POINTS OUT HER BROTHER'S DUTY.
In the afternoon of the day that followed the publication of the
confession Flummers minced his way into the Press Club. He wore a suit
of new clothes, and although the weather was warm, he carried a
silk-faced overcoat. Before any one took notice of him he put his coat
and hat on the piano, and then, with a gesture, he exclaimed:
"_Wow!_"
"Why, here's Kittymunks! Helloa, Kit!" one man shouted. "Have you
identified Brooks?" some one else cried, and a roar followed.
For a moment Flummers stood smiling at this raillery; then suddenly,
and as though he would shut out a humiliating scene, he pressed his
hands across his eyes. But his hands flew off into a double
gesture--into a gathering motion that invited every one to come into
his confidence, and solemnly he pronounced these words:
"He made a monkey of me."
"I should say he did!" Whittlesy cried. "Oh, you'll hold me in the
hollow of your hand, will you?"
Flummers looked at Whittlesy and scalloped the forerunner of a
withering speech; but, thoughtful enough suddenly to remember that at
this solemn time his words and his eyes belonged not to one man, but
to the entire company, he withdrew his gaze from Whittlesy, and in
his broad look included every one present.
"He made a monkey of me. He stopped me on the street one evening--I
had boned him for an advertisement when I was running _The Art of
Interior Decoration_--and was so polite that I said to myself: 'Papa,
here's another flip man thirsting for recognition. Put him on your
staff.' Well, we had a bowl or two at Garry's, and the first thing I
knew he began to remind me that I remembered a fellow who must be
Kittymunks, and I said, 'Hi, gi, here's a scoop.' And it was. Oh, it's
a pretty hard matter to scoop papa"--(tapping his head). "Papa knows
what the public wants, and he serves it up. Some of you dry-dock
conservative ducks would have let it go by, but papa is nothing if not
adventurous. Papa knows that without adventure you make no
discoveries. But, wow! he did make a monkey of me. Just think of a
floor-walker making a monkey of papa!" He pressed his hand to his
brow. "Why, a floor-walker has been my especial delicacy--he has been
my appetizer, my white-meat--but, wow! this fellow was a gristle."
"Mr. Flummers," said McGlenn, "we all love you."
"Say, John, I owe you two dollars."
"No, Mr. Flummers, you don't owe me anything."
"But I borrowed two dollars from you, John, when I started _The
Bankers' Review."_
"No man can borrow money from me, Mr. Flummers. If he gets money from
me, it's his and not mine. We all love you, Mr. Flummers, and your
Kittymunks escapade, so thoroughly in keeping with our estimate of
you, has added strength to our affection. If you wish to keep friends,
Mr. Flummers, you must do nothing which they could not forecast for
you. The development of hitherto undiscovered traits, of an
unsuspected and therefore an inconsistent strength, is a dash of cold
water in the face of friendship. We are tied to you by a strong rope
made of the strands of weaknesses, Mr. Flummers."
"Oh, no."
"Yes, made of the fine-spun strands of weaknesses, Mr. Flummers. It is
better to be a joss of pleasing indiscretion than to be a man of great
strength, for the joss has no enemies, but sooner or later the strong
man must be overthrown by the hoard of weaklings that envy has set
against him. Do you desire something to drink, Mr. Flummers?"
"No."
"Now you place your feet on inconsistent and slippery ground, Mr.
Flummers. Remember that in order to hold our love you must not
surprise us."
"But I can't drink now; I have just had something to eat."
"Beware, Mr. Flummers. Inconsiderate eating caused a great general to
lose a battle, and now you are in danger. You may suffer superfluous
lunch to change our opinion of you, which means a withdrawal of our
love."
"Oh, wait a minute or two, John. But never mind. Say, there, boy,
bring me a little liquor. But, say, wasn't it funny that Detective
Stavers should give ten thousand dollars of that reward to the Home
for the Friendless? I used to work for the Pinkertons, and I know all
those guys, and there's not one of the whole gang that gives a snap
for charity. There's a mystery about it somewhere."
"Probably you can throw some light on it as you did on the Kittymunks
affair," Whittlesy suggested.
Flummers gave him a scallop. "Papa still holds you in the hollow of
his hand. Here you are; see?" He put his finger in the palm of his
hand. "You are right there; see? And when I want you, I'm going to
shut down, this way." He closed his hand. "And people will wonder what
papa's carrying around with him, but you'll know all the time."
"My," said Whittlesy, "what a dangerous man this fellow would be if he
had nerve! Oh, yes, people will wonder what you have in the hollow of
your hand, and sooner or later, they will find that you are carrying
three shells and a pea. Get out, Kittymunks. I'm afraid of you--too
tough for me."
Flummers waved Whittlesy into oblivion, and continued: "Old
Witherspoon gave up his check for twenty thousand, and there the
reward stops, for Mrs. Brooks won't give anything for having her
husband caught. It has been whispered in the _Star_ office that Henry
Witherspoon had something to do with the detection of Brooks, and made
Stavers promise that he would give half the reward to charity. But I
don't believe it. Why should he want to give up ten thousand? But
there's a mystery in it somewhere, and the first thing you know
papa'll get on the track of it. Here, boy, bring that drink. What have
you been doing out there? Have I got to drink alone? Well, I'm equal
to any emergency." He shuddered as he swallowed the whisky, but
recovered instantly, and with a circular movement, expressive of his
satisfaction, rubbed his growing paunch.
Witherspoon remained three days at home and then resumed his place at
the store. With a promptness in which he took a pride, he sent a check
to the detective. He did this even before he went down to the
Colossus. The physician had urged him to put aside all business cares,
and the merchant had replied with a contemptuous grunt. He appeared to
be stronger when he came home at evening, and he joked with Ellen; he
told her that she had narrowly escaped the position of temporary
manager of the Colossus. They were in the library, and a cheerfulness
that had been absent seemed just to have returned. Witherspoon went
early to bed and left Henry and Ellen sitting there.
"Don't you think he will be well in a few days?" the girl asked.
"Yes, now that his worry is locked in jail."
"That isn't so very bad," she replied, smiling at him. "But suppose
they hang his worry?"
"It may be all the better."
"Mother and I went this afternoon to see Mrs. Brooks," said the girl.
"And she doesn't appear to be crushed, either. I don't see why she
should be--they wouldn't have lived together much longer anyway. Oh,
of course she's humiliated and all that, but if she really cared for
him she'd be heartbroken. She used to tell me how handsome he was, but
that was before they were married. I think she must have found out
lately what she might have known at first--that he married her for
money. Oh, she's a good woman--there's no doubt of that--but she's
surely as plain a creature as I've ever seen."
"If I had thought that she loved him," said Henry, "I should have
hesitated a long time before seeking to fasten the murder on him. I
may have only a vague regard for justice, for abstract right is so
intangible; but I have a strong and definite sympathy."
"We all have," she said. "Oh, by the way," she broke off, as though by
mere accident she had thought of something, "you superintended the
Colossus for two whole days, didn't you?"
"I didn't exactly superintend it, but I stood about with an air of
helpless authority."
"But how did you get along with your paper during all that worry?" she
asked; and before he answered she added, "I don't see how you could
write anything."
"Worry is a bad producer, but a good critic," Henry replied. "And I
didn't try to write much," he added.
She put her elbows on the arm of her chair, rested her chin on her
hand and leaned toward him. "Do you know what I've been thinking of
ever since I came home?" she asked.
"Well," he answered, smiling on her, "as you haven't told me and as I
am not a mind-reader, I can't say that I do."
"Must I tell you?"
"Yes."
"And you won't be put out?"
"Surely not. You wouldn't want to tell me if you thought it would put
me out, would you?"
"No, but I was afraid this might." She hesitated. "I have been
thinking that you ought to go into business with father. Wait a
moment, now, please. You said you wouldn't be put out. You see how
much he needs you, and you ought to be willing to make a personal
sacrifice. You"--
He reached over and put his hand on her head. She looked into his
eyes. "Ellen, there is but one thing that binds me to a past that was
a hardship, but which after all was a liberty; and that one thing is
the fact that I am independent of the Colossus, the mill where
thousands of feet are treading. I have one glimpse of freedom, and
that is through the window of my office. It isn't possible that you
can wholly understand me, but let me tell you one time for all that I
shall have nothing to do with the store."
She put his hand off her head and settled back in her chair. "I
thought you might if I asked you, but I ought to have known that
nothing I could say would have any effect. You don't care for me; you
don't care for any of us."
"Ellen, it is but natural that you should side with father against me,
and it is also natural that I should decide in favor of myself. You
may say that on my part it is selfishness, and I may say that it is
more just than selfish. But you must _not_ say that I don't care for
you."
"Oh, it is easy enough for you to say that you _do_ care for me," she
replied. "It costs but a breath that must be breathed anyway; but if
you really cared for me you would do as I ask you--as I beg of you."
"Well," and he laughed at her, "there is a charming narrowness in that
view, I must say. If I love you I will grant whatever you may ask; and
if you love me--then what? Shall I answer?"
"Yes," she said, "as you seem to know what answer will be most
acceptable to you."
"No, not the answer most acceptable to me, but the one that seems to
be the most consistent. And if you love me," he continued, in answer
to the question, "you will not ask me to make a painful sacrifice."
He looked earnestly at her and added: "I think you'd better call me a
crank and dismiss the subject."
He expected her to take this as a humorous smoothing of their first
unpleasant ruffle, but if she did she shrewdly deceived him, for she
looked at him with the soberest of inquiry as she asked:
"Do you really think you are a crank?"
"I sometimes think so," he answered.
"Isn't it simply that you take a pride in being different from other
people. Don't you strive to be odd?"
"Are you talking seriously?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Well, then, I will say seriously that I do take a pride in being
different from some people?"
"Am I included?"
"Oh, nonsense, girl. What are you thinking about?"
"Oh, I know you don't care for any of us," she whimpered. "You won't
even let mother show her love for you; you try to surround yourself
with a lordly mystery."
"If I have a mystery it is far from a lordly one."
"But it's not far from annoying, I can tell you that."
"Don't try to pick a quarrel, little girl."
"Oh, I'm not half so anxious to quarrel as you are."
"All right; if that's the case, we'll get along smoothly. Get your
doll out of the little trunk and let us play with her."
She got up and stood with her hands resting on the back of the chair.
"If I didn't have to like you, Henry, I wouldn't like you a single
bit. But somehow I can't help it. It must be because I can't
understand you."
"Then why do you blame me for not making myself plain, since your
regard depends upon the uncertain light in which you see me?"
"You are so funny," she said.
"Then you ought to laugh at me instead of scolding."
"Indeed! But if I didn't scold sometimes you would rim over me; and
besides, we shouldn't have the happiness that comes from making up
again. Really, though, won't you think about what I have said?"
"I will think about you, and that will include all that you have said
and all that you may say."
"I oughtn't to kiss you good night, but after that I suppose I must.
There--Mr.--Ungratefulness. Good night."