"Get Frank," suggested Gorham easily; for Frank was the broker's younger brother.
"Frank will kick like a mule!" Vanbigh said reflectively, rather wincing from the prospective fraternal conflict.
"Frank always kicks like a whole team!" commented Gorham. "But you can manage him."
The broker shook his head doubtfully. He appreciated, for indeed he had learned from experience, that a conflict with those of one's own household presents special and difficult belligerent elements. He was expectant of a controversy rather than disappointed by his brother Frank's attitude when, repairing to his residence for lunch, he broached the matter and requested the fraternal coöperation; for Frank promptly refused. Any disinterested spectator would have thought Frank the more formidable figure in any encounter, domestic or otherwise. Frank was an amateur athlete, and as he sat in the comfortable library lighting his cigar after luncheon, the contour of his strong, shapely limbs under his light fawn-tinted spring suit, the pose of his blond head on his broad shoulders, the strength of his grip suggested in the mere manner of using his fingers, in casting away the match, all intimated a muscular reserve power none the less formidably apparent for being relaxed.
"I am beholden to you, Jim," he replied satirically. "Seem to think I am insane!"
The windows of the room looked out upon the wide woodland vistas of the driving-park just across the street. The heavy velvet carpet, the antique tall bookcases of time-darkened mahogany that lined the walls, even the spacious mirror above the marble mantelpiece,—all were obviously relics of the past. The contour of the old-fashioned square brick house, faced with gray stone, bespoke its condition as overtaken by the march of municipal progress, rather than any choice of the fashionable site in the vicinity of the park. In fact it was the habit of the household to bewail the approach of the town, that in its swift strides and wealthy expansion had overhauled their quiet suburban home. But the approach of town had really worked them no harm, either material or sentimental. They were none the worse for the letter-box and lamp-post on the corner, and the splendid residences of the newcomers that made up the solid blocks of the vicinity had served to enormously enhance the value of the property. From the windows of the library and the drawing-rooms one might never know that the driving-park across the street was not still the "old woods" of years ago, save for the broad, smooth, well-kept roads winding deep among the vistas of the forest trees; and the sylvan tangles were no less picturesque now, because highly appreciated and carefully conserved by the taste of the park commissioners, than heretofore, when not considered at all. Even the sound of the town was but a dull murmur as it came in at the open windows; one could not discriminate the bang of the cable car which had set Jim down at the corner. They were to all intents and purposes as far away from city life and city thoughts as if the woodland opposite, that cast so welcome and soft a green shadow through the lace curtains and gave so verdant and vernal a sylvan view, were really a wilderness instead of its graceful simulacrum.
"It's just as well, perhaps, that nobody told Gorham that he seemed insane when he fairly threw his life away, as he thought, rather than desert poor Phil,—who after all had no sort of claim on him," the broker replied, lighting his cigar also, but with quick, nervous gestures.
Frank was smoking hard. "Did you ask me to bail Jasper Gorham?" he demanded sarcastically, between two mighty puffs.
"I did not, indeed!" responded his brother, and then there was silence, save for a subdued clatter of dishes from the dining-room beyond a cross hall, and the sound of some pleasant feminine voices on a side veranda, upon which it opened.
Frank was more apathetic than his brother, and better held in hand, but nevertheless the tone of this rejoinder struck home.