BY SPECIAL DELIVERY.
The words, the tone in which they are spoken, and what he knows of
the woman cause Aleck to sympathize with her. At the same time he is
surprised to find her in Samson Cereal’s mansion. A suspicion flashes
into his mind that perhaps she is here for no good purpose, but he
immediately dismisses it with scorn.
“What brings you here--I feel as though I had a right to ask?” he says.
“A double reason--my desire to see my boy, for he is mine even though
the cruel law took him from me--and the longing that for one night I
might be under the same roof that shelters them both. Once in the long
ago we made a happy family. O God! that Satan’s hand came between!
Years of atonement have followed--will suffering never wash out a sin
like that? But I forget myself--I vowed I would control my feelings if
I came. You will not betray one so wretched?”
“Not for worlds. But you must tell me how you managed to gain access
here.”
“I know his housekeeper. She was a nurse in the hospital when I was
head nurse, and she owed me some gratitude. When I asked this favor she
readily granted it, though of course utterly ignorant of my motive.”
He has not forgotten what she declared was her hope--that Heaven would
give her a chance to prove her love, her repentance, before the grim
Destroyer, who had fastened upon her, came to claim his victim.
Thus he is assured that she will do no harm, though he can hardly
believe she is wise in enduring the melancholy pleasure of gazing upon
forbidden fruit.
“Have you met him?” he asks, curious to know whether Samson Cereal
could suspect.
“Oh, yes! but I am utterly unlike the Adela he married in the long ago.
Besides, these glasses which I carry give me a different look.”
She puts them on, and Aleck admits he would not have known her.
“He failed to recognize you, then?”
“Yes. I trembled a little, for he looked at me steadily with those
stern eyes; but believing me to be dead years ago, he did not suspect.
Oh, sir! imagine my feelings in this house, where but for that one
fatal indiscretion I even now might be the proud and happy mistress.
God give me courage and strength to warn others to avoid the rocks upon
which my life was wrecked.”
“Amen!” says Aleck solemnly, for he feels as though he is in the
presence of a priestess.
She turns and leaves him, as some ladies need her assistance. Aleck
reflects upon the strange combination of circumstances that have been
grouped amid these scenes of pleasure and beauty. The guests move
about, singing takes place, with occasional gentle serenades by the
company of musicians hidden among the palms and ferns; and none of
them even suspect what an undercurrent of human tragedy is occurring
beneath the placid surface. Apparently all is mirth and good cheer;
people nowadays do not carry their hearts on their sleeves. The swan is
said to sing as it dies. Brave mariners on the stormy deep go down with
colors flying. So, in this day of sudden changes, men have laughed and
joked merrily over yawning financial graves, taking the old saying to
heart, “Let us eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die.”
Will a thunderbolt drop from this clear sky and bring consternation
among those present?
Again he observes Samson Cereal and notes a certain fact. His son
has come, and everything passed off well, yet the look of concern is
still upon the father’s face, and he glances ever and anon in the
direction of the door, as though he longs for yet dreads the coming of
_something_.
Surely this man cannot fear the Turk. Aleck shakes his head negatively
at the thought. There is something of the lion in the operator’s
make-up. He was a soldier in the war--a young captain at the time he
fell in love with the Kentucky girl, Adela; and his reputation has
always been that of a brave man. Many a time has he met the masses
on the financial battleground, and rolled back the mad assault with
the strength of his will. This is hardly the man to fear Scutari at
home, when he braved the powerful pasha upon the latter’s own ground.
Something else worries him, of which Aleck is ignorant.
He puts two or three things together and then readies a decision.
“I believe it is the expected telegram. Perhaps he has big issues at
stake. The life of a speculator is not all rose-colored, I can see,”
the Canadian mutters.
By and by Aleck chances to run across the man from Colorado, who greets
him with the warmth that is a part of his nature; and the hand-shake
that follows is marked by unusual vigor.
“No need of my asking why you are here, Colonel Rocket,” he says
meaningly.
“Well, you understood what brought me from Colorado. Business is
business with me. I knew Cereal, and took advantage of a former meeting
to call, when he asked me to drop in. I’m not in the habit of wearing
these duds, you see; and privately, between you and the gate post, Mr.
Craig, I rented out this suit from a costumer; but my life has taken me
among all classes of men, and I’m pretty much at home wherever I chance
to go. Quite a swell gathering here, and I reckon there’ll be a dandy
spread to top off with. What d’ye think of him any way?” with a crook
of his thumb over his shoulder.
“Do you mean our host?”
“The deuce, no! It’s John.”
“He makes a fine looking gentleman.”
“Correct, Mr. Craig! Now I’ve had a long experience, and you can bet
I’ve seen some strange ones in my day, but I give you my word for it
I’ve never set eyes on so smooth a customer. Why, he’d fool the keenest
of ’em. His face bears the stamp of honesty. Reckon that’s how he came
to have such a good chance to rake in so big a pile.”
“Colonel, have you ever known mistakes to occur in such things?”
Bob Rocket turns his eagle eye upon the other.
“Certainly I have--why?”
“Might it not be possible under these circumstances?”
“Hardly! You saw the picture yourself, and you can see he owns to the
name of Phœnix--at least they call him John.”
“Of course I know little or nothing about the many secrets of your
business. My only guide is the reading of character on the face, and I
admit that is very deceptive.”
“Yes, you have much to learn, sir. It’s been a business with me to
study human nature since I was knee high to a duck. I’d be glad, for
the old gentleman’s sake, if his boy turned out innocent, but there’s
about one chance in fifty of its happening.”
“Speaking of Phœnix reminds me of something. It had slipped my mind
before. There’s a young fellow in Chicago from your region who seems to
know him.”
“That information might be valuable to me, under certain conditions.
Who is he?”
“Bless me, the only name I heard him give was Happy Jack!”
“Not very much to the point.”
“He is stopping at the Sherman House. I met him last night on the
Midway under peculiar circumstances,” and Aleck proceeds to relate the
adventure near the western exit, when the Turk and his hired myrmidons
attempted to carry off a daughter of Chicago.
“Come, I’m interested in Happy Jack. From the words he dropped while
in that stupid state it’s plain he’s a Western man; a miner, I reckon.
Knows John Phœnix, does he--I may yet have to call upon him to
identify my man, so that I can get the necessary requisition papers.
I’ll just make a note of the fact--always jot ’em down--memory might
confuse things. There, that settles it beyond all question. Folks must
think we’re making a trade. Such things are allowable in the house of a
big plunger like Cereal, eh?”
The sheriff from Colorado laughs in a good-natured way, as though he
enjoys the joke; but somehow Aleck has found a new matter upon which to
ponder, an idea that opens up an avenue the end of which no man can see.
“We’ll wait and see how you turn out, colonel. Meanwhile I’ve written
something on this piece of paper--I put it in this envelope and sealed
it up. There, place it in your pocket. Now, when the crisis of your
game occurs, open this and see how near the truth I’ve come.”
“Quite a clever idea. I’ll do it, by Jove. Here comes some of the
ladies, bless ’em! Won’t leave me alone--Cereal been telling some of my
adventures and making out I’m a Buffalo Bill sort of a dashing hero.
All I want is to keep my man in sight. Only for him and duty, _how_ I
would enjoy this 'ere racket. Ladies, your servant. What can I do for
you?”
The Colorado sheriff bows with the grace of a Chesterfield, and a
chorus of feminine voices arises:
“Oh, Colonel Rocket, Mr. Cereal has just been telling us about the time
you rescued a lovely maiden from the Indians who raided the border. He
was unable to finish the romance and sent us to you. What became of
Mary?”
The colonel’s eyes twinkle.
“Oh! she married a worthless scamp out in Denver afterward, and I
reckon has been sorry for it ever since,” he says nonchalantly.
A chorus of indignant exclamations arises.
“It was a shame--after you risked your life to save her!”
The colonel, as they flit away like a bevy of butterflies, turns to
Aleck and adds dryly:
“Mary is my wife.”
At this the Canadian bursts out laughing.
“Why didn’t you say so, then?”
“Ah! I’ve cut my eye-teeth, Mr. Craig. So long as they believe me a
bachelor there’s a halo of romance around my head, no matter how
homely I may be. Once stamp me a married man, and I’m left to amuse
myself--the glamour is gone. Now, my private affairs have nothing to
do with these giddy young rosebuds, and I don’t care to have my family
under microscopic examination. Hence my silence.”
Aleck falls to musing.
“Wycherley would say you were right. At least I could depend on him
until to-night, but he seems to have turned over a new leaf, and there
you have him cutting a heavy swell with the banker’s daughter, and
playing the devoted. Jove! he’s the most remarkable of men.”
“Quite a clever fellow, and you can bet I’m ready to yell myself hoarse
if success comes to him. I wanted to see him on the top wave. He
deserves it all. The little sister who is now living with my wife and
family never forgets to pray for Claude Wycherley.”
“Well, I think he’s on the road to success, for Samson Cereal has taken
to him, and means to utilize some talent he has for reading between the
lines of stock quotations.”
“I see--feeling the pulse of the market as it were. Pardon me, every
ring at the bell attracts my attention. I must keep an eye on the door.
The colored footman opens it. Eureka! a messenger boy with a note.
He refuses to deliver it over. Wise chap--long head! Such important
matters ought only be given to those they’re meant for. My telegram
has arrived. Now we’ll know what’s what, and be able to wind matters
up. Ah, there! my colored friend, lead him this way, that’s right.
Here I am. Colonel Robert Rocket of Colorado,” and with a broad smile
of pleasure, and an eagerness he cannot disguise, the Western sheriff
holds out his hand for the message.