CHAPTER III
Opportunity
The Hotel Lasande deserves a word or two. In the strict sense it is nohotel at all, being merely a twenty-story pile of four and five--andeven seven and eight--room bachelor suites of the very highest class.Moving into the Lasande and assuming one of its breath-stopping leasesis a process not unlike breaking into the most exclusive sort of club.One is investigated, which tells it all. The Lasande, catering to thevery best and most opulent of the bachelor class, has nothing elsebeneath its roof.
Silent men servants, functioning perfectly despite their apparentwoodenness, flit everywhere, invisible until needed, disappearinginstantly when the task of the moment is done. There are dining-roomsfor the few who do not dine in the privacy of their own apartments, andthere is a long, comfortable lobby where, under the eagle eye of theclerk in the corner, only tenants or guests of tenants may lounge.
Into this latter area came Anthony Fry and Johnson Boller and the boy,and as the peculiarly intelligent eyes of the latter darted about itseemed to Mr. Boller that their twinkle turned to a positive glitter.
It was absurd enough, it hailed doubtless from the nervous lonelinesswithin himself, yet Johnson Boller felt that the youngster was adownright evil force, swaggering along there, tremendously conscious ofhis own importance! He should have been sedate and subdued, to put itmildly, yet he grinned at the impeccable night clerk from under his capand sent his impudent eyes roving on, to alight finally on the big chairnear the north elevator.
"Who's the party with the big specs and why the prolonged stare?" theyoungster asked irreverently.
"Eh? Oh, that's Mr. Hitchin, a neighbor of mine," Anthony smiled.
"He's an amateur detective, kid," Johnson Boller added significantly."He knows every young crook in town. He's coming here to give you theonce over."
"I should worry," murmured the self-possessed young man.
"Johnson, don't be idiotic," Anthony said, as he laid a hand on theboy's arm. "I'll have to introduce you. What's your name, my lad?"
"Eh?" asked the unusual boy, staring hard at Anthony.
"Your name! What is it?"
"Well--er--Prentiss," the youth admitted.
"Is that your first name or your last name?"
"That's just my last name," the boy smiled. "First name's David."
"David Prentiss, eh?" Anthony murmured with some satisfaction, for ithad a substantial sound. "Well, David--er, Hitchin, how are you? Mr.Hitchin, my young friend, Mr. David Prentiss."
The boy's hand went out and gripped Hitchin's heartily enough. Mr.Hitchin held it for a moment and peered at David--and one saw what areally penetrating stare he owned.
It bored, as a point of tempered ice, wordlessly accusing one of murder,counterfeiting, bank burglary and plain second-story work. Frequentlydeep students of the higher detective fiction grow this stare, andHobart Hitchin was one of the deepest. But now, having pierced David ina dozen places without finding bomb or knife, the stare turned toAnthony and grew quite normal and amiable.
"Prentiss, eh?" said Hitchin. "Not the Vermont branch?"
"New York," David supplied.
"Mr. Prentiss is staying with me for a little," Anthony smiled as theymoved toward the elevator again.
"Staying with you, eh?" Hitchin repeated, with a careful survey ofDavid's well-worn storm-coat; and added, with characteristic bluntness:"Working for you, Fry?"
"My guest," Anthony said annoyedly; and then the car came down and thedoor opened and they left Mr. Hitchin, but the boy cocked an eye atAnthony and asked flatly:
"What was the idea of that--staying with you? I'm not staying with you."
"You may decide to stay for a little."
"Not me," said David.
"We shall see," Anthony chuckled. "This is our floor."
Wilkins--the priceless, faultless Wilkins who had been with Anthony forsixteen years--opened the door and, even though he were Wilkins, starteda trifle at the sight of David and his cap. He flushed for the start, tobe sure, as his master moved into the big living-room with his superbdignity, but when he had taken cap and coat and examined the suitbeneath, Wilkins shook his head mentally. One shock had come thatevening in the knowledge that Johnson Boller, whom Wilkins did notapprove, was to be with them--but this young ruffian!
"Make yourself at home, David," Anthony smiled. "We'll shed our coatsand find our smoking jackets."
Johnson Boller with him, he moved to the corner bedroom, to face his oldfriend with:
"Well, what do you think of him?"
"He's a bad egg," Johnson Boller said readily. "I don't like his eye andthe way he swaggers would get him six months in any court in town. Saywhatever it is the devilish impulse prompts you to say and then fire himbefore he pinches the silver."
"Bosh!" Anthony said testily. "The boy's awed and self-conscious--theswagger is assumed to cover that, of course. I mean what, in yourdecidedly inferior judgment, is his fitness as a subject for experiment?Will he know opportunity when she is first set before him or will it benecessary to present her repeatedly?"
Johnson Boller laughed harshly and stared hard at his old friend. Undercertain conditions, even the empty apartment on Riverside Drive mightnot be so bad.
"Say!" he demanded. "Are you going to keep that little rat here andargue with him till he admits that he recognizes whatever opportunityyou're going to thrust at him?"
"Essentially that."
"Well, if it's an opportunity to earn an honest living, he'll never seeit--and if the chatter takes more than an hour I'm going home!" JohnsonBoller snapped. "I'd have stayed there if I'd known you were going offinto the abstract, Anthony. I wanted to talk to you and have a littlegame of chess and a bottle of ale and----"
Anthony smiled serenely.
"And the mere fact that a train of thought, only slightly unusual, hasentered your evening, has upset your whole being, hasn't it? Well, it'lldo you good to hear and watch something different. This boy will seeopportunity before I'm done with him, Johnson, and the longer it takesthe sounder my general hypothesis will have been proven."
Curiously enough, David had lost much of his grinning assurance whenthey rejoined him. The impudence had left his eye and the boy seemeddownright uneasy. He started and rose at the sight of them, and hisquick, nervous smile lingered only a moment as he said:
"I think I'd better be going after all, Mr. Fry. It's pretty lateand----"
"Just a minute or two, and perhaps you'll change your mind," Anthonysaid quietly, as he dropped into his pet chair. "You'll permit apersonal question or two, David?"
"I suppose so."
"Then--how old are you?"
"Twenty."
"Ah! Parents living?"
David nodded.
"And in rather humble circumstances, perhaps?"
This time David glanced at him keenly, queerly, for an instant--openedhis lips and shut them again and ended with a mere jerk of a nod.
"How about schooling, David? You've been through high school?"
"Er--yes."
"And have you a profession?" Anthony pursued.
"No, I haven't any profession?" the boy muttered.
"But you're working, of course?" Mr. Fry asked sharply.
"What? Oh, yes," said David.
"At some mechanical line?"
"Oh, yes," David said.
"In just what line, then?"
And now, had Anthony but been watching, some of Johnson Boller'ssuspicions must have seemed justified. There was no question about theway David's very intelligent eyes were acting now; they dartedfurtively, wildly almost, from side to side, as if the boy were seekingescape. They darted toward Anthony and away from him and back to David'sshabby suit and worn shoes.
"I'm a--plumber's helper!" the boy said gustily.
"Wait a second, kid!" Mr. Boller put in. "Let me see those hands!"
"Well, they--they haven't had time to get roughened up yet!" David saidquickly. "I just went to work yesterday."
"I don't lie, Mr.----"
"Boller," Anthony supplied. "And please don't badger the boy, Johnson."
"I'm not badgering him," said Johnson Boller; "only that kid's handslook more like a society queen's than an honest workingman's."
"They may be hands designed for better things. David! Tell me, are youquite satisfied to be a plumber's helper, or was it the only thing youcould find in the way of employment?"
"It was all I could find," David muttered, glancing at the door. Andthen, with his quick smile, he rose again. "I'd like to sit here andanswer questions, Mr. Fry, but I'll have to run along and----"
Anthony beamed at him over his glasses, fidgeting there with theimpatience of youth, standing on one foot and then on the other. Anthonyturned and beamed at the bookcase beside him, and selecting a volume,beamed at that, too.
"David," said he, "will you be seated long enough to hear a littlepoem?"
"What?"
"It is a very short poem, and one of my favorites," Anthony mused, andhis stare at David grew quite hypnotic. "Ah, here it is--a little,wonderfully big poem by the late Senator John Ingalls. It iscalled--'Opportunity.'"
"Aha!" David said rather stupidly.
"And now, listen," said Anthony, clearing his throat.
"Master of human destinies am I!"
He paused and sent the hypnotic smile drilling into David.
"'_Master of human destinies!_'" he repeated. "That, in itself, means avery great deal, does it not?"
"I guess so," David muttered dazedly, and, however briefly, JohnsonBoller almost liked him for the look he directed at Anthony's bowedhead.
"Fame, love, and fortune on my footsteps wait, Cities and fields I walk; I penetrate Deserts and seas remote, and passing by Hovel and mart and palace, soon or late I knock unbidden once at every gate!"
"Once," concluded Anthony, "at every gate. _Once_, David!"
"Yes, I've heard that poem before," said David, who was examining therug.
Johnson Boller laughed in a rich undertone. Anthony flushed, and hisvoice rose a little as he continued:
"If feasting, rise; if sleeping, wake before I turn away. It is the hour of fate And they who follow me reach every state Mortals desire, and conquer every foe Save death...."
The owner of Fry's Imperial Liniment looked over his glasses anddiscovered that David, having poked open the door of the little-usedcellarette with his foot, was looking in at the bottles with mildinterest.
"'Every foe save death!'" Anthony rapped out. "Did you hear that,David?"
"Yes, of course," David said hastily. "Do you know what time it is, Mr.Fry?"
"No! Hear the rest!" said Anthony.
"... But those who doubt or hesitate, Condemned to failure, penury, or woe, Seek me in vain and ceaselessly implore; I answer not and I return--no more!"
Almost reverently the book closed.
"Have you quite assimilated the full meaning of that little poem,David?" he asked gravely.
"Er--yes."
"Quite?" Anthony persisted.
"Why, I guess so," David said, eyes opening again. "Yes, I know Ihave--only don't look at me like that and----"
"Then hear the rest of what I have to say," Anthony went on quickly andimpressively, "for now we come to my reason for bringing you here.David, you are poor. You are without a profession--without a business ofyour own. Your brightest hope at present is to become a plumber."
"Say----" David began.
"I should have said, your brightest chance," Anthony corrected. "Butyour _ambition_, David, is altogether different. Your ambition is tobecome--_what_?"
And now, before the penetrating, hypnotic eye, David seemed, not withoutwarrant, to have grown downright frightened. He glanced swiftly atAnthony and at the door.
"I don't know," he said breathlessly. "What's the answer?"
"Well, what do you want to become? A doctor? A lawyer? A teacher? Anelectrician? A journalist? A clergyman? A painter? An architect? Amining engineer? A civil engineer? A----"
It was plain to Johnson Boller that the situation was getting beyondDavid's doubtless nimble, doubtless criminal, mind. The boy held up anunsteady hand and stayed the flow.
"That's it!" he said hoarsely. "A civil engineer! You got it out of me,didn't you? And now I'd better go and----"
His quick, scared grin showed all his teeth, and he nodded in the mostridiculous fashion--really much in the fashion one might nod at ahopeless lunatic when agreeing that, as a matter of course, he is theoriginal Pharaoh. His mental state fairly glowed from him; all thatDavid wanted was to leave the Hotel Lasande.
David, in short, was doing just what ninety-nine per cent. of the humanrace insists on doing; even at the hint of opportunity, he was trying toface about and escape. But more than that, David, obviously one of thelower classes, was treating Anthony Fry with a tolerance that was morethan mere disrespect. He was causing Johnson Boller to chuckle wearilyover his cigar--and in spite of his purely abstract interest, Anthony'scolor grew darker and his voice decidedly sharper.
"Sit still," he commanded, "and listen to me. David, up to this eveningyou had no real hope of attaining your ambition. In fine, opportunity tomake the goal was not yours. Now opportunity is yours!"
"Is it?" David said throatily, albeit he did not resume his seat.
"Because this is what I mean to do for you, David; I mean to take youout of your present humble situation and educate you. I mean to have youhere to live with me."
"_What?_" David gasped.
"From this very evening!" Anthony said firmly, and also astonishingly."I shall outfit you properly and supply you with what money you need. Ishall have you prepared for the best engineering college we can find,and entered there for the most complete engineering course. If you arehelping in the support of your family, I shall pay to them a sumequivalent to your wages each month--or perhaps a little more, if it beessential to removing all anxiety from your mind. You follow me?"
David merely clutched the edge of his coat and gulped, staringfascinatedly at Anthony.
"I am reasonably wealthy, and I shall bear every expense that you mayincur, David. When you have graduated, and everything that can be taughtyou has been taught you, I shall establish you in proper offices and usemy considerable personal influence to see that you are supplied withwork, and again until you are self-supporting I shall bear all theexpense. In short, David," Anthony concluded, "I am holding_opportunity_ before you--opportunity to do, without trouble or worry ordelay, the thing you most desire. Well?"
Even Johnson Boller was mildly interested, although only mildly, andwith a deprecatory smile on his lips. He knew exactly what the boy woulddo, of course, but it had no connection with Anthony's crack-brainednotion.
David would grab with both hands at this kind of opportunity and settledown to a life of ease, and the chances were that he'd get Anthony tosign something that would cost him thousands when he had waked up andlost interest in the opportunity proposition.
To Johnson's sleepy and suspicious eye David looked like a crafty littledevil, if one ever walked.
Yet after a silent thirty seconds opportunity, in her gaudiest and mostconspicuous form, had made no visible impression on David Prentiss. Hisbewildered eyes roved from Anthony to Johnson Boller. Once he seemedabout to laugh; again he seemed about to speak; he did neither.
And the clock struck twelve.
And had a bomb exploded between his poorly shod feet, the effect onDavid Prentiss could hardly have been more striking. He started, and hiseyes, dilating, lost their bewilderment and showed plain, overwhelminghorror. His mouth opened with a shout of:
"Was that midnight?"
"Very likely," Anthony said impatiently. "But as to----"
"Where's my cap and coat?" David demanded.
"Never mind your cap and coat. I----"
"But I do mind 'em!" David cried
. "I've got to have them--quick! Whereare they? Where's the man who took them?"
Anthony merely smiled with waxing curiosity.
"So you are really rejecting opportunity at the first knock, eh?" hemused.
And now David stilled his rising excitement only with a huge effort. Hegripped his chair and looked Anthony in the eye.
"Opportunity be--hanged!" he cried shrilly. "Give me my cap and coat! Iwant to go home!"
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