The Deaves Affair Part 3

"Don't be in a hurry," said Deaves. "Sit down and let's talk."

He evidently had something on his mind. Evan, curious to learn what it could be, sat down on a trunk.

"You're a good boy, and a strong boy," said the old man. "I'd like to do something for you."

"Don't mention it," said Evan grinning.

"Why don't you come every day and go out with me. I like to walk about. I can't stay cooped up here. I like the streets. But people recognise me."

"And make rude remarks," said Evan to himself.

"But with you I could go anywhere."

"Ah, a body-guard," thought Evan. The idea was not without its attractions. It would be an amusing job. He said:

"If you want to hire me I'm willing. I need the money."

"Hire you!" said the old man in a panic. "I never said anything about hiring you. I just mean a friendly arrangement. You have plenty of time on your hands. I'll give you good advice. Show you how to become a successful man."

"Thanks," said Evan dryly. "But the labels I paint bring in ready money."

"Many a young man would be glad of the chance to go around with Simeon Deaves," he went on cunningly. "It would be a liberal education for you."

Evan got up. It was the best argument he knew.

"You could have your meals here," Deaves said quickly. "They eat well.

There's enough wasted in this house to feed an orphanage."

"Sorry," said Evan. "It doesn't appeal to me."

"Well, you could have a room on the top floor. You look pretty good; Maud wouldn't mind you. Your living wouldn't cost you a cent."

Evan thought of the supercilious servants. Not for a bank president's salary would he have lived in that house. He said: "I'm open for an offer as I told you, but only during specified hours. I'd eat and sleep at home."

"You're a fool!" said the old man testily. "Free board and lodging! I haven't any money."

"All right," said Evan moving towards the door. "No harm done."

"Wait a minute. Maybe my son would lend me the money to pay you a small salary. He says I oughtn't to go out alone."

"A small salary doesn't interest me," said Evan boldly. "Fifty dollars a week is my figure."

Simeon Deaves gasped. "You're crazy. It's a fortune. At your age I wasn't making a third of that!"

"Very likely. But times have changed."

The old man now opened the door for Evan. As he did so there was a scuttle in the pa.s.sage and a figure whisked out of sight. "Snoopers!"

thought Evan.

"Will you show me the way up-stairs?" he said. "I don't care to use the servants' entrance."

"Sure, that's right," said Deaves soothingly. "I hope we won't meet Maud. Always picking on me."

As they headed for the stairs he said cajolingly: "Fifteen dollars a week; that's plenty to live on. Youngsters ought to live simply. It's good for their health."

"But how about putting something by?" said Evan slyly.

"Well, I think my son might go as high as seventeen-fifty if I asked him. Because you're a good boy and a strong boy."

"Thanks. Nothing doing."

As Evan resolutely mounted the stairs, the old man hobbling after said: "Well, I'll add two and a half to that myself. But that's my last word! Not another cent!"

"Nothing doing," said Evan again.

At the head of the stairs Deaves said nervously: "Better let me take a look to see if Maud's around." He peeped out. "All right, the coast is clear."

They were now in a square entrance hall of goodly size, very showily finished like a hotel with veneered panels, which already showed signs of wear. Imitation antique chairs stood about, and in front of the fireplace, which was certainly never intended to contain a fire, was spread a somewhat moth-eaten polar bear skin. Still it was grand after a fashion, and the old man in his hand-me-downs looked oddly out of place.

"Better think it over!" he said. "Twenty dollars a week! It's a splendid salary!"

"Nothing doing," said Evan, grinning. In a way he liked the old scoundrel.

Deaves affected to lose his temper. "Oh, you're too big for your shoes!" he cried. "Your demands are preposterous!"

Evan continued calmly to make his way towards the front door.

Just before they reached it the old man made one last appeal. "Twenty dollars!" he said plaintively.

A door at the back of the hall opened and an old-young man came out; that is to say he was young in years, but he seemed to bear the weight of an empire on his shoulders, and looked very, very sorry for himself.

He was dressed as if he had to be a pall-bearer that day, but that was his ordinary attire. He looked sharply from the old man to Evan.

"Who is this, Papa?" he demanded with the air of a school-master catching a boy red-handed.

The old man cringed. "This--this is a young man."

"So I see."

"Well, I--I didn't exactly ask him his name."

"Evan Weir," spoke up the young man for himself.

"He came home with me," said Deaves. "There was a little trouble."

The younger Deaves was horrified. "Another disgraceful street scene!"

he cried. Addressing Evan he said: "Please tell me exactly what happened." He glanced nervously over his shoulder. "But not here.

Come up to my library."