CHAPTER XVII.
EVERY MAN TO HIS TRADE.
After the bogus Lester Armstrong had dispatched his letter of acceptance to Mrs. Fairfax he braced himself for what would happen next by taking a deep draught from the silver brandy flask which he kept in his breast pocket, though he realized that he had need of all his senses for any emergency.
During the next hour a score or more bookkeepers came to him with bills, letters and papers of all descriptions. To one and all he said, with a yawn, and very impatiently: "Leave what you have brought on my desk; I'll look over it this afternoon."
Then it occurred to him that such a great concern must have a general manager, and of course he would know something about the different papers these people had brought for his inspection and for him to pass upon, which were like so much Greek to him.
In answer to his summons, a tall, dignified, keen-eyed elderly man responded—a man who struck considerable awe to Kendale's guilty heart. He said to himself that he wished to the Lord he knew this man's name to be able to call him by it—but of course it couldn't be helped.
"I have concluded to permit you to attend to these matters for me—get through them the best you can in your own way without bothering me with them; do just as you would if I were away on a vacation, we will say, and left everything in your charge—all matters for you to settle as you deemed best."
The gentleman looked surprised and bowed gravely. "I can attend to most of the documents connected with the firm, but there are a few matters I see there that the parties interested might object to if they saw the name of Manager Wright attached instead of the name of the proprietor."
"In that case, show me where you want me to sign, and I'll put down my name here and now, to end the matter."
"Without first examining the documents carefully?" asked the manager, in amazement, thinking how slipshod in his business methods the new proprietor of the great establishment was becoming since he suddenly found himself raised from a poor cashier to a multi-millionaire, and thinking that good old Mr. Marsh would turn over in his grave if he had heard that.
"Thank Heaven all that is off my mind," muttered Kendale, breathing freer as the manager left the office with the papers, adding, thoughtfully: "I hope I won't have to come in contact with that man very often. I felt so uncomfortable that it was by the greatest effort I could control myself—keep from springing from my chair, seizing my hat and fairly flying out of this place.
"His keen gray eyes seemed to pierce through and through me. I expected every moment to hear him shout out: 'Come hither, everybody—quickly; this man is not Lester Armstrong, striking though the resemblance is. Send for the police, that this mystery may be solved at once!'"
He was not far wrong in his suspicions.
Manager Wright had quitted the private office with a deeply knitted brow and a troubled expression on his face.
"The change in Lester Armstrong since yesterday is amazing," he mused. "Long years of dissipation could not have told more on him than the change these few hours have worked. He must have been out drinking and carousing all night long—the odor of the room from the fumes of strong liquor was almost unbearable; it was blue with smoke, too, and Lester Armstrong always led us to believe that he had never smoked a cigar in his life; and, worst of all, from a gentleman he has suddenly turned into a libertine, if I am any judge of features.
"I cannot begin to account for the great change in him; it mystifies me quite as much as it did the store detectives and Mr. Conway, the cashier. It is all terribly wrong—somehow—somewhere. If it were not that I have been here so many years I would tender Mr. Armstrong my resignation. I am not at all satisfied—and yet, yesterday, when Mr. Armstrong called me into his private office and we had that long talk about the business matters of the house, I felt that all would go well; to-day he is like a different man—appears to have forgotten completely all of the instructions he was so particular to give me. Yesterday he said: 'We will go over the books and papers very carefully, you and I, and see that every department is run as carefully and well as heretofore. I should not like any one in the establishment to feel that my taking possession will mean any change for them—save for the better.'
"To-day he is as different as night from day; he does not know what he wants; he seems all at sea over the simplest details which he ought to be decidedly familiar with." His musings were suddenly cut short by an immediate summons to return to the private office.
It was with some misgivings that he entered his employer's presence the second time.
The bogus Mr. Armstrong was almost invisible from a cloud of smoke from a freshly lighted Havana. He held the morning paper in his hand and was perusing its columns with apparent avidity.
"Wright!" he cried, excitedly, "how much ready money do you suppose there is in the safe of this shebang—-hey?"
It took Mr. Wright almost a moment to recover his usual calm dignity and make answer:
"Five thousand in cash, and there are negotiable notes amounting to upward of forty thousand more."
"Are you sure of that?" queried Kendale, his excitement growing keener; "how do you know?"
"You placed bills in my hands a few moments since which necessitated conferring with Mr. Conway, the cashier, about meeting them."
"Well, hold on—don't pay out any bills to-day; I want to make use of that money—two great opportunities here. Say!" he added in the next breath, "do you know anything about sailing yachts and trotters?"
The question fairly staggered Mr. Wright, but he answered promptly:
"Nothing whatever, Mr. Armstrong. I have never taken any interest in them; it would be out of place for a man in my position to cultivate a taste for that which is so far beyond his means. I am glad to be able to say to you, sir, that my tastes are simple and my wants few. I have never been on board a yacht, nor have I ever ridden behind what you call a trotter."
"Then you've missed a deal of sport," declared Kendale. "But that isn't what I sent for you to discuss. What I meant to say is that there's a fellow from Newport gone all to smash. His fine yacht, the Daisy Bell, is to be sold at auction to-day, likewise the contents of his stables. There are two of his animals that are flyers—the Lady Albia and Sterling. Why, the Lady has a record better than 2.05 1-2, open gaited, warranted sound, both of 'em, and no end of traps, tea carts, and buggies. I tell you what, Wright, I must have that yacht and that team. You must go and bid them in for me—get 'em at any price, if you have to run it up to a hundred thousand, and you can even do a little better than that rather than see some other lucky fellow get 'em."
Mr. Wright was staring at him as though he quite believed his employer had gone suddenly out of his mind.
"Well," said the bogus Mr. Lester Armstrong, coolly, "you heard my command to you, didn't you?"
Without another word the general manager turned and with slow, unsteady steps quitted his new employer's presence.
"Heaven help me, that I should live to see this hour," he groaned; "a hundred thousand dollars—ten fortunes to a poor man like myself—frittered away on a yacht and a pair of horses! Mr. Marsh would pitch him out if he could but know and come back long enough to do it. It spoils the best of 'em to have money thrown at them—to come into a fortune that they haven't worked for. A yacht and a pair of horses! What will people say to see me, a business man of supposed sense and judgment, bidding at a public auction mart for anything like this? Heaven help me, I can see the finish of the time-honored dry goods house of Marsh & Co., in which I have taken such a world of pride. But I suppose I must do as he has ordered, no matter how galling it is to me."
Mr. Wright had no sooner reached the auction mart than a telegram was handed him. It was from his employer, and read as follows:
"There are also a pair of seal-brown pacers to be sold. Secure these in addition to the others. Price must not stand in the way."
David Wright crushed the telegram in his hands, and the first oath he had ever uttered in all his life was ground out between his teeth.
The yacht and two pairs of horses were spiritedly bid for by half a dozen gentlemen, who were apparently eager to secure them.
It was easy to see that the quiet, elderly business man, who always went higher than the others, was little used to such contests, but he secured them at last for one hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars, and there was more than one amused laugh in the auction room, knowing ones whispering that he had paid three times more than the owner had been asking for them.