Chapter II

"DEAR SIS--Yours received. Have hunted up the name, and have
found that your Reverend Richard Allen is an '89 man, one of the
best all-round men we ever had on the track. He was a terror,
too, so an old grad tells me. Got kicked out in his senior year.
It seems that his chum and roommate was very deeply in the hole,
not extravagantly, like yours truly, but by a series of hard
knocks. Allen had no cash himself. And you know when you haven't
any money in sight, you can't borrow any. One night at the
Museum (there was a cheap show on) a prize-fighter offered $300
to any one who would stand up before him for five rounds. Allen
jumped up on the stage and licked the pug to a standstill. He
got a bad swipe on the ear, however; and if your Allen has what
they call a tin ear, an ear that looks as if my best bullpup had
tried to make his dinner off it, _ecce homo_! He paid his mate's
debts, and then was requested to call on the fac. The old ladies
told him to pack up. He did. He has never returned to college
since. But why do you want to know all about him? They say he
was a handsome duffer. You know I haven't seen him yet, not
having been home since last Easter time. Now, for Heaven's sake,
Sis, don't go and get daffy on his Riverince. I've got a man in
tow for you, the best fellow that ever lived.

Affectionately, JACK."

"P.S.--Can't you shove a couple of 50's in your next letter to
me? The governor's liver wasn't in good shape the first of the
month."

Caroline dropped the letter into her lap and stared out of the window. It was snowing great, soft, melting flakes. She did not know whether to laugh or to cry, nor what occasioned this impulse to do either. So he was a Cambridge man, and had been expelled for prize-fighting; for certainly it had been prize-fighting, even though the motive had been a good and manly one.

"A milksop!" There was no doubt, no hesitancy; her laughter rang out fresh and clear. What would her father say when he learned the truth? Her next thought was, why should the rector pose as a lamb, patient and unspeaking, when all the time he was a lion? She alone had solved the mystery. It was self-control, it was power. This discovery filled her with a quiet exultation. She was a woman, and to unravel a secret was as joyful a task for her as to invent a fashionable hat.

The bygone rectors had interested her little; they had been either pedants, fanatics, or social drones; while this man had gone about his work quietly and modestly. He never said: "I visited the poor to-day." It was the poor who said: "The rector was here to-day with money and clothes." But his past he let remain nebulous; not even the trustees themselves had peered far into it, at least not as far back as the Cambridge days. Thus, the element of mystery surrounding him first attracted her; the man's personality added to this. The knowledge that he was a college man seemed to place him nearer her social level, though she was not a person to particularize so long as a man proved himself; and the rector had, beyond a doubt, proved himself.

There were dozens of brilliant young men following eagerly in her train. They rode with her, drove with her, and fought for the privilege of playing caddy to her game. Yet, while she liked them all, she cared particularly for none. The rector, being a new species of man, became a study. Time and time again she had invited him to the Country Club; he always excused himself on the ground that he was taking a course of reading such as to demand all his spare time in the day. One morning she had been riding alone, and had seen him tramping across country. In the spirit of fun she took a couple of fences and caught up with him. He had appeared greatly surprised, even embarrassed, for her woman's eye had been quick to read. She had rallied him upon his stride. He had become silent. And this man had "jumped upon the stage and licked the pug to a standstill!"

"Carol, are you there?"

Caroline started and hid the letter. She arose and admitted her father.

"James says that you received a letter this afternoon. Was it from the boy? Begging for money? Well, don't you dare to send it to him. The ragamuffin has overdrawn seven hundred dollars this month. What's he think I am, a United States Steel Corporation?"

"He has asked me for one hundred dollars, and I am going to send it to the poor boy to-night."

"Oh, you are, are you? Who's bringing up the scalawag, you or I?"

"You are trying to, daddy, but I believe he's bent on bringing himself up." She ran her fingers through his hair. "I know the weather's bad, daddy, but don't be cross. Come over to the piano and I'll play for you."

"I don't want any music," gruffly.

"Come," dragging him.

"That's the way; I have no authority in this house. But, seriously, Carol, the boy's spending it pretty fast, and it will not do him a bit of good. I want to make a man out of him, not a spendthrift. Play that what-d'you-call-it from Chopin."

"The _Berceuse_?" seating herself at the piano.

The twilight of winter was fast settling down. The house across the way began to glow at various windows. Still she played. From Chopin she turned to Schumann, from Schumann to Rubinstein, back to Chopin's polonaise and the nocturne in E flat major.

"You play those with a livelier spirit than usual," was the general's only comment. How these haunting melodies took him back to the past, when the girl's mother played them in the golden courting days! He could not see the blush his comment had brought to his daughter's cheek. "My dear, my dear!" he said, with great tenderness, sliding his arm around her waist, "I know that I'm cross at times, but I'm only an old barking dog; don't do any harm. I'll tell you what, if my leg's all right next Saturday I'll ride out to the Country Club with you, and we'll have tea together."

She leaned toward him and kissed him. "Daddy, what makes you think so meanly of the rector? I was thinking of him when you came in."

"I don't think meanly of him; but, hang it, Carol, he always says 'Yes' when I want him to say 'No,' and _vise versa_. He's too complacent. I like a man who's a human being to kick once in a while, a man who's got some fight in him.... What are you laughing at, you torment?"

"At something which just occurred to me. There goes the gong for dinner. I am ravenous."

"By the way, I forgot to tell you what I saw in the evening edition of the _Post_. Your parson is going to report the prize-fight to-night. He'll be frightened out of his shoes. I'm going up to the club; going to play a few rubbers. It'll make me forget my grumbling leg. You run over to Cathewe's or telephone Mrs. Cathewe to run over here."

"Can't you stay in to-night? I don't want anybody but you."

"But I've half promised; besides, I'm sort of blue. I need the excitement."

"Very well; I'll telephone Nan. Mr. Cathewe will probably go to that awful fight in the interests of his new book. She'll come."

"Cathewe's going to the fight, you say? Humph!" The general scratched his ear thoughtfully.