CHAPTER XXIX
THE PRODIGAL'S RETURN
After what seemed an age to Monty, the "Flitter," in tow of thefreighter "Glencoe," arrived at Southampton. The captain of the freightboat was a thrifty Scotchman whose ship was traveling with a lightcargo, and he was not, therefore, averse to taking on a tow. But thethought of salvage had caused him to ask a high price for the serviceand Monty, after a futile attempt at bargaining, had agreed. The pricewas fifty thousand dollars, and the young man believed more than everthat everything was ruled by a wise Providence, which had not desertedhim. His guests were heartsick when they heard the figure, but were ashappy as Monty at the prospect of reaching land again.
The "Glencoe" made several stops before Southampton was finally reachedon the 28th of August, but when the English coast was sighted every onewas too eager to go ashore to begrudge the extra day. Dan DeMille askedthe entire party to become his guests for a week's shooting trip inScotland, but Monty vetoed the plan in the most decided manner.
"We sail for New York on the fastest boat," said Monty, and hurried offto learn the sailings and book his party. The first boat was to sail onthe 30th and he could only secure accommodations for twelve of hisguests. The rest were obliged to follow a week later. This was readilyagreed to and Bragdon was left to see to the necessary repairs on the"Flitter" and arrange for her homeward voyage. Monty gave Bragdonfifteen thousand dollars for the purpose and extracted a solemn promisethat the entire amount would be used.
"But it won't cost half of this," protested Bragdon.
"You will have to give these people a good time during the weekand--well--you have promised that I shall never see another penny ofit. Some day you'll know why I do this," and Monty felt easier when hisfriend agreed to abide by his wishes.
He discharged the "Flitter's" crew, with five months' pay and thereward promised on the night of Peggy's rescue, which was productive oftouching emotions. Captain Perry and his officers never forgot thefarewell of the prodigal, nor could they hide the regret that markedtheir weather-beaten faces.
Plans to dispose of his household goods and the balance of his cash inthe short time that would be left after he arrived in New York occupiedMonty's attention, and most men would have given up the scheme ashopeless. But he did not despair. He was still game, and he preparedfor the final plunge with grim determination.
"There should have been a clause in Jones's conditions about 'weatherpermitting,'" he said to himself. "A shipwrecked mariner should not beexpected to spend a million dollars."
The division of the party for the two sailings was tactfully arrangedby Mrs. Dan DeMille. The Valentines chaperoned the "second table" as"Subway" Smith called those who were to take the later boat, and sheherself looked after the first lot. Peggy Gray and Monty Brewster werein the DeMille party. The three days in England were marked byunparalleled extravagance on Monty's part. One of the local hotels wassubsidized for a week, although the party only stayed for luncheon, andthe Cecil in London was a gainer by several thousand dollars for thebrief stop there. It was a careworn little band that took Monty'sspecial train for Southampton and embarked two days later. The "restcure" that followed was welcome to all of them and Brewster wasespecially glad that his race was almost run.
Swiftly and steadily the liner cut down the leagues that separated herfrom New York. Fair weather and fair cheer marked her course, and thesoft, balmy nights were like seasons of fairyland. Monty was cherishingin his heart the hope inspired by Peggy's action on the night of thestorm. Somehow it brought a small ray of light to his cloudedunderstanding and he found joy in keeping the flame alive religiouslyif somewhat doubtfully. His eyes followed her constantly, searching forthe encouragement that the very blindness of love had hidden from him,forever tormenting himself with fears and hopes and fears again. Herhappiness and vivacity puzzled him--he was often annoyed, he was nowand then seriously mystified.
Four days out from New York, then three days, then two days, and thenBrewster began to feel the beginning of the final whirlwind inprofligacy clouding him oppressively, ominously, unkindly. Down in hisstateroom he drew new estimates, new calculations, and tried to balancethe old ones so that they appeared in the light most favorable to hisdesigns. Going over the statistics carefully, he estimated that thecruise, including the repairs and return of the yacht to New York,would cost him $210,000 in round figures. One hundred and thirty-threedays marked the length of the voyage when reckoned by time and, as nearas he could get at it, the expense had averaged $1,580 a day. Accordingto the contract, he was to pay for the yacht, exclusive of the cuisineand personal service. And he had found it simple enough to spend theremaining $1,080. There were days, of course, when fully $5,000disappeared, and there were others on which he spent much less than$1,000, but the average was secure. Taking everything intoconsideration, Brewster found that his fortune had dwindled to a fewpaltry thousands in addition to the proceeds which would come to himfrom the sale of his furniture. On the whole he was satisfied.
The landing in New York and the separation which followed were notentirely merry. Every discomfort was forgotten and the travelers onlyknew that the most wonderful cruise since that of the ark had come toan end. There was not one who would not have been glad to begin itagain the next day.
Immediately after the landing Brewster and Gardner were busy with thedetails of settlement. After clearing up all of the obligations arisingfrom the cruise, they felt the appropriateness of a season ofreflection. It was a difficult moment--a moment when undeliveredreproofs were in the air. But Gardner seemed much the more melancholyof the two.
Piles of newspapers lay scattered about the floor of the room In whichthey sat. Every one of them contained sensational stories of theprodigal's trip, with pictures, incidents and predictions. Monty waspained, humiliated and resentful, but he was honest enough to admit thejustification of much that was said of him. He read bits of it here andthere and then threw the papers aside hopelessly. In a few weeks theywould tell another story, and quite as emphatically.
"The worst of it, Monty, is that you are the next thing to being a poorman," groaned Gardner. "I've done my best to economize for you here athome, as you'll see by these figures, but nothing could possiblybalance the extravagances of this voyage. They are simply appalling."
With the condemnation of his friends ringing in his troubled brain,with the sneers of acquaintances to distress his pride, with the jibesof the comic papers to torture him remorselessly, Brewster was fastbecoming the most miserable man in New York. Friends of former daysgave him the cut direct, clubmen ignored him or scorned him openly,women chilled him with the iciness of unspoken reproof, and all theworld was hung with shadows. The doggedness of despair kept him up, butthe strain that pulled down on him was so relentless that the strugglewas losing its equality. He had not expected such a home-coming.
Compared with his former self, Monty was now almost a physical wreck,haggard, thin and defiant, a shadow of the once debonair young NewYorker, an object of pity and scorn. Ashamed and despairing, he hadalmost lacked the courage to face Mrs. Gray. The consolation he oncegained through her he now denied himself and his suffering, peculiar asit was, was very real. In absolute recklessness he gave dinner afterdinner, party after party, all on a most lavish scale, many of hisguests laughing at him openly while they enjoyed his hospitality. Thereal friends remonstrated, pleaded, did everything within their powerto check his awful rush to poverty, but without success; he was not tobe stopped.
At last the furniture began to go, then the plate, then ail thepriceless bric-a-brac. Piece by piece it disappeared until theapartments were empty and he had squandered almost all of the $40,350arising from the sales. The servants were paid off, the apartmentsrelinquished, and he was beginning to know what it meant to be "on hisuppers." At the banks he ascertained that the interest on his moneysamounted to $19,140.86. A week before the 23d of September, the wholemillion was gone, including the amounts won in Lumber and Fuel andother luckless enterprises. He
still had about $17,000 of his interestmoney in the banks, but he had a billion pangs in his heart--theinterest on his improvidence.
He found some delight in the discovery that the servants had robbed himof not less than $3,500 worth of his belongings, including theChristmas presents that he in honor could not have sold. His onlyencouragement came from Grant & Ripley, the lawyers. They inspiredconfidence in his lagging brain by urging him on to the end, promisingbrightness thereafter. Swearengen Jones was as mute as the mountains inwhich he lived. There was no word from him, there was no assurance thathe would approve of what had been done to obliterate Edwin PeterBrewster's legacy.
Dan DeMille and his wife implored Monty to come with them to themountains before his substance was gone completely. The former offeredhim money, employment, rest and security if he would abandon the coursehe was pursuing. Up in Fortieth Street Peggy Gray was grieving herheart out and he knew it. Two or three of those whom he had consideredfriends refused to recognize him in the street in this last tryingweek, and it did not even interest him to learn that Miss Barbara Drewwas to become a duchess before the winter was gone. Yet he found somesatisfaction in the report that one Hampton of Chicago had long sincebeen dropped out of the race.
One day he implored the faithful Bragdon to steal the Boston terriers.He could not and would not sell them and he dared not give them away.Bragdon dejectedly appropriated the dogs and Brewster announced thatsome day he would offer a reward for their return and "no questionsasked."
He took a suite of rooms in a small hotel and was feverishly planningthe overthrow of the last torturing thousands. Bragdon lived with himand the "Little Sons of the Rich" stood loyally ready to help him whenhe uttered the first cry of want. But even this establishment had to beabandoned at last. The old rooms in Fortieth Street were still open tohim and though he quailed at the thought of making them a refuge, hefaced the ordeal in the spirit of a martyr.