Blow the Man Down - A Romance of the Coast

"One moment, Alma! Seeing that my big car is going to have a two days'

vacation in the country, I may as well make it do one last business

errand for me."

He called Bradish to the desk by a side jerk of the head.

"I want that check put into the hands of the brokerage firm of Mower

Brothers as quickly as possible. My car is at the door, and it may as

well take you along. Alma, allow this young man of ours to ride with you

to the place where I'm sending him."

He did not present Bradish to Miss Marston. Bradish did not expect the

financier to do so. But this dismissal of him as a mere errand-boy--with

the young lady staring him out of countenance in a half-frightened

way--did cut the pride a bit, even in the case of a mere clerk. And

this clerk was pondering on the memory that only the night before he

had clasped this young lady--then a party unknown who was evidently bent

upon an escapade incog.--had encircled this selfsame maiden with his

arms during many blissful dances in one of the gorgeous Broadway public

ball-rooms. And he had regaled her and a girl friend on viands for which

his twenty-five-dollar check had scarcely sufficed to pay.

Bradish was pretty familiar with the phases and the oddities of the

dancing craze, but this contretemps rather staggered him.

They had asked no questions of each other during those dances. They had

been perfectly satisfied with the joy of the moment. She had looked at

him in a way and with a softness in her eyes which told him that she

found him pleasing in her sight. She had been enthusiastic, with that

same exuberance he had just witnessed, over his grace in the dance. They

had promised to meet again at the ball-room where social conventions did

not prevent healthy young folks from enjoying themselves.

"Good heavens!" she whispered to him, as she preceded him through the

door. "You work in my father's office?"

"You are surprised--a little shocked--and I don't blame you," he

returned, humbly. "As for me, I am simply astounded. But I am not a

gossip."

She stole a look at his pale, impassive face, and some of her father's

instinct in judging men seemed to reassure her.

"One must play a bit," she sighed. "And it's so stupid most of the time,

among folks whom one knows very well. There are no more surprises."

As he shut the door softly behind them Bradish heard Marston, once more

immersed in his affairs of business, directing over the telephone that

one Fletcher Fogg be located and sent to him.