In Her Own Right Part 37

"It's a bona fide offer--there's no trouble on that score."

"Then, what is the trouble?"

"This," said Croyden: "I'm broke--finally. The Parmenter treasure is moonshine, so far as I'm concerned. I'm down on my uppers, so to speak--my only a.s.sets are some worthless bonds. Behold! along comes an offer for them at par--two hundred thousand dollars for nothing! I fancy, old man, there is a friend back of this offer--the only friend I have in the world--and I did not think that even he was kind and self-sacrificing enough to do it.--I'm grateful, Colin, grateful from the heart, believe me, but I can't take your money."

"My money!" exclaimed Macloud--"you do me too much credit, Croyden. I'm ashamed to admit it, but I never thought of the bonds, or of helping you out, in your trouble. It's a way we have in Northumberland. We may feel for misfortune, but it rarely gets as far as our pockets. Don't imagine for a moment that I'm the purchaser. I'm not, though I wish, now, that I was."

"Will you give me your word on that?" Croyden demanded.

"I most a.s.suredly will," Macloud answered.

Croyden nodded. He was satisfied.

"There is no one else!" he mused, "no one else!" He looked at the letter again.... "And, yet, it is very suspicious, very suspicious....

I wonder, could I ascertain the name of the purchaser of the stocks and bonds, from the Trust Company who held them as collateral?"

"They won't know," said Macloud. "Blaxham & Company bought them at the public sale."

"I could try the transfer agent, or the registrar."

"They never tell anything, as you are aware," Macloud replied.

"I could refuse to sell unless Blaxham & Company disclosed their customer."

"Yes, you could--and, likely, lose the sale; they won't disclose.

However, that's your business," Macloud observed; "though, it's a pity to tilt at windmills, for a foolish notion."

Croyden creased and uncreased the letter--thinking.

Macloud resumed the smoke rings--and waited. It had proved easier than he had antic.i.p.ated. Croyden had not once thought of Elaine Cavendish--and his simple word had been sufficient to clear himself....

At length, Croyden put the letter back in its envelope and looked up.

"I'll sell the bonds," he said--"forward them at once with draft attached, if you will witness my signature to the transfer. But it's a queer proceeding, a queer proceeding: paying good money for bad!"

"That's his business--not yours," said Macloud, easily.

Croyden went to the escritoire and took the bonds from one of the drawers.

"You can judge, from the place I keep them, how much I thought them worth!" he laughed.

When they were duly transferred and witnessed, Croyden attached a draft drawn on an ordinary sheet of paper, dated Northumberland, and payable to his account at the Tuscarora Trust Company. He placed them in an envelope, sealed it and, enclosing it in a second envelope, pa.s.sed it over to Macloud.

"I don't care to inform them as to my whereabouts," he remarked, "so, if you don't mind, I'll trouble you to address this to some one in New York or Philadelphia, with a request that he mail the enclosed envelope for you."

Macloud, when he had done as requested, laid aside the pen and looked inquiringly at Croyden.

"Which, being interpreted," he said, "might mean that you don't intend to return to Northumberland."

"The interpretation does not go quite so far; it means, simply, that I have not decided."

"Don't you want to come back?" Macloud asked.

"It's a question of resolution, not of inclination," Croyden answered.

"I don't know whether I've sufficient resolution to go, and sufficient resolution to stay, if I do go. It may be easier not to go, at all--to live here, and wander, elsewhere, when the spirit moves."

And Macloud understood. "I've been thinking over the proposition you recently advanced of the folly of a relatively poor man marrying a rich girl," he said, "and you're all wrong. It's a question of the respective pair, not a theory that can be generalized over. I admit, the man should not be a pauper, but, if he have enough money to support _himself_, and the girl love him and he loves the girl, the fact that she has gobs more money, won't send them on the rocks. It's up to the pair, I repeat."

"Meaning, that it would be up to Elaine Cavendish and me?" answered Croyden.

"If you please, yes!" said Macloud.

"I wish I could be so sure," Croyden reflected. "Sure of the girl, as well as sure of myself."

"What are you doubtful about--yourself?"

Croyden laughed, a trifle self-consciously.

"I fancy I could manage myself," he said.

"Elaine?"

"Yes, Elaine!"

"Try her!--she's worth the try."

"From a monetary standpoint?" smiling.

"Get the miserable money out of your mind a moment, will you?--you're hipped on it!"

"All right, old man, anything for peace! Tell me, did you see her, when you were home?"

"I did--I dined with her."

"Who else was there?"

"You--she talked Croyden at least seven-eighths of the time; I, the other eighth."

"Must have been an interesting conversation. Anything left of the victim, afterward?"

"I refuse to become facetious," Macloud responded. Then he threw his cigar into the grate and arose. "It matters not what was said, nor who said it! If you will permit me the advice, you will take your chance while you have it."

"Have I a--chance?" Croyden asked.

"You have--more than a chance, if you act, now----" He walked across to the window. He would let that sink in.--"How's the Symphony in Blue?"

he asked.

"As charming as ever--and prepared for your coming."