TO borrow money at any time is difficult; to borrow during a panic is impossible. John Steele spent the first half of the second day of the crisis in attempting the impossible. Every man to whom he applied seemed to be in the same position as himself. All stocks had come down in sympathy with the Rockervelt slump, and it seemed as if every person supposed to be rich was then engaged in a frantic endeavour to prevent ruin by putting up all the ready money in hand, or else trying, like John himself, to borrow.
About half past twelve he gave up the quest, and made a second call on his brokers. It was the junior partner again who received him.
“Ah, Mr. Steele,” cried the broker, “here you are, eh? They say all things come to him who waits.”
“That isn’t true in my case,” replied John. “I’ve been waiting all day for money and couldn’t get it. It didn’t come.”
“Well, I’ve been waiting for you,” rejoined the broker. “I have had messengers after you all over town. Called at your rooms, at your office, at your club; found any number of people who had just seen you, but not one of the searchers caught sight ofyou.”
“What’s the news?” asked John, without much hope.
“We hung on to your stock till ten minutes to twelve, and then we had to let it go. We were lucky enough to get a purchaser for the whole block at a price that just cleared us, but I can tell you I spent a bad quarter of an hour before I got into touch with him.”
“When you say cleared, I suppose you mean that I’m entirely wiped out, but you got from under without loss.”
“I don’t know a better way of putting it than that,” replied the broker.
“I didn’t think there was a man in town with ready money enough to make such a purchase to-day. I wish I had managed to encounter him. Perhaps I might have detached twenty-one thousand dollars from him.”
“It is very likely, for he is a friend of yours, and from your own office. He said there was no secret about it; so I may as well tell you the purchaser is Mr. Blair, general manager of the Midland.”
“Oh, he’s back from New York, is he?”
“Yes, he returned this morning; haven’t you seen him? Haven’t you been at your office at all today?”
“No, I’ve been calling on friends and acquaintances. I suppose the stock is going up now?”
“Well, such a large purchase had first the effect of putting the brakes on its downhill course, and now it has recovered two points. Then the news from New York is encouraging. It seems that the Rockervelt forces, both in New York and Chicago, are buying all that is offered. You see, Mr. Rockervelt himself left for the West just before the scare, and I imagine he didn’t realise how serious it was.”
“Quite so. I heard he had gone West. Pity there are no telegraph wires to the West, isn’t it?”
The broker laughed.
“Oh, I guess Mr. Rockervelt is as foxy as they make ’em. I don’t suppose he’s lost anything over this shake-up, and perhaps he thought it was a good time to squeeze a little of the dampness out of the stock. I expect a very rapid recovery. The country is prosperous, and from the way things look this last hour or two we’ve been going through a little squall, but not entering upon a financial crisis.”
“That’s a blessing,” said John with a sigh; “still, the squall has upset my canoe, even if the big liners ride through it. Good-bye.”
Once outside, instead of feeling depressed, as he had expected, John experienced an unaccountable thrill of elation. The disaster was complete; complete beyond recall; complete in spite of anything he did or did not do. The very finality of the catastrophe seemed to lift a weight that had been oppressing him for a night and a day. He remembered that he had had practically no dinner the evening before, and no breakfast that morning, and now a fierce and healthy hunger which seemed to have been biding its time sprang upon him. A glance at his watch showed that it was nearly two o’clock. He walked rapidly to the University Club, noted for its excellent cuisine, and wrote on an order card the menu of a sumptuous meal. A deferential servitor approached silently to his elbow.
“Mr. Steele, No. 1623 wants you on the telephone.”
“All right, ring him up, and tell him I’ll be there in a moment, and if he is impatient, inform him I am at present engaged on the important choice between camembert and brie.”
Sending his order upstairs, he went into the little telephone cabin. He knew the number meant the general manager’s office.
“Hello, is that you, Blair?—Yes, this is Steele.—What’s that?—Oh, no, now that you mention it, I haven’t been there last night or this morning. How’s the old road running?—What? It isn’t doing so well outside.—Oh, if it comes to that, I’ve been general manager and division superintendent for the past week, so surely you can act Pooh Bah for a day. To tell the truth, it seemed to me that a road whose stock was falling so rapidly wasn’t worth general managering or division superintending.—Levity? Bless you, no! I’m the most serious man in town.—Oh, I’m sorry you think my remarks flippant. Have you had lunch? I’ve just ordered a meal for a millionaire; come down and have a bite with me.—Oh, had it, eh? You’re an early bird. I’ve ordered a late bird grilled upstairs. Sure you won’t drop round, and have a cup of coffee and a liqueur?—Yes, I see, you’re quite right. Somebody must attend to business.—Well, I’ll drop round on you at four o’clock. Good-bye.”
John Steele allowed himself a good hour and three-quarters for his luncheon, then he strolled down to the Grand Union Station, and, exactly as the big bell in the tower tolled four he walked into the general manager’s room.
Mr. Blair was seated at his broad table, and as he looked up his chubby face was a study in various emotions. Superficially it wore the conventional, official frown which a great man may call to his aid when a subordinate’s conduct has been such as to merit disapproval. The severity of the frown, however, was chastened by the expression of the just man, who, although righteously offended, is nevertheless prepared to listen to an explanation, and perhaps accept an apology. The lips were prepared to censure, or even, in a last resort, to condemn, although, if the case merited leniency, one would not be surprised to hear them admonish and advise. It was the face of a simple and honest man, willing to forgive, yet not afraid to punish.
The eyes, however, rather gave the situation away. In them twinkled triumph and glee, and lurking in their depths was a background of malice and hatred.
“Mr. Steele, I was amazed to find on my return from New York that you had absented yourself without permission from your duties,” began Mr. Blair, in a sincere more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger tone.
“Oh, that’s all right,” said John airily. “I was general managerpro tem., you see, and a general manager may do what he pleases. But I was division superintendent also, so I asked the general manager for an hour or two off, and permission was granted me.”
“As you know, Mr. Steele, I am the most forbearing of men, but such a tone as you have adopted will not do. As I told you over the telephone I was surprised at the flippant manner you thought fit to adopt, but I expected a satisfactory explanation when we met face to face.”
“If that is the case, sir, I shall be so sorry to disappoint you. The satisfactory explanation I beg to offer for my absence is that I was busily engaged in gambling.”
“Gambling!” cried Mr. Blair in astonishment; “this is shocking. It is my opinion that a man cannot be an efficient servant of a great railway and a speculator at the same time.”
“I quite agree with you, Mr. Blair, and we are two shining examples of the truth of your aphorism. You are the most inefficient railway servant I ever met, and at the same time the most successful gambler. I am an excellent railway man and the most idiotic speculator there is in the country at the present moment. What’s the use of wasting that sanctimonious ‘holier-than-thou’ look of yours? You know, and I know, that you don’t care a hang about my being away a day. What you want me here for is to gloat over me. You’ve got my three hundred thousand dollars as slick as any bunco man ever achieved a much smaller sum over a green farm hand from the country. I’m here, not to receive any censure or to make any apology, but so that you may enjoy the effects of my humiliation and defeat. I am the last person in the world to deprive another of innocent amusement. Here I am, therefore. I have just come out of the tail end of the threshing machine, and have brought the remnants for your inspection. What do you think of them?”
“I am exceedingly sorry to hear that you have been unfortunate in your financial transactions.”
“Of course you are. Thanks ever so much.”
“Did you succeed in raising twenty-one thousand on your Northern Pacific stock?”
“No, I have it with me yet. That N. P. stock sticks to me closer than any friend I have in town. You don’t want to buy it by any chance?”
“No,” said Blair smoothly. “I have quite recently made a very large investment in Midland shares, re-buying a block that I was fortunate enough to sell at its highest point, and have therefore no desire to acquire further securities at the present moment.”
“You’re just in the same fix as all the rest of my acquaintances, Mr. Blair, so your refusal does not disappoint me.”
“You lost also the thirty thousand you had in the Bank at Detroit?”
This was said very quietly, and for a moment amazed the listener by the accurate knowledge the elder man possessed of his affairs. The next instant John Steele gave utterance to a shriek of laughter, smiting his thigh with his open palm as if he had just heard the best joke in the world. The young man strode up and down the room giving way to shout after shout of hilarity, while the elder, all trace of humbug vanishing from his face, rose to his feet in alarm, believing that misfortune had turned the other’s brain, and fearing a transformation into a sudden savagery that might make his isolated position one of danger. His eyes rested longingly on the door, while his hand nervously sought the electric button. John, seeing these premonitions of interruption, controlled himself with an effort, and stammered: “Sit down, Blair; it’s all right. Don’t get frightened. I’ll explain in a minute. You see, it was this way,” said John, coming up in front of the table again, and resolutely crushing down his bubbling tendency to merriment; “that thirty thousand was deposited in the Detroit bank by my late uncle. I possess my own little bank account here, which I have been adding to week by week. Consequently, I never needed to draw a check upon Detroit. Now, the funny thing is that I have been searching this town from cellar to garret that I might borrow twenty-one thousand dollars, and all the while I could have drawn my own check for the amount, and had nine thousand odd left over.”
“Do you mean to say, then,” said Blair, visibly disappointed, “that you didn’t put in the thirty thousand as margin?”
“I did not. Do you feel you ought to have a check for that thirty thousand? You remind me of the hotel keeper at a summer resort down East, whose customer said: ‘You have made a mistake in my bill,’ and when the proprietor denied that there could be any error, the guest explained: ‘Oh, there must be, for I have still ten dollars left.’ The beautiful part of it is, Blair, that if I had thought of my thirty thousand I would have put it in; so I am mighty glad I didn’t think of it, for it would not have saved me. I was looking over the figures of the decline on the tape at the club, and found that the stuff reached its lowest point at about half-past eleven, and that point would have not only wiped out my thirty thousand, but another thirty thousand as well. The brokers told me they had hung on till ten minutes to twelve, but they evidently knew their customer, and got out on the rise. I am afraid, Blair, that even brokers are not truthful men. It’s a wonder that staunch, true hearts like you and me can make a living in this deceitful world. Well, Mr. Blair, I have come to bid you good-bye, and I venture to predict that I’ll have more fun out of that thirty thousand dollars than I had out of the three hundred thousand. Wealth isn’t everything here below. Meanwhile keep on living a virtuous life, and you will reap your reward by and by. Never become discouraged in well-doing. Ta-ta.”
With that John Steele took his departure from the Grand Union Station, packed up his traps, and took train for Detroit, where he lifted his money from the bank, and left on the night express for New York.
Here he rented Drawer 907 in the Broadway Safe Deposit Vaults, and in this drawer he placed his Northern Pacific stock and locked it up. He next turned his money, all but a thousand dollars, into a letter of credit on Europe; then bought a first-class ticket to France on the biggest boat sailing that week. He determined to burn his bridges behind him before he called on his old friend Philip Manson, for he knew instinctively that Manson would strongly disapprove of the course he had laid out for himself, and, remembering his great esteem and affection for Manson, he was not sure enough of himself to venture within the circle of his influence without some extraneous aid to hold him to his purpose.
It was nearing twelve o’clock when he went up in one of the half-dozen elevators of the huge Rockervelt building, and was ushered into Philip Manson’s room.
“Hello, Mr. Manson, how are you?” he cried cheerily, as his former chief rose to greet him. Although he called the much more important general manager plain “Blair,” he never was able to drop the prefix “Mr.” from Man-son’s name. His respect for his solemn friend was as deep as his affection, and the strong regard manifested itself unconsciously in this manner. Manson’s appearance gave no indication that he had passed through a crisis which had ruined him. He was the same quiet, reserved man he had always been, and a touch of grey at the temples was all the change John noticed as having taken place since he saw him last. The stern face relaxed into a bright expression of welcome as he shook hands with the young man from the West.
“I am very glad to see you,” said Manson. “Did you get my letter?”
“No, I left Warmington the day I telegraphed you.”
“Ah, well, it doesn’t matter. It was merely about your telegram I wrote. I am very sorry indeed that it proved impossible for me to send you the money, and I merely wrote a fuller explanation than my telegram contained.”
“You got caught in the crash, then?” said Steele.
“Yes, everything I possessed was swept away. It serves me right for doing what I never did in my life before, which is to dabble in stocks. Was I right in supposing from your telegram that you also had become involved?”
“Yes, and if you had sent me the money it would have been lost; so you see, you don’t need to regret that you didn’t have it. The funny thing is that I had myself thirty thousand dollars in the Detroit Bank, which, in the excitement of the day, slipped my memory as effectually as if it had been only thirty cents.”
“And did you save it?” asked Manson, with as near an approach to eagerness as he could show.
“Oh, yes, but the saving was an act of Providence, as we always try to make out our accidents are, and not through any sanity on my part. How did you come to put everything in stocks? I thought you never gambled?”
“I didn’t, up till about a week ago. Colonel Beck gave me the straight tip, which I understood came direct from Mr. Rockervelt, and I was foolish enough to act upon it.”
“He did the same kind office for me, but he’s merely a stool-pigeon for old Blair. Blair was the man behind the gun.”
“We have no proof of that,” said Manson, judicially.
“Ihave proof. Blair didn’t hesitate to confess as much after he had raked in my money. Blair’s one of those oily hypocrites who smile and smile, and remain the villain. He never forgives, though he may appear to do so.”
“You were always inclined to be prejudiced against Mr. Blair, John,” said Manson meditatively. “Still, there’s little use in talking of what is past. I suppose you read Mr. Rockervelt’s statement in the papers?”
“Admirable piece of virtuous indignation, isn’t it? What a beautiful sermon against all speculation! And yet it is stated very freely that those on the inside have made millions by selling the road and buying it back again. I wonder what fool it was that said you couldn’t have your cake and eat it too.”
“Well, let’s think no more about it. When are you going back West, John?”
“I leave to-morrow, at noon, but I don’t go West; I go East.”
“East?”
“Yes, I sail on the first out-going liner to-morrow, and hope to drop off in France.”
“Why, you’ve never given up your situation, have you?”
“Oh, yes, it was impossible for me to remain. I’m done with railroading.”
“Nonsense. What’s your purpose?”
“Mr. Manson, I don’t exactly know. Reason tells me that I’m no worse off than I was the day my uncle died, when I had little thought of coming into any money I didn’t earn. Indeed, I am very much better off. My salary has been doubled. I have thirty thousand dollars in cash, and a bundle of Northern Pacific securities which has just been placed in the Broadway Safe Deposit. I don’t understand myself in the least. Reason tells me that I ought to get angry and slaughter somebody, yet I feel no resentment. I am hurt, rather, that I was sand-bagged in the house of my friends. Still, even that fact doesn’t appear to affect me much. Nevertheless, there’s a change. I suspect it’s the beginning of dry-rot. I fear that from being a useful man I have become a useless one. The utter folly of hard work, faithful service, reasonable honesty, and all that, has been brought home to me.”
“Nonsense, nonsense, John,” expostulated Manson.
“I am not theorising, Mr. Manson, but am merely trying to explain something to you which I do not myself understand. My uncle managed to get together a certain amount of money during thirty-five years. I lost that money in as many hours. If I worked honestly like a beaver for the next ten, fifteen or twenty years, it is unlikely I could save that much; yet my dear friend Blair, during, say, half an hour’s silent meditation, evolves a plan, perfectly legal, by which the money is transferred from my bank account to his—transferred beyond possibility of recall. You will say perhaps, as my broker said, that I am just as bad as he is. I expected to place some one else’s money in my bank account, beyond recall, and didn’t succeed. Therefore I make a row. But the truth is, I am not making a row. I admit all any critic may say of my folly, but I realise that being an honest, hard-working efficient man doesn’t pay in this country. At least, it pays only in allowing you to scrape together a modest competency, which may be quite lawfully filched from you in ten minutes. You will add I am a fool to throw over my shoulder a situation worth five thousand a year. You may even mention the hundred thousand young fellows of my age who would jump at my chance. I admit all that; I admit I’m a fool; I admit anything. I am the most open-minded person on earth at the present moment, and the least argumentative. I am like a boat that has been tied to a pier until somebody has cut the rope, sending it adrift. If you ask the boat where it’s going, it doesn’t know. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I am only aware that I’ve got close on thirty thousand dollars in a letter of credit. I can have a high old time on that money for a year in Paris. I can have an hilarious time on it for two years in various capitals. I can study in Germany with the greatest luxury for five or ten years on that amount, or I can live thirty years in Europe in some quiet out-of-the-way place and be sure I shan’t die of starvation. I’m all at sea, like the boat I was speaking of. I thought I knew John Steele pretty well, but I find I don’t know him at all. All his ideas of morality, energy, industry, have turned somersaults. I am going over to Europe, where it’s quiet, to get acquainted with the new John Steele.”
Philip Manson had been regarding him with almost painful concentration while he spoke, and when the harangue was finished he said, soothingly, persuasively, looking at John: “Come with me up to the Adirondacks and enjoy a week’s fishing, or to Maine, and put in two weeks, or to Canada, and stay three weeks.”
Steele laughed heartily.
“Oh, yes, I know. Why don’t you advise me to go to some sanitarium and consult a physician on mental aberration? I want to fish, but it is to fish out the secrets of John Steele. By this time to-morrow I shall be kissing the tips of my fingers to the statue of Liberty.”
“John,” said Manson, solemnly, “you are taking a false step. If you go to Europe in this frame of mind you are making a grave mistake which may not be easily remedied. Opportunities come once, twice, thrice, but they don’t come always, and if they find a man persistently not at home, they pass on. In a year or two this little set-back you have experienced will have almost completely passed away from your mind. Look at me. I am a much older man than you. I have lost everything I succeeded in accumulating, yet I set my face toward re-earning it. You are on the threshold of a great success; you have in you the making of a first-class general manager. Now, I can well understand that you don’t care to be in an office that contains Mr. Blair. I cannot say I blame you for that, but Mr. Rockervelt will be back here the day after to-morrow. You wait till he comes; I’ll go in and see him, and I am sure you will be offered a position that will give you ample scope for the powers we both know you to possess.”
Steele shook his head slowly.
“I have told you, and evidently you don’t believe it, that I have no desire to develop any powers of usefulness I may possess. I suppose I am in the state of mind that makes a labouring man become a tramp. You are a stalwart oak of the forest, Mr. Manson, and the gale that has merely ruffled your branches has uprooted the sapling.”
“Nonsense, John; it has simply given the sapling a bit of a twist.”
“That may be so. It is quite possible that by the time I touch at Southampton or Cherbourg I may be yearning for that stolid old statue of Liberty again, and perhaps I shall take the next steamer back. In that case Mr. Rockervelt will have had the disadvantage of endeavouring to run his system without me for three weeks or thereabouts, and so we will deal with him more effectually than we would the day after to-morrow, when he doesn’t know what a vacuum my absence has caused.”
“Don’t try to be cynical, John. It doesn’t sound convincing from the lips of so sensible and capable a young fellow as you are.”
“On the other hand,” John went on unheeding, “it may be that I have taken to the road; that I am in reality the tramp I feel myself to be. Perhaps there has been a mistake in the outset, and Europe is really my country, not America. My father was born over there, and who knows but that thousands of years of ancestry are calling to me. That is a question Europe will settle. I half suspect that I shall feel so out of it after a month over there that you’ll find me again coming up this express elevator before you realise I’ve been away. Any how, my steamer ticket is in my pocket, and I am off to Cherbourg or wherever they like to land me, in the morning. And now, Mr. Manson, you know this wicked city better than I do. Let’s get out to some good eating house and enjoy a substantial meal. What’s the best restaurant in town? It isn’t every day a capitalist asks you to lunch with him. I’m the prodigal son, so we’ll reverse the ancient parable and kill the fatted calf before I start on my travels.”
JOHN STEELE sat at one of the little round tables in the Café Germania, where a customer may have brown Munich beer in a big stone mug with a white metal lid. Thecaféwas very full, so also were some of thehabitués; and on a raised platform at the corner were seated the members of a Viennese band, giving forth music in the smoke-beclouded room. Steele was waiting for a friend, and had turned a chair face forward against the little table, that a place might be ready for him when he arrived. With his fountain-pen the young man had just written a cable despatch, in answer to a transatlantic message that lay before him, mutilated somewhat in its English, as is the habit of Italian telegraph offices, but still understandable, which was lucky, for more often than not a telegram in a foreign language comes out second best after an encounter with the system of Italy.
A breezy individual made his way through the smoke and the throng to the vacant chair, tipped it back and sat down in it. “I’m late, as usual, John,” he said, “but that is one of my official prerogatives. So I won’t apologise, but will make it up in beer, now that I am here.”
“There is little use of being United States Consul at Naples if you can’t do as you like, Jimmy. There isn’t any too much money in the office, so one must seek compensation in other directions.”
“Do as I like? That’s exactly what I can’t do. I’ll be hanged if every citizen of the great Republic that blows in on me in Naples doesn’t seem to imagine I’m a sort of man-of-all-work for him. And I’m expected to be polite, and to fetch and carry for all concerned. Truth to tell, Steele, I’m tired of it; I’ve a notion to chuck the whole outfit and go back. Now, to-night, I was kept at my office long after business hours by a persistent man who would not take ‘No’ for an answer—actually thought I was lying to him, and had the cheek to intimate as much.”
“And were you?”
“Certainly I was; but it was not etiquette for him to throw out any hints about my lack of veracity. It was all on your account, and I’d indulge in any amount of fiction to oblige a friend. He wanted your address, and wanted it badly; but I didn’t know that you were anxious to see him, so I prevaricated and told him that if he came in to-morrow morning I’d see if I could get it for him.”
“That’s singular. No one has been looking for me for years past. I thought and hoped I had been forgotten over in the States. What was his name?”
“Here is his card. Colonel Beck, of New York.”
“Colonel Beck! Thunder!”
“Know him? Don’t wish to see him, I take it.”
“No, I don’t, and I’m much obliged to you, Stokes, for holding him off. How long is he going to stay in Naples?”
“Said he was going to stay till he found you.”
“In that case I’ll strike for Calabria or Sicily or somewhere; get among the real brigands and avoid this pirate. He used to be a legal adviser to the Rockervelts and probably is yet. Supposed to be rich through fleecing innocent lambs like myself. The shorn lamb, however, avoids the wolf, so I’m off to-morrow morning.”
“What’s the use of leaving now if your fleece is gone? He can’t hurt you. Did he shear you in days gone past?”
“It’s a long story. What strikes me, however, is the coincidence of old Beck turning up at this moment. There is, in fact, a coincidence within a coincidence. Read that cablegram.”
Steele shoved over to his friend the message he had received that day from New York. The Consul wrinkled his brows over the Italian-English of the despatch, and made out its purport to be as follows:
John Steele, Naples.
Have you block Northern Pacific? If so, send me particulars and full powers to deal. Act at once. Stock booming, but expect a crash shortly. Come over yourself if you can, immediately. The block will make you rich if realised without delay.
Manson.
“Who is Manson?” asked the Consul.
“Philip Manson was my chief on the Manateau Midland Railway before he went east to New York. I succeeded him on the Midland. He and I lost about all we possessed in the Rockervelt panic a few years ago. I was what you would call a ‘quitter’ and came to Europe. Manson was a ‘holdfast’ and so he is still in New York.”
“Then why not go right over and see him, instead of taking that trip to Calabria?”
“Well, to tell the truth, I do feel a yearning for the States, but I think I’ll wait until I hear how this deal turns out. Read my answer to his cablegram,” and the young man handed to his friend the document he had written before the other came in.
Stock in Broadway Safe Deposit vaults. Drawer nine hundred seven. Mailed you ten days ago key and legal papers. Make what you can, and we will share even.
Steele.
“Oh, I was wondering where I had seen the name Man-son before!” cried the Consul. “Were those papers you signed in my office a week or two since the documents referred to?”
“Yes.”
“That’s very strange. You sent them across ten days before you got the request for them.”
“Exactly. Those shares had rested for years in the Safe Deposit Vaults. Manson had never referred to them in his letters to me and I had never referred to them in my letters to him, yet I suddenly made up my mind to throw them on the market.”
“Why, that almost makes a person believe there is something in this thought-wave theory—telepathy, or whatever they call it.”
“I am afraid it has a much more prosaic origin. A fortnight since you told me there had been a tremendous rise in Northern Pacific stock. That set me thinking, and I remembered I had a number of shares hidden away in Drawer 907. The stock was of no use to me, so I thought I might as well discover how badly some other fellow wanted it. Thus I threw the onus of selling on my friend Manson.”
“You must have a good deal of confidence in him to give him a free hand like that. What’s to hinder him from bolting with the money?”
“Nothing at all, except that he won’t do it.”
“I love to meet this charming belief in one’s fellow man these cynical times, but I thought you said you lost money with him. Was he your partner?”
“No. The losing of the money was through no fault of his. He had nothing to do with my speculation. We were merely in the same boat, that’s all. Nipped by the same pair of pinchers.”
“So that was what disgusted you with America. I am disappointed with your story. Wasn’t there a woman concerned at all?”
“No.”
“Where does our friend Colonel Beck come in?”
“Beck comes in owing to the fact that he persuaded me to undertake the speculation by which I lost several hundred thousand. He gave me false information, and I believe he knew it to be false.”
“Any proof?”
“No. Circumstantial evidence, that’s all. I believed him to be my friend, and in fact acted the tenderfoot to perfection. I was even green enough to go to him when the crisis came, believing that a loan of twenty thousand or thereabout would save me, but he refused to let me have the money, although I offered this same stock I am cabling about as security.”
“Perhaps he didn’t have the money, like the man who neglected to buy Chicago.”
“He said his ready money had been swept away by the panic, which I doubt. I have never seen him since, and somehow have no particular desire to meet him now.”
“I appreciate your feeling in the matter. By the way, Steele, there was a very pretty girl with Colonel Beck—averypretty girl, and charmingly attired. She did not say a word all the time the Colonel was talking, but she looked unutterable things and was deeply interested in our conversation. I thought she was a trifle disappointed when I told the Colonel I didn’t know where you were. I supposed she was the Colonel’s daughter.”
“The chances are,” mused Steele, “that the young lady is Miss Sadie Beck, niece of the old gentleman. She was rather a handsome girl when I knew her.”
“Ah!” drawled the Consul, “then there is no particular reason why she should be anxious regarding your whereabouts?”
“None that I am aware of.”
“I see. Well, are you going back to America after all?”
“I haven’t quite made up my mind what I shall do, Jimmy, except that I shall call at your office in the morning, and there mature my plans, with your assistance.”
“If you call at my office, you are more than likely to run against Colonel Beck. I expect him there bright and early.”
“By Jove! I had forgotten about the Colonel. Still, there is no hurry. I can drop in later, when the Colonel has moved on.”
All arrangements, however, bow to Chance, and Chance now intervened to upset their plans. A burly, florid-faced man with white moustache loomed up before them, and a heavy hand smote Steele on the shoulder with a force that made him wince and bite his lip to restrain a cry of resentment. “Hallo, John, old man!” shouted the stranger, “I am mighty glad to see you. Been searching the town for you; called on that stuck-up Consul of ours, but he pretended he knew nothing about you. I suppose he thought I believed him, but the undersigned wasn’t born yesterday, and I had met talented prevaricators before. Oh by Jingo! this you, Consul? I didn’t notice you at first. Well, I stick to all I said. You told me this evening that you didn’t know where John Steele was, and now I find you sitting here with him. I think, by Jingo! that you owe me an apology.”
“I owe you nothing, Colonel, not even my appointment. Every man who drifts in on me appears to think I am indebted to him for my place. I beg to inform you that it is no part of a Consul’s duty to bestow addresses upon any stranger who happens to ask for them.”
“That’s all right, Mr. Stokes,” replied the Colonel genially, drawing up a chair and seating himself uninvited at their table. “It isn’t the habit of your uncle Ben to get left, and I knew I would find Steele ultimately if he was in town. Say, John, you ought to be in New York nowadays. Things are booming there.”
“I have had enough of booms,” replied the young man without enthusiasm.
“Nonsense! It’s absurd for a capable fellow like you, and a talented man, too, if I may be allowed to say so before your face, to chuck things up the way you’ve done. And that reminds me, John, did you ever sell that block of Northern Pacific stock you had during the panic?”
“I never did.”
“Got it yet, eh? Well, I congratulate you. Now, at the present moment that would form a very nice little nucleus to begin on, and you can count on me to help you till everything’s blue.”
“The stock wasn’t much of a nucleus last time I tendered it to you, Colonel,” said Steele dryly.
The Colonel threw back his head and laughed boisterously.
“Oh, you haven’t forgotten that episode yet? Well, you bolted from Warmington so quickly that I hadn’t any chance of giving you an explanation.”
“No explanation was needed, Colonel Beck. You refused me the money I required, and were quite within your right in doing so.”
“Yes, but why did I refuse you; why? Answer me that, John.”
The Colonel, with great good nature, placed a hand lovingly upon the shoulder of the other.
“Your conundrum is easy enough,” replied the young man nonchalantly. “You didn’t want to let me have the money, that was all.”
“Certainly I didn’t; certainly I didn’t; and you should be very thankful to me that I refused. I knew Wall Street a great deal better than you did, my dear fellow, and that money would just have followed the rest into the pit.”
“I quite believe you.”
“Yes; but you didn’t believe me then; and you left my house in a huff, without ever giving me a chance to make my position clear.”
“If you had been anxious to make it clear, Colonel, there was plenty of time to do it in. That was some years ago, and a letter to Naples costs only five cents.”
“True, true,” cried the Colonel, in the bluff manner of an honest but misunderstood man. “I might have expended the five cents, as you say, if I had known your address, but you had got on your high horse, and had said things which a younger man should have hesitated before applying to his elder. Now, I don’t pretend to be any better than my fellows, and I admit I was offended. Such usage coming from you, John, hurt me, I confess.”
The American Consul, finding himself an unneeded third in what was drifting into a private discussion, pushed back his chair and rose to his feet.
“I must bid you good-night, Steele,” he said; “I have another appointment. I shall see you at the office tomorrow, I suppose?”
“Don’t go, Stokes. The Colonel and I have nothing confidential to discuss,” returned his friend, while the Colonel sat silent, as if he thought this was not a true statement of the case. The Consul, however, persisted in his withdrawal, and Colonel Beck heaved a sigh of relief as he watched him disappear.
“Yes, my boy,” continued the Colonel, in a tone of tender regret, “I don’t think you treated your friends very well. I don’t think you should have jumped at the wrong conclusion as quickly as you did. I would willingly have let you have the money if I had not known it was certain to go where the rest of your cash had gone.”
“It is quite possible I was mistaken, Colonel; I always was rather hot-headed, and if in this case I made an error, I now offer apology.”
“It hurt me, it hurt me at the time,” murmured the Colonel in reminiscent tones; “but if only myself were involved, I would never have said a word. I am a man of the world, and am accustomed to the ups and downs of the world. I make no pretence that your silent desertion caused me permanent grief. I resented your impetuous action, but would never have spoken if no one else had been concerned.”
“No one else concerned? I do not understand you. Who else was concerned?”
“Well, to speak frankly, as between man and man, I think you treated my niece Sadie rather badly.”
“You astonish me, Colonel. I never treated any woman badly.”
“I have been all my life a very busy man,” rejoined the Colonel, with more of severity in his tone than had hitherto been the case, “and I frankly admit that much went on in my own household of which I was not cognisant. During the first months of our acquaintance you visited us somewhat frequently.”
“Well, what of it?”
“What of it? This much of it, that I did not know until you had left that the affections of my niece were centred upon you.”
“You are quite mistaken, Colonel.”
“Do you mean to say there was never anything between you two but ordinary friendship?”
“I mean to say nothing of the sort. It is not a question for two men to discuss; but since you have broached the subject, I may tell you what you probably know already, that the last interview I had in your house was with your niece. She received me with great coolness and parted from me without visible regret. To put it quite plainly, Colonel Beck, the niece seemed to share the uncle’s feelings regarding me. Financially, I was broken, and consequently was of no further use either to man or woman.”
The stout Colonel placed the tips of his fingers together over the most corpulent portion of his person, raised his eyes to the ceiling, and drew a deep sigh.
“My hasty young friend, I see exactly what happened. You left me enraged because I refused to lend you money. You said to yourself, ‘This man in a crisis declines to befriend me.’ That was no state of mind in which to visit a young lady proud and sensitive. Something in your manner must have jarred upon her. Girls are of finer texture than we brutal men. Her seeming coldness was merely offended dignity, and you left her presence under a misapprehension, as, indeed, you left mine. She expected your return, but you never came back. It was long before I even suspected that anything was wrong between you two, but I knew that Sadie had received offer after offer of marriage, some of them most advantageous, but all proposals she rejected. The utmost confidence existed between us. She is to me as if she were my own daughter. I expostulated with her one day, and to my surprise she burst into tears and then confessed her preference for you. I must say that for a time I was filled with resentment against you, but this feeling gave way to sorrow at seeing my girl waste her life through misplaced love. I have spoken to you with the utmost frankness. Sadie is dearer to me than everything else in the world.”
For some moments after the Colonel finished his exposition of the case John Steele maintained silence. The Viennese band was playing a lively selection, and he appeared to be listening to the music, but with troubled brow. The place seemed rather unsuited for a confession of love, and the tidings brought no particular joy to the listener. At last the young man spoke.
“Does Miss Beck know—was she aware that you were going to speak to me on this subject?”
“Certainly not. I doubt if she would thank me for my interference, because, as I said before, she is a proud girl. I don’t think she knew you were in Naples until she heard me ask the Consul about you. When I was questioning him, she seemed rather eager to hear his answers, but she said nothing until we were outside.” This coincided with the account given by Stokes of the visit, and Steele became more and more perplexed.
“What did she say when you were outside?” he asked.
“Oh! she wanted to know why I wished to see you, and I told her it was on a matter of business. This didn’t quite satisfy her, so, being pressed, I mentioned that block of Northern Pacific stock which you offered to sell to me once, and said I thought I could dispose of it for you to advantage, if you still possessed it. Sadie knows nothing of Wall Street affairs, so, of course, this explanation seemed quite reasonable. Besides, it is true enough, for I do wish to make a bargain with you about that stock whenever you feel inclined to come down from the clouds and discuss mundane affairs.”
“What do you expect me to do? I don’t mean about the stock, but about Miss Beck.”
“It is not for me to make any suggestions in the premises, my dear fellow. You are a man of honour. You have made a mistake which involves the happiness of an innocent person. I have put the matter before you with a plainness which is, I think, exceptional. The next move must rest with you.”
“Where are you stopping?”
“At the Grand Hotel.”
“Then, with your permission, I shall have the pleasure of calling upon Miss Beck to-morrow afternoon at four o’clock, if that hour is convenient.”
The stout Colonel, with visible emotion, clasped Steele warmly by the hand. “You are a good fellow!” he said. “When you meet my niece, you will let no hint escape you of this conversation?”
“Most assuredly not.”
“I came to see you,” continued the Colonel, “about the Northern Pacific stock, remember that, and, of course, you call on her for old friendship’s sake on learning she is here with me.”
“You may rely upon my tact, Colonel.”
His mission accomplished, the Colonel seemed to hesitate between going or staying, his attitude that of a man wondering whether it is better to leave well alone or to proceed further. Finally he said: “By the way, Steele, in order that we may make our conference the more legitimate, how about that Northern Pacific stock of yours? I am willing to buy it outright, or to sell it for you, just as you choose.”
“I am not quite in a position to sell at the present moment, Colonel.”
“I thought you said that you still held the stock?”
“So I do, but I don’t care to make any move regarding it just now.”
“Delays are dangerous, John.”
“I know they are,” rejoined the younger man shortly, with a finality of tone which showed the elder that nothing was to be gained by continuing the discussion; so the good man rose and bade farewell to his friend with a cordiality that was almost overdone, and left the other to his thoughts, such as they were.
John Steele enjoyed little sleep that night. The ghost of an almost forgotten love haunted him, and the apparition, as is usually the case, was most unwelcome. He had certainly left the girl with brusque abruptness, thoroughly convinced that she was as mercenary as her uncle, ready to throw him over because he had failed financially. At that time he had possessed the eager confidence of extreme youth; now, it occurred to him that he had often been mistaken in his estimates of people. Might not an error have been committed in this case? The manner of Colonel Beck retained its ancient bluff heartiness, and there was certainly a show of reasonableness in his presentation of the case. Time had long since mitigated the sting of the refusal. At the moment of asking he had supposed that the granting of the loan meant salvation. The continuance of the panic, however, convinced him that the money would have melted ineffectually and vanished like the rest. If his estimate of the situation had been so far astray, might not his judgment of both uncle and niece have been equally erroneous? There was but one thing for a man of honour to do, and that was to stand the brunt of his mistake, no matter what the cost. He was not the first to pay, with interest compounded, an early debt.
Next day the problem presented no more alluring aspect than it had done during the troublesome night. As the hour of the interview approached, Steele’s dejection increased. He did not visit the Consul as he had promised. In fact, he had entirely forgotten the appointment made the night before. He walked along the promenade by the sea-wall fronting the fashionable quarter of Naples, with haggard face and bowed head, striving to collect his thoughts, although, so far, those he had succeeded in collecting proved of little comfort to him. However, the hour was set, and, as it approached, he walked resolutely to the Grand Hotel to meet the girl, in a frame of mind almost as greatly perturbed as when he last saw her.
Time had passed lightly over the blonde head of Miss Sadie Beck, who greeted him with subdued sweetness; a touch of melancholy in her voice. As the Consul had very truly said, Miss Beck was an amazingly pretty girl, who dressed with an elegance that suggested Paris.
“Through a chance meeting with your uncle last evening, I learned that you were in Naples, and I asked permission to call.”
“Yes, he told me he had met you,” replied the girl simply. “It gives me great pleasure to see you again, because, if you remember, we parted rather in anger,” and Sadie raised her blue eyes to his, only to sink them again to the carpet with just the slightest possible indication of a little quivering sigh; indeed, the eyes themselves, large and pathetic, gave token of unshed tears.
“Miss Beck—” he began, but she interrupted him in tremulous tones; a crystal drop actually became visible on the long eyelashes.
“In the old days you used to call me Sadie.”
“But the old days are gone forever.”
These words were his last effort against the silken web which he felt entangling him, and he knew himself to be a brute for uttering them. Their effect upon the girl was instantaneous. She sank down by the table, flung her arms upon it, lowering her face upon them in a storm of weeping.
“Oh! not for me! not for me!” she cried between sobs. “You may forget the old days, and I see you have forgotten them. Leave me, then! leave me to my memories! Why, oh why did you seek to see me again?”
That settled it. He placed his hand upon her heaving shoulders and spoke soothingly to her.
Half an hour later Steele came out of the hotel and went direct to the American Consulate.
“Hullo, old man! what’s the matter with you?” cried James Stokes. “You are white as a ghost.”
“I’m all right. Didn’t sleep very well last night. See here, Stokes! I just called to say that I wish you would forget part of the conversation we had yesterday.”
“Easily done! Which part, for instance?”
“What I said with reference to Colonel Beck. I was mistaken about him. He has convinced me of that.”
“Oh! has he? You mean, then, he didn’t refuse you the twenty thousand?”
“He refused it from the best of motives. I was rather a strenuous fool in those days, and thought everything should come my way. If I didn’t see what I wanted, I imagined all I had to do was to ask for it. I left the Colonel in a temper, and I realise now that I did worthy people a great injustice.”
“Some one else was involved, then, as well as the Colonel?”
“Yes. I was engaged to his niece, and, as there is no secret about it, I may as well inform you that the engagement has been renewed to-day.”
The Consul whistled and then checked himself, as if this indication of surprise were not quite appropriate to so serious an announcement.
“Well, John, I congratulate you. She is a very handsome girl.”
“Extremely so,” answered the happy man, as he gloomily and abruptly took his departure.
The frivolous Consul was now at liberty to whistle as long as he liked, and he did so. Then he took to muttering to himself.
“I don’t admire the position of affairs a little bit. My friend John resembles a man who’s just got a life sentence. He was thunderstruck when I mentioned Beck to him last night, and quite evidently didn’t wish me to leave him alone with the Colonel. I distrust the Beck contingent. By St. Jonathan, I’ll try a little ruse with the gallant Colonel, which at least can do no harm.”
The friendly Stokes pondered deeply over the situation, until his meditations were interrupted by the entrance of the Colonel himself. He had come in quest of letters, for the Consulate was post-office-in-ordinary to various tourists from the States.
No letters bearing the name of Beck had arrived, and the inquirer was turning away when Stokes acted with quick heedlessness, which must be the excuse for what followed. In his own defence he used to say afterward that the presence of Colonel Beck so corrupted him with an atmosphere of Wall Street, that he couldn’t speak the truth if he tried.
“Oh, Colonel, one moment. You are an old friend of Steele’s, aren’t you?”
The Colonel turned on his heel.
“Yes. Why?” he asked.
“I’d like to speak with you a moment about him, if you don’t mind. I’m an old friend of his, too, but unfortunately I’m poor, and so, however willing, I can’t be of much assistance to him. Did he speak to you last night about money matters after I left you?”
“No,” said the Colonel, drawing down his brows. “Ah! that’s just like him. I came away to give him the opportunity. I owe you an apology for my attitude when you first came to the Consulate. Of course, I knew Steele’s address, but I thought you might be a creditor of his, and goodness knows the poor fellow has had enough of them.”
“Why, what do you mean? If he owns that Northern Pacific stock, he’s a rich man, richer than you have any idea of, if he sells at once. He can realise millions on that stock at the present moment.”
“Then he hasn’t told you what he did with it?”
The ruddy face of the Colonel seemed to become mottled, and he moistened his lips as he said:
“No. What has he done with it?”
“Well, in spite of all my advice, he sent it over to a friend named Philip Manson in New York. He hasn’t even a scrap of writing to show for it. You know Wall Street, so I need say no more.”
The Colonel apparently knew Wall Street, for he gasped: “The eternal fool!”
“Exactly. Still, Steele’s a good fellow, and we mustn’t let him sink. I thought, perhaps, you wouldn’t mind stumping up a bit to help him out.”
“Hasn’t he any other resources?” asked the Colonel. “Not a cent, so far as I know. All his hopes were centred on that Northern Pacific stock, and now that’s gone.”
“Well, I must say, Mr. Consul, that you have a good deal of cheek to ask me, a complete stranger to you, to spend money on an idiot who doesn’t know enough to take care of a fortune when he has got it.”
John Steele passed another unrefreshing night, but solace came next morning in the shape of an early letter and an important cablegram.
Dear Mr. Steele (the letter began).
How inscrutable is the human heart! Ever since you left America I have yearned to see you, and at last this desire was gratified. You were the idol of my younger days, and were my first love—my first and only love, I may say; and yet I write these words as calmly as if I were inditing an order to my dressmaker. I find what I should have known before, that we cannot light a fire with a heap of ashes. I know you will think me wayward and changeable, especially after my emotion when you spoke of the olden days. But am I to blame that I find myself changed, and fancy I see a change in you also? There can never be anything between us, John, but that pure friendship which becomes more and more of a solace as we grow older. I give you back your promise of to-day. It will be useless to call upon me, for my uncle and I will have left for Rome before you receive this letter. But believe me,
Always your friend and well-wisher,
Sadie Beck.
“Well, by Jove!” cried the astounded man, as he finished the epistle. “The girl is honest, after all, and I have not been able to conceal my real feeling towards her. I am afraid I have kept faith in the letter, but not in the spirit. However, thank God for her decision! Her letter does not betray a broken heart, even if I had conceit enough to think I had caused her suffering.”
It was a jubilant man who called upon the Consul in his office that morning.
“Any thing new this morning, Steele? You seem brighter than I have seen you look for a day or two.”
“Yes, rather important news. It seems to be my fate to come into this office and contradict what I said the day before, so I am at it again. The Becks have left suddenly for Rome, and the young lady jilts me, so that engagement is off.”
“Oh! What is the reason of their change of plan?”
“No reason at all, so far as I can make out. Surely a woman doesn’t need to give a reason for preferring Rome to Naples?”
“No; I suppose not,” murmured the Consul, wondering how much his hint that John was a ruined man had to do with the sudden withdrawal.
“And I’ve had a most important cablegram from Philip Manson,” continued John jubilantly. “He has sold out my Northern Pacific at a price which more than recoups me for all my losses.”
“John, you’re a good deal merrier than you were this time yesterday. I expect the next announcement to be that you are returning to the States, to leave me here lamenting.”
“That’s it exactly. But there’s no law compelling you to stay here when there’s ten thousand patriotic citizens eager to take your place. Manson has been appointed general manager of the Wheat Belt Line, with offices in Chicago, and he offers me my old position of division superintendent, so I’ll be singing that ‘Fare-well to Naples’ which I’ve heard so often since I arrived here. Jimmy, I’m going to be a sane and useful citizen hereafter. No more stock exchange for me. I shall plant my money in gilt-edged mortgages where the interest will be as secure as the eternal hills. Then I’ll settle down to hard work and show old Philip Manson what an industrious person can do on the Wheat Belt Line.”
John Steele arrived in America to learn that it was easier to make good resolutions than to keep them. He settled down in Chicago and found there was little difficulty in placing his money on mortgage at attractive rates of interest. He gave, however, his personal care to the securities offered, trusted no man’s word, and always viewed the spot and made close inquiries before he drew a cheque for investment. He divided his money between city and country, not depending on any one lawyer to do the business for him, but seeking local advice and local watchfulness wherever a mortgage was drawn. His eggs were in many baskets, or hatching nests, with a different legal hen to sit on each. The only gentleman of the law he had heretofore known was Beck, and his opinion of the profession seemed to be tinctured by his dislike of the gallant Colonel. He gave work to many legal experts, but never allowed the left-hand lawyer to know what the right-hand lawyer was doing.
He was shocked to find himself so suspicious of everyone except Philip Manson, but even more perturbed to learn that all his old delight in work was gone. Philip Manson was ambitious to make the Wheat Belt Line the model railway of the West, and in his quiet intense purposeful way was accomplishing that object. To John this ambition seemed trivial and above all futile, when it was possible for some speculator in New York or a combination of speculators to make the road a mere pawn in a gamble; to wreck it if its ruin suited the game, to discharge every employee at a week’s notice. His liking for Manson, his reluctance to disillusionise the one man on earth who was friend and believed in him, held him for more than a year at his task of division superintendent and the work that was growing more and more irksome to him. Then an incident at Slocum Junction gave the necessary impetus which finally shifted him from a career of usefulness into the predatory class. The faithful watch-dog became the ravenous wolf.