WAYS THAT ARE DARK
With "Old Nick" Frye the eleventh commandment, "Thou shalt not get
caught," outweighed all the rest. It was not because he especially
needed the assistance of Page that he had hired him, although he could
serve him in a way; but it was that he could use him as a means to an
end in a totally different capacity from copying law reports. John
Nason, one of his principal clients, was a wealthy and successful
merchant, and both proud and fond of his only son. Frye had heard
various stories of the elder Nason, connecting his name with certain
good-looking girls that had been or were in his employ, and that
vulture, with a keen scent for evil, was only too ready to take
advantage of anything, no matter what, so long as it would aid him in
his efforts to make the most out of his client. He knew also that Frank
was, as the saying goes, "cutting a wide swath." To use the son's friend
as a means to reach the son, and through him possibly the father, was
considered by Frye a wise stroke of policy.
When, a few days after Frank had called upon Page, the latter chanced to
mention it to Frye, he made a note of it at once.
"I am glad," he said cordially, "that your friend has hunted you up. I
knew he was away on his yacht when you came, and was going to suggest
that you call on him as soon as I knew he was at home. As I told you,
cultivate him all you can. He will serve as a door to get you into good
society. When did he call?"
"It was one day while you were out," answered Page, "and he invited me
to lunch with him at his club."
"Which of course you did?" said Frye.
"No, sir; I knew I shouldn't have time for it during my one hour, and
then, you had given me a lot of work to do that day."
A shade of annoyance came over Frye's face.
"Well, that's all right, of course," he said, "but when he calls again
take all the time you need if he asks you out, and," with a scrutinizing
look at Page, "as I said, cultivate him. It's business. His father is my
most valued client, and the more intimate you become with his son the
sooner you will have an acquaintance that will be of value to you."
Page could not quite fathom all this, but the more he thought of what
Frye had said the more certain he became that kindly regard for his own
welfare did not enter into that shrewd schemer's calculations. He was
more and more disgusted, also, each day, with his employer's cynical
indifference to all sense of honor and honesty, coming to the conclusion
that he was no better than a thief at heart.
Beneath Albert's disposition to adapt himself to those he mingled with
lay a vein of sterling good sense, fine honor, and the energy of
self-sacrifice, if necessary, and Frye's attributes were so obnoxious to
him as to be simply repulsive. At college he had never indulged in much
"larking," and just why the bond of friendship between himself and the
good-natured, self-indulgent, happy-go-lucky classmate, Frank Nason, had
been cemented is hard to explain, except upon the theory of the
attraction of opposites. When, a few days later, that young man appeared
at the office just before closing time, and suggested they "go out for a
night's racket," as he phrased it, Albert was not inclined to accept.
"What are you up to?" he said as they walked away from the office, "and
what do you mean by a racket? If it's likely to be expensive, count me
out; I can't afford it."
"Well," answered Frank lightly, "you are working too hard, and need
shaking up, so I thought I'd drop round and do it. We will dine at the
club, then go to the Castle Square, where there is a burlesque on and no
end of pretty chorus girls. I know two or three of them, and after the
show we will take them out to supper; that is all."
"It's all right except the end-up," answered Albert, "and on that I
think you had best skip me. As I said, it's a diversion I can't afford.
I've no money to spare to buy wine for ballet girls."
"Oh, that's all right," responded Frank cheerfully. "I've asked you out
and it's my treat. I'll pay the shot this time."
"I shall pay my share if I go," asserted Albert firmly, "but I would
rather omit the after part. We will have the evening together and then
you can go and entertain your chorus girls and I'll go to my room."
It was a laudable resolution, but it came hard, for beneath all Albert's
good resolves was lurking desire for a little excitement to break the
dull monotony of his life. He had been to the theatre only twice since
he came to Boston, desiring to save in every way he could, and only the
week before had sent Alice one-third of his first month's salary. At the
club Frank introduced him to several of his friends and of course they
were asked to join them in a social glass, which did not tend to
strengthen Albert's resolution. At the theatre the exhilarating music,
and the glitter of a stage full of pretty girls in scant drapery, all
had their usual effect, and by the time the show was over he found it
next to impossible to resist his friend's urging that they go around to
the stage door and meet the girls he had invited to sup with them.
"Mind you, let me pay my share," whispered Page, and then he found
himself being introduced by his first name to two highly colored queens
of the ballet, and all four proceeded at once to a private supper-room.
Albert found the girls bright, vivacious, and expressive, so far as a
superficial use of slang goes: they ordered the choicest and
highest-priced items on the bill of fare; called for champagne and drank
it freely; addressed their escorts as "Cully," "Old Sport," and "Old
Stocking;" smoked cigarettes; and talked about their "mashes" in other
cities in a way that made Albert grateful that he had been introduced by
his first name only.
It was not an immoral proceeding, though not exactly proper, and when in
the wee small hours they--with a mistaken sense of gallantry--escorted
the two actresses (if such they may be termed) to their boarding-place,
Page, at least, was glad to be well rid of them. And when he reached his
room, it must be said to his credit, he did not feel particularly proud
of himself.
He felt less so the next morning when he received a letter from Alice
which said:
MY DARLING BROTHER: I was so pleased when I received your loving
letter and the money you sent. You do not know how it hurts me to
feel we owe so much, and I have cried over it more than you will
ever know. Last week I received my first month's pay,--thirty
dollars,--and I was very proud of it, for it is the first money I
ever earned. I took half and put it with the twenty-five you sent
and gave it to Mr. Hobbs. I have only six dollars left, for I had
to buy some boots and gloves, but that will last me a month, for
I've not the heart to spend a penny I am not obliged to, until the
debts are paid. I had to buy the boots, because walking four miles
a day wears them out very fast.
And he had spent twenty dollars the night before to have a couple of
ballet girls talk slang, smoke cigarettes, and call him "Cully"!
When he thought of his sweet and loving sister, with her perfect faith
in his manhood, walking four miles a day to earn less than two dollars,
while he had been induced to spend in one foolish evening as much as she
could earn in two weeks, it was no wonder he did not feel proud of
himself.