To young Mr. Dunn it was extremely disconcerting to discover himself smiling genially into a face of the severest gravity, and eyes that rebuked him for his untimely levity. “Oh, I beg pardon,” exclaimed Mr. Dunn hastily, “I thought—”
“Not at all, Sir,” replied Mr. Rae. “As I was saying, I have observed from time to time the distinctions you have achieved in the realm of athletics. And that reminds me of my business with you to-day—a sad business, a serious business, I fear.” The solemn impressiveness of Mr. Rae's manner awakened in Mr. Dunn an awe amounting to dread. “It is young Cameron, a friend of yours, I believe, Sir.”
“Cameron, Sir!” echoed Dunn.
“Yes, Cameron. Does he, or did he not have a place on your team?”
Dunn sat upright and alert. “Yes, Sir. What's the matter, Sir?”
“First of all, do you know where he is? I have tried his lodgings. He is not there. It is important that I find him to-day, extremely important; in fact, it is necessary; in short, Mr. Dunn—I believe I can confide in your discretion—if I do not find him to-day, the police will to-morrow.”
“The police, Sir!” Dunn's face expressed an awful fear. In the heart of the respectable Briton the very mention of the police in connection with the private life of any of his friends awakens a feeling of gravest apprehension. No wonder Mr. Dunn's face went pale! “The police!” he said a second time. “What for?”
Mr. Rae remained silent.
“If it is a case of debts, Sir,” suggested Mr. Dunn, “why, I would gladly—”
Mr. Rae waved him aside. “It is sufficient to say, Mr. Dunn, that we are the family solicitors, as we have been for his father, his grandfather and great-grandfather before him.”
“Oh, certainly, Sir. I beg pardon,” said Mr. Dunn hastily.
“Not at all; quite proper; does you credit. But it is not a case of debts, though it is a case of money; in fact, Sir—I feel sure I may venture to confide in you—he is in trouble with his bank, the Bank of Scotland. The young man, or someone using his name, has been guilty of—ah—well, an irregularity, a decided irregularity, an irregularity which the bank seems inclined to—to—follow up; indeed, I may say, instructions have been issued through their solicitors to that effect. Mr. Thomlinson was good enough to bring this to my attention, and to offer a stay of proceedings for a day.”
“Can I do anything, Sir?” said Dunn. “I'm afraid I've neglected him. The truth is, I've been in an awful funk about my exams, and I haven't kept in touch as I should.”
“Find him, Mr. Dunn, find him. His father is coming to town this evening, which makes it doubly imperative. Find him; that is, if you can spare the time.”
“Of course I can. I'm awfully sorry I've lost touch with him. He's been rather down all this winter; in fact, ever since the International he seems to have lost his grip of himself.”
“Ah, indeed!” said Mr. Rae. “I remember that occasion; in fact, I was present myself,” he admitted. “I occasionally seek to renew my youth.” Mr. Rae's smile broke forth, but anxiety for his friend saved Mr. Dunn from being caught again in any responsive smile. “Bring him to my office, if you can, any time to-day. Good-bye, Sir. Your spirit does you credit. But it is the spirit which I should expect in a man who plays the forward line as you play it.”
Mr. Dunn blushed crimson. “Is there anything else I could do? Anyone I could see? I mean, for instance, could my father serve in any way?”
“Ah, a good suggestion!” Mr. Rae seized his right ear—a characteristic action of his when in deep thought—twisted it into a horn, and pulled it quite severely as if to assure himself that that important feature of his face was firmly fixed in its place. “A very good suggestion! Your father knows Mr. Sheratt, the manager of the bank, I believe.”
“Very well, Sir, I think,” answered Mr. Dunn. “I am sure he would see him. Shall I call him in, Sir?”
“Nothing of the sort, nothing of the sort; don't think of it! I mean, let there be nothing formal in this matter. If Mr. Dunn should chance to meet Mr. Sheratt, that is, casually, so to speak, and if young Cameron's name should come up, and if Mr. Dunn should use his influence, his very great influence, with Mr. Sheratt, the bank might be induced to take a more lenient view of the case. I think I can trust you with this.” Mr. Rae shook the young man warmly by the hand, beamed on him for one brief moment with his amazing smile, presented to his answering smile a face of unspeakable gravity, and left him extremely uncertain as to the proper appearance for his face, under the circumstances.
Before Mr. Rae had gained the street Dunn was planning his campaign; for no matter what business he had in hand, Dunn always worked by plan. By the time he himself had reached the street his plan was formed. “No use trying his digs. Shouldn't be surprised if that beast Potts has got him. Rotten bounder, Potts, and worse! Better go round his way.” And oscillating in his emotions between disgust and rage at Cameron for his weakness and his folly, and disgust and rage at himself for his neglect of his friend, Dunn took his way to the office of the Insurance Company which was honoured by the services of Mr. Potts.
The Insurance Company knew nothing of the whereabouts of Mr. Potts. Indeed, the young man who assumed responsibility for the information appeared to treat the very existence of Mr. Potts as a matter of slight importance to his company; so slight, indeed, that the company had not found it necessary either to the stability of its business or to the protection of its policy holders—a prime consideration with Insurance Companies—to keep in touch with Mr. Potts. That gentleman had left for the East coast a week ago, and that was the end of the matter as far as the clerk of the Insurance Company was concerned.
At his lodgings Mr. Dunn discovered an even more callous indifference to Mr. Potts and his interests. The landlady, under the impression that in Mr. Dunn she beheld a prospective lodger, at first received him with that deferential reserve which is the characteristic of respectable lodging-house keepers in that city of respectable lodgers and respectable lodging-house keepers. When, however, she learned the real nature of Mr. Dunn's errand, she became immediately transformed. In a voice shrill with indignation she repudiated Mr. Potts and his affairs, and seemed chiefly concerned to re-establish her own reputation for respectability, which she seemed to consider as being somewhat shattered by that of her lodger. Mr. Dunn was embarrassed both by her volubility and by her obvious determination to fasten upon him a certain amount of responsibility for the character and conduct of Mr. Potts.
“Do you know where Mr. Potts is now, and have you any idea when he may return?” inquired Mr. Dunn, seizing a fortunate pause.
“Am I no' juist tellin' ye,” cried the landlady, in her excitement reverting to her native South Country dialect, “that I keep nae coont o' Mr. Potts' stravagins? An' as to his return, I ken naething aboot that an' care less. He's paid what he's been owing me these three months an' that's all I care aboot him.”
“I am glad to hear that,” said Mr. Dunn heartily.
“An' glad I am tae, for it's feared I was for my pay a month back.”
“When did he pay up?” inquired Mr. Dunn, scenting a clue.
“A week come Saturday—or was it Friday?—the day he came in with a young man, a friend of his. And a night they made of it, I remember,” replied the landlady, recovering command of herself and of her speech under the influence of Mr. Dunn's quiet courtesy.
“Did you know the