One of My Sons Read online

  XII

  GOSSIP

  Next morning I routed up Sam Underhill at an early hour. Sam Underhillis my special friend; he is also my nearest neighbour, his apartmentbeing directly under my own.

  He is a lazy chap and I found him abed, and none too well pleased atbeing disturbed.

  "What the dickens brings you here at this unearthly hour?" was theamiable greeting I received.

  I waited till he had made himself comfortable again; then I boldlystated:

  "You are a club-man, Sam, and consequently well up in the so-calledgossip of the day. What can you tell me about the Gillespies?--thethree young men I mean, sons of Archibald Gillespie."

  "George, Alfred, and Leighton? What possible interest can you have inthem? Rich fellows, spendthrifts, every one of them. What have theybeen up to that you should rout me up at this hour----"

  For reply I opened out the morning paper which I had been careful tobring along.

  "See here!" I cried: "_'Archibald Gillespie, the well-known broker,died suddenly last night, from the effects of some drug mysteriouslyadministered.'_" I was reading rapidly, anxious to see what kind of astory the reporters had made of it. "_'He had been ill for some weeksback, but seemed perfectly restored up to half-past nine o'clock lastevening, when he fell and died without warning, in the small roomknown as his den. A bottle of chloral was found on the mantel butthere is no proof that he took any of it. Indeed, his symptoms weresuch that the action of a much more violent drug is suspected. Hislittle grandchild was a witness to his last moments.'_ George,Leighton, and Alfred are now more than rich fellows. They are richmen," I suggested, relieved that my name had not appeared in theheadlines.

  "They need to be," was the short reply. "One of them at least stood ingreat need of money."

  "Which?" I asked, with an odd sensation of choking in my throat.

  "George. He's about played out, as I take it. To my certain knowledgehe has lost in unfortunate bets thirty thousand dollars since summerset in. He has a mania for betting and card-playing, and as his fatherhad little patience with vices of this nature, their relations of latehave been more than strained. But he's a mighty big-hearted fellow forall that, and a great favourite with the men who don't play with him.I heard he was going to be married. That and this sudden windfall mayset him straight again. He's a handsome fellow; did you ever meethim?"

  "Once," I acknowledged. Then with an effort of which I was more orless ashamed, I asked the name of the girl who was willing to takesuch a well-known spendthrift for a husband.

  Sam did not seem to be as well posted on this point as on someothers.

  "I have heard her name," he admitted. "Some cousin, who lives in thesame house with him. The old gentleman fancied her so much, hepromised to give a big fortune to the son who married her. It seemsthat George is likely to be the lucky one. Strange, what odd thingscome up in families."

  "There is another brother--Alfred, I think they call him."

  "Oh, Alph! He's a deuced handsome chap, too, but not such a universalfavourite as George. More moral though. I think his sole vice is aninordinate love of doing nothing. I have known him to lie out half thenight on a club-divan, saying nothing, doing nothing, not evensmoking. I have sometimes wondered if he ate opium on the sly. Lifewould be stupid as he spends it, if dreams did not take the place ofthe pleasant realities he scorns."

  I must have shown my amazement. This was not the Alfred Gillespie Ihad met the night before.

  "I have heard that everything was not quite smooth with him. I know Ihaven't seen him around lately, crushing pillows and making us alllook vulgar in contrast to his calm and almost insultingimpassibility. I wonder what he will do with the three or fourmillions which will fall to his share."

  "Marry," I suggested, fillipping a fly from my coat-sleeve.

  "He? Alph? I don't believe he could hold himself erect long enough togo through the ceremony. Besides, it would be such a bore. That's myidea of Alph."

  It was not mine. Either he had greatly changed, or Sam Underhill'sknowledge of him was of the most superficial character. As I waveredbetween these two conclusions I began to experience a vague sensationof dread. If love could effect such a transformation in so unlikely asubject as the man we were discussing, what might it not effect in anardent nature like my own?

  I hastened to change the subject.

  "The third brother is already married, I believe."

  "Leighton? Oh, he's a widower; has been a widower for years. He wasunfortunate in the marriage he made. After the first year no one eversaw young Mrs. Gillespie in public. I don't think the old gentlemanever forgave him that match."

  "What was the trouble? He seems to have a dear little girl. I saw herwhen I saw her uncle."

  "Oh, the child. She's well enough, but the mother was--well, we willbe charitable and say erratic. Common stock, I've heard. No mate atall for a man like him. Not that he's any too good either for all hishypocritical ways. I have no use for Leighton. I cannot abideso-called philanthropic men whose noses are always in the gutter. He'sa sneak, is Leighton, and so inconsistent. One day you hear of himpresiding at some charity meeting; the next night you find him behindthe scenes at a variety theatre. And as for money--not one of Mr.Gillespie's sons spends so much. He has just drained the old man'spurse, or so I've heard; and when asked to give an account of himselfmentions his charities and many schemes of benevolence--as if the oldman himself didn't spend thousands in just such lines."

  "He doesn't look like a prig," I ventured.

  "Oh, he looks well enough. But there's something wrong about the man.His own folks acknowledge it; something shameful, furtive; somethingwhich will not bear the light. None of those boys are chips of the oldblock. Let's see the paper. What are you holding it off for? Anythingmore about Mr. Gillespie's death? Do they call it suicide? That wouldbe a sad ending to such a successful life."

  "One question first. Was Mr. Gillespie a good man?"

  "He was rich; yet had few if any calumniators."

  I handed him the paper. There were some startling lines below those Ihad read out so glibly.

  "They do not stop at suicide," I remarked; "murder is suggested. Thedrug was not administered by himself."

  "Oh!" protested Sam, running his eye over the lines that were destinedto startle all New York that morning. "This won't do! None of thoseboys are bad enough for that, not even Leighton."

  "You dislike Leighton," I remarked.

  He did not reply; he had just come upon my name in the article he wasreading.

  "Look here!" he cried, "you're a close one. How came you to be mixedup with the affair? I see your name here."

  "Read!"

  He complied with an eagerness which I suppose but faintly mirroredthat of half the _Tribune's_ readers that morning. What he read, Ileave to your imagination, merely premising that no new facts hadcome to light since my departure from the house and the printing ofthe paper. When he had finished, he bestowed upon me a long andscrutinising look. "This knocks me out," said he, with more force thanelegance. "I would never have believed it, never, of any of thesemen." Then with a sudden change quite characteristic, he ejaculated,"It was a rum chance for you, Arthur. How did you like it?"

  I refused to discuss this side of the question. I was afraid ofdisclosing what had become the inner-most secret of my heart.

  He did not notice my reticence--this, too, was like him--but remarkedwith visible reluctance:

  "The weight of evidence seems to be against Alph. Poor Alph! So thisis the result of those long, unbroken hours of silent dreaming! Ishall never trust a lazy man again. When they do bestirthemselves----"

  "He has not been arrested yet," I interjected dryly. "Till the policeshow absolute belief in his guilt, I for one shall hold my tongue."

  "Poor Alph!" was all the reply I received.