American fiction -- 20th century; Short stories, American
The Professor followed her glance with a stare of fresh amazement.
Through the half-open window a young man in tennis flannels had strolled
into the room.
“My Taber,” the Princess breathed, “this is my benefactor—_our_
benefactor—this is....”
Taber Tring gently removed the perfect arms which were already
tightening about his neck. “I know who he is,” he said in a hard high
tone. “That’s why I’ve been running away from him ever since early this
morning.”
His good-humoured boyish face was absolutely decomposed by distress.
Without vouchsafing the least attention to the Princess he stood
pallidly but resolutely facing her visitor.
“I’ve been running for all I was worth; at least till a quarter of an
hour ago. Then I suddenly pulled up short and said to myself: ‘Taber
Tring, this won’t do. You were born in the Middle West, but your parents
came from New England, and now’s the time to prove it if you’re ever
going to. Stern and rockbound coast, and _Mayflower_ and all the rest of
it. If there’s anything in it, it ought to come out now.’ And, by George
it _did_; and here I am, ready to make a clean breast of it.”
He drew a silk handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped his brow, which
was as damp with agony as the Professor’s.
But the Professor’s patience had reached its final limit, and he was
determined, whatever happened, to hold all interrupters at bay till he
had made a clean breast of his own.
“I don’t know, sir,” he said, “why you avoided my presence this morning
nor why you now seek it; but since you are connected with this lady by
so close a tie, there is no reason why I should not continue in your
presence what I had begun to tell her. I repeat then, Madam, that with
your hundred franc note in my hand, I approached a table and staked the
sum with results so unexpectedly and incredibly favourable that I left
the gaming-rooms just before midnight in possession of—”
“Ninety-nine thousand seven hundred francs and no centimes,” Taber Tring
interposed.
The Professor received this with a gasp of astonishment; but everything
which was happening was so foreign to all the laws of probability as
experienced at Purewater that it did not long arrest his attention.
“You have stated the sum accurately,” he said; “but you do not know that
I am no longer in possession of a penny of it.”
“Oh, don’t I?” groaned Taber Tring, wiping a fresh outbreak of moisture
from his forehead.
The Professor stopped short. “You do know? Ah, but to be sure. You were
yourself a fellow-boarder at _Arcadie_. You were perhaps under its roof
when that disastrous fire broke out and destroyed the whole of the large
sum of money I had so negligently left—”
“Under the door!” shrieked Taber Tring. “Under the door of your room,
which happened to be the one next to mine.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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