XXXVI
A MISTRESS OF FINANCE
"Some men are born lucky—and some get lucky—and some have the confoundedst kind of good luck thrust upon them," affirmed Mr. Crothers, nodding towards a letter in Harvey's hand.
"I'm just going to read this over once more; it really seems too good to be true," was Harvey's rather irrelevant reply, his eyes fastened again upon the letter.
"You're dead right. If any one had told me, that night three months ago—you remember our conversation then—that you'd be given a position like that so early in your career, I'd have laughed at them. I don't think I ever knew a man get as quick promotion in the newspaper business as you've had, Simmons. I really don't. But then you've got the education—and the material above the eyes—and that's the whole outfit. Well, I can't do any more than congratulate you, old man," and the sincerity of Mr. Crothers' words was evident as Harvey looked across the table into the deep-set eyes.
"You've had more to do with it than anybody else, I'm sure," Harvey returned; "and I'll do all I can to make good. I'll expect you to——"
"I'll tell you something I've been thinking of for quite a while," the other broke in, lowering his voice and leaning far over the table. "If we could only get a hold of the business—the paper, I mean—the whole box and dice! The thing's going to change hands, as you know; everybody has known that, since the president got the collectorship of customs—and it would be worth more to us than to anybody else. We could run it to the Queen's taste—the whole shooting-match. But I suppose there's no use talking—can't make bricks without straw. Of course, I've saved a little chicken-feed—not enough, though—there, that's my total," as he pencilled some figures on a blotting-pad and passed it over; "and if you could duplicate it—or a little better—we'd have the thing in our mitt. But I suppose there's no use thinking about it?" looking rather eagerly at Harvey, nevertheless.
"Out of the question," answered Harvey decisively, leaning back in his chair; "you can't get blood from a turnip, or, as Geordie Nickle, a Glenallen friend of mine, would say, you can't take the breeks off a Hielan'man. I haven't any money, that's the English of it. Of course," a tinge of pleasure in the tone, "I'll have a pretty good salary now—but what's that for a plunge like this?" as he pushed the blotting-pad back across the table.
"About as good as a dozen of eggs for an army," Mr. Crothers agreed disconsolately. "Oh, well, we'll just have to make out the best we can—but I'm mighty glad of your good luck, old man, just the same."
Both men turned to their work. Harvey's first move was to ring for a stenographer. But he changed his mind. "I won't need you for a few minutes," he said; "I'll write this one myself."