“You mean Bob Rocket. I can fix the matter up with him. In that case it’s only a question of dollars and cents. Under the circumstances I feel as though I had made a wise move. Almost the entire sum recovered, and poor Jack given a chance to redeem himself. What a strange fatality led him to this place to-night. It was probably a fortunate thing for him, as the colonel by this time would have had hold of him.”
There is much that Wycherley does not understand, but he is not in a position to ask questions, so he guesses how things have gone. Aleck is relieved in several ways. There remains one more cause for speculation—the presence of Adela under this roof. Will she continue to keep her presence a secret from the man who was once her husband? Seeing her boy must indeed be a source of mingled joy and grief, since, yearning to make herself known, she dares not for fear of being repulsed.
If the opportunity comes, he means to see her again and find out if something cannot be done to ease her last steps through life, for the end is not far away—Aleck is enough of a physician to read that in the hectic flush on her cheeks.
They pass out among the guests. At the first opportunity Aleck tells Wycherley about her presence here, and that worthy is surprised, but knowing her story, soon grasps the situation. Can anything be done to aid her cause? They hardly dare approach the stern old man with the story, not being able to hazard a guess as to how he will take it. Something they have not counted on takes a hand in the game—the same power that brought Jack Phœnix to the house where his employer chanced to be—that peculiar combination of circumstances known as Fate.
CHAPTER XXIV.
HER ATONEMENT.
The strains of music from the hidden orchestra rise and fall to the time of a popular march. No longer the low serenade or the sad sweet lullaby that falls like the rippling of running water on the ears of those who converse, but the strong, joyous marching music that means in so many words, “get your partner and advance upon the food that has been prepared by the first caterer of the World’s Fair City.”
Double doors glide open and a royal spread is disclosed, as only a millionaire can afford in such tight times. There is the usual delightful bustle; a dozen seem imbued with the same thought, and seek out Miss Dorothy only to find that the “young wooer from over the border” has been too quick for Chicago, since she is already at the head of the line, with Aleck Craig at her side.
The feast is a jolly time. Light of heart are those present. The hard times give them no occasion for worry. Not once does a soul present, in the midst of this abundance, cast a single thought upon the thousands who see the coming of fall and winter with dread because that they have no work.
These butterflies of fashion know little of corroding care. The value of the gems sparkling upon the persons of millionaires’ wives and daughters at Samson Cereal’s reception would keep food in the families of all Chicago’s poor for a twelvemonth.