Larry Barlow's ambition

For the moment after the servant announced that Sluggers wanted to see him, Martin Pollox did not move.

Then with a great effort he drew himself together.

“Wait a minute,” he said to Larry and Mary Vern. “Wait until I come back. And leave those things exactly as they are,” and he pointed at the drawings.

He slipped from the room and they heard him hurry to the front hallway. A quick murmur of voices followed.

“I wonder if he will bring Check Sluggers in here,” said Larry in a low voice, and added: “That rascal is Mr. Pollox’s best, or worst, tool.”

Mary shook her head sorrowfully. Such villainy as she was witnessing was beyond her innocent young heart to understand.

In a minute more, before Larry could do anything with the drawings, even if he so desired, Martin Pollox came back. As he approached they heard the front door slam and knew that Check Sluggers had been sent away.

“I—er—it was too bad I was interrupted,” said Martin Pollox, hardly knowing what to say. Then he gathered himself together. “Let me see, where were we at? Oh, yes, I offered you two hundred dollars for saving Mary’s life. I think that is a nice sum for any young man to receive. Come, are you willing to accept?”

For a moment our hero remained silent. He felt that something was wrong, yet he could not tell exactly what. Was the rascal before him trying to bribe him?

“Excuse me, Mr. Pollox, but I don’t want your money,” he said at last.

“It is not his money,” broke in Mary. “It is money my papa wished you to have.”

“If Mr. Vern wanted me to have this money why didn’t you let me have it before?”

“I—er—I was too busy to attend to everything,” stammered Martin Pollox. “I became Mary’s guardian quite unexpectedly and I had a great task to straighten Mr. Vern’s affairs out. Even yet there is much to do which remains undone. He was mixed up in so many business schemes.”

“Did he appoint you his executor?” asked Larry, curiously.

“That is my business, Mr. Barlow. I offer you the money freely. You can take it or leave it, just as you please.”

“If Mr. Vern wanted me to have it you can give it to me,” said Larry, after a moment’s pause.

Getting up with an effort, Martin Pollox went to his desk, took out a box containing a pocketbook and from this counted out the two hundred dollars in bills.

“There you are.”

Larry took the money without a word. Then he turned to Mary. “I will thank you, for your father’s sake, for this,” he said.

“If I had my way it would be a thousand,” she returned simply.

“Now, Barlow, let us be friends,” went on Martin Pollox. “If I can help trace your father I’ll do so gladly.”

“Have you ever heard of this Redmund Daily since that time?”

“I have not. But I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll put a detective on the track and pay him myself for his work.”

“Never mind about the pay—I’ll attend to that.”

There now seemed nothing more to say, and Martin Pollox showed that he wished to get our hero out of the house.

As Larry passed Mary he whispered in her ear:

“Be on your guard. If you want help send me a message. I am going to use the money to get at the bottom of this mystery.”

She stared at him, and then nodded, to show that she understood.

In a moment more he was outside and walking slowly toward the corner.

Martin Pollox watched him out of sight, then turned harshly toward Mary Vern.

“Mary, don’t you ever dare to ask him into my house again,” he commanded.

“Can’t I have anybody come to see me?” she asked slowly.

“Yes, you can have the proper kind of persons—when your cousin Laura is around, or I am here.”

“You are very hard on me, Mr. Pollox.”

“I know what is best for you.”

“My papa always let me choose my own company.”

“He was too indulgent with you. You ought to be above associating with a common fireman.”

“Mr. Barlow is a gentleman.”

“A gentleman wouldn’t come in here to knock me down.”

“You said some dreadful things to him.”

“And I had a right to say them. His father was nothing but a sot—and he knows it as well as I do. I gave him far more money than he deserved—and that is my reward. I presume the young fellow will tell everybody that I cheated him out of the invention.”

“If you have a clear claim you ought to be able to prove it to the world.”

“I have a clear claim, but unfortunately I trusted too much to old man Barlow. I should have had everything down in black and white, and then there wouldn’t have been any trouble.”

To this Mary could make no reply.

“He is no fit companion for you. I wish you to move in the best of New York society, as befits your station. What would our social friends say if they knew you associated with a common fireman?”

“I don’t know what they would say—and I don’t care!” she burst out, and ran off to her room, where she locked the door, threw herself on the bed and gave herself over to a passionate fit of weeping.

“Oh, papa, papa!” she moaned. “Why did you die and leave me in the hands of such a man as Martin Pollox? Oh, if only I had died with you!”

Martin Pollox strode up and down his library in a thoughtful mood.

“A narrow escape,” he muttered to himself. “I reckon I came in in the nick of time. That young fellow knows altogether too much. If he had looked all through that portfolio he might have run across something that would have surprised him. I ought to have had the old drawings burned up and new ones made.” He stopped short for a while. “I wonder if he’ll push his investigations any further? If he does he may get me into more hot water. I wish I could get him out of New York.” He bit his thin lips reflectively. “Perhaps I can do that. I’ll ask Check Sluggers about it.”

An hour later, when he was still in his library, Laura Pollox came in from a shopping tour of the department stores.

“Laura, I want to see you a minute,” he said, and motioned her into the library.

“What is it, father?” she questioned, anxiously, fearing he was going to lecture her for the big bills she had sent in to be paid.

“I want to speak to you about Mary.”

“Oh!” and she breathed a sigh of relief.

“I want you to keep a close eye on her.”

“I always do.”

“But you always don’t!” he snapped. “When I came home today I found her entertaining—whom do you think?”

“I’m sure I can’t guess.”

“That young fireman, Larry Barlow.”

“What—here in this house?” screamed the fashionable daughter.

“Yes; and what is more, Mary had him in this library and was showing him my private drawings of inventions.”

“The idea! Has Mary no sense at all?”

“Evidently not. You must watch her closely.”

“I will! She shan’t disgrace us—no, indeed!” and Laura Pollox tossed her head disdainfully.

“You must see to it that she has nothing more to do with that young fireman.”

“I’ll do my best. But then I can’t watch her always. I must return calls, you know, and she won’t always go along.”

“I’ve been thinking of a plan. How would you like to spend a month or so at Asbury Park or Newport?”

“I’d like to go to Asbury Park. The Van Aldens are there.”

“Then supposing you go, and take Mary with you. It will do you both good.”

The idea pleased Laura Pollox, for she wished to be near the Van Aldens, who had a marriageable son with whom she was much smitten. She did not care to have Mary along, but knew she could not go otherwise.

So, unknown to Mary, all matters were arranged for her and Laura to go to Asbury Park the following Monday.

When told of the plan Mary demurred somewhat, but Martin Pollox would not listen to her protestations.

“The trip will do you good,” he said. “Go and have a good time,” and he saw his daughter and his ward off on the train.

When he returned home there was a smile of grim satisfaction on his crafty face.

“Out of the way for a month,” he muttered. “And as for that young Barlow—well, a good deal can happen in a month. Let him take care how he crosses my path!”