The Alternative

  CHAPTER IV

  THE SECRETARY GOES HOME

  He was chilled to the bone when he awoke, an hour and a half later. Theroom was in pitchy darkness. It is only natural to suppose that he didnot know where he was. He felt of himself, surprised to find that he wasnot undressed and not in bed. With more philosophy than is usuallyexhibited under such puzzling conditions, he fell back in his chair andforced himself into full wakefulness.

  A moment later, with a gasp of dismay, he was on his feet, scraping awaythe frost and peering from the black window into the night, his eyeswide with anxiety. His arms and legs were stiff with the cold; he foundhimself shivering as with a mighty chill. Turning his back to thewindow, for many minutes he stared dumbly into the opaqueness beforehim. The house was as black as the grave and quite as silent. He beganto experience, strangely enough, the same dread of darkness he had feltwhen a boy.

  A furnace register, he remembered, was near the door leading to thehall, wherever that might be. His first thought was to seek the comfortof its friendly, warmth-giving drafts. On second thoughts, he ransackedhis pockets for a match. A clock in the hall struck once, but how washe to know whether it signified one o'clock or half-past something else?Finding no match, he started for the register, his hands stretchedbefore him.

  Of one thing he was reasonably sure; the household was wrapped inslumber. There was not a sound in the house. He was reminded of achildhood poem in which it was said: "Not a creature was stirring, noteven a mouse." The memory of this line brought a smile to his lips.

  His progress was rather sharply checked by bodily contact with one ofthe dummies, whose presence he had quite forgotten. Not only was there ahollow protest from the dummy, but a more substantial one from Mr. VanPycke. Not content with a mild encounter with this particular obstacle,he proceeded, in his confusion, to back into another, which, being lesssturdy, toppled over with a crash that must have been heard in theattic.

  Panic-stricken, the young man floundered on, now intent upon reachingthe hall and making as dignified an escape as possible before theservants appeared with blunderbusses and tongs. His only desire now wasto find his overcoat and hat and the front steps without butting hisbrains out in the darkness.

  He brought up against a chair, creating additional racket and barkinghis knee into the bargain.

  "Good heaven," he muttered, "where am I? Is it a barricade?"

  His heart stood still for a second. Distinctly he heard the soft,suppressed cry of a woman--and then the unmistakable sound of scurryingfabrics. The sounds came from some remote corner of the room--orpossibly from a room hard by--and were indicative of great alarm on thepart of an unseen person.

  Bosworth was not a slow thinker. He took the safest way. Withouthesitation he called out: "It's all right! I am Bosworth Van Pycke!"

  There was dead silence for the next sixty seconds. The French clockticked them off. He involuntarily counted twenty-five or thirty before asmall, hushed voice responded,--from the library, he was sure,--thevoice of a woman.

  "What did you say?"

  "I am Mr. Van Pycke. Don't be alarmed. It's--it's all a mistake. I--"

  "Mr. Van Pycke? Why--why--"

  He recognized the voice.

  "Is that you, Miss Downing?"

  "Are you--are you sure that you are Mr. Van Pycke? I have my finger onthe call button. Wha--what are you doing here?"

  "I am trying to get out," he said, lowering his voice. "Don't yourecognize my voice?"

  "Ye--yes, I think I do."

  "Where are you?"

  "Why didn't you go out before?" asked the voice, a bit querulously hethought.

  "I am not a sleep walker," he said. Realizing that it was a poor time tojest, he hastily supplemented: "I went to sleep--waiting. Where areyou? What time is it? Is every one in bed?"

  The curtains at the opposite end of the room parted very slowly. First,a strong, red glow appeared beyond, mellow and somewhat fitful; then theshadowy figure of the girl was silhouetted against the red, framed oneither side by shivering drapery.

  She was still wearing the white satin evening gown. He took hope.

  "It isn't so late, after all," he cried, starting toward her.

  "I hope you will go away at once, Mr. Van Pycke," she said quickly. "Itis half-past one--and every one _is_ in bed. I don't understand why youare still here."

  "I'll tell you all about it," he said, not very confidently. "Don't turnme out until I've got warm, please. I give you my word, I'm paralyzedwith the cold."

  "Really, Mr. Van Pycke, I--I can't have you here--I mean, it is soterribly late. I--I--"

  "Were you horribly frightened?" he asked, somewhat irrelevantly. He hadcome up to her by this time, and, peering beyond, saw a splendid fire inthe library grate. There were no lights in the room. A big chair stoodbefore the fender, invitingly.

  His teeth were chattering.

  "I was almost petrified," she said rather breathlessly. "If you had notcalled out, I--I think my heart would have refused to beat again. Oh, Iam _so_ glad it is you and not a burglar!"

  "May I come in and get warm?" he pleaded. She saw that he was shivering.With a quick glance over her shoulder she stood aside and allowed him topass.

  "You _are_ cold," she said. "Sit down by the fire. I'll poke it up abit. Just for a few minutes, and then you must go. I wonder if theracket alarmed the servants. You see, I am the only person in this partof the house, Mr. Van Pycke."

  He looked up from the grate, over which he was holding his hands. "Bythe way, why are you not in bed? I distinctly remember you said goodnight--and started."

  She hesitated. "I wasn't sleepy," she said.

  "On the other hand, I slept very soundly," he said. "Have you been downhere all this time?"

  "Since twelve o'clock. I love a grate fire."

  "Won't you sit down? Do."

  "No, thank you. I'll wait till you have gone. If I sit down now, you'llstay, I'm afraid."

  He moved the big chair and drew up another for himself beside it. Shewatched the proceedings without approval or resentment. When the twochairs stood side by side before the fender, he motioned for her to sitdown. She was now gazing at him fixedly, a somewhat detached smile onher lips. After a moment she shrugged her shoulders and sat down. Hepromptly dropped into the other chair and stretched out his feet to thefire.

  "You said something that surprised me, just as you left me--two hoursago," he remarked, after a long silence. "A year's vacation on fullpay," he repeated.

  "I am Mrs. De Foe's secretary," she said quietly. He turned to look ather.

  "'I am Mrs. De Foe's secretary,' she said quietly."]

  "Secretary? I didn't dream of that, Miss Downing."

  "Have I fallen in your estimation?" she asked, meeting his gazesteadily.

  "I think you've risen," he said slowly.

  "You may not remember me, but I crossed on the steamer with you fromLiverpool when I was eight years old. You were eleven, I think you said.I was a very pretty little girl. You said that, too. Do you remember?"

  He was cudgeling his brain. "I can't say that I do, to be perfectlycandid. Still, I've been wondering where I've seen you. I recall thevoyage, but as for little girls, I remember but one. Ah, she was alittle beauty. I was so desperately in love with her that I dare say Ihad thoughts or eyes for no one else. I'm sorry."

  "Do you remember her name?"

  "Perfectly. It wasn't so long ago, you know. I'm twenty-five. She had aperfectly ungovernable nurse. I was obliged to do my worshiping from adistance. By Jove, that reminds me, her father was put down and out afew years ago in Wall Street. I think he had a stroke of paralysis, orsomething, poor devil, afterwards. Lost everything. I wonder what hasbecome of her. I never saw her after we landed in New York."

  "Was her name Pembroke?"

  He started. "Yes,--Mary Pembroke! You knew her? Why, I believe--" Hestared hard.

  "I am Mary Pembroke," said she, leaning back and smiling. Hisastonishment was unqualified.

/>   "You? Yes! I can see it now. All evening there has been some vague thingabout you that has puzzled me. Why, it is wonderful--positivelywonderful. I--" He stopped suddenly, a look of concern in his eyes. "Ihope I didn't say anything just now to hurt you,--I mean, about yourfather."

  "You spoke of him as the world speaks, Mr. Van Pycke. And you did say'poor devil.' That was something. He is--still a helpless invalid.Perhaps you did not know that."

  "I'm sorry--very sorry." He hesitated for a moment. "Is that why you areMrs. De Foe's secretary?"

  "We are quite poor, Mr. Van Pycke. So poor that I am unwilling to takefrom the slender annuity that keeps us together--my father, my twolittle sisters and me. There is enough for him to live on to the end ofhis poor, desolated life. I am strong, and I love him too well to takefrom that little store. Mine hasn't been such a trying position, afterall. Mrs. Scoville is an old friend. I've known her since I was a littlegirl. She's been very kind and very generous. I don't mind the work.It's much better than marrying some one for his money, I'm sure. Haveyou ever read of Lily Bart? She had a very much harder time than I, poorthing, in her house of mirth. She did not deserve it, but she served asa warning to me."

  "I dare say you remember that I told Mrs. Scoville I had come up hereto-night to propose to her," he said ruefully. She nodded, and her eyesnarrowed.

  "You are not so brave as I am, Mr. Van Pycke," she said. "I thought youwere very brave and very manly as a little boy."

  "Well, I didn't ask her, after all," he said, resenting her tone. "Idon't believe I could have done it, if it had actually come to the test.I couldn't do it now to save my very soul. I'm going to marry for loveor not at all. Money be hanged."

  "Oh, don't say that!" she cried. "You forget how rich you are!"

  "Rich! I'm a pauper."

  "On twelve thousand a year? I consider myself quite well off on thefifteen hundred Mrs. Scoville pays me. You are fabulously rich."

  "You are laughing at me," he exclaimed, shamed.

  "Who am I to laugh at the wonderful Buzzy Van Pycke, prince of thedandies in--"

  "Please don't." He clenched his hands and set his jaw, leaning forwardto gaze into the bed of coals. She studied his averted face.

  "You have a strong face," she said at last, voicing her thoughts.

  "Thanks," he muttered.

  "You don't know _how_ to work. Is that it, Mr. Van Pycke?" she asked.

  "Oh, I fancy I could earn a living," he said, without looking up.

  "And then you could save the twelve thousand intact," she observed. Helooked up curiously. "In ten years you would have at least one hundredand twenty-five thousand. You could buy a yacht with that much money.Just think what fun it would be to spend it all in an hour."

  "It may interest you to know that I _am_ going to work," he said,conscious of a burning sensation in his face.

  "Are you in earnest?"

  "Certainly. I'm tired of this sort of thing."

  "Splendid! And what are you going to do? Something gentlemanly, I hope,such as selling bonds on commission. Gentlemen who go to work always dothat, don't they, whether they're qualified or not?"

  "You're a bit sarcastic, aren't you? I _was_ going to sell bonds, havingbeen solicited to do so, but I've changed my mind. I'm going to get ajob with an undertaker."

  They laughed, at first rather half heartedly, then merrily. For tenminutes they talked of the past, the present, and the future. Hegathered that she had assumed the name of Downing for secretarialpurposes only; that she kept herself very much in the background in Mrs.Scoville's establishment; that she had watched his social career withunflagging interest; that she was returning to her own home on thefollowing day, with a check for fifteen hundred in her possession; thatshe expected to marry if the right man came along; that Mrs. Scovillehad made her a present of the gown--and so on and so forth. Theydiscussed the wedding and the hullabaloo it was to create. They unitedin deprecating the impulse which robbed the marriage of its naturalsanctity, but they agreed that she was a lovely bride.

  "And now you must go home," she said at last. The clock chimed a quarterafter two.

  "That reminds me," he said. "You said you were going to your own home inthe morning, early enough to avoid the reporters, who are to be managedby Stokes. May I inquire where your own home is, Miss Pembroke?"

  "We live in Princeton, Mr. Van Pycke."

  "Princeton? Why, I was there four years, you know. Strange I never sawyou."

  "You forget we were living in Fifth Avenue or Mayfair until two yearsago. The house in Princeton is all that is left of the Pembrokemillions. It was my mother's."

  "By Jove, I remember you came out three years ago. I--I was asked,wasn't I?"

  "You were. And you didn't come."

  "I'd like to come to Princeton, if it isn't too late."

  "If it doesn't interfere with your work, you mean."

  "Oh, come now!" he protested.

  "We have to consider everything," she said.

  "I'll try to get a job in the faculty. I remember distinctly that I knewmore than any man in the faculty at one time. That would simplifymatters, wouldn't it?"

  "Do you really feel the need of that eyeglass, Mr. Van Pycke?" sheasked, again veering off, much to his annoyance.

  "Not at all." He calmly tossed the monocle upon the coals. She criedout.

  "Oh, I didn't mean you to do that. I _love_ monocles!"

  "The deuce! Why didn't you say so?" he lamented.

  "It's too bad," she sighed. "You would have needed it so much, too,looking for work."

  "By Jove, I like you!" he cried. "You're a plucky girl and aphilosopher. You do something toward the support of a whole family,while I--well, look at me! What good have I done? I have not earned tendollars in my whole life by honest toil. I'm ashamed. I am--"

  "Please, please," she interposed despairingly. "Don't go into thatagain. It's too late. I am really very sleepy now. I hate to turn youout in the storm, but you _must_ go. If the servants should--heavens,please go!"

  "You're right! I'm off. I'll be as quiet as a mouse, so don't worry.This has been the most gallant night of my life. I'll live it over ahundred times in my dreams. By the way, what train do you take in themorning?" He was shaking hands with her, standing beside her chair.There was a new light in his eyes.

  "The ten-fifteen, if it isn't snowbound. Why?"

  "Never mind. I just asked," he said. He was thinking of violets and atrip to the ferry.

  "Don't do anything so absurd, Mr. Van Pycke," she said severely, tryingto read his thoughts. He laughed blithely, full of certain early morningenterprise. "Good-bye. Oh, just listen to the wind!"

  She shuddered.

  "Don't leave the fire," he said. "And _do go to bed_! Remember, you areto catch the ten-fifteen."

  He tiptoed into the hall. There was not a sound in the house. A minutelater the outer doors closed behind him, gently. He was out in the cold,bitter night, plowing his way through snowdrifts three and four feetdeep, bound for the hotel next door, the nearest place of refuge.

  In the office he left a call for seven o'clock. Not in ten years had hedone anything so amazing.

  "She helps to support a family--a helpless father and two smallsisters," he said to himself as he crept into bed. "But, it wouldn't bethe same thing supporting my governor. _I should say not!_" Later on,very drowsily: "I was sure I had seen her before. Little Mary Pembroke!How I adored her! But it seems to me her hair was yellow then. It'sblack now. Still, I dare say that's better than if it had been blackthen and yellow now. Seven o'clock! What an ungodly hour to get up. ButI'll have to get used to it."

  Miss Pembroke resisted the desire to look after him from the frontwindow. She couldn't bear the thought of scraping the frost from thewindow pane with her fingernails, for one thing; for another, he mighttake it into his head to look back.

  So she went to bed, thinking of him--as she had been doing for an houror more before his amazing second appearance.

  "He was such
a shy boy," she reflected. "But he was the best lookingthing. Dear me, how long ago it seems! And those silly love letters Iwrote to him and never mailed. What funny things children are!"

  At nine o'clock the next morning she was called to the telephone. Shewas at breakfast, and her bag was ready for the train. An early glancefrom the window had filled her with misgivings. The street wasabsolutely impassable, it seemed to her.

  "I won't talk to the reporters," she said to Stokes.

  "It isn't a reporter, Miss. It's a gentleman."

  "Don't be a snob, Stokes. Who is it?"

  "It's Mr. Van Pycke, Miss."

  She started. Then she flushed warmly.

  "Say to him, Stokes, that I have gone," she said, after a moment.

  "Very good, Miss. Anything else?"

  She pondered. "Yes, Stokes. Ask him to hold the wire."

  "Hold the wire, Miss?"

  "Yes, while you run to the door to call me back."

  A moment later she was in the telephone room, quite out of breath.

  "Who is it?" she called. She compelled him to repeat the name fourtimes. Eventually he got her serious attention.

  "No trains until this afternoon?" she cried despairingly. "Why, thechildren will be at the station to meet me."

  "Trains all snowbound," he announced quite cheerfully. "I've beentelephoning."

  "It's awfully good of you. I'll call up the Pennsylvania--"

  "Don't bother," he called. "I've seen to all that. There's only onething to do. Go to the ferry at one o'clock and wait. They'll get atrain out as soon as possible. I'm glad it's to be no earlier than one.This is my busy day, you see."

  "What has that to do with it?"

  "I think I can be at liberty at one o'clock, that's all. I'm at my roomsnow, writing letters of resignation to eleven clubs and declininginvitations to four Christmas house parties on Long Island. I'm goingdown to see Thrush and Wrenn, the publishers, at eleven."

  "Indeed?"

  "Yes. I'm thinking of writing a book exposing New York society. They'reall the rage now. This will be the literary remains of a fizzle."

  "Are you jesting?"

  "It depends," he said. "At ten I am to see George P. Krosson, thecapital king. You see I _have_ been telephoning. I got him out of bed atseven-thirty. He says he didn't know I had it in me to be so energetic.He's an old friend, however, so it's all right. He--"

  "Please tell me what it's all about. I know who he is, so don'tenlighten me. He once was an old friend of ours."

  "Well, he's always said he'd take me as a secretary, if I'd agree tobuckle down to it. I'm going to try it on."

  "You--to be a secretary?"

  "Don't be so surprised, please! It's only a starter, you know. His lastsecretary owns a bank now, and the present one is going to Congress. ButI'll tell you about it--at the ferry."

  She tried not to appear to be looking for him when her fretting taxicabfinally struggled up to the ferry building at Twenty-third Street, justbefore one o'clock. Nearly an hour had been spent in the trip from theScoville home to the ferry. There were times when she thought the effortwould have to be abandoned.

  He was there. In fact he opened the door and assisted her to alight fromthe vehicle. There was a brief discussion with the driver over theregister's showing. Then they hurried into the ferry building, pursuedby three bags and a "Much obliged, Miss," from the surprised chauffeur.

  "He was there. In fact he opened the door and assistedher to alight."]

  "You were very reckless, giving him a dollar," he criticised severely,but not forgetting that he had given five the night before. He had beenwondering all the morning if _she_ had noticed the cocktails.

  "It is so good of you to come down," she said, a color in her cheeksthat was not from the cold. He was marveling. Never, in all his life,had he seen any one so pretty as this trim, proud young person in thePersian lamb coat and ermine stole and muff. She gauged his thoughts."Presents from Mrs. Scoville--in advance of Christmas," she said dryly.He was properly embarrassed. "Now, I must ask about the trains."

  "It's all attended to, Miss Pembroke," he said. "I got here at half-pasttwelve, lunchless. Boat in ten minutes, train out of Jersey City at twoo'clock, positively. We can have luncheon on the train." He seemed a bitembarrassed, as he ought to have been, in truth.

  She stood still and looked at him. "On the train?" she murmured.

  "Yes, Miss Pembroke. I have an afternoon off. I'm going to Princeton.Oh, by the way, don't bother about the tickets. I have them. Come along,please, or we'll miss the boat."

  Of course she protested. She was very much annoyed--or, at least, thatis what she meant to be.

  He explained, in a burst of confidence meant to cover the uniquetrepidation he felt, that he was not to assume his duties as secretaryto Mr. Krosson until the following Monday. "This is my last free week.Don't begrudge me an excursion. It's to take the place of four houseparties."

  She held out stubbornly, for appearance's sake; it was not until theywere in the middle of the Hudson that she said it would be very nice,and he could catch the five o'clock train back to New York.

  It would be difficult to relate all that they said during the tortuoustrip to Princeton. Naturally they discussed his prospects.

  "I'm not sure that I know what a secretary has to do," he confessed."But," with a determined gleam in his eyes, "whatever it is, I'm goingto do it. I don't expect Mr. Krosson to give me a year's vacation onfull pay, and I'm not looking for furs in my stocking at this or anyother Christmas, but I do mean to live on what I earn. I'm to havetwenty-five hundred a year, in the beginning."

  "Goodness, that _is_ a lot of money," she said. They were at luncheon inthe private dining car.

  "I'll retain my membership in two clubs. I'm starting out to-morrow tofind a couple of cozy rooms in a genteel apartment hotel."

  "Have you broken the news to your father?"

  He laughed. "No. I stopped at his room to see if he had pneumonia. Hesaid he was asleep and couldn't tell--and for me to go to the devil."

  From the car window they watched the great white sea through which theywere gliding. Their hearts were free and their hearts were sparkling.Constantly recurring in their thoughts were the little forgotten thingsof that memorable voyage across the Atlantic. It was he, however, whopresumed to steal surreptitious glances in which wonder was uppermost;she steadfastly declined to be led by her impulses.

  "You've never heard anything particularly terrible about me, have you?"he demanded, rather anxiously, once in course of a duet ofpersonalities.

  "Only that a great many women are in love with you."

  "It's funny I've never heard that," he said dolefully.

  "Men say that you are an exceptionally decent chap and it's too badyou'll never amount to anything."

  "Oh, they do, do they?" indignantly.

  "I think they'll be stunned when they hear of your latest move."

  "Well, I'll show 'em what I'm made of."

  "Splendid! I like to hear you speak in that way."

  "You do?" he asked eagerly. "You _do_ think I'll make good, don't you?"

  "What station is this?" she asked deliberately.

  "Rahway," he said, leaning close to her in order to see the name on thestation.

  "I think I'll have a holiday on Christmas," he ventured carefully."That's next week, you know. May I come down to Princeton for theafternoon and evening?"

  "To see me?" She seemed surprised.

  "Yes," he said simply. She had expected some frivolous reply. Her gazewavered ever so slightly as it met his.

  "It will be a very dull way to spend Christmas," she said.

  "Christmas is always a dull day," he said, so imploringly that shelaughed. He came very near to adding, irrelevantly, that she wasprettier than ever when she smiled.

  "When there are no children about," he succeeded in saying, as an amendfor his slip.

  "There are two in our house, besides myself," she said gayly.

 
"Splendid!" he cried enthusiastically. "Can't we have a tree?"

  On the platform at Princeton he was introduced to two small and verypretty young ladies, six and eight, and to a resentful gallant agednine, who seemed to look upon him with disfavor. It afterwards developedthat he was the characteristic neighbor boy who loves beyond his years.He adored Miss Pembroke.

  "Mr. Van Pycke is coming down for Christmas," announced Miss Pembroke,in course of time, drawing her little sisters close to her side andsmiling upon the dazzled gallant, aged nine.

  "Will you play bear for me?" asked the young lady aged six, after a slylook at her nurse.

  "The whole menagerie," said Mr. Van Pycke, most obligingly. Then, havingoccupied a perilously long time in shaking hands with the girl in thePersian lamb, he rushed off in response to the station master'ssatirical warning that last night's train was just pulling out for NewYork.

  "I know just what's going to happen to me," he said to himself,jubilantly, as he waved to her from the window. "I can feel it coming."