PALMER CALLS UPON ROBERT'S MOTHER.
Among the first to leave the opera house were Mrs. Talbot and her
husband.
"I have had quite enough of this," said the lady to James Talbot. "The
company and the play are both very poor."
"Perhaps you are right," he admitted. "I must say I looked for
something much better myself. That poor butler couldn't act at all."
"He was dumstruck," said Mrs. Talbot, and felt compelled to laugh.
"Poor fellow, he ought to go at some other line of work."
They were soon on the way home. Mr. Talbot had ordered a carriage to
come for them when the performance was over, but this was not at hand,
so they were forced to walk.
"I didn't make much by taking her out to-night," said the schemer to
himself. "Next time I'll have to make sure that I am taking her to
something that is really first-class."
When the pair reached home James Talbot wished his wife to come into
the sitting-room, to talk over their business affairs. The fact of the
matter was, he was running short of money, and he desired his wife to
make him an advance.
"I have something of a headache, James," she said. "I think I had
better retire early."
"I will not detain you long, my love," he answered.
Soon they were in the sitting-room and the lady dropped into an easy
chair. He could not sit down, but began to walk up and down nervously.
"I hate very much to mention the matter to you, Sarah," he began, "but
the fact is, a remittance from a man in Chicago who owes me quite some
money has been delayed, and this has cut me short."
"Do you want money?"
"If you can spare it, I would like to have a hundred dollars or so
until the remittance comes."
"Very well, you can have it in the morning," answered Mrs. Talbot
quietly.
James Talbot had told her before they were married that he was fairly
well-to-do, but since they had become man and wife she had not seen a
dollar of his money.
It was true, he had a little money, or had had it, but the amount was
less than a thousand dollars, and it was now tied up in a speculation
that promised little or no return. James Talbot had no head for
business, and even his wife was beginning to find that out. He could
be miserly, but miserliness is not true economy. He pretended to deal
in real estate, but he was too shiftless and lazy to apply himself to
steady work.
"I will be all right as soon as the money comes," went on Talbot
cheerfully. "After this I trust I shall never have to trouble you
again."
"How is the real estate business progressing?" she asked.
"Fairly well. Granville is not a booming town."
"I know that."
"I am half of a mind to try my luck in Chicago. That is where they make
fortunes in real estate every year."
"Perhaps; but they have to have a large capital to start on."
"Exactly, my love. But with a large capital it is a dead sure thing,
for it cannot burn up, cannot be stolen from you, and constantly
increases in value. What do you think of my plan to start in Chicago?"
"I am sure I have no objection, although I am comfortably situated
here."
"You could keep this home if you wished--at least, at first, and I
could come out every Saturday afternoon and remain until Monday. The
trouble is, the venture would require quite some capital."
"I presume it would."
"If I had five or ten thousand dollars to spare, I would start at once."
"Haven't you that much, James?" she asked, with interest.
"Not in ready money. My cash is tied up in investments. But you could
loan me the amount, couldn't you, my love?"
Mrs. Talbot's face flushed, and her eyes sought the floor. She had been
afraid that this was what was coming.
"I--I suppose so," she faltered, hardly knowing what to say.
"Of course you would be secured. I would see to that."
"Yes, James, I would want that. For the money is to go to Robert, you
know."
His face fell. "The boy always!" he thought. "Oh, I wish he would never
be heard from again!"
"But if I make a barrel of money out of my investments, that must go to
you," he said aloud.
"No, you shall keep the money," she replied. "I have as much as I will
ever need."
In a few minutes more Mrs. Talbot retired. James Talbot walked the
sitting-room floor with considerable satisfaction.
"Ten thousand dollars will be a nice sum," he mused, rubbing his horny
hands together. "Robert, eh? Well, he'll never see the cash, I'll give
James Talbot's word on that! It will be several years before he becomes
of age, and who knows how much more of the fortune will come my way
before that time?"
The morning paper contained a long and semi-humorous account of the
performance of "All for Love." It said the actors and actresses were
probably well-meaning amateurs who had yet much to learn before they
would become successful in their profession. They advised the butler in
the play to perfect himself in the part of a stuttering comedian! By
the account it was evident that the play had come to a conclusion in a
perfect uproar, and that many in the audience had demanded their money
back.
James Talbot had gone off to his real estate office, to perfect his
plans for opening up in Chicago, when the door-bell rang and Jane
announced a visitor to see Mrs. Talbot.
"He gives his name as Livingston Palmer," said Jane.
"Livingston Palmer?" mused the lady of the house. "Why, where have
I heard that before? Oh, I remember now. It was on that theatrical
programme," and she looked it up to make sure. "He was that butler who
started all the trouble. What can he want of me?"
She descended to the parlor to greet her visitor. Livingston Palmer was
seated on the edge of a chair, his face far more careworn than ever
before, and his clothing much soiled and torn.
"Good-morning," he said humbly. "This is Mrs. Talbot, who used to be
Mrs. Frost, I believe."
"Yes," she answered.
"I am a stranger to you, madam, but I come from Chicago, and I am well
acquainted with your son Robert."
"Indeed!" cried Mrs. Talbot, and her whole manner changed. "Is Robert
in Chicago?"
"He is--or at least he was when I left there, two days ago."
"Can you tell me what he is doing?"
"He and I were clerks in a cut-rate ticket office. But a fire threw us
both out of employment."
"And you joined a theatrical company," added Mrs. Talbot.
"How do you know that?"
"I was at the opera house last night and saw you on the stage."
For once in his life Livingston Palmer's face grew as red as a beet.
"You--er--witnessed that unfortunate affair," he stammered. "I--I----"
"I thought you were new at acting," said the lady candidly. "It was, as
you say, unfortunate."
"The people used us meanly," exclaimed Palmer. "I was struck in half
a dozen places, and my coat was nearly torn from my back, and in the
struggle to get away I lost my money and could not find it again."
"When was this? I came away at the conclusion of the second act."
"It was after the play was over. A regular mob congregated around the
stage door, and we could scarcely escape with our lives. I never shall
go on the stage again, never!" And Palmer shook his head bitterly. He
meant what he said, and let it be recorded here that he kept his word.