"Brother? No--never had. He and my mother were the only ones."
"Or any relation who--who looks like him? Who might be mistaken
for him?"
"Not that I ever heard of. Does he remind you of some one?"
"Yes."
"That's queer. We'll ask him if he's got a double. Come on!"
But another picture had arrested Faxon, and some minutes elapsed
before he and his young host reached the dining-room. It was a
large room, with the same conventionally handsome furniture and
delicately grouped flowers; and Faxon's first glance showed him
that only three men were seated about the dining-table. The man
who had stood behind Mr. Lavington's chair was not present, and no
seat awaited him.
When the young men entered, Mr. Grisben was speaking, and his
host, who faced the door, sat looking down at his untouched soup-
plate and turning the spoon about in his small dry hand.
"It's pretty late to call them rumors--they were devilish close to
facts when we left town this morning," Mr. Grisben was saying,
with an unexpected incisiveness of tone.
Mr. Lavington laid down his spoon and smiled interrogatively. "Oh,
facts--what are facts! Just the way a thing happens to look at a
given minute."
"You haven't heard anything from town?" Mr. Grisben persisted.
"Not a syllable. So you see ... Balch, a little more of that
petite marmite. Mr. Faxon ... between Frank and Mr. Grisben,
please."
The dinner progressed through a series of complicated courses,
ceremoniously dispensed by a stout butler attended by three tall
footmen, and it was evident that Mr. Lavington took a somewhat
puerile satisfaction in the pageant. That, Faxon reflected, was
probably the joint in his armor--that and the flowers. He had
changed the subject--not abruptly but firmly--when the young men
entered, but Faxon perceived that it still possessed the thoughts
of the two elderly visitors, and Mr. Balch presently observed, in
a voice that seemed to come from the last survivor down a mine-
shaft: "If it does come, it will be the biggest crash since '93."
Mr. Lavington looked bored but polite. "Wall Street can stand
crashes better than it could then. It's got a robuster
constitution."
"Yes; but--"
"Speaking of constitutions," Mr. Grisben intervened: "Frank, are
you taking care of yourself?"
A flush rose to young Rainer's cheeks.
"Why, of course! Isn't that what I'm here for?"
"You're here about three days in the month, aren't you? And the
rest of the time it's crowded restaurants and hot ballrooms in
town. I thought you were to be shipped off to New Mexico?"
"Oh, I've got a new man who says that's rot."
"Well, you don't look as if your new man were right," said Mr.
Grisben bluntly.
Faxon saw the lad's color fade, and the rings of shadow deepen
under his gay eyes. At the same moment his uncle turned to him
with a renewed intensity of attention. There was such solicitude
in Mr. Lavington's gaze that it seemed almost to fling a tangible
shield between his nephew and Mr. Grisben's tactless scrutiny.
"We think Frank's a good deal better," he began; "this new doctor--"
The butler, coming up, bent discreetly to whisper a word in his
ear, and the communication caused a sudden change in Mr.
Lavington's expression. His face was naturally so colorless that
it seemed not so much to pale as to fade, to dwindle and recede
into something blurred and blotted-out. He half rose, sat down
again and sent a rigid smile about the table.
"Will you excuse me? The telephone. Peters, go on with the
dinner." With small precise steps he walked out of the door which
one of the footmen had hastened to throw open.
A momentary silence fell on the group; then Mr. Grisben once more
addressed himself to Rainer. "You ought to have gone, my boy; you
ought to have gone."
The anxious look returned to the youth's eyes. "My uncle doesn't
think so, really."
"You're not a baby, to be always governed on your uncle's opinion.
You came of age to-day, didn't you? Your uncle spoils you ...
that's what's the matter...."
The thrust evidently went home, for Rainer laughed and looked down
with a slight accession of color.
"But the doctor----"
"Use your common sense, Frank! You had to try twenty doctors to
find one to tell you what you wanted to be told."
A look of apprehension overshadowed Rainer's gaiety. "Oh, come--I
say! ... What would YOU do?" he stammered.
"Pack up and jump on the first train." Mr. Grisben leaned forward
and laid a firm hand on the young man's arm "Look here: my nephew
Jim Grisben is out there ranching on a big scale. He'll take you
in and be glad to have you. You say your new doctor thinks it
won't do you any good; but he doesn't pretend to say it will do
you harm, does he? Well, then--give it a trial. It'll take you out
of hot theatres and night restaurants, anyhow.... And all the rest
of it.... Eh, Balch?"
"Go!" said Mr. Balch hollowly. "Go AT ONCE," he added, as if a
closer look at the youth's face had impressed on him the need of
backing up his friend.
Young Rainer had turned ashy-pale. He tried to stiffen his mouth,
into a smile. "Do I look as bad as all that?"
Mr. Grisben was helping himself to terrapin. "You look like the
day after an earthquake," he said concisely.
The terrapin had encircled the table, and been deliberately
enjoyed by Mr. Lavington's three visitors (Rainer, Faxon noticed,
left his plate untouched) before the door was thrown open to re-
admit their host.
Mr. Lavington advanced with an air of recovered composure. He
seated himself, picked up his napkin, and consulted the gold-
monogrammed menu. "No, don't bring back the filet.... Some
terrapin; yes...." He looked affably about the table. "Sorry to
have deserted you, but the storm has played the deuce with the
wires, and I had to wait a long time before I could get a good
connection. It must be blowing up for a blizzard."
"Uncle Jack," young Rainer broke out, "Mr. Grisben's been
lecturing me."