Henry said that he was all as cheerful as that; yea, more so. He was merely snagging the rope which had already been paid out; and it was glory in his pocket, because so many people before him had found the rope twitched out of their hands. She thought that this indication of a vengeful spirit was out of place in his character, but she forgave it, because at least it was founded on humour. And when he took her to the train, she forgave it on another score, because she realized that not since last autumn had she seen him so fundamentally boyish and irresponsible. She was glad that so much of his spontaneity had come back to him, but at the same time she was puzzled, for it didn’t seem altogether like Henry, as she had analyzed him, to gloat so thoroughly over mere retaliation, humourous or not.
On Monday, he met her at the station, and as soon as she saw him, she remarked again the extraordinary uplift of his mood. She had read the Herald, and taken deep enjoyment from 289 it; but Henry had a hundred unpublished incidents to tell her,––one of them concerned his own escape from possible complications by closing the Orpheum, issuing passes good for the following week; and spending the day in the library of the Citizens Club––and in her amusement, and also in her happiness to be back with him, she didn’t notice that Henry was driving her to the Orpheum instead of to their apartment.
“Why, what are we stopping here for, dear?”
Henry’s laugh had a pronounced overtone. “To meet Mr. Archer. I thought you’d like to be in on it.”
“In on what?” She caught his arm. “Henry! Has something happened? Has it?” She stared at him, and as she recognized what might be hidden behind his expression of exquisite, unreserved joy, she was almost as frightened as if he had looked despairing instead of joyful.
“It wasn’t settled until last week,” he said, still with that wide, speculative smile, like a baby’s. “It really wasn’t settled until Saturday. And it won’t be positively settled until 290 we’ve seen Archer.... And there he is waiting for us! I couldn’t get him before––he was in the country for the week-end.”
With no clear recollection of how she got there, she was sitting in Henry’s tiny office, and Mr. Archer was sitting beside her, and Henry was standing at his desk, pawing over a heap of ledgers and cash-books. To Anna, there was something commanding in his attitude, something more of crest than she had ever seen in him, even during the early period of his intrepid youth. And yet she could see, too, that his hands were a trifle unsteady, and that his lips betrayed an immense excitement.
“Mr. Archer,” he said. “There’s no use waiting until the first of the year. Either we’ve made good by this time, or we never will. Here’s the books. They’ll show a net profit, including Saturday’s deposit, of ten thousand five hundred.”
Anna turned weak and faint, and she wanted to laugh and cry in the same breath, but she 291 gripped the arms of her chair, and clung fast to what was left of her poise. If Henry had a miracle to report, Anna must hear it.