BACK TO STOP SEVEN
Charles Holton met his brother Fred in the lobby of the Morton House on
an afternoon near the end of January. Charles was presenting a buoyant
exterior to the world despite a renewal of the disquieting rumors of the
fall as to Sycamore Traction and equally disagreeable hints in inner
financial and legal circles as to the reopening of Samuel Holton's
estate. He resented Fred's meddling in the matter; he was the head of
the family and a man of affairs, and he was not pleasantly impressed by
the fact that on two occasions to his knowledge Fred had visited
Kirkwood at his Indianapolis office.
"I want to see you," said Charles. "Why don't you come to see me when
you're in the city and save me the trouble of chasing over here?"
"Well, Charlie, you've found me now. What is it you want?"
"Come up to my room. I don't care to have all Montgomery hear us."
When the door closed on them, Charles threw off his overcoat and
confronted his brother with a dark countenance.
"You're playing the devil with the whole bunch of us--do you realize
that! You've been sneaking over to Kirkwood to tell him all our family
history. You think by playing up to him you'll get a lot of money. If
you had any claims against father's estate you ought to have come to me
with them--not gone to the man that's trying to pull us all down."
"Stop, right where you are! I went to Kirkwood because I felt that the
only square thing was to turn the farm over to him until things were
straightened out. And after I'd turned in the farm, you fell over
yourself to surrender some stuff you had--things you'd tried to hide or
placed a fake appraisement on."
Charles, standing by the window with his hands in his pockets, smiled
derisively. Fred's long ulster accentuated his rural appearance. He was
a big fellow and his deep voice had boomed with an aggressive note his
brother resented.
"Don't bawl as though you were driving cattle. There's no need of
telling all Main Street our affairs. Do you know what's the matter with
you--Kirkwood's working you! He's trying to scare you with threats of
the penitentiary into telling him a lot of stuff about the family. He
meant to try it on me, but I beat him to it--I told him to go to the
bottom of everything. And if you'd kept your mouth shut I'd have taken
care of you, too. You took that farm with your eyes open; and I'll say
to you right now that you got a better share of the estate than Ethel
and I did."
"Then you haven't anything to be afraid of. If it's all straight there
can't be any trouble. Is this all you wanted?"
This was evidently not in the least what Charles wanted, for he changed
his tone and the direction of the talk.
"You know, Fred, I was in father's confidence very fully. I am older
than you, and I was associated with him in his schemes and knew all
about them. Father was a very able man; you know that; everybody said he
was one of the shrewdest and most farseeing men in the state. I won't
say that his methods were always just what they should have been; but
he's dead and gone, and it's not for us to jump on him or let anybody
else kick him. So far we understand each other, don't we?"
"All right; hurry up with the rest of it."
"This is not a hurrying matter. I've got to take you into my confidence,
and I want it understood that what I say doesn't go back to Kirkwood.
He's a relentless devil, once he gets started. I suppose it hasn't
occurred to you that he may have a motive for pursuing us--you and me
and any other Holton he has a chance to injure. You see that point,
don't you?"
"No. What is it?"
"Well, you're duller than I think you are if it hasn't occurred to you
that Kirkwood is trying to even up with us for the loss of his wife. It
was our dear Uncle Jack that ran off with her; it was a Holton that did
it! You recollect that, don't you?"
"I seem to recall it," replied Fred ironically. He had mechanically
drawn out his pipe and was filling it from a canvas bag of cheap
tobacco.
"And that's all there is to it. Kirkwood had mooned around town here for
years, doing nothing. Then suddenly an old friend of his in the East
took pity on him and gave him this Sycamore Company to meddle in, and
he's contemptible enough to use a law case for personal vengeance
against perfectly innocent people. And you walked into the trap like a
silly sheep!"
"You know you don't believe that, Charlie. Kirkwood isn't that kind of
man. He's on the level and high grade."
"He may be all that; but he's a human being too. There's no man on earth
who'd pass a thing like that. An ignorant, coarse beast would have shot
somebody; but an educated man like Kirkwood calculates carefully and
sticks the knife in when he sees a chance to make it go clear through.
That girl of his is the cutest kid in Indiana, and I wouldn't do
anything to hurt her. But we've got to protect ourselves, you and I,
Fred. We're not responsible for Uncle Jack's sins. The whole thing is
blistering Kirkwood right now because Uncle Jack's turned up and the
lady in the case has had so little decency as to follow him."
"I don't suppose she thought of doing anything of the kind. She and
Uncle Jack broke long ago. He told me so, in fact, at Indianapolis, and
made her cruel abandonment an excuse for borrowing five dollars of me."
"Well, we've got to get rid of _him_! He's doing all he can against us;
sending people to Kirkwood with stories about father, and the traction
business. I tell you, Fred," he declared ardently, "our family is in
danger of going to hell if you and I don't do something pretty quick to
stop it."
Fred puffed his pipe and watched his brother fidgeting nervously about
the room. A phonograph across the street called attention to a
moving-picture show. In the hotel office below, the porter proclaimed
the departure of the 'bus to connect with the six-three for Peoria and
all points West.
"There they go now!" exclaimed Charles from the window. "By George!
She's a good-looking woman yet!"
Fred joined him and looked down. Phil and her mother were passing
rapidly on the opposite side of the street. Unconsciously Fred drew off
his cap.
"She's a very pleasant woman," he remarked. "Phil introduced me to her
the other day."
"The devil she did! Where did all this happen?"
"At Mr. Montgomery's. Phil's staying there while her father's away."
"I like your cheek! They say my nerve is pretty well developed, but it
isn't equal to that. How did our late aunt--I suppose that's what she
is," he grinned--"take you?"
"Like a lady, for instance. My going there wasn't as cheeky as you
imagine. I was invited."
"Phil?"
"No; Mr. Montgomery."
"There must be a trick in it somewhere. He's a foxy old boy, that Amzi.
Has the general appearance of a fool, but he never loses any money."
"He's offered me a job," said Fred.
"He's _what_?"
"Offered me a job."
"What's the joke? You don't mean that with all this fuss over his
sister's coming back he's picked out a Holton to offer a job to!"
"That's what's happened. They want Perry--his farmer--to take a teaching
place at the agricultural school. It's a fine chance for him, and Mr.
Montgomery has released him from his contract. Perry recommended me, and
Mr. Montgomery asked me to the house a few evenings ago to talk it over.
The arrangement includes my own farm, too, which Kirkwood holds as
trustee until the Sycamore business is straightened out."
Charles backed away and stared at his brother scornfully.
"You idiot! don't you see what they're doing? They're buying you body
and soul. They want to get you on their side--don't you see it?--to use
against Uncle Will and me. Well! of all the smooth, cold-blooded,
calculating scoundrels I ever heard of, they are the beatingest. Of
course you _saw_ it; you haven't walked into the trap!"
"I've accepted the position."
"You blundering fool, you can't accept it! I won't let you accept it!"
"I'm moving my traps to the Montgomery farmhouse to-morrow, so you'll
have to call out the troops if you stop me."
"Well, of all the damned fools!" Then after a turn across the room he
flashed round at his brother. "Look here, Fred; I see your game. You
want to marry that girl. Well, you can't do that either!"
"All right, Charlie. Suppose you write out a list of the various things
I can't do so I won't miss any of them. You haven't any sense of humor
or you wouldn't talk about Phil marrying me. Phil's not likely to marry
a clodhopper, her uncle's hired hand."
"Don't be an ass, Fred. Phil's a fine girl; she's a wonder."
"I suppose," said Fred deliberately, "that if you wanted to marry Phil
Kirkwood yourself there would be no disloyalty to our family in that. It
would be perfectly proper; quite the right thing."
"I didn't say I wanted to marry her," jerked Charles.
He was pacing the floor with bent head. His brother's equanimity
irritated him and intensified his anger. He struck his hands together
suddenly as though emphasizing a resolution, and arrested Fred, who had
knocked the ashes from his pipe and was walking slowly toward the door.
"I say, Fred, I didn't mean to flare up that way, but all this Sycamore
business has got on my nerves. Sit down a minute. Uncle Will's in a
terrible funk. Plumb scared to death. And just between you and me he's
got a right to be."
He crossed to the door, opened it and peered into the hall. Fred
balanced himself on the footboard of the bed, and watched his brother
expectantly. Earlier in the interview Charles had begun to say something
as to their father's affairs, but had failed to reach the point, either
by design or through the chance drift of their talk. Charles was deeply
worried; that was clear; and Fred resolved to give him time to swing
back to the original starting-point.
"I'm sorry if Uncle Will's in trouble," he remarked.
"It's the First National," Charles went on in an excited whisper. "The
examiner made a bad report last month and the Comptroller sent a special
agent out who's raised the devil--threatened to shut him up. That's bad
enough. If old Kirkwood gets ugly about Sycamore, you can't tell what he
may do. He's playing an awful deep, quiet game. The fact is he's got us
all where he wants us. If he turned the screws right now we're pinched.
And here's something I didn't mean to tell you; but I've got to; and
you've got to come in and help me. Father knew the Sycamore was
over-bonded. The construction company was only a fake and charged about
double a fair price for its work. Father only cashed part of the bonds
he got on the construction deal and hid the rest; and when he died
suddenly I had to think hard and act quick, for I saw the road was going
to the bad, and that the people who had bought bonds in good faith would
rise up and howl. When I took hold as administrator, I inventoried only
the obvious stuff--that's why it looked so small. I meant to give you
and Ethel your share when the danger was all over--didn't want to
involve you; you see how it was. And now Kirkwood's trying to trace
that stuff--about three hundred thousand--a hundred thousand apiece for
you and Ethel and me. No; not a word till I get through," he whispered
hoarsely as Fred tried to break in. "They can send me up for that;
juggling the inventory; but you see how we're all in the same boat. And
what you can do to save me and the bank and father's good name is to go
to Kirkwood--he thinks well of you and will believe you--and tell him
you know positively that father never got any of the construction bonds.
You can be sure the construction company fellows got rid of theirs and
took themselves off long ago. It was a fake company, anyhow. It's all in
Kirkwood's hands; if you shut him off, Uncle Will can pull the bank
through. And I'll give you your share of the bonds now."
The perspiration glistened on his forehead; he ran his hands through his
hair nervously. Misreading the look in Fred's face for incredulity, he
pointed to the closet door.
"I've got the bonds in my suit-case; I was afraid Kirkwood might find a
way of getting into my safety box at Indianapolis. He's no end smart,
that fellow. And I figure that if the road goes into a receivership the
bonds will pay sixty anyhow. You see where that puts you--no more of
this farmer rot. You'd be well fixed. And it will be easy for you to
satisfy Kirkwood. Just the right word and he will pull his probe out of
the administratorship, and get a receiver who will represent us and give
us the proceeds when the trouble's all over. Damn it! Don't look at me
that way! Don't you see that I've been taking big chances in hiding that
stuff, just for you and Ethel! I'm going crazy with the responsibility
of all this, and now you've got to help me out. And if Kirkwood gets to
the grand jury with that administration business, you see where it puts
us--what it means to you and Ethel, the disgrace of it. Don't forget
that father took those bonds--his share of Sycamore swag--and left it up
to me to defend his good name and divide the proceeds when it was safe.
Don't stand there like a dead man! Say something, can't you!"
It had slowly dawned upon Fred that he was listening to an appeal for
mercy, a cry for help from this jaunty, cocksure brother. It was a
miserable mess; beyond doubt much of what he had heard in the stuffy
hotel room was true. It would not be Charles's way to incriminate
himself so far unless driven to it by direst necessity. It was clear
that he was alarmed for his personal safety. Fred did not doubt that
Charles had attempted to swindle him; had in fact gone the full length
of doing so. His simple, direct nature was awed by a confession that
combined so many twists and turns, so many oblique lines and loops and
circles. He sank into a creaky rocker, and rapped the arm idly with his
pipe-bowl, conscious that Charles hovered over him as though fearful
that he might escape.
"Come back to life, can't you! It's not much I'm asking of you; it won't
cost you anything to help tide this thing over with Kirkwood. And you
get your share right now--to-night. Why--" His lip curled with scornful
depreciation as he began again to minimize the importance of the
transaction.
Fred shook himself impatiently.
"Please don't! Don't go over that story again or I may do something
ugly. Sit down over there in that chair."
He bent forward, his elbows on his knees and gesticulated with the pipe,
speaking slowly.
"Let's shake the chaff out and see what's left of all this. You stole my
share of those bonds, and now that you're in danger of getting caught
you want me to help you hide the boodle. You flatter me with the idea
that my reputation is so much better than yours that I'm in a position
to keep you out of jail. And for a little thing like that you're willing
to give me my honest share of a crooked deal! You're a wonder, Charlie!
It must have tickled you to death to see me turning my poor old farm
over to Kirkwood to uphold the family honor while you were chasing over
the country with the real stuff packed away with your pajamas. It's
picturesque, I must say!"
His eyes rested upon his brother's face lingeringly, but his tone and
manner were indulgent, as though he were an older brother who had caught
a younger one in a misdemeanor.
"Cut that out! I've told you the whole truth. If you won't help, all
right."
"No, it isn't all right. There's no all right about any of this. It's
rotten clean through."
He frowned with the stress of his thought, then rose, and began
buttoning his coat.
"Well?" Charles questioned harshly, impatient for his brother's
decision.
"I won't do it. I won't have anything to do with your scheme. After the
trouble you've taken to steal those bonds it would be a shame to take
any of them away from you. I advise you to carry them back to
Indianapolis and turn them over to Kirkwood. He's not half the
cold-blooded scoundrel you seem to think. You'd make a big hit with
him."
"And after I've told you everything--after I've shown you that I was
only covering up father's share in that construction business, for your
sake, and our sister's, that's all you've got to say about it!"
"Every word!"
A malevolent grin crossed the older man's face. He was white with
passion.
"You'll pay for this; I'll land one on you for this that will hurt."
He waited expectantly for Fred to demand the nature of this vengeance;
his rage cried for the satisfaction of seeing him flinch at the blow.
Fred settled his cap on his head and walked stolidly toward the door.
Charles caught him by the shoulder and flung him round.
"You think you can drop me like that! Not by a damned sight you can't!
You think you stand pretty close to the Montgomerys, don't you?--the
only real good Holton in the bunch--but I'll give you a jar. You imagine
you're going to marry Phil, don't you?--but I'll show you a thing or
two. I'm going to marry Phil myself; it's all practically understood."
"That's all right, too, Charlie," replied Fred calmly. "The ambition
does you proud. I suppose when you tell Kirkwood you're engaged to his
daughter he will call off the dogs."
"Oh, they're not so high and mighty! Now that Phil's mother has brought
her smirched reputation back here, Phil will be glad to marry and get
out."
"Just for old time's sake, Charlie, I advise you not to play that card."
"You're too late with your advice. That day Phil and I climbed The
Cliffs she promised to marry me. You saw us up there; that was before
her mother came back. But as far as her mother's concerned, I'll stand
for her. A woman that's been through the divorce mill twice has got to
be humble. You can be dead sure she would never have shown up here if it
hadn't been for old Amzi's ducats. Women like that go where the money
comes easiest."
Fred listened with a kind of bewildered intensity. That a man should
speak thus of the mother of a girl whom he meant to marry touched the
uttermost depths of vulgarity. Little as he had in common with his
brother, he had never believed him capable of anything so base. Yet much
as he distrusted him, he half-believed the story of the engagement.
There must be some basis for his declaration, and it would be quite like
Charles to hasten matters with a view to blocking Kirkwood's
investigations of the Holton estate. Jealousy and anger surged in his
heart. The air of the room stifled him.
"You've lost your mind; that's the only way I can explain you. If you
were quite sane, you wouldn't forget the part our father's brother
played in Phil's mother's affairs."
"Don't take that tragic tone with me; Uncle Jack's told me all about
that woman. She's the very devil. She led him a dog's life until he
chucked her."
Fred nodded, slowly drawing on his gloves, whose shabbiness affected his
brother disagreeably. Charles had expected to score heavily with his
declaration that Phil had promised to marry him; but this had apparently
been a wasted shot. He wondered whether he had misread the symptoms that
had seemed to indicate Fred's interest in that quarter.
Fred's composure was irritating. Charles was never sure what impression
he made on this quiet brother, whose very unresponsiveness had driven
him to disclosures he had not meant to make. He had managed the
interview clumsily; he was not up to the mark, or he would not have made
so many false starts in this talk, on whose results he had counted much.
His fingers touched his scarfpin and tie nervously.
"Now that you know the whole business I needn't ask you to keep your
mouth shut. But I suppose with your delicate sense of honor I'm safe."
"You are quite safe, Charlie. I'd repeat my advice if I thought it would
do any good. I'd turn that stuff over to Kirkwood as quickly as I
could."
He had opened the door and started down the hall when Charles, his
apprehensions aroused as he saw his brother's determined stride toward
the stairs, sprang after him.
"What are you up to; where are you going?" he demanded excitedly.
"Stop 7. Good-night!"