The Fortune Hunter | Page 9

straight."
"I know it is; it wouldn't be you if you didn't love work. It wouldn't be
me if I did.... Look here, Harry; suppose you didn't have any money
and couldn't pay your board--and had nothing to do. How'd you feel in
that case?"
"I don't know. Anyhow, that's rot--"
"No, it isn't rot. I'm trying to make you understand how I feel
when--when it's that way with me.... As it generally is." He raised one
hand and let it fall with a gesture of despondency so eloquent that it
roused Kellogg out of his own preoccupation.
"Why, Nat!" he cried, genuinely sympathetic. "I've been so taken up
with myself that I forgot.... I hadn't looked for you till to-morrow."
"You knew, then?"
"I met Atwater at lunch to-day. He told me; said he was sorry, but--"
"Yes. Everybody is always sorry, _but_--"
Kellogg let his hand fall on Duncan's shoulder. "I'm sorry, too, old man.
But don't lose heart. I know it's pretty tough on a fellow--"
"The toughest part of it is that you got the job for me--and I had to fall
down."
"Don't think of that. It's not your fault--"
"You're the only man who believes that, Harry."
"Buck up. I'll stumble across some better opening for you before long,
and--"
"Stop right there. I'm through--"
"Don't talk that way, Nat. I'll get you in right somewhere."
"You're the best-hearted man alive, Harry--but I'll see you damned
first."
"Wait." Kellogg demanded his attention. "Here's this man
Burnham--you don't know him, but he's as keen as they make 'em. He's
on the track of some wonderful scheme for making illuminating gas
from crude oil; if it goes through--if the invention's really
practicable--it's bound to work a revolution. He's down in Washington
now--left this afternoon to look up the patents. Now he needs me, to get

the ear of the Standard Oil people, and I'll get you in there."
"What right've you got to do that?" demanded Duncan. "What the
dickens do I know about illuminating gas or crude oil? Burnham'd
never thank you for the likes o' me."
"But--thunder!--you can learn. All you need--."
"Now see here, Harry!" Duncan gave him pause with a manner not to
be denied. "Once and for all time understand I'm through having you
recommend an incompetent--just because we're friends."
"But, Harry--"
"And I'm through living on you while I'm out of a job. That's final."
"But, man--listen to me!--when we were at college--"
"That was another matter."
"How many times did you pay the room-rent when I was strapped?
How many times did your money pull me through when I'd have had to
quit and forfeit my degree because I couldn't earn enough to keep on?"
"That's different. You earned enough finally to square up. You don't
owe me anything."
"I owe you the gratitude for the friendly hand that put me in the way of
earning--that kept me going when the going was rank. Besides, the
conditions are just reversed now; you'll do just as I did--make good in
the world and, when it's convenient, to me. As for living here, you're
perfectly welcome."
"I know it--and more," Duncan assented a little wearily. "Don't think I
don't appreciate all you've done for me. But I know and you must
understand that I can't keep on living on you,--and I won't."
For once baffled, Kellogg stared at him in consternation. Duncan met
his gaze steadily, strong in the sincerity of his attitude. At length
Kellogg surrendered, accepting defeat. "Well...." He shrugged
uncomfortably. "If you insist ..."
"I do."
"Then that's settled."
"Yes, that's settled."
"Dinner," said Robbins from the doorway, "is served."

III
INSPIRATION
"Look here, Nat," demanded Kellogg, when they were half way

through the meal, "do you mind telling me what you're going to do?"
Duncan pondered this soberly. "No," he replied in the end.
Kellogg waited a moment, but his guest did not continue. "What does
that kind of a 'No' mean, Nat?"
"It means I don't mind telling you."
Again an appreciable pause elapsed.
"Well, then, what do you mean to do?"
"I'm sure I don't know."
Kellogg regarded him sombrely for a moment, then in silence returned
his attention to his plate; and in silence, for the most part, the remainder
of the dinner was served and eaten. Duncan himself had certainly
enough to occupy his mind, while Kellogg had altogether forgotten his
own cause for rejoicing in his concern for the fortunes of his friend. He
was entirely of the opinion that something would have to be done for
Nat, with or without his consent; and he sounded the profoundest
depths of romantic impossibilities in his attempts to discover some
employment suited to Duncan's interesting but impracticable
assortment of faculties and qualifications, natural and acquired.