The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1931-03-20

likely he'd left message Of some sort
at the paper which she'd have re-
ceived If she'd gone back to work this
afternoon. That pretty well disposed
Of her misgiving that she'd been lured
into trap. II he'd contemplated any
thing ugly or dangerous, like OBTAINING
her here against her will, he wouldn't
openly have summoned her to his
apartment. he thought she'd come in
answer to his summons. Well, it
wouldn't do any harm for the present
to let him go on thinking so. So her
answer was merely hesitating adj
mission that she had wondered what
he'd wanted Of her.
He seemed little put out by the
way she phrased 1t. IT don't want
anything Of you at all,".he assured her
earnestly. "The only thing want is
to do something for you. This is going
to be the best thing you ever did, COM
ing to see me. Think, now. Didn't
your father ever tell you anything
about me?"
That was the connection, then. A
part, at least, of what Claire had been
telling her at lunch was true. She
answered with cautious vagueness. ~
don't know. He may have"
"Well, Of course" he said, you were
a pretty small girl when hired him.
I knew about you, though. / even saw
you a few times out walking with him.
remember your red hair That's
how recognized you this morning.
And I'm glad found you at last.
There have been times when I was
about ready to give it up"
"Why," she asked, "were you so
anxious to find me?"
"WhyT" he echoed. "Of course I
wanted to find you. I've never have
lost you If I hadn't been sick myself
when your father died. I was
mighty good friend to your father.
You might say was the only one he
had. He was fine man. Smart, too,
there's no denying that. Only not
practical, and smartness don't get you
anywhere without that.
"But what ] want to tell you Is that
you've found a friend, that's the long
and short Of it. I'm an old man, old
enough to be your grandfather, and
I'm still an old bachelor without chick
or child Of my own. So want you
should feel you can come to me with
any of your troubles; ask me for any
thing you want-within reason. that is.
II can give you better job than
you've got down there with the news
paper, where you'd get more money
and wouldn't have to work so hard.
You could come here and do secre-
tary work for me. Settle down and
live right here, too. mean that. You
can go home and pack your trunks and
move in here this afternoon. The fact
is, 1t would suit sme If you did that
very thing"
Rhoda had to admit to herself that
this was. intrinsically, good plausible
explanation of his search for her. She
had, as 1t proceeded, found herself
wondering why she wasn't believing
word of it. She had known nothing
Of the nature Of her fathers actual
labors but she did remember the pas
sion that had inspired them and the
hope Of sudden great fortune that had
still been burning in him the very
night he died. He'd begged the doctor
for enough Of the drug to keep him
going a few hours more. Those men,
cries couldn't be reconciled with the
sort Of job this man was talking
about. Why was he trying to make it
look like that? Why had he gone out
Of his way to lie about it? That was
the question in her mind when he
wound up his speech, with the sugges-
ton that she pack up her trunks and
move in to this palatial apartment Of
his this very afternoon-and the word
trunk struck a spark from it.
'It may be-" Claire had said at
lunch, in discussing Forster's reason
for advertising for her, ''that he thinks
you've got some paper Of your fathers
that he wants." Had Rhoda's father
been as near success the night he died
as he believed he was? That would
account for Forster's lying about his
job. for his belittling it all he could.
There was paper, then, and For
ster knew 1t and had been trying for
nobody knew how long to get it. But
Claire knew about 1t too, and Claire
=. a, . . =, a. =, a, :, ), a, a.