Part 24 (1/2)

”My mother.”

CHAPTER X

Early in April C. Bailey, Jr., overdrew his account, was politely notified of that oversight by the bank. He hunted about, casually, for stray funds, but to his intense surprise discovered nothing immediately available.

Which annoyed him, and he explained the situation to his father; who demanded further and sordidly searching explanations concerning the expenditure on his son's part of an income more than adequate for any unmarried young man.

They undertook this interesting line of research together, but there came a time in the proceedings when C. Bailey, Jr., betrayed violent inclinations toward reticence, non-communication, and finally secrecy; in fact he declined to proceed any further or to throw any more light upon his reasons for not proceeding, which symptoms were characteristic and perfectly familiar to his father.

”The trouble is,” concluded Bailey, Sr., ”you have been throwing away your income on that Greensleeve girl! What is she--your private property?”

”No.”

The two men looked at each other, steadily enough. Bailey, Sr., said: ”If _that's_ the case--why in the name of common sense do you spend so much money on her?” Nave logic on the part of Bailey, Sr., Clive replied:

”I didn't suppose I was spending very much. I like her. I like her better than any other girl. She is really wonderful, father. You won't believe it if I say she is charming, well-bred, clever--”

”I believe _that_!”

--”And,” continued Clive--”absolutely unselfish and non-mercenary.”

”If she's all that, too, it certainly seems to pay her--materially speaking.”

”You don't understand,” said his son patiently. ”From the very beginning of our friends.h.i.+p it has been very difficult for me to make her accept anything--even when she was in actual need. Our friends.h.i.+p is not on _that_ basis. She doesn't care for me because of what I do for her. It may surprise you to hear me--”

”My son, nothing surprises me any more, not even virtue and honesty.

This girl may be all you think her. Personally I never met any like her, but I've read about them in sentimental fiction. No doubt there's a basis for such popular heroines. There may have been such paragons.

There may be yet. Perhaps you've collided with one of these feminine curiosities.”

”I have.”

”All right, Clive. Only, why linger longer in the side-show than the price of admission warrants? The main tent awaits you. In more modern metaphor; it's the same film every hour, every day, the same orchestrion, the same environment. You've seen enough. There's nothing more--if I clearly understand your immaculate intentions. Do I?”

”Yes,” said Clive, reddening.

”All right; there's nothing more, then. It's time to retire. You've had your amus.e.m.e.nt, and you've paid for it like a gentleman--very much like a gentleman--rather exorbitantly. That's the way a gentleman always pays. So now suppose you return to your own sort and coyly reappear amid certain circles recently neglected, and which, at one period of your career, you permitted yourself to embellish and adorn with your own surpa.s.sing personality.”

They both laughed; there had been, always, a very tolerant understanding between them.

Then Clive's face grew graver.

”Father,” he said, ”I've tried remaining away. It doesn't do any good.

The longer I stay away from her, the more anxious I am to go back....

It's really friends.h.i.+p I tell you.”

”You're not in love with her, are you, Clive?”

The son hesitated: ”No!... No, I can't be. I'm very certain that I am not.”