Indiscretions of Archie | Page 6

a summer
hotel in the mountains, purchased in the previous year, and he was
toying with the idea of running over to England and putting up another
in London, That, however, would have to wait. Meanwhile, he would
concentrate on this new one down-town. It had kept him busy and
worried, arranging for securing the site; but his troubles were over now.
"Yes?" he said.
Professor Binstead had picked up a small china figure of delicate
workmanship. It represented a warrior of pre-khaki days advancing
with a spear upon some adversary who, judging from the contented
expression on the warrior's face, was smaller than himself.
"Where did you get this?"

"That? Mawson, my agent, found it in a little shop on the east side."
"Where's the other? There ought to be another. These things go in pairs.
They're valueless alone."
Mr. Brewster's brow clouded.
"I know that," he said shortly. "Mawson's looking for the other one
everywhere. If you happen across it, I give you carte blanche to buy it
for me."
"It must be somewhere."
"Yes. If you find it, don't worry about the expense. I'll settle up, no
matter what it is."
"I'll bear it in mind," said Professor Binstead. "It may cost you a lot of
money. I suppose you know that."
"I told you I don't care what it costs."
"It's nice to be a millionaire," sighed Professor Binstead.
"Luncheon is served, sir," said Parker.
He had stationed himself in a statutesque pose behind Mr. Brewster's
chair, when there was a knock at the door. He went to the door, and
returned with a telegram.
"Telegram for you, sir."
Mr. Brewster nodded carelessly. The contents of the chafing-dish had
justified the advance advertising of their odour, and he was too busy to
be interrupted.
"Put it down. And you needn't wait, Parker."
"Very good, sir."

The valet withdrew, and Mr. Brewster resumed his lunch.
"Aren't you going to open it?" asked Professor Binstead, to whom a
telegram was a telegram.
"It can wait. I get them all day long. I expect it's from Lucille, saying
what train she's making."
"She returns to-day?"
"Yes, Been at Miami." Mr. Brewster, having dwelt at adequate length
on the contents of the chafing-dish, adjusted his glasses and took up the
envelope. "I shall be glad--Great Godfrey!"
He sat staring at the telegram, his mouth open. His friend eyed him
solicitously.
"No bad news, I hope?"
Mr. Brewster gurgled in a strangled way.
"Bad news? Bad--? Here, read it for yourself."
Professor Binstead, one of the three most inquisitive men in New York,
took the slip of paper with gratitude.
"'Returning New York to-day with darling Archie,'" he read. "'Lots of
love from us both. Lucille.'" He gaped at his host. "Who is Archie?" he
enquired.
"Who is Archie?" echoed Mr. Brewster helplessly. "Who is--? That's
just what I would like to know."
"'Darling Archie,'" murmured the professor, musing over the telegram.
"'Returning to-day with darling Archie.' Strange!"
Mr. Brewster continued to stare before him. When you send your only
daughter on a visit to Miami minus any entanglements and she
mentions in a telegram that she has acquired a darling Archie, you are

naturally startled. He rose from the table with a bound. It had occurred
to him that by neglecting a careful study of his mail during the past
week, as was his bad habit when busy, he had lost an opportunity of
keeping abreast with current happenings. He recollected now that a
letter had arrived from Lucille some time ago, and that he had put it
away unopened till he should have leisure to read it. Lucille was a dear
girl, he had felt, but her letters when on a vacation seldom contained
anything that couldn't wait a few days for a reading. He sprang for his
desk, rummaged among his papers, and found what he was seeking.
It was a long letter, and there was silence in the room for some
moments while he mastered its contents. Then be turned to the
professor, breathing heavily.
"Good heavens!"
"Yes?" said Professor Binstead eagerly. "Yes?"
"Good Lord!"
"Well?"
"Good gracious!"
"What is it?" demanded the professor in an agony.
Mr. Brewster sat down again with a thud.
"She's married!"
"Married!"
"Married! To an Englishman!"
"Bless my soul!"
"She says," proceeded Mr. Brewster, referring to the letter again, "that
they were both so much in love that they simply had to slip off and get
married, and she hopes I won't be cross. Cross!" gasped Mr. Brewster,

gazing wildly at his friend.
"Very disturbing!"
"Disturbing! You bet it's disturbing! I don't know anything about the
fellow. Never heard of him in my life. She says he wanted a quiet
wedding because he thought a fellow looked such a chump getting
married! And I must