“We can settle the whole business right here and now, Phœnix, my boy,” says John suddenly.
At the sound of that voice, together with the mention of his name, Happy Jack whirls around, uttering a sharp cry. John’s back is no longer toward him—they look into each other’s face. Phœnix is terribly stricken. As if by magic the jaunty air leaves him, his knees quake, and his whole appearance is that of a man upon whom a thunderbolt has descended without the slightest warning.
“Good God! John Atherton—here!”
“Why not—my father’s house. The question is what brings you here—you whose duty lay in faithful service while I was away. Ah, Jack! your eyes fall. I was terribly mistaken in you. We know all. Colonel Bob Rocket, a sheriff from Denver, left this house not more than fifteen minutes ago. He wants you.”
The young man’s appearance has undergone a terrible change. Sudden fear sets its stamp upon his face. For days he has kept this panic away from his mind by continual libations, so that he has been in a hilarious condition. Without warning the mask drops and he finds himself face to face with the man who has trusted him. All is known. The end is at hand—the terrible termination that generally winds up such cases as his. Before his eyes looms up the penitentiary or perhaps the dreadful fate of a suicide.
Caught!
No wonder his head hangs in shame—no wonder he dares not meet the eye of the man he so basely deceived.
“Jack, how much of that money have you squandered?” asks the president firmly.
“Less than a thousand, sir.”
Jack seems to feel compelled to talk, even against his will. He has been accustomed to manifest the deepest respect for John Atherton.