"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 to-night. 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, I think."
"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 I say."
"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 I understand 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, I tell 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 downtown, 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."
CHAPTER XIII
An important event was about to take place. At least, it seemed important to Captain Elisha, although the person most intimately concerned appeared to have forgotten it entirely. He ventured to remind her of it.
"Caroline," he said, "Sunday is your birthday, ain't it?"
His niece looked at him in surprise. "Yes," she answered, "it is. How did you know?"
"Why, I remembered, that's all. Graves, the lawyer man, told me how old you and Stevie were, fust time I met him. And his partner, Mr. Sylvester, gave me the date one day when he was goin' over your pa's will. You'll be twenty years old Sunday, won't you?"
"Yes."
It was late in the afternoon, and she had been out since ten o'clock shopping with Mrs. Dunn, lunching downtown with the latter and Malcolm, and motoring for an hour or two. The weather for the season was mild and sunny, and the crisp air had brightened her cheeks, her eyes sparkled, her fur coat and cap were very becoming, and Captain Elisha inspected her admiringly before making another remark.
"My! My!" he exclaimed, after an instant's pause. "Twenty years old! Think of it! 'Bije's girl's a young woman now, ain't she? I cal'late he was proud of you, too. He ought to have been. I presume likely _he_ didn't forget your birthday."
He rose to help her with the heavy coat. As he lifted it from her shoulders, he bent forward and caught a glimpse of her face.
"There! there!" he said, hastily. "Don't feel bad, dearie. I didn't mean to hurt your feelin's. Excuse me; I was thinkin' out loud, sort of."
She did not answer at once, but turned away to remove her cap. Then she answered, without looking at him.
"He never forgot them," she said.
"Course he didn't. Well, you see I didn't forget, either."
It was an unfortunate remark, inasmuch as it drew, in her mind, a comparison between her handsome, dignified father