April Gold (Musaicum Romance Classics). Grace Livingston Hill

Thurlow was having troubles of his own. Arrived at the House of Steele, he had asked to see Mrs. Steele and was told that she was very busy just now. Could he send up a message, or would he come again in the morning?

      Thurlow’s heart was beating like the proverbial trip-hammer, and he stood there baffled for an instant. Should he risk a message or wait until morning? He decided on the message. He took out one of his fraternity college cards and wrote beneath his name:

      I have been told you can tell me whom to see about a house that the Women’s Club would like to purchase.

      He looked at it after he had written it, and the words seemed to be dancing around his name, hand in hand. How tired he felt and hungry, too. He almost wished he had not come tonight.

      The maid took the card, looked at him uncertainly, and finally asked him in and gave him a chair in the reception hall. He saw her vanishing up the stairs studying the card, and his heart sank. How blundering he had been to blurt out his business in that abrupt way. Now likely the woman would send him word she knew nothing about it. Perhaps after all she wasn’t the right Mrs. Steele. Perhaps George had been her son’s name or her brother’s. What a fool he had been not to approach her on the train, tell her frankly that he had overheard her. Now perhaps he would never get on the track of this chance again.

      But then he heard the soft stir of silken skirts, and suddenly he saw the lady herself approaching. There was eagerness in her face and keen questioning.

      “Are you from the Lockwoods’ house? Are you the agent?” she asked as she came toward him, his card in her hand.

      Thurlow rose deferentially.

      “No, but I heard that the club was looking at the Lockwood house, and knowing it was not in the market, I came to see if you would be interested in the house next door. I represent that.”

      “Next door?” asked the lady eagerly. “Which side?”

      She studied Thurlow’s face with kindling eyes as he explained about the house. He could see it interested her.

      “And what is your price?” she asked.

      The boy’s lips turned white as he opened them to answer; there was so much at stake.

      “The price is low,” he said eagerly, “but it has to be cash. And it has to be within the next three days or I can’t sell it to you at all.”

      The woman eyed him interestedly.

      “Sit down,” she said. “Tell me about it. Wait! I’ll call my husband.”

      He heard the man upstairs asserting that he hadn’t time to stop and listen to a fool thing about the club, but he heard the low, insistent plea of the woman, and then the two came down, the man growling, “All right. Just for a minute, but you’ll have to make it snappy!”

      During the seconds while they were walking down the stairs, Thurlow did some rapid planning. He would have to be as brief as possible or the man would be gone, and the woman would perhaps not decide in his absence.

      He arose with his story on his lips. He lifted honest eyes to the keen businessman, who searched him with cold eyes, but he spoke with the courage of desperation.

      “My father died two months ago. Our house had a mortgage, which would have been all right, only the building association that held the mortgage failed, and it got into the hands of a couple of crooks. Then we lost every cent we had in the Franklin Bank crash, and now the crooks are demanding the full amount of the personal bond, which is double the mortgage. We can’t pay any of it, and we’ve got to sell the house. We have three days left before they take it away from us. If we can sell the house for cash, we can let it go at” Thurlow named the lowest sum that would clear the bond and pay the expenses of the transfer. He felt this was the last chance, and he couldn’t hope to get enough for any left over for themselves. But it had to be done. He swallowed hard and went on.

      “After that it goes into the hands of the crooks, and they’ll want plenty if they sell it at all, though I think they mean to build a large apartment house there and make a lot of money out of it. If they take the house that way, they’ll have a stranglehold on me for the rest of my life till that bond is paid. I’d like to see them beaten if only just for that!”

      The successful businessman studied Thurlow earnestly for a full second before he spoke, crisply, sharply.

      “What’s your name?”

      “Thurlow Reed.”

      “What was your father’s name?”

      “Joseph Reed. He was with the Carter Company for thirty years.”

      “H’m! I thought so! You look like him. Well, Anne”turning to his wife with a twisted smile on his face“it’s all right. Go ahead with your purchase if it’s what you want. I know the house. That’s a bargain on that street! Who are those lawyers, Reed? Cook and Crowell? I thought so. I’ve had experience with them before. Anne, if you buy, get our lawyer to look into the papers and fix it up good and hard. Don’t let those crooks get by with murder or anything. And if you need me, get me long distance in Chicago tomorrow at noon. You know where. Good-bye! See you Saturday!”

      The great man stooped and kissed his white-haired wife, swung into his overcoat, and was gone to the car that stood ready outside. Thurlow stood speechless, waiting, looking at the satisfied woman who smiled at him.

      “When can I see the house?” she asked, as if she had no question in her mind about wanting to take it.

      “Right away, as soon as you wish,” said Thurlow, trying to make his voice steady.

      She glanced at her wristwatch.

      “Now?” she said, looking up. “I have an engagement after dinner, but I’d like to get this thing fairly settled before I see the other club members.”

      “Of course now!” said Thurlow, restraining himself from the desire to shout his joy. “I’m sorry I haven’t a car to take you in.”

      “We have plenty of cars.” The lady smiled. “Martha”to a maid who was moving quietly about the dining room on the other side of the hall“tell Andrew to get the small car and take us on an errand. Tell him to hurry, please.”

      The lady left Thurlow waiting in a daze of wonder while she got her wraps and was back just as the car came purring up to the door.

      Just as easy as that, it was done. Thurlow couldn’t believe but that it would somehow fall through at the last. It was too good to be true. Probably when she saw it, she would have some fault to find with it, and that would be that! But while it lasted, the hope at least was great.

      CHAPTER III

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      Thurlow sat in the backseat with Mrs. Steele, who asked him intelligent questions all the way to the house. How large was the lot? How many rooms did the house have? What kind of heating and lighting? How many bathrooms? Was there a garage? He answered the rapid fire of questions as honestly as he could, and then suddenly they were at the house and he was taking Mrs. Steele up the front walk, hoping his mother had not waited dinner for him, hoping the house would be in its usual beautiful order.

      But her son need not have worried. Mrs. Reed was always ready to be seen. Even in her working garb she had a sweet dignity about her. Also, the lady he was bringing was a thoroughbred. She met the other woman with a gracious informality that made them at once friendly.

      “Are you one of our club members whom I ought to know but don’t?” asked Mrs. Steele with a friendly smile.

      “No,” said Mrs. Reed. “I’ve never had time for things like that. I’ve just lived a quiet home life.”

      “Perhaps you’re to be envied,” said Mrs. Steele, studying the other woman’s strong, sweet