In the midst of a conversation with somebody else, the gentleman’s bored glance suddenly swerved to Joe. Joe, outwardly the quiet, abashed boy, let a world of meaning appear in his eyes for him alone. The gentleman was startled; he hastily turned away his glance. He changed color; puffed out his cheeks a little; twirled the ornament on his watch chain. By and by his eyes came creeping back to Joe’s face, and found Joe’s eyes waiting. The two pairs of eyes embraced, and were quickly cast down. I’ve got him going! thought Joe exultantly.
Joe had heard the gentleman addressed as Mr. Gore. That suggested nothing to him; Gore was a common enough name. But later, he heard the lady call her husband Amasa, and when he put the two names together, a great light broke on him. Amasa Gore! Joe had read plenty about him in the newspapers. One of the sons of Isaac Gore, with whose story every boy of the streets was familiar. The smartest guy America had ever produced; the little wizard of finance; the railroad wrecker; who used to throw Wall street into a panic by holding up a finger; and who died leaving a hundred million dollars. For an instant Joe’s heart failed him at the bigness of the game he had cut out for himself; Amasa Gore! But he stole another look into the gentleman’s face, and confidence came winging back. He was only a man like any other. He was easy!
When the psychical part of the evening was introduced, Joe accommodated himself to the wind from Mr. Gore’s quarter. If Mr. Gore had come there expecting to give the laugh to the spiritualists, naturally he would be put out if the show appeared to be a success.
So Joe turned tongue-tied and idiotic. He could relate no interesting experiences; he boggled at answering the simplest questions. The ladies of the house were astonished and shamed before their guests; the professor was nonplussed; the white-faced boy in the background though he had always mocked at the psychical experiences, looked at the distressed faces of his Aunts and was angry. However, Joe cared nothing about these people now. He saw that Mrs. Gore took the failure of the exhibition as a personal affront to herself, and that her husband was secretly pleased that she was cross. Joe was satisfied with the outcome.
The professor abruptly dropped his questioning, and the while company plunged nervously into general conversation again. Joe saw that they would have liked to kick him out, but they couldn’t, because it would not have been high-toned. Instead, they all made out from that moment that Joe was no longer present. That suited Joe very well. He remained in an obscure corner between the end of the piano and the dining-room door. At intervals Mr. Gore’s uneasy eyes crept to Joe’s face, and never failed to find Joe’s eyes waiting.
There were great difficulties in Joe’s way. Mr. Gore was so respectable and scary, he saw that it would be up to him to make all the running. In the end his man might escape him out of sheer funk. It was necessary for him to have a private word or two with Mr. Gore before the evening was over; and how was that to be managed when the millionaire was continually surrounded by admiring listeners, who obliged him to play the respectable. That’s what’s the matter with him, thought Joe, thinking of the pained roll to his eyeballs; there’s always people watching him, and he never has a chance to be bad. Well . . . !
Refreshments were served. There was a blight upon the party, and while it was still early, the ladies retired up-stairs to put on their wraps. The gentlemen had left their hats and coats on the hall-rack, and they stood in the hall talking, while they waited for the ladies. Besides Mr. Gore and the Professor, there were two others. The boy who lived in the house had disappeared. It was now or never with Joe. With a modest air he made his way out between the gentlemen. He knew Mr. Gore would look at him as he passed; and he did look. Joe gave him a speaking glance; and letting himself out the door, waited on the stoop.
It worked. Mr. Gore presently came through the door behind him, and glanced importantly below as if he had come out to make sure that his carriage was waiting. He made a great business of cutting and lighting a cigar; ignoring Joe. Joe smiled inwardly. He had but a precious second or two; no time to beat around the bush.
“I couldn’t go on with that fool business after I seen you,” he murmured. “I could see that you was on to that foolishness.”
“That was very, very wrong of you!” said Mr. Gore severely; “to deceive those good ladies!”