The Banker and the Bear

by Henry Kitchell Webste

  The could not say just what she meant, and with heightened color she added quickly, “ But I don’t want to see anything like that again, ever.”

  “I’ve had enough myself. I’m afraid I’m getting disgusted with the whole business, Dick. I feel that it would be a pleasant change to set- tle down and live on a farm somewhere, for a while, anyway. Don’t you ? “

  “ I was thinking of something like that myself,” she answered thoughtfully. “ We could “ she turned away suddenly and glanced up the street. “ I mustn’t keep you any longer. I’ve dragged you miles out of your way already. No, I’m going to take the ele- vated right here.”

  She had not meant to do it ; but as he was leaving her, she said,

  “You’ll you’re coming down to dinner to- night, aren’t you ? “

  CHAPTER IX

  DEEPER STILL

  HARRIET SPONLEY dressed for dinner that evening with more than usual care. She liked to dress well, partly for her own sake, and partly because her husband appreciated it. But to- night she seemed able to find little satisfaction in the result of her efforts.

  “ Your gown is very beautiful,” the maid ven- tured timidly.

  Harriet nodded indifferently ; then, as with a gesture of impatience, she turned away from the long mirror, her eyes fell upon the neat figure and the fresh face of her girlish attendant. She looked at her so long and so hard that the girl flushed and averted her eyes uneasily. Harriet smiled and patted her shoulder.

  “ I’m very glad you like it,” she said kindly. “ Now run along, I shan’t want you any more.”

  She liked her maid. She petted her, and so Sponley said indulged her most outra- 138

  geously. It was an old weakness of Harriet’s this fondness for a pretty face. It had been the source of her affection for Alice Blair.

  As the girl left the room, Harriet dropped upon the little round chair which stood before her dressing table, and resting her elbows on the table, she leaned forward and stared disap- provingly into the small glass which hung above it. The strong, unpitying light which the two incandescent lamps threw upon her face re- vealed many things she did not wish to see there. What a jaded face it was ! And the lines were deeper than they had ever been before. She rubbed her forehead nervously, almost roughly, with her finger tips, as though that would erase them.

  The day had been peculiarly trying for Har- riet. In these later years, every flurry on the Board of Trade, every sudden turn in the stock market, had given her two or three almost intol- erable hours ; but to-night the slump in lard was not in her thoughts at all. When she had called Sponley’s attention to the story in the morning paper of Pickering’s prospective corner, he had disposed of the matter with aglance and a nod. Then on her suggesting that he had known all about it before, he had replied in the negative. He was holding quite a line of lard himself, he said ; but with this rumor of a deal of Picker- ing’s he had no concern.

  Five years ago one year ago the smallest doubt of his truthfulness could not have occurred to her ; she knew he would have lied to himself as soon as to her. She remembered how he used to come home brimming over with the day’s experiences, how eagerly he had related and explained it all, and how confidently they had planned out their to-morrows. He used to tell her then that she was the mind of the firm ; that what she didn’t think of herself she made him think of ; that she was the one, big reason for his remarkable success. And he had meant it, too ; she was sure of that. But as time had gone by, his confidences had been growing less spontaneous. The change had been slow, so slow that she could see it only by looking back, but it was unmistakable. He never told her anything now unless she asked for it. And to-day he had lied to her ! She had only herself to blame for it. When she had ceased to be able to help him, he no longer looked to her for help. She was an outsider now ; that was why he had lied to her.

  She looked intently at the face in the glass. “ He will see to-night he will surely see what a miserable wreck this old woman is,” and with that she rose and went down to the library where he was awaiting her.

  The afterglow from splendid masses of cloud high up the sky made a soft twilight in the room ; but to Harriet’s eyes, blinded by the glare to which they had been subjected, it was quite dark. She did not at first see Sponley, who was standing in the shadow.

  “You almost startle me sometimes,” he said, “ by taking me back twenty years or so. I have to think of myself to realize that we aren’t youngsters again.”

  “ It must be the gown,” she answered. “ I’m glad you like it.”

  She walked to the window and stood looking out. The diffused light hung in her heavy hair and in the folds of her dress, and her husband watched her for a moment in silence. The illusion was strong upon him.

  “ The gown ! “ he said at last. “ I can’t see the gown. But you walk like a girl, only more gracefully, and your hair you are getting younger, Harriet.”

  “ Only more skilled in trickery.” She spoke lightly ; then, with a glance at the sky, she said in an altered voice,

  “ How fast it fades.”

  “The sunset? It’s clouding up fast. We’ll have a shower pretty soon.”

  “ Come,” she said, “ let us go to dinner. I’ve kept you waiting.”

  Harriet was quite herself now. All through the dinner she entertained him, talking lightly about the little amusing incidents of the day, and though her gayety ran false on her own ears, she knew from his face that he thought it spontaneous.

  “ Your day has gone all right, I suppose ? “

  It was the question she had promised herself not to ask again. She had held it back as long as she could, but it had escaped in spite of her, and she realized how vain such a promise had been.

  He nodded. “ Nothing much one way or the other.”

  “You didn’t do any trading in lard, then. That must have been rather exciting when it slumped.”

  He smiled. “ You didn’t think I’d got caught in that, did you ? “

  “ The other way about,” she said with a laugh. “ I hoped you might have made something on it. You knew it was coming, didn’t you ? “

  “ No, I’m leaving lard alone just now.” (She wondered how real the indifference in his voice might be.) “ That’s Pickering’s deal. I haven’t mixed into it yet What’s that?”

  His exclamation was caused by the sound of voices raised in altercation. It was followed by the thud of heavy footsteps approaching the dining room. Sponley had half risen from his chair when the portiere was roughly brushed aside and Curtin entered the room.

  “ I’ve found you,” he said. “ The maid told me you were at dinner. She didn’t want to let me in, but I came. She thought I was drunk ; everybody thinks I’m drunk, but I’m not. I had to see you on a matter of importance.”

  He spoke clumsily, with a labored distinctness. Sponley looked at him from head to foot, at his flushed face and disordered clothes.

  “Take off your hat, Mr. Curtin,” he said shortly.

  “I I forgot,” stammered Curtin. “ You probably think “

  “ One moment,” Sponley interrupted. “ Mrs.

  Sponley, if you will leave us for a few moments, I’ll attend to Mr. Curtin’s business.”

  When they were alone Sponley forestalled Curtin’s attempt to speak.

  “ Don’t tell me again you aren’t drunk. I know you aren’t. I know what’s the matter with you. You’ve been buying lard to-day and you’ve got squeezed. That’s the case, isn’t it ? “

  Curtin stared at him dully, but Sponley did not return the look. He eyed his half-empty coffee cup and tapped it lightly with a spoon.

  “ I supposed you would do that,” he said thoughtfully, “ and I suppose you have taken some of the bank’s money to buy it with. You haven’t any of your own.”

  Curtin’s apathy forsook him suddenly. “ You suppose ! “ he cried. His shaking voice gained intensity as he went on. “ You knew I would. You told me to. You told me lard would go up, a
nd you lied to me. You damned old devil,” he shouted, “you tricked me. You did it to send me to prison. You “

  “ Be quiet ! “ Sponley thundered. It had been years since he had so far lost control of himself ; but Curtin had chanced to strike the joint in his armor. The thought that Harriet had overheard the words put him for an instant into a rage. But he recovered quickly.

  “If you raise your voice like that again in this house, I shall certainly have you sent to prison. I’ll have you snug in jail within half an hour. I promise you that.”

  In declaring that he had not been drinking, Curtin had told the truth ; yet his mental pro- cesses were those of a drunkard. Of all this man’s many weaknesses, the greatest was a lack of poise ; in his soberest moments he was badly ballasted. The experiences of that after- noon, the rapid alternation between rage and terror, had shaken him to the foundation, and had left his mind in a state of unstable equi- librium precisely like that of an inebriate. It careened far to this side or to that at the small- est suggestive impulse. Sponley’s threat of sending him to prison had recalled the night- mare of the afternoon, and his anger gave way to the numbness of fear.

  “ If you were in condition to think,” said Sponley, meditatively, “ I could convince you that I didn’t try to lead you into a trap, as you say. I don’t want you in prison on a charge of forgery or embezzlement or whatever it would be. I need you outside. You’ll see that when you get quieted down. How much will it cost to get you out of the hole ? “

  “A little over ten thousand.” The words came monotonously.

  Sponley kept his eyes on the coffee cup.

  “ Well,” he said at last, “ it’s worth the price. I’ll pull you out.”

  Curtin looked at him in a daze. Then bury- ing his face in his hands he began to sob. Even to Sponley’s tough sensibilities the sight was revolting.

  “ Get up ! “ he commanded. “ Don’t be a dis- gusting fool.”

  “ I can’t thank you,” the other began brokenly.

  “ I want no thanks.” Sponley’s voice was almost a snarl. “ It’s not a favor to you ; it’s business. It’s worth ten thousand dollars to me just now to have you in Bagsbury’s bank. You’re in no shape for anything now. Go home and go to sleep and come back here before banking hours, and I’ll talk business with you and arrange to square you with the bank. Come, get up ! “

  Curtin struggled to his feet and started toward the library door.

  “ Not that way,” said Sponley, sharply. “This is the way out.”

  “ I wanted to apologize to Mrs. Sponley for “

  Sponley caught him by the arm. “ I don’t want to have to kick you out of the house,” he said savagely. “ Come with me.”

  A moment later he spoke to Harriet from the library door,

  “ I’ve got to see John Bagsbury for a while this evening.”

  “ Please don’t go just yet. I want to speak to you.”

  Entering the room he saw her sitting bolt upright in the middle of the big sofa, her hands clasped tight in her lap, her face colorless to the lips.

  “ What’s the matter ? “ he cried in quick alarm. “ Are you sick ? “

  “ Please tell me,” she said, ignoring his ques- tion, “please tell me all about it about Mr. Curtin.”

  “ He’d been misled by something I said about lard’s going up into buying a lot of it to-day. Of course, he got caught. He’d taken the bank’s money to trade with. He got a fool notion into his head that I’d meant to soak him.”

  “ Did you manage to convince him to the contrary ? “ she asked unsteadily.

  “ I promised to meet his losses out of my own pocket and square him with the bank. That seemed to convince him.”

  She leaned back among the pillows, breathing deeply and tremulously, and he watched her smiling.

  “ What did you think ? “ he asked.

  “Oh, I didn’t think at all I couldn’t. I heard what he shouted at you just as I went out and it made me sick. I didn’t dare to think.”

  He sat down beside her on the sofa and stroked her hand.

  “I’ve been silly again,” she went on presently. “ You see, you haven’t told me about any of your plans lately, and I’m so used to knowing that when you don’t tell me I get to imagining things all sorts of things.”

  “ What would you have done if I had if I had run it into Curtin that way ? What would you think of me ? “

  “ Don’t,” she said quickly, “ don’t try to tease me about it. I didn’t really think so for a min- ute.”

  “The fact is,” said Sponley, thoughtfully, “that this sort of life is too much for you. Yes, it is,” he repeated in answer to the dissent- ing movement of her head, “ and I believe it’s too much for me, too ; at any rate, I’m getting a lot less enthusiastic about it; I’m beginning to like to get away from it and that’s something new for me. I suppose that’s the reason I’ve had so little to say about it to you. When I get home I like to think about other things, just as we did to-night at dinner. We’ll have to shut up shop permanently, pretty soon, and get off where it’s quiet ; buy a farm somewhere, and we’ll go into politics and run for supervisor or something. Won’t that be a good thing to do ? “

  Her only answer was a low, contented laugh, and then they both were silent.

  Melville Sponley was at that moment just at the beginning of one of the biggest and most daring campaigns he ever planned. For months he had been ready for it ; in the past few days certain facts had transpired which had enabled him to fix his plans definitely. Thepreliminary moves were already made. The next move was a certain proposition he meant to make to John Bagsbury that evening. The object of it all was to break Pickering’s corner in lard. The cam- paign would be difficult, but in point of strategy it was the neatest he had ever planned. All the foresight he had shown in dealing with John during the past few months would come to his help now.

  But right on the threshold he was hesitating. He had told Harriet the truth in saying that he was beginning to wish to quit. He had been promising himself right along that this campaign should be his last. He was rich enough to stop now, as far as that went. And after all, why not ? Indecision was a state of mind quite for- eign to him, but to-night his mind swung from one side to the other. When Harriet finally broke the long silence, she almost startled him.

  “You’ve made me happier to-night than I’ve been for a long time. But I don’t want to be left alone. I’m afraid I’d get to thinking about Mr. Curtin. You get the carriage and take me with you to the Bagsburys’. I shan’t mind the rain.”

  “ All right,” he said.

  CHAPTER X

  NEVER DID RUN SMOOTH

  “ HAVE you any idea what it is that’s keeping Mr. Bagsbury?” Alice asked of Jack. She had been expecting him every moment while they were at dinner, and the tone of her question betrayed nervousness.

  “ No,” said Jack, abstractedly, then, rousing himself: “no, he just told me I’d better come out here to dinner and tell you not to wait for him as he would be late. He said it might be eight o’clock before he could get home.”

  “ Then you had two invitations,” said Dick.

  “ That’s why I ate two dinners.”

  Alice rose. “ I promised Martha to help her with her lessons. I’ll leave you to entertain each other until John comes back.”

  “ You must be blue,” Dick remarked when she was gone. “ You never make jokes like that except when you’re blue. Oh, I know, you want to smoke. Let’s go into the library.”

  She led the way thither ; and, after turning on the electric lights, seated herself at the end of the sofa. Jack lighted a cigar and stood look- ing about with a frown.

  “ Not satisfied yet ? “ she asked.

  He shook his head. “ This room’s all right,” he said, “but we see it too plainly.” He turned off all the light, and groping his way to one of the windows drew wide the curtain. For a moment he stood looking out ; then he raised the window, and they
heard the summer shower which was beating straight down through the still air upon the pavement. The big arc lamp from the street threw a patch of white light upon the floor.

  “For purposes of romance,” he said, as he seated himself near her on the sofa, “that doesn’t quite come up to the moon ; but it does its best, and it has sense enough not to go out just because it rains.”

  During the next two minutes, as Dick watched the rim of fire which glowed now bright, now dull, between Jack Dorlin’s cigar and its ash, she thought of many things to say, but none of them seemed to fit. Jack, apparently, had no idea of saying anything, and the silence seemed to her to be acquiring a discomforting signifi- cance. It was most absurd to feel that way about it ; she and Jack were certainly old enough friends.

  “ Luckily, we don’t need it for purposes of romance “

  That wasn’t just what she meant, either, and she added hastily, “You know this is to be a business conversation. We’ve got to decide what we’ll tell John when he comes home.”

  “ That’s so,” said Jack, vaguely. Evidently he had nothing more to contribute to the conversation.

  “Don’t you suppose,” Dick began again, “ that perhaps the bank was hurt by Mr. Pick- ering’s failure ? John had just lent him a great deal of money, you know.”

  “ He’s got the lard.”

  “ Yes ; but the lard isn’t worth nearly as much as it was.”

  “That’s so,” said Jack, more abstractedly than ever.

  “ Are you trying to be stupid ? “ she asked almost impatiently.

  “ I don’t think I’m stupid at all. I’m just enjoying things. That patch of electric light, and this rain, and this “

  She interrupted him: “And I’ve been dis- turbing your peaceful soul. Just let me turn on a light for a minute to find a book, and then I’ll leave you to the contemplation of your street lamp.”

  She spoke laughingly, but he saw that she meant it.

  “ Don’t go, Dick. I want to talk to you. I was just getting myself together.”