by Bret Harte
CHAPTER II.
When George Barker returned to the outer ward of the financialstronghold he had penetrated, with its curving sweep of counters, brassrailings, and wirework screens defended by the spruce clerks behindthem, he was again impressed with the position of the man he had justquitted, and for a moment hesitated, with an inclination to go back.It was with no idea of making a further appeal to his old comrade,but--what would have been odd in any other nature but his--he wasaffected by a sense that HE might have been unfair and selfish in hismanner to the man panoplied by these defenses, and who was in a measureforced to be a part of them. He would like to have returned and condoledwith him. The clerks, who were heartlessly familiar with the anxiousbearing of the men who sought interviews with their chief, both beforeand after, smiled with the whispered conviction that the fresh andingenuous young stranger had been "chucked" like others until theymet his kindly, tolerant, and even superior eyes, and were puzzled.Meanwhile Barker, who had that sublime, natural quality of abstractionover small impertinences which is more exasperating than studiedindifference, after his brief hesitation passed out unconcernedlythrough the swinging mahogany doors into the blowy street. Here the windand rain revived him; the bank and its curt refusal were forgotten; hewalked onward with only a smiling memory of his partner as in the olddays. He remembered how Stacy had burned down their old cabin ratherthan have it fall into sordid or unworthy hands--this Stacy who was nowcondemned to sink his impulses and become a mere machine. He had neverknown Stacy's real motive for that act,--both Demorest and Stacyhad kept their knowledge of the attempted robbery from their youngerpartner,--it always seemed to him to be a precious revelation of Stacy'sinner nature. Facing the wind and rain, he recalled how Stacy, thoughnever so enthusiastic about his marriage as Demorest, had taken up VanLoo sharply for some foolish sneer about his own youthfulness. He wasaffectionately tolerant of even Stacy's dislike to his wife's relations,for Stacy did not know them as he did. Indeed, Barker, whose own fatherand mother had died in his infancy, had accepted his wife's relationswith a loving trust and confidence that was supreme, from the fact thathe had never known any other.
At last he reached his hotel. It was a new one, the latest creation of afeverish progress in hotel-building which had covered five years and asmany squares with large showy erections, utterly beyond the needs of thecommunity, yet each superior in size and adornment to its predecessor.It struck him as being the one evidence of an abiding faith in thefuture of the metropolis that he had seen in nothing else. As he enteredits frescoed hall that afternoon he was suddenly reminded, by itschallenging opulency, of the bank he had just quitted, without knowingthat the bank had really furnished its capital and its original design.The gilded bar-rooms, flashing with mirrors and cut glass; the saloons,with their desert expanse of Turkey carpet and oasis of clustered divansand gilded tables; the great dining-room, with porphyry columns, andwalls and ceilings shining with allegory--all these things which hadattracted his youthful wonder without distracting his correct simplicityof taste he now began to comprehend. It was the bank's money "at work."In the clatter of dishes in the dining-room he even seemed to hear againthe chinking of coin.
It was a short cut to his apartments to pass through a smaller publicsitting-room popularly known as "Flirtation Camp," where eight or tencouples generally found refuge on chairs and settees by the windows,half concealed by heavy curtains. But the occupants were by no meansyouthful spinsters or bachelors; they were generally married women,guests of the hotel, receiving other people's husbands whose wives were"in the States," or responsible middle-aged leaders of the town. Inthe elaborate toilettes of the women, as compared with the less formalbusiness suits of the men, there was an odd mingling of the socialattitude with perhaps more mysterious confidences. The idle gossip aboutthem had never affected Barker; rather he had that innate respect forthe secrets of others which is as inseparable from simplicity as it isfrom high breeding, and he scarcely glanced at the different couples inhis progress through the room. He did not even notice a rather strikingand handsome woman, who, surrounded by two or three admirers, yet lookedup at Barker as he passed with self-conscious lids as if seeking areturn of her glance. But he moved on abstractedly, and only stoppedwhen he suddenly saw the familiar skirt of his wife at a further window,and halted before it.
"Oh, it's YOU," said Mrs. Barker, with a half-nervous, half-impatientlaugh. "Why, I thought you'd certainly stay half the afternoon with yourold partner, considering that you haven't met for three years."
There was no doubt she HAD thought so; there was equally no doubt thatthe conversation she was carrying on with her companion--a good-looking,portly business man--was effectually interrupted. But Barker did notnotice it. "Captain Heath, my husband," she went on, carelessly risingand smoothing her skirts. The captain, who had risen too, bowed vaguelyat the introduction, but Barker extended his hand frankly. "I foundStacy busy," he said in answer to his wife, "but he is coming to dinewith us to-night."
"If you mean Jim Stacy, the banker," said Captain Heath, brighteninginto greater ease, "he's the busiest man in California. I've seenmen standing in a queue outside his door as in the old days at thepost-office. And he only gives you five minutes and no extension. Soyou and he were partners once?" he said, looking curiously at the stillyouthful Barker.
But it was Mrs. Barker who answered, "Oh yes! and always such goodfriends. I was awfully jealous of him." Nevertheless, she did notrespond to the affectionate protest in Barker's eyes nor to the laugh ofCaptain Heath, but glanced indifferently around the room as if toleave further conversation to the two men. It was possible that she wasbeginning to feel that Captain Heath was as de trop now as her husbandhad been a moment before. Standing there, however, between them both,idly tracing a pattern on the carpet with the toe of her slipper, shelooked prettier than she had ever looked as Kitty Carter. Her slightfigure was more fully developed. That artificial severity coveringa natural virgin coyness with which she used to wait at table in herfather's hotel at Boomville had gone, and was replaced by a satisfiedconsciousness of her power to please. Her glance was freer, but notas frank as in those days. Her dress was undoubtedly richer and morestylish; yet Barker's loyal heart often reverted fondly to the chintzgown, coquettishly frilled apron, and spotless cuffs and collar in whichshe had handed him his coffee with a faint color that left his own facecrimson.
Captain Heath's tact being equal to her indifference, he had excusedhimself, although he was becoming interested in this youthful husband.But Mrs. Barker, after having asserted her husband's distinction asthe equal friend of the millionaire, was by no means willing that thecaptain should be further interested in Barker for himself alone, anddid not urge him to stay. As he departed she turned to her husband, and,indicating the group he had passed the moment before, said:--
"That horrid woman has been staring at us all the time. I don't see whatyou see in her to admire."
Poor Barker's admiration had been limited to a few words of civility inthe enforced contact of that huge caravansary and in his quiet, youthfulrecognition of her striking personality. But he was just then toopreoccupied with his interview with Stacy to reply, and perhaps he didnot quite understand his wife. It was odd how many things he did notquite understand now about Kitty, but that he knew must be HIS fault.But Mrs. Barker apparently did not require, after the fashion of hersex, a reply. For the next moment, as they moved towards their rooms,she said impatiently, "Well, you don't tell what Stacy said. Did you getthe money?"
I grieve to say that this soul of truth and frankness lied--only to hiswife. Perhaps he considered it only lying to HIMSELF, a thing of whichhe was at times miserably conscious. "It wasn't necessary, dear," hesaid; "he advised me to sell my securities in the bank; and if you onlyknew how dreadfully busy he is."
Mrs. Barker curled her pretty lip. "It doesn't take very long to lendten thousand dollars!" she said. "But that's what I always tell you.You have about made me sick by singing the praises of those wond
erfulpartners of yours, and here you ask a favor of one of them and he tellsyou to sell your securities! And you know, and he knows, they're worthnext to nothing."
"You don't understand, dear"--began Barker.
"I understand that you've given your word to poor Harry," saidMrs. Barker in pretty indignation, "who's responsible for the Ditchpurchase."
"And I shall keep it. I always do," said Barker very quietly, but withthat same singular expression of face that had puzzled Stacy. ButMrs. Barker, who, perhaps, knew her husband better, said in an alteredvoice:--
"But HOW can you, dear?"
"If I'm short a thousand or two I'll ask your father."
Mrs. Barker was silent. "Father's so very much harried now, George. Whydon't you simply throw the whole thing up?"
"But I've given my word to your cousin Henry."
"Yes, but only your WORD. There was no written agreement. And youcouldn't even hold him to it."
Barker opened his frank eyes in astonishment. Her own cousin, too! Andthey were Stacy's very words!
"Besides," added Mrs. Barker audaciously, "he could get rid of itelsewhere. He had another offer, but he thought yours the best. So don'tbe silly."
By this time they had reached their rooms. Barker, apparently dismissingthe subject from his mind with characteristic buoyancy, turned into thebedroom and walked smilingly towards a small crib which stood in thecorner. "Why, he's gone!" he said in some dismay.
"Well," said Mrs. Barker a little impatiently, "you didn't expect me totake him into the public parlor, where I was seeing visitors, did you?I sent him out with the nurse into the lower hall to play with the otherchildren."
A shade momentarily passed over Barker's face. He always looked forwardto meeting the child when he came back. He had a belief, based on nogrounds whatever, that the little creature understood him. And he had afather's doubt of the wholesomeness of other people's children whowere born into the world indiscriminately and not under the exceptionalconditions of his own. "I'll go and fetch him," he said.
"You haven't told me anything about your interview; what you did andwhat your good friend Stacy said," said Mrs. Barker, dropping languidlyinto a chair. "And really if you are simply running away again afterthat child, I might just as well have asked Captain Heath to staylonger."
"Oh, as to Stacy," said Barker, dropping beside her and taking her hand;"well, dear, he was awfully busy, you know, and shut up in the innermostoffice like the agate in one of the Japanese nests of boxes. But," hecontinued, brightening up, "just the same dear old Jim Stacy of HeavyTree Hill, when I first knew you. Lord! dear, how it all came back tome! That day I proposed to you in the belief that I was unexpectedlyrich and even bought a claim for the boys on the strength of it, and howI came back to them to find that they had made a big strike on the veryclaim. Lord! I remember how I was so afraid to tell them about you--andhow they guessed it--that dear old Stacy one of the first."
"Yes," said Mrs. Barker, "and I hope your friend Stacy remembered thatbut for ME, when you found out that you were not rich, you'd have givenup the claim, but that I really deceived my own father to make you keepit. I've often worried over that, George," she said pensively, turninga diamond bracelet around her pretty wrist, "although I never saidanything about it."
"But, Kitty darling," said Barker, grasping his wife's hand, "I gave mynote for it; you know you said that was bargain enough, and I had betterwait until the note was due, and until I found I couldn't pay, before Igave up the claim. It was very clever of you, and the boys all said so,too. But you never deceived your father, dear," he said, looking at hergravely, "for I should have told him everything."
"Of course, if you look at it in that way," said his wife languidly,"it's nothing; only I think it ought to be remembered when people goabout saying papa ruined you with his hotel schemes."
"Who dares say that?" said Barker indignantly.
"Well, if they don't SAY it they look it," said Mrs. Barker, with atoss of her pretty head, "and I believe that's at the bottom of Stacy'srefusal."
"But he never said a word, Kitty," said Barker, flushing.
"There, don't excite yourself, George," said Mrs. Barker resignedly,"but go for the baby. I know you're dying to go, and I suppose it's timeNorah brought it upstairs."
At any other time Barker would have lingered with explanations, but justthen a deeper sense than usual of some misunderstanding made him anxiousto shorten this domestic colloquy. He rose, pressed his wife's hand, andwent out. But yet he was not entirely satisfied with himself for leavingher. "I suppose it isn't right my going off as soon as I come in," hemurmured reproachfully to himself, "but I think she wants the baby backas much as I; only, womanlike, she didn't care to let me know it."
He reached the lower hall, which he knew was a favorite promenade forthe nurses who were gathered at the farther end, where a large windowlooked upon Montgomery Street. But Norah, the Irish nurse, was not amongthem; he passed through several corridors in his search, but in vain.At last, worried and a little anxious, he turned to regain his roomsthrough the long saloon where he had found his wife previously. Itwas deserted now; the last caller had left--even frivolity had itsprescribed limits. He was consequently startled by a gentle murmurfrom one of the heavily curtained window recesses. It was a woman'svoice--low, sweet, caressing, and filled with an almost pathetictenderness. And it was followed by a distinct gurgling satisfied crow.
Barker turned instantly in that direction. A step brought him to thecurtain, where a singular spectacle presented itself.
Seated on a lounge, completely absorbed and possessed by her treasure,was the "horrid woman" whom his wife had indicated only a little whileago, holding a baby--Kitty's sacred baby--in her wanton lap! The childwas feebly grasping the end of the slender jeweled necklace which thewoman held temptingly dangling from a thin white jeweled finger aboveit. But its eyes were beaming with an intense delight, as if trying torespond to the deep, concentrated love in the handsome face that wasbent above it.
At the sudden intrusion of Barker she looked up. There was a faint risein her color, but no loss of sell-possession.
"Please don't scold the nurse," she said, "nor say anything to Mrs.Barker. It is all my fault. I thought that both the nurse and childlooked dreadfully bored with each other, and I borrowed the littlefellow for a while to try and amuse him. At least I haven't madehim cry, have I, dear?" The last epithet, it is needless to say,was addressed to the little creature in her lap, but in its tendermodulation it touched the father's quick sympathies as if he had sharedit with the child. "You see," she said softly, disengaging the babyfingers from her necklace, "that OUR sex is not the only one tempted byjewelry and glitter."
Barker hesitated; the Madonna-like devotion of a moment ago was gone;it was only the woman of the world who laughingly looked up at him.Nevertheless he was touched. "Have you--ever--had a child, Mrs.Horncastle?" he asked gently and hesitatingly. He had a vaguerecollection that she passed for a widow, and in his simple eyes allwomen were virgins or married saints.
"No," she said abruptly. Then she added with a laugh, "Or perhapsI should not admire them so much. I suppose it's the same feelingbachelors have for other people's wives. But I know you're dying totake that boy from me. Take him, then, and don't be ashamed to carry himyourself just because I'm here; you know you would delight to do it if Iweren't."
Barker bent over the silken lap in which the child was comfortablynestling, and in that attitude had a faint consciousness that Mrs.Horncastle was mischievously breathing into his curls a silent laugh.Barker lifted his firstborn with proud skillfulness, but that sagaciousinfant evidently knew when he was comfortable, and in a paroxysm ofobjection caught his father's curls with one fist, while with the otherhe grasped Mrs. Horncastle's brown braids and brought their heads intocontact. Upon which humorous situation Norah, the nurse, entered.
"It's all right, Norah," said Mrs. Horncastle, laughing, as shedisengaged herself from the linking child. "Mr. Barker has clai
medthe baby, and has agreed to forgive you and me and say nothing to Mrs.Barker." Norah, with the inscrutable criticism of her sex on her sex,thought it extremely probable, and halted with exasperating discretion."There," continued Mrs. Horncastle, playfully evading the child'sfurther advances, "go with papa, that's a dear. Mr. Barker prefers tocarry him back, Norah."
"But," said the ingenuous and persistent Barker, still lingeringin hopes of recalling the woman's previous expression, "you DO lovechildren, and you think him a bright little chap for his age?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Horncastle, putting back her loosened braid, "so roundand fat and soft. And such a discriminating eye for jewelry. Really youought to get a necklace like mine for Mrs. Barker--it would please both,you know." She moved slowly away, the united efforts of Norah and Barkerscarcely sufficing to restrain the struggling child from leaping afterher as she turned at the door and blew him a kiss.
When Barker regained his room he found that Mrs. Barker had dismissedStacy from her mind except so far as to invoke Norah's aid in layingout her smartest gown for dinner. "But why take all this trouble, dear?"said her simple-minded husband; "we are going to dine in a private roomso that we can talk over old times all by ourselves, and any dress wouldsuit him. And, Lord, dear!" he added, with a quick brightening at thefancy, "if you could only just rig yourself up in that pretty lilac gownyou used to wear at Boomville--it would be too killing, and just likeold times. I put it away myself in one of our trunks--I couldn't bearto leave it behind; I know just where it is. I'll"--But Mrs. Barker'srestraining scorn withheld him.
"George Barker, if you think I am going to let you throw away andutterly WASTE Mr. Stacy on us, alone, in a private room with closeddoors--and I dare say you'd like to sit in your dressing-gown andslippers--you are entirely mistaken. I know what is due, not to your oldpartner, but to the great Mr. Stacy, the financier, and I know what isdue FROM HIM TO US! No! We dine in the great dining-room, publicly, and,if possible, at the very next table to those stuck-up Peterburys andtheir Eastern friends, including that horrid woman, which, I'm sure,ought to satisfy you. Then you can talk as much as you like, and asloud as you like, about old times,--and the louder and the more thebetter,--but I don't think HE'LL like it."
"But the baby!" expostulated Barker. "Stacy's just wild to see him--andwe can't bring him down to the table--though we MIGHT," he added,momentarily brightening.
"After dinner," said Mrs. Barker severely, "we will walk through the bigdrawing-rooms, and THEN Mr. Stacy may come upstairs and see him in hiscrib; but not before. And now, George, I do wish that to-night, FORONCE, you would not wear a turn-down collar, and that you would go tothe barber's and have him cut your hair and smooth out the curls. And,for Heaven's sake! let him put some wax or gum or SOMETHING on yourmustache and twist it up on your cheek like Captain Heath's, for itpositively droops over your mouth like a girl's ringlet. It's quiteenough for me to hear people talk of your inexperience, but really Idon't want you to look as if I had run away with a pretty schoolboy.And, considering the size of that child, it's positively disgraceful.And, one thing more, George. When I'm talking to anybody, please don'tsit opposite to me, beaming with delight, and your mouth open. And don'troar if by chance I say something funny. And--whatever you do--don'tmake eyes at me in company whenever I happen to allude to you, as I didbefore Captain Heath. It is positively too ridiculous."
Nothing could exceed the laughing good humor with which her husbandreceived these cautions, nor the evident sincerity with which hepromised amendment. Equally sincere was he, though a little morethoughtful, in his severe self-examination of his deficiencies, when,later, he seated himself at the window with one hand softly encompassinghis child's chubby fist in the crib beside him, and, in the instinctivefashion of all loneliness, looked out of the window. The southerntrades were whipping the waves of the distant bay and harbor into yeastycrests. Sheets of rain swept the sidewalks with the regularity of afusillade, against which a few pedestrians struggled with flappingwaterproofs and slanting umbrellas. He could look along the desertedlength of Montgomery Street to the heights of Telegraph Hill and itslong-disused semaphore. It seemed lonelier to him than the mile-longsweep of Heavy Tree Hill, writhing against the mountain wind andits aeolian song. He had never felt so lonely THERE. In his rigidself-examination he thought Kitty right in protesting against theeffect of his youthfulness and optimism. Yet he was also right in beinghimself. There is an egoism in the highest simplicity; and Barker, whilewilling to believe in others' methods, never abandoned his own aims.He was right in loving Kitty as he did; he knew that she was better andmore lovable than she could believe herself to be; but he was willing tobelieve it pained and discomposed her if he showed it before company.He would not have her change even this peculiarity--it was part ofherself--no more than he would have changed himself. And behind what hehad conceived was her clear, practical common sense, all this time hadbeen her belief that she had deceived her father! Poor dear, dear Kitty!And she had suffered because stupid people had conceived that her fatherhad led him away in selfish speculations. As if he--Barker--wouldnot have first discovered it, and as if anybody--even dear Kittyherself--was responsible for HIS convictions and actions but himself.Nevertheless, this gentle egotist was unusually serious, and when thechild awoke at last, and with a fretful start and vacant eyes pushed hiscaressing hand away, he felt lonelier than before. It was with a slightsense of humiliation, too, that he saw it stretch its hands to the merehireling, Norah, who had never given it the love that he had seen evenin the frivolous Mrs. Horncastle's eyes. Later, when his wife came in,looking very pretty in her elaborate dinner toilette, he had the sameconflicting emotions. He knew that they had already passed that phaseof their married life when she no longer dressed to please him, andthat the dictates of fashion or the rivalry of another woman she heldsuperior to his tastes; yet he did not blame her. But he was a littlesurprised to see that her dress was copied from one of Mrs. Horncastle'smost striking ones, and that it did not suit her. That which adornedthe maturer woman did not agree with the demure and slightly austereprettiness of the young wife.
But Barker forgot all this when Stacy--reserved and somewhatsevere-looking in evening dress--arrived with business punctuality. Hefancied that his old partner received the announcement that they woulddine in the public room with something of surprise, and he saw himglance keenly at Kitty in her fine array, as if he had suspected it washer choice, and understood her motives. Indeed, the young husband hadfound himself somewhat nervous in regard to Stacy's estimate of Kitty;he was conscious that she was not looking and acting like the old Kittythat Stacy had known; it did not enter his honest heart that Stacy had,perhaps, not appreciated her then, and that her present quality mightaccord more with his worldly tastes and experience. It was, therefore,with a kind of timid delight that he saw Stacy apparently enter into hermood, and with a still more timorous amusement to notice that heseemed to sympathize not only with her, but with her half-rallying,half-serious attitude towards his (Barker's) inexperience andsimplicity. He was glad that she had made a friend of Stacy, even inthis way. Stacy would understand, as he did, her pretty willfulness atlast; she would understand what a true friend Stacy was to him. It waswith unfeigned satisfaction that he followed them in to dinner as sheleaned upon his guest's arm, chatting confidentially. He was only uneasybecause her manner had a slight ostentation.
The entrance of the little party produced a quick sensation throughoutthe dining-room. Whispers passed from table to table; all heads wereturned towards the great financier as towards a magnet; a few guestseven shamelessly faced round in their chairs as he passed. Mrs. Barkerwas pink, pretty, and voluble with excitement; Stacy had a slight maskof reserve; Barker was the only one natural and unconscious.
As the dinner progressed Barker found that there was little chance forhim to invoke his old partner's memories of the past. He found, however,that Stacy had received a letter from Demorest, and that he was cominghome from Europe. His letters were still sad;
they both agreed uponthat. And then for the first time that day Stacy looked intently atBarker with the look that he had often worn on Heavy Tree Hill.
"Then you think it is the same old trouble that worries him?" saidBarker in an awed and sympathetic voice.
"I believe it is," said Stacy, with an equal feeling. Mrs. Barkerpricked up her pretty ears; her husband's ready sympathy was familiarenough; but that this cold, practical Stacy should be moved at anythingpiqued her curiosity.
"And you believe that he has never got over it?" continued Barker.
"He had one chance, but he threw it away," said Stacy energetically."If, instead of going off to Europe by himself to brood over it, he hadjoined me in business, he'd have been another man."
"But not Demorest," said Barker quickly.
"What dreadful secret is this about Demorest?" said Mrs. Barkerpetulantly. "Is he ill?"
Both men were silent by their old common instinct. But it was Stacywho said "No" in a way that put any further questioning at an end, andBarker was grateful and for the moment disloyal to his Kitty.
It was with delight that Mrs. Barker had seen that the attention ofthe next table was directed to them, and that even Mrs. Horncastle hadglanced from time to time at Stacy. But she was not prepared for theevident equal effect that Mrs. Horncastle had created upon Stacy. Hiscold face warmed, his critical eye softened; he asked her name. Mrs.Barker was voluble, prejudiced, and, it seemed, misinformed.
"I know it all," said Stacy, with didactic emphasis. "Her husband was asbad as they make them. When her life had become intolerable WITH HIM, hetried to make it shameful WITHOUT HIM by abandoning her. She could get adivorce a dozen times over, but she won't."
"I suppose that's what makes her so very attractive to gentlemen," saidMrs. Barker ironically.
"I have never seen her before," continued Stacy, with businessprecision, "although I and two other men are guardians of her property,and have saved it from the clutches of her husband. They told me she washandsome--and so she is."
Pleased with the sudden human weakness of Stacy, Barker glanced at hiswife for sympathy. But she was looking studiously another way, and theyoung husband's eyes, still full of his gratification, fell uponMrs. Horncastle's. She looked away with a bright color. Whereuponthe sanguine Barker--perfectly convinced that she returned Stacy'sadmiration--was seized with one of his old boyish dreams of the future,and saw Stacy happily united to her, and was only recalled to the dinnerbefore him by its end. Then Stacy duly promenaded the great saloon withMrs. Barker on his arm, visited the baby in her apartments, and took aneasy leave. But he grasped Barker's hand before parting in quite his oldfashion, and said, "Come to lunch with me at the bank any day, and we'lltalk of Phil Demorest," and left Barker as happy as if the appointmentwere to confer the favor he had that morning refused. But Mrs. Barker,who had overheard, was more dubious.
"You don't suppose he asks you to talk with you about Demorest and hisstupid secret, do you?" she said scornfully.
"Perhaps not only about that," said Barker, glad that she had notdemanded the secret.
"Well," returned Mrs. Barker as she turned away, "he might just as welllunch here and talk about HER--and see her, too."
Meantime Stacy had dropped into his club, only a few squares distant.His appearance created the same interest that it had produced at thehotel, but with less reserve among his fellow members.
"Have you heard the news?" said a dozen voices. Stacy had not; he hadbeen dining out.
"That infernal swindle of a Divide Railroad has passed the legislature."
Stacy instantly remembered Barker's absurd belief in it and his reasons.He smiled and said carelessly, "Are you quite sure it's a swindle?"
There was a dead silence at the coolness of the man who had been mostoutspoken against it.
"But," said a voice hesitatingly, "you know it goes nowhere and to nopurpose."
"But that does not prevent it, now that it's a fact, from going anywhereand to some purpose," said Stacy, turning away. He passed into thereading-room quietly, but in an instant turned and quickly descendedby another staircase into the hall, hurriedly put on his overcoat, andslipping out was a moment later re-entering the hotel. Here he hastilysummoned Barker, who came down, flushed and excited. Laying his hand onBarker's arm in his old dominant way, he said:--
"Don't delay a single hour, but get a written agreement for that Ditchproperty."
Barker smiled. "But I have. Got it this afternoon."
"Then you know?" ejaculated Stacy in surprise.
"I only know," said Barker, coloring, "that you said I could back out ofit if it wasn't signed, and that's what Kitty said, too. And I thoughtit looked awfully mean for me to hold a man to that kind of a bargain.And so--you won't be mad, old fellow, will you?--I thought I'd putit beyond any question of my own good faith by having it in blackand white." He stopped, laughing and blushing, but still earnest andsincere. "You don't think me a fool, do you?" he said pathetically.
Stacy smiled grimly. "I think, Barker boy, that if you go to the Branchyou'll have no difficulty in paying for the Ditch property. Good-night."
In a few moments he was back at the club again before any one knew hehad even left the building. As he again re-entered the smoking-room hefound the members still in eager discussion about the new railroad. Onewas saying, "If they could get an extension, and carry the road throughHeavy Tree Hill to Boomville they'd be all right."
"I quite agree with you," said Stacy.