Jacob's Ladder

“To your brother’s house in Riverside Drive.”

“Wouldn’t it be more convenient for us to go to an hotel?” Jacob suggested. “With sickness in the house, it seems to me that it would be better.”

“Your brother would never forgive me if I allowed such a thing,” Morse protested earnestly. “The house is very large, and there are half a dozen suites well out of hearing of Mr. Pratt’s rooms. Besides, you will be able to see him then at the earliest possible moment.”

“Just as you say,” Jacob assented.

Their first drive through New York – up Fifth Avenue and along Riverside Drive – was far too interesting for conversation to flourish. The brownstone house which finally turned out to be their destination, and which had once belonged to a famous multimillionaire, surpassed all their expectations. An English butler hurried forward at the sound of Morse’s latchkey. A fountain banked with flowers was playing in the middle of a circular hall. The light was toned and softened by exquisite stained-glass windows. Everywhere was an air of unbounded luxury. The adjoining suites into which Jacob and his companion were ushered surpassed anything they had seen in domestic architecture. They had scarcely had time to look around before a coloured servant in livery, with a white linen coat, presented Scotch whisky and soda, and a silver pail of ice, on a magnificent salver.

“I am going to like this country,” Lord Felixstowe declared with conviction. “Say when, Jacob.”

The secretary, who had left them for a few minutes, returned presently with a dignified personage whom he introduced as the senior of the physicians in attendance upon Mr. Samuel Pratt.

“Doctor Bardolf has attended your brother for many years,” he explained.

“I am very glad to meet you, sir,” the physician said, as he shook hands. “I am going to pull your brother through this trouble, all right, but you must be patient.”

“That’s good hearing,” Jacob declared heartily.

“He is now,” the physician continued, “in a state of coma, following upon brain fever. I’d like you not to be in any hurry to visit him for a day or two. I want him to come to himself quite naturally and not to be brought round by the shock of seeing any one unexpectedly.”

“I am entirely in your hands,” Jacob replied. “Now that I am on the spot, I feel much more comfortable.”

“So do I,” Morse echoed, with a little sigh of relief.

“Your brother is not a man with many friends, Mr. Pratt,” the physician proceeded, “and in the present state of the stock markets it has not been thought advisable to advertise his illness. I dare say, therefore, that Mr. Morse will be very glad of your advice and help in many directions. I know, in fact, that he has been anxiously awaiting it.”

“I have indeed,” the young man confessed earnestly. “Mr. Pratt as a rule enjoys such excellent health that we have never even contemplated a situation like this.”

“I shall be pleased to do what I can,” Jacob promised, a little dubiously. “My brother and I are partners, of course, in the Pratt Oil Combine, but I know very little of his affairs outside.”

The physician smiled.

“Your brother has the reputation of being extraordinarily fortunate,” he said. “That, however, is outside my province. I have only to add, Mr. Pratt, that the invalid has two nurses, the best I could find in New York, in constant attendance upon him. Any change in his condition would bring me to his bedside in less than ten minutes. Until to-morrow, I beg to take my leave.”

The physician hurried away, and a few minutes later Morse also excused himself, on the pretext of a heavy mail. Jacob and his young companion made luxurious use of their wonderful bathrooms, subsequently attiring themselves in the garments laid out by a ubiquitous and efficient valet, after which Felixstowe set up his typewriter and insisted upon justifying his existence. Jacob accordingly dictated a few lines to Dauncey, which his anxious secretary took down with great care. Felixstowe smudged his fingers badly with the carbon copy and, after Jacob had appended his signature, stamped and addressed the missive with punctilious attention.

“There is no doubt whatever,” he declared, as he gave the letter over to the care of a specially summoned servant and threw himself into the most comfortable of the easy-chairs, “that a certain amount of work does give spice to the day’s pleasure.”

“You’ll have to do a great deal more than that,” Jacob warned him, “when the busy days come along.”

“And why not?” was the grandiloquent reply. “When I get going, I shall be able to do a great deal more without fatigue. Six o’clock, old dear,” he added, glancing at his watch, “and mark you, something tells me that before long that genial blackamoor, with the smile which seems to slit his face in two, will be here with cocktails. Footsteps outside! Why, I can hear the ice chinking in the shaker!”

The door opened – to admit only Morse, however. Felixstowe’s face fell. The newcomer was attired in dinner clothes, which accorded fairly well with the tenets of eastern civilisation except that his jacket was unusually long and his black tie of the flowing description.

“Mr. Pratt has an excellent chef here,” he announced, “but I thought that as you two gentlemen are strangers in New York, you would probably like to sample one of the best restaurants. I have ordered dinner at the Waldorf. It is not so exclusive as some of the other places, but I feel sure that you will find it amusing.”

“Is the bird’s-nesting good there?” Felixstowe enquired anxiously.

“Bird’s-nesting? I don’t quite get you,” Morse replied, politely puzzled.

“The fluff,” his questioner explained, “the skirts, – the little ladies who help to make the world a cheerful and a joyous place.”

Mr. Morse proved that behind his severe expression and depressing spectacles he was only human. He smiled.

“The Waldorf is, I believe, very largely patronised by New York ladies,” he said. “I am afraid that in that respect I am not a very efficient cicerone. I shall be able to introduce you, however, to others who may be able to atone for my deficiency in that direction.”

Morse was as good as his word. He had a plentiful acquaintance, and the anxiety for news concerning Mr. Samuel Pratt brought visitors continually to his table. His answer to one was practically his answer to all.

“Just fine,” he replied to an elderly stockbroker who questioned him rather closely. “He is just now back in the Adirondacks, having the time of his life, I guess. Going to bring home a great collection of heads and finish up with a fortnight at the salmon – Why, yes, Mr. Kindacott,” he went on, a little doubtfully, “I could get a little note through, if you particularly wished it, but you know what Mr. Pratt’s orders were – no business except in a matter of great urgency. I am dealing with most everything from Riverside Drive.”

The stockbroker passed on. Felixstowe glanced at his vis-à-vis with admiration.

“I should never have guessed from the look of you that you could tell ’em like that,” he remarked.

Morse smiled deprecatingly.

“It is not my custom,” he admitted, “to depart from the truth, but in a business life out here you have to put scruples behind you. If they knew down in Wall Street that Mr. Samuel was as ill as he is, a whole bunch of stocks we are interested in would tumble down half a dozen points. That is why I didn’t introduce you, Mr. Pratt, as well as Lord Felixstowe,” he added, turning to Jacob. “If they got to know that you were Mr. Samuel’s brother, over from England, it would make them kind of restless.”

“I quite understand,” Jacob assented. “I have no desire to make acquaintances on this side until Sam is well enough to go round with me.”

The meal, a very excellent and somewhat prolonged one, came to a conclusion about ten o’clock. Morse glanced at his watch.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “I am now entirely at your service. If you would like to go home, I admit that it is my usual custom to retire early. If, on the other hand, Lord Felixstowe, or even you, Mr. Pratt, would like to see a little New York night life, I will do my best.”

“I am for the giddy whirl,” Felixstowe declared promptly. “I have eaten strange and delicious food of an exhilarating character. The flavour of terrapin is upon my palate. I am imbibing New York. It is getting into my blood.”

“You are also imbibing a considerable quantity of Pommery,” Jacob observed. “I may have letters for the English mail at nine o’clock to-morrow morning, remember.”

“You will find me waiting by your bedside,” the young man promised. “To-night the magic of a strange city calls.”

“If you will take the car home, Mr. Pratt,” Morse suggested, “Lord Felixstowe and I will take a taxi – that is to say, unless you care to join us.”

Jacob shook his head.

“Show Lord Felixstowe everything there is to be seen,” he begged. “As soon as my brother is out of danger, I’ll have a turn around myself.”

Towards three o’clock, Jacob, who was reading in bed, heard stealthy footsteps in the next room. He coughed and Felixstowe at once entered.

“So you’ve got back,” Jacob remarked, laying down his book.

Felixstowe’s tie had escaped an inch or two to the right, his theatre hat was set well on the back of his head, his expression was beatific.

“Jacob, old bean,” he declared, sitting down heavily upon the bed, “we’ve got the knock. London’s a back number. We’re beaten at the post.”

“In what respect?”

“The lasses!” Felixstowe exclaimed, smacking the part of the bed where he imagined Jacob’s leg to be, – “the lasses, the drink and the gilded halls! And I’ll tell you another thing. Our friend Morse can take off his spectacles and go a bit. He’s no stranger on the merry-go-rounds… Gee! What’s that?”

The young man slipped from the bed and crossed the room to where, on a very handsome little round table, a bottle of whisky and other appurtenances were attractively displayed.

“The one thing I needed to send me to sleep like a top was a nightcap,” he declared, mixing himself a drink. “Jacob, have you any more relatives? Let’s visit ’em all.”

“You go to bed,” Jacob insisted. “I’m going to turn out the light directly.”

Lord Felixstowe, his glass in his hand, one-stepped lightly out of the room, humming under his breath a little ditty which seemed to contain dual references to a prospective sovereignty of the May and the hour at which he would like his shaving water. Jacob turned over and slept the sleep of the just.

CHAPTER XXVI

Soon after breakfast, on the following morning, Doctor Bardolf was shown into Jacob’s sitting-room. He held his watch in his hand. Outside the house, the engine of his great automobile was purring gently.

“No change, Mr. Pratt,” he announced. “All the symptoms, however, continue to be decidedly favourable.”

“Capital!” Jacob exclaimed. “When shall you be here again?”

“I am coming in this afternoon, simply in case that slight alteration in my patient’s condition should have occurred, which will enable you to visit him. I rather gather, from certain indications, that the change is close at hand.”

“Very considerate of you, I am sure, Doctor,” Jacob observed gratefully.

“In the meantime, Mr. Pratt,” the physician enquired, replacing his watch in his waistcoat pocket, “can I be of any service to you? Your brother is a personal friend of mine as well as a patient, and I should like to show you any attention agreeable to you. Would you care, for instance, to see over one of our big hospitals?”

“I’m not keen about it,” Jacob admitted frankly. Doctor Bardolf smiled.

“Like your brother, Mr. Jacob,” he remarked, “you’re candid, I see. I’m afraid I sometimes let my professional predilections run away with me. I’ll send you cards, if you will allow me, for two clubs I think you would like to see something of, and if you’ll do me the honour of dining with me one night, as soon as your brother’s condition has shown the change we are waiting for, I shall be honoured.”

“Very kind of you – delighted,” Jacob murmured.

Whereupon the physician took his leave and was succeeded within a very few moments by Morse. The latter bowed to Jacob and rather ignored Felixstowe’s frivolous salutation.

“Mr. Pratt,” he begged, “can I have a few words with you on business?”

“Certainly,” Jacob assented. “That’s what I’m here for. Sit down, do.”

The secretary accepted an easy-chair but waved away the proffered cigar.

“I guess you fully understand, sir,” he began, “how important it is to keep your brother’s condition absolutely secret. The moment the change that the doctor is looking for takes place, we shall give it out that he has returned from the Adirondacks with a slight fever and is compelled to rest for a day or two. Until then, we’ve got to bluff for all we are worth.”

“I am rather taking your word for this,” Jacob said. “In my country, the stock market is not quite so sensitive as regards personalities.”

“Mighty good thing, too,” Morse remarked approvingly. “Down in Wall Street, some one only has to start a rumour that the chairman of one of the great railway companies is sick, and the stock of that company slides a notch or two before you know where you are. However, to return to my point,” he continued, leaning forward in his chair and becoming more earnest in his manner, “your brother, Mr. Pratt, is a very prominent figure in Wall Street. As his partner, you can form a pretty fair idea as to what his monthly profits are. At first he was absolutely driven by circumstances to be a large operator upon the stock markets. Nowadays, this has become one of his favourite hobbies.”

“Does he gain or lose by it?” Jacob enquired.

“He makes money,” Morse replied. “But then he never gambles – what we should call gambling in this country. He only deals in the sound things, and if the market sags he simply holds on. That brings me, sir, to the principal reason why I was glad to see you over on this side. Three days before he was taken ill, your brother cleaned up a little deal by which he made the best part of half a million dollars and opened a very large account in railroads. The last word he said to me on business was that he guessed he’d have to find the best part of a million dollars before he began to draw in the profits, for, owing to conditions with which you don’t need to worry, all railway stocks have fallen during the last two weeks.”

“I noticed that in the papers,” Jacob admitted.

“Last week,” Morse continued, “I went around to see the brokers, Worstead and Jones of Wall Street, and they agreed to carry over without hesitation. This week the differences come to six hundred and twenty-eight thousand dollars, and by an inviolable law of Exchange the money has to be found. The stocks, as you will see from the list which I have here, are the best in the States. Your brother himself knew that the recovery would not be till the beginning of next month. This illness of his was so unexpected, however, that he had no time to make any provision for paying these differences. We have a matter of seven million dollars on deposit at various banks in the city, but I can’t touch those amounts and no more could you, as they are part of Mr. Samuel’s private fortune. What I want you to do, sir, if you don’t mind being so kind, is to take up these differences this week, and if a further drop should take place before next settlement, you and I and Mr. Samuel’s legal adviser can apply to the Courts for a power of attorney.”

“I came over to help in every possible way,” Jacob reflected, “and I have credit for about that amount at the First National Bank. You want a cheque, then, for – ”

“Dear me, no, Mr. Pratt!” the other interrupted. “I don’t figure in this. To-morrow, by the first mail, we shall get the stockbroker’s note showing the exact difference. If you will draw your cheque then, payable to the stockbrokers, they will give you a receipt. The moment Mr. Samuel can hold a pen, we can transfer the amount back again to your credit. The only point is that your cheque must be on an American bank, so that the actual cash can be handled.”

“As it happens, that can be arranged,” Jacob promised. “You can rely upon me, Mr. Morse.”

“That’s very kind of you indeed, Mr. Pratt,” Morse declared heartily. “I have a heavy mail to attend to this morning, so if you’ll excuse me I’ll be getting on with it now,” he added, rising to his feet. “I have ordered the car for you and Lord Felixstowe. You will find the chauffeur an exceedingly intelligent man, and he will take you around New York and show you some of the things you ought to see. I should suggest luncheon at the Ritz-Carlton or the Plaza.”

“That sounds all right,” Jacob assented. “I beg that you won’t worry about us. We can look after ourselves quite well.”

“And you’ll be back by four o’clock to see Doctor Bardolf,” Morse enjoined. “You won’t forget that he is an exceedingly punctual man.”

“We’ll be back on time without fail,” Jacob promised.

Jacob and his companion spent the morning very much in the manner suggested. The latter was much quieter than usual, so much so that in the lounge after luncheon at the Ritz-Carlton, Jacob commented upon his silence.

“Lose your heart last night, Felix?” he enquired.

“I’m a slow-mover with the fillies, worse luck!” the young man answered, shaking his head. “I wasn’t as blind as I seemed, either. I am going to try and get our demure friend with the blinkers out on the razzle-dazzle again to-night.”

“Not sure that I approve,” Jacob said. “I don’t think Morse cares much about that sort of thing, either.”

“I’m not entirely convinced, you know,” Felixstowe observed, “that we’ve quite got the hang of that fellow.”

“In what way?” Jacob enquired.

“Well,” his young companion continued, stretching himself out in the chair and lighting a fresh cigarette, “between you and me, Mr. Morse was pretty well-known at the low haunts we dropped in at last night. You can tell when a Johnny’s at home and when he isn’t, you know, and I saw him looking at me once or twice when they called him by his Christian name, for instance, as though he hoped I wasn’t catching on.”

“That seems quite reasonable,” Jacob observed. “Sam’s a pretty broadminded chap, but I dare say he wouldn’t like the idea of his secretary being a frequenter of all sorts of night haunts.”

“One for yours truly, eh?”

“Not at all. You are more a companion than a secretary, so far, and besides, you haven’t control over my finances. What have you been studying that directory for?”

Lord Felixstowe laid down the massive volume which he had just borrowed from the office clerk.

“Been looking ’em all up,” he confided. “Doctor Brand Bardolf, Physician, Number 1001 West Fifty-seventh Street – he’s there, with letters enough after his name to make a mess of the whole alphabet. Sydney Morse – he’s there, same address as Samuel Pratt. And the stockbrokers, Worstead and Jones, Number 202 Wall Street.”

“What made you look them all up?” Jacob asked curiously.

“I’m damned if I know,” was the candid reply. “All the same, I’m here to look after you a bit, you know, old dear, and when you’re parting with the dibs to the tune of a hundred thousand quid, you need some one around with his weather eye open.”

Jacob smiled tolerantly.

“That’s all right, Felix,” he agreed, “but remember I’m parting with it under my brother’s roof, to his own stockbrokers, on the advice of his own private secretary and physician. Morse wouldn’t even have the cheque made payable to him.”

“Looks as right as a trivet,” the young man assented, “but I’m one of those chaps with instincts, you know, and I’m damned if I like Morse. I shall try and get him canned to-night.”

“I beg that you won’t do any such thing,” Jacob objected hastily. “It is probably most necessary for my brother’s interests that he should remain in good health. Besides, you’ll get into trouble yourself if you don’t mind.”

A smile almost of pity parted the young man’s lips.

“Don’t you worry,” he murmured. “It’d take half a dozen Morses, and then some, to sew me up.”

CHAPTER XXVII

It seemed to Jacob, when he was awakened from a sound sleep about four o’clock the next morning, that his young companion’s farewell words had been vainglorious. He was first of all conscious of the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs, then the opening of Lord Felixstowe’s door, and the muffled tramp of two men evidently carrying some sort of a burden. A few seconds later there was an apologetic knock at his own door, and Morse presented himself. His evening attire was slightly ruffled, he was not remarkably steady upon his feet, and his speech was a little less precise than usual. Otherwise, he showed no signs of a night of dissipation.

“Forgive my disturbing you, Mr. Pratt,” he said, “but I thought I had better just let you know that we’ve had a little trouble with his young lordship this evening.”

“You mean, I suppose,” Jacob observed, “that he’s had too much to drink?”

Morse coughed – then hiccoughed and drew himself up with preternatural gravity.

“Lord Felixstowe was certainly a little indiscreet,” he admitted. “He has a very good head for a young man, but he would insist upon cocktails after champagne.”

“Where is he now?”

“Lying down in his room. The chauffeur and I carried him up, and he will be quite all right in the morning. I’ll take the liberty of sending a little draught round about breakfast time.”

“Silly young ass!” Jacob yawned. “Thank you, Mr. Morse, and good night.”

“Good night, Mr. Pratt.”

Jacob, after a few minutes’ reflection, swung out of bed, put on his dressing gown, and made his way into the adjoining apartment. Lord Felixstowe, fully dressed, was lying upon the bed, breathing heavily. Jacob approached and stood over him. His tie had gone altogether, there were wine stains upon his shirt front, his hair, generally so beautifully smooth, was in wild disorder.

“You bragging young donkey!” Jacob scoffed. “He’s put it across you all right.”

The young man suddenly turned his head. There was a contraction of his left eyelid. He solemnly winked.

“I don’t think!” he said. “Turn on the taps in the bathroom, old dear. I’m going to have a soak.”

“Do you mean to say that you’re shamming?” Jacob exclaimed.

“How did you guess it! A hot bath and a small whisky and soda, and I shall drop off to sleep in a twinkling. But, Jacob, my lord and master,” Felixstowe enjoined earnestly, as he commenced to throw off his clothes, “don’t you try it on with them. I thought some of the lads from our own village could shift the stuff a bit when they were up against it, but, believe me, we do no more than gargle our throats over in London. When it comes to the real thing, they’ve got us beaten to a frazzle. Tuck yourself into bed, old thing, and don’t you worry about me. What a house to stay in!” the young man concluded, with a little burst of enthusiasm, as he pointed to the decanter of whisky, the soda water, and the silver ice tray set out upon a small table. “Jacob, when your brother rises from his bed of sickness, I shall grasp his hand and salute him as the lord of hosts. Absolutely clinking! Tophole!”

The young man disappeared into the bathroom, and Jacob, reassured but a little bewildered, went back to bed. To all appearance, Felixstowe was perfectly sober. Nevertheless, when breakfast was served the next morning, Jacob found himself alone.

“Have you told Lord Felixstowe?” he enquired of the butler.

“His lordship went out some time ago, sir,” the man replied, with a faint smile. “He left word that he had gone to the chemist’s.”

Jacob, somewhat puzzled, finished his breakfast without comment. He was halfway through a cigar afterwards when the butler reappeared.

“Mr. Morse’s compliments, sir, and will you step down to the library and see Doctor Bardolf?”

Jacob made his way to the very sumptuous room on the ground floor, which his brother when at home had christened his business room. The physician, who was waiting there, shook hands with him warmly. His manner this morning seemed a little more friendly and a little less professional. He had the air of a man for whom a period of some mental strain has ended.

“Your brother will pull through, sir,” he announced. “There is a marked improvement this morning.”

“I am delighted,” Jacob said heartily.