Part 57

The young man accosted him, not obsequiously, but frankly.

“I know you always take a turn in the park at this hour, Mr. Converse. I beg your pardon, but may I walk for a few steps with you?”

“Why do you want to walk with me?”

“It's a matter--”

“I never discuss business on the street, sir. Come to my office to-morrow.”

He marched on and Farr went along behind him.

“You heard?” demanded the attorney.

“I heard.” Farr replied very respectfully, but he kept on.

He had rushed away from the girl and had come face to face with Mr. Converse, his mind utterly barren of plan or resource. That interim on which he had counted as a time in which he might devise ways and means had been so crowded with happenings that all consideration of plans in regard to Archer Converse had been swept from his mind.

At all events, he had rendered a service in that time; he had made good use of that forty-five minutes--that reflection comforted him even while he dizzily wondered what he was to do now.

That service had demanded sacrifice from him--why not demand something from that service? An idea, sudden, brazen, undefendable, even outrageous, popped into his head. He had no time for sensible planning. Mr. Converse was glancing about with the air of a citizen who would like to catch the eye of a policeman.

“I know all about you, Mr. Converse, even if you know nothing about me. I'm making a curious appeal--it's to your chivalry!”

That was appeal sufficiently novel, so the demeanor of Mr. Converse announced, to arrest even the attention of a gentleman who usually refused to allow the routine of his life to be interrupted by anything less than an earthquake. He halted and fronted this stranger.

“A man who wears that,” proceeded Farr, indicating the rosette of the Military Order of the Loyal Legion in the lapel of Mr. Converse's coat, “and wears it because it came to him by inheritance from General Aaron Converse is bound to listen to that appeal.”

“Explain, sir.”

“Do you know a Richard Dodd who is the nephew of Colonel Dodd?”

“I do, sir. You aren't asking me to assist him, are you? I will have nothing to do with him--no help from me!”

“Just a moment--wait one moment! Mr. Converse, do you know a man named Dennis Burke who has been in prison for ballot frauds?”

“I helped send him there, sir. Are you reciting the rogues' roster to me?”

“Richard Dodd has dressed Burke up as a parson and is trying to force a young woman into a marriage. I haven't time to tell you how I happened to know about this affair--but it is in Rose Alley and there's no time to waste.”

“A preposterous yarn.”

“I have just come from that house.”

“You're a young man of muscle--why didn't you stop it?”

“The girl's mother is there, backing Dodd. Mr. Converse, the cause needs a man like you--a man of law, of standing, of influence. I appeal to you to follow me.”

“A moment--a moment! I scent a ruse. I don't know you. Are you a decoy for blackmailers or robbers?” he inquired, bluntly.

Farr took off his hat and stood before the Honorable Archer Converse, his strange, slow, winning smile dawning on his face.

“I beg your pardon for interrupting your stroll,” he said, gently. “I hope you'll look at me! You may see, perhaps, that you're in error. I'll go back and kill Dodd--and come to your office to-morrow--on business--engaging you as counsel for the defense.”

“Lead the way to that house,” snapped Mr. Converse. The attitude of Farr, his forbearance, his refraining from further solicitation, his frank demeanor, won out for him. “I'm sometimes a little hasty in my remarks,” acknowledged Mr. Converse in the tone of one who felt chastened. “Are you a new-comer to our city?” he continued as they hurried away. “You must be. I should certainly have remembered you if I had ever seen you before.” It was an indirect compliment--a gentleman's careful approach to an apology.