"Why, didn't you receive our letter?"
"Yes; but I made up my mind to come. I was undecided, so I concluded the best thing to do was to see Colonel Channing and ask his advice."
Mitchell remembered that Fred Buxton had been a well-known railroad man, and assumed that Mrs. Buxton knew the Colonel. Responsibility shortens life. He said, with sincere relief:
"By all odds that would be the wisest thing to do. His office is in the Midland Station."
"The cabman will know, I suppose?"
"Oh yes; just tell him to drive you there. I'd very much like to know what he advises you to do, Mrs. Buxton. I wouldn't wait very long if I were you. The stock is now 180. It has been up to 200."
"Has it?" said Mrs. Buxton, with a cordial smile of non-comprehension.
"Yes. You'll let me know what he says, won't you?" Mitchell said this with undisguised earnestness. Mrs. Buxton was flooded with the soul-titillation of pride. She was regarded as a financier, a person of importance! She loved Colonel Channing in advance for talking to her. She loved herself for talking to him. It had been a wise and delightful thing, this trip to New York. That sudden decision to call on the Colonel was a flash of inspiration.
She was driven to the Great Midland offices as through Elysian Fields instead of over the unevenness of Broadway cobblestones and through the clangor and din of the business district. Leaning back in the carriage, she frowned in advance.
When she asked to see Colonel Channing, she was for the moment surprised that the assistant to the Colonel's private secretary asked, very politely, if her business was personal.
"Yes, it is," she said. She added, "Of course."
"Well—" hesitated the assistant. "Madam, wouldn't any one else do? The Colonel's very busy now and—"
"I'm Mrs. Buxton of Indianapolis. I own a lot of Lakeside stock, and I wish to see Colonel Channing about it."
"Oh yes. If you will please go to the treasurer's office, at the other end of the hall, they will be very glad to give you all the information you wish."
"But I wish the Colonel himself to tell me whether I ought to exchange my stock or not. I must have the Colonel's advice in person. I know he will give it to me if you tell him I am here. Just do so, please."
"Very well, madam." The young man disappeared, to reappear a moment later.
"Colonel Channing will see you. Won't you please come this way, madam?" and he ushered her into the genial Colonel's private office.
Colonel Mortimer F. Channing was a tall, well-built man, who carried his years blithely. His hair was white, and his very neatly trimmed Vandyke beard was also of the same clean silvery whiteness. His skin was ruddy and smooth as a baby's, and set off the white of his hair and beard beautifully. His eyes were of a clear sky-blue, very bright and intelligent. The neatness and good taste of his dress were noticeable. He seemed the embodiment of perfect health as of perfect manners. As a rule, his geniality was audible a mile away. To Mrs. Buxton he spoke in a carefully modulated voice—for he cultivated his vocal apparatus as assiduously and painstakingly as he did his personal appearance and his bank account.
"Kindly be seated, madam. How may I be of service to you?"
"I think you knew my husband, Colonel Channing. He was Frederick Buxton, superintendent of the Pittsburg, Indianapolis, and Chicago Railroad."
"Ah, yes," with a polite smile that invited family confidences. He did not remember the name or the man.
"Before he died he bought three hundred shares of Lakeside stock for me, which I hold." Mrs. Buxton felt faintly that she was not businesslike. But she had not time to act a part; so she was what she wished to be, unconsciously. Women would be sensible if they allowed themselves to be natural. The actress in them kills many things.
The Colonel, now feeling safe from contradiction by Mrs. Buxton, said, cordially: "I knew him very well. I was very sorry to hear of his death." His practised face took on a pained look, which he softened to regret when he thought it was time to continue. "I remember I tried to get your address at
