Shortly after David had left the offices of Bernard, White & Bascomb,
Wallie Bascomb came down the broad steps of the Saturn Club, and stepped
briskly into his big slate-colored machine. "Jimmy," he said, addressing
the boyish-looking chauffeur, "what's the speed limit between here and
home?"
"Eight miles, sir," said the other, as he reached forward for the
starting-lever. He had answered that question frequently and thoroughly
understood its import.
"I want to be back here in fifteen minutes."
"Yes, sir."
The lever shot forward. Slowly the car swung in a half-circle, was
reversed and backed across the street. It lunged forward again as the
clash and groan of the whirring gears gave place to the multiple
throbbing of the sixty-horse-power cylinders.
"If you happen to get the cramp in your leg, Jimmy, just push on the
accelerator pedal. That'll help some."
The chauffeur nodded, and the throbbing of the engine grew to a sonorous
hum as the car shot down the street.
Bascomb leaned back in the comfortable tonneau and glanced at his watch.
"Half-past five. Let me see--allow fifteen minutes to dress--ten back to
the club--five to see old Tillinghast, confound the punctual old
pirate--that's six o'clock. Then ten back to the house (I hope Bessie
won't keep me waiting) and dinner at seven. Miss Ross is another
stickler for 'on time or bust.' Well, it won't be Jimmy's fault if we
don't do either. Now, I wonder what's up? Bessie has been thicker than
bees with Miss Ross ever since Davy flew away. And now I'm haled from a
nice comfy corner in the club to have dinner with that estimable
Scotchwoman. Bet she'll talk Davy from consomme to coffee."
The car slowed down as they hurtled over a cross-street where a blue
helmet and a warning hand appeared and vanished. Bascomb grinned as they
swung to the curb a block farther down the street.
"You're two minutes ahead of schedule, James. How's your leg?"
"Much easier, sir," replied that youth, working his foot on the
brake-pedal tentatively.
Bascomb ran up the steps and entered the wide hallway, so similar, in
its general characteristics of ponderous ornamentation, to a hundred
others on the street, and rushed up the soft carpeted stairs.
"Hello, Bess!"
"Hello, Wallie. No, you can't come in, but I'll be down in--five
minutes."
"Well, if you're at the 'can't-come-in' stage I can see five minutes do
a glide from six-thirty to seven and not shed a hair. Little brother
Wallie is in for a quick change from 'sads' to 'glads.' I'll be back for
you at half-past six exactly."
"You'll be _back?_ Walter Bascomb, where are you going? I'm nearly
ready."
Wallie thrummed on the closed bedroom door.
"Down town--important. Asbestos gentleman with large check-book. Must
dress. Ta ta, sis."
He hurried to his room and reappeared in a few minutes in evening
clothes. He stepped softly past his sister's door and down the stair, a
sleek, full-bodied figure, with much in the erect carriage of the head
and breadth of shoulder suggesting the elder Bascomb. At that moment his
sister swept from her room and came to the head of the stairs. He saw
her as he swung into his coat.
"Don't detain me, Bessie dear," he said, anticipating her. "I'll be back
quicker than--Jimmy made it in five minutes coming up."
"Walter, you'll kill some one some day. It's a shame, the way you make
James drive. I know he's not a bit reckless, but you just, just--"
"Bye-bye, sis. I'll be back at six-thirty."
"No, James isn't reckless--not a bit," he muttered, as he ran down the
steps; "are you, Jimmy?"
"Are I what, sir?"
"Are you able to make the club again in five minutes?"
"Yes, sir."
"I knew Bessie was wrong," he said mysteriously, as he entered the
machine.
James, inferring that his ability to "make time" had been questioned by
Miss Bascomb,--although not a little surprised, as she had always
cautioned him to drive reasonably,--made the trip in four minutes,
despite the increased traffic of the hour.
Punctually at half-past six they were at Bascomb's home again.
Elizabeth Bascomb, gowned in soft gray, with here and there a touch of
silver which accentuated the delicate coloring of her cheeks and lent
her a certain aristocratic hauteur, came down the steps and stepped
lightly into the car. Her brother drew her cloak about her shoulders.
"You look just like Ophelia--in the second act, you know, Bess."
She accepted his somewhat over-picturesque compliment with a tolerant
smile.
"I say, Bess, don't pay any attention to me. I'm only one of the
accessories,--Miss Ross's place, James,--but you might let me look at
you once in a while. I haven't seen much of you lately."
She turned her full blue eyes toward him and gazed thoughtfully at his
eager face, as they sped easily up the long slope of the hill.
"Father told me that Mr. Ross was in town--had been at the office," she
said presently, smoothing the back of her gloved hand pensively. "He
said David left the office in a rather peculiar manner."
"Didn't know the pater was home. So Davy's back in civilization again.
Well, I'm not surprised. Davy is a stiff-necked beastie at times. Wonder
whether he brought Smoke or not? I asked him to in my last letter."
"I don't know," replied his sister. "Papa said he asked for you."
"Well, he'll probably show up to-morrow. By Jove, perhaps he's at his
aunt's now!"
"I had thought of that," said Miss Bascomb quietly.
"You don't seem enthusiastic about it, sis."
"Why should I be?" she replied indifferently.
"That's so; but, Bessie,"--and he took her hand and patted it
playfully,--"why shouldn't you be?"
"Little brothers shouldn't ask too many questions," she replied,
assuming his manner playfully.
"Of course not. But seriously, Bess,--I never believed in trying to do
the 'bless you, my children' business, you know that,--what is wrong
between Davy and you? Great Scott!" he exclaimed with boyish enthusiasm,
"Davy Ross is worth a whole regiment of--my kind. Honest Injun, Bess,
he's going to _do_ something one of these days. It's in his eye."
The car swung round a corner and gathered speed as they slipped down a
quiet side street.
"What is the trouble, Bess?"
"Nothing," she replied indifferently.
"That settles it. When 'nothing's' the matter, the bun is off the stove.
A girl can overlook larceny, bigamy, arson, robbery, contempt of court,
and murder, but 'nothing,'"--he sighed ponderously.
"Walter!"
"Beg your pardon--whatever it was--yes?"
"You're getting dreadfully--slangy, Walter."
"Getting? Since when?"
"It's growing on you."
They glided down the smooth asphalt silently. Presently she turned to
him, placing both hands on his knee.
"Papa said he had asked David to call. Now, papa knows that David and I
have had a misunderstanding. Why should he deliberately ignore me and
invite David to the house? I know he won't accept."
"Don't be too certain, Bess. There may be reasons."
"What reasons?"
"Oh, business. Davy's crossed the pater's trail up in the woods--and
happens to have stumbled on to a rather good thing--if he only knows
it."
"Does papa want him to know it?"
"Why, how serious you are, Bessie. How should I know what the pater's up
to?"
"If you're going to prevaricate, Wallie, I'll not ask any more
questions."
"Oh, come, now, Bess, business is business--"
"I didn't regard our chat as just business," she replied.
"Of course it isn't. I meant between Davy and the governor. Anyway, I
don't see why you shouldn't know--if you'll promise not to say a word to
any one."
"Do you need to ask me that?"
"No," he answered hesitatingly. He glanced at his sister, noting the
faint pallor of her delicate features. "Poor Bess," he thought, "she's
hit harder than I imagined."
"Well, I'll tell you, Bessie. Things haven't been running smoothly in
the office. The pater's really in bad shape financially. We had a chance
to make good on a land deal up North till Davy blundered on to the same
thing, and he's got the whip-hand. If we can interest Davy--"
"You needn't say any more, Walter. I understand--"
"I'll tell you all about it when we have more time, Bess, but we're too
near--" He grasped her arm and threw himself in front of her as the car
slid sideways, the rear wheels skidding across the pavement as the
chauffeur jammed the brake-pedal down and swung the steering-wheel over
at the same instant.
"What is it?" she gasped.
"It's all right, sis," he assured her, as he jumped to the pavement and
ran round to the front of the car where James was stooping over a
huddled figure.
"My God, Jimmy! Did you hit him?"
"Missed him by a hair," said the trembling chauffeur, as he knelt beside
the prostrate figure. "Saw him laying there when I was right on top of
him. Guess he's had a fit or something."
Bascomb lifted the shoulders of the prostrate man to a level with the
headlights of the car. As the white light streamed over their faces he
stifled an exclamation. The chauffeur stepped back.
"S-s-sh! It's Mr. Ross, a friend of mine. Tell Miss Bascomb it's all
right."
But his sister had followed him and stood gazing at the upturned ghastly
face.
"Wallie!" she cried, "it's David. Oh, Wallie--"
James sprang to her as she swayed, and drooped to a passive weight in
his arms.
Together they carried her up the steps and into the house. Miss Ross
directed them to an upper room, where with quiet directness she
administered restoratives to the unconscious girl.
Bascomb motioned to James, who descended the stairs, and crossing the
walk, stooped over the inert figure. He tried to lift the man to the
car, but was unable to more than partially drag him along the pavement.
"Miss Bascomb is all right now. She fainted, and no wonder," said
Bascomb, as he joined the chauffeur. Together they placed David in the
car. "Just a minute, Jimmy." He dashed upstairs and to the bedroom.
"What was it, dearie?" Miss Ross was smoothing the girl's forehead with
a soothing hand.
"A man--in the street--we nearly ran over him."
Her brother signaled his approval with his eyes and turned toward Miss
Ross. "You'll excuse me, but I'll have to run up to the hospital with
him. He seems to have had a fit of some kind. I'll be back soon."
"It's Miss Ross's nephew. I didn't tell her," he said, as he climbed
into the chauffeur's seat. "You make him as comfortable as you can,
Jimmy. The hospital's the place for him. It's quicker if he's
hurt--besides, I didn't have the heart to tell her, but I'll have to
when I come back."
The car jumped forward as he spoke, and Jimmy, half supporting the sick
man, remembered nothing distinctly except the hum of the engines and two
long streaks of light on each side of the roadway until they slowed down
at the doors of the hospital.
They waited in an anteroom while David was being examined by a corpulent
and apparently disinterested individual, who finally called an attendant
and gave a few brief directions.
"No fractures and apparently no internal injuries, but he's had a close
call sometime or other," he concluded, running his fingers over the scar
above David's temple. "I'll step out and see his friends."
"Why, hello, Bascomb. Didn't recognize you at first. Who is the chap?"
"Davy Ross, Miss Ross's nephew. I think you know her, Doctor Leighton."
"To be sure. So that's her nephew. I'd forgotten him."
"What's wrong with him, Doctor?"
"Can't say yet. I'll telephone Miss Ross right away that there's no
immediate danger. Fine woman, Miss Ross."
"I'm going back there myself, Doctor, so if there is any message--?"
"Can't say yet, but you might tell her that I will look after him. Knew
his father," said the surgeon, cleaning his glasses and replacing them.
"May have to operate. That wound above his ear, you know."
"That was a rifle bullet. He got shot up North last year."
"H-u-m-m. Well, we'll see."