nervously at her lip, “that’s all. I thought this thing tonight would hurt you less if you understood the whole affair.”
“Yes,” Michael answered in a dull voice, “I suppose that’s true.”
Michael’s business took a prosperous turn, and when summer came they went to the country, renting a little old farmhouse where the children played all day on a tangled half acre of grass and trees. The subject of Charley was never mentioned between them and as the months passed he receded to a shadowy background in their minds. Sometimes, just before dropping off to sleep, Michael found himself thinking of the happy times the three of them had had together five years before—then the reality would intrude upon the illusion and he would be repelled from the subject with almost physical distaste.
One warm evening in July he lay dozing on the porch in the twilight. He had had a hard day at his office and it was welcome to rest here while the summer light faded from the land.
At the sound of an automobile he raised his head lazily. At the end of the path a local taxi-cab had stopped and a young man was getting out. With an exclamation Michael sat up. Even in the dusk he recognized those shoulders, that impatient walk—
“Well, I’m damned,” he said softly.
As Charley Hart came up the gravel path Michael noticed in a glance that he was unusually disheveled. His handsome face was drawn and tired, his clothes were out of press and he had the unmistakable look of needing a good night’s sleep.
He came up on the porch, saw Michael and smiled in a wan, embarrassed way.
“Hello, Michael.”
Neither of them made any move to shake hands but after a moment Charley collapsed abruptly into a chair.
“I’d like a glass of water,” he said huskily. “It’s hot as hell.”
Without a word Michael went into the house—returned with a glass of water which Charley drank in great noisy gulps.
“Thanks,” he said, gasping. “I thought I was going to pass away.”
He looked about him with eyes that only pretended to take in his surroundings.
“Nice little place you’ve got here,” he remarked; his eyes returned to Michael. “Do you want me to get out?”
“Why—no. Sit and rest if you want to. You look all in.”
“I am. Do you want to hear about it?”
“Not in the least.”
“Well, I’m going to tell you anyhow,” said Charley defiantly. “That’s what I came out here for. I’m in trouble, Michael, and I haven’t got anybody to go to except you.”
“Have you tried your friends?” asked Michael coolly.
“I’ve tried about everybody—everybody I’ve had time to go to. God!” He wiped his forehead with his hand. “I never realized how hard it was to raise a simple two thousand dollars.”
“Have you come to me for two thousand dollars?”
“Wait a minute, Michael. Wait till you hear. It just shows you what a mess a man can get into without meaning any harm. You see, I’m the treasurer of a society called the Independent Artists’ Benefit—a thing to help struggling students. There was a fund, thirty-five hundred dollars, and it’s been lying in my bank for over a year. Well, as you know, I live pretty high—make a lot and spend a lot—and about a month ago I began speculating a little through a friend of mine—”
“I don’t know why you’re telling me all this,” interrupted Michael impatiently. “I—”
“Wait a minute, won’t you—I’m almost through.” He looked at Michael with frightened eyes. “I used that money sometimes without even realizing that it wasn’t mine. I’ve always had plenty of my own, you see. Till this week.” He hesitated. “This week there was a meeting of this society and they asked me to turn over the money. Well, I went to a couple of men to try and borrow it and as soon as my back was turned one of them blabbed. There was a terrible blow-up last night. They told me unless I handed over the two thousand this morning they’d send me to jail—” His voice rose and he looked around wildly. “There’s a warrant out for me now—and if I can’t get the money I’ll kill myself, Michael; I swear to God I will; I won’t go to prison. I’m an artist—not a business man. I—”
He made an effort to control his voice.
“Michael,” he whispered, “you’re my oldest friend. I haven’t got anyone in the world but you to turn to.”
“You’re a little late,” said Michael uncomfortably. “You didn’t think of me four years ago when you asked my wife to run away with you.”
A look of sincere surprise passed over Charley’s face.
“Are you mad at me about that?” he asked in a puzzled way. “I thought you were mad because I didn’t come to your party.”
Michael did not answer.
“I supposed she’d told you about that long ago,” went on Charley. “I couldn’t help it about Marion. I was lonesome and you two had each other. Every time I went to your house you’d tell me what a wonderful girl Marion was and finally I—I began to agree with you. How could I help falling in love with her, when for a year and a half she was the only decent girl I knew?” He looked defiantly at Michael. “Well, you’ve got her, haven’t you. I didn’t take her away. I never so much as kissed her—do you have to rub it in?”
“Look here,” said Michael sharply, “just why should I lend you this money.”
“Well—” Charley hesitated, laughed uneasily, “I don’t know any exact reason. I just thought you would.”
“Why should I?”
“No reason at all, I suppose, from your way of looking at it.”
“That’s the trouble. If I gave it to you it would just be because I was slushy and soft. I’d be doing something that I don’t want to do.”
“All right.” Charley smiled unpleasantly. “That’s logical. Now that I think, there’s no reason why you should lend it to me. Well—” he shoved his hands into his coat pocket and throwing his head back slightly seemed to shake the subject off like a cap, “I won’t go to prison—and maybe you’ll feel differently about it tomorrow.”
“Don’t count on that.”
“Oh, I don’t mean I’ll ask you again. I mean something—quite different.”
He nodded his head, turned quickly and walking down the gravel path was swallowed up in the darkness. Where the path met the road Michael heard his footsteps cease as if he were hesitating. Then they turned down the road toward the station a mile away.
Michael sank into his chair, burying his face in his hands. He heard Marion come out of the door.
“I listened,” she whispered.
