Part 39 (1/2)

”Well, send it, then,” said Cobb, relenting of his grim suggestion as to the best means of disposing of Dalls.

The door bell rang. A servant answered it. Into the house filed ten children, in all stages of wildness, accompanied by the mother. Seeing them rus.h.i.+ng in like an invading army of young Turks, the visitors retreated with as little loss to their dignity as they could spare. And Peter was happy again in the bosom of his family--a Prince at home; a King at the office of Graft.

Mrs. Dieman was now the acme of reincarnation. The jaundice of a sorrowed life had been burned out of her face by the new brand of cosmetics, and she now stood before the world a justly deserving woman.

But such is the pa.s.sage of poverty when embellished by a little of the olive oil of good treatment, fairer living, and a chance. Instead of the downcast woman, with a heart laden with lead, as she once was, she was now an upcast personage, with a heart that was a jardiniere of roses, doing her duty, and bearing her old sorrows silently as the mistress of a mansion. Chance was all that were needed. But still she loved Billy Barton, the drunkard. And this is the way of woman, sometimes.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE CONSPIRATORS' PLOT IS REVEALED.

Hiram Jarney sat in his lounging chair, in evening clothes, reading the daily newspapers, and smoking a Santa Clara cigar. His feet were encased in a pair of patent-leather slippers. A diamond sparkled on his spotless bosom front. His right leg hung comfortably crossed over his left. His clear cut features denoted his strength, and his active blue eyes his power; both combining to produce a wholesome pride of peace. There was not a s.m.u.tch to mar his impeccability. He was immaculate from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. His closely cropped hair revealed a head that might be taken as a perfect model by a phrenologist to show the parts of a well-balanced man. With a broad high forehead, high arched brows, fine nose, and a pink complexion, his completeness as a man of parts was unequaled.

As he read the news, turning his paper over and over, as he glanced at the head lines, or waded through the matter of some article that interested him most, an almost invisible vapor lazily ascended from his cigar--a man at ease in the bosom of his family.

Thus he sat and thus he looked, when Miram Monroe, the genteel ghost, was ushered in for a chat and to take dinner. When he saw who his visitor was, Mr. Jarney laid down his paper, crossed his left leg over his right, and leaned back in his chair, in such a resigned state of studied equanimity (always his pose in the presence of Monroe) that Monroe felt he must let loose one of his evanescent smiles.

”Have a seat,” said Mr. Jarney, in his familiar way of greeting Monroe; ”dinner will be ready soon.”

”Thank you,” said Monroe, as he stiffly bent himself into the capacious depths of an arm chair, sitting near.

Monroe was faultlessly groomed. He wore an evening suit, and had a diamond in a s.h.i.+rt front that looked no more starched than his frosted face.

”My daughter will be down tonight for the first time to take dinner with the family,” said Mr. Jarney, in a conversational mood. ”She is improving rapidly, Mr. Monroe; rapidly; and you don't know, being a bachelor, how much I am relieved of worry since she began to mend.”

”I imagine how one would feel,” said the feeling Monroe, now inwardly cogitating over how to approach the subject that brought him there on this occasion.

Having no hint of Mr. Monroe's intentions, Mr. Jarney proceeded:

”Yes; she has improved so rapidly lately that I feel, myself, like coming out of a long illness. My daughter and I are planning a trip, Monroe, just as soon as she is quite able.”

”A trip!” said Monroe, without expressing his surprise in his visage.

”We had thought of going to Europe,” pursued Mr. Jarney; ”but my business affairs are such that I cannot leave here this summer.”

”Where then?” asked Monroe, as if it were any of his affair where they went.

”We may go to the mountains for a few months, so that she can recuperate, and later in the summer we may go to Europe,” answered Mr.

Jarney.

”Mr. Jarney,” said the ghost, in a m.u.f.fled voice, as if he would burst with his secret, and as if his tongue were tied, ”Mr. Jarney, what--what--do you--think of me--as a suitor for your--daughter's--hand?” And then he looked as if he were made of translucent gla.s.s, or polished marble, or anything that was hard and white and had a polished surface, with sterile spots on top of it.

This was a stunner to the placid Mr. Jarney. The irrepressible Monroe looked stony enough that he might be taken for a real stone G.o.d of the Stares, as Mr. Jarney pierced him through with his piercingly keen eyes.

”You don't mean it, Monroe?” he finally said, after looking at him a long time, with a smile of the ridiculous mould.

”I am in earnest, Mr. Jarney--never more in earnest,” responded Monroe.

”Have you asked the young lady yet?” asked Mr. Jarney, still unable to believe the man was in earnest.

”Not yet; but I want your opinion first, Mr. Jarney,” answered Monroe, fingering his watch fob.

”You are very amusing, Mr. Monroe; very amusing,” said Mr. Jarney, facetiously.