Cupid's Middleman Part 26

I was astounded beyond measure. Flanagan's eyes bulged. Captain Martin was unruffled. He dealt with that sort of deviltry every day, and read the mind of Smith as if it were a child's primer. He gave the impression of knowing all about the mysterious Stuffer feature of the case. If the hotel proprietor had robbed Mr. Tescheron, I was surprised he had not mentioned the matter to me. He said nothing of birds. He couldn't have eaten them, thought I. My curiosity was greatly aroused.

"Mr. Smith, alias Mr. Van Riper, alias Mr. Stewart, what name have you your bank account under, these days?" asked Captain Martin.

"Under the name of William P. Smith, at the Lincoln Bank." He answered without hesitating, being duly impressed by the official atmosphere of the place, whereas I wouldn't have had the thing made public by a regular complaint for all the world.

"Got no blank checks with you, I suppose?" asked the captain.

"No, sir."

"How much of a balance have you there?"

"About fifteen thousand dollars."

"It's past banking hours now, Smithy, so I tell you what you'll have to do. Take these blank checks here and make out one to--"

"Albert Tescheron," said I.

"One to Albert Tescheron for--let me see--for $10,572.68, and one to Benjamin Hopkins for $1,010. You will then have to bunk in here to-night with me until I learn that these parties have collected the money. Then you can go, but you'll have to pack out of town and stay out."

"How would the cash do, captain?" eagerly asked Smith.

"Got it with you?"

"I can telephone for it and have it here in twenty minutes."

"Take this 'phone and do it. We'll wait."

Enough greenbacks and change to make $10,572.68 fell into Mr.

Tescheron's hands with a long letter of explanation from me, as he entered his home that night, and I grasped $1,010.

As to Flanagan and Tom Martin--did I treat? Well, I guess so! Do you blame me?

CHAPTER XXVI

The address on my card brought Gabrielle directly to my rooms, and when I returned I found the lovers blissfully united, after only one day of direst wretchedness. They rushed toward me as I entered and doubly embraced me. I was the crowned hero--crowned with more praise than I could well carry.

"How happy you have made us!" cried Gabrielle. "You cruel joker; but we forgive you. Oh, you do not know--you can never know the service you have performed this day. Our lives would have been ruined had you not been here to manage this affair."

"Ben, I forgive you for writing those letters, now. You are the greatest man that ever lived. George Washington couldn't cla.s.s with you," said Jim.

"Probably not," said I. "I certainly told many a good lie when I wrote those letters. You set me on fire and saved me. I have done the same for you."

Jim was radiant and rosy as in the old days. Gabrielle never looked more beautiful. Wasn't I happy!

We talked it all over, and I laid a wager with them both that Mr.

Tescheron would repent that night to Gabrielle before she could tell him of her definite plans. I did not tell them why I thought I was betting on a sure thing.

I carried out telegrams of joy and summonses to the Gibsons and Hygeia.

CHAPTER XXVII

The Hosley-Tescheron wedding was the happiest society event in my life.

Hygeia, as bridesmaid, dazzled me into forgetfulness; but I stood up and did my part, nevertheless, with a fair degree of precision, but might have done better had I practiced trying to find a ring in my pocket while wearing a glove. Mr. Tescheron behaved admirably. He and his lordly son-in-law on that day really began to get acquainted. The sheepish look he gave me at the wedding betrayed that my letter with the money had happily convinced him, and also his trip to the little cemetery.

Concerning Gabrielle and Nellie Gibson, her maid of honor, I would need to shower the technicalities of a fashion journal's vocabulary to present a picture of the loveliness wrought by milliners and dressmakers from the choicest fabrics to grace the slender figures of those pretty girls. Mrs. Tescheron's tears were those of joy. My joy was without tears, for the occasion brought a hearty welcome to Hygeia's Connecticut home.

Jim Hosley and I are a.s.sociated to-day in the management of one of the largest industries rehabilitated by that great executive, John MacDonald, with whom we are on terms of close intimacy. We are surprised at the changes that have come in a few years, and as we look back, we often wonder if the folly of those bachelor days was not after all profitable. Mr. Tescheron has lived long enough to believe it was.

To-day he is a charming father-in-law and grandpa, with an improved sense of humor which has robbed him of his keen interest in ornithology, for I heard him say he wished the Stukeville collection would burn up.

As for myself, I am not willing to intrude my family affairs here beyond the statement that my days of gloom are over. I ceased to try, and--but as I wanted to add, Gabrielle is clever at housekeeping along the most approved scientific lines. Cooking she regards as a form of chemistry, and she keeps scales in her kitchen to save good dishes from disaster due to the reckless "pinch of this and pinch of that" system. What a contrast with Jim's system of frying eggs! And the marvel of it is, that, in spite of this hospital-like regularity and method, her little dinners at her beautiful home in our model industrial community are amazingly gratifying--solid in breadth and foundation, and alluringly decorated with the ornamental bisque congealments founded on the froth and frosting of beaten egg and whipped cream. My experience as a housekeeper helps me to appreciate fine work in this department of life.

I should say that an epicure would make no mistake in marrying a woman lawyer.

The one hundred and sixty-two letters and fitments I have preserved in a leather-bound sc.r.a.p-book. I have not the slightest idea what they would be worth in the literary market, but I do know they brought us much joy and sorrow, and I would not part with these flowery souvenirs of the days of youth when all jokes seemed legitimate. They contained more poetry than truth, I fear; but like good fiction, they brought me face to face with some of the most interesting phases of life.

Oh, I forgot to add that Gabrielle's beautiful home was the father's gift to the bride, estimated to cost just $10,572.68, but I know there were many "extras." Was Gabrielle surprised at this? Why, she thinks I am a wonderfully fine fellow, and so does Jim.

What does Hygeia think?

Well--ahem!

THE END

FOOTNOTES:

[A] These cuts were too blurred to reproduce.

[B] Acting under Section 1519 of the Poetic License Act, I have deducted one eye from the flounder. He is about to lose both, anyway.