"My father knows nothing of this," said Hugo. "I thought it more humane to spare him the pain of discovering that a servant he regarded as faithful had shamefully betrayed him."
"I might have known!" exclaimed Armstrong with good-natured disgust, rising. "So you brought me here to discuss some trifle about your servants. Some day, if I get the leisure, my young friend, I'll tell you what I think of you. But not to-day. Good morning."
"Stop!" commanded Hugo. As Armstrong did not stop, he said, "I have discovered your thefts from the company."
Armstrong wheeled, blanched. He looked hard at young Fosdick; then he slowly returned to his chair. "I understand," he said, in a voice most unlike his own.
"And I sent for you," continued Hugo triumphantly, "to tell you I will permit you quietly to resign. You will write out your resignation at the desk in the next room. I shall present it to the Board, and shall see that it is accepted without scandal or question. Of course, so far as you are able, you must make good your shortage. But I shall not be hard on you. I appreciate that chaps like you are often tempted beyond their powers of resistance."
By this time Armstrong was smiling so broadly that Hugo, absorbed though he was in his own rôle of the philosophic gentleman, had to see it. He broke off, reddened, rose and drew himself to his full height—and a very elegant figure he was. Armstrong looked up at him from his indolent lounge in the big chair. "Did you pose that before a cheval glass, Hugo?" he said, in a pleasant, contemptuous tone.
"You will force me to the alternative," cried Hugo furiously.
Armstrong got up. "Go ahead, old man," he said. "Do whatever you please. Better talk to your father first, though." He glanced round. "You're very gorgeous here—too gorgeous for the hard-working, poor people who pay for it. I'll have to interfere." He smiled at Hugo again, but there was an unpleasant glitter in his eyes. "You are suspended from the fourth vice-presidency," he went on tranquilly. "And you will vacate these premises before noon to-day. See that you take nothing with you that belongs to the O.A.D. If you do, I'll have you in a police court. Be out before noon. Brownell will be up at that hour."
Hugo stood staring. This effrontery was unbelievable. Before he could recover himself, Armstrong was gone. He sat down and slowly thought it out. Yes, it was true, the flat had been taken nominally as an uptown branch of the O.A.D. home office; much of the furniture had been paid for by the company; several of the servants were on the pay roll as clerks and laborers; yes, he had even let the O.A.D. pay grocery and wine bills—was he not like his father—did not everything he did, everything he ate and drank, contribute to the glory and stability of the O.A.D.? He was but following the established usage among the powers that deigned to guard the financial interests of the people. Perhaps, he carried the system a little further, more frankly further, than some; but logically, legitimately. Still, Armstrong was president, had nominally the authority to make things unpleasant for him.
He looked at the clock—it was ten; no time to lose. He rushed into his clothes, darted into his waiting brougham and drove home. The doctor was with his father; he had to wait, pacing and fuming, until nearly eleven before he could get admission. The old man, haggard and miserable, was stretched on a sofa-bed before the fire in his sitting room. "Well, what do you want?" he said sharply.