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Updated: June 10, 2025
But how much did she know, or this man Cathewe? The woman was a thoroughbred. He, Anatole Ferraud, knew; it was his business to know; and that she should happen upon the scene he considered as one of these rare good pieces of luck that fall to the lot of few. There would be something more than treasure hunting here; an intricate comedy-drama, with as many well-defined sides as a diamond.
"That's the only sure way, and even that is no good if your marble is spongy." "Oh, Cathewe, this is not your funeral," retorted the editor. "Perhaps not. All the same, I'll be chief mourner if Jack takes up novel writing. Critics don't like novels, because any one can write an average story; but it takes a genius to turn out first-class magazine copy.
Cathewe was one of those sure, quiet men, a staff to lean on, that a woman may find once in a life-time. They are, as a usual thing, always loving deeply and without success, but always invariably cheerful and buoyant, genuine philosophers. They are not given much to writing sonnets or posing; and they can stand aside with a brave heart as the other man takes the dream out of their lives.
Fitzgerald and Cathewe had to bunk the best they could in a tenement at the upper end of the town; two cots in a single room, carpetless and ovenlike for the heat. Cathewe opened his rug-bag and spread out a rug in front of his cot, for he wasn't fond at any time of dirty, bare boards under his feet. He began to undress, silently, puffing his pipe as one unconscious of the deed.
All the enthusiasm was down deep below. Cathewe was always in funds; Fitzgerald sometimes; but there was never any lending or borrowing between them. This will do much toward keeping friendship green. The elder man was a great hunter; he had been everywhere, north and south, east and west.
Still, he would withhold his judgment till he heard from New York on the subject. Cathewe hadn't been enthusiastic over the name; but Cathewe was never inclined to enthusiasms. Passing the angle of the freight depot brought the little harbor into full view. A fine white yacht lay tugging at her cables. "There's a beauty," said Fitzgerald admiringly.
"I am glad he has found it. Didn't I wish him to have it?" "And you knew all this?" said Cathewe into the ear of the woman he loved. Thinly the word came through her lips: "Yes." Cathewe's chin sank into his collar and he stared at the crumbs on the cloth. "But what meant this argument with the drivers?" asked Coldfield. "Yes! I had forgotten that," supplemented the sailor.
Well, you ask me what I should do in your place. I'd go." "I shall. It will double discount fishing. And the more I think of it, the more certain I become that she and I have met somewhere. By-by!" Cathewe lingered in the reading-room, pondering. Here was a twist to the wager he was rather unprepared for; and if the truth must be told, he was far more perplexed than Fitzgerald.
"I stole in here to look at the trophies, when I discovered Mr. Breitmann whom I once knew in Munich." "Mr. Cathewe," said the young hostess, "this is Mr. Breitmann, who is aiding father in the compilation of his book." "Mr. Breitmann and I have met before," said Cathewe soberly. The two men bowed. Cathewe never gave his hand to any but his intimates.
They must not know that we have met." "Cathewe knows," moodily. "I had forgotten!" "I leave all in your hands. Do what you will. If you break me and God knows well that you can do it it would be only an act of justice. I have been a damned scoundrel; I am man enough to admit of that." She saw his face more clearly now. Time had marked it.
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