The Brute Part 12

"Oh, well--two hundred and forty, then. We could rent a bungalow, furnished, for a hundred a month; that would leave a hundred and forty for living expenses--we wouldn't need to keep a girl. Donald could come down for week ends."

"I'm afraid I can't do it, mother. Donald says he can't afford it. I told you what he said."

"Edith, for goodness' sake, have a little spirit. Your health demands a change. Your child's health demands it. And, besides, if you don't come, Alice and I shall be obliged to go to a hotel and live in a couple of stuffy rooms. We couldn't afford to take a cottage, just for the two of us."

"We can't spare the money, mother. I'm sorry, but I can't do anything more."

"What on earth does Donald do with his money, Edith? He certainly doesn't spend it on you."

"He is investing it in a gla.s.s factory, in West Virginia, I believe."

Mrs. Pope looked supremely disgusted. "Gla.s.s factory!" she snorted.

"Isn't that just like him. He thinks little enough of your happiness.

Poor Edith! My poor child! You certainly are to be pitied."

"He hopes to make a great deal out of it, some day."

"Fiddlesticks! He might just as well throw it in the street. My poor dear J. B. always said that Government bonds were the only safe investment. Gla.s.s factory, indeed!" She seemed unable to contain her indignation.

The rattle of a key in the door warned her of Donald's approach. She composed her face in a smile, and rose to greet him as he entered. "My dear Donald," she exclaimed effusively, "I'm so glad to see you!"

"Good-evening, mother. You don't mind?" Donald replied pleasantly, holding up the cigar he was smoking.

"Oh, not in the least." Mrs. Pope resumed her chair with a self-satisfied air. "My poor dear J. B. always smoked the very best Havanas. I love the odor of a good Havana cigar."

Donald went over to the desk and seated himself in his accustomed chair.

"I'm afraid you won't like this one, then," he said, with a short laugh.

"Pure Connecticut, five straight. I can't afford the imported kind."

Mrs. Pope took no notice of his remarks on the subject of cigars. She looked from Alice to Edith, as though to gather courage, preened herself with a conscious effort, then plunged into the fray. "Donald," she began, "we were just speaking of our plans for the summer. I know you will be interested on Edith's account, and Bobbie's. The poor child doesn't look very well. Edith tells me he has a racking cough. Now let me tell you what we propose to do. Edith thinks it a perfectly splendid plan."

"Mother, you know what I told you," began Mrs. Rogers warningly.

"Never mind, child. I wish to place the matter before Donald in a businesslike way. I am an old woman, but I am willing to sacrifice myself for my children's sake."

"I couldn't think of letting you do anything of the sort on Edith's account," remarked Donald dryly.

"Edith is my child, Donald. I must think of her welfare. I propose to rent a cottage at the seash.o.r.e--a little bungalow--"

"I know all about it, mother," interrupted Donald, with a look of weariness. "Edith has told me. We can't do it this summer."

"But, Donald, surely you realize what it would mean for her, and for your child?"

"Quite as well as you do. I'm sorry, but I can't do it. We have to make sacrifices now, for the sake of the future." He turned to his desk, and began to look over some papers which he drew from his pocket.

"But surely you realize--you can't mean--" stammered Mrs. Pope feebly, her face reddening angrily.

"I shouldn't say anything more about it, mother, if I were you,"

remarked Edith.

Mrs. Pope sank back into her chair, with an air of deep resignation.

"Very well," she said, as though allowing the whole matter to pa.s.s from her hands into those of Divine Providence. "I've tried to do my duty.

If anything happens to Bobbie, remember that, Donald." It was quite clear that whatever might happen she would regard as solely her son-in-law's fault.

"I shall," remarked Donald, going on with his reading.

There was an ominous silence, broken only by the ticking of the clock upon the mantel. It was interrupted by the sudden ringing of the door-bell. Donald rose and went over to the door. The others heard him talking with someone outside. Presently he turned, with a card in his hand. "The boy says there is a gentleman downstairs to see you, Edith,"

he said to his wife.

Edith rose in surprise. "To see me?" she asked. "Who is it?"

Her husband looked at the card. "Mr. Ogden Brennan, the card says. Do you know him?"

"No, I never heard the name before." She came over to Donald and, taking the card, looked at it curiously. "Perhaps we had better ask him to come up."

"Send him up," said Donald to the boy at the door, as he closed it.

"I wonder who he can be?" Edith asked in mystified tone.

"Possibly a bill-collector," said Mrs. Pope sarcastically.

"Hardly, at this time of the night." Donald looked at his watch. "It's almost eight-thirty." He took a match from the desk, and carefully relighted his half-smoked cigar.

Mrs. Pope rose. "Alice, I think we had better be going," she remarked, with a frown.

"Nonsense, mother. Sit down. You've only just come. There is some beer on the ice." She paused, and Mrs. Pope relapsed into her chair with sudden promptness. "Very well, Edith, if you insist," she said resignedly.

"Let's make a welsh rabbit," suggested Alice, looking up from her magazine. As she spoke the door-bell rang. Her sister hurried over to the door and threw it open.

Mr. Brennan came in with a slight show of hesitation, looking about him curiously. The household of the persons who were to have the spending of West's fortune had a peculiar interest for him. What sort of persons were they? he had asked himself half a hundred times since he left his office. "This is Mrs. Rogers' apartment?" he inquired, as he came in.

"Yes," answered Edith, returning his glance of scrutiny with interest.

"I wish to see Mrs. Rogers."

"I am Mrs. Rogers."

"I am here on a matter of business, Mrs. Rogers." He glanced about the room, embracing the others in his comprehensive survey. "Of course, if you have guests, I could perhaps come at some other time."

"I hardly think it will be necessary," remarked Edith nervously. She had not the least idea what this dignified-looking old gentleman could want with her, but it was clearly evident that he was neither a book-agent nor a bill-collector. She was conscious of a growing presentiment of evil and, in her perplexity, she turned to her husband. "Mr. Brennan,"

she said, "this is my husband."

The two men bowed. "I am glad to meet you, Mr. Brennan," said Donald, coming toward him. "You have business with my wife, I understand."

"Yes, Mr. Rogers. Business of great importance." Mr. Brennan's tone was significant--ominous.

Donald took the lawyer's coat and hat. "My mother and sister, Mr.

Brennan," he observed. "Won't you take a seat?"