The Desired Woman(Fiscle Part-3 Of 2) by Will N. Harben (e book reader pdf TXT) 📕

The Next Morning At The Bank A Financial Disappointment Met Him. A

Telegram Informed Him Of The Sudden Slump In Some Stocks In Which He

Was Interested. The Loss Was Considerable,  And The Tendency Was Still

Downward. He Was Wondering If He Ought To Confide This To Saunders,

When His Partner,  Of His Own Accord,  Came Into His Office And Sat Down

By His Desk.

"Busy Just Now?" Saunders Inquired.

"No; What Is It?" Mostyn Returned. "Fire Away."

Saunders Seemed To Hesitate. Through The Partition Came The Clicking

Of A Typewriter And An Adding-Machine,  The Swinging Of The Screened

Door In Front. "It Is A Somewhat Personal Matter," Saunders Began,

Awkwardly. "I Have Been Wanting To Mention It For A Month,  But Hardly

Knew How To Bring It Up. You May Know,  Mostyn,  That I Have Been

Thinking Of Giving Up Business Here Altogether. I Have Become More And

More Interested In My Farming Ventures,  And My Life In The Country Has

Taken Such A Grip On Me That I Want To Quit Atlanta Altogether."

"Oh,  I See." Mostyn Forced A Smile. "I Thought You Would Get To That

Before Long. You Are Becoming A Regular Hayseed,  Saunders. You Are

Like A Fish Out Of Water Here In Town. Well,  I Suppose You Want To Put

A Man In Your Place So You Will Have Freer Rein In Every Way."

"Not That,  Exactly,  Mostyn. The Fact Is,  I Want To Realize On My Bank

Stock. There Are Other Things I'd Like To Invest In,  And I Need The

Money To Do It With. I Am Planning A Cotton-Mill In My Section To Give

Employment To A Worthy Class Of Poor People."

Mostyn Drew His Lips Tight. He Stabbed A Sheet Of Paper On The Green

Felt Before Him,  And There Was A Rebellious Flash From His Eyes.

"Come Right Out And Be Frank About It," He Said,  With A Touch Of

Anger. "Are You Afraid Your Investment In This Bank Is Not A Safe

One?"

Saunders Looked Steadily At Him. "That Certainly Is Not A Businesslike

Question,  Mostyn,  And You Know It."

"Perhaps It Isn't,  But What Does It Matter?" Mostyn Retorted. "At Any

Rate,  That Is A Shrewd Evasion Of The Point. Well,  Do You Want To Sell

_Me_ Your Stock?"

"I Would Naturally Give You The Preference,  And That Is Why I Am

Mentioning It To You."

Mostyn Sat Frowning Morbidly. There Was A Visible Droop To His

Shoulders. "There Is No Use Having Hard Feelings Over It," He Said,

Dejectedly. "You Have A Right To Do As You Please With Your Interests.

But The Truth Is,  I Am Not Financially Able To Take Over As Big A

Block Of Stock As You Hold."

Saunders Hesitated For A Moment,  Then Began: "I Was Wondering If Mr.

Mitchell--"

"Leave Him Out Of Consideration,  For God's Sake," Mostyn Broke In. "He

Has Grown Horribly Suspicious Of Me. He Would Have A Regular Spasm If

You Tried To Sell To Him. He Would Be Sure We Are On The Brink Of

Failure,  And Talk All Over Town. Don't Mention It To Him."

"And You Say You Are Not In A Position To--"

"No; Many Things Have Gone Against Me Recently,  But That Needn't

Bother You. You Can Find A Buyer."

"I Have Already Found One,  And The Offer Is Satisfactory." Saunders

Glued His Glance To The Rug At His Feet. "In Fact,  I Have Been

Approached More Than Once,  Delbridge Wants To Buy Me Out."

"Delbridge!" Mostyn Started. His Lips Parted And His Teeth Showed In A

Cold Grimace. "Ah,  I See His Game!"

"I Don't Understand," Saunders Said,  Wonderingly.

"Well,  I Do,  If You Don't. I Suspected Something Was In The Wind Last

Month When He Took Over Cartwright's Stock At Such A Good Figure. Do

You Know If He Gets Your Stock That He Will Hold A Larger Interest

Than Mine?"

"I Hadn't Thought Of It."

"I See His Plan Plainly. He Wants To Be The President Of This Bank,

And He Can Elect Himself If He Buys You Out. He Has Always Wanted

Exactly This Sort Of Thing To Back Up His Various Schemes. You Must

Give Me A Little While To Think It Over,  Saunders. I Don't Like To

Give In To Him. He Has Always Fought Me,  You Know,  And This Would Be A

Feather In His Cap. Perhaps I Can Induce Some One Else To Make The

Investment."

"Take All The Time You Want," Saunders Answered. "I Want You To Be

Satisfied."

"Well,  I'll Let You Know To-Day,  Or To-Morrow,  At Furthest," Mostyn

Said,  Wearily. "If I Can't Make Some Arrangement I'll Have To Give In,

That's All. My Affairs Are Getting Pretty Badly Tangled,  But I'll Come

Out All Right."

When Saunders Had Left Him And The Door Had Closed,  Mostyn Leaned His

Head On His Hand And Tried To Collect His Wits,  But To No Avail. What

Was The Intangible Thing Which Had Haunted Him Through The Night,

Causing Him To Lie Awake,  Reciting Over And Over Old Mitchell's

Account Of The Scene With His Daughter Just Before Her Departure? What

Was It That Kept Coupling This Hurried Trip Of Hers With Buckton? Was

Thought-Transference A Scientific Fact,  As Many Hold,  And Was The

Insistent Impression Due To The Bearing Of Culpable Minds Upon His? He

Might Telephone Here And There And Find Out If Buckton Was In Town--

But No,  No,  That Would Not Do.

The Porter Opened The Door And Came In With A Bundle Of Letters And

Papers Which He Put Down Before Him And Withdrew. A Grim Foreboding

Settled On Him. Something Seemed To Whisper From The Mute Heap That

Here Lay The Revelation--Here Was The Missing Communication From Irene

Of Which Her Father Had Spoken. A Bare Glance At The Bundle Was

Enough,  For He Recognized The Pale-Blue Envelope Belonging To Irene's

Favorite Stationery. With Bloodless Fingers,  Breathlessly,  He Drew It

Out. It Had Been Posted The Night Before. Surely,  He Told Himself,

There Was Meaning In This Slower Method Of Delivery,  For What Had

Prevented Her From Leaving It At Home In His Room Or In Her Father's

Care? Or,  For That Matter,  Why Had She Not Telephoned Him? He Laid The

Communication Down,  Unopened. He Was Afraid Of It. Had The Skies Been

Stone,  Their Supports Straws,  His Dread Could Not Have Been Greater.

He Went To The Door And Softly Turned The Key. There Should Be No Eye

Upon Him. He Came Back. Taking A Paper-Knife,  He Slit The Envelope And

Spread Out The Perfumed Sheet. It Read:

Dear Dick,--There Is No Use Keeping Up This Senseless Farce Any

Longer. I Am Sick To Death With My Very Existence. I Have Been Hungry

For Love All My Life,  And Never Had It. When I Married I Mistreated

The Only Man I Ever Cared For,  And I Have Resolved To Do So No Longer.

Andy And I Are Leaving Together. God Only Knows If We Shall Find The

Happiness We Are Seeking,  But We Are Going To Try. Father Thinks I

Have Gone To The Hardys'. Perhaps He May As Well Be Kept In Ignorance

For A Few Days Longer. The Truth Will Leak Out Soon Enough. Though You

May Do As You Like About This. As For Your Following Us And Making

Things Unpleasant,  I Have No Fears,  For,  As You Well Know,  I Am

Entitled To My Liberty In This Matter. You Have Certainly Not Been

Molested By Me In Your Own Private Life. I Now Know All About The

Cottage In The Outskirts Of Town,  But I Am Not Blaming You In The

Least. I Confess That I Thought You Had Ceased Your Attentions In That

Quarter,  But That Was Because I Attributed A Certain Spiritual And

Remorseful Quality To You Which You Do Not Possess. I Am Not Blaming

You At All--_At All_. In Fact,  Somehow The Discovery Has Had A

Soothing Effect On Me. It Has Confirmed The Feeling That Both You And

I Have Been And Are The Mere Playthings Of Fate. As I See It,  I Am

Doing My Duty. I Led Poor Andy On Before My Marriage. I Kissed Him--

I've Kissed Him A Thousand Times,  Both Before And Since My Marriage.

He Can't Live Without Me,  And I Can't Live Without His Love And Future

Companionship. Life Is Too Short To Spend It In The Sheer Misery I

Have Been In Of Late. He And I Are Going Out Into The Great World To

Live,  Enjoy,  And Die Together. People Will Talk,  But We Can't Help

That--The Truth Is,  We Don't Care. You Will Blame Me For Leaving The

Child,  For You Do Love Him,  But I Can't Help That. He Was Born Out Of

Love,  And Was Always A Reproach To Me. You Will Take Care Of Him; I

Know That,  And Better Than If I Were There.

Good-By.                                    Irene.

Mostyn Folded The Sheet And Thrust It Into His Pocket. Going To A

Window,  He Stood Looking Out On The Dusty Street. Drays And Cabs Were

Trundling By. Had His Back Been Bared To The Thonged Scourge Of The

Public Whipping-Post And The Blows Been Falling Under The Strokes Of A

Giant,  He Could Not Have Cringed More. He Saw Himself The Laughing-

Stock Of The Town,  The Fool Provider For Another Man's Passion. He Saw

His Adored Child,  Now Worse Than Motherless,  Growing Up Into Open-Eyed

Consciousness Of His Hereditary Shame. He Saw His Wreck Of A Father-

In-Law Glaring At Him In Senile Indignation. What Was To Be Done--What

_Could_ Be Done? Nothing--Simply Nothing. Men Of Honor In The Past Had

Been Able To Wipe Out Stains Like Those And Keep Their Heads Erect,

But To Assume That He Was "A Man Of Honor," As Matters Stood,  Would Be

The Height Of Absurdity. He Certainly Would Not Announce The News To

Mitchell. He Would Ward Off The Disclosure As Long As Possible,  And

Then--Well,  There Was No Knowing What Would Happen.

Going To The Door,  He Unlocked It And Peered Into The Busy Bank. His

Glance Fell On Saunders's Desk. Saunders Was Not There. He Had Decided

To Speak To Him With Finality In Regard To The Disposition Of His

Stock. What Mattered It Now Who Held The Office Of President? In Fact,

The