Under Handicap Page 5

  CHAPTER V

  Roger Hapgood, the stiff soreness of yesterday only aggravated by thecramp which had stolen into his legs during the ride of to-day,climbed down from the buckboard and limped across the lawn to whereConniston stood.

  "I say, Greek," he was growling, as he trudged forward, "what foolthing are you going to do next?" He stopped suddenly, in his surpriseforgetting to shut his mouth. The same eyes which had laughed up intohis when she offered him ten cents as a tip were laughing into themnow. He dragged his hat from his head, stammering.

  "Miss Crawford--for you are Miss Crawford, aren't you?" beganConniston.

  She nodded.

  "I should have introduced myself. I am William Conniston, Junior, sonof William Conniston, Senior, as one might guess. This is my friend,Mr. Hapgood."

  The girl inclined her head very slightly and turned toward Conniston.

  "If you have come all the way from the hills this morning," she wassaying, "and if you plan to go on to Crawfordsville, you will want torest until the cool of the evening. We have eleven-o'clock luncheon insummer, and have already eaten. But if you will come in I think thatwe can find something. And, anyway, you can rest until evening. Ifyou are not in a hurry to go right on?"

  "We have all the time in the world!" Conniston hastened to assure her.And Hapgood of the aching muscles added fervently, "If it's more thana mile to Crawfordsville, I've got to rest awhile!"

  "It is something more than that." She rose and moved toward the house."Through the short cut straight back into the mountains it's twenty."

  Lonesome Pete was turning to drive toward a gap in the encirclingtrees when the girl called to him to take Conniston's horse. And thenthe three went to the house.

  The flight of steps led them to a wide veranda, eloquent of comfortwith its deep wicker rockers and hammocks piled temptingly withcushions. Then came the wide double doors, and, within, a long,high-ceilinged room whose appointment in every detail spoke of wealthand taste and the hand of a lavish spender. And into this backgroundthe slender form of the girl in the close-fitting, becoming gownentered as harmoniously as it had the other day when clad in khaki andagainst a background of limitless desert.

  The floor here was of hard wood, polished until it shone dully like amirror in a shaded room. No rugs save the two great bear-skins, oneblack, the other white; no pictures beyond the one great paintingagainst the farther wall. There was a fire-place, wide and deep androck-bound. And yonder, a dull gleam as of ebony, a grand piano.Leather chairs, all elegant, soft, luxurious.

  She would leave them here, she said, smiling, and see if there wasanything left to eat. And while they marveled at finding the splendidcomfort of Fifth Avenue here on the far rim of the desert, a littleJapanese boy in snowy linen bowed himself in to them and invited themto follow. They went down a long hallway after his softly patteringfootsteps and were shown into a large airy bath-room, with a glimpsebeyond of a cozy sitting-room.

  "You wish prepare for luncheon, honorable sirs," said the boy, histeeth and eyes shining in one flash. "You find rest-room there. I callfor you. Anything?"

  Conniston told him that there was nothing further required, and hewithdrew, stepping backward as from royalty, bowing deeply.

  "Here's where I lose about half of the desert I've been carryingaround with me," muttered Hapgood. "The Lord knows when we'll seeanother tub!"

  Luxury of luxuries! The bath-room was immaculate in white tiling, thetub shone resplendently white, and there was steaming-hot water!Conniston, having strolled into the "rest-room," where he found a deepleather chair with a table close to its elbow decorated simply butnone the less effectively with a decanter of whisky and a silver boxcontaining cigarettes, leaned back, enjoying himself and the sound ofthe splashing in the bath-room.

  Once more in familiar and comfortable environment, even Hapgood forthe moment forgot to be miserable, and as he smoked a good cigaretteand watched the water running into the tub now and then hummed aBroadway air. As for Conniston, his serene good nature under mostcircumstances, his greatest asset in the small frays he had had withthe world, was untroubled by a spot.

  "How do you like the West, Roger?" he called, banteringly.

  "Something like, eh, Greek?" Hapgood laughed back. "Do you know, Ibelieve I'll stay! And the dame, isn't she some class, eh?"

  He finished his bath finally, and at last emerged, half dressed, tolounge in the big chair while his friend took his plunge. He heardConniston singing to the obligato of the running water, and, with eyeshalf closed, leaned back and watched his smoke swirl ceilingward.Presently the bath-room door opened again, and he saw Conniston, histrousers in his hand, standing in the doorway, grinning as though atsome rare laughter-provoking thought.

  "Well, old man," Hapgood smiled back at him, "whence the mirth?"

  Conniston chuckled gleefully.

  "Another joke, Roger, my boy! I wonder when the Fates are going todrop us in order to give their undivided attention to some other luckymortals? You know that twenty-seven dollars and sixty cents?"

  "Well?"

  "I've lost it!" Conniston laughed outright as his ready imaginationdepicted amusing complications ahead. "Every blamed cent of it!"

  "What!" Hapgood was upon his feet, staring. Hapgood's complacency wasa thing of the past.

  Conniston nodded, his grin still with him.

  "Every cent of it! And here we are the Lord knows how far from home--"

  "Have you looked through all your pockets?"

  "Every one. And I found--"

  "What?"

  "A hole," chuckled Conniston. "Just a hole, and nothing more."

  Hapgood jerked the trousers from the shaking hand of the man whomsuch a catastrophe could move to laughter, and made a hurried search.

  "What the devil are we going to do?" he gasped, when there was at lastno doubting the truth.

  Conniston shrugged. "I haven't had time to figure out that part of it.Haven't you any money?"

  "About seven dollars," snapped Hapgood. "And a long time that willkeep the two of us. It's up to you, Greek!"

  "Meaning?"

  "Meaning that you've got to wire your dad for money. There's nothingleft to do. Dang it!" he finished, bitterly, throwing the emptytrousers back to Conniston, "I was a fool to ever come with you."

  "You've said that before. But"--his good humor still tickled by hisloss, which he refused to take seriously in spite of the drawn facestaring into his--"I haven't even the money to wire the old gent!"

  "Oh, I'll pay for it."

  "I didn't want to do it so soon," Conniston hesitated. "But it beginsto look as though--"

  "There's nothing to it. You've got to do it! Why, man, do you realizewhat a confounded mess you've got us into?"

  Conniston went back into the bath-room rather seriously. But a momentlater Hapgood heard him chuckling again.

  The Japanese boy came to summon them, and they followed him, once moreclean and feeling respectable, into a cozy little breakfast-room wheretheir hostess was waiting for them. And over their cold meat, tinnedfruits and vegetables, and fresh milk Conniston told her of theirmisfortune. She laughed with him at his account of the winning of thetwo horses and seemed disposed to indorse his careless view of thewhole episode rather than Hapgood's pessimistic outlook.

  "It's all right, I suppose, since Conniston has a rich father," Rogeradmitted, with a sigh.

  She regarded him curiously for a moment.

  "Some men," she said, quietly, "have been known to go to work and makemoney for themselves when they needed it."

  Conniston told her of his little friend William, of Indian Creek,adding, carelessly, "I'm glad I don't have to feel like that."

  "You mean that you had rather have money given to you than to feelthat you had earned it yourself?"

  "Quite naturally, Miss Crawford. My father is William Conniston,Senior. Maybe you have heard of him?"

  He was proud to be his father's son, to have his own name sointimately connected with th
at of a man who was not only a millionairemany times over, but who was a power in Wall Street and known as suchto the four ends of the earth.

  "Yes. I have heard of him. He made his own money, didn't he? In theWest, too."

  "Yes. A mining expert in the beginning, I believe, and a mine-owner inthe end. Oh, the governor knows how to make the dollars grow, allright!"

  Again she made no answer. But after a little she said: "If you wish towire to your father for money"--and there was just the faintest noteof scorn in her voice--"you needn't wait until you get toCrawfordsville. We have a telephone, and you can telephone yourmessage from here."

  "Good!" cried Hapgood, eagerly. "Better do that--and right away,Greek. There's no use losing time."

  Conniston thanked her, and a moment later, they rose from the tableand stepped to the telephone, which she showed to him in a littlelibrary. When he got Central in Crawfordsville Miss Crawford told thegirl for him to charge all costs to her father and that Mr. Connistonwould pay here for the service. So she took his message and telephonedit to the Western Union office.

  "You will rush it, will you, please?" asked Conniston.

  "Certainly. And the answer? Shall we telephone it out to you?"

  "No. We'll be in Crawfordsville, and--Wait a moment." To MissCrawford: "We may stay here until evening?"

  "Oh, you must. It is too hot now to think of riding."

  "Thank you." And then into the receiver: "If you should get an answerbefore seven o'clock, please telephone it to me here."

  Then the three went out to the front porch. They found chairs in theshade where a welcome little breeze made for cool comfort. MissCrawford sat with the men, answering their questions about that wildcountry, chatting with them. And there, at her invitation, they satand smoked when she left them and went into the house.

  "A charming girl," Hapgood was moved to say enthusiastically. "Reallya charming girl! Who would have thought to find her out here? And say,Greek"--being confidentially nearer--"her old man must be tremendouslyrich, eh? You don't need to think of such things, of course, but takeme--" He paused, and then continued, thoughtfully: "Sooner or later,old man, it's got to come to one end for Roger Hapgood. And, do youknow, I'm half in love with her already?"

  His verbal enthusiasm in no way imparted itself to young Conniston. SoRoger puffed complacently at his cigarette in thoughtful silence,rather more than usually well pleased with himself.

  The late afternoon drew on, and the girl had not returned to them.Conniston looked at his watch and saw that it was half-past five. Theywould have to leave within an hour and a half; they could not imposelonger than that. He was hoping that she would spend at least the lasthalf-hour with them when he heard the door open and looked up quickly,thinking she was coming. It was the Japanese boy, bowing and smiling.

  "Most honorable sir," looking doubtfully from one of them to theother, "the telephone would speak with you."

  Conniston sprang to his feet. Hapgood smiled his satisfaction. "Theold gent is as prompt as the very deuce, God bless him!"

  Conniston hurried after the boy into the house, leaving Hapgoodbeaming.

  "Mr. Conniston?" the telephone-girl was asking.

  "Yes, I'm Conniston. You have the answer?"

  "Yes. Shall I read it to you?"

  "Please."

  "It's rather long," she laughed into the telephone. "But it's paid. Itruns:

  "MY DEAR SON,--Your wire received. Sorry you misunderstood me. So that you may make no mistakes in the future I shall be more explicit now. I shall not send you one single dollar for at least one year from date. If at the end of that time you have done something for yourself I may help you. I leave for Europe to-morrow to be gone for a year on my first vacation. It will do no good for you to telegraph again. I cannot help you beyond wishing you luck. You are on your own feet. Walk if you can.

  "Yours,

  "WILLIAM CONNISTON, Senior."

  Conniston leaned limply against the wall, staring into the telephone.

  "Look here!" he cried, after a moment. "There's a mistake somewhere."

  "No mistake. The wire was just brought in from the Western Unionoffice."

  "But I don't understand--"

  "I'm sorry. Is there anything else?"

  "No. That's all."

  Even Conniston's sanguine temperament was not proof to the shock ofhis father's message. He knew his father too well to hope that hewould change his mind now. His eyes showed a troubled anxiety when hewent slowly back to confront Hapgood.

  "Well, what's the good news?" cried Hapgood. And then, when he hadseen Conniston's face, "Gad, man! What's wrong?"

  Conniston shook his head as he sank into a chair.

  "I--I'm a bit upset," he answered, unsteadily. "I made a mistake;that's all."

  "It wasn't your father?"

  "That's the trouble. It was! He refuses to send a dollar. And he'sleaving to-morrow for a year in Europe."

  "What!" yelled Hapgood, leaping to his feet in entire forgetfulness ofhis sore muscles.

  "That's it. And when the old man says he'll do a thing he'll do it."

  Hapgood stared at him speechless. And then, his hands driven deep intohis pockets, he began an agitated pacing up and down the porch, hisbrows drawn, his eyes squinting as they had the habit of doing when hewas excited.

  "What are we going to do?" he demanded, stopping before Conniston.

  "I wish that somebody would tell me! We have a couple of horses. Youhave seven dollars. Maybe," with a faint, forced smile, "we can rideback to New York!"

  With a disgusted sniff Hapgood left him again to pace restlessly upand down. And finally, when he again stopped in front of Conniston'schair, his face was white, his thin lips set bloodlessly.

  "I guess there's only one thing left to us. We'll go on intoCrawfordsville and put up for a day or two while we try to raise somemoney. Your seven dollars ought to keep us from starving--"

  "Will you wire your father again?"

  "No. There would be no use. I tell you that when he says he is goingto do a thing that settles it. If I broke both arms and legs now hewouldn't pay the doctor's bill."

  "Then I'll tell you something, my friend!" The pale little eyes wereglowing, malevolently red. "You've played me for a sucker long enough.You towed me along out into this cursed West of yours, making me thinkall the time that when you got ready to call on your father he'd comethrough like a flash. And you knew that he had turned you out forgood. Now I am through with you. Get that? I mean it! And if I haveseven dollars I guess I'll need it myself before I get out of thispickle you've got me into!"

  Conniston stared at him incredulously. "Come, now, Roger. You don'tmean--"

  "But I do, Mr. William Conniston, fraud! I'm through with you."

  Conniston got to his feet, his own face as white as Hapgood's.

  "You mean what you are saying?"

  "I most certainly and positively do!"

  "And the wire I sent to dad--"

  "You can pay for it if you want to! You don't get a cent out of me."

  Conniston took one stride to him, putting a heavy hand upon Hapgood'snarrow shoulder.

  "You infernal little shrimp!" he cried, hoarsely. "If we weren'tguests here I'd take a holy glee in slapping your face! By the Lord,I've a mind to do it anyhow!"

  Hapgood jerked back, his arm lifted to shelter his face. AndConniston, with a short laugh, dropped his hand to his side. As he didso he saw Miss Crawford was coming toward them through the yard fromthe corner of the house. A middle-aged man, heavy and broad-shoulderedand white-haired, was with her. He turned to meet her.

  "Mr. Conniston," she was saying, "this is my father. And, papa, thisis Mr. Hapgood."

  Mr. Crawford came up the steps, giving his hand in a hearty grip tothe two men who came forward to meet him, his voice, deep and grave,assuring them that he was glad that they had stayed over at his home.His face was stern, grave like his voice, clean-shaven, and hand
somein a way of manly, independent strength.

  "Argyl tells me," he said, to Conniston, as they all sat down, "thatyou are expecting some money by wire. You are leaving us, then, rightaway?"

  "I did expect some money," Conniston laughed, his good humor with himagain. "I wired to my father for it. And I just had his answer. Thereis nothing doing."

  Mr. Crawford lifted his eyebrows. Argyl leaned forward.

  "He said," went on Conniston, lightly, "that he would not send me adollar. You see, he wants me to do something for myself. And," with arueful grin, "I am in debt to you for a dollar to pay for mymessage--and I haven't ten cents!"

  Mr. Crawford laughed with him. "We won't worry about the dollar justnow, Mr. Conniston. What are you going to do?"

  Conniston scratched his head. "I don't know. I--" And then Argyl'swords came back to him, and he surprised himself by saying: "Most mengo to work when they're strapped, don't they? I guess I'll go towork."

  "I don't mean to be too personal, but--are you used to working?"

  "I never did a day's work in my life."

  "Then what can you do?"

  "I don't know. I--you see, I never figured on this. I--I--Do youhappen to know anybody who wants a man?"

  A little flicker of a smile shot across Crawford's face.

  "We're all looking for men--good men--all the time. I can use ahalf-dozen more cow-punchers right now. Do you want to try it?"

  Conniston's one glance of the girl's eager face decided him.

  "I've always had a curiosity to know what they did when they punchedthe poor brutes," he grinned back. "And I can work out that dollar Iowe you too, can't I?"

  "You're engaged," returned Mr. Crawford, crisply. "Thirty dollars amonth and found. I'll have one of the boys show you where thebunk-house is. You'll begin work in the morning."