“There was no other way,” protested Ripley, “you were quite right.”
“Well, after all,” continued Brewster, and the voice was as of one in a dream, “perhaps it’s as well to have been in Wonderland even if you have to come down afterward to the ordinary world. I am foolish, perhaps, but even now I would not give it up.” Then the thought of Peggy clutched him by the throat, and he stopped. After a moment he gathered himself together and rose. “Gentlemen,” he said sharply, and his voice had changed; “I have had my fun and this is the end of it. Down underneath I am desperately tired of the whole thing, and I give you my word that you will find me a different man tomorrow. I am going to buckle down to the real thing. I am going to prove that my grandfather’s blood is in me. And I shall come out on top.”
Ripley was obviously moved as he replied, “I don’t question it for a moment. You are made of the right stuff. I saw that long ago. You may count on us tomorrow for any amount you need.”
Grant endorsed the opinion. “I like your spirit, Brewster,” he said. “There are not many men who would have taken this as well. It’s pretty hard on you, too, and it’s a miserable wedding gift for your bride.”
“We may have important news from Butte in the morning,” said Ripley, hopefully; “at any rate, more of the details. The newspapers will have sensational stories no doubt, and we have asked for the latest particulars direct from the authorities. We’ll see that things are properly investigated. Go home now, my boy, and go to bed. You will begin tomorrow with good luck on your side and you may be happy all your life in spite of tonight’s depression.”
“I’m sure to be happy,” said Brewster, simply. “The ceremony takes place at seven o’clock, gentlemen. I was coming to your office at nine on a little matter of business, but I fancy it won’t after all be necessary for me to hurry. I’ll drop in before noon, however, and get that money. By the way, here are the receipts for the money I spent tonight. Will you put them away with the others? I intend to live up to my part of the contract, and it will save me the trouble of presenting them regularly in the morning. Good night, gentlemen. I am sorry you were obliged to stay up so late on my account.”
He left them bravely enough, but he had more than one moment of weakness before he could meet his friends. The world seemed unreal and himself the most unreal thing in it. But the night air acted as a stimulant and helped him to call back his courage. When he entered the studio at one o’clock, he was prepared to redeem his promise to be “the jolliest fellow of them all.”
XXXIV
The Last Word
“I’ll tell you about it later, dear,” was all that Peggy, pleading, could draw from him.
At midnight Mrs. Dan had remonstrated with her. “You must go home, Peggy, dear,” she said. “It is disgraceful for you to stay up so late. I went to bed at eight o’clock the night before I was married.”
“And fell asleep at four in the morning,” smiled Peggy.
“You are quite mistaken, my dear. I did not fall asleep at all. But I won’t allow you to stop a minute longer. It puts rings under the eyes and sometimes they’re red the morning after.”
“Oh, you dear, sweet philosopher,” cried Peggy; “how wise you are. Do you think I need a beauty sleep?”
“I don’t want you to be a sleepy beauty, that’s all,” retorted Mrs. Dan.
Upon Monty’s return from his trying hour with the lawyers, he had been besieged with questions, but he was cleverly evasive. Peggy alone was insistent; she had curbed her curiosity until they were on the way home, and then she implored him to tell her what had happened. The misery he had endured was as nothing to his reckoning with the woman who had the right to expect fair treatment. His duty was clear, but the strain had been heavy and it was not easy to meet it.
“Peggy, something terrible has happened,” he faltered, uncertain of his course.
“Tell me everything, Monty, you can trust me to be brave.”
“When I asked you to marry me,” he continued gravely, “it was with the thought that I could give you everything tomorrow. I looked for a fortune. I never meant that you should marry a pauper.”
“I don’t understand. You tried to test my love for you?”
“No, child, not that. But I was pledged not to speak of the money I expected, and I wanted you so much before it came.”
“And it has failed you?” she answered. “I can’t see that it changes things. I expected to marry a pauper, as you call it. Do you think this could make a difference?”
“But you don’t understand, Peggy. I haven’t a penny in the world.”
“You hadn’t a penny when I accepted you,” she replied. “I am not afraid. I believe in you. And if you love me I shall not give you up.”
“Dearest!” and the carriage was at the door before another word was uttered. But Monty called to the coachman to drive just once around the block.
“Good night, my darling,” he said when they reached home. “Sleep till eight o’clock if you like. There is nothing now in the way of having the wedding at nine, instead of at seven. In fact, I have a reason for wanting my whole fortune to come to me then. You will be all that I have in the world, child, but I am the happiest man alive.”
In his room the
