Part 14 (1/2)
It was while Brockway was making his second circuit of the private car that Mrs. Burton looked up and encountered the calculating gaze of the President.
”Ah--good-morning, Mrs. Burton; you remember me, I see. On your way back to Utah, are you?”
”Yes--” the ”sir” was on the tip of her tongue, but she managed to suppress it. ”We have been to Chicago, to the pa.s.senger meeting.”
”So I inferred. Do you enjoy Chicago, Mrs. Burton?”
She felt that five minutes of this would unhinge her reason, but she made s.h.i.+ft to answer, intelligently: ”Yes, in a way; but I've never been about much. Mr. Burton is always so busy when we are there.”
”Precisely; always busy; that is the whole history of civilized man in two words, isn't it? But where is your good husband?”
”He is in the wash-room,” she began; but at that moment Burton appeared.
”Ha!” said the President; ”good-morning, Mr. Burton. You didn't expect to find me here chatting with your wife, did you?”
”Well, no, not exactly--that is--” Burton's one weakness lay in undue deference to his superior officers, and he stumbled helplessly. But his wife came promptly to the rescue.
”It's such a distinction, Mr. Vennor, that we don't know how to properly acknowledge it,” she retorted, laughing, ”Will you excuse me if I finish b.u.t.toning my shoe?”
”Certainly, certainly”--the President's tone was genially paternal; ”I merely wanted to have a word with Mr. Burton;” and he rose and drew the general agent across to the opposite section.
”Sit down, sit down, Burton; don't stand on ceremony with me,” he said, patronizingly. ”I came to ask a favor of you, and positively you embarra.s.s me.”
Burton sat down mechanically.
”I learned a few minutes ago through young Brockway that you were on the train,” the President continued, lowering his voice, ”and I understand that he wishes you to take charge of his party for the day on the trip up Clear Creek Canyon. Has he spoken to you about it?”
”Yes; he was here just now.” Burton answered as he had sat down--mechanically.
”And you consented to do it, I presume?”
”Why, yes; he asked it as a personal favor, and I thought I might make a few new friends for our line. But if you don't approve----”
”Don't misunderstand me,” interrupted the President, with well-feigned magnanimity; ”as I said, I came to ask a favor. You met my daughter, Gertrude, when we were out last summer, I believe?”
”Yes, at Manitou.” The general agent was far beyond soundings on the sea of mystery by this time.
”Well, you must know she took a great fancy to your wife, and when I heard of this arrangement, I determined to ask you to take her along with you for the day. May I count upon it?”
”Why, certainly; we shall be delighted,” Burton rejoined. ”Let me tell----”
But the President stopped him. He had taken time to reflect that a little secrecy might be judicious at this point; and he was shrewd enough to distrust women in any affair bordering upon the romantic. So he said:
”Suppose we make it a little surprise for both of them. Keep it to yourself, and when your train is ready to leave, I'll bring Gertrude over to you. How will that do?”
Burton was in a fair way to lose his head at being asked to share a secret with his President, and he promised readily.
”Not a word. Mrs. Burton will be delighted. I'll be on the lookout for you.”
So it was arranged; and with a gracious word of leave-taking for the wife, Mr. Vennor went back to his car, rubbing his hands and smiling inscrutably. He found his daughter curled up in the great wicker chair in an otherwise unoccupied corner of the central compartment.