The Wall Street Girl Part 15

This new development in Pendleton came as a surprise. It did not seem consistent with his nature as she read it in his eyes. It was not in character. It left her doubting her judgment about him along other lines. She did not object to his ambition. That was essential. He ought to work for Farnsworth's position--but for the position, not the salary. The position stood for power based upon ability. That was the sort of success she would be keen about if she were a man.

Curious, too, that Mr. Pendleton should be so keen about money in this one direction. She had thought his tendency all the other way, and had made a mental note that sometime she must drive home to him a few facts about having a decent respect for money. A man who would return the loan of a two-dollar bill in five dollars' worth of roses was not the sort of man one expected to have a vaulting ambition for thousands for their own sake. One thing was sure--he was not the type of man who ought to occupy so much of her attention on a busy afternoon.

At a few minutes before five, just as Miss Winthrop was jabbing the last pin into her hat, a messenger boy hurried into the office with a parcel bearing a noticeable resemblance to a one-pound candy box. He inquired of Eddie for Miss Winthrop, and Eddie, with considerable ceremony, escorted the boy to the desk of that astonished young woman.

"Sign here," the boy ordered.

Miss Winthrop gave a swift glance around the office. Mr. Pendleton was at work at Powers's desk and didn't even look up. It was a remarkable exhibition of concentration on his part. Blake, however, swung around in his chair and raised his brows.

Miss Winthrop seized the pencil and wrote her name, dotting the "i"

and crossing the "t" with vicious jabs. Then she picked up the box and hurried toward the door.

"From a devoted admirer?" inquired Blake, as she pa.s.sed him.

Don saw the color spring to Miss Winthrop's cheeks, but she hurried on without a word in reply. He understood now what it was she did not like about Blake. Don was not at all of an aggressive nature, but at that moment he could have struck the man with the greatest satisfaction. It seemed the only adequate way of expressing himself.

Blake was still smiling.

"Sort of caught her with the goods that time, eh?" observed Blake.

"I don't get you," answered Don.

"Candy by messenger? Well, I've been looking for it. And when those haughty ones do fall, believe me, they fall hard."

"Maybe," answered Don. "But I'll bet you five dollars to a quarter you're wrong about her."

Blake's eyes narrowed a trifle.

"I'll take you," he answered. "What's your proof?"

"I sent her that stuff myself."

"You? Holy smoke, that's going some!"

"I sent her that to pay for some typewriting she did for me and because I knew she wouldn't take any money."

"I lose. Come out and have a drink?"

"Thanks," answered Don. "I'm on my way uptown. Give that quarter to Eddie."

CHAPTER IX

IT WILL NEVER DO

If Miss Winthrop ever had more than a nodding acquaintance with Mr.

Pendleton, she gave no indication of that fact when she came in the next morning. With a face as blank as a house closed for the season, she clicked away at her typewriter until noon, and then hurried out to lunch as if that were a purely business transaction also. Don followed a little sooner than usual. The little restaurant was not at all crowded to-day, but she was not there. He waited ten minutes, and as he waited the conviction grew that she did not intend to come.

Don went out and began an investigation. He visited five similar places in the course of the next fifteen minutes, and in the last one he found her. She was seated in a far corner, and she was huddled up as if trying to make herself as inconspicuous as possible. As he strode to her side with uplifted hat, she shrank away like a hunted thing finding itself trapped.

"What did you run away for?" he demanded.

"What did you hunt me up for?" she replied.

"Because I wanted to see you."

"And I came here because I did _not_ want to see you."

"Now, look here--" he began.

"So I should think you'd go along and leave me alone," she interrupted.

"If I did that, then I'd never know what the trouble is all about," he explained.

"Well, what of it?"

"May I sit down?"

There was an empty chair next to her.

"I can't prevent you, but I've told you I want to be alone."

"When you look that way, you're just as much alone as if I weren't here," he returned, as he took the chair. "And every one knows it."

She gave a swift glance about the room, as if expecting to find half the crowd looking at her.

"Maybe they are too polite to let on," he continued; "but I know just what they are saying to themselves. They are saying, 'She certainly hasn't much use for him. You'd think he'd take the tip and get out.'"

"You don't seem to care much, then, about what they say."

"I don't care a hang," he admitted.

She pushed her plate away as if ready to go.

"Wait a minute," he pleaded. "It doesn't seem like you to go off and leave a man in the dark. How in thunder am I going to know any better next time if you don't tell me where I made the break?"

"I don't believe you'd know if I did tell you," she answered more gently.

"The least you can do is to try."

She did not want to tell him. If he was sincere--and the longer she talked with him, the more convinced she was that this was the case--then she did not wish to disillusionize him.

"The least you can do is to give me a chance," he persisted.

"The mistake came in the beginning, Mr. Pendleton," she said, with an effort. "And it was all my fault. You--you seemed so different from a lot of men who come into the office that I--well, I wanted to see you get started straight. In the three years I've been there I've picked up a lot of facts that aren't much use to me because--because I'm just Miss Winthrop. So I thought I could pa.s.s them on."

"That was mighty white of you," he nodded.