THE FINAL RECKONING
Gordon, too, had spent a restless night. Leaving the theater abruptly after giving orders to dismiss the audience, he had driven furiously to his club. There, in the seclusion of the grill-room and in a niche not far removed from the bar, he had endeavored to alleviate his disappointment by partaking of many gin rickeys. Late at night some of his friends interrupted him at this amusement to tell him of the new play at the Globe.
"New play?" he repeated. "Why, the theater wasn't open."
"Sure it was," replied one of his companions. "But they might as well have kept it closed. Beastly piece, hackneyed stuff, stale jokes, bad company, and the star—piffle. Nice enough little girl, you know, very pretty and all that, but she can't act for sour apples."
Gordon listened in surprise. "You mean to say," he demanded, "that Martha Farnum appeared at the Globe to-night?"
"Surest thing you know," his friend replied. "I was there and saw her."
Thereupon Gordon had hunted up Weldon, bitterly assailed him for his treachery, and learned the whole truth of Clayton's interference. The fact that the girl had won out against him worried him. People didn't usually triumph over his bulldog tenacity and obstinate determination. However, when the morning broke, he felt that he must have another interview with the girl. If he had been mistaken in her—if she really had the divine spark, after all, or something in its place which helped her to face that unsympathetic audience the night before—he wanted to discover it, too. Therefore, shortly after Martha had finished packing, he was announced, and told to come up.
"I really ought not to see you, Mr. Gordon," said Martha, simply, in a businesslike tone. "But there are certain things that must be said before I go away."
"Where are you going?" cried Gordon, in surprise.
"Home—to Indiana."
"I don't believe it," he said hoarsely. "You are going away with that man Clayton."
"That is not true," replied Martha, with heat.
"Well, you ought to feel grateful to him for letting you appear last night, after I had stopped you."
In spite of herself, Martha couldn't resist the inclination to smile, but it was a wan smile.
"I wish he had stopped me, too," she said.
"Oh, do you? And yet you turned from me, who can give you everything, to him, who can give you nothing."
"He has given me more than you can ever offer."
"What?"
"The right to a friendship that is good and true. I am glad you came this morning, for we must have a settlement."
"A settlement? How?"
"I to keep what is mine, and to return that which is yours."
"Return what?"
"Every penny you have spent in this mad scheme must be returned to you. I don't know how, or when, but I will work to earn the money and repay every cent. I will not be in your debt."
The telephone bell rang. Martha answered it.
"If you are expecting visitors—" Gordon said.
"It is only Mr. Clayton and I want you to see him," she said.
"Clayton again, eh? How long have you been friends?"
"I met him the same day I met you, at French Lick. He took an interest in me, in a business way, and loaned me the money I needed to come here and study for the stage. Every dollar of that debt has been repaid long since, but he is still a friend, tried and true, and one who would never have been guilty of your treachery of last night."
Clayton entered jauntily. He seemed somewhat surprised at seeing Gordon.
"Little business council?" he said easily.
"It happens to be something more," explained Martha. "I have pointed out to Mr. Gordon that there must be a final settlement between us."
"Just what I was going to say," replied Clayton, sitting on the arm of the great chair. "You see, Gordon, it is absolutely necessary that Miss Farnum—or some one else on her behalf—should return to you every dollar you have spent on her. As for what you actually lost in the starring venture—"
"Oh, I see," sneered Gordon. "A change of managers?"
"No," declared Martha. "I have had my chance, and I have failed. To-night the theater will be closed."
"Well, that's wise, at any rate," said Gordon. "So it's merely a change of angels—with you, Clayton, to pay the bills?"
"Hereafter," said Clayton, calmly, "it will be my pleasure and my privilege to pay all of Miss Farnum's bills for life. She has promised to be my wife."
"What?" cried Martha, in surprise.
"Your wife?" demanded Gordon.
"Precisely," continued Clayton. "I bid higher than anything you can offer, Gordon. My bid includes a wedding ring."
Gordon stepped back, looked from Martha to Clayton, and back again to the girl, who stood, confused and embarrassed, with her eyes turned toward the floor. Then the innate refinement and the result of years of breeding asserted itself in Gordon's pale face. He stepped forward seriously to Martha.
"Miss Farnum," he said, humbly and sincerely, "better men than I have made mistakes. May I wish you every happiness? The same to you, Clayton, with all my heart. Good-bye."
He turned and walked from the room. Not until he had gone did Martha dare to look Clayton squarely in the face.
"I was going to write you this morning," she said, "to tell you that I am going home."
"Without your manager's permission? Not even a two weeks' notice?"
"Do be serious, please," she pleaded. Then with a sudden outburst of passion: "I've failed in everything I ever tried."
"You haven't failed in my eyes," declared Clayton, taking her hand, while she turned away from him. "You have merely missed one opportunity you had dreamed of."
"Yesterday I dreamed, but to-day I am awake. I am going home."
Clayton reached over and took her other hand, then swung her around so that she faced him and could not evade his direct glance.
"Didn't I tell Gordon I was going to marry you?" he demanded. "I've run out of all my other fads, and now my latest fad is trying to run away from me."
Martha gazed up at him coquettishly. "You mean you want to marry me just to see what I'll do?" she pouted.
"That's one of the reasons, not to mention loving you," replied Clayton, in a brisk, businesslike tone. "Well?"
Martha paused a moment. "Do you remember," she asked, "once you said the greatest success meant nothing if the right person did not share it with you?"
"Yes."
"You were right. And now I know that the greatest failure also means nothing, if the right person does share it with you."
Clayton held out his arms entreatingly.
"I think I'm going to like my latest fad immensely," he whispered.
"And I shall try to stick longer than any of the others, even the postage stamps," she answered, as she nestled in his arms.