This was too much. "No, indeed," said Evan, and hurried away.

He walked blindly across the Square, conscious only that Carmen was probably watching him through the narrow pane beside the door. How well he knew her expression of mean inquisitiveness. He was marching into blackness. He was incapable of thinking consecutively. What was left of his faculties was concentrated to the sole end of concealing his hurt.

But he still had two clues. He automatically turned down Ninth street looking for 133 only to find what everybody knows that West Ninth street ends at Sixth avenue and there are consequently no numbers beyond 100. He went to the Stannering piano warerooms to ask if they had the new address of Miss Corinna Playfair on their books. He was told that Miss Playfair had returned her piano that morning saying that she was leaving town and would require it no longer.

CHAPTER X

MAUD'S INTEREST

Meanwhile Evan's a.s.sociation with Simeon Deaves was not without its humorous side. By the exercise of patience and diplomacy he gradually learned how to manage the old man like a child, though like a child there were times when he was perfectly unmanageable. Evan in a way became quite attached to him simply because he was a responsibility.

Avarice was a kind of disease that afflicted him. Apart from that he was a harmless, even a likable old fellow. He suffered from acute attacks, so to speak: these were his unmanageable times. He became sly and furtive, and sought for pretexts to sneak out of the house without Evan, or to give him the slip in the street. Evan had to watch sharp to keep him out of trouble. He had little doubt but that they were generally followed, but by more experienced trackers than the youth in grey for he could never be sure of it.

Simeon Deaves had a thousand foibles, some of which Evan found sadly trying. For instance it was his delight to walk up and down the aisles of department stores asking to be shown goods, and haggling over the price without the slightest intention of purchasing anything. The audible remarks of the salesgirls made Evan's cheeks burn.

When he remonstrated with the old man, the latter would not rest thereafter until he had given Evan the slip. Under cover of the crowds he would slip out of a side door, or dart into an elevator just as the door was closing. After a search Evan would find him perhaps entering a second-hand shop to trade the decent clothes that Maud made him wear for something out of stock with a little cash to boot. At other times Evan would track him by the crowd that gathered to hear his argument with a shoe-string peddler or a push-cart man. A favourite trick of his to evade Evan was to suddenly dart behind a moving trolley car.

More than once this almost ended his career on the spot. At other times he was quite tractable and seemed almost fond of Evan.

Bargaining was his ruling pa.s.sion. Consequently they haunted such places as the sidewalk market in Grand street, and the fish market under the Queensboro Bridge. Notwithstanding his avarice the old man not seldom bought things for which he had no possible use, simply because he thought they were cheap. He would bring home a doubtful fish in a bit of newspaper or a bag of pickled apples which promptly found their way into the Deaves' garbage cans.

His pet aversion was beggars. Woe to the beggar who tackled Simeon Deaves unwittingly. He would receive a lecture on Thrift on the spot.

This likewise furnished amus.e.m.e.nt to the street crowds.

Evan's grand object, of course, was to keep the old man from doing anything which would give the blackmailers a further hold on him. One of his narrowest escapes took place under the very roof of the Deaves house. The old man was considered safe in his own little junk room in the bas.e.m.e.nt, and was allowed to potter there unwatched. One rainy morning while he was supposedly so engaged Evan was enjoying a respite with a book in the little office adjoining the library, when through the open door into the hall he saw one of the maids whisper to another, then both t.i.ttered and scampered down stairs. Evan always on the alert for mischief, quietly followed.

He found most of the servants of that disorderly establishment gathered in a bas.e.m.e.nt pa.s.sage with heads bent, listening to sounds that issued through the door of Simeon Deaves' room. Among them was Hilton the butler, an oily, obese rascal whom Evan thoroughly distrusted. All vanished the other way down the pa.s.sage at Evan's approach.

Evan knocked peremptorily, and the door being opened, he saw that the multi-millionaire was closeted with a typical specimen of old clo' man, bearded, dirty and cringing. It was their dispute over sundry articles in Simeon Deaves' weird collection that had drawn the giggling servants. It appeared that the old man was the seller. Evan bounced the old clo' man in spite of his protests.

"I come by appoindmend, mister. I come by appoindmend!"

"All right" said Evan. "Call it a disappoindmend, and get!"

The old man was indignant too. "A very honest man," he protested. "He was willing to pay me twenty-five cents for my alarm clock. I could have got him up to thirty. It isn't worth more than fifteen!"

"You can be sure then that he was taking a chance of picking up something for nothing," said Evan. "When will you learn sense! All the servants listening and giggling in the pa.s.sage. Nice story the alarm clock would make in the papers!"

But it was impossible to make the old man realize his own absurdity.

"Well, you needn't bite my head off," he said pettishly. "Come on, let's go out. A little rain won't hurt us."

From which it will be seen that their relative positions had undergone a considerable change since the beginning. Evan had become the mentor and guide.

In the past the demands for money had come pretty regularly about once a fortnight, Evan learned. As the end of the two weeks drew near a certain apprehension was evident in the house. George Deaves was wretchedly anxious, Evan somewhat less so, while the old man went his ways undisturbed.

And then the letter came. One morning on his arrival Evan was directed to the library where he found George Deaves in a state of prostration.

He waved a letter at Evan in a kind of weak indignation. Evan took it and read:

"Dear Mr. Deaves:

Another story has been written to add to the blithe biography of your parent. It is the most humorous chapter so far. We do not enclose it, as we desire to stimulate your curiosity. You can read it in the _Clarion_ to-morrow evening--unless you wish to reserve that pleasure exclusively to yourself. In that case you may send a picture to the rummage sale of the Red Cross at -- Fifth avenue. Mrs. Follett Drayton is in charge. Send any framed picture and between the picture and the backing insert five of Uncle Sam's promissory notes of the usual denomination. Put your name on the picture for purposes of identification.

Yours as ever, THE IKUNAHKATSI."

"This is the return I get for the money I have paid you!" said George Deaves reproachfully.

"It's a bluff!" said Evan.

"Can you a.s.sure me of that?"

"I can't swear to it of course. Mr. Deaves gives me the slip once in a while. And there was one day I was not with him. But he says he didn't go out that day. I'm sure it's a bluff. If they had a new story on him they'd send it fast enough."

"Maybe they're going to print the last one."

"Maybe. But in that case why not say so? They have shown a queer sense of honour heretofore in suggesting that when you paid for a story that was done with. Have you got the envelope this came in?"

George Deaves handed it over. It was of medium size and made of cheap "Irish linen" paper. The post-mark was Hamilton Grange. A small peculiarity that Evan marked was that though it had been sent from a New York post-office the words "New York City" were written in full.

"What do you think about this Mrs. Drayton?" asked Deaves.

"A woman above suspicion. They're using her as they used Ha.s.sell.

Easy enough to plant somebody in the Red Cross shop to watch the packages received. Someone to buy the picture you send."

"You advise me to ignore this then?"

"No, if it was me I'd call their bluff. Have a better moral effect.

Get an old picture from somewhere and stick a piece of paper in the back. The fellow who wrote this letter fancies himself as a humorist.

Answer him in kind. Write on the paper: 'Show me first your wares.'"

"What does that mean?" asked George Deaves innocently.

"A quotation from Simple Simon," answered Evan grinning.

The other man hung in a painful state of indecision, biting his nails.

At last he said breathlessly with a tremendous effort of resolution: "Very well, I'll do it."

But the gang proved to have another shot in its locker. Next morning Evan was sent for again to the library where he found a family conclave in session. The gorgeous Maud in purple velvet and pearls ("How does she get the money out of them?" thought Evan) was detonating like a thunderstorm in the hills. George Deaves sat crushed at his desk, and the old man sputtered and snarled when he could get a word in. Maud (it was impossible for Evan to think of her by a more respectful name) promptly turned to discharge her lightnings at Evan's head.

"What are you good for?" she demanded. "Aren't you paid a good salary to keep my husband's father from disgracing us all? Why don't you do it then? Why don't you do it?"

Evan bit his lip to keep from smiling in her face. To an outsider these family rows smacked of burlesque. One could always depend on the actors to play their regular parts.

"If you would please explain," said Evan mildly.