CHAPTER TWENTY-FIFTH
THE PRICE OF A BOND
"Mr. Goodman, I want to understand about that bond Miss Pennington sold for me. I have been reading the papers, and I don't see how it could have brought a thousand dollars when they are only quoted at eighty-something." Miss Sarah was still white and weak, but she spoke with a touch of her old energy.
Ever since she had been able to think connectedly, the matter had puzzled her. Norah, when appealed to, was innocence itself.
"I am sure he did not lose anything, Miss Sarah," she said. "I offered it to him because I happened to know he had already bought some."
So now she had summoned Giant Despair himself, happening to see from her window his clumsy figure coming up the street.
"I am glad to see you better, Miss Sarah," he said, appearing rather ill at ease as he seated himself ponderously in a wicker chair.
"Goodness! I hope it won't give way with him," thought Miss Sarah; then aloud she repeated her question, adding, "I have no confidence whatever in Miss Pennington."
Giant Despair squinted at her with his best eye, as if to see just what she meant.
"My own opinion," Miss Sarah continued, "has always been that she is a witch; but even then I don't understand it."
Mr. Goodman smiled grimly and slapped his gloves across his knee. "Probably you don't know much about the ways of witches," he remarked.
"I ought to know something. I can't imagine what I should have done without Norah. Everybody was kind,—more than kind,—but she knew how to take hold and manage things. I—" she hesitated a moment before she added, "and we didn't want them in the neighborhood!"
"I guess you are right about the witch business," agreed the old man.
"But the bond," urged Miss Sarah.
"Well, there is nothing to be said about the bond, so far as I know. As a general thing women don't know much about business, but Miss Norah has taught me a thing or two. I haven't lost anything on your bond, Miss Sarah, and I expect to make before I get through."
"And you are sure that she—"
"She didn't lose anything, either,—if that is what you mean. That bond was worth to me what I paid for it, and that is all I can say on the subject, unless—" Giant Despair hesitated. "Years ago your brother saved me a good deal of money at one time and another. He was a good man. I have sometimes wished I had taken his advice. If you aren't satisfied, just remember that."
There had been a time when Miss Sarah's brother, Wayland's father, had managed Mr. Goodman's law business; but the relations had come to a sudden end. The only explanation Mr. Leigh had ever made to his sister was that he did not care for certain of the drug company's methods.
"Then all I can do is to thank you most warmly," she said as he rose.
"If I have helped you, Miss Sarah, I am glad. As I say, I have not lost anything, and I am a useless old codger, anyhow."
Miss Sarah wiped some tears away; she was far from strong yet. "I think it was a conspiracy between you and Miss Pennington, but I'll have to let it go."
"I am in good company, at any rate," said Giant Despair.
James Mandeville waited for Mr. Goodman at the gate, and the two walked away together, hand in hand, the little boy taking great pains to point out all obstacles in the path, chattering ceaselessly, his radiant face lifted constantly to the rugged one so far above him. Miss Sarah watched them and smiled.
As for Mr. Goodman, he felt a strange sense of exhilaration,—so much so, that when they met an organ-grinder and a monkey (spring being now at hand) he contributed a dime instead of the usual five-cent piece.
A week later he went to a hospital to have his eye operated on, and during the weeks of helplessness that followed he was the recipient of an amount of attention that greatly surprised him.
The hospital was only a few blocks away from the Terrace, and hardly a day passed without a visit from some of his neighbors. Marion, Norah, and Alexina took turns in reading to him; and James Mandeville came whenever he could induce any one to bring him.
In the same corridor was a man recovering from a stroke of paralysis, who, rolling himself back and forth in his chair, occasionally encountered Mr. Goodman and exchanged a few words.
"I notice you have a great many friends," the stranger remarked one day.
"I?" exclaimed Giant Despair, who looked fiercer than ever with one eye bandaged. "Well, I suppose I have," he admitted, and became lost in thought. Eight months ago probably not a soul would have done more than leave a card, unless it had been a member of the firm. How had it come about? Undoubtedly the shopkeepers had something to do with it. They had showed themselves friendly. Then he thought of that bond. Suppose he had refused Norah? Ah, he had told Miss Sarah the strict truth when he said he had not lost anything in that transaction. He really felt the impulse to do another kindness to somebody, but not being in practice, nothing suggested itself.
An opportunity came, however. One Sunday afternoon James Mandeville brought his father with him to see Mr. Goodman. The child's joyous air of proprietorship was pretty to see.
"Here's my father," he announced. "Isn't you glad he's come home?" Then, as the two men shook hands, he asked, leaning confidingly against his old friend, "Does your eye hurt, still yet?"
The conversation turned naturally to business, and after a time Mr. Goodman suddenly said, "Norton, it has just occurred to me— We are making some changes this spring, and we need an experienced man to look after the city trade. How would you like the place?"
Mr. Norton's careworn, boyish face flushed and brightened. "It would mean a great deal to me now, Mr. Goodman. My wife will be at home soon; I was dreading the thought of having to leave. Thank you very much."
"You needn't thank me. I am considering my own interest," the old man replied, with an affability that astounded himself.
"I rather think Jenks is expecting the place, but he isn't married; he can wait," he added.
"Miss Norah, does you reckon old Marse Goodman's gittin' religion?" asked Mammy Belle one day. "Looks like he's mighty soft-hearted."