Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1890-10-05


"What then?"
''when you fnd," said his father, with de-
liberation, 1.-TWO people wandering from town
to town, without any visible means o. subsist-
ence, you naturally wonder how they man.
age to live. Very we'll. But now, if you
discover they have pretty kuack of falling
in with this or that rich young gentleman
and allowing him to pay for them on all oe-
casions, isn't the mystery partly solved?
am informed that these two people and your
self have been in the habit, for considers
bic time back, ri dining together in the
eveuing-iudeed, / have the name of the
restaurant; now wish to ask you this cues
tion point-blank: Is 1t not the fact that In
every case you have paid?"
Vincent did not answer; he was not think
ing of himself at all; nor yet of the point
blank question that had been put 10 him.
A terrible wave of bewilderment had passed
over him; his heart seemed to have within
it but one piteous cry-"Maisrie-Malsri
why were you driving-with that tstranger?"
and all the world grew black with a hor-
ror of doubt and despair. He thought Of
that young man driving along the Kings
road in Brighton; was there another paying
for those Two now?-had they another friend
now to accompany them every evening?
And Maisrie? But all this wild agony
lasted only a moment. He cast this palsy
of the Drain behind him. His better self
rose confident and triumphant-though
there was still a strange look left in his
eyes.
'Paid?" he said, with kind of scornful
impatience. "Who paid2 Oh, / did
mostly. What about that? That is moth
ing-a few shillings-I found it pleasanter
not to have to settle bills before young
lady; and o course she did not know who
naids / made an arraupemeDt--
"An arrangement by which you gave
those people their dinner for nothing for
months and months!'
''Aud what ihen?''
For Vincent had entirely recovered his
sel-commaud; he affected to regard this
story that had been told him as quite un-
worthy OF serious attention. 1t was his
father who was growing exasperated.
"Have you taken leave o; your senses?"
Mr.. Harris demanded. SIS it nothing that
you yourself have shown this old man to be
a pauper, getting his dinner on charity
every evening? And what better was the
girl? She must have knownl Do you i'm
agiae she was not aware OF his receiving
money for bogus books that he never meant
TO publish, and of his inveigling soft
headed Scotchmen-I suppose there must be
one here and there-into giving him a
loan because OF his sham patriotism?
Anu AE6S6 are Tue peOple ycu nave
chosen to consort with all this time;
and this is the girl you would bring
into your family-you would introduce to
your friends as your wifei But you cannot
be so madi You NAV pretend indifference;
you conHOt be Indifferent. You may con-
slider ii fine and heroic to disbeleve the
clearest evidence; the world, on the other
hand, isapt to say that it is only fool and an
idiot who keeps his eyes shut and walks into
a trap bIndiolded. And-and 1 do think,
when you begin TO reflect, that your own
common sense will come to your aid"
He turned TO the mantelpiece, and took
from it some papers.
Il have given you," he continued, ''the
sum and substance of the INQUIRIES 1 have
made, in this country and In America. l
can show you here still further details; but
before allowing you to examine these COM
munications, L must exact u promise that
they shall be treated as in strictest conf
dence.'
Thank you," said Vincent, ''I will not
trouble you. 1 can guess at the kind of
creature who would accept such task, and
at his Interpretation OF any facts that might
come across him."
Then he rose.
"And is this the important business on
which you sent for me?" he asked, but quite
civilly.
"You do not think it is important?" the
other demanded. but at least YOU have
been warned. You have been advised to
keep your eyes open. You have been shown
what kind of people they are who have got
hold OF you: it is for you yourself to
say whether you will be any longer their
dupe."
VERY well, A" said the young man; and he
rose and took up his hat and cane. "Oh, by
the w0y, presume you have come to an
end Q. your inquiries? Because, if not,
would advise your spy-your detective, or
whatever he is-not TO come prowling TO
any restaurant or keyhole when 1 am along
with my friends, or he might find things
become very unpleasant for him. Good
morning.
So this was the end of the interview; and
Harland Harris shortly thereafter made off
for the AUheuaum Club, well satisfied that
his narrative had produced far deeper i'm
preston than the young man would acknowl-
edge. And in truth it had. When Vincent
left the house, and walked away to the
solitary little rooms in Mayfair, his face
was no longer scorniul; it was serious and
troubled; for there was much for him to
ponder over. Not about Maisrie. He put
Maisrie aside. For one thing, he was little
vexed and angry with her at the moment
quite uureasonabiy, as he strove to convince
think about her just then; and, indeed, there
was no occasion, for the idea that she could
be the participator in any fraud or series of
frauds was simply not a thinkable thing
He knew better than that; and was content.
Malsrle driving with a stranger-perhaps
that was not so well done OF her; but Maisrie
as a skilltul and accomplished professional
swindler?-then you might expect 10 see the
stars fall from their places in the midnight
sky.
But as regards the old man, that was yery
different; and he could not deny that there
were certain points in the story Just told
him which were corroborated BY his own
knowledge. He knew, for example, that
George Bethune had got money Tor one book
which, as circumstances would have it. was
not produced and published; he knew that
those dinners at the restaurant were paid ior
by himself; he knew that he had heard Mr..
Bethune speak OF CaGzow as belonging to
his family; and he had to confess that he
could not find Craig -Royston in the index
Of his guide-book. And yet he could not
give up this splendid old man all at once,
He could not believe him to be a mean and
era tv trIckster. Surely his passionate
admiration OF the old Scotch ballads was
genuine enough. Surely it was not to i'm
pose on any one that old George Bethune
sang aloud the songs OF his youth as he
walked along through the crowded streets of
London. There was grandeur in his very
Presence, dignity in his demeanor, that was
lar from the artful complaIsance of q
schemer. Then his undaunted courage
his proud spirit-and above ali, the tender
and sfec;iOnate guardianship he bestowed
on his granddaughter; Vincent could not
forget all these things. No, nor could he