The junior partner's wife paced up and down the office with the telegram in her hand.
"Why, it looks as if Jack had an enemy named Jim Conway, and that he intended to fight him, doesn't it?" she exclaimed beseechingly to the senior partner. "I'd just like to know who this horrid, nasty ruffian who signs himself Bub is, that's all. My Jack fighting a man with such an awful, 'longshoremanish name as Jim Conway! Why, that name sounds like the names of the roustabouts we read of in the papers who attack their poor wives with cotton hooks and throw burning lamps at them. And goodness gracious sakes alive! the very idea of Jack Barlock ever dreaming of lowering himself by getting into difficulties with such—oh, I don't know what to think of it all; indeed I don't!"
And she strode up and down the office again in great agitation.
"Now, now, now," put in the senior partner comfortingly. "We don't know anything about the contents of the message, and it may be that this Mr. Conway is—er—why, the fact is, come to think of it, it may be a message in code. Jack's got a code of his own, you know, and maybe he"——
The wife of the junior partner was looking at him so suspiciously, however, that he couldn't go on. An expression just a trifle harder than was exactly becoming gradually stole into her face, and she walked over close to where the senior partner sat in his revolving chair.
"Ah," she said in a hard tone, "I begin to see. You are trying to cover up something—you men always stick together in these affairs. It may be that this Mr. Conway is married, and that Jack—great heavens! if I only thought it! If I even dreamed that such a thing could be—after all the sacrifices I've made for Jack—living away from mama all this time—and"——
Then she reduced her handkerchief to a wad about half an inch in diameter and began to dab at the corners of her eyes.
"My dear girl," said the senior partner, "I give you my solemn word that I know no more about that message, nor about Mr. Conway, than you do. I never heard of Mr. Conway in my life before I opened that telegram. My dear Mrs. Barlock, I am sure you are exaggerating the importance of this despatch. There is no reasonable ground whatsoever upon which you can base any—er—accusation against the boy, and, as I say, it is possible—in fact, it's more than probable—that this message is in Jack's private code, and that"——
"I—don't—believe—any—such—boo-hoo"——And the lovely young matron began to rock herself to and fro and to dab at her eyes unremittingly. "It's just as plain as day that Jack has done some wrong to this poor Mr. Conway, and this friend of Jack's in St. Louis, named Bub, has heard that Mr. Conway is looking for Jack, and he has sent him this telegram to warn him to be on his guard—and—boo-hoo—who would ever dream that my Jack would get himself involved in such an awful"——
Her feelings overcame her again at this point, and she was unable to proceed.