The House of a Thousand Candles by Meredith Nicholson (good ebook reader .TXT) đ
- Author: Meredith Nicholson
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I modestly maintain, a forbidding pair. Weâif I may
drag myself into the matterâare both a trifle under
the average height, sinewy, nervous, and, just then,
trained fine. Our lean, clean-shaven faces were well-browned
âmine wearing a fresh coat from my days on
the steamerâs deck.
Larry had never been in America before, and the
scene had for both of us the charm of a gay and novel
spectacle. I have always maintained, in talking to
Larry of nations and races, that the Americans are the
handsomest and best put-up people in the world, and I
believe he was persuaded of it that night as we gazed
with eyes long unaccustomed to splendor upon the great
company assembled in the restaurant. The lights, the
music, the variety and richness of the costumes of the
women, the many unmistakably foreign faces, wrought
a welcome spell on senses inured to hardship in the
waste and dreary places of earth.
âNow tell me the story,â I said. âHave you done
murder? Is the offense treasonable?â
âIt was a tenantsâ row in Galway, and I smashed a
constable. I smashed him pretty hard, I dare say, from
the row they kicked up in the newspapers. I lay low
for a couple of weeks, caught a boat to Queenstown, and
here I am, waiting for a chance to get back to The Sod
without going in irons.â
âYou were certainly born to be hanged, Larry. Youâd
better stay in America. Thereâs more room here than
anywhere else, and itâs not easy to kidnap a man in
America and carry him off.â
âPossibly not; and yet the situation isnât wholly tranquil,â
he said, transfixing a bit of pompano with his
fork. âKindly note the florid gentleman at your right
âat the table with fourâheâs next the lady in pink.
It may interest you to know that heâs the British
consul.â
âInteresting, but not important. You donât for a
moment supposeââ
âThat heâs looking for me? Not at all. But he undoubtedly
has my name on his tablets. The detective
thatâs here following me around is pretty dull. He lost
me this morning while I was talking to you in the
bank. Later on I had the pleasure of trailing him for
an hour or so until he finally brought up at the British
consulâs office. Thanks; no more of the fish. Let us
banish care. I wasnât born to be hanged; and as Iâm a
political offender, I doubt whether I can be deported if
they lay hands on me.â
He watched the bubbles in his glass dreamily, holding
it up in his slim well-kept fingers.
âTell me something of your own immediate present
and future,â he said.
I made the story of my Grandfather Glenarmâs legacy
as brief as possible, for brevity was a definite law of our
intercourse.
âA year, you say, with nothing to do but fold your
hands and wait. It doesnât sound awfully attractive to
me. Iâd rather do without the money.â
âBut I intend to do some work. I owe it to my grandfatherâs
memory to make good, if thereâs any good in
me.â
âThe sentiment is worthy of you, Glenarm,â he said
mockingly. âWhat do you seeâa ghost?â
I must have started slightly at espying suddenly
Arthur Pickering not twenty feet away. A party of
half a dozen or more had risen, and Pickering and a
girl were detached from the others for a moment.
She was youngâquite the youngest in the group
about Pickeringâs table. A certain girlishness of height
and outline may have been emphasized by her juxtaposition
to Pickeringâs heavy figure. She was in black,
with white showing at neck and wristsâa somber contrast
to the other women of the party, who were arrayed
with a degree of splendor. She had dropped her fan,
and Pickering stooped to pick it up. In the second that
she waited she turned carelessly toward me, and our
eyes met for an instant. Very likely she was Pickeringâs
sister, and I tried to reconstruct his family, which I had
known in my youth; but I could not place her. As she
walked out before him my eyes followed herâthe erect
figure, free and graceful, but with a charming dignity
and poise, and the gold of her fair hair glinting under
her black toque.
Her eyes, as she turned them full upon me, were the
saddest, loveliest eyes I had ever seen, and even in that
brilliant, crowded room I felt their spell. They were
fixed in my memory indeliblyâmournful, dreamy and
wistful. In my absorption I forgot Larry.
âYouâre taking unfair advantage,â he observed quietly.
âFriends of yours?â
âThe big chap in the lead is my friend Pickering,â
I answered; and Larry turned his head slightly.
âYes, I supposed you werenât looking at the women,â
he observed dryly. âIâm sorry I couldnât see the object
of your interest. Bah! these men!â
I laughed carelessly enough, but I was already summoning
from my memory the grave face of the girl in
blackâher mournful eyes, the glint of gold in her hair.
Pickering was certainly finding the pleasant places in
this vale of tears, and I felt my heart hot against him.
It hurts, this seeing a man you have never liked succeeding
where you have failed!
âWhy didnât you present me? Iâd like to make the
acquaintance of a few representative AmericansâI
may need them to go bail for me.â
âPickering didnât see me, for one thing; and for
another he wouldnât go bail for you or me if he did.
He isnât built that way.â
Larry smiled quizzically.
âYou neednât explain further. The sight of the lady
has shaken you. She reminds me of Tennyson:
â âThe star-like sorrows of immortal eyesââ
and the rest of it ought to be a solemn warning to you,
âmany âdrew swords and died,â and calamity followed
in her train. Bah! these women! I thought you were
past all that!â
[Illustration: She turned carelessly toward me, and our eyes met for an instant.]
âI donât know why a man should be past it at twenty-seven!
Besides, Pickeringâs friends are strangers to me.
But what became of that Irish colleen you used to
moon over? Her distinguishing feature, as I remember
her photograph, was a short upper lip. You used
to force her upon me frequently when we were in
Africa.â
âHumph! When I got back to Dublin I found that
she had married a brewerâs sonâthink of it!â
âPut not your faith in a short upper lip! Her face
never inspired any confidence in me.â
âThat will do, thank you. Iâll have a bit more of that
mayonnaise if the waiter isnât dead. I think you said
your grandfather died in June. A letter advising you
of the fact reached you at Naples in October. Has it
occurred to you that there was quite an interim there?
What, may I ask, was the executor doing all that time?
You may be sure he was taking advantage of the opportunity
to look for the red, red gold. I suppose you
didnât give him a sound drubbing for not keeping the
cables hot with inquiries for you?â
He eyed me in that disdain for my stupidity which
I have never suffered from any other man.
âWell, no; to tell the truth, I was thinking of other
things during the interview.â
âYour grandfather should have provided a guardian
for you, lad. You oughtnât to be trusted with money.
Is that bottle empty? Well, if that person with the fat
neck was your friend Pickering, Iâd have a care of
whatâs coming to me. Iâd be quite sure that Mr. Pickering
hadnât made away with the old gentlemanâs
boodle, or that it didnât get lost on the way from him
to me.â
âThe timeâs running now, and Iâm in for the year.
My grandfather was a fine old gentleman, and I treated
him like a dog. Iâm going to do what he directs in that
will no matter what the size of the reward may be.â
âCertainly; thatâs the eminently proper thing for
you to do. Butâbut keep your wits about you. If a
fellow with that neck canât find money where money
has been known to exist, it must be buried pretty deep.
Your grandfather was a trifle eccentric, I judge, but
not a fool by any manner of means. The situation appeals
to my imagination, Jack. I like the idea of itâ
the lost treasure and the whole business. Lord, what a
salad that is! Cheer up, comrade! Youâre as grim as
an owl!â
Whereupon we fell to talking of people and places we
had known in other lands.
We spent the next day together, and in the evening,
at my hotel, he criticized my effects while I packed, in
his usual ironical vein.
âYouâre not going to take those things with you, I
hope!â He indicated the rifles and several revolvers
which I brought from the closet and threw upon the
bed. âThey make me homesick for the jungle.â
He drew from its cover the heavy rifle I had used
last on a leopard hunt and tested its weight.
âPrecious little use youâll have for this! Better let
me take it back to The Sod to use on the landlords.
I say, Jack, are we never to seek our fortunes together
again? We hit it off pretty well, old man, come to think
of itâI donât like to lose you.â
He bent over the straps of the rifle-case with unnecessary
care, but there was a quaver in his voice that was
not like Larry Donovan.
âCome with me now!â I exclaimed, wheeling upon
him.
âIâd rather be with you than with any other living
man, Jack Glenarm, but I canât think of it. I have my
own troubles; and, moreover, youâve got to stick it out
there alone. Itâs part of the game the old gentleman
set up for you, as I understand it. Go ahead, collect
your fortune, and then, if I havenât been hanged in the
meantime, weâll join forces later. Thereâs no chap anywhere
with a pleasanter knack at spending money than
your old friend L. D.â
He grinned, and I smiled ruefully, knowing that we
must soon part again, for Larry was one of the few
men I had ever called friend, and this meeting had only
quickened my old affection for him.
âI suppose,â he continued, âyou accept as gospel
truth what that fellow tells you about the estate. I
should be a little wary if I were you. Now, Iâve been
kicking around here for a couple of weeks, dodging the
detectives, and incidentally reading the newspapers.
Perhaps you donât understand that this estate of John
Marshall Glenarm has been talked about a good bit.â
âI didnât know it,â I admitted lamely. Larry had
always been able to instruct me about most matters; it
was wholly possible that he could speak wisely about my
inheritance.
âYou couldnât know, when you were coming from
the Mediterranean on a steamer. But the house out
there and the mysterious disappearance of the property
have been duly discussed. Youâre evidently an object
of some public interest,ââand he drew from his pocket
a newspaper cutting. âHereâs a sample item.â He read:
âJohn Glenarm, the grandson of John Marshall Glenarm,
the eccentric millionaire who died suddenly in Vermont
last summer, arrived on the Maxinkuckee from Naples
yesterday. Under the terms of his grandfatherâs
will, Glenarm is required to reside for a year at a curious
house established by John Marshall Glenarm near Lake
Annandale, Indiana.
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