Of course he had her there. "I wish," she said, "that you would tell me
what you yourself think of them."
"I think that my father must be very hard up for something to do."
"Oh--I don't think I should speak of it in that way if I were you."
"Why not? If he cites filial duty to me, why shall I not cite paternal
duty to him? Why should he confine his entire relations with me in
twenty-four years to two preposterous detective-story letters?"
Sharlee said nothing. To tell the truth, she thought the behavior of
Queed Senior puzzling in the last degree.
"You grasp the situation? He knows exactly where I am; evidently he has
known it all along. He could come to see me to-night; he could have come
as soon as I arrived here three months ago; he could have come five,
ten, twenty years ago, when I was in New York. But instead he elects to
write these curious letters, apparently seeking to make a mystery, and
throwing the burden of finding him on me. Why should I become excited
over the prospect? If he would promise to endow me now, to support or
pension me off, if I found him, that would be one thing. But I submit to
you that no man can be expected to interrupt a most important life-work
in consideration of a single twenty-dollar bill. And that is the only
proof of interest I ever had from him. No--" he broke off suddenly--"no,
that's hardly true after all. I suppose it was he who sent the money to
Tim."
"To Tim?"
"Tim Queed."
Presently she gently prodded him. "And do you want to tell me who Tim
Queed is?"
He eyed her thoughtfully. If the ground of his talk appeared somewhat
delicate, nothing could have been more matter-of-fact than the way he
tramped it. Yet now he palpably paused to ask himself whether it was
worth his while to go more into detail. Yes; clearly it was. If it ever
became necessary to ask the boarding-house agent to find his father for
him, she would have to know what the situation was, and now was the time
to make it plain to her once and for all.
"He is the man I lived with till I was fourteen; one of my friends, a
policeman. For a long time I supposed, of course, that Tim was my
father, but when I was ten or twelve, he told me, first that I was an
orphan who had been left with him to bring up, and later on, that I had
a father somewhere who was not in a position to bring up children. That
was all he would ever say about it. I became a student while still a
little boy, having educated myself practically without instruction of
any sort, and when I was fourteen I left Tim because he married at that
time, and, with the quarreling and drinking that followed, the house
became unbearable. Tim then told me for the first time that he had, from
some source, funds equivalent to twenty-five dollars a month for my
board, and that he would allow me fifteen of that, keeping ten dollars a
month for his services as agent. You follow all this perfectly? So
matters went along for ten years, Tim bringing me the fifteen dollars
every month and coming frequently to see me in between, often bringing
along his brother Murphy, who is a yeggman. Last fall came this letter,
purporting to be from my father. Absurd as it appeared to me, I decided
to come. Tim said that, in that case, he would be compelled to cut off
the allowance entirely. Nevertheless, I came."
Sharlee had listened to this autobiographical sketch with close and
sympathetic attention. "And now that you are here--and settled--haven't
you decided to do something--?"
He leaned back in his swivel chair and stared at her. "Do something!
Haven't I done all that he asked? Haven't I given up fifteen dollars a
month for him? Decidedly, the next move is his."
"But if you meant to take no steps when you got here, why did you come?"
"To give him his chance, of course. One city is exactly like another to
me. All that I ask of any of them is a table and silence. Apart from the
forfeiture of my income, living here and living there are all one. Do!
You talk of it glibly enough, but what is there to do? There are no
Queeds in this city. I looked in the directory this morning. In all
probability that is not his name anyway. Kindly bear in mind that I have
not the smallest clue to proceed upon, even had I the time and
willingness to proceed upon it."
"I am obliged to agree with you," she said, "in thinking that your--"
"Besides," continued Doctor Queed, "what reason have I for thinking that
he expects or desires me to track him down? For all that he says here,
that may be the last thing in the world he wishes."
Sharlee, turning toward him, her chin in her white-gloved hand, looked
at him earnestly.
"Do you care to have me discuss it with you?"
"Oh, yes, I have invited an expression of opinion from you."
"Then I agree with you in thinking that your father is not treating you
fairly. His attitude toward you is extraordinary, to say the least of
it. But of course there must be some good reason for this. Has it
occurred to you that he may be in some--situation where it is not
possible for him to reveal himself to you?"
"Such as what?"
"Well, I don't know--"
"Why doesn't he say so plainly in his letters then?"
"I don't know."
The young man threw out his hands with a gesture which inquired what in
the mischief she was talking about then.
"Here is another thought," said Sharlee, not at all disconcerted. "Have
you considered that possibly he may be doing this way--as a test?"
"Test of what?"
"Of you. I mean that, wanting to--to have you with him now, he is taking
this way of finding out whether or not you want him. Don't you see what
I mean? He appeals here to the natural feelings of a son, and then again
he tells you to make friends and learn to like people. Evidently he is
expecting something of you--I don't know exactly what. But don't you
think, perhaps, that if you began a search for him, he would take it as
a sign--"
"I told you that there was no way in which a search, as you call it,
could be begun. Nor, if there were, have I the smallest inclination to
begin it. Nor, again, if I had, could I possibly take the time from My
Book."
She was silent a moment. "There is, of course, one way in which you
could find out at any moment."
"Indeed! What is that, pray?"
"Mr. Tim Queed."
He smiled faintly but derisively. "Hardly. Of course Tim knows all about
it. He told me once that he was present at the wedding of my parents;
another time that my mother died when I was born. But he would add, and
will add, not a word to these confidences; not even to assure me
definitely that my father is still alive. He says that he has sworn an
oath of secrecy. I called on him before I left New York. No, no; I may
discover my father or he may discover me, or not, but we can rest
absolutely assured that I shall get no help from Tim."
"But you can't mean simply to sit still--"
"And leave matters to him. I do."
"But--but," she still protested, "he is evidently unhappy Mr.
Queed--evidently counting on you for something--"
"Then let him come out like a man and say plainly what he wants. I
cannot possibly drop my work to try to solve entirely superfluous
enigmas. Keep all this in mind--take an interest in it, will you?" he
added briskly. "Possibly I might need your help some day."
"Certainly I will. I appreciate your telling me about it, and I'd be so
glad to help you in any way that I could."
"How do you like my editorials?" he demanded abruptly.
"I'm afraid I don't understand a line of them!"
He waved his hand indulgently, like a grandfather receiving the just
tribute of his little ones. "They are for thinkers, experts," said he,
and picked up his pencil.
The agent took the hint; pushed back her chair; her glove was unbuttoned
and she slowly fastened it. In her heart was a great compassion for the
little Doctor.
"Mr. Queed, I want you to know that if I ever could be of help to you
about _anything_, I'd always think it a real pleasure. Please remember
that, won't you? Did you know I lived down this way, in the daytime?"
"Lived?"
She made a gesture toward the window, and away to the south and east.
"My office is only three blocks away, down there in the park--"
"Your office? You don't work!"
"Oh, don't I though!"
"Why, I thought you were a _lady_!"
They were so close together that she was compelled to laugh full in his
face, disclosing two rows of splendid little teeth and the tip of a rosy
little tongue. Probably she could have crushed him by another pointing
gesture, turned this time toward her honored great-grandfather who stood
in marble in the square; but what was the use?
"What are you laughing at?" he inquired mildly.
"At your definition of a lady. Where on earth did you get it? Out of
those laws of human society you write every night at my aunt's?"
"No," said he, the careful scientist at once, "no, I admit, if you like,
that I used the term in a loose, popular sense. I would not seriously
contend that females of gentle birth and breeding--ladies in the
essential sense--are never engaged in gainful occupations--"
"You shouldn't," she laughed, "not in this city at any rate. It might
astonish you to know how many females of gentle birth and breeding are
engaged in gainful occupations on this one block alone. It was not ever
thus with them. Once they had wealth and engaged in nothing but
delicious leisure. But in 1861 some men came down here, about six to
one, and took all this wealth away from them, at the same time
exterminating the males. Result: the females, ladies in the essential
sense, must either become gainful or starve. They have not starved.
Sociologically, it's interesting. Make Colonel Cowles tell you about it
some time."
"He has told me about it. In fact he tells me constantly. And this work
that you do," he said, not unkindly and not without interest, "what is
it? Are you a teacher, perhaps, a ... no!--You speak of an office. You
are a clerk, doubtless, a bookkeeper, a stenographer, an office girl?"
She nodded with exaggerated gravity. "You have guessed my secret. I am a
clerk, bookkeeper, stenographer, and office girl. My official title, of
course, is a little more frilly, but you describe--"
"Well? What is it?"
"They call it Assistant Secretary of the State Department of Charities."
He looked astonished; she had no idea his face could take on so much
expression.
"You! _You_! Why, how on earth did you get such a position?"
"Pull," said Sharlee.
Their eyes met, and she laughed him down.
"Who is the real Secretary to whom you are assistant?"
"The nicest man in the world. Mr. Dayne--Rev. George Dayne."
"A parson! Does he know anything about his subject? Is he an expert?--a
trained relief worker? Does he know Willoughby? And Smathers? And
Conant?"
"Knows them by heart. Quotes pages of them at a time in his letters
without ever glancing at the books."
"And you?"
"I may claim some familiarity with their theories."
He fussed with his pencil. "I recall defining sociology for you one
night at my boarding-house...."
"I remember."
"Well," said he, determined to find something wrong, "those men whom I
mentioned to you are not so good as they think, particularly Smathers. I
may as well tell you that I shall show Smathers up completely in my
book."
"We shall examine your arguments with care and attention. We leave no
stone unturned to keep abreast of the best modern thought."
"It is extraordinary that such a position should be held by a girl like
you, who can have no scientific knowledge of the many complex
problems.... However," he said, a ray of brightness lightening his
displeasure, "your State is notoriously backward in this field. Your
department, I fancy, can hardly be more than rudimentary."
"It will be much, much more than that in another year or two. Why, we're
only four years old!"
"So this is why you are interested in having editorials written about
reformatories. It is a reformatory for women that you wish to
establish?"
"How did you know?"
"I merely argue from the fact that your State is so often held up to
reproach for lack of one. What is the plan?"
"We are asking," said the Assistant Secretary, "for a hundred thousand
dollars--sixty thousand to buy the land and build, forty thousand for
equipment and two years' support. Modest enough, is it not? Of course we
shall not get a penny from the present legislature. Legislatures love to
say no; it dearly flatters their little vanity. We are giving them the
chance to say no now. Then when they meet again, two years from now, we
trust that they will be ready to give us what we ask--part of it, at any
rate. We can make a start with seventy-five thousand dollars."
Queed was moved to magnanimity. "Look here. You have been civil to me--I
will write that article for you Myself."
While Sharlee had become aware that the little Doctor was interested,
really interested, in talking social science with her, she thought he
must be crazy to offer such a contribution of his time. A guilty pink
stole into her cheek. A reformatory article by Mr. Queed would doubtless
be scientifically pluperfect, but nobody would read it. Colonel Cowles,
on the other hand, had never even heard of Willoughby and Smathers; but
when he wrote an article people read it, and the humblest understood
exactly what he was driving at.
"Why--it's very nice of you to offer to help us, but I couldn't think of
imposing on your time--"
"Naturally not," said he, decisively; "but it happens that we have
decided to allow a breathing-space in my series on taxation, that the
public may digest what I have already written. I am therefore free to
discuss other topics for a few days. For to-morrow's issue, I am
analyzing certain little understood industrial problems in Bavaria. On
the following day--"
"It's awfully good of you to think of it," said Sharlee, embarrassed by
his grave gaze. "I can't tell you how I appreciate it. But--but--you
see, there's a lot of special detail that applies to this particular
case alone--oh, a great lot of it--little facts connected with peculiar
State conditions and--and the history of our department, you know--and I
have talked it over so thoroughly with the Colonel--"
"Here is Colonel Cowles now."
She breathed a sigh. Colonel Cowles, entering with the breath of winter
upon him, greeted her affectionately. Queed, rather relieved that his
too hasty offer had not been accepted, noted with vexation that his
conversation with the agent had cost him eighteen minutes of time.
Vigorously he readdressed himself to the currency problems of the
Bavarians; the girl's good-night, as applied to him, fell upon ears
deafer than any post.
Sharlee walked home through the tingling twilight; fourteen blocks, and
she did them four times a day. It was a still evening, clear as a bell
and very cold; already stars were pushing through the dim velvet round;
all the world lay white with a light hard snow, crusted and sparkling
under the street lights. Her private fear about the whole matter was
that Queed Senior was a person of a criminal mode of life, who,
discovering the need of a young helper, was somehow preparing to sound
and size up his long-neglected son.