"Do you call that throwing money away? Why the poor little thing looked
as if she needed all the encouragement she could get. I think of
leaving an order with the florist to-morrow to send her half a dozen
every night. Take them in from different parts of the auditorium, you
know, so that she will never suspect they came from the same person."
"And you won’t send your card?"
"Decidedly not!"
"And you don’t want her to know it is you?"
"Decidedly not!"
"Have you taken leave of your senses?"
"Decidedly not! Why, Gurt, don’t you know it would give her a lot more
pleasure to think she was a general favorite than a special one?"
"Decidedly not!" I answered, taking up his cue, "any girl would
rather—but no, on further consideration, I believe you’re right." And
it seemed to me that Torrence was always right.
Later we got into our carriage and were driven to the hotel. The night
was wet and cold, and I was glad to find myself once more in the
cheerful Mustapha. We had a game of billiards, followed by some hot
Scotch and a cigar, and then went to our rooms, and to bed.
Once in the dark and alone I kept revolving in my mind the events of the
day, and of the time since our change of fortune; and naturally fell to
speculating as to the most probable manner in which all this wealth had
been acquired. Nothing I could think of was satisfactory, and one idea
after another was set aside as equally improbable. I suppose I must
have fallen asleep when I began to wonder if the receipt he had shown me
were genuine. It was an unreasonable doubt, and at variance with my
faith in Torrence, and yet it took hold of me as sleeping thoughts some
times will. Had I not seen his money? Why should he not have used it
for hotels as well as anything else? And yet the thought annoyed me, so
that I could not dismiss it; and finally I found myself sitting up in
bed, brooding over it. Lighting my candle I walked quietly across the
room and entered the _salon_. Listening at my brother’s door for a
moment, and making sure that he was asleep, I returned to my own room
and dressed. The lights were still burning brightly all over the house,
and looking at my watch, I saw that it was only a little past midnight.
There could be nothing extraordinary in going to the hotel office and
inquiring in a casual way if the rooms had been paid for. It would set
my mind at rest to have the verbal assurance of the proprietor that they
were. I could not help feeling that it was an underhanded advantage to
take of my sleeping relative; but I was driven by a great fear, and
after a moment’s hesitation, I sped down the stairway into the lobby
below. I sauntered into the billiard room, not so much to see if there
were any players left, as to assume an appearance of merely lounging
about the premises without definite purpose. Half a dozen men were
still plying their cues, and I recognized the one to whom Torrence had
introduced me.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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