Part 5 (1/2)

”I've been careless and there's nothing to be done but take my punishment.”

She gave him a keen glance. ”Are you hiding something, d.i.c.k? It's your duty to tell all that you suspect.”

d.i.c.k winced. Helen was right; it was his duty, but he was not going to carry it out. He began to see what this meant, but his resolution did not falter.

”If I knew I'd been robbed, it would be different, but I don't, and if I blamed people who were found to be innocent, I'd only make matters worse for myself.”

”I suppose that's true,” she agreed coldly. ”However, you have made your choice and it's too late now. Where are you going, d.i.c.k?”

”To New York by the first boat from Liverpool.”

He waited, watching her and wondering whether she would ask him to stop, but she said quietly: ”Well, I shall, no doubt, hear how you get on.”

”It's unlikely,” he answered in a hard voice. ”I've lost my friends with my character. The best thing I can do is to leave them alone.”

Then he looked at his watch, and she gave him her hand. ”For all that, I wish you good luck, d.i.c.k.”

She let him go, and as he went back to the gate he reflected that Helen had taken the proper and tactful line by dismissing him as if he were nothing more than an acquaintance. He could be nothing more now, and to yield to sentiment would have been painful and foolish; but it hurt him that she had realized this.

When he wheeled his bicycle away from the gate he saw a boy who helped his father's gardener running along the road, and waited until he came up, hot and panting. The boy held out a small envelope.

”It came after you left, Mr. d.i.c.k,” he gasped.

”Then you have been very quick.”

The lad smiled, for d.i.c.k was a favorite with his father's servants.

”I thought you'd like to have the note,” he answered, and added awkwardly: ”Besides, I didn't see you when you went.”

It was the first hint of kindness d.i.c.k had received since his disgrace and he took the lad's hand before he gave him half a crown, though he knew that he must practise stern economy.

”Thank you and good-by, Jim. You must have taken some trouble to catch me,” he said.

Then he opened the envelope and his look softened.

”I heard of your misfortune and am very sorry, but something tells me that you are not to blame,” the note ran, and was signed ”Clare Kenwardine.”

For a moment or two d.i.c.k was sensible of keen relief and satisfaction; and then his mood changed. This was the girl who had robbed and ruined him; she must think him a fool! Tearing up the note, he mounted his bicycle and rode off to the station in a very bitter frame of mind.

CHAPTER IV

ADVERSITY

When he had sold his motorcycle at Liverpool, d.i.c.k found it would be prudent to take a third-cla.s.s pa.s.sage, but regretted this as soon as the liner left the St. George's channel. The food, though badly served, was good of its kind, and his berth was comfortable enough for a man who had lived under canvas, but when the hatches were closed on account of bad weather the foul air of the steerage sickened him and the habits of his companions left much to be desired. It was difficult to take refuge in the open air, because the steerage deck was swept by bitter spray and often flooded as the big s.h.i.+p lurched across the Atlantic against a western gale.

A spray-cloud veiled her forward when the bows plunged into a comber's hollow side, and then as they swung up until her forefoot was clear, foam and green water poured aft in cataracts. Sometimes much of her hull before the bridge sank into the crest of a half-mile sea and lower decks and alleyways looked like rivers. The gale held all the way across, and d.i.c.k felt jaded and gloomy when they steamed into New York, a day late.

He had some trouble with the immigration officers, who asked awkward questions about his occupation and his reason for giving it up, but he satisfied them at length and was allowed to land.

The first few days he spent in New York helped him to realize the change in his fortunes and the difficulties he must face. Until the night he lost the plans, he had scarcely known a care; life had been made easy, and his future had looked safe. He had seldom denied himself anything; he had started well on a career he liked, and all his thoughts were centered on fitting himself for it. Extravagance was not a failing of his, but he had always had more money than would satisfy his somewhat simple needs.