Part 23 (1/2)

”_But_,” the speaker emphasized--”I am not permitted to do this, Mr.

Catherwood. Had you taken that examination you might--mind you I say 'might'--have pa.s.sed. Again you might not. There would have been, you see, an element of chance. Mr. Catherwood, we shall let Chance hold the scales this morning.”

The young man looked up wonderingly.

”I don't understand, sir,” he said, weakly.

In his hand the president held two envelopes.

”Mr. Catherwood,” he said, ”you see these envelopes? Yes. Well, in one of them--I do not know which one--is a credit-slip; in the other is a condition. The envelopes are sealed.”

He held them out to the limp creature at the end of the desk.

”Choose,” he commanded.

Catherwood shrank back. ”Oh, sir,” he murmured, brokenly.

”Choose.”

Their eyes met then; and there was that in the president's that forbade his disobeying.

He put forth a trembling hand. His fingers touched the smooth paper. He drew. He crushed the envelope in his hand.

”Is--is--that all, sir?” he begged, falteringly.

”That is all, Mr. Catherwood, good-morning.”

And he seized his cap and rushed from the room.

The president, alone, leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. Then he looked down. He still held the second envelope.

He ran the slim blade of the ebon-handled dagger beneath the flap and ripped it open.

He drew out the slip that it contained.

A queer little look came into his eyes. Then he pursed his lips, and smiled.

He tore the slip into tiny flakes and let them fall from his open hand like snow, into the waste-basket.

Just then the bells in the library tower clanged out four times.

”Dear, dear!” exclaimed the president. ”Half-past one! I shall be late for luncheon!”

And gathering up his coat and hat he left his office, hurriedly.

THE DOOR--A NOCTURNE

There is a pale moon, consequently the electric street-lamps are unlighted. The setting is nowise picturesque. The street is narrow, unpaved, and fringed on either side with maples in leaf. It is late June. To right and left, are to be discerned behind the trees rows of characterless frame houses, that, for the greater part, are set well back in yards, where, here and there, are lilac bushes, rose trees, smoke trees, and silver birches, ghostly in the thin light. The moon's rays, glimmering upon the latched green blinds of the lower stories--which seem black--streak them with white.

At the end of the block, on the east side of the street, stands a house markedly different from the others. It is three stories in height, whilst they are two; the lawn, cut by a gravel path, slopes gently to the walk, and is close cropped; across the front of the house and continuing unbroken along either side to the back is a broad, covered porch with a spindled rail at its edge like a little fence. The only door is at the top of the path, in front. In a window directly above the door is a card the legend on which the moon makes clear--”Rooms to Rent.” There is no fence about the place. On the south side another gravel path, narrower than the one in front and bordered with box, links the sidewalk to the porch. The main path p.r.o.ngs to still another set of steps on the north side. The house is white and looms big in the paleness. In a pear-tree near the south porch-steps a katydid sc.r.a.pes her dreary tune; whilst, on the north steps, a vagrant cat sits in silent adoration of the night, contemplating, presumably, the joys thereof. A stillness made the more tangible by the katydid's song pervades the scene.