The Sign at Six | Page 8

he wants is a job of action--something out West--or in the construction of our great and good city. Now, if I had a political pull, instead of a scientific twist, I could land Jack in a minute. Why don't you try that?"
But Helen slowly shook her head.
"Father and McCarthy are enemies," she said simply. She arose with an air of weariness. "How dark it's getting!" she said, and pressed the electric button in the wall.
The light did not respond.
"That's queer," she remarked, and pulled the chain that controlled the reading light on the table. That, too, failed to illuminate. "Something must be wrong with those things at the meter--what do you call them?"
"Fuses," suggested Darrow.
"Yes, that's it. I'll ring and have Blake screw in another."
Darrow was staring at a small object he had taken from his pocket. It was the electric flash-light he habitually carried to light his way up the three dark flights at his lodgings.
"Let me call him for you," he suggested, rising.
"I'll ring," said Helen.
But Darrow was already in the hall.
"Blake!" he called down the basement stairway. "Bring lamps--or candles."
The man appeared on the word, carrying a lamp.
"I already had this, sir," he explained. "The lights went out some time ago."
"Did you look at the--fuses?" asked Helen.
"Yes, miss."
"Well, telephone to the electric company at once. We must have light."
Percy Darrow had taken his place again in the armchair by the fire.
"It is useless," said he, quietly.
"Useless!" echoed Helen. "What do you mean?" Blake stood quietly at attention.
"You will find your telephone also out of order."
Helen darted from the room, only to return after a moment, laughing.
"You are a true wizard," she said. "Tell me, how did you know? What has happened?"
"A city," stated Percy didactically, "is like a mollusk; it depends largely for its life and health on the artificial shell it has constructed. Unless I am very much mistaken, this particular mollusk is going to get a chance to try life without its shell."
"I don't understand you," said Helen.
"You will," said Percy Darrow.
Mr. and Mrs. Warford descended soon after. They sat down to dinner by the light of the table candles only. Darrow hardly joined at all in the talk, but sat lost in a brown study, from which he only roused sufficiently to accept or refuse the dishes offered him. At about eight o'clock the telephone bell clicked a single stroke, as though the circuit had been closed. At the sound Darrow started, then reached swiftly into his pocket for his little flash-light. He gravely pressed the button of this; then abruptly rose.
"I must use your telephone," said he, without apology.
He was gone barely a minute; then returned to the table with a clouded brow. Almost immediately after the company had arisen from the board, he excused himself and left.
After he had assumed his coat, however, he returned for a final word with Helen.
"Where is Jack this evening?" he asked.
"Dining out with friends. Why?"
"Will you see him to-night?"
"I can if necessary."
"Do. Tell him to come down to my room as near eight o'clock to-morrow morning as he can. I've changed my mind."
"Oh!" cried Helen joyously. "Then you've concluded I'm right, after all?"
"No," said Darrow; "but if this thing carries out to its logical conclusion, I'm going to need a good bull-terrier pup!"
CHAPTER V
A SCIENTIST IN PINK SILK
The next morning promptly at eight o'clock Jack Warford, in response to a muttered invitation, burst excitedly into Percy Darrow's room. He found the scientist, draped in a pale-pink silk kimono embroidered with light-blue butterflies, scraping methodically at his face with a safety-razor. At the sight the young fellow came to an abrupt stop, as though some one had met him with a dash of cold water in the face.
"Hello!" said he, in a constrained voice. "Just up?"
Darrow cast a glance through his long silky lashes at the newcomer.
"Yes, my amiable young canine, just up."
Jack looked somewhat puzzled at the appellation, but seated himself.
"Helen said you wanted to see me," he suggested.
Darrow leisurely cleaned the component parts of his safety-razor, washed and anointed his face, and turned.
"I do," said he, "if you're game."
"Of course I'm game!" cried the boy indignantly.
Darrow surveyed his fresh, young, eager face and the trim taut bulk of him with dispassionate eyes.
"Are you?" he remarked simply. "Possibly. But you're not the man to be sure of it."
"I didn't mean it as bragging," cried Jack, flushing.
"Surely not," drawled Darrow, stretching out his long legs. "But no man can tell whether or not he's game until he's tried out. That's no reflection on him, either. I remember once I went through seeing my best friend murdered; being shot at a dozen times myself as I climbed a cliff; seeing a pirate ship destroyed with all on board, apparently by the hand of Providence; escaping from a big