Part 66 (2/2)

March hastened to say: ”I feel bound to Mr. Fulkerson in every way. He got me to come here, and I couldn't even seem to act without him.”

He put it questioningly, and the old man answered:

”Yes, I can see that. When 'll he be in? I can wait.” But he looked impatient.

”Very soon, now,” said March, looking at his watch. ”He was only to be gone a moment,” and while he went on to talk with Dryfoos, he wondered why the old man should have come first to speak with him, and whether it was from some obscure wish to make him reparation for displeasures in the past, or from a distrust or dislike of Fulkerson. Whichever light he looked at it in, it was flattering.

”Do you think of going abroad soon?” he asked.

”What? Yes--I don't know--I reckon. We got our pa.s.sage engaged. It's on one of them French boats. We're goin' to Paris.”

”Oh! That will be interesting to the young ladies.”

”Yes. I reckon we're goin' for them. 'Tain't likely my wife and me would want to pull up stakes at our age,” said the old man, sorrowfully.

”But you may find it do you good, Mr. Dryfoos,” said March, with a kindness that was real, mixed as it was with the selfish interest he now had in the intended voyage.

”Well, maybe, maybe,” sighed the old man; and he dropped his head forward. ”It don't make a great deal of difference what we do or we don't do, for the few years left.”

”I hope Mrs. Dryfoos is as well as usual,” said March, finding the ground delicate and difficult.

”Middlin', middlin',” said the old man. ”My daughter Christine, she ain't very well.”

”Oh,” said March. It was quite impossible for him to affect a more explicit interest in the fact. He and Dryfoos sat silent for a few moments, and he was vainly casting about in his thought for something else which would tide them over the interval till Fulkerson came, when he heard his step on the stairs.

”h.e.l.lo, h.e.l.lo!” he said. ”Meeting of the clans!” It was always a meeting of the clans, with Fulkerson, or a field day, or an extra session, or a regular conclave, whenever he saw people of any common interest together.

”Hain't seen you here for a good while, Mr. Dryfoos. Did think some of running away with 'Every Other Week' one while, but couldn't seem to work March up to the point.”

He gave Dryfoos his hand, and pushed aside the papers on the corner of March's desk, and sat down there, and went on briskly with the nonsense he could always talk while he was waiting for another to develop any matter of business; he told March afterward that he scented business in the air as soon as he came into the room where he and Dryfoos were sitting.

Dryfoos seemed determined to leave the word to March, who said, after an inquiring look at him, ”Mr. Dryfoos has been proposing to let us have 'Every Other Week,' Fulkerson.”

”Well, that's good; that suits yours truly; March & Fulkerson, publishers and proprietors, won't pretend it don't, if the terms are all right.”

”The terms,” said the old man, ”are whatever you want 'em. I haven't got any more use for the concern--” He gulped, and stopped; they knew what he was thinking of, and they looked down in pity. He went on: ”I won't put any more money in it; but what I've put in a'ready can stay; and you can pay me four per cent.”

He got upon his feet; and March and Fulkerson stood, too.

”Well, I call that pretty white,” said Fulkerson. ”It's a bargain as far as I'm concerned. I suppose you'll want to talk it over with your wife, March?”

”Yes; I shall,” said March. ”I can see that it's a great chance; but I want to talk it over with my wife.”

”Well, that's right,” said the old man. ”Let me hear from you tomorrow.”

He went out, and Fulkerson began to dance round the room. He caught March about his stalwart girth and tried to make him waltz; the office-boy came to the door and looked on with approval.

”Come, come, you idiot!” said March, rooting himself to the carpet.

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