The Golden Key; Or, A Heart's Silent Worship. Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
his handsome brown eyes.
CHAPTER II.
“WHATEVER STANDS IN MY PATH!”
“Did she really mean it, I wonder? Would it spoil her party for her if I should not go?” mused Gerald Winchester, as the daintily ruffled skirts of Allison Brewster disappeared around a corner and his glance shifted to the lovely rosebud which he still held, “or is it just her sweet, impulsive way of saying pleasant things to make one feel comfortable and happy?”
As he concluded this soliloquy, he raised the bud to his lips and bestowed a light caress upon it.
At the same instant a step behind him caused him to turn suddenly, to find himself again confronted by the sneering face of Mr. John Hubbard.
“Very pretty! very interesting, truly; but rather a dangerous sentiment, and presumptuous, as well, for a boy to indulge in, with only fifteen dollars a week,” the man sarcastically observed.
Then without giving Gerald time to reply, had he been so disposed, he added sharply:
“Have you copied those papers relating to the Wynn estate?”
“Yes, I have just finished them,” the young man returned, as he took a package from his desk and passed it to his companion, who observed that his hand was trembling and that he had grown very white about the mouth, while there was a gleam of fire in his eyes which betrayed that he was not lacking in spirit, although he was able to hold it under perfect control.
As John Hubbard took the papers he managed to brush to the floor the rosebud which Gerald had laid upon the desk.
“Take care, please,” said the young man, and stooping eagerly to recover his treasure.
But he was not quick enough, for the other ruthlessly set his foot upon it, crushing it flat and destroying all its beauty.
For a minute the boy and the man stood looking straight into each other’s eyes, their faces as colorless as the collars about their necks.
“That is typical of what happens to everything that stands in my way; so beware! young beggar, that you do not covet what is beyond your reach,” said John Hubbard menacingly.
Gerald Winchester’s hands were clenched so fiercely that the nail of every finger turned purple; but his bearing was that of a hero who could face a cannon’s mouth and never flinch.
Presently he drew in a long, deep breath, his hands relaxed; then he said, as quietly as if he were making the most commonplace observation imaginable:
“Nothing is unattainable, Mr. Hubbard, to him who is determined to win.”
“Aha! say you so? You speak with the impulse and inexperience of youth; but, look there, and—be warned,” sneered his companion, as, lifting his foot he made a gesture indicating the mutilated bud.
Then turning abruptly, he left the office, while Gerald, with a ghastly face and trembling hands, stooped to recover the ruined flower.
He tenderly gathered up every discolored leaf and petal, arranging them neatly upon a sheet of blank paper, which he carefully folded and placed within an envelope.
“It shall be my mascot,” he muttered, with a determined gleam in his eyes, as he put it in an inside pocket of his vest, “and as sure as I live, Mr. John Hubbard, you will find me no mean rival. I will yet stand where I can ask for what I want and not be accused of being a fortune-hunter, either.”
Mr. Brewster came in, a few minutes later, and Gerald’s thoughts were turned into other channels, although throughout the day he was never for a moment unconscious of that bruised and discolored bud which lay so near his heart.
Two weeks slipped rapidly by, and the day set for Allison Brewster’s lawn-party dawned clear and beautiful.
Gerald had, meantime, received by mail a formal card of invitation with the words “Come early” delicately penciled in one corner, and he had been looking eagerly forward to the occasion, although he said nothing to any one of his intention to be present.
In his heart he knew that Mr. Brewster, in spite of his own fondness for him, would not approve of the existence of any tender relations between him and his peerless daughter, and he greatly feared, should he intimate that he had been bidden to the approaching festival, that some extra work would be forthcoming to keep him away.
While he would not wilfully betray the confidence of his employer, he, at the same time, believed that he had a perfect right to love Allison, since, morally and intellectually, he was her equal, if not her superior; while he felt sure, so sanguine is youth, that he would eventually work his way up to a position no less enviable than hers—both socially and financially.
“I will take no unfair advantage,” he said to himself, “but I will make the most of my opportunities; and, if by and by, Allison should respond to my affection, I will claim her right to act for herself, and my right to abide by her choice, and”—with a flash of fire in his dark eyes—“I am no fragile bud to be crushed by the heel of any man’s boot.”
Having settled matters thus in his own mind, Gerald looked eagerly forward to the fulfilment of his promise to Allison.
On Saturday morning, however, John Hubbard presented himself before Mr. Brewster—Gerald being out on some errand—and stated that a matter of importance in Jersey City needed prompt attention, and it would be necessary to despatch some trustworthy person to deliver certain valuable documents into the hands of the party whom they most concerned.
“I would go myself,” said the wily expert and confidential lawyer, “but I have to prepare for that case that is coming off on Monday, and I cannot attend to both matters.”
“Very well, send whom you like to Jersey,” said the banker briefly.
“I think perhaps that Winchester might go—that is, if you can spare him; he is reliable and as prompt as the clock,” said the crafty schemer, who, for two weeks, had borne this thing in mind for the very purpose of keeping Gerald from the lawn-party.
“Yes, I can spare him,” replied Mr. Brewster, “and you are right—Gerald is as true as steel, and can be trusted with any commission.”
John Hubbard’s white teeth gleamed for a moment beneath his mustache in a sinister smile at this high tribute to the young man; then remarking that he would make up the package, he disappeared from the room, chuckling to himself as he went.
A half hour later he took the parcel to Gerald, who with difficulty concealed his disappointment when he was told what was required of him, for he knew that it would be utterly impossible for him to go to Jersey City to perform his errand and return in season to keep his promise to Allison; at least, it would be evening before he could reach Yonkers, where Mr. Brewster’s country home was located, and the party would be over by that time.
He felt very sure from the mocking gleam in his eye as he handed the paper to him, that John Hubbard had cunningly contrived this strategy for the express purpose of making him miss the pleasure he was anticipating. But he must obey orders, and he departed upon his mission without a word of protest.
He first made his way to a florist’s, however, to order a dainty basket of forget-me-nots sent by express to Allison, inserting in the box with them a card upon which he hastily wrote the following:
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