MR. GUY DUDLEY.
The dapper young man had almost finished his cigar when Vance came into the rotunda from the dining-room.
The stranger recognized the boy at once, which was not at all surprising, since he had met Vance probably fifty times in Chicago in the course of business.
“Why, hello, Thornton!” he exclaimed, walking briskly up to the lad and extending his hand in a cordial manner; “this is a surprise. What brings you out west, eh?”
“Mr. Dudley!” ejaculated Vance, somewhat taken back by the encounter.
The circumstance annoyed him greatly.
“Pshaw!” said the dapper gentleman, whose age might have been twenty-three. “Why the handle? I’m Guy to my friends, don’t you know! Aren’t you going to shake?”
Common politeness compelled Vance to accept the young man’s hand, though it was with some reluctance.
“You’re about the last chap I’d have thought of meeting out here in Kansas, ‘pon my word,” continued Dudley, volubly. “But I’m deuced glad to see you, all the same.”
The reverse was the case with Vance, though of course he did not so express himself.
He was inclined to regard the meeting as unfortunate.
“I had no idea of seeing you here, either,” said Vance, with no great enthusiasm.
“I s’pose not,” said Dudley, showing his fine set of teeth with a sort of feline smile. “It’s always the unexpected what happens, don’t you know. Have a smoke?” and he offered Vance a cigar.
“Thank you, I don’t smoke.”
“Come over to the Criterion, then, and I’ll blow you off,” and Dudley grabbed him by the arm in a friendly way.
“You’ll have to excuse me. I do not drink,” replied Vance firmly.
“You don’t mean it, do you?” said Dudley, clearly disappointed. “A fellow can’t drink alone, don’t you know? Take a soda or a sarsaparilla—anything, just to seem social.”
The dapper young man did not appear inclined to be easily shaken off.
Vance hesitated, and Dudley, taking advantage of his momentary indecision, pressed him so strongly that the boy, not wishing to appear rude, agreed to accompany his undesirable acquaintance across the street to the swell establishment known as the Criterion.
“I’ve only just come to town,” said Guy Dudley as they ranged up alongside the mahogany bar, rather an unusual experience for Vance, who never frequented such places in Chicago. “You see, the governor, my father, you know, has a big interest in one of the flour mills out here, and as he couldn’t come himself, he sent me to look after a matter of importance which affects his control of the business.”
Vance nodded politely.
“I s’pose you’re here on business connected with your boss, Whitemore, eh?”
The speaker’s sharp eyes glinted curiously.
“What makes you think so?” asked Vance cautiously.
“Why, what else should bring you to Kansas City?”
“There might be several reasons other than what you suggested,” said Vance, sparring for a valid excuse to throw Guy Dudley off the track. “My father had business interests here before he died which were never settled.”
This was strictly a fact; though Vance knew very well that the matter at which he hinted was not in the slightest danger of ever being settled in his mother’s favor at that late day.
“You don’t say,” replied Dudley, an incredulous smile curling his lips.
“As to Mr. Whitemore,” added Vance, “my experience in his employ is that he is not accustomed to send a boy like me to execute important business.”
“That’s true,” winked Dudley, putting down the glass he had just drained; “but then one can never tell just what Whitemore may do. He’s as shrewd as they make them nowadays.”
To this remark Vance made no answer.
“How long are you going to stay in town?” said Guy Dudley, changing the subject.
“I may leave to-morrow and I may not,” replied his companion evasively.
“A short stay, eh? Well, you ought to make it a merry one. What are you going to do with yourself to-night?”
“I think I shall go to the theater,” said Vance carelessly.
“Just what I was going to propose,” said Dudley, with suppressed eagerness. “You must come with me. There is a good show at Hyde & Beaman’s. S’pose we go there?”
Vance was rather taken aback at this proposition.
He was not a bit anxious to go with Guy Dudley under the circumstances.
But to refuse his invitation without some good reason was sure to give offence, and Vance always considered it a wise policy not to make an enemy if he could avoid doing so.
So he accepted Dudley’s offer, much to the young man’s inward satisfaction, and then pleaded a business engagement to get rid of him.
The dapper young man, having accomplished all that he wanted for the present, made no further effort to press his society on Vance, hinting that he also had business to attend to; as indeed he had, but not of the nature he would have his boy acquaintance believe.
So they parted at the entrance to the Criterion, Dudley promising to call for him at his hotel at about half-past seven that evening.
Kansas City, Kansas, is a wideawake, lively town, and Vance Thornton spent several hours that afternoon wandering about the principal streets, an interested observer of western progress.
Promptly at seven-thirty Guy Dudley presented himself at the hotel office and inquired for Vance Thornton.
“Are you Mr. Dudley?” asked the clerk.
“That’s my name,” said the dapper young man airily.
“You will find Mr. Thornton in the reading-room.”
“Well, old man,” said Dudley, tapping Vance on the shoulder, where he sat looking over the copy of a current magazine, “I see you’re all ready and waiting. Just put on your coat and we’ll trot along.”
Vance donned his light overcoat and the pair left the hotel together.
“I s’pose you won’t indulge even to the extent of a cigarette?” said Dudley, pulling out a silver case and tendering it to the lad. “No? All right; bad practice, I know, but it’s one of my follies,” he said lightly as he lit a match and applied a light to a gold-rimmed cylinder of Turkish tobacco. “When one has a quantity of wild oats to sow the quicker he puts ’em under the ground the better,” he added with a laugh.
“You appear to be one of the boys,” said Vance, for want of something better to say.
“Yes, I make it a point to see my share of life occasionally,” the dapper young man admitted with a grin. “You don’t go around much, do you?” with a slight sneer.
“No,” said Vance with a shake of his head. “One needs to keep his wits clear in our line, and I don’t see how that can be done if you stay up three-quarters of the night chasing the elephant.”
“Pshaw! When a fellow wakes up in the morning feeling a bit rocky a dose of bromo-seltzer will fetch him around all right. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. If I didn’t take a run out of a night with the boys once in awhile I wouldn’t be worth shucks. You don’t know what you lose, old chap. Still, you’re young yet.”
“I believe in enjoying myself in a rational manner, Mr. Dudley,” said Vance. “Drinking and smoking and billiards and card-playing don’t quite fall in with my idea of a good time.”
“All right,” remarked Dudley carelessly; “every one to his taste. Well, here we are,” and he turned in at the entrance to Hyde & Beaman’s theater, followed by Vance.
Dudley had secured good seats in the orchestra, and as the performance was above the average Vance thoroughly enjoyed it.
“You don’t object to having a bite, do you?” asked Guy Dudley after the show.
“I don’t usually eat late at night,” replied Vance, “but I have no objection to joining you. Where will we go?”
“There’s a famous English chop-house on Blank street,” said the dapper young man, with a glint of satisfaction in his eyes; “we’ll take a cab and go there.”
“Why wouldn’t the place over the way do as well?” asked the boy. “It looks to be a first-class restaurant.”
“So it is, but it isn’t on a par with Bagley’s. They have a fine grill-room there, and though the bill of fare is limited, it’s English from A to Z. I guess you’ve never been in one of those establishments.”
“I don’t think I have,” admitted the boy.
“Then it will be my pleasure to introduce you to something worth while. Hi, there!” beckoning to a cab driver who sat muffled up on his box.
“Get in,” to Vance as the jehu sprang down and opened the cab door, and the boy allowed the accomplished Mr. Dudley to push him into the vehicle. “Bagley’s on Blank street,” said the dapper young man to the driver, and a moment later they were on their way to that notorious Kansas City resort.
Fifteen minutes later the cab drew up before the entrance to Bagley’s, a dingy looking building situated in a narrow alley off one of the business thoroughfares.
Vance had expected to see a brilliantly lighted establishment, with big plate glass windows and every sign of a high-toned restaurant.
The contrary was the case.
Not even a sign distinguished Bagley’s place from that of the other buildings in the vicinity, though a red light suspended over the door served to indicate that it had other uses than those of an ordinary dwelling.
A light rain was now falling, and before the boy had time to ask his companion if some mistake had not been made in the place Dudley opened the door and pushed him inside.