The Lever Part 26

"'What do you think,' he says; 'I see my wife to-day ridin' up Fifth Avenue behind the swellest pair o' horses in New York City. No wonder she shook me for that.'

"'What do you mean?' says I, surprised at his line o' talk.

"'She's Mrs. Robert Gorham now,' says he, 'but perhaps she won't be long.'

"Then I laughed at him, and that made him mad.

"'That's right,' says he. 'There're people here in this town who tell me that her divorce from me warn't reg'lar, and I may be takin' the lady back to New Orleans with me, and a heap o' money besides.'

"0' course, all this don't mean nothin' to me, but I thought it might to you, sir."

Mr. Gorham did not reply for so long a time that James became anxious.

"I hope I done right, sir, to come to you with this."

"Yes, James; quite right. You are evidently influenced by your loyalty to my family," Gorham answered. "It is right that you should be, but it shall not be forgotten. There probably is nothing in all this, but, since Mrs. Gorham's name was mentioned, I should like to get to the bottom of it. I shall depend upon you to keep me posted."

"I will, sir," James responded, eagerly. "I'll do that as long as he stays in New York, but he says they're trying to get him to go back to New Orleans."

"Who are 'they'?"

"I don't know, sir."

"That is the first thing to discover, James. I shall trust you to do it."

Gorham rose, and James, vastly satisfied with himself, followed the suggestion.

"I'll do it for you, sir," he said at the door. "You can depend on me for that."

"Thank you, James; and in the mean time it will be prudent for you to keep your information to yourself."

"Yes, sir; I'll do that, sir. Any one with a Tammany Hall education knows how to do that, sir."

Riley was anxiously awaiting the close of the interview, and eagerly accompanied his son to the front door. Before he opened it, the old man turned inquiringly.

"Ain't ye goin' ter tell me phwat it's all about, Jimmie?"

"It's too delicate a situation to discuss with the servants," James replied, freezingly. "Me and Mr. Gorham understands each other, that's all."

Riley gazed with still greater admiration at the straight figure which pa.s.sed by him, out of the house, and up the gravel walk to the street.

"Jimmie's th' great man," he muttered to himself as he closed the door--"he's th' great man, mixin' wid men like Misther Robert; but he hadn't oughter wear that sorry rag an' th' ravens, wid me, his only livin' relation, still livin'."

The bell rang almost immediately, and Riley, certain that James had returned, hastened to throw the door open. As he did so, he discovered Allen Sanford.

"Who's that undertaker person?" Allen demanded.

Riley straightened perceptibly. "'Tis me son James, Misther Sanford, an'

it's th' great man he is, an' no undertaker."

"I beg your pardon, Riley," Allen laughed, noting the old man's injured dignity. "Of course I should have known; but I may want to employ an undertaker soon, so I suppose I had it on my mind."

"Ain't ye falin' well, Misther Allen?" Riley asked, anxiously.

"Oh, I don't want him for myself," Allen laughed again. "Is Miss Alice in?"

"How do I know 'til she tells me, sor?"

"All right; you'll have to ask her then, won't you? If she is in, tell her that I've called to have tea with her."

Alice was in particularly high spirits. She had digested Covington's proposal, and found that she enjoyed it. She was still waiting for a chance to discuss it with Eleanor and her father, but she experienced an unexpected amount of pleasure in thinking it over by herself. She had already decided that she would take plenty of time before she gave her answer. The sensation was so exhilarating that she was unwilling to shorten its duration. It was all so incredible that she--little she--should have attracted a man of Mr. Covington's calibre to the extent that he should actually want to marry her! And now Allen had called, giving her an outlet for this unusual buoyancy.

Her caller was not blind to the excitement which showed in Alice's face, and the formalities were scarcely over before he asked the question which brought a violent color to the girl's cheeks.

"So it's come, has it--just as I said it would?"

"What has come?" Alice busied herself with the teacups which the butler had already placed on the little table in front of her, and appeared to be mystified, though she knew well what he meant.

"That doesn't surprise me any," Allen continued, "but I really didn't think it would set you up so much when it did strike."

"I suppose you are enjoying this monologue," she replied. "Don't mind me if it gives you any pleasure."

"Look here, Alice"--he became desperate--"why can't we talk it over without having to jump all these high hurdles? I know you don't care anything about me, and you know that I can't see anything in life worth while except you, so the situation is clear on both sides. But I can't let that four-flusher pull the wool over your eyes without saying, 'Beware of the dog.' I shouldn't be a man if I did."

"You take advantage of our friends.h.i.+p," she said, severely; "but there are limits beyond which even an old friend cannot go, and you've reached them. Mr. Covington is a friend too; I don't admit that he is more than this, but I shan't let you say unfair things about him any more than I should listen to similar things about you. Come now, let's drop the subject. How many lumps will you have?"

"Two lumps, and--no lemon, please."

"You say you wouldn't be a man if you didn't warn me," the girl went on; "but it is because you are not that you talk as you do. You find me agreeable, and, boy-like, think you want to marry me. Pat thinks she wants to marry you--you are both children, and both behave the same."

Allen put his cup down on the table untasted. "Is there no way I can convince you that I've grown up?" he demanded.

"Yes; drop all this nonsense about me, and make yourself a place in the world as Mr. Covington has done."

"Never!" he almost shouted. "You don't know how he's made his place, or you wouldn't say that. Do you want me to climb up by stepping all over those who have helped me, to play double with every one I meet, to crisscross even on the man who trusts me most, and finally try to cinch my position by marrying his daughter? If that's your idea of being a man, I'll tell you right now, not for mine."

Alice rose, with flaming face. "I told you that you had reached the limit, Allen--now you have pa.s.sed it. Oh! why did I let you go on! I like you so much, and I want to see you succeed. I've tried to help you all I could, and this is the result. Now we can't even be friends any more, and this insane jealousy of yours will spoil your chances in the Companies. Oh, Allen, Allen--why can't you grow up and be sensible!"

"Don't worry about me," the boy said, dejectedly. "You're probably right, just as the pater was probably right. I'm no good anyhow. I didn't want to go into diplomacy because there seemed to be so much in it which was double-dealing. Now I'm in business, and I see the same things there. It's all my fault--it must be; but I'm in wrong somehow. I wouldn't say a word, Alice, if it were some one else, but Covington--well, you've told me to cut that out, so I will. But don't say we can't be friends--I couldn't stand that. You'll need me some time, little girl, and when you do, I want to be Johnny on the spot."

Alice never found it possible to be angry with him for any extended period. Always after his impulsive outbreaks he became so contrite that the early displeasure was abated by his unspoken but evident desire for forgiveness.

"Will you take back what you said about Mr. Covington?" she asked.

"I can't do that," he replied, firmly; "but I'll do my best to let you find him out from some one else."

And the girl let him leave it there, remaining in the same position several minutes after he had gone, wondering that she had been willing to permit so gross a slander to stand unchallenged. When at last she turned slowly toward the door, she started violently as something began to untangle itself from the portieres.

"It's only me," announced Patricia, ungrammatically, but none the less undauntedly.