Gordon started. In spite of himself it seemed as if the dog were reproaching him through the eyes of the child. Then suddenly the boy spoke.
“Will you stay by me till I’m mended?” whispered the weak little voice.
Gordon’s heart leaped in horror again, and it came to him that he was being tried out this day to see if had the right stuff in him for hard tasks. The appeal in the little street-boy’s eyes reached him as no request had ever yet done, and yet he might not answer it. Duty, - life and death duty, - called him elsewhere, and he must leave the little fellow whom he had been the involuntary cause of injuring, to suffer and perhaps to die. It cut him to the quick not to respond to that urgent appeal.
Was it because he was weary that he was visited just then by a vision of Julia Bentley with her handsome lips curled scornfully? Julia Bentley would not have approved of his stopping to carry a boy to the hospital, any more than to care for a dog’s comfort.
“Look here, kiddie,” he said gently, leaning over the child, “I’d stay by you if I could, but I’ve already made myself later for an appointment by coming so far with you. Do you know what Duty is?”
The child nodded sorrowfully.
“Don’t yous mind me,” he murmured weakly. “Just yous go. I’m game all right.” Then the voice trailed off into silence again, and the eyelids fluttered down upon the little, grimy, unconscious face.
Gordon went into the hospital for a brief moment to leave some money in the hands of the authorities for the benefit of the boy, and a message that he would return in a week or two if possible; then hurried away.
Back in the cab once more, he felt as if he had killed a man and left him lying by the roadside while he continue his unswerving march toward the hideous duty which was growing increasingly more portentous, and to be relieved of which he would gladly have surrendered further hope of his chief’s favor. He closed his eyes and tried to think, but all the time the little white face of the child came before his vision, and the mocking eyes of Julia Bentley tantalized him, as if she were telling him that he had spoiled all his chances – and hers – by his foolish soft-heartedness. Though, what else could he have done than he had done, he asked himself fiercely.
He looked at his watch. It was at least ten minutes’ ride to the hotel, the best time they could make. Thank to his man the process of dressing for the evening would not take long, for he knew that everything would be in place and he would not be hindered. He would make short work of his toilet. But there was his suit-case. It would not do to leave it at the hotel, neither must he take it with him to the house where he was to be a guest. There was nothing for it but to go around by the way of the station where it would have to be checked. That meant a longer ride and more delay, but it must be done.
Arrived at the hotel at last, and in the act of signing the unaccustomed “John Burnham” in the hotel registry, there came a call to the telephone.
With a hand that trembled from excitement he took the receiver. His breath went from him as though he had just run up five flights of stairs. “Yes? Hello! Oh, Mrs. Holman. Yes! Burnham. I’ve but just arrived. I was delayed. A wreck ahead of the train. Very kind of you to invite me, I’m sure. Yes, I’ll be there in a few moments, as soon as I can get rid of the dust of travel. Thank you. Good-bye.”
It all sounded very commonplace to the clerk, who was making out bills and fretting because he could not get off to take his girl to the theatre that night, but as Gordon hung up the receiver he looked around furtively as if expecting to see a dozen detectives ready to seize upon him. It was the first time he had ever undertaken a commission under an assumed name and he felt as if he were shouting his commission through the streets of New York.
The young man made short work of his toilet. Just as he was leaving the hotel a telegram was handed him. It was from his chief, and so worded that to the operator who had copied it down it read like a hasty call to Boston; but to his code-enlightened eyes it was merely a blind to cover his exit from the hotel and from New York, and set any possible hunters on a wrong scent. He marveled at the wonderful mind of his chief, who thought out every detail of an important campaign, and forgot not one little possible point where difficulty might arise.
Gordon had a nervous feeling as he again stepped into a taxicab and gave his order. He wondered how many stray dogs, and newsboys with broken legs, would attach themselves to him on the way to dinner. Whenever the speed slowed down, or they were halted by cars and autos, his heart pounded painfully, lest something new had happened, but he arrived safely and swiftly at the station, checked his suitcase, and took another cab to the residence of Mr. Holman, without further incident.
The company were waiting for him, and after the introductions they went immediately to the dining-room. Gordon took his seat with the feeling that he had bungled everything hopelessly, and had arrived so late that there was no possible hope of his doing what he had been sent to do. For the first few minutes his thoughts were a jumble, and his eyes dazed with the brilliant lights of the room. He could not single out the faces of the people present and differentiate them one from another. His heart beat painfully against the stiff expanse of evening linen. It almost seemed as if those near him could hear it. He found himself starting and stammering when he was addressed as “Mr. Burnham.” His thoughts were mingled with white dogs, newsboys, and ladies with scornful smiles.
He was seated on the right of his hostess, and gradually her gentle manners gave him quietness. He began to gain control of himself, and now he seemed to see afar the keen eye of his chief watching the testing of his new commissioner. His heart swelled to meet the demand made upon him. A strong purpose came to him to rise above all obstacles and conquer in spite of circumstances. He must forget everything else and rise to the occasion.
From that moment the dancing lights that multiplied themselves in the glittering silver and cut glass of table began to settle into order; and slowly, one by one, the conglomeration of faces around the board resolved itself into individuals.
There was the pretty, pale hostess, whose gentle ways seemed hardly to fit with her large, boisterous, though polished husband. Unscrupulousness was written all over his ruddy features, also a certain unhidden craftiness which passed for geniality among his kind.
There were two others with faces full of cunning, both men of wealth and culture. One did not think of the word “refinement” in connection with them; still, that might be conceded also, but it was all dominated by the cunning that on this occasion, at least, was allowed to sit unmasked upon their countenances. They had outwitted an enemy, and they were openly exultant.
Of the other guests, one was very young and sleek, with eyes that had early learned to evade; one was old and weary-looking, with a hunted expression; one was thick-set, with little eyes set close in a fat, selfish face. Gordon began to understand that these three but did the bidding of the others. They listened to the conversation merely from a business standpoint and not with any personal interest. They were there they were needed, and not because they were desired.
There was one bond which they seemed to hold in common: an alert readiness to combine for their mutual safety. This did not manifest itself in anything tangible, but the guest felt that it was there and ready to spring upon him at any instant.
All this came gradually to the young man as the meal with its pleasant formalities began. As yet nothing had been said about the reason for his being there.
“Did you tell me you were in a wreck?” suddenly asked the hostess sweetly, turning to him, and the table talk hushed instantly while the host asked: “A wreck! Was it serious?”
Gordon perceived his
