Part 4 (2/2)

”He's an old brute,” growled d.i.c.k, as he strode away.

CHAPTER V

DEBTS

Vivian Ormsby smarted under the blow given him by d.i.c.k at the dinner, and burned to avenge the affront. He tingled with impatience to get another look at the dubious check which promised such unexceptional possibilities of retaliation if, as he suspected and hoped, it was a forgery. d.i.c.k Swinton, publicly denounced as a felon, could not possibly hold up his head again; and as a rival in love he would be remorselessly wiped out.

The young upstart should learn the penalty of striking an Ormsby.

The captain was a familiar figure at the bank, which belonged almost entirely to his father and himself, and he had his private room there, where he appeared at intervals. Now, Ormsby sat at his desk in the manager's room. He rang the bell and ordered the check to be brought to him once more. Then, he asked for Herresford's pa.s.s-book, and any checks in the old man's handwriting that were available. He displayed renewed eagerness in comparing the handwriting in the body of the check with others of a recent date. The result of his scrutiny was evidently interesting, as with his magnifying gla.s.s he once more examined every stroke made by Mrs. Swinton's spluttering pen.

The color of the ink used by the forger was not the same as that in the signature. It had darkened perceptibly and swiftly. An undoubted forgery!

It was beyond imagination that Mrs. Swinton, the wife of the rector, could stoop to a fraud. Surely, only a man would write heavily and thickly like that. It was a clumsy alteration.

d.i.c.k Swinton had tampered with his grandfather's figures. Well, what then? Would the old man thank his banker for making an accusation of criminality against his grandson? Herresford might be a mean man, but the honor of his name was doubtless dear to him.

What would come of a public trial? Obviously, d.i.c.k Swinton would be disinherited and disgraced. The banker knew that it was his duty to proceed at once, if he detected a fraud. But it was not the way of Mr.

Vivian Ormsby to act in haste--and it was near the hour for luncheon, to which he had been invited by Colonel Dundas. To-morrow, he could, if advisable, openly discover flaws in the check, and it would then be better if action were taken by his manager, and not by himself.

Dora had been very sweet and kind to him--before d.i.c.k came along. Vivian had gone so far as to consult his father about a proposal of marriage to the rich colonel's daughter. They were cautious people, the Ormsbys, and made calculations in their love-affairs as in their bank-books. The old banker approved, and Vivian had hoped that Dora would accept him before he went away. He knew that d.i.c.k Swinton stood in his path; but, if he could drag his rival down, it was surely fair and honorable to do so before Dora could commit herself to any sentimental relations.h.i.+p with a criminal.

Ormsby took the chauffeur's seat in his waiting automobile, and drove as fast as the traffic would permit, for he feared lest he might be late.

His pace in the upper part of Fifth avenue was far beyond anything the law permitted. As he reached Eighty-eighth street, in which was Colonel Dundas's house, he hardly slackened speed as he swung around the corner.

And there, just before him, a group of children playing stretched across the street. Instantly, Ormsby applied the emergency brake. The huge machine jarred abruptly to a standstill--so abruptly that both Ormsby and his chauffeur in the seat beside him were hurled out. The chauffeur scrambled to his feet after a moment, for he had escaped serious injury, but the banker lay white and motionless on the pavement before Colonel Dundas's door.

When the physician was asked to give his opinion some time later, he expressed a belief that the patient would live, but he certainly would not go to the war. In the meantime, he could not be moved. He must remain where he was--in Dora's tender care.

And d.i.c.k was going to the war!

The bright morning sunlight was streaming in at the window of the rector's study, sunlight which pitilessly showed up patches of obliterated pattern in the carpet and sorry signs of wear in the leather chairs. A glorious morning; one of those rare days which go to make the magic of spring; a day when all the golden notes in the landscape become articulate as they vibrate to the caress of the soft, warm air.

The rector was only dimly conscious of its rare beauty; for his face was troubled as he paced his study, with head bent and hands behind his back.

Between his fingers was a letter which had sent the blood of shame tingling to the roots of his hair, a letter that would also hurt his wife--and this meant a great deal to John Swinton. He was an emotional, demonstrative man, who loved his wife with all the force of his nature, and he would have gone through fire and water for her dear sake, asking no higher reward than a smile of grat.i.tude.

The trouble was once more money--the bitterness of poverty, fresh-edged and keen. He must again, as always, appeal to his wife for help, and she would have to beg again from her father. The knowledge maddened him, for he had endured all that a man may endure at the hands of Herresford.

The letter was short and emphatic:

SIR, I am requested by my client, Mr. Isaac Russ, to inform you that if your son attempts to leave the state before his obligations to my client ($750.00) are paid in full, he will be arrested.

Yours truly, WILLIAM WISE.

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