THE RUN ON THE BANK
It was the day after the events just recorded that Keith's deal was
concluded. The attack on him and the attempt made by Wickersham and
Kestrel to break up his deal had failed, and the deeds and money
were passed.
Keith was on his way back to his office from his final interview with
the representative of the syndicate that had bought the properties. He
was conscious of a curious sensation, partly of exhilaration, partly of
almost awe, as he walked through the crowded streets, where every one
was bent on the same quest: gold. At last he had won. He was rich. He
wondered, as he walked along, if any of the men he shouldered were as
rich as he. Norman and Ferdy Wickersham recurred to him. Both had been
much wealthier; but Wickersham, he knew, was in straits, and Norman was
in some trouble. He was unfeignedly glad about Wickersham; but the
recollection of Norman clouded his face.
It was with a pang that he recalled Norman's recent conduct to him--a
pang that one who had always been his friend should have changed so; but
that was the way of the world. This reflection, however, was not
consoling.
He reached his office and seated himself at his desk, to take another
look at his papers. Before he opened them he rose and locked the door,
and opening a large envelope, spread the papers out on the desk
before him.
He thought of his father. He must write and tell him of his success.
Then he thought of his old home. He remembered his resolution to restore
it and make it what it used to be. But how much he could do with the
money it would take to fit up the old place in the manner he had
contemplated! By investing it judiciously he could double it.
Suddenly there was a step outside and a knock at his door, followed by
voices in the outer office. Keith rose, and putting his papers back in
his pocket, opened the door. For a second he had a mingled sensation of
pleasure and surprise. His father stood there, his bag clutched in his
hand. He looked tired, and had aged some since Keith saw him last; but
his face wore the old smile that always illumined it when it rested
on his son.
Keith greeted him warmly and drew him inside. "I was just thinking of
you, sir."
"You would not come to see me, so I have come to see you. I have heard
from you so rarely that I was afraid you were sick." His eyes rested
fondly on Gordon's face.
"No; I have been so busy; that is all. Well, sir, I have won." His eyes
were sparkling.
The old gentleman's face lit up.
"You have? Found Phrony, have you? I am so glad. It will give old Rawson
a new lease of life. I saw him after he got back. He has failed a good
deal lately."
"No, sir. I have found her, too; but I mean I have won out at last."
"Ah, you have won her? I congratulate you. I hope she will make you
happy."
Keith laughed.
"I don't mean that. I mean I have sold my lands at last. I closed this
morning with the Englishmen, and received the money."
The General smiled.
"Ah, you have, have you? That's very good. I am glad for old Adam
Rawson's sake."
"I was afraid he would die before the deeds passed," said Keith. "But
see, here are the drafts to my order." He spread them out. "This one is
my commission. And I have the same amount of common stock."
His father made no comment on this, but presently said: "You will have
enough to restore the old place a little."
"How much would it cost to fix up the place as you think it ought to be
fixed up?"
"Oh, some thousands of dollars. You see, the house is much out of
repair, and the quarters ought really all to be rebuilt. Old Charlotte's
house I have kept in repair, and Richard now sleeps in the house, as he
has gotten so rheumatic. I should think five or six thousand dollars
might do it."
"I can certainly spare that much," said Keith, laughing.
"How is Norman?" asked the General.
Keith was conscious of a feeling of discontent. His countenance fell.
"Why, I don't know. I don't see much of him these days."
"Ah! I want to go to see him."
"The fact is, we have--er--had--. There has been an unfortunate
misunderstanding between us. No one regrets it more than I; but I think
I can say it was not at all my fault, and I have done all and more than
was required of me."
"Ah, I am very sorry for that. It's a pity--a pity!" said the old
General. "What was it about?"
"Well, I don't care to talk about it, sir. But I can assure you, I was
not in the least to blame. It was caused mainly, I believe, by that
fellow, Wickersham."
"He's a scoundrel!" said the General, with sudden vehemence.
"He is, sir!"
"I will go and see Norman. I see by the papers he is in some trouble."
"I fear he is, sir. His bank has been declining."
"Perhaps you can help him?" His face lit up. "You remember, he once
wrote you--a long time ago?"
"I remember; I have repaid that," said Keith, quickly. "He has treated
me very badly." He gave a brief account of the trouble between them.
The old General leant back and looked at his son intently. His face was
very grave and showed that he was reflecting deeply.
"Gordon," he said presently, "the Devil is standing very close to you. A
real misunderstanding should always be cleared up. You must go to him."
"What do you mean, sir?" asked his son, in some confusion.
"You are at the parting of the ways. A gentleman cannot hesitate. Such a
debt never can be paid by a gentleman," he said calmly. "You must help
him, even if you cannot restore the old place. Elphinstone has gone for
a debt before." He rose as if there was nothing more to be said. "Well,
I will go and wait for you at your rooms." He walked out.
Keith sat and reflected. How different he was from his father! How
different from what he had been years ago! Then he had had an affection
for the old home and all that it represented. He had worked with the
idea of winning it back some day. It had been an inspiration to him. But
now it was wealth that he had begun to seek.
It came to him clearly how much he had changed. The process all lay
before him. It had grown with his success, and had kept pace with it in
an almost steady ratio since he had set success before him as a goal. He
was angry with himself to find that he was thinking now of success
merely as Wealth. Once he had thought of Honor and Achievement, even of
Duty. He remembered when he had not hesitated to descend into what
appeared the very jaws of death, because it seemed to him his duty. He
wondered if he would do the same now.
He felt that this was a practical view which he was now taking of life.
He was now a practical man; yes, practical like old Kestrel, said his
better self. He felt that he was not as much of a gentleman as he used
to be. He was further from his father; further from what Norman was.
This again brought Norman to his mind. If the rumors which he had heard
were true, Norman was now in a tight place.
As his father had said, perhaps he might be able to help him. But why
should he do it? If Norman had helped him in the past, had he not
already paid him back? And had not Norman treated him badly of late
without the least cause--met his advances with a rebuff? No; he would
show him that he was not to be treated so. He still had a small account
in Norman's bank, which he had not drawn out because he had not wished
to let Norman see that he thought enough of his coldness to make any
change; but he would put his money now into old Creamer's bank. After
looking at his drafts again, he unlocked his door and went out on
the street.
There was more commotion on the street than he had seen in some days.
Men were hurrying at a quicker pace than the rapid gait which was always
noticeable in that thoroughfare. Groups occasionally formed and, after a
word or two, dispersed. Newsboys were crying extras and announcing some
important news in an unintelligible jargon. Messengers were dashing
about, rushing in and out of the big buildings. Something unusual was
evidently going on. As Keith, on his way to the bank of which Mr.
Creamer was president, passed the mouth of the street in which Norman's
office was situated, he looked down and saw quite a crowd assembled. The
street was full. He passed on, however, and went into the big building,
on the first floor of which Creamer's bank had its offices. He walked
through to the rear of the office, to the door of Mr. Creamer's private
office, and casually asked the nearest clerk for Mr. Creamer. The young
man said he was engaged. Keith, however, walked up to the door, and was
about to knock, when, at a word spoken by his informant, another clerk
came hastily forward and said that Mr. Creamer was very busily engaged
and could see no one.
"Well, he will see me," said Keith, feeling suddenly the courage that
the possession of over a quarter of a million dollars gave, and he
boldly knocked on the door, and, without waiting to be invited in,
opened it.
Mr. Creamer was sitting at his desk, and two or three other men, one or
two of whom Keith had seen before, were seated in front of him in close
conference. They stared at the intruder.
"Mr. Keith." Mr. Creamer's tone conveyed not the least feeling, gave no
idea either of welcome or surprise.
"Excuse me for interrupting you for a moment," said Keith. "I want to
open an account here. I have a draft on London, which I should like to
deposit and have you collect for me."
The effect was immediate; indeed, one might almost say magical. The
atmosphere of the room as suddenly changed as if May should be dropped
into the lap of December. The old banker's face relaxed. He touched a
bell under the lid of his desk, and at the same moment pushed back
his chair.
"Gentlemen, let me introduce my friend, Mr. Keith." He presented Keith
in turn to each of his companions, who greeted him with that degree of
mingled reserve and civility which is due to a man who has placed a
paper capable of effecting such a marked change in the hands of the most
self-contained banker in Bankers' Row.
A tap at the door announced an answer to the bell, and the next moment a
clerk came in.
"Ask Mr. Penwell to come here," said Mr. Creamer. "Mr. Penwell is the
head of our foreign department," he added in gracious explanation
to Keith.
"Mr. Keith, gentlemen, is largely interested in some of those Southern
mining properties that you have heard me speak of; and has just put
through a very fine deal with an English syndicate."
The door opened, and a cool-looking, slender man of fifty-odd, with a
thin gray face, thin gray hair very smoothly brushed, and keen gray
eyes, entered. He was introduced to Mr. Keith. After Mr. Creamer had
stated the purpose of Keith's visit and had placed the drafts in Mr.
Penwell's hands, the latter stated, as an interesting item just off the
ticker, that he understood Wentworth was in trouble. Some one had just
come and said that there was a run on his bank.
"Those attacks on him in the newspapers must have hurt him
considerably," observed one of the visitors.
"Yes, he has been a good deal hurt," said Mr. Creamer. "We are all
right, Penwell?" He glanced at his subordinate.
Mr. Penwell nodded with deep satisfaction.
"So are we," said one of the visitors. "This is the end of Wentworth &
Son. He will go down."
"He has been going down for some time. Wife too extravagant."
This appeared to be the general opinion. But Keith scarcely heard the
speakers. He stood in a maze.
The announcement of Norman's trouble had come to him like a
thunder-clap. And he was standing now as in a dream. Could it be
possible that Norman was going to fail? And if he failed, would this be
all it meant to these men who had known him always?
The vision of an old gentleman sitting in his home, which he had lost,
came back to him across the years.
"That young man is a gentleman," he heard him say. "It takes a gentleman
to write such a letter to a friend in misfortune. Write to him and say
we will never forget his kindness." He heard the same old gentleman say,
after years of poverty, "You must pay your debt though I give up
Elphinstone."
Was he not now forgetting Norman's kindness? But was it not too late?
Could he save him? Would he not simply be throwing away his money to
offer it to him? Suddenly again, he seemed to hear his father's voice:
"The Devil is standing close behind you. You are at the parting of the
ways. A gentleman cannot hesitate."
"Mr. Creamer," he said suddenly, "why don't Norman Wentworth's friends
come to his rescue and help him out of his difficulties?"
The question might have come from the sky, it was so unexpected. It
evidently caught the others unprepared with an answer. They simply
smiled vaguely. Mr. Creamer said presently, rubbing his chin:
"Why, I don't suppose they know the extent of his difficulties."
"And I guess he has no collateral to offer?" said another.
"Collateral! No; everything he has is pledged."
"But I mean, why don't they lend him money without collateral, if
necessary, to tide him over his trouble? He is a man of probity. He has
lived here all his life. He must have many friends able to help him.
They know that if he had time to realize on his properties he would
probably pull through."
With one accord the other occupants of the room turned and looked at
Keith.
"Did you say you had made a fortune in mining deals?" asked one of the
gentlemen across the table, gazing at Keith through his gold-rimmed
glasses with a wintry little smile.
"No, I did not. Whatever was said on that subject Mr. Creamer said."
"Oh! That's so. He did. Well, you are the sort of a man we want about
here."
This remark was received with some amusement by the others; but Keith
passed it by, and turned to Mr. Creamer.
"Mr. Creamer, how much money will you give me on this draft? This is
mine. The other I wish to deposit here."
"Why, I don't know just what the exchange would be. What is the exchange
on this, Penwell?"
"Will you cash this draft for me?" asked Keith.
"Certainly."
"Well, will you do me a further favor? It might make very little
difference if I were to make a deposit in Norman's bank; but if you were
to make such a deposit there, it would probably reassure people, and the
run might be stopped. I have known of one or two instances."
Mr. Creamer agreed, and the result was a sort of reaction in Norman's
favor, in sentiment if not in action. It was arranged that Keith should
go and make a deposit, and that Mr. Creamer should send a man to make a
further one and offer Wentworth aid.
When Gordon Keith reached the block on which stood Norman's bank, the
street was already filled with a dense crowd, pushing, growling,
complaining, swearing, threatening. It was evidently a serious affair,
and Keith, trying to make his way through the mob, heard many things
about Norman which he never could have believed it would have been
possible to hear. The crowd was in an ugly mood, and was growing uglier.
A number of policemen were trying to keep the people in line so that
they could take their turn. Keith found it impossible to make his way to
the front. His explanation that he wished to make a deposit was greeted
with shouts of derision.
"Stand back there, young man. We've heard that before; you can't work
that on us. We would all like to make deposits--somewhere else."
"Except them what's already made 'em," some one added, at which there
was a laugh.
Keith applied to a policeman with hardly more success, until he opened
the satchel he carried, and mentioned the name of the banker who was to
follow him. On this the officer called another, and after a hurried word
the two began to force their way through the crowd, with Keith between
them. By dint of commanding, pushing, and explaining, they at length
reached the entrance to the bank, and finally made their way, hot and
perspiring, to the counter. A clerk was at work at every window counting
out money as fast as checks were presented.
Just before Keith reached the counter, on glancing through an open door,
he saw Norman sitting at his desk, white and grim. His burning eyes
seemed deeper than ever. He glanced up, and Keith thought he caught his
gaze on him, but he was not sure, for he looked away so quickly. The
next moment he walked around inside the counter and spoke to a clerk,
who opened a ledger and gave him a memorandum. Then he came forward and
spoke to a teller at the receiving-window.
"Do you know that man with the two policemen? That is Mr. Gordon Keith.
Here is his balance; pay it to him as soon as he reaches the window."
The teller, bending forward, gazed earnestly out of the small grated
window over the heads of those nearest him. Keith met his gaze, and the
teller nodded. Norman turned away without looking, and seated himself on
a chair in the rear of the bank.
When Keith reached the window, the white-faced teller said immediately:
"Your balance, Mr. Keith, is so much; you have a check?" He extended his
hand to take it.
"No," said Keith; "I have not come to draw out any money. I have come to
make a deposit."
The teller was so much astonished that he simply ejaculated:
"Sir--?"
"I wish to make a deposit," said Keith, raising his voice a little, and
speaking with great distinctness.
His voice had the quality of carrying, and a silence settled on the
crowd,--one of those silences that sometimes fall, even on a mob, when
the wholly unexpected happens,--so that every word that was spoken was
heard distinctly.
"Ah--we are not taking deposits to-day," said the astonished teller,
doubtfully.
Keith smiled.
"Well, I suppose there is no objection to doing so? I have an account in
this bank, and I wish to add to it. I am not afraid of it."
The teller gazed at him in blank amazement; he evidently thought that
Keith was a little mad. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but said
nothing from sheer astonishment.
"I have confidence enough in this bank," pursued Keith, "to put my money
here, and here I propose to put it, and I am not the only one; there
will be others here in a little while."
"I shall--really, I shall have to ask Mr. Wentworth," faltered the
clerk.
"Mr. Wentworth has nothing to do with it," said Keith, positively, and
to close the discussion, he lifted his satchel through the window, and,
turning it upside down, emptied before the astonished teller a pile of
bills which made him gasp. "Enter that to my credit," said Keith.
"How much is it?"
The sum that Keith mentioned made him gasp yet more. It was up in the
hundreds of thousands.
"There will be more here in a little while." He turned his head and
glanced toward the door. "Ah, here comes some one now," he said, as he
recognized one of the men whom he had recently left at the council
board, who was then pushing his way forward, under the guidance of
several policemen.
The amount deposited by the banker was much larger than Keith had
expected, and a few well-timed words to those about him had a marked
effect upon the depositors. He said their apprehension was simply
absurd. They, of course, had the right to draw out their money, if they
wished it, and they would get it, but he advised them to go home and
wait to do so until the crowd dispersed. The bank was perfectly sound,
and they could not break it unless they could also break its friends.
A few of the struggling depositors dropped out of line, some of the
others saying that, as they had waited so long, they guessed they would
get their money now.
The advice given, perhaps, had an added effect, as at that moment a
shriek arose from a woman near the door, who declared that her pocket
had been picked of the money she had just drawn.
The arrival of the new depositors, and the spreading through the crowd
of the information that they represented several of the strongest banks
in the city, quieted the apprehensions of the depositors, and a
considerable number of them abandoned the idea of drawing out their
money and went off. Though many of them remained, it was evident that
the dangerous run had subsided. A notice was posted on the front door of
the bank that the bank would remain open until eight o'clock and would
be open the following morning at eight, which had something to do with
allaying the excitement of the depositors.
That afternoon Keith went back to the bank. Though depositors were still
drawing out their money, the scene outside was very different from that
which he had witnessed earlier in the day. Keith asked for Mr.
Wentworth, and was shown to his room. When Keith entered, Norman was
sitting at his desk figuring busily. Keith closed the door behind him
and waited. The lines were deep on Norman's face; but the hunted look it
had borne in the morning had passed away, and grim resolution had taken
its place. When at length he glanced up, his already white face grew yet
whiter. The next second a flush sprang to his cheeks; he pushed back his
chair and rose, and, taking one step forward, stretched out his hand.
"Keith!"
Keith took his hand with a grip that drove the blood from the ends of
Norman's fingers.
"Norman!"
Norman drew a chair close to his desk, and Keith sat down. Norman sank
into his, looked down on the floor for a second, then, raising his eyes,
looked full into Keith's eyes.
"Keith--?" His voice failed him; he glanced away, reached over, and took
up a paper lying near, and the next instant leant forward, and folding
his arms on the desk, dropped his head on them, shaken with emotion.
Keith rose from his chair, and bending over him, laid his hand on his
head, as he might have done to a younger brother.
"Don't, Norman," he said helplessly; "it is all right." He moved his
hand down Norman's arm with a touch as caressing as if he had been a
little child, but all he said was: "Don't, Norman; it is all right."
Suddenly Norman sat up.
"It is all wrong!" he said bitterly. "I have been a fool. I had no
right--. But I was mad! I have wrecked my life. But I was insane. I was
deceived. I do not know even now how it happened. I ought to have known,
but--I learned only just now. I can never explain. I ask your
pardon humbly."
Keith leant forward and laid his hand upon him affectionately.
"There, there! You owe me no apology, and I ask no explanation; it was
all a great mistake."
"Yes, and all my fault. She was not to blame; it was my folly. I drove
her to--desperation."
"I want to ask just one thing. Was it Ferdy Wickersham who made you
believe I had deceived you?" asked Keith, standing straight above him.
"In part--mainly. But I was mad." He drew his hand across his forehead,
sat back in his chair, and, with eyes averted, sighed deeply. His
thoughts were evidently far from Keith. Keith's eyes rested on him, and
his face paled a little with growing resolution.
"One question, Norman. Pardon me for asking it. My only reason is that
I would give my life, a worthless life you once saved, to see you as you
once were. I know more than you think I know. You love her still? I know
you must."
Norman turned his eyes and let them rest on Keith's face. They were
filled with anguish.
"Better than my life. I adore her."
Keith drew in his breath with a long sigh of relief and of content.
"Oh, I have no hope," Norman went on despairingly. "I gave her every
right to doubt it. I killed her love. I do not blame her. It was all my
fault. I know it now, when it is too late."
"It is not too late."
Norman shook his head, without even looking at Keith.
"Too late," he said, speaking to himself.
Keith rose to his feet.
"It is not too late," he declared, with a sudden ring in his voice; "she
loves you."
Norman shook his head.
"She hates me; I deserve it."
"In her heart she adores you," said Keith, in a tone of conviction.
Norman turned away with a half-bitter laugh.
"You don't know."
"I do know, and you will know it, too. How long shall you be here?"
"I shall spend the night here," said Norman. "I must be ready for
whatever may happen to-morrow morning.--I have not thanked you yet." He
extended his hand to Keith. "You stemmed the tide for me to-day. I know
what it must have cost you. I cannot regret it, and I know you never
will; and I beg you to believe that, though I go down to-morrow, I shall
never forget it, and if God spares me, I will repay you."
Keith's eyes rested on him calmly.
"You paid me long ago, Norman. I was paying a debt to-day, or trying to
pay one, in a small way. It was not I who made that deposit to-day, but
a better man and a finer gentleman than I can ever hope to be--my
father. It was he who inspired me to do that; he paid that debt."
From what Keith had heard, he felt that he was justified in going to see
Mrs. Wentworth. Possibly, it was not too late; possibly, he might be
able to do something to clear away the misapprehension under which she
labored, and to make up the trouble between her and Norman. Norman still
loved her dearly, and Keith believed that she cared for him. Lois
Huntington always declared that she did, and she could not have
been deceived.
That she had been foolish Keith knew; that she had been wicked he did
not believe. She was self-willed, vain, extravagant; but deep under her
cold exterior burned fires of which she had once or twice given him a
glimpse; and he believed that her deepest feeling was ever for Norman.
When he reached Mrs. Wentworth's house he was fortunate enough to find
her at home. He was shown into the drawing-room.
When Mrs. Wentworth entered the room, Keith was conscious of a change in
her since he had seen her last. She, too, had heard the clangor of the
evil tongues that had connected their names. She greeted him with
cordial words, but her manner was constrained, and her expression was
almost suspicious.
She changed, however, under Keith's imperturbable and unfeigned
friendliness, and suddenly asked him if he had seen Norman. For the
first time real interest spoke in her voice and shone in her face. Keith
said he had seen him.
"I have come to see if I could not help you. Perhaps, I may be able to
do something to set things right."
"No--it is too late. Things have gone too far. We have just
drifted--drifted!" She flung up her hands and tossed them apart with a
gesture of despair. "Drifted!" she repeated. She put her handkerchief to
her eyes.
Keith watched her in silence for a moment, and then rising, he seated
himself beside her.
"Come--this is all wrong--all wrong!" He caught her by the wrist and
firmly took her hand down from her eyes, much as an older brother might
have done. "I want to talk to you. Perhaps, I can help you--I may have
been sent here for the purpose--who knows? At least, I want to help you.
Now tell me." He looked into her face with grave, kind eyes. "You do not
care for Ferdy Wickersham? That would be impossible."
"No, of course not,--except as a friend,--and Norman liked another
woman--your friend!" Her eyes flashed a sudden flame.
"Never! never!" repeated Keith, after a pause. "Norman is not that
sort."
His absolute certainty daunted her.
"He did. I have reason to think--" she began. But Keith put her down.
"Never! I would stake my salvation on it."
"He is going to get a--try to get a divorce. He is willing to blacken my
name."
"What! Never."
"But you do not know the reasons I have for saying so," she protested.
"If I could tell you--"
"No, and I do not care. Doubt your own senses rather than believe that.
Ferdy Wickersham is your authority for that."
"No, he is not--not my only authority. You are all so hard on Ferdy. He
is a good friend of mine."
"He is not," asserted Keith. "He is your worst enemy--your very worst.
He is incapable of being a friend."
"What have you against him?" she demanded. "I know you and he don't like
each other, but--"
"Well, for one thing, he deceived a poor girl, and then abandoned
her--and--"
"Perhaps, your information is incorrect? You know how easy it is to get
up a slander, and such women are--not to be believed. They always
pretend that they have been deceived."
"She was not one of 'such women,'" said Keith, calmly. "She was a
perfectly respectable woman, and the granddaughter of an old friend
of mine."
"Well, perhaps, you may have been misinformed?"
"No; I have the evidence that Wickersham married her--and--"
"Oh, come now--that is absurd! Ferdy married! Why, Ferdy never cared
enough for any one to marry her--unless she had money. He has paid
attention to a rich woman, but--You must not strain my credulity too
far. I really thought you had something to show against him. Of course,
I know he is not a saint,--in fact, very far from it,--but he does not
pretend to be. But, at least, he is not a hypocrite."
"He is a hypocrite and a scoundrel," declared Keith, firmly. "He is
married, and his wife is living now. He abandoned her, and she is
insane. I know her."
"You know her! Ferdy married!" She paused in wonder. His certainty
carried conviction with it.
"I have his marriage certificate."
"You have?" A sort of amaze passed over her face.
He took out the paper and gave it to her. She gazed at it with staring
eyes. "That is his hand." She rose with a blank face, and walked to the
window; then, after a moment, came back and sat down. She had the
expression of a person lost. "Tell me about it."
Keith told her. He also told her of Norman's losses.
Again that look of amazement crossed her face; her eyes became almost
blank.
"Norman's fortune impaired! I cannot understand it--_he_ told me--Oh,
there must be some mistake!" she broke out vehemently. "You are
deceiving me. No! I don't mean that, of course,--I know you would
not,--but you have been deceived yourself." Her face was a
sudden white.
Keith shook his head. "No!"
"Why, look here. He cannot be hard up. He has kept up my allowance and
met every demand--almost every demand--I have made on him." She was
grasping at straws.
"And Ferdy Wickersham has spent it in Wall Street."
"What! No, he has not! There, at least, you do him an injustice. What he
has got from me he has invested securely. I have all the papers--at
least, some of them."
"How has he invested it?"
"Partly in a mine called the 'Great Gun Mine,' in New Leeds. Partly in
Colorado.--I can help Norman with it." Her face brightened as the
thought came to her.
Keith shook his head.
"The Great Gun Mine is a fraud--at least, it is worthless, not worth
five cents on the dollar of what has been put in it. It was flooded
years ago. Wickersham has used it as a mask for his gambling operations
in Wall Street, but has not put a dollar into it for years; and now he
does not even own it. His creditors have it."
Her face had turned perfectly white.
A look, partly of pity for her, partly of scorn for Wickersham, crossed
Keith's face. He rose and strode up and down the room in perplexity.
"He is a common thief," he said sternly--"beneath contempt!"
His conviction suddenly extended to her. When he looked at her, she
showed in her face that she believed him. Her last prop had fallen. The
calamity had made her quiet.
"What shall I do?" she asked hopelessly.
"You must tell Norman."
"Oh!"
"Make a clean breast of it."
"You do not know Norman! How can I? He would despise me so! You do not
know how proud he is. He--!" Words failed her, and she stared at Keith
helplessly.
"If I do not know Norman, I know no one on earth. Go to him and tell
him everything. It will be the happiest day of his life--your
salvation and his."
"You think so?"
"I know it."
She relapsed into thought, and Keith waited.
"I was to see Fer--Mr. Wickersham to-night," she began presently. "He
asked me to supper to meet some friends--the Count and Countess
Torelli."
Keith smiled. A fine scorn came into his eyes.
"Where does he give the dinner? At what hour?"
She named the place--a fashionable restaurant up-town. The time was
still several hours away.
"You must go to Norman."
She sat in deep reflection.
"It is your only chance--your only hope. Give me authority to act for
you, and go to him. He needs you."
"If I thought he would forgive me?" she said in a low tone.
"He will. I have just come from him. Write me the authority and go at
once."
A light appeared to dawn in her face.
She rose suddenly.
"What shall I write?"
"Write simply that I have full authority to act for you--and that you
have gone to Norman."
She walked into the next room, and seating herself at an escritoire, she
wrote for a short time. When she handed the paper to Keith it contained
just what he had requested: a simple statement to F.C. Wickersham that
Mr. Keith had full authority to represent her and act for her as he
deemed best.
"Will that do?" she asked.
"I think so," said Keith. "Now go. Norman is waiting."