Jack floundered on. "And me with all this rotten money! Every cent I
spend shames me, thinking of you here--and your mother."
"You haven't spent any since you met Mother, have you?" she suggested
maliciously.
"Don't tease me! I'm in earnest. Why will you be so silly?"
"Are you proposing that I accept a gift of some of your new riches?"
"I'm proposing that you accept me."
"I would never marry a man that pitied me."
"Oh, Kate!" he said, graveled and reproachful. "How silly!"
Then he got his wind again. "That's only putting me off. What's pity
got to do with it or anything? I just want you!"
"Why didn't you ask me when you were poor?" she murmured.
"How could I? I could scarcely keep myself."
"Then I am just a sort of luxury."
"Oh, Kitty! How unjust! You take a delight in putting me in the
wrong!"
"It's no use," she said with a firm shake of the head. "I haven't
changed since yesterday. If you insist on bringing this up every day,
it will only have the effect of spoiling my naturally amiable temper.
Let's change the subject. Tell me all your adventures since yesterday."
He was no match for her. He had to obey.
But if she was cruel in other respects, she made a rare listener. Her
eyes sparkled and her soft cheeks glowed with excitement as his tale
unfolded. When the devilish workings of the blackmailing scheme were
made clear to her, her indignation knew no bounds.
"The wretches! The _beasts_!" she murmured. "Oh, they must not be
allowed to go free. That poor, lonely old man! It is fine of you to
pledge yourself to run them down. It's a crusade in a way, isn't
it--and a dangerous one!" She gave him an extraordinary look through
her lashes. "Come to me after you have done your work," she murmured,
"and perhaps my answer will be different!"
"Oh, Kate!" he said, reaching for her hand.
She neatly evaded him. "Afterwards, I said. Now tell me what you mean
to do."
He told her.
"I wish I could help!" she said involuntarily.
Jack had a dazzling inspiration. It must have been his good fairy that
sent him that lovely idea all complete and ready to work. "Why, you
can help!" he cried.
"How?"
He made out, of course, that the idea had been in his head all the
time. "Listen. As Jack Norman's secretary I'm bound to become a
pretty well-known figure around town, and it stands to reason I can't
do much sleuthing in that character. I've get to have a disguise.
I've got to lead a double life. I'll work while Bobo sleeps."
"Yes, but what has that got to do with me?"
"Listen, I'm coming to that. I've told you about our suite at the
Madagascar, and Silas Gyde's two little rooms, and the secret way into
the house next door. Now, you see, I'll go to bed in the hotel as Jack
Norman's secretary, and in the morning I'll come out of the house next
door prepared for work in another character."
"But what am I to do?"
"That house belongs to me, you know, though the deed has never been
transferred. You must appear to rent it, furnish it and open it as a
first-class boarding-house--no, furnished apartments would be easier
for you."
"But"----
"Wait a minute. Then I can rent the second floor rear from you in my
new character. I can pass back and forth through the vault as I like,
and no one can possibly trace the connection between Jack Norman's
secretary and the sober little business man who lives in your house.
See?"
"Oh, I couldn't!"
"Why?"
"Mother wouldn't like it. And I--I'm not fitted for that sort of
thing."
"You could make a bluff at it. You said you wanted to help."
"But would it be helping? I think you're just trying to make an excuse
to get us out of this place."
"Nonsense! I had it in mind before I ever came to-night. It's
absolutely necessary to the success of my plans!"
"You're just trying to get around me."
"I'm not! How could I trust anybody else with the secret of that
vault?"
Jack had struck the right line at last. She could not resist this
subtle form of flattery, and in the end she gave in. "But I warn you
I'll make that house pay," she said.
"Oh, go as far as you like."
They discussed their arrangements in detail. Once she had consented,
Kate entered into it with a will. In the midst of their talk a clock
struck one.
"Half-past nine!" said Jack, starting up. "I clean forgot Bobo
downstairs!"
"Why didn't you bring him up?" said Kate. "I'm curious to see him."
"Thanks," said Jack, "but for once I wanted to play first fiddle
myself."
At the door he gave her her final instructions. "You will start in
to-morrow?"
"Yes," she said promptly. "I know a girl that will be pleased to
pieces to substitute for me at the typewriter."
"Oh, you'll never go back there," said Jack.
"We'll see," she said demurely. As a matter of fact her heart was
singing at the prospect of release from horrible monotony.
"My lawyer will come here in the morning with the keys and the
necessary funds," said Jack.
"Oh, don't have him come here. I'll go to his office."
"Very well, if you'd rather. I'll write down the address. You and I
mustn't see each other again, until I come to you to apply for a room.
Can you open up in three days?"
"Three days!" she cried, aghast.
"Oh, things are made easy for you, I find, when you have the coin."
"Well, I'll try."
Jack went down the stairs two steps at a time, not at all displeased
with himself. Had he not rescued Kate from her squalid surroundings,
and made sure of being able to see her as often as he wanted? Let her
fight him as she would, she was his partner already. She must come all
the way some day soon. It was silly for her to make out she didn't
mind poverty. She had given it away, in spite of herself.
The elegant limousine still rested at the curb, the chauffeur fast
asleep in the corner of the front seat. The dome light was now out and
Jack could not see into the body of the car. He was astonished when he
opened the door to find it empty. The chauffeur woke up instinctively.
"Where is Mr. Norman?" demanded Jack, staring at the spot where he
ought to have been.
"'Deed I don't know, sir. He was inside, all right, when I dropped
off. I heard you tell him to take a snooze, so I thought I----"
"Sure, that's all right," said Jack. "He's big enough to take care of
himself."
He looked anxiously up and down the street, but there was no sign of
his silk-hatted friend.
11
Jack was at a loss which way to turn. Suddenly at a street level
window of the apartment house he had just left, he saw a fat woman
resting her folded arms on a pillow on the sill. She looked as if she
had been there for hours. He approached, lifting his hat.
"Excuse me, madam, but did you see my friend get out of the car?"
"Sure, I see him," she replied in scornful accents. "Didn't he get out
and walk up and down gapping and stretching like he was tired of
waiting for you!"
"I'm sorry," murmured Jack. She seemed to expect it. Then: "Which way
did he go?"
"Well, a fellow come along from Lexington avenue way, and they got into
talk like. The fellow said: 'Fine night, friend.' And your friend
said: 'Right you are!' One thing led to another, and the fellow said:
'That your car?' And your friend says: 'One of them.'"
"Oh, the fool!" groaned Jack inwardly. Aloud he asked: "When was this?"
"Half an hour ago, maybe. And the fellow says: 'What make is it?'
'Goodwin twelve, ninety horse,' said the other fellow. And----"
"Yes, I know, but which way did they go?"
But the fat woman was not going to be cheated of the telling of her
tale. "I'm coming to that. And the fellow said--I don't mean your
friend, but the other fellow, he said: 'She's new, ain't she?' And the
other fellow said, that's the swell guy I'm referrin' to, the swell guy
says: 'Just out of the shop!' Bye and bye the fellow said: 'Will you
drink with me? And your friend says: 'Sure!' And they went in the
side door of the saloon on the corner yonder."
"Much obliged," said Jack, darting across the road.
His quarry had flown. There were half a dozen men lined up before the
mahogany, but Bobo was not among them. Neither was he in the small
sitting-room behind. Jack applied himself to the white-jacketed
bar-tender.
"Did a friend of mine come in here about half an hour ago?"
"Fellow dressed like yourself?"
Jack nodded.
"Sure, he come in here with a little guy with a bad eye."
"What d'ye mean, bad eye?"
"Crooked. He had a face you could break rocks on. I thought at the
time it was a case of a come-on, but it weren't my place to interfere.
'Specially as your friend seemed sober enough. But he certainly was
lappin' 'em up!"
Jack began to get seriously anxious.
"They downed four whiskeys in less'n ten minutes. Least your friend
did. Little guy just tasted hisn. Then they left."
"Where did they go?"
"Search me! Little guy says he knows a better place down the Avenue,
but I didn't hear the name of it. Swell guy says he can't go because
he's waiting for his friend, but little fellow says: 'Ahh, we'll be
back in fifteen minutes', and swell guy says: 'He's callin' on a dame
acrost the street, so I guess he's good for another half hour.' Then
they went out the front door."
One of the regulars of the place who had heard Jack's inquiry took up
the story here. "They got in a taxi-cab," he said. "I was watching
out of the window. It was Gus Harris' car, it was."
"Gus'll tell you where he took 'em," said the bar-tender soothingly.
"He'll be back in a minute if he don't pick up another fare in the
street," the other speaker said. "Just stick around awhile."
By this time everybody present was interested in Jack's quest. "Here
he is! Here's Gus!" half a dozen voices cried, as a battered taxi-cab
came to a stand before the door. They all followed him out on the
pavement.
"Did you pick up a friend of mine here?" asked Jack of the driver.
"You know, Gus. Swell guy with the tile and the wedding fixings," some
one added.
"Sure!" said Gus.
"Where did you take him?"
"McGann's, Third near Fifty-Eighth."
The name had an ominous ring. "McGann's?" said Jack. "Hasn't that
place a bad name?"
"The worst in town," said Gus cheerfully. "Want me to take you there?"
"Thanks, my own car is around the corner," said Jack.
He hastened to it.
Jack's heart sank at the aspect of McGann's. Never had he been in a
place better suited to deeds of evil. In front there was an ordinary
bar of the humbler kind. It was empty except for the bartenders busy
pouring drinks, which were carried behind a screen at the rear by a
waiter whose blotched face and furtive eyes suggested an unimagined
degradation. Bartender and waiter stared at Jack with a sneer.
"What, another!" the former said under his breath.
Behind the screen Jack found himself in a big, low-ceiled room set with
tables more than half filled with drinkers of both sexes. The walls
were dark and greasy, the air thick with the smoke of unspeakable
cigars. The strangest feature of the place was the silence that filled
it. The drinkers for the most part sat huddled in their chairs with
eyes cast down or caps pulled low. When they conversed it was in
hoarse whispers. When one wanted more drink he held up a finger. It
was a strange scene of merrymaking.
The presiding genius of the place was a head-waiter or "bouncer," who
did not soil his hands with serving, but lolled about the place
watching his patrons with a hard, ironical eye like an animal-trainer.
Jack, instinctively lowering his voice to suit the hushed air of the
place, addressed his usual question to this individual.
The man looked him over insolently before replying. A defiant sneer
turned the corners of his lips. "He ain't been here," he said curtly.
His look said: "Sure, I'm lying. What are you going to do about it?"
Jack flushed, and clenched his teeth. Turning his back on the man, he
addressed the room at large with raised voice.
"I'm looking for a friend of mine. Young fellow about twenty-four,
full habit, red cheeks, wearing a silk hat, white muffler, black
overcoat. Have any of you seen him? I'll pay for information."
Those huddled around the walls stirred in discomfort at the sound of a
voice so boldly raised in that place of whispers. None answered Jack.
None would look at him directly. The bouncer laughed unpleasantly.
"Are you satisfied? Now you can get out!"
It was galling to Jack's pride, but he saw nothing for it but to obey.
He walked out slowly with as much dignity as a man could muster under
the circumstances. He was in horrid expectation of a cowardly kick
from behind. But he would not turn around.
He paused in front of the place, and looked up and down for a
policeman. While he stood there one of the furtive figures slouched
out of the doorway behind him, and without stopping, whispered:
"Follow me a little way, and I'll tell you."
The man led him into the shadow of a nearby doorway. There were plenty
of people passing, and Jack's own chauffeur was still within hail. He
was not under any apprehension of an attack.
"Is it worth a fiver to you?" the man whined. "McGann would half kill
me if he knew I told."
Jack displayed a five-dollar bill. "It is worth a fiver," he said,
"but I'll hang on to it, until I hear what you have to say."
"That's fair enough. Your friend come into McGann's about half an hour
back. He was with a guy that's well known there. Wouldn't do you no
good to know his name. He's a friend of the boss and a bad egg. They
had one or two and your friend got groggy."
"Doped?" said Jack.
The man shrugged. "I didn't name it. Pretty soon the fellow that
brought him there says to Stinger--Stinger's the big guy, the bouncer
there--he says to Stinger: 'Me friend's real sick,' he says. 'We
better put him to bed.' We all knows what that means."
"What does that mean?" demanded Jack.
"Oh, they was just going to roll him. But just as they was liftin' him
up, a stranger come in, old man short and stoutish with a big mustache
and a little chin whisker, not to say a swell guy but dressed real
decent and genteel-like. He was old, but My God! he had his nerve with
him.
"'Put that man down,' says he.
"'W'at the Hell is it to you?' says Stinger.
"'He's a friend of mine,' the old feller says; 'I'll take him home.'
"'The Hell you will!' says Stinger. 'Get out of here before I throw
you out!'
"'You won't do that,' the old man says, smiling real polite.
"Then Stinger makes for him. The old guy pulled a police whistle.
Stinger slung a chair at him, but he ducked the chair, and blew his
whistle. The guy that brought your friend in, and some other guys that
was wanted, beat it out the back way. The rest of us just sat there.
Stinger rushed the old guy, but he pulled a gun and backed him off.
"Well, a cop come running in, and here's the funny part. The old guy
didn't make out to lay no charge against Stinger, but all of a sudden
he made out to be friends with him. The old guy says:
"'Sorry to trouble you, officer, but I had a friend here fightin'
drunk, and he tried to make a rough-house when I wanted him to come
home. But he's all in now; he won't give no more trouble. Just help
me carry him out to my car, will you?'
"Well, the cop on this beat didn't want to get in wrong with McGann,
and Stinger didn't want no trouble with the police neither. So it all
ended friendly-like. The cop and Stinger carried your friend out
between them, and put him in the old guy's automobile. But say,
Stinger cursed the old guy good when he was gone.
"You don't know where they took my friend?" Jack asked.
The man shrugged. "Headed downtown," he said. "That's all I know.
But I took good note of the car, if it's any good to you. It was one
of these here, now, limousines, like yours yonder, but with a long body
like a private ambulance, and painted black. It carried a Connecticut
license."
"What number?"
"Ahh! I didn't have no pencil to take it down. I forget."
This was all the information Jack could extract. He handed over the
bill, and the man scuttled away. Jack returned to his car, and stood
with his foot on the running-board, trying to plan out some reasonable
course of action.
"Old man, short and thick-set," he thought, "heavy mustache and a
little chin whisker; sounds like our friend who dropped us the note
last night. Looks like out of the frying-pan into the fire for Bobo.
But why should the Red Gang kidnap him when we've paid up? Maybe my
whole theory of the case is wrong."
He could think of nothing better to do than go to Police Headquarters
and send out an alarm for a long black limousine with a Connecticut
license. This would play havoc with his carefully laid plans.
Nevertheless he was about to give the order to his chauffeur, when a
boy of the street stopped beside him, and with inimitable grinning
impudence said:
"Say, fella, you'll find what you're lookin' for at the Hotel
Madagascar."
Jack, greatly startled, caught the boy by the arm. "Here, you, give an
account of yourself!" he demanded.
The boy wriggled in his grasp and whimpered: "Ahh! I ain't done
nottin'!"
"Who told you to tell me that?"
"Old guy in a big black limousine. Lemme go! I ain't done nottin'!"
"Where?"
"At the next corner there. I was just standin' there when the car come
acrost Third and stopped beside me. Old guy stuck his head out and ast
me did I want to make half a dollar. I says sure. And he gimme it.
And he says tell that guy in the silk hat standin' by the car in front
of McGann's that he'll find what he's lookin' for at the Hotel
Madagascar. Then he spoke to his shuffer and they went on towards the
Bridge."
"Was he alone in the car?"
"Sure. Except the shuffer."
Jack was at a loss how much of this to believe. As a matter of
precaution, he decided to hang on to the boy for the present. "You
come along with me," he said.
The boy obeyed with mixed feelings. He was still scared, but the
prospect of such a ride cheered him. His attitude persuaded Jack that
his tale was probably true. If he had had any connection with the Red
Gang, he would scarcely have yielded himself up to Jack so willingly.
Jack gave the word to return to the Madagascar. As they drove off the
boy waved his hand to his envious companions in the street. At the
hotel, Jack left him in charge of the chauffeur.
He found Bobo safe on his own bed.
Inquiry at the office revealed the fact that half an hour before he had
been brought home very much the worse for wear by an elderly friend,
who departed as soon as he had put him in his room. Jack dismissed the
boy and sent the car to the garage.
Returning to their suite, Jack gazed grimly at the recumbent Bobo, who
appeared to have suffered no permanent harm. He lay sprawling on the
bed, breathing stertorously. The big white shirt bosom was rumpled and
stained. His overcoat lay in a heap beside the bed. Jack was greatly
relieved, but indignant, and more puzzled than ever.
"I didn't suspect our friend with the imperial of being a
philanthropist," he thought. "His letters certainly didn't read that
way. Why the deuce did he take the risk of kidnapping Bobo from
McGann's if he only meant to bring him home? It beats the Dutch!"
Suddenly Bobo sat up with a grunt. "Wassa matter?" he asked thickly.
"That's what I'd like to know," said Jack.
Recollection returned to Bobo in a flash, and he clapped his head
between his hands. "Lord! But I'm sick!" he groaned hollowly.
"Get up," said Jack coldly. "Go into the bathroom, and stick your head
in cold water. I'll send for a pot of coffee for you."
Bobo put a hand to his waistcoat pocket, and seemed about to burst into
tears. "My watch is gone!" he wailed.
"You're lucky to be here yourself! A nice chase you've led me!"
"What time is it?"
Jack consulted his watch. "Ten-fifteen. It's been a busy forty-five
minutes!"
It was a much chastened Bobo that presently returned to the room.
"What happened to me?" he asked.
"I'll tell you. You fell into the hands of the Red Gang, that's all;
the same little gentleman with the Imperial that dropped us a line last
night. Why, after capturing you, he was content to give you up again,
I don't know."
Bobo turned pale, and his knees weakened under him. He dropped in a
chair. "The Red Gang!" he murmured. "Oh, my God! Never again! Never
again, s'elp me Bob! Never another drop unless you are right there to
take care of me!"
Jack grunted scornfully.
Jack picked up the overcoat from the floor. As he did so, he
discovered a piece of white paper pinned to the lapel.
"Ha! Maybe this is the key to the mystery!" he cried, pouncing on it.
It was written upon by the same hand that had indited the note of the
night before.
"_To the Secretary:_
"_For Heaven's sake try to teach this addle-pate the danger of drinking
with strangers. His foolishness to-night almost wrecked all our plans.
We have saved him from the worst den of thugs in New York, not from any
love of him, you may be sure, but because when the right time comes we
mean to get him ourselves._
"_The Red Gang._"
"Oh, Lor'! Oh, Lor'! Oh, Lor'!" groaned Bobo. "What's the use!
They'll get me anyhow!"
Jack laughed suddenly.
"What are you laughing at? I don't see anything to laugh at."
"Cheer up! This doesn't exactly mean what it says. I see it all now."
"What does it mean then?" said Bobo irritably.
"It means your skin is worth five hundred a month to the Red Gang, and
they've no notion of letting McGann's crew damage their property!"
12
Bobo was of a very elastic temperament. The pot of coffee quickly
completed his restoration. "Say," he said, "I feel all right now.
I've got a clean shirt. It's not too late to go to Mrs. Cleaver's."
"Well!" said Jack. "I was thinking you'd had enough company for
to-night."
"She'll be sore if we don't come," said Bobo.
"Well, I don't mind. Put on your things, and I'll telephone for the
car to be sent back."
Mrs. Cleaver had a modest little house in the Murray Hill district.
When Jack learned more about such things he appreciated her astuteness
in thus setting up her banner in the stronghold of yesterday's
aristocracy. The great people of day before yesterday still linger
north of Washington Square, but they hardly count nowadays. A house on
Murray Hill though still gives its owner a cachet of exclusiveness that
the grandest mansion uptown may lack.
The modest aspect of Mrs. Cleaver's house was limited to the Park
avenue façade. "My little house," she always called it. But once
inside one was astonished by the great sweep of salon, hall, music
room. Below there was a billiard room; above, a library and a little
salon. Strangers wondered where the inmates lived.
Jack and Bobo were not too late, for other cars were still rolling up
to the door.
"None sweller than this outfit," Bobo remarked with satisfaction.
They trod a red carpet under a peppermint striped awning.
"Lord! What'll we do when we get inside?" whispered Bobo in a sudden
panic.
"Just drift on the current," said Jack. "I expect things will be made
easy for us."
And they were. On the entrance floor there were cloak rooms as
efficiently run as those in a hotel--indeed, the house was in all ways
like a hotel. They presently found themselves mounting the main
stairway without having made a break. The whole floor above was thrown
into one room, and as they mounted a roar of polite conversation met
them like an advancing wave.
A superb major-domo at the head of the stairs threw terror into Bobo's
soul by demanding his name. Bobo stared at him dumbly, but Jack caught
on and answered for both. Their names were bellowed to the roof.
"Mr. Norman!"
"Mr. Robinson!"
Mrs. Cleaver having allowed it to become known that the amazing young
millionaire of a day, New York's latest sensation, might be expected,
the sound of his name had an electrical effect. The conversational
surf was stilled as if by magic, and every face was turned towards the
two young men.
Bobo suddenly discovering that "society" people, of whom he had stood
secretly in awe, were no harder to impress than those of the hotel,
soared like a balloon. He advanced with languid eyebrows, lacking only
the monocle to give a perfect imitation of his hero, the imported
actor. Jack followed at his heels, smiling.
Mrs. Cleaver, leaving the greatest persons there, came swimming to meet
them. Figuratively they rubbed their eyes at the sight of her. She
was one who went in frankly for hothouse effects. Her hair was the
color of cherrywood stain, her cheeks tinted to match. Her dress was
one of those outlandish creations one occasionally sees in the
shop-windows, just for an advertisement, one supposes.
"A beaded bib and a torn piano cover!" Jack described it to himself.
Jack naturally had to content himself with the briefest of nods from
their hostess. Her heavy ammunition was reserved for Bobo.
"How good of you to come! I hardly dared hope--on such short notice!
I hope I am the first to present you to the great world. Everybody is
here to-night. But I'm not going to introduce you to a soul until I've
had you to myself for awhile!" etc., etc.
Pausing only long enough to unload Jack on a neglected female sitting
in the corner, she carried Bobo off. She was still gushing like the
great geyser, and Bobo had nothing to do but fiddle in his waistcoat
pockets, and incline a languid, attentive head, a part he played to
perfection. Jack had no anxiety on his account. Whatever breaks he
made, they would simply call him an "original." Was he not a hundred
times a millionaire?
Jack discovered that his companion like many a neglected female was not
without spice.
"A queer gang, isn't it?" was her opening remark.
"I don't know," said Jack, "haven't had a chance to give 'em the once
over yet."
"You don't look as if you belonged," she said with a sharp look. "You
look almost human."
"Oh, you're too discerning. How did you get here yourself?"
"I'm not human. A girl of my attractions can't afford it. I'm Sonia
Kharkov."
"I wouldn't have thought it of you."
"Everything's Russian nowadays. I write poems about surgical
operations. My last was entitled 'Appendectomy.'"
"How thrilling! Sorry I never read any."
"Oh, I don't publish. I only talk about them. It gets me many a good
meal."
"Well, you're a good sport," said Jack.
More than an hour passed before Jack caught sight of Bobo again. In
the meantime he was parted from the poetess, and the deafening clamor
began to weary him.
"There's enough hot air let out here to fill one of the Consolidated
gas-tanks," he had said to the poetess.
"Yes, but it's not illuminating gas," she had retorted.
He reflected that he would most likely run across Bobo in the vicinity
of the refreshments, and conducting an investigation, he discovered an
excellent buffet supper set forth in one of the rooms below. Sure
enough, Bobo presently drifted in here.
"Where have you been?" asked Jack.
"Oh, Mrs. Cleaver took me up to the library where she receives a few of
the principal guests," he drawled.
"My word!" said Jack, fixing him with an imaginary monocle.
The sarcasm was lost on Bobo. He exhibited a new preoccupation. He
had a faraway gaze, and ever and anon he heaved a sigh. Even his
appetite was affected. He ate nothing at all; not a thing except a
couple of _vol au vents_ of chicken livers, a helping of lobster
Newburgh, a handful of sandwiches, a cup of punch or two, and a plate
of _petits fours_.
"Come away," he said with his mouth full. "I want to talk to you."
They found an unoccupied corner under the stairs, and lit cigarettes.
"I'm in love!" announced Bobo.
"No!" said Jack.
"'S a fact! The real thing! Bowled me right over! Floored me! I
feel--I feel all gone here!" He laid a plump hand on the pit of his
stomach.
"You need nourishment," said Jack. "Come on back!"
"Don't josh me! This is serious. I'm completely changed. I feel as
if I never wanted to eat again. Her name is Miriam Culbreth."
"Um-yummie," said Jack.
"She's the most beautiful girl in the whole world. The moment I laid
eyes on her I knew it was all up with me. No other girl ever made me
feel like that. And the wonderful part of it is she took to me right
off the bat."
"Hm!" said Jack cynically.
Bobo never heeded. "We started right in talking as if we had known
each other for years. We found out that we both like the same things.
I never met a girl that understood me so well. She said she admired
me."
"Discriminating," murmured Jack.
"Such eyes!" sighed Bobo. "When she looks at you like this, through
her lashes, you feel--you feel as if you were going up in an airplane.
And she has the nature of a child!"
"What are your intentions towards this sweet child?"
"Intentions! No man could have any but the most honorable intentions
towards her!"
"Sure! Then how are you going to support her in the style to which she
has been accustomed?"
"Oh, she's well fixed. You should see the way she dresses!"
"Be careful! The best dressers are poor girls. It's a life and death
matter with them. This girl is displaying her goods on the basis of a
hundred million. You can't honestly accept it for less."
"There isn't a mercenary thought in her head. If she ever marries it
will be for love alone. She told me so herself. You don't understand
her. She's as simple and natural as--as a wild-flower!"
"I haven't noticed many wild-flowers around here."
"She isn't like these people. She's different from other girls."
"Did she tell you that, too?"
"Why, yes, how did you know?"
"They generally do."
"You must come and meet her. I told her about you."
"What!" asked Jack sharply.
"I mean, I told her I had had the luck to secure a secretary, who was a
very clever fellow, and could do everything for me."
"Now that was nice of you!"
"Come on up to the library and I'll introduce you."
"But I'm not one of the distinguished guests."
"That's all right. Mrs. Cleaver said I was to treat the house as if it
was my own!"
Bobo paused only long enough to snatch another mouthful or two, and
they made their way up two flights of the broad stairs. On the main
floor the racket was undiminished, though it was long past midnight.
Somewhere in the distance one seemed to be frantically sawing on a
violin, but it was impossible to be sure. On the floor above the
groups were smaller, and one had a pleasant sense of rising above
pandemonium.
Bobo led the way into the front room. In the corner a lovely lady
reclined in a low basket chair filled with cushions. Three cavaliers
were in attendance. Quick to spot the approach of newcomers, she
dismissed the three with charming insolence.
"Run along, boys. I'm tired of you now."
The departing ones greeted the arrivals with no friendly glances.
Jack could not but commend Bobo's taste in beauty. The girl was indeed
lovely to look at. She had great brown eyes, capable of working havoc
in the most indurated male heart, an exquisite naturally pale
complexion, and a glorious crown of chestnut hair. She was enveloped
in slinky draperies of black silk, and her ankles were truly poetic.
But when she began to talk, Jack did not feel obliged to alter the
opinion he had formed of her in advance. There was nothing simple
about her--or rather, her simplicity was the effect of well-nigh
perfect art. Jack was not much more experienced in these matters than
Bobo, but he had a healthy instinct of incredulity.
Her method with Jack was much more subtle than with Bobo, and she had
no objection whatever to letting Jack see that it was. It was part of
her system of delicate flattery to allow him to understand that she
recognized him at once as of a superior intelligence to Bobo. Jack was
flattered of course, but she made a mistake with him at the start that
spoilt all her work with him. It never occurred to her that Jack might
be honest at heart.
No man, however safeguarded, could escape the effect of her beauty.
For Jack there was but one woman in the world, but even his breast was
shaken by a sudden lift of the brown eyes. They had a mysterious,
haunting beauty, which even this bigness and softness was not
sufficient to explain. Jack, when he had an opportunity to look
closer, saw that they were not brown at all, but hazel; that is to say
gray, with a rim of brown around the iris. It was the effect of these
strangely-colored eyes looking through curved black lashes that moved
men to reckless deeds.
Her conversation was not clever. It had no need to be. If she had
recited the Thirty-Nine Articles Bobo would have hung on her lips
entranced. Jack was too busy trying to explore the mystery of her real
self to pay much attention to what she chose to give out.
"Hazel eyes!" he was thinking. "Where have I heard of another girl
with hazel eyes? Oh, yes, it was the pretty stenographer who tried to
spy on Silas Gyde. She had chestnut hair, too, and a mole inside her
right forefinger. I don't suppose these tapering fingers ever jarred
the keys."
"What are you thinking of, Mr. Robinson?" Miss Culbreth asked in
silvery tones. "I declare you are one of those dreadful men that bore
you through and through with their eyes and never say a word."
"I'd rather bore you with my eyes than with my conversation."
"Mercy! Clever, too! I'm frightened to death of you!"
"Didn't I tell you he was clever?" put in poor Bobo, without at all
appreciating what was going on.
"The worst of it is," said Miss Culbreth, "that the men who won't talk
are those who really have something to say."
This was accompanied by the shadow of a disdainful glance in Bobo's
direction, and a warm flash towards Jack, the suggestion being: "One
has to humor the stupid rich, but one enjoys oneself with the witty
poor!"
Jack was flattered through and through, but at the same time he was
thinking: "She's a regular man-eater. I'll have to watch out for poor
Bobo."
"You don't approve of me," she said, casting down the lovely eyes.
"Indeed I do," Jack protested. "What you mistake for disapproval is
quite another feeling."
"And what is that?"
"Instinct of self-preservation!"
"Are women so dangerous?"
"Not all women."
Her bold, pleased glance at Jack said: "We can have fun right under his
stupid nose, can't we?"
But Bobo was growing restless, and she turned to him promptly, as
befitted a prudent, marriageable girl. "You were gone an awfully long
time," she complained.