MONTGOMERY BREWSTER,New York City.
Stick to your knitting, you damned fool.
S. JONES.
It is best not to repeat the expressions Brewster used regarding one S. Jones, after reading his telegram. But he felt considerably relieved after he had uttered them. He fell to reading accounts of the big prize-fight which was to take place in San Francisco that evening. He revelled in the descriptions of "upper cuts" and "left hooks," and learned incidentally that the affair was to be quite one-sided. A local amateur was to box a champion. Quick to see an opportunity, and cajoling himself into the belief that Swearengen Jones could not object to such a display of sportsmanship, Brewster made Harrison book several good wagers on the result. He intimated that he had reason to believe that the favorite would lose. Harrison soon placed three thousand dollars on his man. The young financier felt so sure of the result that he entered the bets on the profit side of his ledger the moment he received Harrison's report.
This done, he telephoned Miss Drew. She was not insensible to the significance of his inquiry if she would be in that afternoon. She had observed in him of late a condition of uneasiness, supplemented by moroseness and occasional periods of irascibility. Every girl whose occupation in life is the study of men recognizes these symptoms and knows how to treat them. Barbara had dealt with many men afflicted in this manner, and the flutter of anticipation that came with his urgent plea to see her was tempered by experience. It had something of joy in it, for she cared enough for Montgomery Brewster to have made her anxiously uncertain of his state of mind. She cared, indeed, much more than she intended to confess at the outset.
It was nearly half-past five when he came, and for once the philosophical Miss Drew felt a little irritation. So certain was she of his object in coming that his tardiness was a trifle ruffling. He apologized for being late, and succeeded in banishing the pique that possessed her. It was naturally impossible for him to share all his secrets with her, that is why he did not tell her that Grant & Ripley had called him up to report the receipt of a telegram from Swearengen Jones, in which the gentleman laconically said he could feed the whole State of Montana for less than six thousand dollars. Beyond that there was no comment. Brewster, in dire trepidation, hastened to the office of the attorneys. They smiled when he burst in upon them.
"Good heavens!" he exclaimed, "does the miserly old hayseed expect me to spend a million for newspapers, cigarettes and Boston terriers? I thought he would be reasonable!"
"He evidently has seen the newspaper accounts of your dinner, and this is merely his comment," said Mr. Ripley.
"It's either a warning, or else he's ambiguous in his compliments," growled Brewster, disgustedly.
"I don't believe he disapproved, Mr. Brewster. In the west the old gentleman is widely known as a wit."
"A wit, eh? Then he'll appreciate an answer from me. Have you a telegraph blank, Mr. Grant?"
Two minutes later the following telegram to Swearengen Jones was awaiting the arrival of a messenger-boy, and Brewster was blandly assuring Messrs. Grant & Ripley that he did not "care a rap for the consequences":
NEW YORK, October 23, 1—
SWEARENGEN JONES,Butte, Mont.
No doubt you could do it for less than six thousand. Montana is regarded as the best grazing country in the world, but we don't eat that sort of stuff in New York. That's why it costs more to live here.
MONTGOMERY BREWSTER.
Just before leaving his apartments for Miss Drew's home he received this response from faraway Montana:
BUTTE, MONTANA, Oct. 23, 1—
MONTGOMERY BREWSTER, New York.
We are eight thousand feet above the level of the sea. I suppose that's why it costs us less to live high.
S. JONES.
"I was beginning to despair, Monty," said Miss Drew, reproachfully, when he had come down from the height of his exasperation and remembered that there were things of more importance.
The light in his eyes brought the faintest tinge of red to her cheeks, and where a moment before there had been annoyance there was now a feeling of serenity. For a moment the silence was fraught with purpose. Monty glanced around the room, uncertain how to begin. It was not so easy as he had imagined.
"You are very good to see me," he said at last. "It was absolutely necessary for me to talk to you this evening; I could not have endured the suspense any longer. Barbara, I've spent three or four sleepless nights on your account. Will it spoil your evening if I tell you in plain words what you already know? It won't bother you, will it?" he floundered.
"What do you mean, Monty?" she begged, purposely dense, and with wonderful control of her eyes.
"I love you, Babs," he cried. "I thought you knew about it all along or I should have told you before. That's why I haven't slept. The fear that you may not care for me has driven me nearly to distraction. It couldn't go on any longer. I must know to-day."
There was a gleam in his eyes that made her pose of indifference difficult; the fervor of his half-whispered words took possession of her. She had expected sentiment of such a different character that his frank confession disarmed her completely. Beneath his ardent, abrupt plea there was assurance, the confidence of one who is not to be denied. It was not what he said, but the way he said it. A wave of exultation swept over her, tingling through every nerve. Under the spell her resolution to dally lightly with his emotion suffered a check that almost brought ignominious surrender. Both of her hands were clasped in his when he exultingly resumed the charge against her heart, but she was rapidly regaining control of her emotions and he did not know that he was losing ground with each step he took forward. Barbara Drew loved Brewster, but she was going to make him pay dearly for the brief lapse her composure had experienced. When next she spoke she was again the Miss Drew who had been trained in the ways of the world, and not the young girl in love.
"I care for you a great deal, Monty," she said, "but I'm wondering whether I care enough to—to marry you."
"We haven't known each other very long, Babs," he said, tenderly, "but I think we know each other well enough to be beyond wondering."
"It is like you to manage the whole thing," she said, chidingly. "Can't you give me time to convince myself that I love you as you would like, and as I must love if I expect to be happy with the man I marry?"
"I forgot myself," he said, humbly.
"You forgot me," she protested, gently, touched by this sign of contrition. "I do care for you, Monty, but don't you see it's no little thing you ask of me? I must be sure—very sure—before I—before—"
"Don't be so distressed," he pleaded. "You will love me, I know, because you love me now. This means much to me, but it means more to you. You are the woman and you are the one whose happiness should be considered. I can live only in the hope that when I come to you again with this same story and this same question you'll not be afraid to trust yourself to me."
"You deserve to be happy for that, Monty," she said, earnestly, and it was with difficulty that she kept her eyes from wavering as they looked into his.
"You will let me try to make you love me?" he asked, eagerly.
"I may not be worth the struggle."
"I'll take that chance," he replied.
She was conscious of disappointment after he was gone. He had not pleaded as ardently as she had expected and desired, and, try as she would, she could not banish the touch of irritation that had come to haunt her for the night.
Brewster walked to the club, elated that he had at least made a beginning. His position was now clear. Besides losing a fortune he must win Barbara in open competition.
At the theater that evening he met Harrison, who was in a state of jubilation.
"Where did you get that tip?" asked he.
"Tip? What tip?" from Brewster.
"On the prize-fight?"
Brewster's face fell and something cold crept over him.
"How did—what was the result?" he asked, sure of the answer.
"Haven't you heard? Your man knocked him out in the fifth round—surprised everybody."
The next two months were busy ones for Brewster. Miss Drew saw him quite as often as before the important interview, but he was always a puzzle to her.
"His attitude is changed somehow," she thought to herself, and then she remembered that "a man who wins a girl after an ardent suit is often like one who runs after a street car and then sits down to read his paper."
In truth after the first few days Monty seemed to have forgotten his competitors, and was resting in the consciousness of his assured position. Each day he sent her flowers and considered that he had more than done his duty. He used no small part of his income on the flowers, but in this case his mission was almost forgotten in his love for Barbara.
Monty's attitude was not due to any wanting of his affection, but to the very unromantic business in which he was engaged. It seemed to him that, plan as he might, he could not devise fresh ways and means to earn $16,000 a day. He was still comfortably ahead in the race, but a famine in opportunities was not far remote. Ten big dinner parties and a string of elaborate after-the-play suppers maintained a fair but insufficient average, and he could see that the time was ripe for radical measures. He could not go on forever with his dinners. People were already beginning to refer to the fact that he was warming his toes on the Social Register, and he had no desire to become the laughing stock of the town. The few slighting, sarcastic remarks about his business ability, chiefly by women and therefore reflected from the men, hurt him. Miss Drew's apparently harmless taunt and Mrs. Dan's open criticism told plainly enough how the wind was blowing, but it was Peggy's gentle questions that cut the deepest. There was such honest concern in her voice that he could see how his profligacy was troubling her and Mrs. Gray. In their eyes, more than in the others, he felt ashamed and humiliated. Finally, goaded by the remark of a bank director which he overheard, "Edwin P. Brewster is turning handsprings in his grave over the way he is going it," Monty resolved to redeem himself in the eyes of his critics. He would show them that his brain was not wholly given over to frivolity.
With this project in mind he decided to cause a little excitement in Wall Street. For some days he stealthily watched the stock market and plied his friends with questions about values. Constant reading and observation finally convinced him that Lumber and Fuel Common was the one stock in which he could safely plunge. Casting aside all apprehension, so far as Swearengen Jones was concerned, he prepared for what was to be his one and only venture on the Stock Exchange before the 23d of the following September. With all the cunning and craftiness of a general he laid his plans for the attack. Gardner's face was the picture of despair when Brewster asked him to buy heavily in Lumber and Fuel.
"Good heavens, Monty," cried the broker, "you're joking. Lumber is away up now. It can't possibly go a fraction of a point higher. Take my advice and don't touch it. It opened to-day at 111 3/4 and closed at 109. Why, man, you're crazy to think about it for an instant."
"I know my business, Gardner," said Brewster, quietly, and his conscience smote him when he saw the flush of mortification creep into the face of his friend. The rebuke had cut Gardner to the quick.
"But, Monty, I know what I'm talking about. At least let me tell you something about this stock," pleaded Elon, loyally, despite the wound.
"Gardy, I've gone into this thing carefully, and if ever a man felt sure about anything I do about this," said Monty, decidedly, but affectionately.
"Take my word for it Lumber can't go any higher. Think of the situation; the lumber men in the north and west are overstocked, and there is a strike ready to go into effect. When that comes the stock will go for a song. The slump is liable to begin any day."
"My mind is made up," said the other firmly, and Gardner was in despair. "Will you or will you not execute an order for me at the opening to-morrow? I'll start with ten thousand shares. What will it cost me to margin it for ten points?"
"At least a hundred thousand, exclusive of commission, which would be twelve and a half a hundred shares." Despite the most strenuous opposition from Gardner, Brewster adhered to his design, and the broker executed the order the next morning. He knew that Brewster had but one chance to win, and that was to buy the stock in a lump instead of distributing it among several brokers and throughout the session. This was a point that Monty had overlooked.
There had been little to excite the Stock Exchange for some weeks: nothing was active and the slightest flurry was hailed as an event. Every one knew that the calm would be disturbed at some near day, but nobody looked for a sensation in Lumber and Fuel. It was a foregone conclusion that a slump was coming, and there was scarcely any trading in the stock. When Elon Gardner, acting for Montgomery Brewster; took ten thousand shares at 108 3/4 there was a mighty gasp on the Exchange, then a rubbing of eyes, then commotion. Astonishment was followed by nervousness, and then came the struggle.
Brewster, confident that the stock could go no higher, and that sooner or later it must drop, calmly ordered his horse for a ride in the snow-covered park. Even though he knew the venture was to be a failure in the ordinary sense he found joy in the knowledge that he was doing something. He might be a fool, he was at least no longer inactive. The feel of the air was good to him. He was exhilarated by the glitter of the snow, the answering excitement of his horse, the gaiety and sparkle of life about him.
Somewhere far back in his inner self there seemed to be the sound of cheering and the clapping of hands. Shortly before noon he reached his club, where he was to lunch with Colonel Drew. In the reading-room he observed that men were looking at him in a manner less casual than was customary. Some of them went so far as to smile encouragingly, and others waved their hands in the most cordial fashion. Three or four very young members looked upon him with admiration and envy, and even the porters seemed more obsequious. There was something strangely oppressive in all this show of deference.
Colonel Drew's dignity relaxed amazingly when he caught sight of the young man. He came forward to meet him and his greeting almost carried Monty off his feet.
"How did you do it, my boy?" cried the Colonel. "She's off a point or two now, I believe, but half an hour ago she was booming. Gad, I never heard of anything more spectacular!"
Monty's heart was in his mouth as he rushed over to the ticker. It did not take him long to grasp the immensity of the disaster. Gardner had bought in at 108 3/4, and that very action seemed to put new life into the stock. Just as it was on the point of breaking for lack of support along came this sensational order for ten thousand shares; and there could be but one result. At one time in the morning Lumber and Fuel, traded in by excited holders, touched 113 1/2 and seemed in a fair way to hold firm around that figure.
Other men came up and listened eagerly. Brewster realized that his dash in Lumber and Fuel had been a master-stroke of cleverness when considered from the point of view of these men, but a catastrophe from his own.
"I hope you sold it when it was at the top," said the Colonel anxiously.
"I instructed Gardner to sell only when I gave the word," said Monty, lamely. Several of the men looked at him in surprise and disgust.
"Well, if I were you I'd tell him to sell," remarked the Colonel, coldly.
"The effect of your plunge has worn off, Brewster, and the other side will drive prices down. They won't be caught napping again, either," said one of the bystanders earnestly.
"Do you think so?" And there was a note of relief in Monty's voice.
From all sides came the advice to sell at once, but Brewster was not to be pushed. He calmly lighted a cigarette, and with an assured air of wisdom told them to wait a little while and see.
"She's already falling off," said some one at the ticker.
When Brewster's bewildered eyes raced over the figures the stock was quoted at 112. His sigh of relief was heard but misunderstood. He might be saved after all. The stock had started to go down and there seemed no reason why it should stop. As he intended to purchase no more it was fair to assume that the backbone was at the breaking point. The crash was bound to come. He could hardly restrain a cry of joy. Even while he stood at the ticker the little instrument began to tell of a further decline. As the price went down his hopes went up.
The bystanders were beginning to be disgusted. "It was only a fluke after all," they said to each other. Colonel Drew was appealed to urge Monty to save himself, and he was on the point of remonstrance when the message came that the threatened strike was off, and that the men were willing to arbitrate. Almost before one could draw breath this startling news began to make itself felt. The certainty of a great strike was one of the things that had made Brewster sure that the price could not hold. With this danger removed there was nothing to jeopardize the earning power of the stock. The next quotation was a point higher.
"You sly dog," said the Colonel, digging Monty in the side. "I had confidence in you all the time."
In ten minutes' time Lumber and Fuel was up to 113 and soaring. Brewster, panic-stricken, rushed to the telephone and called up Gardner.
The broker, hoarse with excitement, was delighted when he recognized Brewster's voice.
"You're a wonder, Monty! I'll see you after the close. How the devil did you do it?" shouted Gardner.
"What's the price now?" asked Brewster.
"One thirteen and three-fourths, and going up all the time. Hooray!"
"Do you think she'll go down again?" demanded Brewster.
"Not if I can help it."
"Very well, then, go and sell out," roared Brewster.
"But she's going up like—"
"Sell, damn you! Didn't you hear?"
Gardner, dazed and weak, began selling, and finally liquidated the full line at prices ranging from 114 to 112 1/2, but Montgomery Brewster had cleared $58,550, and all because it was he and not the market that got excited.
It was not that he had realized heavily in his investments which caused his friends and his enemies to regard him in a new light; his profit had been quite small, as things go on the Exchange in these days. The mere fact that he had shown such foresight proved sufficient cause for the reversal of opinion. Men looked at him with new interest in their eyes, with fresh confidence. His unfortunate operations in the stock market had restored him to favor in all circles. The man, young or old, who could do what he had done with Lumber and Fuel well deserved the new promises that were being made for him.
Brewster bobbed uncertainly between two emotions—elation and distress. He had achieved two kinds of success—the desired and the undesired. It was but natural that he should feel proud of the distinction the venture had brought to him on one hand, but there was reason for despair over the acquisition of $50,000. It made it necessary for him to undertake an almost superhuman feat—increase the number of his January bills. The plans for the ensuing spring and summer were dimly getting into shape and they covered many startling projects. Since confiding some of them to "Nopper" Harrison, that gentleman had worn a never-decreasing look of worry and anxiety in his eyes.
Rawles added to his despair a day or two after the Stock Exchange misfortune. He brought up the information that six splendid little puppies had come to bless his Boston terrier family, and Joe Bragdon, who was present, enthusiastically predicted that he could get $100 apiece for them. Brewster loved dogs, yet for one single horrible moment he longed to massacre the helpless little creatures. But the old affection came back to him, and he hurried out with Bragdon to inspect the brood.
"And I've either got to sell them or kill them," he groaned. Later on he instructed Bragdon to sell the pups for $25 apiece, and went away, ashamed to look their proud mother in the face.
Fortune smiled on him before the day was over, however. He took "Subway" Smith for a ride in the "Green Juggernaut," bad weather and bad roads notwithstanding. Monty lost control of the machine and headed for a subway excavation. He and Smith saved themselves by leaping to the pavement, sustaining slight bruises, but the great machine crashed through the barricade and dropped to the bottom of the trench far below. To Smith's grief and Brewster's delight the automobile was hopelessly ruined, a clear loss of many thousands. Monty's joy was short-lived, for it was soon learned that three luckless workmen down in the depths had been badly injured by the green meteor from above. The mere fact that Brewster could and did pay liberally for the relief of the poor fellows afforded him little consolation. His carelessness, and possibly his indifference, had brought suffering to these men and their families which was not pleasant to look back upon. Lawsuits were avoided by compromises. Each of the injured men received $4,000.
At this time every one was interested in the charity bazaar at the Astoria. Society was on exhibition, and the public paid for the privilege of gazing at the men and women whose names filled the society columns. Brewster frequented the booth presided over by Miss Drew, and there seemed to be no end to his philanthropy. The bazaar lasted two days and nights, and after that period his account-book showed an even "profit" of nearly $3,000. Monty's serenity, however, was considerably ruffled by the appearance of a new and aggressive claimant for the smiles of the fair Barbara. He was a Californian of immense wealth and unbounded confidence in himself, and letters to people in New York had given him a certain entrée. The triumphs in love and finance that had come with his two score years and ten had demolished every vestige of timidity that may have been born with him. He was successful enough in the world of finance to have become four or five times a millionaire, and he had fared so well in love that twice he had been a widower. Rodney Grimes was starting out to win Barbara with the same dash and impulsiveness that overcame Mary Farrell, the cook in the mining-camp, and Jane Boothroyd, the school-teacher, who came to California ready to marry the first man who asked her. He was a penniless prospector when he married Mary, and when he led Jane to the altar she rejoiced in having captured a husband worth at least $50,000.
He vied with Brewster in patronizing Barbara's booth, and he rushed into the conflict with an impetuosity that seemed destined to carry everything before it. Monty was brushed aside, Barbara was preempted as if she were a mining claim and ten days after his arrival in New York, Grimes was the most talked-of man in town. Brewster was not the sort to be dispatched without a struggle, however. Recognizing Grimes as an obstacle, but not as a rival, he once more donned his armor and beset Barbara with all the zest of a champion who seeks to protect and not to conquer. He regarded the Californian as an impostor and summary action was necessary. "I know all about him, Babs," he said one day after he felt sure of his position. "Why, his father was honored by the V. C., on the coast in '49."
"The Victoria Cross?" asked Barbara, innocently.
"No, the vigilance committee."
In this way Monty routed the enemy and cleared the field before the end of another week. Grimes transferred his objectionable affection and Barbara was not even asked to be wife number three. Brewster's campaign was so ardent that he neglected other duties deplorably, falling far behind his improvident average. With Grimes disposed of, he once more forsook the battlefield of love and gave his harassed and undivided attention to his own peculiar business.
The fast-and-loose game displeased Miss Barbara greatly. She was at first surprised, then piqued, then resentful. Monty gradually awoke to the distressing fact that she was going to be intractable, as he put it, and forthwith undertook to smooth the troubled sea. To his amazement and concern she was not to be appeased.
"Does it occur to you, Monty," she said, with a gentle coldness that was infinitely worse than heat, "that you have been carrying things with a pretty high hand? Where did you acquire the right to interfere with my privileges? You seem to think that I am not to speak to any man but you."
"O, come now, Babs," retorted Monty, "I've not been quite as unreasonable as that. And you know yourself that Grimes is the worst kind of a bounder."
"I know nothing of the sort," replied the lady, with growing irritation. "You say that about every man who gives me a smile or a flower. Does it indicate such atrocious taste?"
"Don't be silly, Barbara. You know perfectly well that you have talked to Gardner and that idiot Valentine by the hour, and I've not said a word. But there are some things I can't stand, and the impertinence of Grimes is one of them. Jove! he looked at you, out of those fishy eyes, sometimes as though he owned you. If you knew how many times I've fairly ached to knock him down!"
Inwardly Barbara was weakening a little before his masterfulness. But she gave no sign.
"And it never occurred to you," she said, with that exasperating coldness of the voice, "that I was equal to the situation. I suppose you thought Mr. Grimes had only to beckon and I would joyfully answer. I'll have you know, Monty Brewster, right now, that I am quite able to choose my friends, and to handle them. Mr. Grimes has character and I like him. He has seen more of life in a year of his strenuous career than you ever dreamed of in all your pampered existence. His life has been real, Monty Brewster, and yours is only an imitation."
It struck him hard, but it left him gentle.
"Babs," he said, softly, "I can't take that from you. You don't really mean it, do you? Am I as bad as that?"
It was a moment for dominance, and he missed it. His gentleness left her cold.
"Monty," she exclaimed irritably, "you are terribly exasperating. Do make up your mind that you and your million are not the only things in the world."
His blood was up now, but it flung him away from her.
"Some day, perhaps, you'll find out that there is not much besides. I am just a little too big, for one thing, to be played with and thrown aside. I won't stand it."
He left the house with his head high in the air, angry red in his cheeks, and a feeling in his heart that she was the most unreasonable of women. Barbara, in the meantime, cried herself to sleep, vowing she would never love Monty Brewster again as long as she lived.
A sharp cutting wind was blowing in Monty's face as he left the house. He was thoroughly wretched.
"Throw up your hands!" came hoarsely from somewhere, and there was no tenderness in the tones. For an instant Monty was dazed and bewildered, but in the next he saw two shadowy figures walking beside him. "Stop where you are, young fellow," was the next command, and he stopped short. He was in a mood to fight, but the sight of a revolver made him think again. Monty was not a coward, neither was he a fool. He was quick to see that a struggle would be madness.
"What do you want?" he demanded as coolly as his nerves would permit.
"Put up your hands quick!" and he hastily obeyed the injunction.
"Not a sound out of you or you get it good and proper. You know what we want. Get to work, Bill; I'll watch his hands."
"Help yourselves, boys. I'm not fool enough to scrap about it. Don't hit me or shoot, that's all. Be quick about it, because I'll take cold if my overcoat is open long. How's business been to-night?" Brewster was to all intents and purposes the calmest man in New York.
"Fierce!" said the one who was doing the searching. "You're the first guy we've seen in a week that looks good."
"I hope you won't be disappointed," said Monty, genially. "If I'd expected this I might have brought more money."
"I guess we'll be satisfied," chuckled the man with the revolver. "You're awful nice and kind, mister, and maybe you wouldn't object to tellin' us when you'll be up dis way ag'in."
"It's a pleasure to do business with you, pardner," said the other, dropping Monty's $300 watch in his pocket. "We'll leave car-fare for you for your honesty." His hands were running through Brewster's pockets with the quickness of a machine. "You don't go much on jewelry, I guess. Are dese shoit buttons de real t'ing?"
"They're pearls," said Monty, cheerfully.
"My favorite jool," said the man with the revolver. "Clip 'em out, Bill."
"Don't cut the shirt," urged Monty. "I'm going to a little supper and I don't like the idea of a punctured shirt-front."
"I'll be as careful as I kin, mister. There, I guess dat's all. Shall I call a cab for you, sir?"
"No, thank you, I think I'll walk."
"Well, just walk south a hundred steps without lookin' 'round er yellin' and you kin save your skin. I guess you know what I mean, pardner."
"I'm sure I do. Good-night."
"Good-night," came in chuckles from the two hold-up men. But Brewster hesitated, a sharp thought penetrating his mind.
"By gad!" he exclaimed, "you chaps are very careless. Do you know you've missed a roll of three hundred dollars in this overcoat pocket?" The men gasped and the spasmodic oaths that came from them were born of incredulity. It was plain that they doubted their ears.
"Say it ag'in," muttered Bill, in bewildered tones.
"He's stringin' us, Bill," said the other.
"Sure," growled Bill. "It's a nice way to treat us, mister. Move along now and don't turn 'round."
"Well, you're a couple of nice highwaymen," cried Monty in disgust.
"Sh—not so loud."
"That is no way to attend to business. Do you expect me to go down in my pocket and hand you the goods on a silver tray?"
"Keep your hands up! You don't woik dat game on me. You got a gun there."
"No, I haven't. This is on the level. You over-looked a roll of bills in your haste and I'm not the sort of fellow to see an earnest endeavorer get the worst of it. My hands are up. See for yourself if I'm not telling you the truth."
"What kind of game is dis?" growled Bill, dazed and bewildered. "I'm blowed if I know w'at to t'ink o' you," cried he in honest amazement. "You don't act drunk, and you ain't crazy, but there's somethin' wrong wid you. Are you givin' it to us straight about de wad?"
"You can find out easily."
"Well, I hate to do it, boss, but I guess we'll just take de overcoat and all. It looks like a trick and we takes no chances. Off wid de coat."
Monty's coat came off in a jiffy and he stood shivering before the dumfounded robbers.
"We'll leave de coat at de next corner, pardner. It's cold and you need it more'n we do. You're de limit, you are. So long. Walk right straight ahead and don't yell."
Brewster found his coat a few minutes later, and went whistling away into the night. The roll of bills was gone.
Brewster made a good story of the "hold-up" at the club, but he did not relate all the details. One of the listeners was a new public commissioner who was aggressive in his efforts at reform. Accordingly Brewster was summoned to headquarters the next morning for the purpose of looking over the "suspects" that had been brought in. Almost the first man that he espied was a rough-looking fellow whose identity could not be mistaken. It was Bill.
"Hello, Bill," called Monty, gaily. Bill ground his teeth for a second, but his eyes had such an appeal in them that Monty relented.
"You know this fellow, Mr. Brewster?" demanded the captain, quickly. Bill looked utterly helpless.
"Know Bill?" questioned Monty in surprise. "Of course I do, Captain."
"He was picked up late last night and detained, because he would give no account of his actions."
"Was it as bad as that, Bill?" asked Brewster, with a smile. Bill mumbled something and assumed a look of defiance. Monty's attitude puzzled him sorely. He hardly breathed for an instant, and gulped perceptibly.
"Pass Bill, Captain. He was with me last night just before my money was taken, and he couldn't possibly have robbed me without my knowledge. Wait for me outside, Bill. I want to talk to you. I'm quite sure neither of the thieves is here, Captain," concluded Brewster, after Bill had obeyed the order to step out of the line.
Outside the door the puzzled crook met Brewster, who shook him warmly by the hand.
"You're a peach," whispered Bill, gratefully "What did you do it for, mister?"
"Because you were kind enough not to cut my shirt."
"Say, you're all right, that's what. Would you mind havin' a drink with me? It's your money, but the drink won't be any the worse for that. We blowed most of it already, but here's what's left." Bill handed Monty a roll of bills.
"I'd a kept it if you'd made a fight," he continued, "but it ain't square to keep it now."
Brewster refused the money, but took back his watch.
"Keep it, Bill," he said, "you need it more than I do. It's enough to set you up in some other trade. Why not try it?"
"I will try, boss," and Bill was so profuse in his thanks that Monty had difficulty in getting away; As he climbed into a cab he heard Bill say, "I will try, boss, and say, if ever I can do anything for you jes' put me nex'. I'm nex' you all de time."
He gave the driver the name of his club, but as he was passing the Waldorf he remembered that he had several things to say to Mrs. Dan. The order was changed, and a few moments later he was received in Mrs. Dan's very special den. She wore something soft and graceful in lavender, something that was light and wavy and evanescent, and made you watch its changing shadows. Monty looked down at her with the feeling that she made a very effective picture.
"You are looking pretty fit this morning, my lady," he said by way of preamble. "How well everything plays up to you."
"And you are unusually courtly, Monty," she smiled. "Has the world treated you so generously of late?"
"It is treating me generously enough just now to make up for anything," and he looked at her. "Do you know, Mrs. Dan, that it is borne in upon me now and then that there are things that are quite worth while?"
"Oh, if you come to that," she answered, lightly, "everything is worth while. For you, Monty, life is certainly not slow. You can dominate; you can make things go your way. Aren't they going your way now, Monty"—this more seriously—"What's wrong? Is the pace too fast?"
His mood increased upon him with her sympathy. "Oh, no," he said, "it isn't that. You are good—and I'm a selfish beast. Things are perverse and people are desperately obstinate sometimes. And here I am taking it out on you. You are not perverse. You are not obstinate. You are a ripper, Mrs. Dan, and you are going to help me out in more ways than one."
"Well, to pay for all these gallantries, Monty, I ought to do much. I'm your friend through thick and thin. You have only to command me."
"It was precisely to get your help that I came in. I'm tired of those confounded dinners. You know yourself that they are all alike—the same people, the same flowers, the same things to eat, and the same inane twaddle in the shape of talk. Who cares about them anyway?"
"Well, I like that," she interrupted. "After all the thought I put into those dinners, after all the variety I so carefully secured! My dear boy, you are frightfully ungrateful."
"Oh, you know what I mean. And you know quite as well as I do that it is perfectly true. The dinners were a beastly bore, which proves that they were a loud success. Your work was not done in vain. But now I want something else. We must push along the ball we've been talking of. And the yachting cruise—that can't wait very much longer."
"The ball first," she decreed. "I'll see to the cards at once, and in a day or two I'll have a list ready for your gracious approval. And what have you done?"
"Pettingill has some great ideas for doing over Sherry's. Harrison is in communication with the manager of that Hungarian orchestra you spoke of, and he finds the men quite ready for a little jaunt across the water. We have that military band—I've forgotten the number of its regiment—for the promenade music, and the new Paris sensation, the contralto, is coming over with her primo tenore for some special numbers."
"You were certainly cut out for an executive, Monty," said Mrs. Dan. "But with the music and the decorations arranged, you've only begun. The favors are the real thing, and if you say the word, we'll surprise them a little. Don't worry about it, Monty. It's a go already. We'll pull it off together."
"You are a thoroughbred, Mrs. Dan," he exclaimed. "You do help a fellow at a pinch."
"That's all right, Monty," she answered; "give me until after Christmas and I'll have the finest favors ever seen. Other people may have their paper hats and pink ribbons, but you can show them how the thing ought to be done."
Her reference to Christmas haunted Brewster, as he drove down Fifth Avenue, with the dread of a new disaster. Never before had he looked upon presents as a calamity; but this year it was different. Immediately he began to plan a bombardment of his friends with costly trinkets, when he grew suddenly doubtful of the opinion of his uncle's executor upon this move. But in response to a telegram, Swearengen Jones, with pleasing irascibility, informed him that "anyone with a drop of human kindness in his body would consider it his duty to give Christmas presents to those who deserved them." Monty's way was now clear. If his friends meant to handicap him with gifts, he knew a way to get even. For two weeks his mornings were spent at Tiffany's, and the afternoons brought joy to the heart of every dealer in antiquities in Fourth and Fifth Avenues. He gave much thought to the matter in the effort to secure many small articles which elaborately concealed their value. And he had taste. The result of his endeavor was that many friends who would not have thought of remembering Monty with even a card were pleasantly surprised on Christmas Eve.
As it turned out, he fared very well in the matter of gifts, and for some days much of his time was spent in reading notes of profuse thanks, which were yet vaguely apologetic. The Grays and Mrs. Dan had remembered him with an agreeable lack of ostentation, and some of the "Little Sons of the Rich," who had kept one evening a fortnight open for the purpose of "using up their meal-tickets" at Monty's, were only too generously grateful. Miss Drew had forgotten him, and when they met after the holiday her recognition was of the coldest. He had thought that, under the circumstances, he could send her a gift of value, but the beautiful pearls with which he asked for a reconciliation were returned with "Miss Drew's thanks." He loved Barbara sincerely, and it cut. Peggy Gray was taken into his confidence and he was comforted by her encouragement. It was a bit difficult for her to advise him to try again, but his happiness was a thing she had at heart.
"It's beastly unfair, Peggy," he said. "I've really been white to her. I believe I'll chuck the whole business and leave New York."
"You're going away?" and there was just a suggestion of a catch in her breath.
"I'm going to charter a yacht and sail away from this place for three or four months." Peggy fairly gasped. "What do you think of the scheme?" he added, noticing the alarm and incredulity in her eyes.
"I think you'll end in the poor-house, Montgomery Brewster," she said, with a laugh.