Success | Page 8

S 0027, and restored that receptacle to its place. Meantime the knocking continued impatiently, presently pointed by a deep--
"Any one inside there?"
"Yes," said Banneker, opening to face the bulky old man who had cared for the wounded. "What's wanted?"
Uninvited, and with an assured air, the visitor stepped in.
"I am Horace Vanney," he announced.
Banneker waited.
"Do you know my name?"
"No."
In no wise discountenanced by the matter-of-fact negative, Mr. Vanney, still unsolicited, took a chair. "You would if you read the newspapers," he observed.
"I do."
"The New York papers," pursued the other, benignly explanatory. "It doesn't matter. I came in to say that I shall make it my business to report your energy and efficiency to your superiors."
"Thank you," said Banneker politely.
"And I can assure you that my commendation will carry weight. Weight, sir."
The agent accepted this with a nod, obviously unimpressed. In fact, Mr. Vanney suspected with annoyance, he was listening not so much to these encouraging statements as to some unidentified noise outside. The agent raised the window and addressed some one who had approached through the steady drive of the rain. A gauntleted hand thrust through the window a slip of paper which he took. As he moved, a ray of light from the lamp, unblocked by his shoulder, fell upon the face of the person in the darkness, illuminating it to the astounded eyes of Mr. Horace Vanney.
"Two of them are going home with me," said a voice. "Will you send these wires to the addresses?"
"All right," replied Banneker, "and thank you. Good-night."
"Who was that?" barked Mr. Vanney, half rising.
"A friend of mine."
"I would swear to that face." He seemed quite excited. "I would swear to it anywhere. It is unforgettable. That was Camilla Van Arsdale. Was she in the wreck?"
"No."
"Don't tell me that it wasn't she! Don't try to tell me, for I won't believe it."
"I'm not trying to tell you anything," Banneker pointed out.
"True; you're not. You're close-mouthed enough. But--Camilla Van Arsdale! Incredible! Does she live here?"
"Here or hereabouts."
"You must give me the address. I must surely go and see her."
"Are you a friend of Miss Van Arsdale?"
"I could hardly say so much. A friend of her family, rather. She would remember me, I am sure. And, in any case, she would know my name. Where did you say she lived?"
"I don't think I said."
"Mystery-making!" The big man's gruffness had a suggestion of amusement in it. "But of course it would be simple enough to find out from town."
"See here, Mr. Vanney, Miss Van Arsdale is still something of an invalid--"
"After all these years," interposed the other, in the tone of one who ruminates upon a marvel.
"--and I happen to know that it isn't well for--that is, she doesn't care to see strangers, particularly from New York."
The old man stared. "Are you a gentleman?" he asked with abrupt surprise.
"A gentleman?" repeated Banneker, taken aback.
"I beg your pardon," said the visitor earnestly. "I meant no offense. You are doubtless quite right. As for any intrusion, I assure you there will be none."
Banneker nodded, and with that nod dismissed the subject quite as effectually as Mr. Horace Vanney himself could have done. "Did you attend all the injured?" he asked.
"All the serious ones, I think."
"Was there a young girl among them, dark and good-looking, whose name began--"
"The one my addle-brained young nephew has been pestering me about? Miss I. O. W.?"
"Yes. He reported her to me."
"I handled no such case that I recall. Now, as to your own helpfulness, I wish to make clear that I appreciate it."
Mr. Vanney launched into a flowery tribute of the after-dinner variety, leaning forward to rest a hand upon Banneker's desk as he spoke. When the speech was over and the hand withdrawn, something remained among the strewn papers. Banneker regarded it with interest. It showed a blotch of yellow upon green and a capital C. Picking it up, he looked from it to its giver.
"A little tribute," said that gentleman: "a slight recognition of your services." His manner suggested that hundred-dollar bills were inconsiderable trifles, hardly requiring the acknowledgment of thanks.
In this case the bill did not secure such acknowledgment.
"You don't owe me anything," stated the agent. "I can't take this!"
"What! Pride? Tut-tut."
"Why not?" asked Banneker.
Finding no immediate and appropriate answer to this simple question, Mr. Vanney stared.
"The company pays me. There's no reason why you should pay me. If anything, I ought to pay you for what you did at the wreck. But I'm not proposing to. Of course I'm putting in my report a statement about your help."
Mr. Vanney's cheek flushed. Was this composed young hireling making sport of him?
"Tut-tut!" he said again, this time with obvious intent to chide in his manner. "If I see fit to signify my appreciation--remember, I am old enough to be your father."
"Then you ought