Part 17

He remained locked in his room till the dinner- hour; and, when he promptly emerged for that occasion, there was a very noticeable improvement in his personal appearance, in point of dress, at least, though there still lingered about his smoothly- shaven features a certain haggard, care-worn, anxious look that would not out.

Next his own at the table he found a chair tilted forward, as though in reservation for some honored guest. What did it mean? Oh, he remembered now. Told the boy to tell his mother he would have a friend to dine with him. Bert--and, blast the fellow!-- was, doubtless, dining then with a far preferable companion--his wife--in a palace-car on the P., C. & St. L., a hundred miles away. The thought was maddening. Of course, now, the landlady would have material for a new assault. And how could he avert it? A despairing film blurred his sight for the moment--then the eyes flashed daringly. "I will meet it like a man!" he said, mentally-- "yea, like a State's Attorney,--I will invite it! Let her do her worst!"

He called a servant, giving some message in an undertone.

"Yes, sir," said the agreeable servant, "I'll go right away, sir," and left the room.

Five minutes elapsed, and then a voice at his shoulder startled him:

"Did you send for me, Mr. McKinney? What is it I can do?"

"You are very kind, Mrs.--Mrs.--"

"Mrs. Miller," said the lady, with a smile that he remembered.

"Now, please spare me even the mildest of rebukes. I deserve your censure, but I can't stand it --I can't positively!" and there was a pleading look in John's lifted eyes that changed the little woman's smile to an expression of real solicitude. "I have sent for you," continued John, "to ask of you three great favors. Please be seated while I enumerate them. First--I want you to forgive and forget that ill-natured, uncalled-for grumbling of mine this morning when you awakened me."

"Why, certainly," said the landlady, again smiling, though quite seriously.

"I thank you," said John with dignity. "And, second," he continued--"I want your assurance that my extreme confusion and awkwardness on the occasion of our meeting later were rightly interpreted."

"Certainly--certainly," said the landlady with the kindliest sympathy.

"I am grateful--utterly," said John, with newer dignity. "And then," he went on,--"after informing you that it is impossible for the best friend I have in the world to be with me at this hour, as intended, I want you to do me the very great honor of dining with me. Will you?"

"Why, certainly," said the charming little landlady--"and a thousand thanks besides! But tell me something of your friend," she continued, as they were being served. "What is he like--and what is his name--and where is he?"

"Well," said John warily,--"he's like all young fellows of his age. He's quite young, you know-- not over thirty, I should say--a mere boy, in fact, but clever--talented--versatile."

"--Unmarried, of course," said the chatty little woman.

"Oh, yes!" said John, in a matter-of-course tone --but he caught himself abruptly--then stared intently at his napkin--glanced evasively at the side- face of his questioner, and said,--"Oh, yes! Yes, indeed! He's unmarried.--Old bachelor like myself, you know. Ha! Ha!"

"So he's not like the young man here that distinguished himself last night?" said the little woman archly.

The fork in John's hand, half-lifted to his lips, faltered and fell back toward his plate.

"Why, what's that?" said John in a strange voice; "I hadn't heard anything about it--I mean I haven't heard anything about any young man. What was it?"

"Haven't heard anything about the elopement?" exclaimed the little woman in astonishment.-- "Why it's been the talk of the town all morning. Elopement in high life--son of a grain-dealer, name of Hines, or Himes, or something, and a preacher's daughter--Josie somebody--didn't catch her last name. Wonder if you don't know the parties-- Why, Mr. McKinney, are you ill?"

"Oh, no--not at all!" said John: "Don't mention it. Ha--ha! Just eating too rapidly, that's all. Go on with--you were saying that Bert and Josie had really eloped."

"What 'Bert'?" asked the little woman quickly.

"Why, did I say Bert?" said John, with a guilty look. "I meant Haines, of course, you know-- Haines and Josie.--And did they really elope?"

"That's the report," answered the little woman, as though deliberating some important evidence; "and they say, too, that the plot of the runaway was quite ingenious. It seems the young lovers were assisted in their flight by some old fellow-- friend of the young man's--Why, Mr. McKinney, you ARE ill, surely?"

John's face was as ashen.

"No--no!" he gasped painfully: "Go on--go on! Tell me more about the--the--the old fellow --the old reprobate! And is he still at large?"

"Yes," said the little woman, anxiously regarding the strange demeanor of her companion. "They say, though, that the law can do nothing with him, and that this fact only intensifies the agony of the broken-hearted parents--for it seems they have, till now, regarded him both as a gentleman and family friend in whom"--