Part 47 (1/2)

”Shall I go on with my old job, sir?”

Mr. Bangs wheeled upon him, his eyes like fiery gimlets.

”No!” he thundered. ”You needn't go on with anything! For six months I have wasted time trying to teach you something about business. I've pushed you along faster than your ability warranted. I've given you a chance to quadruple your salary. And what is the result? You give me a lot of hot air about your conscience. Why don't you get a soap-box and preach on the street-corners? You can draw your money and go. There is no room on my pay-roll for angels!”

And, with a contemptuous shrug, he pa.s.sed into the factory, leaving Quin standing dazed and appalled on the sidewalk.

CHAPTER 29

As long as a man can see his goal s.h.i.+ning, however faint and distant, he will steer his craft with tolerable reason and patience; but let the beacon-light be extinguished, and he promptly abandons reason and rashly trusts to instinct to guide him.

Quin, who had resolutely kept his course as long as he had been sure of his steady progress toward success, lost his head completely at this sudden collapse of his hopes, and took the first train for New York. A sudden mad necessity was upon him to see Eleanor at once. One look of encouragement, one word of hope from her, and he would rush back to port and gladly begin the voyage all over again.

He arrived at the Eighty-second Street apartment about six o'clock in the evening, and, after studying the dingy name-plates, took the five flights of stairs with uncommendable speed, and presented himself at the rear door on the sixth floor.

As he waited for an answer to his ring, he wondered if he had not made a mistake about the name on the door-plate. The narrow dark hall, permeated with a smell of onions and cabbage, was all too familiar to him, but it was not at all the proper setting for Eleanor. His bewilderment increased when the door was opened by a white-ap.r.o.ned figure, who after a moment of blank amazement seized his hand in both of hers and pressed it rapturously.

At least, that was what Quin imagined took place; but when, a moment later, he sat opposite a composed young lady who had removed her impulse with her ap.r.o.n, he knew that he must have been mistaken. She was still his adored Miss Nell, but with a difference that carried her leagues away from him. He knew how to cope with the hot-headed, rebellious Miss Nell; with the teasing, indifferent, provocative Miss Nell; and even with the disconsolate little Miss Nell who had wept against his shoulder coming home from Chicago. But in the presence of this beautiful, grown-up, self-contained young lady he felt thoroughly awkward and ill at ease. Had it not been for the warmth of her smile and the eagerness with which she plied him with questions, his courage would have failed him utterly.

”Now tell me all about everything!” she urged. ”You are the first human being I've seen from home for four mortal months. How's everybody at grandmother's? Has Aunt Enid come home? How are Rose and the children?”

”One at a time!” protested Quin. ”Tell me first about yourself. What sort of a place is this you are living in?”

”You mustn't criticize our suite!” she said gaily. ”This is a combination bedroom, dining-room, and kitchen. I am the cook and housemaid, and Papa Claude is the butler. You ought to see the way I've learned to cook on the chafing-dis.h.!.+”

Quin was not in the least interested in her culinary accomplishments. It offended his sense of the proprieties to see his divinity reduced to such necessities, and he did not at all approve of her surroundings.

”When are you coming home?” he asked abruptly.

Eleanor's eyes dropped.

”That depends. I may be here all summer. I've had an engagement offered me.”

Quin's hands grew cold. ”You don't mean that you're going to act for _pay_?”

”Of course. Why not? That's what I've been working for.”

”But I thought when you tried it out that you would change your mind--that you wouldn't like it as much as you thought you would.”

”But I _do_. I adore it! Nothing on earth can ever make me give it up!”

Quin's heart sank. ”But I thought you'd had enough,” he said. ”I thought you were homesick and lonesome.”

”Who wouldn't have been? Look at the way they have treated me at home? Do you know, none of them ever write to me any more?”

Quin tried not to look guilty, but the fact that he had counseled this course of discipline weighed upon him.

”Haven't I written enough for the family?” he asked.