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Page 87
"You did say your ward."
"I did. Mr. Craig--the uncle, you remember, an invalid--died. And
he's made me the guardian of his niece--"
"The poor boob." Garry's voice was sad and sincere.
"Garry! Are you or are you not my friend?"
"I am."
"Then listen. Next I want you to ask Max Kreiling for the name and
address of the French woman he knows who teaches music--"
"Just a minute, Kenny, old man. Let me say this all after you. I am
to cash your check for four thousand dollars in old bills. Ragged if
possible. I am to send it registered and special delivery to Craig
Farm. I am to call up Ann and tell her about your--your ward. And I'm
to ask Max for the name of the French woman who teaches music."
"Right. Garry, has Brian been back?"
"No. John Whitaker may have heard from him. I don't know. I haven't
seen him. Oh, by the way, Kenny, Joe Curtis was in here blazing up and
down my studio. Said you promised to paint his wife's portrait.
What'll I tell him?"
"Tell him," said Kenny, "to go to--No, never mind. I'll be needing to
work. Tell him I'll be back in New York positively by the end of next
week."
CHAPTER XXVII
MISER'S GOLD
He was passionately glad in the week that followed that Fate, prodigal
in her gifts to him, had made him too an actor with a genius for
convincing. For he had to go on digging dots, feigning wild excitement
when his heart was cold within him. He hated spades. He hated dirt.
He almost hated Hughie, who went from dot to dot upon the chart with
unflagging zeal and system. Kenny himself dug anywhere at any time and
moodily escaped when he could to write letters. He was getting his
plans in line for departure.
He had settled the problem of the doctor, after an interval of bitter
struggle, with a combination of fact and fancy. He said truthfully
that the doctor had rejected all notions of buried money with his usual
air of weariness. He added untruthfully--and with set teeth he
challenged the Angel Gabriel to settle the tormenting problem in any
other way--that the doctor had conceded the probability of Adam's
burying money though he had had but a few thousand dollars at best to
bury.
"That," said Hughie, "is enough to dig for!" And he went on with his
digging.
The need was desperate and Kenny did his best. Of the doctor's story
of Adam and Cordelia Craig he told enough. And he kept on talking
miser's gold when he hated the name of it. His air of excitement, said
Hughie who talked endlessly of dots, dug and dreamed them, kept them
all upon their toes.
At nightfall of the third day when Kenny's hatred of dots was
approaching a frenzy and a ballet of spades danced with horrible rhythm
through his dreams, the package came from Garry. Kenny took it with a
careless whistle and went slowly up the stairs.
The closing of his bedroom door transformed him. He found matches and
a lamp and marveled at the erratic pounding of his heart. It was a
muffled beat of triumph. Mad laughter, tender and joyous, lurked
perilously in his throat. His feet would have pirouetted in gay
abandon had he not, with much responsible feeling of control, forced
himself to walk with dignity and calm. But his nervous flying fingers
fumbled clumsily with string and paper and taxed his patience to the
utmost.
The bills were incredibly old and ragged. Kenny stared at them with a
low whistle of delight, blessing Garry. Moreover, Fate and Garry had
chosen to solve a problem for him by packing the bills in a strong tin
box. To unpack the money and dent the tin was the work of a moment.
When he had darkened the shining surface with lamp-smoke and rubbed it
clean with a handkerchief which he burned, the box, discolored and
dented, had an inescapable look of age, like the ragged bills.
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