"Open the door, Jerry."
She stood rigid, motionless.
"Open the door!" there was an undercurrent in Courtlandt's words which seemed to paralyze her muscles. In a voice the more compelling because of its repression he threatened, "If you don't open it at once—I'll break it in!" The shake he gave the barrier between them broke the spell which held the girl. She turned the key and flung open the door.
With a sudden fierce movement he caught her hands. She had a confused sense of flinging herself against an inflexible, determined will as she struggled to free them. She met his steady, dominant eyes.
"Steve! What—what rank melodrama! Are you qualifying for the movies?" she essayed a nonchalant tone which to her hypercritical senses seemed horribly frightened. "What—what do you want?"
"That door open. Nothing else—now," Courtlandt answered as he dropped her hands and turned away.
"What shall we do this afternoon, Jerry?" Peggy Glamorgan asked as she, her sister and Benson sat at luncheon three hours later. The table was spread on the broad, shadowy veranda on the north side of the ranch-house. The sun beat down upon fields and white roads; insects droned lazily to the accompaniment of the faint roar of the stream swollen by the heavy rain of the night before. "Ye gods! If here isn't Abdul the Great," she mocked saucily as Courtlandt appeared at the door. "Are his humble slaves to be honored with his presence at the noonday meal? Allah, oh Allah! Jerry, aren't you overwhelmed at this tribute to our charms?"
"Can't a man lunch beneath his own vine and fig tree without creating a panic? From now on I shall make it a daily rite that you may get used to it," Steve laughed. He laid his hand on Benson's shoulder. "Tommy, you're a hero. Slippy Bend is agog with admiration. What the populace can't think of to say in praise of you the deputy sheriff supplies in the most colorful vernacular the locality produces. Don't run; I won't say any more," as Benson, fiery red, half rose from his chair. Steve seated himself opposite Jerry.
She observed him resentfully from behind a screen of lashes. He looked more care-free and debonair than she had ever seen him while her heart still contracted suffocatingly at any thought of the morning. It was just like a man, nothing went deep, she thought. Ming Soy fluttered about in devoted anticipation of his needs; Peggy poured cream into his tea with a lavish hand. Benson laughed.
"You're a master tactician, old dear. You let your light shine upon us but seldom and behold the devotion when you do appear. Alas, 'Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare.' I'll say your beatific expression would put the twinkle-twinkle-little-star effect out of business. Got a load off your mind, haven't you? Slowman tells me that the Shorthorns are back to a hoof, that our temperamental late manager is being securely, if not luxuriously accommodated with quarters in the jail and that—that Mrs. Denbigh is en route to the effete East via Slippy Bend. Is my information correct?" He stole a surreptitious glance at Jerry who, with the aid of a pink-tipped finger, was nonchalantly sailing rose petal boats on the sea of her crystal finger-bowl.
"It is. The tangle of the last few months is straightening out. From now on I'll subscribe to that bit of philosophy of Doc Rand's, 'Things have a marvelous, unbelievable way of coming right.' The late unpleasantness has resulted in one thing: we have an all-American outfit on the Double O ranch on whose honor I'd stake my last dollar. They may come of varied and contending races but when it comes to ideals of service and loyalty to the nation, they're united. Next week I'm going to Uncle Nick's camp in the mountains to inspect the silver mine, and incidentally to fish. There is a lake there where the trout are so thick they form bread-lines to get a chance at the bait."
"You tell 'em!" jeered Benson.
"It's a fact. I want to shake the memory of the last two months, to get away so that I can come back and make a fresh start. I'll leave you in charge of the ranch, Tommy."
"'When Caesar says, "Do this," it is performed.'"
"What's on for this afternoon? Let's do something. I want to get yesterday out of my mind."
"Miss Glamorgan and I thought—I thought—that if you didn't need me, we'd ride over to Buzzard's Hollow; that spot seems to be occupying stage center now. I'll personally conduct you and Mrs. Steve over the abandoned aeroplane if you'll mosey along with us."
Jerry tried to control a shudder. She wondered if she could ever again hear the name of the hollow without seeing a close-up of Beechy and Ranlett and that mutilated calf. She sensed Courtlandt's quick look at her and answered hurriedly:
"Don't count me in. I shan't ride again until—until I have forgotten the hours I spent in the saddle yesterday. Buzzard's Hollow as an objective leaves me cold. If no one else wants the roadster I shall drive over to the B C to inquire for Mrs. Carey. Mother Eagan may allow me to see the baby."
Jerry could have cheerfully bitten out her too confiding tongue when an hour later she found Steve waiting beside the roadster at the front door. He had changed from his usual riding togs to sport clothes. He reddened under her surprised eyes.
"Have you gone saddle shy too?" she asked flippantly to conceal her frightened suspicion that he was going with her.
"No, but I must see Beechy and as you were going to Bear Creek I thought we'd go along together."
"But—I—would rather——"
"Get in, please. It will take time to get to the B C by the road in this car, which is far from being the last word in speed-limit violators."
With teeth set in her lips to steady them Jerry stepped into the roadster. What motive was back of Steve's decision to accompany her, she wondered, as the car shot smoothly ahead under his skilful driving. She regarded him covertly from under the brim of her rose-colored hat. He was gazing straight ahead, his brows knit in a slight frown. The silence between them seemed heavy with portent. She must say something. From far off came a faint whistle.
"Is that the east-bound train?" she asked and then wished fervently that she hadn't.
"Yes. Just pulling out of Slippy Bend. Felice is on it. Jerry, I want you to understand that the situation you stumbled on this morning was merely some of her theatrical clap-trap. When I told her about Phil she flung herself into my arms and pretended to be overcome."
"Don't apologize," the girl mocked, then as she caught a dangerous gleam in his eyes she abandoned thin ice. "Has Mr. Denbigh——"
"I got Phil's mother on long distance soon after midnight. Gerrish took him—went East in the early morning."
"Was he a dear friend of yours?"
"No. He was in my class at college but he was always aloof, unfriendly. While the rest of us were in athletics he was devoting himself to his violin. We thought him indifferent but I understand now that his position had corroded his sensitive heart."
"Position? Wasn't he of the elect?"
"Sarcasm doesn't suit you, Jerry. Phil's father and mother were among the great army of incompatibles. His heritage of misery as the child of divorced parents, tossed back and forth between their habitations, ruined his life but—but he made royally good at the last, poor chap."
Jerry blinked furiously to rid her eyes of the tears which had flooded them at his tone. They rode on in silence. The road ran through the fragrant, chill quiet of dense pines, which creaked and swayed a mournful note in the slight breeze. When they emerged into the willow-fringed, sun dappled road again Courtlandt spoke.
"I want you to tell me everything that happened yesterday, Jerry. I—I know now that that elopement stuff was all a bluff but—but it was an infernally dangerous one. It was lucky for Greyson that an interest bigger than any individual was concerned in last night's work or—forgive me for my lack of faith and tell me what happened, won't you, girl?"
Jerry snatched at her stampeding composure and dragged it back. Her answer was tantalizingly slow.
"That 'won't you' was a master stroke of diplomacy. Machiavellian, I call it. Had you demanded an explanation I wouldn't have given it. Where shall I commence?" She saw him stiffen at her levity but he had his voice well in hand as he answered:
"At the beginning."
"Only on condition that there are no interruptions."
"Then be merciful and tell your story quickly."
Jerry began the recital of her adventures with her determination to amuse Peggy. She forgot herself, she was quite unconscious of the unevenness of Courtlandt's driving as the story unrolled of its own momentum. He did not interrupt with words but at times the car shot forward as though propelled by a furious impulse. They passed Jim Carey herding some lank-bodied, big-kneed calves before him. He waved and shouted a greeting. As they entered the cottonwoods by the Bear Creek corral Jerry described the culmination of the wild ride on the track, her stunned amazement when she had heard Steve's furious exclamation behind her. Her voice was traitorously unsteady as she added:
"'O ye of little faith!' Even when I saw you there, knew that you had heard my explanation, I—I thought that—that somehow you would understand."
"Why would I? You had told me that you had been engaged to Greyson. You never can tell what a man will do when he is mad about a woman, when he loves her crown of shining hair, her eyes, her smile, the—the tip of her bare pink foot." Memory sent a surge of red to his face. He brought the car to a stop in front of the shack. Beechy, his face white, his hair redder and more rampant than ever, called eagerly from the open window at which he sat bolstered up in a chair.
"Wait for me at the house. I shan't be long."
Jerry nodded dumbly, and drove on. Courtlandt's words had set her heart beating a furious call to arms. What had he meant? Who was mad about a woman? He or Greyson? Whose bare pink foot? Involuntarily she tucked one suede shoe under her, her cheeks flushed warmly. He—he couldn't have meant her.
In the living-room of the cabin Jerry held the cocoon of soft flannel, which in turn held the Carey baby, in her arms. She laid her soft cheek against his.
"Isn't—isn't he the dearest!" she crooned as she felt the sweet warm thrill of his satin-soft skin against her face. Doc Rand, before the fireplace, flapping his long black coat-tails in time to his heel-and-toe teeter, blinked at her through lenses which had become unaccountably misty. His russet-apple face showed a new set of lines.
"I—I am so glad that he arrived safely," Jerry observed innocently, punctuating the words with cooing sounds directed at the crease in the baby's neck. Indignation at the possible slur on his professional skill served as a safety valve for Rand's emotion which had been so unaccountably stirred by the sight of the lovely girl with the child in her arms. He had seen the same thing unmoved hundreds of times before, a woman with her face snuggled against a baby's.
"Arrived safely! Why shouldn't he arrive safely in a home like this? Take it from me, the Almighty's going to pick his mothers carefully from now on. He's just had a demonstration of what ought not to happen in poor Denbigh's case. He'll find a way to make women realize what a great and glorious privilege it is to be the mother of an American citizen."
"Of either sex?" probed the girl mischievously.
"You've said it. The female of the species has got to take her share in the responsibility of the government. If we have another war, God grant we don't, the young women will be drafted to work, just as the men will to fight. There'll be no feminine slackers infesting the neighborhoods of the camps next time."
"Hear! Hear!" applauded a low voice from the door. Doc Rand beamed at the newcomer paternally.
"Steve, you scoffer, come in! Take a look at what your wife has in that bundle."
Jerry wished passionately that she were a thousand miles away when Steve loomed over her but she didn't intend to let him suspect it. She pulled away the soft blanket that he could see better and challenged breathlessly:
"Isn't he a sweetie peach?"
"Isn't he—it—very red?" Courtlandt stammered in honest embarrassment that he could not conscientiously voice a paean of praise of the beauty of the Carey heir. Doc Rand indulged in a denatured guffaw.
"Lord-ee, Steve, your mental propeller showered sparks of originality that time, didn't it? The baby isn't appreciated here; you'd better take him back to his mother, Mrs. Eagan," as the nurse, beaming with full-moon effulgence, entered the room. Jerry smiled up at the portly woman as she laid the little bundle in her arms.
"Give my love to Mrs. Carey and tell her that he is the loveliest baby I ever saw," she whispered eagerly.
"What do you think about Beechy, Doc?" Courtlandt asked as Mrs. Eagan left the room.
"He'll pull through now that he has eased his conscience by confession. I had to let him talk and unburden his mind before I could heal his body."
"I've just come from the shack. Carl told me that if—it hadn't been for Denbigh he would have been in on that deal last night."
"Yes, Steve, but Beechy was out of the hold-up for good when he found that it was government money they were after. He was prepared to take what was coming to him for quitting; he knew mighty well that a man couldn't double-cross Ranlett and—and live, that is, not if the Skunk knew it. He knows now that Denbigh saved him. Beechy isn't bad at heart. He and a lot of others like him are suffering from an acute attack of disillusionment, that's all. They'd been fed up on 'Hail-to-the-conquering-hero' stuff and when the shouting was over and they spent weary months in hospital forgotten by the world at large, and in particular by that female portion of it that had fed them, written to them, married them during the war, do you wonder that they were ready for any deviltry that was afoot? I don't. But you see, in spite of his loud talk, when Beechy came slam up against the proposition of defrauding his government, ungrateful government that he thought it, there was nothing doing. He couldn't get away with it. He'll never be able to do much hard work, but there must be a place for him."
"A place for him! If he ever escapes my clutches again he's more slippery than I think him."
"Go to it, Steve! Even you and I salaam when he speaks in that tone, don't we, Mrs. Jerry?"
The sun had dropped behind the mountains; fields and foot-hills lay luminous and still as Courtlandt drove the roadster past the corral at the Double O. A bunch of horses was being turned into the pastures for the night feed. They nipped, they kicked, they rolled. The riders who were driving them out tolerated their antics patiently, with an occasional admonitory "Hi-yew!" Jerry turned to look after them.
"I wish Peg could have seen that. In this light, in their broad-brimmed hats, their colored neckerchiefs, their gloves, their costumes are picturesque. They would have satisfied even her craving for local color."
Courtlandt drove on to the ranch-house without answering. It had been a silent ride home. Jerry had been tensely apprehensive of what might be coming when they started, but as the man beside her drove steadily with only an occasional inquiry as to her comfort, she had relaxed and allowed her thoughts to drift.
Steve followed her into the living-room. As she opened the door of her boudoir he spoke from where he stood under his mother's portrait.
"Come here, Jerry! Please——" he added with a smile as she hesitated.
"I must dress for dinner. I——"
"There is plenty of time. I want to talk to you. Come here!" As a safe and sane compromise she took refuge behind the back of the wing-chair.
"Well?" she queried defensively.
With startling suddenness he caught her hands and drew her to the hearth beside him.
"That's better! I can't talk to you when you are so far away." His grip on her hands tightened. "Jerry, do you remember that day at the Manor when Uncle Nick's will was read? You——"
"The—the day we decided to make the detour? It—it has proved an adventure, hasn't it?" she interrupted in a breathless attempt to gain time. Courtlandt ignored the question.
"You asked me if I wanted his fortune. Do you also remember my answer?" Then as with downcast cast eyes she nodded assent, he repeated, "'More I ever wanted anything, except one, in my life.' You thought that that one thing was Felice and I—I let you think so. I meant you, Jerry. No, you can't go, you've got to listen now. We've been playing at cross purposes long enough. I wanted Uncle Nick's money because I wanted to be rid of the humiliating load of obligation we Courtlandts had shouldered. I wanted to meet you on equal terms. I loved you the first time I saw you in your shimmering orchid gown with the great fan which you wielded with the air of an empress. Who was I to tell you so? You wouldn't have believed me, you would have despised me as a hypocrite. I had no money, nothing but debts to offer you. But if I hadn't loved you nothing could have forced me, nothing could have tempted me to ask you to marry me. On the way in to meet you that first night, I promised Sir Peter that if in any way you were repellent to me, I would let your father take possession of our property. I—I—well, I had to bluff some to my father going home to cover my bowled-over condition. I don't ask for anything now, I only want a promise that you won't close your heart against me—that you will—oh, what's the use—you must love me!"
The girl looked down upon the head pressed against her hands then up at the tender eyes of the woman above the mantel. Were they misted or were there tears in her own eyes? She choked back a sound that was half laugh, half sob as she observed with tantalizing charm:
"Of course when you say 'must,' O Abdul the Great——" Before she could finish the sentence Steve had her crushed in his arms.
"It's your own fault, Mr. Tommy Benson. I told you that I shouldn't——"
It was Peggy's voice at the door. In breathless haste Jerry freed herself from Courtlandt's arms. He caught her hands and drew her back. His voice was tenderly exultant, his eyes disconcertingly possessive as he reminded huskily:
"About that honeymoon I promised to show you, Mrs. Courtlandt——Can I interest you in a silver mine?"
The two men were in striking contrast. Glamorgan, massive, shrewd-eyed, of big affairs and world interests and Peter Courtlandt patrician, dreamy-eyed, who dwelt largely in the realm of books and art, were smoking on the terrace of the Manor. They could look down the box-bordered paths of the garden to where stone steps led to a small landing on the shore of the river. A tender swung at its moorings. Motor-boats and steam-boats plied busily back and forth on the water which rippled into scales of gold. From a man-o'-war anchored down-stream came the sound of a ship's band. The sun was setting with lavish prodigality of color, spreading great swaths of crimson and gold and violet above the hills. One steady brilliant star shone in the west. From the garden drifted the scent of heliotrope. The light breeze stirred the awning over the terrace, gently lifted the soft rings of white hair on Peter Courtlandt's head, impertinently flicked the sheets of the letter Glamorgan held.
Courtlandt withdrew his eyes from the river and looked at his guest. The large man was smiling broadly, at his thoughts, doubtless, as his eyes were fixed unseeingly on the star. His host suddenly remembered that he had not seen the oil-king smile like that since Jerry and Steve had left the Manor; he had appeared like a man spiritually burdened. Could his furious indignation because his daughter had gone West with her husband have accounted for his gravity? Courtlandt tossed the remains of his cigar over the terrace wall and addressed his companion.
"You said that you had a letter to read to me," he suggested. Glamorgan's eyes flashed to his—was there a hint of tears in them?—the smile on his lips spread and spread until his host was reminded of the moon in all the glory of its fullness. He laughed in sympathy. "It must be amusing, if one judges by your expression." The oil-king indulged in a throaty chuckle; it sounded like the delight of a boy in some satisfactorily accomplished bit of mischief.
"It isn't the letter which is so amusing, though I'll hand it to Peg when it comes to expression that has punch, it is what I can read between the lines. Listen to what she writes and you'll understand." He settled huge horn-rimmed eye-glasses in place and began to read from the letter in his hand.
"Dear Dad:"By this time you must have received my letter about the near hold-up,poorMr. Denbigh, Beechy, Tommy (Benson the Bluffer the outfit call him now) and your she's-a-hero daughter. I penned that throbbing epistle on the morning after our return from Slippy Bend when my mind was a red hot molten mass ofthrills. Well, to quote Scripture (don't give me the credit of this, Tommy Benson reeled it off when I expressed amazement at what was happening and I copied it from the Bible), 'There be three things which are too wonderful for me, yea, four which I know not: The way of an eagle in the air; the way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea; and the way of a man with a maid.' It is that last phrase which has to do with the situation here. When I first came Steve hadaboutas much expression in his face when he looked at Jerry as has that granite civil war veteran in the park at Oil City. Jerry was as bad. They were the nearest to cold-storage newly-weds that I had ever seen. Now—ye gods!—when I look up and see Steve's eyes on Jerry my heartstampedes. I feel as though I had made the unpardonable break of opening a closed door without knocking. Jerry behaves a little better. She keeps her eyes to heel but hervoice——"'The devil hath not in all his quiver's choice an arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.' Tommy Benson again. He is a more liberal education than English 27 at College. I asked him if the lines were Shakespeare or the Bible and he said that a gentleman named Byron wrote them but that I wasnotto cultivate his acquaintance indiscriminately. I have sent east forallof Mr. Byron's poems. But I digress."To return to Steve and Jerry. They start on a camping trip to-morrow, up into the wilderness to inspect some silly old silver mine. Steve has sent Marcelle O'Neil ahead with packhorses, guns, provisions, and rods. Thank heaven they didn't askmeto go. I'm to stay at the Double O with Tommy Benson's mother, who arrived yesterday. She's a stylish-stout of about fifty with wonderful skin and teeth, eyes that make you feel you'd like todrownin them they are so like clear-blue pools; hair like dull gold and a smile—well, I walkedstraightinto her arms when she turned it on me."I wrote you that Jerry seemed terribly short of money. Youmustdo something about it. Her Tiffany flame has found an Alexandrite that she wants. When I told her the price, amiserablelittle two thousand dollars, you would have thought I'd mentioned the amount of the Allied war debt. Why don't you send her the ring?"From my limited observation (there's been something doing every minute since I set foot on the Double O), I should say that ranching was a great life when the coyotes didn't steal your chickens, when the Shorthorns didn't break away, or when a disgruntled fragment of your outfit didn't shoot up the neighborhood. Jerry says that she and Steve will spend their winters at the Manor after they have been here a year, something to do with Uncle Nick's will,youprobably know about it. Steve will take Tommy Benson into partnership and he will be manager-in-chief. It's agreatchance for Tommy. He is the poor-man-with-a-future type. He'ssuper-sensitive about his lack of money, though. Bruce Greyson brought a perfectlystunningman to call the other day, heir to a fortune. Of course I had to be nice to him. Ye gods! You should have seen Tommy while he was here. After the plutocrat had departed I asked him why he had looked as though he could have crunched mountain lion in the raw. He justgloweredand quoted:"'O what a world of vile, ill favoured faultsLooks handsome in three thousand pounds a year.'"From my window I can see Sandy's flivver in the distance; that means that I must wind up this letter—pronto. That carrier is thefunniestsight. He wears a tall white hat and a linen duster and looks for all the world like the Mad Hatter in 'Alice.' I almost expect to hear him snap when he sees me coming, 'Your hair needs cutting,' the way the Hatter does in the story.Heapsof love,"Peg."P.S. Praise be! Careful Cosmetics has departed. That's what I call the Denbigh woman."
"Dear Dad:
"By this time you must have received my letter about the near hold-up,poorMr. Denbigh, Beechy, Tommy (Benson the Bluffer the outfit call him now) and your she's-a-hero daughter. I penned that throbbing epistle on the morning after our return from Slippy Bend when my mind was a red hot molten mass ofthrills. Well, to quote Scripture (don't give me the credit of this, Tommy Benson reeled it off when I expressed amazement at what was happening and I copied it from the Bible), 'There be three things which are too wonderful for me, yea, four which I know not: The way of an eagle in the air; the way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea; and the way of a man with a maid.' It is that last phrase which has to do with the situation here. When I first came Steve hadaboutas much expression in his face when he looked at Jerry as has that granite civil war veteran in the park at Oil City. Jerry was as bad. They were the nearest to cold-storage newly-weds that I had ever seen. Now—ye gods!—when I look up and see Steve's eyes on Jerry my heartstampedes. I feel as though I had made the unpardonable break of opening a closed door without knocking. Jerry behaves a little better. She keeps her eyes to heel but hervoice——
"'The devil hath not in all his quiver's choice an arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.' Tommy Benson again. He is a more liberal education than English 27 at College. I asked him if the lines were Shakespeare or the Bible and he said that a gentleman named Byron wrote them but that I wasnotto cultivate his acquaintance indiscriminately. I have sent east forallof Mr. Byron's poems. But I digress.
"To return to Steve and Jerry. They start on a camping trip to-morrow, up into the wilderness to inspect some silly old silver mine. Steve has sent Marcelle O'Neil ahead with packhorses, guns, provisions, and rods. Thank heaven they didn't askmeto go. I'm to stay at the Double O with Tommy Benson's mother, who arrived yesterday. She's a stylish-stout of about fifty with wonderful skin and teeth, eyes that make you feel you'd like todrownin them they are so like clear-blue pools; hair like dull gold and a smile—well, I walkedstraightinto her arms when she turned it on me.
"I wrote you that Jerry seemed terribly short of money. Youmustdo something about it. Her Tiffany flame has found an Alexandrite that she wants. When I told her the price, amiserablelittle two thousand dollars, you would have thought I'd mentioned the amount of the Allied war debt. Why don't you send her the ring?
"From my limited observation (there's been something doing every minute since I set foot on the Double O), I should say that ranching was a great life when the coyotes didn't steal your chickens, when the Shorthorns didn't break away, or when a disgruntled fragment of your outfit didn't shoot up the neighborhood. Jerry says that she and Steve will spend their winters at the Manor after they have been here a year, something to do with Uncle Nick's will,youprobably know about it. Steve will take Tommy Benson into partnership and he will be manager-in-chief. It's agreatchance for Tommy. He is the poor-man-with-a-future type. He'ssuper-sensitive about his lack of money, though. Bruce Greyson brought a perfectlystunningman to call the other day, heir to a fortune. Of course I had to be nice to him. Ye gods! You should have seen Tommy while he was here. After the plutocrat had departed I asked him why he had looked as though he could have crunched mountain lion in the raw. He justgloweredand quoted:
"'O what a world of vile, ill favoured faultsLooks handsome in three thousand pounds a year.'
"'O what a world of vile, ill favoured faultsLooks handsome in three thousand pounds a year.'
"From my window I can see Sandy's flivver in the distance; that means that I must wind up this letter—pronto. That carrier is thefunniestsight. He wears a tall white hat and a linen duster and looks for all the world like the Mad Hatter in 'Alice.' I almost expect to hear him snap when he sees me coming, 'Your hair needs cutting,' the way the Hatter does in the story.Heapsof love,
"Peg.
"P.S. Praise be! Careful Cosmetics has departed. That's what I call the Denbigh woman."
Glamorgan removed his glasses and threw back his head with a chuckling laugh. Courtlandt laughed with him.
"Peggy certainly wields a facile pen. I—I am glad of what she writes about Steve and Jerry. I confess that I feared——"
"I want to talk to you about that, Courtlandt," interrupted Glamorgan eagerly. "It has taken all my strength of will and then some, not to take you into my confidence but—but I promised your brother-in-law that——"
"Nicholas Fairfax!"
"I don't wonder you are astonished. You see, from the moment I saw him I fell for him. I'd known a lot of men like him. Chestnut burrs outside but sound and sweet in their hearts. He must have felt that I understood him for he hadn't been at the Manor long before he confided his doubts and hopes to me. Old Nick was keener than you or I. He hadn't been here twenty-four hours before he had sized up the situation between Jerry and Steve. He realized that they were heading straight for the matrimonial reefs where so many of their friends had come to grief. I guess he realized also that I was a little more anxious for that marriage to turn out a success than even he was. The Lord only knows the burden of guilt I would have carried the rest of my life if it hadn't."
"You wouldn't have been the only one."
"I know that, Courtlandt. Nick realized that he hadn't long to live. He felt sure of Jerry's loyalty, that all that was needed to right matters between the two was to give Steve money and make the girl dependent on him. He knew the boy well enough to know that his pride would stand between them as long as Jerry was spending my money. That was where I came in. He had me cast for the stern parent act. I was to oppose Jerry's going to the ranch. Opposition, he figured, would steel her determination to go with her husband, if she was tempted to waver. I knew my girl better. I knew that she would keep the covenant but I consented to please Old Nick. I almost caved in the day she went away, when I saw her watch the gate wistfully until the train started, but I kept out of sight."
"Who would have believed to have seen Nick in those last days that he was planning so shrewdly."
"That wasn't all he planned. He had the dickens of a time with Greyson. He wanted him to invite Mrs. Denbigh to the X Y Z for the summer as a sort of acid test for Steve."
"What a diabolical idea."
"I'm not so sure of that. His argument was that if the woman had the slightest lure for Steve——"
"But she hadn't," Courtlandt denied sharply.
"I couldn't see how she could have, but then vamps aren't in my line. Nick was possessed by the idea. Greyson kicked like a steer against it but finally gave in. You can't tell. Fairfax may have had other reasons up his sleeve. Denbigh was at the Bear Creek ranch. He might have thought, have hoped, that he and Felice would come together again. In spite of his ill-health and absorption in his ranch, your brother-in-law was a profound thinker on social and economic questions. I spent hours arguing with him. He contended that the great weakness of the American people lay in their lack of stability, that they could be swept along on a wave of enthusiasm but that when it came to the steady tide of determination they wouldn't even tread water; that lack of stability was at the root of the divorce habit, which if it wasn't checked would insidiously undermine the character of the nation."
"He was right, but," with a profound sigh of relief, "it looks as though Jerry and Steve had escaped the reefs, doesn't it?"
"I'll say it does," with a reminiscent chuckle. "Now you know why I gloated over that letter of Peg's. The child didn't realize how she was easing my mind. Do you know, I like what she writes about that Benson boy. Next to a man with family background I have a deep and abiding respect for a man who has the best in literature at his tongue's end. He's a rare bird these days."
"Then you wouldn't object if Peg and Tommy—he hasn't the kind of family you want behind him."
"I don't care who Peggy marries if he is clean and upstanding, with self-respect and love for my girl. I'm through meddling, though I'm not sorry for what I did with Jerry. She stood nine chances out of ten of marrying a fortune-hunter; Steve wasn't that; he had to be forcibly fed with money. In spite of that fact I haven't drawn an easy breath since Nick told me his suspicions, until now." He glanced at the letter. "I think I'll send that Alexandrite as a sort of peace offering."
"You're too late. Steve wired to me to have it sent."
"He did! Then you knew all I have been telling you?"
"No. I only put two and two together when I got Steve's message."
Glamorgan rose, shook himself like a bear and extended one hand to his host. His voice was curiously rough as he laid the other on his shoulder and confided awkwardly:
"Good-night! I—I hope they'll name the first son Peter, Courtlandt."
Courtlandt put his free hand on the big man's shoulder. His laugh was unsteady but his voice was vibrant with feeling as he countered:
"And I—I hope they'll name the second one—Dan. Good-night." They stood shaking hands furiously, laughing boyishly, and patting one another's shoulders as the lights flashed up on the river and night rang down the curtain of dusk.
THE TRAIL OF CONFLICTHERE COMES THE SUN!A CERTAIN CROSSROADTHE SOLITARY HORSEMANGAY COURAGESWIFT WATCHLIGHTED WINDOWSFAIR TOMORROWUNCHARTED SEASHILLTOPS CLEARWE RIDE THE GALE!WITH BANNERSIT'S A GREAT WORLDGIVE ME ONE SUMMERAS LONG AS I LIVETODAY IS YOURSHIGH OF HEARTACROSS THE YEARSTHERE IS ALWAYS LOVEWHERE BEAUTY DWELLSSTARS IN YOUR EYESRAINBOW AT DUSKWHEN HEARTS ARE LIGHT AGAINKEEPERS OF THE FAITHBEYOND THE SOUND OF GUNSBRIGHT SKIESBECKONING TRAILSI HEAR ADVENTURE CALLINGLOVE CAME LAUGHING BYTO LOVE AND TO HONORFOR ALL YOUR LIFEMY DEAREST LOVEI TAKE THIS MANTHE SHADOW OF SUSPICIONWHAT THEN IS LOVELOOK TO THE STARSBEHIND THE CLOUDWITH THIS RINGHOW CAN THE HEART FORGETTHROW WIDE THE DOORFOLLOW YOUR HEART
THE TRAIL OF CONFLICTHERE COMES THE SUN!A CERTAIN CROSSROADTHE SOLITARY HORSEMANGAY COURAGESWIFT WATCHLIGHTED WINDOWSFAIR TOMORROWUNCHARTED SEASHILLTOPS CLEARWE RIDE THE GALE!WITH BANNERSIT'S A GREAT WORLDGIVE ME ONE SUMMERAS LONG AS I LIVETODAY IS YOURSHIGH OF HEARTACROSS THE YEARSTHERE IS ALWAYS LOVEWHERE BEAUTY DWELLSSTARS IN YOUR EYESRAINBOW AT DUSKWHEN HEARTS ARE LIGHT AGAINKEEPERS OF THE FAITHBEYOND THE SOUND OF GUNSBRIGHT SKIESBECKONING TRAILSI HEAR ADVENTURE CALLINGLOVE CAME LAUGHING BYTO LOVE AND TO HONORFOR ALL YOUR LIFEMY DEAREST LOVEI TAKE THIS MANTHE SHADOW OF SUSPICIONWHAT THEN IS LOVELOOK TO THE STARSBEHIND THE CLOUDWITH THIS RINGHOW CAN THE HEART FORGETTHROW WIDE THE DOORFOLLOW YOUR HEART