren’t worth enough for her. So—” + +Dicky had to gulp hard once or twice. Then his fingers closed over his +father’s fingers. + +“You old brick,” he trembled. “But I—I didn’t mean it that way. If I +had forty million it would be just the same. But it’s worth to me what +you lost to know what you lost it for.” + +“Only if I’d won!” exclaimed Burnett. + +“We might all be worse off than we are now,” declared Dicky. “Anyhow, +that chance has gone and so—” The cab had stopped before the door. “The +thing for us both to do is to be good sports before mother. Are you +game?” + +“Right,” nodded Burnett. + +It was the clasp of the boy’s hand that had given him a new lease of +life. He had expected the latter to take it hard, but instead of that +he had seen a flash of something in his eyes he had never seen there +before. He went into the house still leaning heavily on Dicky’s arm, +but with his head up. + +The mere fact that the two were returning home to lunch was in itself +enough to arouse Mrs. Burnett’s suspicions. But she did not need even +that clue. Her quick, tender eyes had studied her husband’s face too +many years to be fooled by any acting he might attempt, or any acting +Dicky might attempt either. She came down hurriedly from upstairs the +moment she heard their voices and confronted them at once with the +question, “What’s the matter?” + +“Dad and I just thought we’d surprise you by coming home to lunch,” +replied Dicky. + +“What’s the matter?” she repeated. + +“Why—er—” + +It was easier said than done, this telling her the truth. Dicky turned +to his father, but the latter only raised appealing eyes to him. She +looked very frail at that moment. + +“Something has happened!” she exclaimed. “Tell me, Dicky.” + +“Why, it isn’t anything to get frightened over.” Dicky stumbled on, +“Dad here—well, he took a shot at the market and lost.” + +“Everything,” put in Burnett, as though anxious to make a clean sweep +of it at once. + +Mrs. Burnett relaxed instantly. + +“Is—is that all?” she answered. She stepped to her husband’s side. His +head was beginning to droop again. “Why,” she exclaimed, “I thought it +was something terrible. I thought you had had a shock.” + +Dicky grinned as he slapped his father’s back. “What did I tell you?” +he demanded. “Isn’t she the old sport?” + +“Mother,” said Burnett, “they cleaned me out.” + +“Didn’t leave him a shoestring,” nodded Dicky. “Can you beat it?” + +Shyly she tucked her hand within her husband’s. + +“As long as they didn’t take you, Joshua,” she trembled. + +“I guess it would have been better if they had,” he answered. + +“Hush,” she whispered as she led him into the sitting-room. + +And Dicky with a load off his shoulders backed her up now +enthusiastically. + +“It’s going to leave him time to enjoy life a little, eh? As soon as +you begin to get out and exercise, you can eat all the pumpkin pie +you want, Dad. It’s the men who sit around in offices that have to be +careful of their diet. If you could have seen the way at Palm Beach +some of those old codgers fed up after a round of golf in the morning, +you’d have envied them. Got anything to eat in the house, Mother?” + +“I guess we can find something,” she smiled. + +“I’ve had a strenuous morning,” he explained. “You take care of dad +while I go upstairs a moment.” + +He went up the stairs two at a time, and entering his room was careful +to close the door behind him. Then he sat down before the telephone and +called up the offices of the Burnett Manufacturing Company. + +“I want to talk with Forsythe,” he announced. He scarcely recognized +the man’s voice as he answered. “I just wanted to tell you to hold off +on that new deal for a day or two,” he began. + +“I wanted to talk that over with your father at once,” answered +Forsythe. “It didn’t go through the way I thought it would. Where is +Mr. Burnett?” + +“He’s at home,” replied Dicky. “He’s going to stay at home for a while.” + +“Can I see him at the house?” + +“No,” said Dicky. + +“But look here—this is serious. I spoke of twenty-five thousand. It +looks now as though we might have to raise four times that.” + +“Eh?” + +“We’ve got to buy that new process, no matter what it costs. If we +don’t we’ll be put out of business in six months.” + +Dicky passed his hand over his forehead. + +“That so?” + +“I’ve got to talk it over with your father, I tell you. Every day we +wait is going to make it harder.” + +“A hundred thousand dollars, you said?” + +“Perhaps more. The point is, we’ve got to have it.” + +“Look here, Forsythe,” began Dicky, “that’s a lot of money under the +present circumstances.” + +“The present circumstances?” inquired Forsythe. + +“The fact is, dad has got in kind of bad on the market.” + +“Good God!” choked Forsythe. + +“I’m going to see his lawyer as soon as I can get away, but, to speak +frankly, it looks bad. Your friend Toole led him into deep water.” + +“You mean—” + +“It will take about all he has to square himself. I haven’t been able +to go into details with him yet, but I guess there isn’t much doubt +he’ll have to scrape together every cent he can raise in and out of the +business.” + +“He—he’s bankrupt?” + +“Practically.” + +“Then he’ll drag us all down!” + +Dicky resented the tone of his voice. + +“Whom do you mean by all of us?” + +“You and me and—why, he was a damn fool!” + +“Look here, Forsythe!” + +“I mean it,” Forsythe ran on wildly. “If he had held off another week—” + +“I’d cut out that kind of talk if I were you.” + +“I backed him with every cent I had in the world. I have a right to +talk. I—” + +But at this point Dicky quite unceremoniously hung up the receiver. +There was not much use in talking over the telephone to a man in his +condition. And to tell the truth, he was not in the slightest sorry +for him. He had never liked the man. The way he wore his hair was +against him, and his friends Toole and the others were against him. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXI + + DISCHARGED + + +As soon as Forsythe went out, Joan closed the door and stood with her +back against it facing Devons. + +“Now,” she said, “can’t we forget the whole incident and go on with our +work?” + +Devons looked up at her. He was breathing a little rapidly and his face +was flushed. + +“It isn’t right for you to be mixed up in such miserable affairs,” he +answered. + +She smiled a little. + +“I didn’t mind,” she assured him. “It was rather exciting. It was a +little bit like a play, wasn’t it?” + +“With you as the heroine,” he said. “You fought him single-handed and +won. Only—don’t you see I can’t let you take the risk again?” + +“I don’t think he will come back again.” + +“Not Forsythe, perhaps, but there are others. The city is full of +them—of men and women eager to give an evil turn to situations of this +sort. I didn’t think of it until Forsythe opened my eyes. I can thank +him for that much. You see, Joan,—you don’t belong down here. That’s +the truth and every one knows it.” + +“Mark!” she cried. + +“You’re a Fairburne,” he ran on. “Your mother reminded me of that once, +and it didn’t mean very much then. We from the West are apt to laugh at +names. We’re apt to scorn them, because out there a lot of us haven’t +names that mean very much. But here it’s different. New York isn’t the +West, after all. And a name like yours gives you certain privileges and +demands certain obligations. It’s sort of a sacred thing to be guarded. +And a man—if he thinks a great deal, a very great deal of the woman +back of the name—has to shoulder those obligations. Joan—don’t you +understand?” + +He had stepped closer to her. His eyes were on fire. + +“This doesn’t sound like you,” she answered. + +“Because,” he went on breathlessly,—“because I’m saying things now +I’ve fought back for weeks—fought back because I had no right to say +them. But this last hour has changed everything. You have been so +magnificent—so wonderful, Joan. I was ready to sell out to Forsythe—to +take the little he would give me, cancel my debts, and go back home +with my share of what was left. It was all I could do to save you from +the danger I’d led you into. That meant leaving you and forgetting you. +I had steeled myself to that. Then you came, and made that unnecessary. +You gave me another chance. For now, with Forsythe out of the way, +it’s going to be easy. You saw how badly he wanted this. He’d have +committed murder, I think, to get my process. That means it is going +to sweep everything before it. A few months more of hard work and the +business will be doubled, trebled—there is no end to it. That’s what I +see ahead of me—a fortune and then, perhaps—you.” + +He seized her hand. + +“You mustn’t,” she protested. + +But he could not be stopped now. + +“You,” he repeated. “I love you, Joan. Day after day I’ve fought +against it, knowing that I wasn’t worthy of you. ’Way back in those +days at your house, I knew. I dared love you then when I wasn’t +anything but a penniless outcast. The beauty and gentleness and grace +of you crept into my soul. I lay there while you read and marveled at +you. And I gripped my jaws and swore that if I got my strength back I’d +go out into the world and win for you the things you deserved.” + +“Please!” she broke in. + +The words hurt her. They were almost the same words Dicky had used. +They sent her thoughts back to those few moments at Delmonico’s when he +had leaned over the table and spoken. She had answered him that she was +starting on a great adventure. So she had, and now— + +“That’s what I swore,” he continued, “and that’s what I mean to do. +It’s almost within my grasp now, if you’ll wait just a little while +longer, Joan. You’ll do that?” + +His eyes were burning into her. She turned her head to escape them. She +felt the power and the earnestness of them, but they only frightened +her. + +“For—for what?” she asked hopelessly. + +“Until I have a right to go to your father and claim you. Until I can +give you all the things I’ve dreamed of giving you. It sounds wild to +you? But I know now what I have here. Not New York City alone, but the +whole State—the whole Nation—shall bring me tribute so that I can lay +at your feet the treasures of the world. I’ll have ships sailing to +India for you and other ships sailing to the land of pearls for you. +They’ll come back laden with presents for you. Ah, Joan—wait a little +while for me.” + +And all the answer she made was this: + +“Then you don’t need me here any more?” + +“No, thank God. The drudgery will soon be over. But the typewriter +there in the corner—” He smiled. “I shall put that away. I shall buy a +new one for Miss Manning and keep the other sacred.” + +“She’s to take my place?” + +“I’ve engaged her to take over the bookkeeping and the correspondence. +There will be a great deal of it soon.” + +“So—” + +“So you’re to remain safe at home.” + +He raised her fingers to his hot lips. Then he threw back his shoulders +and faced her with the pride of a conqueror. It was like this that Miss +Manning saw him as she opened the door and came in. + +Joan went back to the house as she was bidden—went back with so much +of the joy gone out of her that when she came in to lunch, much to her +mother’s surprise, the latter appeared distinctly worried. + +“My dear!” exclaimed Mrs. Fairburne; “I trust nothing serious has +occurred.” + +She spoke as though she were in a frame of mind to expect most anything +to happen. + +Joan smiled weakly. + +“To all intents and purposes I’ve been discharged, Mother,” she replied. + +“You are not going down to—to that place any more?” + +“No. I’m not wanted.” + +“Then I shall be forced to admit that I am under a certain obligation +to Devons,” declared the mother. + +“How?” inquired Joan. + +“For having sense enough to appreciate the fact that you were entirely +out of place there.” + +“But you don’t understand. If I had made myself essential, this +wouldn’t have happened. He—he has found some one to do the work +better—for a few dollars a week. To fail isn’t anything to be proud of, +is it?” + +“It’s something to be thankful for if it keeps you at home,” replied +Mrs. Fairburne. + +Joan lowered her head. “I’m ashamed,” she said. “Thoroughly ashamed.” + +For a moment the mother studied her in amazement. It was evident the +girl was sincere. That was quite the most peculiar feature. In some +way her daughter was hurt—humiliated. In the end she gave up trying to +explain it and crossed to her side. + +“There,” she attempted to comfort. “This has been from the first an +unfortunate incident, but if it has ended as well as it has, let us be +thankful.” + +“I tried—I tried so hard.” + +“Yes, dear.” + +“And I was doing better every day.” + +“Yes, dear.” + +“If he had given me another month—” + +It was the mother heart which spoke now. + +“Cry a little, dear,” she urged. “Then it will be easier to forget.” + +So Joan cried a little, though in the end she smiled through her tears +at her foolishness. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXII + + GOLF + + +It was the office boy who found Forsythe. When the lad came in that +morning to perform his usual tasks he saw the man in his chair leaning +forward with his head on his desk as though asleep. He tiptoed about +his work in order not to wake him. And then—in passing closer to the +desk—he saw something crimson like red ink spattered over the papers +upon which the head rested. Then he saw the clasped hand and the +revolver. + +Holding his breath, as though more than ever anxious now not to awaken +the man, he stole out. In the corridor he began to lift his voice in a +panic. + +“He’s shot himself!” he cried. + +Dicky answered the telephone that rang wildly that morning at seven, +and at the news said quietly: + +“Notify the police. Don’t ring up here again. I’ll be right down.” + +He was out of the house fifteen minutes later and at the office at +half-past seven. Already the officers were there, but after feeling of +the cold dead pulse they ordered the man left where he was until the +coroner arrived. Dicky took one look at him—at the stiff figure and +the brushed-back hair and went on to his father’s office. He sat down +in the old swivel chair and called up Wentworth, his father’s lawyer. +He got the man out of bed. + +“I wish you could come down right away,” he said. “There’s the devil to +pay all round.” + +“But, my dear fellow,” protested Wentworth, “a couple of hours from now +will do quite as well.” + +“Oh, come on,” pleaded Dicky. “I’m all hollow in the pit of me.” + +“Then I’d suggest a good breakfast.” + +“Come on, will you?” shouted Dicky. “There’s a dead man here and I +don’t know what’s coming next.” + +He hung up the receiver without further identifying the dead man, which +perhaps is what brought Wentworth down there within an hour. But he +was needed to answer the thousand questions the reporters put, if for +no other reason. And after that, when things were cleaned up a little +and the two were alone, Dicky in his father’s old swivel chair and +Wentworth opposite him, the lawyer began to go to the heart of the +matter. + +“Tell me all you know,” he demanded. + +Dicky told him, but, everything considered, it was not much. + +“I guess dad has been cleaned out all right enough,” concluded Dicky. + +“But this Forsythe—where does he come in?” inquired Wentworth. + +“He owned some stock in the company,” answered Dicky. “He was all +worked up trying to put through a deal to acquire a new process which +he thought was going to put us out of business. When I told him what +had happened to dad he seemed pretty well worried, but—Holy Smoke! I +didn’t think it would lead to anything like this.” + +“Perhaps there was something else,” suggested Wentworth. + +“Not that I know of.” + +“Your father might know. I think I ought to see him.” + +“Now, look here,” protested Dicky. “Let’s leave him out of this. He has +troubles enough as it is. What I’d like to do is to clean this all up +without bringing him into it.” + +“If I know him, that’s going to be hard to do.” + +“I think we can manage it. I’m going to break him into golf this +afternoon, and I have a notion that when we get back he’ll be so +dog-tired he won’t be able to think.” + +“But, my boy, you haven’t the authority to take over his business.” + +“Then I’ll get it. Can’t you make out some sort of paper?” + +“He could give you a power of attorney, of course.” + +“Then fix it up and I’ll have him sign it. In the meanwhile you can go +ahead and find out where he stands with Toole & Co., can’t you?” + +“I suppose the firm will let us know that. There is probably a letter +in his morning mail.” + +The mail was on the desk. Dicky ran through it and picked out an +envelope with a Wall Street address in the left-hand corner. + +“Here it is,” he nodded. + +He tore it open. It was a cold-blooded statement of yesterday’s +transactions and showed a debit of two hundred and ten thousand dollars. + +“That’s going some,” he observed as he handed it to Wentworth. The +latter glanced it over in amazement. + +“What has he got to cover this?” he asked. + +“Hanged if I know,” answered Dicky. + +“You’d better find out right off. Accounts of this sort aren’t allowed +to stand long. I’ll make out the power of attorney for you and then +you’d better call in an auditor to make an inventory. The sooner we +begin, the better.” + +“Right. And the sooner we get through it the better. It looks as though +I’d better be hunting around for a job somewhere.” + +Burnett senior was inclined to rebel at this arbitrary method of being +relieved of his business. + +“I’m not dead yet,” he protested. + +“Far from it,” agreed Dicky. “The point of this new arrangement is to +keep you from being dead for a long while to come.” + +“But what in thunder do you know about the business?” inquired Burnett. + +“Not much,” admitted Dicky. “However, I’m willing to learn. Besides, in +this present emergency I’m turning things over to Wentworth. When he +gets through, we’ll hold a war council and see what comes next.” + +“Yes—Wentworth is a good man,” nodded Burnett. + +Dicky was further aided and abetted by Mrs. Burnett, so that in the +end Burnett signed the power of attorney. Armed with this, Dicky went +back to the office and gave Wentworth _carte blanche_ to go ahead and +do whatever he pleased. It was then noon, and he rang up Hastings at +the Harvard Club and reminded him of an invitation he had frequently +extended to take him out to the Dale Country Club whenever he had a +half-day. + +“I want you to give my father his first lesson in golf this afternoon,” +he informed Hastings. + +Whatever the latter’s emotions were upon receipt of this news, he +politely concealed them and generously offered to do his best. + +Dicky sat on the club piazza drinking ginger ale with his mother while +his father started around the course. Two hours later his father came +back perspiring. He had made one half the holes in three hundred and +forty, but it must be remembered that his nerves were not in the best +of condition. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIII + + THE BIG CHANCE + + +It was Hartley’s proposition. He rang up Devons and asked him to drop +in at the office that afternoon. There had been a delay in the last +consignment of enamel, and this had set Hartley to thinking—this and +a rumor, following the death of Forsythe, that all was not well with +the Burnett Company. The report did not come as a surprise to Hartley. +Indeed, he did not see how the new Devons process could do otherwise +than cut into the Burnett business. The youngster had something that +had only to be tested to prove its superiority. Still he had given +Forsythe credit for being able to handle the competition in some +better fashion than putting a bullet through his head. It would not +have surprised him any to have seen the man manage to absorb the new +invention. Forsythe was both shifty and nimble-witted. The youngster +was lucky to escape him in so simple a way. + +But with this danger removed, Devons was not handling his business +as he should. He had a gold mine there if he only knew it and took +advantage of his opportunities. One of the most obvious opportunities +was that which now lay before him. If it was true that Burnett +was in financial difficulties, here was one of the best plants and +organizations in the country waiting for him at his own figure. Why +in thunder did not Devons jump at it instead of fooling around in his +little two-cent laboratory and botching his orders? Hartley had been +holding up a big lot of shoes for three days now waiting for enamel. +That was not business. Devons could spoil the best thing in the world +if he kept this up long. He had written and telephoned, and the only +satisfaction he had been able to get was that the stuff would be +shipped as soon as possible. That was not soon enough as business was +conducted to-day. + +There was the possibility, of course, that Devons lacked capital to +finance the purchase of the Burnett plant. That, however, was not a +valid excuse. Any man half awake could raise what money he needed on +such a good thing as this, if he knew how. Perhaps the difficulty lay +here. He had sent for him to find out. Under the proper conditions, he +himself might be willing to put in some money. + +Devons did not find it necessary to wait this time in the outer office. +He was admitted at once. + +“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting on that last order,” he began. + +“You couldn’t help it,” Hartley finished for him. “However, that +doesn’t make it any the less awkward for me.” + +“I know it, Mr. Hartley, but I’ve been bothered more or less lately. I +expect soon to get straightened out.” + +“How?” + +“I’m going to have more room and try to find an assistant.” + +“One?” + +“To start with.” + +Hartley swung his chair clear of his desk. + +“Man, you need twenty. Have you heard any stories going the rounds +about Burnett?” + +Devons started. + +“You mean about his general manager—Forsythe?” + +“Forsythe’s death was only a symptom. They say the firm is in a bad +way.” + +“I hadn’t heard anything about that.” + +“Burnett has been playing the market and lost heavily. Besides that, +you are cutting into his business and are bound to cut in more every +day. I’ve been wondering if this wasn’t your chance.” + +“In just what way?” asked Devons. + +“To take over his plant.” + +“But Forsythe was trying to buy me out!” exclaimed Devons. + +“That shows he knew the value of what you have. It’s none of my +business, of course—but did you make him a figure?” + +“I did not,” answered Devons. “He tried to blackmail me into selling.” + +“That’s Forsythe,” nodded Hartley. “The only surprising thing is that +he didn’t succeed.” + +“If I didn’t have just the kind of partner I have, he would have +succeeded,” Devons admitted. “But she—” + +“She?” + +Then on the impulse of the moment Devons told the whole story. Hartley +listened, both interested and amused. + +“She was a good sport, all right,” he exclaimed when Devons had +finished. “And now—Good Lord, man, you have the whole thing in your +hands! If I were you I’d get to Burnett as soon as my legs would carry +me. Get an offer out of him. It wouldn’t surprise me if you could put +it over for around seventy-five or a hundred thousand dollars.” + +The figures took Devons’s breath away. + +“Where in thunder could I get that amount?” + +Hartley leaned back in his chair and thought a moment. When he spoke +again it was cautiously—as though feeling his way. + +“Devons,” he said, “I believe in your process. I think you have a +fortune ahead of you if properly managed. I wonder now if you would +care to consider letting me in on this in return for financing the +proposition for you?” + +Devons sprang from his chair. + +“Would I?” he exclaimed. + +“Steady,” advised Hartley. “It won’t do any harm to do a little +figuring on it, anyhow. Pull your chair up nearer the desk.” + + * * * * * + +It was fortunate that Hartley was a man who could safely be trusted +to do the decent thing, because Devons in his enthusiasm at the +prospect of having a partner with the former’s wide and sound business +experience was ready to agree to anything. Furthermore, Hartley stood +for success. He looked and acted it. To have him connected with any +enterprise was insurance. And so while the latter discussed this thing +and that with him for the next half-hour, Devons did scarcely more than +nod his approval. Incidentally, however, he did talk enough to give +Hartley a clear idea of just where Miss Fairburne stood in the deal. +She had raised the initial five thousand for him, and Devons considered +that she had an equal interest with him in all rights and profits. + +“We share and share alike,” he concluded briefly. + +“I see,” smiled Hartley. “I might almost consider you as one then.” + +Devons flushed. + +“There is that possibility,” he admitted. “But I don’t think I’m +justified in letting you put it just that way.” + +“Well, from all I hear of her from you I should say you are to be +congratulated.” + +In the end Hartley’s suggestion was that in return for a one-third +interest he would undertake negotiations with Burnett, furnish the +capital, and without at present giving up his position with the Doggett +people undertake in his spare time active management of the business. + +“I know a young man I can put in to carry out my ideas and do the +routine work,” he concluded. “He’s a Tech man and has had training +under me. Starling is his name. You will like him. But of course you’ll +want to think this over for a day.” + +“I don’t see why,” answered Devons. “It sounds right to me. I’m willing +to sign an agreement to that effect as soon as you can make out the +papers.” + +“What about your silent partner?” inquired Hartley. “She may have +opinions of her own.” + +“I’ll see her right away, but I know she’ll be with me.” + +“We’ll leave it like that, then,” concluded Hartley. “But the sooner +I’m in a position to act, the better.” + +Devons left the office walking on air. This new arrangement promised +to accomplish in a few months all that by himself he might have been +years in bringing about. With a modern plant and a man like Hartley to +oversee it and organize the selling, the whole country could be covered +as quickly and as easily as it would have taken him to cover the city +alone. It was like a gift from the gods. And it brought Joan just that +much nearer. It brought her so near that as he walked out into the May +sunshine the world became suddenly vibrant. As with quickened pulse +he strode along to carry to her this wonderful news, the city became +touched with magic. The very air tingled and the humdrum old buildings +of wood and brick which he passed took on a romantic beauty like the +buildings of some strange Old World city. He was walking on a different +level now. His feet no longer clung to the surface, but were tipped +with wings that raised him to some rarefied stratum. He sensed the same +exhilaration as one walking upon a great height. + +He took the Tube to the Hudson Terminal, and instead of at once getting +into the uptown Elevated he came to the surface again. Hartley had +spoken of the need of haste, but even at the risk of an hour’s delay +he must enjoy this hour. So he threaded his way through the downtown +crowds and past the giant buildings. Both the people and the buildings +used to awe him—almost humble him. Now he faced them with a smile and +a conscious power. As he went on, this grew into something akin to a +feeling of superiority. He had met this city and conquered it. He +had come out of the West a poor boy, and with naked hands had fought +and won from it the choicest of its gifts. It was the moment before +possession, and that sometimes brings keener reactions than actual +possession. The past was still vivid enough to afford its full contrast +to the future. He went back, gloating over the climax, to his hard luck +when he staggered cold and hungry and penniless and friendless along +streets similar to these—to that time when the city seemed to be on +top. He remembered the indifference of the passers-by. He might have +dropped dead among them and they would scarcely have turned to see him +drop. Now in a few months, possibly in a few weeks, they would watch +him go by with envious eyes. + +He was on the threshold of success. He stood before the door which had +reluctantly swung open admitting him to the sultan’s palace. Within lay +all the treasures of the world—everything that money could buy. And a +little way farther in lived the princess waiting for him. + +His thoughts flashed back to his father and mother and brother and +sisters plodding along the dull routine of their lives on the Western +farm. He had not written for several weeks. He had wished to wait until +he had something definite to tell them. Now—when he wrote again—how +he would make their eyes open. He could go back with his suit-case +bulging with ten-dollar bills. Actually that was no longer a fantastic +dream. He _would_ do it. He would do just that. Only he would not go +alone. He must wait until Joan could go with him. + +Joan! Joan! Joan! How the name sang to him! He allowed it to sing to +him. He had suppressed the music long enough. He was going a great deal +farther than he had any right, but with the right so near he could +hardly be blamed. It was as though she were by his side now. + +A little way farther he mounted a Fifth Avenue ’bus and climbed to the +top. He could see better up there. And the elevation fitted better into +his mood. He could look down on the streets—look down with Joan by his +side. It was almost as if they were in their limousine together—the +limousine he meant to buy. For he meant to buy for her all the choice +things of the world. + +To be sure she had most of them now, but they were not his gifts. That +is what was going to make the difference. She must leave behind her all +she had now and let them come fresh from him. What jewels she now had +would count for nothing against the jewels he would buy for her. And +her gowns and her hats and her dainty shoes—from head to foot he wished +them all to come from him. Only by giving could he express in tangible, +concrete form his love for her. Only by buying. He was no poet. He +must get beautiful stones and silks and satins to express his sonnets +for him. + +This was possible only through the medium of money—through a king’s +fortune. And that was now almost within his grasp. There were those +who affected to scorn money, but they did not know what he knew. He +recalled with a certain uneasiness one of his gentle-souled professors +who had given his life to the investigation of abstract theories—to +pure science. The man had taken an interest in him during his first +two years at Tech and had sometimes asked him to his rooms at night. +There he talked wisely and encouragingly to him. One evening as he +was leaving the professor had placed his hand upon his shoulder and +searched his eyes. + +“Devons,” he had said, “there is a great future ahead of you. I wish +I might look forward to seeing you take up my work where I shall be +obliged to leave it.” + +Devons had looked around the barren bachelor quarters crowded with +books and had not answered. Here was a man who did not need money—who +found a full life within himself and his work. But Devons wondered then +and he wondered now if the man had any such past as his own. + +All his life Mark Devons had seen money stand for the difference +between a full life and an empty life. In the West it stood for the +difference between some one and no one. The stature of a man was +reckoned in terms of his fortune. That standard had been bred in him. +He had seen it exemplified in his father’s life. He accepted it. He +was forced to accept it. In and of itself money meant nothing, but +interpreted in life it meant everything. In his own case it meant Joan. + +It meant Joan! Once again his thoughts swirled dizzily about her. They +were speeding along upper Fifth Avenue—past shop-windows laden with the +choice things of the world for those with money. The world had been +scoured to bring them here. Most of them were for the women—for the men +to buy for their women. Here was the one opportunity for men who were +not poets to materialize their thoughts for the women they loved. In a +few months now he would be in a position to do just that. + +He climbed down and jumped off the ’bus and made his way to the house +he had not visited since that day he drove away from it. He had been +humble then. But now he held his head well up and walked boldly. He +would not be afraid to meet Fairburne to-day. He would not be afraid to +meet Mrs. Fairburne. + +Jeffrey at the door recognized him and greeted him with a respectful +smile. He thought Miss Fairburne was in. If Mr. Devons would step into +the drawing-room he would make sure. Devons stepped in. The room had +not been changed in any detail. It was as familiar as his own home. +There was the fireplace before which he had sat so often with her—where +he had fought back the thoughts that flooded in upon him. But he could +think them now as much as he pleased. He stood with his hands behind +his back and smiled with satisfaction. He took note of details. In his +new home he must duplicate as nearly as possible what he saw here. He +could vary them in color and design, but here was a standard. + +In the midst of this pleasant pastime she came in. She seemed somewhat +disconcerted, but she was always at her best when startled out of her +calm self-possession. It gave alertness to her eyes and color to her +cheeks and eagerness to her sensitive lips. In her way she was as +suspicious at having him appear in mid-afternoon as Mrs. Burnett had +been to see her men-folk at this time. She paused halfway to him, but +he was at her side in two strides. + +“Joan!” he exclaimed, “it’s business this time—for the last time, I +hope.” + +“I know,” she nodded. “You’ve sold after all, then.” + +“Sold?” he exclaimed. “I wouldn’t take a million dollars for the +process to-day.” + +She moved away from him and sat down. She felt safer sitting down. +He went back to his position before the fireplace. He stood there so +confidently, almost with such an air of proprietorship that she feared. + +“Well?” she inquired. + +“Hartley sent for me,” he announced, as though that in itself were +something to be proud of. “I’ve told you of Hartley.” + +“Yes.” + +“He—he wants to go into partnership with us.” + +“With us?” + +It was as though she failed to connect herself at all with the “us.” + +“With you and me. He made an offer to undertake the full management and +furnish capital, for a one-third interest. Do you realize what that +means?” + +She considered a moment and then replied, “I’m afraid I don’t, Mark.” + +“It means success!” he exclaimed. “With a man like him with us we can +accomplish in weeks what it would take us months to do alone. Why, he +has a scheme in mind already to buy the Burnett plant—” + +She raised her eyes quickly at that name. + +“The Burnett plant?” + +“They were our big rivals,” he explained. “Forsythe was with them.” + +She frowned at the recollection. + +“Now Burnett has lost his money in the market.” + +“I—I hadn’t heard anything about that!” she exclaimed. + +“There is no reason why you should, is there? Hartley told me. The man +is practically bankrupt, and we expect to buy it in at our own price.” + +“This is Joshua Burnett you are talking about?” + +“It’s Burnett, of the Burnett Manufacturing Company. I don’t know +anything more about him than that. But Hartley says it’s our great +opportunity. He is willing to put up the money provided we’ll take him +in. He sent me up to you to get your consent.” + +“I—I don’t see what I have to do with it,” she answered. + +“You? Everything,” he ran on. “Why, we’re partners, you and I. I can’t +put through any deal without you. I told Hartley that we each held a +half interest. Without you I couldn’t even have made a beginning. And +now that success is within our grasp, why, we’re going to share that, +too.” + +She was leaning forward, staring at the floor. + +“You—you don’t seem as glad as I thought you’d be,” he complained. + +She roused herself. + +“I was thinking of Burnett,” she answered. “It—it seems sort of hard on +him.” + +“If he speculated and lost—that isn’t our fault, is it?” + +“No, Mark.” + +“And after what Forsythe attempted—” + +“But Mr. Burnett had nothing to do with that,” she protested. + +“I only know he needed my process and tried that way to get it.” + +“It was Forsythe,” she cut in. + +“You know this Burnett, then?” + +“I have met his wife,” she faltered. “And I have met his son. Forsythe +must have acted without their knowledge. I am absolutely certain.” + +He glanced impatiently at his watch. + +“Well, we’ll admit as much,” he concluded. “I must get back to Hartley. +You give your consent?” + +“I—I don’t know anything about what to do,” she stammered. “You must +act upon your own judgment.” + +“Right,” he nodded briskly. “Then I shall accept the offer. And +now,”—he stepped nearer her,—“I hope I won’t ever have to bother you +again with such details. They disturb you. I’m sorry to have had to +come to you to-day. I’ll be glad when I shan’t have to be bothered +myself. Hartley is going to take over just those things.” + +She was sitting back in her chair a bit rigid. + +“You don’t know what this means to me, Joan,” he said. + +“I’m glad if it makes you happy.” + +“It won’t make me completely happy until I’m able to make you happy.” + +She rose now. + +“Me? Please not to worry about me.” + +“The next time I come it won’t be as your business partner,” he +whispered. “The next time—” + +“We mustn’t look forward to the next time,” she warned. + +He frowned. + +“What do you mean?” + +“Things happen in such a queer way,” she replied. + +When he found himself again outside the house he was repeating that +last sentence to himself. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIV + + A BUSY MAN + + +For a week Joan tried at odd times to get hold of Dicky, but as near +as she could make out, there was not a busier man in New York. In +just what way he was busy she could not discover. He was never in +when she telephoned, and in reply to a note he answered only that it +took so much time trying to see that his father did not play too much +golf that he was left with scarcely a minute of his own. Under those +circumstances, and some others, she was glad enough when her father +proposed a couple of weeks at Atlantic City. So they motored down there +and stopped at the Traymore. It was just before the season, so that the +Board Walk was not yet too crowded to be unpleasant and one could still +sit on the hotel deck in decent seclusion. Here she relaxed and baked +herself in the sun or listened to the band concerts on the Pier, gazing +out to sea. It was an indolent, hazy existence, and was undoubtedly +just what she needed. + +The one disturbing factor was the long letters she received every +morning from Devons. He was glad she had left town. He saw now that +the strain of the last month had told on her, and he blamed himself +for that. He should not have allowed her to undertake anything so +arduous. She was not accustomed to anything of the sort. She was not +hardened to it as Miss Manning was. The latter made no effort and left +the office at night as fresh as when she came in. She was proving very +satisfactory. + +When Devons talked of her like that he was repeating almost the +very words of her mother. He was quite as blind as the latter had +been—quite as narrow. He had failed utterly to realize what these +months had really meant to her. It was not the work which had worried +her, but his attitude toward it. And from him she had looked for +something different. She had expected him to understand her—to see the +facts her mother and Dicky had missed. She had been happy—supremely +happy—with the joy that comes of service. That is the only happiness +that lasts—that can perpetuate itself. For a little while she had felt +herself useful, and it was this that had given significance to those +days. To be sure, she had done a very little, and perhaps had not done +that little as well as Miss Manning was doing it. But that little—he +had permitted Miss Manning to take that little away from her. There +was nothing left. That is what she felt as he wrote to her. There was +nothing left between them to give point to his later letters. + +For the next few days he talked only of Hartley. He admired the man. He +stood almost in awe of the way he was taking hold of the business and +pushing through the negotiations with Burnett. + +“Hartley is a genius,” he wrote. “And his man Starling shows the result +of training under him. The two are putting in ten hours a day and I am +spending most of my time with them. I’m turning out only just enough +enamel for Hartley to use because it seems a waste of time to putter +around in a small way after listening to the plans they have ahead. And +the letters are coming in every day clamoring for the stuff. I tell +you, Joan, we have a market bigger than I ever realized. We’ve got them +going. + +“There isn’t much doubt but what we’ll get the Burnett plant. The only +question is one of price and Hartley is driving a sharp bargain.” + +And so on and so on and so on. Those details did not interest her in +the slightest. She frowned at every mention of the name of Burnett. +There were times when she felt as though involved in some plot against +him—and against the little woman she had met who was so proud of Dicky +and against Dicky himself. She wished Dicky would write to her. She had +dropped him a note saying that she was going to Atlantic City and hoped +to hear from him. But she did not hear. At the end of a week she was +going through her morning mail looking for his boyish handwriting with +an eagerness that surprised her. When instead of that she found the +businesslike scrawl of Devons, she was always brought up with something +of a shock. It was odd, but down here the whole affair with Devons was +fast becoming more and more a detached episode. It was probably due +to the fact that it began so abruptly and ended so abruptly and had +so little to do with her present existence, while Dicky went back in +her life several years. Then, too, one could not imagine Devons here +without spoiling him. On the other hand, this was just the sort of +place into which Dicky would fit. He would like nothing better than to +sprawl out in a steamer chair beside her with a rug over his knees and +talk of nothing in particular. She would like to hear him talk again of +nothing in particular. + +Then when finally the deal was consummated—Devons sent her a wire the +day the purchase of the Burnett plant was made—he began to write an +entirely different sort of letter. She had anticipated this. She had +dreaded just this. Her cheeks burned as she read the first one—burned +with shame as though she were reading another woman’s letters. It would +have been better had he told her these things. With his eyes back of +the words and his vibrant voice they would not have sounded quite so—so +crude. They would have seemed more personal. Besides, she could have +checked him then at the beginning. As it was, he had his own way—taking +everything for granted. Even when in her replies she did not reply +at all, he retained his confidence. It was as though he assumed her +consent to all he wrote. Once she tried to write him what she felt, but +it sounded as crude as his own letters, so she tore it up. She felt +quite helpless, and in this emergency turned in her thoughts again to +Dicky—of all men. It was, under the circumstances, rather absurd. + +In the end it was Dicky rather than Devons that brought her back to +town. She had begun to get worried about him. In the two weeks she +had been away she had not heard a single word. This was unlike him, +for even when she had treated him most badly he had never ceased to +keep her posted about what he was doing. He had written her daily from +Florida at a time when she had been so occupied with other matters that +she had not deigned to reply at all to most of them. But it had not +been because she did not like to hear from him. Even when he was most +foolish she had not objected to reading his outpourings. There were a +great many things Dicky did not understand, but now that no one in the +world understood that seemed less significant. He, at any rate, was +consistent. And whatever it was now that prevented him from writing, +she had no doubt whatever but that if she could see him she would find +him exactly the same old Dicky. It was with an unexpressed desire to +prove this that she came back to town instead of remaining another week +as her mother urged. + +She had not intended to tell Devons of her plans, but meant to have a +day or so to herself. That morning, however, he called her up over the +long distance just as she was starting, and insisted upon seeing her +that afternoon. + +“I want to take you all over the new plant,” he said. “We are fairly +well installed now, and you must see for yourself what progress we’ve +made. It will open your eyes.” + +It was the last thing in the world she desired to do, but she knew that +if she refused now it would be only to postpone the inevitable, so she +consented. He was to call at the house for her at three. + +When he stepped into the drawing-room she felt as though he had +undergone some metamorphosis. It was almost as though he had changed +physically. He was quicker in his movements—more aggressive in his +attitude. He carried himself like a nervous man of affairs. But perhaps +these peculiarities were given undue emphasis by his dress. She had +never seen him except in the old pepper-and-salt suit he had first worn +and the somewhat battered gray felt hat. They had to her grown to be +a part of him. These had now been discarded for a new blue serge that +fitted perfectly and a new Panama. She noticed, too, that his low shoes +were new and that he was wearing gloves. It was a conventional enough +costume, but it made him over into a modern young New York business man +of a type. Much that characterized him as Mark Devons had vanished. To +be sure, all this was superficial, but it had its effect. + +It was clear that he was impatient to show her at once the tangible +result of his success, and so after scarcely more than commonplace +greetings they started in the waiting taxi in which he had driven up. +On the way it was of Hartley again that he talked—of Hartley and the +prospect that lay ahead. + +“It’s like a fairy story coming true!” he exclaimed. “I can hardly +believe it yet. It is only a few months ago that I was wandering around +these streets on foot and penniless. And now—” + +He turned to her as though this were the first time he had seen her +since her return. + +“You’re looking very much better,” he said abruptly. “The rest has done +you good.” + +“Yes?” + +“At the rate things are going now, I ought to be able to get away +myself for a little while this summer. If it’s possible I’d like to +get home for a week.” + +She tried to show some interest. + +“They’ll be glad to see you.” + +“They will when they see what I bring them.” + +The cab had stopped before a fair-sized building. As she stepped out he +pointed to a freshly painted inscription. It read + + =DEVONS MANUFACTURING COMPANY= + +“I wanted to make it Devons, Fairburne & Hartley,” he explained. “But +Hartley thought this was the better trade name. Every time I look at it +I’m half afraid it’s only an optical illusion. Read it for me.” + +She repeated the words, “Devons Manufacturing Company.” + +“That’s it,” he nodded. “Some different from the one crowded room we +started with, eh?” + +“It looks very imposing,” she answered. + +“We’ve taken over two or three standard kinds of blacking Burnett was +making. But as soon as I get time I’m going to try to improve on those. +I believe I can do it.” + +“I believe you can,” she said. + +He led her in as proudly as he might have escorted her into a palace. +After all, it stood for that. From this old building was coming the +wherewithal to build the Arkwright house which was to be his real +palace. He took her into the general offices where Burnett used to sit +and introduced her to Starling—a clean-cut young fellow. + +“One of the partners in the firm,” he explained. + +Starling, with a batch of letters in his hand, paused long enough to +be decent, and then stepped over to Miss Manning who sat behind her +machine in a corner of the office. In another minute he was dictating +and she was watching Miss Manning’s quick fingers taking down the +letters in shorthand. Devons was forced to call her twice to get her +attention. + +“We’ll begin at the ground floor and go up,” he announced. “I want you +to see it all.” + +So they went down again to a big room filled with kettles where a +half-dozen men stained with black, sticky stuff were about their tasks. +It was difficult to distinguish one of them from another, but as she +watched them one of the men lifted his head. His face was that of a +negro minstrel. She caught her breath as her eyes met his. He, too, +appeared taken aback for a second and then he grinned. He paused only +long enough to nod and turned to his work. She clutched Devons’s arm. + +“That man—over there?” she questioned. + +She pointed him out to Devons, but the latter only shook his head. + +“I don’t know one of them from another,” he answered. “Some of them are +Burnett’s men, and I believe Starling has taken on one or two new ones.” + +“But that,” she said,—“that is Dicky Burnett.” + +“Don’t know him,” he answered indifferently and started on. + +But she left his side and hurried over to Dicky Burnett and touched his +arm as he was bending over his work. + +“Dicky!” she cried. + +He looked up. + +“Hello,” he answered. + +“You—what are you doing here?” she demanded. + +“I’ve taken a job—to learn the business,” he replied, unabashed. + +“But you—surely that wasn’t necessary?” + +“It was,” he answered. + +“I don’t understand. You must come and tell me about it. You must come +this evening.” + +“I’m afraid—” + +“No. I insist. You will come this evening.” + +“Very well,” he consented. “Only—” + +“I shall expect you at eight. You promise?” + +“Yes.” + +Devons in astonishment had reached her side. She turned back with him. + +“You know the fellow?” + +“He is Mr. Burnett’s son,” she answered. “I—oh, it’s all so topsy-turvy +I want to go home.” + +“But you haven’t seen half.” + +“I’ve seen enough,” she pleaded. “I want to go home.” + + + + + CHAPTER XXXV + + LOVE + + +When Dicky strolled in at eight, his old immaculate, nonchalant self, +it was hard for her to believe that he was the same man she had seen +a few hours before smudge-covered and in greasy overalls. As she came +forward excitedly to greet him, her big eyes were full of questions. + +“Tell me,” she said eagerly, “from the beginning.” + +His own eyes took fire at the beauty of her. In all the years he had +known her he had never seen her look fairer. She was all she had ever +been at her best and something more. It was that something more that +puzzled him. It was as though all her superficial charms had suddenly +grown deeper—as though her eyes, always deep, had now become like +one of those bottomless lakes in the mountains, and her lips, always +tender, had taken on the infinite tenderness of a mother. He had come +prepared to put all the past behind him, and he found it intensified. + +“I’d rather forget it all—with you,” he answered. + +“Why?” she asked directly. + +The reason was that he felt a man ought never to come to her except +with tales of success—with reports of good fortune. A lady does not +care to hear from her knight of reversals. And yet as he looked into +those new depths he found it difficult to express this in any way that +would not hurt her. + +“It isn’t pleasant reading,” he replied awkwardly. + +“You are ashamed?” she asked in astonishment. + +“No,” replied Dicky quickly. “Not that.” + +“Then tell me.” + +He sat down opposite her and leaned forward with his hands clasped over +his knees. He wanted to make the recital as brief as possible. + +“After all, it’s an old story,” he said. “Dad took a turn at the market +and got cleaned out. It was necessary to cash in everything to pay up. +That left us broke so we moved to a flat in Brooklyn and I took a job +with the new firm to learn the business. Now tell me about yourself. +How did you happen to drift in there?” + +“I came in with Mr. Devons. Don’t you remember him?” + +Dicky squinted his eyes a moment. + +“Seems to me I saw him somewhere once.” + +“He was at the house. He is the man I—I almost ran over.” + +“Good Lord, is that the fellow?” + +“He is the man for whom I borrowed the money. Why, he’s a partner of +yours, Dicky.” + +He looked puzzled. + +“A partner of mine?” + +“When I took the money I agreed to make you a silent partner. So you’re +a partner of mine and a partner of his. You and I have between us a +one-third interest.” + +Dicky rose to his feet. + +“Well, I’ll be hanged!” he exclaimed. “Then I’ll be able to pay back +that five thousand to dad!” + +“You went to him for it?” + +“I had no other place to go.” + +“You can pay back that and a great deal more besides. Why, Mark says—” + +“Mark?” he interrupted. + +The color came to her cheeks. + +“Mr. Devons,” she explained. “He expects to make his fortune on his +share.” + +“Then dad ought to make half a fortune,” he nodded. + +“Only it’s really yours.” + +“Mine? I’d have a nerve to claim it. Why, it was all on account of me +that he got into the hole.” + +He had said too much and realized it the next second when she pressed +him to go on. + +“Somehow,” he faltered ahead,—“somehow dad thinks a lot of me. I’m sort +of a weakness of his. One day I got to telling of something I wanted +a whole lot—something I wanted more than I’d ever wanted anything. So +what does he do but try to get it for me. He figured it would take +several million, and had it all worked out on a pad how he could get +that. Only he didn’t get it. Instead the other fellows got all he had. +I guess it’s up to me now to return what I can.” + +“Was what you wanted—as valuable as all that?” + +“If dad had made all he set out to make and then doubled that, what I +wanted would have been worth it and more if I could have got it,” he +answered earnestly. + +“But what—” + +“The chance has passed, anyway,” he concluded. “But I want to get back +to him and tell him about this. He’s worried and that interferes with +his golf.” + +Apparently he had recovered his old good-humor. + +“You ought to see dad playing golf,” he smiled. “He has taken off +fifteen pounds already. It’s doing him a world of good, but I couldn’t +see how I was going to manage it much longer on twelve dollars a week. +But if he’s going to get dividends—why, he thought I lost that five +thousand the first week!” + +“And you?” + +“I thought so, too,” he admitted. + +“You—you didn’t have much confidence in me, Dicky.” + +“Not as a business woman,” he confessed. “And here you come out ahead +of the whole crowd of us.” + +He met her eyes a moment. + +“Joan,” he trembled, “if you go ahead and reveal any more talents or +anything, I won’t be able to stand it.” + +“Stand what?” she demanded. + +“You. Just your wonderful self. You make a man dizzy.” + +“But, Dicky—” she began gently. + +He turned away from her. + +“Good-night,” he said abruptly. “I must go.” + +It’s a pity that he did not look once again into the depths of those +eyes, for there was something in them at that moment it would have done +his soul good to see. + +And it remained there as she sat on alone long after he had gone. As +the realization of what it was seeped to the very heart of her, it +quickened her pulse and glorified her face until she felt as though +suddenly she had stepped out of the shade into the full beat of the +living sun. For a little while she gave herself up to the sheer magic +warmth of it without daring to look about—without daring to give it a +name. So one awakens sometimes in the month of May, scarcely venturing +to awaken fully lest the celestial chorus of bird songs and blossom +fragrance and the springtime radiance of golden light vanish. But +insistently the word she tried to suppress—the word that expressed +it all—worked its way through her consciousness to her lips, until +finally, very gently, she whispered it. Such a tiny word it was to mean +so much. Such a soft, tender word it was to harbor such creative power. +Love! One could pronounce it between heart-beats on the tag end of a +breath. A sigh took more effort. And yet, when once pronounced, how +it sent her blood to racing—how it put her in touch with the stars in +their firmament, how it made her one with the eternal verities of life, +even of death! + +She rose and faced him where he had been. With her head back and her +two arms stretching out unconsciously, she whispered, “Dicky!” + +That was all she said, and yet it meant as much as that other word. The +two words meant the same. Love was one word and Dicky was the other. +And they meant the same thing. They stood for the same thing. They were +synonymous. + +But as soon as she admitted this her cheeks turned a flaming scarlet +and she looked about as though afraid of being seen. She raised one +hand to her lips as though cautioning them to be careful. Because in a +way she had no right to utter his name as she had. He had said nothing +of love. He had come at her bidding and hurried away as soon as he +could. Once, a few months back, he had spoken, but she had silenced +him. Much had happened since then. Much had happened to them both. + +Her thoughts went back to Dicky as he had lifted his face all smudged +when she came upon him in the factory. He was in greasy overalls. He +was so disguised that one would have thought she could not recognize +him, and yet it was at that moment she seemed to pierce externals to +the heart of him. With only his eyes to look into, she had looked so +far into them that she had come upon the man himself. Once before she +had glimpsed this man—when uncovered in the snow he had stood by the +door of the limousine and sworn her allegiance. The two men were the +same. The man who had been with her this evening was the same. + +So the burn left her cheeks and she raised her head again. + +To herself she said: + +“Dicky, I can’t help it. Dicky, I—I love you.” + +It was a pity he was not there to hear. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVI + + THE DAY COMES + + +Under the spur of Hartley and Starling, Devons found himself working as +hard as he had ever worked in his life. In the flood of new orders that +came in there was no help for it. As yet, no one had been trained to do +his work, so that it meant for him actual supervision of the process +during its various manufacturing stages. Hartley was as merciless with +him as he was with himself. Ten hours, fifteen hours, even twenty hours +a day meant nothing. As a matter of fact, at the end of two weeks they +had a night shift at work, and Hartley often remained at the plant +until one in the morning. So did Starling and so did Devons. + +“We want to break into this market with a rush,” said Hartley. “A +little later, when we are firmly established, we can lay back on our +oars.” + +This left Devons little time for Joan, but with the assurance that +came each day at the nightly conference with Hartley, who went over +in conference with him the new business of the preceding twenty-four +hours, it seemed less and less necessary to see her. Always she +remained in the background, and he rested content in the knowledge +that hour by hour he was strengthening the guarantee of a success that +in the end should make her his. He had given up his little attic room +and taken an apartment in a rather pretentious hotel more convenient +to the plant. On the salary of one hundred dollars a week that Hartley +had suggested was fair for his services, there was no reason in the +world why he should not make the change. This gave him a living-room, +a bedroom and bath. In what time he could spare from the factory he +thoroughly enjoyed the luxury of these new quarters, and in a few days +found himself consistently living up to them to the extent of dropping +into the hotel barber shop for his morning shave, and naturally enough +strolling from there to the hotel dining-room for his breakfast. It was +costing him as much a day as formerly it did a week, and yet he had +considerably more left over. Some of this he deposited in the bank and +some of it he converted into crisp new dollar bills which he locked up +in his dress-suit-case. For, though he smiled a little at it now as +a bit of eccentric foolishness, he still clung to his original idea +of going back home with his bulging bag of money. He could have put +it more conveniently in the form of a check, but the effect would not +have been the same. A bit of paper bearing a signature was neither as +impressive nor as dramatic as crisp new bills. Silver would have been +even better because there was a ring to it, but it was not so easily +handled. + +The strain of the long hours began to tell on Devons at the end of a +couple of weeks. He held on grimly and without complaint, but the past +had drawn heavily on his physique and the unusual mental excitement +kept him awake nights. Often he came back to his apartment at two in +the morning only to lie awake until four with his brain running riot +over Joan and home and the figures that to Hartley served merely as a +tonic. Then a fitful sleep of three hours and he was up again. + +Hartley did not understand what those figures meant to Devons. To him +they remained merely figures. He did not translate them into terms of +life. Even when he saw in them the prospect of doubling his income, +that meant scarcely more than a fresh problem of reinvestment. With +his wants already well cared for, there was a pleasant satisfaction +in piling up a larger reserve, but it was nothing to grow breathless +about. As they increased, the dollars became more and more abstract. + +But Devons was still in the concrete stage where every dollar stood +for something tangible. To see them come flooding down in the form of +things for her, in the form of an increasing number of bills in his +suit-case, in the form of constantly increasing additions to his own +comfort, was a type of intoxication. + +He held on during the long days of June until toward the end he found +the kettles and the thermostat begin slowly to revolve so that he was +forced to cling to something to keep himself upright. He held on when +at night he heard Hartley’s voice coming as from a distance and found +that he remembered nothing of what he said. He held on when at odd +moments he found himself seized with uncontrollable fits of laughter. +He held on until one evening he reeled and fell in front of Hartley. + + * * * * * + +Devons recovered in a few minutes, and Hartley escorted him to his +apartments and sat up with him the rest of the night. Devons protested, +but Hartley sat on and listened to his hysterical chatter and watched +him. In the morning Hartley gave his verdict. + +“What you’ll do will be to take a month’s vacation,” he determined. +“Get out of the city. Go back home.” + +“I’ll be all right by to-morrow.” + +“You won’t.” + +“But I can’t leave. I—” + +“You can leave as well as not,” answered Hartley. “Starling is in a +position now to go on with your work with the help of the men you’ve +trained. You’re going, that’s all there is to it. You’re going +to-morrow. I’ll make out a check for a thousand dollars and send it +round to you. Don’t you dare step into the factory again until you come +back.” + +Coming from Hartley this was in the nature of a mandate. It left +him nothing else to do. So, in relief, he turned over and slept +intermittently the remainder of that day and night. He woke the +following morning considerably rested and with a sense of exhilaration. +In his mail he found his check and a brief note from Hartley. + +“Dear Devons,” it read. “Forget the plant and have a good time. +Everything went along swimmingly yesterday. The best of luck to you.” + +He was on a vacation—the first vacation for ten years. All day long +he had nothing to do except what he wished to do. And he was going +home—going back with his dress-suit-case almost filled and enough on +hand to quite fill it. And he was going to see Joan! + +The day had come. There was no reason now why he could not go to her +and claim her. Even on the basis of the unfilled orders the firm had +at present, there would be ten thousand dollars coming to him at the +end of the year. The chances were that this would be doubled. In the +meanwhile it might be possible to worry along on his present salary as +long as there was the assurance of the future dividends. The Arkwright +house might have to wait another year or two, but this would give them +time to select a site and perfect details. + +He wanted her to come home with him on his first visit. Never after +this would conditions be the same. If, in addition to the tangible +evidence of his business success, he could bring her—then he _would_ +arrive as a conqueror. He was thinking of himself—not of her nor of the +home folk. Always he occupied the center of the stage. Perhaps this was +not much to be wondered at. He was hungry for this sort of thing. For +ten years he had been starved of all the little minor successes that +come to most men—that lead up to the final big success. He had been in +the background watching enviously those at the fore. Now it was his +turn and he was going to make the most of it. + +He dressed carefully that morning and gave the barber _carte blanche_ +to do what he wished with him. Then he strolled into the dining-room +and ate a leisurely and rather elaborate breakfast. It was the +beginning of the day of which he had so long dreamed. After this he +strolled uptown and made several purchases—among them a box of flowers +which he ordered sent to her. He did not dare telephone until eleven, +and then he begged her to lunch with him. She tried to avoid the +engagement, but he was insistent. + +“I’m on my vacation, Joan,” he said. “I’ve looked forward to this a +long time.” + +There was a note of pathos in his plea that won her. So she consented +to be ready at one. + +During the next two waiting hours he walked slowly downtown and back +along Fifth Avenue as far as Washington Square. He walked proudly, +swinging a light stick with an air. There were many who turned to look +at him. He made rather a striking appearance in his smart tailored +clothes. To many he passed as a bridegroom. There was an atmosphere +of confidence and prosperity about him that made him seem to embody +something of the spirit of the June morning. To the young men he +established a sort of standard and to the young women he stood for a +dream. + +At one he drove up to the Fairburne house, feeling buoyant after his +walk and showing hardly any effect of his illness of the day before. In +the magic of his new hopes he had thrown it off. + +She had dressed a little for him in honor of the occasion and was more +like her old self. + +“I’m so glad you’re to have a rest,” she greeted him. + +“I guess I’ve earned it,” he answered. + +She nodded. + +“Where are we going?” + +“You’re to follow me to-day,” he replied. “I’m going to make one more +dream come true.” + +“I’ll do what I can to help you,” she agreed. + +Yet she frowned a little when the taxi stopped before Delmonico’s. Most +any place he might have chosen would have been preferable to that. +Still she was willing to humor him even to this extent. After all this +was his vacation, and she must do what she could to start him on it +happily. + +But as she went in by his side the whole place became tensely +reminiscent of Dicky. They had come here together the last time they +had gone anywhere together. They had been here many times before that. +It had become so associated with him that she felt almost disloyal in +coming with any one else. And somehow Dicky fitted better here than +this man now with her. For the life of her she could not tell why, +but Devons appeared slightly out of place. As they moved on to the +dining-room she studied him and wondered why. As far as his personal +appearance went, he was a little better-dressed than others at the +tables. Perhaps that was it. She almost expected to hear his shoes +squeak. + +That was a ridiculous thought—so ridiculous that it made her smile. + +He was quite serious about ordering the lunch and consulted her taste +in everything. Personally she desired nothing but a salad and tea, but +he was insistent upon making it as elaborate as possible. + +“This is part of the dream,” he reminded her. + +So before he had more than begun his order he had converted the waiter +from an indifferent bystander into a most attentive and obsequious +servant. If the latter had been asked to characterize his guest, he +would have done it in a sentence. + +“Ranch-owner from the West on his honeymoon.” + +This was at the moment when Devons was flattering himself that he was +the embodiment of New York. + +During the lunch, of which she ate little, he talked again of the +factory and of Hartley and the details of the last month. Then he ran +on to the possibilities of the future, which led him up to Arkwright. + +“You remember him?” he asked. + +She shook her head. + +“It was he who helped fix up my attic for you,” he reminded her. + +“Oh, the big fellow?” + +He nodded. + +“He’s an architect. Did I ever tell you about the house he designed?” + +“No.” + +“It’s a wonderful house. ’Way back in the winter he told me he had done +it for me. It was a joke then, but it begins to look as though it might +turn out serious.” + +In detail he described it to her, watching her eyes to see if she +responded. At least she appeared attentive. + +“That’s part of the dream, too,” he concluded. “Some day I’m going to +build that. Where do you think we ought to put it?” + +She started. + +“It sounds very grand,” she answered. “Would you really enjoy that sort +of house?” + +“With acres of land around it.” + +“Oh, dear,” she smiled. “It will be quite a royal estate.” + +“Yes,” he answered soberly. “It must be that—for you.” + +“For me!” she cried. + +“Didn’t you understand that?” + +“No, no,” she said quickly. + +“Who else did you think I was going to build it for?” + +“I—I don’t know. You—we mustn’t stay here any longer.” + +The orchestra began to play a _valse hésitation_. She looked about in +alarm—as though in search of Dicky. + +“I came here just to tell you these things,” he hurried on. “I—I +thought you would be pleased.” + +“It’s all my fault!” she exclaimed. “I shouldn’t have come. I—I should +have written you the truth from Atlantic City.” + +“The truth?” + +“When you wrote me as you did. I won’t pretend. I knew then you were +coming to care for me—in a way that was impossible. Only I didn’t want +to hurt you. I thought that if I said nothing you would see.” + +“See what?” + +“That—” she hesitated. + +“That you don’t love me?” he put in. + +She hung her head as though ashamed. + +“Yes,” she answered. + +He leaned forward. + +“After all these months that I have been working for you?” + +She raised her head at that. She met his eyes. + +“You thought you were working for me, but—but after all is that true?” + +“For you!” he cried fiercely. “For you alone! From the first week you +were so kind to me it was that and nothing else. It’s been part of the +dream—the biggest part. I’ve looked forward to taking you home with +me. You were coming back to the little farm as my wife. I was to be so +proud of you. It’s true! It _must_ be true!” + +“You—you dreamed those things all by yourself,” she warned. + +“Because I had no right to share them with you until I had made good. +I—I couldn’t talk about such things in an attic, could I?” + +She thought a second. + +“No,” she answered. “And yet if you had—” + +“They would have sounded absurd,” he broke in. “I had to wait until I +could give you all the things you deserved. I had to wait until now.” + +“And now,” she answered, moving back her chair, “we mustn’t talk about +them any more.” + +“You mean you won’t marry me?” + +“It’s impossible,” she answered. “I—I don’t love you.” + +“But if I wait a little longer—” + +“It would make no difference.” + +She was firm now. She was direct. She felt this must be over with at +once. + +“Don’t go yet,” he pleaded as she rose. + +But she stood where she was as he paid his check. Then she started for +the door. He took her arm—holding it so tightly it hurt. + +“Joan,” he choked. “You’re spoiling the dream.” + +“I’m sorry,” she answered. “I’m very sorry.” + +“Then come with me. Oh, I’ll make a princess of you. I’ll work all my +life to get you things. I want so to buy you things.” + +“You only make it worse,” she replied. + +They had reached the coat-room, and he would have gone right on talking +like that had she not warned him of the eager listeners. Then they were +outside again and she felt freer, though he was still holding her arm. +She herself motioned for a cab. + +“You mustn’t leave me like this,” he muttered. + +She held out her hand as she had held out her hand to Dicky. But he +refused to take it. + +“This isn’t right!” he cried. + +“It is necessary. You are making it more necessary every minute.” + +“I? It’s you. This isn’t fair of you.” + +His face showed both fear and anger. She had never seen him like this. +She was sorry to have to remember him like this. + +“Mark,” she whispered, “I wanted to keep you as a friend.” + +He laughed harshly. + +“Friend? After what I’d planned! But I might have known!” + +“Yes,” she answered quietly, “you might have known. Good-bye.” + +She stepped into the cab and closed the door. He reached for the knob, +but she gave a sharp order to the driver. She closed her eyes and +leaned back. It was not so Dicky had left her. + +Where was Dicky? She needed him now. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVII + + BACK HOME + + +Devons went from Delmonico’s direct to the ticket-office and engaged +his ticket and parlor-car accommodations for that night. With a +vicious relish he took an entire drawing-room. Joan had cheated him of +much, but she should not cheat him of all the rest. He would make his +home-going all that he had planned with the exception of her. He still +had before him his grand entry, and he would let the world at large +know of his success. + +He took a cab back to the Avenue and stopped many times to make for +himself some of the purchases he had intended to make with her. + +He bought extravagantly for many of those back home he had scarcely +thought of since he left. He took a fierce delight in spending his +money, in converting it into tangible things for them as long as there +was no one else. There was a Marion Thompson who had been a classmate +of his in the district school and who was now teaching in that very +school. She was a subdued sort of girl with dreamy, brown eyes. Until +this moment he had almost forgotten her, but now he bought for her a +gold necklace just because it occurred to him that it would become +her. He paid for it as much as her salary would amount to in six months. + +Then he went back to his apartment and packed his new trunk with his +new clothes and his old suit-case with the rest of the new bills which +he had stopped at the bank to get. He had pretty nearly a thousand +of them. And all this time he tried to put Joan entirely out of his +mind, although she kept coming back. And every time she came back she +stung him anew and left him with a sense of martyrdom. The phrase he +used over and over again was that she had not been fair to him. She +had turned him aside exactly as though he were still nothing but a +penniless vagabond. She did not appreciate all that he was about to do +for her—closed her eyes to all the fair dreams he had for her. But he +did not intend to let that spoil his holiday nor the days after. She +would see when he came back. She would see and possibly regret. + +He would do his best to make her regret. Here was something to look +forward to. He would build his house exactly as he had it in mind. +People should talk about it as the “Devons Estate.” She should hear of +it. He would make it even more pretentious than he had planned and she +should hear of it. + +He knew how the eyes of those back home would pop out when he told +them about it. Here was something more to look forward to. When it +was done he would have many of them come back to see it. He would pay +their fares and give them a holiday they would remember—a holiday they +would talk about the rest of their lives. Here was something pleasant +to think about. Only if he were taking her home with him, there would +be something for them to talk about at once. If he could have brought +her back into his father’s house on his arm, if he could have taken her +through the town by his side and through the county town, then— + +He was forever sliding back to her. He must keep her out of his mind +entirely. It would be easier as soon as he was started. So he paid his +bill and went to the station with his baggage two hours before train +time. + + * * * * * + +Devons wired ahead from Chicago, and at the little one-horse station +where he stopped he found his father there with the buckboard to meet +him. The elder Devons was a tall, spare man with rounding shoulders. He +hesitated a second before coming up to shake hands with the prosperous +young man who strode toward him. + +“Hello, Dad,” said Devons. + +“Hello, Sonny,” answered Devons senior uncertainly. + +The two men gripped and the awkward moment was passed. The older man +shouldered the new trunk and Devons brought up the suit-cases. + +“Strap the old one on tight,” he said. “I don’t want to lose that.” + +Then he got on the seat with his father and hitched up his trousers to +preserve the crease, and they started over the prairie road. It was hot +and dusty and the old buckboard was hard riding after the Pullman. The +father said little, but Devons inquired after every one and listened to +the old familiar stories of hard luck about them. They continued in an +endless cycle through one generation after another. + +“Marion Thompson—you remember Marion?” said his father. + +“Surely.” + +“She’s teaching school and boarding with us.” + +“Has she changed much?” + +“Dunno’s she has. People round here don’t change much.” + +“In New York they change in twenty-four hours,” remarked Devons with a +frown. + +“I s’pose so. You’ve done pretty well there, sonny?” + +“You bet,” replied Devons with satisfaction. + +They reached the old farmhouse at last. Devons shuddered as he saw it. +It looked even more like a hovel than when he had left it. His mother +was at the door—thin and hollow-eyed. She came out and kissed him +dumbly. If he had not seen her like this all through his youth, he +would have said she did not have a week to live. Behind her came his +sisters and his brothers, and behind them, timidly, a slight girl with +dreamy brown eyes. This was Marion. She was prettier than he expected. +She was in a simple calico dress that hung straight over a slender +body. As the children crowded about him he looked over their heads and +met her eyes. She blushed and shrank back a little. It gave him a sense +of power. It was evident she was terribly afraid of him. + +They all made their way into the tawdry sitting-room which showed the +effect of a very recent and thorough cleaning. Here Devons unfastened +his dress-suit-case, spreading it open upon the center table. He stood +back exactly as he had dreamed. + +“A little present for you and father,” said he to his mother. + +She stared open-mouthed at the crushed green bills. She clasped her +hands over her breast and stared. + +“There’ll be more later,” said Devons. “There’ll be plenty for you all +the rest of your lives.” + +“Mark!” she choked, “be they real?” + +He went to her side and placed his arm about her. + +“Lord bless you, yes,” he assured her. + +There was a lump in his own throat. He knew—well he knew—what that +meant to them. + +Then to break the tension he unstrapped his trunk and brought out what +he had for the others. As he handed his brothers and sisters each his +present there was an excited cry of joy and amazement, but through +all the confusion he saw always that slip of a girl in the rear who, +big-eyed, looked on as at a drama. + +He kept his present for her until the last. When finally he stepped +to her side she could not believe her eyes. She undid the box with +trembling fingers and drew out and held up the pretty gold chain. + +“This is for me?” she gasped. + +“Let me put it round your neck,” he answered. + +With her cheeks a deep crimson she allowed him to do as he wished and +he clasped it. His fingers brushed her warm skin and he found his +cheeks almost as hot as hers. + +“There,” he concluded, “if you had been with me I couldn’t have +selected anything more your own.” + +“It is beautiful,” she murmured. “Thank you.” + +There was a mirror on the side of the wall. + +“Come here and see how it looks.” + +She obeyed. He stood behind her and in the mirror their eyes met. He +saw in them both wonder and admiration. It was very satisfying. It was +quite the most satisfying feature of his home-coming. + +That evening, after all the children had gone to bed and a little later +father and mother had followed, he found himself sitting on the steps +with Marion by his side. Together they looked far across the level +country and at the stars above it—so very far above it. There he found +himself telling her the story of these last ten years—telling her +because she leaned forward tensely and listened as children listen to +a stirring tale of adventure. In contrast to the gray routine of her +own life his narrative was as colorful as a Turkish rug. She grew quite +breathless about it. So he covered the years up to the new developments +in his business. There he paused. He loved the telling of it. As he +rambled on she helped him to forget all the dull places and dramatized +for him all the joyful spots. But he was afraid at length that he was +tiring her. + +“Go on,” she pleaded. + +“I think you would like New York,” he said. + +“Tell me about it.” + +In her voice there was something that made him feel he was talking of +ancient Bagdad. + +“It’s a queer city,” he said. “Either it gets you by the throat and +crushes you back to the pavement or you get it by the throat and make +it give up the choice things of the world.” + +“And you—you got it by the throat.” + +“I have now,” he answered. “I wish you had been with me as I went up +and down Fifth Avenue before I came away. You would have known then. +And when I get back—” + +He found himself telling her of the Arkwright house. Only he elaborated +still more upon it. He embellished it with a dozen new features he +thought of on the spur of the moment sitting there by her side, looking +over the prairie. She responded to them all with a little gasp. + +“It’s wonderful!” she exclaimed. “It’s like magic.” + +“When it’s done I want to have a house party and bring you all on to +see it,” he exclaimed grandly. + +She laughed a little at that. + +“I can’t believe I’ll ever do it,” she answered. + +“Why not?” he demanded. + +“I’ve gone on day by day so long that I can only think of day by day.” + +“You’d like to get away from here?” + +She rose. Her arms were tense by her side. + +“That’s like asking if one would like to get out of prison,” she +answered. + +In the deepening dusk of the night her plain gown became blurred. He +saw only her girlish figure, and as she lifted her face to the sky her +soft lips and cheeks. She was so slender and eager and responsive! Here +was one who would add fresh pleasures to all he had. Here was one whose +eyes would stay big day after day with the sights he could show her. +Here was one upon whom he could spend his money and receive his reward +in palpitating enthusiasm. Here was one who stood ahungered for all he +was in a position to give. She would make every dollar seem like ten. +By that much she would multiply his fortune by ten. That other—ah, here +was one who might make even that other envious. + +She turned toward the house. He took her arm. Seized with a sudden +passion he spoke her name. + +“Marion!” + +She turned back, startled. + +“Marion,” he cried, “come back with me! I want you with me to share all +these new things. By to-morrow or next day I’ll have to go. I thought I +should stay a month, but I want to get back. You’ll come with me?” + +“You—you mean—” + +“I want you to marry me. The next three weeks we’ll spend in New York +on our honeymoon. We’ll start on the house.” + +“But, Mark—” she trembled. + +He took her in his arms. He kissed her lips. + +Breathless, like some captured bird, she felt her heart beat against +his. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVIII + + THE LAST ACT + + +It was at least a novelty for Joan to find it impossible to get hold +of Dicky when the desire seized her to talk with him. Under ordinary +circumstances she would have found it humiliating to be forced to +accept excuse after excuse in response to her messages—excuses that +were none too adept. It began to seem almost as though he were +deliberately avoiding her. But even in that she blamed herself and +justified him. After all she deserved very little of him. In the hour +when he had needed her, she had turned away from him, and now in her +hour of need he was repaying her in kind. + +For she did need him very much. Her mind was all topsy-turvy, and at +this moment he seemed to be the only one who could help her straighten +it out, because somehow her thoughts all revolved about him. She found +herself awakening in the morning to thoughts of him. Every day since +Devons had left had begun that way. Whether the sun was shining and the +world in tune with the singing of birds or whether the sky was dark +and the rain beating down, she felt that she must see Dicky in order +to get a fair start. It was as though her life were marking time for +him. There was no especial point in getting up, but neither was there +any especial point in lying in bed. Without him the forenoon had no +particular significance, neither had the afternoon and evening. It was +a frame of mind she would have found absurd in any one else. + +Yet she was not the least bit ashamed of it in herself. Rather she +gloried in it. She accepted it in a way as a sort of purgatory. +And always she admitted with utter frankness her love for him. She +attempted no subtlety on that point. She allowed no quibbling on the +ground of maidenly reserve. She loved him honestly and whole-heartedly +and from the depths. She faced that truth with raised head—with pride. +The fact that he had once asked her to marry him gave her a certain +privilege, but even without this it would have been the same. After +all, such a thing as this was no more to be denied because of the +conventions than the matter of her age or the color of her eyes. Either +it was or it was not. If one were honest one admitted the truth at all +times. + +And this love was no mere abstract mental condition. It was a very +personal and vital and altogether human love. She was by no means +content to let it rest where it was; to fold her hands like the maidens +of her mother’s day and if need be to wait and pine away in loneliness. + +Because she loved Dicky she wanted him. She wanted to see him—to be +with him. She wanted to share his days with him. She especially wanted +to share these present days with him. He was going to work now at seven +in the morning he had told her. With an hour out for lunch he toiled +until five and then went home dog-tired. It was to her he should come +when dog-tired. She should have had the privilege of relieving his +weariness. She could have kissed him all smutched as he might be. It +was when the rest of him was almost unrecognizable that she had seen +into his eyes. What she had seen there then she craved. It was the +sweet soul of the man—the very gallant knight in the man. + +Why did he not come to her? Day after day for a week she asked herself +that and received no answer. And day after day as she dwelt alone with +her love it burned away all the old barriers and gathered heat with +what it fed upon. The need of him became acute, so at the end of a long +day it resolved itself into action. + +Half-frightened by her new boldness, she rang up Dicky’s mother at the +little apartment in Brooklyn. + +“Please,” she said, “will you ask me to dinner to-night?” + +“Why, my dear,” came the gentle voice, “we should be delighted. We have +dinner at six because both Dicky and his father are very hungry when +they get home.” + +“Then—may I come a little early?” + +“Come as soon as you wish.” + +So that much was accomplished without any particular harm to any one. +It is surprising what may be accomplished in violation of all rules if +one has an honest purpose and a clean heart. + +She changed her gown into a simple white summer dress and hurried down +to tell her mother. + +“I’m going to have dinner to-night with the Burnetts,” she said. + +“Very good,” answered Mrs. Fairburne. “I’m glad you are going out.” + +Charles left her at the unpretentious apartment house in the quiet +street at five, and a few moments later she had mounted to the third +floor and was facing the door which bore a card reading “Mr. Joshua +Burnett.” Mrs. Burnett herself came in response to her ring, and +without apology and with sincere friendliness welcomed her in. + +“I am doing the cooking myself,” she explained as soon as Joan had +removed her hat. “It seems real good to be able to do it again. Both of +the men seem to like it, too.” + +Joan insisted upon accompanying her into the tiny kitchen and there +she tried her best to find something to do. But as she watched the +sure, practiced hands busy about their tasks, she felt quite helpless +and useless. There was nothing left but to sit back and keep out from +under foot and watch. Suddenly she realized that she was accepting this +rather startling change in the fortunes of the Burnetts in quite a +matter-of-fact way. It was almost as though there had been no change at +all. And that was because she thought only of the little woman herself +and not of her surroundings or her tasks. She was the mother of Dicky +wherever she was. Here preparing his dinner she was more than ever +that. Only it was not right for the older woman to be doing this. She, +Joan, should be doing it for her. + +“I wish you would show me how to do all these things,” she said. + +“Haven’t you ever learned to cook?” replied Mrs. Burnett, in +astonishment. + +“No,” admitted Joan with a touch of color. + +“Then it’s certainly time you did learn,” answered Mrs. Burnett. “But +my way of cooking is all for Mr. Burnett and Dicky.” + +“I should like to learn that way, too,” breathed Joan. + +It was the tone of the girl’s voice that made Mrs. Burnett glance +sharply at her. Then, while she looked, she saw the young cheeks grow +a deeper and deeper scarlet, though she did not speak a word. The eyes +held steady, but perhaps the lips trembled the slightest bit, partly in +fear, partly in a mute plea for sympathy. That was only for a second +because Mrs. Burnett stepped closer, her face radiant. + +“You mean you—you care for Dicky?” she asked tenderly. + +Joan rose, breathing rapidly. She tried to answer, but her lips +remained dumb. So she just nodded. + +The mother of Dicky, her hands all flour-covered as they were, took the +girl into her arms. She kissed the rich dark hair, murmuring: + +“Oh, I’m so glad—so glad.” + +“Only,” whispered Joan brokenly, “I—I don’t know if Dicky cares for me.” + +“That’s for Dicky to tell you,” answered Mrs. Burnett. “But I think all +you’ll have to do is to give him the chance.” + +That evening Joan had the honor of setting the table for Dicky. +Incidentally she set it for the others, but they did not count for very +much, not even herself. The table was set for Dicky alone as, if the +truth were known, the dinner was cooked for Dicky alone. Even when Mr. +Burnett came in, ruddy and tired after his afternoon at the country +club, he did not seem very important. + +“Hasn’t Dicky come home yet?” were his first words. + +“It isn’t quite time,” answered Mrs. Burnett. “You haven’t spoken to +Miss Fairburne.” + +He had not seen her. Now he took her hand and bowed politely, at the +same moment reaching for his watch. + +“It’s quarter of six. He was here last night at this time.” + +“Now you go get ready,” urged Mrs. Burnett. “What was your score +to-day?” + +“Made it in a hundred,” he answered proudly. + +As he disappeared, Mrs. Burnett attempted a weak apology for him. + +“He acts just as silly as that every time the boy isn’t here when he +gets home.” + +It was not five minutes later that Dicky did come in with something +in his hand that looked very much like a lunch-box. Joan, whether +deliberately or not cannot be said with certainty, was standing very +near the door. At sight of her Dicky appeared to be frozen in his +tracks. + +“I’m—I’m here to dinner,” explained Joan. + +“But how—” + +“Your mother invited me,” she faltered on as though she really found it +necessary to account for herself. + +“Good for mother!” he exclaimed. “Why—why I’m darned glad to see you.” + +“Thank you, Dicky. You’d better get ready. It’s almost cooked.” + +“Dad home?” + +“He’s waiting for you,” she answered. + +From the kitchen came his mother’s voice. + +“He’s gone to tidy up.” + +“You’ll have to give me time to shave if there’s company,” he called +back. + +Joan had turned to put the finishing touches to the table. He followed +her a little way. Then he stopped. He felt like rubbing his eyes. + +“Joan,” he said. + +She looked over her shoulder. + +“I’m _awful_ glad to see you,” he said. + +It was not an especially poetic speech, but it made her heart jump. +Nor, all through the dinner, was the conversation of a character to +be worth recording. It was significant neither for its wit nor wisdom +and yet every one appeared happy. After the dinner Joan insisted that +Mrs. Burnett retire to the sitting-room with her husband and leave the +clearing-up to her—and to Dicky if he cared to help. + +“You betcha,” agreed Dicky. + +So after the table was cleared, Dicky found himself in the little +buttery engaged in the task of wiping dishes, while Joan in a long +apron of his mother’s washed them. Even here the dialogue did not +sparkle. He had a feeling that there was something he did not +understand, which was quite correct. There was a mystery about her +presence. He was not quite clear how his mother happened to ask her +and still less clear how she happened to accept. If he had been +consulted beforehand he would have advised against any such invitation. +He would have said that, under the circumstances, it might place her +in a position where she would not feel at liberty to refuse. She had +been wonderfully decent through these last few weeks—wonderfully +decent. She had extended invitation after invitation to him which he +had turned down because he felt that she was making an especial effort +to be nice to him in what she thought his adversity. In a way she +pitied him, though he did not pity himself in the slightest. Still it +was necessary to recognize the fact that there _had_ been a change in +his circumstances. As a laborer working for fifteen dollars a week, +he was in an entirely different position in regard to her than he had +been a month ago. He had enough faith in himself to believe this was +only temporary, but while such conditions existed they were, that was +all there was about it. Hartley had already recognized his ability to +the extent of making him foreman of the room. In six months or a year +he might be put on the road, and from that point he could climb as +high as he was able. But he had no right to ask her to gamble on any +such prospects. Her life was based on certainties. There was nothing +contingent about the Fairburne income and he had no right to offer her +anything less. A man would be a cad to allow such a woman as she to run +any chances. She must be made as secure as papers in a safe deposit +vault. He was as yet far from a point where he could offer her that. + +All this was what the reasoning part of him said, but at the very same +time his heart kept running counter to it. Every time he reached for +a dish and by that much came nearer to her soft arm revealed to the +elbow by her rolled-up sleeves, his heart said, “Go a little nearer.” +Then it was necessary to step back quickly in fear lest he yield to the +temptation. For the heart of him was a very vagabond for carelessness +and laughed to scorn all his best arguments. + +“Take her,” it said, “for by all the laws of love she’s yours. You’ve +known her now since you were schoolmates together, and there hasn’t +been a day in all that time when you haven’t known that she was the +biggest thing in your life. There hasn’t been a time when you wouldn’t +have been willing to lay at her feet all the most precious things +of your life—including life itself. You’ve tried her through your +prosperous days and it was like that. You went away from her and it +remained like that. She went away from you and it was just the same. +Now in this sudden shift of your fortunes there is no change in your +love. If anything you love her more than you ever did because you need +her more. You need her to give point to your ambitions. You need her to +give you respite from the sheer drudgery of your labors. You need her +in a thousand new ways. + +“Here she is. Take her. The two of you are here alone and you have only +to look into her eyes to know you have better than a sporting chance.” + +But because he wanted her—even because he needed her—was no reason why +he should ask for her, replied the cold-blooded, reasoning part of him. +Merely because he wanted the crown jewels, did that justify him in +seizing them? Men called that larceny. It was then a worse larceny to +make off—provided always that were possible—with something infinitely +more valuable. Compared with the pure radiance of her soul the crown +jewels were but so many baubles of colored glass. He must keep a tight +grip on himself or he would land in a jail of his own making. + +In the meanwhile Joan went on with the washing of her dishes as though +she had no other concern. And though she tried now and then to open +the conversation on general topics, she did not get very far. Had it +not seemed disloyal to harbor such a thought, she would have said that +Dicky was stupid this evening. At times it seemed almost worse than +that—as though he were bored with having her here. And the pitiful part +of it all was that with both of them attending strictly to business the +work was being completed at such a rapid rate that it was soon only a +matter of minutes before it would be done and they would both be back +again in the sitting-room. Then Lord only knew when there would be +another such opportunity. Fate sometimes plays strange tricks and in +the space of a single evening erects barriers that last a lifetime. It +is difficult to foretell what is going to happen from one minute to the +next. + +So they came to the last dish and he was left quite helpless with the +dishcloth in his hands. + +“Hang it up nicely on the rack over the stove,” she said. + +He did that. She turned and washed her hands. + +“There,” she said, “I guess we’re all through now.” + +She undid her apron and hung it up. Then she began to roll down her +sleeves. To him it was like a slowly descending curtain. It was the +last act of the play. + +When she had done that there was no further excuse for their remaining +there. She looked at him, and as her eyes caught his the old telltale +color flooded back to her cheeks. They faced each other like that a +moment. Then from somewhere deep came a little, stifled cry. + +He gripped his jaws. + +“Oh, Dicky!” she repeated. + +And again, as once before, the name was but a synonym for love. He +heard it this time and reason fled from him. He took her in his arms +and without a single word kissed her lips. He kissed them with the +world swimming about him—kissed them with a kiss that made them +eternally one. + +In the due course of time—as far as they were concerned there was no +longer any such thing as time—they came back to the sitting-room. + +“Seems to me it took you a long time to finish those dishes,” said +Burnett. + +But Mrs. Burnett raised her eyes questioningly to Joan. Then she smiled +and went to her son and kissed him. + +Said Burnett senior a little later in the evening as they were +discussing ways and means in a committee of the whole: + +“Of course, it’s all nonsense to talk about Dicky having only fifteen +dollars a week. What’s mine is his. And if there’s anything in the +prospect of that little investment of his panning out to the extent of +ten thousand a year, it belongs to him. I loaned him the money and when +he gets ready he can pay that back. I didn’t look upon it then as an +investment, but charged it in my books against profit and loss, so I +don’t see why I should claim it now.” + +Dicky jumped to his feet and clapped his father on his back. + +“Why, you real old sport!” he exclaimed. + +But Joan stole up to the father and placed one arm about his neck and +whispered in his ear. The others did not hear what she said. They +never heard. It remained one of the mysteries of Dicky’s whole life. It +was a secret between Joan and Burnett. As such it really is even to-day +the concern of no one else in the wide world. + +However, if any one chooses to be impertinent enough to read the last +sentence, what she said was this: + +“You old dear, don’t you go and spoil it all. Please don’t let him have +that money. I want him just as he is.” + + + THE END + + + + + The Riverside Press + CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS + U . S . A + + + + + Transcriber’s Notes + + + Spelling, punctuation, and hyphens standardised across the text. + p92 “Gatling gun” capitalised as a proper noun. + p215 Comma adjusted in “My boy, I’ve looked”. + p252 Hyphen removed from “staring one day overlong”. + p212 “A.E. Hartley” and p235 “E.A. Hartley”, elsewhere last name only. +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78046 *** diff --git a/78046-h/78046-h.htm b/78046-h/78046-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..61ae595 --- /dev/null +++ b/78046-h/78046-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12135 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <meta name="viewport" content="width=device-width, initial-scale=1"> + <title> + Joan & Co. | Project Gutenberg + </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + <style> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: 0.51em; /* Tabs in first line of paragraph */ + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: 0.49em; + text-indent: 2em; +} + +.front { + font-size: 2em; /* Matches h2 but w/out chapter marker */ + font-weight: bold; + margin-top: 20px; + margin-bottom: 10px; + display: block; + text-align: center; +} + +.flat { + text-indent: 0em; +} + +.tab_right { + margin-right: 2em; +} + +.tab_left { + margin-left: 2em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: 33.5%; + margin-right: 33.5%; + clear: both; +} + +hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} +@media print { hr.chap {display: none; visibility: hidden;} } + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} +h2.nobreak {page-break-before: avoid;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} +table.autotable { border-collapse: collapse; } +table.autotable td, +table.autotable th { padding: 0.25em; } + +.tdl {text-align: left;} +.tdr {text-align: right;} +.tdc {text-align: center;} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal; + font-variant: normal; + text-indent: 0; +} /* page numbers */ + +p.drop-cap { + text-indent: 0em; +} +p.drop-cap:first-letter +{ + float: left; + margin: 0em 0.1em 0em 0em; + font-size: 250%; + line-height:0.85em; +} +.x-ebookmaker p.drop-cap:first-letter +{ + float: none; + margin: 0; + font-size: 100%; +} + +blockquote { + margin-top: 0; + margin-bottom: 0; + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.center {text-align: center; text-indent: 0;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.allsmcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} + +figcaption {font-weight: bold;} +figcaption p {margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: .2em; text-align: inherit;} + +/* Images */ + +.upper-case +{ + text-transform: uppercase; +} + +img { + max-width: 100%; + height: auto; +} +img.w100 {width: 100%;} + +h2 span {font-size: .8em;} + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; + page-break-inside: avoid; + max-width: 100%; +} + +/* Transcriber’s notes */ +.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; + color: black; + font-size:small; + padding:0.5em; + margin-bottom:5em; + font-family:sans-serif, serif; +} + +/* Illustration classes */ +.illowp25 {width: 25%;} + </style> +</head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78046 ***</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h1 class="nobreak" id="JOAN_CO"> + JOAN & CO. + </h1> +</div> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<table class="autotable"> + <tr> +<td class="tdc"> +<b>Books by Frederick Orin Bartlett</b><br> +PUBLISHED BY<br> +A HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br> +</td> + </tr> + <tr> +<td class="tdl"> +JOAN & CO.<br> +ONE YEAR OF PIERROT. Illustrated.<br> +THE TRIFLERS. Illustrated.<br> +THE WALL STREET GIRL. Illustrated.<br> +JOAN OF THE ALLEY. Illustrated.</td> + </tr> +</table> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="JOAN_CO_1"> + JOAN & CO. + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="flat center"> +<i>By</i><br> +FREDERICK ORIN BARTLETT<br> +<br> +<figure class="figcenter illowp25" id="001" style="max-width: 28.6875em;"> + <img class="w100" src="images/001.jpg" alt="" data-role="presentation"> +</figure> +<br> +<p class="flat center"> +<span class="allsmcap">BOSTON AND NEW YORK</span><br> +HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br> +<i>The Riverside Press Cambridge</i> +</p> + + +<p class="flat center"> +<span class="allsmcap">COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY FREDERICK ORIN BARTLETT</span><br> +<br> +<span class="allsmcap">ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</span> +</p> + + +<p class="flat center"> +TO<br> +R. S. B. +</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS"> + CONTENTS + </h2> +</div> + + +<table class="autotable"> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">I.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">Dicky is Serious</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">1</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">II.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">Joan is Bored</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">12</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">III.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">Chance</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">22</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">IV.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">The Driver and Fate</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">35</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">V.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">Bandaged</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">42</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">VI.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">Whose Fault?</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">51</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">VII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">A Letter</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">64</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">VIII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">Dicky Calls</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">71</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">IX.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">The Fighting Things</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">82</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">X.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">At Home</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">93</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XI.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">The Silent Partner</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">104</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">Joan & Co.</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">118</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XIII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">A Challenge</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">134</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XIV.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">Pumpkin Pie</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">142</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XV.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">Like Napoleon</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">146</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XVI.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">The Devons Manufacturing Company</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">152</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XVII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">Uptown and Downtown</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">161</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XVIII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">Beef Tea</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">173</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XIX.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">Princesses</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">183</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XX.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">The Faster Game</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">198</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXI.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">A Confession</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">206</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">A Sale</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">212</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXIII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">No Time to Waste</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">222</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXIV.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">A Vacation</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">228</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXV.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">Danger</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">235</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXVI.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">A New Stenographer</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">245</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXVII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">Real News</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">257</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXVIII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">The Big Hour</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">270</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXIX.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">A Straight Tip</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">281</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXX.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">Bankrupt</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">295</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXI.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">Discharged</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">305</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">Golf</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">311</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXIII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">The Big Chance</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">317</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXIV.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">A Busy Man</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">333</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXV.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">Love</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">344</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXVI.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">The Day Comes</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">351</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXVII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">Back Home</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">364</td> + </tr> + <tr> + <td class="tdr">XXXVIII.</td> + <td class="tdl"><span class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">The Last Act</a></span></td> + <td class="tdr">373</td> + </tr> +</table> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="front"> + JOAN & CO. + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</span></p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + <p class="flat front">Joan & Co.</p> + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I"> + CHAPTER I + <br> + <span>DICKY IS SERIOUS</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">The</span> New York social season in which Miss Joan Fairburne made her début +was not more than half finished before the quizzical smile in the dark +eyes, half closed above a slightly upturned, dainty nose, which gave +her an air of amused boredom at first so fascinating to Dicky Burnett, +became, instead of an occasional expression, rather more frequent than +befitted a young woman of twenty. Also it was rather too inclusive to +be complimentary. As long as it was directed merely in a general way at +the assembled company at <i>thé dansant</i> or box party or cards or +dance, Dicky fell in with it, and, his long legs crossed before him and +his arms folded over his chest, he assumed an air of weary submission +which he was sure established between him and Miss Fairburne a bond of +common lack of interest. But when those same dark eyes with their long +lashes began to turn also in his direction, as he made his gay comments +intended to cause her to nod sympathetically, but which did nothing of +the sort, he grew uncomfortable. <span class="pagenum" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</span>It was as if she brushed him into the +pile with the others.</p> + +<p>It was the more humiliating because he realized that the girl was +sincere. She was startlingly and delightfully sincere. He had known +her now for two years; first as one of twenty girls at Wellesley when +he was a junior at Harvard; then, when he was a senior, as one of a +half-dozen; then, in these last few months after graduation, when he +was not anything in particular, as one of two or three girls; and +finally, within a week, as <i>the</i> girl.</p> + +<p>She did not know this yet, and every time he made up his mind to +tell her he hesitated. This was not because he lacked courage or +experience. He had never actually asked any one to marry him, but he +had come so near it once or twice on especial occasions—such as certain +moonlight nights on that yachting trip he had taken two summers before +with Haywood, and again on a week-end with Benton when he met the +fascinating widow—that he realized that only abstention from the easily +spoken words had saved him. And always by the next morning he was +congratulating himself.</p> + +<p>This time, however, it was different; the next morning he was blaming +himself. Reviewing the evening before in the luxurious quiet of the +suite of rooms which ever since he was seventeen had been set apart for +him in his father’s home, he thought of all the things he might have +said to her <span class="pagenum" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</span>and had not said, and damned himself for one who had not +made the most of a rare opportunity.</p> + +<p>Last night the Devereaux ballroom had been close with the crush +that filled it—it was like a room overcrowded with flowers—and she +had begged for a breath of fresh air. It was January, but Burnett +remembered the way to the little courtyard, and, finding her wrap and +overshoes, had led her to the tiny snow-dusted inclosure beneath the +white stars. He had taken her arm, and they walked back and forth in +the frosty night with the music coming to them muffled. It was a pretty +scene—a niche from another world, bounded by a high wall, with the +subdued light from the big windows cutting yellow across the snow, and +above them the illimitable purple. He had seen her lift her face—her +earnest, eager face, her beautiful half girl, half woman face; her +tender yet haughty face with its keen black eyes and its fine mouth. +She had stood so for a moment very erect like a princess challenging +the stars themselves, and breathing deep of some clearer air above. He +should have seized her then in his arms. He should have made her listen +to his words of love. He should have told her how, with everything +else in the world a man could crave, not having her he had nothing. He +should have told her how now she stood out among all the women in the +world as <i>the</i> woman. And yet he had said nothing. He <span class="pagenum" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</span>had watched +her in awe and said nothing. His heart beating in his throat, he had +been as tongue-tied as any freshman. Ass that he was!</p> + +<p>Dicky Burnett continued, with variations, to libel himself in this +fashion all the while he dressed. To tell the truth, however, he +by no means looked the part he assigned to himself. He was rather +good-looking from either a man’s or a woman’s point of view. Tall, +lean, clean-cut, with an intelligent and good-humored face suggesting +in the nose and mouth elements of real strength, he was distinguished +in appearance above the average of his fellows. Offhand one would have +said he would make a good soldier. Men would not hesitate to follow him +because he would not hesitate to lead, given a goal he considered worth +reaching. Well, he had one now. Then why the devil—</p> + +<p>Burnett was shaving himself with a safety razor and yet he managed to +cut himself slightly just below the left temple. He touched the scratch +with a bit of caustic and enjoyed the smart of it.</p> + +<p>At half-past eight he went downstairs to breakfast, which he took +alone because his mother always joined his father, who left promptly +at eight for the offices of the Burnett Manufacturing Company. There +was no need of this early departure, as Dicky regularly informed him; +but the latter only affected to scorn this evident truth. He made a +sort of hobby of keeping to the old habits that had made <span class="pagenum" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</span>his business +to-day what it was—the leader in the manufacture of a certain type of +patent-leather finish. His idea since he was forty had been, as he +informed his traveling men at the end of each fiscal year, “to make the +next twelve months the greatest in the history of the company.”</p> + +<p>“That’s all very well,” his son observed whenever he found the +opportunity; “but when are you going to get off?”</p> + +<p>“About the time I begin to smoke cigarettes,” Burnett senior answered +once, as he lighted a stogie.</p> + +<p>Dicky waved responsibility aside with a motion of the hand containing a +fresh cigarette.</p> + +<p>“Of course, if you’re going to be stubborn and not take advice—”</p> + +<p>“Advice from who?” the elder demanded, utterly disregarding the rule +governing prepositions.</p> + +<p>“From me. Hang it, you <i>are</i> putting on weight.”</p> + +<p>“What of it?”</p> + +<p>“Mullen used to say—”</p> + +<p>“Who’s Mullen?”</p> + +<p>“Mullen is the ’varsity trainer,” Dicky replied imperturbably. “As I +was observing, when interrupted, Mullen said that any man who took on +weight after forty was running a chance.”</p> + +<p>“All right; I’ll take the chance,” Burnett answered grimly.</p> + +<p>It was a fact, however, that Dicky really was <span class="pagenum" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</span>worried about his +father. He had a genuine love for him and an honest respect for his +opinion on every other subject except work and health. On the latter +subject Dicky actually was qualified to speak with some authority; for +although he had never distinguished himself in athletics he had been +under Mullen for three years as a member of the second baseball team.</p> + +<p>After finishing a breakfast of eggs and toast, Burnett enjoyed his +usual walk from his home on Sixty-first Street to the Harvard Club. +Here he dropped in to glance at the morning papers, and then took a +taxi for the factory, reaching there at about half-past ten.</p> + +<p>As second vice-president of the company, he had a desk in an office +with Forsythe, the actual vice-president. The latter, an aggressive +man of forty, with hair brushed back in a fashion that gave one the +weird impression that he was facing a strong wind, always glanced +up with an abrupt “Good-morning, Mr. Burnett,” and planned to find +business elsewhere the hour or so that Dicky remained. As a matter of +fact, there was not much for the latter to do. The smoothly running +organization had been built up of men who had learned the business from +factory, to road, to office. It was so that Burnett had wished his son +to learn it; but, as the latter observed, with some point:</p> + +<p>“What’s the use, Dad?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</span></p> + +<p>“The use?” snorted Burnett. “How else will you learn it?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to learn it.”</p> + +<p>“Eh?”</p> + +<p>“I’d rather let George do it.”</p> + +<p>“George?”</p> + +<p>“He being any one who is obliged to do it for the sake of earning a +living,” explained Dicky. “I <i>could</i> do it, I could go into the +factory and wallow around in sticky black stuff, if it were necessary. +I could go out on the road and sell and sit round between times in +hotel offices. But thank the Lord it isn’t necessary. So what’s the +use? You did all those things yourself, I know. But that is just the +reason why no one else in the family should have to do them all over +again. Besides, there are plenty of men looking for that chance. Like +Forsythe; he ate up that kind of work for years, and enjoyed it. Now +he eats up all this office, and enjoys it. And you—you ought to be out +playing golf—that’s all.”</p> + +<p>It was a matter of family pride that led Burnett, in spite of this +attitude, to elect the boy a second vice-president; and it was merely +the obligation the boy felt he owed his father that made him accept +it. And Dicky let it go at that. He came down nearly every morning, +and sat around until lunch-time mostly for the sake of seeing that his +father did not duck into an alley somewhere and bolt a <span class="pagenum" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</span>cup of coffee +and a doughnut. At twelve o’clock he broke in upon the sanctity of +Burnett’s private office, removed his hat and coat from the hat-rack, +and stood by the roll-top desk until his father rose with a scowl and +put his arms through the sleeves. Then Dicky led him round the block to +a decent hotel, where he made him eat slowly and deliberately a plate +of soup, an omelet, and whole wheat bread without butter. With equal +insistence he refused to allow him to eat apple pie, squash pie, mince +pie, cream pie, or crullers. Dicky generally postponed his own lunch +until later.</p> + +<p>“Then you’ll go and eat what you please,” his father hinted darkly as +he finished.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Dad.”</p> + +<p>“Why in thunder, then, can’t you let me alone?”</p> + +<p>“You aren’t as young as I am. Besides, if you’re going to work as hard +as you do, you must look after yourself.”</p> + +<p>Burnett senior bit off the end of his stogie with a vicious snap and, +lighting it, sat back. He was shorter and stockier than his son. +His features were less finely moulded. It was as though he had been +chiseled out of oak with coarse tools, while the boy had been carefully +carved with keen-bladed instruments. That was what the mother had done +for him. She was a Cleaves of Portland—a fine, gentle soul who in her +day had been considered a beauty. She had her days, even now.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</span></p> + +<p>Burnett could not help being proud of the boy. When he came into a +place like this, he saw people glance at him approvingly. And nothing +gave him more satisfaction than to introduce him to some old friend or +new business acquaintance with a dignified:</p> + +<p>“My son.”</p> + +<p>But in the end he generally paid for this by being forced to listen to +some such remark as:</p> + +<p>“Ah, in business with you?”</p> + +<p>As a rule, Dicky himself furnished the reply:</p> + +<p>“I have the honor of being a vice-president of the company.”</p> + +<p>And the boy did not know a vici dressing from ordinary shoe blacking!</p> + +<p>“Look here,” his father said to him on this the 10th day of January, +“you’ve been out of college some six months now.”</p> + +<p>“Right.”</p> + +<p>“It seems as though you ought to be doing something more than just +hanging round.”</p> + +<p>“I’m thinking of doing something,” Dicky informed him.</p> + +<p>Burnett sat up straighter in his chair.</p> + +<p>“Now, that sounds better.”</p> + +<p>“I’m thinking of getting married,” went on Dicky.</p> + +<p>“Married?” exclaimed Burnett.</p> + +<p>“Married,” Dicky nodded seriously.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</span></p> + +<p>Burnett frowned.</p> + +<p>“You haven’t got mixed up with—”</p> + +<p>“Nothing of that sort,” Dicky cut in. “You ought to know me better.”</p> + +<p>Burnett flushed. He did. He spoke more carefully:</p> + +<p>“Who is it, boy?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t tell you yet, Dad, because I haven’t asked her. I’m going to +ask her to-day.”</p> + +<p>“Any one I know?”</p> + +<p>“Some one you’d like.”</p> + +<p>Dicky leaned across the table and, with his arms folded, talked +straight into his father’s gray eyes.</p> + +<p>“She’s very beautiful, Dad, with a sort of beauty that—that makes +you hold your breath. She’s slight and not very tall; but sometimes +she looks so tall that I feel like a kid beside her. And she has +dead-honest black eyes that think a good deal. And she makes you feel +as though you ought to be a prince or a caliph to be worthy of her. +That’s the trouble.”</p> + +<p>Burnett had been studying his son. What he saw there now warmed his own +eyes.</p> + +<p>“What’s the trouble?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“She’s one of the choice things of the world, and ought to be +surrounded by nothing but choice things.”</p> + +<p>Burnett’s face hardened a trifle.</p> + +<p>“You mean you want to buy her some jewels?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</span></p> + +<p>“I wasn’t thinking of that—though she could wear jewels. I don’t +remember, though, that I’ve ever seen her with many. You wouldn’t +notice them, anyway, if she had them on. I don’t know what you +<i>would</i> get her that she hasn’t already.”</p> + +<p>Burnett threw away his stogie. He had never seen the boy so much in +earnest. It put something into the lad’s eyes and mouth that he was +glad to find there. He glanced around. There was no one near to observe +his weakness, so he reached over and placed his big hand on his son’s.</p> + +<p>“Dick,” he said slowly, “you know that what’s mine is yours.”</p> + +<p>Dicky Burnett felt something squeezing his Adam’s apple.</p> + +<p>“I wasn’t telling you this for—that,” he choked.</p> + +<p>“I know,” Burnett put in quickly. “I know. But go after her. Get her. +If she’s all you say she is, by God, I’ll make a prince of you, if +that’s what she wants.”</p> + +<p>Dicky smiled mistily.</p> + +<p>“If you were thirty years younger you’d get her yourself,” he said.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II"> + CHAPTER II + <br> + <span>JOAN IS BORED</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Joan Fairburne</span> sat before the long cheval mirror while Henriette did up +her rich black hair. If Dicky Burnett could have seen her expression +at this moment, he would have known—and felt relieved to know—that +whatever was the cause of her boredom, it was not he, because he was +not about. In fact, the only person she could see—with the exception of +Henriette, who did not count—was herself. The logical deduction, then, +was that she must have been bored with herself. Yet if this were true +it was some development of the last year. Up to six months before she +graduated she had been gay enough, and then—something had happened. +Perhaps several things had happened.</p> + +<p>First of all, she had a sense of being about to be graduated, and +somehow that set her to thinking—really thinking. Probably, too, it +was the culmination of the work she had been doing and the life she +had been leading; for both in her studies and her associates she had +been extremely democratic. At the end of the first year she had escaped +from the clique which naturally claimed her for their own and had +mingled with all sorts of interesting girls—girls from the West, and +girls from <span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</span>the country, and girls who were working their way through, +and girls who had just barely enough money to squeeze through and who +were looking forward to earning their own livelihood afterward. It was +for her like getting into a new world, for until then she had lived +as though surrounded by a high wall. It was a very ancient wall and a +very beautiful wall and a protecting wall, but it was so high no one +could see over it. As long, however, as she knew nothing of what lay +beyond—except vaguely that the country roundabout was very dangerous +land for young girls—she did not mind her seclusion. Indeed, she was +even grateful and followed where her elders led as meekly as a young +girl should. It was so her mother before her had done, although instead +of going to college—for young ladies did not then go to college—she had +married John Fairburne, one of the old New York Fairburnes. “And that, +my dear,” her mother explained, “has been quite the equivalent of a +liberal education.”</p> + +<p>But Joan was beginning to see that this sort of education had kept +her mother all these years behind the same old wall. The area bounded +had, to be sure, been considerably enlarged after her marriage and +especially after the birth of her only child, but the barrier remained. +The Fairburne world was like a little monarchy, or still more like one +of those ancient walled cities one reads of in Roman history.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</span></p> + +<p>During her first year at Wellesley, Joan believed that the kingdom +extended even as far as there. Several girls of her social set entered +with her and they quickly found other girls of similar social sets from +Boston and Chicago and St. Louis and San Francisco who, except for +slight differences of speech, were alike as peas in a pod.</p> + +<p>That summer she returned to New York and Newport and the old crowd she +had left. But in her sophomore year Joan met Mildred Devons—a mouse +of a girl who had been brought up on a ranch in the West, and who had +taught school for three years and served as waitress in a summer hotel +in order to save enough to come East for this. There had never been any +wall around her life and she had seen many strange things.</p> + +<p>It was Joan who introduced herself as the two sat studying on the +shores of the lake one June afternoon.</p> + +<p>“Aren’t we classmates?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” Miss Devons answered, with an expression of guarded surprise.</p> + +<p>“I think it must be because you study so hard that we’ve never met,” +Joan continued.</p> + +<p>“I study as hard as I know how,” Miss Devons answered seriously. “Don’t +you?”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid not. I don’t think I like to study.”</p> + +<p>So the conversation began, and as the days went on, and next year as +the months went by, each girl <span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</span>revealed herself a little more fully +to the other. And though in all their past, their present, and their +future they differed so radically, a curious sort of friendship +developed that had its effect upon them both. Somewhere below the +surface of things they found a common bond.</p> + +<p>When, in her senior year, Miss Devons was taken ill as a result of +overstudy and undernourishment, it was Joan who stood by to the +end—Joan and a cousin of Mildred from Technology—one Mark Devons. He +was a slight, pale-faced young man with eager black eyes and thin lips +that came together in a straight line. Joan never met him outside of +the infirmary; but there, on either side of the bed, they both did +their best to encourage the fragile girl who faded before their eyes.</p> + +<p>Joan was with her alone when she died. One evening Mildred reached out +her thin hand and sought Joan’s.</p> + +<p>“I’m going,” she said quietly. “I haven’t let them tell the folks at +home. Will you make it—easy as you can? I guess they—they’ll sort of +miss me.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I shall too,” Joan sobbed. “Please—please don’t go!”</p> + +<p>Mildred’s eyes brightened, and for a little while she rallied; but not +for long.</p> + +<p>When this Mark Devons came that night, it was Joan who met him and told +him. His face grew <span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</span>dark, as though in challenge of some mysterious +enemy.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t right!” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>Joan did not understand.</p> + +<p>“There are plenty here who aren’t needed,” he broke out. “Why—”</p> + +<p>Joan drew back a little. For a second she felt guilty. Impulsively +Devons thrust forward his hand.</p> + +<p>“Good-bye,” he said simply.</p> + +<p>So he went out of her life almost as completely as did Mildred. Yet it +was not true that either of them had gone out of her life.</p> + +<p>It was her first intimate experience with death, and at the beginning +she had been impressed only with the abrupt finality of it. But when +she began to write the letters to those back at home—there was a mother +and a sister—she found herself writing, not as of one dead, but as of +one still living. And all through the rest of this her last year the +strongest vital friendship she had, remained still that of Mildred +Devons. When finally she graduated, it was as though Mildred graduated +with her.</p> + +<p>It was Mildred, with her fine ideals of the future, her eagerness to +make herself worth while, who whispered to her when on those long June +evenings Joan walked by herself at twilight with a sense of new things +stirring within. It was Mildred who whispered that a graduation was not +an ending but <span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</span>a beginning. Of what, she did not say; of what, Joan +herself did not know. But when one came to full womanhood surely it +must mean the beginning of something more than anything she then saw +ahead of her.</p> + +<p>With this idea she had come back home, and for a little while had +tried to make her mother understand and her father understand—looking +hopefully first to one and then to the other for a solution. The former +merely patted her upon the back and said:</p> + +<p>“You’re a Fairburne, my dear.”</p> + +<p>The latter had only smiled.</p> + +<p>“You’ll find plenty to do soon,” he assured her.</p> + +<p>She had passed that summer, as usual, in Newport; and no one there +helped to explain her to herself. When she came back in the fall, one +thing had followed another so inevitably that she had found little time +to think at all. But now she was beginning to steady herself a little +and so to think once more.</p> + +<p>The high wall was now like a prison wall. Wherever she went, whatever +she did, she could always reach out and touch the four sides of it. +That was true of her home; it was true of the limousine which took her +from place to place; it was true of each destination. Always the doors +were guarded and always some one with credentials stood ready to meet +her. She was shot from one to <span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</span>another like a cash box in a pneumatic +tube. Sometimes she peered through the plate glass of her car, as she +sat by her mother’s side or by Dicky’s side, at the crowds in the +street with an hysterical desire to open the door, jump out, and lose +herself among them.</p> + +<p>Yes, it was equally true when she was by Dicky’s side. She had thought +at first she was going to find a friend in Dicky. She had liked him +as a clean young boy while he was at college, and she had liked him +last summer as she had sailed the open sea with him now and then. At +the beginning of the teas and dances and bridge parties this fall +she had been glad to have him with her. But of late he had become a +little bit tiresome. There was no variety to Dicky. As she saw him one +day, so he was the next. That was inevitable, because he himself had +nothing from outside of interest to bring to her. His eyes saw only +what her eyes saw. They met the same people at the same places and did +the same things. It was worse for him than for her. Once or twice she +had searched for something deeper in him, but she was quite sure now +there <i>was</i> nothing deeper. He was a little more wholesome than +the others and that was all. She did not particularly blame him for +being so negative, because to do that would have been to blame herself +equally. And he was very nice. Too nice. He treated her as though she +were some fragile thing to be kept in <span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</span>cotton wool. It was this which +made her smile even at the moment she was bored. If Dicky Burnett could +have had the privilege of reading her thoughts as she thought sometimes +in her white bed while staring at the ceiling, he would have been +surprised.</p> + +<p>In the dark, with all the details of her room obliterated; in the dark, +with all the costumes for her silly part out of sight; in the dark, +with Henriette and even her mother and father in the background; in the +dark, with the world very quiet all about her—it was another Joan who +lived in the big stone house. Her room had always been a cloistered +place to her, and at night it seemed even more cloistered. With her +hair down and her body free, she felt like one released—like one +allowed to be for a little while just herself. It was then she broke +her bounds and wandered at large. Dicky might have found it significant +that never at these times was he in her thoughts.</p> + +<p>Henriette finished her hair and stepped back with an approving look. +Mademoiselle was very beautiful, but never as beautiful as she might be +were she gayer. It is a light heart that makes eyes bright and brings +color to the cheeks. Mon Dieu! if she herself had the opportunities +Mademoiselle Fairburne enjoyed—</p> + +<p>There was a gown to be donned next—a wonderful gown designed by an +artist. Yet Mademoiselle stood like a doll and showed as little +interest. <span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</span>It was so, too, of the hat—a dashing bit of daintiness.</p> + +<p>At three o’clock Dicky Burnett called for her, looking very spruce in +his English cut-away and top hat. It may have been her fancy, but he +appeared even a little more solicitous than usual about her comfort. It +was a blustering, stormy day, with the snow coming slantwise in gusts. +He suggested that perhaps it was too raw for her to venture out—when +venturing out meant only venturing from the door of the house to the +door of the limousine and then to the covered approach to Delmonico’s. +She recalled some of those descriptions Mildred had given her of +Western winters.</p> + +<p>“Dicky,” she said, “I wish we were going to walk.”</p> + +<p>“Walk!” exclaimed Dicky, with an unconscious glance at her short silk +skirt.</p> + +<p>“Don’t worry,” she smiled. “We won’t.”</p> + +<p>He had tried to hold an umbrella above her as she came down the steps; +but, in a spirit of rebellion, she strode ahead of him. And all the +rest of the afternoon some demon of perverseness possessed her. For a +wonder, she chose to dance, and danced not only with Dicky, who was a +good dancer, but with Hollister, whom she did not particularly like, +and with Diblee, whom Dicky did not particularly like. While the mood +to dance was upon her she danced with every one who offered <span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</span>himself +as a partner, and there were few who were not glad of the opportunity. +Then, when she had had enough, she refused to dance with any one, but +sat, with flushed cheeks, like a petulant princess, not deigning even +to talk with Dicky.</p> + +<p>Once again her mood changed, and she astonished him with her gayety; +but on the instant he tried to join her in it, she sat back in silence.</p> + +<p>He had never seen her like this. It was as though he were trying to +follow two or three Joans. And yet he had a feeling that always the +steady dark eyes of the real Joan dominated the others. Then, too, if +she stung him, she also roused him.</p> + +<p>Dicky’s mouth became firmer than usual before that afternoon was over. +If he were given half a chance—</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III"> + CHAPTER III + <br> + <span>CHANCE</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">The</span> wonder is not that Chance should seem to be the exception to the +orderly rule of life, but that except by Chance lives should ever +move in an orderly way. If it were possible to make, upon a piece of +white paper, a diagram of the goings and comings, the crossing and +criss-crossing of all those who move about New York in a single day, +the result would prove it to be little short of marvelous that the +paths do not cut across each other a thousand times an hour.</p> + +<p>In a corner of the city removed in space many blocks from Delmonico’s, +and separated in other ways by what might be considered an impassable +gulf from the lives of either Joan Fairburne or Dicky Burnett, Mark +Devons paced the floor of his attic room, stopping now and then to +frown at the whirling snowflakes, and then at the letter which he had +received in the noon mail. The letter was typewritten and read as +follows:</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="flat right"> + <i><span class="tab_right">Offices of Carlow, Reed & Co.</span></i><br> + <i>New York, N.Y. Wall Street</i> +</p> + +<p class="flat"><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Devons</span>:</p> + +<p>We have delayed giving you a final answer on the proposition you +submitted to us to finance <span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</span>your patent No. 4782937 covering a new +process for the manufacture of an improved patent-leather dressing +at a reduced cost over the present type upon the market, because, to +speak frankly, the report of our chemists was so enthusiastic that +we felt you had something that really deserved success. We went over +the matter several times, but have, however reluctantly, come to the +conclusion that other considerations enter to such an extent into +the problem of establishing such an enterprise that, with our many +other interests, we do not feel justified at present in continuing +negotiations. The Burnett product is so firmly intrenched with the +trade, and is backed by such a perfect organization, that any attempt +to break through, even with a superior article, would involve more +capital and time than we are just now prepared to risk. There is a +possibility that at some later date, if you care to re-submit the +proposition, we might be willing to undertake it.</p> + +<p>Thanking you for your favor and wishing you all success, we beg to +remain,</p> + +<p class="flat right"> + <span class="tab_right">Sincerely yours,</span><br> + Carlow, Reed & Co. +</p> + +<p class="flat"><span class="smcap">Mr. Mark Devons</span>,<br> +<i><span class="tab_left">Mullen Court, New York, N.Y.</span></i></p> +</blockquote> + +<p>In another envelope from the same office came a note from Ben Sawyer:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</span></p> + +<blockquote> +<p class="flat"><span class="smcap">Dear Mark</span>:</p> + +<p>I’ve just had a talk with Mr. Reed, and he tells me he has turned you +down. It’s a darned shame, because you have a good thing there. The +trouble seems to be that several years ago he had one set-to with the +Burnett crowd and got the worst of it. They say Burnett is a bear and +would fight to his last cent, and from all I hear there’re a good +many cents in between. I wish I had the money myself to back you!</p> + +<p>Why the deuce don’t you drop round and see a fellow? I’m at +Wellington Chambers still.</p> + +<p class="flat right"> + <span class="tab_right">Yours,</span><br> + <span class="smcap">Ben</span>. +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<blockquote> +<p>Confidential; Reed says that offer Forsythe of Burnett’s made of two +thousand cash is robbery. Keep away.</p> + +<p class="flat right">B.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>It was difficult, on the whole, to find very much humor in either +letter; and yet there was one line that brought a smile to Devons’s +lips every time he read it. “There is a possibility that at some later +date—”</p> + +<p>At some later date! To appreciate the humor of that jaunty phrase one +had to realize that he had already been waiting several months on a +capital of seventy-five dollars. This had been reduced on <span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</span>Monday to +ten cents. To-day was Wednesday and he was hungry—hungry as the devil. +Under the circumstances the airiness of that suggestion of waiting six +months or a year longer might, if one were temperamentally so inclined, +be considered in the nature of a jest.</p> + +<p>For two months he had subsisted chiefly on a diet of bread, black +coffee, and tobacco. That was well enough as long as he had his dreams +also. As long as he was able to go to bed at night with visions of a +fortune awaiting him on the morrow, bread, black coffee, and a smoke +were plenty for dinner. He had enough books with him so that he was +enabled to pass not only a pleasant but profitable evening with his +studies. If the after-breakfast mail did not bring him his letter, +there was another at eleven to look forward to, and more studying with +a little dreaming thrown in. So until lunch-time and the three o’clock +mail. So until dinner-time, and so through another evening.</p> + +<p>Dreams! Dreams! Dreams! A man does not put on weight with them. A man +may even lose color through them. And of course plug tobacco in a +corn-cob is not altogether wholesome, although it helps the dreaming. +But it is surprising how happy a man may keep as long as his plug +tobacco lasts.</p> + +<p>Devons had stumbled upon his discovery while doing research work on +leathers in preparation for the original paper which he offered for his +degree. <span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</span>He had hugged his secret close and worked on it all summer in +the Technology laboratories. When he came to New York he went direct +to Forsythe with it as soon as he had secured his patent papers; and +Forsythe, after looking him up, had made his offer to buy it outright.</p> + +<p>When Devons indignantly refused, Forsythe only smiled.</p> + +<p>“You’ll be back,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Why?” Devons demanded.</p> + +<p>“Because, my boy,” Forsythe assured him, “there is nowhere else to go.”</p> + +<p>It had looked that way until, quite by chance, Devons ran across his +classmate Sawyer, who was connected with a house making a specialty of +financing new enterprises. That was when the dreaming began.</p> + +<p>It had been glorious while it lasted, because dreams are largely a +matter of contrast, and Devons had, in the way of a somber background +to put them against, all that was necessary. One of ten children, who +had kept his mother lean and his father scrawny from the sheer effort +of getting together enough to clothe and feed them up to the age +when they were able to earn a pittance for themselves, he had fought +his way, as Mildred his cousin had hers, through school. And what he +remembered of it was not the hardship itself, but what it took away +from him. To do nothing but exist and study he had <span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</span>surrendered most of +those things that are the heritage of youth. It was work, nothing but +work, with laughter and bright eyes all about him, but beyond him—like +mocking fairy voices in the distance. It was work in winter and work +in summer for the dollars that came to him so grudgingly and came to +others so easily. He made Technology at eighteen as time is computed by +mathematics, but he was nearer twenty-five in body.</p> + +<p>It had been pleasanter there, because he felt himself to be just so +much nearer his goal; but though the authorities advised against work +outside of studies, he was at work half the time he should have been +sleeping. And he did not have as much to eat as he should have had. +Life for those four years had been a treadmill affair for him, and +twice he had been upon the point of dropping, but had held himself +together by his nerve.</p> + +<p>So when he made his discovery it was a good deal as though he had been +handed Aladdin’s lamp. For a week he wandered around in a sort of dazed +ecstasy. Then he buckled down again and pushed it through.</p> + +<p>He had borrowed enough from home to secure his patent papers and lived +upon what he had left. The folks had mortgaged the farm to raise it for +him. And one of the very finest of his dreams ran something like this:</p> + +<p>Mr. Reed, of Carlow, Reed & Co., came to him <span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</span>at the end of the first +fiscal year of the Devons Manufacturing Company and said: “Devons, this +thing is going better than we expected. You’ve worked hard, and now +you’d better take a vacation. Here’s ten thousand dollars on account. +Take it, and go off for a month.”</p> + +<p>Ten thousand dollars! It is necessary to know how big a single dollar +is before any one can realize how big ten thousand dollars is. A +single dollar can be, in size, as big as the moon, and that’s as big +as you care to make it; as big as a pie plate, a carriage wheel, a +circus ring, or the circumference of the globe. A single dollar can be +in value as much as an ordinary fortune, or as much as a Rockefeller +fortune, or anything in between. If you’re starving it may be just as +valuable as all the money in the world.</p> + +<p>To Devons a dollar meant the difference between being hungry and being +well fed. It meant the difference between walking with weak legs or +riding in a comfortable subway train. It meant the difference, almost, +between something and nothing—which is a big difference. Ten thousand +dollars, then, meant ten thousand times that.</p> + +<p>He had ten thousand dollars—not in a check, but, say, in dollar +bills—something he could see, and touch and count in separate units. He +had them in two dress-suit cases. The cases were packed tight so that +it was difficult to strap them. Green <span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</span>bits of them stuck out. Even +then he had enough left over to buy a new suit of clothes and hat and +overcoat and shoes and silk stockings and shirts and cravats, and a +pair of gold studs he saw in a window once. After this he had enough to +buy a new pipe and eat a square meal at Delmonico’s and take a taxi for +his parlor-car reservation.</p> + +<p>In the next picture he was stepping off at a little one-horse railroad +station in the West and shaking hands with his father who had driven up +with the big horses in a buckboard.</p> + +<p>“Strap those suit-cases on tight,” he said to his father; “I don’t want +to lose them.”</p> + +<p>So they jogged along for some ten miles, and he inquired after every +one and learned that they were all sick or dying or on their way to +the poorhouse. At the farmhouse door his mother came out to meet him, +looking, as always, thin and hollow-eyed. He took the suit-cases into +the sitting-room and handed one to his mother and one to his father, +remarking casually:</p> + +<p>“A little present.”</p> + +<p>Good Lord!—ten thousand dollars! If it meant what it did to him, what +did it mean to them? A real ranch with hired men to work it and ease +and comfort, and a Ford and—</p> + +<p>Now it was all over. The dream had vanished. “If, at some later date—”</p> + +<p>Devons scraped round in the bottom of his <span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</span>pocket and found enough +tobacco for one more pipeful. He filled his corn-cob and lighted it, +but the smoke tasted bitter. That was because he was hungry.</p> + +<p>And yet, there was one chance remaining which, if accepted, would at +least pay off the debt at home and leave enough to stake him to some +sort of job at which he could earn a living. He had only to go back to +Forsythe and sign his name to a paper and he would receive two thousand +dollars. That was only a fifth of ten and—it was the end. It would, +however, pull him out of his present hole and leave him free for a new +beginning.</p> + +<p>Once again Devons paced his room. If only he alone were involved he +would hold on, but he was not alone now. He knew what that mortgage +signified to his father. For twenty years the man had denied himself +everything except the bed-rock necessities of life to escape this +curse of the little farmer. Devons knew that to his father it was like +submitting to having a sword suspended above his head. If it fell—if +the interest money was not met promptly—it meant disaster. It meant, +with the foreclosed mortgage, not a single clean blow which a man might +endure, but a long-drawn-out type of torture. The only alternative open +to his father would be to give up his rights as a freeman and hire out.</p> + +<p>When Devons reached this point he stopped <span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</span>short and clenched his +fists. He could not allow such a thing as that to be. No matter what +the sacrifice, he must forestall that contingency. It was getting to +be late in the afternoon, but if he hurried he might possibly reach +Forsythe.</p> + +<p>Devons put on his coat, jammed his old soft hat down to his ears, and +started downstairs. On the second landing he caught the smell of coffee +from the room of Arkwright, the architect, and paused a moment to enjoy +it. The latter swung open the door and saw him.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Devons,” he called. “Thought I heard some one there. Come in a +minute, can’t you?”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I can’t.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, come on and have a cup of coffee before you go out, anyhow,” he +pleaded. “It’s a tough old day.”</p> + +<p>He was a big, insistent fellow, this Arkwright, and he stepped to +Devons’s side and took his arm.</p> + +<p>“Want to show you something.”</p> + +<p>Devons followed into the warm room, where over an alcohol lamp a +coffee-pot was sending out clouds of fragrant steam. A dark wooden +table in the center of the room was covered with drawings. Arkwright +poured a cup of black Java and shoved it toward Devons, with a box +of cigarettes. The latter hesitated. It seemed almost like accepting +charity to take it when he wanted it so much. His hand trembled as he +reached for the cup.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</span></p> + +<p>Arkwright studied him a second—his brows contracting over sharp gray +eyes.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Devons, you’re sick!” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>But by then Devons had swallowed his coffee, and it warmed him all the +way through—warmed and stimulated him.</p> + +<p>“No,” he answered steadily, as he lighted a cigarette. “It’s only a +case of nerves. What have you there?” He nodded toward the drawings.</p> + +<p>Arkwright’s attention was immediately diverted.</p> + +<p>“Come over and see,” he invited. “Here’s something good. When you make +your pile you may want it. It’s a gentleman’s country place—to cost, +say, around a hundred and fifty thousand; and it’s one peach.”</p> + +<p>Passing his pencil lightly over the angles and circles and semicircles +that stood for masonry,—it required only dollars to convert them +into masonry,—Arkwright elaborated on his plans. He showed the house +modeled after the fashion of an English gentleman’s estate, with its +big vaulted reception-room and dining-room, and the master’s rooms and +the servants’ rooms and the modern kitchen, and the grounds outside +with pond and tennis-court and rose-garden, and garage, and Lord knows +what. He made it all so vivid that Devons visualized it as though he +were actually looking at the finished mansion. As Arkwright rambled +on he used the possessive. It was always, <span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</span>“Here’s your dining-room +and here’s your library,” until Devons was back again in his old +day-dreaming.</p> + +<p>“It’s a corker,” nodded Devons as Arkwright finished. “If I had a +fortune I’d order it this afternoon.”</p> + +<p>Arkwright laughed.</p> + +<p>“That’s the trouble,” he answered. “The fellows that ought to have such +places can’t get ’em, and those that can get ’em don’t want ’em.”</p> + +<p>“Some of us will get ’em yet,” Devons declared grimly.</p> + +<p>He put on his coat; but when he went out again it was in a different +mood. Forsythe could go hang. Sawyer had spoken once of the possibility +of finding him a job—a small salaried job—with Carlow, Reed & Co. He +would walk up there and see him and take anything that was offered.</p> + +<p>The wind blew the snow into his face and whipped his coat about his +ankles as he stepped out. It came like a challenge, and he accepted it. +He made his way across Washington Square to the Avenue and pushed ahead +uptown. For the first half-dozen blocks it was easy, but as he went +on it became harder and harder to walk. He was weaker, on the whole, +than he realized. But he gripped his jaws and went on and on and on. +With his head low and his eyes on the ground, he centered every effort +on just making his feet go. He <span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</span>saw nothing and felt nothing. He was +moving now like an automaton. So he went on and on and on—farther, as a +matter of fact, than he should have gone.</p> + +<p>He paused once to stare through the snow at the number of a +cross-street. He was in the sixties and west of his destination. He +turned back dully. Then he staggered off the sidewalk and across the +Avenue. Like one in a dream, he heard the distant toot of a horn—then a +shout. He felt something strike him, and that was all he felt or knew.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV"> + CHAPTER IV + <br> + <span>THE DRIVER AND FATE</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">The</span> afternoon at Delmonico’s was speeding, and with every passing +minute Dicky was becoming more impatient and Joan more willful. She +seemed to be taking almost the delight of a coquette in teasing him. +Dicky never remembered having seen her more beautiful. It was worth +the price of being annoyed occasionally to watch the sparkle in her +eyes, little gleams of mischievous laughter like stars struck from +steel; to enjoy the heightened color of her cheeks and the quick play +of her mobile lips. But back of it all Dicky felt as though there was +something serious. Perhaps because back of his own lightness there was +something very serious indeed. Before this day was out he meant to be +more serious than he had ever been in his life. Had he the opportunity +he would have begun right here among the gay couples who to the music +of the hidden orchestra hopped in fox-trots over the polished floor. +But every time he leaned forward with the words on his lips, either he +was interrupted or he found her attention diverted to something else. +He could have strangled Diblee, who strolled over and insisted on +sitting out the dance which she had refused him. The man <span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</span>talked like +an ass, but Dicky derived some satisfaction from the knowledge that the +fellow was heartily boring her.</p> + +<p>At half-past four she rose abruptly.</p> + +<p>“I think I’ll go home now,” she informed Dicky.</p> + +<p>“Good!” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>She glanced up at him, somewhat surprised at his earnestness.</p> + +<p>“Why, Dicky,” she returned, “it can’t be you’re getting tired of +dancing.”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t that,” he interrupted. “But I have something to say to you. I +want to see you alone.”</p> + +<p>They had been skirting the dance floor on their way to the cloak-room, +nodding to this one and that; but she paused a moment at this before +going on. She looked at Dicky’s flushed cheeks and alert eyes and firm +mouth. Then she sat down again.</p> + +<p>“I’m not sure that it is best you should,” she said. “I’m tired. I was +going to ask you please not to come with me.”</p> + +<p>“Why?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“Because,” she answered slowly,—“because I have a feeling I want to be +by myself.”</p> + +<p>“Why?” he persisted.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. Perhaps it’s only a fancy.”</p> + +<p>“You’re going right home?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Then—”</p> + +<p>The orchestra had swung into a <i>valse hésitation</i>—a <span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</span>slow, dreamy +sort of thing, a shadowy air on the border-land of reality.</p> + +<p>“Dicky,” she said, “something is going to happen to me to-day—somehow, +somewhere.”</p> + +<p>“Eh? You haven’t been talking with a fortune-teller!”</p> + +<p>She shook her head, remaining serious through her light smile.</p> + +<p>“They sound foolish when you put such thoughts into words,” she +admitted, “and I’m not much given to things of that sort. But all this +afternoon I’ve had a feeling that I was starting on some big adventure. +It’s as though I were going to sea on a long voyage.”</p> + +<p>“That’s queer!” exclaimed Dicky.</p> + +<p>She met his eyes. It was as though he understood; and she had not +expected him to understand.</p> + +<p>“That,” he said a little breathlessly,—“that is what I was going to +talk to you about.”</p> + +<p>“You?”</p> + +<p>“That is why I wished to see you alone.”</p> + +<p>“You?” she repeated again.</p> + +<p>“You’ll give me a chance, Joan?”</p> + +<p>She appeared startled.</p> + +<p>For a second she searched her soul. Then she answered slowly.</p> + +<p>“I’m quite sure it wasn’t with you—that adventure.”</p> + +<p>It was Dicky’s opportunity; and, if it were <span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</span>necessary to take it right +here in the crowd, he would take it. If every eye were turned upon him +and every ear listening, he would take it.</p> + +<p>“It’s because you don’t understand,” he rushed on. “You see, you—you +felt what I didn’t have the nerve to speak. I love you. Joan, I love +you.”</p> + +<p>With a little cry, she reached for his hand beneath the table before +which they were sitting.</p> + +<p>“Hush!” she pleaded.</p> + +<p>But he would not hush.</p> + +<p>“I’ve got to tell you now—here,” he persisted. “I’ve waited as long as +I can. I know I’m not big enough for you. I know you’re too fine for +me. But that would hold true of any man. And I’m ready to give my whole +life to making you happy. Joan, dear, I don’t know just what I can do +for you. You’re—you’re like a princess. Now I want to make you a queen +if I can. I—”</p> + +<p>“Dicky,” she whispered again, “you mustn’t talk like that!”</p> + +<p>“Maybe—that’s the big adventure you were thinking about,” he breathed.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>For a heart-beat she was tempted to laugh—to laugh out loud. It was +a demoniacal impulse unworthy of her, because she knew Dicky was in +earnest. She knew he was speaking from the depths of him—such as those +depths were. So she choked back that devil and tried to think calmly of +what <span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</span>she could answer without hurting. But how little he knew her and +what she craved! He would make her a queen, he said. He would give his +life to making her happy with petting and baubles, and be her slave. +Yes, he would do that. He would do it to the best of his ability. He +would do it better than any one she knew. And he would call that the +great adventure!</p> + +<p>It was something from the swirling snow which struck her face when she +left the house that had stimulated her imagination this afternoon. The +sting had brought back those vivid pictures of bleak, stern hardships +that Mildred had painted for her. Out of sheer contrast they had +stirred in her a craving for something like that—a primitive craving +such as seizes men in the spring and drives them back to forest and +stream-side. She wanted to get out and away where life would bite. She +wanted, not more of those things she had now, but opportunity to do +without some of those things. She wanted a chance to be stripped to +herself—a chance to use herself.</p> + +<p>“Joan,” he choked, “Joan—you believe me?”</p> + +<p>“I do,” she said quickly. “That’s the trouble.”</p> + +<p>“Trouble?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I wish you had not spoken!”</p> + +<p>“You mean you—this is not—the adventure?”</p> + +<p>How could it be? It was no more an adventure than getting into a +waiting limousine with him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</span></p> + +<p>“Dicky,” she said, “I told you I wanted to be by myself. I want it more +than ever now.”</p> + +<p>“Because of me?”</p> + +<p>“Because of everything.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t love me, then?”</p> + +<p>“You want me to tell you the truth, don’t you, Dicky?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Then,” she said slowly and as gently as she could,—“then the truth is: +I don’t love you.”</p> + +<p>Dicky took it like a man. He neither refused to meet her eyes nor made +a long face about it.</p> + +<p>“That,” he said, “seems to settle it. Are you ready?”</p> + +<p>He escorted her to the cloak-room, and went back and called her machine +and found his own coat. Then he waited and helped her in. Uncovered, he +stood in the snow before the open door.</p> + +<p>“Dicky,” she said, giving her hand, “I’m sorry.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want you to feel like that,” he said. “I’d rather you felt you +had some one—always ready—to call on.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I do!”</p> + +<p>“For anything you may want within my power to give you!”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>As he stood, straight and slim with a brave face, she thought of him as +some story-book prince. For <span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</span>a second it was as though this were some +unreal world—a world of romance where princes of that sort could be.</p> + +<p>Then he closed the door upon her and the machine started through the +blinding snow.</p> + +<p>Charles, the driver, took his usual course. If any one had told him +that he was in the hands of Fate, he would probably have inquired, “Who +is Fate, sir?”</p> + +<p>He was a careful driver, who minded his own business and the traffic +regulations. This late afternoon he was more than usually careful, +because it was with difficulty that he saw three feet ahead. And +yet—when a half-dazed figure stumbled from the sidewalk into the road, +he could not stop his machine in time to avoid hitting it. He threw on +the emergency brake, but it was too late.</p> + +<p>Jumping from his seat, he picked up the unconscious man and looked +about for help. But the snow came down all around him like a screen.</p> + +<p>Joan threw open the door. She saw the limp figure.</p> + +<p>“Bring him here!” she commanded.</p> + +<p>Charles stumbled forward with his burden.</p> + +<p>“Put him on the seat,” she commanded. “Quick! Drive home!”</p> + +<p>As the car started on, she bent over the stranger. Then, with an amazed +cry, she uttered his name.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V"> + CHAPTER V + <br> + <span>BANDAGED</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">When</span> Devons regained consciousness there were a great many things he +could not understand—a great many things, in fact, that, had he the +strength, he would have been ready to argue could not possibly be +so. Apparently he was in a big room similar to the one Arkwright had +visualized for him in that hundred and fifty thousand dollar house he +was to buy some day. Apparently he was in a broad, soft-mattressed +bed and covered with dainty white linen, such as one might expect to +find in such a home. Apparently all the other furnishings were in +keeping—though he did not see them in detail, but rather sensed them as +a whole. Apparently at the farther end of the room near a shaded light +there was a nurse in uniform, and near her a slight, bearded man, very +professional-looking. Neither of them was aware that he was studying +them. Apparently they were waiting for something.</p> + +<p>Now, manifestly, this was all a grotesque dream on Devons’s part. He +closed his eyes again and tried to get back to something real. The +first tangible fact in the past that he was able to get hold of was of +being in Arkwright’s room and <span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</span>drinking there a cup of coffee. Then +Arkwright had shown him those plans.</p> + +<p>After that he had gone out somewhere. He had started for Wellington +Chambers. Perhaps this was Wellington Chambers. He opened his eyes +again. No; Sawyer was not here. Besides, what were these other two? +When he tried to move, their presence seemed more plausible. He was +sore all over, as though he had been pummeled. This helped him to +recall that mysterious tooting of horns and the curious phenomenon +immediately following of an extra heavy gust of wind hitting him as +with a cudgel. And that was as far as he could go.</p> + +<p>Hearing a sound from the rear of the room, he opened his eyes once +more. The bearded man was coming toward him. He took Devons’s pulse and +examined the pupils of his eyes and asked him how he felt.</p> + +<p>“Sore,” replied Devons. “Where am I?”</p> + +<p>“In the home of Mr. Fairburne,” replied the doctor.</p> + +<p>“How did I get here?”</p> + +<p>“Never mind that. Save your strength to answer my questions.”</p> + +<p>So, with the nurse to assist him, the doctor felt Devons all over. +In some places it hurt and in other places it did not. The doctor’s +conclusion at the end of the examination was that he had a <span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</span>dislocated +shoulder, a fractured rib, and various odds and ends of bruises.</p> + +<p>“How did I get them?” inquired Devons.</p> + +<p>“You ran into an automobile,” was the politic way Dr. Nichols put it.</p> + +<p>“How did the—the auto come out?” inquired Devons, with a flickering +smile.</p> + +<p>“As usual, the machine got the better of it,” replied Nichols.</p> + +<p>Still, the machine could not be blamed for the shockingly ill-nourished +body that had withstood the blow so feebly. Because the young man +seemed of the more intelligent sort, he pursued his questioning a +little further, prompted by some curiosity.</p> + +<p>“What’s been your diet lately?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>“Bread and coffee mostly,” answered Devons.</p> + +<p>“Didn’t you know any better?” grunted Nichols.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Then—”</p> + +<p>He caught an amused expression in Devons’s sunken eyes.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I see,” he went on more gently. “Well, we’ll have to get some real +food into you as soon as possible.”</p> + +<p>“Is this a hospital?” asked Devons.</p> + +<p>“Hardly. Miss Joan Fairburne was in the machine when you stumbled in +front of it. She brought you here.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</span></p> + +<p>“Joan Fairburne,” muttered Devons, trying to place the name.</p> + +<p>“She says she knew you when she was in college.”</p> + +<p>He remembered then. She was with Mildred when she died. She had dark +hair and eyes. She was very beautiful—very beautiful and very rich.</p> + +<p>Nichols had removed his coat in businesslike fashion and was rolling up +his sleeves.</p> + +<p>“I’ve got to get that shoulder back,” he announced. “Then I’ll fix that +rib in place. Better save your strength. I’ll have to give you a whiff +of ether.”</p> + +<p>The subsequent half-hour was an exceedingly unpleasant one for Devons. +He was so weak that Nichols refrained from administering any more ether +than was absolutely necessary, and he was both judge and jury on the +question. Devons clenched his jaw and stood it, but he could not help +his lips from getting white. Whenever that happened, Nichols nodded to +the nurse, and she shoved a gauze sponge sprinkled with the pungent +stuff beneath his nose. This set his head to swimming and made the room +go round in circles.</p> + +<p>And all during this process Nichols wound him in bandages until he felt +as tied up as a mummy. Whenever they gave him a chance, he protested:</p> + +<p>“Look here. Can’t get round in—these things.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t intend to have you get round for some little time,” replied +Nichols. “Don’t talk.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</span></p> + +<p>Then how the deuce was he going to see Sawyer? How the deuce was he +going—?</p> + +<p>But it was not possible to keep a thought very long at a time. There +were two of them against him, and they did whatever they pleased.</p> + +<p>Even when they were all through, he was not any more comfortable than +before. He was in a strait-jacket, and the after-effects of the ether +were the usual after-effects.</p> + +<p>After a while Nichols went off. The nurse remained. He was glad of +that. She was the one sane thing in a world grown chaotic.</p> + +<p>He must have slept at intervals during the night, because all of a +sudden he was aware that it was morning. The shaded electric light had +gone out and the room was suffused with the white light of day. The +nurse was still there, and when he spoke to her she came over and asked +how he felt.</p> + +<p>“Punk,” he answered.</p> + +<p>He was all tied up, for one thing. He was faint, for another. And he +still tasted and smelled ether, for another.</p> + +<p>“I’d like a cup of coffee,” he said.</p> + +<p>“I’ll get you something better,” she answered.</p> + +<p>After an interval out of the room she returned with the something +better. Apparently their tastes differed, for it was not better. It +was a hot, flabby drink, like gruel. However, he swallowed it, and it +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</span>took away some of the faint feeling. Shortly he went to sleep again; +and this time when he awoke he found that the nurse had grown slighter +and taller and had changed the color of her hair. Or maybe it was a +different nurse.</p> + +<p>“What time is it?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Eleven o’clock,” she replied.</p> + +<p>“You’re a new one?”</p> + +<p>“I’m the day nurse.”</p> + +<p>That was encouraging, because it proved that he was seeing things in a +clearer and more normal way. He felt emboldened now to examine his room +more in detail. It was an extremely satisfactory apartment. Everything +in it was quite perfect and fresh. The wall-paper had little roses in +it and looked as though it had been put on within a day. The bed was +of mahogany with a dull finish. The dresser in the corner was new, and +all the odds and ends of other things were new also. It looked like one +of those windows along Fifth Avenue where such articles are displayed +for sale. Only he had the feeling that on these there had never been +any price tag. If ever they were paid for it had been done quietly and +privately.</p> + +<p>The linen covering him was choice. He felt it. It gave him a sense of +clean luxury. It sank into him and made him wish he were shaved. If he +had his razor with him he would have shaved right then, if he could +manage it with his left hand. He put<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</span> his fingers to his rough face to +see if it could be done.</p> + +<p>When Nichols came in, Devons asked him if he did not think it could be +managed.</p> + +<p>“I’ll have them send Jeffrey up to you,” nodded Nichols.</p> + +<p>“Jeffrey?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Fairburne’s man.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to put the family to any more trouble than I have. I +could do it myself.”</p> + +<p>“I doubt it. Besides, it isn’t necessary.”</p> + +<p>“How long am I going to be here?”</p> + +<p>“A month. Perhaps longer?”</p> + +<p>Devons frowned.</p> + +<p>“That’s impossible,” he replied firmly.</p> + +<p>“Miss Fairburne is feeling very badly about you. Naturally, she wants +to do everything she can under the circumstances.”</p> + +<p>“It wasn’t her fault. You’ll tell her that and—thank her for me?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly.”</p> + +<p>After feeling his pulse and taking his temperature and asking a hundred +or so questions, Nichols declared his patient was doing very well.</p> + +<p>“Give him within reason all he wants to eat,” he ordered the nurse.</p> + +<p>Devons heard him say that, or he would not have believed it. He could +not remember ever having had all he wanted to eat—except in his dreams. +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</span>The time Reed gave him that ten thousand dollars he had gone to +Delmonico’s and ordered oysters on the half-shell, a soup, a bit of +fish, a big steak with hashed-brown potatoes, and asparagus, and an +ice, and concluded with coffee and cheese. Only something happened +before it got to him. Probably something would happen this time.</p> + +<p>Jeffrey came up with a “Good-morning, sir,” and several towels over his +arm and a pitcher of hot water. While Devons lay on his back without +moving and with his eyes closed, Jeffrey bent over him and lathered +his face and shaved him as he had never been shaved before. Then he +washed off the soap and applied hot towels—steaming hot towels that +made him catch his breath in the joy of the tingly feeling of them. +Then Jeffrey put on cold cream and rubbed it in, and after that dusted +his cheeks with a sweet-scented powder. Jeffrey even combed his hair. +Then quietly, softly, he stole out, leaving Devons with the hazy notion +that it had all been done by magic. Feeling so fine and having nothing +better to do, he went to sleep.</p> + +<p>It was one o’clock when he awoke, and he was hungry. Now was the time +to test if what Nichols had said about food was true, or not. He did +not even have a chance to tell the nurse he was ready, because at that +point she opened the door and came in with a tray. She placed this near +him. It contained eggs on toast, little triangle pieces of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</span> toast—and a +cup of cocoa with frothy whipped cream on the top of it. He tried for a +moment to serve himself with his left hand; but he made such a bungling +job of it that the nurse said:</p> + +<p>“You’d better let me help you.”</p> + +<p>So she did. He had nothing to do but open his mouth like an overgrown +robin. It was absurd. Also it was deliciously effortless. And he had +enough—all he wanted.</p> + +<p>When he was through she brought from somewhere a large vase of roses +and placed them on a little table by his head.</p> + +<p>“These are from Miss Fairburne with her compliments,” said the nurse. +“She hopes you are feeling comfortable.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Lord!” gasped Devons.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI"> + CHAPTER VI + <br> + <span>WHOSE FAULT?</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">This</span> went on for three or four days; and, with nothing to do but eat +and sleep and in between whiles to lie at languid ease, Devons grew +stronger and stronger, and all the minor sore spots vanished. He was +even able to sit up and read. All the magazines he ever heard of were +sent to him, and a brand-new book every day. Yet he did not read very +much. There was too much here to live.</p> + +<p>For the time being he was as well off personally—except for the +inconvenience of being half-swathed in bandages—as though all his +dreams had come true. It gave him an opportunity to compare the +actuality with the vision. He resolutely barred his thoughts from the +future. He refused for a little while to ask himself how this was going +to end, and what was to become of him as soon as he was able to leave. +After all, there was not much he could do about that, anyway. There was +not even any one whom it was necessary to inform as to his whereabouts. +The few at Mullen Court who were aware of his existence would presume +that he had gone away on a business trip. <span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</span>They did not worry much +there about where men came from or where they went.</p> + +<p>The sheer material comforts surrounding Devons were as balm to his +soul. There are those who seem able to find on a cot in a garret +everything they crave. Arkwright with his drawing set was more or +less of this sort, though he had more than some others. Prescott was +another—Prescott, the slight young fellow just back from Paris, who +lived at the top of the next house across the alley and who used to +call to him out of his window. Prescott painted wonderful things in +oil, and appeared content with doing that, whether he sold them or not. +He went over to see him one night, and in the course of the evening +several young ladies in queer, unconventional costumes came in, and by +the light of a single candle Prescott read to them from the plays of +Maeterlinck. It was a weird performance, with a great deal of smoke and +not much to eat. Yet every one but himself was satisfied. He returned +to his room with something of a headache and dreamed of blind children +all night.</p> + +<p>Frankly he liked where he was now much better. For years he had tried +to make dreams, tried to make the future take the place of reality and +the present. This, instead of growing easier with passing time, became +increasingly more difficult. At Technology he had seen men doing the +same work<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</span> he was doing, and at the same time enjoying the comforts of +life to a reasonable degree while they were at it. He had no advantage +over them even in dreams. And, after all, clean linen was clean linen +and decent garments were decent garments, and good food was good food, +and money was a conjurer’s wand.</p> + +<p>Then there were the others—his father and mother and sisters. But here +they did not count. It disturbed him when he thought of them. If only +they could come on and be pummeled by an automobile—</p> + +<p>He forced himself back to the present. He must avoid even the past. He +informed the nurse that he was thirsty and she brought him a glass of +milk—rich milk in a glass that sparkled from its many cut facets. It +tasted like nectar.</p> + +<p>It was on the fifth day, in the afternoon, that the nurse informed him +that Miss Fairburne expressed a desire to visit him if he thought he +had the strength to see any one.</p> + +<p>“I’d like to see her,” answered Devons.</p> + +<p>And yet, he faced the prospect uneasily. It made him realize, for +one thing, how self-centered he had been. Except remotely, he had +not associated her either with the accident or with his present +surroundings. The mere fact that she had been in the car when he was +struck was an important detail, to be sure; but, not having seen her at +the time,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</span> it was as vague as hearsay evidence. That he was indebted to +her for all that he had recently been enjoying was also an undeniable +fact; but as long as she had been embodied to him no more concretely +than through the fragrance of the roses she sent him daily, she had not +played a vital part in his thoughts. Now he was a little afraid that +with her actual presence would come disillusionment. She would bring +him back to actual work-a-day conditions.</p> + +<p>The few times he had seen her with Mildred, it had been with a sort of +resentment. He had thought of her as having in excess all the choice +things of life that Mildred lacked—as completely as he himself did. +Even to her physical beauty. It seemed as though if justice had held +the balance true, Mildred should at least have been the one to possess +that abundant silken black hair, those dark eyes that set a man to +wondering, the fine nose and mouth that were so subtly distinctive. +In every line and feature she revealed her tender nurture. It was as +though she had taken on something from all the beautiful things for +which the four corners of the earth had been searched. Beside her, poor +Mildred’s blunt, irregular nose and mouth appeared plainer than ever. +Knowing as he did the woman beneath, he felt something to be unjust +there.</p> + +<p>But he must remember that Miss Fairburne<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</span> herself had found the real +Mildred and clung to her and been faithful to her to the end. It was +Miss Fairburne who had held Mildred’s hand at the last—the thin, +pitiful little hand—and it was Miss Fairburne whom Mildred had trusted +to send home the bitter news. Those few moments when he had seen her in +the infirmary reception-room, her eyes moist, he remembered that she +had seemed to him like another Mildred. She had been almost like one of +the home folks—just an ordinary body who had lost a sister.</p> + +<p>Then she had gone out of his mind. His own affairs had preempted all +his thoughts. Besides, she vanished shortly into her own world, which +to him then was as though she had been whisked to some distant planet.</p> + +<p>Yet it could not have been so far that she had gone. Between a sleep +and an awakening which to him was no longer than a heart-beat, he had +without effort compassed the distance which lay between them. In the +old days such things had been done, he knew, with the aid of magic +carpets. But he had no such aid. Besides, these were not the old days. +He was living in very modern times and in the most modern of all modern +cities.</p> + +<p>Glancing up from the bed, he saw in the door, what at first looked to +be a framed picture. It might have been one of those old masterpieces +with the vague title “Portrait of a Young Lady,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</span> which leaves one +eager to know a great deal more about the young lady than history +vouchsafes. So she stood for a moment, and then with some uncertainty +moved into the room. Devons tried to sit up. He was awkward about it, +and she hurried to his side.</p> + +<p>“Please don’t!” she exclaimed. “Oh, I’m so sorry for you!”</p> + +<p>The beautiful eyes endorsed the assertion. She appeared so genuinely +pained that he did not understand.</p> + +<p>“For me?” he replied.</p> + +<p>The sight of his bandaged shoulder and his helplessness so dramatized +the accident that for a second it was more vivid to her than it had +been at the moment it occurred.</p> + +<p>“I suppose the fact that you’re—you’re alive is something to be +thankful for,” she faltered on.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he said, “I’m glad to be alive, if that’s what you mean.”</p> + +<p>“You’ve suffered a great deal?”</p> + +<p>“None at all, to speak of,” he replied.</p> + +<p>“Then you’re not uncomfortable—now?”</p> + +<p>He smiled a little.</p> + +<p>“In most ways I’m more comfortable than I ever was in my life.”</p> + +<p>She looked skeptical. It was difficult for her to believe that, with +the evidence of her two eyes.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</span></p> + +<p>“I’m afraid you’re just trying to take away the blame from me,” she +returned.</p> + +<p>“Blame—for what?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“For—for the accident. After all, if it had not been for me you would +not have been injured.”</p> + +<p>“It’s just as true that if I hadn’t tried to cross the street without +looking, this wouldn’t have happened,” he declared.</p> + +<p>“But if Charles had been more careful!”</p> + +<p>“Or if I had been more careful! Or if I had taken a different street! +Or if I had delayed anywhere along the route thirty seconds! I wonder +if we know any more about such things than that either they happen or +they don’t.”</p> + +<p>“You feel like that?” she exclaimed, as though she found relief in the +notion.</p> + +<p>“I haven’t thought very much about it,” he admitted. “But when you +stop to figure out the blame you have to go back further than just +the second before. And if you do that, where are you going to stop? +If something had turned out a little differently for either of us ten +minutes before—”</p> + +<p>She started. It sent her thoughts back to Dicky. It was he who had +detained her at Delmonico’s. Perhaps, then, it was he who was to blame!</p> + +<p>“Or an hour before,” he went on. “Or a day or a month or a year. I was +born on Friday, but supposing I had not been born until Saturday?”</p> + +<p>It was her seriousness that urged him to follow <span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</span>his fancy through to +so grotesque a conclusion—her seriousness and a desire to make her +accept the situation more lightly.</p> + +<p>“That sounds like fatalism,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Does it?”</p> + +<p>He was unaware that he was unfolding any particular philosophy. He had +given little study and less thought to such abstract subjects. His work +had all been along distinctly more concrete and material lines.</p> + +<p>She had taken the chair by his bed, and her nearness stimulated him +like wine.</p> + +<p>“At any rate,” he went on, “we might as well call it that and let it +go. The major point seems to be that here I am.”</p> + +<p>And there she was. Here was another point which until this moment he +had not considered. All this while she had been in the house, and he +had never given that a thought. She would probably have visited him +yesterday had he asked for her.</p> + +<p>“Do you ever hear from Mildred’s folks?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>It was the expression about her mouth that recalled to him that brief +former association with her.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she nodded. “But I have to write at least three letters to get +one back. I have a feeling that, merely because I was the one to—to +tell them, they blame me.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</span></p> + +<p>“That is possible,” he admitted. “But surely you don’t blame yourself?”</p> + +<p>“Sometimes I think I might have done something to prevent it.”</p> + +<p>Devons flushed. There had been times when he had thought as much +himself. He had wondered why, with all her wealth, she had not relieved +Mildred of part of the burden of her poverty. Yet he knew that it was +more than doubtful if Mildred would have allowed it—any more than +he himself would have allowed anything of the sort from one of his +classmates. It had always been said of the Devonses that they would +starve before accepting a favor. His father was like that. On his +little hundred-acre farm he was as cocky as a lord on country-wide +estates.</p> + +<p>“You could have done nothing,” he assured her, with a sense of pride.</p> + +<p>“But why should she be like that—when I wanted to help?”</p> + +<p>“It’s in her blood,” he replied.</p> + +<p>“It wasn’t quite fair,” she protested. “She was always eager to do what +she could for me. She helped me in my studies.”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And when I wanted—in the only way I could—”</p> + +<p>She checked herself. His eyes were meeting her eyes.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</span></p> + +<p>“What you gave her at the end was what she wanted,” he finished for +her. “Your sympathy and friendship.”</p> + +<p>“But the other—”</p> + +<p>“Money?” he asked bluntly.</p> + +<p>“It sounds crude to put it that way,” she objected. “But it might have +prevented the end.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps.”</p> + +<p>“So—why wouldn’t she let me?”</p> + +<p>“It would be difficult to make you understand,” he said. “And yet, if +you had been in her place I’m pretty sure you’d have felt exactly as +she felt.”</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>“Every one ought to be allowed to help every one else in any way one +can,” she declared. “I—I don’t know what else we’re living for.”</p> + +<p>“I guess most of us don’t ask that. We just plug ahead,” he smiled.</p> + +<p>“Have you been in town since you graduated?”</p> + +<p>“Since fall,” he answered.</p> + +<p>He offered no further details. It was impossible for him to conceive +that his personal affairs could be of any interest to her.</p> + +<p>“Mildred told me how hard you work,” she went on. “This must have +seriously interfered with your business.”</p> + +<p>“It hasn’t,” he assured her.</p> + +<p>The naked truth was that, if anything, it had been a Godsend to him. +What would have become <span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</span>of him in another day? Sawyer might have +offered something; but even then there would have been an intervening +week before pay-day. The chances seemed to be that he would leave his +bed stronger and more fit than he had been in a decade.</p> + +<p>“If you have any business letters to write—won’t you let me write them +for you?”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t any.”</p> + +<p>“You’re—you’re going to be like Mildred?”</p> + +<p>There was a curiously pathetic note in her voice. It was almost +childlike in its plaintiveness.</p> + +<p>“I’m telling you the truth,” he answered quickly. “My plans were at a +standstill. They hadn’t worked out as I expected.”</p> + +<p>“Are you a fatalist about such things too?” she asked.</p> + +<p>He thought a moment.</p> + +<p>“I guess I might as well be,” he answered.</p> + +<p>Her eye caught the magazines on a table near the bed.</p> + +<p>“If I can’t write for you, I can read to you. Have you any reason to +offer why I shouldn’t do that much?”</p> + +<p>“No,” he replied frankly. “I’d like to have you.”</p> + +<p>“Would you like to hear anything in particular?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing in particular,” he answered.</p> + +<p>So she picked up a magazine and selected a story at random. She read +very well, but after all <span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</span>that was more or less beside the point. What +he was really interested in was her and the fact that she was sitting +here within arm’s length of him. It was quite the nearest he had ever +come in personal contact to any one as supremely beautiful as she. And +he realized that she was an integral part of all these surroundings he +was so enjoying. It was odd that Arkwright had neglected to include +something of the sort in the plans for his house. Something of the sort +was necessary in the plans of any house assuming to be more than a mere +shelter. If it took money to turn the blue-prints into masonry, after +that it took something like this to turn the masonry into a home. It +had been rather stupid of Arkwright to ignore so important a detail. He +must call his attention to it when he next saw him.</p> + +<p>Devons watched her eyes, and her moving lips, and the velvet softness +of her cheek, and her shell-like ear, and the curve of her neck, and +her tender hands. And all those things set him to dreaming along new +lines. And the dreams stiffened his lips. And the dreams made him fret +a little that he was so tied up.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she closed the magazine.</p> + +<p>“That was a very good story, wasn’t it?” she smiled.</p> + +<p>“A very good story, indeed,” answered Devons. “Thank you.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</span></p> + +<p>“You’d like me to read another to-morrow?”</p> + +<p>“I’d like nothing better,” replied Devons.</p> + +<p>“Then I’ll come up—about this time,” she promised him.</p> + +<p>From that moment he began to look forward to this time to-morrow.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII"> + CHAPTER VII + <br> + <span>A LETTER</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Dicky Burnett</span> called at the Fairburne house every afternoon following +the accident, and was informed daily by the functionary at the door, +whom up to now he had rather liked, that “Miss Fairburne begs to be +excused from seeing any one to-day, sir.”</p> + +<p>Of course there was nothing further he could do about it, although at +the moment he always conceived some such wild plan as knocking down the +innocent butler and making his way past him. But in the end he merely +left his card and meekly retired.</p> + +<p>Joan did not give him a chance. If it had only been a case of +scrimmaging his way to her side, or of scaling a wall or surmounting +any other kind of natural barrier, he would at least have had the +satisfaction of a struggle, even if he failed to reach her. But to +be foiled by nothing more tangible than the lady’s formal refusal, +made still more negative when voiced through a second party (an +inconsequential stick of a second party whom he felt perfectly sure he +could have thrown down the stone steps), was not to give him a show.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</span></p> + +<p>He was willing to admit that she must have suffered a good deal of a +shock. It is unpleasant enough at best to run down any one, and to +a woman of her delicate sensibilities it must have been unnerving. +He understood, however, that it was wholly the fellow’s fault. He +understood further that the man was not seriously injured, and she +had certainly done everything in her power to offset the damage. If +the fellow had any sense of appreciation he ought to consider himself +fortunate in being established in the same house with her. He would get +run over himself for the opportunity.</p> + +<p>By the end of the fourth day Dicky felt that she, if not her victim, +should have fully recovered. In fact, he was certain of it.</p> + +<p>Yet she canceled all her social obligations, and persisted in refusing +to see him. That was not like her. And nothing that went before +explained it.</p> + +<p>He had, to be sure, asked her to marry him and she had refused. But +surely she did not think that he was cad enough to make a scene about +that. She knew him well enough to know that he was not the kind to wave +his arms in the air and make himself disagreeable just because she was +obliged to tell him she did not love him. He had hoped up to the last +moment. Good Lord, a man who loved her as he loved her could not be +blamed for that! When, that afternoon at Delmonico’s, he had told <span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</span>her +of his love he had told her true. With all there was in him, he loved +her. With a great deal more than he had ever suspected was in him, he +loved her. Because of this he had hoped to the end, though he knew the +odds were a thousand to one against him. They would be that against any +man who wanted to marry her. She was too good for them all, including +himself.</p> + +<p>Looking at the proposition calmly—which meant leaving out of the +question for the moment all such personal considerations as the fact +that he wanted her, reason or no reason, like the devil—he realized +that he could offer her no sufficient consideration that would justify +him in expecting that she should want to marry him. Neither his social +position nor his prospects held any advantage over her social position +and prospects. In fact they were identical. For all those things she +might just as well stay where she was. If he were a Rockefeller, or she +the daughter of poor but honest parents—but there is not much sense in +speculating about what is not. There was just as much chance of his +making himself a billionaire as there was of Fairburne going broke.</p> + +<p>A man to win her would have to bring her something she did not have +already. Offhand the only type he could think of was some foreign duke +or lord with a couple of million acres and a chest plastered over with +various orders, and a trunk <span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</span>full of crown jewels. But if ever he saw +anything of the kind snooping around he would nail him. He would pummel +him to within an inch of his life if he went to jail for it. He used to +find considerable relief in picturing himself about that task.</p> + +<p>Barring the nobility, what in thunder could a man bring her? There were +serious moments when Dicky Burnett searched his soul for an answer to +that question. With the need of her came the need of doing something +for her—the need of making himself of use to her. And the serious part +of it all was that he could find no way. That her love should call +back to his love—that it should be as simple as this—he never even +considered. He was not that worthy of her. She was too fine, too rare, +too wonderful to allow an ordinary man to conceive anything so rash. +He labored under no delusions about himself. He was decent and he was +honest and he loved her. That was all. There were a thousand men who, +if ever they had the chance to learn her as he had, could say the same. +He was neither better nor worse than these others who in their turn +might come along. Any man who did not love her after knowing her would +be an ass.</p> + +<p>These were some of the things that he wished to tell her. She must not +think it was necessary to avoid him; to hide from him like a hunted +rabbit. <span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</span>So when, on the sixth day, he called at the house and received +his stereotyped refusal, he went back to the Harvard Club, instead of +going on to keep his engagement for tea with the Henshaws, and in the +seclusion of the library sat down and wrote her a letter. He was not +especially skillful at that sort of thing. He wrote bluntly in a bold +hand, with his thoughts bent upon what he wished to say rather than any +grace of composition.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>Dear Joan [he began]: I want very much to see you. Won’t you please +let me in next time for just a few minutes? If you’re afraid because +you think I’m going to bother you with telling you some more that I +love you—why, I promise I won’t. I don’t mean by this I promise not +to love you. I couldn’t very well promise that, because I do. And +that goes on just the same whether I see you or not, so it needn’t +make any difference one way or the other, need it?</p> + +<p>I have been wandering round town all alone for pretty nearly a week +now, and I’m getting mighty homesick. That’s what Hollister says—it +is just plain homesickness. Ever have it? You feel like a cat in a +strange garret, and wander around without any stopping-places. Even +when I go home, the house has a foreign look, as though a whole lot +of things were missing, even though you can’t find anything gone.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</span></p> + +<p>I guess it’s you that’s missing at home and everywhere I go. I didn’t +realize until now how much I must have carried you round with me in +my mind. Even dear old dad, who doesn’t pay much attention to my +affairs because he doesn’t think they amount to much, looked up at +dinner the other night and said, “Where’s Joan?”</p> + +<p>I’ve told him a little about you. I couldn’t help it.</p> + +<p>And every so often, wherever I am, I give a start myself and say, +“Where’s Joan?”</p> + +<p>I miss not <i>seeing</i> you even though I know you’re all right. +After all, remembering any one isn’t like seeing her. I know +perfectly well your hair is black and just how it’s going to look +when I do see it; but that isn’t the same. Queer, but it isn’t. And +that’s true of your eyes and nose and mouth and all the rest of you. +I want to look at you again and, even if you don’t love me, there’s +no harm, is there? I won’t take any of you away by doing that. +There’ll be just as much of you left.</p> + +<p>I want to hear your voice too—even if you tell me things I won’t like +to hear. And I want—oh, I just want to see you, Joan. Won’t you tell +his nibs at the door to let me in?</p> + +<p><i>Please.</i></p> + +<p>Of all I told you last time, I want you to remember this most! that +I’m always within reach if you <span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</span>need me for anything. Lord knows, I +can’t think of much I could do. I wish I might.</p> + +<p>Good-bye, Joan.</p> + +<p class="flat right"> + <span class="smcap">Dick.</span> +</p> + +<p>P.S. If you don’t see me to-morrow, I’ll believe it was you who was +run over. D.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>It helped some just to write to her.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII"> + CHAPTER VIII + <br> + <span>DICKY CALLS</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Joan</span> had been staying a great deal in her room for the past week. It +was partly upon the advice of Dr. Nichols, and partly upon the advice +of her mother and father; but it is very doubtful if their superior +knowledge would have had quite as much weight as it did if Joan herself +had not welcomed the internment. To be sure, the shock had been +considerable; but after the first temporary and purely normal reaction +came a second reaction, which was not correctly diagnosed either by her +parents or the physician. Nichols, looking merely at her heightened +color and brighter eyes, feared hysteria. Mrs. Fairburne took it to +be disappointment at the many social engagements Joan was forced to +cancel. She tried hard not to blame any one for the situation; but upon +several occasions she observed darkly to her husband:</p> + +<p>“All I can say is that some one was stupid to allow such a +misfortune—at the height of the social season.”</p> + +<p>The first time he heard this, Fairburne squared his shoulders a trifle, +as though considering that he himself might be involved in the general +accusation.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</span></p> + +<p>“Not you, of course, my dear,” she hastened to assure him; “but some +one.”</p> + +<p>Yet Charles was not discharged. Then apparently the fault lay between +Devons and Fate. Anyhow, it was more or less immaterial.</p> + +<p>Perhaps it was just as well for the peace of mind of all concerned +that it was not generally known that Joan really was enjoying one of +the most interesting experiences of her life there in the privacy of +her room. Certainly to have informed Dr. Nichols that she felt every +sense to be more alert than formerly would have contributed nothing to +science; to have explained to her parents that she was enjoying as a +luxury the privilege of calling her time her own would not have left +them any the wiser; to have confessed to Dicky that she felt even a +certain relief from him would not have done a particle of good in that +direction. Half the joy of her joy lay in the fact that it was a very +intimate and personal and secret joy.</p> + +<p>As soon as she learned, through Dr. Nichols, that there was not +the slightest element of danger in Devons’s condition; that in all +probability the man, with good care, would leave in better condition +than he came, it was as though she had found an opportunity.</p> + +<p>“As a matter of fact,” Nichols had told her, “you can credit yourself +with having saved his life.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</span></p> + +<p>“How?” she asked doubtfully.</p> + +<p>“The man hasn’t been getting enough to eat,” Nichols informed her.</p> + +<p>“Not enough to eat?” It sounded like an absurd statement.</p> + +<p>“He tells me he has been living on a diet of black coffee and tobacco.”</p> + +<p>“But why should one do that?” she inquired.</p> + +<p>“Because,” answered Nichols, “it is very inexpensive. Of course he +could have invested the same amount of money to better advantage in +some other type of food-stuff, but it’s doubtful if he would have got +as much comfort out of it.”</p> + +<p>“Then he must be very, very poor.”</p> + +<p>“I gather he is.”</p> + +<p>So here, in a way, was the case of Mildred all over again. With +a difference. The difference was that Devons—well, it did make a +difference that he was—he. At best, there is less opportunity for a +woman to be of assistance to another woman than to one of the opposite +sex, even in an impersonal way. The response is less keen. It does not +touch the same depths.</p> + +<p>Not that she was in the slightest sentimental about it. She was +absolutely normal. Even the excitement of the situation was normal. +Nichols to the contrary, her attitude was not even remotely associated +with hysteria, or with mawkish sentimentality. It had more to do +with what she had <span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</span>vaguely described to Dicky at that last meeting +as “the big adventure.” It was as though this man Devons had made a +breach in the high wall surrounding her and offered her opportunity to +venture a little way beyond into the quick life that men and women led +outside—the life that treated men and women like men and women and not +like daintily dressed dolls.</p> + +<p>Devons had gone hungry! There was nothing, perhaps, in that to make +any one envy him; and yet, it stood for something. At least, that had +intensified the hours to him. He had been like a harp with the strings +drawn too taut, drawn almost to the breaking point; but she had been +like a harp with the strings sagging. Of the two it would be easier to +play the taut strings. After all, it might be better to be hungry than +surfeited. The very hour that she had sat with listless interest before +the delicacies at Delmonico’s, he had been wandering, dazed and hungry, +through the snow. It was a question who was in the worse plight.</p> + +<p>That was only a detail, anyway. But how it dramatized the same safe, +uneventful streets through which she rode in her snug machine! And how +curious that, as though in response to her cry, this should be brought +to her in her own home.</p> + +<p>Was there some truth in that strange doctrine of fatalism—that our +lives are mapped out for us ahead and that, however remote the +possibility <span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</span>may seem, we must travel the foreordained road?</p> + +<p>Staring from her window at night, she wondered with quickened breath. +Looking back, her meeting with Mildred may have been significant. She +had come upon her quite by chance, and through her had met Devons. At +the time it had seemed the most trivial and commonplace of incidents; +yet, if that had not been, it is probable that Devons would have been +sent off out of her life to a hospital. She had brought him here and +insisted upon his remaining because of Mildred. It was significant, +too, that on that very afternoon she had not ridden back with +Dicky—that she was alone at the appointed moment.</p> + +<p>Poor Dicky! She was rather sorry that it had been necessary to involve +him. If only he had not said what he did say, she would have turned +to him now. She would have liked to discuss the whole question with +him. She supposed it was possible even now; only—well, she was afraid +he would not understand. She was afraid it might trouble him. And in +a sense she felt responsible for his peace of mind. She should have +foreseen what might come of their relations. Only, she had never +thought it possible for him to be as serious as he had seemed when he +spoke. Even if he imagined himself in love with her, she thought she +would recognize it as pure imagination. It was <span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</span>as natural for Dicky +to fall in love, in fancy, with any woman with whom he might be thrown +in contact any length of time as it was for him to breathe. He had +confessed several previous romances to her.</p> + +<p>It was probable, then, that this was just another. She should have held +to that. But somehow it was difficult. She had not laughed when he +told her of his love. If she had given way to her emotions the chances +are she would have cried. She had found some new quality in his eyes +and his voice. Then she liked the way he stood square-shouldered when +she told him the naked truth. And actually, she had felt a sense of +possessing something rare and wonderful in the loyalty that prompted +him to his offer.</p> + +<p>“I want you to feel you have some one always ready to call on.” So the +ladies of romance used to receive an oath of allegiance from their +knights.</p> + +<p>Then to-day a note from him had come which she had read with misty +eyes. It was so direct and uncomplaining that it tightened her throat. +There was a great deal about Dicky that was likable. She could be +with him more than with any other man she knew, if only he would not +talk about love; because love meant something entirely different +from anything Dicky dreamed. It had to do with life. It had to do +with—adventure. It had to do with big, earnest things, with real +things, <span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</span>with heart-breaking things, perhaps. All of which Dicky knew +nothing about.</p> + +<p>But, after reading his note twice, she sent down word to Sparrow that +she would be at home that day to Mr. Richard Burnett. If Sparrow felt +a certain sense of relief, it would be nothing surprising, because the +last time he had given his message to the man he had hesitated about +holding the door open as wide as usual.</p> + +<p>Dicky did not come until after four, which was unfortunate, because she +had a very important appointment at four-thirty, and told him so almost +at once.</p> + +<p>“You’re going out?” he inquired hopefully.</p> + +<p>“No,” she replied with some embarrassment.</p> + +<p>He concluded then that a milliner or something of the kind was +coming to the house; and that, if one looked far enough ahead, was +encouraging, because it suggested that she was preparing to go out +again.</p> + +<p>So he sat down and talked with her about this thing and that very +rationally and good-naturedly, as he might have done a week ago. In +many ways he seemed more himself than he had for several weeks, because +she realized now that for some time he had not been exactly normal.</p> + +<p>Then he gave a new turn to the conversation by observing:</p> + +<p>“It must be mighty dull for you to be shut up in the house, Joan.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</span></p> + +<p>And she answered, speaking the truth, “Only it isn’t, Dicky.”</p> + +<p>“But what do you do with yourself all day?”</p> + +<p>That was a difficult question to answer directly. From his point of +view she supposed she was not doing very much, because most of the +interest of these days came from within herself. And she could not very +well let him into the secret of her thoughts. So she answered:</p> + +<p>“I don’t think I could make you understand, Dicky. Only truly it isn’t +stupid.”</p> + +<p>He looked up with a frown.</p> + +<p>“You don’t give me credit for understanding much of anything, do you, +Joan?”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t that,” she tried to reassure him. “Only—supposing I don’t +understand myself very well?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think you do.”</p> + +<p>“Then—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, we’ll only get mixed up again if we go on like that,” he +interrupted. “Tell me something about this fellow you ran over.”</p> + +<p>She looked frightened.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t run <i>over</i> him.” She shuddered. “Don’t make it any worse +than it is.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you started to.”</p> + +<p>“There’s a big difference.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose there is,” he admitted. “Who is he?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I hope some day you can meet him. You’d like him, Dicky.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</span></p> + +<p>“Perhaps.”</p> + +<p>“He’s a Technology man and—”</p> + +<p>“He’s what?”</p> + +<p>“Technology.”</p> + +<p>Dicky appeared concerned.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t know that. Some one told me he was a ’bus driver.”</p> + +<p>“Why, Dicky, he’s a wonderful fellow. He has invented something. Only +he’s very, very poor.”</p> + +<p>“Inventors always are,” he nodded.</p> + +<p>“And he has tried so hard to make his way. He—he was almost starving +when—”</p> + +<p>She did not like to fill in the ellipsis.</p> + +<p>“When you partly ran over him,” he suggested.</p> + +<p>“It’s nothing to make fun about,” she warned.</p> + +<p>“Go on.”</p> + +<p>“And I’d met him before. I knew a cousin of his at college.”</p> + +<p>“You did?”</p> + +<p>“She was wonderful, too.”</p> + +<p>“Runs in the family?”</p> + +<p>“They are from out West.”</p> + +<p>“Anywhere in particular out West?”</p> + +<p>“From Montana.”</p> + +<p>“Just Montana?”</p> + +<p>He was laughing at her now, and she resented it—resented it with more +genuine feeling than she would have thought possible. Her lips closed +firmly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</span></p> + +<p>“I shan’t tell you anything more about him,” she decided.</p> + +<p>“Now, look here—” he protested, making his feet in some alarm.</p> + +<p>“No, I mean it,” she replied.</p> + +<p>“I was only fooling, Joan. I didn’t know—”</p> + +<p>He was studying her face. She was in dead earnest. He knew that. He +always knew when she was in earnest.</p> + +<p>“Good Heavens, Joan—” he began.</p> + +<p>But she had risen too, and was holding out her hand.</p> + +<p>“You must excuse me now,” she said. “It is almost half-past four.”</p> + +<p>Dicky caught his breath.</p> + +<p>“You’re going—back to him?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>It was a foolish thing for him to say. He realized it the moment the +words were out of his mouth. He saw her toss up her head—saw her look +the princess.</p> + +<p>“Must I account for my movements to you?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“You know better, Joan,” he cut in quickly. “Only—”</p> + +<p>“Good-bye,” she insisted.</p> + +<p>He took her hand.</p> + +<p>“I don’t care where you’re going or who it is you’re going to see; but +you’ll let me call again?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span></p> + +<p>“Do you think you’ve made yourself very agreeable?”</p> + +<p>In holding her hand he held an advantage. She could not very well leave +until he let go.</p> + +<p>“Next time—” he began.</p> + +<p>“Oh, all right, Dicky; I’ll try you once more. Please let me go.”</p> + +<p>So he let her go, and in an instant she had vanished—none too politely.</p> + +<p>Sparrow opened the door. Dicky wondered if it would not be well to +inform the man of her promise to admit him again, in case she herself +forgot. Then other thoughts crowded in upon him, and he went down the +steps in a kind of daze.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX"> + CHAPTER IX + <br> + <span>THE FIGHTING THINGS</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">When</span> Joan came into Devons’s room, she found him propped up on the +pillows, staring at the brass clock on the mantel.</p> + +<p>“You’re five minutes late,” he informed her.</p> + +<p>It was so trivial a matter to mention that Nurse Ware, who sat in the +farther corner of the room knitting and trying to look both deaf and +dumb, involuntarily raised her eyes.</p> + +<p>“I was delayed by a caller,” Joan explained.</p> + +<p>Nurse Ware turned to face the window, and from that point on assumed +that she was somewhere else. As far as either Joan or Devons cared, she +might have been in Jericho.</p> + +<p>“It’s curious,” said Devons, “how the more time you have on your hands +the closer you watch the clock. This last five minutes has seemed like +an hour.”</p> + +<p>“You should have been reading,” she laughed.</p> + +<p>“I was waiting for you to read.”</p> + +<p>The color came to her cheeks.</p> + +<p>“I am ready,” she answered.</p> + +<p>But it seemed that, after all, neither had anything especial he wished +to hear; and so, when she had looked through the table of contents +of <span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span>a magazine or two, Joan found herself, in spite of the original +urgency of her mission, sitting back and idly talking. Doubtless a +fair explanation of this was that she had discovered that he, as a +cross-section of real life, was more interesting to her than any +fiction, which at best is merely a reflection of reality. As for +him, his experience with at least a dozen heroines during the past +week proved positively that the most brilliant of the authors were +stupid and clumsy when the work of their pens was put in such close +juxtaposition with actuality as in the present case. Even a poet cannot +describe black hair like hers as well as a man can see it—or eyes or +nose or mouth. Then there were a thousand other details, and these +other details were changing from second to second—changing so subtly +that words were powerless to trace the shadings. Sometimes they were +scarcely visible, but were rather variations of moods as intangible as +his own moods. Superficially, for example, her eyes remained always +the same in color and size, and yet they were never the same a minute +at a time. Even she as a whole did not remain fixed, because, as with +each visit he came to know her better and came to realize how much more +there was to know, she developed like a portrait on canvas under the +hands of an artist.</p> + +<p>His attitude toward her at first had been one of <span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span>challenge. He had +expected a certain class feeling to make itself manifest in her. He was +ready to resent any superiority she might express, even unconsciously, +as a result of her social position and wealth. He was for a little +while the elder Devons with all the latter’s pride in his few acres and +liberty. But as he found nothing to pit his aggressiveness against he +began to realize that after all it was he if any one who was playing +the cad. She was more natural and genuine than he. In not accepting her +for just what she was, he was unfair.</p> + +<p>He was especially conscious of that to-day. And so he allowed himself +to unfold to her something of his past. It was at her prompting.</p> + +<p>“I envy you and Mildred the chance you’ve had to travel and see +things,” she observed.</p> + +<p>“Haven’t you traveled?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Only a little, abroad,” she answered.</p> + +<p>To him that was the only kind of real traveling there was. The few back +home who had been to London or Paris were looked upon with something +like reverence.</p> + +<p>“Then you’ve seen more than I,” he declared.</p> + +<p>“Of buildings and pictures, perhaps. But always I took my own little +world with me.”</p> + +<p>“You were lucky to have it.”</p> + +<p>“You think so?”</p> + +<p>He smiled.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span></p> + +<p>“All this,” he went on, with a wave of his hand about the room, +“means—I wonder if you realize how much it means?”</p> + +<p>“I wonder if you realize how little it means?” she ventured back.</p> + +<p>He glanced up in surprise. Then he smiled again.</p> + +<p>“I suppose facts, from a distance, get toned down,” he went on. “But +when you have to live them they stay pretty much as they are. You’ve +never been out West?”</p> + +<p>“No,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“It’s a wonderful country—to some,” he said. “To others—my father was +born out there. He grew up and married out there. He has worked like a +galley slave out there—all within ten miles of where he was born.”</p> + +<p>“Tell me about him,” she begged.</p> + +<p>“That’s about all there is to tell of him,” said Devons grimly. “I +suppose he had some ambition at first, but he stayed where he was. +He married early, and had ten children before he was forty. Then he +<i>had</i> to stay. He just plugged along day after day without energy +enough left to look ahead to the next day. Most of his life it’s just +been a question of getting enough to eat for himself and the others.”</p> + +<p>Her eyes were sympathetic.</p> + +<p>“He was honest and decent and worked hard. It doesn’t seem fair, does +it?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span></p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know how I happened to wake up. I guess it was the teacher I +had when I went to the district school. She urged me on to the high +school, though that meant leaving home. And there I did so well in +chemistry that a teacher from the East suggested Technology. I didn’t +think I could make it at first—but I did. I got my degree. Then—well, +here I am.”</p> + +<p>He stopped abruptly.</p> + +<p>“What about between Technology and—here?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“That’s the story of a dream that didn’t come true,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“You’ll tell me about it some day?”</p> + +<p>“I think you’d find the stories in the magazine pleasanter,” he +returned. “In those the dreams all come true.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps that’s because they go through to the end.”</p> + +<p>He was thoughtful a moment, and then he nodded, his lips firm.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said. “There’s that difference.”</p> + +<p>“Why, you—you’ve just begun!”</p> + +<p>He met her eyes. He had a curious sense of looking deeply into them. +Then she turned away, half afraid of her impulsiveness.</p> + +<p>“Just begun,” he repeated.</p> + +<p>It was the echo of a new impulse that had been <span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span>stirring him for the +last few days. With the long, restful nights and the nourishing food, +his physical strength had fast returned. With that had come a new +outlook—an outlook that carried him to such dizzy heights that he had +drawn back, suspicious of it. It made all his former dreams seem feeble +in comparison.</p> + +<p>After all, he had never looked very far ahead into the future +because—he faced the truth—because he had been so self-centered. Reed +and his ten thousand represented the climax. Even the return home was +to be in the nature of a personal triumph. Always he saw himself in +that picture as occupying the center of the stage. Then a slow curtain +with music.</p> + +<p>These new pictures, as yet but faintly sketched in,—the idle pencil +movements, of an artist feeling his way,—were different. As nearly +as he could make out, he did not, in these, preëmpt the foreground. +Another figure was there. He scarcely dared identify it, except in a +very general way.</p> + +<p>In a very general way it was evidently the figure of a woman—a very +beautiful woman with a hint of luxuriant hair. In the forehead and nose +and mouth he caught a general resemblance to some one he knew, though +he did not venture to call her by name. Besides, it was not this which +so greatly mattered. The fact which counted most was that she—whoever +she was—remained always in the foreground.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span></p> + +<p>Yet he himself was not entirely eliminated. Far from it. He was +present, but at some little distance, and struggling toward her like +a figure in an allegory. Just what the meaning of this was he was not +certain. It might be some very broad subject—Youth struggling with +Success—like those in Bunyan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress,” except that he was +a great deal too intimately identified with it for that. Whoever the +woman might be, there was no doubt at all but that he was the man. And +with all his might and main he was trying to fight his way closer to +her. He did not even know what for, but there seemed to be some acute +necessity. It was as though everything in life worth while depended +upon his reaching her side. To do that he must accomplish certain +things, and this took him back again to those first weeks in New York +and to the old hopes reborn. Like all new-born things,—like the day +at dawn, like the earth in spring, like a man in love,—these hopes +came to him fresher and keener than ever. But here again there was a +difference. They did not so much concern him—except as a medium—as Her. +They were a feature of the struggle toward Her.</p> + +<p>“You’ve just begun,” she said.</p> + +<p>It was more than that. He had just been born. The past leading to this +present had been merely a period of conception. He thought he had been +working hard through all those long years, but it was <span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span>child’s play to +what he felt himself capable of now. If he had felt then as he felt +now, he never would have gone out desperately to find Sawyer as though +that were the end. He would have known it as another beginning. Every +day, every hour, no matter what it brought forth, would be a beginning. +It is not possible to kill a reborn man. He is immortal. You can’t +starve him or freeze him. You can’t even run him down. Perhaps that is +why he was here; because the rebirth was foreordained.</p> + +<p>Her words had brought these scattered thoughts which had for several +nights illumined his mind, like isolated rays of light, to a focus. +Instantaneously. Yet when he spoke again there was nothing in his words +to hint of the momentous truth they covered.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you’re right,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Men like you—men out in the world—can always do that,” she ran on.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“And women like Mildred,” she continued. “If she had lived, she would +have gone right on, beginning fresh every day.”</p> + +<p>“And you?”</p> + +<p>She hesitated a moment. To answer that involved the confession of +rather intimate details of her life. But if one talks of lives at all +it involves personalities. And that was what she was interested <span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span>in. +It was just this side of him, that he was a live human being living a +quick life, that appealed to her. He was not merely some one like Dicky +Burnett, tagged and catalogued, circumscribed by his surroundings, and +acting his allotted part in a play. He was Devons. He was a man with +his story as yet unwritten.</p> + +<p>“And you?” he repeated.</p> + +<p>“Every day is so much like every other day,” she answered wearily. “It +must be so when most of the things worth doing have already been done +for you—years ago.”</p> + +<p>“What things?”</p> + +<p>“Oh—the fighting things!” she broke out.</p> + +<p>He smiled at that. He liked her spirit, but it was the spirit of +an imaginative child who wants to go out and hunt Indians. But it +whetted the desire in him. He, too, would have liked a few Indians to +fight—for her. Those men of the early days who had such opportunities +were to be envied. There is something tangible about an Indian, and +when confronted by them a man had something definite to do. His task +consisted simply of aiming his old blunderbuss and shooting, or, at +close quarters, swinging his good cutlass.</p> + +<p>“Grandfather Fairburne was a forty-niner,” she explained proudly.</p> + +<p>“And discovered much gold?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know about that. He became a banker.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span></p> + +<p>“Your father is a banker, then?”</p> + +<p>“No,” she replied. “Dad—he—he is only what is called retired.”</p> + +<p>She looked as though ashamed of the admission.</p> + +<p>“That is the trouble,” she went on.</p> + +<p>“The trouble with what?”</p> + +<p>“The trouble with the days,” she answered. “It’s why one day is just +like another.”</p> + +<p>The clock on the mantel struck five. It struck five times very firmly +and loudly. Nurse Ware rose and thereby announced her presence. Dr. +Nichols had given orders that all visitors should be limited to one +half-hour. Considering the fact that Devons had only the one visitor, +could not possibly have any other visitor, the regulation appeared to +be more personal than is generally the case.</p> + +<p>Devons scowled at the nurse.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you’re there, are you?” he growled.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mr. Devons. It’s five o’clock.”</p> + +<p>“I can count,” answered Devons.</p> + +<p>Joan rose hurriedly. She knew what an autocrat Nichols was.</p> + +<p>“I’ll try to find something more interesting to read to-morrow,” she +promised.</p> + +<p>“Don’t,” he warned. “Besides, I’m going to get out of this bed before +long.”</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t.”</p> + +<p>“I must. I want to get to work.”</p> + +<p>“But Dr. Nichols says—”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span></p> + +<p>“Hang Dr. Nichols!” cut in Devons. “He doesn’t know what I have to do.”</p> + +<p>Nurse Ware rustled forward, her starched skirts sounding like a distant +<span id="Page_p92">Gatling gun.</span></p> + +<p>“Good-night,” said Joan.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X"> + CHAPTER X + <br> + <span>AT HOME</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Burnett Senior</span>, one evening early in February, sat in his library after +dinner, as was his custom, and, lighting a stogie, adjusted himself +comfortably in his big leather chair, picked up the evening paper, +and turned to the financial page. His wife sat just beyond him on the +other side of a fireplace filled with crackling wood. She was a quiet +body with graying hair, and wore a plain gown of black taffeta which +emphasized her age. She held in her lap the latest work of an English +novelist. In a week she had not succeeded in getting beyond the twelfth +chapter, chiefly because she had held it in her lap most of the time +that she thought she was reading.</p> + +<p>For the last twenty years she had joined her husband immediately after +dinner, and sat like this while he read the financial news. And most +of the time she spent this hour wondering about Dicky; first, as a +baby sound asleep upstairs in his cradle; then as a youngster in his +trundle-bed, tired out after his day of romping; then as a schoolboy; +then as a young man away at college; and now as a full-grown man at +home once again. She had looked forward for four years to the time when +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span>he would be back home, as she knew her husband had; and yet, now that +he was back, she found herself going over and over again those earlier +years rather than the present. For, somehow, he seemed to be slipping +more and more out of her life. She blamed no one for that, Dicky +least of all, for she realized that his interests were with his own +generation. She realized that better than her husband did. The latter +was tempted at times to judge the boy harshly and this worried her a +good deal.</p> + +<p>Dicky, she knew, was in many ways a disappointment to his father—more +of a disappointment than the boy understood. Dicky failed to appreciate +how large a share of himself his father had put into the business—what +an acutely personal matter this business was with him. The boy did not +have the background she had. Her memory took her to the beginnings—to +those lean, hard years when Dicky was sleeping peacefully in his cradle +in other surroundings than these, while she watched her husband at work +over figures seemingly perverse. Burnett was putting in some sixteen +hours a day of himself then. Even after the figures began to be more +amenable to discipline, there were sudden reverses that made him pace +the floor until morning and kept her with her heart in her mouth. +It all came out right in the end, of course, but Burnett had left +something of himself behind—something in the business. All <span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span>Dicky had +ever seen was the triumphant result. And he had never heard his father +talk, as she had heard him talk, of how he looked forward to the day +when he should be able to relinquish the reins to “my son” and watch +the business respond to the younger life. Perhaps she herself had been +more or less at fault for not having repeated these things to the boy, +but she had wanted him to have his youth—the youth of which Burnett +himself had been in a large measure deprived. So she had said nothing.</p> + +<p>Well, Dicky had his youth. He was having it now; and yet, for the last +month or so she had felt as though something was going wrong with it. +She had seen him getting serious. She had thought at first it was the +new responsibilities of the business. She had said as much to her +husband one evening.</p> + +<p>“Dicky is taking hold, isn’t he?”</p> + +<p>“Of what?” Burnett snapped.</p> + +<p>“Of the business?”</p> + +<p>“If he wasn’t a son of mine I’d fire him to-morrow. That’s how much +he’s taking hold,” he replied.</p> + +<p>“He—he will some day, Richard,” she ventured to declare in order to +pacify him.</p> + +<p>“That isn’t even a good gamble,” answered Burnett.</p> + +<p>Yet it was a fact that the boy was getting serious. <span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span>In the last few +weeks she had seen him maturing, though she had little opportunity +of seeing him at all; often no more than a glimpse of him as he came +downstairs dressed to go out. But last night he had stopped and kissed +her. It brought the color to her cheeks. He was seldom as demonstrative +as that.</p> + +<p>To-night she had not seen him at all. As Burnett put down his paper to +relight his cigar, she asked:</p> + +<p>“Do you know where Dicky is going this evening?”</p> + +<p>“Eh?”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t seen him go out.”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t seen him since lunch. He wouldn’t let me have anything but +crackers and milk to-day.”</p> + +<p>Burnett picked up his paper again, and then put it down.</p> + +<p>“Anything strange about not seeing him?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“No. Only—”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“I thought he had been looking kind of sober lately.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a girl,” grunted Burnett.</p> + +<p>“Not—”</p> + +<p>“Nothing but a plain fool girl. He asked her to marry him and she +refused. That proves she’s a fool, doesn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“You know her, then?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span></p> + +<p>“That’s all I know, except that she’s a Fairburne—one of the four +hundred—and thinks she is too good for him.”</p> + +<p>“Why—why didn’t he tell me?”</p> + +<p>“There, Mother,” Burnett returned, with a note of tenderness one might +not have suspected was there, “it’s only because he’s feeling rather +bad about it. The worst of it is that <i>he</i> is willing to admit she +is too good for him. That’s bad business. You can’t sell goods or get a +wife in any such spirit as that. If he’d had a little training on the +road he’d know it.”</p> + +<p>“You’ve seen her?”</p> + +<p>“No. But, according to him, she’s a sort of princess.”</p> + +<p>“I think, if he really cares, that’s the way he <i>would</i> think of +her,” said the mother.</p> + +<p>“I told him—”</p> + +<p>But at that point Mrs. Burnett glanced up with a quick motion of her +hand to her lips in warning. For there at the door stood Dicky himself +in evening clothes, slowly removing his gloves.</p> + +<p>“You look so comfortable here, I think I’ll stay,” he announced.</p> + +<p>As Dicky drew a chair to the fire, Burnett tossed aside his paper and +his wife let the book in her lap slide to the floor. To them both the +situation was unusual enough to appear ominous. Burnett bit into his +stogie and waited.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span></p> + +<p>But, after all, there appeared to be nothing to wait for. Dicky merely +lighted a cigarette, crossed his legs, and stared into the flames quite +as unconcernedly as though this were an everyday habit of his. So they +sat a few moments in silence, until Mrs. Burnett broke the tension by +asking:</p> + +<p>“Is it cold out to-night, Dicky?”</p> + +<p>“No,” he answered. “Not very.”</p> + +<p>“Storming?” put in Burnett.</p> + +<p>“Don’t think so. Wasn’t when I came in at five o’clock.”</p> + +<p>“Have you had your dinner?” inquired his mother.</p> + +<p>Dicky smiled.</p> + +<p>“Now that you mention it, I haven’t,” he answered.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Burnett rose.</p> + +<p>“You should have told me,” she said. “I’ll see Mary about it at once.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t, please,” protested Dicky. “Just sit where you were. I don’t +want a bite now—honest.”</p> + +<p>“You aren’t going on one of those confounded diets yourself?” demanded +Burnett.</p> + +<p>Dicky shook his head.</p> + +<p>“No need of it yet. What’s the news?”</p> + +<p>“Steel is off again.”</p> + +<p>Burnett appeared a bit sulky about it. Dicky turned.</p> + +<p>“How does that interest you?” he asked.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span></p> + +<p>“Bought a block of it the other day,” replied Burnett uncomfortably.</p> + +<p>“How long since you’ve been fooling with the market?” asked Dicky.</p> + +<p>“I’m not fooling with it. I had a little spare cash and took a chance, +that’s all.”</p> + +<p>“On whose advice?”</p> + +<p>“Forsythe has a friend, and—”</p> + +<p>“Forsythe?”</p> + +<p>“What of it?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t like the fellow.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t know him. He’s been my right-hand man for the last three +years.”</p> + +<p>“What about his friend?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know anything about his friend except that he’s on the inside.”</p> + +<p>“I’d let him stay there,” observed Dicky.</p> + +<p>Burnett senior bristled up aggressively—the readier because away down +deep in his heart he knew the advice was sound. At the same time he +resented being criticized by one thirty years his junior who had not +had as much business experience as the average newsboy. It was one +thing for Dicky to proffer suggestions on matters of diet, about which +presumably he did have some real knowledge, and another for the boy to +venture with the same assurance into the field of finance. Burnett was +taking a chance, and he knew it; but he did not relish being told about +it. That <span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span>remark about Forsythe hit a particularly sore spot. Forsythe +was doing exactly the work that Dicky ought to have been doing. He was +instilling in the firm the snap that comes only of youth.</p> + +<p>Besides all this, Burnett, if he lost, could afford to lose. If he +won—it was not for himself that he was making the gamble. He had +enough—more than enough. He had put fifty thousand dollars into steel +for the sake of the boy who now had the nerve to sit there and take him +to task about it.</p> + +<p>“Look here,” returned Burnett; “just when and how did you acquire your +wide experience of the stock market?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know a darned thing about it,” replied Dicky coolly. “That’s +why I know so much about it.”</p> + +<p>“Eh?” exclaimed Burnett, confused by such apparent nonsense.</p> + +<p>“I mean just that,” went on Dicky. “The people who get stung on Wall +Street are those who know all about it, or trust to some one else who +knows all about it. If you were going it alone, dad, I’d bet on you.”</p> + +<p>“Bah!” snorted Burnett.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you’ll have to learn your lesson,” concluded Dicky. “After +all, that’s what keeps things moving down there. What you reading, +Mother?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” confessed Mrs. Burnett. “But it’s very good. It was +recommended to me.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span></p> + +<p>With the conversation launched into safer channels, Dicky spent the +remainder of a very restful and pleasant evening with his family, and +at ten o’clock became sleepy with them. As they rose to retire, he +kissed his mother good-night, patted his father on the back, and went +off upstairs. But he had no more than removed his coat before he heard +a timid tap at his door. He opened it, and found his mother standing +there.</p> + +<p>“What’s the trouble?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“I—I wanted to talk a little with you, Dicky,” she faltered.</p> + +<p>“Fine!” he exclaimed. “Come in.”</p> + +<p>He found a chair for her, and, sitting on the edge of the bed, waited +with some curiosity to learn what had brought her here. She explained +at once.</p> + +<p>“It’s because I thought you seemed worried, Dicky,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Worried?”</p> + +<p>“Your father told me that you were caring for—some one. You didn’t tell +me.”</p> + +<p>“Oh—it’s that!”</p> + +<p>And instantly, before her eyes, she saw his face grow serious. It was +as though he grew five years older in as many seconds.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you want to tell me, Dicky?”</p> + +<p>He rose, walked across the room once, and sat down again.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span></p> + +<p>“There isn’t very much to tell, Mother,” he began quietly. “Her name is +Joan Fairburne, and she lives here in New York. You know of the family +and how prominent they are in a social way. But that hasn’t anything to +do with her. I met her when I was in college, and I’ve seen her more or +less ever since; but it wasn’t until this winter that I came to realize +what she is. We were together a good deal—until about two weeks ago. +Then, because I cared so much, I asked her to marry me. And she said +she did not care enough to do that. Since then I haven’t been able to +see her much. And—that’s about all there is to it.”</p> + +<p>“You feel very badly about it?”</p> + +<p>He looked up at his mother—then away.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he admitted.</p> + +<p>She stole swiftly to his side and put her hand over his.</p> + +<p>“I’m—I’m so sorry.”</p> + +<p>“The deuce of it is,” he exclaimed, “there isn’t anything much you can +do about it.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see why she doesn’t love you, Dicky,” said his mother.</p> + +<p>He laughed at that.</p> + +<p>“If you knew her you’d wonder I even dared hope she might,” he ran on. +“She is different. I don’t think she was meant to be born in New York. +She was meant to be born in the Arabian Nights, for a man wearing a +scarlet silk doublet and hose <span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span>and an ostrich feather in his hat and +oodles of jewels and an army to do her bidding.”</p> + +<p>“Does she say that’s what she wants?”</p> + +<p>“Bless you, no. But she looks it. She makes you feel that’s what you’d +like to give her. And you can’t give her anything because she has +everything she wants. And there you are.”</p> + +<p>“I’d like to meet her, Dicky.”</p> + +<p>“I’d like to have her meet you,” he replied enthusiastically. “Somehow, +I think she’d like you, Mother.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps, then, I could ask her to come here for tea—Thursday.”</p> + +<p>“You’re a brick. She hasn’t been going out any lately, but if you’ll +send the note I’ll see what I can do to back it up.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Burnett rose to go.</p> + +<p>“Even if it doesn’t turn out right, Dicky—” she began anxiously.</p> + +<p>“That’s all there is to it,” he finished for her.</p> + +<p>He placed a hand upon her shoulder.</p> + +<p>“But I want her. You’ll understand how much when you see her.”</p> + +<p>Then Dicky gave her his arm and escorted her to her room.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI"> + CHAPTER XI + <br> + <span>THE SILENT PARTNER</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">As</span> soon as Devons was out of bed and dressed and able to walk around +the house, Nichols found it quite impracticable to enforce hospital +rules of any sort. Give a man like Devons a pair of legs, and the only +thing to do, if you wish to keep him within certain bounds, is to put +him in chains. Nichols had neither the authority nor the chains.</p> + +<p>In reply to Mrs. Fairburne’s rather pointed question as to when he +thought it possible for the patient to leave, he answered:</p> + +<p>“Possible? To-day.”</p> + +<p>“Then—”</p> + +<p>Dr. Nichols shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Of course he is better off here than he would be wherever he lives. +As I understand it, he would not be likely to receive much care in his +apartments, while here he receives, if anything, too much.”</p> + +<p>“I agree with you,” said Mrs. Fairburne. “Joan seems inclined to make +rather a hero of him.”</p> + +<p>“It is a characteristic of girls of her age,” suggested Nichols.</p> + +<p>“A dangerous characteristic,” snapped Mrs. Fairburne.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span></p> + +<p>“The most common cure is to allow the patient to see as much as +possible of her hero,” smiled Dr. Nichols.</p> + +<p>At any rate, there appeared to be no alternative. And, truth to tell, +neither Mrs. Fairburne nor Fairburne himself, after meeting the young +man on several occasions, could put a finger on anything objectionable +in him. Of course his past was decidedly hazy (one had only his word +for it), and he came absolutely unvouched for,—which was more or less +natural, considering the circumstances under which he arrived,—but +those details did not count for as much as they might in view of the +fact that he was by no means to be considered as a social guest, but +merely a sort of accident. In time he would depart, and that would be +the end of him. In the meanwhile it was a comforting thought that he +was not as unpleasant as he might have been. Considering how little +discrimination is generally exercised in running over people, he might +have been an extremely unpleasant character to have about. It was also +necessary to take into account the obvious truth that he served to +amuse Joan at a time when it appeared impossible for any one else to +amuse her.</p> + +<p>So Devons no longer had to wait until half-past four arrived to stand +a chance of seeing Joan. He sallied forth at all hours,—sometimes as +early as mid-forenoon,—and wandered around downstairs <span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span>until he found +her. It was curious how often he found her. Generally it was in the +library off the reception-room. There was always an open fire here, and +if he sat down in front of it a few minutes she would often appear. She +was always just as surprised to see him as he was to see her. He was +always just as glad to see her as the day before—perhaps even a little +gladder.</p> + +<p>This would have been a natural development under ordinary +circumstances,—if one continued to meet her over a cup of tea in the +afternoon,—but coming upon her at the extraordinary hour of eleven in +the morning, and with no distraction even as simple as a cup of tea, +the result was to throw them back upon themselves for entertainment. +This led to a great deal of talk about themselves—just themselves +as they were; just two human beings who had started from different +corners of the nation and traversed different paths which had finally +intersected. The time of day had a great deal to do with it. A woman is +more herself and a man more himself and less a social creature before +noon. There are men and women who never get to know each other until +the opportunity arrives for them to meet after breakfast. Sometimes +this results one way; sometimes another.</p> + +<p>It was wonderful to Devons that any one should be interested in his +affairs. It was something new to have a confidante—some one who really +liked <span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span>to hear the details of the days he had worked out alone. At +first he doubted just how sincere she was. But as he took her with him +through those plugging years at Tech, and saw her leaning forward with +quick eyes and heightened color, he doubted no more. So he reached, +one morning, that period of his life which marked the beginning of the +dream that did not come true.</p> + +<p>He had approached it before, but always he had stopped because it +seemed of too recent a date and of too intimate a nature for even her +ears. To tell her about it was in a way to involve her in it because it +extended into the present. The past, up to that point, was done with. +So it could be related like a tale that has been told. The other was +still of his life. More now than ever before because he was beginning +to dream anew and dream more steadily.</p> + +<p>Yet at length he found himself telling her even about that—telling her +quite simply and unconsciously.</p> + +<p>She had asked him what brought him to New York after he had mentioned +the fact that he had come knowing only one person—Sawyer, a classmate.</p> + +<p>“An accident,” he answered. “My life seems to hinge upon accidents.”</p> + +<p>“I hope the other was a happier one than this.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” he mused. “After all, an accident may be nothing but a +quick and unexpected <span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span>turn toward a new beginning. It all depends on +how it comes out.”</p> + +<p>Then he told her of his laboratory work on leather, and of the +different ways of preparing it for the market and finishing it for +shoes; and, finally, of his discovery of the process that was to make +his fortune.</p> + +<p>“I felt at the time,” he said, “a good deal as one of the lucky +forty-niners must have felt. I was down to my last grubstake and had +stumbled upon pay dirt. I knew the value of what I had. At least, I +thought I knew, so that the effect was the same. For a week afterward I +had a regular orgy of spending imaginary dollars. You see, money meant +a lot to me. It meant being able to do a lot of things I wanted to do. +It meant not having to wait another ten years of hard, plugging work. +And I thought all I had to do was to come here to New York with my +invention and show it.”</p> + +<p>He paused.</p> + +<p>“Go on,” she begged.</p> + +<p>“I worked all summer perfecting it and getting it patented. I had to +write to father for money in order to do that, and he mortgaged his +farm to get the cash for me. I’d have starved before I’d have allowed +him to take that risk if I hadn’t been sure. Then I came on. First +Forsythe turned me down, then I laid it before Sawyer, who was with an +investment house. He was just as enthusiastic over the possibilities as +I was.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span></p> + +<p>“After that came the waiting period. The firm had to test the process +and look up the patent papers and all that. I didn’t care how long they +were about it, because I was absolutely sure of the result. So I took +a room at Mullen Court, and spent my days studying and reading and +waiting for the mails. That was in October, and I waited all through +that month. Then I waited through November. Then I waited through +December. That was almost a whole lifetime in itself. Because—well, my +funds were running pretty low by then.”</p> + +<p>She looked up and met his eyes—her own brimming with sympathy and pity.</p> + +<p>“Don’t think I minded,” he hastened to assure her. “I didn’t. It was +the period of dreams.”</p> + +<p>“But—you didn’t have enough to eat!” she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“Not any too much,” he smiled. “Still, I kept alive, and after all that +was the important thing. And I knew that whatever I did not have then +was going to make all the more welcome the things I was sure to have +later. Besides, it was exciting. Just to hear the postman’s steps every +time he came was enough to make a man breathe quicker. It was all a +sort of fight—to hang on.”</p> + +<p>She nodded as though she understood.</p> + +<p>“Then came the end of it. Sawyer’s firm wrote that they could not +handle the process because—they <span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span>were afraid of the old process. It +seems that one man held this particular market—a man they were afraid +to compete with. I’d never considered any such development as that. I +thought that any new thing which was better than the old would just +naturally take the place of the latter. I hadn’t taken into account the +business side of it. But the firm would not risk its capital, and I had +none of my own—so that was the end.”</p> + +<p>“The end?” she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“Almost. I had a vague scheme of going to work on a salary. Sawyer had +offered me a job once, and I thought that in time I might save enough +out of it to start in a small way. But that took me so far into the +future that the prospect was hazy—compared with what I <i>had</i> been +dreaming. I was on my way to see Sawyer when—”</p> + +<p>“The accident happened,” she cut in, unwilling to be shielded from any +responsibility.</p> + +<p>“Considering the fact it has meant so much to me, I—I don’t like to +speak of that as an accident,” he said.</p> + +<p>“But you have paid so much for so little,” she protested.</p> + +<p>He met her eyes again.</p> + +<p>“It’s been worth the cost and more,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“Oh!”</p> + +<p>They were silent a few moments, but Devons <span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span>roused himself. He felt +these silences to be dangerous.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t mean to go into all those sorry details,” he apologized.</p> + +<p>“But I asked you to,” she reminded him. “I wanted to hear. It makes me +feel as though I’d lived a little of that myself.”</p> + +<p>“You?”</p> + +<p>“I used to feel that way when I listened to Mildred. It’s something to +live a little, even at second hand.”</p> + +<p>“But surely—”</p> + +<p>“Let’s not talk about me,” she interrupted. “I want to hear more about +what you’re going to do next.”</p> + +<p>“I must see Sawyer next,” he said simply. “I must go on from where I +left off. And I must start soon now. I’m eager to get back.”</p> + +<p>“You see!” she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“See?”</p> + +<p>“Even you—after just a few weeks here—find it stupid.”</p> + +<p>His lips came together. He had allowed her to persuade him into telling +of the old dreams, but he must be very careful not to be enticed to +tell the new. Besides, he was not very clear about them himself. They +were only vague. He must keep them so, even though when he sat near her +like this they tended to become concrete. That, however, <span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span>was against +his will. He was not here as her social equal. Even Mrs. Fairburne +herself could not have seen that more clearly than he. But what Mrs. +Fairburne could not have seen was the possibility he saw that in time +these conditions might be changed. Give him a few years as he felt at +moments like this and there need be no gulf between them. He rose from +his easy-chair before the fire.</p> + +<p>“I ought to be back at work now!” he exclaimed. “I must write to Sawyer +to-day.”</p> + +<p>Only his right hand was still bandaged to his side, and he could not so +much as sign his name with his left.</p> + +<p>“You’ll let me write for you?” she asked quickly.</p> + +<p>He did not like to call upon her for even as slight a service as +this, but without giving him time to reply, she stepped to a little +writing-desk in the corner, picked up a pen, and held it poised above +the paper.</p> + +<p>“I’m ready,” she smiled.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>It was not easy for him to dictate, because he was not accustomed to +it, and because every time he paused for the right word she met his +eyes—and then he thought of nothing else for a dizzy second but those +eyes. If, in trying to escape these, he turned his gaze to the letter +itself, he saw only her white hand. It was soft and tender; he could +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span>think of nothing else then but that. When he turned away from her +altogether and stared out of the window, her presence so filled the +room that he thought of nothing but that. So it was rather a wobbly +letter. In it he said scarcely more than that he had been delayed from +coming up to see him, but hoped within a week to make it, and that if +in the meanwhile he saw any opening for him, he hoped he would write in +care of—</p> + +<p>He paused, because he did not know his present address. Joan filled it +in for him herself and in a very businesslike way read over the letter. +Then he told her how to address the envelope, and she did that and put +on a stamp.</p> + +<p>“It’s a chance, anyhow,” he concluded.</p> + +<p>“For what?” she asked directly.</p> + +<p>“To earn a living, at least.”</p> + +<p>“But what of your invention?” she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“That must wait.”</p> + +<p>“Again?”</p> + +<p>“For some later date,” he smiled.</p> + +<p>“Until you can save enough—”</p> + +<p>“Or until Reed cares to furnish the capital,” he interrupted.</p> + +<p>He did not like to discuss this with her. He wanted to sweep it all +aside now and talk of other things. With that letter written, his stay +here seemed for the first time to be coming to a definite end. He +realized it with a shock.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span></p> + +<p>“If you could have that mailed, I—I could forget it for a little,” he +said.</p> + +<p>But her thoughts were centered on something else—something that quite +took away her breath.</p> + +<p>“Capital?” she repeated slowly. “That’s—just money?”</p> + +<p>“That’s all,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“Then if you had money—your invention would not have to wait?”</p> + +<p>“I’d start manufacturing myself,” he explained simply.</p> + +<p>“You need a great deal?”</p> + +<p>“Not very much to begin in a small way. In a year or two I might save +enough—”</p> + +<p>“But if you had the money now you could begin now!”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” she exclaimed impulsively, “if you’d only let me help!”</p> + +<p>She paused abruptly—her cheeks scarlet. Then, before he had time to +catch his breath, she ran on:</p> + +<p>“If you’d only let me get the money for you. I’m sure I could, and it +could be a loan.”</p> + +<p>She saw his jaws come together. She was afraid of that.</p> + +<p>“Or it could be just—a business arrangement. Isn’t there something +called a—a silent partner?”</p> + +<p>She had risen to her feet and was standing before him now.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span></p> + +<p>He saw nothing but her eyes again, and that made it difficult for him +to think.</p> + +<p>Yet it was necessary, as never before in his life, for Devons to think +clearly. The girl before him had made her offer in all sincerity. To +dismiss it with a smile, as one does the impulsive suggestion of a +child, though it partook of that nature, was impossible. It would hurt +her. But he had only to repeat to himself the proposal to realize its +essential absurdity. She was to raise for him the capital to start his +business and act as his silent partner. She, who knew nothing whatever +about business, was to assume the risk refused by experienced business +men. Considered in cold blood, the proposition answered itself.</p> + +<p>But here was the difficulty: it had not been made in that spirit, and +could not be handled in that spirit. In cold blood? Good Lord, no one +but a dead man could face Joan Fairburne so, as she stood within arm’s +reach, her face flushed with the excitement of the moment, every sense +alert.</p> + +<p>“You are wonderful!” exclaimed Devons.</p> + +<p>“No! No!” she protested, with a slight frown. “It isn’t—that. If +anything, I’m selfish about it. Don’t you see—it will give me a chance +to do something.”</p> + +<p>“You?”</p> + +<p>“It will give me an interest outside. My share in it would be small. +Money is such a little thing. <span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span>All the work—all the fighting to make +the business a success—that would be yours. But it would be something +to know I’d helped that much. It would be something to be able to look +on with a personal interest in the outcome.”</p> + +<p>“But if it failed?” said Devons.</p> + +<p>“Failed?” she asked in astonishment.</p> + +<p>And Devons felt ashamed of himself for the suggestion. It was as though +Reed had spoken through him. Worse. He doubted if even Reed could have +conceived such a possibility standing in his place. With her as a +partner, a man could not fail: and Devons knew it. It was not merely +money she would put into the firm. In one of those fantastic pictures +that flash before one at moments of high tension he saw a prospectus: +“The Devons Manufacturing Company; capital, Joan Fairburne, fully paid +in and non-assessable.” That was worth a million dollars and more. Even +now, at this moment, he felt his strength multiplied a thousand times.</p> + +<p>“No; I would not fail!” he answered sharply.</p> + +<p>“Then it’s all settled?” she said in relief.</p> + +<p>“Only as dreams are settled,” he answered, getting a grip on himself. +“I wish I could make you understand—without hurting you. You don’t know +how much just the offer from you means to me. I can go back now with +all the enthusiasm of having a partner—even without having one.”</p> + +<p>He saw her wince.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span></p> + +<p>“Joan,” he broke out,—using the name unconsciously,—“Joan, all I can +say over and over again is that you’re wonderful. Even if you don’t +understand. But a man couldn’t do such a thing as you suggest. He’d be +a cad and worse. I’m here only by sufferance. You spoke once of the +cost. It’s been worth that many times over just to know you. I must +tell you that much. I’ll go back now able to do five years’ work in +one. If you’ll just keep on being—the sort of partner you are now, that +will be enough. Don’t you understand—a little?”</p> + +<p>“I want to help,” she said simply. “I want something to do.”</p> + +<p>“If you only knew—”</p> + +<p>Devons cut himself short. He must be careful. His thoughts were running +wild. He saw clearly now the face of the woman of his dreams; it was +she; it was Joan; it was this girl who wanted to be his silent partner. +And the reason she could not be that was because he wanted more of her +than that—many, many times more.</p> + +<p>He made for the door. He dared not stay longer with her.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII"> + CHAPTER XII + <br> + <span>JOAN & CO.</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Left</span> alone, Joan tried to review calmly the situation which had +developed so unexpectedly and dramatically. She had acted quite on the +spur of the moment. Indeed, looking back upon it she realized that it +would have been impossible to have done what she did in any other way. +Yet now that she had time to think it over, she regretted nothing. She +had done a bold thing and she was proud of having done it. It left her +with a sense of freedom. For once she had acted on her own initiative.</p> + +<p>Neither, in spite of his attitude, was she discouraged. Of course he +would look at it at first just as he had looked at it. That was due +partly to the Western pride of which he rather boasted—the pride that +made his father prefer to starve than accept a favor—and partly to +the fact that he could not appreciate her position. He considered her +only as an irresponsible young lady acting, perhaps, in a moment of +sentiment. That was natural enough, even though it was disappointing. +She had thought the last few weeks would have counted for more than +that.</p> + +<p>Still she placed a great deal of confidence in his <span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span>gray eyes. Though +his lips had stiffened, she had seen the eyes respond. She had seen +them quicken at her suggestion in a way that startled her. Even as he +left the room so abruptly she had seen them alive—as alive as the glint +of sunlight on steel. It was as though they told the truth against his +will; as though they were willing to accept her offer, though the lips +refused. And the eyes were the soul, while the lips were merely the man.</p> + +<p>They had brought the color to her face—those eyes. She had felt her +cheeks burn. She could not quite explain that. Doubtless it was merely +the excitement of the moment. It was a big thing she was reaching +for—nothing less than a chance to get out of her prison. Leaning +forward toward the flames, elbow on knee and chin in hand, she allowed +her thoughts to take their own course for a moment. She saw the +business started in some little factory tucked away in a far corner of +the city. She was rather vague as to what the business was. That did +not matter. All business was vague. She saw Devons at work there with +his fine enthusiasm, and saw the little factory grow into a bigger one, +and then into a still bigger. But principally she saw the man back of +it, and felt the satisfaction of having herself a hand in his success. +Perhaps it might even be possible for her to help in some practical +way. She might be able to write letters for him. If she could do that—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span></p> + +<p>“Good-morning, Joan.”</p> + +<p>It was her mother who interrupted the pleasant reverie. She came in and +took the chair in which Devons had lately been sitting.</p> + +<p>“You are about early, my dear, are you not?” inquired Mrs. Fairburne.</p> + +<p>“Am I?” Joan answered uncomfortably.</p> + +<p>“It is only a little after eleven. However, I’m glad you are feeling so +much stronger. And this—Mr. Devons—is he not almost himself again?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Fairburne arched her brows as she spoke.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mother.”</p> + +<p>“Then?”</p> + +<p>“He is going, soon,” replied Joan. “I—I wish you had come to know him +better.”</p> + +<p>“I!” exclaimed Mrs. Fairburne.</p> + +<p>“He has had such a hard time of it all his life. And now—”</p> + +<p>Joan hesitated as she saw her mother’s face grow blank. If it had not +been for that she could have gone on quite naturally. She had grasped +at this opportunity to tell her the whole story. It was still necessary +because it was through her she must appeal to her father for funds, but +the difference was that she must do it awkwardly and self-consciously +now.</p> + +<p>“He—he has always been handicapped because he had no money,” explained +Joan.</p> + +<p>“Really?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span></p> + +<p>It was surprising what effects Mrs. Fairburne managed to produce by the +simple use of monosyllabic interrogations. Just at present it placed +her on some distant pinnacle almost out of ear-shot.</p> + +<p>“You see I knew his cousin Mildred in college. I learned through her +what—it means to be like that. He has an invention—”</p> + +<p>“He?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Devons,” explained Joan uneasily. “It has something to do with +leather, and just because he hasn’t any capital he can’t use it.”</p> + +<p>The girl paused a moment and looked to her mother’s eyes. Mrs. +Fairburne merely waited. Yet in spite of lack of encouragement Joan +tried to break through—tried because she felt so sincerely what she +wished to say.</p> + +<p>“So I told him I thought I could do something,” she ran on, quite out +of breath. “I told him I’d get some money for him. Mother—can’t you +help me?”</p> + +<p>“You offered to supply him with funds?” gasped Mrs. Fairburne.</p> + +<p>“So that he could get started.”</p> + +<p>“And he accepted your offer?”</p> + +<p>“No. He hasn’t accepted it. He said he couldn’t accept it.”</p> + +<p>“That much is in his favor,” observed Mrs. Fairburne coldly.</p> + +<p>“But if we made it easier for him—”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span></p> + +<p>“My dear,” cut in Mrs. Fairburne, “the whole idea is absurd. I trust +you will not go to your father with it. Let us keep it a secret between +ourselves.”</p> + +<p>“That means you’ll not help?”</p> + +<p>“Joan! You disturb me. Really you must put the whole matter out of your +head at once.”</p> + +<p>“Then you think it would do no good to see father?”</p> + +<p>“I am quite sure it would only shock him. He was quite against having +this Mr. Devons in the house from the first. It was only upon the +medical advice of Dr. Nichols that he consented at all. Now if he +should learn—but, Joan, surely you are not considering such a thing?”</p> + +<p>Joan rose. She shook her head wearily.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid you are right; he wouldn’t understand.”</p> + +<p>“This affair has tired you, dear,” said Mrs. Fairburne. “I’m not at all +surprised. You’d better go to your room and lie down a little. And I +feel that the sooner Mr. Devons is able to leave—”</p> + +<p>Joan smiled.</p> + +<p>“You needn’t worry about his staying any longer than is necessary,” she +observed. “I’m sure he finds us all very stupid.”</p> + +<p>With that Joan retired to her room, but not to lie down. She had not +spoken in anger. She meant, however, exactly what she said. To a man +like <span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span>Devons how other could her world appear but a stupid little +world filled with stupid people? He had been here a month now with an +opportunity to study her and her parents in the intimate setting of +their daily lives. He had watched them at the petty routine of their +complacent and guarded round of dining and card-playing, the opera or +the theater. He had seen the uneventful days follow the uneventful +hours with the assurance that this would continue indefinitely. In the +meanwhile the great live city all about them, the city where men and +women grew through struggle, scarcely reached their consciousness. Even +when they glanced over their morning and evening papers, they read as +at a play. If by any chance the city was brought closer to them—as in +the presence of Devons—they resented it as an intrusion.</p> + +<p>It was in this life they wished to fix her. They meant for the best. +She knew that. For them it spelled safety. But they did not take into +account her great need—the need born of Youth—which is not for the safe +things, but the venturesome things. It is only because of Youth that +the world dares go on. It is in Youth that men go to sea in boats; that +men go to war; that men search the far places. And some part in this is +given to women—if only the waiting part.</p> + +<p>Looking from her window, Joan felt the call—the call of the bold and +the blessed unwise. It <span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span>flushed her cheeks and stiffened her muscles +and bred strange thoughts in her. Once again she was back in the +midst of life with Devons, helping him in the clash with reality. It +gave new meaning to the little side street in front of her which led +to the broad avenue, which in turn led to all the thousand and other +streets—big and little—which make New York. Though for the moment it +seemed as though she had been balked utterly in her desires, she felt a +sense of fresh courage. She had made her proposal to her mother quite +without result and knew that under those circumstances it was futile to +go to her father. That left her no one to whom to turn—but Dicky.</p> + +<p>No one but Dicky! She caught her breath at the inspired suggestion. +After all, Dicky was some one. In his way he was very much some one. +Whenever she wished to think of him at his best, as she did now, she +went back to that picture of him standing by her machine on that +eventful afternoon when she left Delmonico’s. He had bared his head and +said simply:</p> + +<p>“I’d rather you felt you had some one—always ready—to call on.”</p> + +<p>Though she was never sure in some things that Dicky meant what he said, +she had believed with her whole heart that he meant this. As she drove +off and left him there, she was very glad he had spoken so, though it +seemed scarcely probable <span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span>then that ever it would be necessary for +her to call upon him. She had even wished that it might be necessary +because she thought it might please him, and she had desired then as +never before to please him in some way.</p> + +<p>Now here was her opportunity, and his opportunity, and Devons’s +opportunity. She knew little about Dicky’s business except that he +had an office downtown with his father, whom she had heard spoken of +vaguely as a manufacturer. She knew little because it concerned Dicky +little and her less. She could not have named the source of income of +a half-dozen of her many friends. Some of them went downtown in the +morning and some of them did not. It would have been difficult for her +to separate them into even this broad division. It was assumed they all +had ample means, and she gave no further thought than that to their +affairs.</p> + +<p>It was assumed Dicky had ample means. That meant he had sufficient to +do whatever he wished. So that to ask him for that mysterious symbol of +money termed “capital” was not to ask him for anything very much. It +involved no great sacrifice on his part and it need be nothing but in +the nature of a loan.</p> + +<p>She lunched in her room that day because she wished to avoid seeing +Devons again until she had something definite to tell him. Then she +dressed with a little more care than usual because she knew <span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span>Dicky had +a weakness for such things, and if she was going to ask a favor of +him it was no more than right that she should do in her turn what she +could to please him. So she allowed Henriette to do as she pleased, +and whenever Henriette was given that privilege she produced extremely +charming results. This afternoon she chose a crêpe-de-chine of African +brown that had touches of orange in the waist and girdle. The skirt +of a panier effect went no lower than the top of Joan’s trim ankles, +affording a piquant contrast of grandmother’s time and to-day.</p> + +<p>Dicky came at three-thirty, and the moment he laid eyes on her he +was conscious of a change in her attitude, which to him was most +encouraging. It was as though she were really glad to see him again. +When she offered her hand, it was not merely a social convention, but +as a friend might offer her hand. He took into account, too, the fact +that she was dressed as though ready to go out once more. It gave him +the courage to present without delay his mother’s invitation.</p> + +<p>“Have you any engagement for Thursday afternoon?” he asked as soon as +they were seated.</p> + +<p>“No,” she answered hesitatingly. “I have not been making any +engagements at all.”</p> + +<p>“This is a very particular one,” he assured her. “It is from mother to +come to tea at the house.”</p> + +<p>“Your mother? It is sweet of her to ask me,” <span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span>she replied. It brought +home to her, as a rather curious truth, the fact that she had never +happened to meet either Mr. or Mrs. Burnett. But in the younger set one +did not often meet the elders unless they entertained. And unless they +had daughters, they did not entertain much.</p> + +<p>“You will come?” he asked earnestly.</p> + +<p>“Why, yes, Dicky,” she agreed, as though searching for a meaning.</p> + +<p>“I told her a little something about you,” he explained.</p> + +<p>“There is so very little to tell about me,” she laughed uneasily.</p> + +<p>“There’s a great deal,” he contradicted. “More than a man could tell in +a book.”</p> + +<p>“On Thursday, then,” she concluded as though to check further parley +along this line.</p> + +<p>But he could not at that moment be checked so abruptly.</p> + +<p>“I told her how beautiful you were and—that you would not marry me.”</p> + +<p>“You told her that?” she gasped.</p> + +<p>Dicky nodded.</p> + +<p>“She came to my room and asked.”</p> + +<p>“I—I suppose she thinks me horrid, then.”</p> + +<p>“No,” he smiled. “Only she does not understand it. That’s why I want +her to meet you—so she will understand.”</p> + +<p>“Dicky!” she exclaimed with a choke in her voice.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span></p> + +<p>“As soon as she knows you, she will realize how much too good you are +for me,” he went on seriously.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t so!”</p> + +<p>“You will see. She is very wise in her quiet way—that mother of mine. +You will like her.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sure I shall like her,” she replied.</p> + +<p>Then for a few minutes the conversation turned to other things—to +trivial things as he tried to be entertaining. As she listened and +smiled, she kept wondering if after all it was going to be possible +for her to ask of him what she had planned to ask. At one moment it +did, and at the next it did not. Though she did not know it, this +abstraction was reflected in her eyes, and he, keenly alert to every +passing change in her, noted this. So in the end it was he who put the +question to her. He paused abruptly in his light talk and asked:</p> + +<p>“What are you worrying about, Joan?”</p> + +<p>She started. This was her opportunity, and yet she shied away from it.</p> + +<p>“I’m not worrying, Dicky,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“But there’s something on your mind.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she admitted.</p> + +<p>“Something you don’t want to tell me about?”</p> + +<p>“Something I do want to tell you about,” she returned.</p> + +<p>“Then—”</p> + +<p>“It’s something I want to ask you to do.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span></p> + +<p>“Fine!” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“Only I don’t know how to ask.”</p> + +<p>“The way to ask is to ask,” he suggested.</p> + +<p>“But I’m afraid—oh, Dicky, if you think it queer of me, or if you don’t +want to do it, you’ll be frank?”</p> + +<p>She leaned forward impulsively with her hands clasped before her.</p> + +<p>“I can’t conceive myself as not doing anything you may ask,” he replied.</p> + +<p>“No matter how unusual it is?”</p> + +<p>“No matter what it is.”</p> + +<p>“You’ll promise to use your own judgment and not do it—just because of +me?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll promise beforehand to do it.”</p> + +<p>“Then, Dicky,” she said, blurting it out at once, because the longer +she talked about it the less courage she had,—“Then, Dicky, I—I want +you to loan me some money.”</p> + +<p>It took away his breath for a moment.</p> + +<p>“Money!” he gasped.</p> + +<p>It was as absurd a request on the face of it as though she asked for +bread.</p> + +<p>“And,” she went on, “it’s something mother doesn’t approve of.”</p> + +<p>Dicky gave a low whistle.</p> + +<p>“At least that sounds interesting,” he admitted.</p> + +<p>“It’s business,” she explained hastily. “I’m going to be a sort of +silent partner.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span></p> + +<p>“Business?” he asked suspiciously.</p> + +<p>He thought of the market. He had heard of women who played stocks on a +margin—the easy victims of unscrupulous operators. It was not like Joan +to do a thing of that nature.</p> + +<p>“How much do you want?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. Maybe five thousand; maybe more,” she hurried on.</p> + +<p>“Right,” he nodded. “When do you want it?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps within a week.”</p> + +<p>He nodded again.</p> + +<p>“I’ll get it for you.”</p> + +<p>“Of course it’s only a loan,” she said.</p> + +<p>And here Dicky thought a moment. He did not want to make it a loan. If +she borrowed the money and lost it—as at the moment it seemed to him +more than probable she would—he did not choose to have her left with +the worry. On the other hand, he saw no practical way of giving it to +her. This brought him to the question of just what her object was, +anyway, in wanting to try to make money. Still he did not like to ask +her. It was a delicate matter.</p> + +<p>“Look here,” he exclaimed, “why don’t you let me in on the deal?”</p> + +<p>“You?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to know the details,” he assured her. “I’d rather not +know them. You can act as the promoter and I’ll furnish the capital. +Then we can go divvies on the profits.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</span></p> + +<p>“You mean that, Dicky Burnett?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. I’ll be just another silent partner.”</p> + +<p>“And you don’t even want to know what I’m going to do with the money?” +she asked, with warming eyes.</p> + +<p>“No,” he answered. “Then I won’t be tempted to give you good advice.”</p> + +<p>“Dicky,” she exclaimed, “you’re—you’re a peach!”</p> + +<p>Different people place, of course, different values upon money. But as +far as Dicky was concerned, he received right then and there adequate +return on his prospective investment. It may have been an expensive +luxury and one he could not afford every day, but that had nothing to +do with intrinsic values. It was worth the money just to see the honest +admiration in her eyes—to grasp the hot hand she impulsively extended +to him.</p> + +<p>“You’re so good, Dicky,” she added. “You kind of make me ache.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a bargain, then?” he asked, with his head swimming before her.</p> + +<p>“A bargain,” she agreed.</p> + +<p>“Joan & Co.,” he repeated to himself. “Sounds kind of nice, doesn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“It ought to be Dicky & Co.”</p> + +<p>“No, because it’s your proposition. I have a notion it’s rather going +to please Dad to learn I’ve gone into business for myself.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</span></p> + +<p>“He must know?”</p> + +<p>“In some ways it’s rather essential,” he admitted. “But he needn’t know +any more than that. You—you don’t need a bookkeeper or anything, do +you?”</p> + +<p>“No,” she answered. “There aren’t any books yet.”</p> + +<p>“You might keep me in mind for the position,” he suggested.</p> + +<p>“I’d be glad if there was something of the sort for me to do,” she said.</p> + +<p>He shook his head.</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t let this take all your time. You aren’t going downtown at +ten in the morning?”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid it won’t be necessary.”</p> + +<p>“If it should be, I hope the company fails.”</p> + +<p>“No, no, you mustn’t say things like that.”</p> + +<p>She looked so genuinely concerned that he smiled.</p> + +<p>“There’ll have to be directors’ meetings every so often, anyway,” he +reminded her.</p> + +<p>“Yes?”</p> + +<p>“Once a week,” he suggested. “I think Delmonico’s would be a good +place.”</p> + +<p>“All right, Dicky,” she consented.</p> + +<p>So within five minutes he secured an extra dividend of at least one +hundred per cent. He was beginning to realize that this bade fair to be +one of the best investments of his life.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</span></p> + +<p>She was still standing, and her eyes strayed often to the door.</p> + +<p>“I think we’d better adjourn now,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” he assented. “Until when?”</p> + +<p>“Until I tell you.”</p> + +<p>“But there’s Thursday.”</p> + +<p>“I won’t forget.”</p> + +<p>“That, however, is not a business meeting.”</p> + +<p>He took her hand again, though he had no particular warrant for it.</p> + +<p>“Here’s good luck to Joan & Co.,” he concluded, as he pressed it.</p> + +<p>“Especially the Co.,” she smiled.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII"> + CHAPTER XIII + <br> + <span>A CHALLENGE</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Devons</span> had no business to be impatient because Joan remained below +with a visitor three quarters of an hour. Considering the fact that +only a few hours before he had rather ignominiously retreated from +her presence, it did not seem to be good judgment to begin, almost +immediately afterwards, to look forward to an opportunity to place +himself again in jeopardy of her eyes. Yet that was exactly what he did.</p> + +<p>He was not satisfied with the way he had handled that situation. In +the first place, he should have stood his ground and fought through to +a finish no matter what the outcome. He discovered this the moment he +found himself back in his room. Leaving as he did, nothing whatever had +been settled. Sooner or later he must have everything to do all over +again.</p> + +<p>What the deuce had been the matter with him? Pacing the floor, he tried +to review the proposition sensibly. She had offered to furnish him with +the capital to put his dressing on the market—to enter into a simple +business arrangement with him. She had done this because of a desire to +have an active interest outside the petty routine of her <span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</span>present life. +He had assumed that this was a risk he was not justified in allowing +her to take. But as a matter of fact, was it a risk? Had the offer +come from a man he would not have hesitated. He knew what he had—the +best and cheapest article of its kind in the world. Even Reed had +not disputed that. Reed had been frightened off by his unwillingness +to give battle to this man Burnett, whoever he was. And that did not +influence Devons in the slightest. It was like a challenge. That was +the West in him—the youth in him. Let the conflict narrow down to an +individual, and he was at his best. Give him the money to work with, +and he would put in the rest—himself. That was what Reed did not have. +He had only the money.</p> + +<p>Considered, then, purely as a business proposition, he stood unafraid. +If the money came from any other source, he would have accepted it. +Then what the deuce was the matter with him?</p> + +<p>He asked the question, but even as he asked it he knew the answer. Down +deep in his heart he knew the answer. It was only a matter of admitting +it. Now, suddenly, squaring his shoulders he faced the truth. He had +dared allow himself to love this woman. He, Mark Devons, a penniless +young adventurer from the West, had ventured to turn his eyes upwards +to the stars and stare overlong at the whitest-burning one of them all. +Thrust unwarrantedly into her life, he had absorbed so <span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</span>much of it that +his head had been turned. For hours after she left him he had permitted +himself to feel that he belonged where he was—that she was not +impossible. It was only when he saw the inevitable end of it that he +realized, and then it was too late. Not too late for her, but for him. +If he kept his head steady, it was not too late for her. Thank God, his +lips had remained sealed. Thank God, he had given her no inkling of +how he felt. He had looked into her eyes and grown dizzy, but he had +remained dumb. That covered the present, but what of the future?</p> + +<p>Here was where he had certain inalienable rights. Here was where it +was his privilege to fly as high and as wild as he chose. Let him get +back to his work, and he might hitch his wagon even to such a star +as this. Give him half an opportunity, and he would win for her the +place to which she was entitled. Starting with nothing, it might have +looked like a long path to one in any other mood than this. But in this +mood, worlds had been conquered in months. He had read all his life +of fortunes made in a few years in New York. It was being done every +day. The first thousand, some one had said, was the difficult thousand. +After that it was easy to make it into ten; then still easier to turn +that into a hundred thousand, and so swiftly to jump to a million. He +would need all that for her and more.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</span></p> + +<p>If he had the capital to-day! That is what she offered him. And to her +it meant so little. Yet because this fight was his fight and his alone, +he must refuse it. He should have stood his ground before her and +settled that once for all. He must see her again as soon as possible +and settle that. Had he stood his ground before, it would be all +settled now.</p> + +<p>For a half-hour after he had reached this decision—a decision that left +him with his shoulders squared—he was forced to wait his opportunity to +see her. He had sent Jeffrey to find her and the latter had reported:</p> + +<p>“Miss Fairburne is at present with a guest in the drawing-room, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Will you let me know as soon as she is free?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>But Jeffrey’s services were not needed. As soon as Devons heard the +front door close, he immediately went downstairs only to find her +coming upstairs to meet him.</p> + +<p>“Oh, do come into the drawing-room!” she exclaimed. “Everything is all +settled.”</p> + +<p>He followed her below and into the big room with the open fire. And if +at this momentous conference he had spoken the words that first sprang +to his lips, he would have said only:</p> + +<p>“How beautiful you are.”</p> + +<p>“That was Dicky,” she announced.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</span></p> + +<p>The name meant nothing to him. There was no particular reason why he +should have immediately disliked it.</p> + +<p>“I have known Dicky a great many years,” she went on to explain. Had +she been fifty or seventy-five that statement would have been a good +deal more reassuring than it was under the circumstances.</p> + +<p>“Hasn’t he any last name?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she admitted. “But that’s a secret. You will understand in a +minute. Dicky is very, very nice.”</p> + +<p>That, from Devons’s point of view, was if anything against him.</p> + +<p>“So I told him what I wanted.”</p> + +<p>Devons frowned. This was altogether too personal a matter to confide in +any one else.</p> + +<p>“I told him I wanted to go into business, and somehow Dicky seemed to +understand,” she hurried on. “I didn’t even tell him what the business +was. He said he didn’t want to know. But what he did ask was if he +could not share it with me. He wanted—to be a silent partner himself.”</p> + +<p>“He did?”</p> + +<p>“So he offered to furnish the capital and let me do what I chose with +it.”</p> + +<p>“As a partner?” questioned Devons.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she nodded. “Only he did not wish to have anything to do with +the business itself.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</span></p> + +<p>Devons appeared perplexed.</p> + +<p>“It sounds queer,” he answered. “Are you sure you understood him?”</p> + +<p>“It wouldn’t sound queer if you knew Dicky.”</p> + +<p>“He has a great deal of money?”</p> + +<p>“He—he seems to have all he needs,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“Then perhaps that explains it,” concluded Devons.</p> + +<p>“But I don’t see the need of an explanation of any sort,” she replied +with spirit. “And I’m sure if he had more business it would be better +for him. He is to bring me five thousand dollars at once.”</p> + +<p>“Five thousand dollars!” gasped Devons.</p> + +<p>That in itself was a fortune.</p> + +<p>“Then as much as we need,” she ran on.</p> + +<p>“As much as we need,” he said over after her.</p> + +<p>It sounded like one of those stories he used to dream.</p> + +<p>“It certainly is mighty decent of this Dicky,” he added thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>It was all that and a little something more. A man, no matter how much +money he had, was not apt to invest blindly five thousand dollars +unless he had a great deal of confidence in his agent—a great deal more +confidence than was common in the everyday business venture. In this +particular instance it was obvious that this generous trust <span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</span>was not +based upon the wide experience of the agent or any reputation acquired +by her from past successes. Clearly it was in the nature of a blind +faith not usually associated with financial deals. And yet, put himself +in the position of this Dicky, and he had a notion it was just the sort +of thing he would have done himself. He would have looked upon it as an +opportunity. Here was a fair explanation, but it brought him up with a +start.</p> + +<p>“You aren’t going to think up any more objections, are you?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“I seem to be in the minority now,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“Then,” she said, “can’t we call it all settled?”</p> + +<p>Devons drew a deep breath. He met her eyes a moment, and then as he +fought free of them it was as though standing behind her he met the +eyes of this man Dicky. And it was as though the latter were smiling a +challenge. It was as though the latter said to him this: “Well, will +you fight for her, or shall I take her?”</p> + +<p>There was just one way. He could not wait a decade now. He must seize +this opportunity, however distasteful on general grounds it was—however +unusual. Perhaps the man had made the offer in the assurance that he, +Devons, would fail, anyhow. The thought acted like a blow on the cheek.</p> + +<p>“We’ll call it settled,” answered Devons.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</span></p> + +<p>“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I’m so glad!”</p> + +<p>“But we must work hard—partner.”</p> + +<p>Her cheeks grew scarlet. He saw her eyes spring alight.</p> + +<p>“As hard as ever we can,” she nodded.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV"> + CHAPTER XIV + <br> + <span>PUMPKIN PIE</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">There</span> was pumpkin pie on the <i>carte de jour</i> that Thursday. +Offhand one might have said that nothing was less likely to influence +the lives of half a dozen residents of New York City. It is very +probable that the proprietors of the hotel and the chef who put it +there would have denied vigorously having any ulterior design and +would, before a court of law, have disclaimed all responsibility. +Doubtless they would have been sustained by the judge.</p> + +<p>However, there was pumpkin pie on the <i>carte de jour</i> that +Thursday. As Burnett picked up the card with indifferent interest, his +eye fell upon it. He glanced at his son sitting opposite him.</p> + +<p>“Your mother used to make the best pumpkin pie in the State of Maine,” +he observed.</p> + +<p>“So?” answered Dicky.</p> + +<p>The waiter was standing at Burnett’s shoulder with pad and pencil ready.</p> + +<p>“Give me some of that clear soup,” Burnett ordered.</p> + +<p>“And whole wheat bread, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” nodded Burnett.</p> + +<p>He hesitated after that.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</span></p> + +<p>“The haddock is very good, sir, and not fattening, as you might say.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll try some.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, sir.”</p> + +<p>With that the waiter was for hurrying off.</p> + +<p>Burnett stopped him. “I’d like to try a piece of that pumpkin pie, +Dicky,” he faltered. “Just to see how it compares with your mother’s.”</p> + +<p>“Go ahead,” consented Dicky.</p> + +<p>“A piece of pumpkin pie, John,” Burnett ordered grandly.</p> + +<p>He actually rubbed his hands together in anticipation, and was +immediately in better humor with himself than for a week. That is what +counted. That is where the pumpkin pie played its part.</p> + +<p>“Forsythe handed me the January statement this morning,” he said to +Dicky. “Best month in the history of the company.”</p> + +<p>“Fine!”</p> + +<p>“Ought to beat it this month.”</p> + +<p>“Hope you do.”</p> + +<p>Decidedly this seemed to be the moment for which Dicky had been waiting.</p> + +<p>“By the way, Dad,” he began, “I have something I want to talk over with +you.”</p> + +<p>“The girl?”</p> + +<p>“Not exactly. It’s business.”</p> + +<p>“Eh?”</p> + +<p>“I have a chance to get into something good.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</span></p> + +<p>“Look here, my boy, you aren’t fooling with the Street?”</p> + +<p>Dicky smiled.</p> + +<p>“No, Dad. I’ll leave that game to you. This is something different.”</p> + +<p>“What is it?”</p> + +<p>“The devil of it is I can’t tell you. A friend of mine—”</p> + +<p>Burnett raised his brows.</p> + +<p>“Not the usual kind of friend,” Dicky hastened to explain. “This is a +friend I’d trust my life with. She—er—he wants me to go in as a silent +partner.”</p> + +<p>“In what?”</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you. But it promises big. It promises to +be the biggest thing in my life.”</p> + +<p>“Sounds a bit queer,” exclaimed Burnett.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” admitted Dicky, “it does. But if I give you my word that it +isn’t—”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want your word. How much do you need?”</p> + +<p>“Five thousand.”</p> + +<p>“When?”</p> + +<p>“Now.”</p> + +<p>Burnett drew a check-book from his pocket and wrote the check. It was +done so unhesitatingly, so simply, that Dicky felt almost ashamed to +accept it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</span></p> + +<p>“That’s white of you, Dad,” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>Burnett raised a portion of the pie to his mouth and tasted it +critically.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t as good as your mother’s,” he decided. “But it’s almighty +good.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV"> + CHAPTER XV + <br> + <span>LIKE NAPOLEON</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">It</span> was this same Thursday, too, that Joan came to the house to tea. +She came at four o’clock looking radiant. It was a proud moment for +Dicky when he introduced her to his mother because he knew Joan was +justifying in every detail the most enthusiastic description of her he +had ever given. It was difficult to understand how it was possible for +Joan to grow any younger than she always was, but she looked younger; +it was difficult to understand how she could look any fresher than +she always did, but this afternoon she accomplished in some way that +feat also. For one thing her eyes were wider open than they sometimes +were, and instead of merely listening in a half-amused, half-critical +fashion, she herself dominated the conversation. This, to be sure, +relegated him more or less to the background, but he was content to +have it so.</p> + +<p>It was quite evident that in some mysterious way the older woman and +the younger woman formed an instant liking one for the other. Dicky +had expected each to admire the other and, given time, had anticipated +a formal friendship, but it <span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</span>was as though in minutes they spanned +months. The moment their hands clasped and their eyes met, the two +seemed to have come to some sort of an agreement. It puzzled him. +Beyond the fact that they were two women and each in her way quite +perfect, they had no common bond between them. He had been rather +afraid that his mother, in her old-fashioned way, might not be able +at once to penetrate to the woman in Joan, and he had suspected that +Joan, in her turn, might be at first confused by his mother’s quaint +frankness. But before he knew it, here they were seated at their tea +in front of the fire, talking so directly one to the other that he was +more or less on the outside.</p> + +<p>This, because of the subject-matter, was more or less embarrassing. +There were moments when if possible he would have fled. Because in less +than five minutes his mother had revealed her one weakness and dragged +in him, Dicky, and the adventures of his infancy and early youth as the +major topic. How it happened, Lord knows. At the beginning he tried +to switch her off. It was entirely useless, because it was apparent +that she was being aided and abetted by Joan herself. The latter even +rebuked him openly.</p> + +<p>“Dicky,” she said, when once he endeavored to turn the subject to the +weather, “Dicky, it is not polite to interrupt like that.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</span></p> + +<p>“I know, but—”</p> + +<p>She turned her back upon him and gave his mother her cue.</p> + +<p>“So he came to the head of the stairs in his nighty—”</p> + +<p>His mother, thus encouraged, went on. Nothing could have been more +puerilely inane than that episode of how Dicky at the age of four came +downstairs one evening in that garb and entertained two of his father’s +business friends who had come to talk over very important matters. It +seems that his father did him up in an overcoat, put him in a chair, +and made him an <i>ex-officio</i> director of the proposed company.</p> + +<p>Of course one such yarn inevitably led to another. Before the close of +the afternoon Joan was in possession of a first-hand report of most of +the fool things he had ever done up to the time he went to college. The +only feature upon which he could congratulate himself was that at this +point the narrative inevitably ended, although he could not say as much +about all the fool things.</p> + +<p>And yet, when it came time to go, Joan actually told his mother with +all evidence of sincerity that she had thoroughly enjoyed the afternoon.</p> + +<p>“And,” she added, “you’ll let me come again and hear more?”</p> + +<p>“There isn’t any more,” put in Dicky.</p> + +<p>“I’m sure there is,” she smiled.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</span></p> + +<p>“If you keep on I’ll get your mother in a corner some day,” he +threatened.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid anything she might tell of me would only bore you,” she +returned.</p> + +<p>“You don’t know how much she might make up.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Burnett appeared disturbed.</p> + +<p>“Dicky,” she protested, “every one of those things was true.”</p> + +<p>“I know they were and he knows it too,” Joan sided with her, taking her +hand. “Some day soon I may run in quite informally, may I?”</p> + +<p>“You’ll always be welcome here,” answered Mrs. Burnett.</p> + +<p>There was something in her voice that made the girl look up, not at +her, but at Dicky. But he, inhospitably enough, was apparently only +anxious to help her leave. So, suddenly, she kissed Mrs. Burnett on the +cheek and went out with him.</p> + +<p>In the car she proceeded to scold.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think you treat your mother as nicely as you should,” she +declared.</p> + +<p>“You mean I shouldn’t throw her downstairs!” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“You know what I mean. She is very fond of you, Dicky.”</p> + +<p>“You speak as though there was something unnatural about that.”</p> + +<p>“And she is very proud of you. At times it was almost as though she +were talking about Napoleon.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</span></p> + +<p>“You oughtn’t to blame me for that,” he protested.</p> + +<p>“I’m not blaming you, only you might try—”</p> + +<p>“She wouldn’t at all approve of me if I were really like Napoleon,” he +broke in.</p> + +<p>“In some things, perhaps not,” she hastened to admit. “I shouldn’t +myself. But in some other things—”</p> + +<p>“I am,” he flattered himself.</p> + +<p>As though to prove it he drew from his pocket the check for five +thousand. He handed it to her with every evidence of satisfaction. She +merely rolled it into a little tube and placed it in her muff.</p> + +<p>“I shall send you a receipt for this,” she said.</p> + +<p>That was all—at a point when if encouraged in the slightest he would +have told her by what a nice bit of strategy—the strategy of the +pumpkin pie—he had secured this for her. He did not, however, volunteer +the story, and a few minutes later he was on the whole glad. He doubted +if it would have impressed her as humorous. He doubted next if it +really was humorous. After all he had meant what he said and his father +had meant what he said, and Joan had meant what she said. It had been a +serious transaction.</p> + +<p>At the house she did not ask him in as he hoped she might. Instead she +merely smiled an <i>au revoir</i> to him as they stood in the open door +with Jeffrey near her at attention. He might not have thought <span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</span>much +about this, if at that moment, in glancing over her shoulder, he had +not seen coming down the broad stairs in the rear the figure of a young +man with his shoulder in bandages. The fellow met his eyes and paused. +So for a second they faced each other, questioning, wondering.</p> + +<p>Joan turned from Dicky at the door to Devons on the stair behind her +and then back to Dicky, with a feeling that the situation was tense out +of all proportion. For a moment she was confused and uncertain. She +did not know quite what to do. But Dicky did. His eyes came back to +hers and from them it would have been impossible to say if he had seen +Devons or not.</p> + +<p>“Let me know when you want me again,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Dicky,” she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>With that he turned and went down the steps. With that, swinging his +stick lightly, he went down the street and around a corner.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI"> + CHAPTER XVI + <br> + <span>THE DEVONS MANUFACTURING COMPANY</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Dr. Nichols</span> relieved Devons from the burden of most of his bandages +on Sunday, and the latter, on Monday, after paying his respects to +Mrs. Fairburne, left the house in the same machine which had brought +him there. Mrs. Fairburne was with her daughter when Devons took his +departure and was forced to admit that Joan conducted herself in +every respect like a young lady of good sense and propriety. It was +quite apparent that in the end the Fairburne blood triumphed over all +sentimentality. Not that deep in her heart she had honestly feared +anything, but it was a relief to know that the unusual episode was now +ended so happily and definitely. She was sure that her bridge game +would immediately pick up.</p> + +<p>Charles, the driver, had considerable difficulty in locating Mullen +Court. So probably would any one who did not live there. The directions +are to go along lower Sixth Avenue until you come to a hole in a wall +and—there you are. The hole is not large enough to admit a machine. But +the trick is to find the hole.</p> + +<p>Charles passed it twice, and might have gone on passing it in both +directions all day if he had not <span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</span>stopped and roused Devons from his +reverie. The latter, sitting back in the corner of the soft-cushioned +tonneau, had been so busy with his thoughts that he did not even glance +from the window. When he heard the voice of Charles it was like being +suddenly awakened.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, sir, but I see no street sign with Mullen Court on +it.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe there is one,” answered Devons.</p> + +<p>“Then, sir—”</p> + +<p>“We’re there now.”</p> + +<p>Charles looked about, bewildered.</p> + +<p>“Watch where I go and you’ll see. I shan’t need you any more to-day.”</p> + +<p>Charles saw him disappear through an opening in the wall which looked +as though it led into nothing but an alley. He made a note of this +information and it proved useful later on.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, however, the opening led into a little courtyard +and to a group of three or four houses facing it. Devons ascended a +short flight of steps bounded by an iron rail and hurried to the second +floor. He paused a moment to rap at Arkwright’s door.</p> + +<p>“Come in!” shouted Arkwright.</p> + +<p>Devons stepped in. Arkwright jumped to his feet.</p> + +<p>“For the love of Mike!” he exclaimed; “Devons or his ghost!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</span></p> + +<p>Devons backed away from the outstretched hand.</p> + +<p>“Careful of my shoulder,” he warned. “It’s just out of bandages.”</p> + +<p>“Eh? What the deuce has happened to you? Here.”</p> + +<p>Arkwright shoved forward a chair.</p> + +<p>“Sit down and tell us about it. I thought you must have gone West.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve been right here in New York all the time.”</p> + +<p>“You’re looking fine, man. A bit of luck?”</p> + +<p>“In a sense.”</p> + +<p>“Great. I’ve been putting in a lot of time on that house of yours. I’ll +show it to you later. Have you come back to join us again or to say +good-bye?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve come back to go to work,” answered Devons.</p> + +<p>“Well, you certainly look fit. I was rather worried about you when you +were here last. What’s your prescription?”</p> + +<p>Devons grinned.</p> + +<p>“I’m not sure it would suit every one,” he answered. “But what I did +was to go out and get run down by an automobile.”</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“You have to use some judgment in selecting your machine,” explained +Devons. “I picked out a good one.”</p> + +<p>“You’re kidding?”</p> + +<p>“Not a mite. I was knocked unconscious and I <span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</span>was pretty well bruised, +but as a result of it all I never felt better in my life.”</p> + +<p>“Rather heroic treatment!” exclaimed Arkwright. “Did they take you to a +hospital?”</p> + +<p>“They took me to a palace and treated me like a prince,” replied Devons.</p> + +<p>“Now, look here—” protested Arkwright.</p> + +<p>“I’m telling the bald truth,” insisted Devons. “I wish you could have +seen that house, Arkwright. It reminded me something of the one you’re +doing. Miss Fairburne—”</p> + +<p>“Miss?” interrupted Arkwright.</p> + +<p>“She’s the daughter,” explained Devons. He grew self-conscious beneath +Arkwright’s smiling eyes. “What’s queer about that?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” Arkwright hastened to assure him. “In fact it makes the +whole story more plausible. She is—er—attractive?”</p> + +<p>“She’s wonderful, Arkwright!” declared Devons. “She’s one in ten +thousand. I want you to meet her some day.”</p> + +<p>“Thanks. I’d like to. Bring her in and let her see my blue-prints.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll do that—if things turn out right,” Devons promised.</p> + +<p>He rose abruptly. It reminded him of the thousand and one details that +lay ahead of him.</p> + +<p>“I have my work cut out for the next few months,” he observed. “I’ll +see you later.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</span></p> + +<p>Arkwright went to the door with him. He liked the spark in the man’s +eyes; he liked the way he held his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Gad!” he exclaimed. “You tempt a fellow to try the same sort of +bracer.”</p> + +<p>Devons went on up to his room with the springy step of a boy of +eighteen and unlocked his door. He hesitated, however, before going in. +It was like returning to the past, and for a second he had an uncanny +fear that once within he might be held here by this past. Arkwright +had not more than half believed, and Arkwright knew only a fraction +of the truth. Here was the same narrow, bare hallway he had left some +six weeks before, and once inside he would be facing even more barren +surroundings. What if then the whole episode should turn out to be +nothing but a flighty dream? It had happened before when he had come +back here.</p> + +<p>Devons drew back and fumbled for his inside pocket. The proof of the +truth, if there were any truth, would be found there. He pulled out two +or three letters—an old letter from home and the letter from Reed and +the letter from Sawyer. That was all he found. The color went from his +face. With trembling fingers he felt in his waistcoat pockets. In the +first two he found nothing; in the third he discovered a folded bit of +paper. He breathed normally again. Unfolding it he read the <span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</span>mysterious +message addressed to a certain national bank.</p> + +<p>“Pay to the order of Mark Devons one hundred dollars and no cents.” It +was signed, “Joan Fairburne.” She had started an account for the firm +before he left and insisted upon advancing him that much for current +expenses.</p> + +<p>He opened the door without fear now and stepped into the little room. +On the table lay his corn-cob pipe where he had left it; on the couch +bed were scattered his books, one open at the very page where he +had quit reading. Except for a couple of wooden chairs and his old +dress-suit-case, that was all the room contained. He crossed to the +single window and threw it open and let in the stinging clear winter +air.</p> + +<p>In contrast to the luxuries he had just left, the place, even with the +slip of green paper in his hand, depressed him. For a moment he caught +his breath and shrank back from it. Then he smiled. After all, if he +would only let it, this would give edge to all that lay ahead. Because +of what was to be he could show her what had been with the greater +relish. It was in that spirit men revisited the early scenes of their +boyhood hardships.</p> + +<p>Besides, he had no time to waste on this or any other kind of dreaming. +That was the difference between to-day and yesterday. That was the +significance of the check. He was in a position now to <span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</span>act. He had +before him certain definite things to do. In the first place, he must +find some sort of loft-room which would serve him as a laboratory. +Then he must secure a permit to use the type of chemicals that were +necessary. Then there were the chemicals to buy and certain apparatus. +He had planned these details many times in his mind and now he was to +accomplish them.</p> + +<p>His scheme was simple. It was to begin manufacturing by himself as +soon as he could equip his laboratory, and then, as fast as he had +stock enough on hand, take it personally to the small users in town and +supply enough to enable them to give it a thorough trial. The small +manufacturer would be willing to experiment with anything that promised +a twenty per cent reduction in price, besides better results. He had +several letters from professors at Tech under whom he had worked which +would introduce him anywhere and vouch for his reliability. So there +remained nothing to do but to go ahead.</p> + +<p>Devons returned to Arkwright.</p> + +<p>“Have you an account with any bank near here?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>“Such as it is,” admitted Arkwright. “How much do you want?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to borrow,” Devons answered quickly; “I want to open a +little account of my own. I thought you might introduce me.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</span></p> + +<p>“Glad to do it,” nodded Arkwright with a trace of relief. “I’ll go up +there now. But say—that doesn’t come of getting run over?”</p> + +<p>“Indirectly,” admitted Devons. “Through Miss Fairburne I found a +partner willing to furnish me with capital.”</p> + +<p>“Believe me,” returned Arkwright, “you’ve certainly discovered a fresh +and original way of getting on in New York. Here’s hoping your luck +lasts.”</p> + +<p>The experience of being introduced to a real live cashier behind a +grilled fence was, in itself, thrilling enough. With a brand-new +check-book of his own in his pocket, Devons came out feeling as +important as though instead of one hundred dollars he had deposited one +hundred thousand. There was nothing about the blank leaves to indicate +it was not the latter sum. A check-book is the most indiscreet thing in +the world. It always politely assumes its possessor is a millionaire.</p> + +<p>Devons left Arkwright at the imposing structure which was now his bank +and went on to a real-estate office he had privately visited before on +one of those idle days when he was waiting to hear from Reed. He had +spoken then in rather larger figures than he used now. He wanted, to +start with, a small space, but one that offered room for expansion. +And he found it there waiting for him as though his coming had been +anticipated.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</span></p> + +<p>At the very top of a building, off Third Avenue, Dr. Dent had begun the +manufacture of a Universal Remedy on a scale which, though justified on +paper, did not work out in practice. There being some hundred million +inhabitants in these, the United States of America, the company had +estimated that at least a thousand bottles a day would be necessary to +supply the annual demand. This was allowing about one bottle to every +three hundred people. As a matter of fact, however, the demand was +considerably less and so a policy of retrenchment became necessary. +The firm having rented the entire floor was now ardently desirous of +sub-letting a portion of its space with a fair possibility of becoming +equally desirous, within six months, of sub-letting more unless the +American public suddenly turned more appreciative than it now showed +promise of doing.</p> + +<p>Devons accompanied the agent up there at once and found it exactly what +he wanted. And the price was right! Under the circumstances it had to +be. In less than an hour he had signed a lease for a year and arranged +for certain partitions to be erected and for an inscription upon the +door to read:</p> + +<p class="flat center"> +<b>DEVONS MANUFACTURING COMPANY</b> +</p> + +<p>All this was accomplished on the first day.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII"> + CHAPTER XVII + <br> + <span>UPTOWN AND DOWNTOWN</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">From</span> a purely business point of view the letters Joan received from +Devons, during the next few weeks, were wholly satisfactory. No +promoter could have asked in a new enterprise for better progress upon +which to base reports to his clients. The very next morning after he +left she received the following note:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p class="flat"><span class="smcap">My dear Miss Fairburne</span>:</p> + +<p>I opened yesterday an account with the —— National Bank and would +suggest that you make a deposit there at once of fifteen hundred +dollars, so that I may draw on it for payment of lease and for +chemicals which I must purchase at once. I have secured most +desirable manufacturing quarters at 43 Blank Street and have ordered +certain necessary changes to be made there as soon as possible. I +hope, within a very short time, to be able to report to you that +active manufacturing on a small scale has begun.</p> + +<p class="flat right"> + <span class="tab_right">Very sincerely yours</span><br> + <span class="smcap">Mark Devons</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p>Certainly a business woman had no right to quarrel with such progress +as this. She had supposed <span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</span>that it would take Devons a fortnight, at +least, to recuperate sufficiently to be able even to consider plans for +the future. It would seem, then, that instead of being more or less +vexed after reading the note which Henriette handed her, with coffee +and toast, before she was dressed, she should have been highly elated. +It began to look as though at this rate the firm, within six months, +would be paying dividends.</p> + +<p>Joan ran through the note again. She had never before in her life +had anything so impersonal addressed to her. Had it been printed it +could not have sounded any more frigidly distant. He had deliberately +put in all the details about which she cared nothing and with equal +deliberation left out all that would have been interesting. What she +wanted to know was how he had stood the ride and if his shoulder felt +as stiff as it did on Sunday after the bandages were removed. He had +told her about Arkwright and she wanted to hear what Arkwright had +said to him when he came back and what he had said to Arkwright. And +she wanted to know if he had found everything in his room all right. +Particularly if he found his books about which he had worried. And if +there was a letter from home waiting for him. Unconsciously and bit +by bit he had made his life in Mullen Court extremely vivid to her +in their rambling conversations. It sounded like an impossible place +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</span>to live in, but interesting. He had left off, inevitably enough, +in his narrative of his life there at the point where he had joined +Arkwright in a cup of coffee and gone out to see Sawyer. She had looked +forward to a description of his home-coming as to a new installment +of a serial. And he had not said a word about it. He had cut her off +abruptly from everything but the sordid details of the business itself. +It was as though in going back into the world he had left her behind.</p> + +<p>She sent her check to the bank that morning and waited for the second +letter. It was possible, after all, that in the press of business he +had not found time to write more fully. She waited three days and +received the following:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p class="flat"><span class="smcap">My dear Miss Fairburne</span>:</p> + +<p>Thanks for the deposit. I have been extremely fortunate in being able +to secure, without waiting, my raw materials and machinery. I expect +to have the latter delivered within ten days. I enclose an inventory +of what I have contracted for.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Then followed a page of weird-sounding chemicals and parts of machinery +with all the costs itemized. Nothing could have been more stupid. It +was as stupid as his close.</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="flat right"> + <span class="tab_right">Very sincerely yours</span><br> + <span class="smcap">Mark Devons</span> +</p> + +</blockquote> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</span></p> + +<p>It was stupid even to Dicky when, in a general way, she tried to give +him an idea of what was being done.</p> + +<p>“We’re getting on,” he nodded indifferently. “It sounds as though we +were making patent medicine.”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t that,” she assured him.</p> + +<p>“Then bombs, perhaps.”</p> + +<p>“Nor bombs.”</p> + +<p>“Well, here’s hoping, whatever it is.”</p> + +<p>That apparently was as much as he cared about his new business. On the +whole it was probably better so.</p> + +<p>Joan was forced to admit, for one thing, that she missed—really +missed—not seeing Devons around the house. That was only natural. For +six weeks he had occupied the front room, which was now closed. And +for the last few weeks he had occupied a great deal of the rest of the +house. Whenever she had come from her own room it was with the prospect +of meeting him, either on the stairs or in the library. And always she +was glad to find him. Always, too, he appeared glad to see her. He gave +piquancy to her everyday life.</p> + +<p>Now she wandered all around the house with nothing to look forward +to. Her parents and the servants were still about, to be sure, but +they involved no expectancy. She met them as unemotionally as her own +reflection in the mirror. So <span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</span>she turned back to Dicky and for a week +made life for him worth living. She went wherever he asked her to +go, picking up her social obligations where she had dropped them, so +unceremoniously, many weeks before.</p> + +<p>Dicky could not understand the change. He did not try. He accepted it +as a miracle and let it go at that. He was coming to be firmly of the +opinion that it was not possible to explain Joan. One took her as she +was from day to day and played in luck or out of luck according as she +smiled or frowned.</p> + +<p>Of course, this called for most of his time that week, but it cannot be +truthfully said that he begrudged it. Neither for that matter did any +one else. For several days he never came near the office at all, but +when, toward the middle of the week, he did drop in one afternoon, his +father’s only comment was:</p> + +<p>“Busy these days?”</p> + +<p>“Very,” answered Dicky.</p> + +<p>“How’s the new business going?”</p> + +<p>“We’re getting on.”</p> + +<p>“Stick to it,” his father encouraged him. “When you start a thing, jump +in with both feet.”</p> + +<p>“You bet.”</p> + +<p>“If you need more money—”</p> + +<p>“Thanks, Dad, I’ll let you know.”</p> + +<p>His father seemed so much in earnest that the next time Dicky met Joan +he felt it his duty to <span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</span>introduce the subject himself with a view +to showing more real interest. So he did, between the numbers of a +concert the next afternoon, to which he accompanied her at some genuine +sacrifice. His personal taste in music did not run to the classics as +interpreted on the violin by long-haired prodigies. Neither did hers, +as far as one could judge by the lack of attention she gave to the +successive numbers.</p> + +<p>“How is everything downtown?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>She appeared at first rather confused by the question, because her +thoughts, at that moment, had been downtown, though not particularly in +the business world.</p> + +<p>“Everything getting on all right?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she answered with a trace of color. “The machinery arrived day +before yesterday. We’re—we’re setting it up.”</p> + +<p>“Good!” he exclaimed, trying his best to show enthusiasm. “Need any +help?”</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid not,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“Afraid?”</p> + +<p>“He won’t let any one help.”</p> + +<p>“He—being our partner?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Dicky.”</p> + +<p>“Sort of an independent chap?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>That was in his favor. On the whole, it was <span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</span>a virtue, Dicky was +convinced, which should be encouraged.</p> + +<p>“Nothing like doing a thing yourself if you want it well done,” he +declared.</p> + +<p>“Only sometimes it’s selfish, isn’t it?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“It’s business,” he insisted.</p> + +<p>Dicky thought a moment.</p> + +<p>“Maybe most every one is selfish,” he went on.</p> + +<p>“Except you,” she smiled.</p> + +<p>That was the end of the conference because the long-haired violinist +began again. When a little later Dicky attempted to pick up the +conversation where it was dropped, he found it difficult.</p> + +<p>But he treasured that little remark of hers, even though he was not +fully convinced it was justified—treasured it because it was the last +thing of the sort he had from her for some time. He took her back to +the house after the concert, expecting to call for her again that +evening for a dance given by the Devereauxs. He had particularly looked +forward to this because it was here the little courtyard was, and if +ever again she ventured out there with him looking as beautiful as she +had been looking lately—</p> + +<p>But there is not much use dealing with “ifs.” Before eight o’clock that +evening he received from her a telephone message at the house which +read simply:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</span></p> + +<p>“Miss Fairburne is very sorry, indeed, but must ask to be excused from +her engagement of this evening.”</p> + +<p>It sounded ominous. When he tried to get her on the ’phone he received +from Jeffrey the curt reply:</p> + +<p>“Miss Fairburne is not in, sir.”</p> + +<p>It was literally true this time. Shortly before eight Joan had been +sitting in her room fully dressed for the evening, looking such a +perfect thing that Henriette, in her pride, had taken the great liberty +of hurrying below to Mrs. Fairburne, who, herself, was on her way out.</p> + +<p>“Madame—you should see. Never has Mam’selle looked more beautiful.”</p> + +<p>So Madame Fairburne mounted the stairs and stepped in, and, in her joy, +kissed her daughter on the forehead.</p> + +<p>“It is charming, my dear,” she said. “Mr. Burnett should be proud.”</p> + +<p>“Of the gown?” she had asked.</p> + +<p>“Only you could wear the gown.”</p> + +<p>Joan shrugged her white shoulders ever so slightly and went downstairs +to the library where she used to wait for Devons. Alone she sat before +the fire. She had heard nothing from him yesterday, nothing to-day, +and she was a bit worried. Considered in connection with machinery +this silence might mean almost anything. To her, <span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</span>machinery signified +a disordered medley of whirling wheels and noises, which, like some +inhuman monster, was ever seeking the limbs and lives of those around +it.</p> + +<p>Of course, in one way it could not be said that she was seriously +disturbed about the remote possibility of his having met with an +accident of this nature, but it served as an excuse for worrying about +him at all. In many ways not to have had some such concrete explanation +of her present frame of mind would have been to admit a fact that might +have turned out still more disturbing.</p> + +<p>Until now she had heard from Devons every day. The communications were +nothing she need be ashamed of. They could have been published in the +daily paper without compromising any one. Still they were always in his +own handwriting and to that extent were personal. It was only natural, +then, that a lapse of forty-eight hours should seem significant. She +rather clung to that word “natural.” When honestly used it may mean +a great deal by the process of elimination. It is only the unnatural +mental phenomena that need give any one cause for concern.</p> + +<p>Then to muse at some length over the possible causes that would lead +one’s business partner suddenly to cut all lines of communication was +perfectly legitimate—perfectly natural. This <span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</span>much being established +she felt free to stare into the flames and day-dream as much as she +liked. She dismissed the accident theory almost as soon as she became +fully at ease. He did not write because he was too busy and because he +refused to associate her with his work except in his idle moments. It +was not a flattering admission, but she was not seeking flattery. She +was trying to see straight and clear. He refused to take her seriously. +He saw her only as Henriette saw her—a dressmaker’s form upon which to +hang clothes. She could scarcely blame him for that. If he had walked +into the room at this moment, he would have had the evidence of his two +eyes. If he had followed her about during this past week, he would have +seen her living true to his conception. If—he had gone no deeper than +externals. If, on the other hand, he had shared her thoughts—she raised +her head quickly at the suggestion as though fearing he might by some +chance appear and demand that privilege.</p> + +<p>At that moment Jeffrey went by to answer a ring at the door. She +sprang to her feet. It was Dicky—earlier than he should have come. She +resented this as an intrusion. She was of half a mind to refuse to see +him for another hour.</p> + +<p>But it turned out not to be Dicky, after all, but a messenger with a +note for her.</p> + +<p>Jeffrey entered with it on a silver tray and she <span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</span>tore open the yellow +envelope. She read with shortened breath:</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="flat right"> + <span class="tab_right"><i>8 Mullen Court</i></span><br> + <i>New York City</i> +</p> + +<p class="flat"><span class="smcap">My dear Miss Fairburne</span>:</p> + +<p>Not having seen Mark Devons for a couple of days, I just went +upstairs to learn what had become of him. He lives above me in the +same house. I found him in bed and, against his wishes, sent for +a doctor. He seemed to be worried because he had not been able to +report to you for a couple of days, so I’m taking a chance and am +doing it for him. I have a notion he may be in bed for some time +if he doesn’t take care, and so thought that perhaps for business +reasons you ought to know just how he is situated.</p> + +<p>If you wish, I could send you a postal now and then, informing you +how he is getting on. In the meanwhile if I can be of any other +service, I trust you will call on me.</p> + +<p class="flat right"> + <span class="tab_right">Very sincerely yours</span><br> + <span class="smcap">Henry Arkwright</span> +</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>Joan summoned Jeffrey.</p> + +<p>“The machine,” she ordered.</p> + +<p>Then she hurried upstairs to Henriette.</p> + +<p>“Get ready to come out with me at once.”</p> + +<p>She picked up the telephone in her room and <span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</span>notified Dicky, slipped +into the wrap Henriette held for her, and went down to the car. To +Charles she gave the order:</p> + +<p>“Eight Mullen Court.”</p> + +<p>The information the latter had lately acquired was becoming useful +sooner than he had expected.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"> + CHAPTER XVIII + <br> + <span>BEEF TEA</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Joan</span> sat back in the machine by the side of Henriette, with a feeling +of tenseness amounting almost to exhilaration. The thing she was +daring thrust, into the background, for a few moments, that for which +she dared. In coming at all she had acted impulsively—had obeyed her +emotions rather than her intellect. There was nothing in Arkwright’s +note to justify the belief that Devons was really in any immediate need +of her. Rather, if the truth were told, she had seized this opportunity +as an excuse for satisfying a certain need in herself. She looked +forward to the possibility of actually making herself of some use as a +hope—a vague and stimulating hope.</p> + +<p>As Charles left Washington Square and cut through to Sixth Avenue, +she leaned forward and, with eyes out of the window, stared at the +unfamiliar streets with all the sensations of a stranger in a foreign +city. She had only to turn a little way to the right or left off any +of the ordained avenues to find herself in a New York as new to her as +Cairo. Had she been put down alone here, it is doubtful if, without +much difficulty, she could have found her way home.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</span></p> + +<p>So they crossed beneath the Elevated to the hole in the wall and +stopped, as Henriette, with some timidity, exclaimed:</p> + +<p>“But, Mam’selle—Charles, he has made a mistake, is it not?”</p> + +<p>“I do not know,” answered Joan.</p> + +<p>Yet Charles appeared confident enough as he opened the door. What lay +on the other side of that wall he did not know, but he could have taken +his oath it was here that, not long ago, he had landed Mr. Devons.</p> + +<p>He pointed to the opening.</p> + +<p>“It’s through there,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” nodded Joan. “You may wait for us.”</p> + +<p>Joan herself led the way to the courtyard and she herself found the +number eight with her heart in her mouth. There was no bell, so she +rapped. Mrs. Roberts, on the first floor, came to the door and directed +her up the narrow stairs to Arkwright’s room, and, a moment later, +she found herself confronting the big fellow, somewhat at a loss to +explain intelligently her presence here, because as yet she had not +explained it intelligently to herself. But the moment she gave her +name, Arkwright seemed to understand.</p> + +<p>“He’ll be glad to see you,” he said quietly.</p> + +<p>“The doctor has been here?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered Arkwright, “and he said—why, <span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</span>he said the man hasn’t +been getting enough to eat.”</p> + +<p>“But why not?” she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“It’s his own fault—his own bull-headedness. If he had only come to me—”</p> + +<p>“There was no need for him to go to any one,” she broke in; “he had +money.”</p> + +<p>“He did?”</p> + +<p>“We—we are interested in the same business, so I know,” she explained.</p> + +<p>Arkwright shook his head.</p> + +<p>“I’ll give up trying to find a motive, then. Perhaps he just forgot +to eat. Anyway, he did not get enough, and then he caught cold, and +then—well, there he is. Want to see him?”</p> + +<p>She hesitated. Then she answered steadily:</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>So with Henriette by her side she followed Arkwright up another flight +and into the little room lighted with a single gas-jet. She had never +seen anything like it in her life outside a few dimly remembered scenes +on the stage. Even now as she stood there she felt as though in some +mad moment she had wandered over the footlights. Then the figure on the +bed lifted himself to his elbow and she saw the haggard face and the +two burning eyes, which she recognized as Devons’s eyes. Quickly she +crossed to the man’s side and held out her hand.</p> + +<p>“You?” he gasped.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</span></p> + +<p>“You should have told me,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“Told you what?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>Arkwright stepped forward a moment.</p> + +<p>“It’s all my fault,” he explained. “I sent her a note.”</p> + +<p>Devons frowned, and then sank back wearily.</p> + +<p>“You shouldn’t have done that, Arkwright,” he complained.</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes. It was all he could do,” put in Joan. “And it’s what you +should have done. I don’t understand why—you are like this.”</p> + +<p>“It’s only a cold. I’ll be up to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>Devons was glaring at Arkwright again. The latter retreated out of +range.</p> + +<p>“If you didn’t have enough money—”</p> + +<p>“I had money enough,” he cut in.</p> + +<p>“Then why didn’t you buy proper food?”</p> + +<p>“You don’t think I’d waste the firm’s money on myself?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that was it!” she exclaimed, with a catch in her voice.</p> + +<p>“If Arkwright—”</p> + +<p>“Don’t blame him. There isn’t much use in blaming any one now. You must +get back your strength again. We—we must begin all over.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll be up to-morrow, I tell you. Why, that machinery is waiting for +me.”</p> + +<p>“Yes? Have you been obeying the doctor’s orders since he left?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</span></p> + +<p>“You aren’t Nurse Ware,” he objected.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to be even more strict.”</p> + +<p>She turned back to Arkwright.</p> + +<p>“What instructions did the doctor leave?”</p> + +<p>Arkwright glanced at his watch guiltily.</p> + +<p>“Jove, it <i>is</i> time for his beef tea. I’ll go down and make it.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll make it—please.”</p> + +<p>“All you have to do is to boil some water and add a cube. I—”</p> + +<p>“Please show me the range and find the cubes,” she ordered.</p> + +<p>The range consisted of an alcohol stove and a tin dipper. Arkwright +lighted the wick for her and filled the dipper with water, and placed +the cubes convenient to her hand. Then it suddenly occurred to him that +he was no longer needed and he retreated somewhat awkwardly to the +door. He saw her slip off her wrap as she sat down before her work. The +sight of her slim neck and white arms took away his breath; then he met +her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Thank you so much,” she murmured, as though politely excusing him.</p> + +<p>“Only—only too happy,” he stammered.</p> + +<p>Devons in the meanwhile was closing his eyes for a moment, then opening +them again, then closing them again, because it was only so that he +could bring himself to believe that she was really here. If he looked +at her steadily for any length of <span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</span>time she grew hazy and he felt +there was danger of her disappearing altogether. Henriette, in the +rear, served in a way as a sort of anchor, but in the shadow he could +scarcely make her out. But Joan was beneath the gas-jet so that if he +did not look overlong he was sure of her.</p> + +<p>Her back was toward him and he was rather glad of that. Had she faced +him he would not have dared open his eyes at all. For she seemed to him +now even more radiantly beautiful then ever before, and before there +was nothing whatever beautiful enough with which to compare her. So +that though he continued to try to blame Arkwright for his colossal +nerve in being the direct means of getting her down here, it was a +difficult thing to do consistently, because he was so glad to have her +there.</p> + +<p>And yet she did not belong here. In the midst of his joy he told +himself that over and over again. The moment he removed his eyes from +her and looked about at her surroundings she made him feel ashamed. +Every sordid detail grew more sordid. The stark paper on the walls and +the wooden chairs taunted him. They forced him into a contrast with the +clean, good taste of what she had offered him in her home. His battered +old dress-suit-case in the corner thrust itself forward as though +trying to humiliate him. And remembering the dainty china upon which +his meals at her <span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</span>home had been served, he frowned at the tin dipper, +before which she sat watching, like a chemist, for some delicate +reaction.</p> + +<p>Then he saw her rise and remove the dipper of steaming water and put in +the cube and look about for a spoon.</p> + +<p>“You’ll have to use a pencil,” he said.</p> + +<p>She objected to so unprofessional a method, but if he had no spoon +there was nothing else to be done. To-morrow she would come prepared. +She stirred it carefully and brought it to his side. He rose on his +elbow and drank it—as bitter and unpalatable a beverage as a man could +well swallow. She had forgotten to add salt, for one thing. It tasted +of tin, for another. It was too hot, for a third. But had it been +hemlock and she had offered it, he would not have hesitated.</p> + +<p>“Now,” she said, “you ought to sleep.”</p> + +<p>“With you here!”</p> + +<p>“Then I’ll go.”</p> + +<p>“Not yet,” he pleaded. “Do you mind just—sitting there?”</p> + +<p>She brought the chair to his side and sat down.</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to scold you now,” she began, “but don’t you see how +foolish you’ve been?”</p> + +<p>“There was so much to be done, all at once,” he explained.</p> + +<p>“And you tried to do it all by yourself.”</p> + +<p>“There was no one else.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</span></p> + +<p>“There was I. Why, I—I’ve been doing nothing all this while.”</p> + +<p>“You did your share when you made everything possible.”</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>“I can’t claim credit even for that. But please don’t talk. Please—just +listen.”</p> + +<p>So while he lay there flat on his back cursing to himself the weakness +that made it necessary, she told him of her preposterous plan. He would +need some one in the office as a sort of bookkeeper, and though she did +not know very much about bookkeeping she could learn and perhaps could +help in other ways.</p> + +<p>“For one thing, it seems to be necessary for some one to make sure that +you take care of yourself.”</p> + +<p>“If it hadn’t been for this cold—” he started to explain.</p> + +<p>“If you had eaten properly you wouldn’t have caught cold,” she cut him +off. “There is not the slightest use in the world to argue about it.”</p> + +<p>He was at a distinct disadvantage. In the first place, it is difficult +to hold your own in an argument when lying prone even if you have all +the right on your side. Again, though he was trying his level best +to appear normal there was between his eyes a pain so sharp that at +moments it made him blind. Finally, it seemed inevitable that, once she +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</span>made up her mind, she should have her way in whatever she desired. +If one were to direct her at all it must be in some earlier stage. +He tried to go back a little to find where he was at fault, but that +involved too much effort.</p> + +<p>Besides, the one big, white fact, that made every other fact appear +petty, was that now, at this moment, she was here. Yesterday, last +night, and all to-day, until Arkwright had come up, he had lain here +alone fretting over lost time in a fashion that threatened to double +and treble the toll of wasted hours. And he had thought if only he +could see her for a second—just catch a glimpse of her passing on the +street—that all the strength would come back into him.</p> + +<p>“I think I had better read to you,” she decided. “Perhaps it will help +you not to think.”</p> + +<p>The only thing she could find was a textbook on chemistry, so she +picked up that and began at page one. It was not very interesting, but +that was so much the better. She plunged ahead in a low monotone, and +mispronounced frightfully many of the words she met. But she kept on, +conscious that his eyes were upon her. She kept on and on paying no +attention to the meaning of the text—kept on and on, until she heard +him breathing slowly and naturally. As soon as his eyes closed, she +stopped and waited a moment, ready to begin again if they opened.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</span></p> + +<p>Then she rose and moved on tiptoe to the table. She took the pencil and +scribbled a note upon a piece of blank paper she found. It read simply:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>I shall be here at ten to-morrow.</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Joan Fairburne</span></p> +</blockquote> + +<p>She slipped this into the book and placed it on the chair near the bed. +Then moving toward the door she beckoned Henriette to follow.</p> + +<p>At Arkwright’s suite below, she paused and knocked again.</p> + +<p>“I must leave him with you now,” she announced as he appeared. “But +I shall be here in the morning. He is to have his beef tea every two +hours.”</p> + +<p>He nodded and escorted her to the machine. He watched it scoot away +beneath the Elevated toward Washington Square.</p> + +<p>“Good Lord!” he gasped, “if I thought anything like that would run over +me I’d take a chance.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX"> + CHAPTER XIX + <br> + <span>PRINCESSES</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Devons</span> awoke at odd times during the night, and every time he did so +Arkwright got up from the chair where he was sleeping, lighted the +alcohol lamp and brewed a tin dipper of beef tea. Devons protested, but +Arkwright only answered, stubbornly:</p> + +<p>“That’s all right, old man. Only drink it. I was ordered to see that +you had this, so the least said the better.”</p> + +<p>Even after Devons consented to swallow the stuff, Arkwright refused to +talk, but sank back in his chair, stretched his long legs out in front +of him, and went to sleep.</p> + +<p>After this had occurred twice, Devons refused to let Arkwright know +when he woke up, but lay quietly staring into the dark at the chair, +where he could have sworn she had been sitting, in the early evening. +He found this such a pleasant thing to do that always he went to +sleep again. The last time he awoke it was seven and broad daylight. +Arkwright, too, was awake and saw him when he opened his eyes. So once +again he rose and made for the alcohol lamp.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</span></p> + +<p>“If you give me another dipper of that—” began Devons.</p> + +<p>“It’s her orders.”</p> + +<p>“Whose orders?”</p> + +<p>“Miss Fairburne’s,” answered Arkwright as he lighted the lamp.</p> + +<p>Devons rose to his elbow.</p> + +<p>“Then she <i>was</i> here!”</p> + +<p>“Of course, she was, man! Have you been as bad as that?”</p> + +<p>“No, only—look here, Arkwright, if you’ll cut out that stuff I’ll eat +an egg.”</p> + +<p>Arkwright hesitated.</p> + +<p>“I’ll eat two eggs,” Devons promised.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> + +<p>“She won’t care. I know she won’t. I’m feeling great this morning.”</p> + +<p>His eye caught the note in the book. He reached for it and read it. +Then he threw back the covers and started out of bed.</p> + +<p>“What you going to do?” demanded Arkwright.</p> + +<p>“She’s coming back!” exclaimed Devons. “She’ll be here at ten.”</p> + +<p>“What of it?”</p> + +<p>“She mustn’t, that’s all. I—I can’t let her see this place in the +daylight.”</p> + +<p>Arkwright glanced about.</p> + +<p>“Does look kind of rowdy, now that you speak of it,” he admitted.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</span></p> + +<p>“So I must get shaved and dressed and—and meet her downstairs. I’ll +take her to the office—anywhere but here.”</p> + +<p>“Steady,” warned Arkwright; “I’m not so sure she would like that. If we +dressed the place up a little—”</p> + +<p>“It can’t be done,” groaned Devons. “I’ve got to get out before she +comes, I tell you.”</p> + +<p>“Just a minute, old man. I could wash the windows, for one thing. I +have a rug or two and some pictures, and in my trunk some things in +the way of table-covers my good aunt sent me. If you’ll just sit tight +I have a hunch quite a bit could be done in three hours. When a lady +makes an appointment at a certain place, you have to keep it, that’s +all.”</p> + +<p>“I can telephone.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think I would,” replied Arkwright thoughtfully. “I’d shave and +eat my two eggs and keep cool, and watch what your Uncle Dudley can +accomplish.”</p> + +<p>When Devons came to stand up he discovered that after all he had +no other choice. His legs were decidedly weak. By the time he had +shaved and dressed and swallowed the eggs, he was quite helpless. But +Arkwright took off his coat and went at his undertaking like a man. At +the end of an hour he had the place as clean as soap and water could +make it, and in another half-hour had stripped his <span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</span>own room of about +everything in the way of rugs and pictures and brought them up here. He +even included his best chair and an ottoman covering for the bed. Then +he stood back and surveyed his handiwork.</p> + +<p>“Eh?” he asked with considerable satisfaction.</p> + +<p>For the twentieth time Devons exclaimed:</p> + +<p>“It’s darned good of you!”</p> + +<p>“Not a mite of it,” answered Arkwright. “If fairy princesses +<i>will</i> call on careless bachelors, the only decent way is to make +things as respectable as possible. And then,” he concluded, glancing at +his watch, “the next proper thing is to get out.”</p> + +<p>“Look here,” protested Devons, “there’s no need of that.”</p> + +<p>“Anyway, I want to smoke.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t you smoke here?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not,” declared Arkwright. “You have to make your sacrifices +for princesses. Good luck.”</p> + +<p>With that he went out and left Devons alone, whereupon the latter +immediately began to believe that she would not come, anyway. He +took that stand, not because it was what he wished to believe, but, +perversely, because it was very much what he did <i>not</i> wish to +believe. He sat in a chair with his eyes fixed on the door and felt his +heart jump like a startled rabbit at every sound he heard below. It was +disconcerting how much he wished her to come. It took him back to those +few <span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</span>moments before the open fire when he had been forced to run in +order not to speak the words that surged up hotly clamoring for speech. +He had been glad ever since that he had remained dumb. But he knew that +never again would it be as easy as it was then, though then it had +not been easy. He knew that every time he saw her it was going to be +harder. This is why he had kept away these last two weeks and confined +himself merely to business notes. He must keep in mind always the fact +that this was with her purely a business proposition. She and that +other, whoever he might be, were his silent partners, that was all. So +they must remain until he had won his success and repaid his debt and +stood free and clear with a bank account of his own big enough to be +worthy of her. When he was ready to take her to Arkwright and show her +those blue-prints—then, and not until then, would he have any right to +speak.</p> + +<p>“You have to make your sacrifices for princesses,” Arkwright had said +jokingly.</p> + +<p>But that was true in a larger way than Arkwright had meant.</p> + +<p>At five minutes of ten Devons heard steps coming up the stairs. He +sprang to his feet and tried to stand steady. The steps paused at the +landing below and then came on again. They came on to his very door. +Then it seemed an eternity before he heard the rap of a gloved hand.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</span></p> + +<p>With his heart in his mouth he crossed the room.</p> + +<p>It was she, Joan, and behind her Henriette, and behind Henriette, +Charles with a large wicker basket.</p> + +<p>“You may put that down here,” she said to Charles, “and wait outside.”</p> + +<p>Then she turned and saw Devons where she had expected to see Arkwright.</p> + +<p>“Why are you up?” she demanded ominously.</p> + +<p>“Because—because I am feeling so much better,” he stammered.</p> + +<p>“That is the beef tea,” she decided.</p> + +<p>“It is in spite of the beef tea,” he replied. “Please to come in.”</p> + +<p>She turned to help Henriette with the basket, and he instinctively made +his way past her to take the burden himself. And he could not lift the +thing. Actually he could not. He was obliged to stand by and see the +two women stagger into the room with it. Humiliated, he was forced to +watch his princess do the thing he should have been strong enough to +do. It gave him further proof, if any were needed, that he must keep +his lips tight closed.</p> + +<p>He heard her exclamation of surprise as she passed over the threshold.</p> + +<p>“What have you been doing here?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Nothing much,” he tried to answer carelessly; “Arkwright has been +fixing up a little.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</span></p> + +<p>“But it isn’t the same room!” she exclaimed, as though in +disappointment. “It isn’t your room!”</p> + +<p>“It doesn’t always look as badly as it did last night.”</p> + +<p>“I liked it as it was,” she insisted. “Except you <i>should</i> have a +spoon, of course.”</p> + +<p>Now it was Arkwright’s room—anybody’s room. Half the dramatic contrast +was gone. Even Devons himself, now that he was shaved and up, no longer +made the urgent claim upon her sympathy that had so roused her as he +lay prone and unkempt in his bed. Not that she analyzed her emotions to +this extent, but she was aware of a certain disappointment. It was as +though she were no longer needed quite as much as she had been needed +last night.</p> + +<p>But that feeling passed when she saw the man totter a trifle as he +tried to keep his feet. She took his arm and led him to a chair.</p> + +<p>“I had Henriette pack a basket with some things I thought you might +need,” she explained. “You might take them out, Henriette.”</p> + +<p>Henriette brought forth from that basket a linen tablecloth with an +embroidered “F” in one corner; a collection of china with which Devons +was familiar; a monogrammed silver knife, fork, and spoon; a crystal +drinking-glass; several aluminum cooking-dishes which he was sure +the Fairburne <span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</span>chef would have to account for some day; and then a +cold chicken, some dainty biscuits, a box of fresh eggs, and several +different kinds of jellies and jams, and finally a bottle of milk.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t know whether you could get fresh milk here or not,” she +explained. “Dad has this sent in every day from the country.”</p> + +<p>“But why,” he exclaimed, “should you do this?”</p> + +<p>He saw her cheeks color.</p> + +<p>“Why shouldn’t I?” she challenged.</p> + +<p>“It has put you to so much trouble.”</p> + +<p>“It hasn’t done even that!” she exclaimed. “But if it had?”</p> + +<p>Then she should not have undertaken it, is what he had meant, but he +did not say it. Instead he said:</p> + +<p>“If Charles is still about he might take us down to the factory. The +machinery ought to be unpacked to-day.”</p> + +<p>“Are you strong enough to go?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” he answered steadily. “It’s only a matter of directing +the men. I arranged for two of them to come to-day. They are probably +waiting for me.”</p> + +<p>She hesitated. But he rose and reached for his hat.</p> + +<p>“I must go,” he said earnestly. “It will save a whole day. We—we could +come back here for lunch.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</span></p> + +<p>“I told mother I should need Charles until evening.”</p> + +<p>“Then come on,” he insisted, with something of his old-time spirit.</p> + +<p>If she had been thinking of him alone, it would have been against her +best judgment to permit this, but she was thinking also a little bit of +herself. To spend part of the day with him there would be a beginning. +At the moment his thoughts were less upon her than the business in +hand, so that he would be scarcely conscious of whether she was about +or not.</p> + +<p>So with a nod to Henriette to follow she went down the stairs with +him and to the machine. Five minutes later they were in the elevator +leading to the twelfth story and soon were standing before the +door to which he pointed proudly. She read the inscription “Devons +Manufacturing Company” with a glow of enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>“It sounds very important,” she smiled.</p> + +<p>But it looked decidedly more like a real business from the outside than +it did on the inside. Here she found herself in a large room containing +nothing but several large packing-cases and odds and ends of smaller +bundles. These, like the door, were all marked impressively, “Devons +Manufacturing Company.”</p> + +<p>The sight of them seemed to inspire Devons. They brought back the color +to his cheeks and <span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</span>strength to his legs. He offered her a seat upon +one of the smaller cases and stepped into the next office to telephone +to his men. When he came back he took a jack-knife from his pocket and +began to cut the strings on the bundles. Instantly she jumped up.</p> + +<p>“Please sit down and let me undo them,” she requested.</p> + +<p>“You may help,” he condescended, “but be careful of the ones marked +‘glass’.”</p> + +<p>Soon from the chaos of excelsior and brown paper, measuring-glasses +began to appear and large bottles containing mysterious liquids. Then, +when the men appeared, they attacked the big cases. Even Henriette +caught something of the enthusiasm and began to pick up the loose +papers and smooth them out and fold them.</p> + +<p>But the fact Joan noticed was that within half an hour—as soon as +the big mixing-kettles began to emerge—Devons forgot she was there. +There was not much then left for her to do. She stood around rather +helplessly, spending most of her time trying to keep from underfoot. +Often he stood by her side as he gave his orders, but if she ventured +to speak to him then he only answered vaguely, “Eh?”</p> + +<p>He was Devons of the Devons Manufacturing Company and none else. He +might almost have been stenciled like the boxes with that label. She +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</span>had planned not to allow him to do too much, but she found herself +powerless. He neither heard her nor saw her.</p> + +<p>So he worked for two hours, and so he might have gone on working until +night if left to himself. It was clear enough to her now why at the end +of ten days he had been forced to his bed. With a smile of satisfaction +it was clear enough to her now in just what way she might be useful.</p> + +<p>At twelve o’clock the men had stopped for lunch, but impatiently he had +urged them on.</p> + +<p>“I’ll pay you double to put this through,” he promised.</p> + +<p>At a little after one, one of the three big kettles was in place and +the men moved toward the second. It was then that Joan stepped forward +to Devons and insisted upon being heard.</p> + +<p>“Come,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Eh?”</p> + +<p>She put her hand upon his arm.</p> + +<p>“Come. We must go back to lunch now.”</p> + +<p>“You and Henriette run along,” he said; “I’ll have something sent up.”</p> + +<p>“No, you must come too.”</p> + +<p>“But I can’t!” he broke out nervously. “If I get this done to-day I can +begin work to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>“If you keep on like this you won’t begin work for a month.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</span></p> + +<p>“You don’t understand.”</p> + +<p>“I do understand. Come.”</p> + +<p>“I—”</p> + +<p>“Come.”</p> + +<p>She found his hat for him and placed it on his head, while he went on +giving instructions to cover the time he would be away. He glanced at +his watch.</p> + +<p>“I’ll be back in half an hour,” he told the men.</p> + +<p>“I doubt if that is quite accurate,” she contradicted.</p> + +<p>“But, Joan—” he began.</p> + +<p>He had used the name often enough to himself, but as it slipped from +his lips so unconsciously the sound of it checked him. He met her eyes. +She was smiling.</p> + +<p>“Yes?” she answered.</p> + +<p>“There is so much still to be done,” he finished.</p> + +<p>“I know, but there is to-morrow and after that another to-morrow and +after that—”</p> + +<p>His lips tightened.</p> + +<p>“It’s those to-morrows I want to do away with,” he replied. “I want to +get into the now.”</p> + +<p>“Come,” she repeated.</p> + +<p>Reluctantly he followed her into the elevator and to the machine and +let himself be whisked back to his room—back there in the middle of the +day. It was absurd. Yet the moment he was there <span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</span>he realized it was +well. He sank into a chair quite done up.</p> + +<p>Arkwright came up and offered his apartment to the ladies as a +dressing-room, and as soon as they went out turned to Devons.</p> + +<p>“You been at it again so soon?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“Got a bully start,” nodded Devons. “Machinery all unpacked and some of +it set up.”</p> + +<p>“You’d better go slow.” Arkwright shrugged his shoulders. Then his eyes +caught the array upon the table.</p> + +<p>“Some style,” he observed.</p> + +<p>“She did it,” nodded Devons. “It’s an improvement on your darned old +beef cubes.”</p> + +<p>“Right! The doctor came, by the way, while you were gone. He allowed +you were crazy.”</p> + +<p>“Thank God, I was out. Tell him I’ll see him a month from now. Stay to +lunch with us?”</p> + +<p>“Thanks,” answered Arkwright thoughtfully. “I don’t think I will.”</p> + +<p>But he remained a few moments just to watch Joan as she helped to set +the table. Had it been possible for him to make himself invisible he +would have liked to stay longer, but as he weighed two hundred pounds +there seemed to be no practicable way for him to accomplish this, so he +backed out.</p> + +<p>He should have remained and seen how deftly Henriette mastered the same +problem. To be sure, <span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</span>she had some advantage in the matter of size, but +this was partly offset by the fact that she served as waitress, though +there was not very much for her to do, except to make a cup of tea for +her mistress. Everything was so compact and convenient here that really +it would have been possible to do away with servants altogether.</p> + +<p>It was no time before Devons forgot she was in the room. Only Joan was +here—opposite him. It might be said with equal truth that in no time +he forgot there was any one else in the world but Joan. Yet there were +quite a number of other persons in the world. In this city alone there +were some four million. One had only to refer to any book of statistics.</p> + +<p>He was aware of her eyes and her smile and the dainty curves of her +fingers as she lifted the teacup to her lips, and looking at these it +was almost as though the to-morrows had really gone and the Now was +here. It was rather a dangerous delusion to labor under. To enjoy it +fully he was forced to watch himself carefully.</p> + +<p>This was difficult because with her the temptation always was to speak +from within as one thought—to talk direct to the center of her big, +clear eyes. But if he had done that, there were moments when he would +have leaned across the table and said to her:</p> + +<p>“I love you.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</span></p> + +<p>He would have said no more. Just that—bluntly.</p> + +<p>But he had no right to say that. It took away his breath every time he +thought of it and left him white about the lips. It was at one of these +moments, after they had finished their lunch and Henriette had cleared +away all the things and they were just sitting on, that she suddenly +rose.</p> + +<p>“You must rest,” she said. “You look tired. I don’t think you had +better go back to the factory to-day.”</p> + +<p>“But—”</p> + +<p>“No,” she insisted firmly; “I will stop there with Henriette on my way +home and tell the men to go for the day. I shall lock the door and take +the key.”</p> + +<p>“Then,” he asked helplessly, “how shall I get in to-morrow?”</p> + +<p>“I will be there at nine and unlock the door for you,” she smiled.</p> + +<p>And before he fully recovered, she went out and left him sitting alone +like a blind man who has had his cane removed.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX"> + CHAPTER XX + <br> + <span>THE FASTER GAME</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Burnett senior</span> sat in his office leaning forward in his chair and +drumming nervously on the desk. Every now and then he glanced at his +watch, then uncertainly toward the hat-rack, and then with an effort +turned to the letters in front of him. But in the end he always found +himself again drumming nervously on his desk.</p> + +<p>It was eleven o’clock and the Stock Exchange had been open for an hour. +Already he had twice rung up the office of Toole & Co. and received the +report that the market was strong and the trading brisk. Apparently it +was going as yesterday Toole had predicted it would. Already several +issues in which he was interested had advanced from a quarter to a +half. Figuring roughly it made a difference of four hundred dollars to +him in that first hour. This was not much compared to the profit he +had taken last week on steel of five thousand, but one never knew what +the next ten minutes might bring forth. That was what made the game +interesting. There was no waiting for monthly statements or semi-annual +balances. There was no sitting around for the maturing of carefully +thought-out plans. It was possible to do <span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</span>a year’s business in a week; +sometimes in a day; sometimes in an hour. Even if a man invested only +in a small way, as he was doing, it added zest to life.</p> + +<p>Until a few weeks ago he had never been inside a broker’s office. +Forsythe had then introduced him to his friend Benton, and it was +through the latter that he had bought steel and through him had sold +it again—clearing up in a month the amount he had loaned Dicky. He +liked the idea. It left Dicky free to lose the money as soon as he +wished. A day or so later Benton had taken him down to the Street one +noon hour and introduced him to Toole. A very agreeable man Toole +was. He was a big fellow, physically, with pleasant manners. They had +lunched together not long after this—rather heartily. Toole had offices +overlooking the street—pleasant offices. Burnett had sat around there +for an hour watching the board and listening to the odds and ends +of gossip that circulated through the little gathering. He had gone +several times since then. In a good many ways he found it a relief from +the routine of his own office. There was an atmosphere of tension there +which was stimulating.</p> + +<p>If, at the beginning, he had felt the slightest bit uncomfortable, like +a man visiting for the first time a race-track, he had partly quieted +his conscience by the thought that after all he was playing with his +own hard-earned money, and that win or <span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</span>lose he was entitled at his +age to a little amusement. With his own business running as smoothly +as it now did under Forsythe, there was every day less and less need +of him in the office. If Dicky were about it might be different. Then +he would have had as his ambition the training of the boy. There were +certain plans for extension—the foreign field, for instance, was almost +untouched—which with Dicky’s help might have acted as a fresh spur to +effort. But if the lad had no taste for such schemes, why, that was the +end of the matter. Projects of that sort were for Youth—Youth with the +long years ahead. He himself, lately, craved a faster game. And in a +sense that desire went back to Dicky too.</p> + +<p>The day the boy had told him of his princess, Burnett had begun an +inventory of his estate. The result had left him thinking. As long as +he looked at it only from his own point of view, it was satisfactory +enough. He had his business which on the basis of its earning power +represented a value of two hundred thousand; he had his house worth +in the neighborhood of seventy-five thousand; and he had a surplus in +various sound securities worth around seventy-five thousand. Besides +this he kept an account of forty or fifty thousand in cash. Considering +the fact that he had started with nothing, this was a good deal to have +accomplished in thirty years. If at twenty-one he could have <span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</span>looked +forward to any such reward he would have felt fully satisfied.</p> + +<p>And yet, as Dicky talked, four hundred thousand seemed little enough. +It was, of course, all a matter of comparison, and Burnett knew that +most of the boy’s friends belonged to families who reckoned their +fortunes in millions. And he was proud that Dicky had been able to make +such friends. He was proud, too, that although his own fortune was so +much less, it had always been sufficient to allow the boy within reason +to hold his own among the others. In college he had always had the +best. Since then there had been enough so that he could still follow +his fancy. If at this point Burnett winced a trifle, it was when he was +alone. He must remember that it was only natural that circumstances +should make a big difference in the point of view. In fact that was +just what was happening to himself.</p> + +<p>Burnett had looked up these Fairburnes, and what he learned made +his own little fortune sink to insignificance. And it helped him to +understand what Dicky meant when he said, “I don’t know what you can +get her that she hasn’t already.” Burnett had four hundred thousand to +hand over to his son, and Fairburne could match every fifty thousand +with a million for his daughter.</p> + +<p>Even Toole, so he understood, could match him two for one and had made +this on the Street within <span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</span>ten years. And Toole told him of others. +At odd times and quite incidentally the talk had run to fortunes made +quickly. It was always an interesting topic and Toole had a fund of +such stories.</p> + +<p>“Why, I had an office boy,” he said one day, as he offered Burnett a +cigar, “a little chap by the name of Windsor. The rascal saved some +five hundred dollars from his wages and began to trade on margins. He +got a tip somehow on R and M, bought, and began to pyramid. He cleaned +up ten thousand on that deal and jumped into a curb oil stock. The +stuff advanced from five to forty in two months, and he came out of +that with a profit of seventy thousand. He quit me then, but I’m told +that to-day he is worth three million.”</p> + +<p>Three million in five years! And he, Burnett, had sweat blood to roll +up a paltry four hundred thousand in thirty years! It was merely a +matter of comparison.</p> + +<p>Yet Burnett did not lose his head altogether. That thirty years of +business experience counted for something. Once back in his office +again he was able to smile at many of those stories. But as a result of +them he worked out this scheme: he would take that fifty thousand and +fool with it—merely fool with it. If he lost, well and good. At least +he would have had some entertainment. He would pay for that and quit. +Certainly that amount would not break him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</span></p> + +<p>On the other hand, if he won! Here was where he let his imagination +loose. Windsor, a mere office boy, had made three million out of five +hundred. It was elementary arithmetic to figure what the youngster +might have done had he started with one hundred times that capital. +Discounting the story fifty per cent and admitting that such a case +was one in a thousand, a man was still left an ample margin for +day-dreaming.</p> + +<p>Supposing that when it came time for Dicky to marry the girl, Fairburne +should send for him and somewhat scornfully demand what prospects +he had to justify such a course. There was not much doubt but that +Fairburne would take the precaution to look up the Burnett rating in +Dun and Bradstreet, just as Burnett had looked up the Fairburne rating. +He would find him in the quarter-million class. Dicky probably would +be considerably disconcerted and doubtless indignant as well. He might +even consider the question beside the point, though he himself had +admitted that she deserved a fortune. At any rate, the boy would have +to come back for information, because he did not know any more about +the family finances than a stranger. He had never asked. He had never +shown the slightest interest.</p> + +<p>So some day he would stroll into the office and repeat the question. He +might quote Fairburne in some such statement as—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</span></p> + +<p>“What is a paltry quarter-million for a Fairburne?”</p> + +<p>Then Burnett senior would smile. He would reach to one of the +cubby-holes in his desk and take out his account-book with Toole & Co. +He would hand it to Dicky. It might show one million, or two million, +or three million. It depended a good deal on his mood how much he made +it. At any rate, it was always enough to satisfy Fairburne.</p> + +<p>“Go back and tell Fairburne that Dun and Bradstreet don’t always know +everything,” he might say.</p> + +<p>And Dicky would get up and slap him on the shoulder, with his face +alight. Possibly he might in some good-natured way rebuke him.</p> + +<p>“You deserved to lose for taking any such fool chance. But it’s one on +Fairburne.”</p> + +<p>But the boy’s face would be alight. That was all the reward he wanted.</p> + +<p>Burnett senior stopped drumming on his desk and pressed a button, +summoning Forsythe. The latter responded instantly. He was as alert as +electricity. He came in with a pencil behind his ear and his hand full +of papers.</p> + +<p>“I’m going out for a little while, Forsythe,” explained Burnett, +without looking at the man.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Anything you want to see me about?”</p> + +<p>“No, Mr. Burnett.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</span></p> + +<p>“I don’t know when I’ll get back, but if you want me, telephone Toole & +Co. I may drop in there a little while.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” answered Forsythe.</p> + +<p>“And if my son comes in—just say I’ll be back soon. You—er—you needn’t +say where I am.”</p> + +<p>“No, sir,” he answered. “But I’ll call you up if he seems too curious.”</p> + +<p>“Right, Forsythe.”</p> + +<p>Burnett waited until Forsythe left before he put on his hat and coat. +Then when he did go out, he appeared more or less apprehensive until he +was clear of the building.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXI"> + CHAPTER XXI + <br> + <span>A CONFESSION</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">It</span> was obvious to Joan that it was no more than fair and right that +her mother should know what she had undertaken, and yet, secure as she +was in her own mind, it was both a difficult and unpleasant thing to +talk about with her. The latter was sure to misunderstand—possibly to +misinterpret. In either case she would object and that meant acting +against her wishes.</p> + +<p>She did not want to do that. It was against her instincts. All her life +she had been so obedient that even to-day she felt in her mother’s +presence like the school-girl with braided hair. It was so, she was +convinced, her mother saw her. That was the trouble. That explained +the gulf that during these last few years had widened between them. +Her mother expected her still to think and act like a school-girl—like +a grown-up school-girl, to be sure, but nevertheless as one not yet +entitled to decide for herself. That privilege would not be granted +until after marriage, and then only to a limited degree. After being +a dutiful daughter she must be a dutiful wife. It seems that her duty +must always lie to some one else rather than herself.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</span></p> + +<p>In the present instance, then, she was proposing to act from a purely +selfish motive. That was the logical deduction. In undertaking to +give her time and thought to the Devons Manufacturing Company she was +actuated, then, by no other desire than to develop her own soul by +enlarging her life through service? It was a fair question and she put +it to herself. But it turned out to be rather a confusing question. +Certainly her original idea had been nothing more than this. Here was +a fellow human being struggling alone, and she had stepped in and in +her limited way had done what she could to help him. That help was +still needed and the joy of the enterprise lay in that fact. Her joy +lay in that fact. To that extent she was selfish. But somehow that +did not account for all her emotions. The way she disposed of these, +however, was merely to hold her head a little higher and challenge +her conscience, or whatever it was, to explain why she was under any +obligation to account for them at all. She had some rights of her own.</p> + +<p>It was in this spirit that Joan went to her mother as soon as the +latter came in from an afternoon of bridge. Mrs. Fairburne furnished +her the opportunity by inquiring:</p> + +<p>“You lunched with Mr. Burnett to-day?”</p> + +<p>“No,” Joan replied without equivocation, “I lunched with Mr. Devons.”</p> + +<p>“Devons?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</span></p> + +<p>The eyebrows went up and the mouth became set.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mother. He—he has been ill. I took Henriette and went down there +with some proper food for him.”</p> + +<p>“Down where?”</p> + +<p>“To Mullen Court.”</p> + +<p>“I am not familiar with Mullen Court,” answered Mrs. Fairburne in a +tone that suggested this was something to be thankful for.</p> + +<p>“No, Mother, dear,” Joan replied steadily. “It is not far from +Washington Square.”</p> + +<p>“One of those artist places?” she asked suspiciously.</p> + +<p>“I—I don’t know.”</p> + +<p>“Yet you—”</p> + +<p>“Please, Mother,” broke in Joan, “will you let me tell you in my own +way?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Fairburne sank into a chair.</p> + +<p>“Go on,” she submitted resignedly.</p> + +<p>“A friend of his, Mr. Arkwright, wrote me he was ill, so I had Charles +drive us down. I found him in a little room—oh, a pitiful little room +at the top of the house. He was ill for lack of food. I had Pierre pack +a basket and I took it to him.”</p> + +<p>“But did that necessitate your stopping for lunch?”</p> + +<p>Joan crimsoned.</p> + +<p>“I stopped because I wished to.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</span></p> + +<p>“Joan!”</p> + +<p>“Because I had business with him.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Fairburne started from her chair.</p> + +<p>“Please—just a minute, Mother. I want to tell you everything. It is +your right to know what I’ve done and what I’m going to do. I told you +once how he needed money to start in business.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Fairburne admitted this with an expression of annoyance.</p> + +<p>“I asked you to help and you did not approve.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not.”</p> + +<p>“So I told Dicky and he gave me the money.”</p> + +<p>“You asked Mr. Burnett for money?”</p> + +<p>“He was very nice,” nodded Joan. “He gave me five thousand dollars.”</p> + +<p>“Joan—are you losing your mind!”</p> + +<p>“I wanted to take it as a loan, but he would not consent to that. So +he came into the business with us as a silent partner. Now we are all +ready to start. And,” she concluded rather hurriedly, “I’m going to +keep the books.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Fairburne had difficulty for a second or two in catching her +breath. It was while she was in this helpless condition that Joan moved +swiftly to her side and put an arm around her.</p> + +<p>“Mother, dear,” she pleaded. “I know how strange this all sounds to +you. But I’m in earnest. I want something to do and here is my chance. +I’ve wanted something to do ever since I came <span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</span>home from college. If +you had known Mildred and heard all she did—”</p> + +<p>The mother looked up.</p> + +<p>“You are such a child,” she murmured.</p> + +<p>Joan met her mother’s eyes.</p> + +<p>“Not any longer,” she answered. “That is the trouble, isn’t it? You +forget I have grown up.”</p> + +<p>There was something about the girl’s mouth that told her this was the +truth. But it frightened her. She roused herself.</p> + +<p>“Joan, dear, what you propose is impossible. It would break your +father’s heart if he heard. You must put the whole Quixotic plan out of +your head. We—we will take a little trip to the South or Bermuda—”</p> + +<p>“No, Mother,” she put in gently. “As for Dad—is there any reason why he +should know if it is going to disturb him?”</p> + +<p>“He would never forgive you—never forgive me.”</p> + +<p>“Why should he feel like that?”</p> + +<p>“The whole idea is so unusual.”</p> + +<p>“With thousands of girls working for their living?”</p> + +<p>“But they—they are not Fairburnes.”</p> + +<p>“No—they are not Fairburnes. But I don’t like to think they are better +than Fairburnes, Mother.”</p> + +<p>“Joan—I really think I should call Dr. Nichols!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</span></p> + +<p>“Nonsense. Now you come up to your room and get ready for dinner. I’m +sure that by to-morrow you will look at it differently.”</p> + +<p>“Will you call Louise?”</p> + +<p>“Let me help you—please.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Fairburne took her daughter’s arm and allowed herself to be helped +to her room. And once there Joan was still reluctant to summon Louise.</p> + +<p>“Let me do your hair to-night,” she pleaded.</p> + +<p>So she unfastened her mother’s hair and let it down over her shoulders +and combed out the fine strands that were beginning to show silver.</p> + +<p>“It is beautiful!” exclaimed Joan.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXII"> + CHAPTER XXII + <br> + <span>A SALE</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">The</span> thing Devons had evolved was a patent-leather finish at least fifty +per cent less liable to crack than any on the market, produced at four +fifths the cost of the Burnett product. But it was one thing to claim +this and another to prove or even to get a chance to prove it. At the +end of a week he had enough to allow a manufacturer to give it a fair +trial. Armed with letters he had from his professors at Tech—letters +intended for the benefit of teaching staffs rather than business men—he +left Joan in charge of the office one day, looking very important with +this new responsibility, and crossed the city in search of the manager +of the Doggett Shoe Company. He waited two hours in an outer office +after filling out the slip giving his name and business, and when +finally ushered into the presence of <span id="AEHartley">A.E. Hartley</span> found the man still +too busy even to glance up from his desk as he entered. It was not an +encouraging reception, and Devons had not had sufficient experience to +accept the situation calmly. He had ventured forth with an enthusiasm +which he expected to find reflected in every one he met, without +stopping to consider that this was rather an unreasonable presumption +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</span>in view of the fact that the world at large knew as yet nothing about +the Devons process, and probably if informed would care scarcely more. +The case of Hartley, however, was different. He should have been +immediately interested, though, perhaps, it was not fair to expect him +to get excited before he heard of it.</p> + +<p>Devons studied the man behind the desk—a man of fifty with a square, +non-committal face. He had a short, iron-gray mustache and a square +jaw, a sharp nose and well-set eyes. With his head on his hand he was +figuring rapidly. Finally he pressed a button, to which a boy responded +instantly. With a quick, nervous movement he handed the lad a sheet of +paper with the single word:</p> + +<p>“Henderson.”</p> + +<p>Then he looked up at Devons.</p> + +<p>“Well?” he inquired, as though resenting the interruption.</p> + +<p>Devons felt his heart leap to his mouth. He was as excited as he had +been when he stepped before the examiners for his oral examination.</p> + +<p>“I understand you use considerable patent leather in your factory.”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“I have perfected a new process—”</p> + +<p>“Not interested!” snapped Hartley.</p> + +<p>Devons flushed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</span></p> + +<p>“You won’t even let me tell you about it?”</p> + +<p>Hartley, who had started about his work, looked up again. There was a +note of such deep disappointment in Devons’s voice that his attention +was attracted once more. It was quite evident that he was not dealing +with the professional salesman.</p> + +<p>“Who do you represent?” asked Hartley.</p> + +<p>“Myself.”</p> + +<p>“If your time is valuable, let me tell you this: we purchase our entire +supply of the Burnett people.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. All I was going to ask was that you give my process a trial.”</p> + +<p>“We have no time to experiment.”</p> + +<p>“The experimenting has been all done. I have some letters—”</p> + +<p>Fumbling in his pocket Devons produced them. Hartley indifferently +unfolded the first.</p> + +<p>“Tech?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>Devons named his class.</p> + +<p>As it happened, Hartley had preceded him at the same institution +fifteen years before. He had been under this same professor who +testified as to Devons’s ability.</p> + +<p>“Bring up a chair and sit down,” Hartley invited him as he finished the +letter.</p> + +<p>Devons hastily complied.</p> + +<p>“Now, tell me about it.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</span></p> + +<p>Hartley sat back in his chair with the tips of the fingers of his right +hand matched against the tips of the fingers of his left hand. He +listened without comment of any kind as Devons began at the beginning +and sketched his early laboratory work leading him to his later task.</p> + +<p>“I saw that the older the oil the more perfect the result. It seemed +that some change took place in the maturing process. I experimented to +discover what that was and found out. Then I devised a way of maturing +the oil more rapidly and more completely. This allows the skin to +absorb more of it. That’s all.”</p> + +<p>“That’s enough,” smiled Hartley, “if you’ve done it.”</p> + +<p>“You mean you doubt it?”</p> + +<p>“I admit I’m skeptical. <span id="Page_p215">My boy, I’ve looked</span> into at least fifty such +claims personally. I’ve spent at least twenty thousand dollars right +here trying to achieve that result. Burnett has spent five times as +much, and every manufacturer of patent leather in the country an +equal amount. An uncrackable patent leather has been the dream of +manufacturers from the first.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t claim it is absolutely uncrackable.”</p> + +<p>“Merely fifty per cent better,” nodded Hartley. “It is well to be +modest. If you could show me something only ten per cent more pliable I +should feel repaid.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</span></p> + +<p>“I can,” declared Devons. “Will you give it a trial?”</p> + +<p>Hartley considered a moment.</p> + +<p>“State just what your proposition is,” he said cautiously.</p> + +<p>“That you let me furnish enough of the dressing for your test.”</p> + +<p>“You are not asking for a contract of any sort?”</p> + +<p>“If the process makes good, that won’t be necessary, will it?”</p> + +<p>“No,” admitted Hartley, “if the price is right.”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t worked that out carefully yet, but I figure it should be +less than the present product.”</p> + +<p>“Good Lord!” exclaimed Hartley: “how do you get that result?”</p> + +<p>“Less oil,” answered Devons.</p> + +<p>Hartley shook his head skeptically.</p> + +<p>“Send it on,” he concluded; “but frankly I don’t believe it.”</p> + +<p>“Carlow, Reed & Co. tested it.”</p> + +<p>“Then why didn’t they buy it?”</p> + +<p>“They were afraid of Burnett,” Devons answered.</p> + +<p>He had the letter with him and handed it to Hartley. The latter read it +through carefully and returned it.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m not afraid of Burnett,” was his comment. “Send the stuff +down to-morrow.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</span></p> + +<p>“I’ll have it here to-night,” answered Devons. “Good-day.”</p> + +<p>“Good luck, my boy,” answered Hartley.</p> + +<p>Not counting the wait the interview had not lasted ten minutes. When +Devons came out on the street again he drew a long breath. If he had +seen a taxi at that moment he would have been tempted to get in. Any +other way of getting back to Joan with such news as this seemed clumsy +and tedious.</p> + +<p>But if he had only known it, Joan herself had not been idle in the +meanwhile. She had done quite an unexpected and brilliant stroke of +business on her own account. Devons had not been gone from the office a +half-hour before the door opened and a middle-aged man entered, glanced +around, caught sight of her, and removed his hat. His hair was swept +back from his forehead as though he were facing a strong wind.</p> + +<p>“It said Devons Manufacturing Company upon the door,” he explained, as +though to account for having entered so unceremoniously.</p> + +<p>“This <i>is</i> the Devons Manufacturing Company,” she assured him.</p> + +<p>The chemicals and kettles bore out the statement which, considering the +young woman herself, he would still have been inclined to doubt. Either +she was out of place here or the kettles were.</p> + +<p>“Is Mr. Devons in?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</span></p> + +<p>“No,” answered Joan. “He may be gone several hours.”</p> + +<p>Forsythe studied his watch a moment, and then raised his eyes and +studied the girl another moment.</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry,” he ventured as though feeling his way; “I wanted +particularly to see him this morning.”</p> + +<p>“Is there anything I can do?” inquired Joan.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” smiled Forsythe. “May I ask if you are associated with +the business?”</p> + +<p>“I’m the bookkeeper,” she announced.</p> + +<p>“I see. Then you are in charge of the plant?”</p> + +<p>“Until Mr. Devons returns,” she admitted with a trace of color.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps, then, you will do quite as well,” suggested Forsythe. “All I +wanted was to inquire a little more fully into his product. I wonder if +you yourself are posted enough to tell me.”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid I don’t know much about it except that it is very +wonderful. If you could come back this afternoon, I’m sure he’ll be in +then.”</p> + +<p>Forsythe shook his head.</p> + +<p>“I only have an hour.”</p> + +<p>He turned eagerly once more toward the laboratory end of the office.</p> + +<p>“He makes it over there,” Joan informed him.</p> + +<p>“I see.”</p> + +<p>He stepped nearer, and Joan sensed his unspoken question.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</span></p> + +<p>“If you’re interested, you might look about,” she suggested graciously.</p> + +<p>He took advantage of her offer instantly.</p> + +<p>“Thanks. I will.”</p> + +<p>He appeared to be very much interested in every detail, even to the +extent of investigating all the labeled bottles of chemicals and some +that were not labeled. He removed the corks from these and smelled the +contents, and once even poured some out into a graduating glass and +held it to the light. Occasionally he asked her a question, but without +any very satisfactory results.</p> + +<p>So he came to several jugs of the finished product, and this appeared +to interest him most of all.</p> + +<p>“I don’t suppose that as yet he is ready to put this on the market?” he +inquired.</p> + +<p>“Why, yes,” she answered quickly; “that is just exactly what he is +doing. He has gone to-day to try to sell the little he has ready.”</p> + +<p>“This?” inquired Forsythe.</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>“There isn’t very much of it. We have only just started.”</p> + +<p>Forsythe straightened.</p> + +<p>“Then if he had happened to be in I could have bought some myself,” he +said. “I only want enough to give it a trial.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t you come again?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</span></p> + +<p>“Possibly. But there is nothing like taking advantage of the present. +If you could let me have—say this much.”</p> + +<p>He held up a jug.</p> + +<p>“But I haven’t the slightest idea how much he asks for it.”</p> + +<p>“I’m in the business myself, so I can tell you roughly. Ten dollars +would be an extravagant price. But for safety’s sake I’ll double that.”</p> + +<p>She met the man’s eyes. She had no reason for doubting his word.</p> + +<p>“If you are quite sure, I don’t see why you shouldn’t have it,” she +replied.</p> + +<p>“I’m quite sure my price is right,” he answered. “If Mr. Devons can +sustain it his fortune is made.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you think so?”</p> + +<p>“There is no doubt about it,” he nodded gravely.</p> + +<p>Then he took a wallet from his pocket and presented her with two +ten-dollar bills.</p> + +<p>“I pay cash,” he said.</p> + +<p>She accepted the bills eagerly.</p> + +<p>Then with a smile Forsythe picked up his jug and went out leaving her +staring a little breathlessly at the money. It was the first cash +transaction made by the Devons Manufacturing Company.</p> + +<p>She hurried to her desk in the corner and opened a brand-new ledger +book which she had bought <span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</span>only the day before. In her very best +handwriting she made this entry:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>“By one jug dressing $20.00”</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>She wished there were some way she could reach Devons by telephone. It +was difficult to wait for him with such news as this.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"> + CHAPTER XXIII + <br> + <span>NO TIME TO WASTE</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Devons</span> reached the office shortly after twelve and swung open the door +with the announcement:</p> + +<p>“I did it.”</p> + +<p>Thereby he beat Joan by at least ten seconds, which is a wide margin +when one stops to consider that races are often won by the fraction of +a second. She had sprung from her seat behind the ledger as she heard +his footsteps in the corridor, but he was so enthusiastically abrupt +that it took her a few seconds longer to recover her balance. In his +excitement he had seized her hand and that somehow or other only added +to her confusion.</p> + +<p>“Hartley was all against it at first,” he ran on. “But before I left he +agreed to give it a thorough trial. I’m to take down to him to-day what +I have in stock.”</p> + +<p>“What you have in stock,” she replied vaguely, with a sudden sinking of +the heart.</p> + +<p>“There’s just about enough for a preliminary trial,” he answered. “It’s +a great chance, Joan. This company is one of the largest users in the +city, and if I make good with them—well, I won’t have to sit in any +more outer offices.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</span></p> + +<p>“How much did you have?” she stammered.</p> + +<p>“About four gallons. But—what’s the matter?”</p> + +<p>“I—I sold some of it.”</p> + +<p>“Sold some?”</p> + +<p>She went back to her desk and returned with the two ten-dollar bills. +Her fingers were unsteady as she held them out to him.</p> + +<p>“What’s this?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“It’s what he—he paid me.”</p> + +<p>“Who? For what?”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” she exclaimed, trembling back from the look in his eyes. “Did I +do wrong?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t understand yet just what you did do,” he answered with a swift +glance around the laboratory.</p> + +<p>He took her arm gently and led her to her chair behind the desk.</p> + +<p>“Sit down,” he said. “Now—you didn’t sell any of the enamel?”</p> + +<p>“All that was in the jug,” she nodded.</p> + +<p>She pointed to the ledger. He saw the entry in her firm handwriting. +Even then he was not fully convinced, but it was necessary for him to +pause a moment before he went on. He tried his best to hold himself +steady because she looked so frightened—so frightened and so adorable. +Even in the midst of the worst he feared he could have stooped and +kissed the top of her head and called it square—if in that way matters +could honestly have been squared.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</span></p> + +<p>“Tell me from the beginning what happened,” he said.</p> + +<p>“He—he came in—”</p> + +<p>“Who came in?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know who he was. He wanted to see you.”</p> + +<p>“Can you describe him?”</p> + +<p>Ordinarily she could, but she was finding it difficult to think.</p> + +<p>“He was a man about forty. His hair was brushed back.”</p> + +<p>“He was rather stout and smooth-shaven?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>It was uncanny how from so vague a description the picture of Forsythe +stood out before him.</p> + +<p>“Go on,” he urged.</p> + +<p>“He—he wanted to look around, so I let him.”</p> + +<p>Devons leaned back against the desk and gripped the edge of it with his +fingers.</p> + +<p>“Go on,” he repeated.</p> + +<p>“He went over there and seemed very much interested. Then—then he +wanted to buy some—for a test. He offered me this.”</p> + +<p>She held out the bills again as though going back to them for +justification.</p> + +<p>“He—he went away with what you sold him?”</p> + +<p>She nodded. Then she leaned forward.</p> + +<p>“Oh! Did I make a mistake? Shouldn’t I have let him have it?”</p> + +<p>Devons was trying to think it out. If it had been <span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</span>any one else but +Forsythe, it would not have been so significant. But he had never liked +the man from his first interview with him. That, however, was not +important one way or the other, except as it might help explain the +present incident. Of course, no decent man would have taken advantage +of a woman like this to pry into laboratory secrets, so it seemed a +fair deduction that he intended nothing legitimate with the enamel he +had made off with. Yet, looking at it calmly, what was it possible for +the fellow to do? The process was amply protected by patents. Against +an unscrupulous man, however, patents sometimes do not count.</p> + +<p>She was looking up anxiously.</p> + +<p>“I made a mistake?” she trembled.</p> + +<p>Then Devons took hold of himself. He stepped free of the desk and, +looking down into her eyes, answered with a smile.</p> + +<p>“It makes it a bit awkward about Hartley, that’s all,” he said. “But +you couldn’t foresee that. And you sure charged a good stiff price.”</p> + +<p>“You think it was enough?”</p> + +<p>“Little woman,” he answered, “if we can get that price for all I make +we’ll pay dividends within a month.”</p> + +<p>The expression of relief that came into her eyes was worth something.</p> + +<p>“I was afraid. You—you frightened me,” she said.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</span></p> + +<p>“I had no business to do that under any circumstances,” he answered. +“So let’s take our twenty dollars and go out to lunch and forget the +whole episode.”</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t lunch with your bookkeeper and you mustn’t be extravagant +with the first money the firm has made,” she objected.</p> + +<p>“But this is an especial occasion. Can’t we celebrate a little?”</p> + +<p>“No,” she answered firmly.</p> + +<p>“You aren’t a bookkeeper, anyway,” he objected. “You’re a partner.”</p> + +<p>“Not during office hours.”</p> + +<p>“Then I’ll give you an afternoon off. Will that make it right?”</p> + +<p>“Not for me to lunch with you, but if you don’t need me I—I think I’d +like to go home for the rest of the day.”</p> + +<p>“You’re tired?” he asked anxiously.</p> + +<p>“From all the business I’ve done?” she smiled. “No, it was rather +exciting, but that isn’t the reason. Mother telephoned. I don’t think +she is quite used to my new position yet.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t wonder,” he answered. “I’m not either.”</p> + +<p>“But I help a little?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“A lot,” he hastened to assure her.</p> + +<p>“You couldn’t go off and leave the office alone, could you?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</span></p> + +<p>“Impossible.”</p> + +<p>“Then—”</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t get along without you,” he broke in.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>She turned quickly to put on her hat and coat. It was just as well. It +gave Devons time to think and so to check himself.</p> + +<p>“Is Charles coming down?”</p> + +<p>“At one,” she nodded.</p> + +<p>It was now five minutes of one, so he went downstairs with her to the +waiting limousine and helped her in. She turned before the door closed +to ask:</p> + +<p>“You’re going to lunch now?”</p> + +<p>“Soon,” he nodded.</p> + +<p>“I’ll be here at nine to-morrow,” she assured him.</p> + +<p>He stood on the walk until the machine disappeared from sight. Then, +turning quickly, he hurried back to the office. He locked the door +and threw off his coat. He had no time to waste on food. If he was to +deliver the proper quantity of enamel to Hartley by to-morrow, he had +his work cut out for him, not only for the rest of the day, but the +whole night. If everything went right he could do it in eighteen hours. +Everything <i>must</i> go right. To a man like Hartley a promise was a +promise.</p> + +<p>Devons strode to the rear of the laboratory and turned on the electric +switch that heated the big kettles.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"> + CHAPTER XXIV + <br> + <span>A VACATION</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Dicky Burnett</span> left about the middle of March for Palm Beach. It was his +father’s suggestion, and Dicky fell in with it principally because it +would give him a legitimate excuse for writing to Joan. If he could not +see her, he had much better be a thousand miles away than in the same +city. It would be less of a strain. Of late he had been doing nothing +but search the crowds for her like a private detective hunting for a +lost person.</p> + +<p>In the office he was impossible. He was in fact a good deal of a +nuisance both to Forsythe and his father. He particularly interfered +unconsciously with the latter’s freedom of movement. By degrees Burnett +senior had turned over to Forsythe practically all his own work because +of lack of time to attend to it himself. In many ways his habits +resembled a good deal those of his son. He still reached the office +early, but he was out again by ten and seldom returned until after +three. By then he was too tired to do much more than attend to the +routine matters requiring his signature.</p> + +<p>At Palm Beach Dicky did his best to enjoy himself, and every one, +including the hotel management, <span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</span>did his best to help him. He ran +across Diblee, who introduced him at the country club, and a group +of very agreeable people who were succeeding extraordinarily well in +forgetting that such a city as New York existed. As far as he could +judge, nothing in particular remained in their consciousness but blue +sky and palm trees and green grass and music and pleasant drinks and +laughing eyes. There was one especially nice girl whose name was +Constance—Constance Shirley. She was slight and young and seemed to +divine at once his unhappiness. She had big blue eyes and danced like +a bit of thistledown, and was always seeking the air after each dance. +And she had a way of tempting a man to talk of what was deep within +him at such times because she gave the impression that she would +understand. Not only understand but comfort a fellow. It was surprising +how often her soft hand accidentally brushed his and what opportunities +she offered him to talk of matters of sentiment.</p> + +<p>Yet always at the speaking point Dicky paused. It seemed like sacrilege +to discuss Joan, even indirectly, with any other woman. With her +always uppermost in his mind it seemed like sacrilege to discuss even +abstract problems of sentiment. So generally he lighted a cigarette and +drifted into silence by the side of this Constance, staring dreamily +and alone at the wonderful Southern <span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</span>night sky which is as fickle in +its sentiment as a rondeau of François Villon. It urges a youth to +love with the nearest. Love is love and a man but a man and woman but +a woman. If tender lips and warm hands are near, a man is a fool to +ignore them, for life at best is short and youth but a brief portion of +life.</p> + +<p>Yet Dicky always paused even when the nights were fairest. The girl by +his side was baffled and stung and made eager by those long silences. +Covertly she studied the sadness about his lips which came to her like +a challenge.</p> + +<p>One night she said to him boldly, “Mr. Burnett, I think you’re in love.”</p> + +<p>He was startled, but he answered only, “So?”</p> + +<p>“Are you?” she insisted.</p> + +<p>“I’ll leave you to guess,” he replied.</p> + +<p>“I guess you are.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“Because you are sad.”</p> + +<p>“Does love make one sad?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Either very happy or very sad.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps both,” he suggested.</p> + +<p>“At the same time?” she laughed.</p> + +<p>“It does sound absurd,” he admitted.</p> + +<p>But that night, when in relief he found himself back alone in his +room, that seemed as fair an analysis of his present mood as any. As +miserable as he was he would not, as the price of happiness, <span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</span>have +surrendered his love for Joan. Hopeless as now he felt that passion +to be, he clung to it as the greatest joy in his life. So he felt he +always would.</p> + +<p>He had telephoned her before he left and asked to see her, but she had +answered that it was impossible that morning.</p> + +<p>“I may have some good news for you soon,” she said.</p> + +<p>When he pressed her for an explanation, it turned out to be nothing +but good news concerning that fool business scheme of hers. It only +emphasized how lightly she thought of him.</p> + +<p>She had written twice since then—the sort of letters one might expect +from a private secretary. He had written at least a dozen times—the +sort of letters that might be expected to make a private secretary’s +cheeks burn. Yet he doubted if they accomplished even that much.</p> + +<p>In this fashion, then, he frittered away a month without improving +either his physical condition, which did not need improving, or his +mental condition, which did. At this point he received a letter from +his mother which further disturbed him. She ran on for a couple of +pages about nothing in particular, like warning him again to be careful +not to get drowned if he went in bathing, and then said:</p> + +<p>“I’m a little bit worried about your father. He is not sleeping well +and is losing weight. He blames it on his diet and I wondered if +perhaps he was not <span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</span>carrying it too far. He is very apt to do that +unless some one watches him. If you wrote him that he might, under the +circumstances, eat a little pastry, I think it might help him. However, +use your own judgment. He won’t weigh himself, but I am sure he has +lost at least fifteen pounds since you went.”</p> + +<p>When Dicky read that he sent the following wire to his father:</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>Don’t overdo the thing. Have some pumpkin pie.</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>But in spite of this action he was not fully satisfied. All through the +rest of the day he kept thinking over that paragraph in his mother’s +letter. While diet might account for his father’s loss of weight, +which was good for him, it did not account for his sleeplessness. That +was more apt to be caused by worry. This helped him to recall several +peculiar incidents which had occurred preceding his departure, when he +had not found his father in the office and had received anything but a +satisfactory explanation from Forsythe. At the time he had not thought +much about these things, because at night he found his father so normal +that he always forgot to inquire further into them. But now that he was +in search of symptoms he went back to them.</p> + +<p>The upshot of the matter was that he said good-bye <span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</span>to Constance that +evening—a curiously easy thing to do—and took the train the next +morning for home. He reached New York at six o’clock in the afternoon +of the next day and went direct to the house, where he found his father +at dinner. He was startled by what a month had done for him. Offhand he +would have said the man had lost twenty-five pounds and taken on almost +as many years. His eyes looked heavy, and he sat listlessly at the +table as Dicky came in. He tried to rouse himself, however, but it was +manifestly an artificial attempt.</p> + +<p>“What the deuce you been doing to yourself?” demanded Dicky as he took +his hand. By the side of his lean, browned son he looked worse than +ever and was conscious of it.</p> + +<p>“I guess I ought to have gone with you,” he faltered.</p> + +<p>“I should say so,” nodded Dicky. “What’s he been up to, Mother?”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid he’s been working too hard,” she ventured.</p> + +<p>“Hang it all, I thought you were old enough to be left alone,” +exclaimed Dicky.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you worry about me,” growled Burnett with a trace of his +old-time spirit.</p> + +<p>“We won’t,” answered Dicky, “but believe me, we’re going to do +something about it. You’ve got to get out of that office more. Golf is +what you <span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</span>need. I saw a lot of the old boys down there on the links and +it put new life into them.”</p> + +<p>“Golf be hanged.”</p> + +<p>Once or twice before Dicky had threatened golf, and everything +considered it appeared a worse punishment than whole wheat bread.</p> + +<p>“In the meanwhile, until the links are opened, we can get into +condition by walking home every day. We’ll begin to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“Eh?”</p> + +<p>“To-morrow. What’s the earliest you can leave the office?”</p> + +<p>“Not until after three,” exclaimed Burnett nervously.</p> + +<p>“I’ll be there at half-past, then,” declared Dicky.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXV"> + CHAPTER XXV + <br> + <span>DANGER</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Forsythe</span> found awaiting him one morning two letters which afforded him +anything but pleasant reading. One was from Hartley, brief and to the +point:</p> + +<blockquote> + +<p class="flat right"> + <i><span class="tab_right">Doggett Shoe Company</span></i><br> + <i>New York, N.Y., April 3—</i> +</p> + +<p class="flat"><span class="smcap">Burnett Manufacturing Company</span></p> + +<p><span class="smcap">New York, N.Y.</span></p> + +<p class="flat"><span class="smcap">Dear Forsythe</span>:</p> + +<p>I beg, herewith, to cancel our order for all future deliveries of +enamel leather dressing.</p> + +<p class="flat right"> + <span class="tab_right">Sincerely yours</span><br> + <span class="smcap" id="EAHartley">E.A. Hartley</span> +</p> +</blockquote> + +<p>The other was from Craig, chief consulting chemist of the firm. It was +a detailed analysis of sample number 8472, forwarded on March 8th. The +most significant line was this:</p> + +<p>“The oil used appears to have undergone some process impossible to +analyze, which makes it particularly adaptable for this type of work.”</p> + +<p>It was a process of manufacture, then, rather than any concrete +formula. As such it lay beyond <span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</span>the scope of Craig’s keen eyes and +laboratory equipment.</p> + +<p>Forsythe leaned forward, opened a little drawer in his desk, and took +out a sample of enamel leather. He studied the smooth, glossy surface, +crushed it in his hand, and studied it again. He twisted it around his +finger and studied it further. It remained exactly as before. It was +the finest bit of enamel he had ever seen in his life. There was no +doubt about it. He had to face that fact—and many others.</p> + +<p>The best organization in the world could not buck any such superior +article as that in the open market. That is—by any ordinary method. But +an extraordinary situation called for extraordinary methods. Here is +where Forsythe sat back in his chair and squinted at the bit of leather +on his desk.</p> + +<p>The future of the Burnett Manufacturing Company was at stake, which was +not so important as the fact that this involved Forsythe’s own future. +He had put in here, not only the best end of his life, but his money. +Only last January Burnett had sold him a small portion of the capital +stock as a reward for his faithful services—stock that could not have +been bought in the open market at any price. And that had not been +the end of his plan. He had expected to buy more later—a great deal +more later. He was prepared, if at any time Burnett <span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</span>should need money +badly, to buy as much more as he wished to sell.</p> + +<p>If Burnett should need money badly—there was the nub of his far-sighted +scheme. It explained his motive in having introduced young Benton, +of Toole & Co., to Burnett—Benton, who had furnished the inside +information that had netted Burnett five thousand in steel on his +first venture in stocks. If Forsythe had observed Burnett correctly +for twenty years, that was the spark which would kindle the flame. The +man was disappointed in his son and craved, to offset this, some more +exciting game than the conduct of a business that was running itself. +So Forsythe had urged and so it appeared to be working out. He had +heard that Burnett had been plunging more and more heavily this last +month. The latter had hit it right once or twice, but give him time and +he was bound to lose. Now this young whipper-snapper of a Devons had +come along.</p> + +<p>Forsythe caught his breath. This new complication completely altered +the situation. If on top of Devons, Burnett went broke, he would drag +down with him the whole business and every one connected with it. The +only possible avenue of escape now was to buy out this new-comer. That +would take money. It might take a lot of money. Every day he waited it +would take more. This letter from Hartley was but the beginning.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</span></p> + +<p>Again Forsythe squinted at the ceiling. Only two courses were open; +either he must buy out Devons, or break him. That was easier said than +done. So was everything for that matter. What the deuce had that girl +been doing in Devons’s office? She did not belong there. She had called +herself a bookkeeper, but she was no more a bookkeeper than she was an +office boy. Whoever she was she did not belong there, and when a woman +is where she doesn’t belong there are always interesting possibilities. +Forsythe had never seen her before, but she was of a type with which +the society columns of the Sunday papers had made him more or less +familiar. There was something about her nose and mouth and the poise of +her head which placed her there.</p> + +<p>But this Devons had come out of the West. Was he some modern Lochinvar?</p> + +<p>Forsythe turned to the telephone and called up his friend Moran, of the +“New York Journal.”</p> + +<p>“If you aren’t busy come down to the office,” he said.</p> + +<p>“What’s new?” questioned Moran.</p> + +<p>“Nothing much. I may be able to give you a line on a good story.”</p> + +<p>“Right,” replied Moran; “I’ll be there in half an hour.”</p> + +<p>He was acting on a slim chance, to be sure, but at least Moran would +find out for him who the <span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</span>girl was. If she turned out to be no one, +that at least would throw some further light on Devons.</p> + +<p>The next thing to do was to get hold of Burnett. Here was an even more +difficult problem. He must find some way of working him out of the very +danger he had led him into. Burnett’s danger was now his own danger.</p> + +<p>Moran came in with a cheerful expectancy that irritated Forsythe. He +selected a chair, lighted a cigarette, shoved back his hat a trifle, +and inquired:</p> + +<p>“What’s on your mind?”</p> + +<p>It produced on Forsythe the same effect as the solicitous inquiry of +an undertaker as to one’s health. This time, however, Moran had the +advantage. He had been sent for.</p> + +<p>“Nothing very much,” answered Forsythe cautiously,—“only—well, my +curiosity has been aroused, and I thought you might satisfy it and at +the same time get a lead you could use yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Let ’er go.”</p> + +<p>“I have a young friend who has just started in business. I drifted into +his office the other day and met his bookkeeper. I want to find out who +she is.”</p> + +<p>“Then what?”</p> + +<p>“That’s all,” admitted Forsythe. “She doesn’t belong there. Looks to +me as though she belonged somewhere along Fifth Avenue instead of in a +loft building.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</span></p> + +<p>“Society girl?”</p> + +<p>“Possibly.”</p> + +<p>“Pretty?”</p> + +<p>“All of that.”</p> + +<p>Moran nodded.</p> + +<p>“Sometimes they are all of that and live off Sixth Avenue.”</p> + +<p>“Sometimes, but I’ll bet a dollar to a doughnut this one doesn’t.”</p> + +<p>“What’s the address?”</p> + +<p>Forsythe supplied it. Then he leaned forward.</p> + +<p>“See here, Moran—if you dig up anything, I want you to come back to me +first.”</p> + +<p>“I get you.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll make it worth your while.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve no objection,” answered Moran, “but honest it doesn’t sound to me +like very hot stuff.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not saying it is. But—have a smoke?”</p> + +<p>Forsythe drew a cigar from his pocket and handed it to Moran. The +latter took it automatically and slipped it into his pocket.</p> + +<p>“I wish you could get after that to-day.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll drop around some time this morning,” agreed Moran.</p> + +<p>Forsythe saw young Burnett pass the door with his father and rose +abruptly.</p> + +<p>Dicky came in a few moments after Moran had left.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</span></p> + +<p>“How’s everything?” he asked pleasantly.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t know you were back, Mr. Burnett,” replied Forsythe.</p> + +<p>“Blew in yesterday. Any mail?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think so.”</p> + +<p>Forsythe glanced toward the private office of Burnett senior. The door +was closed. He had never considered Burnett junior as of being of any +possible use in this crisis, but suddenly an idea came to him. It might +be that the easiest way to reach the father was through the son. Dicky +had moved to his desk and was carelessly poking about among the various +trade circulars which Forsythe always tossed over there after he read +them.</p> + +<p>“Have you noticed any change in your father since you went away?” began +Forsythe.</p> + +<p>“He’s lost weight,” nodded Dicky.</p> + +<p>“It seemed so to me.”</p> + +<p>“Been working too hard.”</p> + +<p>“You think so?”</p> + +<p>Dicky glanced up.</p> + +<p>“What else?”</p> + +<p>“He hasn’t had as much as usual to do here,” answered Forsythe.</p> + +<p>“Eh?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve tried to take as much as possible off his hands, but he’s been +out of the office a good deal for the last month.”</p> + +<p>“Out of the office?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</span></p> + +<p>“Leaves here sometimes at ten and doesn’t get back until three.”</p> + +<p>Instead of looking surprised, as Forsythe expected, Dicky sat +down in the chair before his desk and appeared uninterested. The +reason for that was that he did not like the idea of discussing his +father’s affairs with his office manager. As a matter of fact, he was +considerably disturbed.</p> + +<p>“Those are stock-brokers’ hours,” suggested Forsythe.</p> + +<p>“So?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve been wondering—”</p> + +<p>Dicky looked up, and Forsythe paused.</p> + +<p>“Of course, in a way it isn’t any of my business,” Forsythe explained.</p> + +<p>Dicky nodded as though agreeing fully with that statement. Forsythe +flushed.</p> + +<p>“But in another way it is,” he went on.</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“Your father was good enough to allow me to buy a small block of +capital stock.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t know that.”</p> + +<p>“So we’re partners in a sense.”</p> + +<p>Dicky frowned.</p> + +<p>“In this particular business. But what has that to do with my father’s +personal affairs outside of this business?”</p> + +<p>“This,” replied Forsythe with more spirit; “we’re up against a new kind +of competition that <span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</span>may call for a good deal of extra capital in the +next few months. If your father drops too much on the Street—”</p> + +<p>“You know that he <i>has</i> been dropping a good deal on the Street?” +interrupted Dicky.</p> + +<p>“I know he has been putting in most of his time down there, and I know +he’s only a lamb at the game.”</p> + +<p>“This competition you speak of?” inquired Dicky.</p> + +<p>Forsythe reached into his desk drawer again and pulled out the sample +of enameled leather he had lately been examining.</p> + +<p>“Look at that!”</p> + +<p>Dicky took it in his hands and felt of it. “Well?”</p> + +<p>“It’s the best thing that has come on the market in ten years, that’s +all,” explained Forsythe. “We’ve got to meet it or go out of business.”</p> + +<p>“How do you propose to meet it?”</p> + +<p>“Buy the process if possible. If we can’t do that—”</p> + +<p>“Yes?”</p> + +<p>“We’ll have to think up some other way.”</p> + +<p>“What other way?”</p> + +<p>“I’m not sure yet,” answered Forsythe, “but we’ve got to do something +pretty soon. And it’s going to take money.”</p> + +<p>He handed Dicky the letter from the Doggett Shoe Company. Dicky read it +through.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</span></p> + +<p>“He was one of our best customers,” explained Forsythe.</p> + +<p>“Has Mr. Burnett seen this yet?”</p> + +<p>“Not yet. I was going to talk it over with him this morning.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I wouldn’t,” said Dicky.</p> + +<p>“The sooner he understands the situation, the better,” declared +Forsythe.</p> + +<p>“I’m not so sure of that,” returned Dicky. “At any rate, I don’t want +him bothered with this for a day or two. In the meanwhile, can’t you +make some sort of a proposition to this crowd?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got something started already.”</p> + +<p>“That’s the stuff. Let me know how it comes out.”</p> + +<p>He rose.</p> + +<p>“In the meanwhile,” he concluded, as he went toward his father’s +office, “keep your shirt on and don’t mention this to Mr. Burnett. I’ll +take over his share of this new responsibility.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"> + CHAPTER XXVI + <br> + <span>A NEW STENOGRAPHER</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">The</span> plant of the Devons Manufacturing Company was running to capacity, +such as that was. Devons was working twelve hours a day trying to fill +his orders—orders that came in unsolicited. And Joan was trying her +best to keep up her end of the work, though, as the correspondence +increased, this was becoming more difficult. She had rented a +typewriter, and, though by exceeding care and close application, she +could in the course of an hour pick out with fair, if wobbly, success +whole practice sentences, she still found it considerably easier to +write her letters in long hand. The result in a way was effective, +because there were few men who did not instinctively select first from +their mail envelopes addressed in her bold, feminine handwriting.</p> + +<p>The bookkeeping, too, had become considerably more complicated since +she made her first entry, and not all the new customers were as eager +to pay cash as Forsythe had been. Then she had to keep another book +for the supplies purchased, and they developed daily into a longer and +longer list. Take it all in all, she had enough to do.</p> + +<p>From Devons’s point of view she had too much <span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</span>to do. Whenever he had +a minute to glance in her direction he found her scowling over the +ledgers like a worried school-girl. Sometimes he had to speak two or +three times to call her attention to the fact that it was the lunch +hour. Had he not kept track of it himself, there would have been days +when she would not have lunched at all. Neither would he, had he only +himself to consider. It was an effort to stop, but, hang it all, he was +responsible for having got her down here and the least he could do now +was to take care of her.</p> + +<p>Not that this was by any means an unpleasant duty. Rather was it a +disconcertingly agreeable task. When it is necessary to observe a +thermostat to the fraction of a degree, watch in hand, and keep in mind +at the same time sundry other details marking the difference between +success and failure, it may be pleasant enough to have in the rear +of the office quite the most beautiful and adorable and altogether +the most wonderful woman in the world; but not to be distracted by +that fact requires a degree of self-control that in time amounts to a +strain. Scientific laboratory processes are not supposed to be involved +with dark eyes and a pretty mouth unjustly disturbed by a set of books +concerned with figures. Whenever he saw her puzzling over a column, or +whenever he heard the timid click of the typewriter as she laboriously +strove to strike the right key, he kept saying to <span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</span>himself that she +did not belong there. She was not meant to be disturbed by anything. +Because she was, he felt guilty.</p> + +<p>Even when his thoughts took a pleasanter course and ran ahead to what +the future promised, to keep track of the temperature of a kettle of +linseed oil at the same time got on his nerves. Whether the stuff +became too hot or not hot enough appeared an indifferent matter as soon +as he indulged in the pastime of multiplying the profit per gallon by +the number of gallons he was manufacturing at present, and multiplying +that again by the number he could legitimately look forward to, based +on the increase of orders this last week. And that was not touching the +wide market beyond this single city. It was enough to make a man dizzy +in and of itself. Translate that income into terms of what it meant to +him for her—she being at that very moment within calling distance of +his voice—and the wonder is that he succeeded in doing anything at all.</p> + +<p>Yet he held himself amazingly steady. Day after day she came into the +office in the morning like some breath of spring, and though the man +within him leaped to meet her with eager, unsatisfied kisses,—there +were moments when he had to hold himself rigid not to venture after +not having seen her since the day before,—he merely nodded a curt +good-morning and went on with his work. <span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</span>It was not easy. Nor was it +easy, when at noon he went out to lunch with her, to remember that +after all she was only loaning herself to him for a little while. +Contingencies might arise at any time that would sweep her entirely +out of his life again. To be sure, he felt more and more secure as +the days went by, but he never allowed himself to be over-optimistic. +As his process bade fair to supersede the old, another process might +appear to supersede his. It was too soon to feel secure. But when that +time arrived, and he could look her fair in the eyes and bid her come +with him back into the world in which she belonged, then—it was a +heady dream. It sounded at times like an impossible dream. Yet if you +multiplied the profit per gallon with the number of gallons—</p> + +<p>He had been looking around for the last few days. The doctor in the +next office had spoken to him about a very good stenographer and +bookkeeper whom he was afraid he must soon let go. If Devons could use +her, he would find her an exceptionally efficient girl. It was not the +nine dollars a week that made Devons hesitate—he would take that much +out of his hide if necessary to relieve Joan,—but it was the fear that +if she did not have something to do here she would not stay at all. His +ideal would be to have her come in during the forenoon of every day and +just stay around for an hour or two.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</span></p> + +<p>“Is the work getting too hard for you?” he asked her one day.</p> + +<p>“No,” she answered unhesitatingly.</p> + +<p>“I don’t want you to get all tired out,” he said solicitously.</p> + +<p>She laughed at that. “Do I look tired?”</p> + +<p>He was forced to admit that she did not. On the contrary, she seemed to +be vitalized by a new alertness. She entered the office in the morning +with a quicker step and a fresher glow in her cheeks. This was partly +explained by the fact that now she walked some of the way downtown, +generally leaving Charles at Third Avenue and Thirtieth Street, and +continuing the remainder of the distance on foot. This necessitated +arising a little earlier, but that was no hardship, because she found +herself waking at seven. With no evening engagements she retired +by ten, which gave her a longer rest than she had enjoyed for five +years—or at least a different sort of rest. She woke up refreshed in +body and soul. She sprang from bed with the zest of an athlete, and, +forgetting that such a person as Henriette existed, completed her own +toilet in half an hour. To be able to do this was in itself no small +luxury. It was good to be alone in the early morning with all the +world about her fresh and noiseless. It gave her a feeling of intimacy +with herself and her surroundings. This was her room and these were +her things in the <span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</span>daytime as before they had been only in the dark +at night. She felt herself a part of the day now—a part of the big, +stirring city which she knew was also awakening at this hour. She +was one of the hundred thousands that came to life like Nature with +the rising sun—that took their part in the day’s work, and so, in a +sense, became an integral part of the universe. It gave significance +to details which had been merely negative. Her little four-posted bed +became a positive factor in her life because it offered her rest after +the day’s work; the dimity curtains at the window, the paper on the +wall, the rugs on the floor, became associated with the personal side +of her because they were there when she came in with her mind still +active with the finished business of the day just gone, and greeted +her in the morning when she rose with all her thoughts of the work +which lay ahead. They did not mean anything when she came in listless +or merely physically tired. It is doubtful if before she could have +described minutely any of these exterior things. Now she could have +sketched with accuracy the pattern in the rugs.</p> + +<p>It was to a less extent so downstairs. She had her breakfast alone in +the big dining-room, and she came to know that room—to feel at home in +that room just because it was helping to make her ready for the tasks +ahead. Breakfast itself ceased to be merely a concession to nature. +She enjoyed <span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</span>her toast and coffee and eggs. She ate with a relish that +caused Jeffrey to temper in his own mind the verdict of madness with +which in the kitchen his mistress was being accused. To be sure, it +was most unusual for a young lady to rise at seven and dress herself +unassisted; it was most unusual for a young lady, not starting on a +journey, to leave the house shortly after half-past seven; it was most +unusual for a young lady to remain at home after dinner night after +night. But if such a strange procedure not only improved the young +lady’s appetite and color, but her spirits as well, it was going a +bit far to hint that she was losing her mind. Stranger methods than +this were resorted to in search of just such results. He had heard of +barefoot walking at dawn in the parks, to mention only one.</p> + +<p>It was when Joan left Charles at Third Avenue and hurried on alone, +that the color in her cheeks deepened. It was curious how, to so tiny +an adventure, she responded. But until these last few weeks it is +doubtful if ever she had walked alone three blocks in New York City, +and then only upon the one avenue. The other avenues were but numerical +facts lying either side of Fifth, made necessary by Fifth, as of course +one may not have five without one, two, three, and four, or, counting +backwards, one reaches fifth again through ten, nine, eight, seven, and +six.</p> + +<p>But this Third Avenue was now taking on an individuality <span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</span>of its own. +It seemed to have nothing whatever to do with Fifth. It was almost +like a street in another city. She was surprised by the number of +other girls she met and with whom she walked shoulder to shoulder in +silence—all hurrying into buildings similar to the building she now +called hers. Many were of her own age, and in time there were some +she felt as though she knew. They were in a way like Mildred—like +sisters of Mildred. She would have liked to speak to them if only to +say “Good-morning.” Sometimes she met their eyes and sometimes she +smiled back into them, but more often than not they turned away without +response, as though refusing to admit her as one of them. At first she +did not understand this. It was a trim, confident little body from the +next office, whom she met several times in the elevator, who gave her a +hint by <span id="Page_p252">staring one day overlong</span> at the sables she wore. She never wore +those down here again because she noticed that none of the other girls +wore sables. After that—it may have been merely an illusion—she thought +the girls became more friendly.</p> + +<p>It was at about this time that the elevator boy began to call her by +name in the morning. It was always, “Good-morning, Miss Fairburne.”</p> + +<p>And she answered, “Good-morning, Jimmy.”</p> + +<p>She did not know how he learned her name or where she learned his name. +There seemed to be <span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</span>some vague bond of brotherhood among those who +met on their way to work in the morning. It was a little bit like on +shipboard, where somehow people come to know each other before the end +of the voyage even without formal introductions.</p> + +<p>All these things Joan appreciated. These new faces and interests +enlarged her world as, to a lesser degree, did all those unknown people +with whom she corresponded in the name of the Devons Manufacturing +Company. They all helped to take her out of herself.</p> + +<p>Just as Mark Devons did. She never thought of herself—her old self—in +connection with him. She did not associate him any longer with that +room he had occupied in her own home. Since the evening she had visited +him in Mullen Court he had always remained there in her thoughts—there +and in the office. It was much pleasanter to think of him in his own +surroundings. They were part of him and he a part of them. In their +simplicity and unconventionality they typified him. She liked the +directness of the life they stood for. They emphasized the man rather +than his trappings. In remembering the little attic room with its +refreshing bareness, it seemed as though he could not possibly live +anywhere else.</p> + +<p>Here in the office he wore the long olive-green laboratory coat he had +used at Tech. It buttoned to his chin and came to his feet, and was all +stained <span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</span>with oil and burned full of holes by acids. It neutralized all +of him but his hands and his face, so that one was never conscious of +his dress. She liked him so. And she liked to watch him at work when +he was not aware of her gaze. She had to be careful about this because +every now and then he looked suddenly. Once or twice he had caught +her, and then she was never able to control the rush of color to her +cheeks. After she turned back to her work, she was sometimes left quite +breathless for a full minute or two.</p> + +<p>Yet it was difficult not to admire the confident way in which he went +about his tasks. He was so sure of every movement of his steady hands. +He was so coolly accurate, so alert, so intense. This business was an +expression in him of his desire to do, to accomplish, to play his part +in the big, vibrant world of doers about him.</p> + +<p>And she in her little way was playing her part also. As yet she could +not do very much and that little clumsily, but she thought she saw +every day an improvement in her typewriting. Doubtless the girl in +the next office would have laughed could she have seen her stabbing +erratically with her forefingers at the keys, forgetting very often to +strike the space bar at all between words. Doubtless the girl in the +next office could have done the same work better in one half the time +and with half the effort. She was a very capable-looking <span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</span>young lady of +a sharp, precise type. Joan had overheard the doctor recommending her +highly to Devons.</p> + +<p>“She is quick and accurate,” he had said, “but if business doesn’t pick +up I may have to let her go. If I do, you’d better grab her.”</p> + +<p>“Thanks,” Devons had answered; “I’ll keep her in mind.”</p> + +<p>For a day or two Joan had felt more or less piqued by that +conversation. Devons had not replied as she expected him to reply. He +seemed to admit that in the future this other might be a possibility. +She applied herself more industriously than ever to the sentence, “Now +is the time for all good men to rally to the aid of their country,” +with the result that she cut down her slips from ten to six and in the +process almost forgot Miss Manning entirely.</p> + +<p>Then, coming in one morning a little later than usual, she found Miss +Manning sitting in her chair, behind her typewriter, busily opening the +early mail. Dazed she looked swiftly about the office for Devons. He +was not there.</p> + +<p>“This is Miss Fairburne?” inquired Miss Manning.</p> + +<p>Joan must have answered, though she was not conscious of it.</p> + +<p>“I am Miss Manning,” the girl informed her. “Mr. Devons asked me to +give you this note.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</span></p> + +<p>Joan took the note and for a moment held it in her hand.</p> + +<p>“Where is Mr. Devons?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“He has gone out.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t understand.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps the note will explain,” suggested Miss Manning indifferently.</p> + +<p>Joan tore open the envelope. The note was brief.</p> + +<p>“Dear Joan,” it read, “please to go home. I will try to get in touch +with you there some time to-day.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"> + CHAPTER XXVII + <br> + <span>REAL NEWS</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">The</span> story Moran had run into was bigger than he anticipated. As a rule +the layman’s conception of what makes good reading does not measure up +to professional standards, but in this case it was necessary to give +Forsythe credit for having the real news instinct. A daughter of the +Fairburnes working as a stenographer was essentially good stuff. Moran +had the word of the society editor that the Fairburnes were the real +thing and had been for a couple of generations. One had only to read a +list of Fairburne’s clubs if skeptical.</p> + +<p>But even so the story would have had considerably less value had not +the girl been so good-looking. To be sure, the story would have been +headed just the same, “Beautiful Society Girl, a stenographer,” even +if she had been red-headed, cross-eyed, and snub-nosed, but it added +a great deal to its worth to be able actually to come across with +photographs to justify such a statement. And an eye for the dramatic +value of pictures was Moran’s specialty. He did not bother Joan herself +because he did not care to run the risk of frightening her away. He +merely followed her <span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</span>to her home one afternoon, and thereby learned her +name and address. The society editor and the graveyard supplied certain +other details, and the elevator boy at the loft building unconsciously +revealed her business habits.</p> + +<p>“She gets down here about eight every morning,” he informed Moran.</p> + +<p>At half-past six the next morning Moran had Bill Somers, one of the +staff photographers, stationed opposite the Fairburne house to snap +her as she stepped into her waiting limousine to go to work. It would +be difficult to beat that for a picture. They then followed her to the +point where she stepped out and proceeded on foot. Another corker! +Finally they took her as she entered the building off Third Avenue. He +found in stock, to serve as an effective contrast, certain pictures +which had been taken of her at the time of her début in an exquisite +gown from Paris which revealed the beautiful curves of her neck and +arms.</p> + +<p>Armed with these and a half-column story which, though somewhat vague +in details, was still adequate to carry the pictures, Moran appeared +before Forsythe late one afternoon.</p> + +<p>“I want to run this Sunday after next,” he informed Forsythe.</p> + +<p>“Steady,” Forsythe warned. “Remember I have an option on these.”</p> + +<p>He looked them over with satisfaction. The job <span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</span>could not have been +better done had he done it himself—which was a good deal for a man like +Forsythe to admit. A little more might have been made of Devons, but he +could write that in himself. He rose.</p> + +<p>“Leave these to me.”</p> + +<p>“Eh?”</p> + +<p>“If I can use these as I think I can, I’ll pay you big.”</p> + +<p>Moran looked uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>“I’m risking my job.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” replied Forsythe sententiously.</p> + +<p>“I know, but—hang it all, you aren’t going to try to hold up the girl +or anything like that?”</p> + +<p>It was a strange speech for Moran to make. He had never spoken to the +lady in question and never seen her except at a distance, but somehow +she had made a hit with him. He liked the way she carried herself. She +was not only good-looking but something more—a whole lot more. She +looked like a good sport—the kind a man doesn’t like to hurt. Besides, +he might occasionally have done a thing or two in his life that was +not strictly professional, but he had never before been involved in +anything such as Forsythe’s eyes suggested. Had it been possible he +would have pulled out of the whole affair at that moment.</p> + +<p>Forsythe scented danger. He forced a smile.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</span></p> + +<p>“It’s the man I’m after,” he explained. “It’s sort of one on him, +that’s all. Don’t worry.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll be back for those to-morrow morning,” said Moran uneasily.</p> + +<p>“Right,” nodded Forsythe. “Good-day.”</p> + +<p>Moran went out reluctantly. No sooner had the door closed behind him +than with a cautious glance toward Burnett’s office, Forsythe picked up +the telephone and called up the Devons Manufacturing Company.</p> + +<p>It was the girl whose picture he held in his hand who answered him.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Devons, please,” said Forsythe.</p> + +<p>After an interval Devons responded.</p> + +<p>“My name is Forsythe,” he announced. “Yes—of the Burnett Manufacturing +Company. I want to see you to-night on a very important matter. No, +I can’t tell you over the telephone. Yes, partly business and partly +personal. If you’ll come into the Waldorf lobby I’ll pick you up near +the desk. At eight. You understand this is really important? At eight, +then, to-night, near the clerk’s desk at the Waldorf. Good-bye.”</p> + +<p>Forsythe hung up the receiver. His forehead was moist. This was an +unusual piece of business even for him. He hoped it would not be +necessary to carry it through, but if it were—well, in a crisis it was +every man for himself.</p> + +<p>Forsythe entered the hotel at seven, and in the <span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</span>next hour drank +several cocktails. This in itself was enough to prove that the work +ahead of him was unusual because he had not drunk as much as that in +the last five years. But the effect was to give him considerably more +confidence of a certain swaggering kind. After all, a man who has +worked as hard as he had for ten years had certain rights. One of these +rights was to protect himself—by fair means if possible, but if that +were not possible, then by any other means he could find. Business in a +certain sense was war. He had seen worse things done than he proposed, +in both war and business.</p> + +<p>Yet if Devons had not come in fifteen minutes early, the chances are +that Forsythe would have needed another drink. The effect of the +stimulant did not last long. The sight of Devons almost undid the +efforts of the last hour. He extended his hand and Devons took it with +a trace of reluctance. Forsythe found a couple of vacant chairs in a +corner and led the young man over to them.</p> + +<p>“I wasn’t sure that you would remember me,” began Forsythe. “You came +to me last fall.”</p> + +<p>“I remember you perfectly,” replied Devons, “I think you’ve been to my +office since then.”</p> + +<p>Forsythe started.</p> + +<p>“That’s so,” answered Forsythe with an awkward laugh; “I guess I was +one of your first customers.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</span></p> + +<p>“I’m sorry I wasn’t in at the time.”</p> + +<p>“Your stenographer proved very capable. I take it she is your +stenographer.”</p> + +<p>“No,” answered Devons, “she isn’t.”</p> + +<p>“Really?”</p> + +<p>He waited as though for an explanation; waited as though an explanation +were necessary.</p> + +<p>“She’s my partner,” Devons informed him.</p> + +<p>Forsythe raised his brows.</p> + +<p>“She’s a mighty attractive partner if I may say so,” he replied.</p> + +<p>“I don’t see any occasion for your saying so,” Devons replied sharply.</p> + +<p>“Is there any harm in it?”</p> + +<p>“It’s beside the point. I don’t suppose you called me down here for +that.”</p> + +<p>Forsythe’s face hardened. He resented the impudence of the youngster.</p> + +<p>“Yes and no,” he replied. “Let’s go back a little. You came to me last +fall with a proposition to buy your new enamel.”</p> + +<p>“Which you turned down,” Devons reminded him.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“With a warning that I’d come back.”</p> + +<p>“Did I? I’d forgotten. Perhaps you’ll come back yet.”</p> + +<p>“I doubt it.”</p> + +<p>“At any rate, I’m ready to make it worth your <span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</span>while. I’ve had time +since then to test it a bit. Frankly it has turned out better than I +thought it would.”</p> + +<p>“I’m glad you can recommend it.”</p> + +<p>Forsythe flushed.</p> + +<p>“Are you still in the market?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“I can’t accept any more orders just at present,” replied Devons.</p> + +<p>“That isn’t what I mean. Are you still ready to sell the patent rights?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“I’m ready to make you a generous offer.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not ready to listen to any offer.”</p> + +<p>Forsythe leaned forward.</p> + +<p>“Look here, my boy,” he went on earnestly, “don’t lose your head. You +have a good enamel there, but I’ve been long enough in this business to +know that’s only half the game. A plant and organization back of your +product is the other half. You’ll find out that as you go on. Maybe you +can handle your orders now, but you’re only scratching the surface. +Why can’t we pull together on this new proposition—say on some royalty +basis? Believe me, you need us more than we need you.”</p> + +<p>“You’re coming to me: I’m not going to you,” Devons reminded him.</p> + +<p>“That only proves you’re not as experienced a business man as you might +be,” snapped Forsythe.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</span></p> + +<p>“Perhaps.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll venture to say that on a ten per cent royalty we could make more +money for you in a month than you will be able to make in a year.”</p> + +<p>“So?”</p> + +<p>“Because we have the plant and organization to cover the market quickly +and thoroughly.”</p> + +<p>Devons nodded.</p> + +<p>“You’re right about your plant. You aren’t in the market with that, are +you?”</p> + +<p>“What?” gasped Forsythe.</p> + +<p>“I’ll have to have more room before long. If you’re in a position to +make a reasonable price—”</p> + +<p>Forsythe smiled—a wicked smile.</p> + +<p>“You certainly have your nerve with you,” he cut in.</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“Are you ready to pay a quarter of a million?”</p> + +<p>“Are you?” Devons parried instantly.</p> + +<p>“Is that your price?”</p> + +<p>“I might consider that much cash.”</p> + +<p>Forsythe was still smiling. “That’s too much,” he answered quietly; +“couldn’t you take off the matter of two hundred thousand or so?”</p> + +<p>“Not even a dollar. I’m not trying to sell.”</p> + +<p>“That’s quite clear. I think I could do better with your—partner.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll leave her out of the conversation.”</p> + +<p>Forsythe reached in his pocket.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</span></p> + +<p>“That reminds me. I told you my business was partly personal.”</p> + +<p>He drew out a package of papers and photographs.</p> + +<p>“I have a friend in the newspaper game,” he explained as he held them +in his hand. “He came to me to make inquiries about you. He showed me +these and I asked him to hold up the story until I showed them to you. +You may find them interesting.”</p> + +<p>He handed them to Devons.</p> + +<p>“These are copies,” he observed as the man took them.</p> + +<p>Forsythe sat back in his chair where he could watch the young man’s +face. If it had been a question as to just how effective a weapon he +had, the moment Devons caught sight of the pictures it was no longer a +question. He saw Devons first flush and then grow pale.</p> + +<p>“What the devil are they?” Devons demanded.</p> + +<p>“They explain themselves, don’t they?” queried Forsythe.</p> + +<p>Devons went over the pictures and read the typewritten manuscript. He +read it with skin afire. Probably he had glanced through half a hundred +such stories about other people with indifferent interest before now. +But this—this was sacrilege. It was nothing short of that. It was +holding Joan up to the public gaze as shamelessly as though he <span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</span>were +parading her through the streets behind a brass band. It was something +that would maul her sensitive soul; something that she would shrink +back from with her arm over her eyes. And all through the narrative her +name had been linked with his in a way that by subtle innuendo left +those so inclined to read between the lines what they would. Then there +were the blatant pictures—including one of him which he recognized as +having appeared in his class album. Underneath it had been scrawled +“Mr. Mark Devons, manager of the Devons Manufacturing Company.”</p> + +<p>It was as though this were written in red ink. It was as though it were +an accusation of some sort.</p> + +<p>He turned upon Forsythe. He spoke slowly. His fists were clenched.</p> + +<p>“You damned yellow dog,” he breathed.</p> + +<p>“Easy, my boy,” returned Forsythe; “that doesn’t strike me as the kind +of language to use to a man who is trying to do a friendly act for you.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“I took the trouble to show you this before it was printed.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>Forsythe shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Do you want it printed?”</p> + +<p>“You—you wouldn’t dare do a thing of that sort!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</span></p> + +<p>“It isn’t my affair.”</p> + +<p>“It must be stopped. It—it would kill her.”</p> + +<p>“Well?” inquired Forsythe.</p> + +<p>“Let me see the man who wrote it.”</p> + +<p>“These were given to me in confidence.”</p> + +<p>“Then you—Good Lord, Forsythe, you wouldn’t do this to a woman? She’d +take anything like this hard. It’s unfair to her. It would hurt her +unjustly.”</p> + +<p>“Why mix me up in it?” Forsythe broke out impatiently. “It’s the +business of a newspaper man to print a good story where he finds it. I +didn’t write it.”</p> + +<p>“You mean it can’t be stopped?”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t say that. Of course, I’m willing to do what I can. But under +the circumstances there is no particular reason why I should, is there?”</p> + +<p>Devons gripped his jaws.</p> + +<p>“Forsythe,” he said, “if we were out in the open I’d take a chance on +pounding you to a jelly.”</p> + +<p>Forsythe’s own jaws came together.</p> + +<p>“Besides the fact that it is not at all a certainty you’d succeed, it +wouldn’t do you any special good.”</p> + +<p>“It would do me a lot of good—a lot of good,” nodded Devons.</p> + +<p>“Admitting that, then, would it do the girl any good?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</span></p> + +<p>Devons winced. Obviously it would not. The story would go on just the +same. It would take its regular course until it shrieked itself forth +some Sunday morning to amuse a few hundred people for five minutes +after their breakfast. But the memory of it would last much longer. +They would point at her on the street. They would recognize her in the +theater. Her friends might shun her.</p> + +<p>It could not be, that was all. It began to dawn on him what Forsythe +was about. He turned once again to the man.</p> + +<p>“What’s your price?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“Who said anything about price?” Forsythe answered cautiously.</p> + +<p>“What—what do you want me to do in order to interest you in stopping +this?”</p> + +<p>“Let’s separate the two things,” Forsythe suggested. “Let’s go back +to the subject of business. I came down here prepared to offer you +twenty-five thousand dollars in cash for your patent rights. I’ll make +the offer now.”</p> + +<p>“You mean that if I’ll accept that you’ll—”</p> + +<p>“Steady,” warned Forsythe, “don’t confuse the two propositions. My +offer to you is strictly business. Naturally I’d be willing to assist a +business friend in any personal way open to me. However, that is merely +incidental.”</p> + +<p>“The man who—who wrote this stuff would tear it up at your request?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</span></p> + +<p>“He is under certain obligations to me,” admitted Forsythe.</p> + +<p>“What assurance would I have?”</p> + +<p>“You could close your plant for one thing, dismiss your charming +employee—”</p> + +<p>“Damn you, Forsythe!”</p> + +<p>The latter rose.</p> + +<p>“So the little romance would be ended and the story would lack point. +But I’m not going to sit here and listen any longer to such language as +that.”</p> + +<p>Devons took him by the sleeve—with his thumb and forefinger as one +might handle something unclean.</p> + +<p>“Wait a minute, Forsythe. You’ll give me a little time to think this +over?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll give you until eleven o’clock to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“Eleven to-morrow,” repeated Devons.</p> + +<p>“I’ll be at your office with a contract.”</p> + +<p>“At my office,” repeated Devons automatically.</p> + +<p>“I expect to decide the matter there in ten minutes. Good-night.”</p> + +<p>Forsythe started through the lobby, but until he was out on the street +he kept turning around as though in fear.</p> + +<p>Devons had settled down in his chair and was staring at the toes of his +boots.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"> + CHAPTER XXVIII + <br> + <span>THE BIG HOUR</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">It</span> being a fair, clear day with a touch of spring in the air, Dicky +took his father’s arm and escorted him on foot half the distance to the +office. As a consequence they did not come in until after nine, which, +while early enough under normal conditions, gave Forsythe as uneasy an +hour as he had ever spent in his life. He had been pacing the floor +since eight. Even then it was ten minutes before Dicky came to his desk +and Forsythe had a chance to speak to him.</p> + +<p>“You remember the matter I spoke to you of the other day?” he began +abruptly.</p> + +<p>“I’m not sure,” drawled Dicky.</p> + +<p>“Then you didn’t realize its seriousness,” snapped Forsythe. “I was +telling you about the new enamel process which has just been put on the +market.”</p> + +<p>“Right. I remember now.”</p> + +<p>“And I told you that if we were not able to corner it in some way, it +would come pretty close to putting us out of business.”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ve—I’ve got an option on it.”</p> + +<p>“Good for you!” exclaimed Dicky.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</span></p> + +<p>“It expires at eleven o’clock to-day.”</p> + +<p>“Snappy work!”</p> + +<p>“It calls for twenty-five thousand dollars in cash,” said Forsythe with +a little more emphasis; “I must have that within an hour.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a lot of money,” returned Dicky.</p> + +<p>“In one way. But if you’re getting something worth two hundred +thousand—”</p> + +<p>“Eh?”</p> + +<p>“To us,” put in Forsythe quickly.</p> + +<p>“But how in thunder did you do it?” questioned Dicky with interest.</p> + +<p>“That isn’t important,” returned Forsythe. “The important thing is to +have a certified check ready.”</p> + +<p>“That ought to be easy—if you’re sure of yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think I’d go through what I’ve been through if I wasn’t sure?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t get you.”</p> + +<p>Forsythe took out his watch.</p> + +<p>“It’s now quarter of ten. Shall I see Mr. Burnett or leave it to you?”</p> + +<p>“Leave it to me,” answered Dicky. “I’ll go in now.”</p> + +<p>Forsythe handed him the sample and several letters.</p> + +<p>“Show him these,” he advised.</p> + +<p>Dicky took them, and feeling, on the whole, <span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</span>rather important with the +weight of business now on his shoulders, hurried into his father’s +office. Half a minute later he was back again to Forsythe.</p> + +<p>“That’s darned curious,” he said. “Dad isn’t there. His hat and coat +are gone too.”</p> + +<p>Forsythe sprang to his feet.</p> + +<p>“Call a taxi,” he ordered. “Get down to the offices of Toole as fast as +you can make it. ’Phone me from there.”</p> + +<p>Burnett senior had hardly swung his swivel chair up to his desk that +morning before he received a message from Toole. It was brief.</p> + +<p>“There’s going to be something doing in steel this morning. You’d +better be here.”</p> + +<p>“You mean—”</p> + +<p>“Come down and I’ll explain. It’s important.”</p> + +<p>So Burnett had put on his hat and coat again and tiptoed out with his +heart beating faster than it should. He was quite sure his physician +would have advised against any such excitement. But if all went well, +this would be the last time. It was to this end that he had taken on +yesterday a heavier load than he ever had intended. It was to this end +that he had broken his rule about margin trading. It was Toole who had +suggested this. He reminded him that the five thousand he had made +before on an outright purchase might just as easily have been fifty +thousand with the <span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</span>same amount of capital invested on a ten-point +margin. After all, this was not much different from the ordinary +real-estate transaction where one paid a per cent down and mortgaged +the property for the balance. The method, too, saved time. One was able +to condense a year’s transactions into a day. And time was important.</p> + +<p>Dicky had bothered him a good deal in the last few days. How much he +suspected and how much he knew it was difficult to say, but it was +certain that in the end Dicky would find out everything and put a +stop to it. He had been around the office more than usual, ever since +he came back from the South. Whatever was to be accomplished must be +accomplished soon.</p> + +<p>And in the last month he had dreamed larger and larger dreams for the +boy. At first he had been content to double his four hundred thousand, +but no sooner had the latter figures become established in his mind +than he wanted to double those. After all, when one was about it one +might as well. It appeared childishly easy. It only took a little +nerve. There was the tangible evidence of all his speculations so far. +He had made five thousand dollars which might just as well have been +fifty thousand.</p> + +<p>Dicky was troubled. He saw it in a dozen little ways. Once or twice he +had tried to draw him out, but without much success. The lad was not +the <span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</span>kind to whine over what could not be helped. There was no doubt, +however, but what it had to do with this girl—the girl he had spoken of +as a princess. If as the last big act of his life Burnett could make +her a real princess—that was worth a risk. Dicky himself did not know +how. He had had no training. That was not his fault. The father was +beginning to realize that now. He had made his son what he was—had led +him on to expect every wish to be gratified—up to this latest wish, the +biggest one of all.</p> + +<p>Perhaps this new reasoning was only born of the need of further +justification of the course he was pursuing. If so, he did not realize +it. He was honest with himself.</p> + +<p>And, after all, it was something to have one’s heart pounding a bit +faster. It took him back twenty years to the days when it pounded like +this naturally. He called a taxi and leaned back with his thoughts +racing off at all sorts of angles.</p> + +<p>His mood was a form of intoxication. All his senses were for the moment +sharpened. The sunlight appeared more golden; the sky bluer. He was +like a young man upon an adventure. Strictly speaking, it was Dicky’s +adventure and he was taking it for him. He was daring for him what he +would not dare for himself. By three o’clock it might be concluded and +the day won.</p> + +<p>So he speeded to the offices of Toole & Co.—magnificent <span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</span>offices +presided over by Toole the magnificent. He passed through the crowd +beginning to gather in the outer rooms and went direct to the sacred +inner room. Toole, big and optimistic, rose to greet him.</p> + +<p>“Good-morning, Mr. Burnett.”</p> + +<p>The first quotations were already coming over the private ticker and +Burnett picked up the tape.</p> + +<p>“How is she opening?”</p> + +<p>“Steel is off a fraction,” replied Toole. “If I were you I’d follow it +down.”</p> + +<p>“Eh? I’m in pretty heavy now.”</p> + +<p>“I know it, but—well, I’ve been informed the bears are going to raid +the stock to-day.”</p> + +<p>“Supposing I sit tight?”</p> + +<p>“You can do that, but—of course you have enough on hand to bolster up +your margin account?”</p> + +<p>The ticker reported a sale of six thousand shares—off a half. A second +sale of two thousand followed—off another eight.</p> + +<p>“What the deuce does that mean?” demanded Burnett.</p> + +<p>Toole shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“The big ones are up to something,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“I’ve a good mind to get out from under,” scowled Burnett.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</span></p> + +<p>“Then you’d better be quick about it,” advised Toole.</p> + +<p>The next quotation was off a full point and the sales on that doubled. +If he sold now it meant a loss of five thousand—all he had made up to +date. It came like a challenge.</p> + +<p>“Buy five hundred at the market,” he ordered.</p> + +<p>Toole pressed a button on his desk and a boy jumped in.</p> + +<p>“Five hundred steel at the market,” he repeated. “Better come back here +and stand by, Mr. Burnett.”</p> + +<p>Burnett signed the order slip and the boy went out.</p> + +<p>That was the beginning of the Big Hour—the hour when Burnett condensed +into sixty minutes almost a lifetime. Steel continued down, and he +followed it while Toole studied him, making, casually, little figures +on a pad in front of him. At the end of half that time he called for +more margin, and Burnett signed a check and sent a messenger to the +bank with it. At the end of another ten minutes he called for still +more, and Burnett in a daze did what Toole asked of him. Steel went +down three points, six points, ten points. Still, it could not go down +forever. There must come soon a point where it would stop and start the +other way. Then—</p> + +<p>In the meanwhile a young man had stepped <span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</span>into the outer office of +Toole & Co. He wandered around the board room a few moments, looking +over the crowd as though seeking some one. These were all strange +faces. He stepped up to a clerk and asked if Mr. Burnett was here.</p> + +<p>“Don’t know him,” replied the clerk.</p> + +<p>He was very busy. Every one was very busy. There appeared to be a great +deal of excitement hereabouts.</p> + +<p>He finally stopped another clerk.</p> + +<p>“I’d like to see Mr. Toole,” he said.</p> + +<p>He handed him a card and the boy went off. He returned in a moment with +the report that Mr. Toole was very sorry, but he could not see him +to-day.</p> + +<p>Dicky considered a moment. There was something about the atmosphere of +this place he did not like. There was something about the name of Toole +and the fact that he was too busy to be seen that he did not like. +He drew from his pocket another card and scribbled across it this: +“I understand my father is here. I must see him on a very important +matter.”</p> + +<p>He called the clerk again and sent this in to Mr. Toole. He waited five +minutes. This time Mr. Toole himself appeared—Toole the magnificent. He +was smiling.</p> + +<p>“This is Mr. Burnett?” he inquired as he extended his hand.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</span></p> + +<p>Dicky hesitated somehow about accepting the hand. It was large and soft +and white.</p> + +<p>“Yes. I came to see my father.”</p> + +<p>“Just so,” answered Toole; “don’t you find him?”</p> + +<p>He looked about the room as though joining in the search.</p> + +<p>“He isn’t here,” said Dicky, “but I suppose you have private offices?”</p> + +<p>“Why, yes, we have private offices, but—well, they are private.”</p> + +<p>“Is Mr. Burnett in one of them?”</p> + +<p>“He may be or he may not be,” replied Toole. “At any rate, it is the +policy of this firm not to interrupt our customers.”</p> + +<p>“You understand he is my father?”</p> + +<p>“I have your word for it,” smiled Toole.</p> + +<p>“You understand I want to see him on an important matter?”</p> + +<p>“I have your word for that, too.”</p> + +<p>“Then,” said Dicky, his face hardening, “take my word for it I’m going +to see him.”</p> + +<p>“That is assuming he is here.”</p> + +<p>“Is he here?”</p> + +<p>“I refuse to answer.”</p> + +<p>“Then—”</p> + +<p>Toole leaned closer to the young man’s ear.</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t make a scene. This is a private, not a public office. If +your father is here, you may <span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</span>be sure he received your message and +exercised his right to see you or not.”</p> + +<p>Dicky glanced at his watch. It was half-past ten. After all, Forsythe +might have made a mistake. At any rate, the safe thing to do was to go +out and telephone and make sure.</p> + +<p>“Thanks,” replied Dicky; “I’ll see if Mr. Burnett has returned to his +office. If he hasn’t I’ll be back.”</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t bother,” replied Toole.</p> + +<p>Dicky hurried to the nearest telephone and got Forsythe on the wire. +The man sounded excited.</p> + +<p>“I know he’s there. Insist on seeing him. Good God, you must see him!”</p> + +<p>“Right,” answered Dicky; “if you don’t hear from me in half an hour +ring up police headquarters because there may be a good-sized row +develop in the office of Toole & Co.”</p> + +<p>So Dicky went down with his face set this time and his eyes grown hard. +It was almost eleven! He called the clerk once again. This time he +scribbled on a card this message for Toole; “I’ve come back to see my +father. If I don’t get to him in five minutes, I’m going to start a +first-class rough house.”</p> + +<p>As the clerk went across the board room and toward the inner office, +Dicky followed him. He waited just outside for his reply. Once again +Toole came out smiling.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</span></p> + +<p>“I’m sorry—” he began.</p> + +<p>Dicky lowered his head a little as for a line plunge and bolted past +him. His shoulder took Toole in the pit of his rotund stomach, which +was perhaps why the man made no immediate reply. He saw his father +slumped down in a chair near the ticker, his head in his hand.</p> + +<p>Burnett senior made his feet unsteadily.</p> + +<p>“Dicky,” he trembled, “Dicky, they’ve got me. They’ve cleaned me out.”</p> + +<p>“So?” answered Dicky. “Then take my arm. I guess it’s time to get out +of here.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"> + CHAPTER XXIX + <br> + <span>A STRAIGHT TIP</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Joan</span> obeyed the message she had received at the office from Devons to +the extent of going back home and waiting there two hours for him. +She spent most of this time in her room within arm’s reach of the +telephone, expecting every second the jangling bell to summon her. But +the thing remained silent—ominously silent. Then, unable to control +herself further, she ventured to ring up the office. It was Miss +Manning who answered with the businesslike announcement, “The Devons +Manufacturing Company.”</p> + +<p>“Has Mr. Devons come in yet?”</p> + +<p>“No,” was the curt reply. “Do you wish to leave any message?”</p> + +<p>“I think not,” replied Joan.</p> + +<p>She replaced the receiver on its hook with a snap.</p> + +<p>It was foolish of her to be irritated. For the last few days she had +struggled with a correspondence that had served her fair notice that +it was getting beyond her mediocre ability. Down deep in her heart +she had anticipated the necessity of turning over part of the work to +more experienced hands. But not the whole of it. An assistant was the +most <span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</span>she had contemplated. And now Devons had ordered her home like +a discharged clerk and without consultation had filled her place. She +was entitled, at least, to the customary two weeks’ notice. She felt +humiliated. She had been trying very, very hard to make good—harder +than Mark Devons suspected. As the first really serious undertaking of +her life, she had felt as though her success or failure were in the +nature of a test.</p> + +<p>Going back to the beginning she had some reason to feel proud. It +had all been new to her! He should remember that. Until she entered +the office of the Devons Manufacturing Company she had never been +inside a business office. The financial world had been as vague as the +Government world designated by the initials U.S.A. on mail pouches and +uniforms. It existed she knew, and she had once taken a course in civil +government so that she was not wholly ignorant, but it went on year +after year without in any way involving her. In the same way men and +women went downtown to their various tasks in the morning without in +any way interfering with her private life.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she had joined those who went downtown in the morning and +had done her level best to learn what they did and to fulfill her own +little function among them. She had done this joyously, proudly, and +little by little <span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</span>with more experience, and always with the feeling +that the man in the long linen duster spattered with acid holes was +fully appreciative of her efforts.</p> + +<p>To be sure, he did not say very much. That was not his way. He attended +to his business and left her to attend to hers. That was how he could +praise her best. He turned over to her absolutely the responsibility of +the books and the typewriting. And sometimes he glanced up and smiled +as though in encouragement.</p> + +<p>Here in her room she felt her cheeks crimson at the memory of his eyes +upon her. It was as though he said at such times, “Well done, partner.”</p> + +<p>Of course, there was nothing personal about their relations. That is, +she was quite sure there was nothing personal. She tried, at any rate, +to keep that quite strongly in mind. Perhaps at this moment it was +more necessary than ever. But she wondered if he was not going to miss +her out of the office as—well, as she had to admit she was missing +him. This subject of personal relationships was a broad one and, of +course, in their case it did differ somewhat from the usual employer +and employee type. He had been here in her house, for one thing, and +she had seen him as a man first rather than as an employer. He had been +just Mark Devons for several weeks before he became president of the +Devons Manufacturing <span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</span>Company. It was she who had helped him to the +latter position—she and Dicky.</p> + +<p>For a moment her thoughts switched off to Dicky. She had not heard from +him for a week or more—not since in her last letter to him in the South +she had informed him that she was too busy to reply at length to his +letters. She wished, almost, he were back in town. She would rather +like to see him. And yet if he learned of her discharge he might laugh. +Her brows came together and unceremoniously and altogether unjustly she +proceeded to thrust him out of her mind.</p> + +<p>After all, she was assuming too much about her present position and +Miss Manning, considering that she had not all the facts. It was as if +to emphasize this conclusion that at this instant the telephone rang. +Yet it was neither Miss Manning nor Mark Devons who called for her. It +was a strange voice.</p> + +<p>“This is Miss Fairburne?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>She answered almost as curtly as Miss Manning herself might have done.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“I rang up the office for you and was told I would find you at home.”</p> + +<p>“Yes?”</p> + +<p>“I won’t give you my name because it wouldn’t mean anything to you. But +I’m a newspaper man.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</span></p> + +<p>She waited. She associated newspaper men with scandals and tragedies.</p> + +<p>“I just wanted to tell you that if any one tries to use unfairly a +story I wrote about you—”</p> + +<p>“A what?” she gasped.</p> + +<p>“Something I wrote for the Sunday paper. If any one tries to put +anything over with it, just tell ’em you’ve talked with me and that it +won’t go.”</p> + +<p>“But I don’t understand.”</p> + +<p>“You needn’t understand anything more than that. How long you been away +from the office?”</p> + +<p>“All the morning,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“Then if I were you I’d get back there. And, remember, just say the man +who wrote the yarn is going to kill it.”</p> + +<p>“Please,” she trembled, “can’t you tell me more?”</p> + +<p>“That’s enough. Get back. You’re too good a sport to hurt.”</p> + +<p>“But—”</p> + +<p>“Good luck.”</p> + +<p>With that the receiver was hung up.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>When Joan swung open the office door and stepped in, it was like a +scene from a melodrama. Devons and Forsythe, both pale and evidently +very much excited, were facing each other. They were as tense and +alert as two wild animals about to spring at each other’s throats. +Unconsciously <span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</span>Joan looked about for Miss Manning, as though seeking +support. She was not there. The two men were alone. They both swung +toward the door in challenge of the intruder. Then quickly Devons +strode forward.</p> + +<p>“Joan!” he exclaimed, “what brought you down here?”</p> + +<p>“You were to telephone me and you didn’t,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“I know, but—in an hour. You’ll go back to the house now?”</p> + +<p>“I think I’d rather wait here,” she decided.</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t. This man”—he spoke as though he meant “this thing”—“I +must see him alone.”</p> + +<p>“Why alone?”</p> + +<p>“He has some business—some very confidential business with me.” He took +her arm as though to escort her out.</p> + +<p>But she resisted.</p> + +<p>“If it’s business, haven’t I a right to be consulted?” she asked. She +turned to Forsythe. “Mr. Devons and I are partners,” she explained.</p> + +<p>“So I understand,” he nodded.</p> + +<p>“So you see what concerns him also concerns me.”</p> + +<p>She closed the door behind her and moved to the center of the room. In +a silent appeal Devons lifted his eyes to Forsythe. What the latter saw +gave him a sense of advantage. If he, too, had at <span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</span>first resented the +interruption, he now saw it in a different light. Speaking directly to +Devons he said:</p> + +<p>“We had nearly finished, had we not? There was some unfortunate delay +about the check, but surely you will trust me until to-morrow. In the +meanwhile, if you will sign the contract it will enable me to leave at +once.”</p> + +<p>The last few words were what Devons snatched at. Forsythe would leave +at once if the contract was signed. At the moment any price seemed +small if it would clear the room of the man. Standing there with his +eyes upon Joan, he magnified a hundredfold the hideousness of what +Forsythe had just threatened. It was as though the latter in his own +person represented that American public who would feast with ghoulish +eyes upon those pictures of her in the Sunday paper. The evil smile +about the man’s coarse lips would, if he did not act now, be multiplied +soon into a hundred thousand such smiles. He would have struck Forsythe +down at this moment would it have done any good. But if he killed +him he would be extinguishing only one of those smiles—only one out +of thousands. Worse—it would only add further point to the story. It +would seem to justify it and give it an importance that would send it +speeding over the whole wide world. He must keep himself very steady.</p> + +<p>“Let me have the paper,” said Devons.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</span></p> + +<p>Eagerly Forsythe drew it from an inside pocket and handed it over. At +the same moment he produced a fountain pen and unscrewed the cap.</p> + +<p>“Miss Fairburne will serve as witness,” he suggested.</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” she agreed. “Of course I may read the paper first.”</p> + +<p>Before Devons was aware of her intention she took it from his nervous +fingers and stepped a little away. He followed with an exclamation:</p> + +<p>“It isn’t necessary for you to read it.”</p> + +<p>She held it behind her back, meeting his eyes steadily.</p> + +<p>“I’m quite sure it is. Dad has often told me never to sign a paper +without first reading it.”</p> + +<p>“But you are to be only a witness.”</p> + +<p>“To what?”</p> + +<p>Devons turned back again to Forsythe.</p> + +<p>“It’s merely a contract for a sale of the business,” he tried to assure +her. “Mr. Devons appreciates the fact that a larger organization is in +a better position to handle—”</p> + +<p>But without listening further she broke in:</p> + +<p>“Sale? You are selling the business, Mark Devons?”</p> + +<p>“It—it seemed the best thing to do.”</p> + +<p>“You are selling—our business?” she repeated.</p> + +<p>“If you understood!” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“I think I’m beginning to understand,” she <span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</span>returned. “But it doesn’t +seem fair to make me fumble around in the dark.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a simple business proposition,” broke in Forsythe.</p> + +<p>“I wonder,” she replied. She turned away from him. “You said nothing of +this yesterday, Mark.”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Then your decision came suddenly?”</p> + +<p>It was Forsythe, whose mind seemed to be working more nimbly than +Devons’s, who supplied the answer.</p> + +<p>“Only because the offer came suddenly,” he said. “It’s one of those +things where quick action is necessary.”</p> + +<p>But she in her reply ignored Forsythe entirely.</p> + +<p>“Tell me a little more about it,” she pleaded.</p> + +<p>“He—he made me a cash offer and I accepted it,” he answered. “That’s +all there is to it except that the sooner I sign the contract, the +sooner we are rid of him.”</p> + +<p>“How much was his offer?” she asked.</p> + +<p>Devons hesitated, but there was no escaping from her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Twenty-five thousand,” he answered slowly.</p> + +<p>“But that’s absurd!” she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“There were other considerations,” put in Forsythe hurriedly.</p> + +<p>Devons started. He turned toward Forsythe with clenched fists.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</span></p> + +<p>“And these were?” inquired Joan.</p> + +<p>“I find myself in a position to do him a certain service.”</p> + +<p>“It must be a very valuable service, indeed.”</p> + +<p>“I think he will agree with me that it is,” returned Forsythe.</p> + +<p>“You will tell me what that is, Mark?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“No, no—I can’t.”</p> + +<p>“Then you will, Mr. Forsythe.”</p> + +<p>“If you do,” breathed Devons, “so help me God—”</p> + +<p>Joan placed her hand upon Devons’s arm.</p> + +<p>“Steady,” she warned. “I think I know already a good deal about it. You +are both referring to a newspaper article—”</p> + +<p>“Then he <i>has</i> told you?” demanded Devons.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Forsythe? No. I learned about it—quite by chance. But now I demand +to be allowed to see it.”</p> + +<p>“Impossible!” gasped Devons.</p> + +<p>“I demand it as my right,” she repeated steadily.</p> + +<p>Forsythe smiled again—viciously, cynically.</p> + +<p>“It might save us from further delay, Devons,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Joan,” pleaded Devons, “don’t ask to see it.”</p> + +<p>“It is my right.”</p> + +<p>She was magnificent. More than ever now she looked like a princess. Her +head was up and her <span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</span>clear eyes challenged the world. Her lips, like +those of a child, were firm like those of a woman. But just because of +this it was necessary for him to stand firm by her side and save her +from hurt.</p> + +<p>“If you will let me sign,” he urged, “then I can tear up the other. So +it will be as though it had never been.”</p> + +<p>“It will never be like that until I have seen it,” she answered. She +held her hand toward Devons. “Let us have it over with,” she said.</p> + +<p>It was like an order. It was like an order from the throne. It was as +though he were deprived of all further choice in the matter. It was her +affair now—not his. She demanded as her right and he dared not refuse. +The moment she learned of the existence of this manuscript it became +hers—like a letter that has been mailed. And yet he would have gone +back to the day when he had stumbled out of Arkwright’s room hungry and +alone, to have warded off the blow. He would have wiped her out of his +life as though she had never been, to have saved her from this. As much +as she meant to him now—as much as the future meant to him—he would +have done that.</p> + +<p>“I am waiting.”</p> + +<p>It was her voice again. He drew the photographs and typewritten +manuscript from his pocket.</p> + +<p>“Some day,” he said,—“some day I’ll make the men who did this suffer.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</span></p> + +<p>She took the packet from him and opened it. Forsythe, his eyes +squinting, watched her. He saw the color spring to the girl’s cheeks; +saw her breath come faster; saw her, as he thought, cringe. And yet her +fingers remained steady. He did not like that. When she finished, she +raised her eyes first to him—then to Devons who had half turned away +from her.</p> + +<p>“This is all of it?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Good Lord! Isn’t that enough?” choked Devons.</p> + +<p>“It’s sort of a silly thing,” she said.</p> + +<p>Devons snatched it from her fingers. He tore it across and then into +little bits.</p> + +<p>“Now let me have the contract,” he ordered. “I want to get this done +with.”</p> + +<p>“That was only a copy,” Forsythe reminded him.</p> + +<p>“I have your word that the original will be destroyed, too?”</p> + +<p>“I will do my best.”</p> + +<p>“Then—” began Devons, reaching again for the contract she still held in +her hand.</p> + +<p>She moved a little back and, as he had torn the manuscript, tore the +contract—once across and then into little bits. She did it quite +unemotionally and facing the two men. Forsythe was the first to +recover. He stepped toward her.</p> + +<p>“You did that in ignorance—just plain fool ignorance,” he growled. “It +will cost you big.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</span></p> + +<p>“I doubt it,” she answered. “But if it’s necessary to pay, I will pay, +Mr. Forsythe.”</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t listen to her,” cut in Devons. “She—she doesn’t know. This +is between you and me, Forsythe. You will make out another contract and +I’ll sign it.”</p> + +<p>“If you do I shall consult my father’s lawyer,” she answered. “Surely +I must have some interest in the business. If so my signature is +necessary, too. Remember we are partners, Mark.”</p> + +<p>“You have partnership papers?” demanded Forsythe, paling a little.</p> + +<p>“That is our affair,” she replied.</p> + +<p>“If true, it would add interest to the news story,” suggested Forsythe.</p> + +<p>The phrase served its purpose in arousing Devons once more.</p> + +<p>“We have no agreement in writing,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“Then,” smiled Forsythe, recovering some of his former assurance,—“then +I don’t see why we can’t finish our business without the help of Miss +Fairburne. I can write out a little memorandum that will serve until we +replace the formal contract which the young lady destroyed.”</p> + +<p>He stepped to the desk in the corner—her desk. Devons followed.</p> + +<p>“Mark,” she called.</p> + +<p>He turned.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</span></p> + +<p>“You are letting him make a great deal out of nothing,” she said. “I do +not see that any great harm would be done if the story were printed. I +don’t like to allow him to think I stand in fear of any such trifle. +But—it won’t be printed.”</p> + +<p>“What!” exclaimed Devons.</p> + +<p>“Before I came down here I had a telephone from the man who wrote the +article. He promised that if any attempt were made to use it unjustly +he would tear it up himself.”</p> + +<p>Forsythe struggled to his feet. “I don’t believe you,” he choked.</p> + +<p>Devons made for him with a lunging blow. But before he could follow it +with a second, Joan had reached him.</p> + +<p>“He isn’t worth it,” she pleaded.</p> + +<p>Devons held himself with difficulty. Joan turned to Forsythe. “Perhaps +you had better leave at once,” she suggested.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t true,” repeated Forsythe. “You’ll make a mistake if you +believe her, Devons.”</p> + +<p>But at the same moment he began to edge toward the door. As he reached +it he paused.</p> + +<p>“It’s your last chance,” he trembled.</p> + +<p>“Not his but yours,” she answered. “I—I can’t hold him much longer.”</p> + +<p>Then Devons made for him once again and Forsythe disappeared.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXX"> + CHAPTER XXX + <br> + <span>BANKRUPT</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Dicky</span> led his father through the outer office of Toole & Co. and out +to the street. The man bore heavily on his arm. In spite of that Dicky +said, “I guess we’d better walk a little.” So he led him for the matter +of a block or so in the noonday sunshine before calling a taxi.</p> + +<p>“It’s a good day for golf,” said Dicky. “If it’s like this to-morrow I +guess we’ll have to take our first lesson.”</p> + +<p>Burnett senior lifted his heavy head a moment. “Son,” he said, “did you +understand what I told you?”</p> + +<p>“Sure,” answered Dicky. “You said they had done you up.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve lost everything—everything and more.”</p> + +<p>“Well, forget it,” replied Dicky cheerfully. “It was only a question +of time, anyway. Just as well to have it done quickly and over with. +I’ll bet Toole has a sore spot in the neighborhood of the pit of his +stomach.”</p> + +<p>“But, Dicky—you don’t understand yet,” faltered Burnett.</p> + +<p>“You played and lost—isn’t that all there is to it?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</span></p> + +<p>“I drew all I had from the bank, I tell you. And I’m short two hundred +thousand.”</p> + +<p>“Just so. We’ll have to raise that on the house and business. I’ll +attend to that later. The thing for you to do now is to come home and +see mother. You’ve done enough for one day.”</p> + +<p>Burnett cringed.</p> + +<p>“What can I say to her!” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“Tell her the truth, that’s all,” answered Dicky. “You don’t need to +worry about her.”</p> + +<p>Burnett stumbled.</p> + +<p>“Put your weight on my arm,” said Dicky. But at the same time he raised +his finger to a passing taxi, and as it drew up to the walk helped his +father in. The man slumped into the corner like some lifeless thing.</p> + +<p>“Come,” warned Dicky, “this won’t do. We can’t let mother see us like +this. She’ll think something really serious has happened.”</p> + +<p>Burnett groaned.</p> + +<p>“It—it will kill her.”</p> + +<p>“What will kill her?” demanded Dicky.</p> + +<p>“Good Lord!” snapped Burnett, “don’t you understand yet? I’m bankrupt, +I tell you.”</p> + +<p>Dicky placed his hand gently on his father’s shoulder.</p> + +<p>“That’s the stuff,” he encouraged. “You got some of the old ring in +your voice that time. Buck up and keep it there. There’s a good old +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</span>sport down deep in you and that’s the man we’ve got to show mother. +I’ll miss my guess if she cares two straws whether you’ve lost your +money or not, but if she finds you’ve lost your nerve—she’ll take that +hard. She’s come sort of to depend on that.”</p> + +<p>Burnett pulled himself together and sat up. He met his son’s eyes.</p> + +<p>“Forty years of labor gone in a forenoon. It’s a whole lot lost, son.”</p> + +<p>“A whole lot of money,” nodded Dicky. “They certainly trimmed you good. +But after all, they didn’t get the best part of that forty years. Even +Toole couldn’t reach that. It’s up to you to save the rest.”</p> + +<p>“The rest?”</p> + +<p>“The fun you had piling it up—even the fun you had gambling with it.”</p> + +<p>“Eh?”</p> + +<p>“You had your hour,” grinned Dicky.</p> + +<p>“It pulled the heart out of me.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe it. Just now you’re feeling the reaction. But you’ll +get over that in a day or two, and it may be the making of you. You’ve +been working too hard for a year. The business has been taking out of +you little by little all that makes life worth living. It has been +eating into your health and your time. Now old Dr. Toole has remedied +all that. Sort of heroic treatment, <span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</span>but maybe that’s what you needed. +You wouldn’t listen to anything I said.”</p> + +<p>“You—you mean about the pumpkin pie?”</p> + +<p>“That’s one thing,” admitted Dicky. “Then about golf—”</p> + +<p>“Damn golf!” growled Burnett.</p> + +<p>“Steady there,” warned Dicky. “You’re going to have time now for +that—you and mother. I have a notion it would do her good too.”</p> + +<p>“How do you figure I’m going to have time?” demanded Burnett.</p> + +<p>“With no business to attend to—”</p> + +<p>“Eh?” choked Burnett.</p> + +<p>“If you’re in as bad as you say you are, you’ll have to cash in all +your assets, won’t you?”</p> + +<p>“The business?” Burnett’s fists clenched. For a second his old fighting +face came back. “We’ll have to pull that out somehow,” he said, as +though to himself. “Good Lord! Why, Dicky, what would become of you? I +built that up for you. I—I tried to double what I had for you—for you +and for her.”</p> + +<p>Dicky turned swiftly.</p> + +<p>“You what?”</p> + +<p>“It was for you and the princess,” said Burnett. “I—I wanted to make +you worth while for her.”</p> + +<p>Dicky caught his breath.</p> + +<p>“For me and the princess,” he repeated. Then <span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</span>in the cab he felt for +his father’s hand. “You took that chance for me and her?”</p> + +<p>“You said you weren’t worth enough for her. So—”</p> + +<p>Dicky had to gulp hard once or twice. Then his fingers closed over his +father’s fingers.</p> + +<p>“You old brick,” he trembled. “But I—I didn’t mean it that way. If I +had forty million it would be just the same. But it’s worth to me what +you lost to know what you lost it for.”</p> + +<p>“Only if I’d won!” exclaimed Burnett.</p> + +<p>“We might all be worse off than we are now,” declared Dicky. “Anyhow, +that chance has gone and so—” The cab had stopped before the door. “The +thing for us both to do is to be good sports before mother. Are you +game?”</p> + +<p>“Right,” nodded Burnett.</p> + +<p>It was the clasp of the boy’s hand that had given him a new lease of +life. He had expected the latter to take it hard, but instead of that +he had seen a flash of something in his eyes he had never seen there +before. He went into the house still leaning heavily on Dicky’s arm, +but with his head up.</p> + +<p>The mere fact that the two were returning home to lunch was in itself +enough to arouse Mrs. Burnett’s suspicions. But she did not need even +that clue. Her quick, tender eyes had studied her husband’s face too +many years to be fooled by any acting he might attempt, or any acting +Dicky <span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</span>might attempt either. She came down hurriedly from upstairs the +moment she heard their voices and confronted them at once with the +question, “What’s the matter?”</p> + +<p>“Dad and I just thought we’d surprise you by coming home to lunch,” +replied Dicky.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter?” she repeated.</p> + +<p>“Why—er—”</p> + +<p>It was easier said than done, this telling her the truth. Dicky turned +to his father, but the latter only raised appealing eyes to him. She +looked very frail at that moment.</p> + +<p>“Something has happened!” she exclaimed. “Tell me, Dicky.”</p> + +<p>“Why, it isn’t anything to get frightened over.” Dicky stumbled on, +“Dad here—well, he took a shot at the market and lost.”</p> + +<p>“Everything,” put in Burnett, as though anxious to make a clean sweep +of it at once.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Burnett relaxed instantly.</p> + +<p>“Is—is that all?” she answered. She stepped to her husband’s side. His +head was beginning to droop again. “Why,” she exclaimed, “I thought it +was something terrible. I thought you had had a shock.”</p> + +<p>Dicky grinned as he slapped his father’s back. “What did I tell you?” +he demanded. “Isn’t she the old sport?”</p> + +<p>“Mother,” said Burnett, “they cleaned me out.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</span></p> + +<p>“Didn’t leave him a shoestring,” nodded Dicky. “Can you beat it?”</p> + +<p>Shyly she tucked her hand within her husband’s.</p> + +<p>“As long as they didn’t take you, Joshua,” she trembled.</p> + +<p>“I guess it would have been better if they had,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“Hush,” she whispered as she led him into the sitting-room.</p> + +<p>And Dicky with a load off his shoulders backed her up now +enthusiastically.</p> + +<p>“It’s going to leave him time to enjoy life a little, eh? As soon as +you begin to get out and exercise, you can eat all the pumpkin pie +you want, Dad. It’s the men who sit around in offices that have to be +careful of their diet. If you could have seen the way at Palm Beach +some of those old codgers fed up after a round of golf in the morning, +you’d have envied them. Got anything to eat in the house, Mother?”</p> + +<p>“I guess we can find something,” she smiled.</p> + +<p>“I’ve had a strenuous morning,” he explained. “You take care of dad +while I go upstairs a moment.”</p> + +<p>He went up the stairs two at a time, and entering his room was careful +to close the door behind him. Then he sat down before the telephone and +called up the offices of the Burnett Manufacturing Company.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</span></p> + +<p>“I want to talk with Forsythe,” he announced. He scarcely recognized +the man’s voice as he answered. “I just wanted to tell you to hold off +on that new deal for a day or two,” he began.</p> + +<p>“I wanted to talk that over with your father at once,” answered +Forsythe. “It didn’t go through the way I thought it would. Where is +Mr. Burnett?”</p> + +<p>“He’s at home,” replied Dicky. “He’s going to stay at home for a while.”</p> + +<p>“Can I see him at the house?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Dicky.</p> + +<p>“But look here—this is serious. I spoke of twenty-five thousand. It +looks now as though we might have to raise four times that.”</p> + +<p>“Eh?”</p> + +<p>“We’ve got to buy that new process, no matter what it costs. If we +don’t we’ll be put out of business in six months.”</p> + +<p>Dicky passed his hand over his forehead.</p> + +<p>“That so?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve got to talk it over with your father, I tell you. Every day we +wait is going to make it harder.”</p> + +<p>“A hundred thousand dollars, you said?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps more. The point is, we’ve got to have it.”</p> + +<p>“Look here, Forsythe,” began Dicky, “that’s a lot of money under the +present circumstances.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</span></p> + +<p>“The present circumstances?” inquired Forsythe.</p> + +<p>“The fact is, dad has got in kind of bad on the market.”</p> + +<p>“Good God!” choked Forsythe.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to see his lawyer as soon as I can get away, but, to speak +frankly, it looks bad. Your friend Toole led him into deep water.”</p> + +<p>“You mean—”</p> + +<p>“It will take about all he has to square himself. I haven’t been able +to go into details with him yet, but I guess there isn’t much doubt +he’ll have to scrape together every cent he can raise in and out of the +business.”</p> + +<p>“He—he’s bankrupt?”</p> + +<p>“Practically.”</p> + +<p>“Then he’ll drag us all down!”</p> + +<p>Dicky resented the tone of his voice.</p> + +<p>“Whom do you mean by all of us?”</p> + +<p>“You and me and—why, he was a damn fool!”</p> + +<p>“Look here, Forsythe!”</p> + +<p>“I mean it,” Forsythe ran on wildly. “If he had held off another week—”</p> + +<p>“I’d cut out that kind of talk if I were you.”</p> + +<p>“I backed him with every cent I had in the world. I have a right to +talk. I—”</p> + +<p>But at this point Dicky quite unceremoniously hung up the receiver. +There was not much use in talking over the telephone to a man in his +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</span>condition. And to tell the truth, he was not in the slightest sorry +for him. He had never liked the man. The way he wore his hair was +against him, and his friends Toole and the others were against him.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"> + CHAPTER XXXI + <br> + <span>DISCHARGED</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">As</span> soon as Forsythe went out, Joan closed the door and stood with her +back against it facing Devons.</p> + +<p>“Now,” she said, “can’t we forget the whole incident and go on with our +work?”</p> + +<p>Devons looked up at her. He was breathing a little rapidly and his face +was flushed.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t right for you to be mixed up in such miserable affairs,” he +answered.</p> + +<p>She smiled a little.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t mind,” she assured him. “It was rather exciting. It was a +little bit like a play, wasn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“With you as the heroine,” he said. “You fought him single-handed and +won. Only—don’t you see I can’t let you take the risk again?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think he will come back again.”</p> + +<p>“Not Forsythe, perhaps, but there are others. The city is full of +them—of men and women eager to give an evil turn to situations of this +sort. I didn’t think of it until Forsythe opened my eyes. I can thank +him for that much. You see, Joan,—you don’t belong down here. That’s +the truth and every one knows it.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</span></p> + +<p>“Mark!” she cried.</p> + +<p>“You’re a Fairburne,” he ran on. “Your mother reminded me of that once, +and it didn’t mean very much then. We from the West are apt to laugh at +names. We’re apt to scorn them, because out there a lot of us haven’t +names that mean very much. But here it’s different. New York isn’t the +West, after all. And a name like yours gives you certain privileges and +demands certain obligations. It’s sort of a sacred thing to be guarded. +And a man—if he thinks a great deal, a very great deal of the woman +back of the name—has to shoulder those obligations. Joan—don’t you +understand?”</p> + +<p>He had stepped closer to her. His eyes were on fire.</p> + +<p>“This doesn’t sound like you,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“Because,” he went on breathlessly,—“because I’m saying things now +I’ve fought back for weeks—fought back because I had no right to say +them. But this last hour has changed everything. You have been so +magnificent—so wonderful, Joan. I was ready to sell out to Forsythe—to +take the little he would give me, cancel my debts, and go back home +with my share of what was left. It was all I could do to save you from +the danger I’d led you into. That meant leaving you and forgetting you. +I had steeled myself to that. Then you came, and made that unnecessary. +You gave <span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</span>me another chance. For now, with Forsythe out of the way, +it’s going to be easy. You saw how badly he wanted this. He’d have +committed murder, I think, to get my process. That means it is going +to sweep everything before it. A few months more of hard work and the +business will be doubled, trebled—there is no end to it. That’s what I +see ahead of me—a fortune and then, perhaps—you.”</p> + +<p>He seized her hand.</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t,” she protested.</p> + +<p>But he could not be stopped now.</p> + +<p>“You,” he repeated. “I love you, Joan. Day after day I’ve fought +against it, knowing that I wasn’t worthy of you. ’Way back in those +days at your house, I knew. I dared love you then when I wasn’t +anything but a penniless outcast. The beauty and gentleness and grace +of you crept into my soul. I lay there while you read and marveled at +you. And I gripped my jaws and swore that if I got my strength back I’d +go out into the world and win for you the things you deserved.”</p> + +<p>“Please!” she broke in.</p> + +<p>The words hurt her. They were almost the same words Dicky had used. +They sent her thoughts back to those few moments at Delmonico’s when he +had leaned over the table and spoken. She had answered him that she was +starting on a great adventure. So she had, and now—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</span></p> + +<p>“That’s what I swore,” he continued, “and that’s what I mean to do. +It’s almost within my grasp now, if you’ll wait just a little while +longer, Joan. You’ll do that?”</p> + +<p>His eyes were burning into her. She turned her head to escape them. She +felt the power and the earnestness of them, but they only frightened +her.</p> + +<p>“For—for what?” she asked hopelessly.</p> + +<p>“Until I have a right to go to your father and claim you. Until I can +give you all the things I’ve dreamed of giving you. It sounds wild to +you? But I know now what I have here. Not New York City alone, but the +whole State—the whole Nation—shall bring me tribute so that I can lay +at your feet the treasures of the world. I’ll have ships sailing to +India for you and other ships sailing to the land of pearls for you. +They’ll come back laden with presents for you. Ah, Joan—wait a little +while for me.”</p> + +<p>And all the answer she made was this:</p> + +<p>“Then you don’t need me here any more?”</p> + +<p>“No, thank God. The drudgery will soon be over. But the typewriter +there in the corner—” He smiled. “I shall put that away. I shall buy a +new one for Miss Manning and keep the other sacred.”</p> + +<p>“She’s to take my place?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve engaged her to take over the bookkeeping and the correspondence. +There will be a great deal of it soon.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</span></p> + +<p>“So—”</p> + +<p>“So you’re to remain safe at home.”</p> + +<p>He raised her fingers to his hot lips. Then he threw back his shoulders +and faced her with the pride of a conqueror. It was like this that Miss +Manning saw him as she opened the door and came in.</p> + +<p>Joan went back to the house as she was bidden—went back with so much +of the joy gone out of her that when she came in to lunch, much to her +mother’s surprise, the latter appeared distinctly worried.</p> + +<p>“My dear!” exclaimed Mrs. Fairburne; “I trust nothing serious has +occurred.”</p> + +<p>She spoke as though she were in a frame of mind to expect most anything +to happen.</p> + +<p>Joan smiled weakly.</p> + +<p>“To all intents and purposes I’ve been discharged, Mother,” she replied.</p> + +<p>“You are not going down to—to that place any more?”</p> + +<p>“No. I’m not wanted.”</p> + +<p>“Then I shall be forced to admit that I am under a certain obligation +to Devons,” declared the mother.</p> + +<p>“How?” inquired Joan.</p> + +<p>“For having sense enough to appreciate the fact that you were entirely +out of place there.”</p> + +<p>“But you don’t understand. If I had made myself <span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</span>essential, this +wouldn’t have happened. He—he has found some one to do the work +better—for a few dollars a week. To fail isn’t anything to be proud of, +is it?”</p> + +<p>“It’s something to be thankful for if it keeps you at home,” replied +Mrs. Fairburne.</p> + +<p>Joan lowered her head. “I’m ashamed,” she said. “Thoroughly ashamed.”</p> + +<p>For a moment the mother studied her in amazement. It was evident the +girl was sincere. That was quite the most peculiar feature. In some +way her daughter was hurt—humiliated. In the end she gave up trying to +explain it and crossed to her side.</p> + +<p>“There,” she attempted to comfort. “This has been from the first an +unfortunate incident, but if it has ended as well as it has, let us be +thankful.”</p> + +<p>“I tried—I tried so hard.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, dear.”</p> + +<p>“And I was doing better every day.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, dear.”</p> + +<p>“If he had given me another month—”</p> + +<p>It was the mother heart which spoke now.</p> + +<p>“Cry a little, dear,” she urged. “Then it will be easier to forget.”</p> + +<p>So Joan cried a little, though in the end she smiled through her tears +at her foolishness.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"> + CHAPTER XXXII + <br> + <span>GOLF</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">It</span> was the office boy who found Forsythe. When the lad came in that +morning to perform his usual tasks he saw the man in his chair leaning +forward with his head on his desk as though asleep. He tiptoed about +his work in order not to wake him. And then—in passing closer to the +desk—he saw something crimson like red ink spattered over the papers +upon which the head rested. Then he saw the clasped hand and the +revolver.</p> + +<p>Holding his breath, as though more than ever anxious now not to awaken +the man, he stole out. In the corridor he began to lift his voice in a +panic.</p> + +<p>“He’s shot himself!” he cried.</p> + +<p>Dicky answered the telephone that rang wildly that morning at seven, +and at the news said quietly:</p> + +<p>“Notify the police. Don’t ring up here again. I’ll be right down.”</p> + +<p>He was out of the house fifteen minutes later and at the office at +half-past seven. Already the officers were there, but after feeling of +the cold dead pulse they ordered the man left where he was until the +coroner arrived. Dicky took one <span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</span>look at him—at the stiff figure and +the brushed-back hair and went on to his father’s office. He sat down +in the old swivel chair and called up Wentworth, his father’s lawyer. +He got the man out of bed.</p> + +<p>“I wish you could come down right away,” he said. “There’s the devil to +pay all round.”</p> + +<p>“But, my dear fellow,” protested Wentworth, “a couple of hours from now +will do quite as well.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, come on,” pleaded Dicky. “I’m all hollow in the pit of me.”</p> + +<p>“Then I’d suggest a good breakfast.”</p> + +<p>“Come on, will you?” shouted Dicky. “There’s a dead man here and I +don’t know what’s coming next.”</p> + +<p>He hung up the receiver without further identifying the dead man, which +perhaps is what brought Wentworth down there within an hour. But he +was needed to answer the thousand questions the reporters put, if for +no other reason. And after that, when things were cleaned up a little +and the two were alone, Dicky in his father’s old swivel chair and +Wentworth opposite him, the lawyer began to go to the heart of the +matter.</p> + +<p>“Tell me all you know,” he demanded.</p> + +<p>Dicky told him, but, everything considered, it was not much.</p> + +<p>“I guess dad has been cleaned out all right enough,” concluded Dicky.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</span></p> + +<p>“But this Forsythe—where does he come in?” inquired Wentworth.</p> + +<p>“He owned some stock in the company,” answered Dicky. “He was all +worked up trying to put through a deal to acquire a new process which +he thought was going to put us out of business. When I told him what +had happened to dad he seemed pretty well worried, but—Holy Smoke! I +didn’t think it would lead to anything like this.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps there was something else,” suggested Wentworth.</p> + +<p>“Not that I know of.”</p> + +<p>“Your father might know. I think I ought to see him.”</p> + +<p>“Now, look here,” protested Dicky. “Let’s leave him out of this. He has +troubles enough as it is. What I’d like to do is to clean this all up +without bringing him into it.”</p> + +<p>“If I know him, that’s going to be hard to do.”</p> + +<p>“I think we can manage it. I’m going to break him into golf this +afternoon, and I have a notion that when we get back he’ll be so +dog-tired he won’t be able to think.”</p> + +<p>“But, my boy, you haven’t the authority to take over his business.”</p> + +<p>“Then I’ll get it. Can’t you make out some sort of paper?”</p> + +<p>“He could give you a power of attorney, of course.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</span></p> + +<p>“Then fix it up and I’ll have him sign it. In the meanwhile you can go +ahead and find out where he stands with Toole & Co., can’t you?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose the firm will let us know that. There is probably a letter +in his morning mail.”</p> + +<p>The mail was on the desk. Dicky ran through it and picked out an +envelope with a Wall Street address in the left-hand corner.</p> + +<p>“Here it is,” he nodded.</p> + +<p>He tore it open. It was a cold-blooded statement of yesterday’s +transactions and showed a debit of two hundred and ten thousand dollars.</p> + +<p>“That’s going some,” he observed as he handed it to Wentworth. The +latter glanced it over in amazement.</p> + +<p>“What has he got to cover this?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Hanged if I know,” answered Dicky.</p> + +<p>“You’d better find out right off. Accounts of this sort aren’t allowed +to stand long. I’ll make out the power of attorney for you and then +you’d better call in an auditor to make an inventory. The sooner we +begin, the better.”</p> + +<p>“Right. And the sooner we get through it the better. It looks as though +I’d better be hunting around for a job somewhere.”</p> + +<p>Burnett senior was inclined to rebel at this arbitrary method of being +relieved of his business.</p> + +<p>“I’m not dead yet,” he protested.</p> + +<p>“Far from it,” agreed Dicky. “The point of <span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</span>this new arrangement is to +keep you from being dead for a long while to come.”</p> + +<p>“But what in thunder do you know about the business?” inquired Burnett.</p> + +<p>“Not much,” admitted Dicky. “However, I’m willing to learn. Besides, in +this present emergency I’m turning things over to Wentworth. When he +gets through, we’ll hold a war council and see what comes next.”</p> + +<p>“Yes—Wentworth is a good man,” nodded Burnett.</p> + +<p>Dicky was further aided and abetted by Mrs. Burnett, so that in the end +Burnett signed the power of attorney. Armed with this, Dicky went back +to the office and gave Wentworth <i>carte blanche</i> to go ahead and +do whatever he pleased. It was then noon, and he rang up Hastings at +the Harvard Club and reminded him of an invitation he had frequently +extended to take him out to the Dale Country Club whenever he had a +half-day.</p> + +<p>“I want you to give my father his first lesson in golf this afternoon,” +he informed Hastings.</p> + +<p>Whatever the latter’s emotions were upon receipt of this news, he +politely concealed them and generously offered to do his best.</p> + +<p>Dicky sat on the club piazza drinking ginger ale with his mother while +his father started around the course. Two hours later his father came +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</span>back perspiring. He had made one half the holes in three hundred and +forty, but it must be remembered that his nerves were not in the best +of condition.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"> + CHAPTER XXXIII + <br> + <span>THE BIG CHANCE</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">It</span> was Hartley’s proposition. He rang up Devons and asked him to drop +in at the office that afternoon. There had been a delay in the last +consignment of enamel, and this had set Hartley to thinking—this and +a rumor, following the death of Forsythe, that all was not well with +the Burnett Company. The report did not come as a surprise to Hartley. +Indeed, he did not see how the new Devons process could do otherwise +than cut into the Burnett business. The youngster had something that +had only to be tested to prove its superiority. Still he had given +Forsythe credit for being able to handle the competition in some +better fashion than putting a bullet through his head. It would not +have surprised him any to have seen the man manage to absorb the new +invention. Forsythe was both shifty and nimble-witted. The youngster +was lucky to escape him in so simple a way.</p> + +<p>But with this danger removed, Devons was not handling his business +as he should. He had a gold mine there if he only knew it and took +advantage of his opportunities. One of the most obvious opportunities +was that which now lay <span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</span>before him. If it was true that Burnett +was in financial difficulties, here was one of the best plants and +organizations in the country waiting for him at his own figure. Why +in thunder did not Devons jump at it instead of fooling around in his +little two-cent laboratory and botching his orders? Hartley had been +holding up a big lot of shoes for three days now waiting for enamel. +That was not business. Devons could spoil the best thing in the world +if he kept this up long. He had written and telephoned, and the only +satisfaction he had been able to get was that the stuff would be +shipped as soon as possible. That was not soon enough as business was +conducted to-day.</p> + +<p>There was the possibility, of course, that Devons lacked capital to +finance the purchase of the Burnett plant. That, however, was not a +valid excuse. Any man half awake could raise what money he needed on +such a good thing as this, if he knew how. Perhaps the difficulty lay +here. He had sent for him to find out. Under the proper conditions, he +himself might be willing to put in some money.</p> + +<p>Devons did not find it necessary to wait this time in the outer office. +He was admitted at once.</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting on that last order,” he began.</p> + +<p>“You couldn’t help it,” Hartley finished for him. “However, that +doesn’t make it any the less awkward for me.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</span></p> + +<p>“I know it, Mr. Hartley, but I’ve been bothered more or less lately. I +expect soon to get straightened out.”</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“I’m going to have more room and try to find an assistant.”</p> + +<p>“One?”</p> + +<p>“To start with.”</p> + +<p>Hartley swung his chair clear of his desk.</p> + +<p>“Man, you need twenty. Have you heard any stories going the rounds +about Burnett?”</p> + +<p>Devons started.</p> + +<p>“You mean about his general manager—Forsythe?”</p> + +<p>“Forsythe’s death was only a symptom. They say the firm is in a bad +way.”</p> + +<p>“I hadn’t heard anything about that.”</p> + +<p>“Burnett has been playing the market and lost heavily. Besides that, +you are cutting into his business and are bound to cut in more every +day. I’ve been wondering if this wasn’t your chance.”</p> + +<p>“In just what way?” asked Devons.</p> + +<p>“To take over his plant.”</p> + +<p>“But Forsythe was trying to buy me out!” exclaimed Devons.</p> + +<p>“That shows he knew the value of what you have. It’s none of my +business, of course—but did you make him a figure?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</span></p> + +<p>“I did not,” answered Devons. “He tried to blackmail me into selling.”</p> + +<p>“That’s Forsythe,” nodded Hartley. “The only surprising thing is that +he didn’t succeed.”</p> + +<p>“If I didn’t have just the kind of partner I have, he would have +succeeded,” Devons admitted. “But she—”</p> + +<p>“She?”</p> + +<p>Then on the impulse of the moment Devons told the whole story. Hartley +listened, both interested and amused.</p> + +<p>“She was a good sport, all right,” he exclaimed when Devons had +finished. “And now—Good Lord, man, you have the whole thing in your +hands! If I were you I’d get to Burnett as soon as my legs would carry +me. Get an offer out of him. It wouldn’t surprise me if you could put +it over for around seventy-five or a hundred thousand dollars.”</p> + +<p>The figures took Devons’s breath away.</p> + +<p>“Where in thunder could I get that amount?”</p> + +<p>Hartley leaned back in his chair and thought a moment. When he spoke +again it was cautiously—as though feeling his way.</p> + +<p>“Devons,” he said, “I believe in your process. I think you have a +fortune ahead of you if properly managed. I wonder now if you would +care to consider letting me in on this in return for financing the +proposition for you?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</span></p> + +<p>Devons sprang from his chair.</p> + +<p>“Would I?” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“Steady,” advised Hartley. “It won’t do any harm to do a little +figuring on it, anyhow. Pull your chair up nearer the desk.”</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>It was fortunate that Hartley was a man who could safely be trusted +to do the decent thing, because Devons in his enthusiasm at the +prospect of having a partner with the former’s wide and sound business +experience was ready to agree to anything. Furthermore, Hartley stood +for success. He looked and acted it. To have him connected with any +enterprise was insurance. And so while the latter discussed this thing +and that with him for the next half-hour, Devons did scarcely more than +nod his approval. Incidentally, however, he did talk enough to give +Hartley a clear idea of just where Miss Fairburne stood in the deal. +She had raised the initial five thousand for him, and Devons considered +that she had an equal interest with him in all rights and profits.</p> + +<p>“We share and share alike,” he concluded briefly.</p> + +<p>“I see,” smiled Hartley. “I might almost consider you as one then.”</p> + +<p>Devons flushed.</p> + +<p>“There is that possibility,” he admitted. “But I don’t think I’m +justified in letting you put it just that way.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</span></p> + +<p>“Well, from all I hear of her from you I should say you are to be +congratulated.”</p> + +<p>In the end Hartley’s suggestion was that in return for a one-third +interest he would undertake negotiations with Burnett, furnish the +capital, and without at present giving up his position with the Doggett +people undertake in his spare time active management of the business.</p> + +<p>“I know a young man I can put in to carry out my ideas and do the +routine work,” he concluded. “He’s a Tech man and has had training +under me. Starling is his name. You will like him. But of course you’ll +want to think this over for a day.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see why,” answered Devons. “It sounds right to me. I’m willing +to sign an agreement to that effect as soon as you can make out the +papers.”</p> + +<p>“What about your silent partner?” inquired Hartley. “She may have +opinions of her own.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll see her right away, but I know she’ll be with me.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll leave it like that, then,” concluded Hartley. “But the sooner +I’m in a position to act, the better.”</p> + +<p>Devons left the office walking on air. This new arrangement promised +to accomplish in a few months all that by himself he might have been +years in bringing about. With a modern <span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</span>plant and a man like Hartley to +oversee it and organize the selling, the whole country could be covered +as quickly and as easily as it would have taken him to cover the city +alone. It was like a gift from the gods. And it brought Joan just that +much nearer. It brought her so near that as he walked out into the May +sunshine the world became suddenly vibrant. As with quickened pulse +he strode along to carry to her this wonderful news, the city became +touched with magic. The very air tingled and the humdrum old buildings +of wood and brick which he passed took on a romantic beauty like the +buildings of some strange Old World city. He was walking on a different +level now. His feet no longer clung to the surface, but were tipped +with wings that raised him to some rarefied stratum. He sensed the same +exhilaration as one walking upon a great height.</p> + +<p>He took the Tube to the Hudson Terminal, and instead of at once getting +into the uptown Elevated he came to the surface again. Hartley had +spoken of the need of haste, but even at the risk of an hour’s delay +he must enjoy this hour. So he threaded his way through the downtown +crowds and past the giant buildings. Both the people and the buildings +used to awe him—almost humble him. Now he faced them with a smile and +a conscious power. As he went on, this grew into something akin to a +feeling of superiority. He <span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</span>had met this city and conquered it. He +had come out of the West a poor boy, and with naked hands had fought +and won from it the choicest of its gifts. It was the moment before +possession, and that sometimes brings keener reactions than actual +possession. The past was still vivid enough to afford its full contrast +to the future. He went back, gloating over the climax, to his hard luck +when he staggered cold and hungry and penniless and friendless along +streets similar to these—to that time when the city seemed to be on +top. He remembered the indifference of the passers-by. He might have +dropped dead among them and they would scarcely have turned to see him +drop. Now in a few months, possibly in a few weeks, they would watch +him go by with envious eyes.</p> + +<p>He was on the threshold of success. He stood before the door which had +reluctantly swung open admitting him to the sultan’s palace. Within lay +all the treasures of the world—everything that money could buy. And a +little way farther in lived the princess waiting for him.</p> + +<p>His thoughts flashed back to his father and mother and brother and +sisters plodding along the dull routine of their lives on the Western +farm. He had not written for several weeks. He had wished to wait until +he had something definite to tell them. Now—when he wrote again—how +he would make their eyes open. He could go back <span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</span>with his suit-case +bulging with ten-dollar bills. Actually that was no longer a fantastic +dream. He <i>would</i> do it. He would do just that. Only he would not +go alone. He must wait until Joan could go with him.</p> + +<p>Joan! Joan! Joan! How the name sang to him! He allowed it to sing to +him. He had suppressed the music long enough. He was going a great deal +farther than he had any right, but with the right so near he could +hardly be blamed. It was as though she were by his side now.</p> + +<p>A little way farther he mounted a Fifth Avenue ’bus and climbed to the +top. He could see better up there. And the elevation fitted better into +his mood. He could look down on the streets—look down with Joan by his +side. It was almost as if they were in their limousine together—the +limousine he meant to buy. For he meant to buy for her all the choice +things of the world.</p> + +<p>To be sure she had most of them now, but they were not his gifts. That +is what was going to make the difference. She must leave behind her all +she had now and let them come fresh from him. What jewels she now had +would count for nothing against the jewels he would buy for her. And +her gowns and her hats and her dainty shoes—from head to foot he wished +them all to come from him. Only by giving could he express in tangible, +concrete form his love for her. Only by buying. <span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</span>He was no poet. He +must get beautiful stones and silks and satins to express his sonnets +for him.</p> + +<p>This was possible only through the medium of money—through a king’s +fortune. And that was now almost within his grasp. There were those +who affected to scorn money, but they did not know what he knew. He +recalled with a certain uneasiness one of his gentle-souled professors +who had given his life to the investigation of abstract theories—to +pure science. The man had taken an interest in him during his first +two years at Tech and had sometimes asked him to his rooms at night. +There he talked wisely and encouragingly to him. One evening as he +was leaving the professor had placed his hand upon his shoulder and +searched his eyes.</p> + +<p>“Devons,” he had said, “there is a great future ahead of you. I wish +I might look forward to seeing you take up my work where I shall be +obliged to leave it.”</p> + +<p>Devons had looked around the barren bachelor quarters crowded with +books and had not answered. Here was a man who did not need money—who +found a full life within himself and his work. But Devons wondered then +and he wondered now if the man had any such past as his own.</p> + +<p>All his life Mark Devons had seen money stand for the difference +between a full life and an empty <span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</span>life. In the West it stood for the +difference between some one and no one. The stature of a man was +reckoned in terms of his fortune. That standard had been bred in him. +He had seen it exemplified in his father’s life. He accepted it. He +was forced to accept it. In and of itself money meant nothing, but +interpreted in life it meant everything. In his own case it meant Joan.</p> + +<p>It meant Joan! Once again his thoughts swirled dizzily about her. They +were speeding along upper Fifth Avenue—past shop-windows laden with the +choice things of the world for those with money. The world had been +scoured to bring them here. Most of them were for the women—for the men +to buy for their women. Here was the one opportunity for men who were +not poets to materialize their thoughts for the women they loved. In a +few months now he would be in a position to do just that.</p> + +<p>He climbed down and jumped off the ’bus and made his way to the house +he had not visited since that day he drove away from it. He had been +humble then. But now he held his head well up and walked boldly. He +would not be afraid to meet Fairburne to-day. He would not be afraid to +meet Mrs. Fairburne.</p> + +<p>Jeffrey at the door recognized him and greeted him with a respectful +smile. He thought Miss Fairburne was in. If Mr. Devons would step into +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</span>the drawing-room he would make sure. Devons stepped in. The room had +not been changed in any detail. It was as familiar as his own home. +There was the fireplace before which he had sat so often with her—where +he had fought back the thoughts that flooded in upon him. But he could +think them now as much as he pleased. He stood with his hands behind +his back and smiled with satisfaction. He took note of details. In his +new home he must duplicate as nearly as possible what he saw here. He +could vary them in color and design, but here was a standard.</p> + +<p>In the midst of this pleasant pastime she came in. She seemed somewhat +disconcerted, but she was always at her best when startled out of her +calm self-possession. It gave alertness to her eyes and color to her +cheeks and eagerness to her sensitive lips. In her way she was as +suspicious at having him appear in mid-afternoon as Mrs. Burnett had +been to see her men-folk at this time. She paused halfway to him, but +he was at her side in two strides.</p> + +<p>“Joan!” he exclaimed, “it’s business this time—for the last time, I +hope.”</p> + +<p>“I know,” she nodded. “You’ve sold after all, then.”</p> + +<p>“Sold?” he exclaimed. “I wouldn’t take a million dollars for the +process to-day.”</p> + +<p>She moved away from him and sat down. She <span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</span>felt safer sitting down. +He went back to his position before the fireplace. He stood there so +confidently, almost with such an air of proprietorship that she feared.</p> + +<p>“Well?” she inquired.</p> + +<p>“Hartley sent for me,” he announced, as though that in itself were +something to be proud of. “I’ve told you of Hartley.”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“He—he wants to go into partnership with us.”</p> + +<p>“With us?”</p> + +<p>It was as though she failed to connect herself at all with the “us.”</p> + +<p>“With you and me. He made an offer to undertake the full management and +furnish capital, for a one-third interest. Do you realize what that +means?”</p> + +<p>She considered a moment and then replied, “I’m afraid I don’t, Mark.”</p> + +<p>“It means success!” he exclaimed. “With a man like him with us we can +accomplish in weeks what it would take us months to do alone. Why, he +has a scheme in mind already to buy the Burnett plant—”</p> + +<p>She raised her eyes quickly at that name.</p> + +<p>“The Burnett plant?”</p> + +<p>“They were our big rivals,” he explained. “Forsythe was with them.”</p> + +<p>She frowned at the recollection.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</span></p> + +<p>“Now Burnett has lost his money in the market.”</p> + +<p>“I—I hadn’t heard anything about that!” she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>“There is no reason why you should, is there? Hartley told me. The man +is practically bankrupt, and we expect to buy it in at our own price.”</p> + +<p>“This is Joshua Burnett you are talking about?”</p> + +<p>“It’s Burnett, of the Burnett Manufacturing Company. I don’t know +anything more about him than that. But Hartley says it’s our great +opportunity. He is willing to put up the money provided we’ll take him +in. He sent me up to you to get your consent.”</p> + +<p>“I—I don’t see what I have to do with it,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“You? Everything,” he ran on. “Why, we’re partners, you and I. I can’t +put through any deal without you. I told Hartley that we each held a +half interest. Without you I couldn’t even have made a beginning. And +now that success is within our grasp, why, we’re going to share that, +too.”</p> + +<p>She was leaning forward, staring at the floor.</p> + +<p>“You—you don’t seem as glad as I thought you’d be,” he complained.</p> + +<p>She roused herself.</p> + +<p>“I was thinking of Burnett,” she answered. “It—it seems sort of hard on +him.”</p> + +<p>“If he speculated and lost—that isn’t our fault, is it?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</span></p> + +<p>“No, Mark.”</p> + +<p>“And after what Forsythe attempted—”</p> + +<p>“But Mr. Burnett had nothing to do with that,” she protested.</p> + +<p>“I only know he needed my process and tried that way to get it.”</p> + +<p>“It was Forsythe,” she cut in.</p> + +<p>“You know this Burnett, then?”</p> + +<p>“I have met his wife,” she faltered. “And I have met his son. Forsythe +must have acted without their knowledge. I am absolutely certain.”</p> + +<p>He glanced impatiently at his watch.</p> + +<p>“Well, we’ll admit as much,” he concluded. “I must get back to Hartley. +You give your consent?”</p> + +<p>“I—I don’t know anything about what to do,” she stammered. “You must +act upon your own judgment.”</p> + +<p>“Right,” he nodded briskly. “Then I shall accept the offer. And +now,”—he stepped nearer her,—“I hope I won’t ever have to bother you +again with such details. They disturb you. I’m sorry to have had to +come to you to-day. I’ll be glad when I shan’t have to be bothered +myself. Hartley is going to take over just those things.”</p> + +<p>She was sitting back in her chair a bit rigid.</p> + +<p>“You don’t know what this means to me, Joan,” he said.</p> + +<p>“I’m glad if it makes you happy.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</span></p> + +<p>“It won’t make me completely happy until I’m able to make you happy.”</p> + +<p>She rose now.</p> + +<p>“Me? Please not to worry about me.”</p> + +<p>“The next time I come it won’t be as your business partner,” he +whispered. “The next time—”</p> + +<p>“We mustn’t look forward to the next time,” she warned.</p> + +<p>He frowned.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“Things happen in such a queer way,” she replied.</p> + +<p>When he found himself again outside the house he was repeating that +last sentence to himself.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV"> + CHAPTER XXXIV + <br> + <span>A BUSY MAN</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">For</span> a week Joan tried at odd times to get hold of Dicky, but as near +as she could make out, there was not a busier man in New York. In +just what way he was busy she could not discover. He was never in +when she telephoned, and in reply to a note he answered only that it +took so much time trying to see that his father did not play too much +golf that he was left with scarcely a minute of his own. Under those +circumstances, and some others, she was glad enough when her father +proposed a couple of weeks at Atlantic City. So they motored down there +and stopped at the Traymore. It was just before the season, so that the +Board Walk was not yet too crowded to be unpleasant and one could still +sit on the hotel deck in decent seclusion. Here she relaxed and baked +herself in the sun or listened to the band concerts on the Pier, gazing +out to sea. It was an indolent, hazy existence, and was undoubtedly +just what she needed.</p> + +<p>The one disturbing factor was the long letters she received every +morning from Devons. He was glad she had left town. He saw now that +the strain of the last month had told on her, and he blamed <span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</span>himself +for that. He should not have allowed her to undertake anything so +arduous. She was not accustomed to anything of the sort. She was not +hardened to it as Miss Manning was. The latter made no effort and left +the office at night as fresh as when she came in. She was proving very +satisfactory.</p> + +<p>When Devons talked of her like that he was repeating almost the +very words of her mother. He was quite as blind as the latter had +been—quite as narrow. He had failed utterly to realize what these +months had really meant to her. It was not the work which had worried +her, but his attitude toward it. And from him she had looked for +something different. She had expected him to understand her—to see the +facts her mother and Dicky had missed. She had been happy—supremely +happy—with the joy that comes of service. That is the only happiness +that lasts—that can perpetuate itself. For a little while she had felt +herself useful, and it was this that had given significance to those +days. To be sure, she had done a very little, and perhaps had not done +that little as well as Miss Manning was doing it. But that little—he +had permitted Miss Manning to take that little away from her. There +was nothing left. That is what she felt as he wrote to her. There was +nothing left between them to give point to his later letters.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</span></p> + +<p>For the next few days he talked only of Hartley. He admired the man. He +stood almost in awe of the way he was taking hold of the business and +pushing through the negotiations with Burnett.</p> + +<p>“Hartley is a genius,” he wrote. “And his man Starling shows the result +of training under him. The two are putting in ten hours a day and I am +spending most of my time with them. I’m turning out only just enough +enamel for Hartley to use because it seems a waste of time to putter +around in a small way after listening to the plans they have ahead. And +the letters are coming in every day clamoring for the stuff. I tell +you, Joan, we have a market bigger than I ever realized. We’ve got them +going.</p> + +<p>“There isn’t much doubt but what we’ll get the Burnett plant. The only +question is one of price and Hartley is driving a sharp bargain.”</p> + +<p>And so on and so on and so on. Those details did not interest her in +the slightest. She frowned at every mention of the name of Burnett. +There were times when she felt as though involved in some plot against +him—and against the little woman she had met who was so proud of Dicky +and against Dicky himself. She wished Dicky would write to her. She had +dropped him a note saying that she was going to Atlantic City and hoped +to hear from him. But she did not hear. At the end of a week she was +going through her <span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</span>morning mail looking for his boyish handwriting with +an eagerness that surprised her. When instead of that she found the +businesslike scrawl of Devons, she was always brought up with something +of a shock. It was odd, but down here the whole affair with Devons was +fast becoming more and more a detached episode. It was probably due +to the fact that it began so abruptly and ended so abruptly and had +so little to do with her present existence, while Dicky went back in +her life several years. Then, too, one could not imagine Devons here +without spoiling him. On the other hand, this was just the sort of +place into which Dicky would fit. He would like nothing better than to +sprawl out in a steamer chair beside her with a rug over his knees and +talk of nothing in particular. She would like to hear him talk again of +nothing in particular.</p> + +<p>Then when finally the deal was consummated—Devons sent her a wire the +day the purchase of the Burnett plant was made—he began to write an +entirely different sort of letter. She had anticipated this. She had +dreaded just this. Her cheeks burned as she read the first one—burned +with shame as though she were reading another woman’s letters. It would +have been better had he told her these things. With his eyes back of +the words and his vibrant voice they would not have sounded quite so—so +crude. They would have seemed <span class="pagenum" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</span>more personal. Besides, she could have +checked him then at the beginning. As it was, he had his own way—taking +everything for granted. Even when in her replies she did not reply +at all, he retained his confidence. It was as though he assumed her +consent to all he wrote. Once she tried to write him what she felt, but +it sounded as crude as his own letters, so she tore it up. She felt +quite helpless, and in this emergency turned in her thoughts again to +Dicky—of all men. It was, under the circumstances, rather absurd.</p> + +<p>In the end it was Dicky rather than Devons that brought her back to +town. She had begun to get worried about him. In the two weeks she +had been away she had not heard a single word. This was unlike him, +for even when she had treated him most badly he had never ceased to +keep her posted about what he was doing. He had written her daily from +Florida at a time when she had been so occupied with other matters that +she had not deigned to reply at all to most of them. But it had not +been because she did not like to hear from him. Even when he was most +foolish she had not objected to reading his outpourings. There were a +great many things Dicky did not understand, but now that no one in the +world understood that seemed less significant. He, at any rate, was +consistent. And whatever it was now that prevented <span class="pagenum" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</span>him from writing, +she had no doubt whatever but that if she could see him she would find +him exactly the same old Dicky. It was with an unexpressed desire to +prove this that she came back to town instead of remaining another week +as her mother urged.</p> + +<p>She had not intended to tell Devons of her plans, but meant to have a +day or so to herself. That morning, however, he called her up over the +long distance just as she was starting, and insisted upon seeing her +that afternoon.</p> + +<p>“I want to take you all over the new plant,” he said. “We are fairly +well installed now, and you must see for yourself what progress we’ve +made. It will open your eyes.”</p> + +<p>It was the last thing in the world she desired to do, but she knew that +if she refused now it would be only to postpone the inevitable, so she +consented. He was to call at the house for her at three.</p> + +<p>When he stepped into the drawing-room she felt as though he had +undergone some metamorphosis. It was almost as though he had changed +physically. He was quicker in his movements—more aggressive in his +attitude. He carried himself like a nervous man of affairs. But perhaps +these peculiarities were given undue emphasis by his dress. She had +never seen him except in the old pepper-and-salt suit he had first worn +and <span class="pagenum" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</span>the somewhat battered gray felt hat. They had to her grown to be +a part of him. These had now been discarded for a new blue serge that +fitted perfectly and a new Panama. She noticed, too, that his low shoes +were new and that he was wearing gloves. It was a conventional enough +costume, but it made him over into a modern young New York business man +of a type. Much that characterized him as Mark Devons had vanished. To +be sure, all this was superficial, but it had its effect.</p> + +<p>It was clear that he was impatient to show her at once the tangible +result of his success, and so after scarcely more than commonplace +greetings they started in the waiting taxi in which he had driven up. +On the way it was of Hartley again that he talked—of Hartley and the +prospect that lay ahead.</p> + +<p>“It’s like a fairy story coming true!” he exclaimed. “I can hardly +believe it yet. It is only a few months ago that I was wandering around +these streets on foot and penniless. And now—”</p> + +<p>He turned to her as though this were the first time he had seen her +since her return.</p> + +<p>“You’re looking very much better,” he said abruptly. “The rest has done +you good.”</p> + +<p>“Yes?”</p> + +<p>“At the rate things are going now, I ought to be able to get away +myself for a little while this <span class="pagenum" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</span>summer. If it’s possible I’d like to +get home for a week.”</p> + +<p>She tried to show some interest.</p> + +<p>“They’ll be glad to see you.”</p> + +<p>“They will when they see what I bring them.”</p> + +<p>The cab had stopped before a fair-sized building. As she stepped out he +pointed to a freshly painted inscription. It read</p> + +<p class="flat center"> +<b>DEVONS MANUFACTURING COMPANY</b> +</p> + +<p>“I wanted to make it Devons, Fairburne & Hartley,” he explained. “But +Hartley thought this was the better trade name. Every time I look at it +I’m half afraid it’s only an optical illusion. Read it for me.”</p> + +<p>She repeated the words, “Devons Manufacturing Company.”</p> + +<p>“That’s it,” he nodded. “Some different from the one crowded room we +started with, eh?”</p> + +<p>“It looks very imposing,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“We’ve taken over two or three standard kinds of blacking Burnett was +making. But as soon as I get time I’m going to try to improve on those. +I believe I can do it.”</p> + +<p>“I believe you can,” she said.</p> + +<p>He led her in as proudly as he might have escorted her into a palace. +After all, it stood for that. From this old building was coming the +wherewithal to build the Arkwright house which was <span class="pagenum" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</span>to be his real +palace. He took her into the general offices where Burnett used to sit +and introduced her to Starling—a clean-cut young fellow.</p> + +<p>“One of the partners in the firm,” he explained.</p> + +<p>Starling, with a batch of letters in his hand, paused long enough to +be decent, and then stepped over to Miss Manning who sat behind her +machine in a corner of the office. In another minute he was dictating +and she was watching Miss Manning’s quick fingers taking down the +letters in shorthand. Devons was forced to call her twice to get her +attention.</p> + +<p>“We’ll begin at the ground floor and go up,” he announced. “I want you +to see it all.”</p> + +<p>So they went down again to a big room filled with kettles where a +half-dozen men stained with black, sticky stuff were about their tasks. +It was difficult to distinguish one of them from another, but as she +watched them one of the men lifted his head. His face was that of a +negro minstrel. She caught her breath as her eyes met his. He, too, +appeared taken aback for a second and then he grinned. He paused only +long enough to nod and turned to his work. She clutched Devons’s arm.</p> + +<p>“That man—over there?” she questioned.</p> + +<p>She pointed him out to Devons, but the latter only shook his head.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</span></p> + +<p>“I don’t know one of them from another,” he answered. “Some of them are +Burnett’s men, and I believe Starling has taken on one or two new ones.”</p> + +<p>“But that,” she said,—“that is Dicky Burnett.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t know him,” he answered indifferently and started on.</p> + +<p>But she left his side and hurried over to Dicky Burnett and touched his +arm as he was bending over his work.</p> + +<p>“Dicky!” she cried.</p> + +<p>He looked up.</p> + +<p>“Hello,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“You—what are you doing here?” she demanded.</p> + +<p>“I’ve taken a job—to learn the business,” he replied, unabashed.</p> + +<p>“But you—surely that wasn’t necessary?”</p> + +<p>“It was,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“I don’t understand. You must come and tell me about it. You must come +this evening.”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid—”</p> + +<p>“No. I insist. You will come this evening.”</p> + +<p>“Very well,” he consented. “Only—”</p> + +<p>“I shall expect you at eight. You promise?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>Devons in astonishment had reached her side. She turned back with him.</p> + +<p>“You know the fellow?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</span></p> + +<p>“He is Mr. Burnett’s son,” she answered. “I—oh, it’s all so topsy-turvy +I want to go home.”</p> + +<p>“But you haven’t seen half.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve seen enough,” she pleaded. “I want to go home.”</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXV"> + CHAPTER XXXV + <br> + <span>LOVE</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">When</span> Dicky strolled in at eight, his old immaculate, nonchalant self, +it was hard for her to believe that he was the same man she had seen +a few hours before smudge-covered and in greasy overalls. As she came +forward excitedly to greet him, her big eyes were full of questions.</p> + +<p>“Tell me,” she said eagerly, “from the beginning.”</p> + +<p>His own eyes took fire at the beauty of her. In all the years he had +known her he had never seen her look fairer. She was all she had ever +been at her best and something more. It was that something more that +puzzled him. It was as though all her superficial charms had suddenly +grown deeper—as though her eyes, always deep, had now become like +one of those bottomless lakes in the mountains, and her lips, always +tender, had taken on the infinite tenderness of a mother. He had come +prepared to put all the past behind him, and he found it intensified.</p> + +<p>“I’d rather forget it all—with you,” he answered.</p> + +<p>“Why?” she asked directly.</p> + +<p>The reason was that he felt a man ought never <span class="pagenum" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</span>to come to her except +with tales of success—with reports of good fortune. A lady does not +care to hear from her knight of reversals. And yet as he looked into +those new depths he found it difficult to express this in any way that +would not hurt her.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t pleasant reading,” he replied awkwardly.</p> + +<p>“You are ashamed?” she asked in astonishment.</p> + +<p>“No,” replied Dicky quickly. “Not that.”</p> + +<p>“Then tell me.”</p> + +<p>He sat down opposite her and leaned forward with his hands clasped over +his knees. He wanted to make the recital as brief as possible.</p> + +<p>“After all, it’s an old story,” he said. “Dad took a turn at the market +and got cleaned out. It was necessary to cash in everything to pay up. +That left us broke so we moved to a flat in Brooklyn and I took a job +with the new firm to learn the business. Now tell me about yourself. +How did you happen to drift in there?”</p> + +<p>“I came in with Mr. Devons. Don’t you remember him?”</p> + +<p>Dicky squinted his eyes a moment.</p> + +<p>“Seems to me I saw him somewhere once.”</p> + +<p>“He was at the house. He is the man I—I almost ran over.”</p> + +<p>“Good Lord, is that the fellow?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</span></p> + +<p>“He is the man for whom I borrowed the money. Why, he’s a partner of +yours, Dicky.”</p> + +<p>He looked puzzled.</p> + +<p>“A partner of mine?”</p> + +<p>“When I took the money I agreed to make you a silent partner. So you’re +a partner of mine and a partner of his. You and I have between us a +one-third interest.”</p> + +<p>Dicky rose to his feet.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ll be hanged!” he exclaimed. “Then I’ll be able to pay back +that five thousand to dad!”</p> + +<p>“You went to him for it?”</p> + +<p>“I had no other place to go.”</p> + +<p>“You can pay back that and a great deal more besides. Why, Mark says—”</p> + +<p>“Mark?” he interrupted.</p> + +<p>The color came to her cheeks.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Devons,” she explained. “He expects to make his fortune on his +share.”</p> + +<p>“Then dad ought to make half a fortune,” he nodded.</p> + +<p>“Only it’s really yours.”</p> + +<p>“Mine? I’d have a nerve to claim it. Why, it was all on account of me +that he got into the hole.”</p> + +<p>He had said too much and realized it the next second when she pressed +him to go on.</p> + +<p>“Somehow,” he faltered ahead,—“somehow dad thinks a lot of me. I’m sort +of a weakness of <span class="pagenum" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</span>his. One day I got to telling of something I wanted +a whole lot—something I wanted more than I’d ever wanted anything. So +what does he do but try to get it for me. He figured it would take +several million, and had it all worked out on a pad how he could get +that. Only he didn’t get it. Instead the other fellows got all he had. +I guess it’s up to me now to return what I can.”</p> + +<p>“Was what you wanted—as valuable as all that?”</p> + +<p>“If dad had made all he set out to make and then doubled that, what I +wanted would have been worth it and more if I could have got it,” he +answered earnestly.</p> + +<p>“But what—”</p> + +<p>“The chance has passed, anyway,” he concluded. “But I want to get back +to him and tell him about this. He’s worried and that interferes with +his golf.”</p> + +<p>Apparently he had recovered his old good-humor.</p> + +<p>“You ought to see dad playing golf,” he smiled. “He has taken off +fifteen pounds already. It’s doing him a world of good, but I couldn’t +see how I was going to manage it much longer on twelve dollars a week. +But if he’s going to get dividends—why, he thought I lost that five +thousand the first week!”</p> + +<p>“And you?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</span></p> + +<p>“I thought so, too,” he admitted.</p> + +<p>“You—you didn’t have much confidence in me, Dicky.”</p> + +<p>“Not as a business woman,” he confessed. “And here you come out ahead +of the whole crowd of us.”</p> + +<p>He met her eyes a moment.</p> + +<p>“Joan,” he trembled, “if you go ahead and reveal any more talents or +anything, I won’t be able to stand it.”</p> + +<p>“Stand what?” she demanded.</p> + +<p>“You. Just your wonderful self. You make a man dizzy.”</p> + +<p>“But, Dicky—” she began gently.</p> + +<p>He turned away from her.</p> + +<p>“Good-night,” he said abruptly. “I must go.”</p> + +<p>It’s a pity that he did not look once again into the depths of those +eyes, for there was something in them at that moment it would have done +his soul good to see.</p> + +<p>And it remained there as she sat on alone long after he had gone. As +the realization of what it was seeped to the very heart of her, it +quickened her pulse and glorified her face until she felt as though +suddenly she had stepped out of the shade into the full beat of the +living sun. For a little while she gave herself up to the sheer magic +warmth of it without daring to look about—without daring to give it a +name. So one awakens sometimes in <span class="pagenum" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</span>the month of May, scarcely venturing +to awaken fully lest the celestial chorus of bird songs and blossom +fragrance and the springtime radiance of golden light vanish. But +insistently the word she tried to suppress—the word that expressed +it all—worked its way through her consciousness to her lips, until +finally, very gently, she whispered it. Such a tiny word it was to mean +so much. Such a soft, tender word it was to harbor such creative power. +Love! One could pronounce it between heart-beats on the tag end of a +breath. A sigh took more effort. And yet, when once pronounced, how +it sent her blood to racing—how it put her in touch with the stars in +their firmament, how it made her one with the eternal verities of life, +even of death!</p> + +<p>She rose and faced him where he had been. With her head back and her +two arms stretching out unconsciously, she whispered, “Dicky!”</p> + +<p>That was all she said, and yet it meant as much as that other word. The +two words meant the same. Love was one word and Dicky was the other. +And they meant the same thing. They stood for the same thing. They were +synonymous.</p> + +<p>But as soon as she admitted this her cheeks turned a flaming scarlet +and she looked about as though afraid of being seen. She raised one +hand to her lips as though cautioning them to be careful. Because in a +way she had no right to utter his name <span class="pagenum" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</span>as she had. He had said nothing +of love. He had come at her bidding and hurried away as soon as he +could. Once, a few months back, he had spoken, but she had silenced +him. Much had happened since then. Much had happened to them both.</p> + +<p>Her thoughts went back to Dicky as he had lifted his face all smudged +when she came upon him in the factory. He was in greasy overalls. He +was so disguised that one would have thought she could not recognize +him, and yet it was at that moment she seemed to pierce externals to +the heart of him. With only his eyes to look into, she had looked so +far into them that she had come upon the man himself. Once before she +had glimpsed this man—when uncovered in the snow he had stood by the +door of the limousine and sworn her allegiance. The two men were the +same. The man who had been with her this evening was the same.</p> + +<p>So the burn left her cheeks and she raised her head again.</p> + +<p>To herself she said:</p> + +<p>“Dicky, I can’t help it. Dicky, I—I love you.”</p> + +<p>It was a pity he was not there to hear.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI"> + CHAPTER XXXVI + <br> + <span>THE DAY COMES</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Under</span> the spur of Hartley and Starling, Devons found himself working as +hard as he had ever worked in his life. In the flood of new orders that +came in there was no help for it. As yet, no one had been trained to do +his work, so that it meant for him actual supervision of the process +during its various manufacturing stages. Hartley was as merciless with +him as he was with himself. Ten hours, fifteen hours, even twenty hours +a day meant nothing. As a matter of fact, at the end of two weeks they +had a night shift at work, and Hartley often remained at the plant +until one in the morning. So did Starling and so did Devons.</p> + +<p>“We want to break into this market with a rush,” said Hartley. “A +little later, when we are firmly established, we can lay back on our +oars.”</p> + +<p>This left Devons little time for Joan, but with the assurance that +came each day at the nightly conference with Hartley, who went over +in conference with him the new business of the preceding twenty-four +hours, it seemed less and less necessary to see her. Always she +remained in the background, and he rested content in the knowledge +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</span>that hour by hour he was strengthening the guarantee of a success that +in the end should make her his. He had given up his little attic room +and taken an apartment in a rather pretentious hotel more convenient +to the plant. On the salary of one hundred dollars a week that Hartley +had suggested was fair for his services, there was no reason in the +world why he should not make the change. This gave him a living-room, +a bedroom and bath. In what time he could spare from the factory he +thoroughly enjoyed the luxury of these new quarters, and in a few days +found himself consistently living up to them to the extent of dropping +into the hotel barber shop for his morning shave, and naturally enough +strolling from there to the hotel dining-room for his breakfast. It was +costing him as much a day as formerly it did a week, and yet he had +considerably more left over. Some of this he deposited in the bank and +some of it he converted into crisp new dollar bills which he locked up +in his dress-suit-case. For, though he smiled a little at it now as +a bit of eccentric foolishness, he still clung to his original idea +of going back home with his bulging bag of money. He could have put +it more conveniently in the form of a check, but the effect would not +have been the same. A bit of paper bearing a signature was neither as +impressive nor as dramatic as crisp new bills. Silver would have been +even better <span class="pagenum" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</span>because there was a ring to it, but it was not so easily +handled.</p> + +<p>The strain of the long hours began to tell on Devons at the end of a +couple of weeks. He held on grimly and without complaint, but the past +had drawn heavily on his physique and the unusual mental excitement +kept him awake nights. Often he came back to his apartment at two in +the morning only to lie awake until four with his brain running riot +over Joan and home and the figures that to Hartley served merely as a +tonic. Then a fitful sleep of three hours and he was up again.</p> + +<p>Hartley did not understand what those figures meant to Devons. To him +they remained merely figures. He did not translate them into terms of +life. Even when he saw in them the prospect of doubling his income, +that meant scarcely more than a fresh problem of reinvestment. With +his wants already well cared for, there was a pleasant satisfaction +in piling up a larger reserve, but it was nothing to grow breathless +about. As they increased, the dollars became more and more abstract.</p> + +<p>But Devons was still in the concrete stage where every dollar stood +for something tangible. To see them come flooding down in the form of +things for her, in the form of an increasing number of bills in his +suit-case, in the form of constantly <span class="pagenum" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</span>increasing additions to his own +comfort, was a type of intoxication.</p> + +<p>He held on during the long days of June until toward the end he found +the kettles and the thermostat begin slowly to revolve so that he was +forced to cling to something to keep himself upright. He held on when +at night he heard Hartley’s voice coming as from a distance and found +that he remembered nothing of what he said. He held on when at odd +moments he found himself seized with uncontrollable fits of laughter. +He held on until one evening he reeled and fell in front of Hartley.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Devons recovered in a few minutes, and Hartley escorted him to his +apartments and sat up with him the rest of the night. Devons protested, +but Hartley sat on and listened to his hysterical chatter and watched +him. In the morning Hartley gave his verdict.</p> + +<p>“What you’ll do will be to take a month’s vacation,” he determined. +“Get out of the city. Go back home.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll be all right by to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“You won’t.”</p> + +<p>“But I can’t leave. I—”</p> + +<p>“You can leave as well as not,” answered Hartley. “Starling is in a +position now to go on with your work with the help of the men you’ve +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</span>trained. You’re going, that’s all there is to it. You’re going +to-morrow. I’ll make out a check for a thousand dollars and send it +round to you. Don’t you dare step into the factory again until you come +back.”</p> + +<p>Coming from Hartley this was in the nature of a mandate. It left +him nothing else to do. So, in relief, he turned over and slept +intermittently the remainder of that day and night. He woke the +following morning considerably rested and with a sense of exhilaration. +In his mail he found his check and a brief note from Hartley.</p> + +<p>“Dear Devons,” it read. “Forget the plant and have a good time. +Everything went along swimmingly yesterday. The best of luck to you.”</p> + +<p>He was on a vacation—the first vacation for ten years. All day long +he had nothing to do except what he wished to do. And he was going +home—going back with his dress-suit-case almost filled and enough on +hand to quite fill it. And he was going to see Joan!</p> + +<p>The day had come. There was no reason now why he could not go to her +and claim her. Even on the basis of the unfilled orders the firm had +at present, there would be ten thousand dollars coming to him at the +end of the year. The chances were that this would be doubled. In the +meanwhile it might be possible to worry along on his present salary as +long as there was the assurance of the future <span class="pagenum" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</span>dividends. The Arkwright +house might have to wait another year or two, but this would give them +time to select a site and perfect details.</p> + +<p>He wanted her to come home with him on his first visit. Never after +this would conditions be the same. If, in addition to the tangible +evidence of his business success, he could bring her—then he +<i>would</i> arrive as a conqueror. He was thinking of himself—not of +her nor of the home folk. Always he occupied the center of the stage. +Perhaps this was not much to be wondered at. He was hungry for this +sort of thing. For ten years he had been starved of all the little +minor successes that come to most men—that lead up to the final big +success. He had been in the background watching enviously those at the +fore. Now it was his turn and he was going to make the most of it.</p> + +<p>He dressed carefully that morning and gave the barber <i>carte +blanche</i> to do what he wished with him. Then he strolled into the +dining-room and ate a leisurely and rather elaborate breakfast. It +was the beginning of the day of which he had so long dreamed. After +this he strolled uptown and made several purchases—among them a box of +flowers which he ordered sent to her. He did not dare telephone until +eleven, and then he begged her to lunch with him. She tried to avoid +the engagement, but he was insistent.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</span></p> + +<p>“I’m on my vacation, Joan,” he said. “I’ve looked forward to this a +long time.”</p> + +<p>There was a note of pathos in his plea that won her. So she consented +to be ready at one.</p> + +<p>During the next two waiting hours he walked slowly downtown and back +along Fifth Avenue as far as Washington Square. He walked proudly, +swinging a light stick with an air. There were many who turned to look +at him. He made rather a striking appearance in his smart tailored +clothes. To many he passed as a bridegroom. There was an atmosphere +of confidence and prosperity about him that made him seem to embody +something of the spirit of the June morning. To the young men he +established a sort of standard and to the young women he stood for a +dream.</p> + +<p>At one he drove up to the Fairburne house, feeling buoyant after his +walk and showing hardly any effect of his illness of the day before. In +the magic of his new hopes he had thrown it off.</p> + +<p>She had dressed a little for him in honor of the occasion and was more +like her old self.</p> + +<p>“I’m so glad you’re to have a rest,” she greeted him.</p> + +<p>“I guess I’ve earned it,” he answered.</p> + +<p>She nodded.</p> + +<p>“Where are we going?”</p> + +<p>“You’re to follow me to-day,” he replied. “I’m going to make one more +dream come true.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</span></p> + +<p>“I’ll do what I can to help you,” she agreed.</p> + +<p>Yet she frowned a little when the taxi stopped before Delmonico’s. Most +any place he might have chosen would have been preferable to that. +Still she was willing to humor him even to this extent. After all this +was his vacation, and she must do what she could to start him on it +happily.</p> + +<p>But as she went in by his side the whole place became tensely +reminiscent of Dicky. They had come here together the last time they +had gone anywhere together. They had been here many times before that. +It had become so associated with him that she felt almost disloyal in +coming with any one else. And somehow Dicky fitted better here than +this man now with her. For the life of her she could not tell why, +but Devons appeared slightly out of place. As they moved on to the +dining-room she studied him and wondered why. As far as his personal +appearance went, he was a little better-dressed than others at the +tables. Perhaps that was it. She almost expected to hear his shoes +squeak.</p> + +<p>That was a ridiculous thought—so ridiculous that it made her smile.</p> + +<p>He was quite serious about ordering the lunch and consulted her taste +in everything. Personally she desired nothing but a salad and tea, but +he was insistent upon making it as elaborate as possible.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</span></p> + +<p>“This is part of the dream,” he reminded her.</p> + +<p>So before he had more than begun his order he had converted the waiter +from an indifferent bystander into a most attentive and obsequious +servant. If the latter had been asked to characterize his guest, he +would have done it in a sentence.</p> + +<p>“Ranch-owner from the West on his honeymoon.”</p> + +<p>This was at the moment when Devons was flattering himself that he was +the embodiment of New York.</p> + +<p>During the lunch, of which she ate little, he talked again of the +factory and of Hartley and the details of the last month. Then he ran +on to the possibilities of the future, which led him up to Arkwright.</p> + +<p>“You remember him?” he asked.</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p> + +<p>“It was he who helped fix up my attic for you,” he reminded her.</p> + +<p>“Oh, the big fellow?”</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>“He’s an architect. Did I ever tell you about the house he designed?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a wonderful house. ’Way back in the winter he told me he had done +it for me. It was a joke then, but it begins to look as though it might +turn out serious.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</span></p> + +<p>In detail he described it to her, watching her eyes to see if she +responded. At least she appeared attentive.</p> + +<p>“That’s part of the dream, too,” he concluded. “Some day I’m going to +build that. Where do you think we ought to put it?”</p> + +<p>She started.</p> + +<p>“It sounds very grand,” she answered. “Would you really enjoy that sort +of house?”</p> + +<p>“With acres of land around it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear,” she smiled. “It will be quite a royal estate.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he answered soberly. “It must be that—for you.”</p> + +<p>“For me!” she cried.</p> + +<p>“Didn’t you understand that?”</p> + +<p>“No, no,” she said quickly.</p> + +<p>“Who else did you think I was going to build it for?”</p> + +<p>“I—I don’t know. You—we mustn’t stay here any longer.”</p> + +<p>The orchestra began to play a <i>valse hésitation</i>. She looked about +in alarm—as though in search of Dicky.</p> + +<p>“I came here just to tell you these things,” he hurried on. “I—I +thought you would be pleased.”</p> + +<p>“It’s all my fault!” she exclaimed. “I shouldn’t have come. I—I should +have written you the truth from Atlantic City.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</span></p> + +<p>“The truth?”</p> + +<p>“When you wrote me as you did. I won’t pretend. I knew then you were +coming to care for me—in a way that was impossible. Only I didn’t want +to hurt you. I thought that if I said nothing you would see.”</p> + +<p>“See what?”</p> + +<p>“That—” she hesitated.</p> + +<p>“That you don’t love me?” he put in.</p> + +<p>She hung her head as though ashamed.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she answered.</p> + +<p>He leaned forward.</p> + +<p>“After all these months that I have been working for you?”</p> + +<p>She raised her head at that. She met his eyes.</p> + +<p>“You thought you were working for me, but—but after all is that true?”</p> + +<p>“For you!” he cried fiercely. “For you alone! From the first week you +were so kind to me it was that and nothing else. It’s been part of the +dream—the biggest part. I’ve looked forward to taking you home with +me. You were coming back to the little farm as my wife. I was to be so +proud of you. It’s true! It <i>must</i> be true!”</p> + +<p>“You—you dreamed those things all by yourself,” she warned.</p> + +<p>“Because I had no right to share them with you until I had made good. +I—I couldn’t talk about such things in an attic, could I?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</span></p> + +<p>She thought a second.</p> + +<p>“No,” she answered. “And yet if you had—”</p> + +<p>“They would have sounded absurd,” he broke in. “I had to wait until I +could give you all the things you deserved. I had to wait until now.”</p> + +<p>“And now,” she answered, moving back her chair, “we mustn’t talk about +them any more.”</p> + +<p>“You mean you won’t marry me?”</p> + +<p>“It’s impossible,” she answered. “I—I don’t love you.”</p> + +<p>“But if I wait a little longer—”</p> + +<p>“It would make no difference.”</p> + +<p>She was firm now. She was direct. She felt this must be over with at +once.</p> + +<p>“Don’t go yet,” he pleaded as she rose.</p> + +<p>But she stood where she was as he paid his check. Then she started for +the door. He took her arm—holding it so tightly it hurt.</p> + +<p>“Joan,” he choked. “You’re spoiling the dream.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry,” she answered. “I’m very sorry.”</p> + +<p>“Then come with me. Oh, I’ll make a princess of you. I’ll work all my +life to get you things. I want so to buy you things.”</p> + +<p>“You only make it worse,” she replied.</p> + +<p>They had reached the coat-room, and he would have gone right on talking +like that had she not warned him of the eager listeners. Then they were +outside again and she felt freer, though he <span class="pagenum" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</span>was still holding her arm. +She herself motioned for a cab.</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t leave me like this,” he muttered.</p> + +<p>She held out her hand as she had held out her hand to Dicky. But he +refused to take it.</p> + +<p>“This isn’t right!” he cried.</p> + +<p>“It is necessary. You are making it more necessary every minute.”</p> + +<p>“I? It’s you. This isn’t fair of you.”</p> + +<p>His face showed both fear and anger. She had never seen him like this. +She was sorry to have to remember him like this.</p> + +<p>“Mark,” she whispered, “I wanted to keep you as a friend.”</p> + +<p>He laughed harshly.</p> + +<p>“Friend? After what I’d planned! But I might have known!”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she answered quietly, “you might have known. Good-bye.”</p> + +<p>She stepped into the cab and closed the door. He reached for the knob, +but she gave a sharp order to the driver. She closed her eyes and +leaned back. It was not so Dicky had left her.</p> + +<p>Where was Dicky? She needed him now.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII"> + CHAPTER XXXVII + <br> + <span>BACK HOME</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">Devons</span> went from Delmonico’s direct to the ticket-office and engaged +his ticket and parlor-car accommodations for that night. With a +vicious relish he took an entire drawing-room. Joan had cheated him of +much, but she should not cheat him of all the rest. He would make his +home-going all that he had planned with the exception of her. He still +had before him his grand entry, and he would let the world at large +know of his success.</p> + +<p>He took a cab back to the Avenue and stopped many times to make for +himself some of the purchases he had intended to make with her.</p> + +<p>He bought extravagantly for many of those back home he had scarcely +thought of since he left. He took a fierce delight in spending his +money, in converting it into tangible things for them as long as there +was no one else. There was a Marion Thompson who had been a classmate +of his in the district school and who was now teaching in that very +school. She was a subdued sort of girl with dreamy, brown eyes. Until +this moment he had almost forgotten her, but now he bought for her a +gold necklace just because it occurred to <span class="pagenum" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</span>him that it would become +her. He paid for it as much as her salary would amount to in six months.</p> + +<p>Then he went back to his apartment and packed his new trunk with his +new clothes and his old suit-case with the rest of the new bills which +he had stopped at the bank to get. He had pretty nearly a thousand +of them. And all this time he tried to put Joan entirely out of his +mind, although she kept coming back. And every time she came back she +stung him anew and left him with a sense of martyrdom. The phrase he +used over and over again was that she had not been fair to him. She +had turned him aside exactly as though he were still nothing but a +penniless vagabond. She did not appreciate all that he was about to do +for her—closed her eyes to all the fair dreams he had for her. But he +did not intend to let that spoil his holiday nor the days after. She +would see when he came back. She would see and possibly regret.</p> + +<p>He would do his best to make her regret. Here was something to look +forward to. He would build his house exactly as he had it in mind. +People should talk about it as the “Devons Estate.” She should hear of +it. He would make it even more pretentious than he had planned and she +should hear of it.</p> + +<p>He knew how the eyes of those back home would pop out when he told +them about it. Here was <span class="pagenum" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</span>something more to look forward to. When it +was done he would have many of them come back to see it. He would pay +their fares and give them a holiday they would remember—a holiday they +would talk about the rest of their lives. Here was something pleasant +to think about. Only if he were taking her home with him, there would +be something for them to talk about at once. If he could have brought +her back into his father’s house on his arm, if he could have taken her +through the town by his side and through the county town, then—</p> + +<p>He was forever sliding back to her. He must keep her out of his mind +entirely. It would be easier as soon as he was started. So he paid his +bill and went to the station with his baggage two hours before train +time.</p> + +<hr class="tb"> + +<p>Devons wired ahead from Chicago, and at the little one-horse station +where he stopped he found his father there with the buckboard to meet +him. The elder Devons was a tall, spare man with rounding shoulders. He +hesitated a second before coming up to shake hands with the prosperous +young man who strode toward him.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Dad,” said Devons.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Sonny,” answered Devons senior uncertainly.</p> + +<p>The two men gripped and the awkward moment <span class="pagenum" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</span>was passed. The older man +shouldered the new trunk and Devons brought up the suit-cases.</p> + +<p>“Strap the old one on tight,” he said. “I don’t want to lose that.”</p> + +<p>Then he got on the seat with his father and hitched up his trousers to +preserve the crease, and they started over the prairie road. It was hot +and dusty and the old buckboard was hard riding after the Pullman. The +father said little, but Devons inquired after every one and listened to +the old familiar stories of hard luck about them. They continued in an +endless cycle through one generation after another.</p> + +<p>“Marion Thompson—you remember Marion?” said his father.</p> + +<p>“Surely.”</p> + +<p>“She’s teaching school and boarding with us.”</p> + +<p>“Has she changed much?”</p> + +<p>“Dunno’s she has. People round here don’t change much.”</p> + +<p>“In New York they change in twenty-four hours,” remarked Devons with a +frown.</p> + +<p>“I s’pose so. You’ve done pretty well there, sonny?”</p> + +<p>“You bet,” replied Devons with satisfaction.</p> + +<p>They reached the old farmhouse at last. Devons shuddered as he saw it. +It looked even more like a hovel than when he had left it. His mother +was at the door—thin and hollow-eyed. She <span class="pagenum" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</span>came out and kissed him +dumbly. If he had not seen her like this all through his youth, he +would have said she did not have a week to live. Behind her came his +sisters and his brothers, and behind them, timidly, a slight girl with +dreamy brown eyes. This was Marion. She was prettier than he expected. +She was in a simple calico dress that hung straight over a slender +body. As the children crowded about him he looked over their heads and +met her eyes. She blushed and shrank back a little. It gave him a sense +of power. It was evident she was terribly afraid of him.</p> + +<p>They all made their way into the tawdry sitting-room which showed the +effect of a very recent and thorough cleaning. Here Devons unfastened +his dress-suit-case, spreading it open upon the center table. He stood +back exactly as he had dreamed.</p> + +<p>“A little present for you and father,” said he to his mother.</p> + +<p>She stared open-mouthed at the crushed green bills. She clasped her +hands over her breast and stared.</p> + +<p>“There’ll be more later,” said Devons. “There’ll be plenty for you all +the rest of your lives.”</p> + +<p>“Mark!” she choked, “be they real?”</p> + +<p>He went to her side and placed his arm about her.</p> + +<p>“Lord bless you, yes,” he assured her.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</span></p> + +<p>There was a lump in his own throat. He knew—well he knew—what that +meant to them.</p> + +<p>Then to break the tension he unstrapped his trunk and brought out what +he had for the others. As he handed his brothers and sisters each his +present there was an excited cry of joy and amazement, but through +all the confusion he saw always that slip of a girl in the rear who, +big-eyed, looked on as at a drama.</p> + +<p>He kept his present for her until the last. When finally he stepped +to her side she could not believe her eyes. She undid the box with +trembling fingers and drew out and held up the pretty gold chain.</p> + +<p>“This is for me?” she gasped.</p> + +<p>“Let me put it round your neck,” he answered.</p> + +<p>With her cheeks a deep crimson she allowed him to do as he wished and +he clasped it. His fingers brushed her warm skin and he found his +cheeks almost as hot as hers.</p> + +<p>“There,” he concluded, “if you had been with me I couldn’t have +selected anything more your own.”</p> + +<p>“It is beautiful,” she murmured. “Thank you.”</p> + +<p>There was a mirror on the side of the wall.</p> + +<p>“Come here and see how it looks.”</p> + +<p>She obeyed. He stood behind her and in the mirror their eyes met. He +saw in them both wonder and admiration. It was very satisfying. It was +quite the most satisfying feature of his home-coming.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</span></p> + +<p>That evening, after all the children had gone to bed and a little later +father and mother had followed, he found himself sitting on the steps +with Marion by his side. Together they looked far across the level +country and at the stars above it—so very far above it. There he found +himself telling her the story of these last ten years—telling her +because she leaned forward tensely and listened as children listen to +a stirring tale of adventure. In contrast to the gray routine of her +own life his narrative was as colorful as a Turkish rug. She grew quite +breathless about it. So he covered the years up to the new developments +in his business. There he paused. He loved the telling of it. As he +rambled on she helped him to forget all the dull places and dramatized +for him all the joyful spots. But he was afraid at length that he was +tiring her.</p> + +<p>“Go on,” she pleaded.</p> + +<p>“I think you would like New York,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Tell me about it.”</p> + +<p>In her voice there was something that made him feel he was talking of +ancient Bagdad.</p> + +<p>“It’s a queer city,” he said. “Either it gets you by the throat and +crushes you back to the pavement or you get it by the throat and make +it give up the choice things of the world.”</p> + +<p>“And you—you got it by the throat.”</p> + +<p>“I have now,” he answered. “I wish you had <span class="pagenum" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</span>been with me as I went up +and down Fifth Avenue before I came away. You would have known then. +And when I get back—”</p> + +<p>He found himself telling her of the Arkwright house. Only he elaborated +still more upon it. He embellished it with a dozen new features he +thought of on the spur of the moment sitting there by her side, looking +over the prairie. She responded to them all with a little gasp.</p> + +<p>“It’s wonderful!” she exclaimed. “It’s like magic.”</p> + +<p>“When it’s done I want to have a house party and bring you all on to +see it,” he exclaimed grandly.</p> + +<p>She laughed a little at that.</p> + +<p>“I can’t believe I’ll ever do it,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“Why not?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“I’ve gone on day by day so long that I can only think of day by day.”</p> + +<p>“You’d like to get away from here?”</p> + +<p>She rose. Her arms were tense by her side.</p> + +<p>“That’s like asking if one would like to get out of prison,” she +answered.</p> + +<p>In the deepening dusk of the night her plain gown became blurred. He +saw only her girlish figure, and as she lifted her face to the sky her +soft lips and cheeks. She was so slender and eager and responsive! Here +was one who would add fresh pleasures to all he had. Here was one whose +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</span>eyes would stay big day after day with the sights he could show her. +Here was one upon whom he could spend his money and receive his reward +in palpitating enthusiasm. Here was one who stood ahungered for all he +was in a position to give. She would make every dollar seem like ten. +By that much she would multiply his fortune by ten. That other—ah, here +was one who might make even that other envious.</p> + +<p>She turned toward the house. He took her arm. Seized with a sudden +passion he spoke her name.</p> + +<p>“Marion!”</p> + +<p>She turned back, startled.</p> + +<p>“Marion,” he cried, “come back with me! I want you with me to share all +these new things. By to-morrow or next day I’ll have to go. I thought I +should stay a month, but I want to get back. You’ll come with me?”</p> + +<p>“You—you mean—”</p> + +<p>“I want you to marry me. The next three weeks we’ll spend in New York +on our honeymoon. We’ll start on the house.”</p> + +<p>“But, Mark—” she trembled.</p> + +<p>He took her in his arms. He kissed her lips.</p> + +<p>Breathless, like some captured bird, she felt her heart beat against +his.</p> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="chapter"> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</span></p> + + + <h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII"> + CHAPTER XXXVIII + <br> + <span>THE LAST ACT</span> + </h2> +</div> + + +<p class="drop-cap"><span class="upper-case">It</span> was at least a novelty for Joan to find it impossible to get hold +of Dicky when the desire seized her to talk with him. Under ordinary +circumstances she would have found it humiliating to be forced to +accept excuse after excuse in response to her messages—excuses that +were none too adept. It began to seem almost as though he were +deliberately avoiding her. But even in that she blamed herself and +justified him. After all she deserved very little of him. In the hour +when he had needed her, she had turned away from him, and now in her +hour of need he was repaying her in kind.</p> + +<p>For she did need him very much. Her mind was all topsy-turvy, and at +this moment he seemed to be the only one who could help her straighten +it out, because somehow her thoughts all revolved about him. She found +herself awakening in the morning to thoughts of him. Every day since +Devons had left had begun that way. Whether the sun was shining and the +world in tune with the singing of birds or whether the sky was dark +and the rain beating down, she felt that she must see Dicky in order +to get a fair start. It was as though <span class="pagenum" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</span>her life were marking time for +him. There was no especial point in getting up, but neither was there +any especial point in lying in bed. Without him the forenoon had no +particular significance, neither had the afternoon and evening. It was +a frame of mind she would have found absurd in any one else.</p> + +<p>Yet she was not the least bit ashamed of it in herself. Rather she +gloried in it. She accepted it in a way as a sort of purgatory. +And always she admitted with utter frankness her love for him. She +attempted no subtlety on that point. She allowed no quibbling on the +ground of maidenly reserve. She loved him honestly and whole-heartedly +and from the depths. She faced that truth with raised head—with pride. +The fact that he had once asked her to marry him gave her a certain +privilege, but even without this it would have been the same. After +all, such a thing as this was no more to be denied because of the +conventions than the matter of her age or the color of her eyes. Either +it was or it was not. If one were honest one admitted the truth at all +times.</p> + +<p>And this love was no mere abstract mental condition. It was a very +personal and vital and altogether human love. She was by no means +content to let it rest where it was; to fold her hands like the maidens +of her mother’s day and if need be to wait and pine away in loneliness.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</span></p> + +<p>Because she loved Dicky she wanted him. She wanted to see him—to be +with him. She wanted to share his days with him. She especially wanted +to share these present days with him. He was going to work now at seven +in the morning he had told her. With an hour out for lunch he toiled +until five and then went home dog-tired. It was to her he should come +when dog-tired. She should have had the privilege of relieving his +weariness. She could have kissed him all smutched as he might be. It +was when the rest of him was almost unrecognizable that she had seen +into his eyes. What she had seen there then she craved. It was the +sweet soul of the man—the very gallant knight in the man.</p> + +<p>Why did he not come to her? Day after day for a week she asked herself +that and received no answer. And day after day as she dwelt alone with +her love it burned away all the old barriers and gathered heat with +what it fed upon. The need of him became acute, so at the end of a long +day it resolved itself into action.</p> + +<p>Half-frightened by her new boldness, she rang up Dicky’s mother at the +little apartment in Brooklyn.</p> + +<p>“Please,” she said, “will you ask me to dinner to-night?”</p> + +<p>“Why, my dear,” came the gentle voice, “we should be delighted. We have +dinner at six because <span class="pagenum" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</span>both Dicky and his father are very hungry when +they get home.”</p> + +<p>“Then—may I come a little early?”</p> + +<p>“Come as soon as you wish.”</p> + +<p>So that much was accomplished without any particular harm to any one. +It is surprising what may be accomplished in violation of all rules if +one has an honest purpose and a clean heart.</p> + +<p>She changed her gown into a simple white summer dress and hurried down +to tell her mother.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to have dinner to-night with the Burnetts,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Very good,” answered Mrs. Fairburne. “I’m glad you are going out.”</p> + +<p>Charles left her at the unpretentious apartment house in the quiet +street at five, and a few moments later she had mounted to the third +floor and was facing the door which bore a card reading “Mr. Joshua +Burnett.” Mrs. Burnett herself came in response to her ring, and +without apology and with sincere friendliness welcomed her in.</p> + +<p>“I am doing the cooking myself,” she explained as soon as Joan had +removed her hat. “It seems real good to be able to do it again. Both of +the men seem to like it, too.”</p> + +<p>Joan insisted upon accompanying her into the tiny kitchen and there +she tried her best to find something to do. But as she watched the +sure, practiced hands busy about their tasks, she felt <span class="pagenum" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</span>quite helpless +and useless. There was nothing left but to sit back and keep out from +under foot and watch. Suddenly she realized that she was accepting this +rather startling change in the fortunes of the Burnetts in quite a +matter-of-fact way. It was almost as though there had been no change at +all. And that was because she thought only of the little woman herself +and not of her surroundings or her tasks. She was the mother of Dicky +wherever she was. Here preparing his dinner she was more than ever +that. Only it was not right for the older woman to be doing this. She, +Joan, should be doing it for her.</p> + +<p>“I wish you would show me how to do all these things,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Haven’t you ever learned to cook?” replied Mrs. Burnett, in +astonishment.</p> + +<p>“No,” admitted Joan with a touch of color.</p> + +<p>“Then it’s certainly time you did learn,” answered Mrs. Burnett. “But +my way of cooking is all for Mr. Burnett and Dicky.”</p> + +<p>“I should like to learn that way, too,” breathed Joan.</p> + +<p>It was the tone of the girl’s voice that made Mrs. Burnett glance +sharply at her. Then, while she looked, she saw the young cheeks grow +a deeper and deeper scarlet, though she did not speak a word. The eyes +held steady, but perhaps the lips trembled the slightest bit, partly in +fear, partly <span class="pagenum" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</span>in a mute plea for sympathy. That was only for a second +because Mrs. Burnett stepped closer, her face radiant.</p> + +<p>“You mean you—you care for Dicky?” she asked tenderly.</p> + +<p>Joan rose, breathing rapidly. She tried to answer, but her lips +remained dumb. So she just nodded.</p> + +<p>The mother of Dicky, her hands all flour-covered as they were, took the +girl into her arms. She kissed the rich dark hair, murmuring:</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m so glad—so glad.”</p> + +<p>“Only,” whispered Joan brokenly, “I—I don’t know if Dicky cares for me.”</p> + +<p>“That’s for Dicky to tell you,” answered Mrs. Burnett. “But I think all +you’ll have to do is to give him the chance.”</p> + +<p>That evening Joan had the honor of setting the table for Dicky. +Incidentally she set it for the others, but they did not count for very +much, not even herself. The table was set for Dicky alone as, if the +truth were known, the dinner was cooked for Dicky alone. Even when Mr. +Burnett came in, ruddy and tired after his afternoon at the country +club, he did not seem very important.</p> + +<p>“Hasn’t Dicky come home yet?” were his first words.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t quite time,” answered Mrs. Burnett. “You haven’t spoken to +Miss Fairburne.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</span></p> + +<p>He had not seen her. Now he took her hand and bowed politely, at the +same moment reaching for his watch.</p> + +<p>“It’s quarter of six. He was here last night at this time.”</p> + +<p>“Now you go get ready,” urged Mrs. Burnett. “What was your score +to-day?”</p> + +<p>“Made it in a hundred,” he answered proudly.</p> + +<p>As he disappeared, Mrs. Burnett attempted a weak apology for him.</p> + +<p>“He acts just as silly as that every time the boy isn’t here when he +gets home.”</p> + +<p>It was not five minutes later that Dicky did come in with something +in his hand that looked very much like a lunch-box. Joan, whether +deliberately or not cannot be said with certainty, was standing very +near the door. At sight of her Dicky appeared to be frozen in his +tracks.</p> + +<p>“I’m—I’m here to dinner,” explained Joan.</p> + +<p>“But how—”</p> + +<p>“Your mother invited me,” she faltered on as though she really found it +necessary to account for herself.</p> + +<p>“Good for mother!” he exclaimed. “Why—why I’m darned glad to see you.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Dicky. You’d better get ready. It’s almost cooked.”</p> + +<p>“Dad home?”</p> + +<p>“He’s waiting for you,” she answered.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</span></p> + +<p>From the kitchen came his mother’s voice.</p> + +<p>“He’s gone to tidy up.”</p> + +<p>“You’ll have to give me time to shave if there’s company,” he called +back.</p> + +<p>Joan had turned to put the finishing touches to the table. He followed +her a little way. Then he stopped. He felt like rubbing his eyes.</p> + +<p>“Joan,” he said.</p> + +<p>She looked over her shoulder.</p> + +<p>“I’m <i>awful</i> glad to see you,” he said.</p> + +<p>It was not an especially poetic speech, but it made her heart jump. +Nor, all through the dinner, was the conversation of a character to +be worth recording. It was significant neither for its wit nor wisdom +and yet every one appeared happy. After the dinner Joan insisted that +Mrs. Burnett retire to the sitting-room with her husband and leave the +clearing-up to her—and to Dicky if he cared to help.</p> + +<p>“You betcha,” agreed Dicky.</p> + +<p>So after the table was cleared, Dicky found himself in the little +buttery engaged in the task of wiping dishes, while Joan in a long +apron of his mother’s washed them. Even here the dialogue did not +sparkle. He had a feeling that there was something he did not +understand, which was quite correct. There was a mystery about her +presence. He was not quite clear how his mother happened to ask her and +still less clear how she happened to <span class="pagenum" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</span>accept. If he had been consulted +beforehand he would have advised against any such invitation. He would +have said that, under the circumstances, it might place her in a +position where she would not feel at liberty to refuse. She had been +wonderfully decent through these last few weeks—wonderfully decent. +She had extended invitation after invitation to him which he had +turned down because he felt that she was making an especial effort to +be nice to him in what she thought his adversity. In a way she pitied +him, though he did not pity himself in the slightest. Still it was +necessary to recognize the fact that there <i>had</i> been a change in +his circumstances. As a laborer working for fifteen dollars a week, +he was in an entirely different position in regard to her than he had +been a month ago. He had enough faith in himself to believe this was +only temporary, but while such conditions existed they were, that was +all there was about it. Hartley had already recognized his ability to +the extent of making him foreman of the room. In six months or a year +he might be put on the road, and from that point he could climb as +high as he was able. But he had no right to ask her to gamble on any +such prospects. Her life was based on certainties. There was nothing +contingent about the Fairburne income and he had no right to offer her +anything less. A man would be a cad to allow such a woman as she to run +any <span class="pagenum" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</span>chances. She must be made as secure as papers in a safe deposit +vault. He was as yet far from a point where he could offer her that.</p> + +<p>All this was what the reasoning part of him said, but at the very same +time his heart kept running counter to it. Every time he reached for +a dish and by that much came nearer to her soft arm revealed to the +elbow by her rolled-up sleeves, his heart said, “Go a little nearer.” +Then it was necessary to step back quickly in fear lest he yield to the +temptation. For the heart of him was a very vagabond for carelessness +and laughed to scorn all his best arguments.</p> + +<p>“Take her,” it said, “for by all the laws of love she’s yours. You’ve +known her now since you were schoolmates together, and there hasn’t +been a day in all that time when you haven’t known that she was the +biggest thing in your life. There hasn’t been a time when you wouldn’t +have been willing to lay at her feet all the most precious things +of your life—including life itself. You’ve tried her through your +prosperous days and it was like that. You went away from her and it +remained like that. She went away from you and it was just the same. +Now in this sudden shift of your fortunes there is no change in your +love. If anything you love her more than you ever did because you need +her more. You need her to give point to your ambitions. You need her to +<span class="pagenum" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</span>give you respite from the sheer drudgery of your labors. You need her +in a thousand new ways.</p> + +<p>“Here she is. Take her. The two of you are here alone and you have only +to look into her eyes to know you have better than a sporting chance.”</p> + +<p>But because he wanted her—even because he needed her—was no reason why +he should ask for her, replied the cold-blooded, reasoning part of him. +Merely because he wanted the crown jewels, did that justify him in +seizing them? Men called that larceny. It was then a worse larceny to +make off—provided always that were possible—with something infinitely +more valuable. Compared with the pure radiance of her soul the crown +jewels were but so many baubles of colored glass. He must keep a tight +grip on himself or he would land in a jail of his own making.</p> + +<p>In the meanwhile Joan went on with the washing of her dishes as though +she had no other concern. And though she tried now and then to open +the conversation on general topics, she did not get very far. Had it +not seemed disloyal to harbor such a thought, she would have said that +Dicky was stupid this evening. At times it seemed almost worse than +that—as though he were bored with having her here. And the pitiful part +of it all was that with both of them attending strictly to business the +work was being completed at such a rapid rate that it was soon only a +matter of minutes <span class="pagenum" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</span>before it would be done and they would both be back +again in the sitting-room. Then Lord only knew when there would be +another such opportunity. Fate sometimes plays strange tricks and in +the space of a single evening erects barriers that last a lifetime. It +is difficult to foretell what is going to happen from one minute to the +next.</p> + +<p>So they came to the last dish and he was left quite helpless with the +dishcloth in his hands.</p> + +<p>“Hang it up nicely on the rack over the stove,” she said.</p> + +<p>He did that. She turned and washed her hands.</p> + +<p>“There,” she said, “I guess we’re all through now.”</p> + +<p>She undid her apron and hung it up. Then she began to roll down her +sleeves. To him it was like a slowly descending curtain. It was the +last act of the play.</p> + +<p>When she had done that there was no further excuse for their remaining +there. She looked at him, and as her eyes caught his the old telltale +color flooded back to her cheeks. They faced each other like that a +moment. Then from somewhere deep came a little, stifled cry.</p> + +<p>He gripped his jaws.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Dicky!” she repeated.</p> + +<p>And again, as once before, the name was but a synonym for love. He +heard it this time and reason fled from him. He took her in his arms +and without <span class="pagenum" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</span>a single word kissed her lips. He kissed them with the +world swimming about him—kissed them with a kiss that made them +eternally one.</p> + +<p>In the due course of time—as far as they were concerned there was no +longer any such thing as time—they came back to the sitting-room.</p> + +<p>“Seems to me it took you a long time to finish those dishes,” said +Burnett.</p> + +<p>But Mrs. Burnett raised her eyes questioningly to Joan. Then she smiled +and went to her son and kissed him.</p> + +<p>Said Burnett senior a little later in the evening as they were +discussing ways and means in a committee of the whole:</p> + +<p>“Of course, it’s all nonsense to talk about Dicky having only fifteen +dollars a week. What’s mine is his. And if there’s anything in the +prospect of that little investment of his panning out to the extent of +ten thousand a year, it belongs to him. I loaned him the money and when +he gets ready he can pay that back. I didn’t look upon it then as an +investment, but charged it in my books against profit and loss, so I +don’t see why I should claim it now.”</p> + +<p>Dicky jumped to his feet and clapped his father on his back.</p> + +<p>“Why, you real old sport!” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>But Joan stole up to the father and placed one arm about his neck and +whispered in his ear. The <span class="pagenum" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</span>others did not hear what she said. They +never heard. It remained one of the mysteries of Dicky’s whole life. It +was a secret between Joan and Burnett. As such it really is even to-day +the concern of no one else in the wide world.</p> + +<p>However, if any one chooses to be impertinent enough to read the last +sentence, what she said was this:</p> + +<p>“You old dear, don’t you go and spoil it all. Please don’t let him have +that money. I want him just as he is.”</p> + + +<p class="flat center"> +THE END +</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_387"></a><a id="Page_388"></a>[Pg 388]</span></p> + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> + +<div class="chapter"> +<p class="flat center"> +The Riverside Press<br> +CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS<br> +U . S . A +</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop"> +<div class="transnote"> + <p class="front nobreak" id="Transcribers_Notes"> + Transcriber’s Notes + </p> + + Spelling, punctuation, and hyphens standardised across the text.<br> + <a href="#Page_p92">p92 “Gatling gun” capitalised as a proper noun.</a><br> + <a href="#Page_p215">p215 Comma adjusted in “My boy, I’ve looked”.</a><br> + <a href="#Page_p252">p252 Hyphen removed from “staring one day overlong”.</a><br> + <a href="#AEHartley">p212 A.E. Hartley</a> and <a href="#EAHartley">p235 E.A. Hartley</a>, elsewhere last name only. +</div> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78046 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/78046-h/images/001.jpg b/78046-h/images/001.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..81cf981 --- /dev/null +++ b/78046-h/images/001.jpg diff --git a/78046-h/images/cover.jpg b/78046-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..824e41f --- /dev/null +++ b/78046-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6c72794 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This book, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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