Nothing But the Truth

“There’s the Utopian,” observed the other. “Only a buzzard would get near it.”

“Do they call the promoter a thief?”

“They do.”

“And is he crazy?”

“He is. It’s either jail or a lunatic asylum for him.”

Bob handed what was left of the commodore’s check to the melancholy man. “Buy Utopian,” he said.

“All right,” answered the melancholy man listlessly. He was beyond feeling any emotion.

“I believe in Utopian,” observed Bob. “I have here,” touching his forehead, “inside information that it is an excellent little railroad property.”

“Oh, it isn’t a railroad,” said the melancholy man. “It’s – ”

“Don’t tell me what it is,” retorted Bob. “Repeat some of those things the world calls the promoter.”

The melancholy man was obliging.

“Heavens! He must be an awful honest man!” said Bob and started toward the door, where he turned. “Pyramid with the profits.” And Bob walked out.

That afternoon he went to a real-estate man and asked where he could lease a small factory. While at college he had invented a small appliance for automobiles, which he felt sure was good and would commend itself to manufacturers. Bob knew about all there was to know about a car. After he had looked at several old deserted buildings on the outskirts, any one of which might answer his purpose, Bob strolled into a number of automobile agencies near Columbus Square, and showed them his little patent. The men in charge were willing to express an opinion; several appeared interested. Of course, Bob would ultimately have to go to the “higher-ups,” but he wanted first to find out what these practical chaps thought. One of them even asked Bob if he wanted a partner? Bob didn’t. He had all the capital needed, he replied.

He was taking a serious sober view of life now. He felt himself no longer “darn fool Bob,” or careless Bob, or lazy Bob. He might have done something with his little device long ago, but he had forgotten all about it. Its creation had been a passing whim. Bob really had a good head for machinery though, and now he was beginning to feel out his path. He wanted to work hard, too, which was a novel sensation. It felt, also, like a permanent sensation. Meeting several chaps, he refused their invitations to partake of the sparkling, much to their surprise, as heretofore he had been a prince of good fellows. Henceforth, however, he was going to be king of himself.

That night, in the old home, in the old square, Dolly called him up by telephone.

“How could you disappoint me so!” said jolly little pal. “The idea of your just pretending to be a burglar.”

“Me, pretend?” Bob laughed. “I say, that’s good. Didn’t I tell you all along I wasn’t?”

“But why didn’t you make me believe you weren’t?” retorted little pal reproachfully. “To think of your deceiving me like that!”

“Deceive you? That’s good, too. Why, I told you again and again I was just a plain ordinary person. You were just bound to idealize me!”

There was a brief pause. “Are you so disappointed in me, you are going to disown me now?” continued Bob.

“No-a. I’m still your jolly little pal. Only to think though, there never was a chance for those adjoining cells, after all!”

“Well, there seemed a good chance, anyhow.”

“Yes, it was nice and exciting while it lasted.” The temperamental little thing sighed. “It’s awful humdrum up here now.”

Bob didn’t ask any questions about the people up there. “You ought to have fallen in love with the hammer-thrower,” he said. “He was the real thing.”

“I suppose I should have,” she seemed to agree. “Wasn’t I stupid? Never mind. Say something nice.”

“Like you,” said Bob.

“Heaps? I need cheering.”

“Heaps.”

“Much obliged. You’re awfully good. What are you doing this evening?”

“I was sitting by the fire in dad’s old-fashioned den, thinking and dreaming.”

“All alone?”

“Entirely.”

“What were you thinking of?”

“Machinery. And a factory.”

“And will it have a tall chimney that belches smoke?”

“I trust ultimately to attain to the kind of a chimney you refer to. At present, I shall have to content myself with a comparatively insignificant one. I have visions of a chimney four hundred feet high some day.”

“Belching ugly smoke?”

“It won’t look ugly to me. It’ll look blissful.”

The biggest sigh of all quivered from afar. “Another dream shattered! My! but I’m growing up fast. I feel a million years old. Anyhow, I’ll never marry Dickie.”

“Wouldn’t if I were you. He doesn’t fight fair. Before he got through he’d have all your dad’s chimneys, as well as his own, and then he’d put you on an allowance. You’d have to account for every pin and needle you bought.”

“Yes; I know. When I do find the right man I’ll bring him to you and let you pass in judgment. You shall tell me whether I can or can’t.”

“All right – though isn’t that rather a paternal prerogative?”

“Oh, dad always lets me do what I want. You’re the only man that has ever dared oppose me.”

“But suppose I did oppose you in a matter of such importance?”

Miss Dolly thought. “We won’t cross that bridge before we come to it. You said you were thinking and dreaming. I know what you were thinking about. Now, what were you dreaming about all by your lonely, sitting by the fire?”

Bob was glad he didn’t have to blurt out the truth any more. He evaded. “Did I say dreaming?” he asked.

“You did. Was it of some one?”

“Pooh! What nonsense!”

“Oh, it isn’t nonsense to do that.”

“I was only thinking of chimneys and things like that,” returned Bob. That was an out-and-outer. He shuddered to think of the answer he would have had to make a few days ago.