The Fortune Hunter | Page 8

pulled up and groaned, for Willy's insistence had frustrated his design: Kellogg had suddenly become alive to his attitude and hailed him over the heads of Long and Miller.
"Nat, I say! Where the devil are you going?"
"Over to the hotel," said Duncan.
"The deuce you are! What hotel?"
"The one I'm stopping at."
"Not on your life. You're not going just yet--I haven't had half a chance to talk to you. Robbins, take Mr. Duncan's things."
Duncan, set upon by Robbins, who had been hovering round for just that purpose, lifted his shoulders in resignation, turning back into the room as Miller and Long said good-night to him and left at Bartlett's heels, and smiled awry in semi-humorous deprecation of the way in which he let Kellogg out-manoeuvre him. When it came to that, it was hard to refuse Kellogg anything; he had that way with him. Especially if one liked him... And how could anyone help liking him?
Kellogg had him now, holding him fast by either shoulder, at arm's length, and shaking a reproving head at his friend. "You big duffer!" he said. "Did you think for a minute I'd let you throw me down like that?"
Duncan stood passive, faintly amused and touched by the other's show of affection. "No," he said, "I didn't really think so. But it was worth trying on, of course."
"Look here, have you dined?"
'At this suggestion Duncan stiffened and fell back. "No, but--"
Kellogg swept the ground from under his feet. "Robbins," he told the man, "order in dinner for two from the club, and tell 'em to hurry it up."
"Yes, sir," said Robbins, and flew to obey before Duncan could get a chance to countermand his part in the order.
"And now," continued Kellogg, "we've got the whole evening before us in which to chin. Sit down." He led Duncan to an arm-chair and gently but firmly plumped him into its capacious depths. "We'll have a snug little dinner here and--what do you say to taking in a show afterwards?"
"I say no."
"You dassent, my boy. This is the night we celebrate. I'm feeling pretty good to-night."
"You ought to, Harry." Duncan struggled to rouse himself to share in the spirit of gratulation with which Kellogg was bubbling. "I'm mighty glad, old man. It's a great step up for you."
"It's all of that. You could have knocked me over with a feather when Bartlett sprang it on me this morning. Of course, I was expecting something--a boost in salary, or something like that. Bartlett knew that other houses in the Street had made me offers--I've been pretty lucky of late and pulled off one or two rather big deals--but a partnership with L.J. Bartlett--! Think of it, Nat!"
"I'm thinking of it--and it's great."
"It'll keep me mighty busy," Kellogg blundered blindly on; "it means a lot of extra work--but you know I like to work...."
"That's right, you do," agreed Duncan drearily. "It's queer to me--it must be a great thing to like to work."
"You bet it's a great thing; why, I couldn't exist if I couldn't work. You remember that time I laid off for a month in the country--for my health's sake? I'll never forget it: hanging round all the time with my hands empty--everyone else with something to do. I wouldn't go through with it again for a fortune. Never felt so useless and in the way--"
"But," interrupted Duncan, knitting his brows as he grappled with this problem, "you were independent, weren't you? You had money--could pay your board?"
"Of course; nevertheless, I felt in the way."
"That's funny...."
"It's straight."
"I know it is; it wouldn't be you if you didn't love work. It wouldn't be me if I did.... Look here, Harry; suppose you didn't have any money and couldn't pay your board--and had nothing to do. How'd you feel in that case?"
"I don't know. Anyhow, that's rot--"
"No, it isn't rot. I'm trying to make you understand how I feel when--when it's that way with me.... As it generally is." He raised one hand and let it fall with a gesture of despondency so eloquent that it roused Kellogg out of his own preoccupation.
"Why, Nat!" he cried, genuinely sympathetic. "I've been so taken up with myself that I forgot.... I hadn't looked for you till to-morrow."
"You knew, then?"
"I met Atwater at lunch to-day. He told me; said he was sorry, but--"
"Yes. Everybody is always sorry, _but_--"
Kellogg let his hand fall on Duncan's shoulder. "I'm sorry, too, old man. But don't lose heart. I know it's pretty tough on a fellow--"
"The toughest part of it is that you got the job for me--and I had to fall down."
"Don't think of that. It's not your fault--"
"You're the only man who believes that, Harry."
"Buck up. I'll stumble across some better opening for you before long, and--"
"Stop right there. I'm through--"
"Don't talk that way, Nat. I'll