Galusha the Magnificent Part 41

No, he would wait, at least until he heard from the secretary in the West.

"Why, thank you, Mr. Barbour," he said, rising. "I--I will wait, I think."

"All right, sir. Sorry, but you see how it is. Drop in again, Mr.--er--Barnes. Barnes was the name, wasn't it?"

"Why, not exactly. My name is Bangs, but it really doesn't matter in the least. Dear me, no. I am a relative of Mr. Cabot's. But that doesn't matter either. Good-morning, Mr. Barbour."

But it did seem to matter, after all. At any rate, Mr. Barbour for the first time appeared actually interested.

"Eh?" he exclaimed. "Bangs? Oh, just a minute, Mr. Bangs. Just a minute, if you please. Bangs? Why, are you--You're not the--er--professor?

Professor Ga--Ga--"

"Galusha. Yes, I am Galusha Bangs."

"You don't mean it! Well, well, that's odd! I was planning to write you to-day, Professor. Let me see, here's the memorandum now. We look after your business affairs, I believe, Professor?"

Galusha nodded. He was anxious to get away. The significance of Cousin Gussie's illness and absence and what those might mean to Martha Phipps were beginning to dawn upon him. He wanted to get away and think. The very last thing he wished to do was to discuss his own business affairs.

"Yes," he admitted; "yes, you--ah--do. That is, Cousin Gussie--ah--Mr.

Cabot does. But, really, I--"

"I won't keep you but a moment, Professor. And what I'm going to tell you is good news, at that. I presume it IS news; or have you heard of the Tinplate melon?"

It was quite evident that Galusha had not heard. Nor, hearing now, did the news convey anything to his mind.

"Melon?" he repeated. "Ah--melon, did you say?"

"Why, yes. The Tinplate people are--"

It was a rather long story, and telling it took longer than the minute Mr. Barbour had requested. To Galusha it was all a tangled and most uninteresting snarl of figures and stock quotations and references to "preferred" and "common" and "new issues" and "rights." He gathered that, somehow or other, he was to have more money, money which was coming to him because the "Tinplate crowd," whoever they were, were to do something or other that people like Barbour called "cutting a melon."

"You understand, Professor?" asked Mr. Barbour, concluding his explanation.

Galusha was at that moment endeavoring to fabricate a story of his own, one which he might tell Miss Phipps. It must not be too discouraging, it must--

"Eh?" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, coming out of his daydream. "Oh, yes--yes, of course."

"As near as I can figure, your share will be well over twelve thousand.

A pretty nice little windfall, I should say. Now what shall I do with it?"

"Yes.... Oh, I beg your pardon. Dear me, I am afraid I was not attending as I should."

"I say what shall I do with the check when it comes. That was what I intended writing you to ask. Do you wish me to reinvest the money, or shall I send the check to you?"

"Yes--ah--yes. If you will be so kind. You will excuse me, won't you, but really I must hurry on. Thank you very much, Mr. Barbour."

"But I don't quite understand which you wish me to do, Professor. Of course, Thomas usually attends to all this--your affairs, I mean--but I am trying not to trouble him unless it is absolutely necessary. Shall I send the check direct to you, is that it?"

"Yes--yes, that will do very nicely. Thank you, Mr. Barbour.

Good-morning."

He hurried out before Barbour could say any more. He cared nothing about Tinplate melons or checks; in fact, he forgot them both almost before he reached the street. But Martha Phipps--he had a.s.sured and rea.s.sured Martha Phipps that Cousin Gussie would help her out of her financial difficulties. And Cousin Gussie had not as yet learned of those difficulties, nor, in all probability, would he be permitted ever to learn of them.

Galusha Bangs' trip back to East Wellmouth was by no means a pleasure excursion. What should he say to Martha? How could he be truthful and yet continue to be encouraging? If he had not been so unreasonably optimistic it would be easier, but he had never once admitted the possibility of failure. And--no, he would not admit it now. Somehow and in some way Martha's cares must be smoothed away. That he determined.

But what should he say to her now?

He was still asking himself that question when he turned in at the Phipps' gate. And Fate so arranged matters that it was Primmie who heard the gate latch click and Primmie who came flying down the path to meet him.

"Mr. Bangs! Oh, Mr. Bangs!" she cried, breathlessly. "It's all right, ain't it? It's all right?"

Galusha, startled, stared at her.

"Dear me, Primmie," he observed. "How you do--ah--bounce at one, so to speak. What is the matter?"

"Matter? I cal'late we both know what's the matter, but what _I_ want to know is if it's goin' to keep ON bein' the matter. Is it all right? Have you fixed it up?"

"Fixed what up? And PLEASE speak lower. Yes, and don't--ah--bounce, if you don't mind."

"I won't, honest I won't. But have you fixed up Miss Martha's trouble; you and them Bancroft folks, I mean? Have you, Mr. Bangs?"

"Bancroft folks?... How did you know I--"

"I seen it, of course. 'Twas in that note you left on the table."

"Note? Why, Primmie, that note was for Miss Phipps. Why did you read it?"

"Why wouldn't I read it? There 'twas laid out on the table when I came down to poke up the fire and set the kettle on. There wasn't no name on it, so 'twan't till I'd read it clear through that I knew 'twas for Miss Martha. It said: 'Have gone to Boston to see--er--what's-his-name and Somebody-else and--' Never mind, Bancroft's all I remember, anyhow. But it said you'd gone to them folks to see about 'stock matter.' Well, then I knew 'twas for Miss Martha. _I_ didn't have no stock matters for folks to see about. My savin' soul, no! And then you said, 'Hope to settle everything and have good news when I come back.' I remember THAT all right.... Oh, Mr. Bangs, have you settled it? HAVE you got good news for her?"

By this time she had forgotten all about the request to speak in a low tone. Galusha glanced fearfully at the open door behind her.

"Sshh! shh, Primmie," he begged.

"But have you? Have you, Mr. Bangs?"

"Why--why, perhaps, Primmie. I mean--that is to say--"

He stopped. Miss Phipps was standing in the doorway.

"Why, Mr. Bangs!" she exclaimed. "Are you here so soon? I didn't expect you till to-night. What are you standin' out there in the cold for? Come in, come in!"

And then Primmie, to make use of the expressive idiom of her friend, the driver of the grocery cart, Primmie "spilled the beans." She turned, saw her mistress, and ran toward her, waving both hands.

"Oh, Miss Martha!" she cried, "he--he's done it. He says it's all right.

He does! he does!"

"Primmie!"

"He says he's been to them--them Bancroft what's-his-name folks and he's got the good news for you. Oh, ain't it elegant! Ain't it!"