"If I tell you what I really mean you will think I am ungrateful for the chance you have given me, and, truly, that isn't it. I know you feel that the Consolidated Companies is accomplishing a great work, and you're right; but there's another side which I don't like at all. With the single exception of yourself, I don't believe there is a man connected with it who isn't in it for what he can get out of it. The public is being benefited by certain reductions which the Companies accomplishes, but before long I'm sure they will have to pay up for all they have saved, with a bitter interest. Of course, my feeling this way is simply an evidence that I don't understand things at all."

Allen had touched upon Gorham's most sensitive point. "It is a deep disappointment to me that you feel as you do," he replied. "As you say, it is an evidence that you don't understand things at all. The Consolidated Companies has almost reached a point where individual personality is merely incidental; where, in my opinion, my own services even will not long be essential. I like to believe that my continued connection strengthens and guides it, but no one man can now affect its progress to any serious degree; but, my boy, loyalty to the Companies on the part of its employees is absolutely imperative. That I must demand of you."

Allen winced under the criticism, but he could not withdraw from his position.

"Could not a man like Mr. Covington change the entire policy of the Companies if he came into control?" he asked, significantly.

"No," Gorham replied, firmly. "In the first place, if he gained control, he would have no desire to change it; in the second, my Executive Committee is made up of men of too high principle to permit him or any other man to operate the Companies upon other than a proper basis."

"You may not feel so sure of this after you have investigated," Allen insisted.

"I shall never alter my opinion." Gorham was annoyed by the boy's persistence. "It is too late to-night to discuss this phase of the subject with you as thoroughly as we must if you are to continue with the corporation, but in the mean time remember that the Consolidated Companies is in the hands of men whose self-interest is coupled with a personal gratification in the altruistic basis whose nature you have learned from me. You are not competent to pa.s.s upon their motives, and until you are you should not venture to criticise."

"I admitted that it is all due to my inexperience, Mr. Gorham, and I am sorry that you are angry. I believe in you as I could never believe in any other man, and I know that, as far as you can control it, you will keep the Consolidated Companies within the lines you have laid down; but I can't make myself believe that the others have the same honorable intentions."

"Stop!" cried Gorham, seriously aroused by the boy's words. "I shall listen to you no further. It is only my friendship for your father and my affection for you which, keeps me from speaking harshly to you; but be warned! You are attempting to interfere in a matter which is too heavy for your strength. Leave it to those who understand it."

After Allen left the house Gorham sat for a long time in his library, smoking and meditating. Yet it was not the possible internal business complications, as suggested by the boy, which occupied his thoughts; it was not some new gigantic transaction about to be launched on behalf of the Companies which filled his mind, nor was it the suggested danger to Eleanor's peace of mind. He was thinking of Allen, half blaming himself for the forlorn expression the boy's face had worn as he left the room.

It was a courageous thing for this youngster to rush in where older and more experienced men would not have dared, to face Robert Gorham and to tell him that the monument he had erected rested upon a base of shifting sand. His absurd statements regarding Covington were easily explained, but what he had said of the business was an honest expression, even though groundless in fact and resulting from an inexperienced interpretation of matters far beyond his present knowledge.

Gorham contrasted in his mind the changes which these few months had wrought in him. He remembered how lightly the boy had taken his father's tirade which had thrown him upon his own resources, and compared this with the depressing effect which his own criticism had produced.

"Poor boy, I'm really sorry for him," he said to himself. "With old Stephen on one side and with me on the other, and with his fancied devotion to Alice on top of it all, he must feel that the world is against him." Then Gorham's face became stern again. "But he must take on ballast," he said, firmly; "he must get over these snap-judgments and learn to recognize that he is playing with tools too heavy for him to handle. It will do him good--but I love the boy for his courage. It will land him somewhere if he keeps his head."

XX

The days pa.s.sed by with nothing to justify Eleanor's apprehensions resulting from Ralph Buckner's presence in New York, so her fears vanished, and with them the necessity of disturbing her husband's tranquillity with this confidence which already had been so long postponed. Gorham's sudden trip to Washington made this even more natural. Alice had told her of Covington's proposal, and was eager to discuss the situation from every possible standpoint. To the older woman the girl's att.i.tude toward Allen seemed heartless, yet, knowing her husband's feeling in the matter, she decided that it was wiser to leave the young people to solve their own problem. Youth is ever heartless in its att.i.tude toward others, and it is only by its own suffering that it learns the lesson of consideration. Eleanor sought to impress Alice with the importance of being sure of her own heart before making her final decision, and encouraged her to take plenty of time. She would have hesitated to do this, on her husband's account, except that with Allen so hopelessly out of the running the delay could do no harm. Alice must make no error, Eleanor kept repeating to herself, recalling with painful vividness the result of her own mistaken act of duty.

Covington became a constant visitor at the Gorham home, a.s.suming more and more the prerogatives of an accepted suitor. His attentions were a.s.siduous and his companionship was so agreeable that Alice considered the arrangement ideal. Each time he urged her to give him a definite reply she begged off in such a playful, girlish fashion that Covington mildly acquiesced, feeling that each day's a.s.sociation made the situation that much more favorable to him. And this courtship, curious as it was, proved not unpleasant to him. Much to his own surprise, he began to find himself really fond of this young girl, who kept him constantly on the _qui vive_ to follow her from the absurdity of girlish conceits to the opposite extreme of mature discussion of subjects ordinarily far beyond the grasp of her years. It whetted his interest and possessed a decided fascination for him, he admitted to himself more than once as he left the house to return to his own apartment, wearing a satisfied smile of patronizing indulgence. Had it not been for the business necessities, and the importance of actually becoming her husband before anything occurred to disturb his relations with Gorham, he would have preferred to have things run on indefinitely as they were.

During this time Allen found Covington's att.i.tude toward him completely changed. It would have hurt the older man's self-respect to admit that the boy could in any way be looked upon as a rival; but young girls are uncertain quant.i.ties, and it had been necessary for Alice to prove that she was beyond this danger-point before Covington decided that Allen was a promising youngster, after all, and, as Stephen Sanford's son, ent.i.tled at least to being noticed.

Allen, during the same period, and perhaps because of the same conditions, had grown to regard Covington with even more cordial aversion. The only positive grievance he had against him was the success he had gained with Alice; but, in an undefined way, he felt instinctively that this man possessed every Machiavellian attribute in the calendar of dishonor. With an effort to be just, Allen mentally made a generous discount to offset any possible prejudice, but even then Covington measured up shockingly bad. If Alice had insisted on a proof of the statements he made against him to her, he would have found himself lacking ammunition; when Gorham had asked him point-blank what evidence he had to substantiate his accusations, he had been unable to give any, and this, he realized, had hurt him in the eyes of his chief.

So now the boy proposed to collect evidence, with the self-acknowledged purpose of helping Gorham and of saving Alice, entirely overlooking any personal interest in the undertaking. Covington's first overtures came just at this time and were coldly received; but as Allen considered the matter, he concluded that he would learn to "purr" too, taking lessons in this gentle art from the one man whom he acknowledged to be its past master.

Gorham was surprised by the change in their relations as he saw it, and the boy at once rose in his estimation. Allen had evidently taken to heart the advice given him during their last interview, and had proved himself big enough to rise above his jealousies and his disappointment.

Gorham, guided by Eleanor's judgment, had refrained even from expressing to Alice his strong desire that she should marry Covington, but with Allen already self-effaced and with Alice accepting Covington's attentions, even though as yet uncommitted, all was progressing to his satisfaction.

Allen's duties still took him frequently to the Gorham house, but he saw Alice only casually, as he made no effort to force himself upon her.

She was too much engrossed with the new element which had entered her life to concern herself particularly, but she was negatively grateful to him for not making the present condition unpleasant. She wanted to keep him as a friend, and told him so frankly, but that could only be so long as he accepted things as he found them.

But any lack of enthusiasm on the part of Alice was more than made up for by Patricia. She was living on the seventh floor of her seventh heaven. As she saw it, Alice had acted in the friendliest way possible in giving her a clear field with her Sir Launcelot. Allen humored her, finding a real relief in this childish game which his little friend took so seriously. The one drawback was the amount of intimate information which she conveyed through the medium of her innocent prattle. Allen could not know what was coming next, and so was powerless to head off conversation upon subjects into which he knew he had no right to enter, for Patricia possessed the faculty of keeping herself well informed as to family matters. It was through this that he secured the first clew upon which to start a real investigation, so he considered the information Heaven-sent, and blessed the child accordingly.

The staircase, as usual, formed the trysting-place. Here Patricia waylaid her Knight on his way down from the library, taking her position on an upper step, which made their difference in height less apparent.

The same ceremony was enacted each time in accord with the ritual she had taught him. After he pa.s.sed her, she suddenly sprang up to her full stature, holding her arm high above her with the palm of her hand extended.

"Wit ye well, Sir Knight!" she cried, impressively.

Then Allen turned--he was forbidden, under pain of death, to recognize her until he heard these mystic words--knelt on the step below her and kissed her other hand, while the one upraised descended upon his head in benediction.

"The Lord be with thee, Fair Lady," he replied, following his lesson.

"And with thee--I accept thy troth. Now we can have a visit."

The Arthurian lady had vanished, and Patricia was herself again, curled up close beside him.

"Look here, Lady Pat," he said, shaking his finger at her warningly, "I think we ought to put a stop to this--you're taking it all too seriously."

"Of course," she admitted, smiling up at him. "Why don't we get married right away--then it needn't be serious any longer."

"Well"--Allen would not have wounded the devoted little heart for worlds--"one reason is that I haven't money enough."

"Did Knights have to have money?" Patricia inquired. "I never saw a suit of armor with a money-pocket in it."

"Neither did I," he admitted. "There wasn't any money then, like ours, and when they wanted anything they didn't have, they fought for it."

"Well, then, why don't you fight for it?"

"I'm going to--I am fighting now. I mean, Lady Pat, they don't let you fight the way they used to."

"Is it only because you haven't money enough that we don't marry, Sir Launcelot?"

"That is--one of the princ.i.p.al reasons."

"Swear that you don't love any other fair lady."

"Except Alice," Allen insisted.

"Shall you always love her?" Patricia asked, wistfully.

Allen sighed. "I'm afraid so, Lady Pat."

"Well, I don't care--I'll love you enough for both of us, so that's all settled. Now promise that you'll sit on this very step and not move 'til I come back."

"What for? I must run along."

"You promised," she cried, and disappeared up-stairs as fast as her little white legs could carry her. There was nothing to do but wait, yet Allen was not long kept in suspense. Patricia returned with equal speed, carrying her bank in both hands.

"There!" she exclaimed, jingling the contents. "You take that and make a lot more with it, and we shall have all the money we want."

"But I can't do that," he protested.

"Aren't you as smart as Mr. Covington?"