# The Forlorn Hope (Cameron)

Extracted from Harper's magazine, vol 120 1909 March, pp. 661–670. Accompanying illustrations by W. d. Stevens may be omitted.
The Forlorn Hope
BY MARGARET CAMERON
THERE was much comment and curiosity, when the story got about, concerning the identity of Kirk Ranlett's mysterious friend, but apparently it never occurred to any one to connect Judge Grosvenor with the adventure, and the principals in the affair, naturally, kept their own counsel.
If Jean Ranlett had not been one of the bridesmaids, it is doubtful whether Grosvenor would have come East at that time, even to attend Tom Keeler's wedding, for it was just before election, and he was a candidate for a second term.
He was the youngest judge on the bench of the Western State in which he had settled after leaving college, and was generally recognized as a brilliant and able man. That he was still a bachelor was a matter of much concern to various matrons who knew him and had never heard of Jean Ranlett, and wide and intricate were the nets spread for his ensnaring; but if he was conscious of this solicitude on the part of his women friends, he gave no sign. He was impartially attentive to all of them, but worked and waited for the time when he might approach the stately and fastidious Ranlett family from a position as dignified, if not as long established, as their own, and one which Jean would not have to step down to share.
He had decided that this time would have come when certain momentous decisions of his, which had already brought him much honor, had been confirmed by the upper courts and publicly endorsed by his re-election, and he had planned a trip East in the winter to see Jean, when he received a letter from her saying that she had decided to go abroad with her mother and sister for an indefinite period. Immediately following this came the invitation to be an usher at the Keeler-Towne wedding in New Rochelle, with the added information that Miss Ranlett had promised to stay over one steamer in order to serve as bridesmaid, and would sail on the day following the ceremony.
Therefore it was that he arrived in New York the evening before the wedding, with very definite plans as to the employment of his time during the two days of his stay. It was no part of his scheme that Kirk Ranlett should meet him at the station and ask him to lead a forlorn hope.
Grosvenor had never known Ranlett well, but he had been strongly attracted to the younger man by that very charm of manner and frank joyousness of nature which not infrequently involved their possessor, although he had reached an age when discretion is generally expected, in peccadillos entertaining to his friends and distressing to his family.
The New York man met Grosvenor with cordial conventionality, saying all the customary things with a warmth that made them seem fresh coinage, but the eyes of the lawyer instantly saw and recognized the haggard traces of anxiety and trouble, and for the first time he realized that Kirk Ranlett could no longer claim the exemptions of youth. Whatever the spirit in which he frolicked, he must pay as a man.
The matter was not mentioned, however, until Grosvenor said that, instead of going to a hotel in town, he intended to spend the night at the home of his widowed sister in Montclair, as it might be his only opportunity to see her. Ranlett stared fixedly at nothing for a moment. Then he said:
"I wish you'd give me half an hour now. Judge, before you go over there. Can you? I—the truth is, I'm in a deuce of a hole, and— Oh, I suppose there's nothing to do, but—anyhow, I'd like your advice."
Grosvenor wondered whether the other even dimly suspected how gladly he would undertake impossible feats to help Jean Ranlett's only brother, but all he said was:
"Certainly. I'll do what I can. First, let me telephone to my sister that I shall be detained." This done, his luggage was put on a cab, and as they drove away from the station the lawyer went directly to the point.
"What's the matter, Ranlett?"
"I've been a fool," said the other, tensely. "I got into a game the other night and lost more money than I ever had at one time. The notes are due to-morrow. I can't pay them. They are judgment notes. That's all."
"How much do they amount to?"
"Eight thousand dollars."
"H'm!" It was evident that the Judge was somewhat startled. "How much have you?"
"Not a cent of my own. I can raise about four thousand."
"Who holds the notes now?"
"The Midland National, of Philadelphia."
"A bank, eh? They won't renew them?"
"No."
"You've tried?"
"I've tried everything. Except—"
"Except?"
"Mother. I suppose she could raise it somehow, but I don't—"
"No, no," interrupted Grosvenor. "You mustn't go to your mother with this."
"That's the worst of it. Judge—the family, I mean. I made a fool of myself and I can take my medicine, but it's pretty tough to make mother and the girls take it too."
"Yes," assented the lawyer, "it is."
"You see, I've caused them a good bit of worry, one time and another, though I've never done anything quite so bad as this before. And now they're all so pleased that I've settled down to business—I have, you know, except for this one break—and they're going off so happily to Europe—or they think they are!" He shut his teeth and pressed his lips tightly together. Grosvenor nodded, in silence. Presently Ranlett resumed:
"Besides, mother hasn't any money on hand. She has nothing—none of us have—except a monthly allowance from father's estate, which is to be held in trust until I'm thirty-five. My father knew me, you see! She could probably raise it through her friends, but—"
"No," again interrupted Grosvenor, "that won't do."
They had arrived at Ranlett's club now, and he led the way to a quiet corner in the lounge, where they sat down.
"Tell me about it," said his guest. "How did it happen?"
"Oh, it's the same old story. A conceited fool who thought he knew something about cards, and a jolly good fellow who steered him up against some professional friends and unlimited booze. The situation hasn't even the merit of novelty. I deserve all I'll get. I've earned it. But the others— There's Jean. Jean's a brick, you know. No matter what has happened, she has always stood by me and believed in me. She has even been proud of me, at times. And now, when she knows this—" Again he shut his teeth hard and turned away.
"She mustn't know." Grosvenor's tone was definite, and the other looked at him quickly. "The notes are due to-morrow, you say?"
"Yes."
"H'm!" ruminatively. "I wish we had a little more time.... It may be difficult.... Still, I think we can manage it. I'll go down to Philadelphia on the first train in the morning—I must see my sister to-night—and straighten this matter out for you if I can. Unfortunately, I haven't that amount of money available at the moment, but I can probably get it, if they refuse to accept my guarantee. I think I can arrange it somehow."
"You do? I didn't expect— Jove! Grosvenor, if you will!"
"I'll do what I can. The only thing is—that wedding to-morrow night. You know I'm expected to be an usher. I'll have to get out of that, I suppose."
"Oh, you can get back! It won't take long to do this business—if it can be done at all. If you are there soon after the bank opens in the morning, you can surely be back here for dinner."
"Think I could? I admit, Ranlett, that there are very important reasons—personal reasons, quite aside from the matter of the wedding—why I should be there, if possible."
"Of course you must be there! Man alive, you've crossed half a continent to 'ush' at that wedding! It would mix everything up—why, there'd be the very deuce to pay if you weren't there!"
"But if I can't go out during the day to get my instructions—"
"It isn't as if it was to be a church affair, Judge. All you have to do is to hold your end of a white ribbon, look ornamental, and take Jean out to supper."
"Jean? Have I—am I to attend your sister?"
"Yes; and I can tell you there'll be some tall explaining to do if you don't appear on the scene. Nothing but the whole truth would satisfy her or exonerate you."
"I'll be there, Ranlett." Even in his own excitement and relief Jean's brother perceived that this was a pledge, gravely given, and paused to wonder a little, but the current of his own necessity swept him on.
They'll surely accept your guarantee, won't they? See here, I'll go down with you. That may facilitate matters a little."
"No, you stay here and get together what money you can. And keep in touch with me over the telephone. I may want vow to see some people here for me, in case I have to find the cash, though I shall try to arrange all that to-night over the 'phone."
"All right. And—I haven't said much, Judge—I can't—just yet. But I want you to know that I'm through with this sort of thing, and—if you ever need me for any purpose whatever—or in any capacity—I hope you'll remember that I want the job."
Grosvenor whimsically wondered whether he would consider favorably a life position as brother-in-law, but as this was not the moment to ask, he merely laid a friendly hand upon the other's shoulder, saying:
"That's all right, Ranlett. I hope you'll know, some day, why I am especially glad to do this for you."
They sent for train schedules, and arranged as far as possible a plan of action for the following day. As it would obviously be out of the question for Grosvenor to go to Montclair to dress for the wedding, it was decided that he should check his suit-case and hat-box as he went through town in the morning, and make his toilet at any convenient hotel upon his return. Ranlett wanted to send a boy for his things and put him up at the club, where they expected to dine together, but the Judge objected that if he should be delayed in any way he might not have time to go to the club, and pointed out that he could dress, at a pinch, at the Grand Central Station. They agreed upon certain hours and locations for communication the next day, and parted.
Illustration: "Oh, it's the same old Story"
Illustration: Bag Suit-case, and Hat-box, he took inside the Cab with Him
Grosvenor went to Montclair, and from there made several vain attempts to get in touch with friends in New York upon whom he might call in an emergency for a considerable loan. One man was out of town, another was dangerously ill, and a third was at the theatre. He left a request that this one should call him up when he came in, to which there was no response. He was not greatly disturbed, however, having little doubt that the bank would accept payment of half the amount due and his guarantee of the remainder.
After some difficulty he located Tom Keeler, the prospective bridegroom, announced his arrival, and explained that an unexpected business matter, of a confidential nature and grave importance, would occupy him during the following day. He learned that nothing complicated or intricate would be expected of him at the wedding, however, and promised to report at the Townes' in ample time for the ceremony.
A discussion of family matters with his sister ensued, and until a very late hour they were engaged in settling many questions in which she relied upon his judgment. Nevertheless, he took time, before he finally went to bed, to put the studs in a dress shirt, and to pack with unusual care everything he should need to wear at the wedding, realizing that he might dress in haste.
The next morning he arose very early, checked his luggage at the Desbrosses Street Ferry, as the most convenient point from which to reach the office of a friend upon whom he hoped to call in the afternoon, and reached Philadelphia about half after ten.
He found the president of the Midland National Bank decidedly disinclined at first to make any compromise in the matter of the Ranlett notes, and he spent some anxious hours conferring and telephoning and telegraphing before he got the matter arranged.
At three o'clock he telephoned Ranlett that everything was satisfactorily settled, and that he would leave Philadelphia at four, reaching New York about half after six. A train that would get them to New Rochelle just in time for the wedding would leave the city about quarter to eight, and he asked Ranlett to meet him at the Grand Central Station, where he would dress and snatch, if possible, a bite to eat.
He was in very good spirits as he started north, and contentedly watched the miles click off, his train on time to the second. He had stopped timing it and was lost in dreams of what Jean would say and how she would look, when, just outside Jersey City, there was a jar, a rumble, and the train stopped. The passengers stirred, looked out of the windows, discovered where they were, and settled back to their books or conversation.
Five minutes went by, during which Grosvenor looked at his watch four times, fidgeted, and tried to interest himself in a paper that he had already read through. Ten minutes—and not a wheel moved. The Judge got up and found the conductor, who told him that there was a breakdown ahead, but that the track would be clear "right away now." He returned to his seat and read for the third time the details of the disappearance of one Laurence Tracey, cashier for the Beaver & Leeds Company of St. Louis, together with many thousands of dollars of the company's money. He knew Tracey slightly, having at one time been retained as counsel in a suit against this corporation, but ho found himself at the moment quite indifferent to the man's fate. Fifteen minutes—twenty minutes—twenty-five—and then they crawled into Jersey City behind a disabled local.
This was before the days of subways and taxicabs, and as the ferry-boat nosed its way across the river. Judge Franklin Grosvenor stood in the bow, watch in hand, and deliberately planned the fantastic procedure wherein lay his only hope of keeping his word to his friends, serving at the wedding, and taking Jean Ranlett to supper.
It was five minutes past seven when the boat bumped against the piers at Desbrosses Street, and Grosvenor was the first man off. He sent a porter for a closed cab, while he went himself for his luggage, all of which—bag, suit-case, and hat-box—he took inside the cab with him. He gave his order, told the man to drive fast, as he had to take a seven-forty-four train, slammed the door, and pulled down the curtains.
Illustration: Come along, now, and don't make a Row
Twenty-five minutes later he stepped out of the cab at the Grand Central Station, in full evening dress, properly shoed, hatted, and gloved, with nine minutes to spare.
He was too preoccupied to notice the cabman's stare, nor is it probable that he would have heeded it in any event. Certainly, had he seen the man excitedly beckon to a policeman, it would never have occurred to him that he could be the subject of their colloquy.
He looked about for Ranlett, and not seeing him in the large waiting-room, decided that they could not fail to meet on the train. He had bought his ticket, left his luggage at the parcel counter, and was approaching the gate to the tracks, when his arm was firmly grasped and a quiet voice said in his ear:
"We want you, Tracey. Come along, now, and don't make a row."
He turned, and found himself the prisoner of a plain-clothes man, whose coat lapel had been slipped back to show the shield beneath. Behind him stood the policeman whom the cabman had called.
"What does this mean?" sternly demanded Grosvenor.
"It means that you are wanted in St. Louis, Mr. Tracey. I guess you know why, all right. We've been looking for you all day."
"Oh! ... I see." And in the little pause that followed as they stepped aside, out of the stream of people, he did see—many possibilities. "But what reason have you for believing me to be Tracey?"
Knowing full well, he asked the question to gain time, and while the officer explained that he fitted the description of the absconder and that he was known to have changed his clothes in a hurried trip from one station to another, the Judge rapidly reviewed this new situation. He would have no difficulty, of course, in ultimately establishing his identity, but in the mean time the train would be on its way to New Rochelle. It was possible that the cards and personal letters that he had in his pocket might be accepted as identification; then he remembered that these were all locked up in his suit-case, on a shelf of the parcel counter within. Ranlett might be found, to vouch for his name and his story, in time to make the train. And then he saw in his mind's eye the headlines in the morning papers, and the position in which this would place him in the eyes of the world—and the Ranlett family. The incident would also make excellent campaign material for the humorists of the opposing party at home. To be sure, he could probably summon influence enough to keep the story out of the papers, but in that event he would have to work hard and fast all the evening, and miss the train and the wedding and all they meant to him. Meanwhile he talked.
"You are mistaken. I am not Laurence Tracey," he said. "I am going to New Rochelle to a—to a reception. Here's my ticket. I changed my clothes in the cab because my Philadelphia train was late, it is very important that I should catch this one, and I hadn't time to go to a hotel." His was the manner of one accustomed to authority, and the officer was impressed.
"If that is so," the man suggested, "perhaps you have papers about you that will prove it. If you are not Tracey, who are you?"
At that moment Grosvenor caught sight of Ranlett, just emerging from the waiting-room, looking hurried and worried, and instantly his course was decided.
"I have papers, but they are all in my suit-case inside," he rapidly explained, "and if I stop to get them out, I'll miss my train. My name is Graves—Frederick A. Graves, of St. Louis. I know Tracey by sight, and I assure you that I don't look in the least like— By George, there he is!"
"Who?"
"Tracey!"
"Where?"
"There! See him? That worried-looking chap in evening clothes, behind the crowd at the gate there. Speak to him, man! Don't let him get away! Leave me with this policeman if you don't believe me, but catch—that—man!" It was a desperate coup, but if it failed, the situation would be no worse. There was little to lose and everything to gain. Ranlett was quick-witted, an excellent amateur actor, and fitted the general description of Tracey at least as well as Grosvenor did.
Illustration: "I'm afraid you won't find it a Joke"
The detective hesitated a bare instant, but again the authoritative manner of the Judge conquered. He nodded to the policeman, who stepped up to the prisoner, and darted off to intercept Ranlett. Grosvenor stepped back of the policeman, so that his friend should not see him at once, and watched. The detective tapped Ranlett on the shoulder, took hold of his arm, and spoke to him. The young man stared, made some quick reply, and turned sharply away. The officer wagged his head in Orosvenor's direction, showed his shield, and the two approached. Ranlett angrily expostulating the while. The crowd, which had paused to stare, decided that it was merely a dispute between two acquaintances, and flowed on to its trains.
The second captive did not see Grosvenor until he was very near him, and then he saw also that the policeman unostentatiously held his friend even as the detective held him.
"What the devil does this mean?" he demanded, staring. "Is it a joke?"
"I'm afraid you won't find it a joke," Grosvenor replied, challenging his gaze. "You might as well give up, Tracey. We've got you." For a moment Ranlett simply stared in bewilderment, and the lawyer continued to look steadily into his eyes, repeating: "We've got you, Tracey. You might as well own up. You may not remember me, but I'm Frederick A. Graves, of St. Louis, and I know you perfectly well."
Illustration: "I might even now be languishing behind Prison Bars"
Ranlett stared for a moment longer; then comprehension flashed in his eyes. He glanced from Judge Grosvenor to the policeman, looked at the detective, and exchanged one long look with his friend before he fell into his part and began to act. Then he seemed to wilt. His shoulders drooped, his hands relaxed, and all the defiance dropped from him.
"Oh, I know you well enough, Mr. Graves," he sullenly admitted. "I dodged you out there in the waiting-room and thought you hadn't seen me. And here you are, laying for me with detectives. What business is it of yours?" He flared into weak indignation. "Why should you hound me? What is it to you?"
Grosvenor shrugged his shoulders and turned to the detective.
"Then you are Tracey?" the officer asked.
"Oh yes," wearily returned Ranlett, "I'm Tracey fast enough. Take me in. I give up."
"Are you satisfied?" hurriedly asked Grosvenor. "I've only half a minute left to make that train."
"Yes, I guess this is all right, Mr. Graves. Thank you. Sorry to have troubled you, but you must admit that your action looked suspicious. Where can I find you to-morrow, in case—"
"The Caravansary," Grosvenor flung over his shoulder as he ran toward the gate, which clashed together behind him. Looking back through its bars, he saw Ranlett led away, handcuffed to the detective.
Several hours later., as the wedding guests were beginning to disperse, Grosvenor and Jean, sitting in a shadowy corner of the library, heard shouts of laughter from a group of people gathered about some one in the hall.
"Why, it's Kirk!" cried the girl, and hurried toward him. "Kirk dear, when did you come? And where have you been?"
"Sister dear, I've been in jail," returned her brother, who looked tired but very much amused, "or so near it that it almost ceased to be humorous. But for a tried and trusty friend or two I might even now be languishing behind prison bars."
"You don't really mean—Kirk, you're joking!"
"Well, I thought it was something of a joke, I admit, but the detective didn't see it that way at all. That fellow's sense of humor needs developing."
"How did it end, Ranlett?" asked one of the still laughing men. "Tell us the rest. Who is this man Graves, anyhow?"
"The rest was easy enough. When we got to the police station I simply told them my real name and telephoned to the club for some fellows to come and identify me. I had a little difficulty in convincing the officers that I absolutely knew Graves was not Tracey in disguise, and that I simply did it to oblige a friend, who was obviously in too much of a hurry to stop for explanations—"
"But who is this extraordinary Graves person?" persisted the man.
"Graves? Oh, he's just a chap who once helped me out of a bad hole. That's all right. I'd go to jail for him any day. But, I tell you, that detective was hot!" His twinkling glance met Grosvenor's for an instant. "When I left he was trying to explain things to some of the newspaper boys. He can't stop the story, though. It's too good to keep. I told them Graves was quite a personage in his own State, and they are all hot on his trail by this time."
"That will be delightful for your friend Mr. Graves," suggested one of the women.
"They won't trouble Graves any," said Ranlett, with a queer smile. "They'll never find him. I'm mighty sorry to have missed my appointment with you, Judge, but you see how it was." He turned to Grosvenor, and the merry group melted away to tell the story to the remaining guests, leaving the three alone together for the moment. "I hope you pulled it off all right?" His eyes still laughed, but the other responded soberly.
"I did, thank you. I found my way without much trouble"—here he twinkled a little himself—"and arrived in time for the ceremony—but that's the least of it. Ranlett, your sister has just promised to marry me."
Kirk held their hands for a moment before he exclaimed, shakily:
"Bless you, my children! If I had known, when I went to jail for Graves, that this was coming—"
"Why should you go to jail for Mr. Graves?" asked Jean. "Who is the man?"
"That, my dear," replied her brother, "is what no fellow—not even you—will ever find out from me."
Then, as if casually, he looked at Grosvenor and smiled.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1947, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 76 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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