Читать книгу The Essential Joseph C Lincoln Collection - Joseph C Lincoln - Страница 14

One evening, while a "clinic" was in progress and the three were deep in consultation, Edwards entered to announce Mrs. Corcoran Dunn and Mr. Malcolm. The butler's giving the lady precedence in his announcing showed that he, too, realized who was ranking officer in that family, even though the captain's "conundrum" had puzzled him. Mrs. Dunn and her son entered at his heels.

[Illustration: "She and the young man became better acquainted at each succeeding 'literary clinic.'"]

The lady took in the group by the table at a glance: Pearson, with the manuscript in his hands; Captain Elisha leaning back in his chair, frowning at the interruption; Caroline rising to welcome the guests, and coloring slightly as she did so. All these details Mrs. Dunn noted, made an entry in her mental memorandum-book, and underscored it for future reference.

If she discerned unpleasant possibilities in the situation, she did not allow them to disturb her outward serenity. She kissed Caroline and called her "dear child" as fondly as usual, shook hands graciously with Captain Elisha, and bowed condescending recognition of Pearson.

"And how is the novel coming on? Do tell me!" she begged. "I'm sure we interrupted a reading. It's too bad of us, really! But Malcolm insisted upon coming. He has been very busy of late--some dreadful 'corner' or other on the exchange--and has neglected his friends--or thinks he has. I told him I had explained it all to you, Caroline, but he _would_ come to-night. It is the first call he has made in weeks; so you _see_! But there! he doesn't consider running in here a call."

Call or not, it spoiled the evening for at least two of the company. Pearson left early. Captain Elisha excused himself soon after and went to his room, leaving the Dunns to chat with Caroline for an hour or more. Malcolm joked and was languid and cynical. His mother asked a few carefully guarded questions.

"Quite a clever person, this young author friend of yours seems to be, Caroline," she observed. "Almost brilliant, really."

"He isn't a friend of mine, exactly," replied the girl. "He and Captain Warren are friendly, and father used to know and like him, as I have told you. The novel is great fun, though! The people in it are coming to seem almost real to me."

"I daresay! I was a great reader myself once, before my health--my heart, you know--began to trouble me. The doctors now forbid my reading anything the least bit exciting. Has this--er--Mr. Pearson means?"

"I know very little of him, personally, but I think not. He used to be connected with the _Planet_, and wrote things about Wall Street. That was how father came to know him."

"Live in an attic, does he?" inquired Malcolm. "That's what all authors do, isn't it? Put up in attics and sleep on pallets--whatever they are--and eat crusts, don't they? Jolly life--if you like it! I prefer bucking wheat corners, myself."

Mrs. Dunn laughed, and Caroline joined her, though not as heartily.

"How ridiculous you are, Malcolm!" exclaimed his mother. "Mr. Pearson isn't that kind of an author, I'm sure. But where does he live, Caroline?"

"Somewhere on West 18th Street, I believe. He has rooms there, I think."

"Oh! Really? And how is this wonderful novel of his progressing? When does he expect to favor us with it?"

"I don't know. But it is progressing very well at present. He has written three chapters since last Wednesday. He was reading them to us when you came."

"Indeed! Since last Wednesday? How interesting!"

Malcolm did not seem to find the topic interesting, for he smothered a yawn. His mother changed the subject. On their way home, however, she again referred to it.

"You must make it a point to see her every day," she declared. "No matter what happens, you must do it."

"Oh, Lord!" groaned her son, "I can't. There's the deuce and all on 'Change just now, and the billiard tournament's begun at the Club. My days and nights are full up. Once a week is all she should expect, I think."

"No matter what you think or what she expects, you must do as I say."

"Why?"

"Because I don't like the looks of things."

"Oh, rubbish! You're always seeing bugaboos. Uncle Hayseed is pacified, isn't he? I've paid the Moriarty crowd off. Beastly big bills they were, too!"

"Humph! Uncle Hayseed, as you call him, is anything but a fool. But he isn't the particular trouble at present. He and I understand each other, I believe, and he will be reasonable. But--there is this Pearson. I don't like his calling so frequently."

Malcolm laughed in huge scorn. "Pearson!" he sneered. "Why, he's nothing but a penny-a-liner, without the penny. Surely you're not afraid Caroline will take a fancy to him. She isn't an idiot."

"She's a young girl, and more romantic than I wish she was. At her age girls do silly things, sometimes. He called on Wednesday--you heard her say so--and was there again to-night. I don't like it, I tell you."

"Her uncle is responsible for--"

"It is more than that. She knew him long before she knew her uncle existed. Her father introduced him--her _father_. And to her mind, whatever her father did was right."

"Witness his brilliant selection of an executor. Oh, Mater, you weary me! I used to know this Pearson when he was a reporter downtown, and.... Humph!"

"What is it?"

"Why, nothing, I guess. It seemed as if I remember Warren and Pearson in some sort of mix-up. Some.... Humph! I wonder."

He was silent, thinking. His mother pressed his arm excitedly.

"If you remember anything that occurred between Rodgers Warren and this man, anything to this Pearson's disadvantage, it may pay us to investigate. What was it?"

"I don't know. But it seemed as if I remembered Warren's ... or a friend of his telling me ... saying something ... but it couldn't be of importance, because Caroline doesn't know it."

"I'm not so sure that it may not be important. And, if you recall, on that day when we first met him at Caroline's, she seemed hurt because he had not visited them since her father died. Perhaps there _was_ a reason. At any rate, I should look into the matter."

"All right, Mater, just as you say. Really you ought to join a Don't Worry Club."

"One member in the family is quite sufficient. And I expect you to devote yourself to Caroline from now on. That girl is lonely, and when you get the combination of a lonely romantic young girl and a good-looking and interesting young fellow, even though he is as poor as a church mouse, _anything_ may happen. Add to that the influence of an unpractical but sharp old Yankee relative and guardian--then the situation is positively dangerous."

CHAPTER XIII

An important event was about to take place. At least, it seemed important to Captain Elisha, although the person most intimately concerned appeared to have forgotten it entirely. He ventured to remind her of it.

"Caroline," he said, "Sunday is your birthday, ain't it?"

His niece looked at him in surprise. "Yes," she answered, "it is. How did you know?"

"Why, I remembered, that's all. Graves, the lawyer man, told me how old you and Stevie were, fust time I met him. And his partner, Mr. Sylvester, gave me the date one day when he was goin' over your pa's will. You'll be twenty years old Sunday, won't you?"

"Yes."

It was late in the afternoon, and she had been out since ten o'clock shopping with Mrs. Dunn, lunching downtown with the latter and Malcolm, and motoring for an hour or two. The weather for the season was mild and sunny, and the crisp air had brightened her cheeks, her eyes sparkled, her fur coat and cap were very becoming, and Captain Elisha inspected her admiringly before making another remark.

"My! My!" he exclaimed, after an instant's pause. "Twenty years old! Think of it! 'Bije's girl's a young woman now, ain't she? I cal'late he was proud of you, too. He ought to have been. I presume likely _he_ didn't forget your birthday."

He rose to help her with the heavy coat. As he lifted it from her shoulders, he bent forward and caught a glimpse of her face.

"There! there!" he said, hastily. "Don't feel bad, dearie. I didn't mean to hurt your feelin's. Excuse me; I was thinkin' out loud, sort of."

She did not answer at once, but turned away to remove her cap. Then she answered, without looking at him.

"He never forgot them," she said.

"Course he didn't. Well, you see I didn't forget, either."

It was an unfortunate remark, inasmuch as it drew, in her mind, a comparison between her handsome, dignified father and his rude, uncultured brother. The contrast was ever present in her thoughts, and she did not need to be reminded of it. She made no reply.

"I was thinkin'," continued the captain, conscious of having made a mistake, "that maybe we might celebrate somehow, in a quiet way."

"No. I am not in the mood for--celebrations."

"Oh, I didn't mean fireworks and the town band. I just thought--"

"Please don't. I remember other birthdays too well." They had been great occasions, those birthdays of hers, ever since she was a little girl. On the eighteenth she made her dbut in society, and the gown she wore on that memorable evening was laid away upstairs, a cherished memento, to be kept as long as she lived. Each year Rodgers Warren took infinite pains to please and surprise his idolized daughter. She could not bear to think of another birthday, now that he had been taken from her.

Her guardian pulled his beard. "Well," he observed ruefully, "then my weak head's put my foot in it again, as the feller said. If I ain't careful I'll be like poor cracked Philander Baker, who lives with his sister over at Denboro Centre. The doctor told Philander he was threatened with softenin' of the brain, and the sister thanked him for the compliment. You see, Caroline, I wrote on my own hook and asked Stevie to come home Saturday and stay till Monday. I kind of thought you'd like to have him here."

"Oh, I should like _that_! But will he come? Has he written you?"

"Hey? Yes, I cal'late he'll be on deck. He's--er--yes, he's written me."

He smiled as he answered. As a matter of fact, the correspondence between Stephen and himself had been lengthy and voluminous on the part of the former, and brief and business-like on his own. The boy, on his return to college, had found "conditions" awaiting him, and the amount of hard work involved in their clearance was not at all to his taste. He wrote his guardian before the first week was over, asserting that the whole business was foolishness and a waste of time. He should come home at once, he said, and he notified the captain that such was his intention. Captain Elisha replied with promptness and decision. If he came home he would be sent back, that was all. "I realize you've got a job ahead of you, Son," wrote the captain, "but you can do it, if you will. Fact is, I guess you've got to. So sail in and show us what you're made of."

Stephen's answer was a five page declaration of independence. He refused to be bullied by any living man. He had made arrangements to come to New York on the following Monday, and he was coming. As to being sent back, he wished his uncle to understand that it was one thing to order and another to enforce obedience. To which he received the following note:

"I can't stop you from coming, Steve, except by going to New Haven and holding you by main strength. That I don't propose to do, for two reasons: first, that it is too much trouble, and second that it ain't necessary. You can come home once in a while to see your sister, but you mustn't do it till I say the word. If you do, I shall take the carfare out of your allowance, likewise board while you are here, and stop that allowance for a month as a sort of fine for mutiny. So you better think it over a spell. And, if I was you, I wouldn't write Caroline that I was coming, or thinking of coming, till I had my mind made up. She believes you are working hard at your lessons. I shouldn't disappoint her, especially as it wouldn't be any use.

"Your affectionate uncle, "ELISHA WARREN."

The result of all this was that Stephen, whose finances were already in a precarious condition, did think it over and decided not to take the risk. Also, conscious that his sister sided with their guardian to the extent of believing the university the best place for him at present, he tore up the long letter of grievance which he had written her, and, in that which took its place, mentioned merely that he was "grinding like blazes," and the only satisfaction he got from it was his removal from the society of the "old tyrant from Cape Cod."

He accepted the tyrant's invitation to return for the week-end and his sister's birthday with no hesitation whatever; and his letter of acceptance was so politic as to be almost humble.

He arrived on an early train Saturday morning. Caroline met him at the station, and the Dunns' car conveyed them to the latter's residence, where they were to spend the day. The Dunns and Caroline had been together almost constantly since the evening when Malcolm and his mother interrupted the reading of the novel. The former, while professing to be harassed by business cares, sacrificed them to the extent of devoting at least a part of each twenty-four hours to the young lady's society. She was rarely allowed to be alone with her uncle, a circumstance which troubled her much less than it did him. He missed the evenings which he had enjoyed so much, and the next consultation over the adventures of Pearson's "Uncle Jim" and his "Mary" seemed flat and uninteresting without criticism and advice.

The author himself noticed the difference.

"Rot!" he exclaimed, throwing the manuscript aside in disgust. "It's rot, isn't it! If I can't turn out better stuff than that, I'd better quit. And I thought it was pretty decent, too, until to-night."

Captain Elisha shook his head. "It don't seem quite so shipshape, somehow," he admitted, "but I guess likely it's 'cause my head's full of other things just now. I'm puzzled 'most to death to know what to get for Caroline's birthday. I want to get her somethin' she'll like, and she's got pretty nigh everything under the sun. Say, Jim, you've been workin' too hard, yourself. Why don't you take to-morrow off and cruise around the stores helpin' me pick out a present. Come ahead--do!"

They spent the next afternoon in that "cruise," visiting department stores, jewelers, and art shops innumerable. Captain Elisha was hard to please, and his comments characteristic.

"I guess you're right, Jim," he said, "there's no use lookin' at pictures. Let alone that the walls are so covered with 'em now a fly can't scarcely light without steppin' on some kind of scenery--let alone that, my judgment on pictures ain't any good. I cal'late that's considered pretty fine, ain't it?" pointing to a painting in the gallery where they then were.

"Yes," replied the dealer, much amused. "That is a good specimen of the modern impressionist school."

"Humph! Cookin' school, I shouldn't wonder. I'd call it a portrait of a plate of scrambled eggs, if 'twa'n't for that green thing that's either a cow or a church in the offin'. Out of soundin's again, I am! But I knew she liked pictures, and so.... However, let's set sail for a jewelry store."

The sixth shop of this variety which they visited happened to be one of the largest and most fashionable in the city. Here the captain's fancy was taken by a gold chain for the neck, set with tiny emeralds.

"That's pretty--sort of--ain't it, Jim?" he asked.

"Yes," replied his companion, with emphasis, "it is. And I think you'll find it is expensive, also."

"That so? How much?" turning to the salesman.

The latter gave the price of the chain. Captain Elisha whistled.

"Whew! Jerushy!" he exclaimed. "And it wouldn't much more than go around my wrist, at that. All the same size, are they?"

"No. Some are longer. The longer ones are higher priced, of course."

"Sartin! They're for fleshy folks, I s'pose. Mrs. Thoph Kenney down home, she'd have to splice three of 'em together to make the round trip. Thoph's always scared he won't get his money's wuth in a trade, but he couldn't kick when he got her. To give the minister a dollar and walk off with two hundred and eighty pounds of wife is showin' some business sagacity, hey? To do him justice, I will say that _he_ seems to be satisfied; she's the one that does the complainin'. I guess this is the most expensive counter in the store, ain't it, Mister?"

The clerk laughed. "No, indeed," he said. "These are all moderate priced goods. I wonder," turning to Pearson, "if your friend wouldn't like to see some of our choice pieces. It is a quiet day here, and I shall be glad to show them."

He led the way to a set of show cases near the door on the Fifth Avenue side. There before Captain Elisha's dazzled eyes were displayed diamond necklaces and aigrettes, tiaras and brooches, the figures on their price tags running high into the thousands. Pearson and the good-natured clerk enjoyed themselves hugely.

"Jim," said the captain after a little of this, "is there a police officer lookin' this way?"

Pearson laughed. "I guess not," he answered. "Why? The temptation isn't getting too much for your honesty, is it?"

"No," with a sigh, "but I'm carryin' a forty dollar watch and wearin' a ring that cost fifteen. I thought they was some punkins till I begun to look at this stuff. Now they make me feel so mean and poverty-struck that I expect to be took up for a tramp any minute. Mister," to the clerk, "you run right along and wrap up that chain I was lookin' at. Hurry! or I'll be ashamed to carry anything so cheap."

"Think she'll like it, do you, Jim?" he asked, when they were once more out of doors with the purchase in his inside pocket.

"She ought, certainly," replied Pearson. "It's a beautiful thing."

"Yes. Well, you see," apologetically, "I wanted to give her somethin' pretty good. 'Bije always did, and I didn't want to fall too fur behind. But," with a chuckle, "you needn't mention the price to anybody. If Abbie--my second cousin keepin' house for me, she is--if Abbie heard of it she'd be for puttin' me in an asylum. Abbie's got a hair breastpin and a tortoise shell comb, but she only wears 'em to the Congregationalist meetin'-house, where she's reasonably sure there ain't likely to be any sneak-thieves. She went to a Unitarian sociable once, but she carried 'em in a bag inside her dress."

Captain Elisha planned to surprise his niece with the gift at breakfast on the morning of her birthday, but, after reflection, decided to postpone the presentation until dinner time. The inevitable Dunns had taken upon themselves the duty of caring for the girl and her brother during the major part of the day. The yellow car appeared at the door at ten o'clock and bore the two away. Caroline assured her guardian, however, that they would return in season for the evening meal.

The captain spent lonely but busy hours until dinner time came. He had done some scheming on his own hook and, after a long argument with the cook, renforced by a small sum in cash, had prevailed upon that haughty domestic to fashion a birthday cake of imposing exterior and indigestible make-up. Superintending the icing of this masterpiece occupied some time. He then worried Edwards into a respectful but stubborn fury by suggesting novelties in the way of table arrangement. Another bestowal of small change quelled the disturbance. Then came, by messenger, a dozen American Beauty roses with Mr. Pearson's card attached. These the captain decided should be placed in the center of the festive board. As a center piece had been previously provided, there was more argument. The cook took the butler's side in the debate, and the pair yielded only when Captain Elisha again dived into his pocket.

"But I warn you, all hands," he observed, "that this is the last time. My right fist's got a cramp in it this minute, and you couldn't open it again with a cold chisel."

At last, however, everything was as it should be, and he sat down in the library to await the coming of the young people. The gold chain in its handsome leather case, the latter enclosed in the jeweler's box, was carefully laid beside Caroline's place at the table. The dinner was ready, the cake, candles and all--the captain had insisted upon twenty candles--was ready, also. There was nothing to do but wait--and he waited.

Six-thirty was the usual dinner hour. It passed. Seven o'clock struck, then eight, and still Captain Elisha sat alone in the library. The cook sent word that the dinner was ruined. Edwards respectfully asked, "What shall I do, sir?" twice, the second time being sent flying with an order to "Go for'ard and keep your hatches closed!" The nautical phraseology was lost upon the butler, but the tone and manner of delivery were quite understandable.

Several times the captain rose from his chair to telephone the Dunn house and ask the reason for delay. Each time he decided not to do so. No doubt there were good reasons; Caroline and her brother had been detained; perhaps the automobile had broken down--the things were always breaking down just at the most inconvenient times; perhaps.... Well, at any rate, he would not 'phone just yet; he would wait a little longer.

At last the bell rang. Captain Elisha sprang up, smiling, his impatience and worry forgotten, and, pushing the butler aside, hurried to open the door himself. He did so and faced, not his niece and nephew, but Pearson.

"Good evening, Captain," hailed the young man, cheerily. "Didn't expect me, did you? I dropped in for a moment to shake hands with you and to offer congratulations to Miss Warren." Then, noticing the expression on his friend's face, he added, "What's the matter? Anything wrong? Am I intruding?"

"No, no! Course not. You're as welcome as another egg in a poor man's hen-house. Come right in and take off your things. I'm glad to see you. Only--well, the fact is I thought 'twas Caroline comin' home. She and Stevie was to be here over two hours ago, and I can't imagine what's keepin' 'em."

He insisted upon his visitor's remaining, although the latter, when he understood the situation, was reluctant to do so.

"Caroline'll be real glad to see you, Jim, I know," the captain said. "And I want you to stay for my sake. Between pacifyin' the Commodore and frettin' over what couldn't possibly happen, I was half dead of the fidgets. Stay and cheer me up, there's a good feller. I'd just about reached the stage where I had the girl and boy stove to flinders under that pesky auto. I'd even begun to figger on notifyin' the undertaker. Tell me I'm an old fool and then talk about somethin' else. They'll be here any minute."

But a good many minutes passed, and still they did not come. Pearson, aware of his companion's growing anxiety, chatted of the novel, of the people at the boarding house, of anything and everything he could think of likely to divert attention from the one important topic. The answers he received were more and more brief and absent. At last, when Edwards again appeared, appealingly mute, at the entrance to the dining room, Captain Elisha, with a sigh which was almost a groan, surrendered.

"I guess," he said, reluctantly, "I guess, Jim, there ain't any use waitin' any longer. Somethin's kept 'em, and they won't be here for dinner. You and I'll set down and eat--though I ain't got the appetite I cal'lated to have."

Pearson had dined hours before, but he followed his friend, resolved to please the latter by going through the form of pretending to eat.

They sat down together. Captain Elisha, with a rueful smile, pointed to the floral centerpiece.

"There's your posies, Jim," he observed. "Look pretty, don't they. She ain't seen 'em yet, but she'll like 'em when she does. And that over there, is her present from me. Stevie gave her a box of gloves, and I expect, from what Mrs. Dunn hinted, that she and that son of hers gave her somethin' fine. She'll show us when she gets here. What's this, Commodore? Oysters, hey? Well, they ought to taste like home. They're 'Cape Cods'; I wouldn't have anything else."

"We won't touch the birthday cake, Jim," he added, a little later. "She's got to cut that herself."

The soup was only lukewarm, but neither of them commented on the fact. The captain had scarcely tasted of his, when he paused, his spoon in air.

"Hey?" he exclaimed. "Listen! What's that? By the everlastin', it _is_. Here they are, at _last_!"

He sprang up with such enthusiasm that his chair tipped backwards against the butler's devoted shins. Pearson, almost as much pleased, also rose.

Captain Elisha paid scant attention to the chair incident.

"What are you waitin' for?" he demanded, whirling on Edwards, who was righting the chair with one hand and rubbing his knee with the other. "Don't you hear 'em at the door? Let 'em in!"

He reached the library first, his friend following more leisurely. Caroline and Stephen had just entered.

"Well!" he cried, in his quarter-deck voice, his face beaming with relief and delight, "you _are_ here, ain't you! I begun to think.... Why, what's the matter?"

The question was addressed to Stephen, who stood nearest to him. The boy did not deign to reply. With a contemptuous grunt, he turned scornfully away from his guardian.

"What is it, Caroline?" demanded Captain Elisha. "_Has_ anything happened?"

The girl looked coldly at him. A new brooch--Mrs. Corcoran Dunn's birthday gift--sparkled at her throat.

"No accident has happened, if that is what you mean," she said.

"But--why, yes, that was what I meant. You was so awful late, and you know you said you'd be home for dinner, so--"

"I changed my mind. Come, Steve."

She turned to leave the room. Pearson, at that moment, entered it. Stephen saw him first.

"_What_?" he cried. "Well, of all the nerve! Look, Caro!"

"Jim--Mr. Pearson, I mean--ran in a few minutes ago," explained Captain Elisha, bewildered and stammering. "He thought of course we'd had dinner and--and--he just wanted to wish you many happy returns, Caroline."

Pearson had extended his hand and a "Good evening" was on his lips. Stephen's strange behavior and language caused him to halt. He flushed, awkward, surprised, and indignant.

Caroline turned and saw him. She started, and her cheeks also grew crimson. Then, recovering, she looked him full in the face, and deliberately and disdainfully turned her back.

"Come, Steve!" she said again, and walked from the room.

Her brother hesitated, glared at Pearson, and then stalked haughtily after her.

Captain Elisha's bewilderment was supreme. He stared, open-mouthed, after his nephew and niece, and then turned slowly to his friend.

"What on earth, Jim," he stammered. "What's it _mean_?"

Pearson shrugged his shoulders. "I think I know what it means," he said. "I presume that Miss Warren and her brother have learned of my trouble with their father."

"Hey? No! you don't think _that's_ it."

"I think there's no doubt of it."

"But how?"

"I don't know how. What I do know is that I should not have come here. I felt it and, if you will remember, I said so. I was a fool. Good night, Captain."

Hot and furiously angry at his own indecision which had placed him in this humiliating situation, he was striding towards the hall. Captain Elisha seized his arm.

"Stay where you are, Jim!" he commanded. "If the trouble's what you think it is, I'm more to blame than anybody else, and you sha'n't leave this house till I've done my best to square you."

"Thank you; but I don't wish to be 'squared.' I've done nothing to be ashamed of, and I have borne as many insults as I can stand. I'm going."

"No, you ain't. Not yet. I want you to stay."

At that moment Stephen's voice reached them from the adjoining room.

"I tell you I shall, Caro!" it proclaimed, fiercely. "Do you suppose I'm going to permit that fellow to come here again--or to go until he is made to understand what we think of him and why? No, by gad! I'm the man of this family, and I'll tell him a few things."

Pearson's jaw set grimly.

"You may let go of my wrist, Captain Warren," he said; "I'll stay."

Possibly Stephen's intense desire to prove his manliness made him self-conscious. At any rate, he never appeared more ridiculously boyish than when, an instant later, he marched into the library and confronted his uncle and Pearson.

"I--I want to say--" he began, majestically; "I want to say--"

He paused, choking, and brandished his fist.

"I want to say--" he began again.

"All right, Stevie," interrupted the captain, dryly, "then I'd say it if I was you. I guess it's time you did."

"I want to--to tell that fellow _there_," with a vicious stab of his forefinger in the direction of Pearson, "that I consider him an--an ingrate--and a scoundrel--and a miserable--"

"Steady!" Captain Elisha's interruption was sharp this time. "Steady now! Leave out the pet names. What is it you've got to tell?"

"I--my sister and I have found out what a scoundrel he is, that's what! We've learned of the lies he wrote about father. We know that he was responsible for all that cowardly, lying stuff in the _Planet_--all that about the Trolley Combine. And we don't intend that he shall sneak into this house again. If he was the least part of a man, he would never have come."

"Mr. Warren--" began Pearson, stepping forward. The captain interrupted.

"Hold on, Jim!" he said. "Just a minute now. You've learned somethin', you say, Stevie. The Dunns told you, I s'pose."

"Never mind who told me!"

"I don't--much. But I guess we'd better have a clear understandin', all of us. Caroline, will you come in here, please?"

He stepped toward the door. Stephen sprang in front of him.

"My sister doesn't intend to cheapen herself by entering that man's presence," he declared, hotly. "I'll deal with him, myself!"

"All right. But I guess she'd better be here, just the same. Caroline, I want you."

"She sha'n't come!"

"Yes, she shall. Caroline!"

The boy would have detained him, but he pushed him firmly aside and walked toward the door. Before he reached it, however, his niece appeared.

"Well?" she said, coldly. "What is it you want of me?"

"I want you to hear Mr. Pearson's side of this business--and mine--before you do anything you'll be sorry for."

"I think I've heard quite enough of Mr. Pearson already. Nothing he can say or do will make me more sorry than I am, or humiliate me more than the fact that I have treated him as a friend."

The icy contempt in her tone was cutting. Pearson's face was white, but he spoke clearly and with deliberation.

"Miss Warren," he said, "I must insist that you listen for another moment. I owe you an apology for--"

"Apology!" broke in Stephen, with a scornful laugh. "Apology! Well, by gad! Just hear that, Caro!"

The girl's lip curled. "I do not wish to hear your apology," she said.

"But I wish you to hear it. Not for my attitude in the Trolley matter, nor for what I published in the _Planet_. Nor for my part in the disagreement with your father. I wrote the truth and nothing more. I considered it right then--I told your father so--and I have not changed my mind. I should act exactly the same under similar circumstances."

"You blackguard!" shouted Stephen. Pearson ignored him utterly.

"I do owe you an apology," he continued, "for coming here, as I have done, knowing that you were ignorant of the affair. I believe now that you are misinformed as to the facts, but that is immaterial. You should have been told of my trouble with Mr. Warren. I should have insisted upon it. That I did not do so is my fault and I apologize; but for that only. Good evening."

He shook himself free from the captain's grasp, bowed to the trio, and left the room. An instant later the outer door closed behind him.

Caroline turned to her brother. "Come, Steve," she said.

"Stay right where you are!" Captain Elisha did not request now, he commanded. "Stevie, stand still. Caroline, I want to talk to you."

The girl hesitated. She had never been spoken to in that tone before. Her pride had been already deeply wounded by what she had learned that afternoon; she was fiercely resentful, angry, and rebellious. She was sure she never hated anyone as she did this man who ordered her to stay and listen to him. But--she stayed.

"Caroline," said Captain Elisha, after a moment of silence, "I presume likely--of course I don't know for sartin, but I presume likely it's Mrs. Dunn and that son of hers who've told you what you think you know."

"It doesn't concern you who told us!" blustered Stephen, pushing forward. He might have been a fly buzzing on the wall for all the attention his uncle paid him.

"I presume likely the Dunns told you, Caroline," he repeated, calmly.

His niece met his gaze stubbornly.

"Well," she answered, "and if they did? Wasn't it necessary we should know it? Oh!" with a shudder of disgust, "I wish I could make you understand how ashamed I feel--how _wicked_ and ashamed I feel that I--_I_ should have disgraced father's memory by.... Oh, but there! I can't! Yes; Mrs. Dunn and Malcolm did tell us--many things. Thank God that we _have_ friends to tell us the truth!"

"Amen!" quietly. "I'll say amen to that, Caroline, any time. Only I want you to be sure those you call friends are real ones and that the truths they tell ain't like the bait on a fishhook, put on _for_ bait and just thick enough to cover the barb."

"Do you mean to insinuate--" screamed the irrepressible nephew, wild at being so completely ignored. His uncle again paid not the slightest attention.

"But that ain't neither here nor there now," he went on. "Caroline, Mr. Pearson just told you that his coming to this house without tellin' you fust of his quarrel with 'Bije was his fault. That ain't so. The fault was mine altogether. He told me the whole story; told me that he hadn't called since it happened, on that very account. And I took the whole responsibility and _asked_ him to come. I did! Do you know why?"

If he expected an answer none was given. Caroline's lids drooped disdainfully. "Steve," she said, "let us go."

"Stop! You'll stay here until I finish. I want to say that I didn't tell you about the Trolley fuss because I wanted you to learn some things for yourself. I wanted you to know Mr. Pearson--to find out what sort of man he was afore you judged him. Then, when you had known him long enough to understand he wasn't a liar and a blackguard, and all that Steve has called him, I was goin' to tell you the whole truth, not a part of it. And, after that, I was goin' to let you decide for yourself what to do. I'm a lot older than you are; I've mixed with all sorts of folks; I'm past the stage where I can be fooled by--by false hair or soft soap. You can't pour sweet oil over a herrin' and make me believe it's a sardine. I know the Pearson stock. I've sailed over a heap of salt water with one of the family. And I've kept my eyes open since I've run acrost this particular member. And I knew your father, too, Caroline Warren. And I say to you now that, knowin' Jim Pearson and 'Bije Warren--yes, and knowin' the rights and wrongs of that Trolley business quite as well as Malcolm Dunn or anybody else--I say to you that, although 'Bije was my brother, I'd bet my life that Jim had all the right on his side. There! that's the truth, and no hook underneath it. And some day you'll realize it, too."

He had spoken with great vehemence. Now he took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead. When he again looked at his niece, he found her staring intently at him; and her eyes blazed.

"Have you quite finished--now?" she demanded. "Steve, be quiet!"

"Why, yes, I guess so, pretty nigh. I s'pose there ain't much use to say more. If I was to tell you that I've tried to do for you and Steve in this--same as in everything else since I took this job--as if you were my own children, you wouldn't believe it. If I was to tell you, Caroline, that I'd come to think an awful lot of you, you wouldn't believe that, either. I did hope that since our other misunderstandin' was cleared up, and you found I wa'n't what you thought I was, you'd come to me and ask questions afore passin' judgment; but perhaps--"

And now she interrupted, bursting out at him in a blast of scorn which took his breath away.

"Oh, stop! stop!" she cried. "Don't say any more. You have insulted father's memory, and defended the man who slandered him. Isn't that enough? Why must you go on to prove yourself a greater hypocrite? We learned, my brother and I, to-day more than the truth concerning your _friend_. We learned that you have lied--yes, lied--and--"

"Steady, Caroline! be careful. I wouldn't say what I might be sorry for later."

"Sorry! Captain Warren, you spoke of my misjudging you. I thought I had, and I was sorry. To-day I learned that your attitude in that affair was a lie like the rest. _You_ did not pay for Mr. Moriarty's accident. Mr. Dunn's money paid those bills. And you allowed the family--and me--to thank _you_ for your generosity. Oh, I'm ashamed to be near you!"

"There! There! Caroline, be still. I--"

"I shall not be still. I have been still altogether too long. You are our guardian. We can't help that, I suppose. Father asked you to be that, for some reason; but did he ask you to _live_ here where you are not wanted? To shame us before our friends, ladies and gentlemen so far above you in every way? And to try to poison our minds against them and sneer at them when they are kind to us and even try to be kind to you? No, he did not! Oh, I'm sick of it all! your deceit and your hypocritical speeches and your pretended love for us. _Love_! Oh, if I could say something that would make you understand how thoroughly we despise you, and how your presence, ever since you forced it upon Steve and me, has disgraced us! If I only could! I--I--"

She had been near to tears ever since Mrs. Corcoran Dunn, in the kindness of her heart, told her the "truth" that afternoon. But pride and indignation had prevented her giving way. Now, however, she broke down.

"Oh--oh, Steve!" she cried, and, turning to her brother, sobbed hysterically on his shoulder. "Oh, Steve, what shall we do?"

Stephen put his arm about her waist. "It's all right, Sis," he said soothingly. "Don't cry before _him_! I guess," with a glance at his uncle, "you've said enough to make even him understand--at last."

Captain Elisha looked gravely at the pair. "I guess you have," he said slowly. "I guess you have, Caroline. Anyhow, I can't think offhand of anything you've left out. I could explain some things, but what's the use? And," with a sigh, "you may be right in a way. Perhaps I shouldn't have come here to live. If you'd only told me plain afore just how you felt, I'd--maybe I'd--but there! I didn't know--I didn't know. You see, I thought.... However, I guess that part of your troubles is over. But," he added, firmly, "wherever I am, or wherever I go, you must understand that I'm your guardian, just the same. I considered a long spell afore I took the place, and I never abandoned a ship yet, once I took command of her. And I'll stick to this one! Yes, sir! I'll stick to it in spite of the devil--or the Dunns, either. Till you and your brother are of age I'm goin' to look out for you and your interests and your money; and nothin' nor nobody shall stop me. As for forcin' my company on you, though, that well, that's different. I cal'late you won't have to worry any more. Good night."

He thrust his hands into his pockets and walked slowly from the library.

CHAPTER XIV

Stephen, the "man of the family," was the only member of the household, servants excepted, who slept soundly that night. Conscious of having done his duty in the affair with Pearson and his guardian, and somewhat fatigued by the disagreeable task of soothing his hysterical sister, he was slumbering peacefully at nine the next morning when awakened by a series of raps on his bedroom door.

"Ah! What? Well, what is it?" he demanded, testily opening his eyes. "Edwards, is that you? What the devil do you mean by making such a row?"

The voice which answered was not the butler's, but Caroline's.

"Steve! Oh, Steve!" she cried. "Do get up and come out! Come, quick!"

"What's the matter?" inquired the young man, sitting up in bed. "Is the house afire?"

"No, no! But do come! I want you. Something has happened."

"Happened? What is it?"

"I can't tell you here. Please dress and come to me as quick as you can."

Stephen, wondering and somewhat alarmed, dressed with unusual promptitude and obeyed. He found his sister standing by the library window, a letter in her hand. She looked troubled and anxious.

"Well, Caro," observed the boy, "here I am. What in the world's up now?"

She turned.

"Oh, Steve!" she exclaimed, "he's gone!"

"Gone? Who?"

"Captain Warren. He's gone."

"Gone? Gone where? Caro, you don't mean he's--_dead_?"

"No, he's gone--gone and left us."

Her brother's expression changed to incredulous joy.

"What?" he shouted. "You mean he's quit? Cleared out? Left here for good?"

"Yes."

"Hurrah! Excuse me while I gloat! Hurrah! We got it through his skull at last! Is it possible? But--but hold on! Perhaps it's too good to be true. Are you sure? How do you know?"

"He says so. See."

She handed him the letter. It was addressed to "My dear Caroline" and in it Captain Elisha stated his intentions succinctly. After the plain speaking of the previous evening he should not, of course, burden them with his society any longer. He was leaving that morning, and, as soon as he "located permanent moorings somewhere else" would notify his niece and nephew of his whereabouts.

"For," he added, "as I told you, although I shall not impose my company on you, I am your guardian same as ever. I will see that your allowance comes to you regular, including enough for all household bills and pay for the hired help and so on. If you need any extras at any time let me know and, if they seem to me right and proper, I will send money for them. You will stay where you are, Caroline, and Stevie must go back to college right away. Tell him I say so, and if he does not I shall begin reducing his allowance according as I wrote him. He will understand what I mean. I guess that is all until I send you my address and any other sailing orders that seem necessary to me then. And, Caroline, I want you and Stevie to feel that I am your anchor to windward, and when you get in a tight place, if you ever do, you can depend on me. Last night's talk has no bearing on that whatever. Good-by, then, until my next.

"ELISHA WARREN."

Stephen read this screed to the end, then crumpled it in his fist and threw it angrily on the floor.

"The nerve!" he exclaimed. "He seems to think I'm a sailor on one of his ships, to be ordered around as he sees fit. I'll go back to college when I'm good and ready--not before."

Caroline shook her head. "Oh, no!" she said. "You must go to-day. He's right, Steve; it's the thing for you to do. He and I were agreed as to that. And you wouldn't stay and make it harder for me, would you, dear?"

He growled a reluctant assent. "I suppose I shall have to go," he said, sullenly. "My allowance is too beastly small to have him cutting it; and the old shark would do that very thing; he'd take delight in doing it, confound him! Well, he knows what we think of him, that's some comfort."

She did not answer. He looked at her curiously.

"Why, hang it all, Caro!" he exclaimed in disgust; "what ails you? Blessed if I sha'n't begin to believe you're sorry he's gone. You act as if you were."

"No, I'm not. Of course I'm not. I'm--I'm glad. He couldn't stay, of course. But I'm afraid--I can't help feeling that you and I were too harsh last night. We said things--dreadful things--"

"Be hanged! We didn't say half enough. Oh, don't be a fool, Caro! I was just beginning to be proud of your grit. And now you want to take it all back. Honestly, girls are the limit! You don't know your own minds for twelve consecutive hours. Answer me now! _Are_ you sorry he's gone?"

"No. No, I'm not, really. But I--I feel somehow as if--as if everything was on my shoulders. You're going away, and he's gone, and--What is it, Edwards?"

The butler entered, with a small parcel in his hand.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Caroline," he said. "I should have given you this last evening. It was by your place at the table. I think Captain Warren put it there, miss."

Caroline took the parcel and looked at it wonderingly.

"For me?" she repeated.

"Yes, Miss Caroline. It is marked with your name. And breakfast is served, when you and Mr. Stephen are ready."

He bowed and retired. The girl sat turning the little white box in her hands.

"_He_ left it for me," she said. "What can it be?"

Her brother snatched it impatiently.

"Why don't you open it and find out?" he demanded. "Perhaps it's his latch key. Here! I'll do it myself."

He cut the cord and removed the cover of the little box. Inside was the jeweler's leather case. He took it out and pressed the spring. The cover flew up.

"Whew!" he whistled. "It's a present. And rather a decent one, too, by gad! Look, Caro!"

He handed her the open case. She looked at the chain, spread carefully on the white satin lining. Inside the cover was fitted a card. She turned it over and read: "To my niece, Caroline. With wishes for many happy returns, and much love, from her Uncle Elisha Warren."

She sat gazing at the card. Stephen bent down, read the inscription, and then looked up into her face.

"_What_?" he cried. "I believe--You're not _crying_! Well, I'll be hanged! Sis, you _are_ a fool!"

* * * * *

The weather that morning was fine and clear. James Pearson, standing by the window of his rooms at the boarding house, looking out at the snow-covered roofs sparkling in the sun, was miserable. When he retired the night before it was with a solemn oath to forget Caroline Warren altogether; to put her and her father and the young cad, her brother, utterly from his mind, never to be thought of again. As a preliminary step in this direction, he began, the moment his head touched the pillow, to review, for the fiftieth time, the humiliating scene in the library, to think of things he should have said, and--worse than all--to recall, word for word, the things she had said to him. In this cheerful occupation he passed hours before falling asleep. And, when he woke, it was to begin all over again.

Why--_why_ had he been so weak as to yield to Captain Elisha's advice? Why had he not acted like a sensible, self-respecting man, done what he knew was right, and persisted in his refusal to visit the Warrens? Why? Because he was an idiot, of course--a hopeless idiot, who had got exactly what he deserved! Which bit of philosophy did not help make his reflections less bitter.

He went down to breakfast when the bell rang, but his appetite was missing, and he replied only in monosyllables to the remarks addressed to him by his fellow boarders. Mrs. Hepton, the landlady, noticed the change.

"You not ill, Mr. Pearson, I hope?" she queried. "I do hope you haven't got cold, sleeping with your windows wide open, as you say you do. Fresh air is a good thing, in moderation, but one should be careful. Don't you think so, Mr. Carson?"

Mr. Carson was a thin little man, a bachelor, who occupied the smallest room on the third story. He was a clerk in a department store, and his board was generally in arrears. Therefore, when Mrs. Hepton expressed an opinion he made it a point to agree with her. In this instance, however, he merely grunted.

"I say fresh air in one's sleeping room is a good thing in moderation. Don't you think so, Mr. Carson?" repeated the landlady.

Mr. Carson rolled up his napkin and inserted it in the ring. His board, as it happened, was paid in full to date. Also, although he had not yet declared his intention, he intended changing lodgings at the end of the week.

"Humph!" he sniffed, with sarcasm, "it may be. I couldn't get none in _my_ room if I wanted it, so I can't say sure. Morning."

He departed hurriedly. Mrs. Hepton looked disconcerted. Mrs. Van Winkle Ruggles smiled meaningly across the table at Miss Sherborne, who smiled back.

Mr. Ludlow, the bookseller, quietly observed that he hoped Mr. Pearson had not gotten cold. Colds were prevalent at this time of the year. "'These are the days when the Genius of the weather sits in mournful meditation on the threshold,' as Mr. Dickens tells us," he added. "I presume he sits on the sills of open windows, also."

The wife of the Mr. Dickens there present pricked up her ears.

"When did you write that, 'C.' dear?" she asked, turning to her husband. "I remember it perfectly, of course, but I have forgotten, for the moment, in which of your writings it appears."

The illustrious one's mouth being occupied with a section of scorching hot waffle, he was spared the necessity of confession.

"Pardon me," said Mr. Ludlow. "I was not quoting our Mr. Dickens this time, but his famous namesake."

The great "C." drowned the waffle with a swallow of water.

"Maria," he snapped, "don't be so foolish. Ludlow quotes from--er--'Bleak House.' I have written some things--er--similar, but not that. Why don't you pass the syrup?"

The bookseller, who was under the impression that he had quoted from the "Christmas Carol," merely smiled and remained silent.

"My father, the Senator," began Mrs. Van Winkle Ruggles, "was troubled with colds during his political career. I remember his saying that the Senate Chamber at the Capitol was extremely draughty. Possibly Mr. Pearson's ailment does come from sleeping in a draught. Not that father was accustomed to _sleep_ during the sessions--Oh, dear, no! not that, of course. How absurd!"

She laughed gayly. Pearson, who seemed to think it time to say something, declared that, so far as he knew, he had no cold or any symptoms of one.

"Well," said Mrs. Hepton, with conviction, "something ails you, I know. We can all see it; can't we?" turning to the rest of the company. "Why, you've scarcely spoken since you sat down at the table. And you've eaten next to nothing. Perhaps there is some trouble, something on your mind which is worrying you. Oh, I _hope_ not!"

"No doubt it is the preoccupation of genius," remarked Mrs. Dickens. "I'm sure it must be that. When 'C.' is engaged with some particularly trying literary problem he frequently loses all his appetite and does not speak for hours together. Isn't it so, dear?"

"C.," who was painfully conscious that he might have made a miscue in the matter of the quotation, answered sharply.

"No," he said. "Not at all. Don't be silly, Maria."

Miss Sherborne clasped her hands. "_I_ know!" she exclaimed in mock rapture; "Mr. Pearson is in love!"

This suggestion was received with applause and hilarity. Pearson pushed back his chair and rose.

"I'm much obliged for this outburst of sympathy," he observed, dryly. "But, as I say, I'm perfectly well, and the other diagnoses are too flattering to be true. Good morning."

Back in his room he seated himself at his desk, took the manuscript of his novel from the drawer, and sat moodily staring at it. He was in no mood for work. The very sight of the typewritten page disgusted him. As he now felt, the months spent on the story were time wasted. It was ridiculous for him to attempt such a thing; or to believe that he could carry it through successfully; or to dream that he would ever be anything better than a literary hack, a cheap edition of "C." Dickens, minus the latter's colossal self-satisfaction.

He was still sitting there, twirling an idle pencil between his fingers, when he heard steps outside his door. Someone knocked.

"Well, what is it?" he asked.

His landlady answered.

"Mr. Pearson," she said, "may I see you?"

He threw down the pencil and, rising, walked to the door and opened it. Mrs. Hepton was waiting in the hall. She seemed excited.

"Mr. Pearson," she said, "will you step downstairs with me for a moment? I have a surprise for you."

"A surprise? What sort of a surprise?"

"Oh, a pleasant one. At least I think it is going to be pleasant for all of us. But I'm not going to tell you what it is. You must come down and see for yourself."

She led the way downstairs, the young man following her, wondering what the surprise might be, and fairly certain it, nor anything else, could be pleasant on that day.

He supposed, of course, that he must descend to the parlor to reach the solution of the mystery, but he was mistaken. On the second floor Mrs. Hepton stopped and pointed.

"It's in there," she said, pointing.

"There" was the room formerly occupied by Mr. Saks, the long-haired artist. Since his departure it had been vacant. Pearson looked at the closed door and then at the lady.

"A surprise for me in _there_?" he repeated. "What's the joke, Mrs. Hepton?"

By way of answer she took him by the arm, and, leading him to the door, threw the latter open.

"Here he is!" she said.

"Hello, Jim!" hailed Captain Elisha Warren, cheerfully. "Ship ahoy! Glad to see you."

He was standing in the middle of the room, his hat on the table and his hands in his pockets.

Pearson was surprised; there was no doubt of that--not so much at the sight of his friend--he had expected to see or hear from the captain before the day was over--as at seeing him in that room. He could not understand what he was doing there.

Captain Elisha noted his bewildered expression, and chuckled.

"Come aboard, Jim!" he commanded. "Come in and inspect. I'll see you later, Mrs. Hepton," he added, "and give you my final word. I want to hold officer's council with Mr. Pearson here fust."

The landlady accepted the broad hint and turned to go.

"Very well," she said, "but I do hope for all our sakes that word will be _yes_, Mr. Warren--Excuse me, it is Captain Warren, isn't it?"

"It used to be, yes, ma'am. And at home it is yet. 'Round here I've learned to be like a barroom poll-parrot, ready to answer to most everything. There!" as the door closed after her; "now we can be more private. Set down, Jim! How are you, anyway?"

Pearson sat down mechanically. "I'm well enough--everything considered," he replied, slowly. "But what--what are you in here for? I don't understand."

"You will in a minute. What do you think of this--er--saloon cabin?" with a comprehensive sweep of his arm.

The room was of fair size, furnished in a nondescript, boarding-house fashion, and with two windows overlooking the little back yard of the house and those of the other adjoining it. Each yard contained an assortment of ash cans, and there was an astonishing number of clothes lines, each fluttering a variety of garments peculiarly personal to their respective owners.

"Pretty snug, ain't it?" continued the captain. "Not exactly up to that I've been luxuriatin' in lately, but more fittin' to my build and class than that was, I shouldn't wonder. No Corot paintin's nor five thousand dollar tintypes of dory codders; but I can manage to worry along without them, if I try hard. Neat but not gaudy, I call it--as the architect feller said about his plans for the addition to the county jail at Ostable. Hey? Ho! Ho!"

Pearson began to get a clue to the situation.

"Captain Warren," he demanded, "have you--Do you mean to say you've taken this room to _live_ in?"

"No, I ain't said all that yet. I wanted to talk with you a little afore I said it. But that was my idea, if you and I agreed on sartin matters."

"You've come here to live! You've left your--your niece's house?"

"Ya-as, I've left. That is, I left the way the Irishman left the stable where they kept the mule. He said there was all out doors in front of him and only two feet behind. That's about the way 'twas with me."

"Have your nephew and niece--"

"Um-hm. They hinted that my room was better than my company, and, take it by and large, I guess they was right for the present, anyhow. I set up till three o'clock thinkin' it over, and then I decided to get out afore breakfast this mornin'. I didn't wait for any good-bys. They'd been said, or all I cared to hear"--Captain Elisha's smile disappeared for an instant--"last evenin'. The dose was sort of bitter, but it had the necessary effect. At any rate, I didn't hanker for another one. I remembered what your landlady told me when I was here afore, about this stateroom bein' vacated, and I come down to look at it. It suits me well enough; seems like a decent moorin's for an old salt water derelict like me; the price is reasonable, and I guess likely I'll take it. I _guess_ I will."

"Why do you guess? By George, I hope you will!"

"Do you? I'm much obliged. I didn't know but after last night, after the scrape I got you into, you might feel--well, sort of as if you'd seen enough of me."

The young man smiled bitterly. "It wasn't your fault," he said. "It was mine entirely. I'm quite old enough to decide matters for myself, and I should have decided as my reason, and not my inclinations, told me. You weren't to blame."

"Yes, I was. If you're old enough, I'm _too_ old, I cal'late. But I did think--However, there's no use goin' over that. I ask your pardon, Jim. And you don't hold any grudge?"

"Indeed I don't. I may be a fool--I guess I am--but not that kind."

"Thanks. Well, there's one objection out of the way, then, only I don't want you to think that I've hove overboard that 'responsibility' I was so easy and fresh about takin' on my shoulders. It's there yet; and I'll see you squared with Caroline afore this v'yage is over, if I live."

His friend frowned.

"You needn't mind," he said. "I prefer that you drop the whole miserable business."

"Well, maybe, but--Jim, you've taken hold of these electric batteries that doctors have sometimes? It's awful easy to grab the handles of one of those contraptions, but when you want to drop 'em you can't. They don't drop easy. I took hold of the handles of 'Bije's affairs, and, though it might be pleasanter to drop 'em, I can't--or I won't."

"Then you're leaving your nephew and niece doesn't mean that you've given up the guardianship?"

Captain Elisha's jaw set squarely.

"I don't remember sayin' that it did," he answered, with decision. Then, his good-nature returning, he added, "And now, Jim, I'd like your opinion of these new quarters that I may take. What do you think of 'em? Come to the window and take a look at the scenery."

Pearson joined him at the window. The captain waved toward the clothes-lines and grinned.

"Looks as if there was some kind of jubilee, don't it," he observed. "Every craft in sight has strung the colors."

Pearson laughed. Then he said:

"Captain, I think the room will do. It isn't palatial, but one can live in worse quarters, as I know from experience."

"Yup. Well, Jim, there's just one thing more. Have I disgraced you a good deal, bein' around with you and chummin' in with you the way I have? That is, do you _think_ I've disgraced you? Are you ashamed of me?"

"I? Ashamed of _you_? You're joking!"

"No, I'm serious. Understand now, I'm not apologizin'. My ways are my ways, and I think they're just as good as the next feller's, whether he's from South Denboro or--well, Broad Street. I've got a habit of thinkin' for myself and actin' for myself, and when I take off my hat it's to a bigger _man_ than I am and not to a more stylish hat. But, since I've lived here in New York, I've learned that, with a whole lot of folks, hats themselves count more than what's underneath 'em. I haven't changed mine, and I ain't goin' to. Now, with that plain and understood, do you want me to live here, in the same house with you? I ain't fishin' for compliments. I want an honest answer."

He got it. Pearson looked him squarely in the eye.

"I do," he said. "I like you, and I don't care a damn about your hat. Is that plain?"

Captain Elisha's reply was delivered over the balusters in the hall.

"Hi!" he called. "Hi, Mrs. Hepton."

The landlady had been anxiously waiting. She ran from the dining room to the foot of the stairs.

"Yes?" she cried. "What is it?"

"It's a bargain," said the captain. "I'm ready to engage passage."

CHAPTER XV

Thus Captain Elisha entered another of New York's "circles," that which centered at Mrs. Hepton's boarding house. Within a week he was as much a part of it as if he had lived there for years. At lunch, on the day of his arrival, he made his appearance at the table in company with Pearson, and when the landlady exultantly announced that he was to be "one of our little party" thereafter, he received and replied to the welcoming salutations of his fellow boarders with unruffled serenity.

"How could I help it?" he asked. "Human nature's liable to temptation, they tell us. The flavor of that luncheon we had last time I was here has been hangin' 'round the edges of my mouth and tantalizin' my memory ever since."

"We had a souffle that noon, if I remember correctly, Captain," observed the flattered Mrs. Hepton.

"Did you? Well, I declare! I'd have sworn 'twas a biled-dinner hash. Knew 'twas better than any I ever ate afore, but I'd have bet 'twas hash, just the same. Tut! tut! tut! Now, honest, Mrs. Hepton, ain't this--er--whatever-you-call-it a close relation--a sort of hash with its city clothes on, hey?"

The landlady admitted that a souffle was something not unlike a hash. Captain Elisha nodded.

"I thought so," he declared. "I was sartin sure I couldn't be mistaken. What is it used to be in the song book? 'You can smash--you can--' Well, I don't remember. Somethin' about your bein' able to smash the vase if you wanted to, but the smell of the posies was there yet."

Mr. Ludlow, the bookseller, supplied the quotation.

"'You may break, you may shatter The vase if you will, But the scent of the roses Will cling to it still,'"

he said, smiling.

"That's it. Much obliged. You can warm up and rechristen the hash if you will; but the corned beef and cabbage stay right on deck. Ain't that so, Mr. Dickens?"

The illustrious "C." bowed.

"Moore?" he observed, with dignity.

"Yes. That's what _I_ said--'More!' Said it twice, I believe. Glad you agree with me. The hymn says that weakness is sin, but there's no sin in havin' a weakness for corned-beef hash."

Miss Sherborne and Mrs. Van Winkle Ruggles were at first inclined to snub the new boarder, considering him a country boor whose presence in their select society was almost an insult. The captain did not seem to notice their hints or sneers, although Pearson grew red and wrathful.

"Laura, my dear," said Mrs. Ruggles, addressing the teacher of vocal culture, "don't you feel quite rural to-day? Almost as if you were visiting the country?"

"I do, indeed," replied Miss Sherborne. "Refreshing, isn't it? Ha! ha!"

"It is if one cares for such things. I am afraid _I_ don't appreciate them. They may be well enough in their place, but--"

She finished with a shrug of her shoulders. Captain Elisha smiled.

"Yes, ma'am," he said politely, joining in the conversation; "that's what the boy said about the cooky crumbs in the bed. You don't care for the country, I take it, ma'am."

"I do _not_!"

"So? Well, it's a mercy we don't think alike; even Heaven would be crowded if we did--hey? You didn't come from the country, either?" turning to Miss Sherborne.

The young lady would have liked to answer with an uncompromising negative. Truth and the fact that some of those present were acquainted with it compelled her to forego this pleasure.

"I was born in a--a small town," she answered coldly. "But I came to the city as soon as I possibly could."

"Um-hm. Well, I came when I couldn't possibly stay away. We can agree on one thing--we're all here. Yes, and on another--that that cake is fust-rate. I'll take a second piece, if you've no objection, Mrs. Hepton."

When they were alone once more, in the captain's room, Pearson vented his indignation.

"Why didn't you give them as good as they sent?" he demanded. "Couldn't you see they were doing their best to hurt your feelings?"

"Ya-as. I could see it. Didn't need any specs to see that."

"Then why didn't you answer them as they deserved?"

"Oh, I don't know. What's the use? They've got troubles of their own. One of 'em's a used-to-be, and the other's a never-was. Either disease is bad enough without addin' complications."

Pearson laughed. "I don't get the whole of that, Captain," he said. "Mrs. Van is the used-to-be, I suppose. But what is it that Miss Sherborne never was?"

"Married," was the prompt reply. "Old maiditis is creepin' on her fast. You want to be careful, Jim; a certain kind of female gets desperate about her stage."

Pearson laughed again.

"Oh, get out!" he exclaimed, turning to go.

"All right! I will, when you and she are together and you give me the signal. But I tell you honest, I'd hate to do it. Judgin' by the way she smiles and looks up under her eye-winkers at you, you're in danger of kidnappin'. So long. I'll see you again after I get my dunnage unpacked."

The snubbing and sneering came to an abrupt end. Pearson, in conversation with Mrs. Ruggles, casually imparted the information that Captain Elisha was the brother of A. Rodgers Warren, late society leader and wealthy broker. Also, that he had entire charge of the latter's estate. Thereafter Mrs. Ruggles treated the captain as one whose rank was equal to her own, and, consequently, higher than anyone's else in the boarding-house. She made it a point to publicly ask his advice concerning "securities" and "investments," and favored him with many reminiscences of her distinguished father, the Senator. Miss Sherborne, as usual, followed her lead. Captain Elisha, when Pearson joked him on the altered behavior of the two ladies, merely grinned.

"You may thank me for that, Captain," said the young man. "When I told Mrs. Ruggles who and what you were she almost broke down and sobbed. The fact that she had risked offending one so closely connected with the real thing on Fifth Avenue and Wall Street was too dreadful. But she's yours devotedly now. There's an 18-karat crown on your head."

"Yup. I suppose so. Well, I ain't so sot up with pride over wearin' that crown. It used to belong to 'Bije, and I never did care much for second-hand things. Rather have a new sou'wester of my own, any day in the week. When I buy a sou'wester I know what it's made of."

"Mrs. Ruggles knows what the crown is made of--gold, nicely padded with bonds and preferred stock."

"Humph! Sometimes I wonder if the paddin's waterproof. As for the gold--well, you can make consider'ble shine with brass when you're dealin' with nigh-sighted folks ... and children."

To this indirect reference to Miss Warren and her brother Pearson made no reply. The pair conversed freely on other subjects, but each avoided this one. The novel, too, was laid on the shelf for the present. Its author had not yet mustered sufficient courage to return to it. Captain Elisha once or twice suggested a session with "Cap'n Jim," but, finding his suggestions received with more or less indifference, did not press them. His mind was busy with other things. A hint dropped by Sylvester, the lawyer, was one of these. It suggested alarming possibilities, and his skepticism concerning the intrinsic worth of his inherited "crown" was increased by it.

He paid frequent visits to the offices of Sylvester, Kuhn, and Graves in Pine Street. Upon the senior partner, whom he esteemed and trusted not only as a business adviser but a friend, he depended for information concerning happenings at the Warren apartment.

Caroline sent him regular statements of her weekly expenditures, also bills for his approval, but she had written him but once, and then only a brief note. The note brought by a messenger, accompanied a package containing the chain which he and Pearson selected with such deliberation and care at the Fifth Avenue jeweler's. Under the existing circumstances, the girl wrote, she felt that she did not wish to accept presents from him and therefore returned this one. He was alone when the note and package came and sat by the window of his room, looking out at the dismal prospect of back yards and clothes-lines, turning the leather case over and over in his hands. Perhaps this was the most miserable afternoon he had spent since his arrival in the city. He tried to comfort himself by the exercise of his usual philosophy, but it was cold comfort. He had no right to expect gratitude, so he told himself, and the girl undoubtedly felt that she was justified in her treatment of him; but it is hard to be misunderstood and misjudged, even by one whose youth is, perhaps, an excuse. He forgave Caroline, but he could not forgive those who were responsible for her action.

After Pearson had departed, on the morning when the conversation dealing with Mrs. Van Winkle Ruggles and her change of attitude took place, Captain Elisha put on his hat and coat and started for his lawyer's office. Sylvester was glad to see him and invited him to lunch.

"No, thank you," replied the captain. "I just run down to ask if there was anything new in the offin'. Last time I see you, you hinted you and your mates had sighted somethin' or other through the fog, and it might turn out to be a rock or a lighthouse, you couldn't tell which. Made up your mind yet?"

Sylvester shook his head. "No," he said, slowly; "it is still foggy. We're busy investigating, but we're not ready to report."

"Humph! Well, what's the thing look like? You must be a little nigher to it by now."

The lawyer tapped his desk with a pencil. "I don't know what it looks like," he answered. "That is to say, I don't--I can't believe it is what it appears, at this distance, to be. If it is, it is the most--"

He paused. Captain Elisha waited for him to go on and, when he did not do so, asked another question.

"The most what?" he demanded. "Is it likely to be very bad?"

"Why--why--well, I can't say even that yet. But there! as I told you, I'm not going to permit it to worry me. And you mustn't worry, either. That's why I don't give you any further particulars. There may be nothing in it, after all."

His visitor smiled. "Say, Mr. Sylvester," he said, "you're like the young-ones used to be when I was a boy. There'd be a gang of 'em waitin' by the schoolhouse steps and when the particular victim hove in sight they'd hail him with, 'Ah, ha! _you're_ goin' to get it!' 'Wait till teacher sees you!' and so on. Course the victim would want to know what it meant. All the satisfaction he got from them was, 'That's all right! You'll find out! You just wait!' And the poor feller put in the time afore the bell rung goin' over all the things he shouldn't have done and had, and wonderin' which it was this time. You hinted to me a week ago that there was a surprisin' possibility loomin' up in 'Bije's financial affairs. And ever since then I've been puzzlin' my brains tryin' to guess what could happen. Ain't discovered any more of those Cut Short bonds, have you?"

The bonds to which he referred were those of a defunct Short Line railroad. A large number of these bonds had been discovered among A. Rodgers Warren's effects; part of his "tangled assets," the captain had termed them, differentiating from the "tangible" variety.

"Abbie, my housekeeper, has been writin' me," he went on, "about havin' the sewin' room papered. She wants my advice concernin' the style of paper; says it ought to be pretty and out of the common, but not too expensive. I judge what she wants is somethin' that looks like money but ain't really wuth more than ten cents a mile. I've been thinkin' I'd send her a bale or so of those bonds; they'd fill the bill in those respects, wouldn't they?"

Sylvester laughed. "They certainly would, Captain," he replied. "No, we haven't unearthed any more of that sort. And, as for this mystery of ours, I'll give you the answer--if it's worth giving at all, in a very short time. Meanwhile, you go home and forget it."

"Well, I'll try. But I guess it sticks out on my face, like a four days' toothache. But I _won't_ worry about that. You know best whether to tell me now or not, and--well, I'm carryin' about all the worry my tonnage'll stand, as 'tis."

He drew a long breath. Sylvester regarded him sympathetically.

"You mustn't take your nephew's and niece's treatment too much to heart," he said.

"Oh, I don't. That is, I pretend I don't. And I do try not to. But I keep thinkin', thinkin', and wonderin' if 'twould have been better if I hadn't gone there to live at all. Hi hum! a man of my age hadn't ought to mind what a twenty-year-old girl says, or does; 'specially when her kind, advisin' friends have shown her how she's been deceived and hypocrit-ted. By the way, speakin' of hypocrites, I suppose there's just as much 'Dunnin'' as ever goin' on up there?"

"Yes. A little more, if anything, I'm afraid. Your niece and Mrs. Dunn and her precious son are together now so constantly that people are expecting--well, you know what they expect."

"I can guess. I hope they'll be disapp'inted."

"So do I, but I must confess I'm fearful. Malcolm himself isn't so wise, but his mother is--"

"A whole Book of Proverbs, hey? I know. She's an able old frigate. I did think I had her guns spiked, but she turned 'em on me unexpected. I thought I had her and her boy in a clove hitch. I knew somethin' that I was sartin sure they wouldn't want Caroline to know, and she and Malcolm knew I knew it. Her tellin' Caroline of it, _her_ story of it, when I wasn't there to contradict, was as smart a piece of maneuverin' as ever was. It took the wind out of my sails, because, though I'm just as right as I ever was, Caroline wouldn't listen to me, nor believe me, now."

"She'll learn by experience."

"Yup. But learnin' by experience is a good deal like shippin' green afore the mast; it'll make an able seaman of you, if it don't kill you fust. When I was a boy there was a man in our town name of Nickerson Cummin's. He was mate of a ship and smart as a red pepper poultice on a skinned heel. He was a great churchgoer when he was ashore and always preachin' brotherly love and kindness and pattin' us little shavers on the head, and so on. Most of the grown folks thought he was a sort of saint, and I thought he was more than that. I'd have worshiped him, I cal'late, if my Methodist trainin' would have allowed me to worship anybody who wa'n't named in Scriptur'. If there'd been an apostle or a prophet christened Nickerson I'd have fell on my knees to this Cummin's man, sure. So, when I went to sea as a cabin boy, a tow-headed snub-nosed little chap of fourteen, I was as happy as a clam at highwater 'cause I was goin' in the ship he was mate of."

He paused. There was a frown on his face, and his lower jaw was thrust forward grimly.

"Well?" inquired Sylvester. "What happened?"

"Hey? Oh, excuse me. When I get to thinkin' of that v'yage I simmer inside, like a teakettle on a hot stove. The second day out--seasick and homesick and so miserable I wished I could die all at once instead of by lingerin' spasms--I dropped a dish on the cabin floor and broke it. Cummin's was alone with me, eatin' his dinner; and he jumped out of his chair when I stooped to pick up the pieces and kicked me under the table. When I crawled out, he kicked me again and kept it up. When his foot got tired he used his fist. 'There!' says he between his teeth, 'I cal'late that'll learn you that crockery costs money.'

"It did. I never broke anything else aboard that ship. Cummin's was a bully and a sneak to everybody but the old man, and a toady to him. He never struck me or anybody else when the skipper was around, but there was nothin' too mean for him to do when he thought he had a safe chance. And he took pains to let me know that if I ever told a soul at home he'd kill me. I'd learned by experience, not only about the price of crockery, but other things, things that a youngster ought not to learn--how to hate a man so that you can wait years to get even with him, for one. I'm sorry I learned that, and," dryly, "so was Cummin's, later. But I did learn, once and for all, not to take folks on trust, nor to size 'em up by their outside, or the noise they make in prayer-meetin', nor the way they can spread soft soap when they think it's necessary. I'd learned that, and I'd learned it early enough to be of use to me, which was a mercy.

"It was a hard lesson for me," he added, reflectively; "but I managed to come out of it without lettin' it bitter my whole life. I don't mind so much Caroline's bein' down on me. She'll know better some day, I hope; and if she don't--well, I'm only a side-issue in her life, anyhow, hove in by accident, like the section of dog collar in the sassage. But I do hope her learnin' by experience won't come too late to save her from ... what she'll be awful sorry for by and by."

"It must," declared the lawyer, with decision. "You must see to it, Captain Warren. You are her guardian. She is absolutely under your charge. She can do nothing of importance unless you consent."

"Yup. That's so--for one more year; just one, remember! Then she'll be of age, and I can't say 'Boo!' And her share of 'Bije's money'll be hers, too. And don't you believe that that fact has slipped Sister Dunn's memory. I ain't on deck to head her off now; if she puts Malcolm up to gettin' Caroline to give her word, and Caroline gives it--well, I know my niece. She's honorable, and she'll stick to her promise if it runs her on the rocks. And Her Majesty Dunn knows that, too. Therefore, the cat bein' away, she cal'lates now's the time to make sure of the cheese."

"But the cat can come back. The song says it did, you know."

"Um-hm. And got another kick, I shouldn't wonder. However, my claws'll stay sharp for a year or thereabouts, and, if it comes to a shindy, there'll be some tall scratchin' afore I climb a tree. Keep a weather eye on what goes on, won't you?"

"I will. You can depend on me."

"I do. And say! for goodness' sakes put me out of my misery regardin' that rock or lighthouse on 'Bije's chart, soon's ever you settle which it is."

"Certainly! And, remember, don't worry. It may be a lighthouse, or nothing at all. At all events, I'll report very soon."

CHAPTER XVI

But, in spite of his promise, Sylvester did not report during the following week or the next. Meanwhile, his client tried his best to keep the new mystery from troubling his thoughts, and succeeded only partially. The captain's days and evenings were quiet and monotonous. He borrowed a book or two from Mrs. Hepton's meager library, read, walked a good deal, generally along the water front, and wrote daily letters to Miss Baker. He and Pearson were together for at least a portion of each day. The author, fighting down his dejection and discouragement, set himself resolutely to work once more on the novel, and his nautical adviser was called in for frequent consultation. The story, however, progressed but slowly. There was something lacking. Each knew what that something was, but neither named it.

One evening Pearson entered the room tenanted by his friend to find the latter seated beside the table, his shoes partially unlaced, and a pair of big slippers ready for putting on.

"Captain," said the visitor, "you look so comfortable I hate to disturb you."

Captain Elisha, red-faced and panting, desisted from the unlacing and straightened in his chair.

"Whew!" he puffed. "Jim, your remarks prove that your experience of the world ain't as big as it ought to be. When you get to my age and waist measure you'll realize that stoopin' over and comfort don't go together. I hope to be comfortable pretty soon; but I sha'n't be till them boots are off. Set down. The agony'll be over in a minute."

Pearson declined to sit. "Not yet," he said. "And you let those shoes alone, until you hear what I've got to say. A newspaper friend of mine has sent me two tickets for the opera to-night. I want you to go with me."

Captain Elisha was surprised.

"To the opera?" he repeated. "Why, that's a--a sort of singin' theater ain't it?"

"Yes, you're fond of music; you told me so. And Ada is beautiful. Come on! it will do us both good."

"Hum! Well, I don't know."

"I do. Get ready."

The captain looked at his caller's evening clothes.

"What do you mean by gettin' ready?" he asked. "You've got on your regimentals, open front and all. My uniform is the huntin' case kind; fits in better with church sociables and South Denboro no'theasters. If I wore one of those vests like yours Abbie'd make me put on a red flannel lung-protector to keep from catchin' pneumonia. And she'd think 'twas sinful waste besides, runnin' the risk of sp'ilin' a clean biled shirt so quick. Won't I look like an undertaker, sittin' alongside of you?"

"Not a bit. If it will ease your mind I'll change to a business suit."

"I don't care. You know how I feel; we had a little talk about hats a spell ago, you remember. If you're willin' to take me 'just as I am, without a plea,' as the hymn-tune says, why, I cal'late I'll say yes and go. Set down and wait while I get on my ceremonials."

He retired to the curtain alcove, and Pearson heard him rustling about, evidently making a hurried change of raiment. During this process he talked continuously.

"Jim," he said, "I ain't been to the theater but once since I landed in New York. Then I went to see a play named 'The Heart of a Sailor.' Ha! ha! that was a great show! Ever take it in, did you?"

"No. I never did."

"Well, you'd ought to. It's a wonder of it's kind. I learned more things about life-savin' and 'longshore life from that drayma than you'd believe was possible. You'd have got some p'ints for your Cap'n Jim yarn from that play; you sartin would! Yes, indeed! Way I happened to go to it was on account of seein' a poster on a fence over nigh where that Moriarty tribe lived. The poster pictured a bark ashore, on her beam ends, in a sea like those off the Horn. On the beach was a whole parcel of life-savers firin' off rockets and blue lights. Keepin' the Fourth of July, I judged they was, for I couldn't see any other reason. The bark wa'n't more'n a hundred foot from 'em, and if all hands on board didn't know they was in trouble by that time, then they deserved to drown. Anyhow, they wa'n't likely to appreciate the celebration. Ho! ho! Well, when I run afoul of that poster I felt I hadn't ought to let anything like that get away; so I hunted up the theater--it wa'n't but a little ways off--and got a front seat for that very afternoon."

"Was it up to the advertising?" asked Pearson.

"_Was_ it? Hi hum! I wish you'd been there. More 'special I wished some of the folks from home had been there, for the whole business was supposed to happen on the Cape, and they'd have realized how ignorant we are about the place we live in. The hero was a strappin' six-footer, sort of a combination fisherman and parson, seemed so. He wore ileskins in fair weather and went around preachin' or defyin' folks that provoked him and makin' love to the daughter of a long-haired old relic that called himself an inventor.... Oh, consarn it!"

"What's the matter?"

"Dropped my collar button, as usual. Collar buttons are one of the Old Harry's pet traps. I'll bet their responsible for 'most as many lapses from grace as tangled fishlines. Where.... Ow!... All right; I found it with my bare foot, and edge up, of course."

A series of grunts and short-breathed exclamations followed, indicating that the sufferer was struggling with a tight collar.

"Go on," commanded Pearson. "Tell me some more about the play."

"Hey? Oh, the play. Where was I?"

"You were saying that the heroine's father was an inventor."

"That's what _he_ said he was, though he never furnished any proof. His daughter helped him with his inventions, but if she'd cut his hair once in a while 'twould have been a better way of puttin' in the time, 'cordin' to my notion. And there was a rich squire, who made his money by speculatin' in wickedness, and a mortgage, and--I don't know what all. And those Cape Cod folks! and the houses they lived in! and the way they talked! Oh, dear! oh, dear! I got my money's wuth that afternoon."

"What about the wreck? How did that happen?"

"Don't know. It happened 'cause it had to be in the play, I cal'late. The mortgage, or an 'invention' or somethin', was on board the bark and just naturally took a short cut for home, way I figgered it out. But, Jim, you ought to have seen that hero! He peeled off his ileskin-slicker--he'd kept it on all through the sunshine, but now, when 'twas rainin' and rainin' and wreckin' and thunderin', he shed it--and jumped in and saved all hands and the ship's cat. 'Twas great business! No wonder the life-savers set off fireworks! And thunder! Why, say, it never stopped thunderin' in that storm except when somebody had to make a heroic speech; then it let up and give 'em a chance. Most considerate thunder ever I heard. And the lightnin'! and the way the dust flew from the breakers! I was glad I went.... There!" appearing fully dressed from behind the curtains. "I'm ready if you are. Did I talk your head off? I ask your pardon; but that 'Heart of a Sailor' touched mine, I guess. I know I was afraid I'd laugh until it stopped beatin'. And all around the people were cryin'. It was enough sight damper amongst the seats than in those cloth waves."

The pair walked over to Broadway, boarded a street car, and alighted before the Metropolitan Opera House. Pearson's seats were good ones, well down in the orchestra. Captain Elisha turned and surveyed the great interior and the brilliantly garbed audience.

"Whew!" he muttered. "This is considerable of a show in itself, Jim. They could put our town hall inside here and the folks on the roof wouldn't be so high as those in that main skys'l gallery up aloft there. Can they see or hear, do you think?"

"Oh, yes. The accepted idea is that they are the real music lovers. _they_ come for the opera itself. Some of the others come because--well, because it is the proper thing."

"Yes, yes; I see. That's the real article right over our heads, I suppose."

"Yes. That's the 'Diamond Horseshoe.'"

"All proper things there, hey?"

"Why--er--yes, I suppose so. What makes you ask?"

"Nothing much. I was thinking 'twas better Abbie wa'n't along on this cruise. She'd probably want to put an 'im' in front of that 'proper.' I envy those women, Jim; _they_ didn't have to stop to hunt up collar buttons, did they."

He was silent during the first act of the opera. When the curtain fell his companion asked how he liked it.

"Good singin'," he replied; "best I ever heard. Do you understand what they say?"

"No. But I'm familiar with the story of Ada, of course. It's a favorite of mine. And the words don't really matter."

"I suppose not. It's the way they say it. I had an Irishman workin' round my barn once, and Tim Bailey drove down from Bayport to see me. I was out and Tim and the Irishman run afoul of each other. Tim stuttered so that he made a noise when he talked like one of these gasoline bicycles goin' by. He watched Mike sweepin' out the horse stall and he says, 'You're a pup--pup ... I say you're a pup--.' He didn't get any further 'cause Mike went for him with the broom. Turned out later that he was tryin' to compliment that Irishman by sayin' he was a particular sort of feller. These folks on the stage might be sayin' most anythin', and I wouldn't know it. But I sha'n't knock 'em down, for I like the way it's said. When the Almighty give us music he more than made up for makin' us subject to toothache, didn't he."

Pearson bought a copy of the libretto, and the captain followed the performance of the next two acts with interest.

"Say, Jim," he whispered, with a broad grin, "it's a good thing this opera idea ain't carried into real life. If you had to sing every word you said 'twould be sort of distressin', 'specially if you was in a hurry. A fust-rate solo when you was orderin' the crew to shorten sail would be a high old brimstone anthem, I'll bet you. And think of the dinner table at our boardin' house! Mrs. Van and C. Dickens both goin' at once, and Marm Hepton serenadin' the waiter girl! Ho! ho! A cat fight wouldn't be a circumstance."

Between the third and the fourth acts the pair went out into the foyer, where, ascending to the next floor, they made the round of the long curve behind the boxes, Pearson pointing out to his friend the names of the box lessees on the brass plates.

"There!" he observed, as, the half circle completed, they turned and strolled back again, "isn't that an imposing list, Captain? Don't you feel as if you were close to the real thing?"

"Godfreys mighty!" was the solemn reply; "I was just thinkin' I felt as if I'd been readin' one of those muck-rakin' yarns in the magazines!"

The foyer had its usual animated crowd, and among them Pearson recognized a critic of his acquaintance. He offered to introduce the captain, but the latter declined the honor, saying that he cal'lated he wouldn't shove his bows in this time. "You heave ahead and see your friend, Jim," he added. "I'll come to anchor by this pillar and watch the fleet go by. I'll have to write Abbie about all this; she'll want to know how the female craft was rigged."

Left alone, he leaned against the pillar and watched the people pass and repass just behind him. Two young men paused just behind him. He could not help overhearing their conversation.

"I presume you've heard the news?" asked one, casually.

"Yes," replied the other, "I have. That is, if you mean the news concerning Mal Dunn. The mater learned it this afternoon and sprung it at dinner. No one was greatly surprised. Formal announcement made, and all that sort of thing, I believe. Mal's to be congratulated."

"His mother is, you mean. She managed the campaign. The old lady is some strategist, and I'd back her to win under ordinary circumstances. But I understand these were not ordinary; wise owl of a guardian to be circumvented, or something of that sort."

"From what I hear the Dunns haven't won so much after all. There was a big shrinkage when papa died, so they say. Instead of three or four millions it panned out to be a good deal less than one. I don't know much about it, because our family and theirs have drifted apart since they moved."

"Humph! I imagine whatever the pan-out it will be welcome. The Dunns are dangerously close to the ragged edge; everybody has been on to that for some time. And it takes a few ducats to keep Mal going. He's no Uncle Russell when it comes to putting by for the rainy day."

"Well, on the whole, I'm rather sorry for--the other party. Mal is a good enough fellow, and he certainly is a game sport; but--"

They moved on, and Captain Elisha heard no more. But what he had heard was quite sufficient. He sat through the remainder of the opera in silence and answered all his friend's questions and remarks curtly and absently.

As they stepped into the trolley Pearson bought an evening paper, not the _Planet_, but a dignified sheet which shunned sensationalism and devoted much space to the doings of the safe, sane, and ultra-respectable element. Perceiving that his companion, for some reason, did not care to talk, he read as the car moved downtown. Suddenly Captain Elisha was awakened from his reverie by hearing his friend utter an exclamation. Looking up, the captain saw that he was leaning back in the seat, the paper lying unheeded in his lap.

"What's the matter?" asked the older man, anxiously.

Pearson started, glanced quickly at his friend, hesitated, and looked down again.

"Nothing--now," he answered, brusquely. "We get out here. Come."

He rose, picked up the paper with a hand that shook a little, and led the way to the door of the car. Captain Elisha followed, and they strode up the deserted side street. Pearson walked so rapidly that his companion was hard pushed to keep pace with him. When they stood together in the dimly lit hall of the boarding house, the captain spoke again.

"Well, Jim," he asked in a low tone, "what is it? You may as well tell me. Maybe I can guess, anyhow."

The young man reached up and turned the gas full on. In spite of the cold from which they had just come, his face was white. He folded the paper in his hand, and with his forefinger pointed to its uppermost page.

"There it is," he said. "Read it."

Captain Elisha took the paper, drew his spectacle case from his pocket, adjusted his glasses and read. The item was among those under the head of "Personal and Social." It was what he expected. "The engagement is to-day announced of Miss Caroline Warren, daughter of the late A. Rodgers Warren, the well-known broker, to Mr. Malcolm Corcoran Dunn, of Fifth Avenue. Miss Warren, it will be remembered, was one of the most charming of our season-before-last's dbutantes and--" etc.

The captain read the brief item through.

"Yes," he said, slowly, "I see."

Pearson looked at him in amazement.

"You _see_!" he repeated. "You--Why! _Did you know it_?"

"I've been afraid of it for some time. To-night, when you left me alone there in the quarter-deck of that opera house, I happened to hear two young chaps talkin' about it. So you might say I knew--Yes."

"Good heavens! and you can stand there and--What are you going to do about it?"

"I don't know--yet."

"Are you going to permit her to marry that--_that_ fellow?"

"Well, I ain't sartin that I can stop her."

"My God, man! Do you realize--and _she_--your niece--why--"

"There! there! Jim. I realize it all, I cal'late. It's my business to realize it."

"And it isn't mine. No, of course it isn't; you're right there."

He turned and strode toward the foot of the stairs.

"Hold on!" commanded the captain. "Hold on, Jim! Don't you go off ha'f cocked. When I said 'twas my business to realize this thing, I meant just that and nothin' more. I wa'n't hintin', and you ought to know it. You do know it, don't you?"

The young man paused. "Yes," he answered, after an instant's struggle with his feelings; "yes, I do. I beg your pardon, Captain."

"All right. And here's somethin' else; I just told you I wasn't sartin I could stop the marriage. That's the truth. But I don't recollect sayin' I'd actually hauled down the colors, not yet. Good night."

"Good night, Captain. I shouldn't have misunderstood you, of course. But, as you know, I respected and admired your niece. And this thing has--has--"

"Sort of knocked you on your beam ends, I understand. Well, Jim," with a sigh, "I ain't exactly on an even keel myself."

They separated, Pearson going to his room. As Captain Elisha was passing through the hall on the second floor, he heard someone calling him by name. Turning, he saw his landlady's head, bristling with curl papers, protruding from behind the door at the other end of the passage.

"Captain Warren," she asked, "is that you?"

"Yes, ma'am," replied the captain, turning back.

"Well, I've got a message for you. A Mr. Sylvester has 'phoned you twice this evening. He wishes to see you at his office at the earliest possible moment. He says it is _very_ important."

CHAPTER XVII

Nine o'clock is an early hour for a New York lawyer of prominence to be at his place of business. Yet, when Captain Elisha asked the office boy of Sylvester, Kuhn and Graves if the senior partner was in, he received an affirmative answer.

"Yes, sir," said Tim, respectfully. His manner toward the captain had changed surprisingly since the latter's first call. "Yes, sir; Mr. Sylvester's in. He expects you. I'll tell him you're here. Sit down and wait, please."

Captain Elisha sat down, but he did not have to wait long. The boy returned at once and ushered him into the private office. Sylvester welcomed him gravely.

"You got my message, then," he said. "I spent hours last evening chasing you by 'phone. And I was prepared to begin again this morning."

"So? That's why you're on deck so early? Didn't sleep here, did you? Well, I cal'late I know what you want to talk about. You ain't the only one that reads the newspapers."

"The newspapers? Great heavens! it isn't in the newspapers, is it? It can't be!"

He seemed much perturbed. Captain Elisha looked puzzled.

"Course it is," he said. "But I heard it afore I saw it. Perhaps you think I take it pretty easy. Maybe I act as if I did. But you expected it, and so did I, so we ain't exactly surprised. And," seriously, "I realize that it's no joke as well as you do. But we've got a year to fight in, and now we must plan the campaign. I did cal'late to see Caroline this mornin'. Then, if I heard from her own lips that 'twas actually so, I didn't know's I wouldn't drop in and give Sister Corcoran-Queen-Victoria-Dunn a few plain facts about it not bein' a healthy investment to hurry matters. You're wantin' to see me headed me off, and I come here instead."

The lawyer looked at him in astonishment.

"See here, Captain Warren," he demanded, "what do you imagine I asked you to come here for?"

"Why, to talk about that miserable engagement, sartin. Poor girl! I've been awake ha'f the night thinkin' of the mess she's been led into. And she believes she's happy, I suppose."

Sylvester shook his head. "I see," he said, slowly. "You would think it that, naturally. No, Captain, it isn't the engagement. It's more serious than that."

"More serious than--_more_ serious! Why, what on earth? Hey? Mr. Sylvester, has that rock-lighthouse business come to somethin' after all?"

The lawyer nodded. "It has," he replied.

"I want to know! And I'd almost forgot it, not hearin' from you. It's a rock, too, I judge, by the looks of your face. Humph!... Is it very bad?"

"I'm afraid so."

The captain pulled his beard. "Well," he said, wearily, after a moment, "I guess likely I can bear it. I've had to bear some things in my time. Anyhow, I'll try. Heave ahead and get it over with. I'm ready."

Instead of answering, Sylvester pushed an electric button on his desk. The office boy answered the ring.

"Have Mr. Kuhn and Mr. Graves arrived?" asked the lawyer.

"Yes, sir. Both of them, sir."

"Tell them Captain Warren is here, and ask them to join us in the inner room. Remind Mr. Graves to bring the papers. And, Tim, remember that none of us is to be disturbed. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," said Tim and departed.

Captain Elisha regarded his friend with some dismay.

"Say!" he exclaimed, "this _must_ be serious, if it takes the skipper and both mates to handle it."

Sylvester did not smile. "It is," he answered. "Come."

He led the way into the room opening from the rear of his own. It was a large apartment with a long table in the center. Mr. Kuhn, brisk and business-like, was already there. He shook hands with his client. As he did so, Graves, dignified and precise as ever, entered, carrying a small portfolio filled with papers.

"Mornin', Mr. Graves," said the captain; "glad to see you, even under such distressin' circumstances, as the undertaker said to the sick man. Feelin' all right again, I hope. No more colds or nothin' like that?"

"No. Thank you. I am quite well, at present."

"That's hearty. If you and me don't do any more buggy ridin' in Cape Cod typhoons, we'll last a spell yet, hey? What you got there, the death warrant?" referring to the portfolio and its contents.

Mr. Graves evidently did not consider this flippancy worth a reply, for he made none.

"Sit down, gentlemen," said Sylvester.

The four took chairs at the table. Graves untied and opened the portfolio. Captain Elisha looked at his solemn companions, and his lips twitched.

"You'll excuse me," he observed, "but I feel as if I was goin' to be tried for piracy on the high seas. Has the court any objection to tobacco smoke? I'm puttin' the emphasis strong on the 'tobacco,'" he added, "because this is a cigar you give me yourself, Mr. Sylvester, last time I was down here."

"No, indeed," replied the senior partner. "Smoke, if you wish. No one here has any objection, unless it may be Graves."

"Oh, Mr. Graves ain't. He and I fired up together that night we fust met. Hot smoke tasted grateful after all the cold water we'd had poured onto us in that storm. Graves is all right. He's a sportin' character, like myself. Maybe he'll jine us. Got another cigar in my pocket."

But the invitation was declined. The "sporting character" might deign to relax amid proper and fitting surroundings, but not in the sacred precincts of his office. So the captain smoked alone.

"Well," he observed, after a few preliminary puffs, "go on! Don't keep me in suspenders, as the feller said. Where did the lightnin' strike, and what's the damage?"

Sylvester took a card from his pocket and referred to a penciled memorandum on its back.

"Captain Warren," he began, slowly, "as you know, and as directed by you, my partners here and I have been engaged for months in carefully going over your brother's effects, estimating values, tabulating and sorting his various properties and securities, separating the good from the worthless--and there was, as we saw at a glance, a surprising amount of the latter--"

"Um-hm," interrupted the captain, "Cut Short bonds and the like of that. I know. Excuse me. Go on."

"Yes. Precisely. And there were many just as valueless. But we have been gradually getting those out of the way and listing and appraising the remainder. It was a tangle. Your brother's business methods, especially of late years, were decidedly unsystematic and slipshod. It may have been the condition of his health which prevented his attending to them as he should. Or," he hesitated slightly, "it may have been that he was secretly in great trouble and mental distress. At all events, the task has been a hard one for us. But, largely owing to Graves and his patient work, our report was practically ready a month ago."

He paused. Captain Elisha, who had been listening attentively, nodded.

"Yes," he said; "you told me 'twas. What does the whole thing tot up to? What's the final figger, Mr. Graves?"

The junior partner adjusted his eyeglasses to his thin nose.

"I have them here," he said. "The list of securities, et cetera, is rather long, but--"

"Never mind them now, Graves," interrupted Kuhn. "The amount, roughly speaking, is close to over our original estimate, half a million."

The captain drew a breath of relief. "Well," he exclaimed, "that's all right then, ain't it? That's no poorhouse pension."

Sylvester answered. "Yes," he said, "that's all right, as far as it goes."

"Humph! Well, I cal'late _I_ could make it go to the end of the route; and then have enough left for a return ticket. Say!" with another look at the solemn faces of the three, "what _is_ the row? If the estate is wuth ha'f a million, what's the matter with it?"

"That is what we are here this morning to discuss, Captain. A month ago, as I said, we considered our report practically ready. Then we suddenly happened on the trail of something which, upon investigation, upset all our calculations. If true, it threatened, not to mention its effect upon the estate, to prove so distressing and painful to us, Rodgers Warren's friends and legal advisers, that we decided not to alarm you, his brother, by disclosing our suspicions until we were sure there was no mistake. I did drop you a hint, you will remember--"

"I remember. _Now_ we're comin' to the rock!"

"Yes. Captain Warren, I think perhaps I ought to warn you that what my partners and I are about to say will shock and hurt you. I, personally, knew your brother well and respected him as an honorable business man. A lawyer learns not to put too much trust in human nature, but, I confess, this--this--"

He was evidently greatly disturbed. Captain Elisha, regarding him intently, nodded.

"I judge it's sort of hard for you to go on, Mr. Sylvester," he said. "I'll help you all I can. You and Mr. Kuhn and Mr. Graves here have found out somethin' that ain't exactly straight in 'Bije's doin's? Am I right?"

"Yes, Captain Warren, you are."

"Somethin' that don't help his character, hey?"

"Yes."

"Somethin's he's, done that's--well, to speak plain, that's crooked?"

"I'm afraid there's no doubt of it."

"Humph!" The captain frowned. His cigar had gone out, and he idly twisted the stump between his fingers. "Well," he said, with a sigh, "our family, gen'rally speakin', has always held its head pretty high. Dad was poor, but he prided himself on bein' straight as a plumb line. And, as for mother, she...." Then, looking up quickly, he asked, "Does anybody outside know about this?"

"No one but ourselves--yet."

"Yet? Is it goin' to be necessary for anybody else to know it?"

"We hope not. But there is a possibility."

"I was thinkin' about the children."

"Of course. So are we all."

"Um-hm. Poor Caroline! she put her father on a sort of altar and bowed down afore him, as you might say. Any sort of disgrace to his name would about kill her. As for me," with another sigh, "I ain't so much surprised as you might think. I know that sounds tough to say about your own brother, but I've been afraid all along. You see, 'Bije always steered pretty close to the edge of the channel. He had ideas about honesty and fair dealin' in business that didn't jibe with mine. We split on just that, as I told you, Mr. Graves, when you and I fust met. He got some South Denboro folks to invest money along with him; sort of savin's account, they figgered it; but I found out he was usin' it to speculate with. So that's why we had our row. I took pains to see that the money was paid back, but he and I never spoke afterwards. Fur as my own money was concerned, I hadn't any kick, but.... However, I'm talkin' too much. Go on, Mr. Sylvester, I'm ready to hear whatever you've got to say."

"Thank you, Captain. You make it easier for me. It seems that your brother's first step toward wealth and success was taken about nineteen years ago. Then, somehow or other, probably through a combination of luck and shrewdness, he obtained a grant, a concession from the Brazilian Government, the long term lease of a good-sized tract of land on the upper Amazon. It was very valuable because of its rubber trees."

"Hey?" Captain Elisha leaned forward. "Say that again!" he commanded sharply.

Sylvester repeated his statement. "He got the concession by paying twenty thousand dollars to the government of Brazil," he continued. "To raise the twenty thousand he formed a stock company of two hundred and fifty shares at one hundred dollars each. One hundred of these shares were in his own name. Fifty were in the name of one 'Thomas A. Craven,' a clerk at that time in his office. Craven was only a dummy, however. Do you understand what I mean by a dummy?"

"I can guess. Sort of a wooden image that moved when 'Bije pulled the strings. Like one of these straw directors that clutter up the insurance companies, 'cordin' to the papers. Yes, yes; I understand well enough. Go ahead! go ahead!"

"That's it. The fifty shares were in Craven's name, but they were transferred in blank and in Mr. Warren's safe. Together with his own hundred, they gave him control and a voting majority. That much we know by the records."

"I see. But this rubber con--contraption wa'n't really wuth anything, was it?"

"Worth anything! Captain Warren, I give you my word that it was worth more than all the rest of the investments that your brother made during his lifetime."

"_No!_" The exclamation was almost a shout.

"Why, yes, decidedly more. Does that surprise you, Captain?"

Captain Elisha did not answer. He was regarding the lawyer with a dazed expression. He breathed heavily.

"What's the matter?" demanded the watchful Kuhn, his gaze fixed upon his client's face. "Do you know anything--"

The captain interrupted him. "Go on!" he commanded. "But tell me this fust: What was the name of this rubber concern of 'Bije's?"

"The Akrae Rubber Company."

"I see.... Yes, yes.... Akry, hey!... Well, what about it? Tell me the rest."

"For the first year or two this company did nothing. Then, in March, of the third year, the property was released by Mr. Warren to persons in Para, who were to develop and operate. The terms of his new lease were very advantageous. Royalties were to be paid on a sliding scale, and, from the very first, they were large. The Akrae Company paid enormous dividends."

"Did, hey? I want to know!"

"Yes. In fact, for twelve years the company's royalties averaged $50,000 yearly."

"Whe-e-w!" Captain Elisha whistled. "Fifty thousand a year!" he repeated slowly. "'Bije! 'Bije!"

"Yes. And three years ago the Akrae Company sold its lease, sold out completely to the Para people, for seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

"Godfreys mighty! Well," after a moment, "that's what I'd call a middlin' fair profit on a twenty thousand dollar investment--not to mention the dividends."

"Captain," Sylvester leaned forward now; "Captain," he repeated, "it is that sale and the dividends which are troubling us. I told you that the Akrae Company was organized with two hundred and fifty shares of stock. Your brother held one hundred in his own name and fifty transferred to him by his dummy, Craven. What I did not tell you was that there were another hundred shares, held by someone, someone who paid ten thousand dollars for them--we know that--and was, therefore, entitled to two-fifths of every dollar earned by the company during its existence, and two-fifths of the amount received for the sale of the lease. So far as we can find out, this stockholder has never received one cent."

The effect of this amazing announcement upon the uniniated member of the council was not as great as the lawyers expected it to be. "You don't tell me!" was his sole comment.

Graves broke in impatiently: "I think, Captain Warren," he declared, "that you probably do not realize what this means. Besides proving your brother dishonest, it means that this stockholder, whoever he may have been--"

"Hey? What's that? Don't you know who he was?"

"No, we do not. The name upon the stub of the transfer book has been scratched out."

Captain Elisha looked the speaker in the face, then slowly turned his look upon the other two faces.

"Scratched out?" he repeated. "Who scratched it out?"

Graves shrugged his shoulders.

"Yes, yes," said the captain. "You don't know, but we're all entitled to guess, hey?... Humph!"

"If this person is living," began Sylvester, "it follows that--"

"Hold on a minute! I don't know much about corporations, of course--that's more in your line than 'tis in mine--but I want to ask one question. You say this what-d'ye-call-it--this Akrae thingamajig--was sold out, hull, canvas and riggin', to a crowd in Brazil? It's gone out of business then? It's dead?"

"Yes. But--"

"Wait! Ain't it customary, when a sale like this is made, to turn over all the stock, certificates and all? Sometimes you get stock in the new company in exchange; I know that. But to complete the trade, wouldn't this extry hundred shares be turned in? Or some sharp questionin' done if 'twa'n't?"

He addressed the query to Sylvester. The latter seemed more troubled than before.

"That," he said with some hesitation, "is one of the delicate points in this talk of ours, Captain Warren. A certificate for the missing hundred shares _was_ turned in. It was dated at the time of the original issue, made out in the name of one Edward Bradley, and transferred on the back by him to your brother. That is, it was presumably so transferred."

"Presumably. Pre-sumably? You mean--?"

"I mean that this certificate is--well, let us say, rather queer. To begin with, no one knows who this Bradley is, or was. His name appears nowhere except on that certificate, unless, of course, it did appear on the stub where the scratching has been done; we doubt that, for reasons. Nobody ever heard of the man; and his transfer to your brother was made, and the certificate signed by him, only three years ago, when the Akrae Company sold out. It will take too long to go into details; but thanks to the kindness of the Para concern, which has offices in this city--we have been able to examine this Bradley certificate. Experts have examined it, also. And they tell us--"

He paused.

"Well, what do they tell?" demanded the captain.

"They tell us that--that, in their opinion, the certificate was never issued at the time when, by this date, it presumes to have been. It was made out no longer ago than five years, probably less. The signature of Bradley on the back is--is--well, I hate to say it, Captain Warren, but the handwriting on that signature resembles very closely that of your brother."

Captain Elisha was silent for some moments. The others did not speak, but waited. Even Graves, between whom and his client there was little in common, felt the general sympathy.

At length the captain raised his head.

"Well," he said slowly, "we ain't children. We might as well call things by their right names. 'Bije forged that certificate."

"I'm afraid there is no doubt of it."

"Dear! dear! dear! Why, they put folks in state's prison for that!"

"Yes. But a dead man is beyond prisons."

"That's so. Then I don't see--"

"You will. You don't grasp the full meaning of this affair even yet. If the Bradley certificate is a forgery, a fraud from beginning to end, then the presumption is that there was never any such person as Bradley. But _someone_ paid ten thousand dollars for one hundred Akrae shares when the company was formed. _That_ certificate has never been turned in. Some person or persons, somewhere, hold one hundred shares of Akrae Rubber Company stock. Think, now! Suppose that someone turns up and demands all that he has been cheated out of for the past seventeen years! Think of that!"

"Well ... I am thinkin' of it. I got the scent of what you was drivin' at five minutes ago. And I don't see that we need to be afraid. He could have put 'Bije in jail; but 'Bije is already servin' a longer sentence than he could give him. So that disgrace ain't bearin' down on us. And, if I understand about such things, his claim is against the Akrae Company, and that's dead--dead as the man that started it. Maybe he could put in a keeper, or a receiver, or some such critter, but there's nothin' left to keep or receive. Ain't I right?"

"You are. Or you would be, but for one thing, the really inexplicable thing in this whole miserable affair. Your brother, Captain Warren, was dishonest. He took money that didn't belong to him, and he forged that certificate. But he must have intended to make restitution. He must have been conscience-stricken and more to be pitied, perhaps, than condemned. No doubt, when he first began to withhold the dividends and use the money which was not his, he intended merely to borrow. He was always optimistic and always plunging in desperate and sometimes rather shady speculations which, he was sure, would turn out favorably. If they had--if, for instance, the South Shore Trolley Combine had been put through--You knew of that, did you?"

"I've been told somethin' about it. Go on!"

"Well, it was not put through, so his hopes there were frustrated. And that was but one of his schemes. However, when the sale of the Company was consummated, he did an extraordinary thing. He made out and signed his personal note, payable to the Akrae Company, for every cent he had misappropriated. And we found that note in his safe after his death. That was what first aroused our suspicions. _Now_, Captain Warren, do you understand?"

Captain Elisha did not understand, that was evident. His look of wondering amazement traveled from one face to the others about the table.

"A _note_!" he repeated. "'Bije put his _note_ in the safe? A note promisin' to pay all he'd stole! And left it there where it could be found? Why, that's pretty nigh unbelievable, Mr. Sylvester! He might just as well have confessed his crookedness and be done with it."

"Yes. It is unbelievable, but it is true. Graves can show you the note."

The junior partner produced a slip of paper from the portfolio and regarded it frowningly.

"Of all the pieces of sheer lunacy," he observed, "that ever came under my observation, this is the worst. Here it is, Captain Warren."

He extended the paper. Captain Elisha waved it aside.

"I don't want to see it--not yet," he protested. "I want to think. I want to get at the reason if I can. Why did he do it?"

"That is what we've been tryin' to find--the reason," remarked Kuhn, "and we can only guess. Sylvester has told you the guess. Rodgers Warren intended, or hoped, to make restitution before he died."

"Yes. Knowin' 'Bije, I can see that. He was weak, that was his main trouble. He didn't mean to be crooked, but his knees wa'n't strong enough to keep him straight when it come to a hard push. But he made his note payable to a Company that was already sold out, so it ain't good for nothin'. Now, why--"

Graves struck the table with his open hand.

"He doesn't understand at all," he exclaimed, impatiently. "Captain Warren, listen! That note is made payable to the Akrae Company. Against that company some unknown stockholder has an apparent claim for two-fifths of all dividends ever paid and two-fifths of the seven hundred and fifty thousand received for the sale. With accrued interest, that claim amounts to over five hundred thousand dollars."

"Yes, but--"

"That note binds Rodgers Warren's estate to pay that claim. His own personal estate! And that estate is not worth over four hundred and sixty thousand dollars! If this stockholder should appear and press his claim, _your brother's children would be, not only penniless, but thirty thousand dollars in debt_! There! I think that is plain enough!"

He leaned back, grimly satisfied with the effect of his statement. Captain Elisha stared straight before him, unseeingly, the color fading from his cheeks. Then he put both elbows on the table and covered his face with his hands.

"You see, Captain," said Sylvester, gently, "how very serious the situation is. Graves has put it bluntly, but what he says is literally true. If your brother had deliberately planned to hand his children over to the mercy of that missing stockholder, he couldn't have done it more completely."

Slowly the captain raised his head. His expression was a strange one; agitated and shocked, but with a curious look of relief, almost of triumph.

"At last!" he said, solemnly. "At last! Now it's _all_ plain!"

"All?" repeated Sylvester. "You mean--?"

"I mean everything, all that's been puzzlin' me and troublin' my head since the very beginnin'. All of it! _Now_ I know why! Oh, 'Bije! 'Bije! 'Bije!"

Kuhn spoke quickly.

"Captain," he said, "I believe you know who the owner of that one hundred shares is. Do you?"

Captain Elisha gravely nodded.

"Yes," he answered. "I know him."

"What?"

"You do?"

"Who is it?"

The questions were blurted out together. The captain looked at the three excited faces. He hesitated and then, taking the stub of a pencil from his pocket, drew toward him a memorandum pad lying on the table and wrote a line upon the uppermost sheet. Tearing off the page, he tossed it to Sylvester.

"That's the name," he said.

CHAPTER XVIII

Two more hours passed before the lawyers and their client rose from their seats about the long table. Even then the consultation was not at an end. Sylvester and the Captain lunched together at the Central Club and sat in the smoking room until after four, talking earnestly. When they parted, the attorney was grave and troubled.

"All right, Captain Warren," he said; "I'll do it. And you may be right. I certainly hope you are. But I must confess I don't look forward to my task with pleasure. I think I've got the roughest end."

"It'll be rough, there's no doubt about that. Rough for all hands, I guess. And I hope you understand, Mr. Sylvester, that there ain't many men I'd trust to do what I ask you to. I appreciate your doin' it more'n I can tell you. Be as--as gentle as you can, won't you?"

"I will. You can depend upon that."

"I do. And I sha'n't forget it. Good-by, till the next time."

They shook hands. Captain Elisha returned to the boarding house, where he found a letter awaiting him. It was from Caroline, telling him of her engagement to Malcolm Dunn. She wrote that, while not recognizing his right to interfere in any way, she felt that perhaps he should know of her action. He did not go down to supper, and, when Pearson came to inquire the reason, excused himself, pleading a late luncheon and no appetite. He guessed he would turn in early, so he said. It was a poor guess.

Next morning he went uptown. Edwards, opening the door of the Warren apartment, was surprised to find who had rung the bell.

"Mornin', Commodore!" hailed the captain, as casually as if he were merely returning from a stroll. "Is Miss Caroline aboard ship?"

"Why--why, I don't know, sir. I'll see."

"That's all right. She's aboard or you wouldn't have to see. You and me sailed together quite a spell, so I know your little habits. I'll wait in the library, Commodore. Tell her there's no particular hurry."

His niece was expecting him. She had anticipated his visit and was prepared for it. From the emotion caused by his departure after the eventful birthday, she had entirely recovered, or thought she had. The surprise and shock of his leaving and the consequent sense of loneliness and responsibility overcame her at the time, but Stephen's ridicule and Mrs. Corcoran Dunn's congratulations on riddance from the "encumbrance" shamed her and stilled the reproaches of her conscience. Mrs. Dunn, as always, played the diplomat and mingled just the proper quantity of comprehending sympathy with the congratulations.

"I understand exactly how you feel, my dear," she said. "You have a tender heart, and it pains you to hurt anyone's feelings, no matter how much they deserve to be hurt. Every time I dismiss an incompetent or dishonest servant I feel that I have done wrong; sometimes I cry, actually shed tears, you know, and yet my reason tells me I am right. You feel that you may have been too harsh with that guardian of yours. You remember what you said to him and forget how hypocritically he behaved toward you. I can't forgive him that. I may forget how he misrepresented Malcolm and me to you--that I may even pardon, in time--but to deceive his own brother's children and introduce into their society a creature who had slandered and maligned their father--_that_ I never shall forget or forgive. And--you'll excuse my frankness, dear--you should never forget or forgive it, either. You have nothing with which to reproach yourself. You were a brave girl, and if you are not proud of yourself, _I_ am proud of you."

So, when her uncle was announced, Caroline was ready. She entered the library and acknowledged his greeting with a distant bow. He regarded her kindly, but his manner was grave.

"Well, Caroline," he began, "I got your letter."

"Yes, I presumed you did."

"Um-hm. I got it. It didn't surprise me, what you wrote, because I'd seen the news in the papers; but I was hopin' you'd tell me yourself, and I'm real glad you did. I'm much obliged to you."

She had not expected him to take this tone, and it embarrassed her.

"I--I gave you my reasons for writing," she said. "Although I do not consider that I am, in any sense, duty bound to refer matters, other than financial, to you; and, although my feelings toward you have not changed--still, you are my guardian, and--and--"

"I understand. So you're really engaged?"

"Yes."

"Engaged to Mr. Dunn?"

"Yes."

"And you're cal'latin' to marry him?"

"One might almost take that for granted," impatiently.

"Almost--yes. Not always, but generally, I will give in. You're goin' to marry Malcolm Dunn. Why?"

"Why?" she repeated the question as if she doubted his sanity.

"Yes. Be as patient with me as you can, Caroline. I ain't askin' these things without what seems to me a good reason. Why are you goin' to marry him?"

"Why because I choose, I suppose."

"Um-hm. Are you sure of that?"

"Am I sure?" indignantly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean are you sure that it's because you choose, or because _he_ does, or maybe, because his mother does?"

She turned angrily away. "If you came here to insult me--" she began. He interrupted her.

"No, no," he protested gently. "Insultin' you is the last thing I want to do. But, as your father did put you in my charge, I want you to bear with me while we talk this over together. Remember, Caroline, I ain't bothered you a great deal lately. I shouldn't now if I hadn't thought 'twas necessary. So please don't get mad, but answer me this: Do you care for this man you've promised to marry?"

This was a plain question. It should have been answered without the slightest hesitation. Moreover, the girl had expected him to ask it. Yet, for a moment, she did hesitate.

"I mean," continued Captain Elisha, "do you care for him _enough_? Enough to live with him all your life, and see him every day, and be to him what a true wife ought to be? See him, not with his company manners on or in his automobile, but at the breakfast table, and when he comes home tired and cross, maybe. When you've got to be forbearin' and forgivin' and--"

"He is one of my oldest and best friends--" she interrupted. Her uncle went on without waiting for her to end the sentence.

"I know," he said. "One of the oldest, that's sure. But friendship, 'cordin' to my notion, is somethin' so small in comparison that it hardly counts in the manifest. Married folks ought to be friends, sartin sure; but they ought to be a whole lot more'n that. I'm an old bach, you say, and ain't had no experience. That's true; but I've been young, and there was a time when _I_ made plans.... However, she died, and it never come to nothin'. But I _know_ what it means to be engaged, the right kind of engagement. It means that you don't count yourself at all, not a bit. You're ready, each of you, to give up all you've got--your wishes, comfort, money and what it'll buy, and your life, if it should come to that, for that other one. Do you care for Malcolm Dunn like that, Caroline?"

She answered defiantly.

"Yes, I do," she said.

"You do. Well, do you think he feels the same way about you?"

"Yes," with not quite the same promptness, but still defiantly.

"You feel sartin of it, do you?"

She stamped her foot. "Yes! yes! _Yes_!" she cried. "Oh, _do_ say what you came to say, and end it!"

Her uncle rose to his feet.

"Why, I guess likely I've said it," he observed. "When two people care for each other like that, they _ought_ to be married, and the sooner the better. I knew that you'd been lonesome and troubled, maybe; and some of the friends you used to have had kind of dropped away--busy with other affairs, which is natural enough--and, you needin' sympathy and companionship, I was sort of worried for fear all this had influenced you more'n it ought to, and you'd been led into sayin' yes without realizin' what it meant. But you tell me that ain't so; you do realize. So all I can say is that I'm awful glad for you. God bless you, my dear! I hope you'll be as happy as the day is long."

His niece gazed at him, bewildered and incredulous. This she had _not_ expected.

"Thank you," she stammered. "I did not know--I thought--"

"Of course you did--of course. Well, then, Caroline, I guess that's all. I won't trouble you any longer. Good-by."

He turned toward the door, but stopped, hesitated, and turned back again.

"There is just one thing more," he said solemnly. "I don't know's I ought to speak, but--I want to--and I'm goin' to. And I want you to believe it! I do want you to!"

He was so earnest, and the look he gave her was so strange, that she began to be alarmed.

"What is it?" she demanded.

"Why--why, just this, Caroline. This is a tough old world we live in. Things don't always go on in it as we think they'd ought to. Trouble comes to everybody, and when it all looks right sometimes it turns out to be all wrong. If--if there should come a time like that to you and Steve, I want you to remember that you've got me to turn to. No matter what you think of me, what folks have made you think of me, just remember that I'm waitin' and ready to help you all I can. Any time I'm ready--and glad. Just remember that, won't you, because.... Well, there! Good-by, Good-by!"

He hurried away. She stood gazing after him, astonished, a little frightened, and not a little disturbed and touched. His emotion was so evident; his attitude toward her engagement was so different from that which she had anticipated; and there was something in his manner which she could not understand. He had acted as if he pitied her. Why? It could not be because she was to marry Malcolm Dunn. If it were that, she resented his pity, of course. But it could not be that, because he had given her his blessing. What was it? Was there something else; something that she did not know and he did? Why was he so kind and forbearing and patient?

All her old doubts and questionings returned. She had resolutely kept them from her thoughts, but they had been there, in the background, always. When, after the long siege, she had at last yielded and said yes to Malcolm, she felt that that question, at least, was settled. She would marry him. He was one whom she had known all her life, the son of the dearest friend she had; he and his mother had been faithful at the time when she needed friends. As her husband, he would protect her and give her the affection and companionship she craved. He might appear careless and indifferent at times, but that was merely his manner. Had not Mrs. Dunn told her over and over again what a good son he was, and what a kind heart he had, and how he worshiped her? Oh, she ought to be a very happy girl! Of course she was happy. But why had her uncle looked at her as he did? And what did he mean by hinting that when things looked right they sometimes were all wrong? She wished Malcolm was with her then; she needed him.

She heard the clang of the elevator door. Then the bell rang furiously. She heard Edwards hasten to answer it. Then, to her amazement, she heard her brother's voice.

"Caroline!" demanded Stephen. "Caroline! Where are you?"

He burst into the room, still wearing his coat and hat, and carrying a traveling bag in his hand.

"Why, Steve!" she said, going toward him. "Why, Steve! what--"

He was very much excited.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, "you're all right then! You are all right, aren't you?"

"All right? Why shouldn't I be all right? What do you mean? And why are you here?"

He returned her look of surprise with one of great astonishment.

"Why am I here?" he repeated.

"Yes. Why did you come from New Haven?"

"Why, because I got the telegram, of course! You expected me to come, didn't you?"

"_I_ expected you? Telegram? What telegram?"

"Why, the--Good Lord, Caro! what are you talking about? Didn't you know they telegraphed me to come home at once? I've pretty nearly broke my neck, and the taxicab man's, getting here from the station. I thought you must be very ill, or something worse."

"They telegraphed you to come here? Who.... Edwards, you may take Mr. Warren's things to his room."

"But, Sis--"

"Just a moment, Steve. Give Edwards your coat and hat. Yes, and your bag. That will be all, Edwards. We sha'n't need you."

When they were alone, she turned again to her brother.

"Now, Steve," she said, "sit down and tell me what you mean. Who telegraphed you?"

"Why, old Sylvester, father's lawyer. I've got the message here somewhere. No, never mind! I've lost it, I guess. He wired me to come home as early as possible this morning. Said it was very important. And you didn't know anything about it?"

"No, not a thing. What can it mean?"

"_I_ don't know! That's the bell, isn't it? Edwards!"

But the butler was already on his way to the door. A moment later he returned.

"Mr. Sylvester," he announced.

* * * * *

Captain Elisha scarcely left his room, except for meals, during the remainder of that day and for two days thereafter. He was unusually silent at table and avoided conversation even with Pearson, who was depressed and gloomy and made no attempt to force his society upon his friend. Once, passing the door of the latter's room, he heard the captain pacing back and forth as if he were walking the quarter-deck of one of his old ships. As Pearson stood listening the footsteps ceased; silence, then a deep sigh, and they began again. The young man sighed in sympathy and wearily climbed to his den. The prospect of chimneys and roofs across the way was never more desolate or more pregnant with discouragement.

Several times Captain Elisha descended to the closet where the telephone was fastened to the wall and held long conversations with someone. Mrs. Hepton, who knew that her newest boarder was anxious and disturbed, and was very curious to learn the reason, made it a point to be busy near that closet while these conversations took place; but, as the captain was always careful to close the door, she was disappointed. Once the mysterious Mr. Sylvester called up and asked for "Captain Warren," and the landlady hastened with the summons.

"I hope it's nothing serious," she observed, feelingly.

"Yes, ma'am," replied the captain, on his way to the stairs. "Much obliged."

"It is the same person who was so very anxious to get you the other night," she continued, making desperate efforts not to be left behind in the descent. "I declare he quite frightened me! And--you'll excuse me, Captain Warren, but I take such a real friendly interest in my boarders--you have seemed to me rather--rather upset lately, and I _do_ hope it isn't bad news."

"Well, I tell you, ma'am," was the unsatisfactory answer, given just before the closet door closed; "we'll do the way the poor relation did when he got word his uncle had willed him one of his suits of clothes--we'll hope for the best."

Sylvester had a report to make.

"The other party has been here," he said. "He has just gone."

"The other party? Why--you don't mean--_him_?"

"Yes."

"Was he alone? Nobody along to look after him?"

"He was alone, for a wonder. He had heard the news, too. Apparently had just learned it."

"He had? I want to know! Who told him?"

"He didn't say. He was very much agitated. Wouldn't say anything except to ask if it was true. I think we can guess who told him."

"Maybe. Well, what did you say?"

"Nothing of importance. I refused to discuss my clients' affairs."

"Right you are! How did he take that?"

"He went up like a sky-rocket. Said he had a right to know, under the circumstances. I admitted it, but said I could tell him nothing--yet. He went away frantic, and I called you."

"Um-hm. Well, Mr. Sylvester, suppose you do see him and his boss. See 'em and tell 'em some of the truth. Don't tell too much though; not who was to blame nor how, but just that it looks pretty bad so fur as the estate's concerned. Then say you want to see 'em again and will arrange another interview. Don't set any time and place for that until you hear from me. Understand?"

"I think so, partially. But--"

"Until you hear from me--that's the important part. And, if you can, convenient, I'd have the fust interview right off; this afternoon, if it's possible."

"Captain, what have you got up your sleeve? Why don't you come down here and talk it over?"

"'Cause I'm stickin' close aboard and waitin' developments. Maybe there won't be any, but I'm goin' to wait a spell and see. There ain't much up my sleeve just now but goose-flesh; there's plenty of that. So long."

A development came that evening. Mrs. Hepton heralded it.

"Captain," she said, when he answered her knock, "there's a young gentleman to see you. I think he must be a relative of yours. His name is Warren."

Captain Elisha pulled his beard. "A young _gentleman_?" he repeated.

"Yes. I showed him into the parlor. There will be no one there but you and he, and I thought it would be more comfortable."

"Um-hm. I see. Well, I guess you'd better send him up. This is comfortable enough, and there won't be nobody but him and me here, either--and I'll be more sartin of it."

The landlady, who considered herself snubbed, flounced away. Captain Elisha stepped to the head of the stairs.

"Come right up, Steve!" he called.

Stephen came. His uncle ushered him into the room, closed the door, and turned the key.

"Stevie," he said, kindly, "I'm glad to see you. Take off your things and set down."

The boy accepted the invitation only to the extent of throwing his hat on the table. He did not sit or remove his overcoat. He was pale, his eyes were swollen and red, his hair was disarranged, and in all respects he looked unlike his usual blas and immaculate self. His forehead was wet, showing that he had hurried on his way to the boarding house.

The captain regarded him pityingly.

"Set down, Stevie," he urged. "You're all het up and worn out."

His nephew paid no attention. Instead he asked a question.

"You know about it?" he demanded.

"Yes, Stevie; I know."

"You do? I--I mean about the--the Akrae Company and--and all?"

"Yes. I know all about all of it. Do set down!"

Stephen struck his closed fist into the palm of his other hand. He wore one glove. What had become of the other he could not have told.

"You do?" he shouted. "You do? By gad! Then do you know what it means?"

"Yes, I know that, too. Now, Stevie, be a good boy and set down and keep cool. Yes, I want you to."

He put his hands on his nephew's shoulders and forced him into a chair.

"Now, just calm yourself," urged the captain. "There ain't a mite of use workin' yourself up this way. I know the whole business, and I can't tell you--I can't begin to tell you how sorry I feel for you. Yet you mustn't give up the ship because--"

"Mustn't give up!" Stephen was on his feet again. "Why, what are you talking about? I thought you said you knew! Do you think that losing every cent you've got in the world is a _joke_? Do you think that--See here, do you know who this shareholder is; this fellow who's going to rob us of all we own? Who is he?"

"Didn't Mr. Sylvester tell you?"

"He said that there was such a man and that he had the estate cinched. He told us about that note and all the rest. But he wouldn't tell the man's name. Said he had been forbidden to mention it. Do you know him? What sort of fellow is he? Don't you think he could be reasoned with? Hasn't he got any decency--or pity--or--"

He choked, and the tears rushed to his eyes. He wiped them angrily away with the back of his glove.

"It's a crime!" he cried. "Can't he be held off somehow? Who _is_ he? I want to know his name."

Captain Elisha sadly shook his head. "I'm afraid he can't, Stevie," he said. "He's got a legal right to all 'Bije left, and more, too. It may be he won't be too hard; perhaps he'll ... but there," hastily. "I mustn't say that. We've got to face the situation as 'tis. And I can't tell you his name because he don't want it mentioned unless it's absolutely necessary. And we don't, either. We don't want--any of us--to have this get into the papers. We mustn't have any disgrace."

"Disgrace! Good heavens! Isn't there disgrace enough already? Isn't it enough to know father was a crook as well as an idiot? I've always thought he was insane ever since that crazy will of his came to light; but to steal! and then to leave a paper proving it, so that we've got to lose everything! His children! It's--"

"Now hold on, boy! Your dad didn't mean to take what didn't belong to him--for good, that is; the note proves that. He did do wrong and used another man's money, but--"

"Then why didn't he keep it? If you're going to steal, steal like a man, I say!"

"Steve, Steve! steady now!" The captain's tone was sterner. "Don't speak that way. You'll be sorry for it later. I tell you I don't condemn your father ha'f so much as I pity him."

"Oh, shut up! You make me sick. You talk just as Caro does. I'll never forgive him, no matter how much she preaches, and I told her so. Pity! Pity him! How about pity for _me_? I--I--"

His over-wrought nerves gave way, and, throwing himself into the chair, he broke down completely and, forgetting the manhood of which he was so fond of boasting, cried like a baby. Captain Elisha turned away, to hide his own emotion.

"It's hard," he said slowly. "It's awfully hard for you, my boy. I hate to see you suffer this way." Then, in a lower tone, he added doubtfully. "I wonder if--if--I wonder--"

His nephew heard the word and interrupted.

"You wonder?" he demanded, hysterically; "you wonder what? What are you going to do about it? It's up to you, isn't it? You're our guardian, aren't you?"

"Yes, Stevie, I'm your guardian."

"Yes, you are! But no one would guess it. When we didn't want you, you wouldn't leave us for a minute. Now, when we need you, when there isn't a soul for us to turn to, you stay away. You haven't been near us. It's up to you, I say! and what are you going to do about it? What are you going to _do_?"

His uncle held up his hand.

"S-shh!" he said. "Don't raise your voice like that, son! I can hear you without that, and we don't want anybody else to hear. What am I goin' to do? Stevie, I don't know exactly. I ain't made up my mind yet."

"Well, it's time you did!"

"Yes, I guess likely 'tis. As for my not comin' to see you, you know the reason for that. I'd have come quick enough, but I wa'n't sure I'd be welcome. And I told your sister only 'tother day that--by the way, Steve, how is she? How is Caroline?"

"She's a fool!" The boy sprang up again and shook his fist. "She's the one I've come here to speak about. If we don't stop her she'll ruin us altogether. She--she's a damned fool, I tell you!"

"There! there!" the captain's tone was sharp and emphatic. "That's enough of that," he said. "I don't want to hear you call your sister names. What do you mean by it?"

"I mean what I say. She _is_ a fool. Do you know what she's done? She's written Mal Dunn all about it! I'd have stopped her, but I didn't know until it was too late. She's told him the whole thing."

"She has? About 'Bije?"

"Well, perhaps she didn't tell him father was a thief, but she did tell that the estate was gone--that we were flat broke and worse."

"Hum!" Captain Elisha seemed more gratified than displeased. "Hum!... Well, I kind of expected she would. Knowin' her, I kind of expected it."

"You did?" Stephen glared in wrathful amazement. "You expected it?"

"Yes. What of it?"

"What _of_ it? Why, everything! Can't you see? Mal's our only chance. If she marries him she'll be looked out for and so will I. She needn't have told him until they were married. The wedding could have been hurried along; the Dunns were crazy to have it as soon as possible. Now--"

"Hold on, Steve! Belay! What difference does her tellin' him make? Maybe she hasn't mentioned it to you, but I had a talk with your sister the other mornin'. She thinks the world of Malcolm, and he does of her. She told me so herself. Of _course_ she'd go to him in her trouble. And he'll be proud--yes, and glad to know that he can help her. As for the weddin', I don't see that this'll have any effect except to hurry it up a little more, maybe."

Steve looked at him suspiciously, but there was no trace of sarcasm in the captain's face or voice. The boy scowled.

"Ugh!" he grunted.

"What's the 'ugh' for? See here, you ain't hintin' that young Dunn was cal'latin' to marry Caroline just for her money, are you? Of course you ain't! Why, you and he are the thickest sort of chums. You wouldn't chum with a feller who would play such a trick as that on your own sister."

Stephen's scowl deepened. He thrust his hands into his pocket, and shifted his feet uneasily.

"You don't understand," he said. "People don't do things here as they do where you come from."

"I understand that, all right," with dry emphasis. "I've been here long enough to understand that. But maybe I don't understand _you_. Heave ahead, and make it plain."

"Well--well, then--I mean this: I don't know that Mal was after Caro's money, but--but he had a right to expect _some_. If he didn't, why, then her not telling him until after they were married wouldn't have made any difference. And--and if her tellin' him beforehand _should_ make a difference and he wanted to break the engagement, she's just romantic fool enough to let him."

"Well?"

"_Well?_ If she doesn't marry him, who's going to take care of her? What's going to become of _me_? We haven't a cent. What kind of a guardian are you? Do you want us to starve?"

He was shouting again. The captain was calm. "Oh," he said, "I guess it won't reach to the starvation point. I'm a pretty tough old critter, 'cordin' to your estimate, but I shouldn't let my brother's children starve. If the wust comes to the wust, there's always a home and plenty to eat for you both at South Denboro."

This offer did not appear to comfort the young gentleman greatly. His disgust was evident.

"South Denboro!" he repeated, scornfully. "Gad!... South Denboro!"

"Yup. But we'll let South Denboro alone for now and stick to New York. What is it you expect me to do? What are you drivin' at?"

Stephen shook a forefinger in his guardian's face.

"I expect you to make her stick to her engagement," he cried. "And make her make him stick. She can, can't she? It's been announced, hasn't it? Everybody knows of it! She's got the right--the legal right to hold him, hasn't she?"

His uncle regarded him with a quizzical smile. "Why, ye-es," he answered, "I cal'late she has, maybe. Course, there's no danger of his wantin' to do such a thing, but if he should I presume likely we could make it uncomfortable for him, anyhow. What are you hankerin' for, Steve--a breach-of-promise suit? I've always understood those sort of cases were kind of unpleasant--for everybody but the newspapers."

The boy was in deadly earnest. "Pleasant!" he repeated. "Is any of this business pleasant? You make her act like a sensible girl! You're her guardian, and you make her! And, after that, if he tries to hedge, you tell him a few things. You can hold him! Do it! _Do_ it!"

Captain Elisha turned on his heel and began pacing up and down the room. His nephew watched him eagerly.

"Well," he demanded, after a moment, "what are we going to do? Are we going to make him make good?"

The captain paused. "Steve," he answered, deliberately, "I ain't sure as we are. And, as I've said, if he's got a spark of decency, it won't be necessary for us to try. If it should be--if it should be--"

"Well, _if_ it should be?"

"Then we can try, that's all. Maybe you run a course a little different from me, Stevie; you navigate 'cordin' to your ideas, and I do by mine. But in some ways we ain't so fur apart. Son," with a grim nod, "you rest easy on one thing--the Corcoran Dunn fleet is goin' to show its colors."

CHAPTER XIX

Caroline sat by the library window, her chin in her hand, drearily watching the sleet as it beat against the panes, and the tops of the Park trees lashing in the wind. Below, in the street, the trolleys passed in their never-ending procession, the limousines and cabs whizzed forlornly by, and the few pedestrians pushed dripping umbrellas against the gale. A wet, depressing afternoon, as hopeless as her thoughts, and growing darker and more miserable hourly.

Stephen, standing by the fire, kicked the logs together and sent a shower of sparks flying.

"Oh, say something, Caro, do!" he snapped testily. "Don't sit there glowering; you give me the horrors."

She roused from her reverie, turned, and tried to smile.

"What shall I say?" she asked.

"I don't know. But say something, for heaven's sake! Talk about the weather, if you can't think of anything more original."

"The weather isn't a very bright subject just now."

"I didn't say it was; but it's _a_ subject. I hope to goodness it doesn't prevent Sylvester's keeping his appointment. He's late, as it is."

"Is he?" wearily. "I hadn't noticed."

"Of course you hadn't. You don't notice anything. It doesn't help matters to pull a long face and go moping around wiping your eyes. You've got to use philosophy in times like this. It's just as hard for me as it is for you; and I try to make the best of it, don't I?"

She might have reminded him that his philosophy was a very recent acquisition. When the news of their poverty first came he was the one who raved and sobbed and refused to contemplate anything less direful than slow starvation or quick suicide. She had soothed and comforted then. Since the previous evening, when he had gone out, in spite of her protestations, and left her alone, his manner had changed. He was still nervous and irritable, but no longer threatened self-destruction, and seemed, for some unexplained reason, more hopeful and less desperate. Sylvester had 'phoned, saying that he would call at the apartment at two, and since Stephen had received the message he had been in a state of suppressed excitement, scarcely keeping still for five minutes at a time.

"It is just as hard for me as it is for you, isn't it?" he repeated.

"Yes, Steve, I suppose it is."

"You suppose? Don't you know? Oh, do quit thinking about Mal Dunn and pay attention to me."

She did not answer. He regarded her with disgust.

"You are thinking of Mal, of course," he declared. "What's the use? You know what _I_ think: you were a fool to write him that letter."

"Don't, Steve; please don't."

"Ugh!"

"Don't you know he didn't get the letter? I was so nervous and over-wrought that I misdirected it."

"Pooh! Has he ever stayed away from you so long before? Or his precious mother, either? Why doesn't she come to see you? She scarcely missed a day before this happened. Nonsense! I guess he got it all right."

"Steve, stop! stop! Don't dare speak like that. Do you realize what you are insinuating? You don't believe it! You know you don't! Shame on you! I'm ashamed of my brother! No! not another word of that kind, or I shall leave the room."

She had risen to her feet. He looked at her determined face and turned away.