it was being overhauled and put into condition for the voyage. It had been Brown’s special pride, but at his death it went to heirs who were ready and eager to rent it to the highest bidder. It would not have been easy to find a handsomer yacht in New York waters. A picked crew of fifty men were under command of Captain Abner Perry. The steward was a famous manager and could be relied upon to stock the larder in princely fashion. The boat would be in readiness to sail by the tenth of April.
“I think you are going in too heavily, Monty,” protested Harrison, twisting his fingers nervously. “I can’t for my life figure how you can get out for less than a fortune, if we do everything you have in mind. Wouldn’t it be better to pull up a bit? This looks like sheer madness. You won’t have a dollar, Monty—honestly you won’t.”
“It’s not in me to save money, Nopper, but if you can pull out a few dollars for yourself I shall not object.”
“You told me that once before, Monty,” said Harrison, as he walked to the window. When he resolutely turned back again to Brewster his face was white, but there was a look of determination around the mouth.
“Monty, I’ve got to give up this job,” he said, huskily. Brewster looked up quickly.
“What do you mean, Nopper?”
“I’ve got to leave, that’s all,” said Harrison, standing stiff and straight and looking over Brewster’s head.
“Good Lord, Nopper, I can’t have that. You must not desert the ship. What’s the matter, old chap? You’re as white as a ghost. What is it?” Monty was standing now and his hands were on Harrison’s shoulders, but before the intensity of his look, his friend’s eyes fell helplessly.
“The truth is, Monty, I’ve taken some of your money and I’ve lost it. That’s the reason I—I can’t stay on. I have betrayed your confidence.”
“Tell me about it,” and Monty was perhaps more uncomfortable than his friend. “I don’t understand.”
“You believed too much in me, Monty. You see, I thought I was doing you a favor. You were spending so much and getting nothing in return, and I thought I saw a chance to help you out. It went wrong, that’s all, and before I could let go of the stock sixty thousand dollars of your money had gone. I can’t replace it yet. But God knows I didn’t mean to steal.”
“It’s all right, Nopper. I see that you thought you were helping me. The money’s gone and that ends it. Don’t take it so hard, old boy.”
“I knew you’d act this way, but it doesn’t help matters. Some day I may be able to pay back the money I took, and I’m going to work until I do.”
Brewster protested that he had no use for the money and begged him to retain the position of trust he had held. But Harrison had too much self-respect to care to be confronted daily with the man he had wronged. Gradually Monty realized that “Nopper” was pursuing the most manly course open to him, and gave up the effort to dissuade him. He insisted upon leaving New York, as there was no opportunity to redeem himself in the metropolis.
“I’ve made up my mind, Monty, to go out west, up in the mountains perhaps. There’s no telling, I may stumble on a gold mine up there—and—well, that seems to be the only chance I have to restore what I have taken from you.”
“By Jove, Nopper, I have it!” cried Monty. “If you must go, I’ll stake you in the hunt for gold.”
In the end “Nopper” consented to follow Brewster’s advice, and it was agreed that they should share equally all that resulted from his prospecting tour. Brewster “grub-staked” him for a year, and before the end of the week a new tenderfoot was on his way to the Rocky Mountains.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE PRODIGAL AT SEA
Harrison’s departure left Brewster in sore straits. It forced him to settle down to the actual management of his own affairs. He was not indolent, but this was not the kind of work he cared to encourage. The private accounts he had kept revealed some appalling facts when he went over them carefully one morning at four o’clock, after an all-night session with the ledger. With infinite pains he had managed to rise to something over $450,000 in six months. But to his original million it had been necessary to add $58,550 which he had realized from Lumber and Fuel and some of his other “unfortunate” operations. At least $40,000 would come to him ultimately through the sale of furniture and other belongings, and then there would be something like $20,000 interest to consider. But luck had aided him in getting rid of his money. The bank failure had cost him $113,468.25, and “Nopper” Harrison had helped him to the extent of $60,000. The reckless but determined effort to give a ball had cost $30,000. What he had lost during his illness had been pretty well offset by the unlucky concert tour. The Florida trip, including medical attention, the cottage and living expenses, had entailed the expenditure of $18,500, and his princely dinners and theater parties had footed up $31,000. Taking all the facts into consideration, he felt that he had done rather well as far as he had gone, but the hardest part of the undertaking was yet to come. He was still in possession of an enormous sum, which must disappear before September 23d. About $40,000 had already been expended in the yachting project.
He determined to begin at once a systematic campaign of extinction. It had been his intention before sailing to dispose of many household articles, either by sale or gift. As he did not expect to return to New York before the latter part of August, this would minimize the struggles of the last month. But the prospective “profit” to be acquired from keeping his apartment open was not to be overlooked. He could easily count upon a generous sum for salaries and running expenses. Once on the other side of the Atlantic, he hoped that new opportunities for extravagance would present themselves, and he fancied he could leave the final settlement of his affairs for the last month. As the day for sailing approached, the world again seemed bright to this most mercenary of spendthrifts.
A farewell consultation with his attorneys proved encouraging, for to them his chances to win the extraordinary contest seemed of the best. He was in high spirits as he left them, exhilarated by the sensation that the world lay before him. In the elevator he encountered Colonel Prentiss Drew. On both sides the meeting was not without its difficulties. The Colonel had been dazed by the inexplicable situation between Monty and his daughter, whose involutions he found hard to understand. Her summary of the effort she had made to effect a reconciliation, after hearing the story of the bank, was rather vague. She had done her utmost, she said, to be nice to him and make him feel that she appreciated his generosity, but he took it in the most disagreeable fashion. Colonel Drew knew that things were somehow wrong; but he was too strongly an American father to interfere in a matter of the affections. It distressed him, for he had a liking for Monty, and Barbara’s “society judgments,” as he called them, had no weight with him. When he found himself confronted with Brewster in the elevator, the old warmth revived and the old hope that the quarrel might have an end. His greeting was cheery.
“You have not forgotten, Brewster,” he said, as they shook hands, “that you have a dollar or two with us?”
“No,” said Monty, “not exactly. And I shall be calling upon you for some of it very soon. I’m off on Thursday for a cruise in the Mediterranean.”
“I’ve heard something of it.” They had reached the main floor and Colonel Drew had drawn his companion out of the crowd into the rotunda. “The money is at your disposal at any moment. But aren’t you setting a pretty lively pace, my boy? You know I’ve always liked you, and I knew your grandfather rather well. He was a good old chap, Monty, and he would hate to see you make ducks and drakes of his fortune.”
There
