inflection. "Since you have made your decision, it is as well you should
think so. You are quite willing to begin at the bottom with him, are
you?"
"I am."
"Because I meant what I said last night. You have made your bed, and you
will have to lie on it; you will get nothing from me."
"We ask nothing but--but your good will." Gertrude was as
undemonstrative as the daughter of Francis Vennor had a right to be, but
his coldness went near to breaking down her fortitude.
"My good will!" He turned upon her almost fiercely. "You have no right
to expect it. What has come over you in the last twenty-four hours that
you should override the traditions and training of your whole life? Has
this fellow but to crook his finger at you to make you turn your back
upon everything that is decent and respectable?"
"Don't," she said, with a little sob in her voice; "I can't listen if
you abuse him. I love him; do you understand what that means?"
"No, I don't; you are daft, crazy, hypnotized." The gathering throng was
beginning to make privacy impossible on the platform, and he led her
back to the car. "You'll do as you please in the end, I suppose, but not
here or now." He handed her up the steps of the private car and turned
to go away.
"Papa--one word," she pleaded. "Won't you see Mr. Brockway to-night?"
"No; and if I do, it will be the worse for him." And when she had
entered the car, he went away quickly and climbed the stairs to the
train-despatcher's office on the second floor of the Union Depot.
Meanwhile, Brockway had eaten his supper and posted himself where he
could watch what he supposed to be the window of Gertrude's stateroom
for the promised signal. He saw the car empty itself, first of Fleetwell
and the ladies, and then of the President and his daughter, and while he
was waiting for the latter to return, Fleetwell came back, breathless.
"By Jove, Mr. Brockway, this is great luck!" he exclaimed. "You know
Denver pretty well, don't you?"
"Fairly well. I knew it better when I lived here."
"Do you happen to know this gentleman?" handing Brockway a card with a
name written across it.
"Yes; very well, indeed."
"Then I wish you'd come and help me find him. I've been out in a cab
once, and the driver got lost. Will you do it?"
"With pleasure, if you'll get me back here quick. I have an engagement
that can't be put off."
They ran out through the building and took a carriage. "Just get me to
the house," said the collegian, "and you can come straight away back in
the cab," but beyond this he offered no explanations, and Brockway gave
the order to the driver.
When they reached the house in question, Fleetwell rang the bell, and
the answer from within seemed to be satisfactory. "All right," he called
back from the doorway; and a few minutes later Brockway was again on the
station platform, watching the non-committal windows of the private car.
It was while the passenger agent was up-town with Fleetwell that
President Vennor went to the despatcher's room. The result of his visit
may be told in the words of a terse order which presently clicked
through the sounder in the yardmaster's office.
"J. H. M.,
"Denver Yard.
"Send out Car Naught-fifty, President Vennor and party, on
Number 103, ten-five this P.M.
"A. F. V."
Of this Brockway knew nothing, and he haunted the vicinity of the
spur-track with great patience for the better part of two hours. At
nine-forty-five, Fleetwell and the ladies returned. They were all
laughing and chatting gayly, and when they entered the car, Brockway
gave up his vigil. It was too late to hope for a private interview with
Mr. Vennor, and he concluded to go over to the Tadmor to see if his
people were settled for the night.
Passing the telegraph office, he asked if there were any messages. There
was one; the much requested extension of the gadfly's ticket; and
thrusting it into his pocket, the passenger agent hurried across to the
special sleeper.
Two minutes afterward, a switching-engine ran around on the spur-track,
bumped gently against the Naught-fifty, and presently backed out into
the yard with the private car in tow.
XXV
WESTWARD HO!
When Brockway boarded the Tadmor, most of the thirty-odd had gone to
bed; but a committee of three was waiting in the smoking-room on the
chance that the passenger agent would put in an appearance before the
departure of the night train for the west. The little gentleman in the
grass-cloth duster and velvet skull-cap was chairman of this committee,
and he stated its object.
"We've been trying to make you more trouble, Mr. Brockway," he said,
pleasantly. "Before the others went to bed, we discussed the
advisability of leaving Denver to-night, instead of in the morning. It
would give us an extra day in Salt Lake City, and that is what most of
us would like. Can it be done?"
Brockway glanced at his watch and answered promptly. "It'll take sharp
work; the train leaves in ten minutes. I'll try it, but if I make it, I
can't go with you. My hand-baggage is at the hotel, and there's no time
to send for it."
Ordinarily, the amendment would have killed the original proposition;
but Mr. Somers saw that in Brockway's eyes which made him hasten to
forestall argument.
"I was afraid of that," he said; "but it can't be helped. Of course,
we'd like to have you with us, but I believe the extra day is of greater
importance."
Brockway made a dumb show expressive of his gratitude. "All right; then
I'll bid you all good-by, and get you out to-night, if I can."
"But I ah--protest!" came with shrill emphasis from the vestibule, and
the night-capped head of the gadfly was thrust around the door-jamb. "I
ah--stipulated----"
Brockway snatched the ticket-extending telegram from his pocket, thrust
it into Mr. Somers's hand, and fled without another word. One minute
later he was pleading eloquently with the train-despatcher.
"Oh, say, Fred, let up!" protested the man of orders. "It's too late, I
tell you. The train'll pull out in two minutes, and I couldn't raise the
yard in that time."
But the passenger agent would not be denied. He carried his point, as he
usually did, and was shortly racing out across the platform, clothed
with authority to hold the train until the Tadmor could be coupled
thereto. Graffo, the conductor, was found just as he was about to give
the signal, but he waited while the switching-engine whipped the Tadmor
around and coupled it to the rear of the train, grumbling meanwhile, as
was his time-honored prerogative.
"Like to know how the blazes I'm going to make time to-night, with them
two extras hooked on at the last minute!" he growled; but Brockway
corrected him.
"There's only one," he began; and when Graffo would have contradicted
him, two belated passengers came in sight, hurrying across the platform
to catch the waiting train. Brockway considerately ran back to help them
aboard. It was the general agent and his wife; and Mrs. Burton made
breathless explanations.
"Changed our minds at the last minute," she gasped. "John was afraid the
President might not find him with his nose in his desk when he gets
there." Then, with truly feminine irrelevance: "I've been dying to get a
chance to ask you how you made out--to-day--with Gertrude; quick--the
train's going!"
Brockway grinned. "You're the best chaperon in the world, Mrs.
Burton--after the fact."
"Oh, I'm _so_ glad. Can't you come along and visit with us in Salt
Lake?"
"Not for a king's ransom," retorted Brockway, laughing. "You may be very
sure I sha'n't leave Denver while the Naught-fifty stays over there
on----" He turned to point out the President's car and went speechless
in the midst of his declaration at sight of the empty spur-track. The
glare of the masthead arc-lights left no room for uncertainty. The
private car was gone.
"Why, Fred! what is the matter?" queried Mrs. Burton anxiously from the
step of the sleeping-car; but at that moment Graffo swung his lantern
and the train began to move.
Brockway stood staring across at the empty spur in witless amazement,
but he sprang back out of the way when the step of the car next to the
regular sleeper brushed him in passing. The touch broke the spell. As he
started back, the sheen of the nearest electric lamp fell fairly upon
the oval medallion on the side of the moving car, and he saw the gilt
figures "050" flash for a half-second before his eyes.
In a twinkling he knew what had been done, and what he should do. When
the Tadmor came up, he caught the hand-rail and boarded the train
without so much as a thought for his belongings left behind at the
up-town hotel. The Tadmor's smoking-room was deserted, and he went in to
burn a reflective cigar, and to ponder over the probable outcome of this
latest proof of the President's resentment.
Having failed to get speech with Gertrude, he could only guess at the
result of her interview with her father, but the sudden change in the
itinerary spoke for itself, and thus far the guess was twin brother to
the truth. But two hours had intervened between Mr. Vennor's hasty
decision and the departure of Train Number 103, and many things may
befall in two hours.
XXVI
A BLIND SIDING
When the President went back to the Naught-fifty after his visit to the
despatcher, he meant to tell Gertrude at once what he had done, and the
reason therefore; but she had retreated to her stateroom, and in reply
to his tap at the door had begged to be excused. After that, there was
ample time for reflection, and the President walked the floor of the
central compartment, smoking many cigars, and dividing the time
impartially between wondering what had become of the other members of
the party, and speculating as to the probable effect upon Gertrude's
hallucination of the sudden and unannounced flitting.
Almost at the last moment, when he had begun to fear they had gone to
the theatre, Mrs. Dunham and the young people returned, full to the lips
with suppressed excitement; and in the midst of the bustle of departure
the two young women made a descent upon Gertrude's room, while Mrs.
Dunham took the President aside. What passed between them, Quatremain,
who was pretending to be asleep in the nearest chair, could not
overhear; but that Mrs. Dunham's news was startling and not altogether
unpleasant was plainly evident to the secretary.
By this time the private car had been switched to its place in the
train, and when the steady rumbling of the wheels betokened the
beginning of the westward journey, Gertrude appeared with the two young
women, and there was a dramatic little scene in the central compartment,
through which the secretary did not even pretend to sleep. The
President's daughter demanded to know where they were going, and why she
had not been told, ending by throwing herself into Mrs. Dunham's arms
and crying as if her heart would break. And, for the first time in
Quatremain's knowledge of him, the President had nothing to say, while
Fleetwell spoke his mind freely, though in terms unintelligible to the
secretary, and Mrs. Dunham bore the weeping young woman away to the
privacy of her own stateroom. After which, Mr. Vennor, deserted of all
of them, lighted another cigar and betook himself to the rear vestibule,
to what meditative end Quatremain could only guess.
The train was well out of Denver and speeding swiftly through the night
on its flight over the swelling plain. The President stood at the rear
door of his car, gazing abstractedly at the bobbing and swaying front
end of the sleeper which had been coupled to the Naught-fifty at the
moment of departure. After a time the train paused at a station, and
when it moved on again the light from the operator's bay-window flashed
upon the name over the door of the following car. The President saw it
and started back with an ejaculation which would have sounded very like
an oath, had there been any one to hear it. Then he came close to the
glass-panelled door and scowled out at the Tadmor as if it were a thing
alive and perversely and personally responsible for this latest
interference with his plans.
He was fond of boasting that he had no creed, but, in his way, Francis
Vennor was a better fatalist than many who assume the name. When the
grim humor of the relentless pursuit began to appeal to him, the
wrathful scowl relaxed by degrees and gave place to the metallic smile.
It could scarcely be prearrangement this time, he decided; it was fate
and no less; and having admitted so much, he crossed the platforms and
let himself into the ante-room of the Tadmor.
Brockway was still sitting in the smoking-room, and he was so taken
aback that he returned the President's nod of recognition no less
stiffly than it was given. Whereupon Mr. Vennor entered the compartment,
gathered up his coat-tails, and sat down beside the passenger agent to
finish his cigar.
Now Brockway inferred, naturally, that Gertrude's father had come to
have it out with him, and for the first five minutes he waited nervously
for the President to begin. Then it occurred to him that possibly Mr.
Vennor had come to accord him the interview which Gertrude had promised
to procure for him; and he spent five other minutes of tongue-tied
embarrassment trying to pull himself together sufficiently to state his
case with becoming clarity and frankness. The upshot of all this was
that they sat smoking solemnly and in phlegmatic silence for upwards of
a quarter of an hour, at the end of which time the President rose and
tossed his cigar-butt out of the window.
"Going on through with your people, are you?" he said, steadying himself
by the door-jamb.
"Yes; as far as Salt Lake," Brockway replied, wondering if he ought to
apologize for the intention.
"H-m; changed your plans rather suddenly, didn't you?"
"The party changed them; I wasn't notified till ten minutes before
train-time."
"No? I suppose you didn't know we were going on to-night, either, did
you? or did the despatcher tell you?"
"No one told me. I knew nothing of it till I saw the Naught-fifty in the
train."
"And that was?----"
"Just at the last moment--after the train had started, in fact."
"Ah. Then I am to understand that our movements have nothing to do with
your being here now?"
Brockway had begun by being studiously deferential and placable, but the
questions were growing rather personal.
"You are to understand nothing of the sort," he replied. "On the
contrary, I am here solely because you saw fit to change your
itinerary."
President Vennor was so wholly unused to anything like a retort from a
junior and an inferior that he sat down in the opposite seat and felt
mechanically in his pockets for a cigar. Brockway promptly capped the
climax of audacity by offering one of his own, and the President took it
absently.
"It is scarcely worth your while to be disrespectful, Mr. Brockway," he
said, when the cigar was alight.
"I don't mean to be."
"But you intercepted my telegram this morning, and sent me a most
impertinent reply."
"I did; and a little while before that, you had tried to knock me down."
"So I did, but the provocation was very considerable; you must admit
that."
"Cheerfully," said Brockway, who was coming to his own in the matter of
self-possession with gratifying rapidity. "But I take no shame for the
telegram. As I told Miss Gertrude, I would have done a much worse thing
to compass the same end."
The President frowned and coughed dryly. "The incentive was doubtless
very strong, but I am told that you have since been made aware of the
facts in the case--relative to my daughter's forfeiture of her
patrimony, I mean."
"The 'incentive,' as you call it, was the only obstacle. When I learned
that it did not exist, I asked your daughter to be my wife."
"Knowing that my consent would be withheld?"
"Taking that for granted--yes."
"Very good; your frankness is commendable. Before we go any farther, let
me ask one question. Would anything I could give you induce you to go
about your business--to disappear, so to speak?"
"Yes."
"Name it," said the President, with ill-concealed satisfaction.
"Your daughter's hand in marriage."
"Ah;"--he lost his hold upon the hopeful alternative and made no
sign--"nothing less?"
"Nothing less."
"Very good again; then we may go on to other matters. How do you expect
to support a wife whose allowance of pin-money has probably exceeded
your entire income?"
"As many a better man has done before me, when the woman of his choice
was willing to put love before luxury," quoth Brockway, with more
philosophy than he could properly lay claim to.
"H-m; love in a cottage, and all that, I suppose. It's very romantic,
but you'll pardon me if I confess I'm not able to take any such
philosophical view of the matter."
"Oh, certainly; I didn't suppose you would be. But if you don't like it,
the remedy is in your own hands," said Brockway, with great composure.
"Ah; yesterday you told me I was mistaken in my man; this time it is you
who are mistaken. Gertrude will get nothing from me."
Brockway met the cool stare of the calculating eyes without flinching,
and refused to be angry.
"You know very well I didn't mean that," he said, calmly. "I wouldn't
touch a penny of your money under any circumstances that I can imagine
just now."
"Then what do you mean?" demanded the President.
Brockway thought he might as well die fighting, so he shrugged his
shoulders and made shift to look indifferent and unconcerned.
"I'm well enough satisfied with my present income and prospects, and
Gertrude is quite willing to share them with me; but if you think I'm
not earning enough money, why, you are the President of a very
considerable railway company, and I'll cheerfully attack anything you
see fit to give me from the general passenger agency down."
"Ha!" said the President, and for once in a way he acknowledged himself
fairly outdone in cold-blooded assurance; "you have the courage of your
convictions to say that to me."
"Not at all," replied Brockway, riding at a gallop along the newly
discovered road to the President's favor; "I merely suggest it to help
you out. I'm very well contented where I am."
"Oh, you are. And yet you would consent to take service under me, after
what has passed between us? I say you have courage; I could break you in
a year."
"Possibly; but you wouldn't, you know."
The President rose and held out his hand with a smile which no man might
analyze.
"You refuse to be bullied, don't you? and you say you would attack
anything. I believe you would, and I like that; you shall be given the
opportunity, and under a harder master than you have ever had. You may
even find yourself required to make bricks without straw. Come, now,
hadn't you better retract and go about your business?"
"Never a word; and where Gertrude goes, I go," said Brockway, taking the
proffered hand with what show of indifference he could command.
"Very well, if you will have it so. If you are of the same mind in the
morning, perhaps you'd better join us at breakfast and we can talk it
over. Will you come?"
"Yes, if you will tell the other members of your party why I am there."
The President smiled again, sardonically this time.
"I think the occasion for that has gone by," he said. "Good-night."
When the outer door closed behind his visitor, Brockway collapsed as was
his undoubted privilege. Then he revived under the stimulus of an
overwaxing and masterful desire to see Gertrude again before he
slept--to share the good news with her before the burden of it should
crush him. And he was considering how it might be brought about when the
engineer blew the whistle for Bending Bow.
XXVII
THE DRUMMING WHEELS
Bending Bow is but an insignificant side-track on the
mountain-buttressed plain some thirty miles from Denver; and I would for
the sake of the two young persons whose romance this is, that it might
have been a meeting-point with a delayed train.
When the first of the switch-lights flashed past the windows of the
Tadmor, Brockway went out and stood on the step ready to drop off when
the speed should slacken sufficiently to permit it. While hanging from
the hand-rail he glanced ahead and saw that which made his heart glad.
The signal-lamp at the station turned a crimson eye toward the train,
and that meant orders, and a few more seconds of precious time.
At the first shrill sigh of the air-brakes, he sprang off and ran beside
the private car, trying to peer into the darkened windows, and taking
all sorts of risks considering the hazard he ran of lighting upon the
wrong one.
But good fortune was with him. Before the smoking wheels had quite
ceased grinding fire out of the brake-shoes, he came to a window with a
tiny corner of a handkerchief fluttering beneath it. It was Gertrude's
signal, and he understood then that he had been keeping tryst on the
wrong side of the car as it stood on the spur-track in Denver. The
window was closed and curtained like the others, but it went up
noiselessly when he tapped on the glass.
Now it was pitchy dark, both within and without, but love has sharpened
senses and eyes which no night has ever yet been black enough to befool.
"Frederick!" said a soft voice from within, and there was joyful
surprise in the single word. Then a hand came out to him, and he
possessed himself of it as one who will keep that which is his.
"God bless you," he whispered; "I hardly dared hope to find you up."
"I wasn't up," said the tender voice, with a touch of sweet shyness in
it; "but I couldn't go to sleep for thinking how disappointed you must
be. How did you find out we were going?"
"By the merest chance; but it's all right now--your father has just been
in to see me."
"Has he? Oh, I hope you didn't quarrel!"
"Not at all," said Brockway, reassuringly. "We sat together and smoked
like two Indians at a pow-wow, and neither of us said a word for nearly
half an hour. After that, he got up to go away, and then he thought
better of it and sat down again, and we had it out about the telegrams
and other things. That cleared the air a bit, and before he left, he
accepted the situation without saying so in so many words, and promised
to graft me on the C. & U. in some place where I can earn more money.
Don't cry; it's too good to be true, but the fact remains."
"I'm not crying, but I'm glad enough to do a much more foolish thing.
You won't let my money make any difference now, will you?"
"Your money isn't in it, and I think I made your father understand that
I'd never have spoken if I hadn't known you were going to lose it."
"But I--I haven't lost it. Didn't he tell you?"
"Tell me what?"
"About Cousin Chester and Hannah Beaswicke; they were married this
evening. I don't understand the legal part of it, but papa says that
saves my money. You won't let it make any difference?"
Brockway gripped the small hand as if he were afraid it might escape him
after all, and tried to flog himself around to the new point of view. It
was a breath-taking process, but he compassed it more quickly since
there was no time for the nice weighing of scruples. Moreover, it was
too late to give poverty-pride a second hearing. So he said:
"I can't let it make a difference now, but I shall always be glad that I
asked you when we both believed you were going to lose it. And I ought
to have guessed about your cousin's marriage, but I didn't--I helped him
find the County Clerk, and wondered why he was so anxious about it. I'm
glad you didn't have to break his heart."
She laughed happily. "There was no question of hearts between us; he
knew it, and I knew it; and when he spoke to me to-night, we settled it
definitely. Are you glad or sorry? about the money, I mean."
"Both, I think; glad for your sake, though."
"I'll go and live in the five-roomed cottage with you, if you like, and
we'll forget all about it."
"I believe you'd do it"--Brockway glanced up, and, seeing the red signal
still displayed, blessed the tardy operator who was doubtless bungling
the train-order--"but I shan't insist." Then with a touch of graver
earnestness: "We are properly engaged now, aren't we?"
"I should hope so"--shyly.
He took a ring from his pocket and slipped it over the finger of the
captive hand.
"It isn't every one who goes prepared," he said, with quiet humor; "it
was a gift from a train-load of Grand Army people I took across last
year; and I've carried it in my pocket ever since because I didn't think
I had any right to wear diamonds. Will you wear it for me?"
"Always."