CONCLUSION
The next afternoon Horace Howland sat in his office at No. 11 Broadway,
staring moodily at his desk with its accumulation of papers. For long,
it seemed, he had lived in an agony of suspense. Friends had come and
gone and said their words, and passed on unrecognized and unheeded.
How many times had he wished that the Ward liner which had crossed the
path of the boats and picked them up the morning after the fire had
left him at least to perish. A full half-dozen tugs and steamships had
been sent to the scene of the conflagration there to cruise about until
some trace of the missing should be found. A Clyde vessel had sighted
the burned steamship, a mere mass of charred and twisted frames and
plates, sinking low in the sea. A Government cruiser and a revenue
cutter had joined in the search.
But no word had come. An hour before, a messenger boy had arrived with
a telegram. It was one of many received by Mr. Howland every day, and
he tossed it, unopened, upon a pile of similar envelopes upon his desk.
Now, as he turned his eyes yearningly out of a window which gave upon
the harbor, the name of a reporter was announced. Mr. Howland had
talked and talked and talked to reporters until he was sick of them as
of every one and everything else. He turned to his secretary.
"See that fellow, will you?" he said.
In less than a minute the secretary hurried into the office with an
excited manner, the reporter at his heels, bearing a long sheet of
tissue paper filled with typewriting.
"I have come to see you about the rescue of your daughter, Mr. Howland."
The merchant wheeled quickly in his chair.
"What!" he cried. Then he sprang to his feet and seized the manuscript
which the reporter held out to him. Quickly he read it. Then he read
it again, more slowly. He read it a third time. His hand flew to his
forehead, and he staggered back to his chair. The secretary stepped to
his side, but Mr. Howland waved him away.
"When did this come?" he asked.
"A few moments ago," replied the reporter.
"Well," and Mr. Howland gazed at his informant with suffused eyes, "I
thank you for your kindness. You must know how grateful I am. Of
course there is nothing I can tell you--nothing you want to know."
The reporter hesitated a moment.
"No," he said, "I don't suppose you can tell me much. Except--"
"Eh?" said Mr. Howland.
"Except--you read the despatch. It speaks of Captain Merrithew as Miss
Howland's _fiancé_."
"Yes." Mr. Howland's years of business resource and acumen were
beginning to assert themselves. "Oh, _fiancé_! I see. Romance will
help your article. Well, there isn't any. Captain Merrithew and my
daughter were engaged before we started on this _Tampico_ jaunt." He
looked at the reporter steadily. "Merrithew, you know, is really the
Assistant Marine Superintendent of the Coastwise Company; also a
stock-holder. He was sailing the _Tampico_ merely for experience."
The reporter smiled at Mr. Howland.
"Merrithew is to be congratulated," he said.
"I fancy so," replied Mr. Howland. "In fact," he added, "do you know,
I have reason to be quite sure of it."
THE END