COALS OF FIRE
It was not that he had realized heavily in his investments which caused
his friends and his enemies to regard him in a new light; his profit
had been quite small, as things go on the Exchange in these days. The
mere fact that he had shown such foresight proved sufficient cause for
the reversal of opinion. Men looked at him with new interest in their
eyes, with fresh confidence. His unfortunate operations in the stock
market had restored him to favor in all circles. The man, young or old,
who could do what he had done with Lumber and Fuel well deserved the
new promises that were being made for him.
Brewster bobbed uncertainly between two emotions--elation and distress.
He had achieved two kinds of success--the desired and the undesired. It
was but natural that he should feel proud of the distinction the
venture had brought to him on one hand, but there was reason for
despair over the acquisition of $50,000. It made it necessary for him
to undertake an almost superhuman feat--increase the number of his
January bills. The plans for the ensuing spring and summer were dimly
getting into shape and they covered many startling projects. Since
confiding some of them to "Nopper" Harrison, that gentleman had worn a
never-decreasing look of worry and anxiety in his eyes.
Rawles added to his despair a day or two after the Stock Exchange
misfortune. He brought up the information that six splendid little
puppies had come to bless his Boston terrier family, and Joe Bragdon,
who was present, enthusiastically predicted that he could get $100
apiece for them. Brewster loved dogs, yet for one single horrible
moment he longed to massacre the helpless little creatures. But the old
affection came back to him, and he hurried out with Bragdon to inspect
the brood.
"And I've either got to sell them or kill them," he groaned. Later on
he instructed Bragdon to sell the pups for $25 apiece, and went away,
ashamed to look their proud mother in the face.
Fortune smiled on him before the day was over, however. He took
"Subway" Smith for a ride in the "Green Juggernaut," bad weather and
bad roads notwithstanding. Monty lost control of the machine and headed
for a subway excavation. He and Smith saved themselves by leaping to
the pavement, sustaining slight bruises, but the great machine crashed
through the barricade and dropped to the bottom of the trench far
below. To Smith's grief and Brewster's delight the automobile was
hopelessly ruined, a clear loss of many thousands. Monty's joy was
short-lived, for it was soon learned that three luckless workmen down
in the depths had been badly injured by the green meteor from above.
The mere fact that Brewster could and did pay liberally for the relief
of the poor fellows afforded him little consolation. His carelessness,
and possibly his indifference, had brought suffering to these men and
their families which was not pleasant to look back upon. Lawsuits were
avoided by compromises. Each of the injured men received $4,000.
At this time every one was interested in the charity bazaar at the
Astoria. Society was on exhibition, and the public paid for the
privilege of gazing at the men and women whose names filled the society
columns. Brewster frequented the booth presided over by Miss Drew, and
there seemed to be no end to his philanthropy. The bazaar lasted two
days and nights, and after that period his account-book showed an even
"profit" of nearly $3,000. Monty's serenity, however, was considerably
ruffled by the appearance of a new and aggressive claimant for the
smiles of the fair Barbara. He was a Californian of immense wealth and
unbounded confidence in himself, and letters to people in New York had
given him a certain entrée. The triumphs in love and finance that had
come with his two score years and ten had demolished every vestige of
timidity that may have been born with him. He was successful enough in
the world of finance to have become four or five times a millionaire,
and he had fared so well in love that twice he had been a widower.
Rodney Grimes was starting out to win Barbara with the same dash and
impulsiveness that overcame Mary Farrell, the cook in the mining-camp,
and Jane Boothroyd, the school-teacher, who came to California ready to
marry the first man who asked her. He was a penniless prospector when
he married Mary, and when he led Jane to the altar she rejoiced in
having captured a husband worth at least $50,000.
He vied with Brewster in patronizing Barbara's booth, and he rushed
into the conflict with an impetuosity that seemed destined to carry
everything before it. Monty was brushed aside, Barbara was preempted as
if she were a mining claim and ten days after his arrival in New York,
Grimes was the most talked-of man in town. Brewster was not the sort to
be dispatched without a struggle, however. Recognizing Grimes as an
obstacle, but not as a rival, he once more donned his armor and beset
Barbara with all the zest of a champion who seeks to protect and not to
conquer. He regarded the Californian as an impostor and summary action
was necessary. "I know all about him, Babs," he said one day after he
felt sure of his position. "Why, his father was honored by the V. C., on
the coast in '49."
"The Victoria Cross?" asked Barbara, innocently.
"No, the vigilance committee."
In this way Monty routed the enemy and cleared the field before the end
of another week. Grimes transferred his objectionable affection and
Barbara was not even asked to be wife number three. Brewster's campaign
was so ardent that he neglected other duties deplorably, falling far
behind his improvident average. With Grimes disposed of, he once more
forsook the battlefield of love and gave his harassed and undivided
attention to his own peculiar business.
The fast-and-loose game displeased Miss Barbara greatly. She was at
first surprised, then piqued, then resentful. Monty gradually awoke to
the distressing fact that she was going to be intractable, as he put
it, and forthwith undertook to smooth the troubled sea. To his
amazement and concern she was not to be appeased.
"Does it occur to you, Monty," she said, with a gentle coldness that
was infinitely worse than heat, "that you have been carrying things
with a pretty high hand? Where did you acquire the right to interfere
with my privileges? You seem to think that I am not to speak to any man
but you."
"O, come now, Babs," retorted Monty, "I've not been quite as
unreasonable as that. And you know yourself that Grimes is the worst
kind of a bounder."
"I know nothing of the sort," replied the lady, with growing
irritation. "You say that about every man who gives me a smile or a
flower. Does it indicate such atrocious taste?"
"Don't be silly, Barbara. You know perfectly well that you have talked
to Gardner and that idiot Valentine by the hour, and I've not said a
word. But there are some things I can't stand, and the impertinence of
Grimes is one of them. Jove! he looked at you, out of those fishy eyes,
sometimes as though he owned you. If you knew how many times I've
fairly ached to knock him down!"
Inwardly Barbara was weakening a little before his masterfulness. But
she gave no sign.
"And it never occurred to you," she said, with that exasperating
coldness of the voice, "that I was equal to the situation. I suppose
you thought Mr. Grimes had only to beckon and I would joyfully answer.
I'll have you know, Monty Brewster, right now, that I am quite able to
choose my friends, and to handle them. Mr. Grimes has character and I
like him. He has seen more of life in a year of his strenuous career
than you ever dreamed of in all your pampered existence. His life has
been real, Monty Brewster, and yours is only an imitation."
It struck him hard, but it left him gentle.
"Babs," he said, softly, "I can't take that from you. You don't really
mean it, do you? Am I as bad as that?"
It was a moment for dominance, and he missed it. His gentleness left
her cold.
"Monty," she exclaimed irritably, "you are terribly exasperating. Do
make up your mind that you and your million are not the only things in
the world."
His blood was up now, but it flung him away from her.
"Some day, perhaps, you'll find out that there is not much besides. I
am just a little too big, for one thing, to be played with and thrown
aside. I won't stand it."
He left the house with his head high in the air, angry red in his
cheeks, and a feeling in his heart that she was the most unreasonable
of women. Barbara, in the meantime, cried herself to sleep, vowing she
would never love Monty Brewster again as long as she lived.
A sharp cutting wind was blowing in Monty's face as he left the house.
He was thoroughly wretched.
"Throw up your hands!" came hoarsely from somewhere, and there was no
tenderness in the tones. For an instant Monty was dazed and bewildered,
but in the next he saw two shadowy figures walking beside him. "Stop
where you are, young fellow," was the next command, and he stopped
short. He was in a mood to fight, but the sight of a revolver made him
think again. Monty was not a coward, neither was he a fool. He was
quick to see that a struggle would be madness.
"What do you want?" he demanded as coolly as his nerves would permit.
"Put up your hands quick!" and he hastily obeyed the injunction.
"Not a sound out of you or you get it good and proper. You know what we
want. Get to work, Bill; I'll watch his hands."
"Help yourselves, boys. I'm not fool enough to scrap about it. Don't
hit me or shoot, that's all. Be quick about it, because I'll take cold
if my overcoat is open long. How's business been to-night?" Brewster
was to all intents and purposes the calmest man in New York.
"Fierce!" said the one who was doing the searching. "You're the first
guy we've seen in a week that looks good."
"I hope you won't be disappointed," said Monty, genially. "If I'd
expected this I might have brought more money."
"I guess we'll be satisfied," chuckled the man with the revolver.
"You're awful nice and kind, mister, and maybe you wouldn't object to
tellin' us when you'll be up dis way ag'in."
"It's a pleasure to do business with you, pardner," said the other,
dropping Monty's $300 watch in his pocket. "We'll leave car-fare for
you for your honesty." His hands were running through Brewster's
pockets with the quickness of a machine. "You don't go much on jewelry,
I guess. Are dese shoit buttons de real t'ing?"
"They're pearls," said Monty, cheerfully.
"My favorite jool," said the man with the revolver. "Clip 'em out,
Bill."
"Don't cut the shirt," urged Monty. "I'm going to a little supper and I
don't like the idea of a punctured shirt-front."
"I'll be as careful as I kin, mister. There, I guess dat's all. Shall I
call a cab for you, sir?"
"No, thank you, I think I'll walk."
"Well, just walk south a hundred steps without lookin' 'round er
yellin' and you kin save your skin. I guess you know what I mean,
pardner."
"I'm sure I do. Good-night."
"Good-night," came in chuckles from the two hold-up men. But Brewster
hesitated, a sharp thought penetrating his mind.
"By gad!" he exclaimed, "you chaps are very careless. Do you know
you've missed a roll of three hundred dollars in this overcoat pocket?"
The men gasped and the spasmodic oaths that came from them were born of
incredulity. It was plain that they doubted their ears.
"Say it ag'in," muttered Bill, in bewildered tones.
"He's stringin' us, Bill," said the other.
"Sure," growled Bill. "It's a nice way to treat us, mister. Move along
now and don't turn 'round."
"Well, you're a couple of nice highwaymen," cried Monty in disgust.
"Sh--not so loud."
"That is no way to attend to business. Do you expect me to go down in
my pocket and hand you the goods on a silver tray?"
"Keep your hands up! You don't woik dat game on me. You got a gun
there."
"No, I haven't. This is on the level. You over-looked a roll of bills
in your haste and I'm not the sort of fellow to see an earnest
endeavorer get the worst of it. My hands are up. See for yourself if
I'm not telling you the truth."
"What kind of game is dis?" growled Bill, dazed and bewildered. "I'm
blowed if I know w'at to t'ink o' you," cried he in honest amazement.
"You don't act drunk, and you ain't crazy, but there's somethin' wrong
wid you. Are you givin' it to us straight about de wad?"
"You can find out easily."
"Well, I hate to do it, boss, but I guess we'll just take de overcoat
and all. It looks like a trick and we takes no chances. Off wid de
coat."
Monty's coat came off in a jiffy and he stood shivering before the
dumfounded robbers.
"We'll leave de coat at de next corner, pardner. It's cold and you need
it more'n we do. You're de limit, you are. So long. Walk right straight
ahead and don't yell."
Brewster found his coat a few minutes later, and went whistling away
into the night. The roll of bills was gone.