The Dominant Dollar Part 13

You recall I prophesied once before--"

"Yes, I recall."

Armstrong started involuntarily. Another memory had intruded.

"You remember--something else I predicted, do you?"

A slow smile formed on Roberts' lips.

"You said that sometime we'd hate each other, in the same measure that we were friends now."

"Yes; and it's so. I feel it; why I don't know, can't imagine--yet. But it will come about as surely as to-morrow will come." He looked at his companion steadily, unsmilingly prophetic. "Good-bye, friend Darley Roberts. You're going--and you won't return. Good-bye."

An instant Roberts stood as he was, motionless; then he turned swiftly.

"You're morbid to-night, Armstrong," he returned slowly. "In the morning the sun will shine and the world will look very different. As for my leaving--you'll find another man who'll make a lot better mate than I am.

I'm not a good fellow in the least."

"I know it," bluntly. "That's why you're good for me." Unconsciously his glance travelled to the mantel, and shifted hurriedly. "I'm a kind of clinging vine, I guess. To change the figure of speech, I need a stiff rudder to keep me headed straight to windward. I'll--miss you," simply.

Roberts hesitated a moment, choosing his words carefully.

"We can't very well always be together, though," he suggested at last slowly.

"No, we can't. I realize it. It's--Pardon an a.s.s and go to bed, old man."

For perhaps half a minute Roberts stood there, the fire from the open grate lighting his face, his big capable hands loose at his sides. He made no motion to leave, nor for a s.p.a.ce to speak; characteristically abrupt, he turned, facing his companion directly.

"Armstrong," he said, "I can't work up to things delicately and have them seemingly happen by chance. Nature didn't endow me with that ability. I have to come out with a broadside shot or not at all. I'm going to do so now. Why don't you get married? Miss Gleason will be a better rudder immeasurably than I am."

Involuntarily Armstrong flushed, slowly the color faded. He said nothing.

"I know I'm intruding and offending," went on the other; "you show that, but you said a bit ago I was your friend and the thing is on my mind.

Believe this at least: I was never more your friend than when I advise the move now. I repeat: why don't you get married, at once?"

"Why? You know why, Darley. It's the old reason--the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker. They still hold the fort."

"No, not for you--unless you let them. Forgive another broadside. If you get pinched temporarily let a friend be of service. I'm not afraid to trust you. Anyway I chance it. We all have to chance something for happiness. Don't delay any longer, man, don't!"

"Don't?" Of a sudden Armstrong glanced up and met the other's look steadily. "Don't?" he repeated. "Why do you say that, please?"

A second Roberts met the lifted questioning eyes.

"Because I meant it," he said. "Please don't ask me to say more."

"But I do ask it," pressed Armstrong, stubbornly. "You meant something particular by that, something I have the right to know."

"Won't you consider what I suggested," asked Roberts in a low tone; "merely consider it?"

"Perhaps after you tell me what you meant. Why 'don't,' please?"

On the cosy room fell silence,--the silence of midnight; the longest silence of that interrupted understanding. For a long while Roberts stood precisely as he was; he started walking, measuring the breadth of the room and back again; something the watcher had never known him to do before, never in the years of acquaintance, no matter what the uncertainty or difficulty confronting. A second time he followed the trail back and forth, until, watching him, the spectator felt at last something like terror of the thing he had deliberately conjured and that now was inevitably coming very near; for at last Roberts had halted, was standing over him.

"In all the time that I've known you, Armstrong," said a voice, a new voice, "you've asked my advice repeatedly, asked the reason for it, insisted that I explain minutely, and disregarded it absolutely. I've tried to be honest with you each time, tried to be of service; and still you've disregarded. It's been the same to-night, the old, old story. I've been dead in earnest, tried to be unselfish, and still you question and doubt and insist." A second the voice halted, the speaker glancing down, not a.n.a.lytically or whimsically, as usual, but of a sudden icy cold. "You insist now, against my request, and once more I'm going to humor you. You wish to know what I meant by 'don't' delay. I meant just this, man, just this and no more: Chances for happiness come to us all sometime in our lives. They knock at our door and wait for us to open. Sometimes, not often, they knock twice; but they don't keep on knocking forever. There are a mult.i.tude of other doors in the world and, after a while, opportunity, our opportunity, goes by, and never returns; no matter how loudly we call. Is that clear enough, man?"

"In the abstract, yes." Armstrong's lips were dry and he moistened them unconsciously. "In the concrete, though, as it applies to my--happiness--"

"G.o.d, you're an egotist, Armstrong! Is it possible you can't understand, or won't?"

Slowly, with an effort, Armstrong arose; his face of a sudden gray, his hands fastened to the back of his chair.

"You mean to suggest that Elice," he began, "that Elice--You dare to suggest that to me?"

"Dare?"

They looked at each other, not three feet apart.

"Dare?" Roberts repeated.

"Darley!"

"Don't! I've argued, advised, used persuasion--everything. Take that as a warning if you wish, or disregard it if you choose. I'm done."

On the chair back the fingers locked tighter and tighter, until they grew white. Tardy comprehension was coming at last.

"You mean to warn me," Armstrong scarcely recognized his own voice, "that you yourself--"

"Yes, I myself. That's why I warned you."

"You yourself," he repeated, "whom I introduced and took with me as my friend, my best friend--you--Judas!"

"Re-introduced." Roberts' eyes were as steady as his voice.

"Re-introduced--mark that. Miss Gleason has forgotten, but she was the first girl I met in the University, when I had one suit of frayed clothes to my name, and my stock was below par. Miss Gleason has forgotten, I say, had no reason to remember; but I--Nor--Judas; drop that for all time.... I've warned you, you understand."

"Darley!"

"No--Roberts. I'm no hypocrite. You've precipitated this understanding, compelled it; but perhaps it's as well. I'll move out of here to-morrow instead of in a month, if you wish. Do you wish it?"

Bit by bit the hands on the chair back, that had been so tense, loosened, and Armstrong sank back in his seat, his face turned away.

"I don't know--yet." His fingers were twitching aimlessly. "I want to think.... You, of all men, you!" He turned, his eyes ablaze, his voice thick. "Yes, go to-morrow, d.a.m.n you! and as for your warning, do as you please, get between us if you can." He laughed raspingly. "I'll delay--dangle, you catch that--as long as I see fit. I dare you."

An instant Roberts stood as he was; slowly and without a word he started for his room. As he did so Armstrong arose swiftly and, all but gropingly, his hand sought the red decanter on the mantel. "I dare you,"

he repeated blindly, "dare you!"

"Armstrong!" Roberts had halted, looking back. "Not for any one's sake but your own--think a second, man."

"To h.e.l.l with you and thought!"