Brewsters Millions | Page 5

and an unfortunate
speculation of his had swept away all that had fallen to her from her
father, the late Judge Merriweather. For years she kept the old home
unencumbered, teaching French and English until Margaret was well in
her teens. The girl was sent to one of the good old boarding-schools on
the Hudson and came out well prepared to help her mother in the battle
to keep the wolf down and appearances up. Margaret was rich in
friendships; and pride alone stood between her and the advantages they
offered. Good-looking, bright, and cheerful, she knew no natural
privations. With a heart as light and joyous as a May morning, she
faced adversity as though it was a pleasure, and no one would have

suspected that even for a moment her courage wavered.
Now that Brewster had come into his splendid fortune he could
conceive no greater delight than to share it with them. To walk into the
little drawing-room and serenely lay large sums before them as their
own seemed such a natural proceeding that he refused to see an
obstacle. But he knew it was there; the proffer of such a gift to Mrs.
Gray would mean a wound to the pride inherited from haughty
generations of men sufficient unto themselves. There was a small but
troublesome mortgage on the house, a matter of two or three thousand
dollars, and Brewster tried to evolve a plan by which he could assume
the burden without giving deep and lasting offense. A hundred wild
designs had come to him, but they were quickly relegated to the
growing heap of subterfuges and pretexts condemned by his tenderness
for the pride of these two women who meant so much to him.
Leaving the bank, he hastened, by electric car, to Fortieth Street and
Broadway, and then walked eagerly off into the street of the numeral.
He had not yet come to the point where he felt like scorning the cars,
even though a roll of banknotes was tucked snugly away in a pocket
that seemed to swell with sudden affluence. Old Hendrick, faithful
servitor through two generations, was sweeping the autumn leaves from
the sidewalk when Montgomery came up to the house.
"Hello, Hendrick," was the young man's cheery greeting. "Nice lot of
leaves you have there."
"So?" ebbed from Hendrick, who did not even so much as look up from
his work. Hendrick was a human clam.
"Mrs. Gray in?"
A grunt that signified yes.
"You're as loquacious as ever, Hendrick."
A mere nod.

Brewster let himself in with his own latch key, threw his hat on a chair
and unceremoniously bolted into the library. Margaret was seated near
a window, a book in her lap. The first evidence of unbiased friendship
he had seen in days shone in her smile. She took his hand and said
simply, "We are glad to welcome the prodigal to his home again."
"I remind myself more of the fatted calf."
His first self-consciousness had gone.
"I thought of that, but I didn't dare say it," she laughed. "One must be
respectful to rich relatives."
"Hang your rich relatives, Peggy; if I thought that this money would
make any difference I would give it up this minute."
"Nonsense, Monty," she said. "How could it make a difference? But
you must admit it is rather startling. The friend of our youth leaves his
humble dwelling Saturday night with his salary drawn for two weeks
ahead. He returns the following Thursday a dazzling millionaire."
"I'm glad I've begun to dazzle, anyway. I thought it might be hard to
look the part."
"Well, I can't see that you are much changed." There was a suggestion
of a quaver in her voice, and the shadows did not prevent him from
seeing the quick mist that flitted across her deep eyes.
"After all, it's easy work being a millionaire," he explained, "when
you've always had million-dollar inclinations."
"And fifty-cent possibilities," she added.
"Really, though, I'll never get as much joy out of my abundant riches as
I did out of financial embarrassments."
"But think how fine it is, Monty, not ever to wonder where your
winter's overcoat is to come from and how long the coal will last, and
all that."

"Oh, I never wondered about my overcoats; the tailor did the
wondering. But I wish I could go on living here just as before. I'd a
heap rather live here than at that gloomy place on the avenue." "That
sounded like the things you used to say when we played in the garret.
You'd a heap sooner do this than that--don't you remember?"
"That's just why I'd rather live here, Peggy. Last night I fell to thinking
of that old garret, and hanged if something didn't come up and stick in