It was already midnight when Orville, Thornton and Callovan arose from
a table of the club dining-room and came down in the elevator for
their hats and coats. They had spent an evening together, delightful
to all three. This dinner and chat had become an annual affair, to
give the old chums of St. Wilbur's a chance to live over college days,
and keep a fine friendship bright and lasting. Not one of them was old
enough to feel much change from the spirit of youth. St. Wilbur's was
a fresh memory and a pleasant one; and no friends of business or
society had grown half so precious for any one of these three men as
were the other two, whom the old college had introduced and had bound
to him.
The difference in the appearance of the friends was very marked.
Thornton had kept his promise of growing up as he had started: short,
fat and jovial. Baldness was beginning to show at thirty-five. His
stubby mustache was as unmanageable as the masters of St. Wilbur's had
found its owner to be. He had never affected anything, for he had
always been openly whatever he allowed himself to drift into. Neither
of his friends liked many of his actions, nor the stories told of
him; but they liked him personally and were inclined to be silently
sorry for him, but not to sit in judgment upon him. Both Orville and
Callovan waited and hoped for "old Thornton"; but the wait had been
long and the hope very much deferred.
Callovan was frankly Irish. The curly black hair of the Milesian spoke
for him as clearly as the blue-gray eye. He shaved clean and he looked
clean. An ancestry of hard workers left limbs that lifted him to
almost six feet of strong manhood. His skin was ruddy and fresh. Two
years younger than Thornton, he yet looked younger by five. And
Callovan, like Thornton, was inwardly what the outward signs promised.
Orville was tall and straight. The ghost of a black mustache was on
his lip. His hair was scanty, and was parted carefully. His dress
showed taste, but not fastidiousness. He was handsome, well groomed
and particular, without obtrusiveness in any one of the points. He was
just a little taller than Callovan; but he was grayer and a great deal
more thoughtful. He was a hard book to read, even for an intimate; but
the print was large, if the text was puzzling. He looked to be "in"
the world, but who could say if he were "of" it?
All three of these friends were very rich. Thornton had made his money
within five years--a lucky mining strike, a quick sale, a move to the
city, speculation, politics were mixed up in a sort of rapid-fire
story that the other friends never cared to hear the details of.
Callovan inherited his wealth from his hard-fisted old father, who had
died but a year before. Orville was the richest of the three. He had
always been rich. His father had died a month before he was born. His
mother paid for her only child with her life. Orville's guardian had,
as soon as possible, placed him in St. Wilbur's Preparatory School and
then in the College; but he was a careful and wise man, this guardian,
so, though plenty of money was allowed him, yet the college
authorities had charge of it. They doled it out to the growing boy and
youth in amounts that could neither spoil nor starve him. It was good
for Orville that the guardian had been thus wise and the college
authorities thus prudent. He himself was generous and kind-hearted; by
nature a spendthrift, but by training just a bit of a miser. He had
learned a little about values during these school and college days.
"Your car is not here yet, Mr. Orville," said the doorman, when the
three moved to leave the club.
"Very unlike your careful Michael," remarked Callovan.
Orville came at once to the defense of his exemplary chauffeur. "I
gave him permission to go to St. Mary's to-night for confession," he
said. "Michael will be here in a moment. He goes to confession every
Saturday night and is a weekly communicant. I can stand a little
tardiness once a week for the sake of having a man like Michael
around."
"Good boy is Michael," put in Thornton. "I wish I could get just a
small dose of his piety. Candidly, I am awfully lonesome sometimes
without a little of it.
A page came running up. "Telephone for you, Mr. Orville," he said; and
at almost the same moment the doorman called out: "Your car is here
now, sir." Orville went to the telephone booth, but returned in a
moment.
"Lucky for us that we waited," he said. "It was Marion who called. She
is at the Congress, and she wants me to take her home. She came
down-town with her brother to meet the Dixes from Omaha, and that
worthless pup has gone off and left her. She knew that I was here
to-night, and 'phoned, hoping to catch me. We will pass around by the
hotel and take her back with us."
When the friends came out, Michael was standing with his hand on the
knob of the big limousine's door. "I am sorry if I made you wait,
sir," he said. "I had a fainting spell in the church and could not get
away sooner. A doctor said it was a little heart attack; but I am all
right now."
Orville answered kindly. "I am sorry you were ill, Michael, but we are
glad enough that you were late. That ill wind for you blew good to us,
for we have Miss Fayall home with us. If you had been on time we
would have missed her. Go around to the Congress first."
The car glided down Michigan avenue to the hotel, where Marion was
already waiting in the ladies' lobby. She looked just what she was,
the pampered and petted daughter of a rich man. Tonight her cheeks
were flushed and her hand was very unsteady. Orville noticed both when
she entered the car. He was startled, for Marion was his fiancée. He
knew that she was usually full of life and spirit; but this midnight
gaiety worried him, and all the more that he loved the girl sincerely.
Marion talked fast and furiously, railing continually at her brother;
but she averted her face from Orville as much as possible and spoke to
Thornton. Orville said nothing after he had greeted her.
The car sped on, passed the club again and down toward the bridge at
the foot of the avenue. Marion was scolding at Thornton as they
approached the bridge at a good rate of speed. Orville was staring
straight ahead, so only he saw Michael's hand make a quick movement
toward the controller, and another movement, at the same time, as if
his foot were trying to press on the brake; but both movements seemed
to fall short and Michael's head dropped on his breast. Alarmed,
Orville looked up. He had a swift glimpse of a flashing red light. A
chain snapped like a pistol shot. He heard an oath from Thornton, and
a scream from Marion. Then, in an instant, he felt the great weight
falling, and a flood of cold water poured through the open window of
the car. He tried to open the door, but the weight of water against it
made this impossible. The car filled and the door moved. He was pushed
out. He thought of saving Marion; but all was dark around him. He
tried to call, but the water choked him. He could only think a prayer,
before he seemed to be falling asleep. Everything was fading away
before him, in a strange feeling of dreamy satisfaction; so only
vaguely did he realize the tragedy that had fallen upon him.