Jack And The Check Book Part 11

"My child!" he cried, dancing about the room in a delirium of joy. "My beloved, my beautiful daughter--was ever miller so blessed as I! Wait!"

Rushing madly to the jeweled 'phone, he rang up Colonel Midas.

"Excuse me for bothering you, Colonel," he said, excitedly, "but this is Miller. I thought you would be interested to know that my daughter has turned the trick a little sooner than I expected. If you want to see the gold to-day instead of waiting until Monday, all you've got to do is to say so."

The wire fairly sizzled with the reply. Of course, Colonel Midas would not wait. In fact, he'd be right up. How much did the miller think the gold would pan out?

"Oh, about a thousand dollars," replied the miller.

"What?" roared Midas. "A thousand dollars' worth of gold from a seven-dollar bub--bale of straw?"

"That's the a.s.say office estimate," said the miller, with a smile. "You can't very well go behind that."

The answer was a long, low whistle, and within twenty minutes the great financier's car came chugging up to the door, and he entered the house, bringing with him a chemist.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THIS IS THE GREATEST CINCH IN THE HISTORY OF FINANCE"]

"By Jingo! Miller," he cried, after the chemist had applied every known test to the bar and declared it to be, beyond all question, the real stuff, "by Jingo, old man, our fortune is made. This is the greatest cinch in the history of finance."

"Looks that way," said the miller, calmly, leaning forward and tossing the steerage ticket into the waste-basket.

"We--er--we must keep it in the family, Miller," the Colonel added, slapping the proud father familiarly on the knee--for Gasmerilda had remembered the fairy G.o.dmother's injunction as to the use of her eyes.

"I intend to, Colonel," said the miller, dryly. "I'll keep it in _my_ family if you don't mind--"

Midas gasped, and then he laughed sheepishly.

"To think that I, a hardened old bachelor, should be a victim to love at first sight!" he said.

"Very funny indeed," laughed the miller.

"What would you say to me as a son-in-law, eh?" Midas went on. "You know I'm a decent chap, old man. No funny business about my private life--it's a good chance to get your daughter settled in life, and--"

"Well, I don't know," said the miller, coolly. "You are generally considered to be a fairly eligible sort of person, Midas, but my daughter can afford to marry for love as long as the straw crop holds good."

A glitter came into Midas's eye.

"What if I were to corner the market?" he demanded.

"That would be bad for Gasmerilda and me," the miller agreed. "Mind you, I haven't said I disapproved of the match, but let's be perfectly frank with each other. I'm not going to sell my daughter to you or to anybody else, but you know how things run these days. A man's a millionaire to-day and a member of the down-and-out club to-morrow. Now, I don't know the first blessed thing about your prospects. You are rich now, but who knows that before 1915 you won't be in a federal jail somewhere without a nickel?"

"I see your point," said Midas, "and I'll settle five million on her to-morrow."

"Real money?" he demanded.

"Real money," said Midas.

"Done!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the miller.

And so the papers settling five million dollars in approved securities upon the miller's daughter were executed, and three months later that invincible old bachelor, John W. Midas, for whom countless widows had set their caps in vain, was led to the altar by the blushing and happy Gasmerilda. The groom's gift to the bride was a princely one, consisting of ten million dollars' worth of the preferred stock of the newly organized American Straw and Hay Trust, of which Colonel Midas was president, a concern controlling all the leading straw industries of the United States and some said of foreign lands as well. The papers called it the most brilliant match of the season, but, none the less, the bride had some misgivings. She knew, and somehow or other in the perspective of the vista of wedded bliss ahead of her, no larger than a pin-head, she seemed at times to see the first faint symptoms of a cloud which might sooner or later obscure the whole heavens; aye, even that vast stretch of blue that reached from the easternmost part of New York to the westernmost boundaries of Reno, Nevada. Still, back of this was a silver--nay, a golden--lining, for Gasmerilda was now the possessor in her own right of five million dollars in real money, and with such a possession in hand one can stand a good deal of domestic misunderstanding.

And even then there was the chance that the sporting instincts of Colonel Midas would prove to be such that he would admire the genius back of the trans.m.u.tation that had originally won him--in addition to which was the other fact that already, without a bale in sight, he had sold the public over fifty millions' worth of the common stock in the United States Straw and Hay Trust at 97-7/8.

The first check out of Gasmerilda's new account was as follows:

New York, January 17, 1911

No. 1

Pay to the order of The Fairy's Aid Society of America Seven hundred and fifty thousand Dollars ($750,000.00)

GASMERILDA MILLER MIDAS

And she lived extravagantly forever afterward.

V

THE INVISIBLE CLOAK

"I am very sorry, sorr," said the janitor as he turned off the heat and disconnected the electric lights. "'Tain't me as is doin' ut--ut's the owner of the buildin'. He says the rint ain't been paid for six mont's, and while he ain't hard-hearted enough to turn n.o.body out on the sthreet such weather as this, he don't see no use in dandlin' tinants what don't pay in no lap o' luxury."

Jack looked at the man in silence, completely stunned by this new development in a situation already sufficiently distressing.

"'Let him enjye all the pleasures of the roof, Mike,' says he,"

continued the janitor, "'but no wooin' of his beauty sleep to the soft music of the steam-radiator, nor 'lectric lights to cheer the dark places of his sperrit whin twilight comes. Ut's the land of the Midnight Sun for his till I see th' color of his bank account.'"

"But I shall freeze if you turn off the heat," protested Jack.

"That's the answer, I guess," returned the janitor. "Ut's a pretty cold snap we do be havin'."

Jack buried his face in his hands and groaned. Things had gone ill for the unhappy lad for a long time now, and the sudden precipitation of winter weather found him practically penniless. For one reason or another no one seemed to care for his poetry, and his last story, from the proceeds of which he had expected to make enough to tide him over for a little while at least, had been returned by every editor in town.

"Ut's mighty sorry for you, I am," said the kindly janitor, his heart stirred by the pitiable picture of suffering before him. "I'd be afther leavin' t'ings as they are if I dared, but the old man's orders--"

"I know, I know," said Jack, wearily, "but it's awfully tough just the same. I can get along without food, but without light and heat I don't see how I can do my work."

"I'll lend yez a candle, sorr," said the janitor. "That'll help some. Ye can warm your hands over the flame of ut while you're doin' your t'inkin', and ut'll give ye light enough to put down what ye t'ink in between times."

"Good old Mike!" said Jack, wringing the other by the hand warmly. "When my ship comes in you shall have a good slice of the cargo for that."

"Sure an' she ain't la'nched yet, is she?" asked the janitor, with a grin, and then, as Jack seemed to have sunk into a dejected reverie, he gathered up his tools and left the room.

An hour pa.s.sed before the miserable lad even so much as raised his head.