by Bret Harte
can see," he said quietly, "you have made ducks anddrakes of your share of the property, and that virtually you are in thehands of this man Gunn and his father."
"You're putting it too strongly," said Gabriel deprecatingly. "In thefirst place, my investments with Gunn's firm are by no means failures,and they only hold as security a mortgage on the forest land below thehill. It's scarcely worth the money. I would have sold it long ago, butit had been a fancy of father's to keep it wild land for the sake of oldtimes and the healthiness of the town."
"There used to be a log cabin there, where the old man had a habit ofcamping out whenever he felt cramped by civilization up here, wasn'tthere?" said Uncle Sylvester meditatively.
"Yes," said Gabriel impatiently; "it's still there--but to return to Mr.Gunn. He has taken a fancy to Kitty, and even if I could not lift themortgage, there's some possibility that the land would still remain inthe family."
"I think I'll drive over this afternoon and take a look at the oldshanty if this infernal weather lets up."
"Yes; but just now, my dear Sylvester, let us attend to business. I wantto show you those investments."
"Oh, certainly; trot 'em out," said his brother, plucking up asimulation of interest as he took a seat at the table.
From a drawer of his desk Gabriel brought out a bundle of prospectusesand laid them before Uncle Sylvester.
A languid smile of recognition lit up the latter's face. "Ah! yes," hesaid, glancing at them. "The old lot: 'Carmelita,' 'Santa Maria,' and'Preciosa!' Just as I imagined--and yet who'd have thought of seeingthem HERE! A good deal rouged and powdered, Miss Carmelita, since Ifirst knew you! Considerably bolstered up by miraculous testimony toyour powers, my dear Santa Maria, since the day I found you out, to mycost! And you too, Preciosa!--a precious lot of money I dropped on youin the old days!"
"You are joking," said Gabriel, with an uneasy smile. "You don't mean toimply that this stock is old and worthless?"
"There isn't a capital in America or Europe where for the last fiveyears it hasn't been floated with a new character each time. My dearGabriel, that stock isn't worth the paper it is printed on."
"But it is impossible that an experienced financier like Gunn could bedeceived!"
"I'm sorry to hear THAT."
"Come, Sylvester! confess you've taken a prejudice against Gunn fromyour sudden dislike of his son! And what have you against him?"
"I couldn't say exactly," said Uncle Sylvester reflectively. "It may behis eyes, or only his cravat! But," rising cheerfully and placing hishand lightly on his brother's shoulder, "don't YOU worry yourself aboutthat stock, old man; I'LL see that somebody else has the worry and youthe cash. And as to the land and--Kitty--well, you hold on to them bothuntil you find out which the young man is really after."
"And then?" said Gabriel, with a smile.
"Don't give him either! But, I say, haven't we had enough business thismorning? Let's talk of something else. Who's the French girl?"
"Marie? She's the daughter of Jules du Page--don't youremember?--father's friend. When Jules died, it was always thoughtthat father, who had half adopted her as a child, would leave hersome legacy. But you know that father died without making a will, andthat--rich as he was--his actual assets were far less than we had reasonto expect. Kitty, who felt the disappointment as keenly as her friend, Ibelieve would have divided her own share with her. It's odd, by the way,that father could have been so deceived in the amount of his capital,or how he got rid of his money in a way that we knew nothing of. Do youknow, Sylvester, I've sometimes suspected"--
"What?" said Uncle Sylvester suddenly.
The bored languor of his face had abruptly vanished. Every muscle wasalert; his gray eyes glittered.
"That he advanced money to Du Page, who lost it, or that they speculatedtogether," returned Gabriel, who, following Uncle Sylvester's voiceonly, had not noticed the change of expression.
"That would seem to be a weakness of the Lane family," said UncleSylvester grimly, with a return of his former carelessness. "But that isnot YOUR own opinion--that's a suggestion of some one else?"
"Well," said Gabriel, with a laugh and a slight addition of color, "itWAS Gunn's theory. As a man of the world and a practical financier, youknow."
"And you've talked with HIM about it?"
"Yes. It was a matter of general wonder years ago."
"Very likely--but, just now, don't you think we've had enough financialtalk?" said Uncle Sylvester, with a bored contraction of his eyebrows."Come," looking around the room, "you've changed the interior of the oldhouse."
"Yes. Unfortunately, just after father's death it was put in the handsof a local architect or builder, one of father's old friends, but nota very skillful workman, who made changes while the family were away.That's why your present bedroom, which was father's old study, had aslice taken off it to make the corridor larger, and why the big chimneyand hearthstone are still there, although the fireplace is modernized.That was Flint's stupidity."
"Whose stupidity?" asked Uncle Sylvester, trimming his nails.
"Flint's--the old architect."
"Why didn't you make him change it back again?"
"He left Lakeville shortly after, and I brought an architect from St.Louis after I returned from Europe. But nothing could be done to yourroom without taking down the chimney, so it remained as Flint left it."
"That reminds me, Gabriel, I'm afraid I spoke rather cavalierly toKitty, last night, about the arrangements of the room. The fact is, I'vetaken a fancy to it, and should like to fit it up myself. Have I yourpermission?"
"Certainly, my dear Sylvester."
"I've some knickknacks in my trunks, and I'll do it at once."
"As you like."
"And you'll see that I am not disturbed; and you'll explain it to Kitty,with my apologies?"
"Yes."
"Then I'm off."
Gabriel glanced at his brother with a perplexed smile. Here was thebored traveler, explorer, gold-seeker, soldier of fortune, actually aspleased as a girl over the prospect of arranging his room! He calledafter him, "Sylvester!"
"Yes."
"I say, if you could, you know, just try to interest these peopleto-night with some of your adventures--something told SERIOUSLY, youknow, as if you really were in earnest--I'd be awfully obliged to you.The fact is,--you'll excuse me,--but they think you don't come up toyour reputation."
"They want a story?"
"Yes,--one of your experiences."
"I'll give them one. Ta-ta!"
For the rest of the day Uncle Sylvester was invisible, although hisactive presence in his room was betrayed by the sound of hammering andmoving of furniture. As the remainder of the party were skating onthe lake, this eccentricity was not remarked except by one,--Marie duPage,--who on pretense of a slight cold had stayed at home. But with hersuspicions of the former night, she had determined to watch the singularrelative of her friend. Added to a natural loyalty to the Lanes, shewas moved by a certain curiosity and fascination towards thisincomprehensible man.
The house was very quiet when she stole out of her room and passedsoftly along the corridor; she examined the wall carefully to discoveranything that might have excited the visitor's attention. There were afew large engravings hanging there; could he have designed to replacethem by some others? Suddenly she was struck with the distinctconviction that the wall of the corridor did not coincide with the wallof his room as represented by the line of the door. There was certainlya space between the two walls unaccounted for. This was undoubtedly whathad attracted HIS attention; but what BUSINESS was it of his?
She reflected that she had seen in the wall of the conservatory an oldclosed staircase, now used as shelves for dried herbs and seeds, whichshe had been told was the old-time communication between the gardenand Grandfather Lane's study,--the room now occupied by the stranger.Perhaps it led still farther, and thus accounted for the space.Determined to satisfy herself, she noiselessly descended to theconservatory. There, surel
y, was the staircase,--a narrow flight ofwooden steps encumbered with packages of herbs,--losing itself in upperdarkness. By the aid of a candle she managed to grope and pick her wayup step by step. Then she paused. The staircase had abruptly ended onthe level of the study, now cut off from it by the new partition. Shewas in a stifling inclosure, formed by the walls, scarcely eighteeninches wide. It was made narrower by a singular