CHAPTER XXVI
THE KEY TO A DILEMMA
Evelyn had telephoned to Mrs. Whipple of her father's illness in termswhich allayed alarm; but when the afternoon paper referred to itominously, the good woman set out through the first snowstorm of theseason for the Porter house, carrying her campaign outfit, as thegeneral called it, in a suit-case. Mrs. Whipple's hopeful equanimity wasvery welcome to Evelyn, who suffered as women do when denied theprivilege of ministering to their sick and forced to see their naturaloffice usurped by others. Mrs. Whipple brought a breath of May into theatmosphere of the house. She found ways of dulling the edge of Evelyn'sanxiety and idleness; she even found things for Evelyn to do, and busiedherself disposing of inquiries at the door and telephone to save Evelynthe trouble. In Evelyn's sitting-room Mrs. Whipple talked of clothes andmade it seem a great favor for the girl to drag out several new gownsfor inspection,--a kind of first view, she called it; and she sighedover them and said they were more perfect than perfect lyrics and wouldappeal to a larger audience.
She chose one of the lyrics of black chiffon and lace, with a highcollar and half sleeves and forced Evelyn to put it on; and when theysat down to dinner together she planned a portrait of Evelyn in the samegown, which Chase or Sargent must paint. She managed the talk tactfully,without committing the error of trying to ignore the sick man upstairs.She made his illness seem incidental merely, and with a bright side, inthat it gave her a chance to spend a few days at the Hill. Then she wenton:
"Warry and Mr. Saxton were at the house last night. It's delightful tosee men so devoted to each other as they are; and it's great fun to hearthem banter each other. I didn't know that Mr. Saxton could be funny,but in his quiet way he says the drollest things!"
"I thought he was very serious," said Evelyn. "I rarely see him, butwhen I do, he flatters me by talking about books. He thinks I'mliterary!"
"I can't imagine it."
Evelyn laughed.
"Oh, thanks! I'm making progress!"
"It's funny," Mrs. Whipple continued, "the way he takes care of Warry.The general says Mr. Saxton is a Newfoundland and Warry a fox terrier.Warry's at work again, and I suppose we have Mr. Saxton's influence tothank."
"A man like that could do a great deal for Warry," said Evelyn. "IfWarry doesn't settle down pretty soon he'll lose his chance." Then, herfather coming into her thoughts, she added irrelevantly: "Mr. Thompsonwill probably come home. Mr. Wheaton telephoned that the directors hadwired him."
"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Whipple, looking at the girl quickly,--"so muchresponsibility,--I suppose it would be hardly fair to Mr. Wheaton--"
"I suppose not," said Evelyn.
"It's just the same in business as it is in the army," continued Mrs.Whipple, who referred everything back to the military establishment."The bugle's got to blow every morning whether the colonel's sick ornot. I suppose the bank keeps open just the same. When a thing's oncewell started it has a way of running on, whether anybody attends to itor not."
"But you couldn't get father to believe that," said Evelyn, smiling inrecollection of her father's life-long refutation of this philosophy.
"No indeed," assented Mrs. Whipple. "But in the army there is a gooddeal to make a man humble. If he gets transferred from one end of theland to another, somebody else does the work he has been doing, andusually you wouldn't know the difference. The individual is reallyextinguished; they all sign their reports in exactly the same place, andone signature is just as good at Washington as another." This was afavorite line of discourse with Mrs. Whipple; she had reduced her armyexperience to a philosophy, which she was fond of presenting on anyoccasion.
The maid brought Evelyn a card before they had finished coffee.
"It's Mr. Wheaton," she explained; "I asked him to come. Father wasgreatly troubled about some matter which he said must not be neglected.He wanted me to give the key of his box to Mr. Wheaton,--there are somepapers which it is very necessary for Mr. Fenton to have. It's somethingI hadn't heard of before, but it must be important. He's been flightythis afternoon and has tried to talk about it."
Evelyn had risen and stood by the table with a troubled look on herface, as if expecting counsel; but she was thinking of the sick manupstairs and not of his business affairs.
"Yes; don't wait for me," said the older woman, as though it were merelya question of the girl's excusing herself. When Evelyn had gone, Mrs.Whipple plied her spoon in her cup long after the single lump of sugarwas dissolved. Mrs. Whipple had a way of disliking people thoroughlywhen they did not please her, and she did not like James Wheaton. Shewas wondering why, as she sat alone at the table and played with thespoon.
The maid who admitted Wheaton had let him elect between the drawing roomand the library, and he chose the latter instinctively, as less formaland more appropriate for an interview based on his dual social andbusiness relations with the Porters. His slim figure appeared toadvantage in evening clothes; he was no longer afraid of rooms that werehandsome and spacious like this. There was nowadays no more correctlygroomed man in Clarkson than he, though Warry Raridan had remarked toWheaton at the Bachelors' that his ties were composed a trifle tooneatly; a tie to be properly done should, Raridan held, leave somethingto the imagination. Wheaton heard the swish of Evelyn's skirts in thehall with a quickening heartbeat. Her black gown intensified herfairness; he had never seen her in black before, and it gave a newaccent to her beauty as she came toward him.
"It was a great shock to us down town to hear of your father's illness.He seemed as well as usual yesterday."
"Did you think so? I thought he looked worn when he came home lastevening. He has been working very hard lately."
Wheaton had never seen her so grave. He was sincerely sorry for hertrouble, and he tried to say so. There was something appealing in herunusual calm; the low tones of her voice were not wasted on him.
"Father asked me to send for you this morning, but he had grown so illin a few hours that I took the responsibility of not doing it. Thedoctor said emphatically that he must not see people. But something inparticular was on his mind, some papers that Mr. Fenton should have.They are in his box at the bank, and I was to give you the key to it. Itis something about the Traction Company; no doubt you know of it?"
"Yes," Wheaton assented. It was not necessary for him to say that Mr.Porter had told him nothing about it.
"You can attend to this easily?"
"Yes, certainly. Mr. Fenton spoke to me about the matter this afternoon.It is very important and he wished me to report to him as soon as Ifound the papers. No doubt they are in your father's box," he said. "Heis always very methodical." He smiled at her reassuringly and rose. Shedid not ask him to stay longer, but went to fetch the key.
It was a small, thin bit of steel. Wheaton turned it over in his hand.
"I'll return the key to-morrow, after I've found the papers Mr. Fentonwants."
"Very well. I hope you will have no difficulty."
He still held the key in his fingers, not knowing whether this was hisdismissal or not.
"There is one thing more, Mr. Wheaton. Father seemed very much troubledabout this Traction matter--"
"Very unnecessarily, I'm sure," said Wheaton soothingly.
"He evidently wished all the papers he has concerning the company to begiven to Mr. Fenton. Now, this probably is of no importance whatever,but several years ago father gave me some stock in the street railwaycompany. It came about through a little fun-making between us. We weretalking of railway passes,--you know he never accepts any"--Wheatonblinked--"and I told him I'd like to have a pass on something, even ifit was only a street car line."
She was smiling in her eagerness that he should understand perfectly.
"And he said he guessed he could fix that by giving me some stock in thecompany. I remember that he made light of it when I thanked him, andsaid it wasn't so important as it looked. He probably forgot it longago. I had forgotten it myself--I never got the pass, either! but Ibrought the stock
down that Mr. Fenton might have use for it." She wentover to the mantel and picked up a paper, while he watched her; and whenshe put it into his hand he turned it over. It was a certificate for onehundred shares, issued in due form to Evelyn Porter, but was notassigned.
"It may be important," said Wheaton, regarding the paper thoughtfully."Mr. Fenton will know. It couldn't be used without your name on theback," he said, indicating the place on the certificate.
"Oh, should I sign it?" she asked, in the curious fluttering way inwhich many women approach the minor details of business. Wheatonhesitated; he did not imagine that this block of stock could be ofimportance, and yet the tentative business association with Miss Porterwas so pleasant that he yielded to a temptation to prolong it.
"Yes, you might sign it," he said.
Evelyn went to her father's table and wrote her name as Wheatonindicated.
"A witness is required and I will supply that." And Wheaton sat down atthe table and signed his name beside hers, while she stood opposite him,the tips of her fingers resting on the table.
"Evelyn Porter" and "James Wheaton." He blotted the names with Porter'sblotter, Evelyn still standing by him, slightly mystified as women oftenare by the fact that their signatures have a value. He felt that therewas something intimate in the fact of their signing themselves togetherthere. He was thrilled by her beauty. The black lace falling from herelbows made a filmy tracery upon her white arms. Her head was benttoward him, the shaded lamp cast a glow upon her face and throat, andher slim, white hands rested on the table so near that he could havetouched them. She bent her gaze upon him gravely; she, too, felt thathis relations with her father made a tie between them; he was older thanthe other men who came to see her; she yielded him a respect for hiswell-won success. A vague sense of what her father liked in him creptinto her mind in the moment that she stood looking down on him; he wasquiet, deft and sure,--qualities which his smoothly-combed black hairand immaculate linen seemed to emphasize. She gave, in her ignorance ofbusiness, an exaggerated importance to the trifling transaction which hehad now concluded. He smiled up at her as he put down the pen.
"It isn't as serious as it looks," he said, rising.
"It must be very interesting when you understand it," she answered.
"I'm sorry--so very sorry for your trouble. I hope--if I can serve youin any way you will not hesitate--"
"You are very kind," she said. Neither moved. They regarded each otheracross the table with a serious fixed gaze; the sweet girlish spirit inher was held by some curious fascinating power in him. He bent towardher, his hand lightly clenched on the edge of the table.
"I hope there may never be a time when you will not feel free to commandme--in any way." He spoke slowly; his words seemed to bind a chain abouther and she could not move or answer. With a sudden gesture he put outhis hand; it almost touched hers, and she did not shrink away.
"Good evening, Mr. Wheaton!" Mrs. Whipple, handsome and smiling, senther greeting from the threshold, and swept into the room; and when shetook his hand she held it for a moment, as an elderly woman may, whileshe chid him for his remissness in never coming to call on her.
On his way down the slope to the car, Wheaton felt in his pocketseveral times to be sure of the key. There was something the least bituncanny in his possession of it. Yesterday, as he knew well enough,William Porter would no more have intrusted the key of his private boxto him or to any one else than he would have burned down his house. Heread into his errand a trust on Porter's part that included Porter'sdaughter, too; but he got little satisfaction from this. He was only themost convenient messenger available. His spirits rose and fell as hedebated.
The down-town streets were very quiet when he reached the businessdistrict. He went to the side door of the bank and knocked for thewatchman to admit him. He took off his overcoat and hat and laid themdown carefully on his own desk.
"Going to work to-night, Mr. Wheaton?" asked the watchman.
Wheaton felt that he owed it to the watchman to explain, and he said:
"There are some papers in Mr. Porter's box that I must give to Mr.Fenton to-night. They are in the old vault." This vault was often openedat night by the bookkeepers and there was no reason why the cashiershould not enter it when he pleased. The watchman turned up the lightsso that Wheaton could manipulate the combination, and then swung openthe door. Wheaton thanked him and went in. Two keys were necessary toopen all of the boxes; one was common to all and was kept by the bank.Wheaton easily found it, and then he took from his pocket Porter's keywhich supplemented the other. His pulses beat fast as he felt the lockyield to the thin strip of steel, and in a moment the box lay openbefore his eyes. He had flashed on the electric light bulb in the vaultand recognized instantly Porter's inscription "Traction" on a brownbundle. He then opened his own box and took out his Traction certificateand carried it with Porter's packet into the directors' room.
He sat playing with the package, which was sealed in green wax with theplain oval insignium of the bank. The packet was larger than he hadexpected it to be; he had no idea of the amount of stock it contained;and he knew nothing of the bonds. He felt tempted to open it; butclearly that was not within his instructions. He must deliver it intactto Fenton, and he would do it instantly. He hesitated, though, and drewout the certificate which Evelyn had given him and turned the crisppaper over in his hand. Each of them owned one hundred shares ofTraction stock; he was not thinking of this, but of Evelyn, whosesignature held his eye. It was an angular hand, and she ran her twonames together with a long sweep of the pen.
His thoughts were given a new direction by the noise of a colloquybetween the watchman and some one at the door. He heard his own namementioned, and thrusting the certificates into his pocket, he went outto learn what was the matter.
"Mr. Wheaton," called the watchman, who held the door partly closed onsome one, "Mr. Margrave wishes to see you."
As Wheaton walked toward the watchman, Margrave strode in heavily on thetile floor of the bank.
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