CHAPTER XIX

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As Mr. Harmon entered the room, he saw a man, tall, square-shouldered, roughly dressed, standing with his back to the door. The stranger was so busy in admiring contemplation of a fine full-length oil-painting of the railroad magnate's daughter which adorned the mantelpiece that he did not hear any one enter. Mr. Harmon coughed, and the man turned quickly. It was Armitage.

The light in the room was not good, and for a moment Mr. Harmon could not distinguish his caller's features. At first he was in doubt as to his identity.

"You wished to see me, Sir," he began. "You are Mr.--Mr.----?"

"Jack Armitage is my name," the other replied carelessly. Quickly he added: "I did not seek this interview, Mr. Harmon. You wrote asking me to call."

Mr. Harmon advanced cordially and extended his hand.

"To be sure--to be sure. Sit down, Mr. Armitage. You happen to have called on a very busy day. We're having some friends to see us."

Despite his efforts to appear cordial, there was a certain embarrassment in the magnate's manner which his visitor was not slow to observe.

"So I noticed," he replied dryly. "The policeman outside didn't size me up as being a friend of yours, so he promptly ran me in. I insisted that you had asked me to call and he let me go. Then your cockney butler took me for a suspicious character, and after letting me enter, under protest, through the tradesmen's entrance, he set the footman to watch me while he went to find you up-stairs."

Mr. Harmon laughed.

"Servants judge only by appearances," he said. "If you'd driven up in a carriage and pair, they'd have received you with every mark of honor. I'm sorry if they hurt your feelings."

Armitage shrugged his shoulders and gave a little bitter laugh.

"What do I care for such jackals? I'm accustomed to that kind of thing. Well, I won't keep you, Mr. Harmon. You asked me to call. What can I do for you?"

The railroad man was taken aback. Yet he liked the man's independent spirit. Hastily he said:

"You mean what can I do for you. I sent for you because we could not allow you to go away like that. Do you suppose that I, John Harmon, would permit the man who saved my daughter to go unrewarded?"

Armitage shook his head.

"I want nothing," he said curtly.

"You want nothing?" echoed Mr. Harmon in surprise, looking his caller up and down from head to foot. "Are your circumstances such that you are in need of nothing?"

Armitage laughed bitterly.

"I need so much that I need nothing. It sounds like a paradox, but it's the truth."

Mr. Harmon looked at him in surprise.

"You weren't always so low down in the world?"

Armitage made no reply.

"You're an educated man. That I can tell from your speech. Some misfortune--some folly has brought you where you are."

Armitage gave an impatient gesture and, moving toward the door, said:

"I didn't come here to discuss my affairs, Mr. Harmon. You sent for me. I thought you needed me. Good afternoon."

Mr. Harmon intercepted him.

"Wait a minute, young man. Don't be so hasty. I meant no offence. Don't you see that I am interested in you? I want to help you."

"I ask help of no one," replied Armitage doggedly.

"Twice you saved my daughter's life. She and I can never forget what we owe you. She wants to thank you herself again. She could not understand your disappearance and silence. Why did you not come?"

Armitage was silent a moment, and then he said:

"What was the use? I don't belong here. I didn't wish to embarrass you. Can't you see that? I saw Miss Harmon the other day. She was walking on Fifth Avenue. She didn't see me. Why should she? I was working on a job close by. She happened to pass just as I was about to quit work. I looked at her, but she didn't see me. Even if she did, she wouldn't want to recognize me in these togs. I know that. I don't blame her."

"You don't know my daughter," exclaimed Mr. Harmon enthusiastically. "She is the last girl in the world to act like that. If she had seen you, she would have been the first to extend her hand. I'm a self-made man myself," he added proudly. "There's nothing snobbish about me, and I hope there isn't about my daughter. You'll come up-stairs with me now and be introduced to everybody as the man who saved her."

Armitage shook his head.

"No--it isn't you--it's the world. It's not ourselves--it's because we're afraid of what the world, our neighbors, will think. No, I wouldn't embarrass your daughter. Besides, I've no wish to be put on exhibition."

Mr. Harmon, puzzled, scratched his head.

"Well, what can we do to show our gratitude? Let me give you a little present."

He took out his check-book, and, sitting down, wrote an order to bearer for $10,000.

"Here, Mr. Armitage. This is far cheaper than I value my daughter. But it will make life easy for you. You can start some business--be practically independent for life. Here, my boy, take it with a father's gratitude."

He passed the check over to Armitage, who looked at it a moment. A smile passed over his face and slowly, deliberately, he tore it into tiny pieces.

"What are you doing?" cried Mr. Harmon.

"I can't take your money for taking care of her, Mr. Harmon. I should forever despise myself if I did. It would be bad luck to me."

"Well, what can I do for you? I can't let you go like that!"

Armitage remained silent. Then, turning suddenly, he said:

"There's only one thing I could accept from you, Mr. Harmon."

"What is that?" demanded the railroad magnate eagerly.

"Something that even you, rich as you are, cannot give me. You wouldn't give it me if you could. Good day, Mr. Harmon."

Armitage went out and, as he passed the astonished financier, he gave a last lingering look at the oil portrait which filled the space over the mantel.

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