anything is preferable to a beggar,” came in Peggy’s clear, soft voice.
Barbara hesitated only a moment.
“Well, you must admit, Miss Gray, that it shows a shameful lack of character. How could any girl be happy with a man like that? And, after all, one must look out for one’s own fate.”
“Undoubtedly,” replied Peggy, but many thoughts were dashing through her brain.
“Shall we turn back to the cottage?” she said, after an awkward silence.
“You certainly don’t approve of Mr. Brewster’s conduct?” Barbara did not like to be placed in the wrong, and felt that she must endeavor to justify herself. “He is the most reckless of spend-thrifts, we know, and he probably indulges in even less respectable excitement.”
Peggy was not tall, but she carried her head at this moment as though she were in the habit of looking down on the world.
“Aren’t you going a little too far, Miss Drew?” she asked placidly.
“It is not only New York that laughs at his Quixotic transactions,” Barbara persisted. “Mr. Hampton, our guest from Chicago, says the stories are worse out there than they are in the east.”
“It is a pity that Monty’s illness should have made him so weak,” said Peggy quietly, as they turned in through the great iron gates, and Barbara was not slow to see the point.
BREWSTER’S MILLIONS (Part 2)
CHAPTER XVII
THE NEW TENDERFOOT
Brewster was comparatively well and strong when he returned to New York in March. His illness had interfered extensively with his plan of campaign and it was imperative that he redouble his efforts, notwithstanding the manifest dismay of his friends. His first act was to call upon Grant & Ripley, from whom he hoped to learn what Swearengen Jones thought of his methods. The lawyers had heard no complaint from Montana, and advised him to continue as he had begun, assuring him, as far as they could, that Jones would not prove unreasonable.
An exchange of telegrams just before his operation had renewed Monty’s dread of his eccentric mentor.
NEW YORK, Jan. 6, 19—
SWEARENGEN JONES,
Butte, Mont.
How about having my life insured? Would it violate conditions?
MONTGOMERY BREWSTER.
*
To MONTGOMERY BREWSTER,
New York.
Seems to me your life would become an asset in that case. Can you dispose of it before September 23d?
JONES.
*
TO SWEARENGEN JONES,
Butte, Mont.
On the contrary, I think life will be a debt by that time.
MONTGOMERY BREWSTER.
*
To MONTGOMERY BREWSTER,
New York.
If you feel that way about it, I advise you to take out a $500 policy.
JONES.
*
TO SWEARENGEN JONES,
Butte, Mont.
Do you think that amount would cover funeral expenses?
MONTGOMERY BREWSTER.
*
To MONTGOMERY BREWSTER,
New York.
You won’t be caring about expenses if it comes to that.
JONES.
*
The invitations for the second ball had been out for some time and the preparations were nearly complete when Brewster arrived upon the scene of festivity. It did not surprise him that several old-time friends should hunt him up and protest vigorously against the course he was pursuing. Nor did it surprise him when he found that his presence was not as essential to the success of some other affair as it had once been. He was not greeted as cordially as before, and he grimly wondered how many of his friends would stand true to the end. The uncertainty made him turn more and more often to the unquestioned loyalty of Peggy Gray, and her little library saw him more frequently than for months.
Much as he had dreaded the pretentious and resplendent ball, it was useful to him in one way at least. The “profit” side of his ledger account was enlarged and in that there was room for secret satisfaction. The Viennese orchestra straggled into New York, headed by Elon Gardner, a physical wreck, in time to make a harmonious farewell appearance behind Brewster’s palms, which caused his guests to wonder why the American public could not appreciate the real thing. A careful summing up of the expenses and receipts proved that the tour had been a bonanza for Brewster. The net loss was a trifle more than $56,000. When this story became known about town, everybody laughed pityingly, and poor Gardner was almost in tears when he tried to explain the disaster to the man who lost the money. But Monty’s sense of humor, singularly enough, did not desert him on this trying occasion.
Aesthetically the ball proved to be the talk of more than one season. Pettingill had justified his desire for authority and made a name which would last. He had taken matters into his own hands while Brewster was in Florida, and changed the period from the Spain of Velasquez to France and Louis Quinze. After the cards were out he remembered, to his consternation, that the favors purchased for the Spanish ball would be entirely inappropriate for the French one. He wired Brewster at once of this misfortune, and was astonished at the nonchalance of his reply. “But then Monty always was a good sort,” he thought, with a glow of affection. The new plan was more costly than the old, for it was no simple matter to build a Versailles suite at Sherry’s. Pettingill was no imitator, but he created an effect which was superbly in keeping with the period he had chosen. Against it the rich costumes, with their accompaniment of wigs and powdered hair, shone out resplendent. With great difficulty the artist had secured for Monty a costume in white satin and gold brocade, which might once have adorned the person of Louis himself. It made him feel like a popinjay, and it was with infinite relief that he took it off an hour or so after dawn. He knew that things had gone well, that even Mrs. Dan was satisfied; but the whole affair made him heartsick. Behind the compliments lavished upon him he detected a note of irony, which revealed the laughter that went on behind his back. He had not realized how much it would hurt. “For two cents,” he thought, “I’d give up the game and be satisfied with what’s left.” But he reflected that such a course would offer no chance to redeem himself. Once again he took up the challenge and determined to win out. “Then,” he thought exultantly, “I’ll make them feel this a bit.”
He longed for the time when he could take his few friends with him and sail away to the Mediterranean to escape the eyes and tongues of New York. Impatiently he urged Harrison to complete the
