Rich Man, Poor Man. Foster Maximilian

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      "'Do you know, I've never been at a dance!'"

      "Funny?" repeated Varick, and she saw his face was grave. "I don't think so. Why?"

      But Bab did not heed. Her face rapt, she still sat smiling at the ceiling.

      Strangers often wondered about Bab. It was not only her face, however, that roused, that held their interest. They marveled, too, that in the dim and dingy surroundings of the boarding house the landlady's little ward had acquired an air, a manner so manifestly above her surroundings. But Bab's history, vague as it was, gave a hint of the reason. Her mother, a woman who had died years before at Mrs. Tilney's, leaving her child in Mrs. Tilney's hands, manifestly had been a woman of refinement. In other words, despite environment Bab's blood had told; and that it had was evidenced by Varick's interest in her. During his months at Mrs. Tilney's he had, in fact, managed to see a good deal of his landlady's pretty ward.

      However, not even this interest, the pleasure he had found in her company, had obscured in the least Bab's perception of the facts. She knew thoroughly her own position. She knew, too, his—that and the gulf it put between them. Young, attractive, a man; the fact that he now was poor had not much altered his social standing. It would remain as it was, too, until he married. Then when he did, his position would be rated by the wealth—that or the lack of it—of the woman who became his wife.

      So, though Varick single might exist with propriety in a boarding house, there was a vast difference between that and a Varick married—a Varick setting up for life, say, in a four-room Harlem flat. And Bab, too, don't forget, was a boarding-house keeper's nameless ward.

      "Tell me something," she said.

      Slipping from her perch, she drew up a chair and, seating herself, bent forward with her chin on her hands.

      "You've heard of the Beestons, haven't you—that family uptown. By any chance do you know them?"

      "The Beestons!"

      She saw him frown, his air amazed. However, though she wondered at the moment at his air, her interest was entirely in what he would answer.

      "Why do you ask?" he inquired.

      "I wanted to know," Bab returned slowly. "I wanted to find out something. Do they ever give parties—dances like the one you're going to tonight? And do you ever go to them?"

      Varick's look grew all the more amazed. He not only knew the Beestons, he had often been in the huge house they occupied in one of the uptown side streets off the Avenue. But though that was true, for some reason the fact did not seem to afford him any great satisfaction. His face suddenly had grown hard.

      "Who told you about them?" he demanded.

      Bab smiled vaguely.

      "There's a boy, isn't there?" she parried. "Old Mr. Beeston's grandson?"

      The look of wonder in his face grew.

      "Who? David Lloyd, you mean? How did you know him?" he questioned.

      "I don't," said Bab, smiling at his vehemence; "I've only heard about him. He's a cripple, isn't he—a hopeless cripple?"

      It proved that all his life Varick had known the boy—the man rather—whom she meant.

      "Look here, Bab," he directed, puzzled, "why do you ask me about those people? I'd like to know that! Will you tell me?"

      She deliberated for a moment.

      "It was something I heard," she said then, hesitating.

      "Here? In this house?" he questioned, all the more amazed; and Bab nodded.

      "I heard Mr. Mapy say it," she returned.

      Varick in return gazed at her, his face a picture.

      "Mr. Mapy," he knew, meant Mr. Mapleson. He knew, too, like the other boarders, Bab's interest in the quaint, gray-faced little man, his next-door neighbor upstairs. True, Bab often laughed blithely at Mr. Mapleson, teasing him endlessly for his idiosyncrasies; but otherwise, as also Varick knew, her heart held for the queer, curious little man a deep well of tenderness, of love and gentle understanding. However, that was not the point. What had Mapleson to do with David Lloyd? What had a musty, antiquated Pine Street clerk to do with any of the Beestons? Now that he thought of it, there was something else, too, that Varick would have liked to know.

      For the past ten days—for a fortnight, in fact—he had felt indefinably that something queer was going on in that room next to his. Night after night, long after Mrs. Tilney's other guests had sought their rest, he had heard Mr. Mapleson softly stirring about. Again and again, too, he could hear him whispering, mumbling to himself. What is more, Varick was not the only one who had been disturbed. A few nights before, quite late, too, he heard a hand rap abruptly at Mr. Mapleson's door. Startled, a moment later he had heard someone speak. It was Jessup!

      "Mapleson," Jessup had demanded; "what are you up to, man?"

      Varick had not caught the reply; for, after a startled exclamation, Mr. Mapleson had dropped his voice to a whisper. But Varick had heard enough. What, indeed, was Mr. Mapleson up to?

      Bab's eyes grew vague. Then she laughed. The laugh, though, was a little strained, a little less free than usual. Then her eyes fell and a faint tide of color crept up into her face and neck.

      "Honest Injun now," she again laughed awkwardly, "don't you know what's happening?"

      Varick shook his head, and Bab, her eyes on his, bit her lip reflectively. That question she longed to ask him hovered on her lips now, and with it there had come into her face an air of wistfulness. Her blue eyes clouded faintly.

      "Tell me," she said, and hesitated—"tell me something. If at the dance tonight—the dance you're going to—if—if things were changed; and I—you——"

      Varick nodded quietly.

      "Yes," he prompted, "if I——"

      "If I were there," said Bab; "if things were changed and I——"

      Again she paused. Her eyes, too, fell suddenly. Then she caught her lip between her teeth.

      "Yes, Bab," encouraged Varick; "if what were changed?"

      But Bab did not reply. Of a sudden, as she raised her eyes to his, a great wave of color rushed into her face, mantling her to the eyes. Of a sudden, too, the eyes fell, dropping before his look. Her confusion was furious СКАЧАТЬ