An Oregon Girl: A Tale of American Life in the New West. Rice Alfred Ernest

him a coin, Rutley said, “This is an unseasonable place for your calling, old man.” Then, turning to Virginia – “Permit me to escort you to the house.”

      “I don’t like that old man,” she replied. “He is prying about everywhere. Do you think he heard me?”

      “I have no fear of that,” replied Rutley, as they moved on toward the house. “He appears quite old and no doubt is partially deaf.”

      “Very well,” responded Virginia, “and now that we understand each other, I think it time for me to mingle with the guests.”

      As they disappeared in the distance, the old cripple followed them, flitting from shadow to shadow, with catlike agility, astonishing in such an apparently old man.

      Having arrived at the piazza steps, Rutley and Virginia parted.

      Returning some distance into the shadow, he softly laughed. “A little startled, eh? Didn’t think I could impersonate a peer of England’s realm. Well, she knows the secret now and I can safely rely on her assistance because Corway has cast her aside for Hazel. She has given me material with which to strike at him and I will strike home – but not as she suggests. Oh, no!” and again a sinister smile crept over his face. “Dangerous, but Hazel’s wealth is worth the risk.

      “Meanwhile, I am getting short of funds, and cannot keep up the pace much longer, unless my other plan succeeds. But should I fail altogether – ” and he became absorbed in deep study, silent and motionless as the statue of Lincoln by which he stood, but only for a moment. “Everybody here lionizes me, believing I am a genuine nobleman.” And then he looked up with a far-off, triumphant expression in his eyes and a cunning smile on his lips, “My lord will borrow a few thousand on his – name – just for a temporary accommodation, and then he will vanish.”

      A slight noise behind startled him and caused him to look about; but, discovering no one, he regained his composure. To make sure, however, he called in a low voice, “Jack! Jack!”

      Whereupon the old cripple again stood forth from his concealment, this time from behind the trunk of the wide spreading oak and, leaning on his stick, obsequiously doffed his hat. “I uncover to a prince of villainy.”

      “Ha, ha, to my arms, you rascally imposter!” joyfully exclaimed Rutley, as he embraced him.

      Halting and drawing away in pretended surprise, Jack exclaimed with dreamy reflection, “Naw, Eesa, not-a bees-a da imposeator. Eesa be Ital-e-own!”

      “Splendid, Jack!” exclaimed Rutley with admiration. “Your disguise is perfect, but” – and Rutley laughed – “a little pale about the gills, eh?”

      “Eesa look-a like-a ma fadder,” and Jack proudly expanded himself. “Make-a da great-a soldier. Note-a da pale here – Naw,” touching his ears. “Garibaldi geev-a ma fadder dees-s da Palestrino,” and Jack threw open his coat and proudly displayed a medal.

      “Palestrino!” exclaimed Rutley gleefully. “Jack, things are coming our way with a rush. Did you hear her – the maiden fair, with the blue black hair, how she plays into our hands?”

      Jack grinned and chuckled, “Ah, ah – a Portland rose, Phil!”

      “Incomparably beautiful, Jack! But, oh, such devilish thorns!”

      “Good for twenty thousand simoleons at any rate? Eh, Phil?”

      “Twenty thousand or bust, Jack,” grinned Rutley. “You watch me do the trick. I’ll make Thorpe wish he were dead. I shall connect his wife’s name instead of Hazel’s with Corway.”

      “What!” gasped Jack, dismayed by Rutley’s daring.

      “By a little juggling of facts, as it were, I’ll make Thorpe believe Corway wears the ring given him as a love token by Constance. It was Thorpe’s gift to his wife. Do you comprehend? Now, do you understand how simple a thing it will be to make Thorpe wish he were dead? Remember how he and old Harris broke up our investment company?

      “Maybe I don’t,” replied Jack dolefully, rubbing his stomach in a significant manner.

      “And, Jack!” and Rutley glinted at him meaningly and said very seriously, “That fellow Corway suspects me.”

      “The devil he does! We must get him out of our way.”

      “Tomorrow!” – and for the space of perhaps five seconds they looked meaningly at each other. Then Rutley broke the silence.

      “The child is in the house,” continued Rutley seriously and in a low voice.

      “Good!” responded Jack. “I was afraid your tableau scheme had failed and Dorothy remained at home.”

      “Not at all. They jumped at the idea,” laughed Rutley, “and on my suggestion Mrs. Harris begged for Dorothy’s presence at the ‘Fete’.”

      “Fate!” corrected Jack.

      “Too pointed,” calmly remarked Rutley.

      “Well, the tableau was a great success, ‘Hebe’ attended by ‘Circe’ and ‘Cupid’.”

      “Dorothy as ‘Circe’ posed splendidly; she is the pet of the guests” – and, lowering his voice, Rutley continued gravely:

      “I have persuaded her indulgent mother to let the child remain up and enjoy her honors a little longer; she may be out and around now at any moment.”

      “She wears a white dress and with a light brown sash about her waist. Long golden hair – oh, you know her.”

      “I shall keep a sharp lookout and take her the first opportunity.”

      “Skip!” suddenly cautioned Rutley. “Somebody’s coming. Keep in the deep shadow.”

      “Trust me.” And as Jack turned to move away he said to himself, “Tonight there’ll be things doing, for the devil is at work and hell’s a-brewing.”

      Rutley watched Jack vanish in the gloom, then muttered to himself, “Why this fear? Out with it and to my purpose.”

      Some readers would call it fate, others would probably have construed it as accidental, while yet again others of a more scientific turn of mind would have reasoned it a result of that strange magnetic attraction whereby two minds, simultaneously engaged in deep absorbing thought on the same subject, are mysteriously drawn toward each other.

      That John Thorpe was alone at that moment descending the steps of the piazza, was proof of the phenomenon, there could be no question, and that he was deeply thinking of a subject very near and dear to him was also evident, for he paused on one of the steps and clapped his hand to his forehead as though to draw out some evil thing that lay leaden within.

      Once he shivered as if shaken with a cold of the shadow of some indefinable disaster about to overwhelm him, and then he passed on down the steps muttering to himself in an abstracted manner, “Doubt; terrible, torturing doubt; I cannot endure it!”

      “Welcome, Mr. Thorpe,” came from Rutley in the mild regularly moderated voice of a man content with his surroundings. “It only needs the quiet tones of a gifted conversationalist to make this beautiful spot supremely pleasant. All honor to Mrs. Harris and her companion.”

      Mrs. Harris, accompanied by Virginia, had just then appeared from around the east side of the house – “Ah, my lord, your absence from the ballroom occasions much inquiry,” said Mrs. Harris.

      “Mrs. Harris will confer a favor by satisfying the inquirers with the excuse that his lordship is enjoying a smoke with a friend. Does my lord approve the answer?” replied John Thorpe, eyeing Rutley furtively.

      “Most decidedly!” he affirmed.

      “Then Virginia and myself will be spectators of the next waltz. Your lordship will favor us with your company soon? Mr. Thorpe, you will not forget your promise to Constance for the Newport?”

      “Just in time, eh, auntie, I guess so!” cut in the cheerful voice of strenuous Sam, who had bounded down the steps and stood in front of them before they could turn around.

      “Oh,