HEARD AT THE SHERMAN TABLE-D’HÔTE.
No wonder Wycherley stops eating and looks at his companion in a dazed
way. The announcement made by the other is of a nature to take his
breath away. What sort of man can Samson Cereal be? It is quite enough,
he thinks, to have one wife, who was supposed to be dead, turn up, but
two of a kind--quite staggers him.
“Wait a moment, Aleck, until I collect my wits. Really, you have
knocked them helter-skelter with such a remarkable assertion. There,
now, go on with the circus. This woman, whom I had the good fortune to
assist, was once the wife of the old speculator, you say.”
“It is true. They were married when he was a young man--just at the
close of the War. I believe he met her in Kentucky, for she was a
native of Lexington, and called a beauty, and I imagine somewhat of a
flirt.
“Some years later a child was born to them, a boy. Samson began to
suspect his wife of being in love with a dashing Southerner. He was a
plain man himself, you know, and Adela--that is her name--admits that
he gave her no cause for such treachery. She lays it all to the fact of
her own mother dying when she was a child, and of her father’s lax ways
of living, and that she had never known a woman friend whose advice
could have saved her.
“Samson was just, but he was also merciless. The awakening came like
a thunder clap. He cast her off and applied for a divorce, which was
given him; also the custody of the boy, then four years old.
“Fearing she might attempt to steal the child, he sent him away, and
for years did not look on his face, because it reminded him of a
faithless wife.”
“Ah,” breaks in the actor, “then the mother and boy were very much
alike. Your speaking of Phœnix causes me to remember. She reminded me
of someone. I see it now. The resemblance is marked.”
Aleck smiles.
He can afford to do so now, since he has learned of the relationship
between Dorothy and the young miner. That both of them spring from the
same father. Her “sacred mission,” is plain to him at last, for it must
have a connection with some reconciliation between father and son.
That is why Craig smiles. The teeth of his terror have been drawn, and
he no longer need worry about the possible rival who comes out of the
wild, untamed West.
“Later on Samson went abroad. We know what happened to him there. He
made a strange venture into the sea of matrimony, and, as before, drew
a blank. Coming to Chicago he entered upon the speculative business, in
which he has since become famous; but at that time he was only a small
dog, a drop in the bucket, and unnoticed.
“I do not know what trouble came up. We have believed the beautiful
Georgian left him and fled to her native land again. Perhaps later on
we may learn more about this.
“At any rate, it was given out that she was dead. Dorothy believed so,
and in all probability does so to-day. We chance to know that Marda
the Georgian lives--that she is at the Fair, and has come for some
definite purpose.
“As to Adela--her life has been a sad one. Cast off by her husband she
went back to Kentucky. She was still lovely, and it was not long before
her hand was sought in marriage by a worthy gentleman. Investigation
brought to light the fact that in granting the divorce to Cereal, the
woman was still looked upon as married, and forbidden to ever again
enter upon wedlock while her husband lived.
“Thus Adela was forced to refuse the offer. She taught school; her
people moved West; and she has experienced many strange vicissitudes of
fortune, yet she vowed in my presence and in the sight of Heaven that
the one indiscretion named was the last of her life--that her eyes were
opened, her life saddened, and ever since the day her husband put her
aside she has lived in the one hope that the time would come when she
might redeem herself in his eyes. She has not lived in vain. Whenever
the yellow fever raged in the South, there Adela could be found
nursing the sick. She was the angel of light in Jacksonville when the
dread scourge wasted Florida’s metropolis. Only for her own illness she
would have been in Brunswick this summer. Her life is nearly spent--she
has consumption now--and it is the prayer of her last days that before
she goes he may forgive her; that some opportunity may yet arise
whereby she can win that pardon.
“Now about her boy. Once she found him, but dared not make herself
known, on account of the past. He suddenly disappeared from the city
where he was attending a military academy, nor could she trace him
again; but at the town photographer’s she found a picture of him which
she has carried ever since, no doubt to cry over in her lonely hours,
poor woman.”
Aleck hands over a card photograph. It is not a stylish picture,
such as our artists of to-day produce, but faithful to the life.
It represents a young fellow of about fifteen, a handsome,
independent-looking chap, with something of a Southern air about him,
which is heightened by the cadet suit of gray he wears.
“This settles all doubt,” remarks Wycherley; “it’s the young miner from
Colorado, whom we saw with Dorothy--her brother; and at the same time I
can see the poor lady I helped out of the Hotel des Vagabonde fire.”
“You had your room in that tenement, Claude?”
“Yes,” reddening a trifle.
“And all your books, your bachelor trophies, your many comforts were
lost?”
“Everything. My luxurious divan, my chair, the like of which could
not be found in a Vanderbilt mansion, the wonderful oil paintings,
gems of art, the original collection of curios which a Sypher might
not despise--all went. But, Aleck, my boy, my entire loss didn’t
exceed five dollars, I assure you. What is that to a man who has won a
million.”
“Ah! your speculation then was a success?” smiling.
“A stupendous one. Wiped out all past debts and have a million ahead.
No time to figure it up yet; may be a couple of hundred thousand either
way, but that is a matter of small importance.”
Craig never ceases to be amused at the strange idiosyncracies of his
queer companion. He realizes by this time--perhaps from the enormous
dinner Wycherley is making--that the other has no means, and it is
really ridiculous to see a man without a dollar in his pocket declaring
so carelessly that a quarter of a million one way or the other is a
matter of little importance.
“One thing about this matter gives me pain,” the Canadian says
presently.
“You refer to Bob Rocket and his mission?” remarks the actor, still
busy with knife and fork.
“Yes. He comes to arrest John Phœnix, whom we know to be the son of
Samson Cereal.”
“That is unfortunate, but the young man has embezzled fifty thousand
dollars from the mining company, and the outraged law of Colorado
must take its course. You wouldn’t think of hindering Rocket in the
discharge of his duty, Aleck?”
“Oh, no! far from it. At the same time, I cannot help regretting the
circumstance. It will be a blow to Dorothy, who seems to think a good
deal of this half brother. They must have met before.”
“Perhaps corresponded. As for myself, I am amazed at the young man’s
foolhardiness. Why has he allowed the fatal attraction of the Fair to
detain him here when he should be across the lakes in Canada. That’s
the trouble with most men--they don’t use common sense under such
circumstances.”
“We’ve got more than we want of them over in Canada. If my country
should ever become a member of your Union, which, I grant you, is a
possible thing, though I’m not one in favor of it, there will be such
an exodus of boodle aldermen and other rascals as has never been seen
before; and no honest man in the Dominion will shed a tear. Why, some
among us favor annexation simply to save Canada from being the dumping
ground of your swindlers.”
Wycherley laughs at this, and hands his plate to the staring waiter
with an aside “a little more of that delicious roast beef--and be sure
to have it rare.”
“You visit the Cereal manse to-night, I believe, Aleck. I wonder if
John will be there. Perhaps he and his father in times gone by have
had a falling out, and Dorothy is patching up the peace between them.
Very clever of her. She’s a girl in a thousand, and remembering who
her mother was--begging your pardon, my dear boy, as she may yet be
a mother-in-law to you--I am amazed and wonder where she got her
sensible ways. Then there’s Bob Rocket--I know the man to a dot--he’ll
be around, and if it should so happen that he receives his telegram in
the midst of the festivities, he’ll arrest his man right there. Twenty
millionaires wouldn’t awe him, nor would he respect the palace of the
Czar of Russia. With the majesty of the law back of him he’d do his
duty.”
“Then we’ll hope that his instructions, having been delayed so long,
will continue to dally, at least until the evening is well spent. If
Mr. Cereal is reconciled to his son, it would be too humiliating to
have the boy arrested at his house. At any rate, I shall keep clear of
it, and for Dorothy’s sake would like to see John get away.”
This absorbing topic has monopolized their conversation thus far, but
having in a measure exhausted it, they branch out upon other subjects.
At length the dinner is ended. Aleck presses his companion to relate
the stirring scene of the previous night, and is accommodated with a
yarn that has many comical features to it, for the actor is a genius in
discovering the ridiculous side of anything, though Craig declares he
is certain the affair was anything but humorous to those concerned.
All the while the Canadian is planning as to how he may make his friend
accept a loan, without hurting his feelings. In the end he decides that
the best way to do is to go squarely at the matter, in a frank manner.
“Since you lost all you had in the fire, Claude, you must allow me to
make you a little loan. There, not a word, sir--I shall feel insulted
if you refuse”--passing over a fifty-dollar note.
Wycherley fumbles the bill with trembling fingers. “Great Heavens,
Aleck,” he says huskily, “it’s been many a long day since I’ve held
a bill like this in my hands. It makes me feel like something of
importance. Bless you, my dear boy. I shall repay it if I live.”
Together they leave the dining room.
“Try a weed,” proposes Aleck; and as he draws the fragrant smoke
Wycherley is fain to believe his morning sacrifice has met with its
reward, heaped up and running over.
Together they sit in the cool rotunda of the hotel, enjoying their
postprandial smoke, and exchanging remarks about various things of
mutual interest.
While thus engaged a tall gentleman with a gray mustache, and a face on
which great shrewdness is marked, saunters past and glances at them.
Then he returns and stops.
“I beg your pardon, gentlemen, but the clerk told me Mr. Aleck Craig
was over here. Do either of you happen to bear that name?”
He looks straight at the Canadian, as though easily picking him out to
be the man.
“That is my name, sir,” replies Aleck quickly.
“I am glad to meet you, Mr. Craig. I have a little business with you.
My name is Samson Cereal.”