The Sins of Séverac Bablon | Page 3

friend, he had
not looked in a mirror for nine months, but relied implicitly upon the
good taste of his man.
"Come up and give me your opinion of the new waistcoats," said
Rohscheimer. "I don't fancy my luck in 'em, personally."
Following the financier to his dressing-room, Haredale, as a smart maid
stood aside to let them pass, felt the girl's hand slip a note into his own.
Glancing at it, behind Rohscheimer's back, he read: "Keep him away as
much as ever you can."
"She has spotted him!" he muttered; and, in his sympathy with the
difficulties of poor Mrs. Rohscheimer's position, he forgot, temporarily,
the difficulties of his own.

"By the way," said Rohscheimer, "did you bring along that late edition
with the details of the Runek Mill business?"
"Yes," said Haredale, producing it from his overcoat pocket.
"Just read it out, will you?" continued the other, "while I have a rub
down."
Haredale nodded, and, lighting a cigarette, sank into a deep arm-chair
and read the following paragraph:
"A FAIRY GODMOTHER IN ONTARIO
"(From our Toronto Correspondent)
"The identity of the philanthropist who indemnified the ex-employees
of the Runek Mill still remains a mystery. Beyond the fact that his
name, real or assumed, is Séverac Bablon, nothing whatever is known
regarding him. The business was recently acquired by J. J. Oppner, who
will be remembered for his late gigantic operation on Wall Street, and
the whole of the working staff received immediate notice to quit. No
reason is assigned for this wholesale dismissal. But each of the 2,000
men thus suddenly thrown out of employment received at his home, in
a plain envelope, stamped with the Three Rivers postmark, the sum of
one hundred dollars, and a typed slip bearing the name, 'Séverac
Bablon.' Mr. Oppner had been approached, but is very reticent upon the
subject. There is a rumour circulating here to the effect that he himself
is the donor. But I have been unable to obtain confirmation of this."
"It wouldn't be Oppner," spluttered Rohscheimer, appearing, towel in
hand. "He's not such a fool! Sounds like one of these 'Yellow' fables to
me."
Haredale shrugged his shoulders, dropping the paper on the rug.
"A man at once wealthy and generous is an improbable, but not an
impossible, being," he said.

Rohscheimer stared, dully. There were times when he suspected
Haredale of being studiously rude to him. He preserved a gloomy
silence throughout the rest of the period occupied by his toilet, and in
silence descended to the ballroom.
The throng was considerable, and the warmth oppressive at what time
Mrs. Rohscheimer's ball was in full swing. Scarcely anyone was
dancing, but the walls were well lined, and the crush about the doors
suggestive of a cup tie.
"Who's that tall chap with the white hair?" inquired Rohscheimer from
the palmy corner to which Haredale discreetly had conveyed him.
"That is the Comte de Noeue," replied his informant; "a distinguished
member of the French diplomatic corps."
"We're getting on!" chuckled the millionaire. "He's a good man to have,
isn't he Haredale?"
"Highly respectable!" said the latter dryly.
"We don't seem to get the dooks, and so on?"
"The older nobility is highly conservative!" explained Haredale
evasively. "But Mrs. Rohscheimer is a recognised leader of the smart
set."
Rohscheimer swayed his massive head in bear-like discontent.
"I don't get the hang of this smart set business," he complained. "Aren't
the dooks and earls and so on in the smart set?"
"Not strictly so!" answered Haredale, helping himself to
brandy-and-soda.
This social conundrum was too much for the millionaire, and he lapsed
into heavy silence, to be presently broken with the remark:
"All the Johnnies holding the wall up are alike, Haredale! It's funny I

don't know any of 'em! You see them in the sixpenny monthlies, with
the girl they're going to marry in the opposite column. Give me their
names, will you--starting with the one this end?"
Haredale, intending, good-humouredly, to comply, glanced around the
spacious room--only to realise that he, too, was unacquainted with the
possibly distinguished company of muralites.
"I rather fancy," he said, "a lot of the people you mean are
Discoveries--of Mrs. Rohscheimer's, you know--writers and painters
and so forth."
"No, no!" complained the host. "I know all that lot--and they all know
me! I mean the nice-looking fellows round the wall! I haven't been
introduced, Haredale. They've come in since this waltz started."
Haredale looked again, and his slightly bored expression gave place to
one of curiosity.
CHAPTER II
"THIRTY MEN WHO WERE ALL ALIKE"
The room was so inconveniently crowded that dancing was a mere
farce, only kept up by the loyal support of Mrs. Rohscheimer's
compatriots. The bulk of the company crowded around in intermingling
groups, to the accompaniment of ceaseless