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Brewster's Millions. George Barr McCutcheon
Читать онлайн.Название Brewster's Millions
Год выпуска 0
isbn 4057664634955
Автор произведения George Barr McCutcheon
Жанр Языкознание
Издательство Bookwire
"I beg your pardon," she cried. "You're the third person I've run into, so you see I'm not discriminating against you."
"I should be flattered even to be run down by you."
"Very well, then, look out." And she started the machine as if to charge him. She stopped in time, and said with a laugh, "Your gallantry deserves a reward. Wouldn't you rather send your horse home and come for a ride with me?"
"My man is waiting at Fifty-ninth Street. If you'll come that far, I'll go with pleasure."
Monty had merely a society acquaintance with Miss Drew. He had met her at dinners and dances as he had a host of other girls, but she had impressed him more than the others. Something indescribable took place every time their eyes met. Monty had often wondered just what that something meant, but he had always realized that it had in it nothing of platonic affection.
"If I didn't have to meet her eyes," he had said to himself, "I could go on discussing even politics with her, but the moment she looks at me I know she can see what I'm thinking about." From the first they considered themselves very good friends, and after their third meeting it seemed perfectly natural that they should call one another by their first names. Monty knew he was treading on dangerous ground. It never occurred to him to wonder what Barbara might think of him. He took it as a matter of course that she must feel more than friendly toward him. As they rode through the maze of carriages, they bowed frequently to friends as they passed. They were conscious that some of the women, noticeably old Miss Dexter, actually turned around and gazed at them.
"Aren't you afraid people will talk about us?" asked Monty with a laugh.
"Talk about our riding together in the park? It's just as safe here as it would be in Fifth Avenue. Besides, who cares? I fancy we can stand it."
"You're a thoroughbred, Barbara. I simply didn't want you talked about. When I go too far, say the word and drop me."
"I have a luncheon at two, but until then we have our ride."
Monty gasped and looked at his watch. "Five minutes to one," he cried. The matter of his engagement with the attorney had quite escaped him. In the exhilaration of Miss Drew's companionship he had forgotten even Uncle James's millions.
"I've got a date at one that means life and death to me. Would you mind taking me down to the nearest Elevated—or—here, let me run it."
Almost before Barbara was aware of what was happening they had changed places and the machine, under Monty's guidance, was tearing over the ground.
"Of all the casual people," said the girl, by no means unequal to the excitement, "I believe you're kidnapping me."
But when she saw the grim look on Monty's face and one policeman after another warned him she became seriously alarmed. "Monty Brewster, this pace is positively dangerous."
"Perhaps it is," he responded, "but if they haven't sense enough to keep out of the way they shouldn't kick if they get run over."
"I don't mean the people or the automobiles or traps or trees or monuments, Monty; I mean you and me. I know we'll either be killed or arrested."
"This isn't anything to the gait I'll be going if everything turns out as I expect. Don't be worried, Babs. Besides it's one now. Lord, I didn't dream it was so late."
"Is your appointment so important?" she asked, hanging on.
"Well, I should say it is, and—look out—you blooming idiot! Do you want to get killed?" The last remark was hurled back at an indignant pedestrian who had escaped destruction by the merest chance.
"Here we are," he said, as they drew up beside the entrance to the Elevated. "Thanks awfully,—you're a corker,—sorry to leave you this way. I'll tell you all about it later. You're a dear to help me keep my appointment."
"Seems to me you helped yourself," she cried after him as he darted up the steps. "Come up for tea some day and tell me who the lady is."
After he had gone Miss Drew turned to her chauffeur, who was in the tonneau. Then she laughed unrestrainedly, and the faintest shadow of a grin stole over the man's face.
"Beg pardon, Miss," he said, "but I'd back Mr. Brewster against Fournier any day."
Only half an hour late, Brewster entered the office of Messrs. Grant & Ripley, flushed, eager, and unconscious of the big splotch of mud that decorated his cheek.
"Awfully sorry to have kept you waiting," he apologized.
"Sherlock Holmes would say that you had been driving, Mr. Brewster," said Mr. Ripley, shaking the young man's hand.
"He would miss it, Mr. Ripley. I've been flying. What have you heard from Montana?" He could no longer check the impatient question, which came out so suddenly that the attorneys laughed irresistibly, Brewster Joining them an instant later. They laid before him a half dozen telegrams, responses from bankers, lawyers, and mine-operators in Montana. These messages established beyond doubt the extent of James T. Sedgwick's wealth; it was reported to be even greater than shown by the actual figures.
"And what does Mr. Jones say?" demanded Montgomery.
"His reply resembles a press dispatch. He has tried to make himself thoroughly clear, and if there is anything left unsaid it is past our comprehension. I am sorry to inform you, though, that he has paid the telegraph charges," said Mr. Grant, smiling broadly.
"Is he rational about it?" asked Montgomery, nervously.
Mr. Grant gave his partner a quick, significant glance, and then drew from his desk the voluminous telegram from Swearengen Jones. It was as follows:
October 2.
GRANT & RIPLEY,
Yucatan Building, New York.
I am to be sole referee in this matter. You are retained as my agents, heir to report to me through you weekly. One desire of uncle was to forestall grandfather's bequest. I shall respect that desire. Enforce terms rigidly. He was my best friend and trusted me with disposition of all this money. Shall attend to it sacredly. Heir must get rid of money left to him in given time. Out of respect to memory of uncle he must take no one into his confidence. Don't want world to think S. was damned fool. He wasn't. Here are rules I want him to work under: 1. No reckless gambling. 2. No idiotic Board of Trade speculation. 3. No endowments to institutions of any character, because their memory would be an invisible asset. 4. No indiscriminate giving away of funds. By that I don't mean him to be stingy. I hate a stingy man and so did J.T.S. 5. No more than ordinary dissipation. I hate a saint. So did J.T.S. And both of us sowed an oat or two. 6. No excessive donations to charity. If he gives as other millionaires do I'll let it go at that. Don't believe charity should be spoiled by indulgence. It is not easy to spend a million, and I won't be unreasonable with him. Let him spend it freely, but not foolishly, and get his money's worth out of it. If he does that I'll consider him a good business man. I regard it foolish to tip waiter more than a dollar and car porter does not deserve over five. He does not earn more than one. If heir wants to try for the big stake he'd better begin quick, because he might slip up if he waits until day of judgment. It's less than year off. Luck to him. Will write you more fully.
S. JONES.
"Write more fully!" echoed Montgomery. "What can there be left to write about?"
"He is explicit," said the attorney, "but it is best to know all the conditions before you decide. Have you made up your mind?"
Brewster sat for a long time, staring hard at the floor. A great struggle was going on in his mind.
"It's a gamble, and a big one," he