The Girl in his House - Harold MacGrath (reading fiction .txt) 📗

You will find all the queer places—the places he thought you’d go to—marked in red ink. When he wasn’t poring over that globe he was deep in the encyclopedias.”

Armitage nodded understandingly. Bordman had planned this day years before.

Miss Corrigan continued. “Sometimes he’d talk. You’d swear he’d been everywhere. And besides that, he was a Who’s Who on New York families. You see, there wasn’t much work. He handled three other estates like yours. It seems he notified those clients, transferred the papers, and so forth, the day he intended to leave. I had come to the conclusion that he had suddenly determined to retire with his savings and take one of those tremendous journeys he’d always been dreaming about.”

“He’s taking it—at my expense. What sort of personality?”

“Shy and kindly, and very lonely, I imagine.”

“Family?”

“Never heard of any. I think he was all alone, without kith or kin.”

“Never any woman came to see him?”

“Never a one.”

“I’m going to ask you a big favor. I really haven’t the nerve to do it myself.

Here’s a list of the three banks. Find out if I have anything on the books. See if this building is really still mine. I’ll go out for a short walk.”

“Very well, Mr. Armitage.”

Armitage returned at eleven. The building was still his; but there was nothing in two banks and only about four thousand dollars in the third. On March 1st there had been two hundred and ten thousand dollars in the three banks.

“For a shy and kindly old man he seems to have done pretty well,” was Armitage’s ironical comment. “Have you any idea where those mortgages were kept?”

“No. The boxes at the banks are empty. They are very curious over at the banks to learn what is up. Here’s the mail Morrissy brought up. Suppose we open it?” she suggested.

They sat down at the desk and opened the letters. They found twelve checks, aggregating nearly six thousand. The check was dated July, made out to the Armitage estate, its character indicated in the lower left-hand comer by the word “interest.”

“Congratulations!” she said.

“Are these mine?”

“They are. Don’t you understand?”

“Miss Corrigan, I’m only a benighted grasshopper.”

“And a very poor business man. It means that somewhere you have a trifle over two hundred thousand dollars out in first or second mortgages. I’ve taken these checks over myself many times and deposited them.”

Armitage did rather an unconventional thing. He seized Miss Corrigan by the shoulders and waltzed her around the room. There was a good deal of astonishment and protest in the young woman’s eyes, but there was no resentment. She understood this exuberance. From the abyss of genteel poverty—her own lot—he had been wafted back to affluence, to the old order of things.

“I hope you’ll forgive me. Miss Corrigan,” he said, suddenly releasing her.

“It was rather unexpected.” Her laughter had a break in it. There was a bit of color in her cheeks as she patted her hair.

“Where can I find a sign-painter?” he asked.

“A painter?”

“Yes. I’m going to rub out that ‘Bordman’ and substitute ‘Armitage.’ I’ve got some eggs left in the basket, and maybe I’m not going to watch them hereafter! I’m coming down here regularly every morning. I’m going to learn how the ant does it. My grasshopper days are over. I wonder if we can get into that safe.”

“Wait a moment,” said Miss Corrigan. Once more she had recourse to the notebooks. After a few minutes she returned triumphantly. “I know the combination. I used to open the safe sometimes. Nothing of real value inside—ledgers. He gave me the combination and I wrote it down here.”

They found the estate ledgers and a sealed envelope, the latter addressed in this formal legal style:

Attention James Armitage

Armitage opened it. In a neat flowing hand, with characteristic little curlicues and flourishes and shaded capitals—curiously reminding him of the script of the Declaration of Independence—Armitage read the following :

You may or may not return some day. This is against the possibility of your return. You went away with a broken heart. But hearts never break, my son; they wear out, wither, and die. So no doubt some day you will return. I confess I always rather admired you, you were so different from the run of your breed. The personalities of your father and mother were strong and individualistic, and no doubt they reacted upon your own. But somehow you never struck me as a personality, as an individual; rather you were a type. You were born to riches; you had no ordinary wish that money could not instantly supply; you seemed to be without real interest in life, bored. You were to me a cipher drawn on a blackboard; something visible through the agency of chalk, but representing—nothing. I have helped myself to half your fortune, because I am basically tender of heart. Had you been a wastrel, I should have taken everything. But the spirit in you was generous and kindly. I don’t suppose you ever did a mean thing—or an interesting thing. Going into the wildernesses as you have done may teach you some sound facts regarding life. Don’t worry about me. What I have done does not appear to me as a crime. I have merely relieved you of half of your responsibilities and half your boredom. I knew, the moment you turned over that power of attorney to me, what I was eventually going to do, provided you remained away long enough. Don’t bother to pursue me; you would only waste your time and money.

Samuel Bordman.

“The infernal cheek of him!” cried Armitage, hotly. “But I’ll keep the letter in my pocket. Whenever I feel proud of myself I’ll take it out and read it. I say, Miss Corrigan, if you’ll take the old job back again, it’s yours at any salary you say.”

Miss Corrigan was twenty-eight; she had no illusions. She looked at Armitage thoughtfully. She knew that she could trust this man absolutely; but she was not sure of herself. A great moment had come into her drab life, and resolutely she closed the door upon it.

At length she shook her head. “Thank you, Mr. Armitage, but I’ll keep the job I’ve got.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, quite oblivious to the little tragedy in her smile.