The lady took in the group by the table at a glance: Pearson, with the manuscript in his hands; Captain Elisha leaning back in his chair, frowning at the interruption; Caroline rising to welcome the guests, and coloring slightly as she did so. All these details Mrs. Dunn noted, made an entry in her mental memorandum-book, and underscored it for future reference.
If she discerned unpleasant possibilities in the situation, she did not allow them to disturb her outward serenity. She kissed Caroline and called her "dear child" as fondly as usual, shook hands graciously with Captain Elisha, and bowed condescending recognition of Pearson.
"And how is the novel coming on? Do tell me!" she begged. "I'm sure we interrupted a reading. It's too bad of us, really! But Malcolm insisted upon coming. He has been very busy of late--some dreadful 'corner' or other on the exchange--and has neglected his friends--or thinks he has. I told him I had explained it all to you, Caroline, but he WOULD come tonight. It is the first call he has made in weeks; so you SEE! But there! he doesn't consider running in here a call."Call or not, it spoiled the evening for at least two of the company. Pearson left early. Captain Elisha excused himself soon after and went to his room, leaving the Dunns to chat with Caroline for an hour or more. Malcolm joked and was languid and cynical.
His mother asked a few carefully guarded questions.
"Quite a clever person, this young author friend of yours seems to be, Caroline," she observed. "Almost brilliant, really.""He isn't a friend of mine, exactly," replied the girl. "He and Captain Warren are friendly, and father used to know and like him, as I have told you. The novel is great fun, though! The people in it are coming to seem almost real to me.""I daresay! I was a great reader myself once, before my health--my heart, you know--began to trouble me. The doctors now forbid my reading anything the least bit exciting. Has this--er--Mr. Pearson means?""I know very little of him, personally, but I think not. He used to be connected with the Planet, and wrote things about Wall Street. That was how father came to know him.""Live in an attic, does he?" inquired Malcolm. "That's what all authors do, isn't it? Put up in attics and sleep on pallets--whatever they are--and eat crusts, don't they? Jolly life--if you like it! I prefer bucking wheat corners, myself."Mrs. Dunn laughed, and Caroline joined her, though not as heartily.
"How ridiculous you are, Malcolm!" exclaimed his mother. "Mr.
Pearson isn't that kind of an author, I'm sure. But where does he live, Caroline?""Somewhere on West 18th Street, I believe. He has rooms there, Ithink."
"Oh! Really? And how is this wonderful novel of his progressing?
When does he expect to favor us with it?"
"I don't know. But it is progressing very well at present. He has written three chapters since last Wednesday. He was reading them to us when you came.""Indeed! Since last Wednesday? How interesting!"Malcolm did not seem to find the topic interesting, for he smothered a yawn. His mother changed the subject. On their way home, however, she again referred to it.
"You must make it a point to see her every day," she declared. "No matter what happens, you must do it.""Oh, Lord!" groaned her son, "I can't. There's the deuce and all on 'Change just now, and the billiard tournament's begun at the Club. My days and nights are full up. Once a week is all she should expect, I think.""No matter what you think or what she expects, you must do as Isay."
"Why?"
"Because I don't like the looks of things."
"Oh, rubbish! You're always seeing bugaboos. Uncle Hayseed is pacified, isn't he? I've paid the Moriarty crowd off. Beastly big bills they were, too!""Humph! Uncle Hayseed, as you call him, is anything but a fool.
But he isn't the particular trouble at present. He and Iunderstand each other, I believe, and he will be reasonable. But--there is this Pearson. I don't like his calling so frequently."Malcolm laughed in huge scorn. "Pearson!" he sneered. "Why, he's nothing but a penny-a-liner, without the penny. Surely you're not afraid Caroline will take a fancy to him. She isn't an idiot.""She's a young girl, and more romantic than I wish she was. At her age girls do silly things, sometimes. He called on Wednesday--you heard her say so--and was there again to-night. I don't like it, Itell you."
"Her uncle is responsible for--"
"It is more than that. She knew him long before she knew her uncle existed. Her father introduced him--her FATHER. And to her mind, whatever her father did was right.""Witness his brilliant selection of an executor. Oh, Mater, you weary me! I used to know this Pearson when he was a reporter down town, and . . . Humph!""What is it?"
"Why, nothing, I guess. It seemed as if I remember Warren and Pearson in some sort of mix-up. Some . . . Humph! I wonder."He was silent, thinking. His mother pressed his arm excitedly.
"If you remember anything that occurred between Rodgers Warren and this man, anything to this Pearson's disadvantage, it may pay us to investigate. What was it?""I don't know. But it seemed as if I remembered Warren's . . . or a friend of his telling me . . . saying something . . . but it couldn't be of importance, because Caroline doesn't know it.""I'm not so sure that it may not be important. And, if you recall, on that day when we first met him at Caroline's, she seemed hurt because he had not visited them since her father died. Perhaps there WAS a reason. At any rate, I should look into the matter.""All right, Mater, just as you say. Really you ought to join a Don't Worry Club.""One member in the family is quite sufficient. And I expect you to devote yourself to Caroline from now on. That girl is lonely, and when you get the combination of a lonely romantic young girl and a good-looking and interesting young fellow, even though he is as poor as a church mouse, ANYTHING may happen. Add to that the influence of an unpractical but sharp old Yankee relative and guardian--then the situation is positively dangerous."