Mrs. Gray met him in the hallway of her home as he was nervously pocketing the $60 he had received in payment for his clothes. Her face was like that of a ghost. He tried to answer her reproof, but the words would not come, and he fled to his room, locking the door after him. He was at work there on the transaction that was to record the total disappearance of Edwin Brewster’s million—his final report to Swearengen Jones, executor of James Sedgwick’s will. On the floor were bundles of packages, carefully wrapped and tied, and on the table was the long sheet of white paper on which the report was being drawn. The package contained receipts—thousands upon thousands of them—for the dollars he had spent in less than a year. They were there for the inspection of Swearengen Jones, faithfully and honorably kept—as if the old westerner would go over in detail the countless documents.
He had the accounts balanced up to the hour. On the long sheet lay the record of his ruthlessness, the epitaph of a million. In his pocket was exactly $79.08. This was to last him for less than forty-eight hours and—then it would go to join the rest. It was his plan to visit Grant & Ripley on the afternoon of the twenty-second and to read the report to them, in anticipation of the meeting with Jones on the day following.
Just before noon, after his encounter with Mrs. Gray, he came down stairs and boldly, for the first time in days, sought out Peggy. There was the old smile in his eye and the old heartiness in his voice when he came upon her in the library. She was not reading. Books, pleasures and all the joys of life had fled from her mind and she thought only of the disaster that was coming to the boy she had always loved. His heart smote him as he looked into the deep, somber, frightened eyes, running over with love and fear for him.
“Peggy, do you think I’m worth anything more from your mother? Do you think she will ask me to live here any longer?” he asked, steadily, taking her hand in his. Hers was cold, his as hot as fire. “You know what you said away off yonder somewhere, that she’d let me live here if I deserved it. I am a pauper, Peggy, and I’m afraid I’ll—I may have to get down to drudgery again. Will she turn me out? You know I must have somewhere to live. Shall it be the poorhouse? Do you remember saying one day that I’d end in the poorhouse?”
She was looking into his eyes, dreading what might be seen in them. But there was no gleam of insanity there, there was no fever; instead there was the quiet smile of the man who is satisfied with himself and the world. His voice bore traces of emotion, but it was the voice of one who has perfect control of his wits.
“Is it all—gone, Monty?” she asked, almost in a whisper.
“Here is the residue of my estate,” he said, opening his purse with steady fingers. “I’m back to where I left off a year ago. The million is gone and my wings are clipped.” Her face was white, her heart was in the clutch of ice. How could he be so calm about it, when for him she was suffering such agony? Twice she started to speak, but her voice failed her. She turned slowly and walked to the window, keeping her back to the man who smiled so sadly and yet so heartlessly.
“I didn’t want the million, Peggy,” he went on. “You think as the rest do, I know, that I was a fool to act as I did. It would be rank idiocy on my part to blame you any more than the others for thinking as you do. Appearances are against me, the proof is overwhelming. A year ago I was called a man, today they are stripping me of every claim to that distinction. The world says I am a fool, a dolt, almost a criminal—but no one believes I am a man. Peggy, will you feel better toward me if I tell you that I am going to begin life all over again? It will be a new Monty Brewster that starts out again in a few days, or, if you will, it shall be the old one—the Monty you once knew.”
“The old Monty?” she murmured softly, dreamily. “It would be good to see him—so much better than to see the Monty of the last year.”
“And, in spite of all I have done, Peggy, you will stand by me? You won’t desert me like the rest? You’ll be the same Peggy of the other days?” he cried, his calmness breaking down.
“How can you ask? Why should you doubt me?”
For a moment they stood silent, each looking into the heart of the other, each seeing the beginning of a new day.
“Child,” his voice trembled dangerously, “I—I wonder if you care enough for me to—to—” but he could only look the question.
“To start all over again with you?” she whispered.
“Yes—to trust yourself to the prodigal who has returned. Without you, child, all the rest would be as the husks. Peggy, I want you—you! You DO love me—I can see it in your eyes, I can feel it in your presence.”
“How long you have been in realizing it,” she said pensively as she stretched out her arms to him. For many minutes he held her close, finding a beautiful peace in the world again.
“How long have you really cared?” he asked in a whisper.
“Always, Monty; all my life.”
“And I, too, child, all my life. I know it now; I’ve known it for months. Oh, what a fool I was to have wasted all this love of yours and all this love of mine. But I’ll not be a profligate in love, Peggy. I’ll not squander an atom of it, dear, not as long as I live.”
“And we will build a greater love, Monty, as we build the new life together. We never can be poor while we have love as a treasure.”
“You won’t mind being poor with me?” he asked.
“I can’t be poor with you,” she said simply.
“And I might have let all this escape me,” he cried fervently. “Listen, Peggy—we will start together, you as my wife and my fortune. You shall be all that is left to me of the past. Will you marry me the day after tomorrow? Don’t say no, dearest. I want to begin on that day. At seven in the morning, dear? Don’t you see how good the start will be?”
And he pleaded so ardently and so earnestly that he won his point even though it grew out of a whim that she could not then understand. She was not to learn until afterward his object in having the marriage take place on the morning of September 23d, two hours before the time set for the turning over of the Sedgwick millions. If all went well they would be Brewster’s millions before twelve o’clock, and Peggy’s life of poverty would cover no more than three hours of time. She believed him worth a lifetime of poverty. So they would start the new life with but one possession—love.
Peggy rebelled against his desire to spend the seventy dollars that still remained, but he was firm in his determination. They would dine and drive together and see all of the old life that was left—on seventy dollars. Then on the next day they would start all over again. There was one rude moment of dismay when it occurred to him that Peggy might be considered an “asset” if she became his wife before nine o’clock. But he realized at once that it was only demanded of him that he be penniless and that he possess no object that had been acquired through the medium of Edwin Peter Brewster’s money. Surely this wife who was not to come to him until his last dollar was gone could not be the product of an old man’s legacy. But so careful was he in regard to the transaction that he decided to borrow money of Joe Bragdon to buy the license and to pay the minister’s fee. Not only would he be penniless on the day of settlement, but he would be in debt. So changed was the color of the world to him now that even the failure to win Sedgwick’s millions could not crush out the new life and the new joy that had come to him with the winning of Peggy Gray.
CHAPTER XXXI
HOW THE MILLION DISAPPEARED
Soon after noon on the 22d of September, Monty folded his report to Swearengen Jones, stuck it into his pocket and sallied forth. A parcel delivery wagon had carried off a mysterious bundle a few minutes before. Mrs. Gray could not conceal her wonder, but Brewster’s answers to her questions threw little light on the mystery. He could not tell her the big bundle contained the receipts that were to prove his sincerity when the time came to settle with Mr. Jones. Brewster had used his own form of receipt for every purchase. The little stub receipt books had been made to order for him and not only he but every
person in his employ carried one everywhere. No matter how trivial the purchase, the person who received a dollar of Brewster’s money signed a receipt for the amount. Newsboys and bootblacks were the only beings who escaped the formality; tips to waiters, porters, cabbies, etc., were recorded and afterward put into a class by themselves. Receipts for the few dollars remaining in his possession were to be turned over on the morning of the 23d and the general report was not to be completed until 9 o’clock on that day.
He kissed Peggy good-bye, told her to be ready for a drive at 4 o’clock, and then went off to find Joe Bragdon and Elon Gardner. They met him by appointment and to them he confided his design to be married on the following day.
“You can’t afford it, Monty,” exploded Joe, fearlessly. “Peggy is too good a girl. By Gad, it isn’t fair to her.”
“We have agreed to begin life tomorrow. Wait and see the result. I think it will surprise you. Incidentally it is up to me to get the license today and to engage a minister’s services. It’s going to be quiet, you know. Joe, you can be my best man if you like, and, Gardie, I’ll expect you to sign your name as one of the witnesses. Tomorrow evening we’ll have supper at Mrs. Gray’s and ‘among those present’ will not comprise a very large list, I assure you. But we’ll talk about that later on. Just now I want to ask you fellows to lend me enough money to get the license and pay the preacher. I’ll return it tomorrow afternoon.”
“Well, I’m damned,” exclaimed Gardner, utterly dumfounded by the nerve of the man. But they went with him to get the license and Bragdon paid for it. Gardner promised to have the minister at the Gray house the next morning. Monty’s other request—made in deep seriousness—was that Peggy was not to be told of the little transaction in which the license and the minister figured so prominently. He then hurried off to the office of Grant & Ripley. The bundles of receipts had preceded him.
“Has Jones arrived in town?” was his first anxious question after the greetings.
“He is not registered at any of the hotels,” responded Mr. Grant, and Brewster did not see the troubled look that passed over his face.
“He’ll show up tonight, I presume,” said he, complacently. The lawyers did not tell him that all the telegrams they had sent to Swearengen Jones in the past two weeks had been returned to the New York office as unclaimed in Butte. The telegraph company reported that Mr. Jones was not to be found and that he had not been seen in Butte since the 3d of September. The lawyers were hourly expecting word from Montana men to whom they had telegraphed for information and advice. They were extremely nervous, but Montgomery Brewster was too eager and excited to notice the fact.
“A tall, bearded stranger was here this morning asking for you, Mr. Brewster,” said Ripley, his head bent over some papers on his desk.
“Ah! Jones, I’m sure. I’ve always imagined him with a long beard,” said Monty, relief in his voice.
“It was not Mr. Jones. We know Jones quite well. This man was a stranger and refused to give his name. He said he would call at Mrs. Gray’s this afternoon.”
“Did he look like a constable or a bill-collector?” asked Monty, with a laugh.
“He looked very much like a tramp.”
“Well, we’ll forget him for the time being,” said Monty, drawing the report from his pocket. “Would you mind looking over this report, gentlemen? I’d like to know if it is in proper form to present to Mr. Jones.”
Grant’s hand trembled as he took the carefully folded sheet from Brewster. A quick glance of despair passed between the two lawyers.
“Of course, you’ll understand that this report is merely a synopsis of the expenditures. They are classified, however, and the receipts over there are arranged in such a way that Mr. Jones can very easily verify all the figures set out in the report. For instance, where it says ‘cigars,’ I have put down the total amount that went up in smoke. The receipts are to serve as an itemized statement, you know.” Mr. Ripley took the paper from his partner’s hand and, pulling himself together, read the report aloud. It was as follows:
NEW YORK, Sept. 23, 19—.
To SWEARENGEN JONES, ESQ.
Executor under the will of the late James T. Sedgwick of Montana:
In pursuance of the terms of the aforesaid will and in accord with the instructions set forth by yourself as executor, I present my report of receipts and disbursements for the year in my life ending at midnight on Sept. 22. The accuracy of the figures set forth in this general statement may be established by referring to the receipts, which form a part of this report. There is not one penny of Edwin Peter Brewster’s money in my possession, and I have no asset to mark its burial place. These figures are submitted for your most careful consideration.
ORIGINAL CAPITAL: $1,000,000.00
“Lumber and Fuel” misfortune: 58,550.00
Prize-fight misjudged: 1,000.00
Monte Carlo education: 40,000.00
Race track errors: 700.00
Sale of six terrier pups: 150.00
Sale of furniture and personal effects: 40,500.00
Interest on funds once in hand: 19,140.00
Total amount to be disposed of: $1,160,040.00
DISBURSEMENTS.
Rent for apartments: $23,000.00
Furnishing apartments: 88,372.00
Three automobiles: 21,000.00
Renting six automobiles: 25,000.00
Amount lost to DeMille: 1,000.00
Salaries: 25,650.00
Amount paid to men injured in auto accident: 12,240 00
Amount lost in bank failure: 113,468.25
Amount lost on races: 4,000.00
One glass screen: 3,000.00
Christmas presents: 7,211.00
Postage: 1,105.00
Cable and telegraph: 3,253.00
Stationery: 2,400.00
Two Boston terriers: 600.00
Amount lost to “hold-up men”: 450.00
Amount lost on concert tour: 56,382.00
Amount lost through O. Harrison’s speculation (on my account): 60,000.00
One ball (in two sections): 60,000.00
Extra favors: 6,000.00
One yacht cruise: 212,309.50
One carnival: 6,824.00
Cigars: 1,720.00
Drinks, chiefly for others: 9,040.00
Clothing: 3,400.00
Rent of one villa: 20,000.00
One courier: 500.00
Dinner parties: 117,900.00
Suppers and luncheons: 38,000.00
Theater parties and suppers: 6,277.00
Hotel expenses: 61,218.59
Railway and steamship fares: 31,274.81
For Newsboys’ Home: 5,000.00
Two opera performances: 20,000.00
Repairs to “Flitter”: 6,342.60
In tow from somewhere to Southampton: 50,000.00
Special train to Florida: 1,000.00
Cottage in Florida: 5,500.00
Medical attendance: 3,100.00
Living expenses in Florida: 8,900.00
Misappropriation of personal property by servants: 3,580.00
Taxes on personal property: 112.25
Sundries: 9,105.00
Household expenses: 24,805.00
Total disbursements: $1,160,040.00
BALANCE ON HAND: $0,000,000.00
Respectfully submitted,
MONTGOMERY BREWSTER.
“It’s rather broad, you see, gentlemen, but there are receipts for every dollar, barring some trifling incidentals. He may think I dissipated the fortune, but I defy him or any one else to prove that I have not had my money’s worth. To tell you the truth, it has seemed like a hundred million. If any one should tell you that it is an easy matter to waste a million dollars, refer him to me. Last fall I weighed 180 pounds, yesterday I barely moved the beam at 140; last fall there was not a wrinkle in my face, nor did I have a white hair. You see the result of overwork, gentlemen. It will take an age to get back to where I was physically, but I think I
can do it with the vacation that begins tomorrow. Incidentally, I’m going to be married tomorrow morning, just when I am poorer than I ever expect to be again. I still have a few dollars to spend and I must be about it. Tomorrow I will account for what I spend this evening. It is now covered by the ‘sundries’ item, but I’ll have the receipts to show, all right. See you tomorrow morning.”
He was gone, eager to be with Peggy, afraid to discuss his report with the lawyers. Grant and Ripley shook their heads and sat silent for a long time after his departure.
“We ought to hear something definite before night,” said Grant, but there was anxiety in his voice.
“I wonder,” mused Ripley, as if to himself, “how he will take it if the worst should happen.”
CHAPTER XXXII
THE NIGHT BEFORE
“It’s all up to Jones now,” kept running through Brewster’s brain as he drove off to keep his appointment with Peggy Gray. “The million is gone—all gone. I’m as poor as Job’s turkey. It’s up to Jones, but I don’t see how he can decide against me. He insisted on making a pauper of me and he can’t have the heart to throw me down now. But, what if he should take it into his head to be ugly! I wonder if I could break the will—I wonder if I could beat him out in court.”
Peggy was waiting for him. Her cheeks were flushed as with a fever. She had caught from him the mad excitement of the occasion.
“Come, Peggy,” he exclaimed, eagerly. “This is our last holiday—let’s be merry. We can forget it tomorrow, if you like, when we begin all over again, but maybe it will be worth remembering.” He assisted her to the seat and then leaped up beside her. “We’re off!” he cried, his voice quivering.
The George Barr McCutcheon Megapack: 25 Classic Novels and Stories Page 18