Way Down East | Page 6

his window-seat with a book, of
which, however, he knew nothing--not even the title--his mind being
occupied by other thoughts than reading at that particular time.
Did he dare do it? The audacity of the proceeding was sufficient to
make the iron will of even Lennox Sanderson waver. And yet, to lose
her! Such a contingency was not to be considered. His mind flew
backward and forward like a shuttle, he turned the leaves of his book;
he smoked, but no light came from within or without.
He glanced about the familiar objects in his sitting-room as one
unconsciously does when the mind is on the rack of anxiety, as if to
seek council from the mute things that make up so large a part of our
daily lives.
It was an ideal sitting-room for a college student, the luxury of the
appointments absolutely subservient to taste and simplicity. Heavy red
curtains divided the sitting-room from the bedroom beyond, and
imparted a degree of genial warmth to the atmosphere. Russian
candlesticks of highly polished brass stood about on the mantel-piece
and book shelves. Above the high oak wainscoting the walls were
covered with dark red paper, against which background brown
photographs of famous paintings showed to excellent advantage. They
were reproductions of Botticelli, Rembrant, Franz Hals and Velasquez
hung with artistic irregularity. Above the mantel-piece were curious old

weapons, swords, matchetes, flintlocks and carbines. A helmet and
breastplate filled the space between the two windows. Some dozen or
more of pipe racks held the young collegian's famous collection of
pipes that told the history of smoking from the introduction during the
reign of Elizabeth, down to the present day.
In taking a mental inventory of his household goods, Sanderson's eyes
fell on the photograph of a woman on the mantel-piece. He frowned.
What right had she there, when his mind was full of another? He
walked over to the picture and threw it into the fire. It was not the first
picture to know a similar fate after occupying that place of honor.
The blackened edges of the picture were whirling up the chimney,
when Sanderson's attention was arrested by a knock.
"Come in," he called, and a young man of about his own age entered.
Without being in the least ill-looking, there was something repellent
about the new comer. His eyes were shifty and too close together to be
trustworthy. Otherwise no fault could be found with his appearance.
"Well, Langdon, how are you?" his host asked, but there was no
warmth in his greeting.
"As well as a poor devil like me ever is," began Langdon obsequiously.
He sighed, looked about the comfortable room and finished with:
"Lucky dog."
Sanderson stood on no ceremony with his guest, who was a thoroughly
unscrupulous young man. Once or twice Langdon had helped
Sanderson out of scrapes that would have sent him home from college
without his degree, had they come to the ears of the faculty. In return
for this assistance, Sanderson had lent him large sums of money, which
the owner entertained no hopes of recovering. Sanderson tried to
balance matters by treating Langdon with scant ceremony when they
were alone.
"Well, old man," began his host, "I do not flatter myself that I owe this
call to any personal charm. You dropped in to ease a little financial

embarrassment by the request of a loan--am I not right?"
"Right, as usual, Sandy, though I'd hardly call it a loan. You know I
was put to a devil of a lot of trouble about that Newton affair, and it
cost money to secure a shut mouth."
Sanderson frowned. "This is the fifth time I have had the pleasure of
settling for that Newton affair, Langdon. It seems to have become a sort
of continuous performance."
Langdon winced.
"I'll tell you what I'll do, Langdon. You owe me two thousand now, not
counting that poker debt. We'll call it square if you'll attend to a little
matter for me and I'll give you an extra thou. to make it worth your
while."
"You know I am always delighted to help you, Sandy."
"When I make it worth your while."
"Put it that way if you wish."
"Do you think that for once in your life you could look less like the
devil than you are naturally, and act the role of parson?"
"I might if I associate with you long enough. Saintly company might
change my expression."
"You won't have time to try. You've got to have your clerical look in
good working order by Friday. Incidently you are to marry me to the
prettiest girl in Massachusetts and keep your mouth closed."
As if to end the discussion, Sanderson strode over to his desk and wrote
out a check for a