CHAPTER VIII.
Old Jeremiah sat by his open window, and stared down upon the vacant building lot directly opposite. The house had been completely demolished, and the débris carted away. Also, the sidewalk had been cleared, and a green-painted board fence thrown across from one to the other of the flanking residences. Jeremiah had been informed by his private secretary that, owing to some litigation, it was possible that the property might remain in that condition for some months.
There was a discreet rap at the door, and the voice of the footman announced:
“Mr. David Wishart to see you, sir.”
“Ye will show him up,” growled Jeremiah.
The old man did not so much as turn his head when David entered.
“Well,” he growled, “and have ye any news?”
David dropped, unbidden, upon the window seat. His face was pale, yet moist, for the day was very sultry.
“Nothing in regard to her whereabouts, Uncle Jeremiah. That wretched woman in Brooklyn tells me that Ailsa writes to her every week, and says that she is getting on nicely, but she refuses absolutely to tell me from what address. Her invariable reply is that Ailsa has strictly forbidden her doing so. That's all I can get out of her.”
“Then why do ye come whimperin' here to me? Ye have lost her through your own lunkheadedness, have ye not? Go find her again, and leave me to get well in peace.”
“But how am I to find her, Uncle Jeremiah?” David's harsh voice was half a whine.
“How the de'il do I know? And what d'ye want o' me? Am I to go traipsin' over the country with my snout to the ground?”
“I've thought of a scheme,” said David slowly, “and I want to ask you what you think of it. That accursed Airedale of ours went with her, and, as she was fond of the brute, the chances are that he is with her yet. How do you think it would do if I were to put a 'Lost or Stolen' advertisement in the leading dailies, offering, say, two hundred and fifty dollars for information that would lead to his return?”
“That is a fine idea—if ye have nothin' better to do than to scour the country tryin' to identify the beast.”
“I could engage a man to do that.”
“Then go ahead and do it. But there is one thing I would be askin' you. What if you locate the dog and the girl at the same time? What right have ye to interfere with her? Ye would have her up, maybe, for stealin' the dog? A handsome showin' ye would make in court.”
David sprang to his feet. “Don't sneer at me, Uncle Jeremiah!” said he hoarsely. “You don't understand. I'm not thinking of your millions now.” The blood rushed into his face, and he turned almost fiercely on the invalid. “Man, I love the girl!” he cried.
Jeremiah looked at him for the first time during the interview.
“Sit down,” said he quietly. “Now, that is more like it.”
David resumed his seat, drew out his handkerchief, and mopped his face. Jeremiah observed him curiously.
“So ve have some real feelin's, after all?” said he. “And ye really love her?”
“Yes—so help me God!” muttered David.
“Well, then,” said Jeremiah dryly, “I will help ye—to get over it. The lassie is not for you. If ye leave the girl alone, I will see that y'are not left empty-handed when I go. If, on the other hand, ye try to marry her, I will leave ye nothin'.”
David's jaw dropped, and he stared in amazement at his uncle.
“But why—in Heaven's name?” he exclaimed.
“David, man—and you the teacher of a Bible class!” Jeremiah raised his withered hands in mock horror. “Well, then, I will tell ye. 'Tis plain to me y'are not the man for Ailsa. Ye would crush her with your dour, disagreeable ways. Stick to the money-makin', David, and give the lasses the cold shoulder. Ye will be a rich man some day. Ye have the makin's of it. But, man, ye have not the makin's of a good husband.”
David did not answer. He stared at his uncle in anger and disbelief. Jeremiah moved slightly in his chair to face him.
“Mind ye now,” said he, “I mean what I say. Leave the girl alone, and ye will find that I will not deal hardly with ye. That much I owe ye for the trouble that has come to ye through me, and I always pay my debts. As for the girl, ye need not worry. A body that has the gumption she has shown can tak' good care of hersel'. Ye cannot have everythin', David. Y'are a good business man, 'tis said, but ye have lots to learn of the love-makin'. I see it all quite plain. Ye chilled her to the bone, and turned her against ye, then tried to tempt her with gold and all it might do for her kinsfolk. Am I not right?”
David moved uneasily.
“And then when she would not yield, ye tried to carry things with a high hand, and she fled away. I might have known it. Now ye will let her go, and content yourself with the money makin', will ye not?”
David rose suddenly from his chair.
“No, by God!” said he harshly. “You can keep your millions, Uncle Jeremiah. I want Ailsa Graeme, and I'll have her, by heavens, if I have to go to the end of the world to find her!”
And, turning on his heel, he strode from the room.