A strange stillness followed Alix’s words. To the judge and to Gerry it was as though the picture had opened a window to her mind. Then she closed the window.
“Come, Gerry,” she said, turning, “make your bow to the judge and bark.”
Gerry was excited, though he did not show it.
“You have dressed my thoughts in words I can’t equal,” he said, and strolled out to the little veranda at the back of the house. He wanted to be alone for a moment and think over this flash of light that had followed a dark day. For the first time in a long while Alix had revealed herself. He did not begrudge the judge his triumph. He knew instinctively that coming from him instead of from the judge the picture would not have struck that intimate spark.
The next day Gerry gave his consent to Alix’s plan for a flying trip abroad, but with a reservation. The reservation was that she should leave him behind.
Judge Healey heard of this arrangement only when it was on the point of being put into effect. In fact, he was only just in time at the steamer to wave good-by to Alix. Leaning over the rail, with her high color, moist red lips, and excited big eyes making play under a golden crown of hair and over a huge armful of roses, Alix presented a picture not easily forgotten.
“She ought not to be going without you, my boy.”
“Oh, it’s all right,” said Gerry, lightly. “She’s well chaperoned. It’s a big party, you know.”
But during the weeks that followed the judge saw it was not all right. Gerry had less and less time for golf and more and more for whisky and soda. The judge was troubled, and felt a sort of relief when from far away Alan Wayne cropped into his affairs and gave him something else to think about.
When Angus McDale of McDale & McDale called without appointment, the judge knew at once that he was going to hear something about Alan.
“Lucky to find you in,” puffed McDale. “It isn’t business exactly or I’d have ’phoned. I was just passing by.”
“Well, what is it?” asked the judge, offering his visitor a fresh cigar.
“It’s this. That boy, Alan Wayne--sort of protégé of yours, isn’t he?”
“Yes, in a way--yes,” said the judge, slowly, frowning. “What has Alan done now?”
“It’s like this,” said McDale. “Six months ago we sent Mr. Wayne out on contract as assistant to Walton. Walton no sooner got on the ground than he fell sick. He put Wayne in charge, and then he died. Now, this is the point. Mr. Wayne seems to have promoted himself to Walton’s pay. He had the cheek to draw his own as well. He won’t be here for weeks, but his accounts came in to-day. I want to know if you see any reason why we shouldn’t have that money back, to say the least.”
