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The firm of Conward & Elden had been scurrying for cover; as quietly and secretly as possible, to avoid alarming the public, but scurrying for cover nevertheless. And Dave had acquiesced in that policy. He had little stomach for it, but no other course seemed possible. Conward, he knew, had no scruples.
"I have fought as long as I can," she said, "and I I always wanted to to lose, you know; and now I surrender." . . . Elden lost no time in facing the unpleasant task of an interview with Mrs. Hardy. It was even less pleasant than he expected. "Irene is of age," said Mrs. Hardy, bluntly. "If she will she will. But I must tell you plainly that I will do all I can to dissuade her.
After the Hospital had been destroyed, a scheme for the management of the revenues was suggested to Lord Elden, then Lord Chancellor, and afterwards approved by Lord Lyndhurst. The question before the Chancellor was, one would think, the following: 'Here is an annual revenue of £5,000 and more, released by the destruction of the Hospital.
And in such moods she was sorry, but she knew she could never, never marry him. "What, Dave Elden, the millionaire?" Bert Morrison had said. "Everybody knows him." And then the newspaper woman had gone on to tell what a figure Dave was in the business life of the city, and to declare that he might be equally prominent in the social life, did his fancies lead him in that direction.
"Conward," she said. Dave's blood went to his head. "The scoundrel!" he cried. "The low down dog! There's more in this than appears on the surface." "Sure there is," she said. "There's another woman. There always is." Elden walked to his desk. From a drawer he took a revolver; toyed with it a moment in his hands; broke it open, crammed it full of cartridges and thrust it in his pocket.
The years had been good to the firm of Conward & Elden; good far beyond the wildness of their first dreams. The transaction of the section bought from the English absentee had been but the beginning of bigger and more daring adventures.
In a time when firms were going out of business without even the formality of an assignment, and others were being absorbed by their competitors, the dissolution of the Conward & Elden establishment occasioned no more than passing notice. The explanation, "for business reasons," given to the newspapers, seemed sufficient. Some few may have had surmises, but they said nothing openly.
"If that section of land is worth close to a million dollars," he said, "is it quite fair to take advantage of the owner's absence and ignorance to buy it for a few thousand?" "Dave," said Conward, with an arm on his shoulder, "the respectability of the firm is safe in your hands. But please let me weigh the coal." David Elden smoked his after-dinner cigar in his bachelor quarters.
Perhaps " "It all depends on one thing," Dave interrupted. "What is that?" "It all depends on whether we are Miss Hardy and Mr. Elden, or whether we are still Reenie and Dave." Her bright eyes had fallen to the floor, and he could see the tremor of her fingers as they rested on the back of a chair. She did not answer him directly. But in a moment she spoke. "Mother will buy the house from Mr.
But another event, much more dramatic and far-reaching in its effects upon his life, was already ripe for the enacting. Business conditions had necessitated unwonted economy in the office affairs of Conward & Elden, as a result of which many old employees had been laid off, and others had been replaced by cheaper and less experienced labour.
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