AT STEINWAY HALL.
Simon Moore, the book-keeper in the broker’s office where Gilbert was
employed, was a young man, somewhat under thirty. He understood his
business very well, and thus far had given satisfaction to Mr. Sands.
Personally, however, he was not agreeable. He was irritable and
exacting, and had not been liked even by his cousin John, when the
latter was office boy. Now, however, that John had been discharged, the
book-keeper, as we have seen, made common cause with him, and John came
to look upon him as a friend.
In this Moore was not altogether disinterested. John’s mother, who was
his aunt, kept a boarding-house, and found it difficult to meet her
expenses. John’s wages, though small, were important to her, and now
that she was deprived of this resource, her nephew feared that he might
be called on for assistance. It was in order to save his own purse that
he desired to reinstate John in his old place. The readiest method that
occurred to him was to prejudice Mr. Sands against Gilbert.
“Are you going out this evening, cousin Simon?” asked John, one evening.
“I may go out by and by.”
“May I go with you?”
“If you want to.”
Simon Moore was not always willing to be troubled with his cousin, but
this evening he chanced to be in a pleasanter humor than usual.
“I have tickets to a concert, John,” he said. “Would you like to go?”
“Very much,” answered John, readily.
“The tickets were given me by a friend of mine, who is on the ‘Times,’”
explained Moore.
“Where is the concert, cousin Simon?”
“At Steinway Hall.”
It was, in fact, the same concert to which Gilbert was invited by Mr.
Vivian.
The book-keeper was not remarkable for his liberality, and John had been
not a little surprised at receiving the invitation, until he learned
that the tickets had cost his cousin nothing.
Eight o’clock found them in their seats at Steinway Hall. The concert
did not commence punctually, and they had some time to look about them.
“Do you see any one you know, cousin Simon,” asked John.
“Yes,” said the book-keeper, “I see a particular friend of yours.”
“A particular friend of mine!” repeated John, puzzled. “Where?”
“Five rows in front of this. There, near the centre of the hall.”
“I don’t see any body I know.”
“It is Gilbert Greyson, your successor in our office.”
“It is he, I declare. He is talking to a pretty girl beside him.”
“That girl is the daughter of Mr. Vivian, the great importer.”
“You don’t say so. How on earth did he come to know her?”
“I can’t say,” answered Moore, coldly. “He is a very forward, pushing
fellow. That may explain it.”
“I hate him,” said John.
“I don’t love him overmuch myself,” said Moore.
John and his cousin were not the only acquaintances who recognized
Gilbert on that evening.
Randolph and his mother sat two rows behind the Vivians. Mr. Briggs had
intended to come, but had a headache. He had suggested that the extra
ticket be sent to Gilbert; but Mrs. Briggs had decisively objected.
“I don’t care about having that boy seen with us in Steinway Hall,” she
said.
“Why not?” asked Mr. Briggs.
“I don’t fancy him. Besides, he would be presuming on our kindness.”
“I don’t think he is the kind of boy to do that,” said Mr. Briggs, who
understood Gilbert much better than his wife. “It is a pity the ticket
should not be used.”
“If it were in a different part of the house, away from our seats, I
should not care particularly,” said Mrs. Briggs. “If he went with us, he
might be thought to be a near relative.”
“I don’t think he would do us any discredit, either in appearance or in
manners,” said her husband.
“You are simply infatuated with that boy, Mr. Briggs. I am sure Randolph
doesn’t want his company.”
“No, I don’t,” said Randolph.
“Like mother, like son,” thought Mr. Briggs; but for the sake of peace
he did not think it best to press the matter.
Soon after Randolph and his mother took their seats, the former
discovered Gilbert sitting nearly in front of him.
“He’s here, after all, mother,” he exclaimed, in a low voice.
“Who is here, Randolph?”
“Gilbert Greyson. Don’t you see him?”
“He’s with the Vivians, too!” ejaculated Mrs. Briggs, unpleasantly
surprised. “That boy doesn’t appear to have a particle of shame.”
“He needn’t be ashamed of his company. I wish I were in his place.”
“I don’t mean that. He probably hinted to Mr. Vivian to take him, and he
couldn’t very well refuse.”
“Very likely,” said Randolph. “He’s got plenty of cheek.”
Both mother and son could see that Gilbert and Laura Vivian were
conversing pleasantly, judging from the smiles on the faces of each.
“Mr. and Mrs. Vivian are not very wise in permitting such an intimacy
between their daughter and a penniless boy,” said Mrs. Briggs, frowning.
“Some people are very unwise.”
“I dare say he pretends he is rich, and boasts of father’s being his
guardian,” suggested Randolph.
“I dare say you are correct,” said Mrs. Briggs. “If I knew Mrs. Vivian,
I would correct that wrong impression.”
Here the music commenced, and the two were silent.
Randolph cared very little for the music, which was too classical to
suit his taste. He did not expect to like it, but he went because he
knew that the audience would be a fashionable one, and he liked to be
seen on such occasions. Gilbert had more musical taste, and appreciated
the greater part of what he had heard.
When the concert was over, he thanked Mr. Vivian cordially for the
invitation.
“I have had a very pleasant evening, thanks to you, sir,” he said.
“I am glad you have enjoyed it,” said Mr. Vivian, kindly. “Come and see
us soon.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Just after this parting, Gilbert fell in with Mrs. Briggs and Randolph.
“Good-evening, Mrs. Briggs,” he said, politely. “Good-evening, Randolph.
Where were you sitting? I did not see you.”
“We saw you,” said Randolph. “You were nearly in front of us.”
“Did Mr. Vivian invite you to come?” asked Mrs. Briggs, coldly.
“Yes, madam.”
“You are making the most of your chance meeting with them.”
There was something unpleasant in her tone, and Gilbert detected it.
“They have been very kind and polite to me,” he answered, in a reserved
tone.
“I would not advise you to presume upon it too far,” continued Mrs.
Briggs.
“I don’t intend to, madam,” said Gilbert, stiffly. “I don’t think I
have.”
“You seemed very attentive to Laura,” said Randolph, with a
characteristic sneer.
“It was my duty to be polite,” said Gilbert.
By this time they had reached the street, and Gilbert said
“Good-evening.”
Neither Mrs. Briggs nor Randolph invited him to call, though the fact
that Mr. Briggs was still his guardian would have made such an
invitation only an act of ordinary politeness.
As he made his way toward Fourth Avenue, Gilbert brushed against Simon
Moore and John; but having his mind occupied, he did not notice them.
“There he goes!” said John, enviously. “I wish I had as much cheek as
that fellow has.”
“You’ve got a fair amount, John,” said his cousin, drily.
“I didn’t know it,” said John, aggrieved.
“Never mind, John,” said the book-keeper, with unwonted good-humor.
“Suppose we go in somewhere and have oysters. I feel hungry.”
“So do I,” said John, briskly. “I know a bully place near by.”
“If it’s a good place, you can lead me there. While we are discussing
the oysters, I have a little plan to tell you about, that may give you
back your place at our office.”
“Good!” said John. “You’re a true friend, cousin Simon.”
Ten minutes later they were sitting in a curtained compartment, in a
saloon famous for the excellence of its oysters.
In the next compartment, two minutes previous, Mr. Sands, the broker,
had taken his seat and given his order; but of this neither John nor his
cousin had the slightest suspicion.