It was not until the hurrying Bansemer entered the door of Rector'sthat the apprehension of having committed a senseless blunder cameto him.
"Good heavens!" he muttered, stopping short. "What a fool I'mgetting to be-meeting old Elias, in a place like this! The theatrecrowds--everybody in town will be here by eleven! Curse me, for ahopeless ass! I must get him away at once!"
Grumbling at himself, he passed into the restaurant. Gabe offeredhim the choice of various tables; he selected one which commandeda view of the entrances and ordered a perfunctory "Scotch." Nervousand anxious, he was more troubled than he cared to admit even tohimself. Fortunately, there were not many people in the cafe; andhis gaze, wandering about the place, soon halted before the smallalcove in the east end containing a table with wine glasses, inwaiting, set for a large party. The clock, back of the cigarstand,said it was five minutes after eleven. Bansemer impatiently watchedthe two doors leading to the street, and was beginning to wonderwhether the message had reached the old clerk, when presently, theuncouth shape of Droom, appeared slinking through the so-calledladies' entrance, with the shrinking attitude of one unaccustomedto fashionable restaurants and doubtful of his reception. Bansemermotioned to him.
"Just as soon as I can get my check," he was saying, at the sametime, beckoning to a waiter; "we'll move out of this. It will becrowded in--I never thought, a stall at Chapin & Gore's will bebetter. Here, waiter! My check! I'm in a hurry!--the devil!"
As the exclamation burst from his lips, there came down the narrowsteps and through a door quickly thrown open by a waiter, a numberof gay, fashionably dressed people, all smiling and trembling withthe cold. Immediately, this party attracted the attention of theroom. Waiters rushed hither and thither relieving the ladies of theircostly lace and fur wraps, and the men of their heavy overcoats.Of the expected theatre-comers, these were the first to arrive;but presently others followed, and soon the quiet cafe of the earlyevening became transformed into one of bustle and excitement bythe eager, animated throng. With dismay Bansemer noticed that thoseto whom his attention had been attracted were blocking his way tothe doors; escape was out of the question. Reluctantly, he returnedto his seat and ordered the clerk to take the one opposite him. Then,scanning the party making its passage to the alcove, he perceivedthree or four men whom he knew, and presently, to his surprise andconsternation-his son. The recognition was mutual, Graydon makinghis way around a small table in order to affectionately greet him.As he approached, his eyes fastened themselves on his father'scompanion. With amazement, he recognised the queer figure of thelanky, gangling Droom; but too kind-hearted and well-bred to allowhis features in the slightest degree to express the astonishmentwhich he felt at sight of such a comic incongruity, the young manvoiced a few kindly words to the old man, while from the tablein the alcove, where the smart, little supper party were seatingthemselves, Miss Cable was smiling her cheery recognition to herprospective father-in-law; then Graydon made his way back to hisseat by her side.
"Why did you come here?" asked Droom, feeling somewhat akin to theproverbial fish out of water.
"Because I thought--I thought you couldn't find any other place,"replied Bansemer, confusedly.
The unexpected arrival of his son and party had disturbed his usualcoolness; but with his order for supper his equilibrium returned,and he went on to explain:
"I supposed you knew only two streets in town--Wells and SouthWater."
"Humph! I know every street in town," Droom resented, drawinghimself up in his chair; and then bluntly: "What's happened?"
"Not so loud! Harbert's here, but---"
"Oho! Here?"
"In Chicago, yes--we'll talk about it later."
The present genial environment and convivial atmosphere wereproducing a most inspiriting effect on the lawyer. The delightfulconsciousness that the people with whom his son was supping wereof the smartest set in town for the moment had banished all fearsof exposure. From time to time he glanced proudly across to thealcove table where the men were engaged in unfolding their napkinsand toying with their glasses, in lively anticipation of the enjoymentto come; while the women, with the hope of eliciting admiration fortheir hands and the sparkle of their rings, were taking off theirgloves and spreading out their fingers on the table cloth.
"Graydon seems to be right in the swim, eh, Droom?" he said. Theirony of it all appealed strongly to his sense of humour. "I don'tsuppose you know those swells?" he added, patronisingly. Droom waslistening intently to the bursts of merriment which were enliveningthe restaurant. Like a small boy at a circus who fears that somethingwill happen that he will not see, he was continually turning hishead and letting his eyes travel critically over the company atthe neighbouring table.
At this speech of Bansemer's the eyes of the old clerk returned;they expressed no little resentment at the inference.
"Certainly, I do;" and leaning over the table and covertly indicatingwith his long, bony finger the man at the head of the table, heanswered succinctly: "That's Fernmore--he's--"
A particularly loud burst of laughter cut him short. At the adjoiningtables conversation had abruptly ceased; heads were turned andinquisitive eyes were fastened on the brilliant coterie at thealcove table.
Few men in Chicago were better known or better liked than the stout,florid complexioned, jovial-looking Billy Fernmore, the host ofthis entertainment. His social adventures and the headlong folliesin which his fun-loving proclivities invariably enmeshed him wereonly surpassed by his fondness for ridding himself of his unlimitedwealth.
To his inherited five millions marriage had added the colossalfortune of a beautiful heiress, whose extravagances aggregated lessthan his own solely through the limitations of her sex. Yet, wereit not for the self-imposed handicap of adhering strictly to thesomewhat old-fashioned precept that jewels should be acquired onlythrough affectionate beneficence, Mrs. Fernmore might have succeededin surpassing the princely prodigalities of her lord and master.
"It was this way," Billy was saying, in his own inimitable manner,and awake to the realisation of having a "good one" to tell; "afew days ago the lady of my house took wings for New York--a littlespree of her own, you understand. And, for Billy Fernmore, I keptout of mischief, for a time, fairly well. After waiting days,lamb-like, for her return, restlessness--;" and here Fernmore'sshameless affectation of the neglected husband became so irresistiblyfunny that it provoked prolonged laughter from his listeners, evenDroom showing his yellow snags and stretching his mouth to thefullest extent of the law, as he joined in the general chorus;"restlessness gave way to recklessness, and in desperation I inviteda half dozen of the oldest and most distinguished widowers in townto dine with me, at the hotel, where they were informed they wereto be honoured by the presence of a bevy of the season's prettiestdebutantes. My stars, but they were a fine collection of oldinnocents!" Fernmore threw himself back in his chair and roared atthe recollection.
"Billy's a wonder when he's wound up!" Medford's whispered asideto the lady on his right met with a simple nod of the head; fordespite Miss Clegg's well-feigned interest in Mr. Medford when Rigbywas present, on other occasions there was no pretence of enjoymentof his society.
"Among those present--to use the correct phrase," said Billy, afterhaving refreshed himself with sufficient champagne to proceed; "weretwo retired merchants, a venerable logician, a doddering banker,and a half-blind college professor. Of course, I had to make someexcuse for Mrs. Fermnore's absence. For the life of me I cannotnow remember what yarn I told them; but they were too anxious tobe presented to the gay, young women not to swallow it--whole. Theold boys fairly swamped the girls with their senile attentions. Itwas a lively supper party--my word! And they went home unanimouslydeclaring that the debutantes of the present day discounted, atleast in dash and go, the charmers of fifty years ago."
Amidst the confusion of peals of merriment which greeted the genialraconteur, Miss Cable, to whom the story did not especially appeal,whispered in awed tones:
"Graydon, who on earth is that queer, spectacular looking man withyour father?"
"Oh, that's Droom--isn't he a character? He's been with the governorsince I was a child. In those days his looks used to frighten mealmost to death. I fancy he's had a sad life, don't you know."
"There is something positively awful in his face," returned thegirl, as her eyes faltered and dropped to her plate on unexpectedlymeeting those of the subject of her remark.
"Sh-h!" came from Medford; and then: "Come, Billy--what's thepoint--or the moral, as they say in novels?"
"Fernmore is a rattling good chap, at heart," Graydon was sayingto Jane; "but I can't stand that Med--"
"Yes, yes, go on, Mr. Fernmore," broke in several voices in eagerexpectancy.
"The moral?" Billy's eyes were twinkling. "The joke, rather, is onme. When Mrs. Fernmore reached home I thought it wise to say nothingabout the affair; but I had completely underestimated the persistencyof these rejuvenated venerables. They were not satisfied--wantedto know more about the girls; and the next day in deep but joyoussimplicity, half a dozen old men asked their married daughters andclose friends at the clubs what family of Brown a certain debutantebelonged to; who was the father of Miss Jones; and how long hadthe family of Miss Robinson lived in the city, together with alot of amazing questions. And failing to derive even the remotestsatisfaction from the Social Register, the women members of theirfamilies besieged my innocent wife with more or less shocked inquiriesas to an entertainment of mine at which their aged relations werepresent. Well, the game was up! I owned up--confessed to the girlsbeing actresses and begged for mercy."
"And I forgave him," supplemented Mrs. Fernmore, smilingly. "Boyswill be boys."
"Whew!" whistled Billy, in conclusion. "It was no end of a lark!I would not have missed it for the world; but the old chaps willnever, never forgive me."
As the gentleman finished, Bansemer was looking at Droom withamusement. The old clerk was shaking his head in a manner thatsignified disapproval.
"How's that for doings in swagger society, eh, Droom? If anyonebut Billy Fernmore had done that, he would have been ostracisedforever. Nothing like millions--"
"I don't believe true aristocrats would do that," interrupted Droom,half angrily.
"These are the aristocrats--money aristocrats; the others have lostthe name--forgotten. Come, let's go over yonder--we can talk there."
Bansemer called for the bill and settled it; then slowly rising,ostentatiously waved his adieus to the alcove and deserted thescene for Chapin & Gore's Droom meekly followed him employer.
For some time, neither spoke. In their stall, each was busy withhis own thoughts and speculations.
"I think I've made a mess of it with Mr. Cable," began Banseemer."She---"
"I wouldn't mention names," cautioned Droom, with a look at thetop of the partition.
"She's very likely to fight back, after all."
"What was your demand?"
"Money," said Bansemer, quietly.
"Humph!" was Broom's way of saying he lied.
"Harbert has a purpose in coming here, Elias. We must prepare forhim."
"We are as well prepared as we can expect to be. I guess it meansthat we'll have to get out of Chicago."
"Curse him!" snarled Bansemer. "I don't care a rap about myself; butit will be all up with Graydon if anything--er--unpleasant shouldhappen to me," said Bansemer, with a wistful glance at his glass.Then, in subdued tones, he told of the meeting with Harbert. Droomagreed that the situation looked unpleasant, and all the moreso in view of what Eddie Deever had mentioned in connection withthe Marshal's office. He repeated the story as it had come fromthe babbling, youngster's lips, utterly deceived by the guilelessemissary from the office downstairs.
"What do you expect to do?" he asked, studying the tense face ofhis employer.
"I'm going to stand my ground," said Bansemer, steadily drummingon the table with his stiff fingers. "They can't prove anything,and the man who makes a charge against me will have to substantiateit. I'll not run a step."
"Then," said Droom, coarsely, "you must let Mrs. Cable alone. Sheis your danger signal. I tell you, Mr. Bansemer, she'll fight ifyou drive her into a corner. She's not a true aristocrat. She comesof a class that doesn't give up."
"Bah! She's like the rest. If Harbert doesn't get in his nastywork, she'll give in like all the others."
"I thought you said you'd do nothing to mar the happiness ofGraydon," sneered Droom.
"I don't intend to, you old fool. This affair is between Mrs.Cable and me. If she wins, I'll give up. But, understand me, I'mperfectly capable of knowing just when I'm beaten."
"I only know your financial valour," said Elias drily.
"That's all you're expected to know, sir."
"Then, we won't quarrel about it," said the other with his sweetestgrin.
"Umph! Well, pleasantries aside, we must look ourselves overcarefully before we see our New York friend. He must not find uswith unclean linen. Elias, I'm worried, I'll confess, but I'm notafraid. Is there anything that we have bungled?"
"I have always been afraid of the chorus-girl business. I don'tlike chorus girls." Bansemer, at another time, would have smiled.
It was past midnight when the two left the stall and startedin separate ways for their North Side homes. The master felt moresecure than when he left the home of David Cable earlier in thenight. Elias Droom said at parting:
"I don't like your attitude toward Mrs. C. It's not very manly tomake war on a woman."
"My good Elias," said Bansemer, complacently surveying himself inthe small mirror across the stall, "all men make war on women, oneway or another."
He did not see Droom's ugly scowl as he preceded that worthy throughthe doorway.
The next morning Bansemer walked down the Drive. It was a bright,crisp day and the snow had been swept from the sidewalks. He feltthat a visit from Harbert during the day was not unlikely and hewanted to be fresh and clear-headed. Halfway down he met Jane Cablecoming from the home of a friend. He never had seen her looking sobeautiful, so full of the joy of living. Her friendly, sparklingsmile sent a momentary pang of shame into his calloused heart,but it passed with the buoyant justification of his decision to donothing in the end that might mar his son's happiness.
She was walking to town and assured him that she rejoiced in hisdistinguished company. They discussed the play and the supper party.
"Now that I'm engaged to Graydon, I'm positively beginning to growsick of people," Miss Cable declared and as they all declare atthat age and stage.
"Well, you'll soon recover," he smiled. "Marriage is the convalescenceof a love affair, you know."
"Oh, but most of the men one meets are so hopelessly silly-tiresome,"she went on. "It's strange, too. Nearly all of them have gone tocollege-Yale, or Harvard."
"My dear Jane, they are the unfortunate sons of the rich. You can'tblame them. All Yale and Harvard men are not tiresome. You shouldnot forget that a large sprinkling of the young men you meet atthe pink teas were sent to Yale or Harvard for the sole purposeof becoming Yale and Harvard men-nothing more. Their mothers neverexpected them to be anything else. The poor man sends his son tobe educated; the rich man usually does it to get the boy away fromhome, so that he won't have to look at him all the time. I'm happyto say that I was quite poor when Graydon got his diploma."
"Oh, Graydon isn't at all like the others. He is a man," criedJane, her eyes dancing.
"I don't mean to say that all rich men's sons are failures. Someof them are really worth while. Give credit unlimited to the richman's son who goes to college and succeeds in life in spite of hisenvironment. I must not forget that Graydon's chief ambition atone time was to hunt Indians."
"He couldn't have got that from his mother," said she accusingly.Bansemer looked at her sharply. He had half expected, on meetingher, to observe the first sign that the Cable family had discussedhim well but not favourably. Her very brightness convinced him thatshe, at least,
had not been, taken into the consultation.
"I am afraid it came from his horrid father. But Graydon is a goodboy. He couldn't long follow the impulses of his father. I daresay he could be a sinner if he tried, too. I' hate an imbecile.An imbecile to my mind is the fellow without the capacity to errintentionally. God takes care of the fellow who errs ignorantly.Give me the fellow who is bright enough to do the bad things whichmight admit him to purgatory in good standing, and I'll trust himto do the good things that will let him into heaven. I often wonderwhere these chaps go after they die--I mean the Yale and Harvardchaps who bore you. It takes a clever chap to have any standingat all in purgatory. Where do they go, Jane? You are wise for youryears and sex. There surely must be a place for the plain asses?"
"Oh," said she, "I suppose they have a separate heaven, just asthe dogs have."
"No doubt you're right," he agreed, smiling, "but think how brightthe dogs are as a rule."
"Bobby Rigby says a dog is worth more than his master. People willsteal a dog, he says."
"I saw him at your house last night. Did you meet Mr. Harbert?"
"No. Mother said he came in with Bobby."
"How is Mrs. Cable this morning? I think she--er--complained of asick headache last night?"
"She has such a frightful headache that she couldn't get up thismorning."
"Indeed? Will you carry my respects and sympathy to her?"
"Thank you, yes. But why don't you come in and see us, Mr. Bansemer?"
"In a day or so, gladly."
Bansemer was not approached by Harbert that day nor the next--norany other day soon, in fact. It was not until after the third day hadexpired that he heard from Mrs. Cable. Her silence was gratifyingand significant; it meant that she was struggling with herself--thatshe had taken no one as yet into her confidence. He was too waryto feel secure in his position, however. He abandoned every casethat could not be tried in the cleanest light and he destroyed hisfootprints in those of the past more completely than ever. DavidCable was disposed to be agreeable when they met, and Rigby's mannerhad lost the touch of aloofness. Altogether the situation did notlook so dark as it had on the night of the blizzard.
He guessed at Mrs. Cable's frame of mind during the three daysjust past by the tenor of her message over the telephone. She didno more than to ask him to drop in before five for a cup of tea;but he saw beyond the depth of her invitation.
He went and had a few minutes alone with her because he was shrewdenough to drop in before five. No one else came until after thathour had struck. He was studiously reserved and considerate. Therewas nothing in his manner to indicate that he was there as anythingmore than the most casual sipper of the beverage that society brews.It was left for her to make the advances.
"We must come to an understanding," she said abruptly. "I cannotendure the suspense, the uncertainty--"
Bansemer raised his brows with grave condescension.
"Then you have not confessed to Mr. Cable?" he asked, with perfectunconcern. "Do you know, I was rather hoping that you would havesaved me the trouble of doing so."
"It means so much to--"
"Ah, I see you find it hard to lose the ground you have gainedsocially." He stirred his tea steadily.
"It isn't that--I don't care for that. It's for Jane and David. Ican only offer to buy your silence; nothing more," she said withhurried words. "I own shares in the railroad; they're worth twentythousand dollars. Will you take them?"
"My dear," he said, leaning quite close to her, "I am not seekingto blackmail you as you seem to imagine. I have only tried to tellyou that I love you."
"Oh," she exclaimed, with a shudder of disgust. His face was quiteclose to hers; she could feel his warm breath on her cheek and shedrew away quickly. His hand hovered close to hers as it lay in herlap.
There was an eye-witness to this single picture in the brief scene.Jane had started downstairs. From the upper steps she could lookinto the drawing-room below. She could not help seeing Bansemer'sfervent attitude; she heard nothing that he said. The girl pausedin surprise; a feeling as of dread--she could not explain--creptover her. A chill struck into her heart.
It was as if she had awakened from a sweet sleep to look out upona bleak, horrid morning.
Involuntarily she shrank back, quite beyond the actual vision butnot free from it. She stood straight and tense and silent at thetop of the stairs, her hand clasping the rail. She could hear herheart throbs plainly. There was no mistaking the picture as it hadburst upon her unsuspecting eyes. With a quavering smile she triedto throw it from her. But cold and damning there arose to supporther apprehensions the horrid stories of Mrs. Blanckton and heraffair with Rellick. With her own eyes she had seen Rellick talkingto Mrs. Blanckton just as Bansemer was talking to her mother inthe dim doom below. The Blanckton scandal, as everyone knew, wasone of the most infamous the city had known. Jane, with other girls,had been shocked by the boldness of the intrigue; she had loathedRellick for his unprincipled love-making; she had despised anddenounced Mrs. Blanckton. Here now was her own mother listeningjust as Mrs. Blanckton had listened; here was James Bansemer talkingjust as Rellick had talked. A great fear, a dark uncertainty, welledup in her heart.
It was not until the butler admitted other callers that she foundthe courage to turn her eyes toward the drawing-room. She was neverto forget the dread that grew with the thought of what she mighthave seen had she remained a voluntary witness during the minuteswhich followed her first look below. That single vision effected asharp, complete change in Jane Cable's life. From that moment shenever saw the world as it had appeared to her before.
Although she succeeded in, hiding the fact, it was difficultto approach and greet James Bansemer with the naturalness of theunsuspecting. His manner was beyond reproach, and yet, for thefirst time, she saw the real light in his black eyes. She talkedto him as if nothing had happened to make her distrustful, but noself-control in the world could have checked the growth of thatremorseless thing called suspicion. For her own sake, for hermother's, for Graydon's, she tried to put it down. Instead, it grewgreater and stronger as she looked into his eyes, for in them shesaw the light that heretofore had escaped her notice.
And this was the father of the man whom she was to marry, the onewhom she loved with all her heart and soul! This, the man who woulddegrade her own mother! Her mother--she looked at her with a newquestion in her eyes. She looked for the thing which had marked Mrs.Blanckton. It was not there, and she rejoiced in that discovery.Her mother did not possess the bold, daring, defiant air of theother woman. Hers was tender, sweet, even subdued; the girl clutchedhopefully at this sign and began to build upon it.
Half a dozen people came and went. James Bansemer was the last toleave. He met the girl's tense, inquiring look from time to time,but he could not have felt its meaning. There was nothing in hervoice which might have warned him, although it sounded strained andwithout warmth on her own ears. In spite of herself she wonderedhow he would act in saying good-bye to her mother. Although shetried with all the might of her will to look away, she could nottake her eyes from the pair as Bansemer arose to depart.
His manner was most circumspect. The handclasp was brief, evenformal and there was no look in his eyes to indicate the presenceof anything but the most casual emotions. After his departure,Mrs. Cable turned to Jane and complained of a frightful headacheand went to her room to lie down for a while before dinner. Jane'sgaze followed her steadily as she ascended the stairs. Then shewalked to the window and looked out upon the street, a hundredperplexities in her mind.
Her father was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, lookingdown the darkening street. His cab was turning the corner below,showing that he had been standing there for longer than a minute.She watched him with interest. What had happened in the street tohold his interest so closely? It was Jane who opened the door andlet him in. As she kissed his cold cheek she noticed the frown onhis brow and caught the strange gleam in his eyes. His greetingwas less warm than u
sual, and he went to his room upstairs withoutremoving his hat or coat below. But not before he sent a quick,keen glance about the drawing-room to find if James Bansemer hadbeen the single visitor of the afternoon.
"Where is your mother?" he asked from the stairs, without lookingback.
"She has just gone to her room," Jane replied, a chill shootingthrough her veins. Some strange, unnatural impulse compelled herto add, as if the explanation were just and necessary: "We havehad a lot of people in drinking tea, and mother has a headache."
She watched him ascend the steps and turn into his smoking-room.The door closed sharply and a wave of inexplicable relief rushedover her. Her hands were cold. She went to the fireplace and heldthem out to the blaze. Her ears were alert for sounds from above--alertwith a strange fear which choked her with its persistence. Shedreaded the opening of her father's door and his footsteps as theycrossed to her mother's room. She waited for these sounds, minuteafter minute, but they did not come. The fire would not give warmthto her hands; the chill seemed to spread. In her new consciousnessshe felt that a tragedy was just begun.
CHAPTER XIV
THE CANKER