horror and remorse, flung on again with Garth and Levin striking wild
beside him. 'Twas a wicked rush, but now the fight stood five to three,
and in the crash Levin slipped and got a dagger in his throat, while Tad
spurred through an open way. Then as he reined and turned, the end was
come, for Garm's shrill death-cry tore the air, and he was left alone.
Thrice he charged like a wounded boar, shouting hoarsely for the house
he had betrayed. "The Wolf! The Wolf! Saint David and the Wolf!"
And ever he found that open way and ever their steel avoided him.
At last he reined in his sweating mare and fell to cursing, his face
distraught with agony and wet with blood and sweat and tears. So he
stood, desperate--at bay, and taunted them with every vileness his
furious tongue could frame. Then faltered at last with a great
heartbroken sob, for they sat silent and still and would not give him
fight.
On the road at his horse's feet Cedric lay and Rhys, and over yonder in
the grass the other two. He swayed weakly as he looked, then slid from
his saddle and stooping, kissed his cousins one by one, with those grim,
silent figures looking on. He broke his sword across his knee--his
father, Gruffydd's sword--and flung the pieces with an oath at Llyn.
Then, ere they could guess his meaning, his dagger flashed, and with a
last weak cry for "the Wolf," he fell with the men of his House.
* * * * *
Back at Llangarth the great hall was aglow and Daurn chuckled and waited
and plucked at his beard, till, just past midnight, there came a sudden
commotion and the heavy tramp of horses in the outer court. Then Gwenith
ran in white and wild, and kneeling, buried her sobs in the drapery of
the couch. And ere her father could question her a group of sombre
figures filled the doorway.
'Twas a dream--surely 'twas a fearful dream! Or were they ghosts? Yes,
that was it; see the blood on them! He was either dreaming or these were
the very dead.
They drew up to the couch, Llyn and his tall, stern sons. Daurn knew
them well and strove to curse them, but the Cadwallader's grave voice
hushed him to a sudden fear.
"Peace be with thee, Daurn-ap-Tavis, we come--to bid thee farewell."
Daurn gasped and stuttered, his fingers clawing fearfully while a cold
sweat broke out over his forehead. But ere he found his voice two of
Llyn's sons, David and Sion, drew away to the door, and later, Llewellen
and Pen. They came back heavily and laid their burdens gently by the
fire logs and returned, then came again and went. Five times in all. And
an awful fear was in Daurn's eyes as he glared at those still, muffled
shapes lying close beside him in the firelight.
Then Llyn spoke, slow and sorrowfully, as he stooped and one by one drew
the face-cloths from the dead.
"Peace be with thee, Daurn-ap-Tavis; thy son Cedric--bids thee farewell.
"Rhys--bids thee farewell.
"Also Tad, thy brother's son--bids thee farewell."
But the end was come, for Daurn, with a little childish cry, had gone to
seek his sons. Llyn stooped and gently closed the old Wolf's eyes, then
with bent head and weary step passed from the room.
But young Davy stole back softly and knelt near the stricken girl at the
foot of the couch.
X
THE WOOING OF BETTINA
A Story of Finance
By W.Y. SHEPPARD
MR. PAUL STRUMLEY stood on the veranda of Mr. Richard Stokes's sumptuous
home in the fashionable suburb of Lawrenceville and faced the daughter
of the house indignantly. The daughter of the house was also plainly
perturbed. Their mutual agitation was sharply accentuated by the fresh
calmness of the spring morning, which seemed to hover like a north-bound
bird over the wide, velvety lawn.
"Bettina," announced Mr. Strumley suddenly, "your father is--is----"
"An old goose."
"No, a brute!"
This explosion appeared momentarily to relieve his state of mind. But in
his breast there was still left a sufficiency of outraged dignity to
warm his cheeks hotly, and not by any means without an abundance of
cause. Scarcely an hour before he had nervously, yet exultantly,
alighted from his big touring car in front of the Commercial Bank, to
seek the president of that institution in the sanctity of his private
office. There, briefly but eloquently, he announced the engagement of
Miss Bettina Stokes to Mr. Paul Strumley, and naively requested for the
happy young people a full share of the parental sanction and blessing.
And his callow confidence can hardly be condemned on recalling that he
was one of the wealthiest and most popular young swains in the city. Mr.
Stokes, however, did not seem to take this into consideration. On the
contrary, he rose to the occasion with an outburst of disapprobation too
inflammatory to be set on paper, and quickly followed it with a
picturesque and uncompromising ultimatum. In the confused distress of
the unexpected Mr. Strumley found himself unable to marshal a single
specimen of logical refutation. He could only retreat in haste, to
recover, if possible, at leisure.
But this leisure, the time it had taken him to hurl the machine across
town to Bettina, had proven sadly insufficient. When he rushed up the
steps to the veranda, where sat the object of his affections rocking in
beautiful serenity, he was still choking from indignation, and had found
it hard to tell her in coherent sentences that her father had
energetically refused the honor of an alliance with the highly
respectable Strumley family.
The grounds, however, on which had been based this unreasonable
objection were of all things under the sun the most preposterous. Mr.
Stokes had emphatically declared that his daughter's happiness was too
dear to him to be foolishly entrusted to one who could not even manage
his own affairs, let alone the affairs of a wife, and, presumably later,
of a family. Mr. Strumley was rich at present, so much was readily
conceded; but he was not capable himself of taking care of what a
thrifty parent had laid by for him. He in his weak-mindedness was
compelled to hire the brains of a mere substitute, a manager, if you
prefer. Should anything happen, and such things happen every day, where
would Mr. Strumley be? And where, pray, would be his wife and family? In
the poorhouse!
"My daughter is too good for a man who cannot manage his own concerns,"
the irate father had summed up. "When you have shown yourself capable,
my lad, of competing in the world with grown-up intellects, then there
will be time enough for you to contemplate matrimony--and not until
then. Good morning to you, Mr. Strumley."
"And he snapped his jaws together like a vise," recalled Paul, coming
out from his gloomy retrospection.
"If he shut them so," and Bettina worked her pretty chin out to its
farthest extension, "well, that means he is like the man from Missouri;
you've got to show him before he changes his mind one iota."
"I ought to have been humping over a desk from the start," regretted Mr.
Strumley, feeling his bulging biceps dolefully. "It's all right stroking
a crew, and heaps of fun, too, but it doesn't win you a wife. Now
there's your dad, he couldn't pull a soap box across a bath tub; but he
can pull through a 'deal' I couldn't budge with a hand-spike."
Miss Bettina sighed sympathetically, and smiled appreciatively. She felt
deeply for her lover, and was justly proud of such a capable parent.
"Every one does say papa is an excellent business man," she remarked;
"and he certainly can swing some wonderful deals. Only yesterday I
accidentally overheard him telling Mr. Proctor that he held an option--I
think that was the word--from Haynes, Forster & Company on thousands and
thousands of acres of timber land in Arkansas. He said it would expire
to-day at two o'clock, but that he was going to buy the land for
cash--'spot cash' he said was what they demanded."
Mr. Strumley smiled ruefully. "And I guess it will be some of my 'spot
cash,'" he ruminated. "I am not saying anything against your father,
Bettina, but if it wasn't for such idle good-for-nothings as myself, who
let their money accumulate in his bank, I doubt if he could swing many
of these 'big deals.' If we were like he wanted us to be, we'd be
swinging them ourselves."
After Mr. Strumley had finished his bit of philosophy, he fell to
communing with himself. Apparently his own wisdom had stirred a new
thought within his breast. It had. He was beginning to wonder what would
happen if Bettina's father suddenly found himself bereft of sufficient
"spot cash" to take advantage of this option. Anyone having a second
call on same might be fortunate enough to swing the "big deal"--and
profit by it, according to his intentions!
"Paul," Bettina broke in upon his meditations, a little note of hopeful
pleading in her voice, "it might not be too late for you to--to
reform?"
Mr. Strumley aroused himself with difficulty, and looked into her
bewitching face before replying. Then: "Maybe you are right," he mused;
"at any rate I have an idea." And kissing her thoughtfully, he strode
down the steps toward where encouragingly panted his car.
The car proudly bore Mr. Strumley and his idea to the brand-new offices
of a certain young friend of his who had himself only recently
metamorphosed from the shell to the swivel chair. Mr. Greenlee looked up
in mute surprise. But Mr. Strumley ignored it and came to the point with
a rush. Did Mr. Greenlee have twenty thousand dollars in cash to spare?
He did? Good! Would he lend it to Mr. Strumley on gilt-edge collateral?
Never mind exclamations; they had no market value. Eight per cent. did.
Then Mr. Greenlee was willing to make the loan? That was talking
business; and Mr. Strumley with the securities would call in two hours
for the cash. That would give Mr. Greenlee ample time in which to get it
from his bank--the Commercial.
When outside Mr. Strumley allowed himself to smile. Suddenly this
evidence of inward hilarity broadened into a heartily exploded greeting,
as a familiar figure turned the corner and advanced directly toward him.
It was another wealthy customer of the aforesaid bank.
"I was just on my way to your office, Mr. Proctor," Paul announced
pleasantly, at the same time cautiously drawing to one side the customer
of the Commercial. "I intend investing heavily in real estate," he
vouchsafed with admirable sang-froid; "and need, right away, in spot
cash, about thirty thousand dollars. Have you got that much to spare at
8 per cent., on first class security?"
Eight per cent! Mr. Proctor's expression expanded. He made his living by
lending money for much less. If dear Mr. Strumley would call at his
office within two hours he should have it every cent--just as soon as he
could get a check cashed at the Commercial.
Next the faithful machine whirled Paul to the rooms of his staid
attorney and general manager, Mr. John Edwards.
That elderly gentleman welcomed him with his nearest approach to a
smile. But the young man was in no mood for an elaborate exchange of
exhilarations. Without preface he inquired the amount of his deposit
subject to check in the Commercial Bank. Fifty thousand dollars! A most
delightful sum. He needed it every cent within an hour. Also he wanted
from his safe-deposit box enough A1 collateral to secure loans of twenty
and thirty thousand, respectively. But first would Mr. Edwards kindly
call up and get second option on all Arkansas timber lands represented
by Haynes, Forster & Company? Mr. Strumley believed that the first
option was held by a local party. Furthermore he knew it expired to-day;
and had reasons to believe that a local party would not be able to take
advantage of it, and he, Mr. Strumley, thought that he could handle the
property to a good purpose.
For the first time Mr. Edwards learned that his young client had a will
of his own. After a few fruitless exhortations he rose to obey, but
remarking: "Right much money in these hard times to withdraw in a lump
from the bank." Then, with a sidelong glance at the grave, boyish face,
he added significantly: "Know you would not do anything to jeopardize
Mr. Stokes's financial standing."
"Oh, a bagatelle like that wouldn't embarrass as shrewd and resourceful
a business man as he," assured Paul breezily.
"Money is pretty tight," mused the lawyer. But he called up Haynes,
Forster & Company without further remonstrances and afterward went out
to perform his commissions. Soon Mr. Strumley lighted a cigar and
followed. There would be something doing in the way of entertainment
presently in the neighborhood of the musty old Commercial Bank.
In front of that institution he had the good fortune to meet the town
miser, who seldom strayed far from the portals behind which reposed his
hoard. Mr. Strumley halted to liberally wish the local celebrity an
abundance of good health and many days of prosperity. Incidentally he
noted through the massive doors that his three cash-seeking friends were
in the line before the paying teller's window, the lawyer being last
and Mr. Greenlee first. When the latter came out, still busily trying to
cram the packages of bills properly in the satchel he carried, Paul
remarked confidentially to his companion:
"Must be something doing to-day. The big guns are drawing all of theirs
out."
The old fellow gave a start as the suggestion shot home. Before Paul
could nurse it further, he had sprinted off up the street like mad,
chattering to himself about the desirability of returning immediately
with his certificates of deposit.
It is an old adage that no one knows the genesis of a "run on the bank."
Maybe Mr. Strumley was the exception which proves the validity of the
rule. At any rate he considered with large satisfaction the magical
gathering of a panic-inoculated crowd, which, sans courage, sans reason,
sans everything but a thirst for the touch of their adored cash,
clamored loudly, despairingly, for the instant return of their dearly
beloved.
At last through the meshes of the mad throng appeared the shiny pate of
Mr. John Edwards. He uttered an exclamation of relief at the sight of
his calm client.
"Hope you got it before the storm broke?" Mr. Strumley greeted amiably.
"S-s-sh!" cautioned the attorney dramatically. "I was about to go in
search of you." Then he added in even a lower key: "Mr. Stokes asked me
to persuade you not to withdraw the money until he had had a chance to
get the flurry well in hand."
"But the money is mine, and I want it now," expostulated the young man.
"Come with me, please, and listen to reason," beseeched the lawyer,
drawing him resolutely in the direction of a side entrance. "It would be
a dire misfortune, sir, a calamity to the community, if the bank were
forced to close its doors. So far, however, it is only the small
depositors who are clamoring; but the others will quickly enough follow
if you do not let your fifty thousand remain to help wipe out this
first rush. The bank, though, is as sound as a dollar."
In another instant they were through the door, and before Mr. Strumley
could reply, for the second time that morning he stood in the presence
of Bettina's father.
"As Mr. Edwards will tell you," explained Paul, unable altogether to
suppress his nervousness, "I hold second option for to-day on large
timber tracts in Arkansas, represented by Messrs. Haynes, Forster &
Company. The first option, I was advised, will expire at two o'clock;
and my party was of the belief it would not be closed. It is a big deal,
Mr. Stokes,"--Mr. Stokes winced perceptibly--"and I was extremely
anxious to swing it, because--er--well, because it's my first big
venture and much depends on its success."
"Yes," mused Mr. Stokes sadly, "it is quite probable the first option
may be allowed to lapse, and I understand good money is to be made in
Arkansas timber." His face had grown a trifle ashy. "Of course, this
being the case, I feel in honor bound, Mr. Strumley, to instantly recall
my request."
Paul gave a gasp of admiration. He was glad Bettina's father was "game."
So was Bettina. In the up-boiling of his feelings he emphatically vetoed
the determination of the banker. Indeed, so well and eloquently did he
argue for the retention and use of his funds by the Commercial, that
even the self-effacing man of "deals" could not resist the onslaught. He
rose with unconcealed emotion and grasped the hand of the young man
whose generosity would save the credit of the old financial institution.
Later, flushed with victory, Mr. Strumley returned to the cushions of
his touring car; and the jubilantly chugging machine whizzed him off in
the direction where, surrounded by cash, awaited the 8 per cent.
expectations of Messrs. Proctor and Greenlee. Later still he descended
with said cash upon the offices of Haynes, Forster & Company. And even
later, after an exhilarating spin in the country, he arrived safe and
blithesome at his well-appointed rooms in the Hotel Fulton, ready to
remove with good soap and pure aqua the stains of mart and road before
calling on Miss Bettina Stokes.
The first thing that attracted his eyes on entering his little sitting
room was a neatly wrapped parcel on the table. On the top of it reclined
a dainty, snowy envelope. Mr. Strumley approached suspiciously. Then he
recognized the handwriting and uttered an exclamation of joy. It was
from Bettina.
In the short time he held the missive poised reverently in his hand Paul
permitted a glow of satisfaction to permeate his being. He had done well
and was justly entitled to a moment of self laudation. Mr.
Stokes--Bettina's father--would no longer be against him, for who could
not say he was not capable of competing in the world-arena with
full-grown, gladiatorial intellects? He had even successfully crossed
blades with Mr. Stokes's own best brand of Damascene gray matter. And he
had won the fray, for the everlasting good and happiness of all parties
concerned. In anticipation he already felt himself thrilling proudly
beneath the crown of Bettina's love and her father's benediction.
The crackle of the delicate linen beneath his grasp brought him sweetly
back to the real. What delicious token could Bettina be sending him? Of
course her father had told her all. How happy she, too, must be! Mr.
Strumley broke the seal of the envelope and read:
"MR. PAUL STRUMLEY,
City.
"DEAR SIR:
"I herewith return your letters, photographs, etc. Papa has told me
all. It was at first impossible to believe you capable of taking such
a base advantage of my confidence about the Arkansas option; but I am
at last thoroughly convinced that you incited the run on the bank to
embarrass poor papa and compel him to let the deal fall into your
traitorous hands. And the by-play of yours in returning the money you
did not really need, though it has completely deceived him, has in
my eyes only added odium to your treachery. I trust that I have made
it quite clear that in the future we can meet only as strangers.
"BETTINA STOKES."
Mr. Strumley let the letter slip unnoticed through his palsied fingers.
He sat down with heavy stupefaction. So this was the sud-spray of his
beautiful bubble? It was incomprehensible! Bettina! Bettina! Oh, how
could she? Where was her faith? No small voice answered from within the
depths of his breast; and Mr. Strumley got clumsily to his feet. He was
painfully conscious that he must do something--think something. But what
was he to do? What was he to think? Could he ever make her understand?
Make her believe? At least he could go and try.
Mr. Strumley finished his toilet nervously; and repaired to the home of
Bettina, to cast his hope on the waters of her faith and charity. The
butler courteously informed him that she was "not in." But Mr. Stokes
was in the library. Would Mr. Strumley like to see him? Mr. Strumley
thought not.
It was a bad night for Paul. From side to side he tossed in search of
inspiration. Day came; and he rolled wearily over to catch the first
beams of the gladsome spring sunshine. From its torrid home ninety-three
million miles afar it hurried to his bedside. It shimmered in his face
and laughed with warm invigoration into the torpid cells of his brain.
It awakened them, filled them with new life, hope--inspiration!
Mr. Strumley leaped from his bed to the bath-tub, and fluttered
frolicsomely in the crystal tide. When he sprang out there was the flush
of vigorous young manhood on his skin and the glow of an expectant
lover's ardency in his breast. Everything was arranged satisfactorily in
the space beneath Mr. Strumley's water-tousled hair, wherein sat the
goddess of human happiness--reason.
Mr. Strumley, after a hurried stop-over at the office of his astounded
charge d'affaires, reached the Commercial Bank before the messenger
boys. While waiting in the balm of the spring morning for the doors to
open he circumnavigated the block nine times--he counted them. Coming
in on the last tack he sighted the portly form of the banker careening
with dignified speed around the corner. Another instant he had crossed
the mat and disappeared into his financial harbor. Mr. Strumley steered
rapidly in his wake.
Again he stood in the presence of Bettina's father. This time, however,
he was calm. In fact, the atmosphere about the two men was heavily
charged with the essence of good fellowship. Mr. Stokes held out his
hand cordially. The younger man pressed its broad palm with almost
filial veneration. He noted, too, with a slight touch of remorse, that
the banker's countenance was harassed. Evidently his heart still ached
for the lost Arkansas timber. Mr. Strumley smiled philanthropically.
He had something to say to Mr. Stokes, and began to say it with the easy
enunciation of one who rests confident in the sunshine of righteousness.
He spoke evenly, fluently. Of course Mr. Stokes at first might be a
trifle perplexed. But please bear with him, hear him through, then he
himself should be the sole judge.
He, Mr. Strumley, did not care a rap--no, not a single rap, for every
tree that grew in the entire state of Arkansas. What he wanted to do was
to show Mr. Stokes--Bettina's father--that he was worth the while. That
is, he wanted to demonstrate--it was a good word--to demonstrate that he
had brains in his cranium as good as many another variety that boasted a
trade mark of wider popularity. Had he done it? And if what he had done
did not concur with the elements of high finance, he would like Mr.
Stokes--Bettina's father--to tell him what it did concur with. Now,
there was the whole story from its incipiency. And as conclusive proof
that he did not mean to profit by the deal financially, would Mr. Stokes
kindly examine those papers?
Mr. Stokes looked at the documents tossed on the desk before him; and
saw that they were several warranty deeds, conveying to Richard Stokes,
his heirs and assigns forever, all titles and claims of all kinds
whatsoever in certain therein-after described tracts or parcels of land
in the state of Arkansas, for value received.
Mr. Strumley leaned back and contentedly watched a flush overspread the
banker's face. His automobile waited at the door to whisk him to
Bettina, and he was ready to carry on the campaign there the moment her
father had finished his effusions of gratitude. Meanwhile the flush
deepened; and, all impatience to fly to his lady-love, Paul egged on the
speech.
"You will note, Mr. Stokes," he volunteered, "that the price is exactly
the same you had proposed paying. At your convenience, of course, you
can remit this amount to my attorney, Mr. Edwards."
Mr. Stokes rose slowly. The flush had become apoplectic.
"Mr. Strumley," he began, his large voice trembling, "this trick of
yours is unworthy of an honorable man. Here, sir, take these papers and
leave my office immediately."
Mr. Strumley rose also. Like the banker's voice, he, too, was trembling.
"But, sir----" he commenced to expostulate.
"Go!" thundered the father of Bettina.
Dazed, confused by the suddenness of the blast, Paul groped his way
through the bank to the refuge of his car. Mechanically he put one hand
on the lever and glanced ahead for obstacles. Crossing the street, not
twenty yards ahead, tripped the most dangerous one conceivable--the
beautiful Bettina herself!