The Abandoned Room | Page 5

himself
why during the last few months he had avoided the Cedars, why he had
drifted into too vivid a life in New York. It increased his anger that he
hesitated to give himself a frank answer. But always at such moments it
was Katherine rather than his grandfather who entered his mind. He
had cared too much for her, and lately, beyond question, the bond of
their affection had weakened.
He raised his glass and drank. He set the glass down quickly as if he
would have liked to hide it. A big man, clear-eyed and handsome,
walked into the room and came straight to the little group in the corner.
Bobby tried to carry it off.
"'Lo, Hartley, old preacher. You fellows all know Hartley Graham? Sit
down. We're going to have a little cocktail."
Graham looked at the glasses, shaking his head.
"If you've time, Bobby, I'd like a word with you."
"No preaching," Bobby bargained. "It isn't Sunday."
Graham laughed pleasantly.
"It's about money. That talks any day."

Bobby edged a way out and followed Graham to an unoccupied room.
There the big man turned on him.
"See here, Bobby! When are you going out to the Cedars?"
Bobby flushed.
"You're a dear friend, Hartley, and I've always loved you, but I'm in no
mood for preaching tonight. Besides, I've got my own life to lead"--he
glanced away--"my own reasons for leading it."
"I'm not going to preach," Graham answered seriously, "although it's
obvious you're raising the devil with your life. I wanted to tell you that
I've had a note from Katherine to-day. She says your grandfather's
threats are taking too much form; that the new will's bound to come
unless you do something. She cares too much for you, Bobby, to see
you throw everything away. She's asked me to persuade you to go out."
"Why didn't she write to me?"
"Have you been very friendly with Katherine lately? And that's not fair.
You're both without parents. You owe Katherine something on that
account."
Bobby didn't answer, because it was clear that while Katherine's
affection for him had weakened, her friendship for Graham had grown
too fast. Looking at the other he didn't wonder.
"There's another thing," Graham was saying. "The gloomy old Cedars
has got on Katherine's nerves, and she says there's been a change in the
old man the last few days--wanders around as if he were afraid of
something."
Bobby laughed outright.
"Him afraid of something! It's always been his system to make
everybody and everything afraid of him. But you're right about
Katherine. We have always depended on each other. I think I'll go out

after dinner."
"Then come have a bite with me," Graham urged. "I'll see you off
afterward. If you catch the eight-thirty you ought to be out there before
half-past ten."
Bobby shook his head.
"An engagement for dinner, Hartley. I'm expecting Carlos Paredes to
pick me up here any minute."
Graham's disapproval was belligerent.
"Why, in the name of heaven, Bobby, do you run around with that
damned Panamanian? Steer him off to-night. I've argued with you
before. It's unpleasant, I know, but the man carries every mark of
crookedness."
"Easy with my friends, Hartley! You don't understand Carlos. He's
good fun when you know him--awfully good fun."
"So," Graham said, "is this sort of thing. Too many cocktails, too much
wine. Paredes has the same pleasant, dangerous quality."
A club servant entered.
"In the reception room, Mr. Blackburn."
Bobby took the card, tore it into little bits, and dropped them one by
one into the waste-paper basket.
"Tell him I'll be right out." He turned to Graham.
"Sorry you don't like my playmates. I'll probably run out after dinner
and let the old man terrorize me as a cure for his own fear. Pleasant
prospect! So long."
Graham caught at his arm.

"I'm sorry. Can't we forget to-night that we disagree about Paredes? Let
me dine with you."
Bobby's laugh was uncomfortable.
"Come on, if you wish, and be my guardian angel. God knows I need
one."
He walked across the hall and into the reception room. The light was
not brilliant there. One or two men sat reading newspapers about a
green-shaded lamp on the centre table, but Bobby didn't see Paredes at
first. Then from the obscurity of a corner a form, tall and graceful,
emerged with a slow monotony of movement suggestive of stealth. The
man's dark, sombre eyes revealed nothing. His jet-black hair, parted in
the middle, and his carefully trimmed Van Dyke beard gave him an air
of distinction, an air, at the same time, a trifle too reserved. For a
moment, as the green light stained his face unhealthily, Bobby could
understand Graham's aversion. He brushed the idea aside.
"Glad you've