Kennedy Square Part 34

Pawson was of that opinion to-night when St. George, his toilet complete, joined him at the bottom of the stairs. Indeed he thought he had never seen his client look better--a discovery which sent a spasm of satisfaction through his long body, for he had a piece of important news to tell him, and had been trying all day to make up his mind how best to break it.

"You look younger, Mr. Temple," he began, "and, if you will allow me to say so, handsomer, every day. Your trip to the Eastern Sh.o.r.e last spring did you no end of good," and the young attorney crooked his long neck and elevated his eyebrows and the corners of his mouth in the effort to give to his sinuous body a semblance of mirth.

"Thank you, Pawson," bowed St. George, graciously. "You are really most kind, but that is because you are stone blind. My s.h.i.+rt is full of holes, and it is quite likely I shall have to stand all the evening for fear of splitting the knees of my breeches. Come--out with it"--he laughed--"there is something you have to tell me or you would not be waiting for me here at this hour in the cold hall."

Pawson smiled faintly, then his eyebrows lost their ident.i.ty in some well-defined wrinkles in his forehead.

"I have, sir, a most unpleasant thing to tell you--a very unpleasant thing. When I tried this morning for a few days' grace on that last overdue payment, the agent informed me, to my great surprise, that Mr.

John Gorsuch had bought the mortgage and would thereafter collect the interest in person. I am not sure, of course, but I am afraid Colonel Rutter is behind the purchase. If he is we must be prepared to face the worst should he still feel toward you as he did when you and he"--and he jerked his thumb meaningly in the direction of the dining-room--"had it out--in there."

St. George compressed his lips. "And so Rutter holds the big end of the whip after all, does he?" he exclaimed with some heat. "He will find the skin on my back not a very valuable a.s.set, but he is welcome to it. He has about everything else."

"But I'd rather pay it somehow if we could," rejoined Pawson in a furtive way--as if he had something up his sleeve he dare not spring upon him.

"Yes--of course you would," retorted St. George with a cynical laugh, slipping on his gloves. "Pay it?--of course pay it. Pay everything and everybody! What do you think I'd bring at auction, Pawson? I'm white, you know, and so I can't be sold on the block--but the doctors might offer you a trifle for cutting-up purposes. Bah! Hand me my coat, Todd."

A deprecatory smile flitted across the long, thin face of the attorney.

He saw that St. George was in no mood for serious things, and yet something must be done; certainly before the arrival of Gorsuch himself, who was known to be an exact man of business and who would have his rights, no matter who suffered.

"I had a little plan, sir--but you might not fall in with it. It would, perhaps, be only temporary, but it is all I can think of. I had an applicant this morning--in fact it came within an hour after I had heard the news. It seemed almost providential, sir."

St. George was facing the door, ready to leave the house, his shoulders still bent forward so that Todd could adjust his heavy cloak the better, when for the first time the anxious tone in Pawson's voice caught his attention. As the words fell from the attorney's lips he straightened, and Todd stepped back, the garment still in the darky's hands.

"An applicant for what?" he inquired in a graver tone. He was not surprised--nothing surprised him in these days--he was only curious.

"For the rooms you occupy. I can get enough for them, sir, not only to clear up the back interest, but to keep the mortgage alive and--"

St. George's face paled as the full meaning of Pawson's proposal dawned in his mind. That was the last thing he had expected.

"Turn me into the street, eh?" There was a note of pained surprise in his voice.

"I don't want you to put it that way, sir." His heart really bled for him--it was all he could do to control himself.

"How the devil else can I put it?"

"Well, I thought you might want to do a little shooting, sir."

"Shooting! What with? One of Gadgem's guns? Hire it of him, eh, and steal the powder and shot!" he cried savagely.

"Yes--if you saw fit, sir. Gadgem, I am sure, would be most willing, and you can always get plenty of ammunition. Anyway, you might pa.s.s a few months with your kinsfolk on the Eastern Sh.o.r.e, whether you hunted or not; it did you so much good before. The winter here is always wearing, sloppy and wet. I've heard you say so repeatedly." He had not taken his eyes from his face; he knew this was St. George's final stage, and he knew too that he would never again enter the home he loved; but this last he could not tell him outright. He would rather have cut his right hand off than tell him at all. Being even the humblest instrument in the exiling of a man like St. George Wilmot Temple was in itself a torture.

"And when do you want me to quit?" he said calmly. "I suppose I can evacuate like an officer and a gentleman and carry my side-arms with me--my father's cane, for instance, that I can neither sell nor p.a.w.n, and a case of razors which are past sharpening?" and his smile broadened as the humor of the thing stole over him.

"Well, sir, it ought to be done," continued Pawson in his most serious tone, ignoring the sacrifice--(there was nothing funny in the situation to the attorney)--"well--I should say--right away. To-morrow, perhaps.

This news of Gorsuch has come very sudden, you know. If I can show him that the new tenant has moved in already he might wait until his first month's rent was paid. You see that--"

"Oh, yes, Pawson, I see--see it all clear as day," interrupted St.

George--"have been seeing it for some months past, although neither you nor Gadgem seem to have been aware of that fact." This came with so grave a tone that Pawson raised his eyes inquiringly. "And who is this man," Temple went on, "who wants to step into my shoes? Be sure you tell him they are half-soled," and he held up one boot. He might want to dance or hunt in them--and his toes would be out the first thing he knew."

"He is Mr. Gorsuch's attorney, sir, a Mr. Fogbin," Pawson answered, omitting any reference to the boots and still concerned over the gravity of the situation. "He did some work once for Colonel Rutter, and that's how Gorsuch got hold of him. That's why I suspect the colonel. This would make the interest sure, you see--rather a sly game, is it not, sir? One I did not expect."

St. George pondered for a moment, and his eye fell on his servant.

"And what will I do with Todd?"

The darky's eyes had been rolling round in his head as the talk continued, Pawson, knowing how leaky he was, having told him nothing of the impending calamity for fear he would break it to his master in the wrong way.

"I should say take him with you," came the positive answer.

"Take him with me! You didn't think I would be separated from him, did you?" cried St. George, indignantly, the first note of positive anger he had yet shown.

"I didn't think anything about it, sir," and he looked at Todd apologetically.

"Well, after this please remember, Mr. Pawson, that where I go Todd goes."

The darky leaned forward as if to seize St. George's hand; his eyes filled and his lips began to tremble. He would rather have died than have left his master.

St. George walked to the door, threw it open, and stood for an instant, his eyes fixed on the bare trees in the park. He turned and faced the two again:

"Todd!"

"Yes, Ma.r.s.e George--" Two hot ragged tears still lingered on the darky's eyelids.

"To-day is Monday, is it not?--and to-morrow is boat day?"

"Yes, Ma.r.s.e George," came the trembling answer.

"All right, Pawson, I'll go. Let Talbot Rutter have the rest--he's welcome to it. Now for my cloak, Todd--so--and my neckerchief and cane.

Thank you very much, Pawson. You have been very kind about it all, and I know quite well what it has cost you to tell me this. You can't help--neither can I--neither, for that matter, can Gorsuch--nor is it his fault. It is Rutter's, and he will one day get his reckoning.

Good-night--don't sit up too late. I am going to Mr. Horn's to spend the evening. Walk along with me through the Park, Todd, so I can talk to you. And, Todd," he continued when they had entered the path and were bending their steps to the Horn house, "I want you to gather together to-morrow what are left of my clothes and pack them in one of those hair trunks upstairs--and your own things in another. Never mind about waiting for the wash. I'm going down to Aunt Jemima's myself in the morning and will fix it so she can send the rest to me later on. I owe her a small balance and must see her once more before I leave. Now go home and get to bed; you have been losing too much sleep of late."

And yet he was not cast down, nor did his courage fail him. Long before the darky's obedient figure had disappeared his natural buoyancy had again a.s.serted itself--or perhaps the philosophy which always sustains a true gentleman in his hour of need had come to his a.s.sistance. He fully realized what this last cowardly blow meant. One after another his several belongings had vanished: his priceless family heirlooms; his dogs; and now the home of his ancestors. He was even denied further shelter within its walls. But there were no regrets; his conscience still sustained him; he would live it all over again. In his determination to keep to his standards he had tried to stop a freshet with a shovelful of clay; that was all. It was a foolhardy attempt, no doubt, but he would have been heartily ashamed of himself if he had not made the effort. Wesley, of course, was not a very exciting place in which to spend the winter, but it was better than being under obligations to Talbot Rutter; and then he could doubtless earn enough at the law to pay his board--at least he would try.

He had reached the end of the walk and had already caught the glow of the overhead lantern in the hall of the Horn mansion lighting up the varied costumes of the guests as Malachi swung back the front door, revealing the girls in their pink and white nubias, the gallants in long cloaks with scarlet linings, the older men in m.u.f.flers, and the mothers and grandmothers in silk hoods. There was no question of Richard's popularity.

"Clar to goodness, Ma.r.s.e George, you is a sight for sore eyes," cried Malachi, unhooking the clasp of the velvet collar and helping him off with his cloak. "I ain't never seen ye looking spryer! Yes, sah, Ma.r.s.e Richard's inside and he'll be mighty glad ye come. Yes--jedge--jes's soon as I--Dat's it, mistis--I'll take dat shawl--No, sah, Ma.r.s.e Richard ain't begun yit. Dis way, ladies," and so it had gone on since the opening rat-a-tat-tat on the old bra.s.s knocker had announced the arrival of the first guest.

Nor was there any question that everybody who could by any possibility have availed themselves of Richard's invitation had put in an appearance. Most of the men from the club known to these pages were present, together with their wives and children--those who were old enough to sit up late; and Nathan Gill, without his flute this time, but with ears wide open--he was beginning to get gray, was Nathan, although he wouldn't admit it; and Miss Virginia Clendenning in high waist and voluminous skirts, fluffy side curls, and a new gold chain for her eyegla.s.ses--gold rims, too, of course--not to mention the Murdochs, Stirlings, Gatch.e.l.ls, Captain Warfield and his daughter, Bowdoin, and Purviance. They were all there; everybody, in fact, who could squeeze inside the drawing-room; while those who couldn't filled the hall and even the stairs--wherever Richard's voice could be heard.

St. George edged into the packed room, swept his glance over the throng, and made his way through the laughing groups, greeting every one right and left, old and young, as he moved--a kiss here on the upturned cheek of some pretty girl whom he had carried in his arms when a baby; a caressing pat of approbation on some young gallant's shoulder; a bend of the head in respectful homage to those he knew but slightly--the Baroness de Trobiand, Mrs. Cheston's friend, being one of them; a hearty hand held out to the men who had been away for the summer--interrupted now and then by some such sally from a young bride as--"Oh, you mean Uncle George! No--I'm not going to love you any more! You promised you would come to my party and you didn't, and my cotillon was all spoiled!"

or a--"Why, Temple, you dear man!-I'm so glad to see you! Don't forget my dinner on Thursday. The Secretary is coming and I want you to sit between him and Lord Atherton"--a sort of triumphal procession, really--until he reached the end of the room and stood at Kate's side.

"Well, sweetheart!" he cried gayly, caressing her soft hand before his fingers closed over it. Then his face hardened. "Ah, Mr. Willits! So you, too, must come under the spell of Mr. Horn's voice," and without waiting for a reply continued as if nothing had interrupted the joy of his greeting. "You should sit down somewhere, my dear Kate--get as near to Richard as you can, so you can watch his face--that's the best part of it. And I should advise you, too, Mr. Willits, to miss none of his words--it will be something you will remember all your life."

Kate looked up in his face with a satisfied smile. She was more than glad that her Uncle George was so gracious to her escort, especially to-night when he was to meet a good many people for the first time.

"I'll take the stool, then, dear Uncle George," she answered with a merry laugh. "Go get it, please, Mr. Willits--the one under the sofa."

Then, with a toss of her head and a coquettish smile at St. George: "What a gadabout you are; do you know I've been three times to see you, and not a soul in your house and the front door wide open, and everything done up in curl papers as if you were going to move away for good and all and never coming back? And do you know that you haven't been near me for a whole week? What do you mean by breaking my heart?

Thank you, Mr. Willits; put the stool right here, so I can look up into Mr. Horn's eyes as Uncle George wants me to. I've known the time, sir"--and she arched her brows at St. George--"when you would be delighted to have me look my prettiest at you, but now before I am halfway across the park you slip out of the bas.e.m.e.nt door to avoid me and--No!--no--no apologies--you are just tired of me!"