Queed Part 53

"Yes," said Queed. "I have a.s.sumed all the time that the money you were spending here was your own."

There was a silence. Queed looked at the table-cloth. He had just become aware that his task was hateful to him. The one thing to do was to get it over as swiftly and decisively as possible.

"I am at a loss," said the old man, dryly, "to understand where the a.s.sumption comes in, in view of the fact that I have stated, more than once--"

"I am forced to tell you that I cannot accept these statements."

For a moment the brilliant eyes looked dangerous. "Are you aware that your language is exceedingly offensive?"

"Yes. I'm very sorry. Nevertheless, this tooth must come out. It has suddenly become apparent to me that you must be spending here the income on hardly less than seventy-five thousand dollars. Do you seriously ask me to believe, now that I directly bring up the matter, that you ama.s.sed this by a few years of school-teaching?"

Surface lit a cigarette, and, taking a slow puff, looked unwinkingly into the young man's eyes, which looked as steadily back into his own.

"You are mistaken in a.s.suming," he said sternly, "that, in giving you my affection, I have given you any right to cross-examine me in--"

"Yes, you gave it to me when you invited me to your house as, in part, your guest--"

"I am behind the times, indeed, if it is esteemed the privilege of a guest to spy upon his host."

"That," said Queed, quietly, "is altogether unjust. You must know that I am not capable of spying on you. I have, on the contrary, been culpably short-sighted. Never once have I doubted anything you told me until you yourself insisted on rubbing doubts repeatedly into my eyes. Professor,"

he went on rapidly, "are you aware that those familiar with your story say that, when you--that, after your misfortune, you started life again with a bank account of between one and two hundred thousand dollars?"

The black eyes lit up like two shoe-b.u.t.tons in the sunlight. "That is a wicked falsehood, invented at the time by a lying reporter--"

"Do you a.s.sert that everything you have now has been earned since your misfortune?"

"Precisely that."

The voice was indignantly firm, but Queed, looking into the old man's face, read there as plain as day that he was lying.

"Think a moment," he said sorrowfully. "This is pretty serious, you see.

Are you absolutely sure that you carried over nothing at all?"

"In the sight of G.o.d, I did not. But let me tell you, my friend--"

A chair-leg sc.r.a.ped on the carpeted floor, and Queed was standing, playing his trump card with a grim face.

"We must say good-by, Professor--now. I'll send for my things in the morning."

"What do you mean, you--"

"That you and I part company to-night. Good-by."

"Stop!" cried Surface. He rose, greatly excited and leaned over the table. A faint flush drove the yellow from his cheek; his eyes were blazing. He shook a menacing finger at close range in Queed's face, which remained entirely unmoved by the demonstration.

"So this is the reward of my kindness and affection! I won't endure it, do you understand? I won't be kicked into the gutter like an old shoe, do you hear? Sit down in that chair. I forbid you to leave the house."

Queed's gaze was more formidable than his own. "Mr. Surface," he said, in a peculiarly quiet voice, "you forget yourself strangely. You are in no position to speak to me like this."

Surface appeared suddenly to agree with him. He fell back into his chair and dropped his face into his hands.

Queed, standing where he was, watched him across the tiny dinner-table and, against his reason, felt very sorry. How humiliating this ripping up of old dishonor was to the proud old man, rogue though he was, he understood well enough. From n.o.body in the world but him, he knew, would Surface ever have suffered it to proceed as far as this, and this knowledge made him want to handle the knife with as little roughness as possible.

"I--was wrong," said the m.u.f.fled voice. "I ask your forgiveness for my outbreak."

"You have it."

Surface straightened himself up, and, by an obvious effort, managed to recapture something like his usual smoothness of voice and manner.

"Will you be good enough to sit down? I will tell you what you wish."

"Certainly. Thank you."

Queed resumed his seat. His face was a little pale, but otherwise just as usual. Inwardly, after the moment of critical uncertainty, he was shaken by a tempest of fierce exultation. His club, after all, was going to be strong enough; the old man would give up the money rather than give up him.

Surface picked up his cigarette. All his storm signals had disappeared as by magic.

"I did manage," began the old man, flicking off his ash with an admirable effect of calm, "to save a small nest-egg from the wreck, to keep me from the poorhouse in my old age. I did not wish to tell you this because, with your lack of acquaintance with business methods, the details would only confuse, and possibly mislead, you. I had, too, another reason for wishing to keep it a surprise. You have forced me, against my preferences, to tell you. As to this small pittance," he said, without the flicker of an eye-lash, "any court in the country would tell you that it is fairly and honorably mine."

"Thank you. I appreciate your telling me this." Queed leaned over the table, and began speaking in a quiet, brisk voice. "Now, then, here is the situation. You have a certain sum of money put away somewhere, estimated to be not less than a hundred thousand dollars--"

"Nothing of the sort! Far less than that! A few beggarly thousands, which--"

"Very well--a few thousands. Of course your books will readily show the exact figures. This money was withheld at the time your affairs were settled, and therefore was not applied to reducing the--the loss on the trustee account. Of course, if its existence had been known, it would have been so applied. In other words, the Weyland estate has been deprived to the exact extent of the sum withheld. Fortunately, it is never too late to correct an error of this sort. My idea is that we should make the rest.i.tution without the loss of an unnecessary day."

Doubtless the old man had seen it coming; he heard the galling proposal with a face which showed nothing stronger than profound surprise.

"Rest.i.tution! My dear boy, I owe no rest.i.tution to any one."

"You hardly take the position that you have acquired a t.i.tle to the Weyland trustee funds?"

"Ah, there it is!" purred Surface, making a melancholy gesture. "You see why I did not wish to open up this complicated subject. Your ignorance, if you will pardon me, of modern business procedure, makes it very difficult for you to grasp the matter in its proper bearings. Without going into too much detail, let me try to explain it to you. This settlement of my affairs that you speak of was forcibly done by the courts, in the interest of others, and to my great injury. The rascals set out to cut my throat--was it required of me to whet the knife for them? They set out to strip me of the last penny I had, and they had every advantage, despotic powers, with complete access to all my private papers. If the robbers overlooked something that I had, a bagatelle I needed for the days of my adversity, was it my business to pluck them by the sleeve and turn traitor to myself? Why, the law itself gave me what they pa.s.sed over. I was declared a bankrupt. Don't you know what that means? It means that the courts a.s.sumed responsibility for my affairs, paid off my creditors, and, as a small compensation for having robbed me, wiped the slate clean and declared me free of all claims. And this was twenty-five years ago. My dear boy! Read the Bankruptcy Act. Ask a lawyer, any lawyer--"

"Let us not speak of lawyers--now," interrupted Queed, stirring in his chair. "Let their opinion wait as a last alternative, which, I earnestly hope, need never be used at all. I am not bringing up this point to you now as a legal question, but as a moral one."

"Ah! You do not find that the morals provided by the law are good enough for you, then?"

"If your reading of the law is correct--of which I am not so certain as you are, I fear--it appears that they are not. But--"

"It is my misfortune," interrupted the old man, his hand tightening on the table-edge, "that your sympathies are not with me in the matter.

Mistaken sentiment, youthful Quixotism, lead you to take an absurdly distorted view of what--"

"No, I'm afraid not. You see, when stripped of all unnecessary language, the repulsive fact is just this: we are living here on money that was unlawfully abstracted from the Weyland estate. No matter what the law may say, we know that this money morally belongs to its original owners.

Now I ask you--"

"Let me put it another way. I can show you exactly where your misapprehension is--"

Queed stopped him short by a gesture. "My mind is so clear on this point that discussion only wastes our time."

The young man's burst of exultation was all but stillborn; already despair plucked chilly at his heart-strings. For the first time the depth of his feeling broke through into his voice: "Say, if you like that I am unreasonable, ignorant, unfair. Put it all down to besotted prejudice.... Can't you restore this money because I ask it? Won't you do it as a favor to me?"