“Oh, you provoke me! But if you won't you won't, I suppose. Only it would be such a good chance—”
“Well, I'll see him after the match, Viola. I'll do my best to be decent.”
“You must go a little farther than that, Harry. Dad will be all worked up if he wins, and he'll want a fuss made over him. It will be the very chance for you.”
“All right-I'll do my best,” murmured Bartlett. And then a servant came up to summon him to the telephone.
Viola was not left long alone, for Captain Poland was watching her from the tail of his eye, and he was at her side before Harry Bartlett was out of sight.
“Perhaps you'd like to come for a little spin with me, Miss Carwell,” said the captain. “I just heard that they've postponed the cup-winners' match an hour; and unless you want to sit around here—”
“Come on!” cried Viola, impulsively. “It's too perfect a day to sit around, and I'm only interested in my father's match.”
There was another reason why Viola Carwell was glad of the chance to go riding with Captain Poland just then. She really was a little provoked with Bartlett's stubbornness, or what she called that, and she thought it might “wake him up,” as she termed it, to see her with the only man who might be classed as his rival.
As for herself, Viola was not sure whether or not she would admit Captain Poland to that class. There was time enough yet.
And so, as Bartlett went in to the telephone, to answer a call that had come most inopportunely for him, Viola Carwell and Captain Poland swept off along the pleasantly shaded country road.
Left to herself, for which just then she was thankful, Minnie Webb drifted around until she met LeGrand Blossom.
“What's the matter, Lee?” she asked him in a low voice, and he smiled with his eyes at her, though his face showed no great amount of jollity. “You're as solemn as though every railroad stock listed had dropped ten points just after you bought it.”
“No, it isn't quite as bad as that,” he said, as he fell into step beside her, and they strolled off on one of the less-frequented walks.
“I thought everything was going so well with you. Has there been any hitch in the partnership arrangement?” asked Minnie.
“No, not exactly.”
“Have you lost money?”
“No, I can't say that I have.”
“Then for goodness' sake what is it? Do I have to pump you like a newspaper reporter?” and Minnie Webb laughed, showing a perfect set of teeth that contrasted well against the dark red and tan of her cheeks.
“Oh, I don't know that it's anything much,” replied LeGrand Blossom.
“It's something!” insisted Minnie.
“Well, yes, it is. And as it'll come out, sooner or later, I might as well tell you now,” he said, with rather an air of desperation, and as though driven to it. “Have you heard any rumors that Mr. Carwell is in financial difficulties?”
“Why, no! The idea! I always thought he had plenty of money. Not a multi-millionaire, of course, but better off financially than any one else in Lakeside.”
“He was once; but he won't be soon, if he keeps up the pace he's set of late,” went on LeGrand Blossom, and his voice was gloomy.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, things don't look so well as they did. He was very foolish to buy that ten-thousand-dollar yacht so soon after spending even more than that on this red, white and blue monstrosity of his!”
“You don't mean to tell me he's bought a yacht, too?”
“Yes, the Osprey that Colonel Blakeson used to sport up and down the coast in. Paid a cool ten thousand for it, though if he had left it to me I could have got it for eight, I'm sure.”
“Well, twenty thousand dollars oughtn't to worry Mr. Carwell, I should think,” returned Minnie.
“It wouldn't have, a year ago,” answered LeGrand. “But he's been on the wrong side of the market for some time. Then, too, something new has cropped up about that old Bartlett deal.”
“You mean the one over which Harry's uncle and Mr. Carwell had such a fuss?”
“Yes. Mr. Carwell's never got over that. And there are rumors that he lost quite a sum in a business transaction with Captain Poland.”
“Oh, dear!” sighed the girl. “Isn't business horrid! I'm glad I'm not a man. But what is this about Captain Poland?”
“I don't know? haven't heard it all yet, as Mr. Carwell doesn't tell me everything, even if he has planned to take me into partnership with him. But now I'm not so keen on it.”
“Keen on what, Lee?” and Minnie Webb leaned just the least bit nearer to his side.
“On going into partnership with a man who spends money so lavishly when he needs all the ready cash he can lay his hands on. But don't mention this to any one, Minnie. If it got out it might precipitate matters, and then the whole business would tumble down like a house of cards. As it is, I may be able to pull him out. But I've put the soft pedal on the partnership talk.”
“Has Mr. Carwell mentioned it of late?”
“No. All he seems to be interested in is this golf game that may make him club champion. But keep secret what I have told you.”
Minnie Webb nodded assent, and they turned back toward the clubhouse, for they had reached a too secluded part of the grounds.
Meanwhile, Viola Carwell was not enjoying her ride with Captain Poland as much as she had expected she would. As a matter of fact it had been undertaken largely to cause Bartlett a little uneasiness; and as the car spun on she paid less and less attention to the captain.
Seeing this, the latter changed his mind concerning something he had fully expected to speak to Viola about that day, if he got the chance.
Captain Poland was genuinely in love with Viola, and he had reason to feel that she cared for him, though whether enough to warrant a declaration of love on his part was hard to understand.
“But I won't take a chance now,” mused the captain, rather moodily; and the talk descended to mere monosyllables on the part of both of them. “I must see Carwell and have it out with him about that insurance deal. Maybe he holds that against me, though the last time I talked with him he gave me to understand that I'd stand a better show than Harry. I must see him after the game. If he wins he'll be in a mellow humor, particularly after a bottle or so. That's what I'll do.”
The captain spun his car up in front of the clubhouse and helped Viola out. “I think we are in plenty of time for your father's match,” he remarked.
“Yes,” she assented. “I don't see any of the veterans on the field yet,” and she looked across the perfect course. “I'll go to look for dad and wish him luck. He always wants me to do that before he starts his medal play. See you again, Captain;” and with a friendly nod she left the somewhat chagrined yachtsman.
When Captain Poland had parked his car he took a short cut along a path that led through a little clump of bushes. Midway he heard voices. In an instant he recognized them as those of Horace Carwell and Harry Bartlett. He heard Bartlett say:
“But don't you see how much better it would be to drop it all—to have nothing more to do with her?”
“Look here, young man, you mind your own business!” snapped Mr. Carwell. “I know what I'm doing!”
“I haven't any doubt of it, Mr. Carwell; but I ventured to suggest?” went on Bartlett.
“Keep