Bob, the hammer-thrower and the monocle-man together entered the little station-house in the village. It wasn’t much of a lock-up, but it was big enough to hold Bob and a few others, one of whom had just been released as the trio of new-comers walked in. His eye fell on Bob.
“That’s my man,” he exclaimed excitedly. “That’s my escaped patient.”
“Yes, that’s he!” affirmed a second voice—that of the commodore.
“Got him this time!” came jubilantly from another side of the bare room, and Bob gazing, with no show of emotion, in that direction, discovered Dickie and Clarence were there too.
“Put me in the padded cell, would you?” said the maniac-medico furiously. “I’ll see where you go. Come on. The car is waiting. There won’t be any window-bouquets this time, I promise you.”
Bob didn’t answer. He didn’t much care what they said.
“I got Gee-gee on the phone,” went on Dan viciously, “and she has it all down in black and white, she tells me. The legal light up there has attended to that. A parcel of outrageous falsehoods! The audacity of that girl, too! When I showed her the enormity of her conduct, she only gave a merry little laugh. Said she was terribly fond of me, the minx! And would I come and sit in the front row when she was a bright and scintillating star?”
“And she said Gid-up wanted to know if I wouldn’t like to gaze upon that cute little freckle once more?” added Clarence in choked tones.
“And all that, on account of you!” exclaimed the commodore, throwing out his arms and looking at the culprit. Dickie didn’t say anything at the moment. He only glared.
Bob regarded the three with lack-luster gaze. He felt little interest in them now.
“Take him away!” said Dan, breathing hard. “Or I may do him an injury.”
“Give him what’s coming to him,” breathed Dickie hoarsely. “He’s got my girl hypnotized.”
“Come on,” said the maniac-medico sternly to Bob. “Let’s waste no more time.”
“Hold on,” spoke the monocle-man quietly. “You are a little premature, gentlemen.”
“What doyouwant to butt in for?” demanded the commodore aggressively of the monocle-man.
“Mr. Bennett has accompanied me here as my prisoner. Am I not right?” Appealing to the hammer-thrower.
“Correct,” said that gentleman regretfully.
“What’s he been doing besides wrecking homes?” asked the commodore.
“A few articles of jewelry have been missing at Mrs. Ralston’s,” said the hammer-thrower in that same tone. “It’s a very regrettable affair. Miss Gerald, for example, lost her ring and it was traced to Mr. Bennett.”
Bob stood it patiently. He wondered if his day would ever come.
“So?— He’s the merry little social-highwayman, is he?” observed Dan. “The best I can say is, don’t make a hero of him. Give him some real, old-fashioned justice.”
“I’m afraid I can’t honestly extend my sympathy to you,” remarked Clarence to Bob stiffly.
“I’m not sorry,” said Dickie frankly. “I’m glad. Anyhow, Miss Dolly will despise you now.” With a ring of triumph in his voice.
“No, she won’t,” observed Bob, breaking silence for the first time. “It was being what people think I am that made her fall in love with me.” He didn’t want Dickie to feel too good. He remembered that unsportsmanlike punch. “She’s my dear jolly little pal,” Bob went on, “and she wanted to occupy an adjoining cell.”
Dickie went up to Bob. “I’d like to give you another,” he said in his nastiest accents.
“Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” It was the voice of the man at the desk. Authority now spoke. Up to now, amazement had held authority tongue-tied. “The prisoner came quietly, Mr. Moriarity?” Authority knew, then, the monocle-man. Evidently the two had a secret understanding. “Has he confessed?” “Not as yet,” said the monocle-man significantly.
“And I’m not going to,” spoke up Bob succinctly to the magistrate. “I’m not guilty.”
“Then who is?” asked the monocle-man.
“You’ve got your hand on his arm,” said Bob in that same forcible manner. The time had come for him to assert himself, however ridiculous his affirmation might sound. Authority should have the truth. Bob blurted it out fearlessly, holding his head well up as he spoke. “You’ve got your hand on his arm,” he repeated.
Mr. Moriarity’s reply quite took their breath away, especially Bob’s. “Guess you’re right,” he said promptly, and something bright gleamed in his hand. “Don’t move,” he said to the hammer-thrower.
“But aren’t you going to lockhimup at all?” asked the commodore in disappointed tones, indicating Bob, after the monocle-man had shown the hammer-thrower a warrant for his (the hammer-thrower’s) arrest, and had, at the conclusion of certain formalities, caused that dazed and angry individual to be led away.
“I am certainly not going to lock Mr. Bennett up,” laughed the monocle-man who was in the best of humors.
The coup seemed to him a lovely one. For months he had been on the trail of the hammer-thrower. He told Bob—as dazed and bewildered as the hammer-thrower by the unexpected turn of events—all about it later. He had certainly taken an artistic way to complete the affair. And later, not that night, Bob learned, too, that it was Miss Gerald herself who had suggested the way, she having inherited some of the managerial genius of her father. Maybe, she was not averse to Bob’s suffering a little after the wholly-intolerable way he had comported himself toward her and others of her aunt’s guests. Maybe cruelty had mingled somewhat with retaliation. Proud, regal young womanhood sometimes can be cruel. But Bob probably deserved all those twinges and pangs and mournful emotions she had caused him. No one certainly had ever talked to her as he had done.
“May I sit down?” said Bob at length to the magistrate. He felt rather tired.
Authority gave him permission to sit. “Well, if you’re not going to lock him up,” said that maniac-med., looking viciously at Bob, “I am.”
“No, you’re not,” observed the monocle-man easily. “Mr. Bennett is my friend. He has helped me immensely in this affair. Had he not projected his rather impetuous personality into it, certain difficulties would not have been smoothed out so easily. He created a diversion which threw the prisoner, naturally deep and resourceful, somewhat off his guard. But for Mr. Bennett’s whimsical and, at times, diverting conduct,” with a smile at Bob, “my fight against him,” nodding toward the cell, “might not have culminated quite so soon. So,” he added to the enraged medico, “Mr. Bennett has my full moral support, and, I may say,” touching the pocket into which he had returned that something bright, “my physical support as well.” “But what about the treatment I have received?” stormed the med. “Locked up like—?”
“You shouldn’t have been prowling around. Anyhow, I shall advise my good friend, Mr. Bennett, that should you seek to annoy him further, or to lay a single finger on him, he will have an excellent case for damages. I can explain away a great deal that is inexplicable to the rest of you, and that explanation will serve fully to rehabilitate Mr. Bennett in the esteem of certain people as a not unnormal person. How far I can restore his popularity,” with a laugh, “is another matter.”
Bob stared straight ahead. “How did you do it?” he said to the monocle-man. “What made you certain?”
“I saw him place the ring in your pocket. Feel here,” walking over to Bob. The latter felt where the other indicated. “A little vest-pocket camera!” said the monocle-man softly. “I photographed the act—the outstretched hand with the ring in it!—you, unsuspecting, half sprawling over the green felt of the table! your coat tails inviting the ring—Besides, one of my men took the place of that outside-operator and received a certain little article of jewelry that night you came blundering back to Mrs. Ralston’s. We nabbed the outside-operator and—well, he’s told certain things.” With satisfaction. “We have, in short, a clear case.”
Bob held his head. “It’s whirling,” he said. “I’ll get some things straightened out after a little, I suppose.”
“That’s right,” observed the monocle-man.
“There are some things you can’t straighten out,” said Dan in an ugly tone. “This is all very well for you, but what about us?”
Just at that moment there was a flutter of skirts at the door.
Gee-gee and Gid-up came in, the former in a state of great agitation.
“How dared you?” she gasped, going up to the monocle-man and standing with arms akimbo.
“Send you that note, commanding your presence here?” said the monocle-man. “I dared, my dear,” he added slowly, “because I hold the cards.”
“Don’t you ‘dear’ me,” she retorted stormily.
“I wouldn’t, seriously,” he returned. “It might be dangerous. Women like you are dangerous, you know. I fancy our friends here,” glancing toward the commodore and Clarence, “have found that out. But it will be a lesson. ‘We’ll never wander more from our own fireside,’” he hummed.
“Well,” said Gee-gee, shaking her auburn tresses, “those were pretty bold statements of what you could do to me, in that note you sent.”
“They were true, my dear.”
The green eyes flared. Gee-gee was shaking all over. Gid-up looked rather frightened.
“Take it easy,” said the monocle-man.
“I’d like to see you prove what you can do,” she returned. “You say I have framed-up a lot of false-hoods—a tissue of lies—in that affidavit the lawyer at Mrs. Ralston’s drew up. I tell you they’re all true.” Dan looked weak. “Everything I’ve told happened just at I said it did, and he knows it.” Pointing a finger at the commodore.
“I wonder if I ought not to put you in jail now?” said the monocle-man meditatively. “There’s a cell vacant next to the hammer-thrower. You would be congenial spirits.”
“It’s proofs I’m asking, Mr. Detective,” retorted Gee-gee, apparently not greatly abashed by this threat. She was accustomed to hitting back.
“Yes, it’s proofs,” said Gid-up, but in weaker accents.
The monocle-man shook a reproving finger at Gid-up. “You’re in bad company, my dear,” he observed. “You’re out of Gee-gee’s class. You’re just trying to be in it.”
“I don’t want any of your impertinence,” answered Gid-up with a faint imitation of Gee-gee’s manner. “He’s a proper bad one.” Pointing to Clarence who presented a picture of abject misery. “And when I tell all the things he done to me—”
“But you won’t tell them.”
“I have.” Defiantly. “In that paper the lawyer drew up.”
“But you’re going to sign a little paper I have here, repudiating all that,” he answered her.
“Oh, am I?” Elevating her turned-up nose.
“You are.” Blandly.
“Guess again,” said Gid-up saucily.
“You can’t prove what we told in that affidavit isn’t true,” reaffirmed Gee-gee. Only she and Gid-up could know it was a “frame-up”; they had builded carefully and were sure of their ground. “We know our rights and we’re going to have them. We’re not afraid of you.”
“Then why are you here?” quietly.
“That lawyer at the house said we might as well see you, just to call your bluff. He said, since we had told the truth, we had nothing to fear.”
“I don’t think you’re quite so confident as you seem,” observed the monocle-man. “My note awoke a little uneasiness, or you wouldn’t be here. This young lady,” turning to Gid-up, “suffered a mild case of stage fright, if I am any judge of human nature.”
“Me?” said Gid-up. “I defy you.”
“Here’s the answer,” replied the monocle-man, taking another paper from his pocket.
“What’s that?” said Gee-gee scornfully. “I suppose it’s some lies from him.” Alluding to the commodore. “The lawyer told me to be prepared for them.”
“No; it isn’t that. It’s only a stenographic report of a conversation you and your friend had together in your room, the night you arrived at Mrs. Ralston’s.”
“A stenographic report? Nonsense!” Sharply. Gee-gee remembered all about that conversation. “How could you—”
“There’s a dictograph in the room you occupied, my dear,” observed the monocle-man.
“A dic—” Gee-gee seemed to turn green. “Good Gawd!” she said.
It wasn’t very long thereafter that Gee-gee and Gid-up departed.
“Back to the old life!” said Gee-gee wearily. “And just when I thought my ambition to be a star was coming true.”
“Life is sure tough,” observed Gid-up, abandoning her society manner.
“I’m sick of the whole thing. Got a mind to jump in the river.”
“Gas for me!” from poor Gid-up wearily.
“No, you won’t. And I won’t. We’ll just go on. Lord! how long.”
“Anyhow, that detective promised to introduce us to a real Russian grand duke who’s in old New York. Maybe we can get in the papers on that.”
“Perhaps.” More thoughtfully from Gee-gee. “It wasn’t so worse of the detective to promise that, after he’d got us down and walked on us.”
“You must make dukie drink out of your slipper,” suggested Gid-up. “The detective said he was mad after beautiful stage girls. Grand dukes always are.” Hopefully. “And if you do make him do that, it would be heralded from coast to coast.”
“It’s as good as done,” said Gee-gee confidently. “It’ll prove me a great actress, sure.” In a brighter tone.
“I always said you had talent,” remarked Gid-up.
“Cheese it,” retorted Gee-gee elegantly. “Ain’t you the fond flatterer!”
“Anyhow, I’m glad I don’t have to do society talk any more,” said Gid-up, and stuck a piece of gum in her mouth.
“Yes,” said Gee-gee, “my jaws is most broke.”
“Maybe you’d better tighten up your hobble a little for dukie,” suggested Gid-up.
“Have to stand still the rest of my life if I did,” observed Gee-gee, swishing along about six inches a step.
“You could divide it a little.”
“So I could.”
By this time they had forgotten about the river, or taking gas. The duke had already become a real person in their lives and they talked on, devising stunts for his Vivacious Greatness. By this time, too, the monocle-man seemed to them a real benefactor.
Meanwhile the “real benefactor” had been reading from that stenographic report to Dan and the others. The commodore nearly jumped out of his boots for joy.
“Read that again,” he said.
The monocle-man, reading: “‘This ain’t half bad enough. You think up something now, Gee-gee.’
“‘Doping a poor little thing is always good stuff to spring on a jury, Gid-up. And you could make yourself up young with your hair done up in a pigtail, with a cute little baby-blue bow on the end.’
“‘But that sounds old, Gee-gee. You can sure invent something new—’” etc., etc.
The monocle-man finished reading and laid down the paper. “There you are, gentlemen,” he observed in a lively tone. “The stenographers will swear to that. They were dressed as house-maids, but at night and on certain occasions, they used one of the rooms Mrs. Ralston placed at my disposal as an office. When I came down here I didn’t expect to be involved in a domestic drama. It rather forced itself upon me. It came as part of the day’s work. I overheard your conversation with Miss Dolly that night.” Significantly to Bob. That young gentleman flushed.
“I have taken the liberty of destroying the report of that conversation, I may add. Miss Dolly is charming.” With a smile. “I, also, had a record of your conversation with these three gentlemen”—indicating Dan, Clarence and Dickie—“after they entered your room one night, via the trellis and the window. That conversation introduced me into the domestic drama. I became an actor in it whether I would or not. But for my whispered instructions to one of my assistants in the garden, you three gentlemen would have been arrested.” Dan stared at Clarence in momentary consternation. “You did not need the golf-club because my man removed the dog.”
“It seems,” said Dan effusively to the monocle-man, “you have been our good angel. If any remuneration—?”
“No,” answered the monocle-man. “What I have done for you was only incidental and my reward was the enjoyment I got out of the affair—in watching how the threads crossed and recrossed, and how they tangled and untangled. It was better than going to a show. It made work a pleasure. Besides, I shall be well rewarded for what I have accomplished in another direction.” Looking toward the cell.
“I tried to get him in England and failed. In France, the story was the same. He is rather a remarkable personality. A born criminal and an actor, as well! Of good family, he wedged his way into society, through the all-round amateur athletic route. He was generally well liked.” Bob thought of Miss Gerald and looked down. He couldn’t help wondering if she would not greatly have preferred his (Bob’s) occupying that cell, instead of the other man who had seemed to interest her so much.
“Now for Mrs. Dan,” observed the commodore, jubilantly waving the stenographic report. “This will bring her to time.”
“And my wife, too!” said Clarence with equal joy.
“I thought I would save you gentlemen some trouble and so have already placed the report in the ladies’ hands,” said the monocle-man affably. “Indeed, they came to me afterward and told me they had been shamefully deceived. Mrs. Dan looked as if she had had a good cry—from joy, no doubt. Mrs. Clarence’s voice was tremulous. Same cause, I am sure. I think you will find them contrite and anxious to make up.”
“This is great,” said Dan.
“Glorious!” observed Clarence.
“Think of it! No public disgrace!”
“No being held up as monsters in the press!”
“It’s too good to be true.” The commodore threw out his arms and advanced toward the monocle-man.
But the latter waved him away. “Save your embraces for your wives,” he observed.
“I love all the world,” said Dan.
“Me, too!” from Clarence.
“I presume I am free to take my departure, gentlemen?” said Bob, rising.
“You are free as the birds of the air for all of me,” answered the monocle-man.
“Hold on one moment,” begged the commodore. “No; I’m not going to detain you forcibly. As a friend I ask you to wait.” Bob paused. “I’m a good fellow,” said Dan effusively, “and I don’t wish the world harm. I don’t want you to go wandering around any more as you are. Why, you’re a regular Frankenstein. You’re an iron automaton that goes about trampling on people. After all I’ve gone through, I have charity toward others. I won’t have you treading on people’s finer sensibilities and smashing connubial peace and comfort all to splinters.”
“But what can I do?” suggested Bob. He meant the three weeks weren’t yet up.
“Here’s what I propose to Clarence and Dickie. I see now you’ll win, anyhow. You’ve got the grit and the nerve. So as long as we have simply got to pay in the end, why not do so at once and so spare others? That’ll be the way I’ll pay him.” Alluding to the monocle-man. “It’s my way of showing my gratitude for what he’s done. And now I think of it, I can’t see that I ought to blame you so much, Bob, for all that has transpired.”
“Oh, you don’t?” With faint irony.
“No; you only did what you had to, and maybe we were a little rough. Forget it.” The commodore extended his hand.
The act melted Bob. He took it. “Good friends, once more!” chirped Dan, and extended an arm to include Clarence. “You’ve won. The money’s fairly yours, Bob. Only as a personal favor, I ask you to be, at once, as you were. Be your old natural self immediately.”
“I’ll pay my share to have him that way again,” said Clarence heartily. “I want to spare the world too. Besides, he’s won all right enough.”
“It’s three weeks or nothing from me,” said Dickie. “You chaps may want to spare the world, but I don’t want to spare him.”
“I’ll pay for Dickie,” replied good old Dan. “And gladly!”
Dickie shrugged. Dan wrote out a check. “Congratulations!” he said. “And for us, too!” Turning to Clarence. “Think of the thousands in alimony it might have cost us!”
“We’ve simply got to call a halt on old Bob,” said Clarence fervently. “Bet’s off! We lose.”
Bob took the check. “I believe I am entitled to it, for I certainly would have stuck it out now. I am sure I wouldn’t do it all over again, though, for ten times the amount. Nevertheless, I thank you.” He shook himself. “Free! Isn’t it great? Will you do something for me?” To the monocle-man.
“Gladly,” was the reply. “I was secretly informed of that wager of yours and I was immensely interested in your little social experiment. You see I make my living by prevarication and subterfuges. And that”—with a laugh—“is more than a man can make by telling the truth. It’s a wicked world. Fraud and humbug are trumps.”
“What I want you to do,” said Bob, ignoring this homily, “is to express my grip to New York. Also, tell Miss Gerald that I’ve gone and kindly thank Mrs Ralston and Miss Gerald for asking me down.”
“Why don’t you thank them yourself?”
“I think they would be more pleased if I complied with the formalities by proxy.”
“Shall I add you had a charming time?”
“You may use your own judgment.”
Bob walked to the door.
“I guess it’s I who am crazy,” said the maniac-doctor, again waking up.
Bob sent dad a modest-sized check the next day. “Result of hustling,” he wrote. “Spend freely. There’ll be more coming presently.” Then Bob went down on the narrow road that isn’t straight, but that has a crook in it. He stopped somewhere near the crook, and entering an office greeted a melancholy-looking man who had “bad business” and “country going to pot” written all over his face. The melancholy man was a club acquaintance.
“What’s the most abused and worst thing on the street that isn’t straight?” said Bob debonairly.
“That’s right. Call us names,” replied the melancholy man with a sigh. “Everybody’s doing it.”
“Have you got something so awful people turn their heads away when you speak of it?”
“There’s the Utopian,” observed the other. “Only a buzzard would get near it.”
“Do they call the promoter a thief?”
“They do.”
“And is he crazy?”
“He is. It’s either jail or a lunatic asylum for him.”
Bob handed what was left of the commodore’s check to the melancholy man. “Buy Utopian,” he said.
“All right,” answered the melancholy man listlessly. He was beyond feeling any emotion.
“I believe in Utopian,” observed Bob. “I have here,” touching his forehead, “inside information that it is an excellent little railroad property.”
“Oh, it isn’t a railroad,” said the melancholy man. “It’s—”
“Don’t tell me what it is,” retorted Bob. “Repeat some of those things the world calls the promoter.”
The melancholy man was obliging.
“Heavens! He must be an awful honest man!” said Bob and started toward the door, where he turned. “Pyramid with the profits.” And Bob walked out.
That afternoon he went to a real-estate man and asked where he could lease a small factory. While at college he had invented a small appliance for automobiles, which he felt sure was good and would commend itself to manufacturers. Bob knew about all there was to know about a car. After he had looked at several old deserted buildings on the outskirts, any one of which might answer his purpose, Bob strolled into a number of automobile agencies near Columbus Square, and showed them his little patent. The men in charge were willing to express an opinion; several appeared interested. Of course, Bob would ultimately have to go to the “higher-ups,” but he wanted first to find out what these practical chaps thought. One of them even asked Bob if he wanted a partner? Bob didn’t. He had all the capital needed, he replied.
He was taking a serious sober view of life now. He felt himself no longer “darn fool Bob,” or careless Bob, or lazy Bob. He might have done something with his little device long ago, but he had forgotten all about it. Its creation had been a passing whim. Bob really had a good head for machinery though, and now he was beginning to feel out his path. He wanted to work hard, too, which was a novel sensation. It felt, also, like a permanent sensation. Meeting several chaps, he refused their invitations to partake of the sparkling, much to their surprise, as heretofore he had been a prince of good fellows. Henceforth, however, he was going to be king of himself.
That night, in the old home, in the old square, Dolly called him up by telephone.
“Howcouldyou disappoint me so!” said jolly little pal. “The idea of your just pretending to be a burglar.”
“Me, pretend?” Bob laughed. “I say, that’s good. Didn’t I tell you all along I wasn’t?”
“But why didn’t youmakeme believe you weren’t?” retorted little pal reproachfully. “To think of your deceiving me like that!”
“Deceive you? That’s good, too. Why, I told you again and again I was just a plain ordinary person. You were just bound to idealize me!”
There was a brief pause. “Are you so disappointed in me, you are going to disown me now?” continued Bob.
“No-a. I’m still your jolly little pal. Only to think though, there never was a chance for those adjoining cells, after all!”
“Well, there seemed a good chance, anyhow.”
“Yes, it was nice and exciting while it lasted.” The temperamental little thing sighed. “It’s awful humdrum up here now.”
Bob didn’t ask any questions about the people up there. “You ought to have fallen in love with the hammer-thrower,” he said. “He was the real thing.”
“I suppose I should have,” she seemed to agree. “Wasn’t I stupid? Never mind. Say something nice.”
“Like you,” said Bob.
“Heaps? I need cheering.”
“Heaps.”
“Much obliged. You’re awfully good. What are you doing this evening?”
“I was sitting by the fire in dad’s old-fashioned den, thinking and dreaming.”
“All alone?”
“Entirely.”
“What were you thinking of?”
“Machinery. And a factory.”
“And will it have a tall chimney that belches smoke?”
“I trust ultimately to attain to the kind of a chimney you refer to. At present, I shall have to content myself with a comparatively insignificant one. I have visions of a chimney four hundred feet high some day.”
“Belching ugly smoke?”
“It won’t look ugly to me. It’ll look blissful.”
The biggest sigh of all quivered from afar. “Another dream shattered! My! but I’m growing up fast. I feel a million years old. Anyhow, I’ll never marry Dickie.”
“Wouldn’t if I were you. He doesn’t fight fair. Before he got through he’d have all your dad’s chimneys, as well as his own, and then he’d put you on an allowance. You’d have to account for every pin and needle you bought.”
“Yes; I know. When I do find the right man I’ll bring him to you and let you pass in judgment. You shall tell me whether I can or can’t.”
“All right—though isn’t that rather a paternal prerogative?”
“Oh, dad always lets me do what I want. You’re the only man that has ever dared oppose me.”
“But suppose I did oppose you in a matter of such importance?”
Miss Dolly thought. “We won’t cross that bridge before we come to it. You said you were thinkinganddreaming. I know what you were thinking about. Now, what were you dreaming about all by your lonely, sitting by the fire?”
Bob was glad he didn’t have to blurt out the truth any more. He evaded. “Did I say dreaming?” he asked.
“You did. Was it of some one?”
“Pooh! What nonsense!”
“Oh, it isn’t nonsense to do that.”
“I was only thinking of chimneys and things like that,” returned Bob. That was an out-and-outer. He shuddered to think of the answer he would have had to make a few days ago.
“Never mind,” said the jolly little pal. “You needn’t tell me. There are some things we keep locked up, forever and ever, in the inner sanctums of our hearts, aren’t there?” Sadly. “And we die and they are buried with us. Oh, dear! I’m beginning to feel dreadful. Only jolly little pal is awfully sorry.” For him, she meant. Bob winced. “I hate to think of you sitting there, poor dear, all alone, and—and—”
“I’m having a bully time—honest,” said Bob. “I really am. I’m planning out my future. I’m going to do something. I’m tired of being nothing. I’ll work right with the workmen at first.”
“And you will be all perspirey and covered with soot?” In horror.
“I’ll be worse than that. I’ll be sweaty and covered with soot,” said Bob practically.
Dolly groaned. “It seems to me as if everything is upside down.”
“No. Downside down. ‘Life is real; life is earnest,’” he quoted, laughing.
“Oh, dear! That solemn sound! I can tell you are terribly determined.” He did not answer. “Well, good-by, great, big, perspirey—I mean sweaty, sooty old pal!”
“Good-by, Dolly. And thank you for calling me up. It did me good to hear little pal’s voice. Wish me luck.”
“I’ll send you a horseshoe to-morrow,” she laughed. And then suddenly, as an afterthought— “By the way, I have a ’fession to make.”
“All right. ’Fess ahead.”
“Well, I don’t suppose I really and truly—deep down, you know—actually ever did quite think you were a regular burglar. I guess it was the dramatic situation that appealed to me. I’ve often thought I had ‘histrionic ability’ and you did make such a big, bold, handsome, darling make-believe burglar to play with, I just couldn’t resist.”
“I understand!” said Bob. “I guess—deep down—I guessed as much.” And rang off.
Bob went back to the fireplace. Was he dreaming now or only thinking? Dolly’s voice had taken him back to Mrs. Ralston’s, and the coals now framed a face. He looked quickly from them, his eyes following the smoke of his pipe. But the smoke now framed the face. Bob half-closed his eyes an instant, then resolutely he laid down his pipe and went to bed. Dad had closed the rather spacious old-fashioned house when he went away, and a momentary feeling of loneliness assailed Bob, as he realized there was no other person in the place, but he fought it down. Work was his incentive now—hard work—
The next day he learned they had lodged the promoter in jail. The big men had gone gunning for him, and, as usual, they got him. They got the “Utopian,” too. They took that because there wasn’t anything else to take. Incidentally, they discredited the broker’s statement that no one but a buzzard would go near it. Or, maybe, some of the big men were buzzards in disguise. Anyhow, they had the Utopian on their hands, and after they had settled with the promoter who had dared cross the trail of the big interests in his operations, they poked their fingers into Utopian and prodded it and examined it more carefully and discovered that with “honest judicial management” and a proper application of more funds that which had been but an odorous prospect might be converted into a “property.” The promoter had taken funds which he shouldn’t so he was out of their way, until he got pardoned.
The Utopian accordingly now began to soar. There were plenty of people who would sniff at it in its new aspect, and take a bite, too. A shoal of speculators wanted to get aboard. That “honest management” was a bait; that “property” probability became a “sure thing.” Big names were juggled in little offices. The usual thing happened—just one of those common occurrences hardly worth describing—only later it would probably be included in a congressional investigation and there would be a few reverberations at Albany. Bob pulled out in about two days.
“How’d you know?” said the broker.
“Fellow feeling. Been called a thief and a crazy man, myself.”
“What you want to buy now? The next rankest thing I know of is—”
Bob shook his head. “Never again. Good-by forever.”
“Good-by,” said the melancholy man. He thought he would see Bob down there again some day, but he never did. Bob went to a bank and opened an account. He wasn’t exactly rich but he had a nice comfortable feeling. Moreover he expected to build solidly. He leased the factory and then he went to work. Dad came home. He didn’t seem much interested in what Bob was doing. He loafed around and told fish stories. Bob got up about five a.m. but dad didn’t arise until nine. Sometimes he had his breakfast in bed and had his man bring him the newspaper. Bob didn’t have a man, though he soon began to prosper. The device was considered necessary in the trade; it proved practical.
Bob added to his factory and built a fair-sized chimney. Dreamily he wondered if it would realize jolly little chum’s idea of a chimney. He had to cut out all the social functions now for he was so tired when he got home he wanted only his dinner and his pipe and bed. Dad, however, stayed out late. He remarked once he thought he would learn to tango. Bob never knew though whether he carried out the idea or not.
The newspapers, a few months later, apprised Bob that Gee-gee had landed the grand duke. A snapshot revealed him imbibing from Gee-gee’s Cinderella slipper. Possibly the grand duke was enraged over the snap-shot. More likely, however, he didn’t care; he was so high up he could do anything and snap his fingers at the world. Bob permitted himself a little recreation; out of mild curiosity, he went to see Gee-gee. She now had a fair-sized part and was talked about. Incidentally, she had acquired a few additional wriggles.
His Vivacious Highness sat in a box and Gee-gee wriggled mostly for him. She hardly looked at the audience, but the audience didn’t act offended. It applauded. Gee-gee’s dream had come true. She was a star. And to her credit she reached out a helping hand to Gid-up. The latter now said more than “Send for the doctor.” She had eight lines—which was certainly getting on some. Bob, however, didn’t notice Dan or Clarence in the audience. They were probably billing and cooing at home now. Only grand dukes can afford to toy with Gee-gees. Bob didn’t stay to see and hear it all for a little of Gee-gee went a long way, and besides, he had to get up early. Dad though, who accompanied Bob, said he would stay right through.
Once on Fifth Avenue, Bob passed Miss Gerald; she was just getting out of her car. An awful temptation seized him to stop, but he managed to suppress it, for he had himself fairly in hand by this time. He saw they would almost meet, but there were many people and, in the press, he didn’t have to see her. So he didn’t. He felt sure she would cut him if he did. It was the first foolish thing he had done for some time; he realized that when he got away. But what was he to do? He objected to being cut, and by her, of all persons. He regretted the incident very much. It hurt his pride and, of course, he had earned her dislike.
Bob hied him factoryward and toiled mightily that day. It was work—work—though to what end? If he only knew! He had tried to tell himself that he was learning to forget, that he was becoming reconciled to the inevitable, but that quick glimpse he had caught of her from a distance, before he drifted by with the others, had set his pulses tingling. For a moment now Bob gave way to dreaming; the day was almost done. He sat with his head on his hand and his elbow on the desk. He had shown he was more than a dancing man. He would now have to fight an even harder battle. He would have to take her out of his heart and mind.
But he couldn’t do that. It was impossible, when his whole nature clamored for her. He yielded now to the dubious luxury of thinking of her. He hoped he wouldn’t see her again and then gradually he would win in that fight against nature—or do his best to. Yes; he must do his best; he must, he repeated to himself, closing a firm hand resolutely. Then he started and stared—at a vision standing before him.
“Why did you cut me to-day?”
It was some time before Bob recovered sufficiently to answer. Fortunately they were alone in Bob’s private office. From below came the sound of hammers, but that and the dingy surroundings did not seem to disconcert her. She looked at Bob coldly, the violet eyes full of directness.
“I—well, I feared you would cut me,” stammered Bob. “Won’t—won’t you sit down?”
“No, thank you. At least, not yet. I,” accusingly, “am not accustomed to being cut, and if any of my friends cut me, I want to know why. That’s why I am here.”
She was her father’s daughter at that moment—straight, forceful.
“But,” said Bob eagerly, looking once more the way he used to, before he had got into this sobering business of manufacturer, “that’s just the point. You see I felt I had somehow forfeited my right to be one of your friends. I felt out of the pale.”
“Do you think you deserve to forfeit the right?”
“I—perhaps. I don’t know. I’m very confused about all that happened at your aunt’s place.”
Was that the shadow of a smile on the proud lips? Bob wasn’t looking at her. He dared not. He was talking to a drawing of his device.
“Perhaps you have heard of that confounded wager,” he went on. “I told you why I—I didn’t want to see you. At least, I think I did.”
“I have a vague impression of something of the kind,” said the girl.
“And there you are,” observed Bob helplessly. “It was an awful muddle, all right. You certainly punished me some, though. Honestly, if I offended you, you did get back good and hard.”
“Did I?” said she tentatively. “Is that a drawing of it on the wall?” She was looking at the device.
“Yes. That’s what I make.”
“Won’t you show me around?”
Bob did, walking as in a dream among the dingy workmen who paused as the vision passed. For a long time they talked—just plain ordinary talk. Then he told her how he was inventing something else and Miss Gerald listened while all differences seemed magically to have dropped between them. Drinking deep of the joy of the moment, Bob yielded to the unadulterated happiness that went with being near her. He forgot all about the long future when he would see her no more.
Finally Miss Gerald got up to go. They had returned to Bob’s office and she had seated herself in a shabby old chair.
Bob’s face fell. His heart had been beating fast and the old light had come to his eyes.
“Going?” he said awkwardly.
“Yes.”
She put out her hand and Bob took it, looking into her eyes. Then—he never knew how it happened—he had her in his arms. Bang! bang! went Bob’s hammers below and they seemed to be competing with the beating of his heart. At length the girl stirred slightly. She was wonderful in her proud compliance to Bob’s somewhat chaotic and over-powering expression of his emotions. “I suffered, too, a little, perhaps,” she said.
That nearly completed Bob’s undoing. “You! you!” he said, holding her from him and regarding her face eagerly, devouringly.
“Yes,” the proud lips curled a little, “I haven’t really a heart of stone, you know.”
Then Bob became chaotic once more for it was as if heaven had been hurled at him. He spoke burning words of truth and this time they did not get him into trouble. She drank them all in, too. Then he began to ask questions in that same chaotic manner. He was so masterful she had to answer.
“Yes, yes,” she said, “of course, I do.”
“When did it begin?”
“A long, long time ago.”
“You have loved me a long time?” he exulted and drew a deep breath. “A moment ago I was pondering on the problems of life and wondering what was the use of it all? Now—” He paused.
“Now?” said the girl and her eyes were direct and clear. The love light in them—for it was that—shone as the light of stars.
Bob threw out his arms. “Life is great,” he said.
A moment they stood apart and looked at each other. “It can’t be,” said Bob. “It is too much to believe. I certainly must prove it once more.”
“One moment,” said Miss Gerald. “Dolly told me you kissed her.”
“I did.”
“Why, if as you say, it was only I—?”
Bob was silent.
“Did—did she ask you to?”
Bob did not answer.
“You don’t answer?” The violet eyes studied him discerningly.
“All I can say is I did kiss her.” He would not betray jolly little pal.
The violet eyes looked satisfied. “You have answered,” she said. “I think I understand the situation thoroughly.”
Bob impetuously wanted to demonstrate once more that she was really she—that it wasn’t a dream—but she held him back and looked into his eyes. “You’ve said a good many things,” said Miss Gerald. “But there’s one you haven’t.”
“What?”
“It’s one you really ought to ask, after all this demonstration.”
“Oh!” said Bob loudly. “Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” she answered. And for the first time voluntarily offered him her lips.
Suddenly the sound of hammers stopped.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
“Closing time. May I see you to your car?”
“Yes,” she laughed, “if you will get in.”
“I’ll get in if you won’t be ashamed of having a rather dingy-looking individual by your side?”
“I’m proud of you, Bob,” said her father’s daughter. “And I believe in you.”
“And—?” he suggested.
“I love you,” she said simply.
Bob tried to say something, but words didn’t seem to come. Then silently he opened the door and they passed out. He helped her in the car and held a small gloved hand all the way down Fifth Avenue. Young people who can be cruel are, also, capable of going to the other extreme. It wasn’t Fifth Avenue for Bob. It was Paradise.
Dad heard the news that night. “Of course,” he said. “I expected it.” Then, with a twinkle of the eye. “But I’m glad you got started in life for yourself first, son. I was afraid you would ask her before you had the right.”
“You afraid? Then you did suggest my doing it, just to try me, to see what kind of stuff I was made of? I thought so. I told her so.” Bob’s eyes now began to twinkle. “Sure that’s all you did, dad, to find out if I was a real man or a sawdust one?”
“Perhaps I did misrepresent slightly the state of the parental exchequer. As a matter of fact, I’m still pretty well off, Bob. Though they did bounce me a little, I was not so much ruined as I let people think. I didn’t deny those bankruptcy stories, because I wanted you to make good, dear boy. And you have!” There was pride and affection in dad’s tones. “But now that you have, there will be no further need to continue that Japanese custom. I have ample for my simple needs and a little left over to go fishing with.”
Bob might have protested, but just at that moment a car swung in front of the house, where it stopped. On the back seat sat a lady. The driver got out and started up the steps to dad’s house. By this time Bob was coming down the steps. He hastened to the lady.
“So good of you!” he said, his eyes alight. “I ordered to-day that car of my own,” he added, leaning over the door.
“Are you sure you can afford it yet?” she laughed.
“Sure. And it will be a beauty. As fit for you as any car could be!”
“Are you going like that—hatless?” she asked.
“I—well, I was wondering if I couldn’t induce you to come in for a moment?” Eagerly. “Want you to meet dad. Or shall I bring him out here?”
“I’ll go in, of course,” she said, rising at once. “And I shall be very glad.”
“He—he was only trying me out, after all,” spoke Bob as he opened the door of the car. “That advice, I mean. You remember? And he pretended to be broke, too, just to test me. He told me just now.”
“I think I shall like your father,” said Miss Gerald.
“Oh, we’re bully chums!”
By this time they were in the house. Bob took her by the hand and led her to dad.
“I remember your mother and I knew your father,” said dad, when Bob had presented him. “Your mother was very beautiful.”
Gwendoline thanked him, while Bob gazed upon her with adoring eyes.
“Isn’t she wonderful, dad?” he said.
“Wonderful, indeed,” said dad fondly, a little sadly. Perhaps he was thinking of the time when his own bride had stood right there, in the home he had bought for her. Perhaps he saw her eyes with the light of love in them—eyes long since closed. “I trust you will not think me trite if I say, God bless you,” murmured dad.
“I won’t think you trite at all,” said Gwendoline Gerald, approaching nearer to dad. “I think it very nice.”
“And would you think me trite if I—?”
Dad’s meaning was apparent for Gwendoline’s golden head bent toward him and dad’s lips just brushed the fair brow.
“I’m very glad. I think Bob will make a good husband. He will have to set himself a high mark though, to deserve you, my dear.”
“That’s just what I keep telling her myself,” observed Bob. He experienced anew a touch of that chaotic feeling but didn’t give way to it on account of dad’s being there.
“Don’t set the mark too high, or you may leave me far behind,” laughed Gwendoline Gerald. “By the way I’ve asked Dolly to be first bridesmaid and she has consented. Said she supposed that was the ‘next best thing,’ though I can’t imagine what she meant.”
“That’s jolly,” said Bob. He thrilled at these little delicious details of the approaching event. “But I suppose we should be going now.”
“Is it the opera?” asked dad.
Bob answered that it was. “She insisted on coming for me in her car,” he laughed. “Would have had one myself now if I had imagined anything like this. It was rather sudden, you know.”
“It looks as if I made him do it,” said the girl with a laugh. “I went right to his office, and that, after his refusing me once, when I proposed to him.”
“Did you do that, Bob?”
“Well, I didn’t believe she meant it. Did you?” To Miss Gerald.
“That’s telling,” said Gwendoline, and looked so inviting in that wonderful opera costume, so white and tall and alluring, so many other things calculated to fire a young man’s soul, that Bob had difficulty not to resort to extreme masculine measures to make her tell.
“Hope you have a pleasant evening,” observed dad politely as they went out together, a couple the neighbors might well find excuse to stare at.
“Oh, I guess we’ll manage to pull through,” said Bob.
Their first evening out all alone by themselves in great, big gay New York! It was nice and shadowy, too, in the big limousine where the dim light spiritualized the girl’s beauty.
“Tell now,” he urged, “what I asked you in there?”
“Did I mean it?” Her starry eyes met his. “Perhaps a little bit. But I’m glad you didn’t accept. I’m glad it came out the other way,” she laughed.
Bob forgot there was a possibility of some one peering in and seeing them. Those laughing lips were such a tremendous lure. Then they both sat very still. Wheels sang around them; there was magic in the air.
“Just think of it!” said Bob with sudden new elation.
“What?”
“Why, there’ll be nights and nights like this,” he said, as if he had made an important new discovery.
“And ‘then some’!” added the classical young goddess non-classically and gaily, as they turned into the Great White Way.
THE END
By FREDERIC S. ISHAM