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Man of Honor

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<h2>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> <h3>Mr. Pagebrook Accepts an Invitation to Lunch and another Invitation.</h3> On the morning after Robert's incarceration, his attorney came at the appointed hour for the purpose of preparing the papers on which application was to be made for his discharge. "I have the affidavits all ready, I believe, Mr. Pagebrook, and we have only to make a complete list of your property." "That will be easily done, sir," said Robert, with a feeling of grim amusement; "as I have literally nothing except my trunk and its contents." "You have your claim on that bank for money deposited. I suppose that must be included, though it is only a chose in action." "O put it in, by all means," said Robert. "I do not wish to misrepresent anything or to withhold anything. I only wish the chose in action, as you call it, were of sufficient value to discharge the debt. I should then quit here free from all indebtedness, except to you for your fee; and should not have this thing to pay.' "Your discharge, I think, will free you, in law, from——" "But it will not free me in honor sir. It will give me time, however; and the very first use I shall make of that time will be to earn the money with which to pay off this, my only debt. I should never ask a discharge at all if the asking supposed any purpose on my part to avoid the payment of the debt. Pardon me; this talk must sound odd to you, coming from a man in my present position. I forgot that I am an absconding debtor. You will think my talk a cheap kind of honesty, costing nothing." "No, Pagebrook—if you will allow me to drop the 'Mister'—I should trust you in any transaction, though I have not known you a week. I don't believe you are an absconding debtor, and I'm not going to believe it on the strength of any oaths Messrs. Steel, Flint & Sharp may make." As he said this the young lawyer took Robert's hand, and Robert found himself wholly unable to utter a word by way of reply. He did not want to shed tears in the presence of his jail attendants, but the lawyer saw them standing in his eyes, and prevented any effort at replying by turning at once to the matter in hand. "Come, Pagebrook," he said, "this isn't business. Let me see; what bank was it that you deposited with?" "The Essex," said Robert. "The Essex!" said the lawyer. "What was that I saw in the Tribune this morning about that bank? I think it was the Essex. Let me see;" running his eye over the columns of the newspaper, which he had taken from his pocket. "Ah! here it is. By George! My dear Pagebrook, I congratulate you. Your bank has resumed. See, here is the item: "'Philadelphia, Dec. 3D.—The Essex Bank, of this city, which suspended payment some weeks since, will resume business to-morrow. Its affairs were found to be in a very favorable condition, and at a meeting of the stockholders, held to-day, the deficit in its assets was covered, and its capital made good by subscription. It is not thought that any run will be made upon it, but ample preparations have been made to meet such a contingency.' "Again I congratulate you, right heartily." "This means then, that my sixteen hundred dollars—that was the total amount of my deposit—is intact, and that I may check against it as soon as I choose, does it?" "Certainly." "Then let us suspend our preparations for securing my release. I will pay out of this instead of begging out. I will draw at once for enough to cover this debt and your fees, and ask you to put the draft into bank for collection. We will have returns by the day after to-morrow, doubtless, and I shall then go out of here with my head up." "We'll end this business sooner than that, Pagebrook," said the lawyer. "Draw your draft, I'll indorse it, take it to the bank where I deposit, get it cashed at once, and have you out of here in time for a two o'clock lunch. You'll lunch with me, of course." "Pardon me, but you have no means of knowing that I have any money in that bank," said Robert. "Yes, indeed I have." "What is it?" "Your word. I told you I would trust you." Robert looked at the man a moment, and then taking his hand, said: "I accept your confidence frankly. Thank you. Draw the draft, please, and I will sign it." The draft was soon drawn, and at two o'clock that day—just twenty-four hours after his arrest—Robert sat down to lunch with his friend, in a down-town eating-house. While the two gentlemen were engaged with their lunch, Robert's friend Dudley, who had been eating a chop at the farther end of the room, espied his acquaintance, and approaching him said: "How are you, Pagebrook? Are you specially engaged for this afternoon?" "No, I believe not," said Robert. "I have nothing to do except to finish an article which I want to offer you to-morrow, and I can do that to-night." "Suppose you come up to the office, then, after you finish your lunch. I want to talk with you." "I will be there within half an hour, if that will suit you," said Robert. "Very well; I'll expect you." Accordingly, Robert bade his friend adieu after lunch, and went immediately to the editor's room. Mr. Dudley closed the door, first saying to his messenger, who sat in the anteroom; "I shall be busy for some time, Eddie, and can't see anybody. If any one calls, tell him I am closeted with a gentleman on important business and can see nobody. Now, Pagebrook," he resumed, taking his seat, "you ought to quit teaching." "Why?" asked Robert. "Well, you're a born writer certainly, and if I am not greatly mistaken, a born journalist too. You have a knack of knowing just what points people want to hear about. I've been struck with that in every article you have written for me, and especially in this last one. Do you know I've rejected no less than a dozen well-written articles on that very subject, just because they treated every phase of it except the right one, and didn't come within a mile of that. Now you've hit it exactly, as you always do. You've got hold of precisely the things that nobody knows anything about and everybody wants to know all about, and that's journalism." "Thank you," said Robert. "You really think, then, that I might make myself a successful journalist if I were to try?" "I know you would. You have precisely the right sort of ideas. You discriminate between the things that are wanted and the things that are not. I have long since discovered that this thing that men call writing ability and journalistic ability isn't like anything else. It crops out where you would never look for it, and where you think it ought to be it isn't. You can't coax or nurse it into existence to save your life. If a man has it he has it, and if he hasn't it he hasn't it, and nobody can give it to him. It isn't contagious, and I honestly believe it isn't acquirable. And that's why I'm certain of you. You've shown that you have it, and one showing is as good as a hundred." "I am greatly pleased," said Robert, "to know that you think so well of me in this respect, for I have resigned my professorship and determined to make my way, to the best of my ability, as a journalist, hereafter?" "You have?" "Yes; I sent my letter of resignation yesterday." "I'm heartily glad of it, old fellow, and selfishly glad, too, for it was to persuade you to do that that I sat down to talk to you. You see my health is not very good lately; the fact is I have been using the spur too much, and am pretty well run down with overwork. The publishers have been urging me to get an assistant, and the trouble is to get one who can really relieve me of a share of the work. I can get plenty of people to undertake it, but I have to go over their work to be sure of it, and it's easier to do it myself from the first. Now you are just the man I want, if you can stand the salary. The publishers will let me pay forty dollars a week. You can make more than that from the outside, I suppose, but it's better to be in a regular situation, I think. How would you like to try the thing?" "Nothing could be more to my taste. I think I should like this better than daily paper work, and besides it gives one a better opportunity for growth. But before we talk any more about it I feel myself in honor bound to tell you what has happened to me lately. If you care then to repeat your offer, I shall gladly accept it, but if you feel the slightest hesitation about it, I shall not blame you for not renewing it." And Robert told him everything, but Dudley declined to believe that there had been any just cause for the arrest, or that Robert had in any way violated the strictest canons of honor. This young man seemed, indeed, to be perfect master of the art of making people believe in him in spite of the most damaging facts. Miss Sudie's faith in him never wavered for an instant. Even Billy had to keep a synopsis of the evidence against his cousin constantly in mind to keep himself from "believing that he couldn't see through glass," as he phrased it. The New York lawyer, summoned to get the young man out of jail, backed his faith in him, as we have seen, by indorsing his draft for several hundred dollars; and now Dudley, after hearing a plain statement of the facts from Robert's own lips, dismissed them as of no consequence, and set up his own unreasonable faith as a complete answer to them. He renewed his offer, and Robert accepted it, becoming office editor of the weekly paper for which he had recently been writing. <hr style="width: 65%;" /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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