The Fortune Hunter Part 19

"But suppose I pay this bill----"

"Pay it? You really mean that?"

"Certainly I mean it." Duncan produced the wad of bills which Kellogg had furnished him the night before his departure from New York. Thus far he had broken only one of the five-hundred-dollar gold certificates, and of that one he had the greater part left; living is anything but expensive in Radville.

"I'm beginning to understand that I was cut out for an actor," he told himself as he thumbed the roll with a serious air and an a.s.sumed indifference which permitted Sperry to estimate its size pretty accurately.

"That's quite a stack of chips you're carrying," Sperry observed.

Duncan's hand airily wafted the remark into the limbo of the negligible. "A trifle, a mere trifle," he said casually. "I don't generally carry much cash about me. Haven't for five years," he added irrepressibly. He extracted a fifty-dollar certificate from the sheaf, and handed it over.

"I'll take a receipt, but you needn't mention this to Mr. Graham just now."

"No, certainly not." Sperry scrawled his signature to the bill.

"And about that line of credit?----"

"Well, with this paid, I guess you could have what you needed, in moderation. Of course----"

"My name is Duncan--Nathaniel Duncan." Sperry made a memorandum of it on the back of an envelope. "Any former business connections?"

"None that I care to speak about," Duncan confessed glumly.

Sperry's face lengthened. "No references?"

It took thought, and after thought courage; but Duncan hit upon the solution at length. "Do you know L. J. Bartlett & Company, the brokers?"

"Do I know J. Pierpont Morgan?"

"Then that's all right. Tell your people to inquire of Harry Kellogg, the junior partner. He knows all about me."

Noting the name, Sperry put away the envelope. "That's enough. If he says you're all right, you can have anything you want." He consulted his watch. "Hmm. Train to catch.... But let's see: what do you need here?"

Duncan reviewed the empty shelves, his face glowing. "Pills," he said with a laugh: "all kinds of pills and... everything for a regular, sure-enough drug-store, Mr. Sperry: everything Sothern and Lee carries and a lot of attractive things they don't.... Small lots, you know, until I see what we can sell."

"I see. You leave it to me; I probably know what you need better than you do. I'll make out a list this afternoon and mail it to-night with instructions to s.h.i.+p it at the earliest possible moment."

"Splendid!" Duncan told him. "You do that, and don't worry about our making good. I'm going to put all my time and energy into this proposition and----"

"Then you'll make good all right," Sperry a.s.sured him. "All anybody's got to do is look at you to see you're a good business man." He returned Duncan's pressure and picked up his sample-case. "S'long,"

said he, and left briskly, leaving Duncan speechless.

As if to a.s.sure himself of his sanity he put a hand to his brow and stroked it cautiously. "Heavens!" he said, and sought the support of the counter. "That's twice to-day I've been told that in the same place!"...

"It's funny," he said, half dazed, "I never could have pulled that off for myself!"

IX

SMALL BEGINNINGS

Presently Duncan moved and came out of his abstraction. "I'd better get that broom," he said slowly. "The place certainly needs some expert manicuring before we get that new stock in.... By George, I really begin to believe we've got a chance to do something, after all!...

"Or else I'm dreaming...."

He opened the back door and entered a narrow and dark hallway, almost stumbling over the lowest step of a flight of stairs communicating with the upper storey. From above he could hear a clatter of crockery, sounds of footsteps, a woman singing softly.

"Graham's wife, I presume. Never struck me he might be married....

Well, I'll be quiet. If she catches me now, before we're introduced, she'll take me for a burglar."

On tiptoes he found the descent to the cellar, where by the aid of a match he discovered a floorbrush whose reasons for retirement from active employment were most evident even to his inexpert eye. None the less nothing better offered, and he took it back with him to the shop.

Graham's tinkering was never of a cleanly sort; the floor was thick with a litter of rubbish--shavings, old nuts and bolts, bits of sc.r.a.p tin and metal, torn paper, charred ends of matches: an indescribable mess. Duncan surveyed it ruefully, but with the will to do strong in him, took off his coat, turned up his trousers, and fell to. The disposition of the sweepings troubled him far less than the dust he raised; obviously the only place to put it was behind the counters.

"n.o.body'll see it there," he said in a glow of satisfaction, pausing with the room half cleared. "I always wondered what they did with that sort of truck--under the beds, I suppose. Funny Graham never thought of this, himself--it's so blame' easy."

He resumed his labours, thrilled with the sensation of accomplishment.

"One thing at least that I can do," he mused; "never again shall I fear starvation... so long as there's a broom handy." Absorbed he brushed away, raising a prodigious amount of dust and utterly oblivious to the fact that he was observed.

Two shadows moved slowly athwart the windows, to which his back was turned, paused, moved on out of sight, returned. It was only during a pause for breath that he became aware of the surveillance.

Straightening up, he looked, gasped and fled for the back of the store.

"Heavens!" he whispered, aghast to recognise Josie Lockwood and Angie Tuthill, of whose ubiquitous shadows in his way he had been conscious so frequently within the past several days. "I _thought_ I must have made an impression.... Don't tell me they're coming in!"

Behind the counter he struggled furiously into his coat. "They are," he said with a sinking heart; "and I'll bet a dollar my face is dirty!"

Notwithstanding these misgivings, it was a very self-possessed young man, to all appearances, who moved sedately round the end of the counter to greet these possible customers. His bow was a very pa.s.sable imitation of the real thing, he flattered himself; and there's no manner of doubt but that it flattered the two prettiest and most forward young women in Radville of that day.

"May I have the honour of waiting on you, ladies?" he inquired with all the suavity of an accomplished salesman.

Josie and Angie sidled together, giggling and simpering, quite overcome by his manner. A m.u.f.fled "How de do?" from Angie and a half-strangled echo of the salutation from the other were barely articulate. But hearing them he bowed again, separately to each.

"Good-afternoon," said he, and waited in an inquiring pose.

"This--'this is Mr. Duncan, isn't it?" inquired Josie, controlling herself.

"Yes, and you are Miss Lockwood, if I'm not mistaken?"

Renewed giggles prefaced her: "Oh, how _did_ you know?"

"Could anyone remain two weeks in Radville and not hear of Miss Lockwood?"

The shot told famously. "How nice of you! Mr. Duncan, I want you to meet my friend, Miss Tuthill."

"I've had the honour of admiring Miss Tuthill from a distance," Duncan a.s.sured the younger woman. And, "She'll burn up!" he feared secretly, watching the conflagration of blushes that she displayed. "Just think of getting away with a line of mush like that! Harry was right after all: this is a country town, all right."