He had come behind the railing, as he always did. He was leaning at the end of Mr. Bubble's desk, his hands crossed before him. From his finger sparkled a big three-carat diamond; from his red-brown cravat--price three-fifty--sparkled another brilliant white stone fully as large; an immaculate white waistcoat was upon his broad chest; from his pocket depended a richly jeweled watch-fob. For just an instant Jonas Bubble was staggered, and then the recently imbibed idea of large operations quickly rea.s.serted itself. Why, here before him stood a commercial Napoleon. Only a week or so before Wallingford's bank balance had been sixty thousand dollars; at other times it had been even more, and there had been many intervals between when his balance had been less than it was now. Here was a man to whom forty-five thousand dollars meant a mere temporary convenience in conducting operations of incalculable size. Here was a man who had already done more to advance the prosperity of Blakeville than any one other--excepting, of course, himself--in its history. Here was a man predestined by fate to enormous wealth, and, moreover, one who might be linked to Mr. Bubble, he hoped and believed, by ties even stronger than mere business a.s.sociations.

"Pretty good sum, Wallingford," said he. "We have the money, though, and I don't see why we shouldn't arrange it. Thirty-day note, I suppose?"

"Oh, anything you like," said Wallingford carelessly. "Fifteen days will do just as well, but I suppose you'd rather have the interest for thirty," and he laughed pleasantly.

"Yes, indeed," Jonas replied, echoing the laugh. "You're just in the nick of time, though, Wallingford. A month from now we wouldn't have so much. I'm making arrangements not to have idle capital on hand."

"Idle money always yells at me to put it back into circulation," said Wallingford, looking about the desk. "Where are your note blanks?"

"Er--right here," replied Mr. Bubble, drawing the pad from a drawer.

"By the way, Wallingford, of course we'll have to arrange the little matter of securities, and perhaps I'd better see the directors about a loan of this size."

"Oh, certainly," agreed Wallingford. "As for security, I'll just turn over to you my bank stock and a holding on the Etruscan property."

For one fleeting instant it flashed across Mr. Bubble's mind that he had sold this very property to Wallingford for the sum of one thousand dollars; but a small patch of stony ground which had been worth absolutely nothing before the finding of gold in it had been known to become worth a million in a day, as Wallingford had once observed when looking across the great swamp, and now the mine he had sold to Wallingford for a song was worth almost any sum that might be named.

Hen Moozer, when consulted, was of that opinion; Jim Ranger was of that opinion; Bud Hegler was of that opinion; the other directors were of that opinion; every one in Blakeville was of that opinion; so Wallingford got his forty-five thousand dollars, and the Bubble Bank held in return a mortgage on Wallingford's bank stock, and on forty acres of genuine Etruscan black mud.

"By the way, Mr. Bubble," said Wallingford, tucking the bills of exchange into his pocket, "I'm going to take a little run into New York to-day. Would you mind putting the plans for my new house into the hands of the two contractors here for them to figure on?"

"With pleasure. Hope you have a good trip, my boy."

Well, it was all over, but he was not quite so well satisfied as he had been over the consummation of certain other dubious deals.

Heretofore he had hugely enjoyed the matching of his sharp wits against duller ones, had been contemptuous of the people he out-manoeuvered, had chuckled in huge content over his triumphs; but in this case there was an obstacle to his perfect enjoyment, and that obstacle was Fannie Bubble. He was rather impatient about it.

He started early for the train, instructing Bob Ranger to be there to drive back the bays, and drove around by way of Jonas Bubble's house.

As he was about to hitch his horses the door opened, and Fannie, dressed for the afternoon, but hatless, came flying out, her head bent and her hands back over it. She was crying, and was closely pursued by Mrs. Bubble, who brandished a feather duster, held by the feather end.

Wallingford ran to open the gate as Fannie approached it, closing it and latching it in time to stop her stepmother.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"She's a lazy, good-for-nothing, frivolous huzzy!" declared Mrs.

Bubble in hot wrath.

"I've been looking for just that kind," a.s.serted Wallingford. "She'll do for me. Fannie, get into the buggy. I came down to take you for a ride to the depot."

"If she goes away from this house she don't come back till she gets down on her knees and begs my forgiveness!" shrieked the woman.

"If she does that I'll have her sent to a bugitorium," declared Wallingford. "She don't need to come back here. I'll take care of her myself. You'll go with me, won't you, Fannie?"

"Anywhere," she said brokenly.

"Then come on."

Turning, he helped her into the buggy and they drove away, followed by the invectives of Mrs. Bubble. The girl was in a tumult of emotion, her whole little world clattering down about her ears. Bit by bit her story came out. It was sordid enough and trivial enough, but to her it was very real. That afternoon she had planned to go to the country for ferns with a few girls, and they were to meet at the house of one of her friends at one o'clock. Her stepmother had known about it three days in advance, and had given her consent. When the time came, however, she had suddenly insisted that Fannie stop to wash the dishes, which would have made her a half-hour late. There followed protest, argument, flat order and as flat refusal--then the handle of the feather duster. It was not an unusual occurrence for her stepmother to slap her, Fannie admitted in her bitterness. Her father, pompous enough outside, was as wax in the hands of his termagant second wife, and, though his sympathies were secretly with the girl, he never dared protect her.

They had driven straight out the west road in the excitement, but Wallingford, remembering in time his train schedule, made the straightest _detour_ possible to the depot. He had barely time to buy his tickets when the train came in, and he hurried Fannie into the parlor car, her head still in a whirl and her confusion heightened by the sudden appreciation of the fact that she had no hat. The stop at Blakeville was but a brief one, and as the train moved away Fannie looked out of the window and saw upon the platform of the little depot, as if these people were a part of another world entirely, the station agent, the old driver of the dilapidated 'bus, Bob Ranger and others equally a part of her past life, all looking at her in open-mouthed astonishment. Turning, as the last familiar outpost of the town slipped by, she timidly reached out her hand and laid it in that of Wallingford.

The touch of that warm hand laid on his electrified Wallingford. Many women had loved him, or thought they did, and he had held them in more or less contempt for it. He had regarded them as an amus.e.m.e.nt, as toys to be picked up and discarded at will; but this, somehow, was different. A sudden and startling resolve came to him, an idea so novel that he smiled over it musingly for some little time before he mentioned it.

"By George!" he exclaimed by and by; "I'm going to marry you!"

"Indeed!" she exclaimed in mock surprise, and laughed happily. "The way you said it sounded so funny."

She was perfectly content.

CHAPTER XXIII

WALLINGFORD GIVES HIMSELF STILL ANOTHER STUPENDOUS SURPRISE

Mrs. Wallingford, gowned and hatted and jeweled as Fannie Bubble had never been, and had never expected to be, tried the luxurious life that J. Rufus affected and found that she liked it. She was happy from day's end to day's end. Her husband was the most wonderful man in the world, flawless, perfect. Immediately upon their arrival in the city he had driven in hot haste for a license, and they were married before they left the court-house. Then he had wired the news to Jonas Bubble.

"We start on our honeymoon at once," he had added, and named their hotel.

By the time they had been shown to the expensive suite which Wallingford had engaged, a reply of earnest congratulation had come back from Jonas Bubble. The next day had begun the delights of shopping, of automobile rides, of the races, the roof gardens, the endless round of cafes. This world was so different, so much brighter and better, so much more pleasant in every way than the world of Blakeville, that she never cared to go back there--she was ashamed to confess it to herself--even to see her father!

Blackie Daw, still keeping out of the way of federal officers who knew exactly where to find him, met J. Rufus on the street a week after his arrival, and, learning from him of his marriage to Fannie, came around to Wallingford's hotel to "look her over." Fannie marveled at Signor Matteo's rapid advance in English, especially his quick mastery of the vernacular, but she found him very amusing.

"You win," declared Blackie with emphasis, when he and Wallingford had retired to a cozy little corner in the bar cafe. Fannie had inspired in him the awed respect that men of his stamp always render to good women. "You certainly got the original prize package. You and I are awful skunks, Jim."

"She makes me feel that way, too, now and then," admitted Wallingford.

"I'd be ashamed of myself for marrying her if I hadn't taken her from such a dog's life."

"She seems to enjoy this one," said Blackie. "You're spending as much money on her as you used to on Beauty Phillips."

"Just about," agreed Wallingford. "However, papa-in-law is paying for the honeymoon."

"Does he know it?" asked Blackie.

Wallingford chuckled.

"Not yet," he admitted. "I'd like to see him when he finds it out."

Blackie also grinned.

"That little Blakeville episode was the happiest period of my life,"

he declared. "By the way, J. Rufus, what was your game down there? I never understood."

"As simple as a night-shirt," explained Wallingford. "I merely hunted through the postal guide for the richest little town I could find that had no bank. Then I went there and had one started so I could borrow its money."

Blackie nodded comprehendingly.

"Then you bought a piece of property and raised it to a fict.i.tious value to cover the loan," he added. "Great stunt; but it seems to me they can get you for it. If they catch you up in one lie they can prove the whole thing to have been a frame-up. Suppose they find out?"