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But instead of that he climbed the stairs, rather heavily, and passed on down the hall to the little room he calls his study, his sanctum-sanctorum where he keeps his desk and papers and books and the duck-guns, so that Dinkie can't get at them. I could hear him open the desk-top and sit down in the squeaky Bank of England chair.
And then her eyes fell upon the thick envelope with its worn edges and open flap which lay unheeded upon the desk-top. Mechanically she reached for it, and her hand came in contact with its thick, heavily engraved contents. She raised the papers to the light and stared; there were five in all, neatly folded, lying one upon another.
And he had her here in the place of honour above his desk, where he sat to write and read. For he did read, she grew sure of it as she looked about her. Though the room was obviously looked after by a servant, it was probable that there were orders not to touch the contents of the desk-top itself, for this was as if it had been lately used.
They care so much, you know." She moved slowly toward the door. "I must go back to your grandfather." "Why? He has Mrs. Stephen, you say. And I like to see you here. There are a lot of things I want to show you." His eager gaze dropped to the desk-top and fell upon the ivory-framed photograph. He looked quickly at her.
My Tim was a sturdy little fellow whose booted legs scarce touched the floor, whose tousled black head hardly showed above the desk-top. His cheeks would turn crimson at the thought of woman's gloves on those brown hands. His tongue would cleave to his mouth in a woman's presence, let alone his lying to her. That was the real Tim the rare Tim.
She deemed him almost handsome, this curious, changeable brother of hers, as he beat with his fist in a measured way upon the desk-top to emphasize his words, and fastened his commanding gaze upon her. "We took very nearly twenty thousand pounds to-day," he went on. "This is the twenty-eighth of February. A fortnight ago today was the first settlement.
The room, very evidently, was a study. But much of its floor, just now, was heaped, ankle high, with hundreds of pages of torn and crumpled paper. The desk-top and a Sheraton cabinet and table were bare of all contents. On the floor reposed countless shattered articles of glass and porcelain; jumbled together with blotters an pastepot and shears and ink-stand and other utensils.
"I'll have it," said the cowpuncher quietly, "I've got gambler's luck. In the end I'm sure to win." "You're not going to win here, Nash." "No?" queried the younger man, with a dangerous intonation. "No. I know the blood behind that chap. You won't win here. Blood will out." He smote his great fist on the desk-top and his laugh was a thunder which reverberated through the room. "Blood will out?
"You do love me, Lady Fair, don't you?" he almost pleaded. "You must love me, knowing as you do all that I have given up for you." He pointed to a heap of carelessly-tossed letters upon desk-top. "Do you see those?" he demanded. "The first from Washington the President demanding my resignation. Following that, curt requests that I withdraw from positions of trust that I held.
He was seated at a small desk whose top was deeply scored by carven initials and monograms of rude design, all inked in to give them the boldness of touch necessary when one would have his art impress the beholder. An open book lay on that desk-top but the eyes of the Individual were not focused on its pages.
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