“It’s perfectly all right,” said Carol, trying to make it a matter of indifference and smiling a trifle frigidly.
But the lady did not seem to feel the frigidity. Carol did not look at the young man to see whether he felt it or not.
“That’s sweet of you,” the lady said, “and I shall enjoy the evening all the more because you are young. I do so love young people. I’m quite provoked at my niece. She was to have met us for dinner tonight. But you will take her place. That makes it so nice. Are you a stranger in town or an old resident? I don’t think I’ve noticed you in the dining room before.”
“I’m from New York,” said Carol briefly.
“Oh, New York.“The woman fairly caressed the word. “You’ve wandered far. On a vacation, I suppose? Are you alone?”
“I’m a businesswoman,” explained Carol crisply, “and I’m here on business.”
Would the woman never let her alone?
“Oh really? How interesting,” persisted the woman. “Oh, do tell me about it. All these things that women are doing in this wonderful generation are so perfectly fascinating! I said to Paisley the other day, ‘Paisley, my son, you must really hunt up one of these interesting modern women for a wife. I’m dying to know one of them.’ And here you are right by my side. Now, do tell me what you do?”
Carol avoided looking where the said Paisley was sitting. She did not know whether or not he relished being dragged into the conversation like this, but so far as she was concerned she let him see that he did not exist. This woman must be squelched in some way or she would have to get up and leave the room before the dinner came.
“I represent the Fawcett Construction Company of New York,” she said quite coldly now, “and I’m here on business for Mr. Fawcett. I’m afraid you wouldn’t be interested in the details.”
Carol’s voice was so aloof that it really put a period to the conversation, and with the orders arriving just then there was no further opportunity for the lady’s talkativeness. But as soon as the dishes were arranged on the table and the three had begun to eat, the lady leaned forward once more, her eyes sparkling with eagerness.
“My dear, I’m so excited I can’t eat till I’ve settled it. Did you say the Fawcett Construction Company! Don’t tell me it isn’t! It would be too wonderful!”
Carol had to admit that it was.
“But my dear! Isn’t this a coincidence! To think I should have met you this way! Why, my dear, I went to boarding school with Caleb Fawcett’s wife! We were the dearest friends! Think of it! And that I should meet you this way and we should find it out! Oh, my dear! Do tell me how she is? You know her, don’t you?”
“I have met her,” said Carol, remembering the efficient figure of Caleb’s wife as she entered the office and took command of the situation. If this woman was a friend of Mrs. Caleb Fawcett’s she would have to be at least polite to her. What a nuisance! It did seem strange that one couldn’t go to a far city on business without meeting up with a lot of people that had to be avoided. Schlessinger and Blintz and this Paisley and his mother. But of course she must be decent to them. Being friends of the Fawcetts made it a part of her job.
And now Paisley himself was brought into the conversation most adroitly.
“But really, my dear, we ought to know one another’s names. I’m Mrs. Arthwait, and this is my son Paisley. We’re delighted to meet you, aren’t we, Paisley dear?”
“I’m Miss Berkley,” said Carol reluctantly. What a lot of things she was getting into. What would her mother say?
Paisley proved to be rather a silent party. He assented to all that his mother said, ordered a bottle of wine, of which he offered some to Carol and she declined. He smoked a good many cigarettes, which he also offered to her and she declined. He told one or two harmless jokes and laughed a good deal. On the whole he did not figure heavily in the general accounting.
Carol hurried through her dinner as rapidly as possible, but so did her neighbors, and as she was preparing to leave the table Mrs. Arthwait leaned over eagerly and said, “Now, Miss Berkley, you’re going to give us the pleasure of your company the rest of the evening, I’m sure. What shall we do, see a play or a picture, or just ride? It’s almost too hot to stay indoors tonight, isn’t it?”
“You’ll have to excuse me,” said Carol, shoving back her chair. “I have to look up someone whom I must see tonight if possible.”
“Oh, my dear Miss Berkley, then do let us help you. I’m sure we can help you. Let us take you to wherever you are going. Paisley has his car here, and it will be much pleasanter than riding in a taxi. Go get the car, Paisley, and bring it around to the front entrance. Oh, my dear! How pleased I am that we can do something for the friend of my dear old schoolmate. You must tell Mrs. Fawcett when you get back what a delight it was to hear about her again and how glad I am we could do something to help you. She will remember me as Ida Lacey. Now, you won’t forget to tell her, will you? Shall we go out to the car now, or must you go upstairs again? Oh, I see you have a wrap, though you’ll scarcely need it.”
She chattered her way out to the car, and Carol, much to her disgust, found herself seated with Paisley Arthwait at the wheel and his mother beside her.
Well, perhaps, she reasoned, it was the easiest way to get rid of them. She would drive to Duskin’s boarding place, the address of which the clerk at the desk had obtained for her, and there also would dismiss them. Then after they were gone she would do what she pleased.
Nevertheless, in spite of this reasoning, she felt a trifle uneasy driving off this way alone with utter strangers through a strange city. It was all nonsense of course, but she kept thinking what her mother had said to her as she left her.
Then strangely enough, that Bible verse about companioning with fools kept coming to mind. Yes, she must get rid of them somehow right away.
She had put on her slim black coat and pulled her hat down over her eyes, but still she could not get her mother’s warning out of her mind.
So they drove away into the night.
Chapter 10
But the Arthwaits were not easily shaken.
They insisted on waiting at Duskin’s boardinghouse, to be sure that Duskin was there. In fact, Paisley asserted himself and went to the door to enquire before he would let his guest alight from the car.
It was a plain little boardinghouse in a side street at which they stopped, and Carol had great doubts as to whether they had found the right place.
“Is this where Mr. Philip Duskin is staying?” she called from the car to make sure.
The landlady was a quiet, plain-faced woman, and the hallway behind her looked neat and clean and homelike, but not what she would have thought Philip Duskin would have chosen for even a temporary home.
“Yes, his name is Philip,” the landlady said, “but he don’t stay here, if that’s what you mean. His trunk is here and he pays for his room, and he sometimes comes back to get a bath, but I haven’t seen him for a week. He’s been off to Chicago, and he’s been working night and day. I’m sure I don’t know how he stands it. I’m glad he ain’t my son. I’d be worried to death about him. He don’t look well either. He’s got dark circles under his eyes, and he hardly eats a bite, just drinks coffee and runs back when he does happen to be here for a meal.”
“Do you know where I can find him now?” asked Carol, feeling somehow as if she had been all wrong everywhere.
“Well, I reckon he’s nowhere but on the job, unless he had to go out and cut down a tree to make more boards for the floor, or gather mud to make some bricks or something. He beats all for how he works. But I can’t say where he is at present. If you leave your name I’ll tell him when he comes in, but I can’t say fer sure when that’ll be. May not be fer a week.”
Carol declined to leave a message, and she wished most heartily that she was rid of the Arthwaits. But when they began to suggest a ride out into the suburbs, she declined and asked them to leave her at the building as she wanted to find out
if anybody was there.
There was a dim light in the lower floor, and Carol, as she picked her way up the steps, feared that the door might be locked and that no one would hear her knock. But it chanced that the door was ajar, for the boy from the restaurant in the next block had forgotten to slam it behind him when he came down after delivering the evening ration of coffee and sandwiches.
Carol slipped in and looked around her. Even in the one day since she had been there she recognized changes—handsome bronze grillwork had been set up around the first floor elevator shaft, and although the doors were not in yet, it began to take on the semblance of what it would be. Also there were finished outlets in the walls where the day before there had been only protruding wires. Well, her coming had at least hurried up some things. What a pity someone had not come on from the office sooner.
She had closed the door behind her, for she was almost afraid Mrs. Arthwait might insist on coming up with her, or appear on the scene unannounced, or worse still, send Paisley.
She took a step or two forward into the hall expecting to hear the janitor come forward, and then she would ask him to go after Mr. Duskin. When no one appeared, she finally called out several times, but there was no response, and the echoes of her voice died away into seemingly realm upon realm above. It gave her a weird feeling to be alone in this great, empty, unfinished building. In a finished building one knew what to count upon, but here there seemed to be pitfalls on every side. Nevertheless she did not intend to give up. She must see Duskin before morning. There was no knowing what might happen to the job, now that Delaplaine had declined to come, if she let Duskin go. For Duskin was at least a figurehead. Men would not work without someone who stood for boss. She must keep him until she found out what else to do.
Finally, though she shuddered inwardly, she went forward to the elevator shaft and peered up. Far, far above, like a moon above a deep, deep well, she saw a dim square of light and heard echoes of voices, but when she tried to call again her voice came back like a rubber ball that had hit against the wall.
Then she resolutely turned back and went to the stairs. Dared she go up that way? How many flights would it be? Schlessinger and Blintz had climbed up once. If they could, surely she could. Suppose she should meet someone in the dark on the stairs? Suppose she should meet Schlessinger and Blintz! Even the eager Arthwaits could not help her for they would never hear her cry for help. Her voice would be drowned in that great marble-lined tunnel. Nevertheless she meant to go.
She crept on up higher, and the dim light from below failed entirely. Then she snapped on her flashlight and held it above her head, climbing, climbing, millions of steps, turning around another hallway, and more steps again. She had lost count of the stories. It seemed like the very tower of Babel, and her limbs were trembling and almost numb. Her heart seemed to be pumping her breath from away down in the foundations of the building somewhere, and once or twice she sat down on a step to rest.
The last time she sat down she heard voices, and turning off her flashlight, she perceived that there was a dim radiance from the story above. Her climb was almost over. But she must sit still a moment and get her breath. She did not wish to appear before Duskin entirely winded. He would think her a fool. Perhaps she was, but she did not want to appear like one.
Then, as she rested halfway up the next and last flight, she heard voices again, more distinctly now, just above the turn of the stair it seemed. They were talking in subdued tones, but the words came distinctly down the marble stairwell in which she sat.
“Naw, don’t wake him, Charlie. I don’t give a hang if you did promise. We can get his part of the work done between us easy. I tell ya, Charlie, he’s all in. He ain’t had any sleep for five nights, and if that lady boss comes around bothering him like a hornet t’morra, no telling where he’ll be.”
“Yes, but he’s had a sleep, Ted, and he said two hours was all he’d allow. You know as well as I do Dusky cares more about getting this here shack done on the tap than he does if he ever gets any more sleep. You know what he is. And I tell you he’ll never trust me again if I don’t come in time. Besides, Ted, he’s gotta get this done before t’morra. Nobody else could fix this layout the way it oughtta be, and there’s no telling what that flip little Jane will do when she gets here. I ain’t expecting her to be anything but a consarned nuisance of course. When they get skirts on a job like this you gotta expect trouble. ‘Course Dusky don’t mind that part. He’s usedta gnats and hornets and things. But I tell ya what I’m pretty well convinced of myself: I donno whether the boss has thought of it or not, but I’ll bet my bottom dollar that little dame is in with the ring and going to get her take out of this here grab game outta that forfeit money. She looked ta me like a cute one. And those two dirty crooks that’s running this here gag business ain’t going to waste any time getting her bought over, I’ll tell the world.”
“She didn’t look to me exactly that kind,” demurred Ted. “I think she was just dumb.“
“Aw, don’t be an infant, Teddy. Where’s she get all them fancy cloes? It takes money to buy cloes like that, son, and she’ll be only too glad to grab all she can get. I tell you, son, Dusky is the only man I know outside-a this here outfit of his that won’t turn a hair when they offer him a kingdom. You’d oughtta seen his face the day old Schless made an offer of his third of the forfeit! Oh boy! I was workin’ up in the ceiling above his head, and the hole where the chandelier was goin’ was plenty big to give me a pretty good bird’s-eye view of the scene. Good night! I thought that rotten old crook was goin’ to fall all the way downstairs, the way he lit out when Dusky took him by the collar and shook him over the stairs. Oh boy! If that little dame that thinks she can boss him had a’been present at that scene she wouldn’t ‘a come around here in her jazzy cloes and her high-heeled shoes with shiny buckles holding her chin so high and mighty! The dirty little crook! I don’t care if she is a girl! She’s a dirty little crook or she would care enough to know there ain’t anyone this side of glory as good as our boss. She ain’t fit to let him wipe his good, honest shoes on her. She’s a dirty little crook or my name ain’t Charlie McMurray.”
Cautiously, stealthily, when she had gathered breath and could still the trembling of her limbs, Carol crept back down the long, long flights; painfully, breathlessly, listening fearfully now and again to a sound from above.
She did not dare turn on her flashlight but crept along the walls by feeling, and down upon her hands and knees found the next set of steps. Once her flashlight slipped from her shaking fingers and rolled down two steps before she could get it again, and she stood with bated breath and listened to see if anyone had heard.
Until at last she reached the hall below and the dim light and fled to the front door and out, closing it noiselessly behind her.
Oh it was good to breathe the fresh night air again and to feel a breeze upon her hot forehead and burning cheeks. Would she ever forget the things those men had said?
She steadied herself an instant before going down the steps to the car. She was grateful to these strangers for waiting for her now, for she felt she could not have walked and had not wits enough left to call a taxi. She was glad it was dark and they could not see how agitated she was. She got into the car and tried to speak steadily, though her voice sounded a little strained.
“Now, if you would be kind enough to take me back to the hotel,” she said, “I’m suddenly very tired. I’ve had a hard day, and I think there’s another one ahead of me tomorrow, and I need some rest.”
They were most assiduous and eager. She thought how ungrateful she must be not to appreciate their kindness, but she simply longed to get away from them, and when at saying good-night they begged that they might be allowed to take her to dinner the next night and show her a good time somewhere, she, remembering Schlessinger and eager for some excuse to get away from him, accepted.
And so she was allowed at last to go to her room and shut herself in with the memory of h
er day—and evening!
When she snapped on her light and sat down to examine the mail she had brought up from the desk, she found two telegrams among them.
One from Caleb Fawcett:
CANNOT UNDERSTAND WHY IDO NOT HEAR FROM YOU.
WIRE IMMEDIATELY GIVING FULLEST PARTICULARS.
The other from the doctor:
VERY IMPORTANT THAT YOU KEEP FAWCETT EASY IN MIND. THE RIGHT MEDICINE WILL PULL HIM THROUGH. MAKE IT PEPPY AND DAILY. TWICE A DAY IF POSSIBLE.
She sat staring at them after she had read them and felt as if this was the last straw in a day that had been all failure from beginning to end. She had utterly forgotten that some message should have gone to Fawcett that morning, or at least sometime during the day. Now she had a vision of the placid Mrs. Fawcett and an impeccably trained nurse endeavoring to quiet the irascible Caleb while he raved on demanding telegrams from the West. Her worn-out nerves broke into a laugh, which was almost on the verge of tears.
Of course she must send him a telegram before she slept, but what could she say? If she gave details as he asked it certainly would be “peppy” enough to suit the most exacting, but not, she imagined, the kind of “medicine” the doctor would care to have administered. She had sent a telegram from Chicago the morning after the banquet, describing in glowing words the good fellowship toward the company and telling of the speech she had tried to make, and how well it was received. It had been carefully studied to relieve her employer’s mind about the situation in Chicago and let him see that his absence had not been entirely fatal so far as his interests were concerned. She had also sent a telegram the afternoon she arrived in this town, giving her location and saying that she intended to see Duskin at once and get things moving rapidly, as she had learned several things in Chicago which she felt would materially help to solve difficulties.
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