CHAPTER XXIII.
Mad, call I it; for to define true madness. What is't, but to be nothing else but mad? But let that go.
_Hamlet._
After leaving Nina, Jack went to the club, where he found Geoffreyplaying pool with half a dozen others, whose demeanor well indicated thenumber of times the lamp had been rubbed for the genius with the tray toappear. Geoffrey seemed to be in good-humor, but he gave Jack the ideaof playing against time. He strode around the table rapidly as he tookhis shots, as if not caring whether he won or lost. The only effect theliquor seemed to have upon him was to make him grow fierce. Everymovement of his long frame was made with a quick nervous energy,inspiriting enough to watch, but giving an impression of completeunrest. He was playing to stave off waking nightmares. Thoughts of hisprobable ruin on the following day came to him from time to time--like avision of a death's head. The others with him noticed nothing differentin him, but Jack, who was quietly smoking on one of the high seats nearby, saw that he was in a more reckless mood than he had ever seen himbefore. He could not help smiling as his friend strode around the tablein his shirt-sleeves, playing with a force that was almost ferocity anda haste apparently reckless but deadly in the precision that sense ofpower, skill, and alcohol gave him. After a while, in a pause, he spoketo Geoffrey, who at once divined that more trouble of some kind awaitedhim.
When they arrived at their chambers, Jack told him briefly of thejourney with Nina for the purpose of getting married in Buffalo, and ofwhat Nina had just said.
Geoffrey nodded; he was waiting for the something new that would affecthimself--the something he was not prepared for.
"Is that all?" he asked sharply.
"No. That is not all," answered Jack gloomily.
"Go on, then."
"I don't feel as if I could go on," said Jack, not noticing the roughtone in which he was commanded to proceed. "But I suppose I must. Thefact is, Geoffrey, I found out afterward that I was not married at allto her, and I never let her know until to-night."
"Is she dead, then?"
Geoffrey looked at him with his brow lowered, his eyes glittering. Hefelt like striking Jack.
"Gracious heavens, no! Why should she die?" cried Jack, startled fromhis gloom.
"It's enough to kill her," said Geoffrey. His contempt for Jack assistedthe rage he felt against him. He had been drinking steadily all day, andnow could hardly restrain the violent fury that seethed in him. "Go on,you infernal ass! Dribble it out. Go on."
"I see you feel for her, Geoffrey. I _am_ the biggest fool that ever wasallowed to live."
Then, with his face averted, he told Geoffrey the whole story of themistake in Buffalo. His listener watched him, with lips muttering, whilesometimes his teeth seemed to be bared and gleaming.
In this story, Geoffrey at first seemed to see a new danger to himselfand his future prospects. Then it occurred to him that the newinformation did not much affect his own position. Two things seemedcertain. One was, that Joseph Lindon would spare no expense to find outwhere Jack and Nina had gone and to be fully informed of everything thathappened. Secondly, that Nina could never be able to show any legalmarriage prior to the one now intended. This meant that Nina and Jackcould not return to Toronto. A vague idea went through Geoffrey's headat this time.
When Jack had finished his story Geoffrey was calm in appearance. Buthis eyes were half closed, which gave him a cunning look.
Then he talked with Jack, so as to impress upon his mind the fact thatit would be impossible for them ever to visit Canada again.
"Yes," said Jack. "Unless you come out to visit us you will never see usagain. I could never make it right with the Toronto people. I will neveragain be able to return to Toronto; that's clear."
When he proposed to make arrangements as to the best ways and means ofleaving Toronto, Geoffrey said he must have time to think overeverything. It was late. It would be better to sleep, if possible, andarrange things further to-morrow. They parted for the night, havingsettled that Jack was to draw out his money at once.
On the next morning Geoffrey ascertained that he was ruined. The stockthat he held in the Canadian railway had gone down beyond redemption asfar as he was concerned. He had mortgaged everything he possessed,raised money on indorsed notes, raised it in every shape and way withinhis means, but he had been unable to tide over the depression. A furthercall had been made for margins, and he had not another cent to fill thegap and all his stock passed to other hands. He drank steadily all dayand even carried a flask with him into the office, which he soonemptied. Hampstead was not by any means the same man now that he wasthree weeks previously. He looked sufficiently like his right self toescape a betrayal, but the liquor and the thought of his losses ragedwithin him, and all the time an idea was insinuating itself into hisfrenzied brain. He had gone so far as carefully to consider many schemesto avert his ruin which he would not have countenanced before. Hisweakened judgment now placed Jack before him as one who conspiredagainst his peace. He cunningly concealed it, but to him the mere sightof Jack was like a red flag to a bull. Just when all his plans weredemolished, all his hopes gone, his entire ruin an accomplished fact,this fool came in to add fuel to the fire that burned him. In this wayhe regarded his old friend.
While in this state and while at his work in the bank the next morninghe said to Jack, who occupied the next stall to him, that he had hitupon the best way for him and Nina to depart. It would be better forJack to go away without giving any notice to the bank. The notice wouldbe of no use if he did so, because, if he must go away the next morning,the notice would only raise inquiry. He told Jack to slip out and godown to the docks and find if there would be any sailing vessels leavingfor American ports the next day. Jack could depart on a schooner; Ninacould make some excuse at home and follow him by steamer.
Jack liked this proposal. He would have one more sail on old Ontariobefore he left it forever. He skipped out of the side door, and soonfound a vessel at Yonge Street wharf that would finish taking in itscargo of fire-bricks and start for Oswego at noon the following day. Hetried to arrange with the mate to go as a passenger, but the captain wasgoing to take his wife with him on this trip, so Jack, if he wanted togo, would be obliged to sleep in the forecastle. He did not mind thismuch, and engaged to go "before the mast."
In the afternoon he told Nina about his intentions, and explained thatshe could take the steamer to Oswego on the day after he left, so thatshe would probably arrive there about the same time. He had drawn allhis money out of the bank and was now ready to go. Nina said she couldarrange about her own departure, and after they had made a few otherplans as to her course in case she got to Oswego first, Jack kissed herand tried to cheer her from the depression in which she had sunk, andthen he departed.
All that day Geoffrey grew more moody and further from his right self.To drown the recollections of his ruin and his other worries, he went ondrinking steadily. The thought came to him again and again that hismarriage with Margaret was now almost impossible. He knew that, as amarried man, he could never live on his bank salary alone, and thecapital to speculate with was entirely gone. What made him still morefrenzied was the fact that he knew that this stock he had bought wasbound to re-establish itself in a very short time. But, for the moment,every person else had gone mad. He alone was sane. Public lunacy aboutthis stock had robbed him of his fifteen thousand dollars. He drankstill harder when he thought this, and although he did not get drunk,he got what can be described vaguely as "queer," and the next stage ofhis queerness was that he became convinced that the public had in amanner robbed him, and that society owed him something. When a man'sbrain is in this state, he is in a dangerous condition.
Jack wished heartily that they should dine together, as this was hislast evening in Toronto, but Geoffrey avoided doing so. He hated thesight of Jack, but he carefully concealed the aversion which he felt. Hemade an excuse and absented himself until nine or ten o'clock, andduring this time he wandered abou
t the city and continued drinking. Hehad not seen Margaret for over two weeks. Everything had been goingwrong with him. Besides his own losses, he would be heavily in debt tothe men who had "backed" his paper and who would have to pay for him.
Jack found him in their chambers when he returned for his last night atthe old rooms, and there they sat and talked things over. Geoffrey triedto brace himself up for the conversation with a bottle of brandy whichhe had just uncorked, but it was quite impossible for him to pretend tobe as cheerful as he wished.
Jack thought he was depressed, and said:
"I am sorry to see you in such bad spirits to-night, Geoffrey."
"Well, it's a bad business," said Hampstead, sententiously, lookingmoodily at the floor. As this might mean anything, Jack thought thatGeoffrey was taking his departure to heart. He had every right to thinkthat Hampstead would miss him.
It was now getting late, and Jack arose and laid his hand on Geoffrey'sshoulder: "Don't be cut up, old man," he said; "I have been a fool, butI am glad that I know it and am able to make things as right as they canbe made. I know you feel for Nina and me, but you will get some otherfellow to room with you and--"
During the conversation Hampstead had drunk a good deal of the brandy.The kind words that Jack was speaking filled him with a fury whichlunatic cunning could scarcely conceal. The idea in his mind had beensettling itself into a resolve, and at this moment it did finally settleitself. He shook Jack's hand off his shoulder as he arose, glared at himfor an instant, and then turned off to his bedroom. "Good night," hesaid over his shoulder. "It's late. I'm off." Then he entered hisbedroom, shut the door, and bolted it.
As he went, Jack looked at his retreating form with tears standing inhis eyes.
"I never," he said, "saw Geoffrey show any emotion before. I never feltquite sure whether he cared much about me until now. And now I know thathe does. I hate to see him so cut up about it; but it is comforting tothink, on going away, that he really liked me all this time."
Jack was a clean-souled fellow. He was one of those who, no matter howuproarious or slangy they are, always give the idea that they aregentlemen. With this nature a certain softness of heart must go. Hestood watching the door through which Geoffrey had passed, and hethought drearily that never again would they have such good timestogether, and that most likely they would never meet again. He thoughtof Geoffrey's winning ways, of his prowess, of his strength, hisstature, his handsome face, and his devil-may-care manner. He thought oftheir companionship, the incidents, and even dangers they had hadtogether. He thought of the way Geoffrey had done his work that night onthe yacht when returning from Charlotte. He stood thinking of all thesethings with an aching heart. As he turned away sadly, his heart full ofgrief at parting, he burst out with "Darned if I don't love that man,"and he closed his door quickly, as if to shut out the world fromwitnessing a weakness.
On the inner side of Geoffrey's bedroom door there was something elsegoing on, which represented a very different train of thought.
Geoffrey, after bolting his door, went to his dressing-case and tookfrom it a pair of scissors and a threaded needle. Then he took an oldwaistcoat and cut the lining out of it. Then he took a second oldwaistcoat and sewed the pieces of lining against the inside of it, andalso ran stitches down the middle of each piece after it was sewed on.Thus he had a waistcoat with four long pockets on the inside--two oneach side of it, all open at the top.
When this was done he rolled into bed, where Nature hastened to restoreherself.
Before breakfast in the morning, Jack hailed a cab and took his twovalises to the Yacht Club beside the water's edge, and left them in hislocked cupboard there. He only intended to take this amount of luggagewith him. The rest of his things could come on when Geoffrey packed upand forwarded his share of their joint museum and library. Geoffrey didnot turn up at breakfast. He breakfasted on a cup of strong coffee andbrandy at a restaurant, and went to the bank early.
Mr. St. George Le Mesurier Hector Northcote, commonly called "Sappy" inthe bank, was a younger son of a long-drawn-out race. He had been sentout to make his fortune in the colonies, and he had progressed so fartoward affluence that, in eight years of "beastly servitude, you know,"he had attained the proud position of discount clerk at the VictoriaBank, and it did not seem probable that his abilities would be everrecognized to any further extent. The great scope of his intelligencewas shown in the variety of wearing apparel he was able to choose, allby himself, and he was the showman, the dude, the _incroyable_ of theVictoria Bank. When he met a man for the first time he weighed himaccording to the merits of the garments he wore. He met Geoffrey as hecame into the bank this morning.
"My deah fellah," he said, "where did you get that dreadful waistcoat?"
"None of your business, Sappy. You used to wear one yourself when theywere in fashion. I remember your rushing off to get one from the samepiece when you first saw this one."
Mr. St. George Le Mesurier Hector Northcote had a weak child's voice,which he cultivated because it separated him from the common herd--mosteffectually. It made all ordinary people wish to kick him every time heopened his mouth. He liked to be thought to have ideas about art, and hetalked sweetly about the furniture of "ma mothah" (my mother.)
Geoffrey walked past this specimen with but little ceremony. The brandyand coffee and another brandy without coffee had succeeded in puttinghim into just the same state in which he had gone to bed on the previousnight. He could talk to any person and could do his work, but fumes ofalcohol and abandonment of recklessness had for a time driven out allthe morality he ever possessed; and where some ideas of justice hadgenerally reigned there flourished, in the fumes of the liquor which hehad drunk, noxious weedy outgrowths of a debased intelligence uncheckedby the self-respect of civilization. To-day, he was, to himself, thevictim of a public that had robbed him. Society owed him a debt.
They all went to work in the usual way. About a quarter-past eleveno'clock Jack put his head to Geoffrey's wicket and they whisperedtogether:
Jack said, "Time for me to be off?"
"Yes, just leave everything as if you were coming back. If you put awayanything, or close the ledger, they may ask where you are before you getfairly off. By the way, how are you carrying your money?"
"By Jove! I forgot that," said Jack, "or I might have made the packagesmaller by exchanging for larger bills. It makes a terrible 'wollage' inmy pocket."
Geoffrey stepped back a moment and picked two American bills forone-thousand dollars each from a package of fifty of them lying besidehim.
"Here," he said. "Take these two and pin them in the watch-pocket ofyour waistcoat. Don't give me back your money here. Just run up to ourchambers and leave your two thousand under my bed-clothes. I don't wantany one to see you paying me the money here, or they will think Iconnived at your going. I can get it during the afternoon and make mycash all right."
Jack did not quite see the necessity of this, but he had not time tothink it out, and even if he had, he would have done what Geoffrey toldhim.
"All right," he said, "thank you. That will make two 'one-thousands' andseven 'one hundreds,' and the rest small, for immediate use."
"Very well. Go into the passage, now, and wait at the side door. I willcome out and say good-by to you."
Jack took his hat and sauntered out into the passage.
In a minute Geoffrey, with his hands in his pockets, strolled to theside door.
"Good-by, Jack," he said hastily. "When your schooner sails past thefoot of Bay Street here, just get up on the counter and wave yourhandkerchief so that I may see the last of you."
"All right, dear old man. I'll not forget to take my last look at theold Vic, and to do as you say. I must run now, and leave the twothousand in your bed, and then get on board. Good-by. God bless you!"
Geoffrey sauntered back to his stall and took a drain at a flask ofbrandy to keep off the chill he felt for a moment, and to brace himselfup generally.
Jack hurried off
to the chambers, counted out the two thousand dollarswhich he had wished to get rid of, and after taking a last look at theold rooms, he hurried to the Yacht Club. Here he put the valises intohis own skiff after changing his good clothes for the old sailingclothes already described. Then, under an old soft-felt hat with holesin the top, he rowed down to the schooner, threw his valises on board,and climbed over the side. He let his skiff go adrift. He had no furtheruse for it. There were some stone-hookers at the neighboring dock. Hecalled to the men on one of them and said, "There's a boat for you!"Then he dropped down the forecastle ladder with his luggage.
His arrival on board was none too early, for the covers were off thesails and the tug was coming alongside to drag the vessel away from thewharf, and start her on her way with the east wind blowing to take herout of the bay. The tug was towing her toward the west channel as theypassed the different streets in front of the city. At Bay Street, Jackleft off helping to make canvas for a minute, and, running to thecounter, sprang up on the bulwarks and waved his handkerchief tosomebody who, he knew, was watching through the windows of the VictoriaBank.
There was nothing to detain the schooner now. The wind was from theeast, and consequently dead ahead for the trip, but it was a good freshworking breeze, and Geoffrey, when he saw how things looked on theschooner, knew that it had fairly started on its passage to Oswego.
He glanced around him to make assurance doubly sure, and then he dividedthe pile of forty-eight (formerly fifty) one-thousand-dollar bills intofour thin packages. These he slipped hurriedly into the four longpockets which he had made in the waistcoat the previous night. He thenbuttoned up the waistcoat, and from the even distribution of the billsupon his person it was impossible to see any indication of theirpresence.
When this was done and he had surveyed himself carefully, he tookanother pull at the flask on general principles and proceeded to takefurther steps. He might as well have left the liquor alone, because hisnerve, once he commenced operations, was like iron.
He banged about some drawers, as if he were looking for something, andthen called out:
"Jack?"
No answer.
"Jack?"
Still no answer.
The ledger-keeper from A to M, who occupied the stall beyond Jack's,then growled out:
"What's the matter with you?"
"Where's Jack?"
"I don't know. He asked me to look after his ledger for a moment, andthen went out. He has been out for over an hour, and if the beggarthinks I'm going to be skipping round to look up his confounded ledgerall day he's mistaken. I'll give him a piece of my mind when he comesin."
"A to M" went on growling and sputtering, like a leaky shower-bath.
"That's all very well," said Geoffrey; "but you fellows are playing atrick on me, and I don't scare worth a cent."
Everybody could hear this conversation. Geoffrey then stepped on a stooland leaned over the partition, smiling, and seized the hard-workingreceiving-teller by the hair.
"Come, you beggar, I tell you I don't scare. Just hand over the money.Really, it's a very poor kind of a joke."
"What's a poor kind of a joke? Seizing me by the hair?"
Geoffrey looked at him smilingly, as if he did not believe him and stillthought there had been a plan to abstract the money and frighten him.
"Well, I don't care much personally; but that packet of fifty thousandis gone, and if any fellow is playing the fool he had better bring itback."
Several of the clerks now came round to his wicket. This sort of talksounds very unpleasant in a bank.
"Where did you leave the bills?" they asked.
"Right here," said Geoffrey, laying his hand on a little desk closebeside the wicket, opening into the box in which Jack had worked.
"Well, you had better report the thing at once," said several, who werelooking on with long faces.
"I shall, right straight," said Geoffrey energetically. His face bore anadmirable expression of consternation, checked by the _sang froid_ of aninnocent bank-clerk. He strode off into the manager's room.
"Excuse me for interrupting you, sir. I thought it was a hoax at first,but it looks very much as if fifty thousand dollars had been taken frommy box."
"What, stolen!"
"Looks like it--very. If you would kindly step this way, sir, I willexplain what I know about it."
Geoffrey then showed the manager where the bills had been laid, and didnot profess to be able to tell anything more.
"Mr. Northcote, ring up the chief of police, and tell me when he isthere," said the manager. "Where is Mr. Cresswell?"
No answer.
"Does anybody know where Mr. Cresswell is?"
Ledger-keeper from A to M then said that Mr. Cresswell went out over anhour ago, and had asked him to look after his ledger for five minutes.Mr. Cresswell had not returned.
The manager walked into Jack's box and looked around him. Everything waslying about as if he had just stopped working, and this, to themanager's mind, seemed to give the thing a black look. It seemed as ifJack, if he had made off with the money, had left things in this way asa blind.
The telephone was ready now, and the manager requested the chief ofpolice to send a couple of his best detectives at once. Only one wasavailable at first. This man, Detective Dearborn, appeared in fiveminutes, and was made acquainted with all the known circumstances. Whenthis was done, fully two hours had elapsed since Jack's departure, andstill he had not turned up.
Detective Dearborn was a man with large, usually mild, brown eyes. Therewas nothing in the upper part of his face to be remarked except generalimmobility of countenance. The lower part of his face, however, wassuggestive. His lower jaw protruded beyond the upper. Whether this meansanything in the human being may be doubted, but one involuntarily gotthe idea that if this man once "took hold," nothing short of red-hotirons would burn him off.
He took a careful, mild survey of the premises, listened to everythingthat was said, remarked that the package could not have been taken fromthe public passageway if left in the place indicated, looked over Jack'sabandoned stall, asked a few questions from the manager, and, like asensible man, came to the conclusion that Jack had taken the money.
He walked into the manager's room and asked him several questions aboutJack's habits and his usual pursuits. Geoffrey was called in to assistat this. Yes, he could take the detective to Jack's room. Jack had nohabits that cost much money. "Had he been speculating at all?" Geoffreythought not, although some time ago Mr. Cresswell had said that he was"in a little spec.," and hoped to make something. Did not know what the"spec." was.
"May I ask," said Dearborn, "when you last spoke to Mr. Cresswell?"
"We spoke to each other for a minute just before he went out. He askedme if I was going to the Dusenalls' 'shine' to-night. I said I was. Thenhe spoke about several young ladies of our acquaintance, and otherthings which had no reference to this matter."
"Was the lost money in the place you say at that time?"
"Yes. I remember having my hand on the packet while I spoke to him."
"May I ask if you at any time during the morning left your stall?"
"Yes, I did, once. I went out as far as the side door for an instantshortly after Mr. Cresswell went out."
"What for?"
"Well," said Geoffrey, smiling, "I was thinking of boating thisafternoon, and I wanted to see how the sky promised for the afternoon."
The mild eyes looked at Geoffrey with uncomfortable mildness at thisanswer. It might be all right, but Dearborn thought that this was thefirst suspicious sound which he had heard.
"My young gentleman, I'll keep my eye on you," he thought. "That replydid not sound quite right, and you seem a trifle too unconcerned."
Another detective arrived now, and he was detailed to inform the othersand to watch the railway stations and steamboats. Immediately afterward,descriptions of Jack flew all over Canada to the many different pointsof exit from the country. Had he tried to leave
Canada by sail orsteamboat he would have been arrested to a certainty. Geoffrey laughedin his sleeve as he thought of the way he had sent Jack off in aschooner--a way that few people would dream of taking, and yet, perhaps,the safest way of all, as schooners could not, in the ordinary course ofthings, be watched by the detectives. But if the news got beyond policecircles that Jack had absconded with money, or if it should bediscovered in any way that he had gone on the schooner to Oswego--ifthis were published--Joseph Lindon might become alarmed, and prevent hisdaughter from going to Oswego also. Even the news of Jack's departurefor parts unknown might make him suspicious. With this in view heimmediately said to the manager and the detective:
"I would like to make a suggestion, if there be no objection."
"Certainly, Mr. Hampstead. We will be glad to listen to what you have tosay."
"Of course, I can not think that Mr. Cresswell took the money," saidGeoffrey. "But I think if complete secrecy were ordered, both in thebank and elsewhere, while every endeavor was being made at discovery,the detectives would have a better chance of success, on whatever theorythey may work. Possibly the money may be recovered before many hours areover, and in that case the bank might wish to hush the matter upquietly. Prematurely advertising a thing like this often does harm; andthere can be no question about the interests of the bank in the matter."
"I will act upon that suggestion at once," said the manager. "In themean time, you will go, please, with the detective and admit him to Mr.Cresswell's rooms, and see what is to be seen there. I will give thestrictest orders that nothing of this is to be told outside by theofficials or police."
Orders were delivered to all the detectives to give no items tonewspaper reporters, and the chance of Nina's getting away on thefollowing morning seemed secured. Geoffrey laughed to himself as hethought he had crushed the last adder that could appear to strike him.
He let Mr. Dearborn into Jack's room. Everything was in confusion.Bureau drawers were lying open, and Jack's valises were gone. Dearbornsaw at a glance that Cresswell had fled, and he lost no time, but turnedon his heel immediately, thanked Hampstead, and rattled down-stairs.Geoffrey first ascertained that he was really gone, and then went back,took out the two thousand dollars that Jack had put under hisbed-clothes, and, hastily taking the forty-eight stolen bills from theinterior of his waistcoat, he stuffed the whole amount into an oldWellington boot that was hanging on a nail in a closet. Out of Jack'stwo thousand he put several bills in his pocket to pay for his evening'samusements. He then returned to the bank. It will be seen that hisobject in not taking this two thousand from Jack at the bank was that hecould not safely conceal such a large package on his person, and hecould not put it with his cash, because, in case his cash was examined,it would be found to contain two thousand dollars too much, which wouldcause inquiry.
The manager while brooding over the event, and asking questions, soonfound out that the missing bills had been all in one deposit. Thereceiving teller had taken them in the day before. The item was lookedinto and it was noted that this was a deposit of the Montreal TelegraphCompany. On inquiry it was found to be a balance due from the WesternUnion Telegraph Company in the States for exchanges. The MontrealTelegraph Company had received the money from New York by express, andto guard against loss the Western Union had taken the precaution towrite by mail to the company at Toronto giving the number of each billin full, and saying that all the bills were those of the United StatesNational Bank at New York. In two hours, therefore, Dearborn wassupplied with the numbers of all the bills. Geoffrey was startled atthis turn of events. But he thought it did not matter much. He couldslip over to the States in a few months and get rid of the whole of themoney in different places.
While all this internal commotion was going on at the Victoria Bank,Nina was paying a little visit to her father's office. She alighted froman equipage every part of which, including coachman, footman, horses,and liveries, had been imported from England. The coachman and footmandid not wear their hats on one side or cross their legs and talk affablyto each other as they seem to do in the American cities. Joseph Lindonwas, in effect, perfectly right when he said they were the "realthing"--"first chop."
Nina swept through the outer office, looking more charming than ever.After she had passed in, one of the clerks, called Moses, indulged inthe vulgar pantomime peculiar to clerks of low degree. He placed bothhands on his heart, gasped, and rolled back against the wall to indicatethat he was irretrievably smashed by her appearance.
Her father received her gladly.
"Ah!" he said, "you have condescended to pay me a visit, my fine lady!It's money you're after. I can see it in your eye. Now, how much, mydear, will this little visit cost me, I wonder? Just name your figure,my dear, and strike it rather high." Mr. Lindon was in a remarkablygood humor.
"No, father, I did not come altogether for money. I came to know if Icould go over to Oswego for a week. Louisa Dallas, who stayed with uslast winter, wants me to go over."
"Certainly, my dear, you can do anything you please--in reason. Ithought the Dallases lived in Rochester?"
"So they did; but they have moved. Well, that is all right. Now, if youhave any money to throw away upon me I will try to do you credit withit. Don't I always do you credit?"
"Credit? You are the handsomest girl I ever saw. Do me credit? Why, ofcourse, and always will. Come and kiss me, my dear. I declare you wouldcharm the heart of a wheel-barrow. Now, how much would you like thismorning? Strike it high, girl. Understand, you can have all the moneyyou want. You will go to Oswego and see your friends and have a goodtime. Perhaps they won't have much money to throw away, but don't letthat stand in the way. Trot out the whole of them and set up the entirebusiness yourself. Take them all down to Watkin's Glen, or some placeelse. There's nothing to do in Oswego. You can't spend half the money Ican give you. Why, dash it, I cleared fifty thousand dollars beforelunch-time to-day, and now how much will you have of it?"
"Well, there's a little bill at Murray's for odds and ends."
"How much?"
"Oh, five or six hundred, perhaps."
"Blow five or six hundred! Is that all the money you can spend? Ofcourse you are the best-dressed woman in town, but you must do betterthan this. I tell you you have just got to sweep all these other womenaway like flies before you. I'll clothe you in gold if you say theword. Five or six hundred! Rubbish!"
He struck a bell, and the impressionable Moses appeared.
"How much will you have?" he said to Nina, smiling. He loved to try andstagger her with his magnificence.
"I suppose Murray ought to be paid and a few other bills lying about."Nina thought this would be a good chance for Jack, and she said toherself she would strike it high.
"I suppose a thousand dollars would do," she said, rather timidly;adding, "with Murray and all."
"Damn Murray and all!" cried Mr. Lindon, in a burst of good nature. "Yousha'n't pay any of them.--Moses, write Miss Lindon a check for a coupleof thousand, and bring it here."
While Moses wrote the check out, Lindon, with a display of affection herarely showed, drew Nina down upon his knee.
"How did you make so much money to-day, father?" she asked.
"Oh, you don't know anything about such matters. Yesterday I bought thestock of a Canadian railway. At ten o'clock this morning it took asudden rise because I let people know I was buying. I got a lot of itbefore I let them know, and then up she went, steadily, the wholemorning. At twelve o'clock I had made at least fifty thousand, and bynightfall I may have made a hundred thousand. I don't know how it standsjust now, and I don't much care."
This was the identical stock Hampstead had been unable to retain. If hecould have held on a few hours longer he would have made more honestlyon this day than he had stolen at the same hour.
The check was signed and handed to Nina. She put it in her shopping-bagand took her father's head between her hands and kissed his capable oldface with a warmth that surprised him a little. To her this was a
finalgood-by.
"You're a good old daddy to me," she said, feeling her heart rise at thethought of leaving him forever. She ran off then to the door to concealher feelings.
"Just wait," he said, "till we go to England soon, and then I'll showyou what's what."
She made an effort to seem bright, and cast back at him a glance likebright sun through mists, as she said:
"Of course--yes. We must not forget 'the dook.'"
She cashed the check with satisfaction, knowing that it took Jack a longtime to save two thousand dollars.
When she rolled down to the wharf the next day in the Lindon barouche,the officials on the steamboat's deck were impressed with hermagnificence and beauty.
For most men, nothing could be more sweetly beautiful than herappearance, as she went carefully along the gangway to the oldEleusinian, and there was quite a competition between the old captainand the young second officer as to who should show her more civility.