“I saved them out of my pension, then.”
“Papa! Out of your pension! Fifty pensions like yours wouldn’t make that amount.”
The old man turned upon her, with recovered strength.
“Do you take me for a thief?” he gnashed.
“Perhaps you have a reason of your own,” said Hugh, “for not wishing to tell where the money came from.”
“I have. I have a dozen. I have a thousand.”
“Let us say no more about it, then. For my part, I regard you as above suspicion.”
“So do I,” said Jenny.
“And it’s lucky you do,” bawled the old man, all his former assurance and bravado returning. “It’s mighty lucky you do. You don’t know what a narrow squeeze you’ve had. You don’t either of you know of what I am capable when I’m vexed. But what do you mean, anyway, by asking me questions? Such impudence!”
“There, there, papa,” murmured Jenny.
“Yes, miss, such impudence! Now, you can accept what I choose to give you and accept it, too, with a devilish good grace or—or that’s the end of the marriage. I’ll pack you off to a convent, by gad, that’s just what I’ll do with you.”
And as he made these direful threats the fierce old man fairly chuckled.
“I’ll be good as gold,” said Jenny, seraphically.
“Well, you had better, and so had that lackadaisical simpleton there. Now, let us talk about the wedding. Good Heavens, what’s that?”
There had come on the door a knock that would have waked the dead. The old man jumped as though stung by a wasp.
“Don’t let anyone come in,” he entreated. “Barricade the door, hide me somewhere.”
His hands were trembling so that he could hardly get the oilskin package back in his pocket. His face was haggard and his eyes dilated, and suddenly he assumed the appearance of a hunted beast.
“Hide me,” he implored. “Don’t let anyone in!”
“But before either Hugh or Jenny could make even a pretense at obeying him, the door flew open and a little man with a long beard entered the room.
“Thundering guns!” he exclaimed, “I can’t congratulate you on your stairs.”
“Sir,” said Hugh, stepping forward, “to what do I owe the honor—”
“Do you mean to say that you don’t remember me?”
“I do not, sir; and as I happen to be discussing family matters—”
Mr. Sisseton beckoned frantically to Jenny, and slid like a shadow through the door.
“I will join you in a moment!” Hugh called after them. “Now, sir,” he continued; “what is it?”
“Nice gal, that,” said the stranger, appreciatively. “Why, there she is again, and again,” he added, pointing to the pictures that illuminated the room. “Is the old party her pa?”
“Sir, I am waiting—”
“Thundering guns! so you are, dear boy. Let’s sit down; those stairs of yours would tire a resurrectionist.”
IV
The little man straddled a chair and gave a tug at his beard.
“A nice fellow, you are,” he muttered, with a fine show of indignation. “You save a man’s life and forget all about him. What kind of behavior is that? I was starving last month and you loaned me a dollar. Here it is.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Hugh, a trifle mollified; “I remember you now.”
“I should have repaid it before, but I didn’t have it.”
“Excellent reason; but then there was no hurry. I don’t see how you found me, though.”
“No trouble about that; all I had to do was to ask that fat harridan downstairs; the difficulty was to get the coin. After you bolted I had something to eat and invested the change in pencils, which I peddled at a profit, turned the proceeds into fancy notions; and, here I am, hale and hearty, with the future before me and a cool hundred in my pocket.”
“Bravo!” said Hugh. “I like your grit.”
“Bah! I’ll be a millionaire yet, and buy some of your pictures—that one, for instance; the pretty girl who is to be your wife.”
“And how the dickens did you know that?”
“I’m quick as a flash, that’s what I am. I can catch on quicker than any man you ever saw. But anyone would have known what was going on here. Bless your dear soul, I had only to catch a glimpse of her sweet face to know what was up. You’re not painting her picture for money, I’ll be bound.”
“Sir,” cried Hugh, irritated in spite of himself by the free and easy form of address, “I am very busy, and if—”
“Tut, tut. I have taken a fancy to you and you mustn’t be cross. Besides, it’s only my way. Let me tell you my story.”
“What for?”
“That you may know who I am, of course. I may look seedy, but I’m a man worth cultivating. You never heard of such an extraordinary fellow as I am. I have had a career that is simply marvelous. At twelve I was running a printing press in Toronto. The next year I made a fortune off a patent bit, and lost it in a night bucking the tiger. I have been an aeronaut, a telegraph operator, a nabob and a cook. I have followed a dozen trades—some honest, some not. I have engineered companies out of which millions have been made. I have been a miner in Arizona, in Cape Colony, in Peru I had the concession for lighting St. Petersburg with electricity and the charter for trams in Madras. I have handled cargoes of elephant tusks and smuggled opium in books. I have been a three-card monte man on the Pacific slope and led revivals in Maine. The Wandering Jew is nothing to me. I have been everywhere, seen everything, and, though I am sixty years old, I am strong as an ox. With this hundred I shall open a cigar-shop. When I have a thousand to my credit I’ll take a hack at the Street.”
“With what?”
“With my brains, of course. What is there wonderful about speculating with the ready? Thundering guns! give me fifty thousand today and in a month I’ll quadruple it.”
“Or go broke.”
“Not a bit of
