PAGE 4
Miss Dangerlie’s Roses
by
“I see you have been having a great stroke of luck,” he said.
“Have I?”
“Yes. I see in the papers, that your discovery, or invention, or whatever it was, has been taken up.”
“Oh! yes–that? It has.”
“I congratulate you.”
“Thank you.”
“I would not mind looking into that.”
“Yes, it is interesting.”
“I might take an interest in it.”
“Yes, I should think so.”
“How much do you ask for it?”
“‘Ask for it?’ Ask for what?”
“For an interest in it, either a part or the whole?”
“What?”
“You ought to make a good thing out of it–out of your patent.”
“My patent! I haven’t any patent.”
“What! No patent?”
“No. It’s for the good of people generally.”
“But you got a patent?”
“No.”
“Couldn’t you get a patent?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I’ll be bound I’d have got a patent.”
“Oh! no, I don’t think so.”
“I tell you what, you ought to turn your talents to account,” said his friend.
“Yes, I know I ought.”
“You could be a rich man.”
“But I don’t care to be rich.”
“What! Oh! nonsense. Everyone does.”
“I do not. I want to live.”
“But you don’t live.”
“Well, maybe I shall some day.”
“You merely exist.”
“Why should I want to be rich?”
“To live–to buy what you want.”
“I want sympathy, love; can one buy that?”
“Yes–even that.”
“No, you cannot. There is only one sort of woman to be bought.”
“Well, come and see me sometimes, won’t you?”
“Well, no, I’m very much obliged to you; but I don’t think I can.”
“Why? I have lots of rich men come to my house. You’d find it to your advantage if you’d come.”
“Thank you.”
“We could make big money together if—-“
He paused. Floyd was looking at him.
“Could we? If–what?”
“If you would let me use you.”
“Thank you,” said Floyd. “Perhaps we could.”
“Why won’t you come?”
“Well, the fact is, I haven’t time. I shall have to wait to get a little richer before I can afford it. Besides I have a standing engagement.”
“Oh! no, we won’t squeeze you. I tell you what, come up to dinner to-morrow. I’m going to have a fellow there, an awfully rich fellow–want to interest him in some things, and I’ve invited him down. He is young Router, the son of the great Router, you know who he is?”
“Well, no, I don’t believe I do. Good-by. Sorry I can’t come; but I have an engagement.”
“What is it?”
“To play mumble-the-peg with some boys: Haile Tabb’s boys.”
“Oh! hang the boys! Come up to dinner. It is an opportunity you may not have again shortly. Router’s awfully successful, and you can interest him. I tell you what I’ll do—-“
“No, thank you, I’ll keep my engagement. Good-by.”
“That fellow’s either a fool or he is crazy,” said his friend, gazing after him as he walked away. “And he’s got some sense too. If he’d let me use him I could make money out of him for both of us.”
It was not long before Floyd began to be known more widely. He had schemes for the amelioration of the condition of the poor. They were pronounced quixotic; but he kept on. He said he got good out of them if no one else did.
He began to go oftener and oftener down to the City, where Miss Dangerlie lived. He did not see a great deal of her; but he wrote to her. He found in her a ready sympathy with his plans. It was not just as it used to be in his earlier love affair, where he used to find himself uplifted and borne along by the strong spirit which had called him from the dead; but if it was not this that he got, it was what contented him. Whatever he suggested, she accepted. He found in her tastes a wonderful similarity with his, and from that he drew strength.
Women in talking of him in connection with her said it was a pity; men said he was lucky.
One evening, at a reception at her house, he was in the gentlemen’s dressing-room. It was evidently a lady’s apartment which had been devoted for the occasion as a dressing-room. It was quite full at the time. A man, a large fellow with sleek, short hair, a fat chin, and a dazzling waistcoat, pulled open a lower drawer in a bureau. Articles of a lady’s apparel were discovered, spotless and neatly arranged. “Shut that drawer instantly,” said Floyd, in a low, imperious tone.