Kerry (20 page)

“I can’t trust myself, certainly,” said Kerry. “I wouldn’t have believed that anyone could get that case out of my grasp. It seems incredible even now.”

He put her into a taxi and got in beside her.

“Now, where to?” he asked her. “Hadn’t we better park these bags at the Pennsylvania station and get you right to the publisher’s before the place closes for the afternoon?”

“Oh, yes, if that’s possible. But I must not detain you any longer. I have given you trouble enough already.”

“You don’t mean to say you are going to try to shake me now after all this. No, lady, no, I’m bound to see this manuscript safe in the hands of the publisher, and you with a properly signed receipt for it before I leave you again.”

“You are very good to me, and you must be awfully tired,” sighed Kerry, leaning back and drawing a long sigh of relief.

“Well, I guess you are pretty tired yourself.” He smiled. “But you can’t be any gladder than I am that this incident has ended so well.”

While they waited at the publisher’s for Kerry’s letter of introduction to be sent up to the great man with whom Shannon Kavanaugh had corresponded, Kerry told him about her own feelings when she had been left alone with the knowledge that the manuscript was gone; and how it suddenly came to her in her despair that her heavenly Father was looking after her, and she need not worry.

“And He did!” she said with a gleam of exultation in her eyes.

“He always does,” said McNair gravely. “I have a friend over in London who sent me a little card last Christmas bearing these verses: ‘Cast all your care upon Him for He careth for you.’ ‘And the Peace of God which passeth all understanding shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.’ And underneath he has put it this way: ‘Put your care into His heart and He will put His peace into yours.’”

Then McNair told her of his race.

“If I were you,” he said, “I would tell your publisher all about it, let him know that someone else is trying to get a line on the book and use it. You can’t tell what that little rat may do even yet. He seems quite determined to get something out of this for himself. I wouldn’t put it past him even now to write that article. You had better leave the stolen pages and Dawson’s paraphrase of them with the publisher. It will be safer than with you.”

“I will,” said Kerry, “thank you.” Just then the boy came to say that the publisher awaited her, and Kerry took her precious manuscript and went to audience at last, thinking on the way how wonderful it was that she had found him in and could see him right away. It was going to be so good to get that manuscript out of her keeping. Was this, too, a part of God’s keeping? But of course it was. She felt like shouting her gratitude.

R
ipley Holbrook received Kerry most cordially. He showed at once his deep respect for Shannon Kavanaugh, and he looked at Kerry as kindly as if she had been his own daughter.

He was an oldish man with gray hair and keen eyes. He received the manuscript as something long awaited and much desired. Kerry found herself warmed and comforted by his manner. She had perhaps entertained just the least little bit of doubt whether after all the publishers would be so eager for the book now that her father was gone. But there was no doubt about that anymore. The book was greatly welcomed.

After Mr. Holbrook had asked in detail of her father’s last days, and expressed his sympathy in her loneliness, he went over carefully every item mentioned in Shannon Kavanaugh’s letter that Kerry had brought, agreeing gladly to it all, as in substance he had agreed by letter six months ago.

He called his secretary and gave her directions for typing a special contract.

“Are you in a hurry to go, Miss Kavanaugh, or could you wait and attend to the signing now? Of course it will do tomorrow as well, or any time in the near future that is convenient, but I like to get these preliminaries over.”

“I would rather wait, Mr. Holbrook,” said Kerry, “I’ve had a good deal of trouble getting this manuscript safely into your hands, and I would like to feel that the responsibility is entirely over.”

“Trouble?” asked Holbrook, turning over the pages and glancing interestedly at a diagram that caught his eye.

Then Kerry told him of her experiences with Dawson, both on sea and land.

He listened, watching her keenly as she talked, drawing his brows in a frown as the story proceeded, studying carefully the stolen page, and Dawson’s caricature of it which she handed him, making occasional notes on a pad that lay on his desk.

“Dawson? Dawson? Henry Dawson did you say was his name? Seems to me I remember that name!” he said when Kerry’s story drew to a close with the incident on the dock that morning.

Then turning to his secretary he said, “Miss Reeves, look up my file on Henry Dawson, PhD, did you say, Miss Kavanaugh?”

The secretary ran through her filing case and brought out papers.

“There was a Henry Dawson connected with that trouble we had on the Graves-Ransom copyright,” said the secretary after a moment’s perusal of the papers.

“Ah! Yes, I thought that name was familiar! That was a very peculiar case. We never were quite sure—Well, I’m glad you mentioned it. We’ll look out for the current scientific publications. These papers will be helpful in case there is any trouble. But of course, now we know it we can easily forestall any such trouble as we had before. I’ll get in touch with the lawyer in our office and get more data on this man. Be assured we will protect your rights fully. Miss Reeves, see that Miss Kavanaugh has a duly signed receipt for this manuscript, and have it put in our safe at once!” he ordered.

“And now, Miss Kavanaugh, where are you staying?” he asked.

“Well, I’m not quite sure yet. I came straight here to get that manuscript out of my hands at once,” said Kerry with a long breath of relief. “I did not know what might happen next.”

“You certainly deserve great credit for guarding it so faithfully. We are greatly in your debt, and I expect shall be more so before we are done. I notice your father delegates you to correct all proof, and advise with us regarding any matter relating to the book. I hope you are not going to be far away. We want to rush this book right through. It is to both your and our advantage to get it on the market with all possible speed while your father’s work and personality are still in the minds of the people.”

“I am hoping to secure a room not far away,” said Kerry. “A friend on the ship knows of a convenient place. I shall let you know my address as soon as I am sure I can be accommodated.”

“That is very good!” said Holbrook. “And shall you be at leisure to come and help us as soon as we are ready?”

“Why, yes,” hesitated Kerry, “I’m going to look for some kind of a job at once. I—really—must. But I thought perhaps I could do whatever you need done in the evenings. Would that be possible?”

“A job?” said Holbrook. “Well, why not, perhaps in our office? Your father recommends you so highly that I am sure you would be an asset in any office. I’ll speak to our manager and see if there is any chance of a vacancy. It really would be good to have you right at hand if this work is to be rushed through. At least I am sure we could give you something temporary until we are through with the book, and then perhaps find you something better if there isn’t anything fitted for you here.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful!” said Kerry, hardly able to believe that her way was to be so smooth after the trouble through which she had come. It filled her with the greater joy because she knew it was being done for her great father’s sake. It thrilled her to be with those who respected him so much and did not try to minimize his talents as her mother had always done.

McNair, in the outer office where she had left him, watched Kerry come out at last, her eyes shining, her cheeks glowing, her bright hair curling around her face, and thought what a pearl of a girl she was.

He watched her as she came slowly down the long room between the rows of desks and busy workers, talking as she came to the grave keen businessman who walked beside her and was obviously pleased with her. He rejoiced that she had found sympathy with her publisher. He knew the hard world so well that he had feared perhaps she was too hopeful.

Kerry looked up as she came to the bench where McNair waited. How easily she seemed to know just what to do. How well she comported herself in spite of her shyness. What a rare father she must have had—or a mother. He suddenly realized that she had not mentioned her mother. Was she dead perhaps?

Then Kerry reached his side and said, “Mr. Holbrook, I want you to know Mr. McNair, the friend who so kindly recovered the manuscript for me this morning.”

Then indeed McNair got a keen glance from Holbrook’s eyes. He shook hands heartily, looking deep into the younger man’s eyes as he spoke, as if sifting him to see if he were worthy.

“We certainly are deeply indebted to you also, Mr. McNair,” said the publisher. “If Shannon Kavanaugh’s last book had been lost to our house we would never have ceased to regret it. I am glad to meet you.”

When they were out in the taxicab again, they beamed like two children.

“Well, he seems to be the real thing in publishers as far as I can judge,” said McNair heartily.

“Why, he was just wonderful!” said Kerry, shining-eyed like a child telling her joys. McNair wanted to kiss her again, but somehow he didn’t dare. This was not a lonely corridor on the ship, the terrible storm was over, and death was no longer imminent. This was a different Kerry, this shining-eyed, successful daughter of a great man who had just signed her father’s contract.

“He made the royalty five cents larger than they had promised father, and he is going to send me a check for advance royalty as soon as they have read the manuscript,” went on Kerry eagerly. “They’re going to give me work right there in the office for a while, at least till the book is done, and if I make good I think from what he said I can stay.”

“Well, I should say your fortune was made,” answered McNair happily. “I’m glad of that. I hated to see you running around New York day after day, week after week, hunting a job, the way many a girl has to do. I meant to look up something for you myself among some of my friends, but now I see my offices are not needed.”

“Well, you certainly have done enough,” said Kerry. “I never can thank you for all you have done.”

“Don’t try, please,” said McNair with one of his rare smiles that said more than words. And then as the taxi drew up in front of a dignified building he added, “Now, we’re going to have dinner. I wonder if you are as hungry as I am. This place is a favorite haunt of mine. They usually have pretty good stuff here.”

“Hungry?” said Kerry. “Of course I am, but—you shouldn’t have brought me to a place like this.”

“This is my treat!” said McNair. “We’ve vanquished the enemy, and now we have a right to celebrate.” And he led her into a large beautiful quiet dining room where obsequious waiters hastened to make them at home.

“Here, at last,” said McNair as he took the card the waiter handed him, and prepared to be at ease. “I think we are free from Dawson for a little while.”

Such a happy time as they had, eating and talking and laughing together. McNair told her a little of his own life. His business had called for a good deal of traveling, but he hoped within another four or five months to be able to settle down and have a real home again, which he had not had for the past three years. He had business in New York that would keep him for a few days and then he was due for a trip to California that might hold him for weeks. It had to do with large contracts, and the opening of a new office in the West with a new manager, whom he must install and oversee until the work was running right. But meantime, he meant to make the best of his time in New York and help her to get acquainted with the city, if she would let him.

Kerry’s delight said plainly that she was all too willing to let him. Kerry felt that she had never been so happy. She wondered if it was right to be as happy as she was.

They talked too, of sweet and holy things, and Kerry said she had a lot of questions she wanted to ask him when she had them thought out clearly in her mind.

“By the way,” said McNair as they reluctantly tore themselves away from the quiet room, “I took the liberty of telephoning my Mrs. Scott while you were talking to your publisher. She said she had the second story front room that was just vacated yesterday, and she would be delighted to have you for as long as you wanted to stay. Would you like to go there and rest for a little while, and then would you care to go out and see the town a bit, perhaps go to some good music if I can find any? Or are you too tired? Perhaps you would rather wait until another day.”

“Oh,” said Kerry ecstatically, “I’m really not tired. I’m so relieved and happy! But indeed, I couldn’t let you do anything more for me. You’ve done already far too much.”

“Then you do something for me.” He smiled. “Make me have a pleasant evening. I’ll be just out and out lonely if you don’t take mercy on me.”

“Well, then I will,” laughed Kerry.

So they stopped at the station and got their bags, and he took her to the old-fashioned house in the busy business district, tucked down in quite an unfashionable place, but fine and clean and comfortable, in spite of the faded old furniture. Mrs. Scott proved to be a motherly soul, and welcomed Kerry as though she had been longing for her all her life. She tried to make McNair come in and stay but he said he had mail waiting for him at the hotel and must go and see what new developments there were. So he went away, promising to have Kerry’s trunk sent at once, and to return himself before eight o’clock.

Kerry lay down without any idea of sleeping. She was too excited to even close her eyes, she thought. But when the trunk arrived a little before six o’clock it waked her out of a sound sleep, and she jumped up, not knowing where she was.

When Kerry unlocked her trunk and hung her small, shabby wardrobe in the closet, she felt at home. From the big windows of the old brownstone building she looked down to the busy street in the early evening and was interested in all the hurrying people going to their homes. New York seemed a dear friendly place. Graham McNair was coming pretty soon to take her out. It would be the first time in her young life that a young man had ever taken her out in the evening. How strange, how wonderful it was going to be!