The Desired Woman(Fiscle Part-3 Of 2) by Will N. Harben (mind reading books .TXT) 📖

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Five Years Passed. Again It Was Summer. Mostyn With His Wife And His

Only Child,  Richard,  Jr.,  Lived In The Mitchell Mansion,  Which,  Save

For A New Coat Of Paint,  Was Unchanged. Mostyn Himself Was

Considerably Altered In Appearance. There Were Deeper Lines In His

Face; He Was Thinner,  More Given To Nervousness And Loss Of Sleep; His

Hair Was Turning Gray; He Had Been Told By His Doctor That He Worried

Too Much And That He Must Check The Tendency.

 

Things Had Not Gone In His Married Life As The Financier Had Wished.

One Of The Most Objectionable Was The Unexpected Change In His Father-

In-Law,  Who Had Lapsed Quite Abruptly Into Troublesome Dotage. From A

Shrewd Business Man Old Mitchell Had Become A Querulous Child,  Subject

To Fits Of Suspicion And Violent Outbursts Of Anger. At The Most

Embarrassing Moments He Would Totter Into The Bank,  Approach His Son-

In-Law,  And Insist On Talking Over Matters Which He Was Quite

Incapable Of Seeing In A Rational Light. Mostyn Had Tried To Deal With

Him Firmly,  Only To Bring Down A Torrent Of Half-Wild Threats As To

What The Old Man Would Do In Regard To Certain Investments The Two

Held In Common. Indeed,  It Was Plain To Many That Mitchell Had Formed

An Intuitive Dislike For His Son-In-Law,  Which,  Somehow,  Was Not

Lessened By His Great Love For His Grandson.

 

Saunders Became A Genial Sort Of Escape-Valve For The Old Man's

Endless Chatter And Complaint,  Doing All In His Power To Pacify Him,

Though It Required No Little Time And Energy.

 

One Warm Day In The Present June Mitchell Came To The Bank,  And,

Frowning Angrily,  He Went Into Mostyn's Office,  Where His Son-In-Law

Sat Absorbed Over Some Intricate Calculations In Percentage.

 

"Huh!" He Sniffed. "Your Nigger Porter Told Me You Were Too Busy To

See Me. If He Hadn't Dodged I'd Have Hit The Whelp With This Cane,

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Sir. Busy! I Say Busy! If It Hadn't Been For Me And My Money I'd Like

To Know Where You'd Be To-Day. I Guess You Wouldn't Run Long."

 

Flushing With Combined Anger And Sensitive Shame,  Mostyn Put His

Papers Aside And Rose.

 

"Sit Down,  And Rest," He Said. "Albert Meant No Harm. I Told Him That

I Had Some Important Work To Do And That I Did Not Want To Be

Disturbed Just Now; But,  Of Course,  I Had No Reference To _You._"

 

"Oh,  I Know You Didn't!" Mitchell Sneered,  His Chin And White Beard

Quivering. "I Know What Your Plan Is. I'm No Fool. You Are Handling My

Means,  And You Are Afraid I'll Want To Know What You Have Done With

Them. I'll Have A Statement By Law--That's What I'll Do."

 

"You Really _Must_ Be Reasonable," Mostyn Said,  Helplessly. "Only Last

Week I Explained It All In Detail In The Presence Of Saunders And

Wright,  And You Were Quite Satisfied. You Ought To Know That We Can't

Go Over Such Matters Every Day. I Assure You That Everything Is In

Good Shape."

 

"Are You _Sure?_ That's What I Want To Know." The Harsh Expression In

Mitchell's Face Was Softening. "I--I Get To Worrying--I Admit It. You

And I Used To Get Along All Right,  But You Never Consult Me Now As You

Used To Do. I'm Older Than You Are,  But My Judgment Is Sound. I'm Not

Dead Yet,  And I Won't Be Regarded That Way."

 

"I Know You Are All Right." Mostyn Smiled Pacifically. "Won't You Take

A Seat?"

 

"No,  I'm Going Back Home. I Don't Like The Way Things Are Running

There,  Either. Irene Is Never At Home,  It Seems To Me,  And My Grandson

Has Nobody To Look After Him But That Trifling Nurse. Irene Has Gone

To Some Fool Reception To-Day,  And Says She And Kitty Are Going To A

Dance At Buckton's Country House To-Night. You May Call That Right And

Proper,  Sir,  But I Don't. The Way Married Couples Live To-Day Is An

Outrage On Common Decency. If You Had Any Backbone You'd Make Your

Wife Behave Herself. She Is More Of A Belle,  Sir,  Right Now Than

Before You Married Her. She Is Crazy For Excitement,  And The Whole

Poker-Playing,  Wine-Drinking Set She Goes With Is On The Road To

Perdition."

 

Laying His Hand On The Old Man's Arm Gently,  Mostyn Led Him Toward The

Door. "Don't Let It Worry You," He Said. "The Boy Is Well And Sound,

And Irene Means No Harm. She Has Always Loved Society,  And When We

Were Married It Was With The Understanding That She Should Not Be

Hampered."

 

"And That Is Right Where You Made The Mistake Of Your Life." Mitchell

Pulled Back From The Door. "The Way You And She Live Is Not Natural.

The Lord Never Intended It To Be So. You Know As Well As I Do That

Irene Used To Have A Silly Sort Of Liking Or Fancy For Andy Buckton."

 

Mostyn Nodded,  His Eyes Averted. "Yes,  Yes,  Of Course," He Said,

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Hesitatingly. "She Told Me All About It At The Time,  Quite Frankly."

 

"Well,  You Know,  I Presume,  That His Uncle Left Him A Lot Of Money

When He Died The Other Day?"

 

"I Heard Something About It." Mostyn Bit His Lip In Vexation,  As He

Reached Out For The Doorknob And Turned It Cautiously.

 

"Well,  It Is True,  And It Has Turned The Fool's Head; He Is Spending

It Like Water. He Is Giving A Big Blow-Out To-Night,  And It Is All For

Your Wife,  Sir--Your Wife."

 

Mostyn Made No Reply,  Though His Face Looked Graver; The Sharp-Drawn

Lines About His Mouth Deepened.

 

"You Heard What I Said,  Didn't You?" Mitchell Demanded.

 

"Yes,  Of Course."

 

"Well,  Let Me Tell You One Thing,  And Then You Can Do As You Please

About It. I Am Not Going To Take Any Hand In It. Irene Has No Respect

For Me Or My Opinion Here Lately. She Gets Mad The Minute I Say A Word

To Her. Andy Buckton Is As Big A Fool About Her As He Ever Was. I Got

It Straight,  From A Person Who Knows,  That He Makes No Secret Of It.

And That Isn't All,  Sir--That Isn't All. Irene Is Just Vain Enough Of

Her Good Looks To Like It. Le'me Tell You Something,  Sir. This Town Is

Not Paris,  And Our Country Is Not France,  But That Fast Set Irene Runs

With Is Trying To Think So. They Read About The Four Hundred In New

York,  Its Scandals And Divorces In High Life,  And Think It Is Smart To

Imitate It. You Seem To Stay Out Of It,  But What If You Do? Are You

Going To Sit Like A Knot On A Log And Have Them Say You Made A

Loveless Marriage For Money,  And--"

 

"Stop!" Mostyn Flared Out. "I Won't Stand It. You Are Going Too Far!"

 

"Ah,  I See You Can Be Touched," The Old Man Laughed,  Putting His Hand

On Mostyn's Arm In His Most Senile Mood. "I Just Wanted To Set You

Thinking,  That's All."

 

When Mitchell Was Gone The Banker Sat Down At His Work Again,  But He

Could Not Put His Mind On It. He Fumbled The Papers Nervously. His

Brows Met In A Troubled Frown. "I Can't Stand Any More Of This," He

Thought. "He Is Driving Me Insane--The Man Does Not Live Who Could Put

Up With It Day After Day."

 

Going To The Door,  He Asked One Of The Clerks To Send Saunders To Him

If He Was Quite Disengaged. A Moment Later His Partner Entered. The

Last Five Years Had Served Him Well. He Had Never Looked Better. His

Skin Was Clear,  His Eyes Bright,  His Movement Calm And Alert.

 

"Did You Want To See Me?" He Asked.

 

"If You Are Not Busy," Mostyn Replied.

 

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"Nothing To Do Just Now," Saunders Said,  Sitting Down Near The Desk.

 

Mostyn Gave Him A Troubled Look. "The Old Man Has Just Left," He Said.

 

"I Thought I Recognized His Voice," Saunders Answered. "He Has A Way

Of Talking Quite Loud Of Late."

 

There Was A Pause,  During Which Mostyn Continued To Stare With

Fluttering Lashes; Then He Said:

 

"He Is Giving Me A Great Deal Of Trouble,  Saunders--A Great Deal."

 

"I See He Is; In Fact,  All Of Us Have Noticed It."

 

"It Is Getting More And More Serious," Mostyn Sighed,  Heavily. "You

See,  It Is Not Only Here That He Talks. He Goes To The Other Banks And

To The Offices Of The Brokers And Chatters Like A Child About Our

Confidential Affairs. I Am Afraid He Will Do Us Absolute Financial

Injury. He Is Insanely Suspicious,  And There Is No Telling What Report

He May Set Afloat."

 

"I Think Most Persons Understand His Condition," Saunders Returned.

"Delbridge Does,  I Know. He Goes To See Delbridge Often. I See Your

Predicament And Sympathize With You. The Old Man Has Lost All His

Discretion,  And You Really Cannot Afford To Confer With Him."

 

"The Trouble Is,  He Has His Legal Rights," Mostyn Said,  Tentatively,

"And The Slightest Thing May Turn Him Against Me. There Are Shyster

Lawyers Here Who Would Not Hesitate To Advise Him Wrongly. They Would

Get Their Fee,  And That Is All They Would Want. As I Look At It The

Situation Is Serious,  And Growing Worse."

 

"It Is Awkward,  To Say The Least," Saunders Admitted,  "And I Confess

That I Do Not Know What To Advise."

 

"Well,  That Is All," Mostyn Concluded. "I Wanted To Speak To You About

It. He Upsets Me Every Time He Comes In,  And He Is Quite As

Troublesome At Home,  I Assure You. I Envy You,  Old Chap,  With Your

Care-Free Life,  Spent Half In The Country. How Is Your Plantation?"

 

"Fine--Never Had Better Crops." Saunders's Eyes Kindled With Latent

Enthusiasm. "The Weather Has Been Just Right This Season. Run Up And

Spend Next Sunday With Me. It Will Do You Good. You Stay In Town Too

Much."

 

Mostyn Shrugged His Shoulders. He Sighed And Bowed His Head Over His

Papers. "Not This Season," He Said,  As If His Thoughts Were Far Away.

Suddenly He Cast A Wavering Glance At His Partner,  Hesitated,  And

Said:

 

"I Have Always Wanted To Go Back Up There,  Saunders. That Was One

Period Of My Life That Is Constantly Before Me. I May