"Neil?"
"Yes, sir."
Andrew Pryor rushed into his library with every appearance of haste and
excitement upon his kindly face, his breathing short, his hair seeming
to have taken an upward turn.
"I want you to go down on 'Change for me. Hurry, boy! There is not
a single moment to lose. I want you to get there before the market
closes, and tell Caswell for me, to buy two thousand Western Union,
Buyer 30, and sell five thousand Northwest preferred, Seller 60. I have
just had a 'pointer' by which I shall make a pile if the market goes as
I have been informed. You have just three-quarters to make it. If you
get there---- Ah, that is right. That boy is invaluable."
The sentence was finished to himself, the break being caused by the
exit of the boy to whom he had been speaking.
The white-haired old gentleman stood for some time with a smile upon
his lips, rubbing his hands together with an expression of profound
satisfaction.
But gradually it faded.
First came a look of deep thought, then one of fear, followed by an
expression so full of consternation that to a disinterested observer
it would have been laughable.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed aloud, "I am positive that I told that boy to
buy Western Union and sell Northwest preferred! If he gives that order
as I gave it to him, it will ruin me! What in Heaven's name could ever
have made me such a colossal fool! It is impossible to do anything
now! He has been gone fully fifteen minutes, and--what in the name of
common sense am I to do? Nothing, I suppose. Five thousand Chicago and
Northwestern preferred short! Caswell will think I have gone mad! Here!
Sarah! Sarah! Tell William to bring the cart to the door, quick! There
is not a moment to lose! Don't stand staring at me in that insane way,
but hurry! There is not a confounded one of them on this place that
is worth the salt in their bread but that boy whom I never saw until
a week ago. Where the devil is my coat? I never can find it without
that boy. Lord! if Caswell has bought that---- Oh, here it is at last.
William, what in the name of Heaven are you doing here? Didn't Sarah
tell you to bring the cart to the door?"
"I thought----"
"Never mind what you thought, you infernal fool! What business had you
to think? It is too late now. I shall take the elevated."
He banged the door after him as he spoke, and hurried down the street
to the nearest elevated station, rushed up the steps, and was forced to
wait something over five minutes for the train, during which time he
looked at his watch about twenty times.
The day was decidedly cool, but in spite of that fact, the perspiration
rolled down his face like rain.
"I won't get there until the Exchange closes," he muttered; "and with
my affairs in the state they are---- Well, I can't understand what ever
made me such an infernal----"
The sentence was interrupted by the arrival of the train.
Andrew Pryor rushed in pell-mell, took his seat, and imagined that
the train had never run with such exasperating slowness as upon that
occasion.
It came to an end at last, however, and colliding with everything and
everybody where collision was possible, he rushed on.
At the very entrance of the Stock Exchange he ran directly into the boy
whom he had sent upon the errand.
"What in thunder did you tell Caswell?" cried the old man, excitedly.
"Quick!"
The expression of the boy's face was laughable, but partaking of his
excitement, he answered, breathlessly:
"I hope I have not done wrong, sir; but going down in the train I
remembered that Northwest preferred had been jumping at an astonishing
rate the last few days, and I thought you must have gotten the order
mixed."
"And you reversed it?"
"I did. Selling Western Union. Seller 60, and----"
Andrew Pryor's month opened as if to say something, but it closed
with a sudden snap, and his hand came down on the boy's shoulder with
positive affection.
"My boy," he exclaimed, with amusing emphasis, "you have saved me
more than you can imagine. The people in this town would have had me
adjudged a lunatic without a trial if you had delivered that order as
I directed you. Such brains as yours shall not go unrecognized. The
fellows have been laughing at me because of your youth and girlishness,
but they can laugh and be hanged! You are my private secretary from
this day at a salary of one hundred and twenty-five dollars per month.
You are the smartest boy of your age in New York to-day."
"I am afraid you overestimate what I have done, sir. You see, I knew
the market fluctuations and----"
"Will you let me be the judge of that? I tell you there is not another
boy in the city that would have done it. Well, it is something in your
pocket. You have made a friend, and I am glad of it. You deserve it!"
The handsome eyes of the youth were downcast. He did not reply, but
somehow Andrew Pryor seemed to understand that the silence was not the
result of ingratitude.
He preferred it, upon the whole, to a flow of words, and attributed it
to feeling upon the part of the boy.
Together they went home, and at the door inside the hall Andrew Pryor
paused again, laying his hand upon the shoulder of the young man.
"I shall expect you to dine with the family to-night," he said. "It is
the respect your new position demands!"
A brilliant, embarrassed red overspread the handsome face, which the
patron was not slow to observe.
"What is it?" he demanded. "Remember perfect frankness is always best."
The boy smiled.
"It seems such an absurd thing, sir," he answered, "and yet I must ask
you to excuse me, because I do not possess a dress suit!"
"Then you will come without one until it is purchased. A dress suit
does not make the gentleman. If you have not the money that is
required, do not hesitate to call upon me. There must be none of that
false pride about you that is so despicable in most young men. I have
taken a great liking to you, and I am determined to see you succeed in
the world. There are very few of us who would have occupied our present
positions had there not been a helping hand extended to us. Mine will
be the hand to assist you up the ladder to social prominence and
wealth. We dine at 6:30. I shall expect you."
Neil Lowell bowed respectfully, but quietly, and passing up the stairs,
went to his own room.
Andrew Pryor looked after him.
"That is the most extraordinary boy that I ever knew!" he muttered.
"Some day I must get him to tell me the story of his life. I would be
willing to stake my head that his parents were somebody!"
And in his own room, a comfortable nest, not elegant, but cozy and
homelike, Neil Lowell threw aside his hat and coat, and seating himself
in front of the fire, bowed his chin upon his breast and was lost in
reflection.
"What a strange world it is!" he muttered. "Only a little while ago,
and as a girl, as poor, unfortunate Leonie Cuyler, my heart seemed
breaking. I was friendless, and helpless, made desperate by my struggle
with life. Driven to bay, I gave myself the appearance of a boy. For a
time I feared the tracing of detectives. I lived in constant terror,
hiding by day, living in dread at night, subsisting upon the few
crumbs that came in my way, or starving, as occasion demanded, until
I could bear it no longer! I threw aside fear, and determined that
whatever the consequences might be, I would brave it out. I obtained
some light work; I went from that to my old work of typewriting, but
the girls monopolized that, and I was a--boy. However, I got enough
money together to buy a decent suit of clothes, accidentally performed
a slight service for Andrew Pryor, was taken into his employ to do
anything that came my way that was not menial, though I don't know that
I should have refused that had it come my way, and now I am his private
secretary. It is a curious world! I wonder what in Heaven's name is in
store for me? They must all discover sooner or later that I am not what
I appear, but how can I help it? It is useless to repine now! There is
no going back. It is forward or die, and I am not ready for that yet.
Thank God for one thing. It will enable me to repay the debt that I owe
to Lynde Pyne! Suppose that he knew the truth? Suppose that he knew
that but yesterday he had stood beside me, Leonie Cuyler? Suppose----
But the time for supposing anything is over. I am Neil Lowell now, and
Neil Lowell I shall remain to the end of the chapter. I even intend to
try to forget that I am not the boy that I appear. There is no reason
why I should not remain Neil Lowell. I have as much right to that name
as any other. As a boy, life promises something to me, as a girl, it
holds nothing but disgrace and shame. Let me see! If I am to appear at
that dinner-table I must be presentable. I shall have just time to go
down-town and make some necessary purchases before the dinner hour.
Ha! ha! It does seem too absurd to think of Leonie Cuyler in the bosom
of the family of Andrew Pryor as a fine young man, and his private
secretary. I suppose I shall be making love to one of the girls next."
The expression of the beautiful face was nearer to amusement than any
that had shadowed it since that death on the top floor of the tenement,
that Leonie Cuyler had called her home.
The black derby was pulled down to carefully conceal the broad brow,
and with a very boyish swing to his gait, Neil Lowell passed out of the
house again.
The few necessary purchases were made, the suit that Andrew Pryor
required at his dinner-table was ordered, and Neil Lowell returned home.
He had scarcely completed his preparations when the chimes announced
dinner.
With a heart that thrilled with embarrassment, but well concealed by
the most composed exterior, he descended to the dinner-room.
Andrew Pryor received him.
"My dear," he said to his wife, "you have known this young man as a
boy to whom I have taken a great liking, but for a service rendered me
to-day that shows his capability to fill such a position with credit to
himself, I have made him my private secretary. I wish him in future to
be received as a member of my family. Gwen, my dear, come here. Miss
Pryor, allow me to present Mr. Lowell!"
The formal introduction was made to his eldest daughter, who bowed
courteously, then followed by an introduction to the others, two in
number.
Gravely, and with the polish of a courtier, Neil Lowell responded to
the introduction, filling Andrew Pryor with more surprise than ever.
"Where in thunder did the boy get his polish?" he kept asking himself
all through dinner, but the end came without his having found a reply.
"He is a charming boy!" Alice told her sister, Gwendolyn, when they
were alone in their own room.
And Gwendolyn, contrary to her custom, did not negative the assertion.
It was altogether a triumph for Neil Lowell, and the tears that
moistened his pillow that night were girlish, but they were not tears
of sadness entirely.