Edith and John Part 23

"Fine, I hear," answered Jacob, rising in his chair, and turning around with his back to Peter.

"That's a funny piece of business on Jarney's part," said Peter, puffing very hard at his pipe.

"His daughter took a fancy to her, on seeing her one day while slumming on the South Side, and she's trying to make a lady of her," said Jacob, sitting down again, after throwing away the stump of a cigar.

"Can she do it?" asked Peter, with considerable interest.

"She's doing it," responded Jacob, who noticed the change of Peter's interest, which was now of the kindly kind.

"G.o.d bless her!" exclaimed Peter, as he turned again to his ever present peephole expression.

"Mike Barton's dead," said Jacob, slowly.

"The devil!" shouted Peter, turning from his peephole.

"Yes; didn't you hear of it?"

"No. How?"

"Automobile accident."

"There are others to take his place," said Peter, grunting like a satisfied pig after eating heartily. "How did it happen?"

"Stole Jarney's auto, with the two young ladies in it; run it like h---- to the country, to kidnap them, I suppose; ran into a telegraph pole--busted the machine, and busted his head."

"Poor wretch! I am glad he is gone, for his sister's sake," said Peter, sighing, which he could do sometimes.

"Ah, I see you are very compa.s.sionate for the girl all at once," said Jacob, eyeing Peter.

"I have reasons to be," replied Peter, spiritedly. "Were the girls hurt?"

"No; but Edith Jarney is very ill--."

"Very ill! What?" interrupted Peter.

"Brain fever, she's got."

"Ah, she is too good to live," said Peter, looking out his peephole again. Then turning quickly, with his peculiar little eyes turned up sidewise at Jacob, he said: "Say, Jacob, we must put our sleuths on the trail of that old drunkard, Billy Barton. He has been gone a long time, and not a single word from him."

"What do you want with the sot?" asked Jacob, mystified. "He's no good."

"That's my business--poor Billy," and Peter lapsed into a moody spell, for sometimes he seemed to have a little of the feelings of a natural heart; but this quality in him was as rare as the air on Pike's Peak.

"His family must be cared for."

"Jarney's doing that," answered Jacob.

"Is he?" jerked out Peter, wrathfully. "I'll not allow it from him, the interloper!"

"You are getting generous all at once, Peter; I should not begrudge him the privilege."

"Well, then, I don't," replied Peter, after a moment's reflection. "Let him keep them; he owes it to them."

"It is time for me to be at my office, Peter; so good bye," said Jacob, rising to leave.

"Remember Monroe," said Peter.

"Oh, I'll see to that," said Jacob, as he went out.

So are the "ropes" laid, as per the rule of things, to further the ends of the men who neither toil nor spin. Were the dear people less disposed to supine indifference toward their public officials, the government of our country would be as perfect, no doubt, as that of the fabled Utopia.

CHAPTER XIV.

JOHN WINTHROPE IS SURROUNDED BY PERPLEXITIES.

The morbidly silent Monroe went about his duties with the serenity of a cat out on a dark night. The immobility of his starched face left no impression on the beholder of it as to whether he could be successfully punctured with the light of pleasantry. His feline movements from office to office among the clerical force cast an uncanny glamour over them all; and when not in the act of always appearing to be ready to make a spring upon them, as he glided whisperingly through the aisles of desks and high stands, he would be sitting at his own desk, in a corner of his private room, scanning sheet after sheet of reports and balances, and running over leaf after leaf of notations that had been left on his spindle for his especial perusal.

He was a very precise man, very accurate, very painstaking. He was a very obdurate man, very exacting, very positive. He was a very efficient man, very dependable, very obliging. He was a very incomprehensible man, very calculating, very mysterious. And besides, he was by nature very crafty, revengeful and egotistic. None of which traits could be read in his marble-like physiognomy; but they had to be worked out, to see them plainly, by a system of watching, and close scrutiny of his acts. He had risen in the office force from the bottom, and held his present post by right of apparent merit.

No one under him, or above, for that matter, ever dreamed that behind his iron mask lay another man, unscrupulous and unfaithful. No one ever thought of him but that he was honest, upright and beyond reproach. No one ever thought of him being a depraved man, as being licentious, as being impure in thought and actions; because all these things were hidden under his bushel of contrarieties.

At his desk, Mr. Monroe always worked with dispatch in disposing of the matters that daily came before him; and rarely could he be approached, except by the carrier of messages, or by an important personage, and then by announcement--except the head of the firm, who, of course, had free access to his room.

He was sitting, one day, enveloped in a great pile of work, when it was announced that Mr. Winthrope, the secretary, desired an audience with him. The secretary was admitted; but he was not asked to sit down. He stood before him in his own power; and he drew his own conclusions. But he said:

"Mr. Monroe, do you have at hand the balance sheet of last month?"

"I can get it," he answered, automatically.

"Mr. Jarney desires to go over it again," said John.

Mr. Monroe procured the sheet, and stiffly handed it to John, with one of his stony stares. John took the sheet and left him. When he reached the door, going out, he turned and caught the stolid face of Monroe still upon him. Neither said a word. John went out. Mr. Monroe pressed a b.u.t.ton. A short, heavy set, square shouldered man, with green eyes, answered the b.u.t.ton's call. He was Welty Morne, the head of the bookkeeping department.

"Welty," said Monroe, familiarly, "do you ever see the secretary after work hours?"

"No."

"Do you know where he lives?"

"At The King House, Diamond alley."

"He is never out at night, is he?"

"I have never seen him."

"He never a.s.sociates with the boys, does he?"