The Sport of the Gods | Page 4

it that
counts. It does n't, though, with a man, I suppose. He's doing something
all the while."
"Yes, a man is always doing something, even if only waiting; but
waiting is such unheroic business."
"That is the part that usually falls to a woman's lot. I have no doubt that
some dark-eyed mademoiselle is waiting for you now."
Francis laughed and flushed hotly. Claire noted the flush and wondered
at it. Had she indeed hit upon the real point? Was that the reason that he
was so anxious to get back to Paris? The thought struck a chill through
her gaiety. She did not want to be suspicious, but what was the cause of
that tell-tale flush? He was not a man easily disconcerted; then why so
to-night? But her companion talked on with such innocent composure
that she believed herself mistaken as to the reason for his momentary
confusion.
Someone cried gayly across the table to her: "Oh, Miss Claire, you will
not dare to talk with such little awe to our friend when he comes back
with his ribbons and his medals. Why, we shall all have to bow to you,
Frank!"
"You 're wronging me, Esterton," said Francis. "No foreign decoration
could ever be to me as much as the flower of approval from the fair
women of my own State."
"Hear!" cried the ladies.
"Trust artists and poets to pay pretty compliments, and this wily friend
of mine pays his at my expense."
"A good bit of generalship, that, Frank," an old military man broke in.
"Esterton opened the breach and you at once galloped in. That 's the
highest art of war."
Claire was looking at her companion. Had he meant the approval of the

women, or was it one woman that he cared for? Had the speech had a
hidden meaning for her? She could never tell. She could not understand
this man who had been so much to her for so long, and yet did not seem
to know it; who was full of romance and fire and passion, and yet
looked at her beauty with the eyes of a mere comrade. She sighed as
she rose with the rest of the women to leave the table.
The men lingered over their cigars. The wine was old and the stories
new. What more could they ask? There was a strong glow in Francis
Oakley's face, and his laugh was frequent and ringing. Some discussion
came up which sent him running up to his room for a bit of evidence.
When he came down it was not to come directly to the dining-room. He
paused in the hall and despatched a servant to bring his brother to him.
Maurice found him standing weakly against the railing of the stairs.
Something in his air impressed his brother strangely.
"What is it, Francis?" he questioned, hurrying to him.
"I have just discovered a considerable loss," was the reply in a grieved
voice.
"If it is no worse than loss, I am glad; but what is it?"
"Every cent of money that I had to secure my letter of credit is gone
from my bureau."
"What? When did it disappear?"
"I went to my bureau to-night for something and found the money gone;
then I remembered that when I opened it two days ago I must have left
the key in the lock, as I found it to-night."
"It 's a bad business, but don't let 's talk of it now. Come, let 's go back
to our guests. Don't look so cut up about it, Frank, old man. It is n't as
bad as it might be, and you must n't show a gloomy face to-night."
The younger man pulled himself together, and re-entered the room with

his brother. In a few minutes his gaiety had apparently returned.
When they rejoined the ladies, even their quick eyes could detect in his
demeanour no trace of the annoying thing that had occurred. His face
did not change until, with a wealth of fervent congratulations, he had
bade the last guest good-bye.
Then he turned to his brother. "When Leslie is in bed, come into the
library. I will wait for you there," he said, and walked sadly away.
"Poor, foolish Frank," mused his brother, "as if the loss could matter to
him."

III
THE THEFT
Frank was very pale when his brother finally came to him at the
appointed place. He sat limply in his chair, his eyes fixed upon the
floor.
"Come, brace up now, Frank, and tell me about it."
At the sound of his brother's voice he started and looked up as though
he had been dreaming.
"I don't know what you 'll think of me, Maurice," he said; "I have never
before been