Part 26 (1/2)

”What the d.i.c.kens is to pay?”

That gentleman chose to make things more comfortable before he answered.

He unceremoniously appropriated sofa and cus.h.i.+ons for the almost fainting girl, and said, peremptorily:

”Bring a gla.s.s of water. Mr. Hastings, that fan if you please. Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Hastings, she will be all right in a few moments.”

Then there was no resisting the storm of questions that followed, and he told the story as briefly as possible, only trying to impress one thought, that liquor was at the bottom of what had so nearly been a tragedy. Dora revived sufficiently to impress the fact that but for _him_ she would not have been there to speak; and Mr. Hastings, in his excitement and exasperation against poor Jonas, whose quarter paid for the liquor which had almost brought death into their home, and would help to swell Mr. Hastings' own cash account on this Sat.u.r.day evening, recognized in this deliverer of his child poor, ignorant, degraded Tode Mall, and forgot the lapse of time and possible changes of position, and seeking to do him honor, and do a safe thing for his family at the same time, spoke hurriedly:

”Where is that villain of a coachman? I'll discharge him this very hour.

You must be a good driver, Tode, or you never could have got here alive with _those_ horses after such a time. Don't you want the position of coachman?”

”Papa,” said Dora, sitting erect, and with scarlet cheeks, ”Mr. Mallery is Mr. S. S. Stephens' confidential clerk!”

Then the great man turned and looked on his ex-waiter at the Euclid House--the erect, well-built, well-dressed young man, standing hat in hand, with a curious blending of dignity and amus.e.m.e.nt on his face, and actually stammered, and muttered something about ”not noticing, not thinking, not meaning, and everlasting obligations,” in the midst of which the ex-coachman glanced at his watch, noticed the lateness of the hour in some dismay, signaled from the window a pa.s.sing car, and hurriedly made his escape.

This lengthy and unexpected interruption made a grievous tangle in his day's work. Arrived at the store he flew about in eager haste, and then rushed with more than usual speed to the bank. Just five minutes too late; the last shutter was being closed as he reached the steps. ”The first failure!” he said to himself in a disappointed tone. ”But it can hardly be said to be my fault this time.” His next engagement was an appointment to dine with Mr. Stephens at four o'clock, and with that, too, he was a little behind time.

”Well, sir,” said Mr. Stephens, meeting him in the hall, ”as sure as I'm alive you are five minutes behind time! I begin to be encouraged. It seems that you _are_ a compound of flesh and blood after all.”

Theodore smiled faintly; his peril was too recent for him to have regained his usual demeanor.

”Here is your mail,” he said, pa.s.sing over a handful of letters and papers. ”By being ten minutes late I was enabled to get the latest news, and I see there is a Lyons letter among them.”

”Ah,” said Mr. Stephens, ”that is fortunate for Lyons. Suppose we step into the library, Mallery, and see what they say for themselves.”

So the two pa.s.sed into the business room and ran over the contents of the letter in question, as well as several others, conversing together in a manner which showed that the younger man had a marked knowledge of the other's business affairs, and that his opinions were listened to as if they carried weight with them.

”But the mail was not what detained me,” said Theodore, presently. ”And Mr. Stephens, I was too late for the bank.”

”Well, it will do to-morrow, will it not?” queried the elder gentleman, composedly.

”Oh yes, sir, it will _do_; but then you know it is not the way in which we do business.”

Mr. Stephens laughed.

”I used to consider myself the most prompt and particular man living,”

he said, gaily; ”but I believe you are going to make one several notches above me. I am really curious to know what has thrown you out of your orbit this afternoon.”

Theodore's face flushed.

”I have been permitted to prevent a murder this afternoon, even after a father had furnished the weapons for his daughter's destruction,” he said, speaking sharply. He was very savage on that question of intemperance.

”Horrible!” said Mr. Stephens, looking aghast. ”Mallery, what _do_ you mean?”

And then followed a recital of the afternoon's adventures. Had Theodore Mallery been the hero of a first-cla.s.s novel he would have remained modestly and obstinately silent about a matter in which he had taken so prominent a part, but being very like a flesh and blood young man, it did not occur to him to hesitate or stammer--in fact he thought he had succeeded in doing a good brave deed, and he was very glad and thankful.

Presently they left the library and went toward the parlor.

”Do you know I have another guest to-day?” asked Mr. Stephens, as they went down the hall together. ”A Mr. Ryan, a lawyer. I think you are not acquainted with him.”