The Quicksands of Pactolus, Book II, Part X-XI [pp. 411-418]

THE QUICKSANDS OF PACTOLUS.
"I believe in the stimulus of change."
"I should like to take her along," murmured Mr. Barrington, stroking his beard.
"It would brace me up, too, to talk over
with her my affairs. A man must talk,
Doctor, even if he has to practise on his
own wife. Yes, yes, I shall take your
advice. We will make a regular honeymoon of it- hey? Darby and Joan
capital!"
His rugged face brightened as he made
his plans. Certainly, he reflected, Fortescue was a man of talent, of genius.
"How is the horse I gave you?" he
asked, with something of his normal
cheeriness. "What have you named
him?"
"I call him Dick, sir,- after your son."
"I wish Dick had some of your sense.
He is cranky. Have you heard from him
lately?"
Fortescue detected a note of anxiety in
his voice.
"I had a letter only last night. Would
you care to read it? "
Mr. Barrington held out his right hand
and fumbled with the other for his
glasses.'
"My dear Cyrus," the letter began.
Stern necessity, with the clavos trabales, the
classic spikes, has nailed me at last. I am actually earning my bread and butter and eating it
with the utmost relish, as a reporter on the staff
of the Enquirer. I met a man, Cassius Quirk,
who considers himself under obligations to me for
a trifling service I once rendered him. He has
thrown some rather amusing work my way. His
paper - the Enquirer aforesaid - is getting up one
of their big editions and the crowning feature of
the enterprise is to be a series of interviews with
the officers of the labor organizations. The reporters engaged in collecting the material have
stringent instructions. We are permitted to drape
appropriately the ideas of the interviewed, but
are denied the right of individual expression,
which is quite as it should be. I will write you
again, but cannot give you my address, as I am
constantly on the move.
"Si quis me quaeret Rufus,-which loosely construed means, if my dear old daddy asks any
questions,- tell him that I am fit as a fiddle, and
studying men without manners. I have had already some queer adventures. Take care of
yourself.
CHESTER BARRINGTON.
P. S. Jewelry being obviously out of place
even in my name, I have dispensed with the
"ring," and am known to my many unwashed
friends as Chester Barton.
"The boy has the pride of Satan," remarked his father as he returned the letter to Fortescue. "He won't touch his
allowance. But this work may do him
good and open his eyes. He has an idea,"
- the old man laughed harshly, -" that
poor men are honest."
"He is an excellent fellow," said Fortescue warmly.
"He is a fool," snapped Mr. Barrington. "But he will come to his senses.
I wash my hands of him. When he tires
of quill-driving and the elevating society
of the Knights of Labor, 1 shall expect an
apology. You can tell him so from me.
And now, Doctor, I wish to speak to you
upon another subject very near my heart.
Our relations have been so confidential
that I have no hesitation in discussing
frankly with you the unhappy relations
that exist between my daughter and her
husband."
He paused. The two men were sitting
in the library, and the luxury of its appointments seemed to strike the owner
suddenly.
"I would cheerfully exchange all of
this," he waved his hand, "for a fourroom cottage on a mountain claim, if I
could make my wife a well woman and
undo that wretched marriage."
These emphatic words touched Fortescue. He had not given the banker credit
for such sentiments.
"1 fear," continued Mr. Barrington,
"that Desmond drinks very heavily."
Fortescue nodded. Desmond's remarkable capacity for cocktails was becoming
the talk of the town.
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