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A Woman Intervenes

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'I believe,' said Wentworth, 'that is a true statement. Let us amend it
as soon as possible, only in this case let me pay for the drinks. I
invited you to drink with me.'

'Not at all, not at all!' cried Fleming; 'not while I'm here. This is my
treat, and it is funny to think that a man should spend a week with
another man without knowing him. Really, you see, I haven't known you
till now.'

And so the two worthy gentlemen disappeared into the smoking-room and
rang the electric bell.

But it was in his own state-room that George Wentworth's jocularity came
out at its best. He would grasp John Kenyon by the shoulder and shake
that solemn man, over whose face a grim smile generally appeared when he
noticed the exuberant jollity of his comrade.

'John,' Wentworth cried, 'why don't you laugh?'

'Well, it seems to me,' replied his comrade, 'that you are doing laughing
enough for us both. It is necessary to have one member of the firm solid
and substantial. I'm trying to keep the average about right. When you
were in the dumps I had to be cheerful for two. Now that you feel so
lively, I take a refuge in melancholy, to rest me after my hard efforts
at cheerfulness.'

'Well, John, it seems to me too good to be true. What a plucky girl she
was to do such a thing! How did she know but that the little vixen had a
revolver with her, and might have shot her?'

'I suppose she didn't think about it at all.'

'Have you seen her since that dramatic incident?'

'Seen whom? Miss Brewster?'

'No, no; I mean Miss Longworth.'

'No, she hasn't appeared yet. I suppose she fears there will be a scene,
and she is anxious to avoid it.'

'Very likely that is the case,' said Wentworth. 'Well, if you do see her,
you can tell her there is no danger. Our genial friend, Fleming, has had
a talk with that newspaper woman, so he tells me, and the way he
describes it is exceedingly picturesque. He has threatened her with
giving away the "snap," as he calls it, to the other New York papers, and
it seems that the only thing on earth Miss Brewster is afraid of is the
opposition press. So she has promised to say nothing more whatever about
the incident.'

'Then, you have been talking with Fleming?'

'Certainly I have; a jovial good fellow he is, too. I have been doing
something more than talking with him; I have been drinking with him.'

'And yet a day or two ago, I understand, you threatened to strike him.'

'A day or two ago, John! It was ages and ages ago. A day or two isn't in
it. That was years and centuries since, as it appears to me. I was an old
man then; now I have become young again, and all on account of the plucky
action of that angel of a girl of yours.'

'Not of mine,' said Kenyon seriously; 'I wish she were.'

'Well, cheer up. Everything will come out right; you see, it always does.
Nothing looked blacker than this matter about the telegram a few days
ago, and see how beautifully it has turned out.'

Kenyon said nothing. He did not desire to discuss the matter even with
his best friend. The two went up on deck together, and took a few turns
along the promenade, during which promenade the eyes of Kenyon were
directed to the occupants of the deckchairs, but he did not see the
person whom he sought. Telling Wentworth he was going below for a moment,
he left him to continue his walk alone, and on reaching the saloon Kenyon
spoke to a stewardess.

'Do you know if Miss Longworth is in her stateroom?'

'Yes, sir, I think she is,' was the answer.

'Will you take this note to her?'

John sat down to wait for an answer. The answer did not come by the hand
of the stewardess. Edith herself timorously glanced into the saloon, and,
seeing Kenyon alone, ventured in. He sprang up to meet her.

'I was afraid,' he said, 'that you had been ill.'

'No, not quite, but almost,' she answered. 'Oh, Mr. Kenyon, I have done
the most terrible thing! You could not imagine that I was so bold and
wicked;' and tears gathered in the eyes of the girl.

Kenyon stretched out his hand to her, and she took it.

'I am afraid to stay here with you,' she said, 'for fear----'

'Oh, I know all about it,' said Kenyon.

'You cannot know about it; you surely do not know what I have done?'

'Yes, I know exactly what you've done; and we all very much admire your
pluck.'

'It hasn't, surely, been the talk of the ship?'

'No, it has not; but Miss Brewster charged me with being an accomplice.'

'And you told her you were not, of course?'

'I couldn't tell her anything, for the simple reason that I hadn't the
faintest idea what she was talking about; but that's how I came to know
what had happened, and I am here to thank you, Miss Longworth, for your
action. I really believe you have saved the sanity of my friend
Wentworth. He is a different man since the incident we are speaking of
occurred.'

'And have you seen Miss Brewster since?'

'Oh yes; as I was telling you, she met me on the deck. Dear me! how
thoughtless of me! I had forgotten you were standing. Won't you sit
down?'

'No, no; I have been in my room so long that I am glad to stand
anywhere.'

'Then, won't you come up on deck with me?'

'Oh, I'm afraid,' she said. 'I am afraid of a public scene; and I am
sure, by the last look I caught in that girl's eyes, she will stop at no
scandal to have her revenge. I am sorry to say that I am too much of a
coward to meet her. Of course, from her point of view I have done her
eternal wrong. Perhaps it was wrong from anybody's point of view.'

'Miss Longworth,' said John Kenyon cordially, 'you need have no fear
whatever of meeting her. She will say nothing.'

'How do you know that?'

'Oh, it is a long story. She went to the captain with her complaint, and
received very little comfort there. I will tell you all about it on deck.
Get a wrap and come with me.'

As Kenyon gave this peremptory order, he realized that he was taking a
liberty he had no right to take, and his face flushed as he wondered if
Edith would resent the familiarity of his tones; but she merely looked up
at him with a bright smile, and said:

'I will do, sir, as you command.'

'No, no,' said Kenyon; 'it was not a command, although it sounded like
one. It was a very humble request; at least, I intended it to be such.'

'Well, I will get my wrap.'

As she left for her state-room, a rousing cheer was heard from on deck.
She stopped, and looked at Kenyon.

'What does that mean?' she asked.

'I do not know,' was the answer. 'Please get your things on and we will
go up and see.'

When they reached the deck they saw everybody at the forward part of the
ship. Just becoming visible in the eastern horizon were three trails of
black smoke, apparently coming towards them.

The word was whispered from one to the other: 'It is the tug-boats. It
is relief.'

Few people on board the steamer knew that their very existence depended
entirely on the good weather. The incessant pumping showed everybody, who
gave a thought to the matter, that the leak had been serious; but as the
subsidence of the vessel was imperceptible to all save experts, no one
but the officers really knew the grave danger they were in. Glad as the
passengers were to see those three boats approach, the one who most
rejoiced was the one who knew everything respecting the disaster and its
effects--the captain.

Edith Longworth and John Kenyon paced the deck together, and did not form
two of the crowd who could not tear themselves away from the front of
the ship, watching the gradually approaching tug boats. Purposely, John
Kenyon brought the girl who was with him past Miss Jennie Brewster, and
although that person glared with a good deal of anger at Edith, who
blushed to her temples with fear and confusion, yet nothing was said; and
Kenyon knew that afterwards his companion would feel easier in her mind
about meeting the woman with whom she had had such a stormy five minutes.
The tug boats speedily took the big steamer in tow, and slowly the four
of them made progress towards Queenstown, it having been resolved to land
all the passengers there, and to tow the disabled vessel to Liverpool, if
an examination of the hull showed such a course to be a safe one. The
passengers bade each other good-bye after they left the tender, and many
that were on board that ship never saw each other again. One at least,
had few regrets and no good-byes to make, but a surprise was in store for
her. Jennie Brewster found a cablegram from New York waiting for her. It
said 'Cable nothing respecting mines. Letter follows.'




CHAPTER XV.


London again! Muddy, drizzly, foggy London, London, with its well filled
omnibuses tearing along the streets, more dangerous than the chariots of
Rome, London, with its bustling thoroughfares, with its traffic blocked
at the corners by the raised white gloved hand of the policeman, London,
with the four wheeled growler piled high with luggage, and the dashing
hansom whirling along, missing the wheels of other vehicles by half an
inch, while its occupant sits serenely smoking, or motioning his
directions to his cabman with an umbrella; London, with its constantly
moving procession of every sort of wheeled carriage, from the four-horsed
coach to the coster barrow. London, London, London, London! the name
seemed to ring in John Kenyon's ears as he walked briskly along the
crowded pavement towards the City. The roar of its busy streets was the
sweetest music in the world to him, as it is to every man who has once
acquired the taste for London. Drink of the fountain of Trevi, and you
will return to Rome. Drink of the roar and the bustle of London, and no
other metropolis in the world, can ever satisfy the city-hunger in you
again. London is London, and John Kenyon loved its very disadvantages as
he strode along the streets.

He called at the office of George Wentworth, took that young man with
him, and together they went to the place where the adjourned meeting of
the London Syndicate was to be held. There were questions to be asked of
the two young men, and the directors couldn't quite see why the reports
had been so suddenly precipitated upon them, before the arrival of the
experts they had sent out. So they had merely read the documents at the
former meeting and adjourned until such time as the two young men could
appear in person. Most of the directors were there, but, though Kenyon
looked anxiously among them, he did not see the face of old Mr.
Longworth. Questions were asked Kenyon about the position of the mines,
about their output, and such other particulars as the directors wished
to know. Then Wentworth underwent a similar examination. He pointed out
the discrepancies which he had found in the accounts. He showed that
there was an evident desire on the part of the owners of the different
mines to make it appear that the properties paid better than they
actually did, and he answered in a clear and satisfactory way all the
questions asked him. The chairman thanked the young men for the evident
care with which they had done their work, and the meeting then went into
a private session to consider what action should be taken respecting the
mines. When the two friends got out of the building, Kenyon said:

'Well, thank goodness that is over and done with. Now, George, what have
you to suggest with reference to the mica-mine?'

'I think,' said Wentworth, 'we had better adjourn to my office and have a
talk over the matter quietly there. Let us go into private session as the
directors have done. I feel rich after having got my cheque, and the vote
of thanks from the chairman; so I will spend a shilling on a hansom and
get there with speed and comfort. Actually, since I have got back to
London, I am spending all my surplus cash on hansoms. They are certainly
the best and cheapest vehicles in the world. Think of what that pirate
charged us for a ride from the hotel to the steamer in New York.'

'I don't like to think of it,' said Kenyon; 'it makes me shudder!'

'Do you know, John, I should not be inconsolable if I never saw the great
city of New York again. London is good enough for me.'

'Oh, I don't know! New York is all right. I confess there are one or two
of her citizens that I do not care much about.'

'Ah,' said Wentworth; then, after a few moments' reflection, he remarked
suddenly, apropos of nothing: 'Do you know, John, I was very nearly in
love with that girl?'

'I thought you were drifting in that direction.'

'Drifting! It wasn't drifting. It was a mad plunge down the rapids, and
it is only lately I have begun to think what a close shave I had of it.
The horror of those days, when I thought that despatch was going to New
York, completely obliterated any other feeling in regard to her. If I had
found she was a hopeless flirt, or something of that kind, who was
trifling with me, I should have been very much shocked, of course, but I
should have thought about my own feelings. Now, the curious thing is that
I never began to think about them till I got to London.'

'Very well, Wentworth; I wouldn't think about them now, if I were you.'

'No, I don't intend to, particularly. The fact that I talk over them with
you shows that the impression was not very deep.'

Wentworth drew a long breath that might have been mistaken for a sigh, if
he had not just before explained how completely free he was from the
thraldom in which Miss Brewster at one time held him.

'Still, she was a very pretty girl, John. You can't deny that.'

'I have no wish to deny it. I simply don't want to think about her at
all.'

'No, and we don't need to, thank goodness. But she _was_ very bright and
clever. Of course you didn't know her as I did. I never before met
anyone who--Well, that's all past and done with. I told her all about our
mica-mine, and she gave me much sage advice.'

Kenyon smiled, but held his peace.

'Oh yes, I know what you are thinking of. I spoke of other mines as well;
still, that was my folly, and not her fault exactly. She imagined she was
doing right, and after all, you know, I think we sometimes don't make
enough allowance for another's point of view.'

Kenyon laughed outright.

'It seems to me you are actually defending her. My remembrance is that
you didn't make much allowance for her point of view when your own point
was that coil of rope in the front of the ship--those days when you
wouldn't speak even to me.'

'I admit it, John. No, I'm not defending her. I have succeeded in
putting her entirely out of my mind--with an effort. How about your own
case, John?'

'My own case! What do you mean?'

'You know very well what I mean.'

'I suppose I do forgive the little bit of affectation, will you? but a
man gets somewhat nervous when such a question is sprung upon him. My own
case is just where we left it at Queenstown.'

'Haven't you seen her since?'

'No.'

'Aren't you going to?'

'I really do not know what I am going to do.'

'John, that young woman has a decided personal interest in you.'

'I wish I were sure of that, or, rather, I wish I were sure of it and
in a position to--But what is the use of talking? I haven't a penny
to my name.'

'No; but if our mine goes through, you soon will have.'

'Yes, but what will it amount to? I never can forget the lofty disdain
with which a certain person spoke of fifty thousand pounds. It sends a
cold chill over me whenever I think of it. Fifty thousand pounds to her
seemed so trivial; to me it was something that might be obtained after
the struggle of a lifetime.'

'Well, I wouldn't let that discourage me too much if I were you; besides,
you see--Oh! here we are. We'll talk about this some other time.'

Having paid the cabman, the two young men went upstairs into Wentworth's
room, where they closed the door, and John drew up a seat by the side of
his friend.

'Now, then,' said Wentworth, 'what have you done about the mine?'

'I have done absolutely nothing. I have been waiting for this conference
with you.'

'Well, my boy, time is the great factor in anything of this sort.'

'Yes, I suppose it is.'

'You see, our option is running along; every day we lose is so much taken
off our chances of success. Have you anything to propose?'

'I'll tell you what I thought of doing. You know young Longworth spoke to
me a good deal about the mine at one time. His cousin introduced me to
him, and she seemed to think he might take some interest in forming the
company. I was to have a talk with you, because Longworth gave it as his
opinion that the amount should be put at two hundred thousand pounds
rather than at fifty thousand pounds.'

Wentworth gave a long whistle.

'Yes, it seems a very large amount; but he claims that if it would pay
ten per cent. on that sum--if we could show that there was a reasonable
chance of its paying so much--we could put it at two hundred thousand.'

'Well, that looks reasonable. What else did he say?'

'He did not say very much more about it, because I told him I should have
to consult you.'

'And why didn't you? On board ship there was one of the best
opportunities we could have had of having a talk with him. In fact, the
whole matter might perhaps have been arranged there.'

'Oh, well, you know, I couldn't talk to you about it, because a certain
circumstance arose, and you spent your time very much in the forward
part of the steamer, sitting on a coil of rope and cursing the universe
generally and yourself in particular'.

'Ah, yes, I remember, of course--yes. Very well, then, you have not seen
young Longworth since, have you?'

'No, I have not.'

'Wouldn't the old gentleman go in for it?'

'His daughter seemed to think he would not, because the amount was
too small.'

'Why couldn't he be got to go into it entirely by himself? If we put the
price up to one hundred thousand pounds or two hundred thousand pounds,
that ought to be large enough for him, if he were playing a lone hand.'

'Well, you see, I don't suppose they thought of going in for it at that,
except as a matter of speculation. Of course, if they intended to buy
some shares, it is not likely they would propose to raise the price from
fifty thousand pounds to two hundred thousand pounds. Young Longworth
spoke of dividing the profit. He claimed that whatever we made on fifty
thousand pounds would be too small to be divided into three. I told him,
of course, that you were my partner in this, and that is why he proposed
the price should be made two hundred thousand pounds.'

'I suppose he seemed indifferent on the question whether it should pay a
dividend on that amount of money or not?'

'He didn't mention that particularly--at least, he did not dwell upon it.
He asked if it would pay a dividend on two hundred thousand, and I told
him I thought it would pay ten per cent. if rightly managed; then he said
of course that was its price, and we should be great fools to float it at
fifty thousand pounds when it was really worth two hundred thousand.'

Wentworth pondered for a few minutes on this, tapping his pencil on the
desk and knitting his brow.

'It seems an awful jump, from fifty thousand pounds to two hundred
thousand pounds, doesn't it, John?'

'Yes, it does; it has a certain look of swindling about it. But what a
glorious thing it would be if it could be done, and if it would pay the
right percentage when we got the scheme working!'

'Of course I wouldn't be connected, nor you either, with anything that
was bogus.'

'Certainly not. I wouldn't think for a moment of inflating it if I were
not positive the property would stand it. I have been making, and have
here in my pocket, an elaborate array of figures which will show
approximately what the mine will yield, and I am quite convinced that it
will pay at least ten per cent., and possible twelve or fifteen.'

'Well, nobody wants a better percentage on their money. Have you the
figures with you?'

'Yes, here they are.'

'Very well, you had better leave them with me, and I will go over them as
critically as if they were the figures of somebody I was deeply
suspicious of, I hope they will hold water; but if they do not, I will
point out to you where the discrepancies are.'

'But, you see, George, it is more a question of facts than of figures. I
believe the whole mountain is made of the mineral which is so valuable,
but I take only about an eighth of it as being possible to get out, which
seems to me a very moderate estimate.'

'Yes, but how much demand is there for it? That is the real question. The
thing may be valuable enough, but if there is only a limited demand--that
is to say, if we have ten times the material that the world needs--the
other nine parts are comparatively valueless.'

'That is true.'

'Do you know how many establishments there are in the world that use
this mineral?'

'There are a great many in England, and also in the United States.'

'And how about the duty on it in the United States?'

'Ah, that I do not know.'

'Well, we must find that out. Just write down here what it is used for;
then I shall try to get some information about the factories that require
it, and also what quantities they need in a year. We shall have to get
all these facts and figures to lay before the people who are going to
invest, because, as I understand it, the great point we make is not on
the mica, but on the other mineral.'

'Exactly.'

'Very well, then, you leave me what you know already about it, and I will
try to supplement your information. In fact, we shall have to supplement
it, before we can go before anybody with it. Now, I advise you to see the
Longworths--both old and young Longworth--and you may find that talking
with them in the City of London is very different from talking with them
on the _Caloric_. By the way, I wonder why Longworth was not at the
directors' meeting to-day.'

'I do not know. I noticed he was absent.'

'He very likely intends to have nothing more to do with the other mines,
and so there may be a possibility of his investing in ours. Do you know
his address?'

'Yes, I have it with me.'

'Then, if I were you, I would jump into a hansom and go there at once.
Meanwhile, I will try to get your figures into shipshape order, and
supplement them as far as it is possible to do so. This is going to be no
easy matter, John. There are a great many properties now being offered
to the public--the papers are full of them--and each of them appears to
be the most money-making scheme in existence; so if we are going to float
this mine without knowing any particular capitalist, we have our work cut
out for us.'

'Then, you would be willing to put the price up to two hundred thousand
pounds?'

'Yes, if you say the mine will stand it. That we can tell better after
we have gone over the figures together. We ought to be sure of our
facts first.'

'Very well. Good-bye; I will go and see Mr. Longworth.'




CHAPTER XVI.


John Kenyon did not take a cab. He walked so that he might have time to
think. He wanted to arrange in his mind just what he would say to Mr.
Longworth, so he pondered over the coming interview as he walked through
the busy streets of the City.

He had not yet settled things satisfactorily to himself when he came to
the door leading to Mr. Longworth's offices.

'After all,' he said to himself, as he paused there, 'Mr. Longworth has
never said anything to me about the mica-mine; and, from what his
daughter thought, it is not likely that he will care to interest himself
in it. It was the young man who spoke about it.'

He felt that it was really the young man on whom he should call, but he
was rather afraid of meeting him. The little he had seen of William
Longworth on board the _Caloric_ had not given him a very high opinion of
that gentleman, and he wondered if it would not have been better to have
told Wentworth that nothing was to be expected from the Longworths.
However, he resolved not to shirk the interview, so passed up the steps
and into the outer office. He found the establishment much larger than he
had expected. At numerous desks there were numerous clerks writing away
for dear life. He approached the inquiry counter, and a man came forward
to hear what he had to say.

'Is Mr. Longworth in?'

'Yes, sir. Which Mr. Longworth do you want--the young gentleman or Mr.
John Longworth?'

'I wish to see the senior member of the firm.'

'Ah! have you an appointment with him?'

'No, I have not; but perhaps if you will take this card to him, and if he
is not busy, he may see me.'

'He is always very busy, sir.'

'Well, take the card to him; and if he doesn't happen to remember the
name, tell him I met him on board the _Caloric_.'

'Very good, sir.' And with that the clerk disappeared, leaving Kenyon to
ponder over in his mind the still unsettled question of what he should
say to Mr. Longworth if he were ushered into his presence. As he stood
there waiting, with the host of men busily and silently working around
him, amid the general air of important affairs pervading the place, he
made up his mind that Mr. Longworth would not see him, and so was rather
surprised when the clerk came back without the card, and said, 'Will you
please step this way, sir?'

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