Kennedy Square Part 46

"No, except that it about ruined everybody who had anything to do with it."

"Then you have heard nothing of the REsuscitation!" cried Gadgem, all his fingers opened like a fan, his eyebrows arched to the roots of his hair. "You surPRISE me! And you are really ignorant of the PHOEnix-like way in which it has RISen from its ashes? I said RISen, sir, because it is now but a dim speck in the financial sky. Nor the appointment of Mr.

John Gorsuch as manager, ably backed by your DIStinguished father--the setting of the bird upon its legs--I'm speaking of the burnt bird, sir, the PHOEnix. I'm quite sure it was a bird--Nor the payment on the first of the ensuing month of some eighty per cent of the amounts due the ORIGinal depositors and another twenty per cent in one year thereafter--The cancelling of the mortgage which your most BEnevolent and HONorable father bought, and the sly trick of Gorsuch--letting Fogbin, who never turned up, become the sham tenant--and the joy--"

"Hold on Mr. Gadgem--I'm not good at figures. Give me that over again and speak slower. Am I to understand that the bank will pay back to my uncle, within a day or so, three-quarters of the money they stole from him?"

"STOLE, sir!" chided Gadgem, his outstretched forefinger wig-wagging a Fie! Fie! gesture of disapproval--"STOLE is not a pretty word--actionable, sir--DANgerously actionable--a question of the watch-house, and, if I might be permitted to say--a bit of COLD lead--Perhaps you will allow me to suggest the word 'maNIPulated,'

sir--the money the bank maNIPulated from your confiding and inexperienced uncle--that is safer and it is equally EXpressive. He!

He!"

"Well, will he get the money?" cried Harry, his face lighting up, his interest in the outcome outweighing his amus.e.m.e.nt over Gadgem's antics and expressions.

"He WILL, sir," rejoined Gadgem decisively.

"And you are so sure of it that you would be willing to advance one-half the amount if the account was turned over to you this minute?" cried Harry eagerly.

"No sir--not one-half--ALL of it--less a TRIfling commission for my services of say one per cent. When you say 'this minute,' sir, I must reply that the brevity of the area of action becomes a trifle ACUTE, yes, ALARMingly acute. I haven't the money myself, sir--that is, not about my person--but I can get it in an hour, sir--in less time, if Mr.

Temple is willing. That was my purpose in coming here, sir--that was why Mr. Pawson sent for me, sir; and it is but fair to say that you can thank your DIStinguished father for it all, sir--he has worked night and day to do it. Colonel Rutter has taken over--so I am inFORMED--I'm not sure, but I am inFORMED--taken over a lot of the securities himself so that he COULD do it. Another EXtraordinary combination, if you will permit me to say so--I refer to your father--a man who will show you his door one minute and open his pocketbook and his best bottle of wine for you the next," and he plunged himself down in his seat with so determined a gesture that it left no question on Harry's mind that he intended sitting it out until daylight should there be the faintest possibility of his financial proposition being accepted.

Harry walked to the window and gazed out on the trees. There was no doubt now that Mr. Temple was once more on his feet. "Uncle George will go now to Moorlands," he said, decisively, in a low tone, speaking to himself, his heart swelling with pride at this fresh evidence of his father's high sense of honor--then he wheeled and addressed the attorney:

"Shall I tell Mr. Temple this news, about the Pataps...o...b..nk, Mr.

Pawson?"

"Yes, if you think best, Mr. Rutter. And I have another piece of good news. This please do not tell Mr. Temple, not yet--not until it is definitely settled. That old suit in Chancery has been decided, or will be, so I learned this morning and decided in favor of the heir. You may not have heard of it before, Gadgem," and he turned to the collector, "but it is one of old General Dorsey Temple's left-overs. It has been in the courts now some forty years. When this decision is made binding,"

here he again faced Harry--"Mr. Temple comes in for a considerable share."

Gadgem jumped to his feet and snapped his fingers rapidly. Had he sat on a tack his rebound could not have been more sudden. This last was news to him.

"SHORN lamb, sir!" he cried gleefully, rubbing his palms together, his body tied into a double bow-knot. "Gentle breezes; bread upon the waters! By jiminy, Mr. Rutter, if Mr. Temple could be born again--figuratively, sir--and I could walk in upon him as I once did, and find him at breakfast surrounded by all his comforts with Todd waiting upon him--a very good n.i.g.g.e.r is Todd, sir--an exCEPtionally good n.i.g.g.e.r--I'd--I'd--d.a.m.n me, Mr. Rutter, I'd--well, sir, there's no word--but John Gadgem, sir--well, I'll be d.a.m.ned if he wouldn't--" and he began skipping about the room, both feet in the air, as if he was a boy of twenty instead of a thin, shambling, badly put together bill collector in an ill-fitting brown coat, a hat much the worse for wear, and a red cotton handkerchief addicted to weekly ablutions.

As for Harry the glad news had cleared out wide s.p.a.ces before him, such as he had not looked through in years; leafy vistas, with glimpses of sunlit meadows; shadow-flecked paths leading to manor-houses with summer skies beyond. He, too, was on his feet, walking restlessly up and down.

Pawson and Gadgem again put their heads together, Harry stopping to listen. Such expressions as "Certainly," "I think I can": "Yes, of course it was there when I was last in his place," "Better see him first," caught his ear.

At last he could stand it no longer. Dr. Teackle or no Dr. Teackle, he would go upstairs, open the door softly, and if his uncle was awake whisper the good news in his ear. If anybody had whispered any such similar good news in his ear on any one of the weary nights he had lain awake waiting for the dawn, or at any time of the day when he sat his horse, his rifle across the pommel, it would have made another man of him.

If his uncle was awake!

He was not only awake, but he was very much alive.

"I've got a great piece of news for you, Uncle George!" Harry shouted in a rollicking tone, his joy increasing as he noted his uncle's renewed strength.

"So have I got a great piece of news for you!" was shouted back. "Come in, you young rascal, and shut that door behind you. She isn't going to marry Willits. Thrown him over--don't want him--don't love him--can't love him--never did love him! She's just told me so. Whoop--hurrah! I Dance, you dog, before I throw this chair at you!!"

There are some moments in a man's life when all language fails;--pantomime moments, when one stares and tries to speak and stares again. They were both at it--St. George waiting until Harry should explode, and Harry trying to get his breath, the earth opening under him, the skies falling all about his head.

"She told you so! When!" he gasped.

"Two minutes ago--you've just missed her! Where the devil have you been?

Why didn't you come in before?"

"Kate here--two minutes ago--what will I do?" Had he found himself at sea in an open boat with both oars adrift he could not have been more helpless.

"DO! Catch her before she gets home! Quick!--just as you are--sailor clothes and all!"

"But how will I know if--?"

"You don't have to know! Away with you, I tell you!"

And away he went--and if you will believe it, dear reader--without even a whisper in his uncle's ears of the good news he had come to tell.

CHAPTER x.x.x

Ben let him in.

He came as an apparition, the old butler balancing the door in his hand, as if undecided what to do, trying to account for the change in the young man's appearance--the width of shoulders, the rough clothes, and the determined glance of his eye.

"Fo' Gawd, it's Ma.r.s.e Harry!" was all he said when he could get his mouth open.

"Yes, Ben--go and tell your mistress I am here," and he brushed past him and pushed back the drawing-room door. Once inside he crossed to the mantel and stood with his back to the hearth, his sailor's cap in his hand, his eyes fixed on the door he had just closed behind him. Through it would come the beginning or the end of his life. Ben's noiseless entrance and exit a moment after, with his mistress's message neither raised nor depressed his hopes. He had known all along she would not refuse to see him: what would come after was the wall that loomed up.

She had not hesitated, nor did she keep him waiting. Her eyes were still red with weeping, her hair partly dishevelled, when Ben found her--but she did not seem to care. Nor was she frightened--nor eager. She just lifted her cheek from Mammy Henny's caressing hand--pushed back the hair from her face with a movement as if she was trying to collect her thoughts, and without rising from her knees heard Ben's message to the end. Then she answered calmly:

"Did you say Mr. Harry Rutter, Ben? Tell him I'll be down in a moment."

She entered with that same graceful movement which he loved so well--her head up, her face turned frankly toward him, one hand extended in welcome.

"Uncle George told me you were back, Harry. It was very good of you to come," and sank on the sofa.

It had been but a few steps to him--the s.p.a.ce between the open door and the hearth rug on which he stood--and it had taken her but a few seconds to cross it, but in that brief interval the heavens had opened above her. The old Harry was there--the smile--the flash in the eyes--the joy of seeing her--the quick movement of his hand in gracious salute; then there had followed a sense of his strength, of the calm poise of his body, of the clearness of his skin. She saw, too, how much handsomer he had grown,--and noted the rough sailor's clothes. How well they fitted his robust frame! And the clear, calm eyes and finely cut features--no shrinking from responsibility in that face; no faltering--the old ideal of her early love and the new ideal of her sailor boy--the one Richard's voice had conjured--welded into one personality!

"I heard you had just been in to see Uncle George, Kate, and I tried to overtake you."

Not much: nothing in fact. Playwriters tell us that the dramatic situation is the thing, and that the spoken word is as unimportant to the play as the foot-lights--except as a means of illuminating the situation.

"Yes--I have just left him, Harry. Uncle George looks very badly--don't you think so? Is there anything very serious the matter? I sent Ben to Dr. Teackle's, but he was not in his office."

He had moved up a chair and sat devouring every vibration of her lips, every glance of her wondrous eyes--all the little movements of her beautiful body--her dress--the way the stray strands of hair had escaped to her shoulders. His Kate!--and yet he dare not touch her!

"No, he is not ill. He took a severe cold and only needs rest and a little care. I am glad you went and--" then the pent-up flood broke loose. "Are you glad to see me, Kate?"