"Dear old soul!" he sighed, staring into the fire. "What a brute I am
never to have written to her after all she did for me. The good woman's
reward!"
For nearly a half hour he sat thinking of his life at Exeter and of the
changes time had wrought in his existence. Then he arose, carefully
selected some writing materials, and wrote for some time without
finishing his letter. Once he got up, crossed to the fire and studied
for several minutes a photograph which stood on the mantel, after which
he took a few strides around the room and returned to his task.
Twenty minutes later he laid down his pen, and taking the pile of
manuscript in his lap read it over carefully. The last paragraph he
reread several times. Then he placed the whole thing in an envelope and
addressed it--to Exeter, New Hampshire. The little clock on the mantel
pointed to half-past nine as he took off his smoking jacket and called
for his coat and hat. He was tired--very tired--but something made him
restless.
"I'm going to the club for a while," he said to his valet. "I'll be back
in half an hour. Call a hansom."
He waited with his back to the fire, still smoking.
"Second Assistant Secretary to the Navy!" he muttered. "Not bad for
thirty-four! . . . But what does it amount to? . . . What does anything
amount to? . . . Who really cares? . . . It's like making the 'varsity
or your senior society. . . . You always think there's some one--or that
there may be some one . . ."
"Cab's here, sir," said his man.
Ralston gathered up the mail and started down the stairs. At the curb
stood a hansom, the driver cloaked in a heavy waterproof. A fine rain
had begun to fall, making the light from a nearby street lamp seem dim
and uncertain. As Ralston stepped toward the lamp-post to mail his
letters he observed a diminutive messenger boy vainly trying to decipher
the address upon a telegram, which he was holding to the light. Ralston
pushed the letters into the box and closed it with a slam.
"Does Mr. Ralston live here?" asked the boy.
"Right here!" answered Ralston, holding out his hand.
"Please sign."
He scrawled an apology for a signature upon the damp page of the book
and tore the end off the envelope. Then, like the boy, he held the
yellow paper to the light. It bore but nine words:
Please try to find John for my sake.--E.
He read the words several times and repeated them aloud, as if in doubt
as to their meaning. "Find Steadman!" Where? Find him! How? Why? . . .
The messenger boy had started away, whistling shrilly "Marching Through
Georgia." Ralston wrinkled his forehead. Here was irony of Fate for you!
She called upon him to save the honor of this man, whom he hardly knew,
for whom he cared not a whit, whom by this time he had begun to hate, to
save him--for her. He stood motionless in the rain, the telegram hanging
limply from his fingers. He had not seen Steadman for nine months. Knew
practically nothing of him except from clubroom gossip. And Ellen asked
him to find the man for her, in the seething life of the city--find him
in such a way that, wherever found, his honor would be safe, find him
secretly, surely, and place him upon his feet at the head of his company
before the next morning at seven o'clock. He crumpled the paper into
his pocket and turned to the waiting driver.
"Just drive down the avenue slowly."
"Yes, sir."
He climbed in and threw himself back upon the seat.
"Something of a large order, my dear young lady," he muttered. "If your
attractive friend is to be found, it must be done without publicity. It
would be a great deal worse to find him where he ought not to be, than
not to find him at all. There are many cycles in New York's Inferno. If
it were not for that, my old friend Inspector Donahue could send out a
general alarm and turn him up before daylight. But that won't--no, that
won't do. He's got to be located on the quiet and put into shape to
march respectably off with his company.
"By George!" he exclaimed aloud, "only a woman would think of asking a
chap to set out on such a wild-goose chase! But then I don't suppose she
realizes. She thinks he's playing billiards at the club, or something
like that, maybe!" He set his teeth.
"If she only knew!" he muttered. "Why didn't I speak a little sooner!"
"She _thought_ she cared. . . . She _knew_ she cared!" he whispered to
himself. Then he laughed rather grimly.
And one who had happened to glance into the cab at that moment, as it
passed a lamp, would have seen the gaunt face of a man smiling behind
the tip of a cigar. Farther down the avenue another would have seen the
same face without the cigar--without the smile.
"Jerry's!" said Ralston sharply, through the manhole.
The driver jerked the reins, wheeled his horse round abruptly, and
started on a brisk trot through Forty-fourth Street. Then turning
quickly down Sixth Avenue, he brought the hansom to a sudden stop in
front of a restaurant whose electric lights flared valiantly into the
rain and mist.
There were three doors, but Ralston, without pausing, passed into the
hostelry through the middle one. The cabman waited without orders, well
aware that those who frequent Jerry's presumably desire the means of
transportation therefrom. A bar ranged opposite an oyster counter gave a
narrow passage to the dining room. At the end of the bar was a cashier's
desk.
The after-theater crowd had not yet arrived, it was too late for dinner
guests, and few tables were occupied. Ralston, however, had not expected
to find Steadman there. As he reached the desk a well-built, red-cheeked
Irishman stepped forward.
"How are you, Mr. Ralston? Congratulations!"
Our friend grasped the hand of the other cordially.
"How are you, Jerry?"
"You're a bit of a stranger."
"Yes. Something like a year. Been out looking over the Philippines."
"Not so good as the little old place?"
"I should say not. By the way, sit down over here a minute. I want to
speak with you."
Jerry led the way to the rear of the restaurant and offered Ralston a
chair. Then he drew up across the table, while the latter put him a few
brief questions.
"Well, that's what I wanted," said Ralston, as they arose. "Yes, I
remember now, he used to know her. I'll try it!"
"I'm afraid it's the only tip I can give you, Mr. Ralston."
"Thank you very much, Jerry. Remember, now. I haven't seen you--no
matter what happens."
"Not a word!"
"Good night."
"Good night, sir."
Ralston crossed the sidewalk and sprang into the cab.
"The Moonshine--stage," said he shortly.