Part 1 (2/2)
”Well, run along, son,” he said good-naturedly. ”I'd take you home to my family, only I don't happen to possess one. I live at the club-the Arion-mostly.”
”Oh, by the way,” he called to me as I neared the door. ”How are you off for funds?”
”To tell the truth,” I owned, rather shamefacedly, ”I'm getting in pretty low water. I think I've some change at home, but I'm not sure.
Dad never gave me a regular allowance; he'd just send me a check now and then, and let it go at that. I'm afraid I'm a pretty good spender.”
”You'll have to reform, young man,” he warned, mock-seriously. ”Here”-he dug a fifty dollar bill out of his pocket-book-”that'll keep you going for a while. I'll keep you in pocket money till this administrator allows you a monthly sum for maintenance. Don't forget the time, now.
Ten-thirty, sharp. Ta ta.” And he hustled me out of the office in the midst of my thanks. I was thankful, too, for I'd put it mildly when I told him that I was getting near the rocks. I was on them. I'd paid my last cent for a meal on the train that morning. And while I did feel tolerably sure of finding some loose silver in the pockets of my clothing at home, I knew it would not amount to more than four or five dollars. Oh, I was an improvident youth, all right. The necessity for being careful with money never struck me as being a matter of importance; I'd never had to do stunts in economy, that was the trouble.
From the bank I went straight home. We hadn't kept a very pretentious establishment, even though Sumner _pere_ had gone on increasing his pile all through the years since we'd moved to the city. A cook and a house-maid, a colored coachman and a gardener-the four of them had been with us for years, and old Adam was waiting by the steps for me when I came up the walk, his s.h.i.+ny black face beaming welcome. I had to go to the stable and look over the horses, and tell Adam that everything was fine, before the old duffer would rest.
In the house everything was as I'd left it. All that evening I moped around the big, low-ceiled living-room. There was little comfort in the place; it was too lonely. The hours dragged by on leaden feet. I couldn't get over expecting to see mother come trailing quietly down the wide stairway, or dad walk in the front door packing a battered old grip and greeting me with his slow smile. I know it was silly, but the feeling drove me out of the house and down town, where there was a crush of humans, and the glitter of street lights and the noise of traffic.
There I met a chum or two, and subsequent proceedings tore a jagged hole in Bolton's fifty dollar bill before I landed home in the little hours.
Even then I couldn't sleep in that still, old house.
The long night came to an end, as nights have a habit of doing, and breakfast time brought with it the postman. The mail was mostly papers and other uninteresting junk, but one missive, postmarked Amarillo, Texas, and addressed to myself I opened eagerly. It was from the administrator, as I had surmised.
Most of the communication was taken up with an explanation of how he came to jump into the breach so quickly. He had been, it seemed, a close friend of my father's. He knew that Jack Sumner had a son who was not yet of age, and who, even if he were, knew little or nothing about stock. Things needed looking after, he said; my father's sudden death had left the business without a responsible head, and the ranch foreman and the range boss were bucking each other. Things were going to the devil generally, so he felt called upon to step into the breach, seeing that none of the Sumner family showed up to protect their interests. I wouldn't be under any obligation to him, he frankly explained, for as administrator he would be paid for what he was doing. He also stated that if I felt that my affairs would be more capably managed in the hands of someone whom I knew better he would cheerfully turn over control of the estate without any tiresome litigation. And he concluded his letter with an urgent invitation to come down to headquarters and see the wheels go round for myself. He signed himself in a big heavy hand, Jake Howey, and the signature gave me an impression of a bluff, hard-riding cowman-picturesque and thoroughly Western. If I had been born a girl I expect my disposition would have been termed romantic.
Anyway, Mr. Jake Howey's letter made a hit with me.
When I went to keep my appointment with Bolton later in the forenoon I took the letter with me. He glanced over it, and tucked it back in the envelope.
”I don't much believe in long distance judgment of men,” he declared, ”but I'd be willing to take a chance on this Texas person. I should say you can expect a square deal from him-if this missive represents his true personality.”
”That's the way it struck me, too,” I confessed. ”I think I'd like to go down there for a while.”
”Yes? What about school?” he put in.
”Well, I suppose it's necessary for me to go through college,” I admitted. ”Dad intended me to. I was to begin this coming school year-September, isn't it? But that's nearly three months away. I would like to see that Red River ranch. I was born there, you know.”
”You'll have to cut your eye-teeth in the business sometime,” he mused.
”You'll be less likely to get into mischief there than you will in town.
Yes, I daresay you might as well take the trip. But no funking school this fall, mind. I've known youngsters to go to the cattle country and stick there. Your father did.”
”I won't,” I promised, ”even if I want to stay, I'll be ready to dig in when September comes.”
”You'd better.” He laughed at my earnestness. ”Or I'll be down there after you. When do you propose to start?”
”As soon as I can.” Having paved the way to go, I wanted, boy-fas.h.i.+on, to be on the way at once.
”Any idea how to get there?” he queried; as if he had his doubts about the development of my b.u.mp of location.
But I had him there.
”Oh, yes. Dad used to take the train through Little Rock to Fort Worth, and on up into the Panhandle from there. Sometimes he took a steamer from here to Memphis. I think I'd like the river trip best.”
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