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Read Ebook: The spider's web by Rathborne St George
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Ebook has 1495 lines and 61201 words, and 30 pages
"About three weeks."
"Doing a big business, I presume?"
Claude thrusts his thumbs in the armholes of his vest, and swells with importance.
"I've handled millions, my dear fellow; made some of the boldest moves ever known; expect to be the Napoleon of the wheat pit ere long."
"Well, how do you stand?" continues Craig, thoroughly interested in this queer freak of his entertaining companion.
"Stand?" echoes Claude.
"Yes; what have the profits, imaginary of course, been?"
"Yes."
"We'll take that for granted, my dear boy."
"And no beggar of a broker goes back on his contract, I'll be just thirteen dollars ahead of the game."
HOW SAMSON CEREAL STOLE A BRIDE IN TURKEY.
Craig turns and looks squarely in the face of his companion. His Canadian sense of humor does not grasp the situation as readily as would have been the case with an American, but gradually a smile creeps over his countenance.
"Then if luck follows you, my dear Claude, I shall know where to go if I want to make a loan," he says, and the other joins in the laugh.
"Then there is still something more back of it?"
"I should say so. This brain-racking mental calculation is only a means to an end. Should the plan carry out I'm a goner," with a sigh.
"Come, this is very unlike you, my dear fellow, to keep one in suspense so long. If there's a story back of it all, let's have it. You always found me a sympathetic listener. Come, wet your lips with a mug of this French cider, served by a divinity in wooden shoes, and then I'll listen to your tale of woe."
When this ceremony has been completed, they saunter toward the great Ferris wheel near by, which continues to revolve, its electric-lighted arch spanning the heavens, the most remarkable object in this feast of wonders.
"Now, tell me what you mean by a 'goner.' If your plans carry, you ought to be happy, Claude."
"Ah, I see! you intend taking a partner."
"For weal or woe," groaning.
"Not get married, my boy?"
"I'm afraid there's some truth in it, though the matter rests on certain conditions. Do you know, it worries me considerably?"
"I should think it would. You have been a regular Bohemian, living from hand to mouth, always cheerful and contented. Now you will have to turn over a new leaf and go to work."
"Perhaps so; but somehow you've got the cart before the horse. It has happened before now that the wife has supported the husband."
"Wycherley, I didn't think that of you."
"Well," resumes the other with a little laugh, "I suppose I'd have my hands full looking after her stocks and bonds, as a sort of agent or manager. That is one reason I've devoted myself to the markets so assiduously of late--ever since the subject has been broached, in fact."
"Then the lady is--ahem--very wealthy?"
"Hold on, Aleck, my boy; it isn't all settled yet."
"Father object?"
"I'm not bothering much about him."
"Then you mean the day hasn't been set. That's a difficulty easily overcome, my boy."
The retired Thespian gives a melo-dramatic groan.
"Confound it all! thanks to this modesty on my part, though I've seen the dear girl dozens of times, I've never dared address her."
Craig remains silent. In his mind he is resolving the question of his friend's sanity. He has known him for a jolly dog in times gone by, but his eccentricities as revealed on this occasion certainly stamp him the most astonishing and original fellow Craig has ever met.
"See here, Wycherley, you're bent on muddling me up to-night. Explain this puzzle. How is it you are bent on marrying a girl to whom, as you confess, you have never even been introduced?" he finally demands somewhat shortly, as if a suspicion has flashed across his brain that the other may be guying him--Craig has had previous acquaintance with such practical jokes as Americans love to play.
"He? You will have to explain who is meant. Have you entered into a league with the father?"
"Great Scott! no. It's Aroun Scutari, the Turk."
"Ah, I know him! I saw you talking with him. Has he a daughter?"
"Heaven knows. He has a harem full of wives over in Stamboul. That's how it all came about, you see."
"Aleck, on the contrary I am delighted with the chance. Something about this business goes against my grain. I've always been a rolling stone, a harum-scarum sort of fellow, but I don't know that I ever did a bad deed in my life. Yes, I believe your running across me to-night is a blessing. You can be a father confessor."
"Thanks."
"Just a quarter to nine."
Wycherley shrugs his shoulders.
"Then the time has come. I question my nerve to carry out the contract," he mutters.
"Contract?" echoes the Canadian athlete.
Wycherley is looking at him steadily, as though possessed of a sudden notion.
"I believe he'd do it," is what he mutters, as he surveys Aleck's muscular, well-knit figure, and then casts a glance of scorn at his own stout form.
"Craig, have you been on the wheel to-night?" he asks suddenly.
"No, and I confess it was my intention to go up before leaving. I've been waiting for a moon as near the full as we could get it overhead. If you'll go as my guest, I accept."
"Nonsense. I told you I worked there--all the boys are known to me. Besides, it will be so arranged that you and I shall occupy a car alone. Then, as we mount upward, and look down upon these remarkable sights, I will a tale unfold, which, if it does not make your blood tingle will at least arouse your interest. Perhaps you may have difficulty in believing it, but stranger things are happening in this nineteenth century and at the World's Fair than ever enter into your philosophy, Horatio! Here we are. Now watch me."
Wycherley seems to stand back as though awaiting a certain car. How it is done, the Canadian knows not, for he sees no signals exchanged, but presently he finds himself with his singular companion in one of the cars in which they are the only passengers.
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