Peter Part 35

"Three of us!" MacFarlane repeated mechanically--"well, who is the other, Puss?"

"Why, Jack, of course! Who else could it be but Jack? Oh!

Daddy!--Please--please--we love each other so!"

That night a telegram went singing down the wires leaving a trail of light behind. A sleepy, tired girl behind an iron screen recorded it on a slip of yellow paper, enclosed it in an envelope, handed it to a half-awake boy, who strolled leisurely up to Union Square, turned into Fifteenth Street, mounted Peter's front stoop and so on up three flights of stairs to Peter's door. There he awoke the echoes into life with his knuckles.

In answer, a charming and most courtly old gentleman in an embroidered dressing-gown and slippers, a pair of gold spectacles pushed high up on his round, white head, his index finger marking the place in his book, opened the door.

"Telegram for Mr. Grayson," yawned the boy.

Ah! but there were high jinks inside the cosey red room with its low reading lamp and easy chairs, when Peter tore that envelope apart.

"Jack--Ruth--engaged!" he cried, throwing down his book. "MacFarlane delighted--What!--WHAT? Oh, Jack, you rascal!--you did take my advice, did you? Well I--well! I'll write them both--No, I'll telegraph Felicia--No, I won't!--I'll--Well!--well!--WELL! Did you ever hear anything like that?" and again his eyes devoured the yellow slip.

Not a word of the freshet; of the frightful loss; of the change of plans for the summer; of the weeks of delay and the uncertain financial outlook! And alas, dear reader--not a syllable, as you have perhaps noticed, of poor daddy tottering on the brink of bankruptcy; nor the slightest reference to brave young women going out alone in the cold, cold world to earn their bread! What were floods, earthquakes, cyclones, poverty, debt--what was anything that might, could, would or should happen, compared to the joy of their plighted troth!

CHAPTER XXII

Summer has come: along the banks of the repentant stream the willows are in full leaf; stretches of gra.s.s, braving the coal smoke and dust hide the ugly red earth. The roads are dry again; the slopes of the "fill"

once more are true; all the arches in the mouth of the tunnel are finished; the tracks have been laid and the first train has crawled out on the newly tracked road where it haggled, snorted and stopped, only to crawl back and be swallowed by The Beast.

And with the first warm day came Miss Felicia. "When your wretched, abominable roads, my dear, dry up so that a body can walk without sinking up to their neck in mud--" ran Miss Felicia's letter in answer to Ruth's invitation,--"I'll come down for the night," and she did, bringing Ruth half of her laces, now that she was determined to throw herself away on "that good-for nothing--Yes, Jack, I mean you and n.o.body else, and you needn't stand there laughing at me, for every word of it's true; for what in the world you two babes in the wood are going to live on no mortal man knows;" Ruth answering with her arm tight around the dear lady's neck,--a liberty n.o.body,--not even Peter, ever dared take--and a whisper in her ear that Jack was the blessedest ever, and that she loved him so sometimes she was well-nigh distracted--a statement which the old lady remarked was literally true.

And we may be sure that Peter came too--and we may be equally positive that no impa.s.sable roads could have held him back. Indeed, on the very afternoon of the very day following the receipt of the joyful telegram, he had closed his books with a bang, performed the Moses act until he had put them into the big safe, slipped on his coat, given an extra brush to his hat and started for the ferry. All that day his face had been in a broad smile; even the old book-keeper noticed it and so did Patrick, the night-watchman and sometimes porter; and so did the line of depositors who inched along to his window and were greeted with a flash-light play of humor on his face instead of the more sedate, though equally kindly expression which always rested on his features when at work. But that was nothing to the way he hugged Jack and Ruth--separately--together--then Ruth, then Jack--and then both together again, only stopping at MacFarlane, whose hand he grabbed with a "Great day! hey? Great day! By Cricky, Henry, these are the things that put new wine into old leather bottles like you and me."

And this was not all that the spring and summer had brought. Fresh sap had risen in Jack's veins. This girl by his side was his own--something to work for--something to fight for. MacFarlane felt the expansion and put him in full charge of the work, relieving him often in the night s.h.i.+fts, when the boy would catch a few hours' sleep, and when, you may be sure, he stopped long enough at the house to get his arms around Ruth before he turned in for the night or the morning, or whenever he did turn in.

As to the injury which McGowan's slipshod work had caused to the "fill,"

the question of damages and responsibility for the same still hung in the air. The "fill" did not require rebuilding--nor did any part of the main work--a great relief. The loss had not, therefore, been as great as MacFarlane had feared. Moreover, the scour and slash of the down-stream slope, thanks to Jack's quick work, required but few weeks to repair; the culvert, contrary to everybody's expectation, standing the test, and the up-stream slope showing only here and there marks of the onslaught.

The wing walls were the worst; these had to be completely rebuilt, involving an expense of several thousands of dollars, the exact amount being one point in the discussion.

Garry, to his credit, had put his official foot down with so strong a pressure that McGowan, fearing that he would have to reconstruct everything from the bed of the stream up, if he held out any longer, agreed to arbitrate the matter, he selecting one expert and MacFarlane the other; and the Council--that is, Garry--the third. MacFarlane had chosen the engineer of the railroad who had examined McGowan's masonry an hour after the embankment had given way. McGowan picked out a brother contractor and Garry wrote a personal letter to Holker Morris, following it up by a personal visit to the office of the distinguished architect, who, when he learned that not only Garry, MacFarlane, and Jack were concerned in the outcome of the investigation, but also Ruth--whose marriage might depend on the outcome,--broke his invariable rule of never getting mixed up in anybody's quarrels, and accepted the position without a murmur.

This done everybody interested sat down to await the result of the independent investigations of each expert, Garry receiving the reports in sealed envelopes and locking them in the official safe, to be opened in full committee at its next monthly meeting, when a final report, with recommendations as to liability and costs, would be drawn up; the same, when adopted by a majority of the Council the following week, to be binding.

It was during this suspense--it happened really on the morning succeeding the one on which Garry had opened the official envelopes--that an envelope of quite a different character was laid on Jack's table by the lady with the adjustable hair, who invariably made herself acquainted with as much of that young gentleman's mail as could be gathered from square envelopes sealed in violet wax, or bearing family crests in low relief, or stamped with monograms in light blue giving out delicate perfumes, each one of which that lady sniffed with great satisfaction; to say nothing of business addresses and postal-cards,--the latter being readable, and, therefore, her delight.

This envelope, however, was different from any she had ever fumbled, sniffed at, or pondered over. It was not only of unusual size, but it bore in the upper left-hand corner in bold black letters the words:

ARTHUR BREEN & COMPANY, BANKERS.

It was this last word which set the good woman to thinking. Epistles from banks were not common,--never found at all, in fact, among the letters of her boarders.

Jack was even more astonished.

"Call at the office," the letter ran, "the first time you are in New York,--the sooner the better. I have some information regarding the ore properties that may interest you."

As the young fellow had not heard from his uncle in many moons, the surprise was all the greater. Nor, if the truth be known, had he laid eyes on that gentleman since he left the shelter of his home, except at Corinne's wedding,--and then only across the church, and again in the street, when his uncle stopped and shook his hand in a rather perfunctory way, complimenting him on his bravery in rescuing MacFarlane, an account of which he had seen in the newspapers, and ending by hoping that his new life would "drop some shekels into his clothes." Mrs. Breen, on the contrary, while she had had no opportunity of expressing her mental att.i.tude toward the exile, never having seen him since he walked out of her front door, was by no means oblivious to Jack's social and business successes. "I hear Jack was at Mrs. Portman's last night," she said to her husband the morning after one of the ex-Clearing House Magnate's great receptions. "They say he goes everywhere, and that Mr. Grayson has adopted him and is going to leave him all his money," to which Breen had grunted back that Jack was welcome to the Portmans and the Portmans to Jack, and that if old Grayson had any money, which he very much doubted, he'd better hoist it overboard than give it to that rattlebrain. Mrs. Breen heaved a deep sigh. Neither she nor Breen had been invited to the Portmans', nor had Corinne (the Scribe has often wondered whether the second scoop in Mukton was the cause)--and yet Ruth MacFarlane, and Jack and Miss Felicia Grayson, and a lot more out-of-town people--so that insufferable Mrs. Bennett had told her--had come long distances to be present, the insufferable adding significantly that "Miss MacFarlane looked too lovely and was by all odds the prettiest girl in the room, and as for young Breen, really she could have fallen in love with him herself!"

Jack tucked his uncle's letter in his pocket, skipped over to read it to Ruth and MacFarlane, in explanation of his enforced absence for the day, and kept on his way to the station. The missive referred to the Morfordsburg contract, of course, and was evidently an attempt to gain information regarding the proposed work, Arthur Breen & Co. being the financial agents of many similar properties.

"I will take care of him, sir," Jack had said as he left his Chief. "My uncle, no doubt, means all right, and it is just as well to hear what he says--besides he has been good enough to write to me, and of course I must go, but I shall not commit myself one way or the other--" and with a whispered word in Ruth's ear, a kiss and a laugh, he left the house.

As he turned down the short street leading to the station, he caught sight of Garry forging ahead on his way to the train. That rising young architect, chairman of the Building Committee of the Council, trustee of church funds, politician and all-round man of the world--most of which he carried in a sling--seemed in a particularly happy frame of mind this morning judging from the buoyancy with which he stepped. This had communicated itself to the gayety of his attire, for he was dressed in a light-gray check suit, and wore a straw hat (the first to see the light of summer) with a green ribbon about the crown,--together with a white waistcoat and white spats, the whole enriched by a red rose bud which Corinne had with her own hands pinned in his b.u.t.tonhole.

"Why, h.e.l.lo! Jack, old man! just the very fellow I'm looking for," cried the joyous traveller. "You going to New York?--So am I,--go every day now,--got something on ice,--the biggest thing I've ever struck. I'll show that uncle of yours that two can play at his game. He hasn't lifted his hand to help us, and I don't want him to,--Cory and I can get along; but you'd think he'd come out and see us once in a while, wouldn't you, or ask after the baby; Mrs. Breen comes, but not Breen. We live in the country and have tar on our heels, he thinks. Here,--sit by the window!

Now let's talk of something else. How's Miss Ruth and the governor? He's a daisy;--best engineer anywhere round here. Yes, Cory's all right. Baby keeps her awake half the night; I've moved out and camp upstairs; can't stand it. Oh, by the way, I see you are about finis.h.i.+ng up on the railroad work. I'll have something to say to you next week on the damage question. Got all the reports in last night. I tell you, my old chief, Mr. Morris, is a corker! What he doesn't know about masonry isn't worth picking up;--can't fool him! That's what's the matter with half of our younger men; they sharpen lead-pencils, mix ink, and think they are drawing; or they walk down a stone wall and don't know any more what's behind it and what holds it up than a child. Mr. Morris can not only design a wall, but he can teach some first-cla.s.s mechanics how to lay it."

Jack looked out the window and watched the fences fly past. For the moment he made no reply to Garry's long harangue--especially the part referring to the report. Anxious as he was to learn the result of the award, he did not want the facts from the chairman of the committee in advance of the confirmation by the Council.

"What is it you have on ice, Garry?" he asked at last with a laugh, yielding to an overpowering conviction that he must change the subject--"a new Corn Exchange? n.o.body can beat you in corn exchanges."

"Not by a long shot, Jack,--got something better; I am five thousand ahead now, and it's all velvet."

"Gold-mine, Garry?" queried Jack, turning his head. "Another Mukton Lode? Don't forget poor Charlie Gilbert; he's been clerking it ever since, I hear."

"No, a big warehouse company; I'll get the buildings later on. That Mukton Lode deal was a clear skin game, Jack, if it is your uncle, and A. B. & Co. got paid up for it--downtown and uptown. You ought to hear the boys at the Magnolia talk about it. My scheme is not that kind; I'm on the ground floor; got some of the promoter's stock. When you are through with your railroad contract and get your money, let me know.

I can show you a thing or two;--open your eyes! No Wall Street racket, remember,--just a plain business deal."

"There won't be much money left over, Garry, from the 'fill' and tunnel work, if we keep on. We ought to have a cyclone next to finish up with; we've had about everything else."

"You're all through, Jack," replied Garry with emphasis.

"I'll believe that when I see it," said Jack with a smile.

"I tell you, Jack, YOU ARE ALL THROUGH. Do you understand? Don't ask me any questions and I won't tell you any lies. The first thing that strikes you will be a check, and don't you forget it!"

Jack's heart gave a bound. The information had come as a surprise and without his aid, and yet it was none the less welcome. The dreaded anxiety was over; he knew now what the verdict of the Council would be. He had been right from the first in this matter, and Garry had not failed despite the strong political pressure which must have been brought against him. The new work now would go on and he and Ruth could go to Morfordsburg together! He could already see her trim, lovely figure in silhouette against the morning light, her eyes dancing, her face aglow in the crisp air of the hills.

Garry continued to talk on as they sped into the city, elaborating the details of the warehouse venture in which he had invested his present and some of his future commissions, but his words fell on stony ground.

The expected check was the only thing that filled Jack's thoughts. There was no doubt in his mind now that the decision would be in MacFarlane's favor, and that the sum, whether large or small, would be paid without delay,--Garry being treasurer and a large amount of money being still due McGowan on the embankment and boulevard. It would be joyous news to Ruth, he said to himself, with a thrill surging through his heart.

Jack left Garry on the Jersey side and crossed alone. The boy loved the salt air in his face and the jewelled lights flashed from the ever-restless sea. He loved, too, the dash and vim of it all. Forcing his way through the crowds of pa.s.sengers to the forward part of the boat, he stood where he could get the full sweep of the wonderful panorama:

The jagged purple line of the vast city stretching as far as the eye could reach; with its flat-top, square-sided, boxlike buildings, with here and there a structure taller than the others; the flash of light from Trinity's spire, its cross aflame; the awkward, crab-like movements of innumerable ferry-boats, their gaping alligator mouths filled with human flies; the impudent, nervous little tugs, spitting steam in every pa.s.sing face; the long strings of sausage-linked ca.n.a.lers kept together by grunting, slow-moving tows; the great floating track-yards bearing ponderous cars--eight days from the Pacific without break of bulk; the skinny, far-reaching fingers of innumerable docks clutching prey of barge, steamer, and s.h.i.+p; the stately ocean-liner moving to sea, scattering water-bugs of boats, scows and barges as it glided on its way:--all this stirred his imagination and filled him with a strange resolve. He, too, would win a place among the ma.s.ses--Ruth's hand fast in his.

CHAPTER XXIII

When Jack, in reply to Breen's note, stepped into his uncle's office, no one would have recognized in the quick, alert, bronze-faced young fellow the retiring, almost timid, boy who once peered out of the port-hole of the cas.h.i.+er's desk. Nor did Jack's eyes fall on any human being he had ever seen before. New occupants filled the chairs about the ticker. A few lucky ones--very few--had pulled out and stayed out, and could now be found at their country seats in various parts of the State, or on the Riviera, or in Egypt; but by far the larger part had crawled out of the fight to nurse their wounds within the privacy of their own homes where the outward show had to be kept up no matter how stringent the inside economies, or how severe the privations. Others, less fortunate, had disappeared altogether from their accustomed haunts and were to be found filling minor positions in some far Western frontier town or camp, or menial berths on a railroad, while at least one victim, too cowardly to leave the field, had haunted the lunch counters, hotel lobbies, and race-tracks for months, preying on friends and acquaintances alike until dire poverty forced him into crime, and a stone cell and a steel grille had ended the struggle.

Failing to find any face he recognized, Jack approached a group around the ticker, and inquired for the head of the firm. The answer came from a red-cheeked, clean-shaven, bullet-headed, immaculately upholstered gentleman--(silk scarf, diamond horse-shoe stick-pin, high collar, cut-away coat, speckled-trout waistcoat--everything perfect)--who stood, paring his nails in front of the plate-gla.s.s window overlooking the street, and who conveyed news of the elder Breen's whereabouts by a bob of his head and a jerk of his fat forefinger in the direction of the familiar gla.s.s door.