Part 12 (1/2)

”He's in the bulliest humor you ever saw. He says I've done first- rate, and if I go on, he'll run me up to thirty.”

”Well, I'm danged glad of it, lad, that I am!” Hutchinson gave in handsomely. ”You put backbone into it.”

Little Ann stood near, smiling. Her smile met Tembarom's.

”I know you're glad, Little Ann,” he said. ”I'd never have got there but for you. It was up to me, after the way you started me.”

”You know I'm glad without me telling you,” she answered. ”I'm RIGHTDOWN glad.”

And it was at this moment that Mrs. Bowse came into the room.

”It's too bad it's happened just now,” she said, much fl.u.s.tered.

”That's the way with things. The stew'll spoil, but he says it's real important.”

Tembarom caught at both her hands and shook them.

”I've got it, Mrs. Bowse. Here's your society reporter! The best- looking boarder you've got is going to be able to pay his board steady.”

”I'm as glad as can be, and so will everybody be. I knew you'd get it.

But this gentleman's been here twice to-day. He says he really must see you.”

”Let him wait,” Hutchinson ordered. ”What's the chap want? The stew won't be fit to eat.”

”No, it won't,” answered Mrs. Bowse; ”but he seems to think he's not the kind to be put off. He says it's more Mr. Tembarom's business than his. He looked real mad when I showed him into the parlor, where they were playing the pianola. He asked wasn't there a private room where you could talk.”

A certain flurried interest in the manner of Mrs. Bowse, a something not usually awakened by inopportune callers, an actual suggestion of the possible fact that she was not as indifferent as she was nervous, somewhat awakened Mr. Hutchinson's curiosity.

”Look here,” he volunteered,” if he's got any real business, he can't talk over to the tune of the pianola you can bring him up here, Tembarom. I'll see he don't stay long if his business isn't worth talkin' about. He'll see the table set for supper, and that'll hurry him.”

”Oh, gee I wish he hadn't come!” said Tembarom. ”I'll just go down and see what he wants. No one's got any swell private business with me.”

”You bring him up if he has,” said Hutchinson. ”We'd like to hear about it.”

Tembarom ran down the stairs quickly.

No one had ever wanted to see him on business before. There was something important-sounding about it; perhaps things were starting up for him in real earnest. It might be a message from Galton, though he could not believe that he had at this early stage reached such a distinction. A ghastly thought shot a bolt at him, but he shook himself free of it.

”He's not a fellow to go back on his word, anyhow,” he insisted.

There were more boarders than usual in the parlor. The young woman from the notion counter had company; and one of her guests was playing ”He sut'nly was Good to Me” on the pianola with loud and steady tread of pedal.

The new arrival had evidently not thought it worth his while to commit himself to permanency by taking a seat. He was standing not far from the door with a businesslike-looking envelop in one hand and a pince- nez in the other, with which Tembarom saw he was rather fretfully tapping the envelop as he looked about him. He was plainly taking in the characteristics of the room, and was not leniently disposed toward them. His tailor was clearly an excellent one, with entirely correct ideas as to the cut and material which exactly befitted an elderly gentleman of some impressiveness in the position, whatsoever it happened to be, which he held. His face was not of a friendly type, and his eyes held cold irritation discreetly restrained by businesslike civility. Tembarom vaguely felt the genialities of the oyster supper a.s.sume a rather fourth-rate air.

The caller advanced and spoke first.

”Mr. Tembarom?” he inquired.

”Yes,” Tembarom answered, ”I'm T. Tembarom.”