BOFINGER REPORTS
Fargus, who slept as badly as a bridegroom on the wedding eve, was up
before five o'clock. After replacing the bedding in the trunk he
departed for his morning's breakfast. Three blocks to the west near the
river front, in a frame building which occupied a corner, a flaring
yellow sign, over a sunken basement, announced,
NELLIE THE COFFEE-WOMAN
_Ladies & Gents Parlors._
Three wooden steps, rotted by the weather, descended past the food
bulletins into a sanded room. It was in this underground resort, with
its rough clients, that Fargus had served his apprenticeship, faithfully
his master and his master's daughter, pretty Nell O'Hara, who had
jilted him for the privilege of maintaining the present Mr. Biggs in
idleness among his bottles. Fargus descended the familiar steps and
entered. Never once did he return to the presence of his first love
without a pang of mortification that all the triumphs of his changed
fortune could not obliterate.
A ponderous woman on whose expanding trunk time had recorded each
successive year was behind the counter. Of the charm that once was
Nell's nothing remained but a certain reminiscent prettiness of the
face.
Fargus, who entered as a conqueror, took his seat at the counter, asking
maliciously, as he never failed to do:
"And how's your man, Nell?"
[Illustration: "AND HOW'S YOUR MAN, NELL?"]
"The same," she answered, as though the simple statement required no
explanation. "And are you doin' well, Mr. Fargus?"
"I bought another restaurant, Nell," he said. "Yes, I'm doin' well. It's
a little larger than the old place."
He saw she understood the malice of his last remark and enjoyed the new
opening of the old wound. To-day his vindictiveness was tempered by a
feeling of wonder. With Sheila in mind he looked at this woman, mottled
and worn with toil, and asked himself how it was possible that she could
still have the power to make him suffer. The thought recalled Sheila and
abruptly he arose and departed. But, not wishing to lose an opportunity
for vengeance, he returned and said wisely:
"Nell, perhaps I'll have something to tell you before long, a bit of
news that may interest you. My love to your man."
He departed for the oyster markets for his purchases, but without the
zest that gave to these excursions the exhilaration of the battle-field.
"I'm a fool," he said to himself angrily, "to let a woman upset me so.
How the devil, though, am I going to wait two days more to hear from
that lawyer!"
Bofinger had resolved to conceal his relations with Fargus from Groll,
taking the risk of an inopportune visit of his client. He knew well the
consequences of such treachery once discovered, but the avidity of great
stakes gave him the daring to play with fire. He was in the office,
chatting with Groll and LeBeau, when towards one o'clock he perceived
from his sentry by the window the incongruous figure of Fargus,
advancing from the direction of Sixth Avenue. He yielded to a moment's
panic, then rapidly, with a hasty excuse, stepped out of the door and
departed, not too quickly, towards the west.
"They may notice him again," he thought, "but it's not so risky as going
to meet him."
He slackened his gait at the corner, bought a newspaper and, perusing
it, went slowly northward. A moment later Fargus shuffled up, all out of
breath.
"Oh, it's you," Bofinger exclaimed in surprise. "That's lucky; you want
to see me? Shall we go back to the office?"
"There's some one there," Fargus said nervously.
"Yes, there's my partner and a reporter," Bofinger replied with an air
of reflection. "Perhaps you'd rather--"
"Let's walk on," Fargus interrupted. Then, no longer holding back his
anxiety, he blurted out, "Well, what? Have you found out anything?"
"I think I've made a good beginning," the lawyer said in his
professional manner. "Of course in one day--"
"I was passing," Fargus said, avoiding his eye, "I thought--"
"Well, sir," Bofinger broke in tactfully, "I have investigated enough, I
guess, to satisfy you. To begin, Miss Sheila Vaughn is an orphan living
with an aunt whom she supports by her needlework."
At this confirmation of Sheila's story the misanthrope gave a sigh of
relief, which showed the lawyer what pangs a contrary answer would have
cost him. Immediately, seizing the arm of the lawyer, he stammered:
"Are you sure? Can you be sure? How are you sure?"
"My dear sir," Bofinger objected, "I ain't goin' to make a statement on
insufficient evidence. I followed Miss Vaughn without any difficulty.
She lives in a respectable boarding-house on the West side. Here is the
address, for your information," he added, passing him a slip. "I marked
the house and went back pretending to seek a room. Two circumstances,
fortunately, helped me to gather a great deal of information. In the
first place, the servant who showed me around asked nothing better than
to talk."
"Well, well?" Fargus broke in irritably.
"A little patience," Bofinger said with a smile. "Things have got to be
told in their order. I learned from the servant that Miss Vaughn and her
aunt Miss Morissey have lived in the same rooms for over six years. The
aunt is a retired school-teacher, having perhaps a very small income.
Miss Vaughn, evidently, is the mainstay, doing fancy embroidery and
needlework. The servant told me that she was very devout. Now for the
second circumstance, but this won't be to your liking."
"What do you mean?" Fargus demanded, instantly alarmed.
"I learned that Miss Vaughn and her aunt are going to leave."
"You are sure?" Fargus cried in despair. He had only half believed the
announcement from the lips of the woman.
"I am. With an inspiration, I instantly asked to see their room. What do
you think of that? On this pretext I saw not only the room but Miss
Vaughn and her aunt. Well, they impressed me very favorably, quiet and
devoted--"
"But when is she going, and where?" Fargus broke in impatiently.
"They go to Chicago in a few days--a very few."
"And did you find out why?"
"I did," Bofinger said with a nod, and began again. "Of course I did
not try to pump them, but when I left I said to the maid--"
"Never mind that, tell me now why they are going."
"Miss Morissey, the aunt," Bofinger said, stopping short, "has had a
small legacy left her and is going to settle her affairs."
"Then what she told me was true after all!" Fargus exclaimed, without
perceiving how clearly he portrayed his real sentiments.
"Now, of course," Bofinger said glibly, stealing a glance at his
dejected client. "I shall at once take up the threads and push my
investigation rapidly."
"Mr. Bofinger," Fargus said, coming out of his abstraction, "that's
enough. Don't do anything more. I've got now all I wanted to know."
"Then you are satisfied?" Bofinger replied in feigned astonishment.
"Yes." He walked a while, studying the sidewalk, and then asked slowly:
"Mr. Bofinger, you see all kinds of people--you ought to be a judge.
I'm going to put a question to you. Would you, if you were me, in my
position, adopt Miss Vaughn?"
"Really, my dear sir," Bofinger said carefully. "I can't take the
responsibility of answering that."
"Is she the right sort--steady and dependable?"
"Oh, if you mean is she worthy of being adopted--certainly yes! But," he
added with a show of frankness, "if you do want my opinion, I think the
young lady is too independent a character to permit it."
Fargus hesitated a moment, with an impulse to confidences, then,
retreating awkwardly, he began to draw out his pocketbook, saying:
"Thanks, you've done well."
"Then you want nothing further?" Bofinger said, smiling at the way his
hand fumbled in his coat.
"No, no," Fargus said hastily. "You've done enough. That's what I
wanted. You've done fine."
He turned his back on the lawyer and examined the pocketbook, close to
his nose, for he was short-sighted. After long weighing of reasons, he
plucked forth two bills as one might draw out a thorn, and spinning
about hastily he thrust them into the lawyer's hand, as though
mistrusting his second thoughts. Bofinger saw that each was for twenty
dollars. With a flash, he stiffened and said sternly:
"My dear sir, I would like you to know that, in my profession, we fix
the remuneration."
Fargus, believing himself entrapped, looked with repressed rage at the
money he had surrendered. Bofinger allowed him this moment of torture,
before continuing on the same key:
"My fee, sir, for these services is twenty dollars."
And with a gesture that was sultanesque he returned the other bank-note.
Fargus received one of the shocks of his life. The idea that any one
could refuse money so confounded him that he did not have wit enough to
extend his hand. But only for a moment; then, with a grunt of joy, he
snatched up the bill, crying with genuine feeling:
"Mr. Bofinger, you'll not regret this!"
"Thank you, that is my invariable fee--good day," the lawyer said,
holding his hat like a statue. Then, snapping back to life again, he
returned exultantly to the office. In the short interview he had grown
immeasurably in his own eyes. But one thing distressed him, the thought
that so much talent must be locked in his own bosom. He drew a long
breath and, walking on his toes, said with conviction:
"Ah, Bofinger, you were made for bigger things!"