Officer 666 Part 8

While Mrs. Burton had done most of the talking, her two friends who had broken into New York's next-to-the-top layer of society by means of the hyphens with which they coupled the names of their first and second husbands; her two friends, I say, had managed to wedge in a word or two--all in favor of Jabez Hogg.

The guardian of the two prettiest girls who had ever debutanted in the Nebraska metropolis emerged from that conference on fire with resolve.

She would marry Helen to Mr. Hogg, thus link together the Hogg and Burton millions and thereby create an alliance that would take its place beside any in the country in the matter of bank account.

So confident was she of the power of her will that she did not even remove her wraps before she sat down to answer Jabez Hogg's letter.

Nor did she bother to ask her maid if Helen and Sadie had returned from their ride. She did not care to discuss the matter with them. She had decided. It remained only for weaker wills to yield.

Beginning with a regal flourish of the pen, she wrote:

"MY DEAR MR. HOGG: I received this morning your courteous note, begging me to persuade Helen to give you a final answer. It pains me deeply that you should suffer so from her neglect--after all your kindness. I trust that you will forgive it on the score of her youth. She is very young and her head has been turned with too much flattery. She shall be yours--that I can promise you. When you come on for your annual slaughter-house directors' meeting you may bring the ring. I have already given the order for the engraving of the engagement announcements, and I will arrange to give a reception and dance for Helen at the Plaza. I do not know how to thank you for putting your French car at our disposal. It has saved us a great deal of annoyance and bother. Helen has spoken often of your thoughtfulness"----

Mrs. Burton stayed her flying pen and grimly read the last sentence aloud. It was not the strict truth, as she was writing it. Helen had spoken frequently of the convenience of the car, but she had added that she could never ride in it without feeling that she was going to run over a pig and hear it squeal.

Mrs. Burton did not waver for more than an instant, however. In a way of speaking she gripped her conscience by the neck, strangled it, and threw it into the discard. Then she continued with her letter:

"I have been looking at houses on the avenue and would suggest that you try and negotiate for the Gladwin mansion. The owner lives abroad, and while it is not in the market I am advised that the young man would be glad to get rid of it. He is said to be living a fast life in Paris, and while he was left a great fortune he would probably be glad to get the ready money. I know of no finer home in New York for you to settle down in after your honeymoon.

"Thanking you again for your constant thoughtfulness and hoping that you will now banish every doubt from your mind, I remain,

"Faithfully yours, "ELVIRA BURTON."

The smile with which Mrs. Burton sealed this letter and delivered it to her maid was more than a smile of triumph. It was a positively fiendish smile of victory.

CHAPTER XI.

GAINSBOROUGH "BLUE BOY."

Having discounted the romantic element of his thrilling rescue at Narragansett Pier, Travers Gladwin fell into a moody silence. The more volatile Barnes felt the influence and strove to fight it off. While he, too, had been set upon the trail of romance at the behest of his father, he felt it was too early to indulge in pessimistic reveries, so he groped for another subject with which to revive the interest of his friend.

"I say, Travers," he led off, rising from his chair and indicating the walls with a sweep of his hand, "as I remarked before, you've got a wonderful collection here."

"Yes," a.s.sented the young millionaire without animation, "but, as _I_ said before, I soon got tired of it. The pastime of collecting pictures became a burden, and I was glad to get abroad and forget it."

"Well," said Barnes, "I guess the only thing for you to do is to go to work at something."

"I know it," grumbled Gladwin, "but what's the incentive? I don't want any more money--what I have now is the biggest sort of a nuisance.

Just see the trouble I'm in for with my lawyer and that man Watkins, though to tell you the truth I am beginning to enjoy the novelty of that."

The young man got up and a.s.sumed a more lively expression.

"Do you know, Whitney," he ran on, "this travelling incognito isn't half bad. They are really getting suspicious of me at the Ritz."

"But surely some one there ought to know you."

"Not a soul! It was opened while I was abroad. You know I registered as Thomas Smith and I even took a chance and went down into the grill room for lunch. And there, Whitney," cried Gladwin with an explosive burst of enthusiasm, "I nearly got a thrill--another one like that on the trolley car. The last place you'd expect it, too, in the midst of stiff formality and waiters so cold and haughty they might have risen from the dead."

"I suppose this was the ravis.h.i.+ng girl at the cigar counter?" said Barnes, ironically.

"Nothing of the sort--never smoked a cigar in her life--I mean, that is, well, something entirely different. But she was a beauty! Golden bronze hair--t.i.tian never painted anything like it; the bluest eyes behind the most wonderful dark lashes, creamy white skin"----

"And you followed her to a cloak factory, where you found"----

"Please wait till I finish, Whitney. I followed her nowhere, though she interested me tremendously. I wish you could have seen her eat."

"Eat?"

"Particularly the grapefruit. By Jove, Barnes, that girl certainly loves grapefruit! It was fascinating. I couldn't keep my eyes off of her."

"And did she notice you?" quizzed Barnes, raising his eyebrows.

"She was too busy," came the gloomy rejoinder. "I watched her steadily, fairly bored her with my eyes--tried to will her to look at me. They say you can do that, you know--mental telepathy, projecting thought waves or something of the sort."

"Oh, rot!" cried Barnes, impatiently. "I tried that on a dog once and I've got the scar yet."

"But I tell you, Whitney, it almost worked. After a time her eyelids began to flutter and the roses in her cheeks bloomed darker. But just as I felt sure she would look up and see me--splas.h.!.+ the grapefruit hit her in the eye!"

"What!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Whitney Barnes, wheeling open-mouthed and facing his friend.

"The juice, I mean," Gladwin laughed ruefully, "and, of course, the spell was broken. She never looked again. Dash it all, there's some sort of a lemon in all my romances!"

"You certainly do play in tough luck," sympathized Barnes. "I can see that you need bucking up, and I think I've got the right kind of remedy for you. Wait, I'll call Bateato."

Whitney Barnes stepped briskly across the room and pressed a b.u.t.ton.

In a twinkling the little j.a.p appeared.

"Bateato," said Barnes, "has your master any hunting clothes at the hotel?"

"Ees, sair!" responded the j.a.p. "Plenty hotel--plenty house. We no time pack all clothes--go sail too quick."

"Plenty here--splendid!" enthused Barnes. "Pack a bag for him, Bateato, this instant--enough things to last a couple of weeks."

"What's all this?" cut in Gladwin. "What are you going to do?"

"Never you mind," retorted Barnes, importantly; "you do as I say, Bateato--I'm going to show your master some excitement. He'll never get it here in town."

"Ees, sair! I pack him queeck," and Bateato vanished noiselessly, seemingly to shoot through the doorway and up the broad staircase as if sucked up a flue.

"But see here"----objected Travers Gladwin.

"Not a word now," his friend choked him off. "If you don't like it you don't have to stay, but I'm going to take you in hand and show you a time you're not used to."

"But I don't"----

"Don't let's argue about it," said Barnes, lightly. "You called me in here to take charge of things and I'm taking charge. Just to change the subject, tell me something about your paintings. This one, for instance--who is that haughty looking old chap?"