Bobby Rigby and Graydon Bansemer were bosom friends in Chicago;they had been classmates at Yale. It had been a question of moneywith Bobby from the beginning. According to his own admission, hismoney was a source of great annoyance to him. He was not out ofdebt but once, and then, before he fully realised it. So unusualwas the condition, that he could not sleep; the first thing he didin the morning was to borrow right and left for fear another attackof insomnia might interfere with his training for the footballeleven.
Robertson Ray Rigby, immortalised as Bobby, had gone in for athletics,where he learned to think and act quickly. He was called one of thelightest, but headiest quarterbacks in the East. No gridiron idolever escaped his "Jimmy," or "Toppy," or "Pop," or "Johnny." Whenfinally, he hung out his shingle in Chicago: "Robertson R. Rigby,Attorney-at-Law," he lost his identity even among his classmates.It was weeks before the fact became generally known that it wasBobby who waited for clients behind the deceptive shingle.
The indulgent aunt who had supplied him with funds in collegewas rich in business blocks and apartment buildings; and now, Mr.Robertson R. Rigby was her man of affairs. When he went in forbusiness, the old push of the football field did not desert him.He was very much alive and very vigorous, and it did not take himlong to "learn the signals."
With his aunt's unfaltering prosperity, his own ready wit and unbridledversatility, he was not long in establishing himself safely in hisprofession and in society. Everybody liked him, though no one tookhim seriously except when they came to transact business with him.Then, the wittiness of the drawing-room turned into shrewdness asit crossed the office threshold.
The day after the Cable dinner, Bobby yawned and stretched throughhis morning mail. He had slept but little the night before, andall on account of a certain, or rather, uncertain Miss Clegg. Thatpetite and aggravating young woman had been especially exasperatingat the Cable dinner. Mr. Rigby, superbly confident of his standingwith her, encountered difficulties which put him very much outof temper. For the first time, there was an apparent rift in herconstancy; never before had she shown such signs of fluctuating.He could not understand it--in fact, he dared not understand it."She was a most annoying young person," said Mr. Rigby to himselfwrathfully, more than once after he went to bed that night. Anyhow,he could not see what there was about Howard Medford for any girlto countenance, much less to admire. Mr. Medford certainly had ruinedthe Cable dinner-party for Mr. Rigby, and he was full of resentment.
"Miss Keating!" called Mr. Rigby for the third time; "may I interruptyour conversation with Mr. Deever long enough to ask a questionthat has been on my mind for twenty minutes?"
Mr. Deever was the raw, young gentleman who read law in the officeof Judge Smith, next door. Bobby maintained that if he read law atall, it was at night, for he wap too busy with other occupationsduring the day.
Miss Keating, startled, turned roundabout promptly.
"Yes, sir," at last, came from the pert, young woman near thewindow.
"I guess I'll be going," said Mr. Deever resentfully, rising slowlyfrom the side of her desk on which he had been lounging.
"Wait a minute, Eddie," protested Miss Keating; "what's your hurry?"and then, she almost snapped out: "What is it, Mr. Rigby?"
"I merely wanted to ask if you have sufficient time to let medictate a few, short letters that ought to go out to-day," saidBobby, sarcastically; and then added with mock apology: "Don't move,Mr. Deever; if you're not in Miss Keating's way, you're certainlynot in mine."
"A great josher!" that young woman was heard to comment, admiringly.
"You may wake up some morning to find that I'm not," said Bobby,soberly. Whereupon, Miss Keating rose and strode to the other endof the room and took her place beside Bobby's desk.
Bobby dictated half a dozen inconsequential letters before comingto the one which troubled him most. For many minutes he staredreflectively at the typewritten message from New York. Miss Keatingfrowned severely and tapped her little foot somewhat impatiently onthe floor; but Bobby would not be hurried. His reflections were tooserious. This letter from New York had come with a force sufficientto drive out even the indignant thoughts concerning one Miss Clegg.For the life of him, Bobby Rigby could not immediately frame areply to the startling missive. Eddie Deever stirred restlessly onthe window ledge.
"Don't hurry, Eddie!" called Miss Keating, distinctly and insinuatingly.
"Oh, I guess I'll be going!" he called back, beginning to rolla cigarette. "I have some reading to do to-day." Mr. Deever wastall, awkward and homely, and a lot of other things that would havediscouraged a less self-satisfied "lady's man." Judge Smith saidhe was hopeless, but that he might do better after he was twenty-one.
"What are you reading now, Eddie?" asked Miss Keating, complacentlyeyeing Mr. Rigby. "Raffles?"
"Law, you idiot!" said Eddie, scornfully, going out of the door.
"Oh! Well, the law is never in a hurry, don't you know? It's likejustice--the slowest thing in town!" she called after him as hisfootsteps died away.
"Ready?" said Bobby, resolutely. "Take this, please; and slowlyand carefully he proceeded to dictate:
"MR. DENIS HARBERT, "NEW YORK,
"DEAR DENIS: I cannot tell you how much your letter surprised me.What you say seems preposterous. There must be a mistake. It cannotbe this man. I know him quite well, and seems as straight as astring and a gentleman, too. His son, you know as well as I. Thereisn't a better fellow in the world! Mr. B. has a fairly good businesshere; his transactions open and aboveboard. I'm sure I have neverheard a word said against him or his methods. You are mistaken,that's all there is about it.
"You might investigate a little further and, assuring yourself, doall in your power to check such stories as you relate. Of course,I'll do as you suggest; but I'm positive I can find nothingdiscreditable in his dealings here.
"Keep me posted on everything.
"As ever, yours,"
Miss Keating's anxiety was aroused. After a very long silence, shetook the reins into her own hands. "Is Mr. Briggs in trouble?" sheasked at a venture. Mr. Briggs was the only client she could thinkof, whose name began with a B.
"Briggs? What Briggs?" asked Bobby, relighting his pipe for thefourth time.
"Why, our Mr. Briggs," answered Miss Keating, curtly.
"I'm sure I don't know, Miss Keating. Has he been around lately?"
"I thought you were referring to him in that letter," she saidsuccinctly.
"Oh, dear me, no. Another party altogether, Miss Keating. Isn'tthe typewriter in working order this morning?" he asked, eyeing hermachine innocently. She miffed and started to reply, but thoughtbetter of it. Then she began pounding the keys briskly.
"It works like a charm," she shot back, genially.
The letter that caused Bobby such perturbation came in the morningmail. His friend had laid bare some of the old stories concerningJames Bansemer, and cautioned him not to become involved intransactions with the former New Yorker. Harbert's statements werepositive in character, and he seemed to know his case thoroughlywell. While the charges as they came to Rigby were general, Harberthad said that he was quite ready to be specific.
All day long, the letter hung like a cloud over young Mr. Rigby.He was to have lunched with Graydon, and was much relieved whenyoung Bansemer telephoned that he could not join him. Rigby foundhimself in a very uncomfortable position. If the stories fromNew York were true, even though he knew none of the inside facts,Graydon's father was pretty much of a scalawag, to say the least.He was not well acquainted with the lawyer, but he now recalledthat he never had liked the man. Bansemer had impressed him from thebeginning as heartless, designing, utterly unlike his clean-heartedson.
Bobby loved Graydon Bansemer in the way that one man loves a truefriend. He was certain that the son knew nothing of those shadytransactions--if they really existed as Harbert painted them--butan exposure of the father would be a blow from which he could notrecover.
It came at last to Rigby that he was n
ot the only one in Chicagowho held the secret. Other members of the bar had been warned longbefore the news came to him, and it was morally certain that if thefacts were as bad as intimated, the police also were in possessionof them.
At the same time, Rigby felt a certain moral responsibility involvinghimself. Bansemer, at any time, might apply his methods to peoplewho were near and dear to him. The new intimacy with the Cables cameto Bobby's mind. And then, there were Clegg, Groll, the Semesonsand others who might easily fall into the snare if James Bansemerset it for them.
Appreciating his responsibility in the matter, now that he wasprepared to hear the worst of James Bansemer, Rigby's heart stoodalmost still. It meant that some day he might have to expose GraydonBansemer's father; it meant that he might have to cruelly hurt hisfriend; it meant that he might lose a friendship that had been oneof his best treasures since the good, old college days. The merefact that he would be compelled to watch and mistrust James Bansemerseemed like darkest treachery to Graydon, even though the son shouldnot become aware of the situation. Later, in the afternoon, Bobbywent, guiltily, into a telegraph office and sent away a carefullyworded dispatch. The answer came to him at the club, that evening,while he played billiards with young Bansemer, who, even then waseager to be off to keep the promised appointment with pretty MissCable.
The telegram which he opened while Graydon impatiently chalked hiscue and waited for him to play was brief and convincing. It read:
"Watch him, by all means. He is not safe, my word for it. There isno mistake."
CHAPTER IX
THE PROPOSAL
Jane Cable Page 8