The San Francisco call., 1904-02-14
CHAPTER XIV.

O1lAL al
THE FIRM OF GRAY & vANREvEL.
For the first time it was Crailey who
sat waiting for Tom to come home. In
chair drawn to his partners desk in
the dusty office, he half-reclined, arms
on the desk, his chin on his clenched
fists To redeem the gloom he had lit a
single candle, which painted him dimly
against the complete darkness Of his
own shadow. like very old portrait
into shapeless browns; the portrait
of fair-haired gentleman, the cava-
lier. or the Marquis. one might have
said at first glance; not describing 1t
was no mark of art upon Crailey, not
even in his hair, for they all wore it
rather long then. Yet there was a
mark upon him, never more vivid than
that night for Tom vanrevel; though
what the mark was and what its sig
nificance might have been puzzling to
define. Perhaps. after all. Fanchon
Bareaud had described It best when she
told Crailey one day, with sudden
hint of apprehensive tears, that he had
a look Of fate
he had stayed at the club to go over
the general and old Bareaud. His
company was almost complete, and
Crailey had been the first to volunteer,
to the dumfounding of Trumble, who
had proceeded to drink his health again
and again. But the lists could not de-
tain Tom two hours, Crailey knew, and
it was two hours since the new volun-
teers had sung the "Star-Spangled
Banner" over the last Of the punch,
and had left the club to Tom and the
two old men. Only once or twice in
that time had Crailey shifted his posi-
ton, or altered the direction Of his set
gaze at nothing. But at last he rose,
went to the window and, leaning far
out, looked down the street toward the
little clubhouse. Its lights were extin-
the street. Abruptly Crailey went
DdCh 10 the O6Sk anu UIcW uuI tllc CdH-
die, after which he sat down again in
the same position. Twenty minutes
later he heard Toms step on the stair,
coming up very softly. Crailey waited
In silence until his partner reached the
landing, then he relit the candle.
Tom he called. Come in, please,
I've been waiting for you"
There was pause before Tom an
swered from the hall:
I'm very tired, Crailey. I think I'll
go up to bed
NO" said Crailey, come in"
The door was already open. but Tom
turned toward it reluctantly. He
stopped at the threshold and the two
looked at each other.
'I thought you wouldn't come as long
as you believed was up" said Crailey.
so I blew out the light. I'm sorry 1
kept you outside so long"
"Crailey, I'm going away to-mor-
row." the other began. ct am to go
over and see the Governor and offer
him this company, and tonight 1 need
sleep, so please
mo" interrupted Crailey quietly. 'T
want to know what you are going to
do"
ITO do about what?"
About me-"
"Oh!" Toms face fell at once from
his friends face and rested upon the
floor. Slowly he walked to the desk
and stood in embarrassed contempla-
ton of the Uttered books and papers.
while the other waited.
'I think 1t Is best for you to tell me"
said Crailey.
'sYou think SOP Toms embarrass-
ment increased visibly, and there was
mingled with 1t an odd appearance of
apprehension, probably to relieve
which he very deliberately took two
long cheroots from his pocket, laid one
on the desk for Crailey and lit the
other himself, with extreme carefulness.
at the candle. After this ceremonial
he dragged a chair to the window,
tilted back In it with his feet on the low
sill, his back to the thin light and his
friend, and said In a slow, gentle tone:
well, Crailey?"
II suppose you mean that I ought to
offer my explanation first," said the
other, still standing. well. there isn't
any" He did not speak doggedly or
sullenly. as one in fault, but more with
the air of a man curiously ready to
throw all possible light upon a cloudy
phenomenon. IT'S very simple-all that
I know about. I went there first on the
evening of the Madrillon masquerade
and played little comedy for her, so
that some of my theatrical allusions-
they weren't very illuminatingl-to my
engagement to Fanchon, made her be-
lieve 1 was Vanrevel when her father
told her about the pair of us. 1 dis
covered that the night his warehouses
burned-and I saw something more,
because can't help seeing such things:
that yours was Just the character to
appeal to a young girl fresh from the
convent, and full of honesty and fine
dreams and fire. Nobody could arrange
a more fatal fascination for a girl of
nineteen than to have a deadly quarrel
with her father. And that's especially
true when the fathers like that mad