Flowing Gold

by Rex Beach

  CHAPTER XXIX

  One morning, several days after the annual meeting, Gus Briskow openedthe door between his and Gray's office and inquired, "Busy?"

  The new vice-president of the Security National raised a preoccupiedface to the new president and said: "I'm never too busy to talk to you.What is it?"

  "Nothing! I'm just kinda lonesome; kinda tired of lookin' bright aboutthings I don't savvy." Gus seated himself and crossed his thin legs."Folks give an owl credit for bein' wise just because he keeps hismouth shut. Prob'ly he's got nothing of interest to say."

  "Perhaps. But you can say 'no,' Gus, and that's about all the averagebanker is called upon to say."

  "Um-m!" The elder man nodded reflectively. "I heard about a captain ofindustry that allus smelled a pink when he did his heavy thinkin'. Nowme, I'm goin' in for bananas. I keep a bag of 'em in my desk. I 'mostkilled myself on bananas when our first well came in--never thought I'dbe able to afford all I wanted. How's the bank?"

  "Why, it's still here, as you see."

  "I know. That's the remarkable part. I keep thinkin' it's goin' tobust--I mean blow up an' disappear. I wake up nights dreamin' it'sgone. It's all right, is it?"

  "Positively! I put an accountant at work on the books and he should beready to report any time now."

  "No chance of Bell Nelson throwin' us out, is there? He's in Dallastryin' to stir up money--"

  "Not a chance, unless you want him to do so; unless you're afraid we'llmake a failure of the business."

  "_We?_" Gus smiled quizzically. "_You_ won't fail. Folks around townare talkin' about how quick you're takin' hold, an' they're beginningto think you'll make a better banker than the Nelsons. Funny, ain't it,how easy reconciled folks is to losin' a coupla prominent citizens likethat? Looks like Bell an' Henry are about the only ones that take ithard."

  "The funny thing is"--Gray frowned, perplexedly--"they _don't_ take ithard. At least, Henry doesn't appear to do so. That's what puzzles me.No move of any sort--That's not like him."

  Gus agreed to this. "I been expectin' him to cut some capers. That'swhy I been hangin' around so steady."

  "I know."

  "Every time I peel a banana I peel an eye for Henry. I worry wheneveryou go out alone."

  The younger man rose and nervously paced the floor. "I'm completelymystified," he admitted. "The whole affair has been a greatdisappointment to me. I thought I'd sprung a coup, but--I'm at astandstill. I'm stumped--checkmated."

  "About that trouble between you an' him, eh? Why, we took your word forthat."

  "Unfortunately, that didn't help me very greatly. Other people aren'tso easily convinced as you and Swope and Gage and Murphy. Damnation! Ithought my troubles were over."

  "Well, your money troubles is over--"

  "They're the smallest part. I'd go back and start all over again if Icould clean up that--that army record. It's a pretty flat triumph."

  "Humph! Most triumphs is. A feller has a dream--a longin', an' he bowshis back an' works his life away tryin' to realize it. If he does, thechances is he's disappointed. He finds he's kep' his back bent so longhe can't straighten it. Look at me--pore as dirt an' scarcely enough toeat! I used to pray for a miracle; pray for money enough to dosomething for Ma an' the children--for a thousan' dollars. Here I am,president of a whole bank, but Ma's sick, Allie's miserable, an' Ican't sleep nights for fear I'll lose what I got!"

  "Poverty wouldn't have helped Ma's health--"

  "Oh, I ain't sayin' I'd trade!" Gus wagged his sandy head. "I get myshoes shined every two hours because that bootblackin' stand is a niceplace to look at the bank from. I set there an' tell myself I'mpresident of it! But that's the biggest dividend I've got, so far--fiveshines a day an' all the bananas I can eat. 'Flat' is the word."

  Gray smiled affectionately at the speaker. "At least Buddy is happy.He's reaping his dividends, if I'm any judge."

  "I figger he's in love again."

  "Good heavens!" Gray paused in his restless pacing and turned anexpression of almost comic dread upon the father. "With that woman, eh?Well, I refuse to interfere again. I haven't fully recovered from hisfirst infatuation for her."

  "I can tell the boy's symptoms. I felt the same way when I was courtin'Ma. I acted just like him."

  "He has been trying to tell me something for a week, but I've been toobusy and too worried to listen."

  Briskow's kindly face had settled into graver lines when next he spoke."You prob'ly wonder why I take it so easy. Well, I remember what youtold me once about judgin' people I don't know. Mebbe Allie was right,too, when she said a little genuine happiness is worth all it costs.Anyhow, if Buddy wants that woman, I won't say a word. She's turned outpretty good, an' people speak well of her. Buddy's a man, an' some menjust _have_ to get married--the sooner it's over, the better for 'em.He's like that. But what's more 'n all that, love between two youngpeople is a pretty sacred thing, an' when old folks keep interferin' itseems to me they're settin' themselves up to be wiser than God. Ma'sfolks didn't care much for me."

  "I feel a rebuke in your words," Gray said; "and no doubt I've earnedit, for it has always been my weakness to rearrange the lives of thoseI love. But--who am I, after all? If I were so divinely wise, why is myown life what it is? When I marry, perhaps I shall have to ask B--askthe girl to ignore in me things as--as disagreeable to think about asthose which Buddy will have to ignore in Margie's past. That boy, infact all you Briskows, have put me so deeply in your debt that I'mafraid I shall have to conquer my meddlesome instincts." The speakerlooked up suddenly. "You'll never know, by the way, how deep is my debtof gratitude. When a vainglorious, supersensitive man finds himselfunder a cloud, it is pretty nice to know that there is somebody whosefaith is unshakable; somebody who needs no legal proof thathe's--Proof! Here I am, back again right where I was when you came in;back to my own selfish concerns. I can't get away from them. What to donext? The Nelsons are on their last legs. The loss of this bank willcertainly destroy what credit remained, and even a good well now wouldscarcely tide them over. But--damn it, Gus, I can't kick a man if herefuses to stand up! I can't beat a corpse!"

  There came a rap at the door, and the accountant whom Gray had put towork upon the bank's books entered. "I'd like to talk to you about thisreport," the man began.

  "Don't go," Gray said, as Briskow unfolded his legs and rose.

  But the president of the Security National shook his head, saying:"Bookkeepin' is all Choctaw to me. I saw one statement an' I thought'liquid assets' meant that bottle of whisky Bell left in his desk."

  "Mr. Gray," the auditor announced, when they were alone, "I wish you'dask somebody else to take this job off my hands."

  "Why?"

  "Well, somebody else could probably do it better." There was a pause."I've known Bell Nelson all my life--"

  "That is why I engaged you. You've been over these books before." Againthere was an instant of silence, then into Gray's face there flashed acurious alertness. "Come!" he cried, sharply. "What is it?"

  "I'm sorry to be the one to--" The auditor shrugged. "If you insist onan explanation, I suppose I shall have to tell you. Perhaps it's justas well, anyhow. They say figures don't lie, but you and I know better.I only wish they didn't."

  "Have you caught them lying, here?"

  "I have. And--it has made me rather ill. You'd better prepare yourselffor a shock."

  It was nearly an hour later that Gray telephoned to Senator Lowe, thebank's attorney, and to Bennett Swope, the latter being the only memberof the board available at short notice. This done, he wrote a note toHenry Nelson. In spite of his effort to control his hand, it shook whenhe signed his name, and on second thought he destroyed the missive.There is something ominous about the written word. If Nelson grewsuspicious, he'd never come.

  Gray stepped into Gus Briskow's office and asked him to call the formervice-president, first, however, explaining exactly what he wished Gusto say. The ruse succeeded; then Gray returned to his own office. Hedrew a deep
breath. Within him he felt a ferocious eagerness take fire,for it seemed to him that the day of reckoning had come. Henry'sbehavior was now easily understandable; the fellow was cringing,cowering in anticipation of a second blow. Well, the whip was in Gray'shands, and he proposed to use it ruthlessly--to sink the lash, to cutto the bone, to leave scars such as Henry had left upon him. Nor wasthat his only weapon. There was, for instance, Old Bell Nelson's honor.If coercion failed, there were rewards, inducements. Oh, Henry wouldhave to speak! The Nelson fortune, or what remained for salvage fromthe wreck thereof, the bank itself, they were pawns which Gray could,and would, sacrifice, if necessary. His hunger for a sight of "Bob" hadbecome unbearable. Freedom to declare his overwhelming love--and thatlove he knew was no immature infatuation, but the deep-set passion of afull-grown man--was worth any price he might be called upon to pay.Yes, Henry would speak the truth to-day or--for one of them, at least,there would be an end to the feud.

  Gray, too, kept a revolver in his desk. He removed it and placed it inhis pocket.

  Buddy Briskow chose this, of all moments, to thrust his grinning visageinto the door and to inquire, "Got time for me now, Mr. Gray?"

  "Not now, Buddy."

  "When?"

  "Why--almost any other time."

  "I wouldn't bother you, but it's important and I--I promised a certainparty--" The youth's face reddened, his smile widened vacuously.

  "Later, if you don't mind."

  It was plain that Buddy did mind; nevertheless, he withdrew.

  When Swope and Lowe arrived, Gray could with difficulty restrainhimself from blurting out the reason for his urgent summons, but hecontented himself by asking them to wait in the president's office.

  Henry Nelson entered the bank with his head up, with a contemptuoussmile upon his lips and an easy confidence in his bearing. His hand wasoutstretched toward the knob of Briskow's door, when the one adjoiningopened and, from the office he himself had so long occupied, CalvinGray spoke to him.

  "Please step in here, Colonel."

  Nelson recoiled. "No, thank you!" he said, curtly.

  "Briskow and I are amateur bankers; there is a matter upon which weneed your advice."

  "Indeed? Finding it isn't as easy to run a bank as a drilling rig? Hesaid you were out, otherwise--"

  "Will you come in?"

  Stiffly, reluctantly, as if impelled by some force outside of himself,Nelson stepped within, but he ignored the chair that was proffered him.

  Gray closed the door before saying: "The deception was mine, notBriskow's. You prefer to stand? Um-m--I appreciate your feeling offormality. I felt a bit ill at ease on the occasion of my first callhere, when our positions were reversed--"

  "If you got me here just to be nasty--"

  "By no means. Nevertheless, it gratifies my vanity to remind you thatyou considered me a braggart, a bluffer, whereas--"

  "I haven't changed my opinion."

  "So be it. One matter, only, remains between us. I am about to ring upon the last act of our little comedy."

  "Theatrical, as always, aren't you?" Nelson's lip curled.

  For a moment Gray stared at the speaker curiously; his tone had alteredwhen he said: "You're a better poker player than I thought. You'realmost as good a bluffer as I am. That, by the way, is probably thelast compliment I shall pay you."

  "Come! I've no time to waste."

  "You will soon have ample time--if not to waste, at least to meditate--"

  "What do you mean by that?" The query came sharply.

  "I've had an examination of the bank's books. That, as you will readilyunderstand, explains why I sent for you."

  "Why--no. I don't--"

  "I wondered how you and your father got the money to keep going solong, for I discovered you were in a bad way even before I turned up.It is no longer a mystery. When you and he, as directors of theSecurity National, lent yourselves money, as individuals, you must haverealized that you were--well, arranging ample leisure for yourselves inwhich to meditate upon the stringency of the banking laws--"

  "Nonsense! That's n-nothing--nothing serious." Nelson's ruddy color hadslowly vanished; with uncertain hand he reached for the nearest chair,and upon it he leaned as he continued, jerkily: "Irregular,perhaps--I'll admit it was irregular, but--there's nothing _wrong_--Oh,you'll make it look as bad as possible, I dare say! But you don'tunderstand the circumstances. Anyhow, father is getting it straightenedout; all he needs is time. We'll be able to handle it, all right. We'regood, you know, perfectly good--"

  "You're broke! Everybody else knows it, if you don't. '_Irregular_'!Ha! There's a choice of words!" The speaker laughed silently. "It is an'irregularity' that carries with it free board and lodging at thestate's expense."

  An incoherent protest issued from Nelson's throat. When next he managedto make himself audible, his words were such as really to amaze hishearer. "_I_ didn't do it," he cried, in a panic-stricken voice. "Itwas father's idea! You had us crowded--there was no other way. I warnedhim--"

  "Wait a minute! You blame it on _him_?" Gray's inquiry was harsh,incredulous. After a momentary pause his lips moved, but for once hestammered, his ready tongue refused its duty. He exploded, finally,with an oath; he jerked open a drawer in his desk. From his pocket heremoved his revolver, flung it inside, then jammed the drawer back intoplace with a crash. "You--_rat_!" he exclaimed. He turned his back uponHenry Nelson and made a circuit of the little room.

  "It's a thing you and I can easily fix up," the latter feebly insisted."Now that personal matter of yours--Perhaps I could help you reopen itsomehow, clear it up."

  "Ah! Indeed!"

  "Give and take, I say. I'm willing to do anything I can, if--"

  "There won't be any 'ifs'! No conditions whatever."

  "Is that so?" Nelson flamed forth, in a momentary explosion ofresentment. "If you think I intend to stand the brunt of this, you'recrazy. I can't afford to figure in a scandal--banking scandal--likethis. I'm a young man. Bell has had his day. He's old. You can hushthis up. There are lots of ways to do that. Keep me out of it and--andI'll do what's right by you; I'll do anything you say."

  "You'll do that, anyhow," Gray replied, in a voice that grated. Heflung himself into his desk chair and, seizing pen and paper, he beganto write rapidly, shakily.

  "I want to see what I'm signing," Nelson warned. A growl was his answer.

  For an interminable time the only sound in the office was thescratching of that pen. When at last it came to an end, Gray rose,thrust the loose sheets into Nelson's hand, then, indicating the vacantchair, said:

  "Sign that!"

  The wretched recipient of this curt command read the lines carefully.He read them twice, thrice, for his mind no longer functioned clearly.He raised a sick face, finally, and shook his head.

  "Wouldn't I be a fool?" he queried.

  "Listen, you--" Gray's body was shaking, his words were uneven. "I'msorry for Bell, but not for you. I'll never forget nor forgive what youdid to me. Nothing can undo that. Disgrace clings to a man. You'regoing to get yours, now, and you can't squirm out of it, or lie out ofit, no matter how you try, for I sha'n't let you. You're ruined,discredited, blown up, but--I don't think I want to send you to thepenitentiary. I'd rather see you walking the streets with dandruff onyour collar. I'd rather keep you to look at. Anyhow, you'll have tosign that."

  "If you'll guarantee to keep this bank matter quiet--if you'll protectme, I'll sign. Otherwise, you can go to hell. We'll beat it out,somehow. We can do it."

  Inflexibly Gray asserted: "I'm going to turn you over, whether or no.But I'll help Bell get the money to repay those loans. He'll probablymanage to save himself and--save you, too."

  "I won't do it!" Nelson flung down the pen. "Not on those conditions.You can't bulldoze me. It's your day to crow, but, I warn you, don'tpush me too far."

  Gray voiced an epithet. It was low pitched, but its explosive force,the impelling fury back of it, fairly caused the room to vibrate. Hewas white of lip, his rage h
ad reached the foaming point.

  "Don't make me lay hands on you--choke you into it," he cried,hoarsely. "If you do, by God, I'll finish you!"

  Like a man fighting some hypnotic influence stronger than his will,Henry Nelson took up the pen and signed his name waveringly. The nextmoment Gray smote the door to Briskow's office a heavy blow and, as itflew open, he barked:

  "Come in here! All three of you!" He stood aside as Gus, Bennett Swope,and Senator Lowe entered. "Yonder is a statement which I want you toread and witness. When you've done that, I'm going to tell you whyHenry Nelson signed it. The rest will be up to you."

  It was midafternoon. Swope and Lowe had left the bank. Briskow drew adeep breath and said, with genuine relief: "I'm glad _that's_ over. Wecan handle the debt between us, an', after all, Old Bell's a prettygood citizen. As for Henry, I s'pose he'll wiggle out of it, somehow. Idunno as I'd of been so easy on him if I'd been in your place."

  "I'll tell you why I was easy on him," Gray confessed. "I'm tired offighting; I'm worn out. I've won my point, and he'll carry the sort ofload I've been carrying. But there is this difference: for him therewill be no vindication at the end." Taking from his pocket Nelson'sstatement, he stared at it, then slowly his face lightened. "I wasblind mad at first. I felt as if I couldn't keep my hands off him. Itwas such a dirty trick he did me and so reasonless! He had no excusewhatever for injuring me, Gus. However, I suppose most quarrels sproutfrom tiny seeds. Well, I'm square with the game! I--I'm afraid, evenyet, that it's all a dream. I've wanted to yell--" The speakerchuckled; the chuckle grew to a laugh. "There's magic in this document,Gus, old boy. I've grown young all at once."

  "You needn't of took it so hard. Us fellers would have stood by you ifyou'd turned out to be a horse thief. Texas men are like that."

  "You proved it. But that wasn't enough. A man's business associateswill frequently overlook a lot more than their wives and daughters willoverlook. There's a certain loyalty that doesn't apply outside of theoffice." Gray rose and filled his lungs. "D'you know why I felt thisthing so keenly? Why I fought so long? Of course you don't, for I'veheld out on you. Fact! I've held out on my partner--had a secret fromhim. Now then, steel yourself for a surprise. I'm suffering fromBuddy's complaint, only ten times aggravated!"

  "What?" Briskow stared up at the animated countenance above him. "Youthinkin' about gettin' _married_?"

  "I'm thinking about nothing else. That's what ails me. Why, Gus, you'veno idea what a perfectly charming person I can be when--when I can bewhat I am. I thought I was too old and too blase ever to becomeseriously interested in a woman, above all in a girl, but--Do youremember when Ma and Allie came to Dallas that first time? Somethinghappened about then to upset all my ideas."

  Briskow's sun-parched face slowly lightened, his bright, inquisitiveeyes grew bluer, brighter. "I'm--mighty glad! I allus hoped--" He triedto finish his sentence, then shook his head and murmured, huskily,"Mighty glad!"

  Here was a marvel, a miracle, for which he had never dared even hope.He thought of Allie and a lump came into his throat. She had reachedthe stars. His girl! he would be mighty glad, too--

  Gray was speaking, and in his voice was a new, vibrant quality, a newvigor. "Now you'll know why this is the biggest day of my life; why Ithought those men would never go. I'm shaking all over, Gus. You'llhave to run the bank for a while; I'm too young and irresponsible. I'mgoing out to buy a hoop and a jumping rope and a pair of rollerskates." Again he laughed, boyishly; then, with a slap that knocked thebreath from Briskow's lungs, he walked lightly into his own office andseized his hat.

  For a long time the father sat at his big, empty desk, staring, smilinginto space. This would make Ma well. Money wasn't altogether a worry,after all; it bought things that nothing else could buy--stars and--andthings.

  From the expressions upon the faces Gray passed in leaving the bank, herealized that his own must wear a grin; but, in spite of his dignifiedeffort to wipe it off, he felt it widening. Well, this was his day togrin; his day to dance and caper. People were too grave, anyhow. Theyshould feel free to vent their joy in living. Why act as if the worldwere a place of gloom and shadow? Why shouldn't they hop, skip, andjump to and from business, if so inclined? He visualized the streets ofthe city peopled with pedestrians, old and young, fat and thin, thusengaged, and he laughed aloud. Nevertheless, it was a good idea, andwhen he became mayor, or perhaps the junior Senator from Texas, he'dadvocate public playgrounds for grown-ups. "Bob" would help him put itthrough. There was a girl who would never grow old. They would growyoung together. He caught sight of his reflection in a shop window andslowed down his gait, telling himself that pending the time his newidea was definitely planted it might be well to walk in theold-fashioned manner. Men of substance, bankers, for instance,shouldn't rush through the streets as if going to a fire; theyshouldn't dash over crossings and take curbstones as if they werehurdles. It wasn't being done. No reason, however, why a bankershouldn't throw his shoulders back and walk springily upon his toes.

  When he beheld the familiar painted sign, "Tom and Bob Parker. RealEstate and Insurance," he paused. The mere sight of the little woodenbuilding, the name, gave him an odd shortness of breath. It was weekssince he had been here.

  He realized of a sudden that he had brought nothing with him; no gift,not even flowers. But there was enough to talk about. She'd forgetthat. What a shower of gifts he would pour upon her--and upon Old Tom,too! Good Old Tom! Tom had wanted to believe. Tom and he would be greatpals. They couldn't help being pals with just one thing, between them,to love; one thing in all the world!

  It was a disappointment to find the office empty, except for the fatherhimself, but Gray began with a rush, "Well, I told you I'd clearmyself, and--here I am, walking on air."

  "You did it, eh? That's good news."

  "We had a show-down at the bank. Henry Nelson and I locked hornsand--But here! Read what he signed. That cleans the slate. He'll doanything further that may be necessary, officially. Where's "Bob"?"

  "They're fishin' for a bit in one of your Avenger wells. She's outthere."

  "So? I'd forgotten."

  "Did you see--? Did Buddy have a talk with you? To-day, I mean?"

  "Buddy? Oh, Buddy Briskow! I saw him for a moment only. She'll be backsoon, I dare say?"

  Tom Parker stirred; it was a moment before he spoke, then it was withapparent irrelevance that he said: "I'm sorry you and he didn't have agood talk. 'Bob' asked him to see you--sent him there a-purpose." Thesight of Gray's smiling, eager, uncomprehending face caused the oldman's steady gaze to waver. He cleared his throat. "Buddy's a fine boy."

  "Finest in the world! I claim responsibility for him, in a way. He'spart mine." Gray laughed; his eyes sparkled.

  "Him and 'Bob' are out there together. They've been together a lot, Mr.Gray. Both of 'em young, that-away--"

  "Of course. I knew you'd both like--" Some quality in Tom's voice, somereluctant evasiveness to his eyes, bore a belated message to theyounger man--snapped his chain of thought--dried the words upon hislips. Into his eyes leaped a sudden, strained incredulity. Sharply, hecried, "What do you mean?" Then, after an instant, "Why did he want tosee me?" The two men gazed squarely at each other for the first time."My God! Why--that's absurd! I--I brought him here. He's just a _boy_!"

  "And she's just a girl, Mr. Gray."

  The younger man shrank as if at a blow. He closed his eyes; he raised ashaking hand to his face, which was slowly assuming the color of ashes."That's too--rottenly unfair!" he said, faintly. "I brought himhere--made a man of him. Of course he doesn't know--" His eyes opened;eagerly he ran on: "Why, Tom, it's just the boy and girl of it! Puppylove! You know how that is."

  "I didn't notice how things was going till if was too late. We might aswell talk frankly, Mr. Gray. Prob'ly it's well you saw me first, eh?Well, when I understood where they was heading, I worried a lot--afterwhat you said that day, understand? But those two! Pshaw! It was likethey had known each other always. It was like 'Bob'
s' mother and mewhen we first met; her beautiful and fine and educated, and me roughand awkward. Only Buddy's a better boy than I was. He's got more inhim. I s'pose all womenfolks have that mother feeling that makes 'emyearn over the unlikeliest fellers." Parker looked appealingly at hisstricken hearer, then quickly dropped his eyes, for Gray's countenancewas like that of a dying man--or of a man suffering the stroke of asurgeon's knife.

  "After all, it's youth. You're a good deal older than 'Bob,' and Is'pose you sort of dazzled her. She likes you. She thinks you're great.You kinda thrill her, but--I don't believe she ever dreamed you wasactually--that you actually cared for her. You've got a grand way, youknow, and she ain't a bit conceited about herself. Why, I _know_ shenever figgered it that way, because she made Buddy promise to tell youthe first thing; sent him to the bank a-purpose, thinking you'd be soglad on his account."

  "Then they've--settled it between them?"

  Tom nodded gravely. "She told me last night. And from the way she toldme, I know it's not just boy and girl love. She's been singing like abird all day. And Buddy! He's breathless. I know how he feels. Icouldn't draw a full breath for two weeks after 'Bob's' mother--"

  Gray uttered a wordless, gasping cry. He moved unsteadily toward thedoor, then paused with his hand upon the knob. Tom Parker was surprisedwhen, after a moment, he saw the man's shoulders shake and heard himutter a thin, cackling laugh. "Time is a grim old joker, isn't he? Noway of beating him, none at all. Now I thought I was young, but--LuckyI found you here and spared my vanity." He turned, exposing a facestrangely contorted. "You won't mention my foolish mistake, will you?No use hurting the ones we love. You know how we feel--fatherly. That'sit, fatherly love. I was a silly old fool. They'll be happy. Youngpeople like that--" The speaker choked. "Young people--Well, _adios_,old man!" He opened the door and walked blindly forth.

  CHAPTER XXX

  Calvin Gray did not return to the bank. He went straight to his hoteland, as soon as he could sufficiently control himself to do so, hetelephoned Gus Briskow, telling him that he intended to leave town.Then he began mechanically to pack his bag. He moved like a man in atrance, for the blow had fallen so suddenly as to numb him; his onlyimpulse was to escape, to hide himself from these people who, of asudden, had become hateful. His city of dreams had collapsed. Theruins, as they lay, meant nothing as yet, for his mind refused toenvisage them and he could see them only as they had stood. He gropedamid a hopeless confusion of thought--at one moment bewildered,piteously hurt, at the next suffering a sense of shameful betrayal. Hehad grown old and dull and feeble, too, and for the time being he wasincapable of feeling the full force of a strong man's resentment. Thissurprised him vaguely.

  Soon, however, like kindling fires among the ruins, his fury rose--furyat himself, at Buddy, at Barbara--and in the heat of those scorchingflames he writhed. She _had_ loved him. He'd swear to that. He hadswayed her, overpowered her; he had lacked only the courage to trusthis instinct. Coward's luck! It served him right. He had held her inhis arms and had let her slip through; her lips had been raised to his,and he had refused to press them. Imbecile!

  He groaned; he tore the collar and the tie from his neck, for they werechoking him. Old, eh? Too old! That was the grimmest jest of all, forat the mere thought of Barbara's lips unruly forces took possession ofhim; he experienced a fierce, resistless vigor such as he had neverfelt in his younger days. It was a dreadful, an unappeasable yearningof soul and body, and when the paroxysm had passed, it left him weak.He sank into a chair and lay there stupid, inert, until again thosefires began to lick at him and again he twisted in dumb agony. BuddyBriskow! Buddy, of all people! That lout; that awkward simpleton, whoowed him everything! But Buddy was _young_!

  Gray heard himself laughing in hoarse derision. He rose and trampedheavily around his room, and, as he went, he crushed and ripped andmutilated whatever his hands encountered. His slow, deliberate,murderous rage demanded some such outlet. All the while he felt withinhimself two conflicting impulses, heard two voices: the one voiceshouted at him to search out Buddy and visit upon him the punishmentwarranted by a base betrayal; the other told him jeeringly to lay thescourge upon his own shoulders and endure the pain, since he hadbetrayed himself. His mind was like a battle ground, torn, up-heaved,obscured by a frightful murk--he remembered a night in France, a blacknight of rumbling, crashing terror, when, as now, the whole worldrocked and tumbled. Some remnant of self-control induced him to lockhis door and pocket the key, for Buddy might come. He probably wouldlook him up, all grins and smirks and giggles, to tell him the gloriousnews, to acclaim the miracle. That would be too much.

  One thing was certain, there was no safety except in flight,ignominious, cowardly flight... After all, how could Buddy have known?He was a good boy, and he had shown his love, his loyalty, in athousand ways. Gray hated him at this moment, but, more bitterly even,he hated himself. It was fate.... He fell to cursing aloud, but therewas no relief in that, and again the appalling irony of the situationsilenced him. He had deified himself, set himself upon a high place,bent men and affairs to his own ends, until he had acquired a godlikebelief in his power to accomplish all things. His victory had beencomplete. He had won all--except the one thing he most desired, thevery fruit of victory.

  Some time later he heard Buddy come whistling merrily down the hall andknock at his door. Gray cowered in his chair, listening in breathlessdread until the footsteps retreated. When he rose he moved aboutstealthily.

  When night came he took his bag and slunk out of the hotel, for itseemed that men must surely know what a fool he had made of himself. Itwould have been a relief to feel that he was leaving never to return;but even that was denied him, for, after his first panic, the truth hadcome home. He could not run away. He had forged chains for his ownlimbs. Like a tethered mustang he could plunge only to the end of hisrope. Friendship, again! There was simple, trustful, faithful GusBriskow. And the bank. God, what a mess things were in! Gray knew hewould have to return, have to see "Bob" and Buddy day after day, monthafter month, and the prospect was too distressing to dwell upon. Againhis mind grew weary, baffled; he experienced a wretched physicalillness... Where to go, where to hide until his sickness had passed?That was the question.

  For the first time he appreciated the full extent of his loneliness;his utter lack of resource in a crisis like this. Most men, howeversolitary, lay by material things for themselves, build homes andsurround themselves with personal possessions from which, or amidwhich, they can gain some sort of solace in times of trial. But he hadnot fashioned so much as a den into which he could creep and lick hiswounds. Once he had left his hotel room behind him he was in the openand without cover. Not a single soul cared whether he came or went, notanother door stood ajar for him. And he had planned so much upon havinga home, a real home--But he could not trust himself to think much alongthat line; it induced an absurd desire to weep at his plight. It madehim feel like a child lost in a wood. That was silly, just an emotionalreaction; nevertheless, the impulse was real and caused him to yearnpoignantly for human comfort.

  He thought of Ma Briskow, finally. She was human; she had a heart. AndDallas was a sort of homey place; anyhow, the bellboys at the Ajax knewand liked him. That was probably because he had tipped them handsomely,but what of that? If they'd be kind to him now he'd tip them morehandsomely than ever. Lonely men--old ones--must expect to pay for whatthey get. He bought a ticket to Dallas.

  Ma Briskow's eyes were dim; nevertheless, she saw the change in CalvinGray when, late the following afternoon, he came to see her.

  "Land sakes!" she exclaimed, in a shocked voice. "Pa never said you wasailin'. Why, Mr. Gray!"

  "I'm not really ill," he told her, wearily, "just old. I've had a badnight." Seating himself beside her couch, he took her hand in his andmade her tell him all about herself. He had brought her an armful offlowers, as usual, and extravagant gifts for her adornment--giving, itseemed, was his unconscious habit. While she admired them with ecstatic"Ohs!" and "Ahs!" h
e busied himself with bowls and vases, but Ma notedhis fumbling uncertainty of touch and the evident effort with which hekept up his assumption of good cheer. She told him, finally:

  "Something mighty bad has happened to you, Mr. Gray."

  He gazed at her mutely, then nodded.

  "Is it something about the--the Princess of Wichita Falls?"

  "Yes, Ma."

  "Tse! Tse! Tse!" It was a sympathetic cluck. "Was she a wickedprincess?" The query was gently put, but it deeply affected the man. Hetried to smile, failed, then like a forlorn little boy he came andbowed his head beneath her hand.

  "I knew you'd understand, Mother Briskow, so I--I ran to you with myhurt, just as I used to run to my Mother Gray." After a while hecontinued in a smothered voice: "She isn't a wicked princess. Shedidn't mean to hurt me and--that's what makes it hurt so deep. Shetumbled the old duke's castle down upon his head; tumbled the old dukeout of his dreams. He isn't a duke any longer."

  "He'll allus be a duke," Mrs. Briskow firmly declared. "He was bornthat way."

  "At any rate, he's a sad old duke now; all his conceit is gone. Yousee, he was a vain old gentleman, and his courtiers used to tell him hewas splendid, handsome--They said he looked as handsome as a king, andby and by he began to think he must be a king. His enemies sneered atthis and said he was neither duke nor king, but a--a mountebank. Thatmade him furious, so he went to war with them, and, by Jove, he foughtpretty well for an old fellow! Anyhow, he licked 'em. When they felldown and begged for mercy he knew he was indeed a great person--greatereven than he had suspected and worthy of any princess in the land."

  "Pshaw! Ain't a duke higher than a princess?"

  "No, Ma. Not higher than this princess. Her father made all the laws.She is very noble and very good. Good princesses are scarce and--andso, of course, they're very high. But the Duke of Dallas didn't stop tothink of that. He told himself that he was so strong and so rich and sodesirable that she would be flattered at his notice. He got all dressedup and went to call on her, and, on the way, whenever he looked into ashop window, he didn't see the buns and the candies and the dollsinside; all he saw was his own reflection. It looked so magnificentthat he strutted higher and thought how proud he was going to make her.

  "I guess that was the trouble with the old duke all along; he had neverlooked deeply enough to see what was inside. Anyhow, what do you think,Ma? While he'd been off at war conquering people and making themacknowledge that he was a king, the little princess had fallen in lovewith--with his nephew. Nice boy, that nephew, and the duke thought alot of him."

  Ma Briskow's hand, which had been slowly stroking Gray's bent head,ceased its movement; she drew a sharp breath.

  "There happened to be an old mirror in the princess's boudoir, andwhile the duke was waiting for her he saw himself in it. He saw himselfjust as he was, not as he had looked in the shop windows, for it was atruthful mirror and it told everything. My! That was a bad moment forthe Duke of Dallas, when he saw that he wasn't young and beautiful, butold and wrinkled and--funny. That was bad enough, but when he lookedagain and saw the princess whom he loved in the arms of his handsomenephew, why, he gave up. All his fine garments fell off and he realizedwith shame that, after all, he was only the withered mountebank.

  "When he got home his castle had collapsed. There wasn't a stonestanding, so he ran away--ran to his mother."

  "Oh, Mr. Gray!" Ma Briskow quavered. "I could cry. An' after all youdone for Buddy!"

  The man shook his head vigorously, still with his face hidden. "Itisn't Buddy. It's youth. Youth needs no fine adornment, no crown, novictory."

  "What you goin' to do?" she asked him.

  "Go on playing the duke, I suppose; rebuild the castle the best way Ican. That's the hard part. If I could run away and forget, but--Ican't. The old duke walled himself in. He must grin and strut and keeppeople from guessing that he's only a fraud until he can find a hole inthe wall through which he can creep."

  There was a long silence, then Ma inquired: "Would you like to tell mesomething about the little princess? Sometimes it helps, to talk."

  "N-not yet."

  "You're a duke, an' the best one that ever lived, Mr. Gray. You can'tfool me; I've met too many of 'em. That lookin'-glass lied! Real dukesan' kings an' such people don't get old. It's only common folks.There's lots of magic, the world's full of it, an' your castle is goin'up again."

  "After a fashion, perhaps"--Gray raised his head and smiledcrookedly--"but it will never be a home, and that's what I wanted mostof all. Do you think I'm very weak, very silly to come to you for alittle mothering?"

  "That's the kind of children mothers love best," the old woman said,then she drew him down to her and laid her cheek against his.

  "There! I've made you cry," he exclaimed, reproachfully. "What aselfish beast I am! I'll go now."

  "Won't you stay an' have supper with Allie an' me? We're awful lonesomewith Pa gone. Allie's out som'er's, but--it would do me good to knowyou was here an' it 'll do you good to stay. You can rest yourselfwhile I take my nap."

  Ma Briskow did not wish to take a nap, but she knew that Gray neededthe solace of his own thoughts just now, so, when he agreed, she senthim downstairs.

  First balm, indeed, had come to the man; the smart was less intense. Toput his trouble into words somehow lightened it; then, too, thegrateful knowledge that some warmth of sympathy was his made it easierto bear. But it remained a cruel burden. That gentle, dreamy soul upyonder could not know how it hurt. How could she understand, forinstance, what it meant to go back and face the deadly dull routine ofa life from which all zest, all interest, had fled? A routine brokenonly by moments of downright torture. Yes, and the effort it would taketo smile! God! If there were only some way to break his fetters, sliphis gyves!

  Gray's brain, like his body, had grown tired and feverish. To be sure,little more than a day had gone by since he had sallied forth like aknight, but it seemed a year, an age, and every hour brought a new andkeener distress. He found it possible now, for the first time, to relaxa bit physically, so he closed his eyes and lay back in an easy chairwhile the twilight stole in upon him. Sooner or later his mind, too,would cease its torment, for pain distils its own anodyne. Then hewould sleep. It would be a blessing to forget for even an hour, andthus gain strength with which to carry on the fight. But what a uselessbattle it was! He could never win; peace would never come.

  He heard Allie enter the house, but he did not stir. He would have toput on the mask soon enough, for, of course, she must never suspect, onBuddy's account. The room, which had grown agreeably dark, was suddenlyilluminated, and he lurched to his feet to find the girl facing himfrom the door. She was neither startled nor surprised at his presence,and when he tried to smile and to greet her in his accustomed manner,she interrupted him by saying:

  "I knew you were here."

  "So? Then Ma is awake again?"

  Allie shook her head vaguely. "I knew you were here the minute I camein. I can 'most always tell." There had been a shadow of a smile uponher lips, but it vanished; a look of growing concern crept over herface. "What's the matter? Whatever has happened, Mr. Gray?"

  "Why, nothing. I was feeling tired, worn out. Indulging myself in athoroughly enjoyable fit of the blues." His voice broke when he triedto laugh.

  Allie uttered a quick, low cry, a wordless, sympathetic sound. Her darkeyes widened, grew darker; she came forward a step or two, then shehalted. "Would you rather be alone?" she asked. He signified hisdissent, and she went on: "I know what the blues are like. I sit alonein the dark a good deal."

  She busied herself about the room for a few moments, straighteningthings, adjusting the window shades. Allie had the knack of silence,blessed attribute in man or woman, and to Gray's surprise he found thather mere presence was comforting. She startled him by saying, suddenly:

  "You're hurt! Hurt badly!"

  He looked up at her with an instinctive denial upon his lips, but,realizing the futility of deceit, he nodded. "
Yes, Allie."

  The girl drew a deep breath, her strong hands closed, harshly she said:"I could kill anybody that hurt you. I wanted to kill Buddy that time.Is it those Nelsons? Have they got you down?" There was somethingfierce and masterful in Allie's concern, and her inquiry carried withit even more than a proffer of help; she had, in fact, flung herselfinto a protective attitude. She suggested nothing so much as a lionessroused.

  "No, no! It is nothing like that. I merely fooled myself--had a dream.You wouldn't understand, my dear."

  Allie studied him soberly for a moment. "Oh yes, I would! I do! Iunderstand perfectly. Nobody _could_ understand as well as I do."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "I've been hurt, too." She laid a hand upon her breast. "That's why Isit in the dark."

  "My dear child! I'm sorry. Gus said you were unhappy, but I thought itwas merely--the new life. You're young; you can forget. It's only usold ones who can't forget. Sometime you must tell me all about it." Thegirl smiled faintly, but he nodded, positively: "Oh, it's a relief totell somebody! I feel better already for confiding in Ma. Yes, and yoursympathy is mighty soothing, too. It seems almost as if I had comehome." He closed his eyes and laid his head back.

  Allie placed her hand upon his forehead and held it there for a momentbefore she moved away. It was a cool and tranquilizing palm and hewished she would hold it there for a long time, so that he could sleep,forget--

  Allie Briskow went to her room, and there she studied her reflection inthe mirror carefully, deliberately, before saying: "You can do it.You've _got_ to do it, for he's hurt. When a girl is hurt like that, itmakes a woman of her, but when a man's hurt it makes him a little boy.I--I guess it pays to keep on praying."

  It was perhaps a half hour later that Ma Briskow heard a sound thatcaused her to rise upon her elbow and listen with astonishment. It wasthe sound of low, indistinct, but joyous singing; it came from Allie'sroom. Allie singing again! What could have happened? Slowly Ma's facebecame wistful, eager. "Oh, Mister Fairy King!" she whispered. "Pleasebuild up his castle again. You can do it. There's magic in the world.Make him a duke again, an' her a queen, for yours is the power an' theglory for ever an' ever. Amen!"

  THE END