XVII

The strain under which Gorham had been working for the past five years

was beginning to show itself, and, acting upon his doctor's advice, he

decided to take a brief respite from the cares and responsibilities of

the office. He did not think it necessary to leave New York, as the

reaction was not as yet strong enough to require any radical treatment.

A fortnight spent quietly at his home in the midst of congenial

surroundings would be entirely sufficient. During this time he denied

himself to business callers, simply keeping in touch with affairs by

means of his daily reports, which formed so strong a feature of his

business system.

"They make the yesterdays into a whip of many lashes to urge to-day on

to still greater speed," Gorham once explained. "They change the

president of the Consolidated Companies from an absentee employer into

an ubiquitous superintendent."

Because of Mr. Gorham's desire for retirement, the butler endeavored to

explain the impossibility of an interview to a tall, smooth-faced young

man who presented his card one afternoon. The caller's slight figure was

clad in a black whip-cord suit, and over his arm was thrown a neatly

folded tan overcoat. His silk hat carried a broad mourning band, and his

hands were encased in black kid gloves. Gorham's would-be visitor did

not present the most cheerful appearance, but the insistence with which

he emphasized the important nature of his business succeeded in

effecting his entrance to the hallway, where he was left until the

butler could fortify himself behind the faithful Riley's invaluable

advice.

Riley looked at the printed visiting-card, gave a violent start, and

then quickly closed his hand over it. A penetrating glance disclosed the

fact that the name had conveyed no special information to his companion,

so he hastily assumed the responsibility of handling the situation, and

hurried to the hall. Giving the visitor no opportunity to speak, Riley

placed his hand gently upon his arm, and addressed him beseechingly.

"Jimmie, me la-ad," the old man said, "is it raly yersel' come ter see

ye'er ol' fa-ather? I can't belave it, indade I can't; but 'tain't this

we must be talkin' about now. I know it's th' great man ye are, but ye

wuddent queer ye'er fa-ather by comin' ter th' front dure, wud ye? Come

now, Misther Robert ain't heard about it yit, so it's all right,

Jimmie--we'll go down-stairs an' have a nice little visit. It's proud I

am ter have ye call on me, but ye mustn't come ter th' front dure,

Jimmie--ye mustn't do that."

Riley's anxiety to get his son down-stairs and into his own domain

blinded him to the straightness of Jimmie's back and the severe lines in

his face. With all the dignity at his command the visitor assumed a

position which perhaps he had learned during his career as an orator:

"You are my father, and an old man," he replied, with rare

condescension, "so I will be gentle with you. I didn't call to sec

_you_, Mr. Riley--I have important business with Mr. Gorham."

Riley drew back, indecision mingled with a father's pride that a son of

his could carry himself with such an air.

"That's phwat brought ye here, is it?--business wid Misther Robert--ye!"

he repeated. "Ah, Jimmie, I can't belave it, me la-ad. Are ye shure?"

"Is it his father who doubts the word of James Riley?" the younger man

replied, and Riley thought he discerned a touch of sorrow in the

unnatural tone of voice.

"But Misther Robert ain't doin' no business these days, Jimmie. It's th'

vacation he's havin'."

"This is personal business, Mr. Riley, and it's to his own interest to

see me. I can be of service to Mr. Gorham."

"Ye can be iv service ter Misther Robert, Jimmie?" The old man's face

beamed with pride. "Ah, Jimmie, it's proud I am iv ye! Me own la-ad iv

service ter Misther Robert! I'll spake ter him at wance."

As Riley drew back to admire his son, his eye fell upon the silk hat and

the black gloves.

"Who's dead, Jimmie?" he asked, with real concern "--why do ye wear th'

sorry rag on ye'er hat an' th' ravens on ye'er hands?"

"No one you know," James replied, carelessly flicking a speck from his

overcoat sleeve. "The city supplied them for the committee what went to

Moriarty's funeral last month."

"Oh!" Riley wavered between his relief and his sense of duty to

acquaint his son with the proper usage of the articles in question.

Discretion finally prevailed, and he went up-stairs to impress Mr.

Gorham with the importance of Jimmie's errand.

James Riley had acted upon a sudden impulse in making his call upon Mr.

Gorham. He had unexpectedly gained possession of certain information

which he felt might be of commercial value to himself, and beyond this

it offered him an opportunity to come in close contact with a famous

man. With his eye always open to the main chance, James felt that this

first meeting with Mr. Gorham, since he himself had come into his own,

might lead to something worth while.

Even Gorham was conscious of the satisfaction expressed in the old man's

voice as he opened the library door for his famous offspring and

announced "Misther James Riley," dwelling noticeably upon the prefix.

"I am glad to see you, James," Gorham greeted him cordially. "Your

father has kept me posted from time to time of your successes, and I

congratulate you both."

Praise from the president of the Consolidated Companies was nectar to

James Riley, and with an effort to appear indifferent he suffered

himself to sit down.

"Your father tells me you have personal business with me," Gorham

continued, noting the difficulty James experienced in getting under way.

The caller would not have admitted it, even to himself, but the effect

of being actually in the presence of this man of world-wide fame, and in

the midst of such palatial surroundings, was to deprive him of his usual

easy flow of words. Gorham's remark, however, as was intended, served to

relieve him, but the oratorical prelude which he had carefully rehearsed

coming up on the electric 'bus had vanished from his mind, and he

plunged, as had still another "gentleman" before him, _in medias res_.

"There's a feller in town what means to make trouble for you," he

announced, bluntly, looking up from his study of the pattern in the rug

to note the effect of his announcement upon his host.

Gorham laughed. "I have an idea that there is more than one 'feller' in

town who would be glad to do that if he found the chance."

"That may be, sir," James assented, "but this feller has come a long bit

out of his way to do it, and I don't think it's on the level, sir."

"It is very good of you to come and tell me this, James," Gorham said,

lightly; "but I presume our secret service force already have the

gentleman on their list."

"Oh, he ain't no gentleman," James corrected him, "and it ain't got

nothin' to do with business, sir, so I thought I'd call on you as a

friend and tell you what I know."

"What else can it have to do with?" queried Gorham, incredulously, yet

humoring James for his father's sake.

"With Mrs. Gorham, sir--leastwise, that's what he says."

Gorham's apathy disappeared, but his visitor observed no change in the

calmness of his expression or in the quiet tone in which he spoke.

"You surprise me, James. What sort of man is he?"

"He's a blackguard, sir, and a liar. I'd have told him so, only he was

drunk, and I thought he might leak something what would be of interest

to you. He says he used to be Mrs. Gorham's husband."

The lines deepened a little in Gorham's face. "What is his name?" he

asked.

"Buckner, sir--Ralph Buckner."

"H'm! And why do you think he intends to try to make trouble for me?"

"Well, sir, you see it's this way. This feller come to the same

boardin'-house where I live, but I didn't pay no attention to him 'til I

see him playin' pool in the saloon opposite. I'm a Tammany man, sir, and

I has to mix with all the new ones what come into my ward. I got

acquainted with him over there, and he drank awful heavy. He's quiet

enough when he's sober, but he talks free and easy like when he gets

tanked. One night he says to me, 'I'm goin' to make a lot o' money.'

"'Good!' says I, more to be agreeable than because I had any 'special

interest--'how're you goin' to do it?'

"Then he laughed, silly-like, and winked at me. I didn't say no more,

but the next night he talked again.

"'What do you think,' he says; 'I see my wife to-day ridin' up Fifth

Avenue behind the swellest pair o' horses in New York City. No wonder

she shook me for that.'

"'What do you mean?' says I, surprised at his line o' talk.

"'She's Mrs. Robert Gorham now,' says he, 'but perhaps she won't be

long.'

"Then I laughed at him, and that made him mad.

"'That's right,' says he. 'There're people here in this town who tell me

that her divorce from me warn't reg'lar, and I may be takin' the lady

back to New Orleans with me, and a heap o' money besides.'

"0' course, all this don't mean nothin' to me, but I thought it might to

you, sir."

Mr. Gorham did not reply for so long a time that James became anxious.

"I hope I done right, sir, to come to you with this."

"Yes, James; quite right. You are evidently influenced by your loyalty

to my family," Gorham answered. "It is right that you should be, but it

shall not be forgotten. There probably is nothing in all this, but,

since Mrs. Gorham's name was mentioned, I should like to get to the

bottom of it. I shall depend upon you to keep me posted."

"I will, sir," James responded, eagerly. "I'll do that as long as he

stays in New York, but he says they're trying to get him to go back to

New Orleans."

"Who are 'they'?"

"I don't know, sir."

"That is the first thing to discover, James. I shall trust you to do

it."

Gorham rose, and James, vastly satisfied with himself, followed the

suggestion.

"I'll do it for you, sir," he said at the door. "You can depend on me

for that."

"Thank you, James; and in the mean time it will be prudent for you to

keep your information to yourself."

"Yes, sir; I'll do that, sir. Any one with a Tammany Hall education

knows how to do that, sir."

Riley was anxiously awaiting the close of the interview, and eagerly

accompanied his son to the front door. Before he opened it, the old man

turned inquiringly.

"Ain't ye goin' ter tell me phwat it's all about, Jimmie?"

"It's too delicate a situation to discuss with the servants," James

replied, freezingly. "Me and Mr. Gorham understands each other, that's

all."

Riley gazed with still greater admiration at the straight figure which

passed by him, out of the house, and up the gravel walk to the street.

"Jimmie's th' great man," he muttered to himself as he closed the

door--"he's th' great man, mixin' wid men like Misther Robert; but he

hadn't oughter wear that sorry rag an' th' ravens, wid me, his only

livin' relation, still livin'."

The bell rang almost immediately, and Riley, certain that James had

returned, hastened to throw the door open. As he did so, he discovered

Allen Sanford.

"Who's that undertaker person?" Allen demanded.

Riley straightened perceptibly. "'Tis me son James, Misther Sanford, an'

it's th' great man he is, an' no undertaker."

"I beg your pardon, Riley," Allen laughed, noting the old man's injured

dignity. "Of course I should have known; but I may want to employ an

undertaker soon, so I suppose I had it on my mind."

"Ain't ye falin' well, Misther Allen?" Riley asked, anxiously.

"Oh, I don't want him for myself," Allen laughed again. "Is Miss Alice

in?"

"How do I know 'til she tells me, sor?"

"All right; you'll have to ask her then, won't you? If she is in, tell

her that I've called to have tea with her."

Alice was in particularly high spirits. She had digested Covington's

proposal, and found that she enjoyed it. She was still waiting for a

chance to discuss it with Eleanor and her father, but she experienced an

unexpected amount of pleasure in thinking it over by herself. She had

already decided that she would take plenty of time before she gave her

answer. The sensation was so exhilarating that she was unwilling to

shorten its duration. It was all so incredible that she--little

she--should have attracted a man of Mr. Covington's calibre to the

extent that he should actually want to marry her! And now Allen had

called, giving her an outlet for this unusual buoyancy.

Her caller was not blind to the excitement which showed in Alice's face,

and the formalities were scarcely over before he asked the question

which brought a violent color to the girl's cheeks.

"So it's come, has it--just as I said it would?"

"What has come?" Alice busied herself with the teacups which the butler

had already placed on the little table in front of her, and appeared to

be mystified, though she knew well what he meant.

"That doesn't surprise me any," Allen continued, "but I really didn't

think it would set you up so much when it did strike."

"I suppose you are enjoying this monologue," she replied. "Don't mind me

if it gives you any pleasure."

"Look here, Alice"--he became desperate--"why can't we talk it over

without having to jump all these high hurdles? I know you don't care

anything about me, and you know that I can't see anything in life worth

while except you, so the situation is clear on both sides. But I can't

let that four-flusher pull the wool over your eyes without saying,

'Beware of the dog.' I shouldn't be a man if I did."

"You take advantage of our friendship," she said, severely; "but there

are limits beyond which even an old friend cannot go, and you've reached

them. Mr. Covington is a friend too; I don't admit that he is more than

this, but I shan't let you say unfair things about him any more than I

should listen to similar things about you. Come now, let's drop the

subject. How many lumps will you have?"

"Two lumps, and--no lemon, please."

"You say you wouldn't be a man if you didn't warn me," the girl went on;

"but it is because you are not that you talk as you do. You find me

agreeable, and, boy-like, think you want to marry me. Pat thinks she

wants to marry you--you are both children, and both behave the same."

Allen put his cup down on the table untasted. "Is there no way I can

convince you that I've grown up?" he demanded.

"Yes; drop all this nonsense about me, and make yourself a place in the

world as Mr. Covington has done."

"Never!" he almost shouted. "You don't know how he's made his place, or

you wouldn't say that. Do you want me to climb up by stepping all over

those who have helped me, to play double with every one I meet, to

crisscross even on the man who trusts me most, and finally try to cinch

my position by marrying his daughter? If that's your idea of being a

man, I'll tell you right now, not for mine."

Alice rose, with flaming face. "I told you that you had reached the

limit, Allen--now you have passed it. Oh! why did I let you go on! I

like you so much, and I want to see you succeed. I've tried to help you

all I could, and this is the result. Now we can't even be friends any

more, and this insane jealousy of yours will spoil your chances in the

Companies. Oh, Allen, Allen--why can't you grow up and be sensible!"

"Don't worry about me," the boy said, dejectedly. "You're probably

right, just as the pater was probably right. I'm no good anyhow. I

didn't want to go into diplomacy because there seemed to be so much in

it which was double-dealing. Now I'm in business, and I see the same

things there. It's all my fault--it must be; but I'm in wrong somehow. I

wouldn't say a word, Alice, if it were some one else, but

Covington--well, you've told me to cut that out, so I will. But don't

say we can't be friends--I couldn't stand that. You'll need me some

time, little girl, and when you do, I want to be Johnny on the spot."

Alice never found it possible to be angry with him for any extended

period. Always after his impulsive outbreaks he became so contrite that

the early displeasure was abated by his unspoken but evident desire for

forgiveness.

"Will you take back what you said about Mr. Covington?" she asked.

"I can't do that," he replied, firmly; "but I'll do my best to let you

find him out from some one else."

And the girl let him leave it there, remaining in the same position

several minutes after he had gone, wondering that she had been willing

to permit so gross a slander to stand unchallenged. When at last she

turned slowly toward the door, she started violently as something began

to untangle itself from the portières.

"It's only me," announced Patricia, ungrammatically, but none the less

undauntedly.

"What have you been doing there?" the elder sister demanded, her

momentary fright making her indignation even greater.

"Listenin'," replied the culprit, shamelessly.

"Patricia Gorham!" For Alice to use the child's full name conveyed the

absolute limit of reproach, but Patricia stood her ground fearlessly.

"I'm not ashamed--I've simply _got_ to know my future. You'll stick to

what you said, won't you, Alice?"

"You ought to be punished!"

"But you won't marry Allen, will you?" Pat pleaded, unblushingly. "You

can have Mr. Covington and I will have Allen, and we all will be happy

ever afterward."

"Oh, you--kids, that's what you both are!" Alice cried in sheer

desperation. "Between you, I can't get a moment's peace."

"He would make a lovely Knight." Patricia's face assumed an enraptured

expression. "Oh, I wish I was a damosel, with a vessel of gold between

my hands, and Allen was Sir Launcelot, and I would say, 'Wit ye well,'

and he would kneel and say his prayers to me, and--Alice, what does 'Wit

ye well' mean, anyhow?"

But Alice had fled, leaving Patricia the victrix of her bloodless

battle-field.