But at the doorstep of the Methodist Church Nat hesitated. The building
was dimly lighted, for it was choir practise night, and the door was
ajar; but he couldn't bring himself to enter. He would not long have
peace and quiet in which to think, there; presently would come Angle
and Josie and Roland and...
"I couldn't stand it; I'd probably murder Roland....
"Besides, I've no right there--an impostor--a contemptible low-lived
pup like me!...
"Why the thunderation did I ever allow myself to be persuaded to come
here? Why was I ever such a fool?...
"How _could_ I be such a fool?..."
He was walking, now, striding swiftly through the silent village
streets, meeting few wayfarers and paying them no heed, whether they
knew and greeted him or not. His entire consciousness was obsessed by
regret, repentance and remorse. He had ruined everything, deceived
everybody--even himself for a time--played the cad and the bounder with
consummate address. There were no bounds to the contempt he felt for
the man who had tricked these simple, kindly folk into believing him
immaculate, impeccable; who had hoodwinked "that old prince, Graham,"
and under false pretences gained his confidence and affection; who had
deliberately set out to snare an innocent and trusting girl for the
sake of the filthy money her father owned; who had made another and a
better girl love him, though that he had done so unconsciously, only to
break her heart; who had sacrificed everything, honour and decency and
self-respect, to his greed for money.
But it should go no further. He'd given what he called his word of
honour to a despicable compact; there could be no dishonour so great as
holding by that word, sticking to his bargain, maintaining the
deception and--ruining the life of one woman--perhaps two: Josie
Lockwood's, for he could never love her; and possibly Betty Graham's,
for she was of that sort that loves once and once only. If she truly
loved him...
But by his own act he had placed himself forever beyond the joy of her
love. He could never accept it, desire it as passionately as he
might--and did. He could never consent to drag her down to his base
level...
To-morrow--no, to-night, that very night, he would unmask himself,
declare his character to them all, pillory himself that all might see
how low a man could fall. And to-morrow he would go, leave Radville,
lose himself to all that had come to be so dear to him, forever....
So, raving and ranting with the extravagance of youth, he passed
through the village, out into the open country, and in the course of an
hour and a half, back--all blindly: circling back to the store, in the
course of his wanderings, as instinctly as a carrier pigeon shapes its
course for home.
It was with incredulity that he found himself again in that cheerful,
cherished, homely place. But there he was when he came out of his
abstraction: there in those familiar surroundings, with Tracey's round
red face beaming at him over the cigar-stand like a lively counterfeit
of the round red moon he had watched lift up into the skies, back there
in the still countryside, just as he paused to turn back to town.
He recollected his faculties and resumed command of himself
sufficiently to acknowledge Tracey's greeting with a moody word.
"All right, Tracey," he said abruptly. "You may go, now. I'll shut up
the store."
He looked at his watch, and was surprised to discover that it was no
later than half-past eight. He seemed to have lived a lifetime in the
last few hours.
"Thank you, sir," said Tracey with a gush of gratitude. "I'll be glad
to get off. Angle's waiting."
"Angle----?"
"Good-evening, Mr. Duncan."
"Oh, Miss Tuthill!" Nat discovered that little rogue, all smiles and
dimples and blushes, not distant from his elbow. "I didn't see you--I
was thinking."
"Guess we know what you was thinkin' about," observed Tracey, bringing
his hat round the counter. "Everybody in town's talkin' about it."
"About what?"
"Ah, you know about what, and we're mighty glad of it, and we want to
congratulate you, don't we, Angie."
"Oh, yes, indeed, Mr. Duncan. It's just too sweet for anything."
"O Lord!" groaned Nat.
"I'm awful glad you done it when you did," pursued Tracey, oblivious to
Nat in his own ecstatic temper. "I guess I wouldn't never 've got up
the spunk to--to tell Angie what I did to-night, 'f it hadn't been we
was talkin' 'bout your engagement to Josie. Then, somehow, it just
seemed to bust right out of me, like I couldn't hold it no longer.
Didn't it, Angie?"
"Oh, Tracey, how can you talk so!"
"Then you're engaged, too?" Nat inquired, rousing himself a little and
smiling feebly upon them.
"Yes, sir."
"I'm glad to hear it. It's great news. Now run along, both of you, and
don't forget you'll never be so happy again." With what he thought an
expiring flash of humour he raised his hands above their heads. "Bless
you, my children!" he said solemnly. "Now, for Heaven's sake, beat it!"
Alone he went to the prescription desk and opening one of the drawers
took out the firm's books. After that for some fifteen minutes there
was nothing to be heard in the store save Nat's breathing and the
scratching of his pen as he figured out a trial balance....
Brisk footfalls disturbed him. He sighed and moved out into the store
to find Kellogg there, suave and easy as always, yet with that in his
manner, perceptible perhaps only to a friend of long-standing like Nat,
to betray a mind far from complacent.
"Oh, you're here!" he cried, with a distinct start of relief. "I've
been looking all over for you."
"I just got in." Nat brushed aside explanations curtly, intent upon his
purpose. "Harry, I've got something to say to you: I'm not going
through with this thing."
"You're not?"
"No; and that's final. I was just on the point of drawing you a cheque
for three-hundred; that's all my share of the profits of this concern,
so far; and my note for the balance. I'll pay that up as soon as I'm
able--and I'll work like a terrier until I do. But as for the rest of
it, I'm through."
"Oh, you are?" Kellogg took a chair and tipped back, frowning gravely.
"But what about your word to me?"
"Damn that," said Duncan without heat. "The word of honour of a man
who'd stoop to a trick as vile as I have doesn't amount to a
continental shinplaster. I'll rather be dishonoured by breaking it than
by ruining a woman's life."
"Very well, if you feel that way about it," said Kellogg as coolly.
"And you may keep your cheque and note: I wouldn't take them. You can
pay me back when it's convenient--I don't care when. But what I want to
know is what you mean to do?"
"I mean to do the only thing left to do. I'm going to shut up here and
then see Lockwood and Josie and tell them the whole story."
"Hm," Kellogg reflected, quizzical. "You've got a pleasant little job
ahead of you."
"I don't care about that: I deserve all that's coming to me. I owe
Josie a duty. Why, it's awful, Harry, to trick a girl into caring for
you and then to--to----"
"Break her heart?" Kellogg's tone was sardonic.
"That's what I meant."
"Don't flatter yourself, my boy. Josie Lockwood doesn't love you; she
just set herself to win you because you're the best chance she's seen."
Kellogg laughed quietly. "The system would have worked just as well if
anyone else had tried it."
"Do you think so--honest?" Nat's eagerness to believe him was
undisguised.
"I'm sure of it. The trouble is that people will say you've thrown her
over--there isn't anyone in Radville who hasn't heard the news by this
time; and that's going to make the girl feel pretty cheap. But only for
a while: she'll get over it and solace herself with the next best
thing.... And don't forget; you lose a fortune."
"No, I don't," Duncan disclaimed. "I never had it and now I don't want
it."
"That's true enough," Kellogg admitted evenly. "And I hope you'll
always feel that way about it; but, believe me, you'll find plenty of
money a great help if you want to live a happy life."
"There are better things than money to make a man happy; I'll pass up
the money and try for the others."
"That's true, too; but when did you find it out?"
"Here--this last year.... You know I had everything my heart desired
until the governor cashed in; and I used to think I was a pretty happy
kid in those days. But now I've learned that you can beat that kind of
happiness to death. Harry"--Duncan was growing almost sententious--"the
real way to be happy is to work and have your work amount to something
and--and to have someone who believes in you to work for."
"Is this a sermon, Nat?"
"Call it what you like: it goes, just the same. ... That's what I've
found out this year."
Kellogg let his chair fall forward and rose, imprisoning Nat's
shoulders with two heavy but kindly hands. "And you're right!" he cried
heartily. "I'm glad you had the backbone to back out, Nat. It was a
low-down trick and I'm ashamed of myself for proposing it. I did it, I
presume, simply because I'm a schemer at heart, and I knew it would
work. It did work, but it's worked a finer way than I dreamed of: it's
made a man of you, Nat, and I'm mightly glad and proud of you!"
Nat swayed with amazement. "What's changed you all of a sudden?" he
demanded blankly.
Releasing him, Kellogg resumed his seat, laughing. "Well, a number of
things. Among others, I've talked with Graham and I've met his
daughter."
"Oh-h!"
"And that reminds me," Kellogg changed the subject briskly; "I
understood from you that Graham was sole owner of that patent burner."
"So he is."
"He says not. I had a proposition to make him from the Mutual people,
and he referred me to you, saying that you controlled the matter."
"I've not the slightest interest in it!" Nat protested.
"I know you haven't, but Graham insisted you owned the whole thing. I
pressed him for an explanation, and he finally furnished one in his
rambling, inconsequent, fine old way. He admitted that there wasn't any
sort of an existing contract or agreement of any sort, even oral,
between you, but just the same you'd been so good to him and his girl
that he'd made up his mind--some time ago, I gather--to make you a
present of the burner; but naturally he forgot to tell you about an
insignificant detail like that."
"Of course that's nonsense; I wouldn't and shant accept."
"Of course you won't. I did you the honour to discount that. But he
wouldn't say a word about the offer--yes or no--just left it all up to
you. He says you're a business man, and that he's often thought what a
help you must have been to me before you left New York."