“Well, in spite of all my advice, he sent it over to a friend named Philip Manson in New York. He hasn’t even a scrap of writing to show for it. You know Wall Street, so I need say no more.”
The Colonel apparently knew Wall Street, for he gasped: “The eternal fool!”
“Exactly. Still, Steele’s a good fellow, and we mustn’t let him sink. I thought, perhaps, you wouldn’t mind stumping up a bit to help him out.”
“Hasn’t he any other resources?” asked the Colonel. “Not a cent, so far as I know. All his hopes were centred on that Northern Pacific stock, and now that’s gone.”
“Well, I must say, Mr. Consul, that you have a good deal of cheek to ask me, a complete stranger to you, to spend money on an idiot who doesn’t know enough to take care of a fortune when he has got it.”
John Steele passed another unrefreshing night, but solace came next morning in the shape of an early letter and an important cablegram.
Dear Mr. Steele (the letter began).
How inscrutable is the human heart! Ever since you left America I have yearned to see you, and at last this desire was gratified. You were the idol of my younger days, and were my first love—my first and only love, I may say; and yet I write these words as calmly as if I were inditing an order to my dressmaker. I find what I should have known before, that we cannot light a fire with a heap of ashes. I know you will think me wayward and changeable, especially after my emotion when you spoke of the olden days. But am I to blame that I find myself changed, and fancy I see a change in you also? There can never be anything between us, John, but that pure friendship which becomes more and more of a solace as we grow older. I give you back your promise of to-day. It will be useless to call upon me, for my uncle and I will have left for Rome before you receive this letter. But believe me,
Always your friend and well-wisher,
Sadie Beck.