Floyd Grandon's Honor by Amanda Minnie Douglas (finding audrey txt) 📕

other. He is very sanguine, and wants Wilmarth to wait a little. I don't believe he _has_ perfect faith in it."

"I want you to read father's letter," Floyd says gravely.

"Not to-night, old fellow. To tell the truth, my head aches and I feel stupid. We'll look into things to-morrow. Only, Floyd, don't bring up a fellow with too sharp a turn."

Floyd sighs. He will not have much help in his task, he can plainly foresee. There remains Mr. St. Vincent.

"Eugene," and there is a touch of deep feeling in his tone, "I want us to work together harmoniously. Remember that I have nothing to gain in all this. Whatever I do must be for your benefit and that of the family. I have my own plans and aims, but you will always find me brotherly."

"Oh, well, don't pull such a solemn face about it. I dare say it will come out right. St. Vincent will get everything fixed up presently. Every business gets in a tight place now and then. Let us wind up our conclave with a friendly cigar."

Floyd is still holding Cecil in his arms, now asleep, but he will not relinquish his precious burden. Marcia has some guests on the porch; he hears their chatter and laughter. Is he, too; growing captious and uncomfortable?


CHAPTER V.

Still, when we purpose to enjoy ourselves, To try our valor fortune sends a foe, To try our equanimity a friend.

GOETHE.

Floyd Grandon resolves upon two steps the next morning, and puts them into execution immediately. The first is a visit to Mr. Connery. The lawyer is a rather elderly, pleasant-looking man, with a mouth and eyes that impress you at once as being quite capable of a certain reserve, trust, secrecy. The ordinary courtesies of the day pass between the two, and Mr. Grandon can well believe Mr. Connery when he says emphatically that he is glad of Mr. Grandon's return.

Floyd proceeds at once to business, and asks his questions in a straightforward manner.

"When I drew up your father's will, Mr. Grandon," replies the lawyer, "according to his showing it seemed a very fair one. To take out actual money would have destroyed the business at once, and that was what he counted on for Eugene. Perhaps it was not the wisest plan----"

"I am afraid Eugene cares very little for the business. Still, he is nothing of a student----" and Floyd pauses.

"Simply a young man of pleasure, who has always had plenty of money and an indulgent father. We may as well look at the facts, and you must pardon my plain speaking. He keeps two fast horses, and is at Rockwood a good deal. There is a race-course and a kind of gentlemen's club-house. It is an excellent place to spend money, if one has it to throw away," Mr. Connery adds dryly.

Floyd flushes and a little chill speeds along his nerves. "Did you know exactly what the claims against the estate were at the time of my father's death?" he asks, getting away from the subject.

"The factory your father owns alone. There is a mortgage of three thousand dollars on it. One half-share of the business, stock, machinery, etc., was his, and this is subject to a note of seven thousand dollars, incurred when the new machinery was put in. Why, it must be about due," and Mr. Connery goes to his safe. "The expectation was that the business could pay this and then begin with the legacies. But--I am afraid all has not been clear sailing."

"How long has this Wilmarth been with my father?" Floyd asks abruptly.

"Four or five years. You see your father hoped very much from some new process of manufacture. I wish he could have lived. Wilmarth is not a prepossessing man, yet I have never heard him spoken of in any but the highest terms. He is a bachelor, lives plainly, and has no vices, though he may have a desire to amass a fortune. I think, indeed, he rather urged your father to this new undertaking. St. Vincent I really know nothing about. He is an inventor and an enthusiast. Your place, Mr. Grandon, will be a hard one to fill, and you can count on me for any assistance."

"Thank you," returns Floyd, warmly. "I shall see St. Vincent and arrange for a meeting. I neither understand business nor like it, and have some matters of my own demanding my attention, but I must see this placed on a proper basis. I shall be glad to come to you."

Floyd feels as if he had gained one friend. Then he pursues his way to the little nest among the cliffs. The greyhound comes to greet him first, snuffs him critically, then puts his nose in Grandon's hand. By this time the housekeeper has come out, who is a veritable Norman woman.

A great disappointment awaits Floyd. Mr. St. Vincent started an hour ago for Canada, to bring his daughter home, who has been educated in a convent. "But ma'm'selle is a Protestant, like her father," says the old lady, with a sigh.

Then Floyd Grandon betakes himself to the factory. Eugene is out. He has no fancy for discussing matters with Wilmarth at present, so he returns home and busies himself in fitting up a study in one of the tower rooms. Rummaging through the attic he finds an old secretary of Aunt Marcia's, and unearths other treasures that quite stir his sister's envy.

"For those old things are all coming back," she says in a tone of poignant regret, whether at this fact or at the realization of the loss of them he is not quite certain.

The house is quiet and delightful. Marcia amuses him with her artistic flights and wild fancies. Floyd thinks if she would confine herself to the work she could do really well she would be a success, but her ambition is so tinctured with every new view that she never quite settles, but flutters continually.

That evening Floyd resolves to bring Eugene to a sense of what lies actually before him. He evades at first, fidgets, and grows unmistakably cross.

"The family expenses, Eugene,--how have they been met?" questions the elder steadily.

"They haven't been met at all," says Eugene. "There has only been money enough to pay the men and all that. I told you Laura couldn't have her money. But there was no use breaking up the family,--where could they have gone?"

"I think, then, there has been a good deal of extravagance," is Floyd's decisive comment. "There are five horses in the stable, and four servants. I cannot afford such an establishment."

"Oh, I say, Floyd, don't turn a miserable hunks of a miser the first thing, when you have such a splendid fortune! I wouldn't grudge anything with all that money in my hand."

"Some of it will go rapidly enough. I shall pay Gertrude and Marcia their first instalment, as I have Laura, and my mother must have something. Then, the house debts; do you know where the bills are?"

With Mrs. Grandon's help they get the bills together, and there are some still to come in.

"Of course the house is yours," says his mother in a sharp tone. "You may wish to marry again----"

That is so far from Floyd's thoughts that he shakes his head impatiently and replies,--

"The thing to be considered is _who_ is to provide for the family. If the business cannot do it at present, I shall. But it will have to be done within _my_ income. My own habits are not extravagant----"

"Well, I should say!" and Eugene laughs immoderately. "A man who travels round the world like a prince, who buys everything he chooses, joins exploring expeditions with lords and marquises, keeps a maid for his daughter,--you have not arrived at that dignity, mother mine?"

"I do not think the maid for my daughter will cost more than one fast horse, Eugene."

"O boys, do not quarrel!" entreats their mother.

"I hope I shall never quarrel," says Floyd, in a steadfast, reassuring tone. "I could lay down my father's charge, he gives me that privilege if I find I cannot save the business without spending my private fortune. If you would rather have me withdraw----"

"Oh, no! no!" cries his mother. She has felt for some time that they were steadily going to ruin under Eugene's _regime_, but he is her idol and she loves him with a curious pride that could deny him nothing; would not even blame him, and wishes him to be prosperous. "I really think you would have no right, Floyd."

"Then if I must work, if I must give my time, interest, and money, I shall have to know how everything stands. I shall have to provide to the best of _my_ judgment. You _must_ all trust in me, and believe that I am acting for your welfare."

There is no affirmative to this, and Floyd feels really hurt. Eugene sits rolling the corner of the rug under his foot with a kind of vicious force, and is sulkily silent.

"Your father expected, Floyd----" and Mrs. Grandon buries her face in her hands, giving way to tears.

"My dear mother, I shall do everything my father desired, if it is in my power. Eugene," suddenly, "how does Mr. Wilmarth propose to meet this note?"

"Don't worry about the note. You must admit that he knows more about the business than you."

"Very well," Floyd returns, with ominous calmness. "I will pay up the house bills to-morrow, and there will be no change until after Laura's marriage. Let us remember that our interests are identical, that one cannot suffer without the other. Good night."

He bends over to kiss his mother, and leaves the room. He had never mistrusted before that his soul was unduly sensitive, his temper bad, his patience of a poor quality. He is tempted to make a rush back to the old, free, wandering life. But if he does, the family portion will be ruin. He cannot be indifferent to their welfare, nor to the fact that if events go wrongly he will be blamed.

He goes at the business promptly the next morning. With Mr. Conner's assistance he pays Marcia's and Gertrude's portion, and reinvests it. They can have the interest or squander the principal. He calls on several tradesmen and takes their receipts. The note is still a matter of perplexity, and Mr. Connery is appointed to confer with the holder and ask him to meet Mr. Floyd Grandon. Then he settles about a strip of land for which he has been offered a fabulous sum, it seems to him. This will give him all the ready money he will need at present.

Marcia is effusively grateful. "You dear, dear Floyd!" And she kisses him with the ardor of sixteen. "_Now_ I can have a glorious summer. A party of us planned an artistic tour, camping out, living with Nature, and wresting her secrets of tone and color from her, studying in the dim, cathedral like recesses of the woods, apart from the glare and conventionalism of the heartless world----"

"I want you to understand this matter," interrupts Grandon. "It is an excellent investment. Very few sure things pay eight per cent. You will have just four hundred dollars a year for pin money," laughingly. "I think I had better lend you a little at present, so that you will not need to break into your principal. How much will this summering cost?"