THAN Fred Norman no man ever had better reason to feel securely entrenched upon the heights of success.
It was no silly vaunt of optimism for him to tell Lockyer that only loss of life or loss of mind could dislodge him. And a few days after Dorothy had extinguished the last spark of hope he got ready to pull himself together and show the world that it was indulging too soon in its hypocritical headshakings over his ruin.
"I am going to open an office of my own at once," he said to his sister.
She did not wish to discourage him, but she could not altogether keep her thoughts from her face. She had, in a general way, a clear idea of the complete system of tollgates, duly equipped with strong barriers, which the mighty few have established across practically all the highroads to material success. Also, she felt in her brother's manner and tone a certain profound discouragement, a lack of the unconquerable spirit which had carried him so far so speedily. It is not a baseless notion that the man who has never been beaten is often destroyed by his first reverse. Ursula feared the spell of success had been broken for him.
"You mean," she suggested, with apparent carelessness, "that you will give up your forty thousand a year?"
He made a disdainful gesture. "I can make more than that," said he. "It's a second rate lawyer who can't in this day."
"Of course you can," replied she tactfully. "But why not take a rest first? Then there's old Burroughs --on the war path. Wouldn't it be wise to wait till he calms down?"
"If Burroughs or any other man is necessary to me," rejoined Fred, "the sooner I find it out the better.
I ought to know just where I--I myself--stand."
"No one is necessary to you but yourself," said Ursula, proudly and sincerely. "But, Fred-- Are you yourself just now?"
"No, I'm not," admitted he. "But the way to become so again isn't by waiting but by working." An expression of sheer wretchedness came into his listless, heavy eyes. "Urse, I've got to conquer my weakness now, or go under."
She was eager to hold on to the secure forty thousand a year--for his sake no less than for her own.
She argued with him with all the adroitness of a mind as good in its way as his own. But she could not shake his resolution. And she in prudence, desisted when he said bitterly: "I see you've lost confidence in me.
Well, I don't blame you. . . . So have I." Then after a moment, violently rather than strongly: "But I've got to get it back. If I don't I'm only putting off the smash--a complete smash."
"I don't see quite how it's to be arranged," said she, red and hesitating. For, she feared he would think her altogether selfish in her anxiety. He certainly would have been justified in so thinking; he knew how rarely generosity survived in the woman who leads the soft and idle life.
"How long can we keep on as we're living now--if there's nothing, or little, coming in?"
"I don't know," confessed she. She was as poor at finance as he, and had certainly not been improved by his habit of giving her whatever she happened to think was necessary. "I can't say. Perhaps a few months--I don't know-- Not long, I'm afraid."
"Six months?"
"Oh, no. You see--the fact is--I've been rather careless about the bills. You're so generous, Fred--and one is so busy in New York. I guess we owe a good deal--here and there and yonder. And--the last few days some of the tradespeople have been pressing for payment."
"You see!" exclaimed he. "The report is going round that I'm ruined and done for. I've simply got to make good. If you can't keep up a front, shut up the house and go abroad. You can stay till I've got my foot back on its neck."
She believed in him, at bottom. She could not conceive how appearances and her forebodings could be true. Such strength as his could not be overwhelmed thus suddenly. And by so slight a thing!--by an unsatisfied passion for a woman, and an insignificant woman, at that. For, like all women, like all the world for that matter, she measured a passion by the woman who was the object of it, instead of by the man who fabricated it. "Yes--I'll go abroad," said she, hopefully.
"Quietly arrange for a long stay," he advised. "I HOPE it won't be long. But I never plan on hope."
Thus, with his sister and Fitzhugh out of the way and the heaviest of his burdens of expense greatly lightened, he set about rehabitating himself. He took an office, waited for clients. And clients came--excellent clients. Came and precipitately left him.
There were two reasons for it. The first--the one most often heard--was the story going round that he had been, and probably still was, out of his mind. No deadlier or crueler weapon can be used against a man than that same charge as to his sanity. It has been known to destroy, or seriously maim, brilliant and able men with no trace of any of the untrustworthy kinds of insanity. Where the man's own conduct gives color to the report, the attack is usually mortal. And Norman had acted the crazy man. The second reason was the hostility of Burroughs, reinforced by all the hatreds and jealousies Norman's not too respectful way of dealing with his fellow men had been creating through fifteen years.
The worst moment in the life of a man who has always proudly regarded himself as above any need whatever from his fellow men is when he discovers all in a flash, that the timid animal he spurned as it fawned has him upon his back, has its teeth and claws at his helpless throat.
For four months he stood out against the isolation, the suspicion as to his sanity, the patronizing pity of men who but a little while before had felt honored when he spoke to them. For four months he gave battle to unseen and silent foes compassing him on every side.
