Part 1 (2/2)

”Thanks!” said Gerald, colouring up. He cast his cigarette into the empty fireplace, slid off the edge of the table, and picked up his hat.

Austin eyed him without particular approval.

”You buy too many clothes,” he observed. ”That's a new suit, isn't it?”

”Certainly,” said Gerald; ”I needed it.”

”Oh! if you can afford it, all right... . How's the nimble Mr.

Neergard?”

”Neergard is flouris.h.i.+ng. We put through that Rose Valley deal. I tell you what, Austin, I wish you could see your way clear to finance one or two--”

Austin's frown cut him short.

”Oh, all right! You know your own business, of course,” said the boy, a little resentfully. ”Only as Fane, Harmon & Co. have thought it worth while--”

”I don't care what Fane, Harmon think,” growled Austin, touching a b.u.t.ton over his desk. His stenographer entered; he nodded a curt dismissal to Gerald, adding, as the boy reached the door:

”Your sister expects you to be on hand to-night--and so do we.”

Gerald halted.

”I'd clean forgotten,” he began; ”I made another--a rather important engagement--”

But Austin was not listening; in fact, he had already begun to dictate to his demure stenographer, and Gerald stood a moment, hesitating, then turned on his heel and went away down the resounding marble corridor.

”They never let me alone,” he muttered; ”they're always at me--following me up as though I were a schoolboy... . Austin's the worst--never satisfied... . What do I care for all these functions--sitting around with the younger set and keeping the cradle of conversation rocking? I won't go to that infernal baby-show!”

He entered the elevator and shot down to the great rotunda, still scowling over his grievance. For he had made arrangements to join a card-party at Julius Neergard's rooms that night, and he had no intention of foregoing that pleasure just because his sister's first grown-up dinner-party was fixed for the same date.

As for this man Selwyn, whom he had never met, he saw no reason why he should drop business and scuttle uptown in order to welcome him. No doubt he was a good fellow; no doubt he had behaved very decently in a matter which, until a few moments before, he had heard little about. He meant to be civil; he'd look up Selwyn when he had a chance, and ask him to dine at the club. But this afternoon he couldn't do it; and, as for the evening, he had made his arrangements, and he had no intention of disturbing them on Austin's account.

When he reached his office he picked up the telephone and called up Gerard's house; but neither his sister nor anybody else was there except the children and servants, and Captain Selwyn had not yet called. So he left no message, merely saying that he'd call up again. Which he forgot to do.

Meanwhile Captain Selwyn was sauntering along Fifth Avenue under the leafless trees, scanning the houses of the rich and great across the way; and these new houses of the rich and great stared back at him out of a thousand cas.e.m.e.nts as polished and expressionless as the monocles of the mighty.

And, strolling at leisure in the pleasant winter weather, he came presently to a street, stretching eastward in all the cold impressiveness of very new limestone and plate-gla.s.s.

Could this be the street where his sister now lived?

As usual when perplexed he slowly raised his hand to his moustache; and his pleasant gray eyes, still slightly blood-shot from the glare of the tropics, narrowed as he inspected this unfamiliar house.

The house was a big elaborate limestone affair, evidently new. Winter suns.h.i.+ne sparkled on lace-hung cas.e.m.e.nt, on gla.s.s marquise, and the burnished bronze foliations of grille and door.

It was flood-tide along Fifth Avenue; motor, brougham, and victoria swept by on the glittering current; pretty women glanced out from limousine and tonneau; young men of his own type, silk-hatted, frock-coated, the crooks of their walking sticks tucked up under their left arms, pa.s.sed on the Park side.

But the nods of recognition, lifted hats, the mellow warnings of motor horns, clattering hoofs, the sun flas.h.i.+ng on carriage wheels and polished panels, on liveries, harness, on the satin coats of horses--a gem like a spark of fire smothered by the sables at a woman's throat, and the bright indifference of her beauty--all this had long since lost any meaning for him. For him the pageant pa.s.sed as the west wind pa.s.ses in Samar over the glimmering valley gra.s.ses; and he saw it through sun-dazzled eyes--all this, and the leafless trees beyond against the sky, and the trees mirrored in a little wintry lake as brown as the brown of the eyes which were closed to him now forever.

<script>