Making Money Part 18

The old Grenadier, as she was affectionately termed by her daughter's admirers, was out in her war paint, dressed like a debutante, fatly complacent and smiling with the prospect of a delicious lunch at the end of the drive.

"Say, I think Fred's the sweetest feller," she began, beaming on Bojo, "and so smart too. Louise says he could make a forchin in vaudeville. I think he's much cleverer than that Pinkle feller who gets two-fifty a week for giving imitations on the pianner. Why haven't you been around, Mr. Crocker?" She nudged him again, her maternal gaze fondly fixed on her daughter. "Isn't she a dream in that cute little hat? My Lord, I should think all the men would be just crazy about her."

"Most of them are, I should say," said Bojo, and, smiling, he nodded in the direction of Fred DeLancy, who was at that moment in the throes of a difficult explanation.

Mrs. Varney gave a huge sigh and proceeded confidentially.

"'Course Louise's got a great future, every one says, and vaudeville does pay high when you get to be a top notcher; but, my sakes, Mr.

Crocker, money isn't everything in this world, as I often told her--"

"Mother, be quiet--you're talking too much," said Miss Louise Varney abruptly, whose alert little ear was always trained for maternal indiscretions. Mrs. Varney, as was her habit, withdrew into an att.i.tude of sulky aloofness, not to relax until they were cozily ensconced at a corner table in a wayside inn for luncheon. By this time Miss Varney had evidently decided to accept the protestations of DeLancy, and peace having been declared and the old Grenadier mollified by her favorite broiled lobster and a carafe of beer, the party proceeded gaily. Fred DeLancy, in defiance of Bojo's presence, beaming and fascinated, exchanged confidential whispers and smiles with the girl which each fondly believed unperceived.

"Good Lord," thought Bojo to himself, now quite alarmed, "this is a pickle! He's in for it fair this time and no mistake. She can have him any time she wants to. Of course she thinks he's loaded with diamonds."

Mr. Fred's att.i.tude, in fact, would have deceived a princess of the royal blood.

"Louis, get up something tasty," he said to the bending _maitre d'hotel_. "You know what I like. Don't bother me with the menu. Louis,"

he added confidentially, "is a jewel--the one man in New York you can trust." He initialed the check without examining it and laid down a gorgeous tip with a careless flip of the finger.

"The little idiot," thought Bojo. "I wonder what bills he's run up.

Decidedly I must get a chance at the girl and open her eyes."

Chance favored him, or rather Miss Varney herself. Luncheon over, while Fred went out for the car, she said abruptly:

"Let's run out in the garden. I want to talk to you. Don't worry, mamma.

It's all right." And as Mrs. Varney, true to her grenadierial instincts, prepared to object, she added with a shrug of her shoulders: "Now just doze away like a dear. We can't elope, you know!"

"What can she want to say to me?" thought Bojo curiously, suffering her to lead him laughing out through the gla.s.s doors into the pebbled paths.

Despite his growing alarm, Bojo was forced to admit that Miss Varney, with her quick j.a.panese eyes and bubbling humor, was a most fascinating person, particularly when she exerted herself to please in little intimate ways.

"Mr. Crocker, you don't like me," she said abruptly. He defended himself badly. "Don't fib--you are against me. Why? On account of Fred?"

"I don't dislike you--no one could," he said, yielding to the persuasion of her smile, "but if you want to know, I am worried over Fred. He is head over heels in love with you, young lady."

"And why not?"

"Do you care for him?"

"Yes--very much," she said quietly, "and I want you to be our friend."

"Good heavens, I really believe she does," he thought, panic-stricken.

Aloud he said abruptly: "If that is what you want, let me ask you a question. Please forgive me for being direct. Do you know that Fred hasn't a cent in the world but what he makes? You can judge yourself how he spends that."

"But Fred told me he had made a lot lately and I know he expects to make ten times that in something--" she stopped hastily at a look in Bojo's face. "Why, what's wrong?"

"Miss Varney--you haven't put anything into it, have you?

"Yes, I have," she said after a moment's hesitation. "Why, he told me you yourself told him he couldn't lose. You don't mean to say there's any--any danger?"

"I'm sorry. He shouldn't have told you! There's always a risk. I'm sorry he let you do that."

"Oh, I oughtn't to have let it out," she said contritely. "Promise not to tell him. I didn't mean to! Besides--it's not much really."

Bojo shook his head.

"Mr. Crocker-- Tom," she said, laying her hand on his arm, "don't turn him against me. I'm being square with you. I do care for Fred. I don't care if he hasn't a cent in the world; really I'm not that sort, honest."

"And your mother?"

She was silent, and he seized the advantage.

"Why get into something that'll only hurt you both? Suppose things turn out all right. He'll spend every cent he'll make in a few months. Now listen, Louise. You're not made for life in a flat; neither is he. It would be a miserable disaster. I'm sorry," he said, seeing her eyes fill. "But what I say is true. You've got a career, a brilliant career with money and fame ahead; don't spoil your chances and don't spoil his."

"What do you mean?" she said, flaring up. "Then there is some one else!

I knew it! That's where he's going this afternoon!"

"There is no one else," he said, lying outrageously. "I've warned you.

I've told you the real situation. That's all."

"Let's go back," she said abruptly, and she went in silence as far as the house, where she turned on him. "I don't believe what you've told me. I know he is not poor or a beggar as you say. Would he be going around with the crowd he does? No!" With an upspurt of rage of which he had not believed her capable, she added: "Now I warn you. What we do is our affair. Don't b.u.t.t in or there'll be trouble!"

On the return, doubtless for several reasons, she elected to send her mother in front, and to keep Bojo company on the back seat, where as though regretting her one revealing flash of temper, she sought to be as gracious and entertaining as possible. Despite a last whispered appeal accompanied by a soft pressure of the arm and a troubled glance of the eyes, no sooner had they deposited mother and daughter than Bojo broke out:

"Fred, what in the name of heaven possessed you to put Louise Varney's money in a speculation? How many others have you told?"

"Only a few--very few."

"But, Fred, think of the responsibility! Now look here, straight from the shoulder--do you know what's going to happen? Before you know it, you're going to wake up and find yourself married to Louise Varney!"

"Don't jump on me, Bojo," said Fred, miserably. "I'm scared to death myself."

"But, Fred, you can't do such a thing. Louise is pretty--attractive enough--I'll admit it--and straight; but the mother, Fred--you can't do it, you'll just drop out. It'll be the end of you. Man, can't you see it? I thought you prided yourself on being a man of the world. Look at your friends. There's Gladys Stone--crazy about you. You know it. Are you going to throw all that away!"

"If I was sure of a hundred thousand dollars I believe I'd marry Louise to-morrow!" said Fred with a long breath. "Call me crazy--I am crazy--a raving, tearing fool, but that doesn't help. Lord, nothing helps!"

"Fred, answer me one question. We all thought, the night of the ball, you and Gladys Stone had come to an understanding. Is that true?"

Fred turned his head and groaned.

"I'm a cad, a horrible, beastly little cad!"

"Good Lord, is it as bad as that!" said Bojo. "But, Fred, old boy, how did it happen? How did you ever get in so deep!"

"How do I know?" said DeLancy miserably. "It was just playing around.

Other men were crazy over her. I never meant to be serious in the beginning--and then--then I was caught."

"Fred, old fellow, you've got to get hold of yourself. Will you let me b.u.t.t in?"

"I wish to G.o.d you would."