A LIFELONG ENEMY.
“Hush! for God’s sake, don’t air your knowledge before all the world.”
William Temple fairly hissed these words as he stooped and brought
his lips on a level with the ear of his companion, while his face was
absolutely colorless.
“Humph!” observed the other, as he roughly put away the hand from his
mouth, “then it seems that I have at last jogged your memory sufficiently
to make you willing to acknowledge a previous acquaintance.”
“I should have supposed that you would not be very anxious to renew an
acquaintance with one whom you once bitterly repudiated,” Mr. Temple
retorted acrimoniously, while a spot of angry red settled upon either
cheek.
“Humph! it is one thing to repudiate—it is another to be ignored,” was
the grim response. “Where have you been all these years? What are you
doing now? Come, sit down here and give an account of yourself,” and the
man moved along, making room for him in the seat he was occupying, for he
had no companion.
“Really, sir, I am not aware that I am accountable to you for my
movements, either in the past or present,” haughtily returned Mr.
Temple, and regarding the face before him with a malignant look, while
he mentally cursed himself in no measured terms for having come into the
smoker.
“No—possibly you are not accountable to me,” was the sarcastic rejoinder;
“at the same time, you might find it to your interest not to carry too
high a head with me.”
William Temple shot a swift, searching glance into the steely eyes
regarding him, and grew white again with mingled anger and fear. The
other, observing it, smiled knowingly.
“Sit down! Sit down!” he said authoritatively, and patting the cushion
with his strong, brawny hand; and, as if powerless to disobey, the
haughty banker sank down beside him.
“Light a cigar if you want to smoke,” the man continued, as he glanced
at the costly case in his companion’s hand, “it may serve to quiet your
nerves after the start they’ve had. I have my pipe here.”
“Thank you; but I will smoke later,” said the banker, as he slipped his
case into a pocket, while he waited with a set and rigid face for what
might follow.
His companion smiled again, and coolly looked him over, from the silk
traveling-cap upon his head to the fine, highly polished shoes upon his
feet.
“Ahem! you look as if the world had used you pretty well,” he remarked
laconically, at length.
“Yes, I have made some money during the last few years,” was the brief
but rather complacent reply, while a gleam of evil triumph leaped into
his eyes as he now observed, for the first time, the rather shabby duster
that lay over the back of the seat in front of him, and the well-worn
grip underneath it.
“Where did you make your money?”
“Some of it in Colorado—some in California.”
“Humph! Been quite a traveler, haven’t you? Been in the mining business,
I suppose.”
“Yes; part of the time.”
“And the rest?”
“Taking my ease.”
“Really! You must have struck it rich?”
“Rather.”
“What have you on the docket at the present time?”
“I’ve just come from New York. I’m going to——”
“Saratoga, perhaps, for the races,” supplemented the stranger, as Mr.
Temple suddenly cut himself short, and he caught the startled flash in
his eyes.
“To Albany,” Mr. Temple added, as he began to revolve a certain plan in
his mind, in case he found the man by his side was going beyond there.
“Well, you at least haven’t forgotten how to keep your own counsel,
Bill,” his companion remarked, with a note of irritation in his tone.
Then he added with a malicious leer: “Any interest to hear about the old
folks and——”
“No!” emphatically interposed Mr. Temple, with an impatient frown.
“All dead—every one.”
“I know it.”
“Oh, you do! Who’s been keeping you posted?”
“I’ve read the papers.”
“Then you know, perhaps, how the property was left; but you couldn’t have
expected anything else, taking all things into consideration,” and the
stranger searched the banker’s face with keen, avaricious eyes.
“Oh, you need not be disturbed. I shall never put in any claim. You are
welcome to every penny of it, as far as I am concerned,” responded Mr.
Temple, with galling contempt.
“Well, now, prosperity seems to have made you surprisingly generous; but
your magnanimity is all lost, for everything was made so tight that you
couldn’t get a penny if you should try,” snapped the man, but his face
had cleared at the other’s assurance, nevertheless. “Pity,” he continued
tauntingly, “you couldn’t have been a little more square in the old days
about some other matters.”
Mr. Temple turned upon him with a fierce though low-toned imprecation.
“You’d better let sleeping dogs lie,” he continued between his tightly
closed teeth, and his eyes glowed with a savage light. His companion
appeared to rather enjoy the effect which his words had produced, for he
chuckled audibly.
“Well, Bill, wherever you may have been and whatever you may have been up
to all these years, one thing is sure—you haven’t lost your hot temper.
But where are you living now? Are you married, and have you a family?”
“Those are matters which do not concern you in the least,” was the cold
reply. “Our paths diverged years ago, and I hoped at that time that they
would never cross again. Let me advise you to go your own way, and I will
go mine; mind your own affairs, and don’t presume to pry into mine—if you
do, I swear I will spare nothing to crush you. I am rich and powerful,
and I can do it. I will, too, I tell you, if you meddle with me.”
He had risen from his seat while speaking, and, as he concluded, he
turned abruptly and swung himself out of the car without even a backward
look.
He carried himself proudly erect until he was out of the sight of his
enemy; then his haughty head dropped, his step faltered, and he groped
his way back to his section like one who had suddenly been stricken
partially blind, and with an overwhelming sense of weakness.
“Heavens!” he breathed, as he sank into his seat and wiped the moisture
from his white face, “to think, of all the people in the world, I should
have happened to run across him. Where on earth can he be going? Not to
Saratoga, I most devoutly hope. Ha!” with a violent start, “he used to be
tremendously fond of horses, and perhaps he is bound to Saratoga for the
races. I don’t know of anything else that would be likely to take him so
far from home. Oh! if I had not been in such a hurry to get back! If I
had only waited for the next train!” he concluded, with a despairing sigh.
While he was absorbed in these painful thoughts the train stopped at a
station. At first he paid no attention to the circumstances, but after a
minute he glanced from the window, and saw his enemy walking the platform
outside.
“Ah-a! he is watching for me—watching to see where I get off,” he
muttered angrily. “But”—with sudden animation as some novel thought
seemed to strike him—“I’ll lead him a dance that he will not soon forget.
The next station is Albany. I will get off there. He will doubtless
follow me to ascertain what my next move will be; but, by a little
maneuvering, I can easily outwit him, and then catch the next express for
Saratoga, which will leave Albany in about two hours.”
Accordingly, as the train drew near Albany, he began to gather up his
belongings, and as the train pulled into Albany station he was standing
on the steps ready to alight.
At the same moment his enemy hove in sight. Without appearing to pay the
slightest attention to him, Mr. Temple deliberately walked inside the
station. He was closely followed, and aware of the fact. Passing through
and out upon the other side, he signaled a carriage.
“I wish to go to 257 —— Street,” he informed the cabman, who instantly
responded to his call.
“Yes, sir; take you there in less than twenty minutes, sir,” and the next
moment he was rolling along toward the street he had named.
Arriving at 257 —— Street, which proved to be the office of a prominent
Albany lawyer, with whom Mr. Temple had some acquaintance, he ordered the
cabman to wait, and, entering the building, inquired for the gentleman.
He was told he was out, and might not be in for some time. Mr. Temple
said he would wait, and, seating himself, took up a newspaper to pass the
time away.
More than an hour elapsed before the lawyer came, when his visitor
informed him that, as he was passing through the city and had a little
time to spare, he thought he would improve it by making him a friendly
call.
They chatted socially for half an hour or so, when Mr. Temple bade him
good day and returned to the station.
Five minutes later he met his pursuer face to face on the platform. The
Saratoga train was due to start in about ten minutes. Fifteen minutes
after that a train was scheduled to return to New York.
Presently Mr. Temple repaired to the ticket-office. He was immediately
followed thither by the one who was shadowing him.
“A ticket for New York, please,” he said to the agent.
A minute later the bit of pasteboard and the change were in his hands,
when he turned abruptly to find a blank look of disappointment had
overspread the face of the man at his elbow.
“Well, is your—curiosity satisfied at last?” he demanded, with a sneer.
“I told you I was coming to Albany. I have transacted my business here,
and now I have bought my ticket back to New York. Come on, if you want
to keep this thing up, and I’ll give you a good time at that kind of
racket.”
The stranger flushed crimson, and his eyes blazed with anger at the
taunting tone of his enemy.
“Do you live in New York?” he demanded.
“That is a matter which I will leave you to ascertain for yourself, Mr.
Paul Pry,” said Mr. Temple, with a contemptuous laugh, as he turned his
back on the man with an insolent air.
The stranger darted to his side.
“You and I will have a long account to settle one of these days,” he said
menacingly, and then, putting his lips close to his ears, he whispered
something that instantly blanched Mr. Temple’s face.
“I don’t believe it,” he said, with stiffening lips and a look of horror
in his eyes.
“It is the truth—I swear it—I can prove it,” was the fierce retort, and
then, without waiting for a reply, he strode for the Saratoga train that
was waiting and almost ready to start.
“I thought so,” muttered Mr. Temple, as he watched him board it. “He is
going to Saratoga for the races, and the very devil will be to pay if he
should see me there with Nell and Minnie. What am I going to do to avoid
such a catastrophe?”
At first he thought he would not rejoin his family at all, so great was
his dread of again encountering the man from whom he had just parted.
He was tempted to telegraph his wife that he was unavoidably detained;
that unforeseen business would not permit him to return to Saratoga, and
it would be necessary for them all to go home at once; that she must
come on immediately after the ball.
Then he feared that his telegram might alarm her, and cause her to worry
and fear something had gone wrong with him; this would spoil the ball for
her; he would miss seeing her in her new gown and jewels—an event which
he had looked forward to with almost as much interest as she herself;
while his heart yearned mightily for his child, and the thought of not
being able to see her for several days longer was unbearable.
While he was standing there disconsolate and revolving these things in
his mind, and feeling that he could not endure to see the train move on
its way, his restless glance settled upon a placard that had been placed
upon the wall near the ticket-office.
With a start and a thrill of exultation he read the board, which had the
following notice upon it:
“A special car will leave Albany for Saratoga at 6:30 P. M.”
He went immediately to the ticket-office and inquired more particularly
regarding the matter. The agent informed him that “the extra” had been
put on for the superintendent and some other high officials of the
road, who were going to Saratoga to attend a ball that was to be given
at Congress Hall that evening; that the notice had been posted so that
others, if they wished, might avail themselves of the arrangement.
Mr. Temple grasped at the chance like the drowning man at the proverbial
straw, and, finding that his ticket would be good for the special, at
once felt as if a mountain had been removed from his heart.
Fearing, however, that his wife might be anxious over his non-appearance
on the regular train, he sought the telegraph-office, and sent her the
following message:
“Am unavoidably detained here. Will leave on special two hours
later. Have maids pack for Boston—must return to-morrow.
“W. F. T.”