CHAPTER XII.

"Neil?"

"Yes, sir."

Andrew Pryor rushed into his library with every appearance of haste and excitement upon his kindly face, his breathing short, his hair seeming to have taken an upward turn.

"I want you to go down on 'Change for me. Hurry, boy! There is not a single moment to lose. I want you to get there before the market closes, and tell Caswell for me, to buy two thousand Western Union, Buyer 30, and sell five thousand Northwest preferred, Seller 60. I have just had a 'pointer' by which I shall make a pile if the market goes as I have been informed. You have just three-quarters to make it. If you get there---- Ah, that is right. That boy is invaluable."

The sentence was finished to himself, the break being caused by the exit of the boy to whom he had been speaking.

The white-haired old gentleman stood for some time with a smile upon his lips, rubbing his hands together with an expression of profound satisfaction.

But gradually it faded.

First came a look of deep thought, then one of fear, followed by an expression so full of consternation that to a disinterested observer it would have been laughable.

"By Jove!" he exclaimed aloud, "I am positive that I told that boy to buy Western Union and sell Northwest preferred! If he gives that order as I gave it to him, it will ruin me! What in Heaven's name could ever have made me such a colossal fool! It is impossible to do anything now! He has been gone fully fifteen minutes, and--what in the name of common sense am I to do? Nothing, I suppose. Five thousand Chicago and Northwestern preferred short! Caswell will think I have gone mad! Here! Sarah! Sarah! Tell William to bring the cart to the door, quick! There is not a moment to lose! Don't stand staring at me in that insane way, but hurry! There is not a confounded one of them on this place that is worth the salt in their bread but that boy whom I never saw until a week ago. Where the devil is my coat? I never can find it without that boy. Lord! if Caswell has bought that---- Oh, here it is at last. William, what in the name of Heaven are you doing here? Didn't Sarah tell you to bring the cart to the door?"

"I thought----"

"Never mind what you thought, you infernal fool! What business had you to think? It is too late now. I shall take the elevated."

He banged the door after him as he spoke, and hurried down the street to the nearest elevated station, rushed up the steps, and was forced to wait something over five minutes for the train, during which time he looked at his watch about twenty times.

The day was decidedly cool, but in spite of that fact, the perspiration rolled down his face like rain.

"I won't get there until the Exchange closes," he muttered; "and with my affairs in the state they are---- Well, I can't understand what ever made me such an infernal----"

The sentence was interrupted by the arrival of the train.

Andrew Pryor rushed in pell-mell, took his seat, and imagined that the train had never run with such exasperating slowness as upon that occasion.

It came to an end at last, however, and colliding with everything and everybody where collision was possible, he rushed on.

At the very entrance of the Stock Exchange he ran directly into the boy whom he had sent upon the errand.

"What in thunder did you tell Caswell?" cried the old man, excitedly. "Quick!"

The expression of the boy's face was laughable, but partaking of his excitement, he answered, breathlessly:

"I hope I have not done wrong, sir; but going down in the train I remembered that Northwest preferred had been jumping at an astonishing rate the last few days, and I thought you must have gotten the order mixed."

"And you reversed it?"

"I did. Selling Western Union. Seller 60, and----"

Andrew Pryor's month opened as if to say something, but it closed with a sudden snap, and his hand came down on the boy's shoulder with positive affection.

"My boy," he exclaimed, with amusing emphasis, "you have saved me more than you can imagine. The people in this town would have had me adjudged a lunatic without a trial if you had delivered that order as I directed you. Such brains as yours shall not go unrecognized. The fellows have been laughing at me because of your youth and girlishness, but they can laugh and be hanged! You are my private secretary from this day at a salary of one hundred and twenty-five dollars per month. You are the smartest boy of your age in New York to-day."

"I am afraid you overestimate what I have done, sir. You see, I knew the market fluctuations and----"

"Will you let me be the judge of that? I tell you there is not another boy in the city that would have done it. Well, it is something in your pocket. You have made a friend, and I am glad of it. You deserve it!"

The handsome eyes of the youth were downcast. He did not reply, but somehow Andrew Pryor seemed to understand that the silence was not the result of ingratitude.

He preferred it, upon the whole, to a flow of words, and attributed it to feeling upon the part of the boy.

Together they went home, and at the door inside the hall Andrew Pryor paused again, laying his hand upon the shoulder of the young man.

"I shall expect you to dine with the family to-night," he said. "It is the respect your new position demands!"

A brilliant, embarrassed red overspread the handsome face, which the patron was not slow to observe.

"What is it?" he demanded. "Remember perfect frankness is always best."

The boy smiled.

"It seems such an absurd thing, sir," he answered, "and yet I must ask you to excuse me, because I do not possess a dress suit!"

"Then you will come without one until it is purchased. A dress suit does not make the gentleman. If you have not the money that is required, do not hesitate to call upon me. There must be none of that false pride about you that is so despicable in most young men. I have taken a great liking to you, and I am determined to see you succeed in the world. There are very few of us who would have occupied our present positions had there not been a helping hand extended to us. Mine will be the hand to assist you up the ladder to social prominence and wealth. We dine at 6:30. I shall expect you."

Neil Lowell bowed respectfully, but quietly, and passing up the stairs, went to his own room.

Andrew Pryor looked after him.

"That is the most extraordinary boy that I ever knew!" he muttered. "Some day I must get him to tell me the story of his life. I would be willing to stake my head that his parents were somebody!"

And in his own room, a comfortable nest, not elegant, but cozy and homelike, Neil Lowell threw aside his hat and coat, and seating himself in front of the fire, bowed his chin upon his breast and was lost in reflection.

"What a strange world it is!" he muttered. "Only a little while ago, and as a girl, as poor, unfortunate Leonie Cuyler, my heart seemed breaking. I was friendless, and helpless, made desperate by my struggle with life. Driven to bay, I gave myself the appearance of a boy. For a time I feared the tracing of detectives. I lived in constant terror, hiding by day, living in dread at night, subsisting upon the few crumbs that came in my way, or starving, as occasion demanded, until I could bear it no longer! I threw aside fear, and determined that whatever the consequences might be, I would brave it out. I obtained some light work; I went from that to my old work of typewriting, but the girls monopolized that, and I was a--boy. However, I got enough money together to buy a decent suit of clothes, accidentally performed a slight service for Andrew Pryor, was taken into his employ to do anything that came my way that was not menial, though I don't know that I should have refused that had it come my way, and now I am his private secretary. It is a curious world! I wonder what in Heaven's name is in store for me? They must all discover sooner or later that I am not what I appear, but how can I help it? It is useless to repine now! There is no going back. It is forward or die, and I am not ready for that yet. Thank God for one thing. It will enable me to repay the debt that I owe to Lynde Pyne! Suppose that he knew the truth? Suppose that he knew that but yesterday he had stood beside me, Leonie Cuyler? Suppose---- But the time for supposing anything is over. I am Neil Lowell now, and Neil Lowell I shall remain to the end of the chapter. I even intend to try to forget that I am not the boy that I appear. There is no reason why I should not remain Neil Lowell. I have as much right to that name as any other. As a boy, life promises something to me, as a girl, it holds nothing but disgrace and shame. Let me see! If I am to appear at that dinner-table I must be presentable. I shall have just time to go down-town and make some necessary purchases before the dinner hour. Ha! ha! It does seem too absurd to think of Leonie Cuyler in the bosom of the family of Andrew Pryor as a fine young man, and his private secretary. I suppose I shall be making love to one of the girls next."

The expression of the beautiful face was nearer to amusement than any that had shadowed it since that death on the top floor of the tenement, that Leonie Cuyler had called her home.

The black derby was pulled down to carefully conceal the broad brow, and with a very boyish swing to his gait, Neil Lowell passed out of the house again.

The few necessary purchases were made, the suit that Andrew Pryor required at his dinner-table was ordered, and Neil Lowell returned home.

He had scarcely completed his preparations when the chimes announced dinner.

With a heart that thrilled with embarrassment, but well concealed by the most composed exterior, he descended to the dinner-room.

Andrew Pryor received him.

"My dear," he said to his wife, "you have known this young man as a boy to whom I have taken a great liking, but for a service rendered me to-day that shows his capability to fill such a position with credit to himself, I have made him my private secretary. I wish him in future to be received as a member of my family. Gwen, my dear, come here. Miss Pryor, allow me to present Mr. Lowell!"

The formal introduction was made to his eldest daughter, who bowed courteously, then followed by an introduction to the others, two in number.

Gravely, and with the polish of a courtier, Neil Lowell responded to the introduction, filling Andrew Pryor with more surprise than ever.

"Where in thunder did the boy get his polish?" he kept asking himself all through dinner, but the end came without his having found a reply.

"He is a charming boy!" Alice told her sister, Gwendolyn, when they were alone in their own room.

And Gwendolyn, contrary to her custom, did not negative the assertion.

It was altogether a triumph for Neil Lowell, and the tears that moistened his pillow that night were girlish, but they were not tears of sadness entirely.