Part 33 (1/2)

They a.s.similated his hint, and when he was alone with the chief operator Mr. Daney ordered her to switch the New York call on to Mrs.

McKaye at The Dreamerie. Followed ten minutes of ”Ready, Chicago.”

”All right, New York. Put your party on the line!”--a lot of persistent buzzing and sudden silence. Then: ”h.e.l.lo, Port Agnew.”

Mr. Daney, listening on the extension in the office of the manager, recognized the voice instantly as Nan Brent's.

”Go on, Mrs. McKaye,” he ordered. ”That's the Brent girl calling Port Agnew.”

”h.e.l.lo, Miss Brent. This is Donald McKaye's mother speaking. Can you hear me distinctly?”

”Yes, Mrs. McKaye, quite distinctly.”

”Donald is ill with typhoid fever. We are afraid he is not going to get well, Miss Brent. The doctors say that is because he does not want to live. Do you understand why this should be?”

”Yes; I think I understand perfectly.”

”Will you come back to Port Agnew and help save him? We all think you can do it, Miss Brent. The doctors say you are the only one that can save him.” There was a moment of hesitation. ”His family desires this, then?” ”Would I telephone across the continent if we did not?”

”I'll come, Mrs. McKaye--for his sake and yours. I suppose you understand why I left Port Agnew. If not, I will tell you. It was for his sake and that of his family.”

”Thank you. I am aware of that, Miss Brent. Ah--of course you will be amply reimbursed for your time and trouble, Miss Brent. When he is well--when all danger of a relapse has pa.s.sed--I think you realize, Miss Brent, all of the impossible aspects of this unfortunate affair which render it necessary to reduce matters strictly to a business basis.”

”Quite, dear Mrs. McKaye. I shall return to Port Agnew--on business--starting to-morrow morning. If I arrive in time, I shall do my best to save your son, although to do so I shall probably have to promise not to leave him again. Of course, I realize that you do not expect me to keep that promise.”

”Oh, I'm so sorry, my dear girl, that I cannot say 'No' to that. But then, since you realized, in the first place, how impossible”

”Good-night. I must pack my trunk.”

”Just a minute, my girl,” Andrew Daney interrupted. ”Daney speaking.

When you get to Chicago, call up the C.M. St. P. station. I'll have a special train waiting there for you.”

”Thank you, Mr. Daney. I'm sorry you cannot charter an airplane for me from New York to Chicago. Good-night, and tell Donald for me whatever you please.”

”Send him a telegram,” Daney pleaded. ”Good-by.” He turned to the chief operator and looked her squarely in the eyes. ”The Laird likes discreet young women,” he announced meaningly, ”and rewards discretion. If you're not the highest paid chief operator in the state of Was.h.i.+ngton from this on, I'm a mighty poor guesser.”

The girl smiled at him, and suddenly, for the first time in all his humdrum existence, Romance gripped Mr. Daney. He was riotously happy--and courageous! He thrust a finger under the girl's chin and tilted it in a most familiar manner, at the same time pinching it with his thumb.

”Young woman,” he cautioned her, ”don't you ever be prim and smug! And don't you ever marry any man until you're perfectly wild to do it; then, were he the devil himself, follow your own natural impulses.” He let go her chin and shook his forefinger between her eyes. ”I'd rather be happy than virtuous,” the amazing man continued. ”The calm placidity that comes of a love of virtue and the possession of it makes me sick! Such people are dull and stupid. They play hide-and-seek with themselves, I tell you. Suspicious little souls peering out of windows and shocked to death at everything they see or hear--condemn everything they do not understand. d.a.m.n it, girl, give me the virtue that's had to fight like the devil to stay on its feet--the kind that's been scratched and has had the corners knocked off in contact with the world and still believes that G.o.d made man to his own image and likeness. I tell you, the Lord knew what he was about when he invented the devil. If he hadn't, we'd all be so nasty-nice n.o.body could trust the other fellow further'n you can throw a bear up-hill by the tail. I tell you, young woman, sin is a great inst.i.tution. Why, just think of all the fun we have in life--we good people--forgiving our neighbor his trespa.s.ses as he does not forgive us for trespa.s.sing against him.”

And with this remarkable statement, Mr. Daney betook himself to his home. Mrs. Daney, a trifle red and watery about the eyes and nose, sat up in bed and demanded to be informed what had kept him down-town so late.

”Would you sleep any better if you knew?” he demanded.

She said she would not.

”Then, woman, resign yourself to the soft embrace of Bacchus, the G.o.d of sleep,” he replied, mixed metaphorically. ”As for me, my dear, I'm all talked out!”