“So I am without a home and without a name,” laboriously translated Letty, punctuating her daughter’s written sentences with snuffle and moan. “What am I to do? Poor Amadeo is disconsolate. It would break your heart to witness his grief. But he cannot help me. Most of our ready money has gone into the houses we have bought and other necessaries. The bulk of my dot is, of course, deeded to Amadeo, according to continental custom, and it seems the poor fellow’s ignorance of finance has led him to invest it in such a way that for the present it is all tied up. I am without money, without friends. Helas! I——”
“In other words,” interpolated Caleb, “he’s got her cash nailed down, and now he’s kicking her out dead broke, while he and the other woman——”
“I start to-morrow for Paris,” continued the letter. “I have just about money enough to get me there, and I shall stay with the Pages until you can send for me. Oh, Mother, please make it all right with Father if you can. Don’t let him blame poor Amadeo. You know how Father always——”
“Well, go on!” commanded the Railroader grimly.
“That’s about all,” faltered Letty. “The rest is just——”
“A eulogy on the old man, eh? Let it go at that. Now——”
“Oh, what are we to do?” drivelled the poor woman, sopping her eyes. “And all the——”
“All the splurge we made, and the way our dutiful girl was going to boost us into the Four Hundred?” finished Caleb. “Thank the Lord, it comes too late for a campaign document! But I guess it about wrecks my last sneaking hope of landing on the social hay-pile. Never mind that part of it now. We’ll have all the rest of our lives to kick ourselves over the way we’ve been sold. And I’ll give myself the treat, as soon as I can get away, of running over to Yurrup and having Friend d’Antri sent to jail for bigamy and treated real gentle and loving while he’s there, if a million-dollar tip to the right politicians in Italy will do it. And I guess it will. But I can’t get away till after this election business is all cleared up. And Blanche’s got to be brought home right off. Jerry!”
His son’s momentary interest in the family crisis had already lapsed. He was sitting, stupid, glazed of eye, staring at the floor. At his father’s call he glanced up.
“You’ll have to go to Paris for her,” went on Conover, “and bring her back. Take the next steamer. There’s boats sailing on most of the lines Wednesdays. Let’s see, this is Monday. Go to Ballston, as you were going to, to-morrow morning. Get that package from Lanier, and send it to me from there by registered mail. Be sure to have it registered. Then catch the afternoon train to New York. That ought to get you in by five-thirty or six. I’ll telegraph Wendell to-night to find out what’s the fastest steamer sailing next morning, and tell him to take passage for you. Hunt him up as soon as you reach town. And sleep on board the boat. That’ll cut out any chance of your missing it. Bring Blanche back here to us by the earliest steamer from France or England that you can get. And while you’re in Paris, if you can hire some one on the quiet to drop over into Italy and put d’Antri into the accident ward of some dago hospital for a month or two, I don’t mind paying five thousand for the job. Come up to my study, and I’ll fix you up financially for the trip, and give you that note to Bruce Lanier.”