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A Woman Intervenes

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'I am sure you play enough at cards to satisfy you during the few days we
are at sea,' she answered.

'Oh, cards! I soon tire of them.'

'You tire very quickly of everything.'

'I certainly get tired of lounging about the deck, either walking or
sitting.'

'Then, pray don't let me keep you.'

'You want me to go so you may walk with your newly-found friend, that
miner fellow?'

'That miner fellow is talking with my father just now. Still, if you
would like to know, I have no hesitation in telling you I would much
prefer his company to yours if you continue in your present mood.'

'Yes, or in any mood.'

'I did not say that; but if it will comfort you to have me say it, I
shall be glad to oblige you.'

'Perhaps, then, I should go and talk with your father, and let the miner
fellow come here and talk with you.'

'Please do not call him the miner fellow. His name is Mr. Kenyon. It is
not difficult to remember.'

'I know his name well enough. Shall I send him to you?'

'No. I want to talk with you in spite of your disagreeableness. And what
is more, I want to talk with you about Mr. Kenyon. So I wish you to
assume your very best behaviour. It may be for your benefit.'

The young man indulged in a sarcastic laugh.

'Oh, if you are going to do that, I have nothing more to say,' remarked
Edith quietly, rising from her chair.

'I meant no harm. Sit down and go on with your talk.'

'Listen, then. Mr. Kenyon has the option of a mine in Canada, which he
believes to be a good property. He intends to form a company when he
reaches London. Now, why shouldn't you make friends with him, and, if you
found the property is as good as he thinks it is, help him to form the
company, and so make some money for both of you?'

'You are saying one word for me and two for Kenyon.'

'No, it would be as much for your benefit as for his, so it is a word for
each of you.'

'You are very much interested in him.'

'My dear cousin, I am very much interested in the mine, and I am very
much interested in you. Mr. Kenyon can speak of nothing but the mine,
and I am sure my father would be pleased to see you take an interest in
something of the sort. I mean, you know that if you would do something
of your own accord--something that was not suggested to you by him--he
would like it.'

'Well, it is suggested to me by you, and that's almost the same thing.'

'No, it is not the same thing at all. Father would indeed be glad if he
saw you take up anything on your own account and make a success of it.
Why can you not spend some of your time talking with Mr. Kenyon
discussing arrangements, so that when you return to London you might be
prepared to put the mine on the market and bring out the company?'

'If I thought you were talking to me for my own sake, I would do what
you suggest; but I believe you are speaking only because you are
interested in Kenyon.'

'Nonsense! How can you be so absurd? I have known Mr. Kenyon but for a
few hours--a day or two at most.'

The young man pulled his moustache for a moment, adjusted his eyeglass,
and then said:

'Very good. I will speak to Kenyon on the subject if you wish it, but I
don't say that I can help him.'

'I don't ask you to help him. I ask you to help yourself. Here is Mr.
Kenyon. Let me introduce you, and then you can talk over the project at
your leisure.'

'I don't suppose an introduction is necessary,' growled the young man;
but as Kenyon approached them, Edith Longworth said:

'We are a board of directors, Mr. Kenyon, on the great mica-mine. Will
you join the Board now, or after allotment?' Then, before he could reply,
she said: 'Mr. Kenyon, this is my cousin, Mr. William Longworth.'

Longworth, without rising from his chair, shook hands in rather a surly
fashion.

'I am going to speak to my father,' said the girl, 'and will leave you to
talk over the mica-mine.'

When she had gone, young Longworth asked Kenyon:

'Where is the mine my cousin speaks of?'

'It is near the Ottawa River, in Canada,' was the answer.

'And what do you expect to sell it for?'

'Fifty thousand pounds.'

'Fifty thousand pounds! That will leave nothing to divide up among--by
the way, how many are there in this thing--yourself alone?'

'No; my friend Wentworth shares with me.'

'Share and share alike?'

'Yes.'

'Of course, you think this mine is worth the money you ask for it--there
is no swindle about it, is there?'

Kenyon drew himself up sharply as this remark was made. Then he answered
coldly:

'If there was any swindle about it, I should have nothing to do with it.'

'Well, you see, I didn't know; mining swindles are not such rarities as
you may imagine. If the mine is so valuable, why are the proprietors
anxious to sell?'

'The owners are in Austria, and the mine in Canada, and so it is rather
at arm's-length, as it were. They are mining for mica, but the mine is
more valuable in other respects than it is as a mica property. They have
placed a figure on the mine which is more than it has cost them so far.'

'You know its value in those other respects?'

'I do.'

'Does anyone know this except yourself?'

'I think not--no one but my friend Wentworth.'

'How did you come to learn its value?'

'By visiting the mine. Wentworth and I went together to see it.'

'Oh, is Wentworth also a mining expert?'

'No; he is an accountant in London.'

'Both of you were sent out by the London Syndicate, I understand, to look
after their mines, or the mines they thought of purchasing, were you
not?'

'We were.'

'And you spent your time in looking up other properties for yourselves,
did you?'

Kenyon reddened at this question.

'My dear sir,' he said, 'if you are going to talk in this strain, you
will have to excuse me. We were sent by the London Syndicate to do a
certain thing. We did it, and did it thoroughly. After it was done the
time was our own, as much as it is at the present moment. We were not
hired by the day, but took a stated sum for doing a certain piece of
work. I may go further and say that the time was our own at any period
of our visit, so long as we fulfilled what the London Syndicate
required of us.'

'Oh, I meant no offence,' said Longworth. 'You merely seemed to be posing
as a sort of goody-goody young man when I spoke of mining swindles, so I
only wished to startle you. How much have you to pay for the mine--that
is the mica-mine?'

Kenyon hesitated for a moment.

'I do not feel at liberty to mention the sum until I have consulted with
my friend Wentworth.'

'Well, you see, if I am to help you in this matter, I shall need to know
every particular.'

'Certainly. I shall have to consult Wentworth as to whether we require
any help or not.'

'Oh, you will speedily find that you require all the help you can get in
London. You will probably learn that a hundred such mines are for sale
now, and the chances are you will find that this very mica-mine has been
offered. What do you believe the mine is really worth?'

'I think it is worth anywhere from one hundred thousand pounds to two
hundred thousand pounds, perhaps more.'

'Is it actually worth one hundred thousand pounds?'

'According to my estimate, it is.'

'Is it worth one hundred and fifty thousand pounds?'

'It is.'

'Is it worth two hundred thousand pounds?'

'I think so.'

'What percentage would it pay on two hundred thousand pounds?'

'It might pay ten per cent., perhaps more.'

'Why, in the name of all that is wonderful, don't you put the price at
two hundred thousand pounds? If it will pay ten per cent and more on that
amount of money, then that sum is what you ought to sell it for. Now we
will investigate this matter, if you like, and if you wish to take me in
with you, and put the price up to two hundred thousand pounds, I will see
what can be done about it when we get to London. Of course, it will mean
somebody going out to Canada again to report on the mine. Your report
would naturally not be taken in such a case; you are too vitally
interested.'

'Of course,' replied Kenyon, 'I shouldn't expect my report to have any
weight.'

'Well, somebody would have to be sent out to report on the mine. Are you
certain that it will stand thorough investigation?'

'I am convinced of it.'

'Would you be willing to make this proposition to the investors, that, if
the expert did not support your statement, you would pay his expenses out
there and back?'

'I would be willing to do that,' said Kenyon, 'if I had the money; but I
haven't the money.'

'Then, how do you expect to float the mine on the London market? It
cannot be done without money.'

'I thought I might be able to interest some capitalist.'

'I am much afraid, Mr. Kenyon, that you have vague ideas of how companies
are formed. Perhaps your friend Wentworth, being an accountant, may know
more about it.'

'Yes, I confess I am relying mainly on his assistance.'

'Well, will you agree to put the price of the mine at two hundred
thousand pounds, and share what we make equally between the three of us?'

'It is a large price.'

'It is not a large price if the mine will pay good dividends upon it; if
it will pay eight per cent. on that amount, it is the real price of the
mine, while you say that you are certain it will pay ten per cent.'

'I say I think it will pay that percentage. One never can speak with
entire certainty where a mine is concerned.'

'Are you willing to put the price of the mine at that figure? Otherwise,
I will have nothing to do with it.'

'As I said, I shall have to consult my friend about it, but that can be
done in a very short time, and I will answer you in the afternoon.'

'Good; there is no particular hurry. Have a talk over it with him, and
while I do not promise anything, I think the scheme looks feasible, if
the property is good. Remember, I know nothing at all about that, but if
you agree to take me in, I shall have to know full particulars of what
you are going to pay for the property, and what its peculiar value is.'

'Certainly. If we agree to take a partner, we will give that partner our
full confidence.'

'Well, there is nothing more to say until you have had a consultation
with your friend. Good-morning, Mr. Kenyon;' and with that Longworth
arose and lounged off to the smoking-room.

Kenyon waited where he was for some time, hoping Wentworth would come
along, but the young man did not appear. At last he went in search of
him. He passed along the deck, but found no trace of his friend, and
looked for a moment into the smoking-room, but Wentworth was not there.
He went downstairs to the saloon, but his search below was equally
fruitless. Coming up on deck again, he saw Miss Brewster sitting alone
reading a paper-covered novel.

'Have you seen my friend Wentworth?' he asked.

She laid the book open-faced upon her lap, and looked quickly up at
Kenyon before answering.

'I saw him not so very long ago, but I don't know where he is now.
Perhaps you will find him in his state-room; in fact, I think it more
than likely that he is there.'

With that, Miss Brewster resumed her book.

Kenyon descended to the state-room, opened the door, and saw his comrade
sitting upon the plush-covered sofa, with his head in his hands. At the
opening of the door, Wentworth started and looked for a moment at his
friend, apparently not seeing him. His face was so gray and ghastly that
Kenyon leaned against the door for support as he saw it.

'My God, George!' he cried, 'what is the matter with you? What has
happened? Tell me!'

Wentworth gazed in front of him with glassy eyes for a moment, but did
not answer. Then his head dropped again in his hands, and he groaned
aloud.




CHAPTER VIII.


There was one man on board the _Caloric_ to whom Wentworth had taken an
extreme dislike. His name was Fleming, and he claimed to be a New York
politician. As none of his friends or enemies asserted anything worse
about him, it may be assumed that Fleming had designated his occupation
correctly. If Wentworth were asked what he most disliked about the man,
he would probably have said his offensive familiarity. Fleming seemed to
think himself a genial good fellow, and he was immensely popular with a
certain class in the smoking-room. He was lavishly free with his
invitations to drink, and always had a case of good cigars in his pocket,
which he bestowed with great liberality. He had the habit of slapping a
man boisterously on the back, and saying, 'Well, old fellow, how are you?
How's things?' He usually confided to his listeners that he was a
self-made man: had landed at New York without a cent in his pocket, and
look at him now!

Wentworth was icy towards this man; but frigidity had no effect whatever
on the exuberant spirits of the New York politician.

'Well, old man!' cried Fleming to Wentworth, as he came up to the latter
and linked arms affectionately. 'What lovely weather we are having for
winter time!'

'It _is_ good,' said Wentworth.

'Good? It's glorious! Who would have thought, when leaving New York in a
snowstorm as we did, that we would run right into the heart of spring? I
hope you are enjoying your voyage?'

'I am.'

'You ought to. By the way, why are you so awful stand-offish? Is it
natural, or merely put on "for this occasion only"?'

'I do not know what you mean by "stand-offish."'

'You know very well what I mean. Why do you pretend to be so stiff and
formal with a fellow?'

'I am never stiff and formal with anyone unless I do not desire his
acquaintance.'

Fleming laughed loudly.

'I suppose that's a personal hint. Well, it seems to me, if this
exclusiveness is genuine, that you would be more afraid of newspaper
notoriety than of anything else.'

'Why do you say that?'

'Because I can't, for the life of me, see why you spend so much time with
Dolly Dimple. I am sure I don't know why she is here; but I do know this:
that you will be served up to the extent of two or three columns in the
_Sunday Argus_ as sure as you live.'

'I don't understand you.'

'You don't? Why, it's plain enough. You spend all your time with her.'

'I do not even know of whom you are speaking.'

'Oh, come now, that's too rich! Is it possible you don't know that Miss
Jennie Brewster is the one who writes those Sunday articles over the
signature of "Dolly Dimple"?'

A strange fear fell upon Wentworth as his companion mentioned the
_Argus_. He remembered it as J.K. Rivers' paper; but when Fleming said
Miss Brewster was a correspondent of the _Argus_, he was aghast.

'I--I--I don't think I quite catch your meaning,' he stammered.

'Well, my meaning's easy enough to see. Hasn't she ever told you? Then it
shows she wants to do you up on toast. You're not an English politician,
are you? You haven't any political secrets that Dolly wants to get at,
have you? Why, she is the greatest girl there is in the whole United
States for finding out just what a man doesn't want to have known. You
know the Secretary of State'--and here Fleming went on to relate a
wonderfully brilliant feat of Dolly's; but the person to whom he was
talking had neither eyes nor ears. He heard nothing and he saw nothing.

'Dear me!' said Fleming, drawing himself up and slapping the other on the
back, 'you look perfectly dumfounded. I suppose I oughtn't to have given
Dolly away like this; but she has pretended all along that she didn't
know me, and so I've got even with her. You take my advice, and anything
you don't want to see in print, don't tell Miss Brewster, that's all.
Have a cigar?'

'No, thank you,' replied the other mechanically.

'Better come in and have a drink.'

'No, thank you.'

'Well, so long. I'll see you later.'

'It can't be true--it can't be true!' Wentworth repeated to himself in
deep consternation, but still an inward misgiving warned him that, after
all, it might be true. With his hands clasped behind him he walked up and
down, trying to collect himself--trying to remember what he had told and
what he had not. As he walked along, heeding nobody, a sweet voice from
one of the chairs thrilled him, and he paused.

'Why, Mr. Wentworth, what is the matter with you this morning? You look
as if you had seen a ghost.'

Wentworth glanced at the young woman seated in the chair, who was gazing
up brightly at him.

'Well,' he said at last, 'I am not sure but I _have_ seen a ghost. May I
sit down beside you?'

'May you? Why, of course you may. I shall be delighted to have you. Is
there anything wrong?'

'I don't know. Yes, I think there is.'

'Well, tell it to me; perhaps I can help you. A woman's wit, you know.
What is the trouble?'

'May I ask you a few questions, Miss Brewster?'

'Certainly. A thousand of them, if you like, and I will answer them all
if I can.'

'Thank you. Will you tell me, Miss Brewster, if you are connected with
any newspaper?'

Miss Brewster laughed her merry, silvery little laugh.

'Who told you? Ah! I see how it is. It was that creature Fleming. I'll
get even with him for this some day. I know what office he is after, and
the next time he wants a good notice from the _Argus_ he'll get it; see
if he don't. I know some things about him that he would just as soon not
see in print. Why, what a fool the man is! I suppose he told you out of
revenge because I wouldn't speak to him the other evening. Never mind; I
can afford to wait.'

'Then--then, Miss Brewster, it _is_ true?'

'Certainly it is true; is there anything wrong about it? I hope you don't
think it is disreputable to belong to a good newspaper?'

'To a good newspaper, no; to a bad newspaper, yes.'

'Oh, I don't think the _Argus_ is a bad newspaper. It pays me well.'

'Then it is to the _Argus_ that you belong?'

'Certainly.'

'May I ask, Miss Brewster, if there is anything I have spoken about to
you that you intend to use in your paper?'

Again Miss Brewster laughed.

'I will be perfectly frank with you. I never tell a lie--it doesn't pay.
Yes. The reason I am here is because _you_ are here. I am here to find
out what your report on those mines will be, also what the report of your
friend will be. I have found out.'

'And do you intend to use the information you have thus obtained--if I
may say it--under false pretences?'

'My dear sir, you are forgetting yourself. You must remember that you are
talking to a lady.'

'A lady!' cried Wentworth in his anguish.

'Yes, sir, a lady; and you must be careful how you talk to _this_ lady.
There was no false pretence about it, if you remember. What you told me
was in conversation; I didn't ask you for it. I didn't even make the
first advances towards your acquaintance.'

'But you must admit, Miss Brewster, that it is very unfair to get a man
to engage in what he thinks is a private conversation, and then to
publish what he has said.'

'My dear sir, if that were the case, how would we get anything for
publication that people didn't want to be known? Why, I remember once,
when the Secretary of State----'

'Yes,' interrupted Wentworth wearily; 'Fleming told me that story.'

'Oh, did he? Well, I'm sure I'm much obliged to him. Then I need not
repeat it.'

'Do you mean to say that you intend to send to the _Argus_ for
publication what I have told you in confidence?'

'Certainly. As I said before, that is what I am here for. Besides, there
was no "in confidence" about it.'

'And yet you pretend to be a truthful, honest, honourable woman?'

'I don't _pretend_ it; I am.'

'How much truth, then, is there in your story that you are a
millionaire's daughter about to visit your father in Paris, and accompany
him from there to the Riviera?'

Miss Brewster laughed brightly.

'Oh, I don't call fibs, which a person has to tell in the way of
business, untruths.'

'Then probably you do not think your estimable colleague, Mr. J.K.
Rivers, behaved dishonourably in Ottawa?'

'Well, hardly. I think Rivers was not justified in what he did because he
was unsuccessful, that is all. I'll bet a dollar if I had got hold of
these papers they would have gone through to New York; but, then, J.K.
Rivers is only a stupid man, and most men _are_ stupid'--with a sly
glance at Wentworth.

'I am willing to admit that, Miss Brewster, if you mean me. There never
was a more stupid man than I have been.'

'My dear Mr. Wentworth, it will do you ever so much good if you come to
a realization of that fact. The truth is, you take yourself much too
seriously. Now, it won't hurt you a bit to have what I am going to send
published in the _Argus_, and it will help me a great deal. Just you wait
here for a few moments.'

With that she flung her book upon his lap, sprang up, and vanished down
the companion-way. In a very short time she reappeared with some sheets
of paper in her hand.

'Now you see how fair and honest I am going to be. I am going to read you
what I have written. If there is anything in it that is not true, I will
very gladly cut it out; and if there is anything more to be added, I
shall be very glad to add it. Isn't that fair?'

Wentworth was so confounded with the woman's impudence that he could make
no reply.

She began to read: '"By an unexampled stroke of enterprise the _New York
Argus_ is enabled this morning to lay before its readers a full and
exclusive account of the report made by the two English specialists, Mr.
George Wentworth and Mr. John Kenyon, who were sent over by the London
Syndicate to examine into the accounts, and inquire into the true value
of the mines of the Ottawa River."'

She looked up from the paper, and said, with an air of friendly
confidence:

'I shouldn't send that if I thought the people at the New York end would
know enough to write it themselves; but as the paper is edited by dull
men, and not by a sharp woman, I have to make them pay twenty-five cents
a word for puffing their own enterprise. Well, to go on: "When it is
remembered that the action of the London Syndicate will depend entirely
on the report of these two gentlemen--"'

'I wouldn't put it that way,' interrupted Wentworth in his despair. 'I
would use the word "largely" for "entirely."'

'Oh, _thank_ you,' said Miss Brewster cordially. She placed the
manuscript on her knee, and, with her pencil, marked out the word
'entirely,' substituting 'largely.' The reading went on: '"When it is
remembered that the action of the London Syndicate will depend _largely_
on the report of these two gentlemen, the enterprise of the _Argus_ in
getting this exclusive information, which will be immediately cabled to
London, may be imagined." That is the preliminary, you see; and, as I
said, it wouldn't be necessary to cable it if women were at the head of
affairs over there, which they are not. "Mr. John Kenyon, the mining
expert, has visited all the mineral ranges along the Ottawa River, and
his report is that the mines are very much what is claimed for them; but
he thinks they are not worked properly, although, with judicious
management and more careful mining, the properties can be made to pay
good dividends. Mr. George Wentworth, who is one of the leading
accountants of London--"'

'I wouldn't say that, either,' groaned George. 'Just strike out the words
"one of the leading accountants of London."'

'Yes?' said Miss Brewster; 'and what shall I put in the place of them?'

'Put in place of them "the stupidest ass in London"!'

Miss Brewster laughed at that.

'No; I shall put in what I first wrote: "Mr. George Wentworth, one of
the leading accountants of London, has gone through the books of the
different mines. He has made some startling discoveries. The accounts
have been kept in such a way as to completely delude investors, and this
fact will have a powerful effect on the minds of the London Syndicate.
The books of the different mines show a profit of about two hundred
thousand dollars, whereas the actual facts of the case are that there has
been an annual loss of something like one hundred thousand dollars--"'

'What's that? what's that?' cried Wentworth sharply.

'Dollars, you know. You said twenty thousand pounds. We put it in
dollars, don't you see?'

'Oh,' said Wentworth, relapsing again.

'"One hundred thousand dollars"--where was I? Oh yes. "It is claimed
that an American expert went over these books before Mr. Wentworth, and
that he asserted they were all right. An explanation from this gentleman
will now be in order."'

'There!' cried the young lady, 'that is the substance of the thing. Of
course, I may amplify a little more before we get to Queenstown, so as to
make them pay more money. People don't value a thing that doesn't cost
them dearly. How do you like it? Is it correct?'

'Perfectly correct,' answered the miserable young man.

'Oh, I am so glad you like it! I do love to have things right.'

'I didn't say I _liked_ it.'

'No, of course, you couldn't be expected to say that; but I am glad you
think it is accurate. I will add a note to the effect that you think it
is a good _résumé_ of your report.'

'For Heaven's sake, don't drag me into the matter!' cried Wentworth.

'Well, I won't, if you don't want me to.'

There was silence for a few moments, during which the young woman seemed
to be adding commas and full-stops to the MS. on her knee. Wentworth
cleared his throat two or three times, but his lips were so dry that he
could hardly speak. At last he said:

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