He consulted several of his friends—many of them, in fact—and told them he was feeling far from fit. His complaint was common enough, and every man to whom he spoke suggested a remedy. Some advised the plunging into dissipation at a fashionable health resort, and some recommended various medicinal springs in Europe which would work wonders; but the majority counselled him to take rod and gun, and get into the Rocky Mountains, camp out, and live like an Indian.
“Then,” they said jocularly, smiting him on the back, “you’ll be all right, and come back yearning for scalps on the Stock Exchange.”
The newspapers mentioned the fact that John Steele was going into the Rockies to hunt and fish and camp out for a month or more to recover tone.
It was at this interesting juncture that Alice Fuller called to see him. Now, John Steele was the most susceptible of men, and one reason he shunned society was because he knew he would surely fall a victim to the first designing pretty girl who laid a trap for him—if, indeed, pretty girls ever do lay traps for men said to possess from six to ten millions. His weakness in this line was exemplified by his impetuous proposal to Dorothy Slocum in the environs of Bunkerville, as has already been stated. But Alice Fuller was not the commonplace young person Dorothy Slocum had been. He often thought of his proposal to Dorothy with a shudder, and accounted it a narrow escape, which, indeed, it was not, for Dorothy was thoroughly devoted to her station-master, and never gave even a thought to Mr. John Steele of Chicago.
Alice Fuller was a blonde, and she brought in with her to the conventional private office of John Steele, with its extremely modern fittings of card indices, loose-leaf ledgers, and expanding office furniture, an air of breezy freshness that hinted of the mountainous West. Although dressed as any Chicago woman might be, there was, nevertheless, something about her costume which suggested the riding of mountain ponies and even the expert handling of a rifle.
The glory of a woman is her hair, and in truth Miss Fuller’s golden tresses were glorious enough; but her eyes were the most distinguished and captivating features of a face sufficiently beautiful to attract attention anywhere. They were of a deep, translucent blue, darkening now and then into violet, like a pair of those limpid mountain lakes in the Rockies whose depths are said to be unfathomable. It was impossible to look into those honest orbs without trusting the clear purity of the soul behind them, and Steele, whose nerves were unstrung, almost shivered with apprehension when they were turned full upon him.
“Lord save me!” he thought with a gasp. “If this girl wants to sell shares in the most bogus company afloat, I’m her victim. John Steele, if your bank account is to remain intact, now is the time to play St. Anthony.”
But aloud he said calmly enough: “Pray be seated, madam,” and she sank gracefully into a chair on the opposite side of the flat-topped desk behind which he was entrenched, although small protection the barricade afforded him against such artillery as a handsome young woman might bring to bear upon the position.
“It is so good of you to see me,” said the girl. “I have read much of you in the newspapers, and I know that your time is valuable, so I shall take up as little of it as may be necessary to explain my business.”
Somehow this remark, although only introductory sparring, disappointed young Mr. Steele. Nearly every stranger he met said the same thing in almost identical words. They all referred to his newspaper reputation, of which he was exceedingly tired, and nearly everyone spoke of the value of his time, promised not to encroach upon it, and then stayed for hours if they were permitted.