"Did you keep cows for them?"

Pope stared at his inquisitor for a moment; then he explained with patient politeness: "These were not carnivorous ducks. They ate bugs and fish and corn."

"Corn!" Adoree was shocked, incredulous; her eyes glittered with the fire of fanaticism; she no longer saw in this man an enemy, a vile creature branded with the mark of the beast, but a fellow- enthusiast--a surprisingly ignorant one, to be sure, but an enthusiast for all that, and therefore bound to her by unbreakable bonds. Live steam would have been more easily confined than the vast fund of technical knowledge with which she was crammed.

"You should have fed soft food and sour milk," she began.

"b.u.t.termilk would have been all right, and in that way your cows would have been self-supporting. You need a good pasture with a duck-farm. When I was in Germany I saw the most wonderful incubator--a child could operate it. I'd like to show you some brooder-house plans I had drawn over there. You see, you made your first mistake in choosing fresh-water. If I had a good location near salt-water--not too near--and proper surroundings, I'd show you something about ducks. I'd start with a thousand--that's plenty--then kill for the market as they quit laying, and mix the stock right, and in three years--"

Bob Wharton signaled frantically to his wife, but there was no stopping the discussion that had begun to rage back and forth. It lasted until the conclusion of the meal, and it was only with an effort that Adoree tore herself away. She was in her element, and in a little time had won the critic's undivided attention; he listened with absorption; he even made occasional notes.

As the two girls dressed hurriedly for the theater, Adored confessed:

"Golly! I'm glad I stayed. He's not bright; he's perfectly silly about some things, and yet he's the most interesting talker I ever heard. And--CAN'T he play a piano?"

CHAPTER XVII

Hannibal Wharton arrived in New York at five o'clock and went directly to Merkle's bank. At eight o'clock Jarvis Hammon died.

During the afternoon and evening other financiers, summoned hurriedly from New England sh.o.r.es and Adirondack camps, were busied in preparations for the struggle they expected on the morrow. During the closing hours of the market prices had slumped to an alarming degree; a terrific raid on metal stocks had begun, and conditions were ripe for a panic.

Hammon had bulked large in the steel world, and his position in circles of high finance had become prominent; but alive he could never have worked one-half the havoc caused by his sudden death.

That persistent rumor of suicide argued, in the public mind, the existence of serious money troubles, and gave significance to the rumor that for some time past had disturbed the Street. Hammon's enemies summoned their forces for a crushing a.s.sault.

In this emergency Bob's father found himself the real head of those vast enterprises in which he had been an a.s.sociate, and until a late hour that night he was forced to remain in consultation with men who came and went with consternation written upon their faces.

The amazing transformation which followed the birth of the giant Steel Trust had raised many men from well-to-do obscurity into prominence and undreamed-of wealth. Since then the older members of the original clique had withdrawn one by one from active affairs, and of the younger men only Wharton and Hammon had remained. Equally these two had figured in what was perhaps the most remarkable chapter of American financial history. Both had been vigorous, self-made, practical men. But the outcome had affected them quite differently.

Riches had turned Jarvis Hammon's mind into new channels; they had opened strange pathways and projected him into a life foreign to his early teachings. His duties had kept him in New York, while Wharton's had held him in his old home. Hammon had become a great financier; Wharton had remained the practical operating expert, and, owing to the exactions of his position, he had become linked more closely than ever to business detail. At the same time he had become more and more unapproachable. Unlimited power had forced him into the peculiar isolation of a chief executive; he had grown hard, suspicious, arbitrary. Even to his son he had been for years a remote being.

It was not until the last conference had broken up, not until the last forces had been disposed for the coming battle, that he spoke to Merkle of Bob's marriage. Merkle told him what he knew, and the old man listened silently. Then he drove to the Elegancia.

Bob and Lorelei had just returned from the theater, much, be it said, against the bridegroom's wishes. Bob had been eager to begin the celebration of his marriage in a fitting manner, and it had required the shock of Hammon's death added to Lorelei's entreaties to dissuade him from a night of hilarity. He was flushed with drink, and in consequence more than a little resentful when she insisted upon spending another night in the modest little home.

"Say! I'm not used to this kind of a place," he argued. "I'm not a cave-dweller. It's a lovely flat--for a murder--but it's no place to LIVE. And, besides, it doesn't look right for me to come to your house, when all the hotels are gasping for my patronage. I never heard of such a thing. Makes me feel like a rummy."

"Don't be silly," she told him. "We acted on impulse; we can't change everything at a moment's notice. I couldn't bear a hotel just yet."

"But--people take trips when they get married."

"That is different. Are you--in a position to take me away to- night?"

With an eloquent gesture Bob turned his trousers pockets wrong side out. "Not to-night, perhaps, but to-morrow."

"I can't quit the show without two weeks' notice."

"Two weeks?" He was aghast. "Two minutes. Two seconds. I won't have you dodging around stage-doors. To-morrow you'll breeze in and tell my old friend Regan you've quit. Just say, 'I quit'-- that's notice enough."

"Bergman won't let me go; it wouldn't be right to ask him."

But Bob was insistent. "It pains me to pull the props out from under the 'profession' and leave the drama flat, but matrimony was a successful inst.i.tution before the Circuit Theater was built, and a husband has rights. I intend to cure you of the work habit. You must learn to scorn it. Look at me. I'm an example of the unearned increment. We'll kiss this d.i.n.ky flat a fond farewell--it's impossible, really--I refuse to share such a dark secret with you.

To-morrow we leave it for the third and last time. What d'you say to the sunny side of the Ritz until we decide where we want to travel?"

"You don't want to leave New York, you know," she told him, soberly. "You're offering to go because you think it's the proper thing to do and because you don't know what else to suggest. But-- I have to work."

"Ah! The family, eh? We'll retire 'em and put an end to this child labor. Now, as for the trip--we've got to do SOMETHING: we can't just--live. Where do you have your clothes made?"

Lorelei named several tailors of whom Bob had seldom heard.

"That won't do," he said, positively. "I'll get a list of the smartest shops from Mrs. Thompson-Bellaire, and I want you to buy enough gowns to last till we reach Paris--a couple dozen will do-- then we'll fit out properly. I'll bet you never went shopping-- really shopping--did you? and bought everything you saw?"

"Of course not. I never dreamed of such a spree."

"Well, that will be lesson number two. Can you ride?"

"Not well."

"Must know how to ride--that's number three, and very important.

I'll get you some horses when we return. We'll spend our mornings at Durland's for a while, and I'll teach you to play polo, too.

All the girls are going in for it lately. You'll need an electric motor, I suppose, for calling and shopping--they're making some stunning bodies in that wicker effect. Now, what's your favorite jewel? I haven't had time to get your ring yet--this whole day was upside down. Everything had closed before I opened up, but to- morrow we'll paw through Tiffany's stock, and you can choose what you like. I'm going to select a black-opal set for you--they're the newest thing and the price is scandalous." He paused, eying her curiously, then with a change of tone inquired, "Say, are you in mourning for somebody?"

"Why, no."

"You don't seem to care for all these things I've bought."

Lorelei laughed spontaneously, for the first time during the long day. "Of course I care. But--where is the money coming from? You haven't a dollar."

"My dear, so long as the Western Union lasts you'll never see a wrinkle on my brow. We'll begin by destroying everything you own-- hats, gowns, jewelry--then we'll start at the beginning."

Just then the apartment bell rang. Bob went to the door. He returned with his father at his heels. Mr. Wharton tramped in grimly, nodded at his daughter-in-law, who had risen at the first sound of his voice, then ran his eyes swiftly over the surroundings.

"I hear you've made a fool of yourself again," he began, showing his teeth in a faint smile. "Have you given up your apartment at the Charlevoix?"

"Not yet," said Bob. "We're considering a suite at the Ritz for a few days."

"Indeed. You're going back to the Charlevoix to-night."

Lorelei started. She had expected opposition, but was unprepared for anything so blunt and business-like. "I think you and Bob can talk more freely if I leave you alone," she said.

Hannibal Wharton replied shortly: "No, don't leave. I'll talk freer with you here."

It appeared, however, that Robert stood in no awe of his father's anger; he said lightly:

"They never come back, dad. I'm a regular married man. Lorelei is my royal consort, my yoke-mate, my rib. We'll have to scratch the Charlevoix."

This levity left the caller unmoved; to Lorelei he explained: