“Will you make any effort to have Royster prosecuted?” Macloud asked.
“No – I’ve been pretty much of a baby, but I’m not going to cry over milk that’s spilt.”
“It’s not all spilt – some of it will be recovered.”
“My dear Macloud, there won’t be enough money recovered to buy me cigarettes for one evening. Royster has hypothecated and rehypothecated securities until no man can trace his own, even if it would help him to do so. You said it would likely prove a disgraceful failure. I am absolutely sure of it.”
Macloud beat a tattoo on the window-ledge.
“What do you think of doing?” he said – “or haven’t you got to it, yet – or don’t you care to tell?”
“I’ve got to it,” replied Croyden; “and I don’t care to tell – anyone but you, Colin. I can’t stay here – ”
“Not on twelve hundred a year, certainly – unless you spend the little principal you have left, and, then, drop off for good.”
“Which would be playing the baby act, sure enough.”
Macloud nodded.
“It would,” he said; “but, sometimes, men don’t look at it that way. They cannot face the loss of caste. They prefer to drop overboard by accident.”
“There isn’t going to be any dropping overboard by accident in mine,” replied Croyden. “What I’ve decided to do is this: I shall disappear. I have no debts, thank God! so no one will care to take the trouble to search for me. I shall go down to Hampton, to the little property that was left me on the Eastern Shore, there to mark time, either until I can endure it, or until I can pick out some other abode. I’ve a bunch of expensive habits to get rid of quickly, and the best place for that, it seems to me, is a small town where they are impossible, as well as unnecessary.”
“Ever lived in a small town?” Macloud inquired.
“None smaller than my old home. I suppose it will be very stupid, after the life here, but beggars can’t be choosers.”
“I’m not so sure it will be very stupid,” said Macloud. “It depends on how much you liked this froth and try, we have here. The want to and can’t – the aping the ways and manners of those who have had wealth for generations, and are well-born, beside. Look at them!” with a fling of his arm, that embraced the Club-house and its environs. – “One generation old in wealth, one generation old in family, and about six months old, some of them scarcely that, in breeding. There are a few families which belong by right of birth – and, thank God! they show it. But they are shouldered aside by the others, and don’t make much of a show. The climbers hate them, but are too much awed by their lineage to crowd them out, entirely. A nice lot of aristocrats! The majority of them are puddlers of the iron mills, and the peasants of Europe, come over so recently the soil is still clinging to their clothes. Down on the Eastern Shore you will find it very different. They ask one, who you are, never how much money you have. Their aristocracy is one of birth and culture. You may be reduced to manual labor for a livelihood, but you belong just the same. You have had a sample of the money-changers and their heartless methods – and it has left a bitter taste in your mouth. I think you will welcome the change. It will be a new life, and, in a measure, a quiet life, but there are compensations to one to whom life holds more than garish living and ostentatious show.”
“You know the people of the Eastern Shore?” asked Croyden.
“No! – but I know the people of the Western Shore, and they come from the same stock – and it’s good stock, mighty good stock! Moreover, you are not burying yourself so deep – Baltimore is just across the Bay, and Philadelphia and New York are but a few hours distant – less distant than this place is, indeed.”
“I looked up the time-tables!” laughed Croyden. “My present knowledge of Hampton is limited to the means and methods of getting away.”
“And getting to it,” appended Macloud. “When do you go?”
“To-morrow night.”
“Hum – rather sudden, isn’t it?”
“I’ve seen it coming for a month, so I’ve had time to pay my small accounts, arrange my few affairs, and be prepared to flit on a moment’s notice. I should have gone a week ago, but I indulged myself with a few more days of the old life. Now, I’m off to-morrow night.”
“Shall you go direct to Hampton?”
“Direct to Hampton, via New York,” said Croyden. “There probably won’t anyone care enough even to inquire for me, but I’m not taking the chance.”
Macloud watched him with careful scrutiny. Was it serious or was it assumed? Had this seemingly sudden resolve only the failure of Royster & Axtell behind it, or was there a woman there, as well? Was Elaine Cavendish the real reason? There could be no doubt of Croyden’s devotion to her – and her more than passing regard for him. Was it because he could not, or because he would not – or both? Croyden was practically penniless – she was an only child, rich in her own right, and more than rich in prospect —
“Will you dine with me, this evening?” asked Macloud.
“Sorry, old man, but I’m due at the Cavendishes’ – just a pick-up by telephone. I shall see you, again, shan’t I?”
“I reckon so,” was the answer. “I’m down here for the night. Have breakfast with me in the morning – if I’m not too early a bird, at eight o’clock.”
“Good! for two on the side piazza!” exclaimed Croyden.
“I’ll speak to François,” said Macloud, arising. “So long.”
Croyden slowly straightened his tie and drew on his coat.
“Macloud is a square chap,” he reflected. “I’ve had a lot of so-called friends, here, but he is the only one who still rings true. I may imagine it, but I’m sure the rest are beginning to shy off. Well, I shan’t bother them much longer – they can prepare for a new victim.”
He picked up his hat and went downstairs, making his way out by the front entrance, so as to miss the crowd in the grill-room. He did not want the trouble of speaking or of being spoken to. He saw Macloud, as he passed – out on the piazza beyond the porte-cochere, and he waved his hand to him. Then he signalled the car, that had been sent from Cavencliffe for him, and drove off to the Cavendishes.
II
GOOD-BYE
The Cavendishes were of those who (to quote Macloud’s words) “did belong and, thank God, showed it.” Henry Cavendish had married Josephine Marquand in the days before there were any idle-rich in Northumberland, and when the only leisure class were in jail. Now, when the idea, that it was respectable not to work, was in the ascendency, he still went to his office with unfailing regularity – and the fact that the Tuscarora Trust Company paid sixty per cent. on its capital stock, and sold in the market (when you could get it) at three thousand dollars a share, was due to his ability and shrewd financiering as president. It was because he refused to give up the active management even temporarily, that they had built their summer home on the Heights, where there was plenty of pure air, unmixed with the smoke of the mills and trains, and with the Club near enough to give them its life and gayety when they wished.
The original Cavendish and the original Marquand had come to Northumberland, as officers, with Colonel Harmer and his detachment of Regulars, at the close of the Revolution, had seen the possibilities of the place, and, after a time, had resigned and settled down to business. Having brought means with them from Philadelphia, they quickly accumulated more, buying up vast tracts of Depreciation lands and numerous In-lots and Out-lots in the original plan of the town. These had never been sold, and hence it was, that, by the natural