A Woman Intervenes

'Your name is Kenyon, isn't it?' asked the man, somewhat out of breath.

'Yes, that is my name.'

'I guess you don't remember me. I am the telegraph operator. We have had a despatch waiting for you for some time, a cablegram from London. We have searched all over the town for you, but couldn't find you.'

'Ah,' said Kenyon, 'is it important?'

'Well, that I don't know. You had better come with me to the office and get it. Of course, they don't generally cable unimportant things. I remember it said something about you keeping yourself in readiness for something.'

They walked together to the telegraph-office. The boy was still searching for Kenyon with the original despatch, but the operator turned up the file and read the copy to him.

'You see, it wants an answer,' he said; 'that's why I thought it was important to get you. You will have plenty of time for an answer to-night.'

John took a lead pencil and wrote the cable despatch which Wentworth received. He paid his money, and said:

'I will go to my hotel; it is the – House. I will wait there, and if anything comes for me, send it over as soon as possible.'

'All right,' said the operator, 'that is the best plan; then we will know exactly where to find you. Of course, there is no use in your waiting here, because we can get you in five minutes. Perhaps I had better telephone to the hotel for you if anything comes.'

'Very well,' said Kenyon; 'I will leave it all in your hands.'

Whether it was the effect of having been in the country or not, John felt that the cablegram he had received was a good omen. He meditated over the tremendous ill-fortune he had suffered in the whole business from beginning to end, and thought of old Mr. Longworth's favourite phrase, 'There's no such thing as luck.'

Then came a rap at his door, and the bell-boy said:

'There is a gentleman here wishes to speak to you.'

'Ask him to come up,' was the answer; and two minutes later Von Brent entered.

'Any news?' he asked.

John, who was in a state of mind which made him suspicious of everything and everybody, answered:

'No, nothing new.'

'Ah, I am sorry for that. I had some hopes that perhaps you might be able to raise the money before twelve o'clock to-morrow. Of course you know the option ends at noon to-morrow?'

'Yes, I know that.'

'Did you know that Longworth was in Ottawa?'

'No,' said Kenyon; 'I have been out of town myself.'

'Yes, he came last night. He has the money in the bank, as I told you. Now, I will not accept it until the very latest moment. Of course, legally, I cannot accept it before that time, and, just as legally, I cannot refuse his money when he tenders it. I am very sorry all this has happened—more sorry than I can tell you. I hope you will not think that I am to blame in the matter?'

'No, you are not in the slightest to blame. There is nobody in fault except myself. I feel that I have been culpably negligent, and altogether too trustful.'

'I wish to goodness I knew where you could get the money; but, of course, if I knew that, I would have had it myself long ago.'

'I am very much obliged to you,' said Kenyon; 'but the only thing you can do for me is to see that your clock is not ahead of time to-morrow. I may, perhaps, be up at the office before twelve o'clock—that is where I shall find you, I suppose?'

'Yes; I shall be there all the forenoon. I shall not leave until twelve.'

'Very good; I am much obliged to you, Mr. Von Brent, for your sympathy. I assure you, I haven't many friends, and it—well, I'm obliged to you, that's all. An Englishman, you know, is not very profuse in the matter of thanks, but I mean it.'

'I'm sure you do,' said Von Brent, 'and I'm only sorry that my assistance cannot be something substantial. Well, good-bye, hoping to see you to-morrow.'

After he had departed, Kenyon's impatience increased as the hours went on. He left the hotel, and went direct to the telegraph-office; but nothing had come for him.

'I'm afraid,' said the operator, 'that there won't be anything more to-night. If it should come late, shall I send it to your hotel?'

'Certainly; no matter at what hour it comes, I wish you would let me have it as soon as possible. It is very important.'

Leaving the office, he went up the street and, passing the principal hotel in the place, saw young Longworth standing under the portico of the hotel as dapper and correct in costume as ever, his single eyeglass the admiration of all Ottawa, for there was not another like it in the city.

'How do you do, Kenyon?' said that young man.

'My dear sir,' replied Kenyon, 'the last time you spoke to me you said you desired to have nothing more to say to me. I cordially reciprocated that sentiment, and I want to have nothing to say to you.'

'My dear fellow,' cried Longworth jauntily, 'there is no harm done. Of course, in New York I was a little out of sorts. Everybody is in New York—beastly hole! I don't think it is worse than Ottawa, but the air is purer here. By the way, perhaps you and I can make a little arrangement. I am going to buy that mine to-morrow, as doubtless you know. Now, I should like to see it in the hands of a good and competent man. If a couple of hundred pounds a year would be any temptation to you, I think we can afford to let you develop the mine.'

'Thank you!' said Kenyon.

'I knew you would be grateful; just think over the matter, will you? and don't come to any rash decision. We can probably give a little more than that; but until we see how the mine is turning out, it is not likely we shall spend a great deal of money on it.'

'Of course,' said John, 'the proper answer to your remark would be to knock you down; but, besides being a law-abiding citizen, I have no desire to get into gaol to-night for doing it, because there is one chance in a thousand, Mr. Longworth, that I may have some business to do with that mine myself before twelve o'clock to-morrow.'

'Ah, it is my turn to be grateful now!' said Longworth. 'In a rough-and-tumble fight I am afraid you would master me easier than you would do in a contest of diplomacy.'

'Do you call it diplomacy? You refer, I suppose, to your action in relation to the mine. I call it robbery.'

'Oh, do you? Well, that is the kind of conversation which leads to breaches of the peace; and as I also am a law-abiding subject, I will not continue the discussion any further. I bid you a very good evening, Mr. Kenyon.'

The young man turned on his heel and went into the hotel. John walked to his own much more modest inn, and retired for the night. He did not sleep well. All night long, phantom telegraph-messengers were rapping at the door, and he started up every now and then to receive cablegrams which faded away as he awoke. Shortly after breakfast he went to the telegraph-office, but found that nothing had arrived for him.

'I am afraid,' said the operator, 'that nothing will come on before noon.'

'Before noon!' echoed John. 'Why?'

'The wires are down in some places in the East, and messages are delayed a good deal. Perhaps you noticed the lack of Eastern news in the morning papers? Very little news came from the East last night.' Seeing John's look of anxious interest, the operator continued: 'Does the despatch you expect pertain to money matters?'

'Yes, it does.'

'Do they know you at the bank?'

'No, I don't think they do.'

'Then, if I were you, I would go up to the bank and be identified, so that, if it is a matter of minutes, no unnecessary time may be lost. You had better tell them you expect a money-order by cable, and, although such orders are paid without any identification at the bank, yet they take every precaution to see that it does not get into the hands of the wrong man.'

'Thank you,' said Kenyon. 'I am much obliged to you for your suggestion. I will act upon it.'

And as soon as the bank opened, John Kenyon presented himself to the cashier.

'I am expecting a large amount of money from England to-day. It is very important that, when it arrives, there shall be no delay in having it placed at my disposal. I want to know if there are any formalities to be gone through.'

'Where is the money coming from?' said the clerk.

'It is coming from England.'

'Is there anyone in Ottawa who can identify you?'

'Yes; I know the telegraph operator here.'

'Ah!' said the cashier somewhat doubtfully. 'Anybody else?'

'Mr. Von Brent knows me very well.'

'That will do. Suppose you get Mr. Von Brent to come here and identify you as the man who bears the name of Kenyon. Then the moment your cablegram comes the money will be at your disposal.'

Kenyon hurried to Von Brent's rooms and found him alone.

'Will you come down to the bank and identify me as Kenyon?'

'Certainly. Has the money arrived?'

'No, it has not; but I expect it, and want to provide for every contingency. I do not wish to have any delay in my identification when it does come.'

'If it comes by cable,' said Von Brent, 'there will be no need of identification. The bank is not responsible, you know. They take the money entirely at the sender's risk. They might pay it to the telegraph operator who receives the message! I believe they would not be held liable. However, it is better to see that nothing is left undone.'

Going over to the bank, Von Brent said to the cashier: 'This is John Kenyon.'

'Very good,' replied the cashier. 'Have you been at the telegraph-office lately, Mr. Kenyon?'

'No, I have not—at least, not for half an hour or so.'

'Well, I would go there as soon as possible, if I were you.'

'That means,' said Von Brent, as soon as they had reached the door, 'that they have had their notice about the money. I believe it is already in the bank for you. I will go back to my rooms and not leave them till you come.'

John hurried to the telegraph-office.

'Anything for me yet?' he said.

'Nothing as yet, Mr. Kenyon; I think, however,' he added with a smile, 'that it will be all right. I hope so.'

The moments ticked along with their usual rapidity, yet it seemed to Kenyon the clock was going fearfully fast. Eleven o'clock came and found him still pacing up and down the office of the telegraph. The operator offered him the hospitality of the private room, but this he declined. Every time the machine clicked, John's ears were on the alert, trying to catch a meaning from the instrument.

Ten minutes after eleven!

Twenty minutes after eleven, and still no despatch! The cold perspiration stood on John's brow, and he groaned aloud.

'I suppose it's very important,' said the operator.

'Very important.'

'Well, now, I shouldn't say so, but I know the money is in the bank for you. Perhaps if you went up there and demanded it, they would give it to you.'

It was twenty-five minutes past the hour when John hurried towards the bank.

'I have every belief,' he said to the cashier, 'that the money is here for me now. Is it possible for me to get it?'

'Have you your cablegram?'

'No, I have not.'

'Well, you know, we cannot pay the money until we see your cablegram. If time is of importance, you should not leave the telegraph-office, and the moment you get your message, come here; then there will be no delay whatever. Do you wish to draw all the money at once?'

'I don't know how much there is, but I must have twenty thousand pounds.'

'Very well, to save time you had better make out a cheque for twenty thousand pounds; that will be–'

And here he gave the number of dollars at the rate of the day on the pound. 'Just make out a cheque for that amount, and I will certify it. A certified cheque is as good as gold. The moment you get your message I will hand you the certified cheque.'

John wrote out the order and gave it to the cashier, glancing at the clock as he did so. It was now twenty-five minutes to twelve. He rushed to the telegraph-office with all the speed of which he was capable, but met only a blank look again from the chief operator.

'It has not come yet,' he said, shaking his head.

Gradually despair began to descend on the waiting man. It was worse to miss everything now, than never to have had the hope of success. It was like hanging a man who had once been reprieved. He resumed his nervous pace up and down that chamber of torture. A quarter to twelve. He heard chimes ring somewhere. If the message did not come before they rang again, it would be for ever too late.

Fourteen minutes—thirteen minutes—twelve minutes—eleven minutes—ten minutes to twelve, and yet, no—

'Here you are!' shouted the operator in great glee, 'she's a-coming—it's all right—"John Kenyon, Ottawa."' Then he wrote as rapidly as the machine ticked out the message. 'There it is; now rush!'

John needed no telling to rush. People had begun to notice him as the man who was doing nothing but running between the bank and the telegraph-office.

It was seven minutes to twelve when he got to the bank.

'Is that despatch right?' he said, shoving it through the arched aperture.

The clerk looked at it with provoking composure, and then compared it with some papers.

'For God's sake, hurry!' pleaded John.

'You have plenty of time,' said the cashier coolly, looking up at the clock and going on with his examination. 'Yes,' he added, 'that is right. Here is your certified cheque.'

John clasped it, and bolted out of the bank as a burglar might have done. It was five minutes to twelve when he got to the steps that led to the rooms of Mr. Von Brent. Now all his excitement seemed to have deserted him. He was as cool and calm as if he had five days, instead of so many minutes, in which to make the payment. He mounted the steps quietly, walked along the passage, and knocked at the door of Von Brent's room.

'Come in!' was the shout that greeted him.

He opened the door, glancing at the clock behind Von Brent's head as he did so.

It stood at three minutes to twelve.

Young Mr. Longworth was sitting there, with just a touch of pallor on his countenance, and there seemed to be an ominous glitter in his eyeglass. He said nothing, and John Kenyon completely ignored his presence.

'There is still some life left in my option, I believe?' he said to Von Brent, after nodding good-day to him.

'Very little, but perhaps it will serve. You have two minutes and a half,' said Von Brent.

'Are the papers ready?' inquired John.

'All ready, everything except putting in the names.'

'Very well, here is the money.'

Von Brent looked at the certified cheque. 'That is perfectly right,' he said, 'the mine is yours.'

Then he rose and stretched his hand across the table to Kenyon, who grasped it cordially.

Young Mr. Longworth also rose, and said languidly 'As this seems to be a meeting of long-lost brothers, I shall not intrude. Good-day, Mr. Von Brent.'

Then, adjusting his eyeglass in a leisurely manner, he walked out of the room.

CHAPTER XXXVII

When Edith Longworth entered the office of George Wentworth, that young gentleman somewhat surprised her. He sprang from his chair the moment she entered the room, rushed out of the door, and shouted at the top of his voice to the boy, who answered him, whereupon Wentworth returned to the room, apparently in his right mind.

'I beg your pardon, Miss Longworth,' he said, laughing; 'the fact was, I had just sent my boy with a telegram for you, and now, you see, I have saved sixpence.'

'Then you have heard from Canada?' said the young lady.

'Yes; a short message, but to the point.' He handed her the cablegram, and she read:

'Mine purchased; shall take charge temporarily.'

'Then, the money got there in time,' she said, handing him back the telegraphic message.

'Oh yes,' said George, with the easy confidence of a man who doesn't at all know what he is talking about. 'We had plenty of time; I knew it would get there all right.'

'I am glad of that; I was afraid perhaps we might have sent it too late. One can never tell what delays or formalities there may be.'

'Evidently there was no trouble. And now, Miss Longworth, what are your commands? Am I to be your agent here, in Great Britain?'

'Have you written to Mr. Kenyon?'

'Yes, I wrote to him just after I sent the cable message.'

'Of course you didn't–'

'No, I didn't say a word that would lead him to suspect who was the mistress of the mine. In my zeal I even went so far as to give you a name. You are hereafter to be known in the correspondence as Mr. Smith, the owner of the mine.'

Miss Longworth laughed.

'And—oh, by the way,' cried Wentworth, 'here is a barrel belonging to you.'

'A barrel!' she said, and, looking in the direction to which he pointed, she saw in the corner of the room a barrel with the head taken away. 'If it is my property,' continued the young woman, 'who has taken the liberty of opening it?'

'Oh, I did that as your agent. That barrel contains the mineral from the mine, which we hope will prove so valuable. It started from Canada over three months ago, and only arrived here the other day. It seems that the idiot who sent it addressed it by way of New York, and it was held by some Jack-in-office belonging to the United States Customs. We have had more diplomatic correspondence and trouble about that barrel than you can imagine, and now it comes a day behind the fair, when it is really of no use to anyone.'

Miss Longworth rose and went to the barrel. She picked out some of the beautiful white specimens that were in it.

'Is this the mineral?' she asked.

Wentworth laughed.

'Imagine a person buying a mine at an exorbitant price, and not knowing what it produces. Yes, that is the mineral.'

'This is not mica, of course?'

'No, it is not mica. That is the stuff used for the making of china.'

'It looks as if it would take a good polish. Will it, do you know?'

'I do not know. I could easily find out for you.'

'I wish you would, and get a piece of it polished, which I will use as a paper-weight.'

'What are your orders for the rest of the barrel?'

'What did you intend doing with it?' said the young woman.

'Well, I was thinking the best plan would be to send some of it to each of the pottery works in this country, and get their orders for more of the stuff, if they want to use it.'

'I think that an extremely good idea. I understand from the cablegram that Mr. Kenyon says he will take charge of the mine temporarily.'

'Yes; I imagine he left Ottawa at once, as soon as he had concluded his bargain. Of course, we shall not know for certain until he writes.'

'Very well, then, it appears to me the best thing you could do over here would be to secure what orders can be obtained in England for the mineral. Then, I suppose, you could write to Mr. Kenyon, and ask him to engage a proper person to work the mine.'

'Yes, I will do that.'

'When he comes over here, you and he can have a consultation as to the best thing to do next. I expect nothing very definite can be arranged until he comes. You may make whatever excuse you can for the absence of the mythical Mr. Smith, and say that you act for him. Then you may tell Mr. Kenyon, in whatever manner you choose, that Mr. Smith intends both you and Mr. Kenyon to share conjointly with him. I think you will have no trouble in making John—that is, in making Mr. Kenyon—believe there is such a person as Mr. Smith, if you put it strongly enough to him. Make him understand that Mr. Smith would never have heard of the mine unless Mr. Kenyon and you had discovered it, and that he is very glad indeed to have such a good opportunity of investing his money; so that, naturally, he wishes those who have been instrumental in helping him to this investment to share in its profits. I imagine you can make all this clear enough, so that your friend will suspect nothing. Don't you think so?'

'Well, with any other man than John Kenyon I should have my doubts, because, as a fabricator, I don't think I have a very high reputation; but with John I have no fears whatever. He will believe everything I say. It is almost a pity to delude so trustful a man, but it's so very much to his own advantage that I shall have no hesitation in doing it.'

'Then, you will write to him about getting a fit and proper person to manage the mine?'

'Yes. I don't think there will be any necessity for doing so, but I will make sure. I imagine John will not leave there until he sees everything to his satisfaction. He will be very anxious indeed for the mine to prove the great success he has always believed it to be, even though, at present, he does not know he is to have any pecuniary interest in its prosperity.'

'Very well then, I shall bid you good-bye. I may not be here again, but whenever you hear from Mr. Kenyon, I shall be very glad if you will let me know.'

'Certainly; I will send you all the documents in the case, as you once remarked. You always like to see the original papers, don't you?'

'Yes, I suppose I do.' Miss Longworth lingered a moment at the door, then, looking straight at Wentworth, she said to him, 'You remember you spoke rather bitterly to my father the other day?'

'Yes,' said Wentworth, colouring; 'I remember it.'

'You are a young man; he is old. Besides that, I think you were entirely in the wrong. He had nothing whatever to do with his nephew's action.'

'Oh, I know that,' said Wentworth. 'I would have apologized to him long ago, only—well, you know, he told me I shouldn't be allowed in the office again, and I don't suppose I should.'

'A letter from you would be allowed in the office,' replied the young lady, looking at the floor.

'Of course it would,' said George; 'I will write to him instantly and apologize.'

'It is very good of you,' said, Edith, holding out her hand to him; the next moment she was gone.

George Wentworth turned to his desk and wrote a letter of apology. Then he mused to himself upon the strange and incomprehensible nature of women. 'She makes me apologize to him, and quite right too; but if it hadn't been for the row with her father, she never would have heard about the transaction, and therefore couldn't have bought the mine, which she was anxious to do for Kenyon's sake—lucky beggar John is, after all!'

CHAPTER XXXVIII

When the business of transferring the mine to its new owner was completed, John Kenyon went to the telegraph-office, and sent a short cable-message to Wentworth. Then he turned his steps to the hotel, an utterly exhausted man. The excitement and tension of the day had been too much for him, and he felt that, if he did not get out of the city of Ottawa and into the country, where there were fewer people and more air, he was going to be ill. He resolved to leave for the mine as soon as possible. There he would get affairs in as good order as might be, and keep things going until he heard from the owner. When he reached his hotel, he wrote a letter to Wentworth, detailing briefly the circumstances under which he had secured the mine, and dealing with other more personal matters. Having posted this, he began to pack his portmanteau, preparatory to leaving early next morning. While thus occupied, the bell-boy came into his room, and said:

'There is a gentleman wants to see you.'

He imagined at once that it was Von Brent, who wished to see him with regard to some formality relating to the transfer, and he was, therefore, very much astonished—in fact, for the moment speechless—when Mr. William Longworth entered and calmly gazed round the rather shabby room with his critical eyeglass.

'Ah,' he said, 'these are your diggings, are they? This is what they call a dollar hotel, I suppose, over here. Well, some people may like it, but, I confess, I don't care much about it, myself. Their three or four dollars a day hotels are bad enough for me. By the way, you look rather surprised to see me; being strangers together in a strange country, I expected a warmer greeting. You said last night, in front of the Russell House, that it would please you very much to give me a warm greeting; perhaps you would like to do so to-night.'

'Have you come up here to provoke a quarrel with me?' asked Kenyon.

'Oh, bless you, no! Quarrel! Nothing of the sort. What should I want to quarrel about?'

'Perhaps you will be good enough to tell me why you come here, then?'