Lo Michael! (20 page)

“Who was dat guy?”

It was a small voice that spoke at Michael's elbow. Hester and Will were far down the street in the other direction and had forgotten Michael.

Michael turned and saw one of his smallest “kids” crouching in the shadow beside him.

“Why, Tony, are you here yet? You ought to have been asleep long ago.”

“Was dat de ike wot comes to see Lizzie?”

“See here, Tony, what do you know about this?”

Whereupon Tony proceeded, to unfold a tale that made Michael's heart sick. “Lizzie, she's got swell sence she went away to work to a res'trant at de sheeshole. She ain't leavin' her ma hev her wages, an' she wears fierce does, like de swells!” finished Tony solemnly as if these things were the worst of all that he had told.

So Michael sent Tony to his rest and went home with a heavy heart, to wake and think through the night long what he should do to save Starr, his bright beautiful Starr, from the clutches of this human vampire.

When morning dawned Michael knew what he was going to do. He had decided to go to Mr. Endicott and tell him the whole story. Starr's father could and would protect her better than he could.

As early as he could get away from the office he hurried to carry out his purpose, but on arriving at Mr. Endicott's office he was told that the gentleman had sailed for Austria and would be absent some weeks, even months, perhaps, if his business did not mature as rapidly as he hoped. Michael asked for the address, but when he reached his desk again and tried to frame a letter that would convey the truth convincingly to the absent father, who could not read it for more than a week at least, and would then be thousands of miles away from the scene of action, he gave it up as useless. Something more effectual must be done and done quickly.

In the first place he must have facts. He could not do anything until he knew beyond a shadow of doubt that what he feared was true absolutely. If he could have told Mr. Endicott all would have been different; he was a man and could do his own investigating if he saw fit. Michael might have left the matter in his hands. But he could not tell him.

If there was some other male member of the family to whom he could go with the warning, he must be very sure of his ground before he spoke. If there were no such man friend or relative of the family he must do something else—what? He shrank from thinking.

And so with the sources open to a keen lawyer, he went to work to ferret out the life and doings of Stuyvesant Carter; and it is needless to say that he unearthed a lot of information that was so sickening in its nature that he felt almost helpless before it. It was appalling—and the more so because of the rank and station of the man. If he had been brought up in the slums one might have expected—but this!

The second day, Michael, haggard and worn with the responsibility, started out to find that useful male relative of the Endicott family. There seemed to be no such person. The third morning he came to the office determined to tell the whole story to Mr. Holt, senior, and ask his advice and aid in protecting Starr; but to his dismay he found that Mr. Holt, senior, had been taken seriously ill with heart trouble, and it might be weeks before he was able to return to the office.

Deeply grieved and utterly baffled, the young man tried to think what to do next. The junior Mr. Holt had never encouraged confidences, and would not be likely to help in this matter. He must do something himself.

And now Michael faced two alternatives.

There were only two people to whom the story could be told, and they were Starr herself, and her mother!

Tell Starr all he knew he could not. To tell her anything of this story would be gall and wormwood! To have to drop a hint that would blacken another man's character would place him in a most awkward position. To think of doing it was like tearing out his heart for her to trample upon.

Yet on the other hand Michael would far rather go into battle and face a thousand bristling cannon mouths than meet the mother on her own ground and tell her what he had to tell, while her steel-cold eyes looked him through and through or burned him with scorn and unbelief. He had an instinctive feeling that he should fail if he went to her.

At last he wrote a note to Starr:

“Dear Miss Endicott:

“Can you let me have a brief interview at your convenience and just as soon as possible? I have a favor to ask of you which I most earnestly hope you will be willing to grant.

“Sincerely yours,

“Michael.”

He sent the note off with fear and trembling. Every word had been carefully considered and yet it haunted him continually that he might have written differently. Would she grant the interview? If she did not what then should he do?

The next day he received a ceremonious little note on creamy paper crested with a silver star monogrammed in blue:

“Miss Endicott will receive Mr. Endicott to-morrow morning at eleven.”

A shiver ran through him as he read, and consigned the elegant communication to his waste-basket. It was not from his Starr. It was from a stranger. And yet, the subtle perfume that stole forth from the envelope reminded him of her. On second thought he drew it forth again and put it in his pocket. After all she had granted the interview, and this bit of paper was a part of her daily life; it had come from her, she had written it, and sent it to him. It was therefore precious.

Starr had been more than usually thoughtful when she read Michael's note. It pleased her that at last she had brought him to her feet, though not for the world would she let him know it. Doubtless he wished her influence for some position or other that he would have asked her father instead if he had been at home. Starr knew nothing of the alienation between her father and Michael. But Michael should pay for his request, in humility at least. Therefore she sent her cool little stab of ceremony to call him to her.

But Michael did not look in the least humiliated as he entered the luxurious library where Starr had chosen to receive him. His manner was grave and assured, and he made no sign of the tumult it gave him to see her thus in her own home once more where all her womanliness and charm were but enhanced by the luxury about her.

He came forward to greet her just as if she had not cut him dead the very last time they met; and Starr as she regarded him was struck with wonder over the exalted beauty of manhood that was his unique dower.

“Thank you for letting me come,” he said simply. “I will not intrude long upon your time—”

Starr had a strange sensation of fear lest he was going to slip away from her again before she was willing.

“Oh, that is all right,” she said graciously; “won't you sit down. I am always glad to do a favor for a friend of my childhood.”

It was a sentence she had rehearsed many times in her mind, and it was meant to convey reproach and indifference in the extreme, but somehow as she fluttered into a great leather chair she felt that her voice was trembling and she had miserably failed in what she had meant to do. She felt strangely ashamed of her attitude, with those two clear soulful eyes looking straight at her. It reminded her of the way he had looked when he told her in the Florida chapel long ago that nobody but herself had ever kissed him—and she had kissed him then. Suppose he should be going to ask her to do it again! The thought made her cheeks rosy, and her society air deserted her entirely. But of course he would not do that. It was a crazy thought. What was the matter with her anyway, and why did she feel so unnerved? Then Michael spoke.

“May I ask if you know a man by the name of Stuyvesant Carter?”

Starr looked startled, and then stiffened slightly.

“I do!” she answered graciously. “He is one of my intimate friends. Is there anything he can do for you that you would like my intercession?”

Starr smiled graciously. She thought she understood the reason for Michael's call now, and she was pleased to think how easily she could grant his request. The idea of introducing the two was stimulating. She was pondering what a handsome pair of men they were, and so different from each other.

But Michael's clear voice startled her again out of her complacence.

“Thank God there is not!” he said, and his tone had that in it that made Starr sit up and put on all her dignity.

“Indeed!” she said with asperity, her eyes flashing.

“Pardon me, Miss Endicott,” Michael said sadly. “You do not understand my feeling, of course!”

“I certainly do not.” All Starr's icicle sentences were inherited from her mother.

“And I cannot well explain,” he went on sadly. “I must ask you to take it on trust. The favor I have come to ask is this, that you will not have anything further to do with that young man until your father's return. I know this may seem very strange to you, but believe me if you understood you would not hesitate to do what I have asked.”

Michael held her with his look and with his earnest tones. For a moment she could not speak from sheer astonishment at his audacity. Then she froze him with a look copied from her mother's haughty manner.

“And what reason can you possibly give for such an extraordinary request?” she asked at last, when his look compelled an answer.

“I cannot give you a reason,” he said gravely. “You must trust me that this is best. Your father will explain to you when he comes.”

Another pause and then Starr haughtily asked:

“And you really think that I would grant such a ridiculous request which in itself implies a lack of trust in the character of one of my warmest friends?”

“I most earnestly hope that you will,” answered Michael.

In spite of her hauteur she could not but be impressed by Michael's manner. His grave tones and serious eyes told her heart that here was something out of the ordinary, at least she gave Michael credit for thinking there was.

“I certainly shall not do anything of the kind without a good reason for it.” Starr's tone was determined and cold.

“And I can give you no reason beyond telling you that he is not such a man as a friend of yours should be.”

“What do you mean?”

“Please do not ask me. Please trust me and give me your promise. At least wait until I can write to your father.”

Starr rose with a look of her father's stubbornness now in her pretty face.

“I wish to be told,” she demanded angrily.

“You would not wish to be told if you knew,” he answered.

She stood looking at him steadily for a full moment, then with a graceful toss of her lovely head, she said haughtily:

“I must decline to accede to your request, Mr. Endicott. You will excuse me, I have a luncheon engagement now.”

She stood aside for him to go out the door, but as he rose with pleading still in his eyes, he said:

“You will write to your father and tell him what I have said? You will wait until you hear from him?”

“It is impossible, Mr. Endicott.” Starr's tone was freezing now, and he could see that she was very angry. “Mr. Carter is my friend!” she flung at him as he passed her and went out into the hall.

Another night of anguish brought Michael face to face with the necessity for an interview with Starr's mother.

Taking his cue from the hour Starr had set for his call, he went a little before eleven o'clock and sent up the card of the firm with his own name written below; for he had very serious doubts of obtaining an interview at all if the lady thought he might be there on his own business.

It is doubtful whether Mrs. Endicott recognized the former “Mikky" under the title written below his most respectable law firm's name. Any representative of Holt and Holt was to be recognized of course. She came down within a half hour, quite graciously with lorgnette in her hand, until she had reached the centre of the reception room where he had been put to await her. Then Michael arose, almost from the same spot where she had addressed him nearly four years before, the halo of the morning shining through the high window on his hair, and with a start and stiffening of her whole form she recognized him.

“Oh, it is
you
!
” There was that in her tone that argued ill for Michael's mission, but with grave and gentle bearing he began:

“Madam, I beg your pardon for the intrusion. I would not have come if there had been any other way. I tried to find Mr. Endicott but was told he had sailed—”

“You needn't waste your time, and mine. I shall do nothing for you. As I told you before, if I remember, I think far too much already has been done for you and I never felt that you had the slightest claim upon our bounty. I must refuse to hear any hard-luck stories.”

Michael's face was a study. Indignation, shame and pity struggled with a sudden sense of the ridiculousness of the situation.

What he did was to laugh, a rich, clear, musical laugh that stopped the lady's tirade better than he could have done it in any other way.

“Well! Really! Have you come to insult me?” she said angrily. “I will call a servant,” and she stepped curtly toward the bell.

“Madam, I beg your pardon,” said Michael quickly, grave at once. “I intended no insult and I have come to ask no favor of you. I came because of a serious matter, perhaps a grave danger to your home, which I thought you should be made acquainted with.”

“Indeed! Well, make haste,” said Mrs. Endicott, half mollified. “My time is valuable. Has some one been planning to rob the house?”

Michael looked straight in her face and told her briefly a few facts, delicately worded, forcefully put, which would have convinced the heart of any true mother that the man before her had none but pure motives.

Not so this mother. The more Michael talked the stiffer, haughtier, more hateful, grew her stare; and when he paused, thinking not to utterly overwhelm her with his facts, she remarked, superciliously:

“How could you possibly know all these things, unless you had been in the same places where you claim Mr. Carter has been? But, oh, of course I forgot! Your former home was there, and so of course you must have many friends among—ah—
those people
!
” She drew her mental skirts away from contaminating contact as she spoke the last two words, and punctuated them with a contemptuous look through the lorgnette.

“But, my dear fellow,” she went on adopting the most outrageously patronizing manner, “you should never trust those people. Of course you don't understand that, having been away from them so many years among respectable folks, but they really do not know what the truth is. I doubt very much whether there is a grain of foundation for all that you have been telling me.”

“Madam, I have taken pains to look into the matter and I know that every word which I have been telling you is true. Two of the most noted detectives of the city have been making an investigation. I would not have ventured to come if I had not had indisputable facts to give you.”

Mrs. Endicott arose still holding the lorgnette to her eyes, though she showed that the interview was drawing to a close:

“Then young man,” she said, “it will be necessary for me to tell you that the things you have been saying are not considered proper to speak of before ladies in respectable society. I remember of course your low origin and lack of breeding and forgive what otherwise I should consider an insult. Furthermore, let me tell you, that it is not considered honorable to investigate a gentleman's private life too closely. All young men sow their wild oats of course, and are probably none the worse for it. In fact, if a man has not seen life he really is not worth much. It is his own affair, and no business of yours. I must ask you to refrain from saying anything of this matter to anyone. Understand? Not a word of it! My husband would be deeply outraged to know that a young friend of his daughter's, a man of refinement and position, had been the object of scandal by one who should honor anyone whom he honors. I really cannot spare any more time this morning.”

“But madam! You certainly do not mean that you will not investigate this matter for yourself? You would not let your daughter accept such a man as her friend—?”

The lorgnette came into play again but its stare was quite ineffectual upon Michael's white earnest face. His deep eyes lit with horror at this monstrous woman who seemed devoid of mother-love.

“The time has come for you to stop. It is none of your business is what I mean. You have done what you thought was your duty by telling me, now put the matter entirely out of your mind. Desist at once!”

With a final stare she swept out of the room and up the broad staircase and Michael, watching her until she was out of sight, went out of the house with bowed head and burdened heart. Went out to write a letter to Starr's father, a letter which would certainly have performed its mission as his other efforts had failed; but which because of a sudden and unexpected change of address just missed him at every stopping place, as it travelled its silent unfruitful way about the world after him, never getting anywhere until too late.