He waited for an answer but none came. Pearson was gazing out of the window. The captain looked at his watch and rose.
“I guess I’ll have to be goin’,” he said. “It’s after twelve now.”
His host swung around in his chair. “Sit down, Captain,” he said. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since I saw you, and I’m not sure about that reason. I believe I’ll ask your advice. It is a delicate matter, and it involves your brother. You may see it as he did, and, if so, our friendship ends, I suppose. But I’m going to risk it.
“Mr. Rodgers Warren and I,” he went on, “were well acquainted during the latter part of my newspaper work. I was financial man on the Planet, and some articles I wrote took your brother’s fancy. At all events, he wrote me concerning them in highly complimentary terms and asked me to call and see him at his office. I did so and—well, we became very friendly, so much so that he invited me to his house. I dined there several times, was invited to call often, and—I enjoyed it. You see, I had few friends in the city, outside my journalistic acquaintances, and I suppose I was flattered by Mr. Warren’s kindness and the fancy he seemed to have taken to me. And I liked Miss Warren—no one could help that—and I believed she liked me.”
“She does like you,” interrupted his companion, with surprise. “Caroline’s a good girl.”
“Yes, she is. However, she isn’t in this story, except as a side-issue. At this time my ambitions were for a newspaper career, and I thought I was succeeding. And her father’s marked interest and the things he said to me promised more than an ordinary success. He was a well known man on the street, and influential. So my head began to swell, and I dreamed—a lot of foolishness. And then—”
He paused, put down his empty pipe, and sighed.
“Well, then,” he continued, “came the upset. I judged from what you said at our previous conversation, Captain, that you were well enough acquainted with Wall Street to know that queer operations take place there. Did you read about the South Shore Trolley business?”
Captain Elisha considered. “Why, yes,” he said, slowly, “seem’s if I did. One of those consolidations with ‘holdin’ companies’ and franchises and extensions and water by the hogshead. Wa’n’t that it? I remember now; the Boston papers had considerable about it, and I presume likely the New York ones had more. One of those all-accordin’-to-law swindles that sprout same as toadstools in a dark place, but die out if the light’s turned on too sudden. This one didn’t come to nothin’ but a bad smell, if I remember right.”
“You do. And I suppose I’m responsible for the smell. I got wind of the thing, investigated, found out something of what was going on, and printed a preliminary story in the Planet. It caused a sensation.”