Part 12 (2/2)

”You don't know my signature,” he went on, ”but that is it. Large as life and twice as natural. Yes”--he regarded the checks--”twice as natural. I couldn't have done them better myself.”

Geraldine's hands flew to her heart, her eyes spoke an anguished question.

”Yes,” Rufus nodded, ”d.i.c.k did those.” The speaker paused and slipped the checks back into his pocket. ”I breathed fire when I discovered it, and then very strangely something occurred which put the fire out.”

Again he leaned his elbows on the chair-arms, and bent toward the wide eyes and parted lips opposite. ”I saw you sitting in the park one day,”

he went on slowly, ”you got up and walked and laughed with a girl companion. I found out who you were. I went to your father, who was nearly crazy with apprehension at the time, and I told him there was no girl on earth for me but you, and that if he would give you to me I would forgive his crime. I didn't want a forger for a father-in-law. It was arranged that this month he should bring you out here and make his wishes known. His reputation was safe. Even Juliet suspected nothing. He is still mourned at his clubs as the prince of good fellows; but his sudden death prevented him from puttin' your hand in mine.”

A silence followed, broken only by the rasping of the lawn-mower and Rufus Carder watched the girl's heaving breast.

”So you see,” he went on at last, ”all you have to do to save your father's name is to sit down in the lap of luxury; not a very hard thing to do, I should think. You'll find that I'll take--” The speaker paused, for another sound now broke in upon the click of the lawn-mower, an increasingly sharp noise which brought him to his feet and to one of the many windows which gave him a view in every direction.

A motor-cycle was speeding up the driveway.

”That's Sam Foster comin' to pay his rent,” he said. ”There'll be many a one on that errand along about now,” he declared with satisfaction.

”Cheer up,” he added, turning back to the pale face and tremulous lips of the young girl. ”Your father wasn't the first fine man to go wrong; but they don't all have somebody to stick by 'em and s.h.i.+eld 'em as he did. The more you think it over, the more--”

The motor-cycle had stopped during this declaration, and the rider now stepped into the office-door. Geraldine, her hands still unconsciously on her heart, gazed at the newcomer. Could it be that Rufus Carder had a tenant like this youth? The well-born, the well-bred, showed in his erect bearing and in his sunny brown eyes, and the smile that matched them.

The owner started and scowled at sight of him.

”Mr. Carder, I believe,” said the visitor.

Rufus's chair grated as he advanced to edge the stranger back through the door.

”Your business, sir,” he said roughly. ”Can't you see I'm in the midst of an interview?”

Ben's eyes never left those of the young girl, and hers clung to him with a desperate appeal impossible to mistake. She rose from her chair as if to go to him.

”Yes, Mr. Carder, and I won't interrupt you. I'll wait outside. I came to see Miss Melody with a message from one of her friends and I'm sure from the description that this is she.” The young fellow bowed courteously toward Geraldine, who stood mute drinking in the inflections of his voice; the very p.r.o.nunciation of his words were earmarks of the world of refinement from which she was exiled. In her distraction she was unconscious of the manner in which she was gazing at him above the tumult of grief at her father's double treachery. Her father had sold her, sold her in cold blood, and her life was ruined. Had the visitor in his youth and strength and grace been Sir Galahad himself, she could not have yearned more toward his protection.

To Ben she looked, as she stood there, like a lovely lily in a green calyx, and her expression made his hands tingle to knock flat the scowling, middle-aged man with the unkempt hair and the missing tooth who was uneasily edging him farther and farther out the door.

”Miss Melody don't wish to receive calls at present and you can tell her friend so,” said Rufus in the same rough tone. ”She don't wear black, but she's in mournin' all the same. Her father died recently. Ain't you in mournin', Geraldine?” He turned toward the girl.

She had dropped her hands and seized the back of her chair for support.

”Yes,” she breathed despairingly.

”Can't I see you for a few minutes, Miss Melody?” said Ben over the wrathful Carder's shoulder. ”Miss Upton sent me to you. My name is Barry.”

”No, you can't, and that's the end of it!” shouted Rufus.

Ben's smile had vanished. His eyes had sparks in them as he looked down at the shorter man.

”Not at all the end of it,” he returned. ”Miss Melody decides this. Can you give me a few minutes?”

As he addressed her he again met the wonderful, dark-lashed eyes that were beseeching him.

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