The Coming of Bill

Ten minutes later, having thrown a few things together into a bag, Kirk

took his place at the wheel. Mamie sat beside him. The bag had the rear

seat to itself.

'There seems to be plenty of room still,' said Mr. Penway. 'I have half

a mind to come with you.'

He looked at Mamie.

'But on reflection I fancy you can get along without me.'

He stood at the door, gazing after the motor as it moved down the

street. When it had turned the corner he went back into the studio and

mixed himself a high-ball.

'Kirk does manage to find them,' he said enviously.

Chapter XI Mr. Penway on the Grill

Fate moves in a mysterious way. Luck comes hand in hand with

misfortune. What we lose on the swings we make up on the roundabouts.

If Keggs had not seen twenty-five of his hard-earned dollars pass at

one swoop into the clutches of the croupier at the apparently

untenanted house on Forty-First Street, and become disgusted with the

pleasing game of roulette, he might have delayed his return to the

house on Fifth Avenue till a later hour; in which case he would have

missed the remarkable and stimulating spectacle of Kirk driving to the

door in an automobile with Mamie at his side; of Mamie, jumping out and

entering the house; of Mamie leaving the house with a suit-case; of

Kirk helping her into the automobile, and of the automobile

disappearing with its interesting occupants up the avenue at a high

rate of speed.

Having lost his money, as stated, and having returned home, he was

enabled to be a witness, the only witness, of these notable events, and

his breast was filled with a calm joy in consequence. This was

something special. This was exclusive, a scoop. He looked forward to

the return of Mrs. Porter with an eagerness which, earlier in the day,

he would have considered impossible. Somehow Ruth did not figure in his

picture of the delivery of the sensational news that Mr. Winfield had

eloped with the young person engaged to look after her son. Mrs.

Porter's was one of those characters which monopolize any stage on

which they appear. Besides, Keggs disliked Mrs. Porter, and the

pleasure of the prospect of giving her a shock left no room for other

thoughts.

It was nearly seven o'clock when Mrs. Porter reached the house. She was

a little tired from the journey, but in high good humour. She had had a

thoroughly satisfactory interview with her publishers, satisfactory,

that is to say, to herself; the publishers had other views.

'Is Mrs. Winfield in?' she asked Keggs as he admitted her.

Ruth was always sympathetic about her guerrilla warfare with the

publishers. She looked forward to a cosy chat, in the course of which

she would trace, step by step, the progress of the late campaign which

had begun overnight and had culminated that morning in a sort of

Gettysburg, from which she had emerged with her arms full of captured

flags and all the other trophies of conquest.

'No, madam,' said Keggs. 'Mrs. Winfield has not yet returned.'

Keggs was an artist in tragic narration. He did not give away his