Part 67 (1/2)

”Yes.”

”Is Klawber?”

”Max Moebus, Emanuel Klawber, James Skelton, and Amos Flack are interested. Is that what you want to know?”

Duane looked at him, stunned. Dysart stepped nearer, speaking almost in a whisper:

”Well, what about it? Once I warned you to keep your d.a.m.ned nose out of my personal affairs----”

”I make some of them mine!” said Duane sharply; ”when crooks get hold of an honest man, every citizen is a policeman!”

Dysart, face convulsed with fury, seized his arm in a vicelike grip:

”Will you keep your cursed mouth shut!” he breathed. ”My father is in the next room. Do you want to kill him?”

At the same moment there came a stir from the room beyond, the tap-tap of a cane and shuffling steps across the polished parquet. Dysart's grip relaxed, his hand fell away, and he made a ghastly grimace as a little old gentleman came half-trotting, half-shambling to the doorway. He was small and dapper and pink-skinned under his wig; the pink was paint; his lips and eyes peered and simpered; from one bird-claw hand dangled a monocle.

Jack Dysart made a ghastly and supreme effort:

”I was just saying to Duane, father, that all this financial agitation is bound to blow over by December--Duane Mallett, father!”--as the old man raised his eye-gla.s.s and peeped up at the young fellow--”you know his father, Colonel Mallett.”

”Yes, to be sure, yes, to be sure!” piped the old beau. ”How-de-do!

How-de-do-o-o! My son Jack and I motor every morning at this hour. It is becoming a custom--he! he!--every day from ten to eleven--then a biscuit and a gla.s.s of sherry--then a nap--te-he! Oh, yes, every day, Mr. Mallett, rain or fair--then luncheon at one, and the cigarette--te-he!--and a little sleep--and the drive at five! Yes, Mr. Mallett, it is the routine of a very old man who knew your grandfather--and all his set--when the town was gay below Bleecker Street! Yes, yes--te-he-he!”

Nervous spasms which pa.s.sed as smiles distorted the younger Dysart's visage; the aged beau offered his hand to Duane, who took it in silence, his eyes fixed on the shrivelled, painted face:

”Your grandfather was a very fine man,” he piped; ”very fine! ve-ery fine! And so I perceive is his grandson--te-he!--and I flatter myself that my boy Jack is not unadmired--te-he-he!--no, no--not precisely unnoticed in New York--the town whose history is the history of his own race, Mr. Mallett--he is a good son to me--yes, yes, a good son. It is gratifying to me to know that you are his friend. He is a good friend to have, Mr. Mallett, a good friend and a good son.”

Duane bent gently over the shrivelled hand.

”I won't detain you from your drive, Mr. Dysart. I hope you will have a pleasant one. It is a pleasure to know my grandfather's old friends.

Good-bye.”

And, erect, he hesitated a moment, then, for an old man's sake he held out his hand to Jack Dysart, bidding him good-bye in a pleasant voice pitched clear and decided, so that deaf ears might corroborate what half-blind and peering eyes so dimly beheld.

Dysart walked to the door with him, waved the servant aside, and, laying a shaking hand on the bronze k.n.o.b, opened the door for his unbidden guest.

As Duane pa.s.sed him he said:

”Thank you, Mallett,” in a voice so low that Duane was half-way to his cab before he understood.

That day, and the next, and all that week he worked in his pitlike studio. Through the high sky-window a cloudless zenith brooded; the heat became terrific; except for the inevitable crush of the morning and evening migration south and north, the streets were almost empty under a blazing sun.

His father seemed to be physically better. Although he offered no confidences, it appeared to the son that there was something a little more cheerful in his voice and manner. It may have been only the antic.i.p.ation of departure; for he was going West in a day or two, and it came out that Wilton was going with him.

The day he left, Duane drove him to the station. There was a private car, the ”Cyane,” attached to the long train. Wilton met them, spoke pleasantly to Duane; but Colonel Mallett did not invite his son to enter the car, and adieux were said where they stood.