x.x.xVIII

After winning on Lauzanne Allis had dodged the admiring crowd of paddock regulars that followed her. As Lauzanne was being blanketed she had kissed the horse's cheek and given him a mighty squeeze of thankfulness.

How n.o.bly he had done his part; good, dear old despised, misjudged Lauzanne. He had veritably saved her father from disaster; had saved her from--from many things.

She had slipped into her long coat and stood waiting for Mike to drive her to Dixon's cottage when the rumor came of an objection. Then there had been the misery of terrible suspense, a wait of uncertainty. Was her sacrifice of womanly instinct to go for nothing? Dixon had hurried to the scene of investigation; then he had come back after a little with Mike, and the good news that they had been given the race. If it had not been for prying eyes she would have knelt there at Lauzanne's feet and offered up a prayer of thankfulness. She had done all a woman could do, almost more; Providence had not forsaken her and her stricken father.

Then Mike had hurried her to the buggy just as Crane, leaving the beaten Dutchman and Langdon, had come, asking Dixon where Miss Porter was, that he might tender congratulations. He wanted to see the boy that had ridden Lauzanne, also--wanted to take his hand and tell him what a grand race he had ridden. But Dixon had been ready with excuses; the boy was dead beat after the race--he was only a kid--and had gone to Dixon's home. Miss Porter was perhaps in the stand, or perhaps she had gone home also. Crane knew of Langdon's objection. It was a silly thing, he said, due to overeagerness. He had taken no part in it, he a.s.sured Dixon. Alan Porter, too, came into the paddock, asking for his sister; but fared pretty much as Crane had. He would certainly find her at the cottage, Dixon a.s.sured him.

That night Allis wired the joyful tidings to her father, and that she would be home in the morning.

Dr. Rathbone's prophecy as to the proper medication for John Porter stood a chance of being fulfilled in one day. Allis's telegram proved that the doctor had understood the pathology of Porter's treatment, for he became as a cripple who had touched the garment of a magic healer.

It was thus that Allis found him when she reached Ringwood. Oh, but she was glad; and small wonder. What she had done was as nothing; it shrank into insignificance under the glamourous light of the change that had come over the home. What a magic wand was deserved success; how it touched with fairy aspect all that drooped with the fearsome blight of antic.i.p.ated decay! And even then they did not know the full extent of her endeavor. Mingled with her mother's gentle welcome, and her father's full-throated thanks, was praise for the, to him unknown, boy that had ridden Lauzanne so gallantly.

The girl found tears of thankfulness glistening in her eyes as she listened to the praise that was wholly hers, though given in part to the jockey. They had not even heard his name--it had not mattered before; and now when her father asked for it, she answered that Mike called him Al something. Her father, generous in his salvation, was most solicitous as to a fitting present; a thousand dollars, or perhaps two, or even more, if Dixon advised so. What had he promised the lad? But there were so many things to talk over and settle, and laugh about, and congratulate each other upon. Good fortune was a generous dame. They were all like children in their happiness. "Yes, Alan had been there,"

the girl answered to a question from her father. Also it was a strange happening, a distortion of fate that Crane had beaten them in the Brooklyn with Diablo, and now they had beaten his horse, The Dutchman, with Lauzanne the Despised. All was content after the turmoil of endeavor. And of the horses, Lauzanne, who would gallop for no one but Allis, would be brought back to Ringwood, to be petted and spoiled of his young mistress for the good he had done. Lucretia, when convalescent, would also come to the farm to rest and get strong.

In the midst of it all Dr. Rathbone came in, and of course, man-like and doctor-like, with pretended pomposity, said: "I told you so. What did I say? Now Mrs. Porter, no more scolding over the ways of horses, a good horse is a delight, and a good daughter a joy forever."

Dear old Dr. Rathbone, wise in his generation and big of heart!

x.x.xIX

At the bank down in the village--well, at nine o'clock Mortimer, feeling the virtue of early effort, with the money of redemption in his pocket, entered into the resumption of his duties. At the earliest moment after the vault was opened he made his way to the box that contained the Porter payment. One thing troubled him slightly. It was a thousand-dollar bill that had been taken; the money he had to replace was in hundreds and fifties. As he slipped them quietly into the box he thought it wouldn't really matter; he would transfer the three thousand to the account himself, and n.o.body would know of the change. Leaving the box where it was for a little, in the way of subtle strategy, he came out and busied himself over other matters.

To Mortimer's slight astonishment, presently the cashier, Mr. Lane, came out from his office, and speaking somewhat carelessly, said: "Mr.

Mortimer, you have that Porter note and money in charge. It is due today, isn't it?"

Looking up, Mortimer saw Lane's eye fixed upon his face with piercing intensity. He flushed out of sheer nervousness.

"Yes, sir," he stammered, "it is. I'll attend to it at once."

"Ah!" there was a peculiar drawl in the cashier's voice as he spoke; "ah, I had a communication from Mr. Porter yesterday, asking if the note had been paid."

Mortimer felt his knees shake-something was choking hire. Had the devil of mischance taken the salvation of Alan's good name out of his hands--had his work been for nothing.

"I couldn't understand it," went on the cashier. His voice sounded like the clang of a fire bell to the listening man, though it was evenly modulated, cold and steady in its methodical precision. "I thought Porter knew the money was here to meet the note," said Lane, still speaking, "but my attention being called to the matter, I looked up the papers. I found one thousand dollars missing!" He was looking steadily at Mortimer; his eyes were searching the young man's very soul. There was accusation, denunciation, abhorrence in the cashier's gaze.

Mortimer did not speak. He was trying to think. His brain worked in erratic futility. The slangy babble of Old Bill thrust itself upon him; the roar of the race course was in his ears, deadening his senses; not a sane, relevant word rose to his lips. He was like a child stricken by fear. In an indistinct way he felt the dishonor that was Alan Porter's being given to him. The cashier waited for Mortimer to say something; then he spoke again, with reproach in his voice.

"I at once sent a messenger to ask you to return from your home at Emerson to clear up this matter; he discovered that you had not been there; that your mother was not ill. May I ask where you were yesterday?"

"I was at Gravesend, sir--at the races," answered Mortimer, defiantly.

This speech broke the lethargy that was over him; his mind cleared--he commenced to think sanely.

"Can you tell me," proceeded Lane, "where the balance of Mr. Porter's three thousand dollars is?"

"It's in the box."

"That's a--it is not."

"It's in the box," repeated Mortimer, firmly.

"We can soon settle that point," declared the cashier, going hurriedly into the vault and reappearing instantly with the box in his hand.

He opened it and stared at the package of bills that rose up when freed from the pressure of the lid. With nervous fingers he counted the contents.

"I beg your pardon," he exclaimed in a quick, jerky way. "The three thousand dollars is here, but these bills have been put in the box this morning; they were not there last night. It is not the money that was taken away, either. That was one bill, a thousand-dollar note; and here are"--he counted them again--"six one hundreds and eight fifties, besides the original two of one thousand. You put those notes back, Mr.

Mortimer," he said, tapping the desk with two fingers of the right hand.

"I did."

"And you took the money yesterday or the day before?"

"I did not."

"Ah!" Lane repeated in a drier, more severe tone than he had used before. This "Ah" of the cashier's, with its many gradations of tone, had been a most useful weapon in his innumerable financial battles. It could be made to mean anything--everything; flung out at haphazard it always caught his opponent off guard; it was a subtle thrust, and while one pondered over its possible meaning, Lane could formulate in his mind more decisive expressions.

"Ah," he repeated, adding, "if you did not steal the money, who did? And if you did not take it, why did you put it back?"

With an expressive sweep of the hand outward the cashier stood waiting, his tall, narrow head, topped by carefully brushed gray hair, thrust forward in the att.i.tude of a parrot about to strike with its beak.

"I can't answer those questions," answered the man he was grilling. "The money to pay Mr. Porter's note is here; and I fancy that is all the bank needs to concern itself about. It was entrusted to me, and now I am prepared to turn it over."

"Quite true; ah, yes, quite true; but it might have been vastly different. That is the point that most concerns the bank. Whoever took the money"--and he bowed, deprecatingly, with ironical consideration to Mortimer--"must have needed a thousand dollars for--well, some speculative purpose, perhaps. Good fortune has enabled the some one to make good, and the money has been replaced."

The cashier straightened up, threw his head back, and actually smiled.

He had scored linguistically--by a clever manipulation of the sentence he had made the some one who had stolen the money the some one who who had replaced it. That was accusation by inference, if you like. As the other did not speak, Lane added: "I will wire for Mr. Crane to come at once; this is a matter for investigation."

Mortimer bowed his head in acquiesence; what could he say--what other stand could the bank take?

"You might remain at your desk," the cashier said, "if there is any mistake we'll discover it, no doubt."

Mortimer felt like one dead, indeed as a dishonored man he were better dead. The bank was like a mausoleum, and he a lost spirit haunting its precincts in quest of the undefiled body that had been his but yesterday. Ca.s.s, the teller, certainly shunned him as he would a leper.

Lane, vindictively pleased that he had unearthed the villain, drew his small soul into a sh.e.l.l of cold, studious politeness; much as a sea spider might house his unpleasant body in a discarded castle of pink and white.

Alan Porter was late--he had not come yet. Mortimer waited in suffering suspense for his appearance. What would come of it all. Now that the money was replaced, if the boy admitted his guilt to Crane, probably no further action would be taken, but he would be dishonored in the sight of his employer. Mortimer had sought to avert this; had not denounced Alan in the first instance; by good fortune had been able to replace the money; even now had refused to divulge the name of the thief. He was well aware of the ma.s.s of circ.u.mstantial evidence, the outcome of his own hurried actions, that pointed to himself as the guilty one. Better this than that he should denounce the boy. Dishonor to the lad might kill his father; for Mortimer was well aware of the doctor's edict. And Allis, the girl he loved as his life, would hang her head in shame for evermore. He was anxious to see Alan before the cashier did; he did not want the boy to deny taking the money at first, as he might do if he were unaware of the circ.u.mstances; it would place him in a wrong light.

Just before twelve Alan Porter came hurriedly in. He had missed his train the night before, he explained in a general way to all. Mortimer stepped up to him almost at once, speaking with low, earnest rapidity; the cashier was in his own office and Mr. Ca.s.s was not within earshot.

"I put the money back, but its loss had been discovered yesterday. I have been accused of taking it, but have denied it, accusing no one. I want you to say that you borrowed it, thinking it no great harm, as it was your father's money."

Alan would have interrupted him, but Mortimer said, "Wait till I finish;" and then continued: "There will be nothing done to you, I feel sure, if you will take this stand, because of your father's connection with Crane. It will save me from dishonor--"