Part 19 (1/2)

”No,” says Harry, curtly. ”No favors from your father of such financial magnitude.”

”Why not?” queries Erma, who has made up her mind that Lawrence must be aided in some way.

”Because your father, the first time he sees me, must think me a man who can fight his own battle in this world--a man worthy to be--” He checks himself, and drives the words that are on his tongue back into his throat.

”At all events,” mutters Erma, ”you must see my father. He is a man of great business sagacity. His advice will aid you. Promise that you will come to-morrow and see him.”

”I go to Tintic to-morrow.”

”Promise!” and, being desperate, the young lady now forgets herself and whispers, ”for my sake.”

Then she suddenly feels her soft hand crushed in a frontier grip as he answers:

”For your sake I'd promise anything!” and, a moment after, he raises the white patrician fingers and kisses them with that reverence and chivalry that good men, who have long lived apart from good women, oft-times feel for their sweethearts, likening them unto their mothers. Then he murmurs, ”Good-bye!”

But the girl cries, ”Don't forget to-morrow. I will tell papa to be in at eleven o'clock. He will advise you how to conquer that Tranyon. See!

a rosebud for good luck,” and smiles on him. ”I will pin it in your b.u.t.ton-hole.”

”No,” he stammers, ”let me carry it in my hand. Good-bye!” almost s.n.a.t.c.hing the flower from her, for he is desperately afraid of himself, for grat.i.tude and love have made this young lady's beauty irresistible to him.

Hurrying from this interview, Lawrence thinks, ”G.o.d help me. It was hard to keep my heart from her,” then mutters morosely, ”I'll not be called an adventurer,--an heiress hunter. Her million stands up between us more colossal than ever.” Though a moment after, he says determinedly: ”By Heaven!--No one else shall ever have her--my angel!”

At this moment he hears behind him, ”A word with you, sir!” and turning, sees Mr. Oliver, who has just noticed the end of the parlor interview with agony and rage.

”Certainly. Half a dozen,” answers Lawrence. Then he laughs and says, ”I am so happy I could even give you five minutes.”

”Very well,--come with me,” whispers Ollie, and getting to a retired part of the hallway he turns upon the captain and remarks oracularly and severely, ”I forbid you to call again upon the young lady who is under my charge.”

”Your authority?”

”Her father's.”

”The young lady under your charge,” remarks the Western man sarcastically, ”hinted to me last evening that you told fairy tales; that you have no authority whatever in the matter; that she is her own mistress.”

”The young lady,” returns Livingston, pulling down his cuffs in a nervous manner, ”knows that her father wishes me to control her life till she marries me.” Then getting excited, he bursts forth, ”Good Heavens! You don't suppose that Ralph Travenion, who was in his day the greatest club man and swell in New York, would permit his child to marry a frontier Vigilante like you,--almost a mur--” Here Mr. Livingston suddenly checks himself and shrieks out desperately and wildly, ”Don't strike me! I was once to have studied for the ministry!”

”Oh, very well,” says Harry, laughing. ”As to the young lady's father, he can say to me what he pleases. I am to see him to-morrow by appointment,” and he carelessly smells Erma's rosebud, and continues: ”But you had better keep a civil tongue. I am too happy to hit you, for if I did, I might kill you; but I'll take you by your aquiline nose and lead you twice around the nearest barroom, if you are not as polite and as mild and as fragrant as this rosebud,” and he walks out, leaving Oliver pale with rage and perspiring with agitation--for Lawrence's laughing mood and his remark that he sees Miss Travenion's father by appointment to-morrow, have frightened Mr. Livingston almost to death.

So, coming out from this interview, Harry Lawrence draws his check at Walker Brothers, has it certified, and walks over to Mr. Bussey's Bank, to restore Miss Travenion's money to her letter of credit.

Chancing on his errand to meet Bishop Kruger, that gentleman looks at him and chuckles to himself, remembering the ball of the evening before: ”You play a strong game, young man, but I rather think I hold the hand on ye this deal,” and being reminded of his promise to Miss Travenion, proceeds to hunt up Mr. Ferdie upon Main Street, remarking, ”That cigarette boy will play my next chip for me right 'cute.”

He does not tell him this, however, on meeting, but says affably, ”How de, Mr. Chauncey? I think I can furnish a leettle amus.e.m.e.nt for you and your party.”

”As you did last night, dancing the double shuffle?” laughs Ferdie, who is not particularly in love with Lot.

”No, I kin do better than that. Your party are out here studying the manners and customs of us natives, I take it. Now, if you will bring your crowd up to the Twenty-fifth Ward meeting to-night, you'll see a Mormon Sunday-school celebration. Please tell Miss Ermie that I will see her thar; I ain't forgot my promise, and her dad's to be in town to-night.”

”I'm delighted to hear that! Miss Travenion has been looking anxiously for her father,” replies Ferdinand. ”I will give her your message, and if you will promise to cut a pigeon wing, I'll come up myself,” and with this leaves the genial Lot, who, cursing his impertinence under his breath, mumbles, ”Some day, my jumping-jack, your wit may cost you the leettle brains you've got.”

After Lawrence has left her, Miss Travenion goes back to her room blus.h.i.+ngly happy, and says complacently, ”Papa will fix everything.